HELL
Deep in a lightless chamber where shadows clung to basalt thrones, two presences had communed. Their forms were indistinct, their voices a discordant, overlapping whisper that seemed to come from all directions at once.
"They have failed, as they should." the First Voice hissed.
"His scent is cold. The Sheep has veiled himself well."
"It was a fool's errand," the Second Voice replied, the sound like stone grinding on stone.
"A shadow in the darkness cannot be found. The circles grow restless. They sense the vacant throne."
"This 'holiday' of his threatens the balance. We must know his game."
"But we cannot intervene, save when it is our due. But... I have heard of another one. One who has slipped her collar."
"Tartar," the First Voice said, with a note of distaste. "She enjoys her 'freedom' on the mortal plane. She believes we are unaware of her nest."
"A foolish thought. Send the directive. Tell her The Sheep must be found".
"His Holiday ends now."
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"And this," Dr. Evelyn Reed said, tapping a grainy, pixelated photograph on the glowing smartboard, "is the lynchpin."
The sterile white analysis room at the Bureau was a web of holographic lines and digital files. Director Nair rubbed his temples, while Commander Thorne stood at parade rest, his face an impassive mask. The entire board was dedicated to one man: Sun.
There were satellite photos of him, grainy CCTV footage from his youth, and complex diagrams linking him to known criminal operations in the Havenworth district.
"Director, my analysis confirms: 'Sun' is the mastermind," Dr. Reed said, adjusting her glasses. Her voice was confident, clinical. "His criminal file as a gang leader in Havenworth is extensive. He cultivates Aether-forged operatives, and is possibly a broker of sorts. The criminal for hire kind."
"And 'Ace'?" Nair asked, his voice weary.
Dr. Reed tapped a blurry photo of Ace, who was slightly behind Sun and out of focus.
"The associate. Highly skilled, incredibly dangerous, but erratic. A classic enforcer. Sun is the calculating brain; Ace is the blunt instrument."
Commander Thorne managed to hold his tone steady but with his jaw clenching.
"That 'blunt instrument' flattened a dozen B-class hostiles with a wave of his hand. He didn't look 'wielded' to me."
"All our data points to Sun being the primary threat and decision-maker," Dr. Reed concluded.
Nair sighed. "Fine. Focus all surveillance on Sun. Find his network and what he's hiding."
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In the Siren Guild's high-tech war room, Lyra, the First Spear, paced before a massive holographic map of the sector.
"Nothing," she snapped, her silver hair catching the light. "The Destroyers are ghosts. No new sightings, no unusual Aether signatures."
"They're hiding," Clio said, leaning over the console. "We know they used that Dungeon. They have to be planning something."
"Planning doesn't matter if we have no leads," Lyra countered. "We need…."
The door to the war room slid open, and a timid adjutant, clutching a note pad, peeked inside. "First Spear... apologies for the interruption, but... the initial repair estimate for the Sanctuary just came in."
Lyra didn't even look up from the map. "What repair?"
The adjutant winced. "The... 'anomalous cryo-damage' to the crystalline tanks and the 3rd floor board room from yesterday's... high-level meeting. The one with Lady Thelxiepeia."
Lyra's head snapped up, her eye twitching. "And?"
"The total is... well..." the adjutant stammered, "it's enough to fund a C-class dungeon expedition. Twice."
Lyra pinched the bridge of her nose, her investigation completely derailed. "Just... pay it. From the 'Divine Discretion' fund."
Clio coughed into her hand, trying to hide a smirk.
"As I was saying," Lyra said, her voice strained with exasperation, "we need to find what they are about to, before we're bankrupted by our own goddess."
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In a bright, chic coffee shop downtown, Tartar sat sipping an espresso, a perfectly made cannoli on a plate beside her. She looked completely at home, enjoying the afternoon sun.
A shadow under her table flickered, and the air grew cold for a fraction of a second. A small, scorched scroll, bound with sinew, materialized on her saucer, smelling of brimstone.
Tartar sighed, her blissful expression turning to one of profound annoyance. "Ugh. The Hell office. Can't they see I'm on a break?"
She delicately unrolled the scroll and read the single, burning directive: Find The Sheep.
She scoffed. "Find... Him? Here? Those imperious fools. Fine."
She rolled the scroll back up and casually tucked it into her designer handbag.
"But I'm finishing my cannoli first."
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Meanwhile, in the dim, chaotic din of a downtown arcade, Sun was actively regretting his choices.
"This is pointless," Ace declared. He was standing in front of a Whac-A-Mole machine that was letting out a high-pitched, wailing alarm. He had hit every single mole the instant it appeared, and the machine was now smoking. "The pattern is too simple."
He moved to a punching bag machine. "A test of strength? Very well." He tapped it. The bag flew off its chain, slammed into the back of the machine, and the score counter spun around three times before bursting in a shower of sparks.
"Okay! Okay, that's enough of that!" Sun said, grabbing Ace's arm and dragging him away from the wreckage. "How about this? It's... digital."
He sat Ace down at a high-end gaming PC running a popular fantasy MMO. Ace stared at the screen, his boredom instantly replaced by genuine, analytical curiosity.
"Humans... synthesized a world?" he mused, watching a character ride a glowing dragon. "They forged creatures from light and code, and they control them... for entertainment? What a magnificent, useless creation."
Ten minutes later, the magnificence had worn off. Ace, using a keyboard and mouse for the first time, was laughably bad. His in-game character, a towering barbarian with a colossal axe, was stuck walking into a wall.
"This... vessel... it does not obey," Ace said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Why won't it strike?"
"You gotta use the keys, Ace," Sun said, his laughter nervous. "W-A-S-D. No, that's the inventory. The mouse! Use the mouse to look!"
A low-level, cartoonish-looking slime blob bounced up to Ace's character and hit him. Ace's health bar dropped. He was hit again.
"THIS IS AN INSULT!" Ace roared. "I AM A MASTER OF..!!"
The lights in the entire arcade flickered. The monitor in front of Ace sparked, and a spiderweb of cracks appeared on the glass, radiating from a central pressure point.
"Okay! Okay! That's enough!" Sun yelped, yanking a seething Ace out of the chair. "How about we try something else? Look, a claw machine! You can win a stuffed animal! Very simple! No, wait, on second thought..." Sun frantically dragged the demon out of the building before he could start a war with a video game.