Hey guys what's up? I should give a warning here. This chapter has implied sexual content between Ren and Lavenza. It's probably the closest I've written to an actual lemon.

Also, Pre-game Throne appears in this chapter. Just like Prim in the last game, it is implied seduction/Prostitution is part of her skill set while with the Blacksnakes. That means those topics and themes will pop up here since Throne isn't completely on board with it, and I won't portray her as such since I feel that goes against her character. You have been warned.

This chapter got called "aggressively horny" by Asd0789(To who I give thanks btw) So there's your second warning.


Ren looked at the various buildings of New Delsta City in amazement. It was as if Victorian-Era London and Paris had met Roaring 20's New York City.

Tall smokestacks spat dark grey smog into the sky. The windows of the shops were wide and elaborate designed to draw people in to view and admire. Candy, toys, furniture, and clothing shops dominated the main street in town.

Above, tenements were built on top of shops and cafes. Clotheslines full of garments stretched between one building and another along with flagpoles that showed nationalistic pride from a myriad of different nations.

Various troupe performers littered the street. Jugglers, singers, and dancers alike. Women in poofy bustle dresses could be seen every so often offering a different kind of performance to those who were willing to pay.

Ren stopped and observed a particular trope of performers that caught his eye. A group of four women. The woman with the red half cape served as a barker for the group, doing her best to draw in patrons with various party tricks such as juggling and pulling a dove from a hat.

The woman in blue and the woman in green, rotated in sync around the tall woman as she effortlessly picked them up in various lifts and twirls. When they weren't doing that their legs moved in perfect rhythm to an unseen song. Ren was brought back to the countless hours he and Sumire spent in front of a mirror perfecting their own moves and tempos. He knew just how much of a critical role the taller woman played and to do it with not one but two women seamlessly impressed him. He only worked with Sumire and a cognition(?) of Kasumi who already knew what to do.

The routine finally winded down as all three dancer's chests were heaving from the intense routine.

Ren found himself the only one applauding out of the paltry few in attendance.

"Please support us! Every little bit helps us on our way to Toto'haha!" The lady in red pleaded with the small crowd. It was a voice filled with panic and borderline despair. Above her, a small dove cooed half-heartedly as it flapped in a circle.

Most of the others said nothing as they kept moving along. Some grumbled about having already spent the little leaves they had. One person said 'Get a real job' under their breath.

Ren decided to dump some leaves in the change box in front of them. He was spending like crazy lately, but he wouldn't be worthy to call himself a gentleman thief if he didn't elect to share the wealth every once in a while. Besides, he liked the performance and the nostalgia it brought.

"Thank you, kind sir," the leader said, bowing her head deeply to which the others followed.

"There's no need for that, I enjoyed what I saw."

The leader raised her head. "We appreciate that. As a traveling troupe, sometimes it's hard to stick out. And even when we do, chances are folks might've spent their money elsewhere, as you saw." she trailed off lamely.

Ren put a finger to his chin in thought. "Hmm, do you mind if I offer a word of advice then? I dabble in performing a bit myself on occasion."

"Surely you may. It doesn't do any harm to hear from a cohort." The three others behind the leader looked at him curiously. The white bird landed on the red cape's shoulder.

Ren gestured for them to wait a moment as he got a couple of sturdy crates from a nearby alley and stacked them to varying heights in a circle around them. At the troupe's confused glances, he explained. "If the problem is that people go to someone else before you, then make sure that you're the first act they want to come to. And that falls on you as the ringleader. Put on a pre-performance yourself to draw attention. Watch."

Ren then dropped his bag then jumped on the highest stack of crates he made in one motion. The four troupe members below looked at him with wide eyes. "Before I begin, would you mind telling me the name of your group and where you're from?"

"Giselle's troupe!" The leader said and the dove cawed in agreement.

"Crestlands!" The brunette woman said hurriedly. Ren nodded and turned his attention back to the street, where he'd already caught a few people's and even animals' attention. He reached into his pocket and without taking out his phone, turned on the music feature. He knew his playlist by heart at this point.

"Strikers. Perfect song for this scenario."

The jazzy music blared out. It emanated from Ren like his own personal aura. Futaba had made sure to audio boost his phone for these exact occasions. The trope members stepped back in surprise at the sudden unseen music.

Ren cleared his throat and splayed his arms out. "Attention ladies, gentlemen, and that technicolor rainbow in between!" he said emphatically, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

"For a limited time, hailing from those hard-to-reach Crestlands in the mountains!" Ren emphasized every word by jumping to a different stack of crates as if they were a staircase, drawing even more attention.

"I would like to present–Giselle's Troupe!" The moment he said the group's name he finished by releasing bursts of Agi, Bufu, and Zio into the sky in time with the horns from the music.

Taking their cue, they launched into their performance with renewed energy. The woman's lifts turned into tosses and the dancers added magic to their steps–performing with literal hot foot. Even the leader adopted a look of determination as she hopped onto one of the crate stacks along with Ren. Together they leaped and spun on alternating stacks.

In a strange coincidence, right as the three below were winding down on their routine, Ren and the troupe leader happened to pick the same crate to jump to; it just happened to be the tallest five-crate stack right behind the dancers. She almost fell from sheer surprise earning a few gasps, but Ren caught her by the wrist, both of them using the other's weight to keep them balanced off the edge of the crate.

"Let's give them the finale, shall we?" Ren said to her with a confident smile on her face. He leaned in and transitioned to one foot which she mirrored. He then used his free hand to shoot a continuous burst of Agi in the air. His partner did the same with ice instead of fire. The two elements collided and turned into a shower of sparkling drizzle that fell over the now large audience that oohed and ahhed at the show of magic.

The dancers struck their final pose as the music winded down and stopped. After a brief pause, they received roaring applause in response from the audience.

"If you like this performance, please support us by donating to our fund to travel the world!" The leader said at the top of her lungs, trying to do her bimitatingn of Ren.

The crowd responded to her by filling the change box to the brim with leaves to the point where people were simply leaving money on the pavement.

