Impheil didn't lower his stance. His posture remained angled, ready — cane or not, Devil or not, the man in red had earned nothing more than suspicion.
The figure, however, made no move. He leaned back slightly in the chair, one leg crossing the other with unhurried elegance, fingers interlaced atop the bluish-black cane beside him. His smile deepened with a faint edge of mockery.
"You really do carry that look," the man mused, amusement curling through his voice. "Like a dog left out in the rain, staring in at the dinner table."
Impheil didn't flinch. His eyes narrowed, voice flat and cutting. "Rocket."
The smile stayed, but the man blinked.
"...That's your issue?"
Impheil's stare held. "Why that name?"
Both held their gaze for a moment longer than was comfortable. Then the man let out a breath — an incredulous little huff of amusement.
"Well. If I knew you'd latch onto that, I would've picked something even worse. 'Rocket' was a courtesy."
Impheil didn't move.
The man tilted his head. "You reminded me of another swindler. Sharp, small, always one snide comment away from blowing something up."
A beat passed. Then, with a chuckle, he added, "Just be careful you don't end up with a talking tree for company. They're... not as warmhearted as stories say."
Impheil blinked.
The connection clicked.
"...Raccoon," he muttered.
Their eyes met again.
Impheil spoke carefully. "Small, feisty, talks too much and possessive as hell when it came to his gear. Ringing any bells?"
The man's expression stilled for the first time. Then, he smiled — this time without mockery.
"Tell me something," he said, voice softer. "You... didn't come from around here either, did you?"
Impheil's silence was answer enough.
The man leaned back with ease, laughter spilling from him. It echoed faintly through the apartment's quiet stillness.
Impheil narrowed his eyes. The mirth was unsettling, but not hostile.
"Funny, isn't it?" the man said at last, catching his breath. "How nothing's ever quite as coincidental as it looks."
Impheil's brow tightened. "Why? You are part of those released six years ago?"
The man tilted his head slightly, then nodded. "I am. And the second I have found as of yet."
Impheil didn't respond immediately. His thoughts spun in quiet spirals. Another transmigrator. Out of all of them, why him?
He wasn't sure if that made things better… or worse.
"I'm not going to waste time," Impheil said. "What's going on? With the Church. The Brokers. The Mirror."
The man hummed. "Ah, the Mirror. It dates back to Solomon's Empire — surely you've heard of it?"
Impheil's eyes flicked once. "Yes."
"Then you likely know why the Brokers are here too. Digging around for relics, hints of the Black Emperor, of Roselle Gustav's last mausoleum…" He trailed off, watching Impheil's expression.
Impheil's gaze stayed fixed. "It reminded me of the Brass Book incident."
The man's smile didn't fade. "Ah… yes. They may be related." He paused, fingers lightly tapping the side of his cane. "Quite possibly… due to a leak..."
His voice trailed off, the weight of the implication left hanging between them.
Impheil watched him carefully. "A leak of what, exactly?"
But the man only offered a dismissive flick of his hand. "Something best left alone, for now. When you climb higher… some of those missing pieces might come back to you. And then, perhaps, you'll understand."
Impheil exhaled through his nose, dry. "Convenient."
"But wise," the man replied smoothly, without missing a beat.
Then his gaze sharpened slightly, more curious than forceful. "Back at the bar… you never answered the bartender's question. So I'll ask again. What do you desire?"
Impheil tensed slightly. Even now, his instincts screamed caution.
"We may share origins," he said coldly, "but that doesn't mean I trust a Devil. Or finish a deal with one."
The man nodded slowly, conceding. "Of course, I understand. Devils can be crafty and dangerous, but I did provide some help, no?"
He lifted his hand slightly, flexing his fingers toward the dark-red gloves Impheil wore.
"I gave you those. You used them."
He paused, letting the moment hang.
"And when you slipped away with the Mirror, who do you think delayed the Overseer? Or silenced the Red Gloves outside?"
Impheil blinked once. "So that was you."
"Consider it an opening favor," the man said mildly.
Impheil didn't move. His posture remained unchanged, one hand at his side, the other loosely resting against the back of a nearby chair — close enough to act if needed. "Thanks," he said dryly. "But you'll understand if I don't take implications with a devil lightly. Deals like that tend to run deeper than they appear and acting carelessly isn't how I work."
