Demon Hunters.

The cathedral of Lussi loomed against the darkening Madrid city sky, its stone walls tinged in an eerie twilight glow.

The gothic spires clawed at the heavens like the skeletal fingers of some forgotten creature, casting jagged shadows across the cobblestone street.

Inside, the silence was heavy, only broken by the occasional creak of ancient wood or the distant murmur of a wind that slipped through the narrow stained glass windows.

The nave stretched out before the group of men gathered in the choir stalls, their faces half-illuminated by the flickering candles that lined the altar.

The scent of burning beeswax filled the air, mingling with the musty odor of centuries-old stone. There was a tension, palpable and unspoken, that clung to the vaulted ceiling, suffusing the very air they breathed.

At the center of the gathering, the bishop sat in grim silence.

His face, framed by the heavy folds of his ornate vestments, was etched with deep lines, his expression one of grim contemplation.

His silvered hair, catching the flickering candlelight, glowed like a crown of thorns atop his head. His mitre, adorned with jewels that caught the dying light, glittered with an almost sinister gleam.

The weight of his years, the burden of his position, was evident in the way he sat, his hands clasped tightly on his lap as if in silent supplication.

"Till now, no one has found their location," one of the younger priests, his voice barely above a whisper, broke the tense silence.

The words lingered in the still air, heavy with implication. "The magician must be monitored."

The name Robert Mugg hung over the group like an omen. A magician—an Ascender—whose dabbling's in forbidden powers had drawn the attention of both the Church and the Demon Hunters.

A man who had somehow survived encounters with forces far beyond human comprehension. 

"The information from our informants... and other Demon Hunters..." the young priest continued, his voice quivering ever so slightly, "this magician, Robert Mugg... he's come into contact with Sealed Artifact 2-34."

The bishop's fingers twitched at the mention of the artifact. His eyes, deep-set and shadowed, flickered with something—a brief spark of alarm, quickly smothered by his seasoned control.

He gave a slow, measured nod, but the tension in his face betrayed the turmoil that roiled beneath the surface.

"Has there been any other information concerning this man?" the bishop asked, his voice a low rumble that echoed off the cathedral's towering walls. There was an edge to his tone, like the crackle of distant thunder before a storm.

The young priest swallowed hard before answering. "Most of his attempts at magic have been... failures, my lord. But he's dangerous.

He once meddled with an item linked to an evil god—it almost claimed his life. The Nightwalkers... they tried to kill him, even tried to take his sister, but they underestimated him."

The bishop's face darkened, his lips tightening into a thin line. He rubbed a hand over his face, as if trying to banish the weariness that clung to him like a second skin.

There was something about Robert Mugg that unsettled him in ways no ordinary Ascender ever could. This magician was a loose thread, dangling precariously from the tapestry of the world. And loose threads had a tendency to unravel everything around them.

"Enough," the bishop said at last, his voice tired, yet commanding. "We will end this meeting. I need to pray."

The other men, priests and Demon Hunters alike, rose silently from their seats, their robes whispering against the stone floor as they filed out of the choir stalls.

The flickering candlelight cast their departing shadows long and thin, like specters retreating into the night. Soon, the vast cathedral was empty, save for the bishop, who remained seated, his gaze fixed on the high altar.

The weight of the past few weeks bore down on him like a leaden cloak. He had failed.

The mission given to him by Lussi—the goddess of mischief and mystery—had gone awry.

And now, Robert Mugg threatened to unravel everything he had worked so hard to protect.

With a slow, deliberate movement, the bishop rose from his seat. His body, though old and worn, moved with a strange grace as he approached a statue that stood in a shadowed alcove.

The figure was of a woman, veiled, her form so lifelike that it seemed she might step down from the pedestal at any moment.

Her alabaster skin gleamed in the candlelight, and her eyes—though carved from stone—seemed to watch him with an unsettling intensity.

The bishop knelt before her, his head bowed, his voice a low murmur. "Oh Lussi," he whispered, "goddess of mischief and mystery. Your servant prays for your forgiveness. I have failed the mission you gave to me."

His words, though barely audible, echoed in the empty cathedral, bouncing off the walls like ghostly whispers.

He prayed with a fervor that bordered on desperation, his voice trembling as he begged for her mercy.

As he prayed, a sudden, violent cough wracked his body. He doubled over, his hand pressed to his mouth, and when he pulled it away, his palm was slick with blood.

The drops splattered onto the cold stone floor beneath the statue, glistening like rubies in the dim light. His breathing grew ragged, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a wheeze.

Still, he pressed on, his devotion unwavering. He bent down, his lips brushing the stone floor, and licked the blood clean. He left no trace, no evidence of his failing body. "Praise the goddess," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Praise the goddess. Praise the goddess."

The words were a mantra, repeated until they became meaningless sounds, carried on the breath of a dying man.

Finally, he rose, his legs trembling beneath him. He staggered toward the altar, where a pen and paper awaited him. With shaking hands, he scrawled a letter—his final command.

"Find the magician named Robert Mugg. He must be killed, no matter the cost. The Central Cathedral will provide whatever assistance is needed. All funds spent on this mission will be reimbursed... Better still, if he can be bought to join the blackouts."

He folded the letter carefully, his breath shallow and labored. With a snap of his fingers, a young priest appeared, his eyes wide with concern at the sight of the bishop's pallor.

"Take this to the Demon Hunters," the bishop rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. "This is an urgent matter. It cannot wait."

The priest bowed deeply and hurried out of the cathedral, the letter clutched tightly in his hand. Outside, the night had fallen, and the moon cast an eerie glow over the city.

The young priest wasted no time, slipping through the narrow streets until he reached the nondescript entrance of a security company.

Inside, he was led through a hidden passage, the stone walls pressing in on him as the weight of the mission settled on his shoulders.

At the end of the passage, a man sat at a wooden table, his posture relaxed, though his sharp eyes missed nothing. He sipped from a teacup, his every movement deliberate, calculated.

Without a word, the priest handed over the letter. The man took it, his expression unreadable as he unfolded the paper and scanned its contents.

His lips curled into a thin smile, though there was no warmth in it—only the cold, calculating satisfaction of a predator who had just been handed the scent of his prey.

"Robert Mugg," the man murmured, his voice like the purr of a cat that had cornered a mouse. "So, it comes to this."

He rose from his seat, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. The hunt had begun.

--

"Why is my ear buzzing?" Riley asked Eleanor as the carriage tumbled down the street. Eleanor gave him a quick look, she shrugged and ignored him.

Chloe still couldn't believe her best friend actually supported her brother, and together they had planned the ransom letter and had actually sent it to her parents.

However, she started to reason with them, and the duo had reduced the ransom money, they had decided to collect a thousand pounds, which seemed like a lot, but to Chloe's parents it was nothing.

At least that was what she hoped until both siblings had revealed that they were pranking her, and Chloe couldn't understand, when or where they had planned their pranks.

"This is where we part." said Eleanor, pulling her friend into a hug.

Chloe had decided to go home alone. Having contacted her family, they had agreed on a location to meet, none of them knew why Chloe's parent didn't sent anyone to escort their child home, and they felt like it was not their problem to intervene either.

Chloe making it home, or not, depended on her luck.

Riley and Eleanor got off the carriage, however, they didn't go home straight. Eleanor had decided to visit the secret organization where she worked.

"If it's a secret organization, why are you taking me there?" Riley asked.

"It's a fucking security company." Eleanor replied.

They both made their way into the security company, and Eleanor was led to a table, where a man, was holding a letter, and was casually sipping his coffee, the man glanced upwards, his eyes landed on Riley.

"Hello Captain, this is my brother, Robert Mugg."