The following exam phase was at a casino, though not one of the popular ones. It was the home of hopeless addicts, drunkards, and anyone who couldn't control it. Their next spot would be the streets, low-end jobs, or at the end of a noose, depending on their preference and addiction. The lights were dim, the air dirty, full of noise and sound, and the regulars were giving off dirty looks.

Andras and Diarmuid looked around with those who passed, yet there was no examiner to speak of. They were given only the directions to the casino and the time they were supposed to be there.

"Hey, where are you taking me?" The guards were dragging someone out.

"You are not welcome in here. Please leave." The guard said.

"I got a job offer here! I'm not here to play your stupid games!" The man struggled.

Without further words, the man was thrown out of the doors.

"Hey, let me in! Are you deaf or something?" He yelled on the sidewalk.

"If work means you so much, please be mindful when you are supposed to arrive at a set time."

"I-I was late like one minute!"

"A minute is a minute." The guard crossed his arms. "Even something as simple as soft boiling an egg can fail with one minute error. Do not overestimate the time you are given or underestimate how fleeting it is."

"Damn it." The man stood up. "How am I supposed to feed myself? I was supposed to be set up for months with this!"

"There is always work available. If that does not please you, try hunting for a change. You are also free to die if neither entices you." The guard stepped inside, locking the door.

Inside, Diarmuid counted the remaining applicants. The remaining number was around a dozen, which in his experience, meant they were looking to hire a third of that. In bodyguard work, numbers are good, but a team is as good as its weakest link. Also, if they were looking for so few personnel, they must have their own, yet they are dividing the workforce for some reason. Whatever the reason was, the fact remains that these people also passed the so-called ability test, meaning all of the people around them were of at least considerable skill.

"Hey, Diarmuid, what do you think we need to do?" Andras asked.

"Wait, that is what you should expect, but it doesn't seem like that."

"Then, what are you thinking?"

"Does anything look out of place?" Diarmuid watched his surroundings.

"I don't even know what these Kaisinoes are supposed to look like." Andras shrugged. "These do remind me of something. Saloons, was it?"

"Those bars?" Diarmuid raised an eyebrow before laughing for himself. "What century are you living in?"

Andras laughed along awkwardly, or at least until his phone started ringing.

"Oh, who could it be?" He took it out of his back pocket. "Orel?"

"Andras!" Orel yelled in distress.

"What is it?" Is something wrong?"

"Some people are chasing me! I'm returning to the house, but I don't know if they will find me!"

"Hang on a minute. I got to talk to Diarmuid about this."

"What is it?" Diarmuid asked.

"Orel's being chased. What should we do?"

"Hmmm. This couldn't have happened at a worse time." Diarmuid frowned.

"We have to help him!"

"I'm not against it, but if we both leave, it's over for the bodyguarding job and maybe my contract as well."

"Well, how about I go, and you stay? You're better at this than me anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"There's no time to waste!" Andras waved his hands.

"Okay, go. I'll get us that job, but I want a larger share for the trouble."

"Whatever!" Andras marched out toward the doors. "Hang in there, Orel! I'm coming!"

Andras smashed through the doors, even though they were supposed to be locked. The guards seemed out of ideas on how to fix it and decided to add a roped stanchion there and call it a day.

"Guess it's just me left." Diarmuid stretched while the other applicants glared back, having misinterpreted what he said.

Orel rushed to their home, locked the door, and went into the kitchen. His mind rushed like blood, but he had enough sense to wrap his hand before finding a hiding place. Though the wraps turned red almost immediately, it was better than nothing. Next was the problem of hiding, but he already had an idea. The landowner had mentioned that the house had a cellar but that it was only for plumbing and that tenants were not supposed to go there. It was easy to miss, as the opening was hidden in a closet next to the stairs, and even then, you had to look deep inside to notice another door that placed itself right under the stairs. Orel crawled through the small hatch into the darkness with only his phone flashlight granting him sight. He pushed himself to the very end of the damp cellar, between piping hot and cold pipes, and waited in silence.

With only water dripping from the pipes wiggling from the steam, Orel could feel his chest pounding. That was until he felt his heart drop as something rushed its way inside. The floorboards creaked and bent under the weight as something was searching around. It climbed the stairs, opened the doors, and rummaged through every nook and cranny until stopping right above Orel. He could hear it circling around but could only hold his breath. His heart was ready to jump out of his chest, but for now, it pressed against the lungs, prepared to yell them empty. Then the steps walked away, yet they did not step out of the door. Instead, they went right where Orel feared the most. Their sound no longer came just from above but from the entrance to the cellar. It slowly climbed down, almost peeking around the corner. Orel was ready to hear growling, but instead, it was deep, gurgling laughter that sent the whole body rocketing back and forth. Its hairy arm reached around the corner, covered in bandages, with its inhuman nails grinding against the concrete walls.