Ren smirked and picked the woman up bridal style earning a squeak of surprise from her and the dove on her head as he jumped back down to the ground.

"That was amazing! The goddess sent you to us at just the right moment." The brunette woman said, running up to him as he put their leader back on her feet.

The tall woman cracked her neck as she said. "It was quite a show you helped us put on. I didn't think I had that much strength in me…"

"It was nothing," Ren waved them off, going to pick up his bag. "I'm used to being the center of attention."

The leader nodded in agreement. "And the center you were. I don't think I've ever seen a person more suited for the spotlight. I was struggling to keep up with you."

"All you have to do is take the lead and set the pace. Both the audience and your teammates feed off your energy first. If you're dynamic, then they're dynamic. If you go through the motions, then so do they." Ren waved his hand as he started to walk down the street among the dispersing crowd.

He saw the leader twitch for a second in a moment of indecisiveness.

"Thank you, stranger!" The leader yelled right before he melted into the crowd.

–X–

Ren had wandered into a more 'higher-class' area after leaving the main street and the performers behind.

The rich and nobility moved through the wide cobblestone streets in elaborate horse-drawn carriages and unfortunate pooper scooper cleaners followed them behind with scowls that said they hated their life and everyone else's too.

Overall, the city was not bad for his new temporary playground. As a matter of fact one would say it was fit for thieves.

"EXTRA EXTRA! COME READ THE DELSTA TIMES!"

The smirk melted off his face faster than ice cream on a summer day.

Ren knew that loud voice, he ducked into a side street hoping Ori didn't see him.

She gave off big Akechi energy to use Futaba-lingo.

What kind of reporter tries to hide their presence?

"Well….. a lot of them would–Ohya included," Ren thought. But most average people couldn't erase their presence completely. Even he still struggled at times doing that without the use of stealthonol. Not even Hanamura-Senpai or Akechi could manage it consistently. To simply live was to have a presence. To constantly go without one was akin to denying your existence.

That girl gave him skeevy vibes. She was a dog with rabies. She'd get close to you all friendly-like and then bite you and leave you with a deadly infection. He wanted no part of that.

He ducked into a side street where the scenery got more muted in color. Water and smoke stains marked the walls along with cracks. In tandem with the main streets, it was like a funny cardboard photo board. The colorful front disguised the bare back.

"Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. This place must be scrubbed clean. Every last person and object. Starting with those horrid horses." Silky was having a mild panic attack in the urban congested environment.

"I hate to inform you, but that wouldn't be possible madam" At Silky's hot glare Raoul continued. "Ren is but one man, even cleaning a storefront would take more time than we have."

"But the trickster need not even be here in the first place?" She pointed out. "Isn't the objective the church in the Crestlands? If so, a bit of cleaning wouldn't hurt while we're here since we've already been side-tracked. It also wouldn't hurt his reputation as a foreigner."

Ren ignored the two as they argued on the time-cost effectiveness of city upkeep. No thanks. He had enough of that with the He-horde in Sapporo. But he did admit Silky had a point. He was fully aware that he stood out as a tourist and drew attention as he soaked in the sights, but he figured that was a given the bag on his back. He didn't care, it took him four days to get to the city from the Flats and he would enjoy his time here until he had to hit the trail again.

BARK BARK

He ignored the stray dog barking and nipping at his heels beside him as he walked down the street thinking back to why it took him so long. The trip should've only taken two days at best.

Turns out Elizabeth and Lavenza can get drunk- their tolerance was just a lot higher than his.

"Who knew that Lavenza could get so…clingy and frisky when she's drunk." Ren thought to himself in half wonder, half admiration.

-X-

One moment, the two of them were chopping it up at the bar. The next he found himself underneath Lavenza on a bed. Despite her stature, she was still several times stronger than he was physically.

Glances and suggestions were subtly tossed around all night, liquid courage taking hold. Igor had long gone to some back room once the drinking started leaving the three to themselves. Elizabeth had just fallen asleep behind the bar; completely pass-out drunk. Ren was amazed at how cat-like she looked. Mentally he could imagine a set of ears atop her head. He turned towards her younger sister to see her leering at him.

Matter of fact Lavenza was very cat-like in her own right. Her golden eyes really sold it. Ren's buzzed mind gave the command to rub her head like he would Morgana, and she leaned into his touch and nuzzled against his hand.

His deduction worked a little too well when Ren found himself being pulled along at Lavenza's pace.

Once they got into the room, their clothes got lost in the shuffle; and that's how Ren found himself in his current situation.

The gentle first time of reacquaintance became the vigorous second.

Two times turned into four.

After four was a marathon.

He gave her what he could offer, and she gladly accepted. His name came from her lips like a sermon, a choir he struggled to compose for his non-human companion. Her fire gradually ate away at his as he tried to keep it stoked. Nevertheless, he wasn't a man to go down easy.

In hindsight, he should've seen it coming with how hard they fought in his teenage days. Fighting was just another form of foreplay to them apparently.

Eventually, she gave him the benefit of the doubt and came to rest atop him. Without pause, she seamlessly transitioned into slumber, Ren not far behind her.

Ren woke up in the bed in one of the former jail-cell-now-turned-back-rooms with Lavenza slumbering peacefully. Her soft, small but womanly body pressed into his, and her supple pink lips parted as she snored lightly. She was curled up into his side in a less-than-proper state of dress. He pushed some of her silver hair out of her face. He couldn't really move from under the sheets without exposing her modesty to the open air with how tight she was hugging him. Their clothes had been scattered all over the room preventing him from just reaching over.

He eventually decided to bite the bullet and managed to pry himself out of her grasp, which roused her. Upon waking she was torn between reaching out to him, covering up, and grabbing her head. With a quick, sleepy, goodbye kiss that silenced any protests, he then cast Patra on both of them. Next, he gathered up and put on his clothes as fast as he could before Lavenza figured out what was going on.

