The Atlas Academy stood at the center of the second floor of Babel. Made out of shining black stone and surrounded by its massive campus, the complex took all of the space on the floor with the main building rising through the first floor and out of the sand at the surface. Supports large enough to be used as train tracks kept the building suspended above the lower floors, yet seemed like small sticks in comparison. The campus was buzzing with life, from young mages attending lectures to faculty running the establishment. The student housing was on the edges of the floor, separated into three dormitories chosen in order of class and support for the academy by the parents. Those that came from lower-status families had to use the trains, elevators, or roads burrowed at the sides of the canyon to traverse the floor, while all Norman had to do was walk in from the upper floor. Unlike the days before, he went there all alone, with no escort or even Annabelle to assist him.

He did not want to trade any glances given to him as people recognized the formal wear of a magus. All coats used white as a base, where they would add colored lines around the sleeves and shoulders to indicate their field of study. Norman boasted the color purple, meaning his subject was meta-magic research. It was the field set to research the properties of magic and its types to better understand and utilize it. Despite the grand explanation, most research centered around improving the flow of mana and the methods of teaching magic, thus mostly becoming educators and tutors. No one was expected to delve and certainly not encouraged to try to pry into the meaning of magic, as the headmasters had forbidden it in the name of the god of magic Lapetus. In their minds, any research into the matter would be the same as questioning their lord and belief itself that he granted humanity magic so their souls could reach Eos after their passing.

The purple color did not attract much attention. Most of it went to the golden wing embroidery sewn onto the back and shoulders, the sign of an Eximia Magus, the second highest rank.

"Who are you supposed to be?" A guard pointed his wand at him. "Where did you get those robes?"

"Tobias Norman-Alcaeus." He answered with little care for the stick wobbling before his face. "Sound familiar?"

While Babel and Atlas pride themselves on the mages they produced, the city could not function without people like the guard standing before him. A failed mage, or perhaps a worker that climbed through the ranks. While most magic items were for supporting a mage, the Joe wand, named after its inventor Alfred Joe was for those with no magical prowess. He invented the Joe wand as an easy-to-replicate wand that would channel mana into itself and then release a disarming cantrip. Atlas then used its enchanters and mining capabilities to give out these wands to its magicless guards as well as supply them to the MIB under Joe's license. The carved fairy wood acted as the instructions and wiring, while the special stone embedded inside gathered mana like a battery. It was simple and easy to use, so Atlas made sure it would not get into the wrong hands by making everyone register their made or given magic items to them.

"Norman? Wait, are you the one they threw out?"

"They never said I could not come back in."

"Alright, you are coming with me," The guard poked his nose with the wand. "Don't try any dirty tricks."

"I would never."

Norman walked into the security check room with a stick pointed at his back. It was not too easy to escape, but there was nowhere to hide.

"Boss, we have someone who says they are Tobias Norman," The guard called someone from behind the barred info desk.

The man leaned against a chair under his white, wide-brimmed hat. He lifted the brim to see who was addressing him, only for his eyes to spark into life.

"Toby? Is that you?" The man wobbled up to great heights, where Norman could only see his reinforced west hanging loosely over his slim chest.

"Down here, Thomas," Norman said from below.

The man leaned down into a squat. "Bright Eos! It is you!" He offered his gloved hand.

The two shook hands. Just as Norman was about to pull away, he ripped Thomas' arm off. He looked at the thing with little amusement.

"Never gets old!" Thomas laughed.

Blue, mellow material burst out of the glove and wrist like liquid worms. It then stretched and bent to connect itself back to normal.

"You really haven't changed."

"Some things never change, unlike your face, it seems."

"Um, boss. You know this guy?" The guard asked.

"Toby and I are just old friends from school," Thomas smiled proudly. "You know? When I was still small."

Thomas Bostic was one of Norman's few if not only friends in the academy. They met at Paradis primary school for gifted children where Thomas insisted that they were to become friends, a promise he kept onto the current day.

"What are you doing here anyway? Didn't you go research on your own?"

"I came back."

"Did you miss me?" Thomas smiled through his cheeks.

"More than this place." Norman sighed. "I see you got the job you wanted."

"Yup. Head of security," Thomas tapped his badge.

"And all you got was this small office?"

"We only handle school ground security. All I'm supposed to do is call MIB if things get heated."

"Right."

"How about I show you around? I haven't had my lunch break yet."

"Sorry, but I am here to see the principal. I need to know if they will take me in."

