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The Temple Expiatori del Sagrat Cor, a beacon of Catholicism set at the summit of Mount Tibidado in Barcelona. It is commonplace for the immaculate architecture to overwhelm those who look upon it with complete wonder. Not only that, but the view over the city is breathtaking. Tourists commonly depart on detours to ensure that they don't leave without at least putting eyes on the beautiful monument and its grandeur. It was here that Shingen Maeda was summoned…oddly public for a meeting with Geralt-one of the Chief Executives of the BoM. Despite the civilian traffic, however, the place was oddly quiet and serene. The site simply had a power to deafen the conversation of groups and families to a whisper; it appeared that nobody wanted to disturb the peaceful ambience.



The BoM Executive officer sighed as he leaned on the rail of the balcony, looking out over the vastness of Barcelona with a subtle smile that hid his intentions far too well. He wore a luxury brown trench coat, which hid his mechanical carapace from those around them. His metal legs were bound in a pair of fashionably tattered jeans as well. The metal eyepatch screwed into his skull was still noticed by regular mortals though. Perhaps it was some cosmetic illusion? A costume? There were definitely some mental excuses made to normalize the man’s appearance. Regardless, no one dared approach the mysterious man as he seemingly soaked in the scenery.

While it appeared he was unaccompanied, Geralt actually didn’t come alone. In fact he was accompanied by 8 other BoM elite members who were all precisely placed around the church to create a perfectly octagon around the church if one were to get an aerial view of their specific coordinates. They all did their best to hide their presence, containing their mana until Geralt gave them the cue to act. This may not seem very relevant to anyone else around them, but it might be somewhat suspicious to the invitee: Shingen Maeda. There was a sealing spell known as the Yahashira dai arīna-or 8 pillar grand arena. It was a spell that created entrapped reality marble within the octagon limits that allowed a center bound caster to mark those around him to fall into this alternate pocket dimension with the same geography and environment as the enclosed area. One could freely damage the interior as well, because once the seal was dispelled, everything returned to the former reality that the pocket dimension was layered over.

So…what was the point of it all? Did Geralt want to talk to Shingen privately? Or was there some other reason for this set up?

Geralt knew that Shingen was on his way far before the arcane architect perched himself on the rails beside them. The cyborg smiled, his one mortal eye still overlooking the as if he was actually enjoying the scenery extending so vastly before him…

ȁ̷̦͈͇͓͍͇̈́̈͘ͅs̸̢̧̭̙̠͎̫̺̯͎̠̱̫̻̎̊͂̓̔̓̿̃̍̌͋̈́̉͘͝ͅ ̷̨̧̤̞͇̙̟͙͕̜̲͊̏̾̔̇̂̎̚͝ͅi̷̙̟͕̠̰̟͙͠f̷̧̜͔͉̪͎̖̦̙͙͕͙̙͆̈́́́͘ ̸̡̭̲̰͕̮̙̫͎̘͌̆͛̅̽̀͒̕i̸̡̢̝̪̲̭̳̬̱͗̋́̄̑̉́̀́̚͠t̷̨̯̦̞̥͚̣̯̦̤̗̫̦͔̜́͛̿͊ ̶̛̛̤̰͇̺̭̤͓͉̈́͐̅̍̾̈́̂̌̀̃͐̕ŵ̸̜͙̝͉̺̱̠̯̰͗̉́̊̿̇͂͑̽͛́̽̋̚ͅą̶̧̛̰̤̫̹̺̩̬̲̖͙̤̬͇̌̀̄̈̄͊̽̀̓̐̉͊̚͝s̴̳̖͎̲͉̅ ̶̛̣̠̺̪͔̞̖̻͈̦̺̣͙̱͛̄͆͊͗͑̾̊͒̃̐͌͝a̸͍̼͍̰̝̞̝̩̟̿̈̎̋͂̑̂̽͛̑͘͘͝͠͝c̸̡̯̰̟̖̪͕̩̍t̶̡̧̞͕̯͙̟͈̯͎͍̭̙̭̝̓ü̵̡̻̝̹̒́̀̊͋͂͝a̵̢̡̜̩͍͖̪̲̻̥̻̦͓͔̺̓̔̉̿̃̅͊ļ̴̧͚̞̟̖̰̲̊͐͜l̷̡̛͇̳̟͂͊͛̈͝͠͠ẏ̵̛͈̩̣͆͆̔̎̒̔̆̅̃͘͘͘̕ ̶̩̪̄͌h̷̤͍̟̬͍͈͍̫͔̳͆̈́͂͌̉̀̌͘̕͠ͅu̷͎͇̯̼̖̪͉̝̖̻̙̫͖̻͒͆̓͗͜m̴̢̢̮͙̰͎̠̗͖͑͊͐͌̑̅̂͘͜͠͝͝ä̶̠̹́̇̆̆͂͋́̇͛̈́̚͝n̴̠̥̣͓͓̿̄̄.

The man allowed a satisfied sigh to pass his lips, watching a few pigeons take flight into the air as they were disturbed by a group of tourists encroaching too close for comfort. The soft flutter of their wings…the air whispering through their feathers…was a soothing sound rather than an obnoxious one, and it didn’t at all disturb the calm ambience around them. “I appreciate that…” Geralt’s low smoky voiced hummed in his throat as the mark of magic touched Shingen Maeda…and the Reality marble within the Yahashira Dai Arīna was cast Tall semi transparent walls shot up into the sky in a perfect Octagon, and a glow of mana rippled through the architecture around them as all organic bodies within the veil simply faded out of existence. This silence wasn’t like the calm that once was…it was no longer a peaceful balm that eased the soul. It had gone stale…and cold…

“...Agent Maeda…” Geralt finished, still looking over the railing completely unbothered by the seal that left both himself and Shingen alone. “Arcana is an innate facet of reality, breathing through all things-even regular mortals…and it runs through the fibers of life like a brook of water that supports the life of those who depend on it…So it should be defended, right?....” Those words were taken from an old political speech from their leader...but perhaps that made whatever narrative he was about to preach even more unnerving.

There was a pause, leaving room for the man to answer, but in all honesty…it didn’t matter if he did or didn’t. Slowly, Geralt pushed himself slowly from the railing and turned his head just enough to look at Shingen. “And yet your ethics still lead you to insubordination…even worse right beside Zenith and Mephitis Isernia. Why is that? Why discard all the years you have worked for so easily?” Despite speaking of the furtive antics of the man before him, ones that betrayed the BoM on the surface, Geralt maintained a relaxed posture...his hands sheathed in the pockets of his brown jacket. As he faced him, the front of the metal exoskeleton peeked through the unbuttoned opening of his attire, a faint greenish glow giving his body an uncanny luminance behind the normalcy of the fabric.

