“I know I owe you favor after favor, but this time I can’t,” Gabriel told Nathan, helmets off. “The Global Guards are making moves in the Guild; they’re pulling strings to see who’s on whose side. If this investigation on Sera turns for the worse—which I think probably will—they’ll come after me next and try to suspend me or force me to step down due to my connections.”

Gabriel had been the Chief Otherguard for the better part of ten years now since Nathan had personally recommended him for the position. He fondly remembered the time: the previous Chief Otherguard had retired and according to the rulebook, the Global Mandate possessed the authority to select a candidate then march them in front of both the Council of the Citizens and States for approval. The selection was one of the very few instances when Nathan had broken his rule and participated in closed-door politics. Though Kashan did much of the heavy-lifting and honestly deserved most of the credit.

Thanks to their efforts, they could better pursue their goals without hindrances.

Like for example, preparing for the worst like a sequel to the Great Crisis, and as a result, Kosmos had to take matters into his own hands.

“I understand,” Nathan said softly, briefly imagining a world where the roles were switched and he was the father of Otherguards. “I expected this much anyhow and you know I don’t like holding grudges. Just keep your head afloat, Gabe. With the plans I have, I’m going to need you.”

“Yeah, I know. Looks like you were right all along.” Gabriel crossed his arms, annoyed. “I’ll be your tool after this.”

Nathan frowned. “I don’t think of you like a tool and I’m sorry if it came out that way—“

“Shut it.” A hand was pressed against Gabriel’s forehead, and he looked exasperated as ever. “I swear, if the world finds out how soft you really are, there’ll be riots by the afternoon. I like the man with the helmet more than the guy I’m seeing.”

All Nathan could do was smile and nod.

Since then, Hell was being raised inside the Otherguard Guild exactly like how Gabriel had foretold.

Officially, the Guild was an extension of the Global Guards but the two entities had been disconnected since the Bolivia Conflict generations ago during the early years after the Emergence, when the Guards had ordered the Guild to pull out of the country due to a severe political disagreement between said government. Almost no one had obeyed. Their main priority was defending the world, and the order would have jeopardized it.

Nathan had his complaints about the Otherguards but they were devoted to their line of work and he respected them for it. They wouldn’t let outside politics severely influence their duties—but now he was worried because for the first time in a long while, their interests were aligned with their former master.

But that was Gabriel’s and Alter’s business. And Dawnfire’s to an extent, as he was assisting them personally with his Blazing Bullets. There wouldn’t be a better time to learn about the Otherguards then now, when every player on the field would be moving.