"Aw, shucks, and I thought I got a buddy for lunch. But good luck with that." Thomas sat back down. "Well, It was fun talking to you. Maybe we could have a chat at some point?"

"Sure, why not." Norman walked away. "See you."

"Bye, Toby!" Thomas waved his long arm.

"You should have checked him, boss. Wasn't that the order after that break-in?" The guard asked.

"Don't worry I already did," Thomas picked his nose. "Last time they got in while I was out on an errand, but this time I will catch them." He flicked out a piece of the blue material.

The principal's office was high in the central tower, filled with various magical artifacts and paintings of the previous leaders, dating back to the founders that found the great canyon. The current Principal, Wulfric Aetas Angelo waited at his desk with his long beard racing to the ground against his hair and eyebrows. He slumped in his overly decorated gown full of gold and magic circles, watching Norman with his eyes as open as large warts on them allowed.

"You have returned, son of Gaius." Wulfric forced the breath out of his mouth.

"I have, Principal Angelo," Norman put his hands together and performed the Ellinist prayer.

"For what reason did you seek an audience with me?"

"I would wish to reinstate my position as a lecturer here at Atlas."

Wulfric thought for a moment. "What is there for proof that you will not fall into the blasphemous research you conducted before or spread these heretic thoughts to others?"

"A soul vow," Norman said without hesitation.

Wulfric's hanging eyebrow rose with intrigue. "Your dedication is admirable. Are you certain to perform it?"

Norman took a deep breath, opened his robes, and began drawing the symbols. "...I, Tobias Norman-Alcaeus, mark my soul with this promise. I shall not research nor attract others to find the source of magic here at Atlas Academy. If I were to break this vow, may it burn my body and scar my soul, forever and true."

Wulfric observed carefully and concluded that the ritual was done properly. The soul vow ritual was strictly monitored and only certified mages were taught the procedure.

"Splendid." Wulfric put his withered hands together. "We may now put this past behind us and work together in the name of Lapetus."

"...Thank you," Norman buttoned his shirt back on. "Where can I start?"

"Eager, are we? There is an open position for an assisting illusionist teacher. Would that suffice in the beginning?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I expect great things from you, son of Gaius," Wulfric returned to his paperwork. "Do not disappoint me again."

"Yes, Principal Angelo." Norman prayed again and exited the room.

Once outside, he reached inside his clothes and pulled something out. At first, it seemed that he merely pinched the air, but soon a piece of paper appeared.

"Never thought I would use Stagehand like this." He folded it into his pocket. "Better not tell Annabelle about this part. It would ruin her mood even after hearing the good news for sure."

A large yet lonely mansion sat on a small hill at the edge of civilization. A luxury villa built of white marble, now stained with blood. Bodies of gangsters and civilians filled the garden, halls, and pools, all with sudden surprise frozen on their pale faces. The police had marked the place as off-limits, but after a quick crime scene analysis, the case was transferred to the MIB.

"I've never seen something like this," Adam held his breath. "What the hell happened here?"

"Something is wrong, that's for sure," Cole observed holes in the necks of the civilians' bodies and some of the gangsters. "Gunshots, but also magic. Two scents, one older, one fresh. But why do I smell Ocham?"

"Ocham?"

"I forgot how fresh you are. Ocham is one of Avus' hitmen. I've seen a lot of his work after these years, but like most of the top dogs, he is slippery a slippery one."

"But he killed Avus too, right? Why would he betray them?"

"Come take a look at this."

Adam walked over to a peculiar body.

"What the hell is that?" he recoiled at the sight.

The body had as many holes as it had tumors growing out of it. The inexplicable twisted expression of suffering on it made him sick.

"Transmutation magic."

"D-did Ocham do this?"

"No, this isn't his style or magic. Let's head inside."

The expensive paintings on the walls were splattered with blood. The two could hardly notice the exotic rugs from under the bodies and blood. On the second floor, past a hall painted almost completely red was a set of double doors laid out open. They revealed a luxurious office space lit by a grand window with a revolver sitting on the desk. To the left was a grand painting of a proud, old man in a striped suit, yet it too was tainted with blood and flesh.

Adam looked at the well-dressed old man in the painting "Is that..."

"Tonio Degucci. Grandfather." Cole turned his gaze to the firearm. There was a bullet missing from the chamber. "Take off your glasses."

Adam did as asked and saw a specter floating over the desk. His face was glum and hopeless, even for an undead. He could hear his mournful whispers, though barely.

