The earlier disagreement hadn't dampened the mood at dinner, especially after the witches started pouring wine into Ms. Jacob as though aiming for cirrhosis. The woman soon shed her initial reserve, and the atmosphere at the table quickly warmed. Neither Solomon nor the witches mentioned anything supernatural or violent—on the surface, it looked like a perfectly ordinary family dinner, a son getting to know his new stepmother. What's more, Kaecilius's new partner wasn't one of those overly delicate petty bourgeois types, so the dishes didn't put on airs either. Everyone seemed genuinely happy—at least within Ms. Jacob's understanding, Solomon was an Oxford student and also the CEO of a company, which explained why he rarely had time for gatherings.
That was the story Kaecilius had come up with to explain his sparse social circle.
The witches had already pieced together, through prior conversation, which parts of that narrative needed patching up and what details required reinforcing. Solomon had to talk about his company's revenue streams, how he balanced school, work, and life, discuss Kaecilius's job and Ms. Jacob's work, and do it all in a likable way. Truthfully, crafting a perfect, airtight, believable lie on the spot wasn't all that hard—the challenge lay in maintaining it. If this woman ever visited London or New York, Solomon couldn't possibly drop everything to escort her through a fully functioning, real-world company.
But Solomon had been prepared for that. Even though Kaecilius had never told her the truth, the lie Solomon built could withstand investigation. It was knowledge he had learned from Victoria Hand and Natasha Romanoff—expertise in weaving operative backstories and cover identities. In fact, one could argue Solomon had gone overboard. Ms. Jacob had neither the intention nor the capacity to dig deep. Solomon had already read her complete file and knew her habits, hobbies, and daily routine inside out.
Thanks to the intelligence division of the Immortal City, Solomon knew her better than she knew herself.
Compared to Solomon's intricate lies, Ms. Jacob was more concerned with whether the witches and Solomon enjoyed the meal. When Kaecilius shared stories from Solomon's childhood, she showed great interest. Although neither Solomon nor the witches ate excessively, their nutritional needs far exceeded ordinary humans'. Dana had to cook for them personally every day just to meet those needs.
After dinner, Ms. Jacob shyly admitted that she'd prepare more food for the next family gathering. It was clear she desperately wanted to act the part of a caring stepmother—so much so that she overdid it and came off as slightly pitiful. Solomon had to use a discreet Kamar-Taj hand signal to remind Kaecilius to make a decision soon—for everyone's sake. Good people shouldn't be deceived. The witches felt the same. They found the ongoing lie increasingly unbearable, and Solomon wholeheartedly agreed. There would be pain, certainly—but the longer the delay, the worse it would be.
Kaecilius agreed. Before Solomon and the witches left, he subtly hinted to Solomon that they still needed to talk—just not today. The young sorcerer nodded. He had no intention of directly confronting the Allfather right now. If such a meeting were to happen, it should go through Queen Frigga to avoid unnecessary conflict.
Solomon opened the car door, inviting Bayonetta and Jeanne into the back seat.
By now, night had fallen. Pale streetlights cast a greasy, sickly glow over the snow-covered roads. The young sorcerer looked up at something darker than the night—a crow perched on a lamp post. Its pitch-black feathers absorbed the faint cosmic light falling from stars millions of light-years away. The bird's unfeeling round eyes stared intently at Solomon by the car door. He gently touched the gun holster beneath his coat but ultimately didn't draw his weapon or cast a spell. Instead, he slipped into the front passenger seat and urged the maid to start the car.
At that moment, five black armored vehicles from the Fimbulwinter First Confidential Division started their engines and followed the lead car, maintaining pace with their protected target. Drones circling above relayed situational data to the agents' portable command consoles. The weapons—rifles and heavy artillery—remained hidden behind opaque windows, barrels already aimed at surrounding buildings, ready to return fire at a moment's notice. If attacked, these agents would sacrifice their lives to buy time before the electromagnetic shields protecting their sovereign's car were breached.
Ever since Constantine acquired enough manpower, he had implemented strict security protocols around Solomon. As the Immortal City's influence expanded, it was only a matter of time before enemies discovered Solomon was its true core. Assassination attempts would only grow more frequent. Even for something as mundane as a family dinner, Solomon's route and security team were reviewed and coordinated by Constantine—especially when the commander himself was off handling other operations. Solomon's safety always remained his top concern.
Stephanie Malick, as head of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, received similar protection, but her guards lacked physical enhancements. Constantine refused to divert the limited capacity of the city's bioengineering labs to protect anyone other than Solomon. It wasn't his duty—even though he knew Stephanie was important too.
Slowly, Constantine stepped into a lavishly decorated hall inside a castle.
Tonight, in that castle hall—located within territory contested by Italy's "Cosa Nostra" and "'Ndrangheta"—the two mafia clans were holding an extremely tense negotiation. When Constantine, clad in golden power armor and carrying a long halberd, entered with heavy, deliberate steps, no one inside recognized the uninvited guest. But even without seeing the corpses piled outside the door, it was obvious this man hadn't come in peace.
Both families had long-standing grudges with the Immortal City. The cause: a supposedly "floating water park" project meant to conceal an oceanic lift platform. Located between Sicily and mainland Italy, the two families had tried to muscle in on the lucrative deal—forcing out contractors to seize the profits for themselves. But those "contractors" never existed. The company was a shell entity registered by the Ministry of the Interior to fool the Italian government. The Immortal City had no intention of paying protection money.
As a result, when excavated soil and rock were transported from the project site to the coast, the transports were regularly ambushed. Armed conflicts between the City's forces and mafia goons became common. To put an end to the problem, Constantine used his resources to forge intel and bribe insiders, tricking both families' heads into gathering here under the pretense of discussing the still-unfinished Sicily bridge project.
He didn't unleash artillery on the castle or send regular troops to wipe out the mafia. His sovereign had granted him broad authority. Constantine had a different plan: absorb both organizations, turning them into tools and informants for the Royal Guard—operating independently from the Immortal City's official structure.
Three seconds. That's all he gave himself. Constantine raised his halberd and aimed it at the mafiosi. But before he could bring anyone to the negotiating table, he had to kill everyone here.
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