He didn't think it would be a good idea to see Igor and Elizabeth directly after….that. Mostly Elizabeth. So, Ren exited via the back way like a hormonal teenager sneaking out of his girlfriend's house. He wondered if Elizabeth ever did something similar with her late lover.

Once outside of the Velvet Room, he decided to linger in the Flats to see if the Shadow Bubble would appear again. He had no luck on the first day though once night fell, he did discover the Black Market that Castti had mentioned.

He wasn't interested in the armor merchant. Everything he offered was too unwieldy for his taste. He was perfectly fine with his knife for now. Though thinking it was better to be safe than sorry, he bought a backup.

What really caught his eye was the other merchant-A nun selling something called Soulstones. Questions aside about a nun being involved with the Black Market, she explained to him that if you crush it, enemies are attacked with the element contained in the soulstone.

It was just like magatamas from back home!

How useful.

Ren gladly blew most of his money on them. The lady even gave him a couple of bottles free of charge. If experience playing Zelda with Futaba had taught him anything, it was to not turn down a free bottle or mason jar.

When asked why, she mentioned that crushing soulstones and inhaling them was apparently a thing. That definitely soured the mood a bit. Ren didn't know how to feel now that there was a chance, he could be arrested on drug charges. Guess he should've expected as much since it was being sold in the black market. Also called into question that a nun was basically selling drug labs.

The next day proved more fruitful for Ren. The Shadow Bubble had appeared once more. He used it to his advantage. Training firing his gun with non-curse elements. He didn't know when he'd get the materials to actually make bullets of his own. Until then, magazines were considered an emergency commodity.

He discovered that depending on the element he used, he could inflict different statuses. Shock for electric magic, burn for fire magic, and freeze for ice magic. Exceedingly rarely, fear or despair appeared for curse bullets. Another thing he found out was that just like the Metaverse, the masked enemies dropped cash upon defeat allowing him to reclaim a bit of the funds he had lost. His old skill was coming back to him in spades. Ambushes. Bullet Hails. Frisking. Pickpocketing. Slugging. Sliding. Hacking. Dicing. Blowing things up. Sandbagging. Working separately from his persona.

All the ins and outs of combat he had the chance to hone after months on end of disuse. He and Raoul reveled in the organized chaos.

He was also successful on the persona end as well. Obayrion, Jack Frost, Kelpie, and Hua Po had joined his ranks. He even found a Regent that appeared on a shadow version of the Cait.

Ren still didn't dare appear in the Velvet Room for the time being. Both he and Lavena were adults of course, and enjoyed a healthy relationship that went with it when they saw each other now. But Elizabeth's teasing would have no foreseeable end considering this encounter happened under a night of drunken passion. He would do it, so he reasoned so would she.

However, fate deemed that not getting teased wasn't in the cards that night.

That night by happenstance he bumped into Malaya. They greeted each other with a hug, afterward she unrelentingly razzed him about how Castti missed him and how Andy needed a training buddy. Mainly about how Castti missed him. Malaya told him that she had never seen her leader act that way about a person as long as she's known her, and Malaya wasn't going to let the opportunity to give her grief pass her up.

She told him that the simple act of meeting him there would be enough ammo for weeks. Ren noted the evil twinkle in her eye and mentally sent an apology to the apothecary.

After a few embarrassing questions and answers, Ren finally managed to ask what was she doing out in the flats away from the others. She replied telling him that it was her turn to restock and that some of them were gearing up for a journey to the Winterlands. A town called Winter Bloom she informed him. She tried to rush over it, but she also mentioned that the others were starting to worry about Trousseau's strange behavior and that they hoped giving him some space would be what he needed.

In turn, he told her he was on his way to New Delsta City.

Her face became solemn, and she warned him about an infamous group called "The Blacksnakes" who worked in the underworld. He tried to question her further on the group, but she only told him that he'd know them when he'd see them.

On that happy note, she left him and returned to Healeaks.

He camped outside for the night and then continued his journey south. One day to cross the Flats and another on the highway.

-X-

Ren snapped out of his reverie thanks to the dog nipping at his heels. He reached down to pet it and the dog pushed into his hands, allowing Ren to scratch it behind its ears. As he did so he noticed that the dog was fairly emaciated. Its rib cage was starting to show.

"Are you hungry boy? Are you?"

The dog whined as it sat in front of him.

"Well let's go get you something to eat huh?" The dog barked in approval at his statement. "You're an intelligent dog, aren't you? I could use something to eat myself," Ren laughed as he clutched his stomach.

-X-

Thronè leaned against the wall casually as she waited for her target to come out of the cafe. Exactly how much could he eat?

She pulled a golden pocket watch out from her cleavage that she had stolen from a noble earlier. She checked it; he had been in there for close to two hours. Hopefully, the bartender got a few drinks in him. Drunk people were unaware, making them easy pickings. She took extra care to not loop in the area. The dog was barking too much for it to be a simple score.

Speaking of the dog could be heard barking from inside the restaurant.

That was her cue.

She stashed the timepiece into her bodice next to her wallet and walked as if she was going into the restaurant. Just in time for the door to open and a person to step out. She bumped into him and grabbed his arm as she stumbled. He grabbed her waist to make sure she didn't fall. Ignoring the jolt of static electricity that ran through her body, she heaved her chest as she made sure to give him a generous view of her cleavage.

Like almost all men, she saw his eyes inevitably attach themselves to her assets. Thronè had to restrain the scowl that almost appeared on her face. She didn't like using her breasts as a weapon, or seduction in general, but she was taught it was a very effective tactic for women as 'blessed' as her and Mother. It was another tool for the job. One that left her feeling filthy afterward.

While he ogled her, with precision ease, she shifted her hand to the inside of his jacket. Her hand felt the butt of an unknown weapon. She snatched it out of its sheath and leaned forward onto him in an act of regaining her balance, her head on his shoulder and his hand on her back. This allowed her to seamlessly stick the unknown weapon into her garter on the inside of her leg. With a simple shift of her leg, Thronè concealed her theft and disengaged from the stranger. All in the span of a second.