The ends of Geralt’s lips pulled into a proud and calm grin. Nothing about Shingen in particular was threatening to him, and he wore his confidence quite clearly on his visage. As far as he was concerned, his objectives were already guaranteed the moment the arcane architect stepped into the sealing perimeter. “Step down? Resign? You don’t need to play the fool agent Maeda…” The dull gold of his eyes caught onto Shingen’s focus, a cautious observation to ensure he could react in case things evolved into combat; But what would be the fun in that? There were so many avenues of probing narratives that could be used to elicit some kind of reaction before that. “Meeting with Zenith, Mephitis, and Aella at the abandoned sword saint training grounds, withholding their whereabouts and even covering their tracks…Such associations are not easily excused with a slap on the wrist or with a mere dismissal-but I’m certain you are very well aware of that…”

There was a mechanical hum that slowly became louder and louder from behind the man’s attire…that emerald glow of his metal carapace under his clothes becoming bright and brighter until eventually…all his attire ignited in flames from the heat of the mysterious engine underneath all that enchanted metal. His coat fluttered wildly as the fires quickly began to render the fabric to ashes…and eventually a small breeze was enough to break the already weakened material off from his body. The coat took to the sky, but the fires were so wild and strong that they quickly consumed what was left before the coat ever made it to the ground. The man’s jeans were just as quickly reduced to ash at the man’s feet. With Geralt’s attire completely gone now, Shingen would feel the immense heat radiating from the sophisticated exoskeleton of the cyborg. The light around the man even began to bend, subtly twisting the scenery around him like an atmospheric mirage would in a desert.

“Collaborating with an assassin dabbling in old murderous habits and a dragon who has distributed illegal and immensely dangerous contraband? That doesn’t sound as if the innocent or the arcane population The Bureau aim to protect are a priority at all to you. Ultimately the decision to bring you in is unavoidable, but I want to know why it was so easy for you to be led astray so easily.”

At this moment it was quite clear that an altercation was unavoidable, but Geralt still made no initiative to attack Shingen despite the way his body geared itself for combat. There was also the fact that the evidence he brought to light was not so easily obtained. The agent had done everything right to ensure that his aid to the others were kept well away from the watchful eye of the BoM…and yet Geralt spoke of it so easily. If he already knew of the Sword saint dojo, then why wasn’t Mephitis taken into custody now that he was staying there? Why wasn’t Aella used to get Zenith to come out of the shadows? Why was the BoM hesitating if they had the means to seize an initiative?

Ahhhh, there it was. Even while contained, Geralt could feel the leashed emotions hidden behind Shingen’s eyes. The anger…the disgust…all of it finally rising to the surface as all those deliberate deceptions were exposed. This was what the Chief executive wanted, to see Shingen through a verisimilar lens. To what mortal coils was the man slave to? To what degree? Just how far was he willing to go in order to defend that righteous morality of his?...and more importantly, what was he capable of when faced with dire tribulation? Geralt’s half smile remained despite the rising tension between them, seemingly enjoying the scene playing out before him…watching Shingen’s emotions carry his narrative on virtuous winds.

The cyborg chuckled, his head tilting to the side as the agent began to lay out the sins behind the Bureau…but there were a couple errors in the man’s accusations and even some choice words that couldn’t quite capture the magnitude of the truth. “Oh? It sounds as if you really think you have the ability to walk out of this,” Geralt’s head straightened as a metallic hand combed up through his silver hair, “I like the confidence, even if it's founded solely on your ignorance. Because you see, terms like Devils or demons are simply…insufficient.”

Suddenly, Geralt blinked…and suddenly those dull golden irises were gone…replaced with white pits with a delicate multi color shimmer that constantly moved within those milky eyes instead. Suddenly a memory of the being he saw in through Zeneth’s experience, the one that wore bandages with a single eye drawn on the front over its visage, tore through his mind during the moment he looked through those inhuman eyes. The vision of that creature in that abstract world ended just as quickly as it was forced upon him, grounding him back to reality as he looked upon…Geralt?