A faint glint flashed in the man's eyes. "Oh? You mean the part where you've managed to keep ahead of Amon for years? And still avoided the Church's grasp?" He leaned back slightly, the gesture relaxed, but the air between them grew taut.
Right. That card was going to hit the table eventually.
Impheil's brow furrowed — barely — as he kept his expression neutral.
The man gave a short, polite nod. "I know about your Sequence. And I have to say — your approach with the Constantine situation was about what I expected. Careful, indirect and thorough."
"I suppose now you think you've got the edge, since you know so much," Impheil remarked, voice quiet.
"Hardly," the man replied with a soft chuckle. "Anyone who believes that is an amateur. Bluffing with half a hand only works when the table's blind."
Impheil's gaze narrowed slightly. "Then what about Constantine?"
The man lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "An heir to a mess. The Mirror was always the key — he just happened to inherit the burden. Whatever arrangement he made with the Brokers was just a side pursuit. In the end, he's not as important as the weight he carries."
But the man hadn't lingered there — hadn't dug deeper, hadn't said more. Just a neat deflection wrapped in half-truths.
Dodgy and deliberate. For someone spinning all this as honest cooperation, he was remarkably skilled at saying nothing.
And still… What do you desire?
There it was again. Dangled like bait in velvet. Wishes. Offers. Power.
And what if I answer? Will it be honored? Twisted?
Desire was always the first hook. And this Devil hadn't shown all his barbs.
Impheil hummed faintly in thought, then shook his head. "I don't even know your name."
He reached into his coat and pulled a folded piece of parchment, laying it on the small side table with two fingers. "I don't know yours either — not your real one. But that's irrelevant."
He stood slowly, brushing off a sleeve. "Keep the gloves. Call it a parting gift, or your due compensation. And since I'm feeling generous…" His gaze settled again on Impheil. "I'll extend an offer."
Impheil arched a brow, skeptical. Of course. Parting gift, compensation, generous offer — the standard trifecta in a Devil's toolkit.
He didn't roll his eyes, but it was a near thing.
"I'm gathering a small organization," the man continued, "for those who've transmigrated like us. I already mentioned the other transmigrator I met. You'd be the next."
Right. A secret club of transmigrators, built on good intentions and blind faith. I can practically smell the disaster brewing. Next, the man will offer a monthly meeting and matching uniforms.
"Another Baboon Society, then?" Impheil said flatly.
The man chuckled. "Far from it. The Baboon Society was bloated, idealistic, and doomed by its own incompetence. What I'm building? Not even close."
"However, I don't trust you," the man admitted without hesitation. "And you don't trust me either. I'd be a fool to rely on someone like you too quickly."
Impheil nodded once, slowly. Fair. Dangerous, but fair.
Impheil didn't bite. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, voice dry. "Then why even make the offer if you don't trust me?"
The man's smile widened by a hair. "It's a mystery, isn't it?"
Impheil didn't respond immediately.
The man's expression darkened just a shade. "Surviving alone has an expiration date, Rocket. You know that."
Surviving alone always came with a timer. Eventually, the clock will run out. But walking into another man's web just to stop the ticking? That was stupid.
He'd seen what partnerships really looked like, always a catch that came due when you least expected it.
Sure, the offer has merit. Network, leverage, if the Devil played fair. But that is the issue, the Devil playing fair.
Impheil's gaze moved, tracking the man's posture. The cadence of his words — calm, measured — a little too smooth.
He isn't desperate here, not even worried. This is just a simple invite, made on a whim. He is wearing confidence like a tailored coat and keeping just enough mystery to stay in control.
He crossed one arm lightly and said, "You still haven't told me everything."
The man didn't deny it. "Would you have, in my position?"
Impheil gave a short exhale, then angled his head slightly. "Then let me ask something else."
The man raised a brow, expectant.
"Who do you believe in?"
There was a pause — not long, but deliberate.
"The Fool, of course" the man said simply, almost amused by the question. "It was rather obvious."
Impheil's eyes narrowed, skeptical. "Right. And how exactly does that work, with you being a Devil?"
A grin tugged at the man's lips. "Well, I prefer to follow in "His" footsteps, smiling through the madness. Sometimes, you just need a little bit of fun."
Of course. A Devil quoting the Fool's doctrine like it was a sermon and a joke at the same time.
