As Adam, Hannah, Gusto and Jezebel were led away from the Oryza Alba restaurant, Bruenor motioned to the empty seat that Marc would have sat in. “James, you may utilize your powers as a Chosen, lead me to the young lad that would have sat here.”

  “Sir.” James nodded and unsheathed the shortsword at his side. Its black blade was thin and seemed to absorb the light of the chandeliers in the restaurant. He swiftly stepped to the empty chair and stabbed his sword into the air, as if striking at something that didn’t exist. After a brief hesitation, he let go of the sword, which hung in midair and slowly turned. This technique was similar to a dowsing rod used in divination practices, but was autonomous. The sword slowly floated out the door and into the street with James and Bruenor close behind.

  …

  Adam was speed walking behind Hellig as thin white snowflakes started to drop from the sky at an increasing frequency. Nobody had talked for the past few minutes, as if any mention of the situation would make them fall off a sheer cliff face. Adam cleared his throat.

  “So, uh, Hellig…it isn’t often that royal guards protect anyone outside the imperial family. How is it that you and James are with Lord Flos?”

  Hellig kept walking, but a faint warmth seemed to direct itself toward Adam as he responded. “Lord Flos and the Emperor have a strong relationship. When the Vice Admiral returned from his most recent expedition and was given the assignment to be in the parade this evening, he requested royal guard protection and chose James and myself.” Hellig turned a street corner, leading away from the Pride Square and towards a hilltop with a towering castle.

  “He has not yet made it clear to me what his suspicions were for this evening, but whatever his plan is for the night, rest assured that this was within his expectations. Both Vice Admiral Flos and Emperor Aurelius are incredibly competent individuals. I have faith in the decision making of both them and the other royal guards in the vicinity of the palace.”

  The group mulled over these words, Gusto especially was wondering if there was a reason why he was fast tracked to be a Chosen. Hannah took a deep breath of the now chilling air. “Hellig, my uncle mentioned communications may have been compromised, is this cause for alarm?”

  Hellig continued to walk at the same pace, thinking things over for a few seconds. “I do not believe that to be the case ma’am. While we were caught unawares with the communication difficulties, the reason why Lord Flos picked James was because his abilities as a Chosen allow him to divine the precise location of individuals and items missing from their proper places. The Vice Admiral was prepared for such an event, even if it was an unlikely occurrence.” Hellig suddenly stopped and turned around for the first time, warmth spreading outwards from him to melt the snow that had started to stick to the ground.

  “Rest assured, while we are currently unsure of the situation, Vice Admiral Flos has prepared adequately. At this moment in time, he has an item on his person that allows him to contend with a demigod for a limited period of time.”

  With that made clear, the group fell silent as Hellig led them further up the hill. Up in the sky, the clouds were thickening and the snow was falling faster.

  …

  The snow seemed to avoid Bruenor and James as the pair made their way through a series of alleys, eventually coming to a small church. It was made out of stone, but one could see the wear and tear on the facade. No lights were on inside. Bruenor motioned for James to stay behind him and approached the oak wood double door, knocking on it firmly. After a couple of seconds, the pair heard shuffling behind the door, and a hooded figure peeked out.

  “Good evening, I’m afraid the church is closed today due to the celebrations. Please come back another time.” The hooded figure moved to close the door, but found Bruenor forcing his way in.

  The figure shuffled backwards, but no scream came out of his mouth as Bruenor waved his hand. “Churches don’t close for festivals. Where are your accomplices?”

  The hooded figure got up to scramble away on all fours, but only made it a few feet. Bruenor tensed up his calves and shot out, covering the distance in the blink of an eye. His hand outstretched, gripping the cultist by the foot as he slammed him down onto a church pew. Shrapnel of wood scattered as the cultist’s body went straight through the pew and landed on the floor with a loud and sickening splotch. It did not so much as twitch.

  “James, prepare for enemy Passengers, this individual is wearing a robe that hints at a certain Devil.”

  James entered into the church, grabbing his shortsword from the air and keeping it held aloft. “Sir. I shall provide necessary support where required.”

  Outside, the snow began to accumulate.

  Bruenor and James quickly searched the church thanks to James’s keen intuition, finding a cellar door at the end of a short stone staircase. Bruenor went down first and, stopping at the door, looked behind him. James nodded his head, giving the Vice Admiral notice that it was safe to enter in his usual fashion.

  Bruenor’s upper body tensed up, with his muscles seeming to bulge and grow. The door, made out of solid wood with iron reinforcements, was punched once and shattered. Pieces of it flew into the room beyond as the hallway around the pair shook from the blast. A slight coat of dust was brushed off of James’s upper body as the pair entered to find a gruesome sight.

  A large circular chamber had a series of 5 stone altar tables off to the back wall. In front of each was a monstrous creature, each monster was roughly 2.8 meters tall with long hair extending down to the floor. Thin and malnourished bodies hunched over, with long arms ending in claws 30cm long. Their faces were covered in blood, with a myriad of shrunken, miniaturized faces across their bodies. On the far-right side was one such monster with white hair and pieces of a tunic merged into its flesh. This scrap of leather had an embroidered M on it.

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  In front of the altar tables was a thin barrier that Bruenor innately sensed belonged to a powerful Chosen. A group of 6 other figures was in between the space where Bruenor was and his target- the congregation leader. He turned his head slightly, motioning for James, who gripped his revolver with his right hand and sword with his left. The hooded figures all stood up, including two that seemed uncharacteristically small. In the back, by the final altar table, the hooded leader of the congregation let down her hood.

