The church was nestled between buildings. A block of offices to the left, a holo-brothel to the right, a combat academy behind, and a karaoke parlor above. It was like Azum-Ha was actively trying to crush the sad, decrepit little chapel.

You wouldn't find many places like this outside of Final Church space, and the ones you did find would be in this same condition. Windows broken, walls opened up for their wiring, cobwebs claiming nearly every centimeter of space. There had been a period when genuine Superbian doctrine had enjoyed brief popularity inside some parts of the Supremacy, but that time had long since passed.

Still… the atmosphere was impeccable.

Gretchen and the Silversaint flanked Aclima as she strode up the steps into the chapel, pushing open the great wooden doors with Aether-infused strength. Even over the chaotic sounds of the streets behind them, the pained creak of neglected sanctuary was clearly audible. Even Gretchen had to admit: this felt like they were walking into a horror videograph.

But they'd come prepared. She had an arsenal of Aether Armaments with her, and the Silversaint was equipped with an absurd range of capabilities. Plus, Aclima’s ability made her basically invincible against other Aether-users.

Why, then, did sweat still dance across her throat…?

They stepped inside the church, the doors sliding shut behind them, and looked towards the head of the empty room. There, sitting atop the lectern, was the person they'd come here to meet. The person who was exactly what Gretchen needed.

Dragan Hadrien.

He regarded them with cold blue eyes as they approached, passing pew after pew as they made their way towards them. Once they were a few meters away, he raised a warning hand. They stopped.

Aclima swallowed. “Dragan Hadrien?” she asked.

Hadrien blinked. “What an honour it is to meet the Supreme Heir. You're very brave… and you're very stupid. Tell me…”

Electric blue Aether crackled around his hand, concentrating in his palm. Gretchen understood at a glance. This was his ability -- his Gemini Railgun -- ready to fire.

“...why shouldn't I just kill you now?” Hadrien finished.

Morgan winced as the medical automatic scanned his head for lasting damage. A second later, the display atop its head dinged green -- a clean bill of health. Muzazi let out a sigh of relief: they had that, at least.

“Explain to me again,” he said, standing over Morgan. “What happened?”

They’d retreated back to the hotel, with most of the Phases heading into the city to continue the search for Aclima. They hadn't reported her missing yet: a blunder like this would look very bad. If they could locate and retrieve her without anyone ever finding out about the situation, that would be ideal.

Muzazi glanced over his shoulder as Gregori Hazzard lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Well… most of the Phases had gone out. It seemed this one wasn't too concerned.

“When the trouble started in the Arena,” Morgan explained, hunched over on the couch. “We started moving Aclima to one of the panic rooms. I turned my head for a second and… and I guess something must have hit me.”

“You didn't see them?”

Morgan shook his head. “Nope. Knocked me right out, though.”

The attacker might have been unknown, but Muzazi was getting a sickly feeling in his stomach. Morgan alone had been attacked -- Anya Hapgrass and Endo Silversaint were as missing as the Supreme Heir. Given the circumstances, there was an obvious conclusion. Aclima and her people had knocked out Morgan, so that he couldn't monitor them.

What were they doing then, out there in the city? What were they plotting? What was so important?

“You rest here for the time being,” Muzazi said after a long moment of consideration. “Me and Mr. Hazzard will head out to search as well.”

Morgan sat up. “But --”

“If Aclima arrives back here,” Muzazi said firmly. “I don't want the place empty.”

As Muzazi left the room, Gregori followed after him, letting the door slide shut behind them. Cool red eyes regarded Muzazi, no words exchanged, even as they got into the elevator and tapped the screen to descend. It was only when the elevator doors closed that Gregori finally spoke up.

“Explain something to me,” he said quietly.

Muzazi glanced at him. “Very well. What is it?”

There was little emotion in Gregori’s placid, relaxed voice. “Why is it we're searching for the Supreme Heir?”

Muzazi furrowed his brow. “That's our job. We're the Eight Phases of the Turning of the Heir. We'd hardly be good bodyguards if we simply allowed her to wander around on her --”

“No,” Gregori interrupted. “That's your job. Maybe Hapgrass' and Silversaint’s job, too. Everyone else's job is to do what you say -- and what you're saying isn't what you're thinking.”