Impheil suppressed a grimace. Right. Just what this world needed — a zealot with horns and punchlines.
He gave a tight, short nod. "I'll call a rain check. The offer's not… bad."
The man's tongue clicked once. "Marauders…" he muttered.
"You'll know how to reach me. If you do, I'll consider it as an agreement to my offer. I don't expect immediate trust, but I'm not like the others you've likely met. And if we work together… we both stand to gain."
The man stepped back, offering a final smile. "Think about it, Rocket."
Then, with a glimmer through the tip of his cane, he vanished, and the apartment was still again.
Impheil stood in silence after the man vanished. He exhaled, slow and tight, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Of course," he muttered. "Talking raccoons. A devil in a red suit handing out career opportunities."
He crossed to the table, fingers curling around the folded paper the man had left. He opened it, scanning the contents.
"The Blazing Skull That Laughs in Damnation,
The Horned Flame That Heralds the Crimson Pact,
The Loyal Messenger Bound in Blood to Erynos Nois"
His eyes stilled on the last line.
Nois.
Impheil's brow twitched.
So that's what he's hiding.Not just any Devil, an Angel from the Nois Family. Who knows what he did all these years… And the claim of being a believer of The Fool of all Deities? Hmm, something feels fishy about this.
He clicked his tongue and pocketed the paper.
And you're just walking around in a suit, cracking jokes.
He swept the last of the dust off his coat and left the apartment again, moving discreetly through the winding streets of Belltaine. There was still one thing left undone.
In the veiled stretch of an inconspicuous alley, he waited — quiet, still. Minutes passed before soft, measured footsteps approached.
Therrin.
Separated from the search group by some minor diversion, he moved along the street, unaware. The Hermit artifact was no longer in his possession, his gaze was forward and unfocused.
He passed.
Impheil watched from the shadows, then shifted his attention towards his hand, holding the artifact he just stole.
"Welcome back," he murmured dryly, slipping it beneath his coat, while the parasite within Therrin returned to him.
Returning to his apartment took less time. He locked the door behind him, crossed to the hidden panel beneath the floorboards, and stored the artifact alongside the others.
One click, and the black gothic pocket watch snapped open. The soft ticking echoed in the silence.
He stared at the time for a moment.
Then closed it.
"Let the dust settle," he said quietly to himself. "Then Graham."
…
The crimson light from the moon slanted through the high, broken windows, washing the vast cathedral in a sullen glow.
Jack stood near the center of one of the grander halls, the vaulted ceiling rising above him. Dust drifted through the air, catching the light in dull spirals. His cane tapped softly against the cracked floor as he turned his gaze upward, then forward — toward the space he'd cleared for what came next. A quiet hum pulsed through the air around him, barely audible beneath the weight of the stillness.
In front of him, the air shimmered.
With a faint ripple, the Constantine Mirror appeared — released from him. It hovered slightly above the floor, suspended in silence. Its glassy surface shimmered, then twisted. For a moment, its entire frame flickered in and out with shadows.Then, a parasite, nearly invisible, wriggled free from the glass.
It didn't last long. As soon as it came out of the mirror of the cathedral, it began to unravel. Within seconds, it withered.
Jack arched a brow, amused.
He stood, walked a few slow steps forward, and crouched beside it. He grabbed the dead Worm of Time from the floor, holding it up in the palm of his hand.
"A parasite… You cheeky bastard." He let out a dry chuckle. "Still trying to listen in, even after handing it over. Bold, Rocket. Bold."
He dropped it into his pocket, to give his main body afterwards.
"Lucky me, I suppose. This'll make a fine charm."
Jack turned back toward the Mirror. Its surface had begun to shift again. Shapes emerged faintly within its surface..
Then, abruptly, his own figure appeared.
The Mirror began to spew its influence, distorting the man in front of it. Jack's form flickered. The distortion attempted to mirror him in full.
But the cathedral pulsed.
A deep, silent pressure filled the air as the walls themselves seemed to twist. Jack exerted control over the cathedral, pouring a wave of distortion into the Mirror's influence. Dylan Castle responded like a beast reasserting its territory.
The Mirror's power wavered.
Jack turned the surface aside with a single, precise flick of his cane. The reflection broke and the pressure died out.
He exhaled, slow and sharp.