"There you are, petit mouton." It said as its cold eyes glimmered in the darkness and sang a lullaby. "Be not afraid of the bzou, but its maw, tooth, and nail. With the scream of a crow, it will hop over the fence and wait around a trail. In the night, it will sense a great coming of a gale and devour those alone and frail. So if you see a bzou, remember this tale."

The words came out rough, but the horrific poem put Orel in a trance of horror as the man stepped forward. Though he was but a human, Orel felt fear to the same extent as with the Barghest, if not more. A primal fear of death was about to swallow him whole. For his last attempt at defense, Orel tried to create a coin, but his mind could not concentrate. For some reason, a particular memory sprung to his mind.

A loud clap. Norman looked down on the defeated Orel.

"I know you requested to have a duel, Orel, but seeing you down like that gets old pretty quickly."

"Are we really this far off?" Orel stood up.

"Hmm, I don't know. For that, we would need some Chromatium."

"Yeah, you already told me."

"I don't think you need gratification from some rocks, though. Realizing your potential is only half of the work. What sets apprentices from masters is how you master that potential."

"What does that even mean?"

"You need to make a personal challenge for yourself. Something that forces you to think differently."

"So, think outside of the box?"

"No, no, no. It is more like putting yourself in a box, but only you can figure out how to break out. Put yourself in a coffin and break yourself out! Turn that formless clay of yours into a statue!" Norman pumped himself up.

"...What the hell are you talking about?" Orel stared.

"Sometimes you need the right sense of mind, but you will know when it klicks."

As those memories rushed through his mind, Orel hardened himself in the last bit of defense. The beastman stopped for a moment. The eyes before him suddenly hardened and became sharp like knives, taking him by surprise.

It was most likely a reflex, but Orel decided to put Norman's words to practice. He spread his arms far and wide and slapped them together. The beast blinked, but nothing happened. He looked at the hands and, as they opened, saw nothing.

"...What?" He titled his head. The beast laughed. "What was that?"

Orel's eyes opened with awe. His lips twisted to a panicky smile. "I did it! So this is a spell!"

"Hahaha, you call that clap a spell? Did the terror go into your head?"

The beast's smile turned sour as he felt a sudden yet intense headache. His legs swayed, and the giant man almost fell over.

"What the hell did you do?" The beast took support on the wall.

Orel thought to himself. "That felt rough like my veins got cleaned by a steel sponge. It's still incomplete, but it'll have to make due for now."

A pool of blood drained to the beast's eye. Feeling around its forehead, the painful realization of a coin in its skin made itself known.

"Aah, you little shit!" He roared, eyes shut.

Orel took the opportunity and ran out of the cellar. Before it could follow him, the beastman had to pull the coin out. Even after running out of the door, Orel could hear a terrifying roar from inside. Before he could run any further, the thing rummaged through the cellar, closet, and anything in its way to catch him. Before even a moment passed, it had gained on him. Orel tried to clap again, but the beast grabbed him by the wrists. Its grip felt like it would break his bones. Orel could tell without looking or hearing the growling; he had pissed the man beyond belief.

"I will rip you apart, you brat!" It roared to his ear.

"You let him go!" Someone yelled.

A sizable fist struck the man's face and sent him back. Though the cheek still hurt, the man smiled with a grotesque grin as he rubbed it with his hand. The strike had a distant closeness to it.

"So, you've arrived." He turned to face Andras.

"Who the hell are you?" Andras stepped forth.

"Can you not remember me, mon ami?" The man seemed a bit hurt.

"Wait..." Andras thought back. Many memories rushed to his mind, yet none about the man before him. "No."

"For Lugh's sake! Jack, it's Jack!"

"Jack...Oh, that werewolf from Albion!" Andras realized.

"Yes. You ruined my life." Jack growled.

"No, I don't think I did. You kidnapped me!"

"Did you forget? No, don't answer that. You people destroyed my life!"

"Do you remember any of this, Orel?" Andras turned.

"No, I wasn't there." Orel shrugged.

"Grrr, that's it. I'll grind you to a pulp!" Jack morphed.