A harsh quiet settled over the elevator, and Muzazi narrowed his eyes as he looked at Gregori. “And… what exactly is it that I'm thinking, according to you?”

“Imagine if the Heir did go missing down there, in the city, and nobody ever saw her again? These things happen, after all. Wouldn't that be the best-case-scenario for you, Commander?”

“Excuse me?”

“You should be telling us all to sit tight. Wait in the hotel, lounge around, maybe even order pizza -- and wait for the news to come in. Or, well, not come in. That'd be even better. She could just slip right through the cracks of history. It's less cruel, in a way.”

Muzazi turned to face Gregori, his hand grasping at his side -- ready to conjure a Radiant and strike.

“I think perhaps you've misunderstood my character,” he said, voice soft.

Gregori's red eyes flicked up, locking onto Muzazi's. Even as he spoke harshly, his hands remained in his pockets, his posture utterly relaxed.

“I'll be honest, Commander,” Gregori said. “I don't like you very much. You're the sort of person who lies.”

“When have I lied to you?”

“Not to me,” Gregori shook his head. “I don't mind people who lie to others -- at least they know what they're doing. But you're lying to yourself. Telling yourself you want to protect the Heir -- that is what you want, right? And you also want to defeat the Heir and become Supreme. They're mutually exclusive.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“That's…”

“Even if you don't kill her yourself, do you think Supreme Heirs last long once they've been supplanted? They become very inconvenient for a lot of people. Even if you don't swing the sword yourself, you're still signing the death warrant.”

Muzazi looked away. It wasn't that Gregori was wrong, per se, but he didn't have the full picture. He didn't.

Murderer.

“Tell you what,” Gregori spoke up when no reply came. “Here's an idea. You stay here in the hotel. I'll go out into the city by myself -- and when I find the girl, I'll finish her off for you.”

Muzazi tightened his free hand, his jaw clenched. “As I said… you have misunderstood me.”

“No,” Gregori said. “I've understood you perfectly. You just don't want to admit all of this to yourself. It's idiotic and it's holding you back. Marie would have --”

White Aether flashed, and a blazing Radiant burst out of Muzazi's hand. His half-face a mask of cold rage -- matching the metal on the other side -- he raised the weapon so quickly that no response was physically possible. The blade of heat held steady in the air, inches from Gregori's throat.

“Listen carefully,” said Muzazi.

Gregori did not say anything. It was far too dangerous a prospect -- if he moved carelessly, he very well could have ended up cutting his own throat right then and there. Even a nod was a deadly endeavour.

“This conversation… it never happened. Do you understand?” Muzazi said. “Blink once if you do understand.”

Gregori blinked.

“Very good. Now… if you ever do anything like you just indicated, we will continue this conversation. From right here. Do you understand?”

Gregori blinked.

“Very good. The second these doors open, I will deactivate my Radiant and we will go out into the city together to search for the Heir as comrades. Do you understand?”

Gregori blinked a third time -- and the Radiant vanished. Muzazi let his hand fall to his side, white Aether still crackling around him. The doors of the elevator slid smoothly open, revealing the lobby beyond.

“Let's go,” Muzazi muttered.

Ruth Blaine could not move.

She was surrounded, on all sides, by everything. North had unleashed one of his illusions -- his special ones, his Nightmare Underground -- but one that she'd never seen before. New? Or had he been keeping it hidden? At any rate, she hadn't been prepared for it.

Then again… how could anyone be prepared for this?

Ruth's gaze was fixed on the wall before her. It was brickwork, brand new, polished to an immaculate sheen -- and on it, she could see carvings, impossibly beautiful. A beatific face, and within its eye there was…

Within its eye…

Within its eye there was a lion and within the lion there was a globe and within the globe there was a coat of arms four pieces each containing a dynastic bird and the numbers of feathers increased exponentially as you went down you saw they formed a map of the city of Losthaven and marked deep within the alleys of the city was a human outline indicating a murder with investigator figures standing by and inside their eyes there was a lion and within the lion there was a globe and within the globe --

“Pretty neat, huh?” North said smugly, his eyes squeezed shut, wriggling free of Ruth's grasp and coming down to the ground. “Cathedral at the World's End. It's a landscape containing infinite detail. Well, not infinite, but close enough that it might as well be.”

