A man sat alone on the front pew. Broad-shouldered, his coat soaked and heavy, he stared up at the towering cross as if it might blink first. In his gloved hand, a smartphone glowed with the faint image of a masked figure on a video call.
"You better not mess this up, Lord Four," the masked figure barked, a number 3 scrawled across his porcelain mask. "If the subject doesn't reach HQ, it's your head on the altar."
No response. Just the rhythmic tapping of Lord Four's thumb against the bench.
"Did you hear me?"
"I heard you," he said, voice low and unbothered. "Now shut up and let me work."
The connection crackled.
"You arrogant bastard—did you even remember what happened in Grimoir City? A power clash between unknown entities. We still can't get in. We can't afford any more of your freelance nonsense!"
Lord Four smirked. "I don't care."