The bandages stretched and snapped as muscle and fur accumulated from below. The gentle hands that once hugged his daughter were claws full of sharp nails, ready to render flesh. The face was no longer the happy old man it once was but a scarred, malformed monster with rows of teeth under its snout. Though revitalized by the cursed illness, his body could barely be considered human as time progressed, and with each transformation, he risked becoming but a beast, clouded by rage and bloodlust.

"How?" Orel was in awe.

"There's a... moon right there, isn't it?" Jack pointed at the sky, barely able to form words.

Indeed, there are times when the moon is visible, even during the day. As long as it's visible, a werewolf can transform.

"Hey, Andras," Orel said.

"Yeah?" Andras asked.

"Let's do this." He readied himself to clap. "I got myself a spell."

"Then, let me go first!" Andras charged.

He punched Jack to his side, following with an uppercut. Jack would not flinch but mercilessly stab Andras with his claws and let them sink deep inside his flesh.

"You think that's going to stop me?" Andras asked, charging his fist.

The strike sent Jack back with a burnt mark on his chin. The bone was crushed but was already forming back to its original form.

"It's not just the moon up in the sky." Andras pointed to the sun with a mocking grin.

"I almost forgot...You heal as well." Jack frowned.

"Yup. The sun is my fuel, and I am the engine!" Andras's pointing finger lit on fire. He lowered the finger, pointing at Jack. "You're not the only one who's been training, Orel." He aimed. "Heat flare."

The tiny flame flashed forward with a burning trail like a floating road in the air. It reached Jack yet simmered out like a single candle.

"Huh?" Jack was ready to block it.

"Check this out. I stole this from that fire mage." Andras jerked his eyebrows. "Burst." He snapped his fingers.

Jack was caught in flames like he was doused in gasoline. A nasty smell of burning fur and crisp skin filled the air with the sounds of unparalleled agony. Andras watched with a slightly disappointed frown.

"No, I don't think I like this one." He snapped his fingers again.

The fire went out, leaving a smoking pile of flesh. Likewise, Jack regenerated from muscle to skin, and finally, fur. Even if his wounds healed, it did not stop him from feeling all the pain associated with third-degree burns.

"How about you just give up, or do I need to toast you a few more times?" Andras asked.

"I won't stop until I have your head over my furnace." Jack huffed.

Three claps echoed, and a group of coins lodged deep in Jack's side like shotgun shells. Orel breathed heavily, with sweat flowing down his face.

"You alright, Orel?"

"It's my fault. I decided they multiply by two squared." Orel heaved. "Three is my limit; I can't even think how much four would feel."

"No problem. Let me handle this." Andras smashed his fists together.

To the surprise of not just Andras and Orel but Jack as well, one of Andras' arms dropped as well as his right leg. While the two couldn't understand, Jack was already looking for someone.

"I leave you for a moment, and you get yourself beat up like that." La Loupe shook his head on the roof of the house.

"Loupe! How did you find me?" Jack turned to ask.

"A little thread of fate led me here. A precaution on my part."

La Loupe jumped down and landed elegantly.

"Now that I'm here, let's continue that interrogation." He tugged his gloves.

"Watch out, Andras! That guy uses invisible wires!" Orel shouted.

"I had a hunch," Andras said on the ground while his limbs regrew. "Looks like we lost our two-on-one advantage."

"No problem." Orel calmed his breath.

"Let's take care of the big guy and then fetch the boy." La Loupe glanced at the two.

"Don't underestimate the boy, Loupe. He has some spell, so don't let him clap." Jack said.

"Oh? Then I better disable him first. We don't want trouble."

Orel put up a ward as soon as La Loupe raised his hand. His wrists snapped together in an instant and still bled from the cuts.

"Now, let's see how tiny pieces I can make of you." La Loupe walked toward Andras.

Before he could take another step, La Loupe's instincts stepped in. He barely turned his head away from a rapidly spinning coin, yet it still left a cut on his cheek. La Loupe looked back at Orel standing free with his hands bleeding.

"It almost escaped my mind, but I still remember." La Loupe swiped his bloody cheek. "You escaped my line before, didn't you? But how?"

"Don't you forget about me!" Jack punched Andras in the cheek.

"I don't have time to fight you!" Andras cracked his head.

"Too bad!" Jack threw Andras to the other side of the street.

La Loupe noticed something about Orel's hands. Around his wrists was a deeper wound that wasn't his doing. Then, it clicked. Though La Loupe's usual voice had a sense of charm and class, as his face twisted to a smile, his laugh came out squeaky and high-pitched, crackling like a pack of hyenas. The maniacal laughter made Orel tense up as it reminded him of his encounter with Fynn.

