The air inside Magistrate Valerius's office felt heavy, not from atmospheric pressure, but from a tension so dense it felt as though it could be sliced with a knife. The scent of expensive cigars mingled with the faint tang of ozone from the magitech air purifiers humming quietly in the corner.
Behind the polished mahogany desk, Valerius sat with a posture of forced relaxation. His slender, manicured fingers tapped against the surface, while his cat-like eyes studied the documents before him with a thin, dismissive smile.
Sir Kellen, Commander of the Ebony Guard, stood tall like an unyielding pillar of steel in the center of the room. His plate armor still reflected the remnants of the city's gloomy light, and there were ash stains on his cloak—residue from the chaos at The Rusty Anchor. Beside him stood his personal assistant, a female vampire named Vespera. She stood in silence, elegant and lethal, her ruby-red eyes fixing Valerius with a cold stare, arms crossed beneath her chest, underscoring her support for the Commander.
"Just as I thought," Kellen's voice broke the silence, heavy and filled with suppressed disappointment. "Letting that damned mummy roam free was a foolish tactical gamble, Valerius."
Valerius exhaled a long breath, blue cigar smoke billowing from his lips. He looked at Kellen with a bored gaze.
"Don't be so dramatic, Kellen. I've read the report on the Central Cistern," Valerius said, flicking the ash from his cigar. "And if my eyes didn't misread the figures, hasn't that Mister Pharaoh already paid the fine? In cash? Pure gold, Kellen. Enough to renovate the sewage system twice over. Technically, the city actually turned a profit."
"This isn't about the balance sheet!" Kellen snapped, his voice booming. "It's about public safety! He destroyed vital infrastructure!"
"And he paid for it," Valerius cut in calmly. "Case closed."
Kellen growled, leaning forward. "Then what about tonight? The Rusty Anchor inn is leveled to the ground. Dozens of civilians dead. The district is burning!"
Valerius chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. He stood up, walking toward the large window that framed the nocturnal cityscape.
"Oh, come now, Commander. Don't try to pin that sin on him," Valerius said without turning. "According to eyewitness accounts—and your own intelligence reports—the Pharaoh wasn't even at the scene when the explosion occurred. He was buying street snacks. The culprit was that madwoman in the lab coat. Entirely her fault."
"Don't be naive, Valerius!" Kellen slammed his armored fist onto the table. "That madwoman didn't come here for a vacation! She came to hunt that white cat. And that cat... is the Mummy's pet. If the Mummy hadn't brought his beast into this city, the scientist wouldn't have had a reason to destroy a city block!"
Vespera took a step forward, her voice silky yet sharp, cutting through Valerius's defense. "The Commander is correct, Magistrate. It is a chain of causality. The Mummy brought the bait, and the bait lured a predator into the midst of our population. His hands may be clean of gunpowder tonight, but he is the center of this storm."
Valerius turned, his face now stripped of its casual smile. His eyes narrowed sharply.
"Enough!" Valerius hissed. He walked closer to Kellen, meeting the commander's eyes. "You know why I let him be? You know the risks. Kemetia. A Sun God. If we arrest him, if we offend him... he could summon the sun itself into the skies of Nocturnus. Are you prepared to take responsibility if half the vampire population in this city burns to ash just because you wanted to enforce immigration regulations?"
Kellen did not back down. He stared back at Valerius with a gaze of steel.
"That is cowardly paranoia, Valerius," Kellen said in a low, dangerous voice. "Say he really can summon the sun. Then what? You think the Sovereignty of Gloomfen would just collapse?"
Kellen straightened his posture, his military aura filling the room.
"We have the Emperor. We have the Twilight Council. We have the invincible Obsidian Legion. If one foreign god dares to threaten this city, we simply report it to Central. We mobilize the full might of the Imperial war machine. One sun mage won't be able to win against the full power of a continent, no matter how blinding his light is."
Valerius fell silent, his mouth slightly agape. Kellen's audacity—or stupidity—stunned him.
"You... you really want to start a war of gods?" Valerius whispered.
"I want to enforce order," Kellen answered firmly. He adjusted his sword. "From this moment on, the Ebony Guard assumes command of security. I don't care about your politics. If that Pharaoh, or his friends, make one more mistake... I will personally take his head before he has time to pray to his sun."
Valerius looked at Kellen for a long moment, then waved his hand wearily. He sat back down in his plush chair. "Whatever. Do as you please. But if this city burns, don't say I didn't warn you. Now, get out."
Kellen turned with a click of his steel heels, his red cloak rustling. Vespera gave one last condescending look to Valerius before following her commander out.
They walked down the cold marble corridor toward the private elevator. It was silent, save for the heavy thud of Kellen's metallic footsteps.
As the elevator doors closed and they began to descend, Vespera moved. She no longer stood behind him as a subordinate. She stepped to Kellen's side, then shifted slightly in front, blocking Kellen's view of the elevator doors.