“̶̻̭̲͋͝Í̵͙̝͕͈̦̜͕̠̱͇̜͖̳̯͆̆̓̊̄̃́́̌͝ ̴̧̱̂̒̀̌͆̅̃͝a̴̧̡̱̦̦̮͓̻̍̄̿̆̅̈́͌͐̃̔̚̕͝m̵̞̰̽͠ ̶̬̻̫̠̥̊͜m̸͚̗̲͍͌̂̋̉͌̈́̍̍̍̆̀̋̈́̐ờ̶̹͓̻͍̞̣̩͇̟̩̥͙̓̃́͌̓͐̐͆̚͘̕͘r̶̨̧̢̻̙̮̟̫̲̖͖̿̋̇̄̀̊͆̌̃͗́̓̈̃͗ę̴̛͔̪̖̳̻̣͍̖̩̤͎́̿́̌͆̏̅̓͜͝͠͠ ̴̟̍̊͋͐̓́̔̒̾̇̄̅͝͠͝t̸̬̋h̷̟͎̝̙͛a̸͚̭̘͚̠̕ǹ̷̨̡̛̺͕̖͔͈̘̱̤͍̗̠̹̉͒͗̌̅̓͌͛̎̇̈́̈͘ ̷̧͓̳̮̞̤̫͋̈́̊̇͐ā̶̻̤̫̫̦̣͈͖̬̈́̈́͝ͅ ̶̨̬̮̮̮͖͛̕͝m̶͓͙͓͈͉̠̠̣̖̭̥̦̞̭̮͐̔͊̒ȩ̵͍͎̪̳̲̙̝̉́̾̕̕ŕ̷̥̖͖̐̓̄͋́e̴̛͔̮̐̄̓̄̑͂̈́͂̌͂̂̅̀͝ ̵͉̜̘̊͒̾̈̽̈́́̈́̃̄̈́̌i̶̢̼͖̩̮̤̭̫̫̙͍̦̠̽̂̐͑͌̈̐̔͘̕͠n̴̙̺̝̰̰̬̹̰̞̥̞̖̐̈́f̶̢͎͔͍̗̪̙̺̻̰͍̺͕̾̉̓͊̓̋̅̀e̶̢͓͍̝̥̖̝̣͙͑̋́͜͝͝ȓ̶̡̧͚̣̯̦̙̟̗̖͔̯̙̙́͐̎̓͛̎̊ͅn̴̢̰̻̮̳͙̠̩̥̭̞̗͍͆̈̊̚a̴̡̟̯͇̞̖͚͂̈́̔̐̄͗l̷̡̨̫̾̈́̀̒̋́̈͜͜͠ͅ…̶̥͔͍̟͓̳̟͍̼͙́̿́̓̑͆̒͂̄͒̈̒̓́m̷̢͔̗͖̫̭͚̖̆͒͊̍̐̈́̋͋o̴̪̖̱̩̐͐̍͝r̸̝̝̙͚͙̝͑͑̍̐̇̒̀̈́̃̿́̈́͘̚͘ẻ̴̢̞͖̟̠͚̳͎̱̙̊́̏̑̽̋͆ͅ ̵̻̱̭̹̩̗̲̤̺̄͐͆͂͜ẗ̵̢̩̜̲̲h̸̥̰̔̈̋ą̴̛̤͇̞͂͌̈́͊̀̀̊̆̿́͂̋̚̕n̸̢͚̙̫̼̭̗̩͔̒̃ͅͅ ̷̛͔̥̌̀̐͂̽͗̃̚͝a̶͍̘̳̮̭̘̹̖̖̬͙̖̙͒͛ ̶̢̟̜̥̯͕͓̓̑̿͒͗̇̾̌͗̔̌̓͜g̸̣̗̼͌̽͊͂̈́o̸̠̻͈͎͗͋͑͘ḑ̶̩͇̒̾̅̋̽͊̋̕͠…̶̨̯̣͚̖̰̺̽̏͐̎̿͌̕͝ḑ̴̪̪̩̲̲̖̆́̈́̄̍̌̆͋͂̀̍͆̿̕͜ͅo̸̡̠̜̭̖̣̘͂͆̈͑̐̅̃̐́̓͋͌͐͝n̵̨̧̩̦̞͈̼̻͓̠̤͉̮̾͐͛̇̏̆̃́̑͗̿̆͠͠’̴̧̢̘̯̥͖̥͕̟̦͓̬͍͉̅̄͂̓͂̓͊̔͠ẗ̸̨̨͚̘͙̮̣̻͕́̈̉̌́̈́̓̏̈ ̴̨̡̧̛̘̻̫͖̣̉̇̑̅̉̈́̏̆͛̆͆̕͝y̵̙̹͎͔̲̥̹̿͌̇̚͠o̶̟̹̙̣̩̥͓̲̹͕̅ͅu̷̯̖͓͓̎́̃͆̈́̇̈̎͌͝͝ ̸͍̽̏̄̋̂̌͐͝͝a̴̡̢̢̹̻̲̲̟̘͐͝͝g̷̬̭̼̮̞͕̥̫̻̈͝r̸̬̙̈͐̓e̵͉͈̺͚̰͔̙͍̪̱̪̟̱̤̗͒͆̈́̓̍̀̃̎̒̈́͝͝͝͠è̵̡̜̤͉͈̲̭̙͓̙̻͈̬̓̃̐́̉̒̐̋̇͘͘͝͝ͅͅ?̶̜̬̺̎̇̒̀̂̕ ̴̨̫̘͔͓͔̞̥̱̤̩̊͊̓͆͂̽͋͆͂͆̈́̀̚͝Ỳ̵̨̧̛̭͉̥̫̰̤̪͔̺̲͕̅̍̈́͜ò̷̲̩̈́̆̑̚ų̴̝̒̍͐̂͌͘͠ ̸͔͖͍͙̭̀̋́̓̈́̾̃ş̵̩̫̥̰̹̲̖͍̓̌ả̶̢̡̰̥̥̦̓̑̉͗̊͌͋͐̀̚͘͘̕͠w̵͇̮̱̻̜͚͔̜̲͌̀ ̸̡̳͎̦͇̭̮͜͠m̷̥̤̥͕̫͑̕͜ë̷̠́̍̓̉̃̿̀̾̑̚ ̵̧̖̣͖͎̓͗̿̔̉̑̉̑̈͐̎͠ý̸̯̥̮͚̖̤̘̼͔̮̌ͅo̴̡̙̺͚̦̤̞͔̮̠̐̅͌͜ư̶̫̖͙̥̜̭̲̩͓̖̰̋͑̈͂̌͜͠͝r̸̠̺͓̯͌̈́̔͆́̇̀́ŝ̶͎̋́e̵͚̤̤̦͉͈͐̋̌̀̆̊̆͋̑̂̈̑̍͂͘ĺ̷̢̛͚̪̪͍̝̫͓̠̻͔͔͍̖͎̏̌̏̔͘f̴̦̟͈̞͈͕̆̏͆̍͆̍͂̃͒͐̕̚̚,̷̼͇͔̺̮͙̟̣̭̹͑̓̄̂͝͝ͅ ̵̞͕̮̲̠͎͕̜͉̲̤͚̻̀̄͆̀ã̸̱͓̰͚̖̜͓̻̺̫̹̺͎̹̰̒̒̋̔͝f̶̡̮͔̺͓̗̗̻̓̌͒̿̒͊̀̓͜͜͝ţ̷̢̝̩̤̞͉̙̬͖̰̠͉̖͊́e̷̡̧̡̱͍̥̱̹̥͒̑̏̈́͗̀̏͆̇̌̈̌͝r̵̝̞̖̰̤̟̟͖̈́̀̏͗̓ā̸͙͍͕͉̘̯̋ļ̴͖̠̗̞̪͙̺̳̇̔͜͜l̵̹͖̺̤̲̱̻͖̹̬̖̑̍.̵̨̛̎̋͆͗͛͝͝”̷̜̥̮̣̊͊͋

The voice was grossly distorted, as if several different voices were speaking through Geralt simultaneously. Just hearing the words come out of the man’s lips in that tone caused a sharp pain to rake through his ears…just hearing the words made the air around him thick and difficult to swallow…and a brief unexplainable weight crashed down upon his shoulders until the final word was spoken. This was clearly not human…not Geralt…it…it wore his face, garbed in his metallic flesh momentarily to have an audience with Shingen it would seem.

The being wearing the executive’s appearance blinked again…its eyes returning back to the dull gold before launched right towards the agent with closed fists…and then…there was a distinct sound that the Maeda sorcerer could hear…and in that moment something caused a sharp ache in his head that made the constructs he summoned to become fragile and delicate. If he used the mana sword to defend the superheated punch of the Chief executive, he would find that it would shatter easily. The punch was swift, intended to find its mark in Shingen’s gut.

Geralt’s body was equipped with several technologies equipped to deal with the most dangerous of threats…in this case there was a device in his shoulders that created an audible vibration that disturbed the mental connection one’s mind has with mana adaptation and manifestation, making abilities momentarily dulled for 2 seconds after hearing it.

In the beginning, The Watcher remembered nothing but darkness. In that endless void, there was no light to suggest form, no sound to hint at its capacity to listen, and no substance to reveal that it had the ability to feel. Time—if it even existed—was irrelevant. Was it years? Millennia? It couldn’t know. Then, like a violent spark in the dark, chaos bloomed, distorting the stagnant nothingness and coalescing into something tangible: reality. Suddenly, there was so much to learn, so much to experience… and yet, it all seemed so trivial.

The first spirits rose, becoming gods, but both them and their acolytes were completely oblivious to the existence of The Watcher. Despite their ignorance, The Watcher knew them all. It could see their thoughts, unravel them, and then reassemble them with ease. They were mere puppets in an empty theater—autonomous but ultimately trivial, like dolls dancing to a tune it had already grown bored of. There was no consequence in this play, no lasting impact if the ascended being dared to manipulate or be rid of its actors. There was something even more disappointing than that though. With all this new existence… It never answered the true question: What was The Watcher? What was its purpose? Was it alone?