"Oh, I'm sorry mister. Please excuse me." She said, putting on a ditzy accent and giving a courteous bow.

"Don't mind me, the fault was mine," he said, shifting to the side to let her pass.

The entire exchange only took about ten seconds at most. No way he'd catch onto her.

Thronè watched him go along with the dog. Satisfied that a sufficient distance and a good number of people were between them; she then walked into the cafe and closed the door behind her. She took the booth in the back of the cafe.

Deeming the area safe, she pulled the weapon out of her dress.

"What the hell is this supposed to be?"

It was an L-shaped piece of silver metal with angel wings carved onto it. It had a trigger like a crossbow but a handle like a knife. The fact the weapon looks like it was made of pure silver would fetch a high price alone. But it was a weapon, so she might be able to get some use out of it.

She picked up the weapon correctly by its handle and something….. foreign flowed through her. The weapon hummed in her hands. Almost as if she was holding a baby. Thronè yelped and almost dropped the weapon in sheer surprise. The thing felt…alive if she had to put a term to it.

She scanned the area to see if anyone noticed her outburst. Seeing that nobody paid her any attention he returned her focus to the strange weapon in her hands.

"I've heard of cursed weapons….Is this one of them? It feels like… it's whispering to me. Either way, I'm starting to be more and more sure this is something I should keep for myself."

She fiddled with a latch at the top of the device and felt something click and the humming of the weapon grew stronger; like it wanted for her to use it. She had to use it.

Thronè aimed the weapon down at the wooden floor and as if she was possessed, she moved her index finger and squeezed the trigger.

*BANG*

A loud sharp noise and a flash of light sounded from the weapon.

Not even under torture would she admit the girlish scream that followed came from her.

The recoil kicked her arms up a bit, but her reaction was what made her move the most.

Thronè picked her head up and saw everyone in the cafe was now staring at her in confusion and apprehension. One patron had spilled their coffee all over themselves.

"I'm sorry, just testing something for a friend! It won't happen again!" she said, putting on her best innocent disarming smile and voice.

The various patrons of the establishment went back to their business or food. The waiter gave her a side eye and then handed a customer a napkin.

Thankfully people were used to misfiring magic spells in the city.

Thronè looked at the smoking spot left by the strange weapon. "You're definitely more powerful than a crossbow, aren't you?" Whatever the weapon had fired from its payload had pierced through the floor cleanly.

She examined the weapon in curiosity. "It'll be a problem if you fire while I'm carrying you, I wonder if there's a way to get you to, I don't know—not do that?" As she turned the weapon over in her hand, she was completely aware she was talking to it like she would a person. Which wasn't that far off in her opinion with how it felt.

Eventually, she saw that the switch she fiddled with before had the word 'safe' on it. She facepalmed at her naïveté as she flipped it back into position.

"What do I call you, if I'm going to keep you?"

For some reason, the weapon seemed to whisper in her head.

Nataraja

Okay, that does it, this weapon is possessed. Powerful. But possessed. She wondered where he had come across it. Didn't matter now; now it was hers. The black snake tattoo that wrapped around her wrist and arm throbbed. The money would satisfy Mother and she would have to make do; Thronè was not going to let a weapon like this fall into her grubby, sweaty, fat hands.

"Nataraja it is then,"

She put the weapon back into her garter and got up to leave.

The moment she left the restaurant she felt a chill. She was being watched. Yet nobody but the usual lechers were looking at her. She would have pegged it as someone confusing her with a prostitute as they always did. But this time it was her thief instincts kicking in.

Thronè made her way through the commercial district. She tried to use the reflective glass of the various shops to her advantage. However, it was to no avail. Whoever it was, wasn't some run-of-the-mill rookie.

Her hands went to tighten her bodice when she noticed something was amiss. Patting it then tightening the laces she looked at herself in the glass. Her reflection turned harsh as her eyes narrowed in equal parts embarrassment and fascination. With the collar around her neck, she looked like a dog that was told to sleep outside. Pirro and Scaracci would be laughing their asses off if they caught wind of this.

"How bold…So that's his game."

The thief tousled her mousy-brown hair and kept moving.

She rounded the corner and the commercial district turned into the entertainment center. The area consisted of mansions where the rich and gaudy would throw party after party and theaters where only those at the pinnacle of stardom were allowed to perform at.

It was a wide open space meant to account for the massive egos that sort of person brought with them.

The area was fairly clear during the day, yet Thronè saw no one who seemed out of place. No one was trying to blend in—save for the usual brown nosers.

"No. Couldn't be." Her gaze shifted up to the rooftops. "Very improbable, but not impossible." she muttered. She couldn't see him or feel his presence or any visible sign at all, but she knew. He was following her, he was watching her. He was aware of her even if she wasn't of him. She lived and died by her intuition.

Thronè crossed the clearing and made her way down the grand staircase.

The moment she passed the halfway point on the stairs the air changed. Fragrant and clean turned putrid and dirty at the drop of a hat. She was in her territory.

She weaved her way through alleyways in Lower New Delsta. Hopefully, Pirro would slow this guy down and not ask questions.

She passed by the white-haired man in an alleyway, who as usual, was smoking a cigarette.

She twitched her fingers in a specific order and the man took the hint. He put out his cigarette on the pavement and moved in the opposite direction.

As soon as Pirro turned the corner the feeling went away. She slowed her walking for about five seconds before her hopes were dashed. She felt clear bloodlust for a split second, Pirro's presence disappeared, and a sound of ice followed along with someone saying Hee-ho, then the feeling returned.

"To dispatch Pirro that efficiently….This won't be easy."

Sensing a confrontation was inevitable, she decided the least she could do was pick the battlefield.

She ducked into an abandoned warehouse that was used for shipping products back in its day.

The moment she stepped out of the wall's shadow, she unclasped her blade from her thigh and swung back, her battle instinct kicking in.

*CLANG*

Metal clashed against metal as Thronè's own blade met against a rival's.