"Boy, you impress me! Snapping my lines by conjuring a coin into your own flesh? What madness sparks such ideas?"

"But it works, doesn't it?" Orel smirked.

"You seem just the right appetizer before the main course. Prepare yourself, boy. You just withdrew your last chance to escape!"

"The name is Orel." He readied his hands.

"Don't bother giving names just yet. Honor to whom honor is due. You don't give medals to every dog that sits!"

La Loupe slammed his hand down. A crack snapped in the air, and a deep mark appeared on Orel as if hit by an invisible whip. Orel yelled in anguish while supporting his ripped skin. Gritting his teeth, Orel clapped his hands. The coins shot out from around him, yet La Loupe stood perfectly calm with his hands apart. The flying coins that were supposed to sink into his chest were reduced to shreds between his fingers. Orel huffed as blood dripped from his arm. La Loupe straightened his posture and pointed at Orel.

"Boy, you have made a mistake." He said with a disappointed face. "Can you tell what it was?"

Orel stood back, preparing to attack, or so he appeared. In actuality, he felt like his legs would give in at any moment. Buying time was just what he wanted.

"Depending on your answer, I will leave you unpunished. You have three guesses." La Loupe said.

Orel realized that merely buying time would not be enough. He was not stupid enough to underestimate an opponent clearly more skilled than him. He could not simply guess, but the question was too opaque to try and answer.

"Fighting you?" Orel made his first guess.

"Noun." La Loupe shook his finger.

Even if it was the correct answer, why would anyone admit it? Orel thought more, but the situation was not the best to take time to ponder.

"Meeting with that man?" Orel thought back to their first encounter.

"...Yes." La Loupe thought for a moment. "But not for this case."

Orel felt like biting all his nails out. He felt cornered like a small rat, breathing his last breaths. There was no escape, and he didn't have nearly enough mana to make a coin.

"You have ten seconds." La Loupe informed.

"I give up!" Orel raised his hands.

"Excuse me?" La Loupe made a face.

"Just take me. We don't need to fight."

La Loupe frowned with a sour face. His smile and glee were long gone.

"You disappoint me, boy." La Loupe shook his head. "One mistake after another."

"What?" Orel stepped back.

"Since it has come to this, I should tell your first mistake." La Loupe tugged his fist. "You didn't notice my thread."

Orel fell over. His legs did not give in, but he tried to catch something. It was something important: His left hand. Orel screamed from the top of his lungs until his throat was sore. La Loupe burst into laughter, heckling with malicious tears.

"This is what I'm talking about! Cry, boy! Cry your lungs out!" La Loupe crouched to hold his stomach.

A sudden wave of heat passed by him. La Loupe lifted his head from Orel on the ground to the other side of the street and saw two red dots gleaming at him.

"Come on, stand up. We aren't finished yet." Jack mocked as he walked toward Andras, still lying on the side of the car.

"...Don't beg for it," Andras muttered.

"Hmm? What did you say?" Jack flicked his ear.

"Mercy. You don't deserve it." Andras glared with flaming eyes.

"Get out of there, Jack!" La Loupe shouted.

"Now you feel the same as I did. Because of you, I've become this. Because of you, I lost her. You better try to stop me, or I'll make sure you lose everyone you love." Jack growled.

"If it comes to this, I'll assist you." La Loupe readied his strings.

Andras stood up without saying a word. His eyes and hair had caught on fire like a torch. The heat prickled La Loupe's skin, even as he was still standing on the other side of the road. The intense danger eclipsed his desire for a fight and sent him into preservation mode. Jack could feel the danger, but his desire made him numb to it.

La Loupe entangled Andras with his strings, but as soon as they came in contact with his skin, they burned up like cobwebs. Andras turned his gaze to Jack, making him hesitate, even if for a moment. By that time, it was already too late. Andras' fist penetrated jack's chest, ripped him in two, and tossed him aside. La Loupe watched in terror as Jack burned away until only charred bones remained from Andras' touch. La Loupe was frozen still, but as Andras walked closer, he could barely contain his urge to flee on the spot. His cold sweat evaporated from his forehead, and his short breaths burned his lips and throat. He could only watch as concrete melted under Andras' steps, yet his clothes remained intact. The air around him rippled and waved like a mirage under his heat.

"Do you want to die?" Andras asked with a grim, emotionless expression.