"Even after all that," he muttered, eyeing the mirror with narrowed amusement, "you're still eager to bite the hand holding you."
Raising one hand, he closed his eyes. Beneath his eyelids, they moved.
He was diving about its peculiarities.
A procession of broken ruins. A throne swallowed by fog. And through it all, the Mirror.
Then came the figure.
Towering and vague. Dark as the edge of comprehension. Suddenly, it turned and bore its gaze towards him.
Everything ruptured.
Jack jerked backward with a sharp inhale, stumbling one step, then another. His knees buckled, and his form convulsed — the crimson suit twisting unnaturally as if rejecting the shape it held. A ripple passed through his body, and then it broke apart into a black-red viscous substance, oozing briefly like living corruption before snapping back into semblance.
His chest flared — a sharp, bluish-black mark searing on his chest in an illusory manner.
Elsewhere — across streets, walls, and distant rooms — his marionettes stilled. One froze mid-gesture, another mid-step, their postures wavering like broken puppets for a breath too long.
He let out a hoarse scream, the sound half-swallowed as his face contorted. His features split for an instant, slick lines tearing downward into writhing sludge, before the entire body collapsed inward, shrinking down into a fluttering piece of yellowed paper that burned faintly at the edges.
Each marionette resumed its motion, smooth and undisturbed — the transfer complete. Jack was still standing. Somewhere else.
Reappearing a few paces to the left, hunched, breath ragged. The Mirror now idle and silent. The cathedral dim again.
He steadied himself slowly, one hand clutching the back of a ruined pew.
"...So much for subtlety," he muttered, teeth clenched. The mark of the Fool still burned on his chest, protecting him from worse. But the backlash had left its mark.
His thoughts scattered — less cohesive now.
The progress made under Audrey's careful guidance faltered. The calm and the control — cracked.
Despite the Discerner's occasional therapy, despite the Fool's mark that dulled most of the worst backlashes, the deeper issues remained untouched.
And now, the divination's recoil had stirred them into motion again.
Jack inhaled slowly.
His gaze lifted — composed, on the surface. But a flicker of strain still smoldered in his eyes.
"Tch…"
He clicked his tongue with a sharp snap of irritation.
He'd known there was a chance of backlash. Even expected a flicker of risk. But to touch the edge of Solomon's shadow… that hadn't been the intent. He hadn't meant to peer that deep. Not yet.
And still, it had turned its gaze on him.
"Divination," he muttered darkly, "isn't as carefree as I thought."
Not even for an Angel.
The bluish-black mark on his chest flickered after a while, returning to normalcy, as he straightened his back.
Despite such backlashes, the divination still bore fruit
Solomon's ruins…
And the Mirror was part of the key — the surface through which the threshold could be revealed.
There were others, too. He hadn't caught them clearly — fragments, hints, shapes that didn't settle. Other relics. Other pieces. Together, they would act as a chain… or a map. Maybe both.
Jack's expression didn't shift, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
"That makes things clearer."
And more dangerous.
Jack lifted the mirror with care, its weight settling in his grasp.
He moved through the shadowed halls, cane tapping against the stone with rhythmic ease. Crimson light filtered weakly through high cracks, stretching over dust-lined pillars.. His footsteps echoed, undisturbed by time or intrusion.
Eventually, he reached a small, unused chamber — tucked behind a rotted archway, the door frame warped by years of neglect. He stepped inside.
Vacant and abandoned. The air was dry, the dust thick.
Perfect.
He placed the Mirror gently against the far wall. The distortion rippled faintly at his touch, but made no protest.
Jack raised his cane and traced a smooth, looping arc into the air. The cathedral answered and a soft erasure occurred. The Mirror faded, swallowed by the cathedral's concealing action, vanishing from sight and perception. But not from the room.
The Mirror was still there, just concealed.
Jack gave a small nod.
"This place," he murmured, "might be something more… but it's the safest vault I've got."
He turned and exited the room without looking back, sealing the threshold behind him with a flick of thought.
As he moved down the corridor once more, he glanced toward the faded mural on the far wall.
His fingers tapped absently along the cane as he walked.
"Audrey," he muttered to himself. "I'll need to see her again. Before the next gathering…"
The shadows closed behind him as Jack vanished, leaving only silence in the cathedral's depths.