Then, everything changed in recent years. The Watcher discovered beings that resonated with its own essence—creatures capable of touching the fabric of the universe in ways only it was capable of until that moment: Zenith, Aella, and Mephitis. These were not mere mortals; they were extraordinary, special in ways The Watcher found… fascinating. But still, none of them could answer the question it sought. None of them could match The Watcher’s power, and none could fully evade its gaze. And so it had devised a plan to use them and awaken their full potential…and along the way it found Shingen Maeda, truly discovering him through the lens of its omniscient gaze. Another anomaly, another enigma. Like the others, Shingen could not be controlled or understood as any other creature that lived in this reality, and there was something different about him as well…different from the others, something within him that The Watcher could not immediately identify. But even so, Shingen was a mystery, and answering these mysteries were the only things The Watcher had left to desire.

Geralt’s body shifted, the cyborg raising his arms in the familiar stance of a boxer. The Watcher felt a flicker of energy deep within the cathedral. Never had it imagined it would need to engage in such a primitive, physical confrontation. It could easily take its ascended form, unleash its true power, and annihilate Shingen Maeda. But… There was something exciting about this simple, unconventional form of conflict. It was like a puzzle waiting to be solved, a mystery that tugged at the very fabric of The Watcher’s existence.
"Vessel?" The Watcher’s voice oozed from Geralt’s lips, twisted and amused. "I suppose that’s not entirely incorrect. But to me, this body is just… convenient. It’s easy to wear, like a garment—like one of your mortal costumes. I could have just as easily inhabited the flesh of your parents. Would you prefer that I strike you down wearing their skin? Perhaps that would motivate you furthe-"

Before The Watcher could finish its taunt, Shingen exploded from the shadows, closing the distance with terrifying speed. Geralt’s body moved as though it were his own, raising his arms into position, blocking Shingen’s right hook. The blow crashed against Geralt’s left arm, causing the metal to crunch beneath the force of the mana-charged strike. The first wave of the attack was neutralized, but The Watcher miscalculated, lifting its arms just slightly too high to absorb the full force. Shingen’s hammer fist slammed into Geralt’s exposed core, knocking the wind from his lungs.

The Watcher felt the cyborg’s breath forcefully eject from his chest, and for a moment, Geralt’s body crumpled under the blow. Blood began to drip from the corners of Geralt’s mouth, a sign of the devastating impact. Still, The Watcher wasn’t deterred. I can adapt, it thought. I can learn.

It reached out, trying to seize Shingen’s forearm with the searing heat of its unnatural grasp, but it was a mistake. The Watcher had no instinct for combat, no muscle memory to guide it. This was an alien experience.
The Watcher’s guard dropped, even if only for a fraction of a second. That was enough for Shingen to take advantage, landing a brutal strike to Geralt’s nose. Pain surged through The Watcher’s senses—a blinding and searing agony—but still, it smiled. It had never engaged in this kind of struggle before. This dance. For the first time in its existence, The Watcher didn’t have total control.

Shingen wasn’t done. Before the cyborg’s body could fully recover, the BoM agent unleashed a spinning back kick, striking Geralt’s metal forearms that had lifted into that boxing stance just in time. The force of the blow cracked the cyborg’s reinforced limbs, sending him flying into the nearby railing. The Watcher felt the impact resonate through Geralt’s body, the metal bars of the railing fragmenting and spinning through the air as the cyborg crashed over the balcony, hurtling toward the floor below.

It was a harsh lesson, but one The Watcher was eager to learn. As Geralt’s body plummeted, The Watcher snapped its limbs into action. With a fluid motion, the Chief executive executed a backflip midair, orienting his feet toward the oncoming ground. Jets fired from his heels, slowing his fall just long enough to launch himself back into the fray.

His right arm extended outward, its metallic plating splitting and unfolding like a gruesome flower. A barrel formed beneath the skin, humming with energy before a burst of blue light shot toward Shingen in the form of a condensed laser. The Watcher guided the weapon’s aim, watching with growing fascination to any way Shingen would avoid it. "Give me more, Shingen," The Watcher purred through Geralt’s voice, its tone rich with excitement. "Show me how your desperation shapes the way you fight. Show me how you survive!" Yesss. The conclusion of this bout was already determined, but it wanted Shingen to divulge in everything to even try to come out on top in the face of this incomprehensible disadvantage. Maybe it could see the face of Shingen’s inner parasite…maybe it could discover another quality that separated this sorcerer from all the others.

The energy in the barrel intensified, the hum growing louder until it was nearly deafening. Then, in a flash…it stopped…a small pause broken by the sound of another charging burr before a small orb of condensed plasma shot forth, its blue glow crackling with lethal intent. The Watcher’s mind locked on the target, adjusting, focusing. When that sphere hit, it would explode, releasing a violent burst that would engulf everything within a 20-foot radius.

Geralt smiled with excitement, the body unable to hide The Watcher’s palpable thrill behind the mask. The cyborg’s face had been bloodied, a faint vermillion smudge across his nose and the corner of his mouth. Yet even in the face of those blemishes of battle, The Watcher rode the high of battle as if it itself was a simple and mortal being. There was no real consequence to killing Shingen, because he would just take the pieces and probe whatever memories and whatever arcane intricacies that made the arcanist so…special. In the meantime though, he would enjoy the agent dance with death on his heels.

The laser carved through the earth, fragmenting the earth into rubble and clouds of debris in its wake while the condensed plasma chased Shingen. It cut through the outer shell of the church as well, the laser slicing through the front with enough ease to pierce through it and carve the far inner wall of the monument as well when the object of his pursuit climbed up the exterior in hopes to avoid and shake the attack. Then, when the laser subsided and the energy was instead shot as a singular sphere, his target deployed a barrier, threading fibers of magic like an arachnid to intercept the attack. Geralt’s robotic anatomy was at the pinnacle of energy projection, and so the residual concussive force was more than enough to launch Shingen back once more.

For a moment, The Watcher relished in its momentary triumph as it descended slowly by decreasing the magnitude of force from his rocket heels. Effortlessly he stepped onto the earth after he scorched the small perimeter of his landing point with condensed energy. Once the rockets had ceased, he advanced slowly in Shingen, the cannon arm slowly attempting to recede into the cyborg's forearm…however while a third of his hand was easily able to reconstruct itself, the other 2 thirds were only able to get about half way before a brief crunch of metal and sparks indicated that the metal was too warmed to return to its former shape. The Maeda Sorcerer had done more structural damage than anticipated. With that, the hand unfurled once more since it no longer could revert to its initial form.