"About time you came out of hiding." She said, trying to put as much strength as she could against her assailant. The black-gloved hand and red sleeve were the only thing she saw of him so far.

The man laughed as he said. "Takes one to know one. A dog doing your canvassing? Really? Clever but not good enough."

Thronè launched a kick at her assailant which was matched with their own. Boot met boot as both combats went sliding under the sheer force of the mutual attack.

Recovering from the recoil, Thronè saw her tail was exactly who she thought it was.

It was the same man she'd stolen the mysterious weapon from. Although now his outfit was radically different. Simple worn hiker attire was traded out for a pressed suit fit for a merchant complete with a matching fedora. Non-assuming browns and grays had been replaced with eye-catching reds and gold. Even black somehow looked flashy on his person. His face was covered with a butterfly-styled domino mask, but she knew it was the man from earlier.

"We both know why I'm here. I'm here to reclaim what's mine," he emphasized his point by flipping his dagger in his hand, readying his stance.

"That's my line, I'll have you return what you stole." Thronè then narrowed her eyes at the man "Pretending to look at a lady's chest to get in her panties, you're a depraved bastard." Throne readied her own stance, slightly irked it mirrored his.

"One. It was your bodice. Don't make me out to be the bad guy when we both had the same intention. Two. It'll take a lot more than a nice pair of boobs to get one over on me." his grip slackened a little bit. "How about we make a mutual trade? My gun, Nataraja for your wallet and timepiece. Sounds like a fair trade?"

"Gun," she said, tasting the word in her mouth. "That's what it's called….But I think I'll beat you, keep it and take my belongings back. Your 'gun' is simply too valuable to hand over."

The man let out a weary sigh. "I figured as much. I'd do the same in your position; we're not thieves for nothing. Just be prepared, because here I come."

The end of his sentence was the only warning she got as the man lunged at her and swung his knife again.

*CLANG*

*CLANG*

*CLANG*

Throne blocked two slashes and parried a thrust. A basic thief combo. One ingrained into her by Father. Based on the fight so far, they came from the same school of thiefdom so to speak. Was he a former Blacksnake? If she was right, he'd roll backwards to get space for a sword or magic attack.

The man rolled back creating distance as she predicted.

Throne lurched forward thinking she had an opportunity.

She was mistaken.

He flicked his wrist and a wire shot out from underneath his sleeve. She grunted as it wrapped around her foot and with a tug, he pulled her leg out from under her, dropping her to the floor. Throne let out a harsh gasp as the air left her lungs. The man jumped into the air and flipped; Throne rolled out of the way as he stomped the ground where she was a moment ago.

She planted her hands on the ground and shifted her lower body into the air, performing an axle kick on her vulnerable opponent. A masculine grunt of pain told Throne that she connected with her kicks, sending the man backward, but it felt like kicking a brick wall.

Unexpected. But some people like Mother used non-standard weapons like whips, but it was generally frowned upon unless you led an organization like Mother did.

The moment she got upright, she funneled some dark magic into her knife and sent off a purple horizontal slash. The man immediately countered with one of his own. Purple and dark red met in the middle and exploded into black smoke, obscuring the entire area.

"It seems we're evenly matched. Though I'd expect nothing less, seeing as you're copying my style," His voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Thronè tried to buy time to locate where he was. "Slight difference, That wasn't dark magic you used. Dark Magic isn't tinged red." This man got more and more mysterious.

She dodged a fist aimed at her head and slashed where it came from only to whiff at smoke.

"That's correct. It's curse magic, not dark magic."

His voice sounded louder to her right, so she moved that way.

"Mind telling me how it works?" She was actually half-interested in the answer. Maybe she'd capture him for interrogation later. Wouldn't have been the first time.

Thronè jumped over the leg sweep that came from under her. However, she wasn't able to counter as a fist buried itself in her gut from the opposite side.

She coughed up some blood as she was sent back, wobbling a bit as she landed on her feet.

"Impossible. He attacked from two different directions at once! Does he have some sort of accomplice?

"No more of these games, it's beneath me. I'd rather fight you face-to-face."

Suddenly the smoke blew away in a gust of wind. Thronè's jaw went slack over what she saw.

A larger, demonic version of the man floated above him. Its huge bat wings flapping being the source of the gale.

Once the last remnants of the magic were gone, its wings finally went still and with a vicious smirk, it then sank into the man and disappeared like a ghost possessing its victim.

"What the hell was that?! What the hell are you?!" She cried. In one simple move, he'd blown away all her remaining expectations about this fight. Both figuratively and literally. Throne wasn't sure she was even fighting a human anymore.

"That was Raoul and Raoul is me."

He offered no further information as he flung that same wire from earlier upward where it attached itself to one of the rafters. He then performed what would only be able to be described as a swing kick.

Thronè would be ashamed to admit that it connected. Part of it was that he was admittedly fast in his execution. Another was that Thronè was completely flabbergasted; he would even have the audacity to try such a move.

His boots firmly implanted on her middle section as he launched her into the air.

"Up you go!"

His wire retracting back into his sleeve, he followed up with a mid-air swipe of his knife.

Thronè managed to deflect as they fell through the air. She slashed at him, determined not to give him the complete advantage, even in the unfamiliar territory of mid-air.

In a split second, they exchanged attacks like master swordsmen in a duel. They continued until she made the mistake of overextending, not used to the intricacies of airborne combat. Her rival punished the action with a swift right cross that had her seeing stars.

She caught his arm as he pulled it back, kneed him in the gut and flipped him, using the man as her landing cushion. She got some dark satisfaction hearing his pained gasp from her impromptu body slam, though she cringed at feeling his blood on her face.

Thronè didn't know why, but this man pissed her off. The moment they both got up he started to dance around her, in and out of her range, jumping up in the air and crouching low at her feet. Every time she thought she had a beat on him, he'd jerk in some erratic unexpected direction. He'd land a light slash and when he couldn't do that a punch, when that wasn't an option he'd kick, when she took that away his curse magic ate through her dark magic.