And Nathan had his in play.

~~~

“Okay, Empress darling! I got some time to see you off on your hardest mission yet! I sure hope you don’t hate my voice ‘cause I’ll be chirping wildly in your little ear!” Scrutiny beamed in her earpiece.

Gently with the pad of two fingers, Leona pressed on the pea-shaped device and ensured it was snug there. While ignorant to the truth of the investigation, Rector had personally vouched for her loyalty regardless if she was in the know. Besides, she was too sweet to know evil in her heart.

“Never. Am I glad to have you as a birdie,” Leona said with a soft smile.

“Aw, you flatter me way too much!” Scrutiny drummed her hands against her desk it sounded like. When the entire world was blowing up, at least she was a blistering force of positive energy—Leona needed someone like that. “Anyway, your precious falcon has to move us back on track. What’s your ETA?”

“I’m…” Leona looked around at her surroundings; most of the buildings here had been devastated. According to the deep-digging the 'falcon' had done, Mystic was last seen in Aurora Village in Dawns; this was definitely Aurora Village. Some of the few establishments here looked familiar or what'd remained of them.

She grimaced, knowing more of her memories had been demolished. “I’m somewhere in Aurora; key word: somewhere. Mystic has turned off his location-tracker so I’m roaming around until I hear something.”

“Okay! Let’s go over your mission real quick. You gotta have one single conversation with Mystic who has been seen with the eight-fourteens. So you need to feel him out and see if it’s true, then make a graceful exit. Here’s the hard part: it’s Mystic, who got kicked outta Glory Guild and rightfully so. We all have our personal opinions ‘bout him but he’s undeniably witty with his words. A sharp rhetoric he has with him. So be on your proverbial guard ‘cause he’s gonna come in slashin’ and cuttin’ and he ain’t taking no survivors.”

Leona hummed in acknowledgement. Before her departure, Rector had informed her of Mystic and his faction’s expulsion from the guild; it was perfectly within Silverhonor’s right to do so as the Acting Guild Master and it was a common move to secure your power: get rid of your enemies and check your ranks. But Mystic was tenacious and refused to disappear without a fight, so if he really had spoken with the eight-fourteens…

Then he’d committed a taboo.

“Roger that, ma’am.” Leona swiveled around on her feet as she walked, searching high and low for any signs of the disgraced Head Officer. She listened to Scrutiny prattle off additional advice. Occasionally civilians were spotted amongst the rubble and ushered away by rifles and reconstruction services, busying themselves with sifting through debris and making the area a little safer to walk through. A few times she had been stopped by patrols but once she flashed her ID, they no longer had any issues unlike that time with Site 3.

Deep into Aurora Village, a strange purple sparkle fluttered at her peripheral. She snapped there and saw nothing, instead facing an ominously clean alleyway. Was it a trick on the eyes? No, it couldn’t be. A strange light and a strange alleyway, if they weren’t signs then what was?

“I think I found him,” Leona told the artisan in her ear.

“Gonna leave me in suspense?”

“Yeah, wish me luck.”

“Prayin’ for ya, sweetie!” Scrutiny blew a kiss and switched off.

Leona raced through the alley leaving nothing to chance. On the other side she peeked left and was startled by an immaculate small lot straight out of one of those odd niche horror videos. It was something uncanny if that was the best descriptor. Beyond what she'd see normally outside of an outbreak. Not even her own room after a day of cleaning could look like this. Absolutely spotless. No debris, no blood, not a single shred of trash. This could only be achieved through psychotic perfection.

But Mystic wasn't that kind of man, wasn't like Jin Tiehan in that manner.

Mystic held cleanliness in the highest regard not because it embodied the pursuit of perfection but rather aesthetic and professionalism, and superiority seeing this was how he viewed such a concept. He was particular with his outfits, he had colognes according to the season, and he never wore the same thing twice unless in drastic circumstances—like an outbreak for example. Him restoring a random lot in a random part of a city, Leona interpreted, was an attempt to regain lost control after a monumental loss. But she was no psychologist and wanted little to do with the mind of a high-ranker.

Regardless, this should’ve evoked a sense of pity within Leona but instead her heart trembled and her chest felt heavier. Fear, she was feeling fear. Because there was something unsettling about watching the notoriously bumptious high-ranker wipe down a dirty plastic chair using a wet rag without a hint of complaint, all while wearing his [Loadout] and treating this with as much focus as he would have during an expedition. He was dressed as an extravagant yet rebellious noble from old European times, preferring an embellished version of the style rather than sticking to historical accuracy. Of his delicate red and black exaggerated suit, the most recognizable piece was the billowing dull gold cape moving oddly as though it had autonomy.

As simple as it looked, that was his [Honor]: the [Arcane Mystical Cloak].