"The business is in ruins...Avus is finished...Our dream...Gone..." Tonio mumbled.

"Well? Cole snapped him out of the blank stare. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"Y- Yeah." Adam put on his glasses. "Seems like they got attacked by some woman."

"This smell. I remember now. It's the same as the one from the warehouse."

"Killing a gang leader like that, who would do such a thing?"

"Someone is out there looking for blood and chaos. I heard the news of some big gang leaders meeting up, but I would not have expected something like this to happen."

"What are we going to do?"

"This is way beyond our caliber. The chief will probably call the main HQ for backup."

"You think they are going to send in Talon?"

"I hope things don't go that far."

"What do you think the rest of Avus is going to do?"

"Look for the culprit or at least claim they do. It doesn't matter who did it, they will use the excuse to cause mayhem. I don't know whether Degucci had any heirs, but there is probably going to be a power struggle."

"Where did they take the body?" Adam looked at the empty desk.

"I think that's the least of our concerns."

Ocham shoveled the last bits of soil onto a hasty grave on an isolated hill, facing to the east. There was no house he could have dropped him, nor graveyard that would have accepted him. They both had lost their families, perhaps it was why they got along so well. He took a bottle of rum out of his pocket. It was not his type to drink, but it fit the occasion. The rest was shared to the grave with a toast to everyone else as well.

"So I was the last one standing after all." Ocham squatted down. "You put me through a lot, murdering people left and right. Maybe it's my fault. I knew I couldn't buy father's knife back. We both knew. We are similar like that. At the end of the day, all we wanted was for things to return to what they used to be. We just got a bit lost in that." He put down the bottle and stood back up. "You gave me the last order. Even though no payment is going to come, I will have it done. Watch me from Eos. You might see me soon enough."

Ocham turned away to face the mountains. Behind him was Tonio, yet in a form, he could not see.

"No, Ocham! That's not what I meant! Don't cast away your life because of this!" He pleaded as his spirit rose to the sky. "Please, Ocham...Don't die a fool like me..."

His voice did not reach him, however. Ocham took his first step toward a long journey that he would see to the end, an end that made Tonio's soul shudder.

Meanwhile, Orel had made progress with his rehabilitation. Though his arm still felt a bit numb, he could already pick a spoon. However, something else bothered his mind that left him scratching his head on the sofa.

"Something wrong?" Ándras asked, watching the news.

"I can't cast my spell," Orel looked at his hand.

"Maybe you're just tired."

"I don't know. What if I can't cast it anymore?"

"Give it some time. You just recovered from two hospital visits."

"I guess so," He let the hand flump to the cushion.

"Could you be quiet for a moment? I'm trying to watch the news."

"I didn't know you watched the news."

"A great shootout at a Montana Street mansion went on earlier today. The police have confirmed over twenty civilian casualties involving the criminal organization called Avus. The investigation has determined the cause to be a rival gang attacking the premises, yet the gang in question remains unknown. The casualties include the suspected leader of Avus, Tonio Degucci, though his body is yet to be located. Officials have deemed this incident a grim wake-up call against gang activity in Puerta Blanca, and further actions are to be expected from the MIB."

"I guess that cop was right about all that gang violence," Orel said. "Hope Diarmuid is doing okay."

"Here it is!" Ándras pointed at the screen.

"And now onto the weather. Monica, how is it looking for this week?"

"Huh?" Orel did not understand the excitement.

"Thank you, Carolyn. This week is going to be a ride. Puerta Blanca is going to have the expected 40 degrees with a chance of clouds and rain during the weekend. Watch out, though! Wednesday is going to be windy as a great desert storm coming in from the west. Expected sandfall is going to be normal, depending on the storm's course, so get your brooms ready!"

"Wait, so that means-" Orel realized.

Before he could as much as lift a finger, his phone rang.

"Hello? Dad?"

"Did you see the news?" Emil asked hastily.

"Uh-huh."

"You know what that means?"

"We're going?"

"Yup. Meet me later. Bring your friends. We have planning to do." The call cut off.

"Woohoo!" Ándras celebrated.

"So you already know?" Orel smiled.

"Yeah! That's going to get me a nice tan!"

Orel was not amused.

"Just kidding with you!" Ándras messed his hair. "Well, maybe after that."

"We're finally going to meet him," Orel stopped to think.

"Yeah. Together." Ándras offered his hand.

"Let's do this," Orel gripped it with a nod.