His fighting style was free-flowing and unpredictable. Doubly so since she had to worry about a demon coming out to attack her at any moment, which for some reason he hadn't summoned again. He was dictating the pace and led her around by the nose like a lost sheep. It was all she could do at the moment to keep his wandering hands from stealing the gun back. Wait, that's an idea. Fight fire with fire.

Thronè pulled the gun out of her garter, an action which stopped the man cold in his tracks.

"Are you planning to give up the ghost already?" he said half-mockingly, half-serious with his attention purely on the weapon in her hands.

"No."

"Do you even know how to use a gun?"

She responded by taking a quick aim at his head and squeezing the trigger.

*BANG*

The resulting projectile flew by his face, leaving a trail of blood on his cheek, and impacted the wall behind him.

"I figured it out. I take what I want and that includes this weapon now. That's the only way to live in this world."

The rouge wiped the blood off his face with his thumb.

"Color me impressed. To use that weapon, you can't have a half-assed resolve. Which is ironic given that sad little restricted life you lead. I could've guessed as much from that collar around your neck." Uncharacteristically, Thronè flinched at that remark, the brown leather that defined her life started to chaff. The man brought out a second dagger to match the first and took a dual-wield stance. "It looks like jewelry, but I know, I know when someone has been deprived of their freedom. The man from earlier wore the same thing so it wasn't hard to put two and two together; he's still breathing by the way. But that's neither here nor there is it? I'm used to having to steal back what's mine and this is no different."

Thronè aimed the gun and readied her knife close to her chest.

He laughed.

A boisterous laugh that gave her pause. A laugh that echoed off the walls of the warehouse and came back to her, vibrating in her teeth.

"I do the same stance when I dual wield those two weapons and you did it on instinct. No wonder that happened. No wonder I was able to follow you as I did. We are truly alike. Fate is a cruel mistress."

What? He was making no sense. She felt like she was missing part of the puzzle. And it irritated her. She was going to put this guy down.

She narrowed her eyes at the man. A frown was etched onto her face.

She channeled her magic through her body. Purple sparks fell off her arms. Swift Step was the best move she knew. She was already the fastest among the Blacksnakes, but this pushed her speed to the next level. Shame she couldn't use Aber's Reckoning yet. Because as they say….Speed kills.

Her eyes widened as a green aura surrounded the man, and even idly she saw his hands moving faster leaving after images like she did when she used 'like a snake'.

"Guess this battle is speed versus speed, May the fastest thief win," he said.

Throne clenched her teeth, and the man's showman smile widened even more. For what felt like ages to her overclocked senses, they stood in a standoff.

Outside a dog barked.

Taking that as their cue, both combatants then vanished from view.

-X-

*Slurp*

*Slurp*

Pirro was roused to consciousness by a dog licking his face. Given he lived in the slums it wasn't unusual per se. Stranger things have tried to lick him awake. What was unusual was that this dog wouldn't leave him alone.

*Slurp*

*Slurp*

"Leave me alone…I'm trying to sleep here."

*Crunch*

He tried to bat the dog away, only to get bitten for his troubles.

"OUCH! Dammit, you mangy mutt! I'll make dog ste-" Pirro opened his eyes fully and saw the exact dog that bit him and swallowed his threat. "Oh…it's you."

The dog woofed in response.

The offender was that dog that followed Thronè around. She trained it to even recognize when a target had a particularly valuable item on their person….

Leave it to that woman to do something so outrageous as to train up an animal sidekick but then neglect to give it a name. She'd skin him alive if he ever harmed that dog. That dog was probably one of her last lines of sanity from going on a rampage.

Pirro rolled his eyes and rubbed his face as he sat up in the cobblestone alleyway. The last thing he remembered was dodging an ice spell from a snowman and then getting hit in the face with a prizefighter's glove for not taking his lumps and becoming a Pirrocicle.

"The things I do for….Thronè!" Pirro shouted in exclamation as he remembered his fellow Blacksnake member was being chased by the guy that knocked him out.

"That's why you got me up, huh boy?" The dog lowered his head in response and whined. "I know you can track her scent, can you take me to where she's at?"

The dog barked and ran down the alleyway and Pirro followed close behind.

Eventually, they came upon an abandoned warehouse. The moment they got close, Pirro could hear the unmistakable sounds of battle. Metal grating on metal, the sizzling of magic, and a harsh popping noise he could place. The dog lowered his body to the ground and put his paws over his ears.

Pirro couldn't blame him. Whoever Thronè was fighting…he was giving her hell.

He took out a cigarette, put it between his lips, and lit it.

"Usually, it's Scaracci getting us into some sort of shit, not Thronè. Who exactly did she manage to piss off." He muttered to himself as he made his way to the shutter doors.

He hefted one open and what became immediately apparent was the faint smell of iron that he associated with blood being spilled. Considering that they were thieves/assassins that was a sign the fight had gotten particularly intense. They prided themselves on leaving no trace after all.

He scanned the area and as he thought, various blood splatters could be seen on the floor and walls. Nothing major, little amounts. One of them took a hard hit or a glancing swipe of the blade.

*CLANG*

*CLANG*

*CLANG*

Pirro looked up and saw two blurs of shadow repeatedly colliding against one another in mid-air, bouncing back and off a wall or crate just to meet head-on again. It was as if someone had thrown two rubber balls and hit them with a wind spell.

"Whoa. Guess Thronè had to use Swift Step…. and this guy is keeping up with her!" Pirro had his own speed spell in Lightning Speed, but he wasn't on that level yet. The speed they were moving was simply outrageous.

He honed his senses and tried to really see the battle that was unfolding in front of him.

Time seemed to slow down. Or maybe it was his senses speeding up. Either way, he tried to process what was going on.

Both Thronè and her opponent were torn to shreds for lack of a better term. Thronè's sleeves were ripped in various places, her left breast was exposed to the world, and her bodice was gone. Her skirt was now cut higher than she would've liked, her black lace lingerie clear to the world.