Mystic whipped the rag to shake off the dirt and grime, the sound like a gunshot, before folding it neatly and sliding it across the edge of the chair’s backrest. “Celestial War Empress.”

“Mystic,” she said, her eyes reflexively darting to her earpiece. Nobody was going to help her here.

The guild-breaker moved onto the armrests. “I thought I’d have Rector or White Herald visit me today but not a depowered Pseudo. Should I take this as an insult?”

Leona inhaled, taking measure breaths to calm her nerves. She briefly broke eye contact to survey the lot more, unsure whether to roam or stay where she was at. How and where she moved, Mystic would take it as a message. For now, the boat wasn’t bucked and she answered, "I see this as a challenge."

Mystic scoffed without meeting eye-for-eye. "You're mistaken that I’ll allow myself to be a punching bag for blood as young as yours, and I am even more insulted to hear your superiors think of me so little that you’re sent in their place instead. I had thought it was cowardice that drove their decision, but shame on me: it’s plain disrespect.”

“I feel disrespected myself, Mystic, that you have enough common courtesy to use my codename but not enough to look me in the eye while you’re talking.”

“I respect you as a Slayer,” Mystic said as he dragged a finger on the seat itself, frowning before working on it. “I’d be delusional to deny your feats during the Disaster, but I don’t respect you as an equal or any echelon close.”

“Then…” Her heart sped, hairs stood on end. Her voice became breathier. “Then you’re less intelligent than I thought.”

Mystic froze halfway through his wiping, his expression as still as stone. That caught his attention. A direct insult.

“A good Slayer is an opportunist,” Leona began and allowed herself to hold a half-smile. The nerves weren’t subsiding but they weren’t increasing. Steady. All she needed was to breathe. “Knowing you have an undoubtedly weaker opponent, you’re doing the inexplicable and trying to chase me away.”

“You’re insulting yourself,” Mystic said, no longer wiping the chair.

“No, I’d be delusional if I said I’m on the same level as Rector. I'd be delusional if I said we were on the same level, but I've experienced enough to grow sick of these games so can we not, Mystic? I’m almost sure you didn’t drag me here just to tell me off."

Mystic licked his lips and stood straight. To him this was a game of wits, where every word was ammunition for the other. This little conversation was the appetizer before the main course—a quiz before the exam. So let the real conversation begin proper. He released the rag and it transformed into purple sparkles like the one that’d drawn her here earlier. With a snap of his fingers, a light purple mist scattered over the plastic chair and thickened into a cloud. Suddenly like snow in gutters, it dropped. The mist bellowed outwards and dissipated, revealing an ornate throne fit for an imperial. Mystic took his seat and crossed his legs authoritatively, glowering.

Leona approached the spotless lot representing Mystic’s claim and realized exactly how weak she felt against the Head Officer, sitting there like an imperial emperor looking down at his subject so pretentiously. His gaze saw not a fellow Slayer but a small skittering rat trying to accost his wealth and fame.

She bit her lip, feeling fear encroach into her heart once more as the Slayer glared at her. Slowly, she took a few breaths and hid her hands in her pockets to conceal their trembling. “Your majesty,” she began as a joke to calm herself, “I’ve heard you’ve been speaking to the eight-fourteens.”

The joke got Mystic to chuckle, and he relaxed his posture a little. “That’s a dangerous accusation to make. You’re aware of the damage this single rumor can do? How many of my friends will abandon me?”

But if this is true, then you’ve already made your peace with your ruined reputation. “And you’re aware of the accusations lodged against Angels Guild and my Guild Master. Alongside our peers.”

“Everyone is: Seraph and Monarch have been suspected of contracting with a Nemesis during the Disaster. A question I pose to you, then: why assume I am colluding with the eight-fourteens when they’re naturally going to ask everyone? They’d asked you, didn’t they?”

News of the Baptists’ detainment hadn’t made their way around the block yet, but if she pointed this out, he could excuse it. He didn’t mention ‘detainment’ specifically or alternatively he could say he had close contacts within the International Agency. Plus, this would lead into a rabbit hole of nitpicking, arguing about a point that ultimately had little worth arguing for and draining Leona’s stamina as a result.

She couldn’t allow herself to be dragged into a petty, insignificant squabble.

The better way to combat his argument was…

“Because we assume the worst and you are our biggest thorn on this side," said Leona. Mystic loved speaking; however, how could he deal with blatant honesty? “It doesn’t matter what the truth is—“

“I care if Seraph had sacrificed trillions of lives—“

Leona powered through, “Are you working with the eight-fourteens? Are you working against Seraph and Monarch and Ordo as a whole?”

The high-ranker initially stayed quiet for a moment, visibly gulping. The dynamic between them had shifted and he knew it. For a man who adored spinning circles with his tongue, what he feared most was a blade cutting straight to the point.