  Piercing blue eyes as sharp and cold as ice gazed out, with jet black hair braided down her back. Her skin was as white as snow, and she smiled towards Bruenor, who was briefly startled but didn’t let it show.

  “Hrime!” Bruenor put power into his legs and shot off like a cannon ball, covering the 30 meter distance between the doorway and the ritual shielding in nearly an instant. A pair of small cultists attempted to waylay him, but he gripped each by the head and squeezed. He felt skull give way, and as he stopped his trajectory at the edge of the barrier, he slammed down onto the ground. The remnant brain matter on his hands was shaken off as he glared up at Hrime, whose smile was as white as the blizzard that had begun outside.

  “I’ll have to leave you to deal with these dear Vice Admiral, you have fallen for my trap wonderfully.” Hrime briefly curtsied before manifesting a black halberd whose edge glowed with an icy blue color.

  Bruenor tensed his body once again and pounded on the barrier, which shook and wavered without breaking. Hrime turned around, content that the barrier would prevent Bruenor from entering, before gently touching the tip of the halberd to the wall behind her. Ice quickly spread through it and upwards as she closed her eyes and concentrated. Bruenor motioned to James, who nodded.

  Dipping his head down, Bruenor took out a thin silver sheet etched with a face on it. This face had horns, a large nose and deep set eyes set overtop a backdrop of an imperial palace floating in the sky. He began to pray overtop it, causing a rolling wave of energy to emanate outwards from him into a small ritual shell similar to the barrier he was unable to shatter.

  James took a deep breath and raised his revolver, shooting twice at the cultists who were now swarming towards him. Two shots ricocheted off of the floor and struck the back of the heads of one of the cultists, killing the enemy instantly. The remaining three took up strategic positions in front of James, one of them manifested a thin icy sword and charged forward into melee.

  The clash of fighting resounded through the room as James pressed the enemy cultist, occasionally dodging a bolt of fire or magically conjured obsidian javelin directed towards him. Bruenor remained in prayer for a significant time, and suddenly raised his head, his eyes no longer steel, but rather a bright crimson red. Suddenly, the cultists attempting to attack James were slowed in place, their attacks freezing in midair.

  Bruenor’s body turned around towards James and raised a single question in two different voices, one of them Vice Admiral Bruenor Flos’s, the other a gargle, like a rabid dog.

  “A price must be paid for intervention. Is it yours, or his?”

  James didn’t hesitate.

  “Mine.”

  James fell to the ground as a flash of crimson light burst through the room, making even Hrime glance over in concern. Upon seeing the sight, she redoubled her efforts.

  James’s body morphed, growing thick leathery skin dyed a solid red. He grew long curved ears and his clothes morphed, transforming into a traditional tengu style garb made out of a thin, breathable cloth. The cultists nearby were momentarily taken aback but quickly attacked.

  James’s body caught an obsidian spear that was thrown at it, twirling it around and deftly dismembered the cultist with the ice sword before stabbing him through the chest. The Cherubim redirected a fire bolt, causing it to singe its own caster to dust in a fiery mess of human pain. It moved so fast that it seemed to teleport behind the final cultist, growing long claws out of its hands and tearing out the final cultist’s heart with a single blow.

  Bruenor stood up and made eye contact with the now fearful Hrime, tensed up his body, and began to wail on the ritual barrier between them again and again fast enough for his movements to blur, shaking the entire underground room with each punch.

  It was too late.

  The ice that Hrime had cast to seep into the surroundings had fully taken hold. She winked at Bruenor, as much an attempt to get under his skin as to calm her own nerves, and lightly touched the wall behind her, shattering it fully before jumping up to the street above and going out of sight. The monster formerly known as Marc jumped out after her, whilst the remaining 4 hunkered down like rapid dogs waiting for a hunt.

  The Red Oni slowly drifted towards Bruenor and the barrier, manifested a katana, and tensed itself in an upright position as it floated steadily. After a moment, it clove downwards, and the barrier split open.

  Within 30 seconds, the 4 monsters were dead. Bruenor, unscathed but drained from the ordeal of summoning the Red Oni, looked at the being before him.

  “I shall let the Emperor know of the assistance that your master has given today.” He sighed deeply. “Are you able to follow Hrime and stop her?”

  The Cherubim thought for a moment.

  “This vessel’s soul does not harmonize with my master’s Realm. Your body would have been better… I shall attempt.”

  With that, the Red Oni flew upwards to the street, which was now covered in snow from a blizzard that was continuing to thicken.

  Down below in the underground chamber, Bruenor sighed and made a quick prayer to the Many Winged Angel. He didn’t betray his emotions on his face, even with nobody else around. But deep down, he was swearing at himself for not being able to stop Hrime without using the help of the Cherubim. From a strategic standpoint, he knew he made the correct choices with the resources and information at his disposal at each step of the process. From a human standpoint, he blamed himself for the loss of both Marc’s and James’s souls, as well as the souls of the other 4 monsters, the deaths of 7 people, the loss of a divinely gifted item, and the escape of Hrime. He stood in that room for a long, solemn while. A single tear froze to his face from the cold before the warmth of his connection with his Realm was able to stop it.