“What I want is an easy question: To learn about you and your parasite. I want to unthread every sinew until I understand why I cannot so easily seize dominion over you like everything else in this existence. It’s really that simple. The former question, however…Now that is the real query; Perhaps your enigmatic aspects will contribute some insight for what even I do not understand myself…But I have heard those once like me were called…Omniarchs.”

It walked upon shingen without caution until the cyborgs until it was three meters away from the arcane architect. Only then did it slow to a halt. “Now…will you surrender, agent Maeda…or will you continue to struggle against the inevitable?”

The Watcher smiled through Geralt’s visage, thoroughly amused by Shingen’s swelling defiance. Even in the face of insurmountable obstacles, these small mortals still had the capacity to stoke the fires of determination. It was remarkable, really…a testament to their will-or perhaps their ignorance. It tickled the ascended being with a momentary curiosity: Did this simple Spellcaster really think their efforts would reward them in any way? Even now, despite knowing that there were life forms outside its complete control, The Watcher wasn’t at all threatened by the joint resistance against it. Why would it be? Even those who neglect intelligence had the sufficient mental arithmetic to reach the unshakable conclusion that any chance against an Omniarch like itself would be an absolute zero.

Geralt’s eyes shot down to the agen’t arms as Shingen encased them in dense arcana. ”Is that so?” The Watcher inquired rhetorically as it widened its stance and held up Geralt’s arms like the twisted marionette that it was. The omniscient creature looked through Geralt’s eyes like windows…choosing to withhold the temptation of future sight and the temptation to simply drain the combat experience of any lifeform it wished. It wanted the experience of being outclassed-even if for a moment before the game was over.

The man before him rushed Geralt, unleashing a lethal combination of strikes from the bladed gauntlets. Sparks of blue erupted from the points where Shingen’s attacks clashed with the metal exterior of the cyborg, paired with a loud clang as fragments of metal were steadily torn off the once pristine chassis of the BoM Officer. Every so often, The Watcher attempted to find an opening to point it’s robotic arm cannon at the BoM agent, but every time it was parried away to create openings for more and more strikes to land critical damage. The blades began to carve into the torso plate, hiding the central core that powered the majority of Geralt’s bodily function. Realizing this, The Watcher attempted to steadily fall back and create some space…except it couldn’t. The body quickly met the firm resistance of the wall erected behind it. Oh? Clever. The sharp ringing of condensed mana against metal echoed in the arena as Maeda Sorcerer’s efforts began to peel away at the cyborgs exoskeleton more and more, warping the plate hugging the cyborgs core. Already, the sound of electrical components frying and sparking promised the onset of Geralt’s demise…and yet…The Watcher smiled through the BoM Officer’s mask. With one more strike to open up his enemy’s torso, Shingen would be able to plunge his bladed gauntlets into the heart of the Bureau ringleader…but right as he did so…a concussive force would blast him away as The Watcher finally sloughed the body he was wearing. Geralt’s lifeless body clanked to the ground limply, the metal of his warped metal body crunched metallically…his eyes distant as if frozen in that moment of death.

Pat…Pat…Pat…The watcher’s steps were slow…unhurried…and calm. The being allowed its arms to rest behind its back, clearly unthreatened and relaxed…Yet with each step Shingen could feel the world around him quake. If he dared try to look at the being who chose the form of a suited man…with a bandaged face that had a eerie eye drawn on it…Unconsciousness would threaten him as the darkness around the edges of his vision crept in, always stealing the opportunity of getting a clear look at this omniscient monster.

“Ś̶̜̖̩̺̗̪̝͐͝h̷̙̤̣̼͓̖̳͙̮͉̫̒̅̂̊͆̋̕i̸̢̢̩̺̬͚̠͔̠͎͍̫̖̓͆͂̒̓̓̕ṋ̵͖̙̝͉̹̖̝̥͇̗̜͈͌̽̀̌͛͆̍g̶̖̼͚̀́̈́͝ȩ̷̜̭̟̜̣͎̼̜͌̆̅̇̓́̊͂̽̚ń̸͇̭̱̈́̄̏,̷͎̣̲̥̜̩̓͐̈́̋̀ͅ”

the voice rocked the fibers of reality, twisting the reality around it and gradually making it more and more abstract with each syllable.