The entire landscape was the same. In the blue sky above, white clouds swirled into swirls into swirls into swirls. The sun was an infinite tunnel of light. Just glancing at the stained glass windows was enough to make you nauseous.

But Ruth couldn't stop looking. She couldn't even blink.

“When it's presented with all this, ah, visual information,” North continued, patting Bruno on the back as he continued his blind saunter away. “Your mind sorta freezes up while it just absorbs it all. You're lucky you ain't a Cogitant, honestly -- most of ‘em end up bleeding out their eyes.”

It took every bit of effort Ruth could muster, but she bared her teeth into a growl. “Bas… tard…”

North cupped his ear. “What's that? Surprised you can talk, honestly. But I guess you get some acquired resistance to bullshit when you hung around with ol’ Skipper all those years.”

Hot anger flared across Ruth's skin. “Shut… up…” she hissed, her eyes turning bloodshot. “Skipper… was… a hero…”

North snorted. “Ha! That's one illusion I ain't responsible for.”

And without another word, he strode out of the Cathedral, and into the night.

Aclima looked at the outstretched hand, at the aurora of blue Aether before her, at the attack that could surely end her life. She swallowed. She clenched her fists.

And then, she stepped forward.

“You won't kill me,” she said to Dragan Hadrien. “Because there's no profit in it for you.”

Hadrien raised a single silver eyebrow. “How's that? Once I win the Dawn Contest, I'll have to kill you anyway. Might as well get it over with.”

“Exactly,” Aclima replied, her raised voice echoing through the church. “You'll have to kill me at the end of the Dawn Contest. It'll be just as easy for you then as it is now. So why not get some use out of me first?”

Slowly, Hadrien narrowed his eyes, cocked his head. He was looking at her like she was a landmine -- an explosive he couldn't quite tell was armed or not.

“You're trying to trick me,” he finally replied.

Aclima nodded. “And you're trying to trick me. In the end, we will have to fight each other. But we can still help each other in the meantime. We have a common… common obstacle.”

The electric-blue Aether broiling in Dragan Hadrien’s hand did not fade. The chaotic light of the energy danced across his face, casting mad and shifting shadows over his features. Only his eyes, pupils shining an eerie blue themselves, were clearly visible.

The hand lowered.

“Atoy Muzazi?” he finally asked.

“That's right,” Aclima said. “He doesn't trust me, but I'm close to him all the time. I hear things. See things. I can pass you information. I can give you the edge you need.”

Hadrien's gaze hardened into a glare. “The edge I need?” he said quietly. “What makes you think I need that edge?”

“W-Well…”

“What you’re actually saying,” Hadrien spat. “Is that you think having to eventually fight me is better than having to eventually fight Atoy Muzazi. That’s very bold.”

Aclima stood tall, a smirk forced onto her face. “I’m very bold.”

That same smirk was mirrored on Hadrien. “I’m sure you think you are. But you don’t really understand what that looks like, do you? Here. Let me show you.”

The smile disappeared from his face -- and without another word, he raised his hand once more. In that same instant, the confidence vanished from Aclima’s face. In that same instant, her eyes widened into saucers. In that same instant, she took a step back -- and in that same instant…

…a piercing noise rang out through the church.

Screech.

Aclima stopped. Her one step back was not followed by a second. Her wide eyes stared only into empty space. Her panicked expression remained frozen on her face. Her entire body remained frozen -- like she’d suddenly been turned into a statue.

Hadrien narrowed his eyes.

“What have you done?” he asked.

The bodyguard who’d been standing silently beside the Heir all this time -- Anya Hapgrass -- took the whistle out from between her lips and stuffed it back into her pocket. A wide grin spread across her face as she waved a placating hand.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” she said. “Just a little Armament I’ve been working on. I figured it was best to put the girl on pause…”

Her grin widened.

“...so you and I can begin the real negotiations.”