Her counterpart looked no better. His dress shirt and pants were crimson in places defined by a slash mark. His tie was lopped off. His red jacket had some sort of strange craters on it. His domino mask was chipped around the edges.

Yet both of them wore wicked smiles full of bad intent as they fought. If Pirro didn't know better he would've marked it off as some sort of demented, twisted foreplay.

Thronè was firing some sort of strange crossbow-like weapon. When that didn't work, she used it and her knife to strike at her opponent, the red-jacket man.

The red-jacket man fought like a hurricane. He attacked from all angles—even from above. He used the walls, the crates, and even the rafters to gain even the slightest advantage. It was like watching a kid on a sugar rush. He fought dirty and underhanded. He watched as he tried to use his own blood to blind Thronè. He also unhesitatingly committed the one taboo of most swordsmen and thieves; he'd throw one of his two knives to add more chaos to his already confusing fighting style, forcing Throne to the sadistic choice of guessing if he'd go pick it up or fight on with what he had.

It was the complete antithesis of their style of practiced, grounded moves brought about by a cold system dedicated to the art of killing and theft.

Even Pirro could tell the fundamental difference was starting to get to Thronè; yet like the prodigy she was, she adapted. She was using his tactics as her own. She too kicked off walls. She took risks such as trading blows. A risk that neither Mother nor Father would ever approve of. She even started throwing her own dagger around. A move the Throne of yesterday wouldn't dare think of making.

But she had to. For Thronè, adapting was to survive in this fight.

Speaking of….Pirro unconsciously took a step back. This fight was above his level. It was on the level of Mother and Father if not exceeding them. Everyone in the nest knew Thronè was good, but this was just the proof in the pudding. In a way, it was a work of art watching them fight.

If he stepped in recklessly…there was a good chance someone would die. He just had to have faith that Thronè would come out on top–like she always did.

Much to his relief he didn't need to intervene. The climax of the battle approached soon enough. Both Thronè and the man kicked off the wall and to the floor. They paused for a brief second, perhaps sensing that this was the deciding move. They then ran towards each other, and once they got close, they disappeared from even Pirro's vision—

"Good night!"

"The show's over!"

Their combined yells reverberated in Pirro's bones and the wind from the sheer speed almost knocked him over in surprise. It was an image he was sure he wouldn't forget.

The two thieves then reappeared on opposite sides of the warehouse, backs to one another, daggers extended in low, hunched stances.

For what felt like an eternity they stood there.

The man's stance faltered first, and he coughed up blood onto the ground as he collapsed to one knee.

"Tell me something," Thronè said, still not moving. "Why? Why didn't you summon that demon, Raoul? You did so before in the smoke."

After a second the man answered, clutching his side, trying to staunch the sanguine life fluid that flowed out of his side and in between the fingers of his glove. "I wanted to best you on my own merits as a thief. Not because of smoke, mirrors, and gang-up tactics."

Another tense moment passed until Thronè replied again. "Congratulations. You've earned your victory. I'm–"

Against Pirro's wildest expectations, Thronè coughed up even more blood than the man. She then fell forward onto the ground on her side—unmoving. A pool of blood leaked out from around her. It was then Pirro knew she had taken more damage than she let on.

….

…..

…..

"Did-did you kill her?" Pirro's voice cracked as the words slipped from his throat. It was always a possibility in their work, but Throne seemed invincible, the best of the nest.

The man's attention snapped to him as he shakily stood up and sheathed his weapon.

"No. She's still alive. I don't kill if I don't have to," he said, gripping the brim of his hat.

Another surprise was in store for Pirro. A large green-skinned lady in a silk dress and a bandanna appeared in a blue flame.

Pirro instantly went on guard as the cigarette fell from his mouth. But the lady ignored his presence as she waved her hands and green sparkles showed the man in red. Pirro could have sworn he smelled red-spider lilies.

Some of the man's various wounds started to recover and the blood disappeared on his body though not completely. The man flexed his black gloves and Pirro got the feeling he was doing it in frustration.

"I'd forgotten what Dia feels like—it's inadequate, but'll have to do for now." He said, finishing with a sigh.

The lady's face twisted in sorrow. "I'm sorry master. I'm sorry I can't clean your wounds more efficiently than that. I can—"

The man held up a hand silencing her. "That's okay, Silky. You've done what you can, and no one will hold it against you. That was just me lamenting my own inadequacies. Besides, there is someone more important who needs attention." he threw a glance at the downed Thronè.

Pirro was tempted to say something, and it seemed the man expected it too by the look on his face that he was sending Pirro's way.

After weighing his options, he decided to keep his mouth shut. Thronè was hurt pretty badly, and the Blacksnakes didn't exactly specialize in healing skills. Come back with her like that….forget the punishment for losing and failure. They'd be more likely to finish her off and throw her away like yesterday's garbage. It was a prime opportunity to move up. A few lashes and a bruised ego were nothing in trade for her life.

Wordlessly, Pirro gave the cue by pulling out another cigarette and leaning against the wall as he lit it.

The man took his cue, and with a snap of his finger, the lady floated over to Thronè and showered her in those same green sparkles and healed her wounds.

Pirro wasn't dumb, he did note a couple of things. Firstly, Thronè was underneath the shower longer than the man. Second, they seemed to have a tied mana pool. Once the shower ended, he was the one huffing and not the lady.

With a bow at the waist, the lady disappeared in another blue flame.

The man, now satisfied, went over to Thronè himself. He pried the foreign weapon out of her hands and put it under his jacket in some kind of sheath. He then placed a sack of gold in her hand in exchange.

He then walked past Pirro and into the door frame where he stopped.

"Tell her I'm keeping the timepiece. If she wants it back, she'll have her opportunity later."

Pirro took the cigarette out of his mouth and shook it, clearing the ash off the end, as he puffed a smoke cloud into the air. "Hm. Consider it done. But I have to let you know….You're a fool. Why would you help your enemy?"

"You're right, I am a fool. An idealistic foolish man who lives by his own desires and whims."