“Ĩ̸̧̛͙̭͔͚̖̩̫̙̽̈͐͛͋̽̈́̀͜ ̶̲͔̻͎̓̽̏̐͒͝t̸̯̣̞̙̭̣͔͒̽̅̃̐̑̚ͅh̷̺͉̺̭͛̒̅̆͋̾̀̈́í̴̛̦̣̞̝̭̆̋̀̒̍̏̀͌͋̾̔̕n̷̜̣̮̥̩̦̗͇̈́̑̔̀͊̐͗̈͛̐̉̒͗̚̕k̴̨̧̛̪̘̬̜̞̈̿ ̶̘̮̐̍͂̎͌͆̚į̸̫̹̭̻͎̗͙̼̘̱͉̬̀̋̍͆̌̄̊̚̚̚̚t̴̡̛̪̯̜̖̗̹̫͔̥̪̹̓̑̓̉͒͑͗̽̍̄̅’̵͖̮̣̟͈̝̜̞̻̑̄̆̏̇̚͝s̷̢̛̯̰̳̹̪̞̞̼̦͓̩̈́͛̑̉̇ ̴̨̦̪͎̈́t̶̨̛̝͕͖̗̝̣̑į̴̡̭̬͙͓͖͖͇̹͚͓̘͔̂͑̇͂̐̃͆͜͝m̷̛͙͒̇̆̀e̵̢̡̧͕̥̣͈̭͎͝ ̴͚̱͓̬̥̖̫̽̐̊̿f̴͉̩̺̯̪̥̻̲͈̬̭̙͕̽̈́ͅỡ̷̡̹̠̦͖̝̼͚̙̘̦̰̼̝̭͐̈̂͌́͑̿͑̀͊͝r̵͍͖̳̩͙̃́̓̒̚͝ ̷̧̗̮̭̥̰͋͛̅͌͜͜ţ̷̘͔̮͊̈́̈̍͂̋͆͂̇̆͝h̵̝̥̙͓͈̲̹̭̝̼̯͚̘̓͛e̵͕͎̟̫͈͍̯̘̞̮̗͕͉͔̼̍̄̓͌ ̴̢͓̭̱͉̱̙̼͍͙͈̟͖̿̐̕ţ̴̧̼̖̺͇̼͎͎̱̪͇̩̯̃̆͌̅͒̈́̽͘̕͝͠h̷̢̡̛̛͇̖̥̟͉͖͕̔̓̀̽̃̋͗̀̔̽͘è̸͍̻̪̠͇̦̘̬͈̯̯̗̀̉͋͂͐͒̂̈́̐̈́̎͛̎͘ͅa̴͙̦͔̥͍͖͇̗͆͗̔͒̓͆t̵̡̡̛̛̗̤͕̟̤̦̬̄̾̈͒̈́͛̀̽̒͠ř̵̢̡̡̗̳̳̞̰̎̀͗̈́̿̅̌̅͛͐̚ì̴̧̨̗͍̻̬̬̈́̐̓̋̽̌̓̾̈͆̀̓͠ĉ̶̢̛͍͓̝̂̄ş̵̤͇̝͍̝͈̺͙̬̮̹̺̿̏̊̊͘͜ ̴̧͝t̸̢̧̨͎̟̳̠̼͔̠̝̜̾̃́͝o̶̧̤̤̓̒͌͝͝͝ͅ ̴̡̞̻̞̪͕̬̞̦͔͈̕ͅȩ̶̨̜͙̱̩̲̙͍̬̦̬̙͋̄̈̑͜͠ͅṅ̵̢̳̦̜͉͊̈́́͝ḏ̸̛̟̬̬̼̈́̍͑̑̈́̀͋̊̒́.̶̛͙̑͒̾̓̆̎͆̽̄͠ ̷̫̬̘̬̥͚͇̙̠͈̋̂̈̋̍͑̇̆̚͜Ÿ̷̛̞̖̘͎̼̊̓̍͗̕͝͝ó̷̡̧͙͓̯̙̀͐͂͐̍ṵ̵̗͆̏͂̑̈́̉̄̽̚̚̚ ̷̢͎̖̬̫̹͇͇͎̹̙̾͛̋̀̈́̍̒̀́̊͘͜͜͜b̸̗̙̺̝̹͊͗̈́̀́̀̆͝r̴̮̺̗̟͎̈́͋̂͑̎̾̇̔͗̚ͅa̴̰͈̫͕̙͛̃̒̒͋͠n̴̨̧̢̦̞̻̘̪̻̺̭͛̂̉͐̆̑́̔̅͘d̴͚̰̜͚̹̺̩̽̎̍́͊͌̃̊̏̋̈́̇͘̕͝ï̶͇͔̮̠̘̻̗̆̆͗̏͛͗̇͊͒̏͘s̶̪̩̼̹̝̯̥͔͍̀̓̐̄̐̂̇̓̕ͅh̷̡͇͚̗̟̲̦͔͖̾̆̒́̈́̂̉́̈́́́̽̍͝ḙ̷̢̧̹̤̪̌ḑ̶̨̨̙̰̱̯͉̳̦̫͙̜̐̈́̏̓ ̷̞̪̪͍̙͉͎̝͓̞̝̮̟̈̿͛́͗̚y̵̳̺͖̱̬͎̮̺̓̒͊̀͐̈̊̀͋͋̉̂o̵̡̤͚̰̰͍̯͔͖̻͖̓͊̅͜ͅu̷̝͔̭͑̐̂̏͆͘͠ŗ̸̖̕ ̷̧̢̥̼̼̜̻̝͖̤̭͈̟͌̏̄͒ͅģ̵͔̤̣̘̳̖̗̝̼̥̹̄͑r̴̨̝̫̰͒̃̿͆̀͗̀̓́̒͛́͠e̶̜̪͙͙͆̈́̈́̓́͐̑̂̅̒͑̑̈́͘͜͠ą̵̝̙͙̮̪̂̄̔͆̅t̸̯̲͚̙̪̳͉͕͝ȩ̸̧̛͔̼̮̖̥̞̘͓̪̈́̓̒̈͐̔̚͝s̴̝̙̝͐t̴̢͈̻̞̺̫̱̠͗̔͒͛̚͘̚͝ ̸̗̱̯̮̰̪̟̫̗̗̜̟̩̐̌ͅ


e̶̡͔͙̘͕͔̔̒͊̃̿͑̾̃͠͠ͅf̶̢͍̟̫̫̜̹͎̲̊̀̊̒̈́̿f̴̼͕̣̩̗͈̯̲̫͋̓̆̔̈́̋͑̈́̀͆́͌͗͠o̴̡̚r̵̠̈́̈́̋̈́́͝t̵̨̡̥͔̰̰̤̻̜̺̱̞̦̾̀̅̈́̕͜ͅṣ̴̢̛͓̗̤̬̙̩̠̼͕̈́͋̒̈́͂́͋͝,̴̝̱̯̤̞̦̘͎͍̖̟͕̹̔͘ ̴̰̰̪̞̗̜͔͖̪̻̠̊̏̏̾͒̊̂̎̕͘͜͠͠ǎ̷͍̬̱̞͕̬͍̠͗̎̑͂̆̑̔ń̷͍͙͉͗̉͌͆͗̈͋͠͝d̵̝̦̩̊͊͋̅̓̀̉͑̑̒͛̀̚ ̵͙̤͓̦͐̄̎w̶̤̭͗̒͆͊̚ͅḩ̷̫̱͈̮͓̫̙͖̙̤̠̅̾̓́̑̽͐̎̆͘͜͝į̷̙̮̤͇̣͉͈̱͉̘͖͐̀̐̎̓̇̍̾͌͘͝͝͝ͅͅl̶̲̳͕͓̳̩̞̼̞͖̭̳̋̀͂̀̾̕e̴͈̍͛̋̿͝ ̴̛͙͙̳̰̙͔͆̓̐͑̓͂̈́͒͜͜͝͝͠Į̸̡͖̟͔̯̙͚̪̱̃͊̉̾͆̈́́͑͒͂̊̕͠ ̴̧̦̱͓̮̠̟͈͉̣͓́̐̀͂͂͗̿̏̚͜͝r̷̡͍̼̠̼̯̳͂͛̌̆̓͊̄è̸̛͖͙͒͐́͘ć̵̢̛̜̪̺̰̠̝͓͎̫̘̼͍͇̽̎ͅö̴̢̧̡͇͚̜̰̹̥̝̟̘͉́̄̈́̓̚͘͜͝ģ̵̧͉̯̫̬̯̭̲̜̟͇̰̠̔͒͑̄͝͠͝ͅǹ̷̨̖͎͇̝̝͓̟̙̣͐͗̓̅͛̾̆͠͝i̶͚̦͒͒̈́̀́͛̔͗̅͑̈̑ź̴̢̢̙̣̦̙̳̱͈̞̆̈̄̆̌͛́̃̚͝͝ȩ̷̨̡̡̙̭̱̲̺͓̥̭̖̽͗͑̋̒̂̕̚͝͠ ̸͈͇͈͉͙̏̀̄͋͊̀͂̎̀̉̊͝͠y̵͈͎̚o̴̯̠̙̅͑̃̋̋́u̵̺̫̬͒̈́͗̃́͂̈͘r̶̨͉̣̱̣̣̓͒̀̈́̋͌̏̋͒͒͌̈͘̚ ̴̹͙̗̽w̸̪͖͔͔̗̖̪͓̖̳͔̱͔̜͗́̇̈́̎̓̑̑̊͜ḯ̸̛̪̜͖̮͙͎̓̈̉̃͐̓͒̎͌̀͒̌͝ͅl̶̡̞͖̺̭̿̿̓̋͘ͅl̷̢̩̹̲̘̮͈̭̖̾̅̀͆̉…̶͉̠̱̓̍̾̀̃̀͐̇͒̌̾̏̉̕͠i̶̛̞͈̬̯͚̘̻͙̤̹̻͋̊́̉͗͆́̂̆̄́̓̂͜͝ͅť̸̛̘̹̗̙͗̎̚ ̵̧͈̖̼̲͐͊́ḧ̶̨̨̝̙̹͓̦̥͚̩͔̲̹͙́́͗̾͛͂͜a̵̡͚̫̻͔͙̫̟͉̦̖͎̩͔͆̔̑̏̕s̶̡͇̗̖͚̺̼̮̹̺͍̼͇̋̍̓̓̌͊͆̅͆ ̸̡̢̲̬̺̠́̃̊̈́̉̿̔̒͆ą̶̫͈̩̦̎l̵͇̳̲͎͕̝̞̤͈̣̺̫̭̐̂̊̈́̓́̈́͑̾̈́̿͋̕͜͜͝ş̶̦͈̭͙̘͛̀͜ơ̵̦̺̪̣̪̠͕̇̏̍̕͝ͅ ̶͉̰̈m̶̲͓̙͚̣̘̮͓̊̎́͐́̈́̊́̋̈́̓͊̕͜͝ͅͅǎ̶̛̞̜̩̽͌̓͆̕̚͝ḑ̶̺̪͚̝͔̝̩̖̫̬̟̩͎́͝e̷̯̤̼̭̭̘̯̣̹̫͇̾͒̽̃̋͜͝ ̷̨̧͉̫͖̌̏͗͌͐̀͋̆͊͌m̴͙̦̟͖͋̕e̶͚̟̰̰͐̇̆̏̾́͐͒̈͊̂̉̇ ̴͙̤̘̰͎̰̟͉͉͉͚͒̃̕̚͝ͅį̷̳̺̦̹̀̎͒͐̅́̓̌̍̀m̴̖͚͈̜̤̒̐͂̚̕̚̕͜p̶̨̧̡̯̪͎͍̘̘̹͚͕̍̄͐̈́à̵̛͙̟̪̮̊͐̔̐͘͝͠͝͝ţ̷̧̫͚̣͎̺̘̔̓͒͛́̋̍̈́̂͜͝ͅĭ̵̡͇̭̫̙͗͗́̽̒̓̾̔͠ę̷̢̣̮͈̣̫̈́̉̾͌͂̂̀̔̒͂͘͠͝n̴̗̹͚͕͐ţ̶̨̲̟͓̰͕̞͇̩̘͇͙͖̈́̾̅̈̎́̿́̔͋̾͊͜ ̵̥̘̣͈͗̆͌͑̿a̴̺̭̳̮̋ṇ̵̙̬̞̥̏̒̇̀̈́̑̋̃d̷̰͍̳̙̞̻͓̱͇͙̬̼̠͋̿͒͗ ̴̗̜̹̱͙̃̅̀͐̈̈́