After his silence, he uttered, “I believe—“

“I don't care what you believe. Are you working with the eight-fourteens or not—?”

“No,” Mystic answered without a change in his expression, without a breakage in his voice, without flaws. He spoke as though absolutely certain in himself. “No, I am not working with the eight-fourteens but I’ll admit they’d questioned me the day before.”

“What did you tell them?” demanded Leona.

“What I knew.”

“We all know things, Mystic.”

“We all have secrets, Empress.”

“That we can agree on.” He wasn’t going to budge. Was this another trick? Mystic was flashing the smallest smile; he wanted her to push, wanted her to keep asking questions. That was his counter to her bluntness: match pace and answer vaguely, thus requiring more questions and more vague answers would follow and frustration would grow as a result. Yet another rabbit hole to exhaust her.

Leona rubbed her mouth and sighed, shrugging. “Thank you for answering my questions. I have other business to attend to.”

The answer widened Mystic’s vibrant arcane eyes and he sat higher on his throne. “Is that everything? You wasted my time—?”

“Yes.” Leona spun on her feet, already walking away. This was the winning move: to not play the game in the first place, not when she had already scavenged enough clues to make a reasonable guess. “Have a good day, Mystic.”

She raced for the exit while holes were burned into her back from the high-ranker’s glowering, praying to any god willing to listen that he wouldn't trap her here in this clean hell. She sped through the alleyway that'd brought her hear and entered something between a fast walk and a jog. The seconds bled together as she focused on her safety first. It was briefly broken by a couple rifles on patrol who blocked her path, asked stupid questions with a stupid look on their faces, staring at her like she was a maniac but they weren't wrong. Being in the same space as Mystic did nothing for her sanity.

Leona bit her lip to the point of pain. After a few rays of sunlight reflected off her badge's lamination—hands shaking as she held it—she was allowed to move on and there she found an abandoned building, its open door, its decrepit interior like so many she'd visited before, then a chair and sat down.

Until the chair decided to break under her own weight.

She crashed onto her rear hard, groaning, and at that moment the world had decided to curse her. Everything caught up with her now-human body. Exhaustion, nausea, pain, the shakes, shivers, sweats. She skittered to a wall, knocked her head hard and nearly had the urge to vomit. Frantically her fingers pried her bag open and scattered the contents inside.

Clawing out a prescription, the cap was torn off and she dry-swallowed three pills. Throat dry, she searched for water and found a bottle three-quarters empty at the bottom of her bag. Felt like a tenth, did nothing to satisfy her thirst, searched for another one and found nothing.

The empty bottle was flung across the room with a curse.

She stayed like this until her body felt like it wasn’t killing her. She tapped the earpiece twice. “Scrutiny… Are you there?”

There was a click. “Loud and clear! Mission success? Did you figure it out?”

“I think…” Leona rubbed her head and cleared her throat, trying to sound strong so the artisan wouldn’t worry. “I think he’s working with the eight-fourteens.”

Scrutiny sighed hearing her answer. “How d’ya figure?”

“Because he knew he’d be visited by Angels,” explained Leona, recalling their formal introduction. “He purposefully guided me to his hideout which was why I suddenly cut comms.”

“I see, I gotcha. But lemme play devil’s advocate: it could be courtesy, y’know? He knew you were in the area and decided to cut to the chase.”

“You’d be right but you misunderstood what I said. He knew he’d be visited by Angels but didn’t know who exactly until I entered Aurora Village.” This is correct because of something he said… What ticked me off initially was…

“I thought I’d have Rector or White Herald visit me today but not a depowered Pseudo. Should I take this as an insult?”

A finger-snap cracked inside her head. “To be specific, he was expecting Rector or White Herald.”

“Okay, I understand Rector ‘cuz he’s the VGM. But why White Herald? Is he involved?”

“Exactly. Most people wouldn’t know High Dominion is related to the investigation—“ (“I swear to secrecy!”) “—so he either mentioned him out of coincidence or knew of his involvement. In the latter case, the information is obtainable either via the eight-fourteens or being close to the central incident of the investigation. And we know that Mystic was focused on Glory Guild and Wonder’s subjugation…”

“So the only options are happenstance and informant.”

“Mhm, and I’m almost certain it’s the latter because he was expecting a conversation with Angels. Why? Because he knew that we knew he talked—we have eyes and ears everywhere. By trying to get ahead of the curve and play games and be in the know, he might've accidentally revealed where he stood.”

“Or he coulda revealed it on purpose. It’s not outta the question.”

“You're right again, but the question’s irrelevant because I escaped with what we wanted: an educated guess. Let’s inform our bosses and let's see if they agree.”