"You healed her on a whim? Ideals can only get you so far in the world. People like us….We won't hesitate to kill if an enemy shows us weakness. And showing mercy? That can be a fatal weakness."

"So, I've been told. I don't view it as a weakness. I saw someone in need, so I decided to help her. It's that simple. I live how I want, if she comes back to kill me, then it is what it is." he gave a carefree shrug. "I do what I think is right and I live by that. Life is too short to squander it with pointless squabbles at another person's whim. We all deserve a chance to live free and who am I to take that from her? Maybe one day you'll realize that too,"

The man tipped his hat and left. After a couple of seconds, Pirro peeked out of the door, but the man was gone, as if he vanished into thin air.

He sighed and then went back to leaning against the wall, waiting for Thronè to wake up.

Maybe the words that the bastard spoke had merit to them.

–X–

When Thronè's eyes fluttered open, the first thing she realized was that she wasn't dead, and this wasn't the afterlife. The defeated usually don't remain alive in their profession.

Second, her body didn't hurt. A faint soreness plagued her, but that was it. She was pretty certain she had been diced like a vegetable. She'd also taken more than her fair share of punches and kicks. Her body should know nothing but pain. A pain comparable to that of failing a task or talking back.

Third, the gun was no longer in her hand. In its place, her fingers curled around her wallet—Her heavier wallet. Not lighter–Heavier.

"Evening, sunshine. You've been out for a couple of hours."

Thronè snapped to attention at Pirro's voice, and she tried to push her body off the ground.

"A lot of men would kill for this sight of you on your knees and your ass in the air." He said jokingly.

"Fuck you."

"That's what they want to do to you-not me. Why do you think I smoke? Makes me unattractive to those young snotty noble brats."

Thronè shivered. It brought back bad memories. Some assassinations required her to get….involved with the target. If she was honest with herself the fact that the man, she just fought wasn't interested in her for that was a breath of fresh air.

Pirro's face broke as he seemed to realize he went a step too far. "Crap, I'm sorry, Thronè. I know you–"

"-Save it. My body is a tool. And tools are needed for a job to be done."

Pirro's eyes became even sadder at her statement, but Thronè couldn't figure out why.

"I'm starting to think he was right."

Thronè finally pulled herself to sitting on her knees. "Who was right?" She asked.

"That man you fought," Thronè's eyes instantly locked on Pirro's "We talked a bit after he knocked you out. By the way, he was the one who healed you–Not me."

So many questions. Where to begin? "What did you talk to him about?"

Pirro flicked his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, snuffing it out. "Stuff," he said annoyingly non-committal. "That guy has a way of….. living to say the least." Did she sense a hint of admiration in his voice? That was rare for Pirro.

Pirro then tossed his jacket and vest over her, leaving him in his dress shirt. Not ideal for the season. "We got to stop by a store for new clothes before heading back. Until then, use that to cover up," he said, turning away from her.

It took her a second to realize what he meant. The moment she did, her face went red, and she reflexively used a hand to cover her chest. At times Pirro felt more like a brother than a man. As did Scaracci and Donnie.

She put on the jacket and buttoned it, making sure her chest was hidden away. As she was ripping the fabric of the vest to make a makeshift tie for her dress, Pirro spoke again.

"He did give me a message to pass along. He said you'd get your opportunity for revenge later." The platinum blonde man shrugged. "What were you even fighting about, to begin with?" he asked.

Thronè didn't see the harm in answering but she purposefully kept her voice low. "That weapon of his, he called it a gun; I'm certain it's a one-of-a-kind cursed weapon."

"I know that face. You're going to go after him."

She didn't say anything at his assumption, but she scowled at him as she finished her alterations and stood up.

"We've worked together for years; It's more than about the score, that's never been your style, Thronè ."

"Then what is my style then?" she spat back harshly, crossing her arms.

"You're interested. There are things you want to ask him. Perhaps test yourself against him again."

The weight of the coin pouch felt even heavier in her hand. "So, what if I do?"

"I don't blame you. Not often does someone that strong and unattached comes around. Then there's that demon lady he summoned to heal you."

Demon lady? She was certain it was a man. Guess Raoul isn't the only demon under his command. No need to freak out Pirro by volunteering that information.

"Let's get moving," she said walking out of the door.

"Right behind you,"


AN:

By the way, I am fully aware that Throne is getting her own Champions Chapter and I think it's the first of the OT2 stuff. However, I have not played that game, and I have little to no interest in gacha games and my phone is now old enough that even if I had an interest it would blow up trying to run it :p. So, if something radical pops up that contradicts my story we're just going to ignore that. Capiche?

As for behind-the-scenes on the chapter, Thronè was originally going to steal a dummy item Ren had purposefully planted, but I thought it was more fun for her to actually steal his gun in a mutual trade. There was also a draft where she stole Ren's phone as well. Thronè is called "The Best in The Nest" for a reason, I felt it would be belittling her skills to get completely punked by Ren. The idea came from a piece of artwork that had Partitio with a shotgun. It felt…very in character for him. As I wrote this chapter the idea of Thronè with a pistol also seemed natural and I can see Temenos with a revolver.

Needless to say, that scene where Thronè is trying to figure out Ren's gun, while fun to write, is very dangerous. Don't do that at home.

Staying on topic, this chapter is meant to introduce a tone shift I want to go for. This story I want to use to push my boundaries as a writer. And no, I don't mean smut-wise. I mean Mature-wise. I want this fic to be noticeably heavier than the others. I want to cover and write things that I haven't done before. We will cover character death, including a mass murderer, cult sacrifice, and very heavy graphic violence among other things. Things that weren't shown on screen in P5 but very clearly in OTII.

In short, from what you saw in this chapter the story will be a superpower fantasy adventure that has a smut scene here and there because that's what adults do; Not a smut story that uses superpowers as an excuse to fulfill it. With that being said, at the same length the story won't be grim-dark all the time. Just think of it as an adventure, you'll have your good times and bad times.