ị̷̥̫̭̃̒͗̒̃̏̔̚͠n̵̨̛̠̹̯̜̺̩͚̼̓̈́̆͆̒͛̈́͊͑̊͘͝͝f̴̣̤̯̰̣̜͕̟̳̳̓̀̅̌̀͝ͅí̸̮̲̙͇̤͈̯̯̲͍̜̱̠̥̼͒̂̈́͆̉̈́n̸͕͇̠͊́̽̑̊͘i̷̘͚̩̰̯̼̝̯̐̀͑̀t̷̡̢̛͓̪̞̭̫̰̳̦̰̼̓̉̀͐̌ȩ̷̥͉̠͕̭̽̏͗͋̒͗̄̇͆̈́̐̌͘͜͠ḷ̴̢̮͈̦̪̲͖̩̠̪̮̼͍̃͌̇͐̂́̉̈́ẏ̸̢̀̂͠ ̴̢̹̩͇̭̞̻̥̖̦̄́͒͊͆̾͐̈́͂͘ḿ̸̡̢͙͈̪͙̺̖̓̐̋̂̍̋̈́͘͘͜ô̸̜̼̑́͐r̶̢̡̨͍͖̞͓͖̯̐̿̆̉̓̒̃̈́e̸͔͍̹̬̫̅̀͋̎͑͑͂͊̕ͅͅ ̶̨͈̤̹͙͓̞͓͕̪͖͓̅̾̈̅͂̇͋͒̄̆̒c̴̠̯̳̼̒̿̽͘͜͠͝ų̷̢̧̥̮͍̹̫͕̞̣̱͍͓̠̈̓͑̿̀͗͐̈́̆͆̓̍̕̚̚r̴̨̹̤̈̂͝i̴̡̫̻̗̹̬̻̽̃͜ȍ̵̬̦̗̎̐͑͌̆̈̈́̈ừ̴̹͓̼̲̊̌̋̋̐̾͊͆͒͘̕͝s̸̡̧̼͍͎̦̻̗̞̭̰̭͗̂͐͊̅́̈͘͠ ̶̖͙̟͊̌̒͗̎̑͒̽̍̈͂̈͒͠ả̷̘̹̭̹͇̰̯̱͙̱͉͇̃̈́͆̾͑̊̂̀̀̈́̈̀͘͜͠ͅb̵̛̙̾́̇̒͑̋͒̾͋͂̋͝ǫ̴̫̜̳̦̥̤̬̪̝̭̠̃̆͗̃͜ǔ̵͔̤̫̪̲̼͈̯̟̘͖̃̅̀͑̚t̸͖͙̥̮̙̱̦̲̰̗̆̅̈́̂͗͂̇̓̍̂̄̌͛͝ ̵͉̭̲͖̩̙̙̜̞̣̺̼͉̩̀̏̾͆̑̎̌́͜͝͠ý̵̢̜̼̳̦͈̲͖͎̠̗͓̯̀̊̈́͌̌͝͝ͅo̵͙͛͒̍̎̌̐̈́̄̋̌u̵̧̦̻̥̦͉͓͐͛̐̍̒̂̾̌́́̽̇̐͑͛…̵̦̺͇̜̹̲͙̞̪͓̗̹̈́̊͂́͊̌͗̇̍̒͜͜”