"You are so tense, Sir," Vespera whispered. Her voice was no longer the professional tone she used in front of Valerius. It was now low, husky, and filled with dark promise.
"Valerius is a cowardly rat," Kellen grumbled, still staring straight ahead, his jaw hardened. "He cares more for gold than the blood of his people."
Vespera smiled. She lifted a hand clad in fine leather, placing it on Kellen's hard chest plate. She could feel the man's strong, angry heartbeat beneath it. Her fingers traced the engravings on the cold metal slowly, teasingly.
"Forget the rat," Vespera said, stepping closer until her slender body pressed against Kellen's armor. She looked up, meeting her commander's eyes. "You need a release, Kellen. The veins in your neck are so tight. You cannot lead an army with a head full of rage like this."
Kellen finally looked down, meeting Vespera's ruby eyes. His breath hitched slightly. "Vespera, we are on duty..."
"Your shift ends in ten minutes," Vespera interrupted. Her hand moved up to Kellen's neck, her cold fingers slipping beneath his collar to touch the warm skin there. "In my quarters... I have a bottle of vintage blood I've been saving for a special occasion. And a sofa that is sturdy enough."
She leaned her lips close to Kellen's ear, her cold breath making the commander's hair stand on end.
"Let me take care of you tonight, Sir," she whispered, her words explicit and bold. "I will make you forget about the Pharaoh, about the sun, and about politics. I will drain all that tension from your body... until you can no longer stand. What do you say?"
The elevator doors chimed open.
Kellen looked at Vespera for a moment, then exhaled a long breath, a thin but feral smile appearing on his scarred face. He gripped Vespera's waist with his large hand.
"You are a dangerous woman, Lieutenant," he growled. "To your quarters. Now."
Meanwhile, far from political intrigue and military tension, the atmosphere at the Rusty Promenade—the center of nightlife at St. Veren's Gate—felt alive in a different way. Purple, pink, and lime-green magitech neon flooded the wet streets, reflecting in puddles and creating the illusion of a glittering underwater world. Jazz music played by a skeleton band echoed from one of the clubs, mingling with the laughter of succubi and the clinking of glasses from the casinos.
And amidst that hustle and bustle walked a strange figure who seemed indifferent to the world.
Immortal—or Devon, in his human form now modified supernaturally—walked casually with his hands in the pockets of his stolen black suit. He had just exited a 24-hour convenience store managed by a very friendly Cyclops (perhaps because Devon didn't haggle over the price).
In his right hand, he held a neon blue soda can labeled "Mana-Fizz: Blueberry Void Flavor." In his left hand, a freshly lit cigarette was tucked between his fingers, its smoke billowing to form abstract patterns in the cold night air. Tucked under his arm was a bag of potato chips, "Spicy Grilled Squid" flavor.
"Haa..." Devon exhaled a long stream of smoke, letting it blend with the city mist.
He felt his trouser pocket. The leather wallet he had found in the pocket of the vampire suit—whose owner had "kindly donated the outfit" earlier—turned out to be quite thick. About 100 Twilight Bonds. Enough for snacks and cigarettes, though not comparable to the wealth stored in his pocket dimension (although all of that had been lost along with his crystal). But there was a certain satisfaction in using loose change for trivial things like this.
He took a sip of his soda. Sharp sweetness and the tingling sensation of magic carbonation exploded on his tongue.
"Not bad," he mumbled, munching on a chip.
His eyes, one pitch black and the other glowing red with a vertical pupil, scanned the crowd of night creatures passing by. He saw a vampire couple arguing, a group of drunk goblins singing, and a gargoyle shopkeeper sleeping while standing up.
But there was no sign of his main target.
"Where did Stormclaw go?" he whispered to himself, his tone flat but his brain working fast, analyzing probabilities. "I've searched around the hotel ruins. Nothing. In the back alleys. Nothing. Could he have returned to the sewers? No, that cat has too much pride to go back to that filthy place after taking a bath."
Devon paused in front of a weapon shop window, staring at his reflection in the glass. The black suit fitted his athletic body perfectly, casting a sharp and dangerous silhouette. The small red wings on his head twitched slightly, responding to his frustration.
"High probability he's chasing Reven," he concluded. "That cat holds a grudge. And Reven... that crazy woman must have left a trail, but she's smart enough not to be easily found."
He tossed the empty soda can into a nearby trash bin with a perfect three-point throw without looking.
"Looks like I have to explore deeper into Nocturnus. This city is merely the gateway. If Reven fled, she must be heading toward the center of the continent, to a place where madness and forbidden science are more tolerable."
Devon adjusted his suit collar and tightened his grip on his black umbrella.
"I need a lead. A more detailed map. Or maybe someone who can be forced to talk."
He looked toward the end of the Promenade street, where the magitech railway tracks curved into the endless darkness outside the city.
"I guess I'll head to the nearest station and look for a route," he decided, flicking his cigarette butt into a puddle with a soft hiss. "I'll try to get to the next city. Maybe there, the air won't smell so strongly of sulfur and betrayal."