If Shingen blinked…even just once…The Watcher would suddenly be standing right in front of him. In that moment the air felt impossible to swallow…and the agent’s mind would slowly begin to be undone, as if the true image of madness was outside his conscious mind, threatening to undo him completely. “Ȉ̸͚͍̤̭͉̍̐̚͝t̷̿̓͐͘͜’̴̢̣̹̲̻̙̲̘͈͈͍́̾͂̅̀̿̈́͂ͅs̵̮̙̯̥͖͖̟͖̠̄͂̍͋ ̵̨̙̰͇͖̱͈̤͎̜͙͈͑͛͆̅̉̌̈͑̌̅̚͘͝͝ͅt̸̗̳̝̜̼̜́͒̂͂̓͐͘ȋ̵͉̻͉̲͘̚-̵͈̤̮͔̫̰͍̟̙͚̗̭͉͖̤̈͊̐̃͝.̶̢̟̝̬̗̦̦̉̽̊̌̿̈͆̌̅͐͝.̷̨̨̻̠̬͚̩̤̺̪̖̼̫͍̈́͗̏̀̅́̄̆̿̎̐̌̚͠.̸̰͆̽̀̃̀̓̂̎͆̂̇̚͝”

It was impossible for Shingen to comprehend what exactly happened…but suddenly the gravity of this outer god's presence was lifted enough for his vision to return. His lungs could fill with oxygen as well and his muscles could flex with activity…and if he looked up…He would find that The Watcher was now on the other side of the balcony…and between them…was a man who looked…familiar. “Why did ya move Mr. Peeper man? Did I spook you? Or were you...scared for a moment?” The Devil cooed, clearly amused as he lifted his gloved right hand…engulfed in black flames that quickly snuffed itself out when he clenched his fist.

Further perception would steadily begin to pain the happenings in those lost moments…as the barrier around them began to crumble. The Devil had breached the veil. That once calm posture The Watcher dawned…the hands clasped together behind its back tightening around themselves.

“Ş̵̜̟̮̜̘͍̖̎͑͗̂͛̆̃̊̊̓͆ͅt̸̰͖̬̦́̎̔͆̈́́͂̿͘̚͝á̶̧͉̩̮̰̟̹͓̜̘̆͆͜͜ṛ̵̼̼͕͍̳̥̜̰̟̪͊͛f̴̨̨̛͙̦̰̱̤͉͕̗̙͓̑̊̓̂́̀͊́̒̃̋̚ȁ̸̡̨̻͙̰̥̼̦̠͇̣͓̬̦̦͛͊r̶̡̢̨̛͖̙̲̪̦͍̲̗͓͍͇͚̆͌̋͒̌̓͊̆̕͝ȩ̶̧̯͙͚̻̪̰͈͔̖̬́̀͂̐̇̋̋́r̷̡̨̮̟͉͔̼͈̬̖̣̺̜̆͌́̄̏̽̅̀͒́̇̀͆͘͠r̴̺͔̞̳̖̹͒̌͒̀̔̔̂̊͆̿̓͝ŗ̵̛̣͚͕̺͎̜͇̟͓̰̤̞̮̄͐̿͊͛́͝͝r̵̢̡͈̦͙̗͓͍̘̥̫̼̯͉̂͜r̶̨̰̭̝̳̹͙͔̅̄́̀̂͜͝r̸̜̞̣͇̈́̈́̋́͐̂̆͊͛̃̊͌̍̄̚…̸̛̛͚̘̺̦̆̑̒̀͂̋͝”

The creature whispered, but even at the low cadence it still made the world tremble…but with the barrier gone, reality was steadily fading back into the broken barrier space…and the semi-transparent figures of tourists actually could feel the tremor. “Hey now, If you wanna have our title fight now, I’m game…otherwise…I’m taking hockey puck here with me….” Levi sheathed his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He wore a slick black button up with the first two undone, allowing his infernal tattoos to peek around his upper chest. His hair, however…was black and not its normal blond color.

There was a pause for a couple seconds…and then Levi chuckled as a confident grin crossed his features. “2 weeks…”

“A̸̡̟͙͌͗̃ṅ̴̛̝̋͂̊́̽̎͋́͗̀̀̕͠d̷̢̙͚̹̱͖̯̲͙̣̩̬̃̾͛̈́͋͛̍͊͒́͜͜ ̷̨̡̦̱̺̱͍̓̉͂̂͊͋͊̐̅̅͝͠4̴̡̛̛̰̹̖̱͍̻̰̊̓̂̄̍̕͝ ̵̮̬̱̯̑̔̂̈́͗̉̏̕͝͝d̷̟͔͓̫̖̬̐͛̒̂̌͐̇̆͂́ǟ̷͉̙̦̟̺̊̄̿̉̂̃͝ͅy̶̙̞̾̀̈́̈́̒͝ş̶͍̣͖̯̦̩̮̻̘̗̑̀̓͋̏̅̈́̅̓̅̚ͅ…̷̨̪̬̳͕̓͌̿̂͗̓͆̀̌̌̏͛͝”

finished the Watcher…and then the being vanished…the barrier around it crumbling entirely as the normal reality finally merged with the space Shingen was once fighting on. The chapel was no longer damaged now…all the fragmented earth repaired. The Devil sighed and turned slowly to face arcane architect, his hair returning to that smooth blonde color. Blue and green heterochromatic eyes met Shingen’s as the Devil offered the man a hand. “You good there kid?”

Levi wasn’t at all bothered by the Shingen’s callousness, letting that free hand fall calmly to the side of his hip as he shot the caster a crooked charming grin. “Oh? Is that what you call your little dance at the edge of consciousness back there?” Levi teased playfully, his weight shifting to comfortably on one leg. Both of his hands were gloved, but between the fabric at the end of his sleeve and the enchanted leather gloves hid warped burnt flesh. Man, this kid really didn’t like him huh? Not that he couldn’t understand; He was the Devil-a deity of absolute evil-or so that is how most advertised him. “Must have left them in my other pants pocket.” Levi chuckled a little as his blue and green eyes took in his surroundings for a moment. While this was indeed a society familiar with magic, pure mortals were still scared of the occult ways. So, as the two men faded into the world, some of the tourists began to back up, whispering fears or even insults. The Devil winked at one of the older Women that called them ‘ugly wizards’. “I would love to stay and talk about how we need to stop meeting like this: Me saving you from evil assholes and all…but it turns out that you kinda deserve a few answers about what just happened…so…”

Levi turned back to Shingen, “Shall we?” The infernal King lifted one of his hands and pinched his middle finger and thumb together…and then there was a distinct snap that changed everything around the BoM Agent. The grand chapel, the frightened tourists, the entire mortal world was just gone…and in its place was a seemingly limitless realm. As far as Shingen could see, there were faint colors slowly oscillating on the white palette of this world. While he couldn’t perceive a floor, he would find himself walking on a perfectly flat surface. And, slightly in the distance, were two cream colored couches facing each other with a beautiful and long wooden table between them. Here he felt remarkably…at ease…like the magic in this area resonated to a peaceful and languid rhythm. “Please, have a seat Shingen…” the Devil gestured to the set up, allowing Maeda Sorcerer to take his pick first.

“It doesn’t take a genius to tell that you don’t trust me due to my occupation…but I also know you probably have a metric Fu** ton of questions. So ask away, I’m probably the best person to ask them.”