Seeing Vali, clad in his white Scale Mail, hurtling through the air at him, fast enough to strain the sound barrier, Marcus regretted not getting more practice with the flight spell. He'd only gotten comfortable with it at normal speeds. Dodging an overzealous draconic-devil would require far more skill.

Vali's laugh echoed as he plummeted toward Marcus, his arms outstretched, and his expression caught somewhere between exhilaration and challenge. The moment before impact, Marcus activated his newest spell—an experimental twist on teleportation. With a flick of his wrist, he created a magic circle in the air behind him, in a fraction of a second. The geometric patterns flared with energy, and a flash of light pulled Marcus backward with the force of a vacuum. He felt the pull on his entire body, like being sucked into a Ferrystone; his inspiration for this spell.

He reappeared a safe distance away, landing on solid ground, watching as Vali skidded to a stop just behind where Marcus had been.

"This is starting to get annoying," Vali complained, "I wouldn't have agreed to spar if I knew you were just going to teleport around the entire time."

Marcus smirked. "You agreed to help me test new spells."

Vali rolled his eyes, the Scale Mail gleaming. "I thought I was here for something more… fun. Like that tornado spell."

Marcus chuckled. "I'll get to the real sparring. Just needed to make sure that teleportation spell worked."

Vali grinned, that familiar devilish glint in his eyes. "No more teleporting away at the last second."

Marcus felt a similar grin make its way across his face, as an answer he summoned his bow and flexed his magic. The form of Grianmhar appeared, and Marcus' personal magic circle spun into existence in front of it.

As he looked down at his newly crafted personal circle, a sense of satisfaction settled over him. The center of the circle bore the mark of a dragon's eye, its gaze keen, surrounded by a ring of stylized flames. Intricate geometric layers of triangles and hexagons spiraled outward, each pattern grounding his draconic and magical power. Two rings contra orbited this core, each alive with pulsing symbols: the inner ring for basic manipulation—force, elemental, psychic, etc—and the outer a delicate lattice of equations to compress casting time, amplify power, and refine control. Smaller glyphs jutted out from the rings at regular intervals, marking where larger specialized circles could be anchored. Along the outermost edge, phrases in Elvish and Dwarvish wove through, depicting old stories and events, allowing him to cast the magic of his world through this circle. This was no mere premade circle; it was a reflection of himself—an adaptable, finely honed weapon in the shape of a circle.

Pulling back the bowstring, he channeled energy into his circle, and a new spell emerged, streaking through the air. Elemental Barrage. Hundreds of bolts, each infused with elemental energy, cut through the air in a dazzling array of fire, ice, water, wind, lightning, light, and dark. Vali's eyes widened, but his grin only lengthened, as he braced himself.

He managed to dodge a handful of them, but his defenses were no match for the full assault. The Elemental Barrage circled, homing in on him, punching through hastily erected defensive circles. More than a third of the bolts hit their mark. Vali's armor scorched, the light-aligned bolts leaving marks that caused him to hiss in discomfort.

"Are all of your attacks homing?" Vali said, examining the scorch marks.

Marcus couldn't help but feel snarky. "Only if the target stands there like an idiot."

"Didn't want you straining yourself trying to hit something above your level" Vali teased and with a wicked grin, conjured silver spheres of energy, one in each hand, and hurled them into the sky. Then, with a flap of his ethereal wings, he shot forward. Marcus readied himself, feeling the familiar thrum of danger. Halfway to Marcus, Vali's wings flared, pulsing with eye-searing blue energy, and then unleashed twin beams of power.

Marcus's magic circle sprang to life, forming a shield in front of him that absorbed the brunt of the beams. But the silver spheres Vali had thrown out earlier arced back in, curving to strike Marcus from either side.

He tried to dodge, but he was a split second too slow. The impact threw him backward, pain pulsing through his armor. He stumbled but remained upright, adrenaline steadying him as he raised Grianmhar again.

The spar continued for nearly an hour, each testing their limits, both combatants locked in a dance of pure magic and skill. By the end of it, Marcus's exhaustion caught up with him, his bruised muscles heavy and his breath ragged. Vali, equally worn but still grinning, clapped Marcus on the shoulder, a sign of respect as much as shared exhaustion.

"Not bad, Marcus," Vali admitted between breaths, his grin never quite fading.

As they caught their breath, both of them became aware of a petite, two-winged fallen angel hovering nervously at the edge of the sparring yard. Her presence was timid, almost as if she regretted intruding, and her expression flickered between awe and apprehension as she watched them. It was clear she had been waiting there for some time, hesitant to interrupt their intense sparring session.

Vali noticed her first and, with a brief nod in her direction, gestured for her to come over. She started at his signal, as if she hadn't anticipated being acknowledged, but quickly took to the air and drifted over, landing lightly in front of them. Her gaze flickered between Marcus and Vali, her hands clasped tightly together as if summoning the courage to speak.

"Um, hi," she said, her voice soft and slightly breathless. "My name is Mittelt. Azazel sent me to, uh, collect you," she continued, looking directly at Marcus. "About twenty minutes ago…"

Marcus chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry for keeping you waiting. Things got… distracting. Just give me a minute to hit the showers, and I'll meet you wherever Azazel wants me." He flashed a quick, apologetic smile, hoping to ease her evident tension.

Mittelt nodded rapidly, her expression brightening with relief. "Of course! I'll, um, wait nearby, then."

Marcus turned to Vali. "Still good for dinner later?" he asked, his tone casual.

Vali shrugged, smiling. "Sure, but my pick this time." he said.

Marcus chuckled and nodded, already anticipating a more relaxed evening. As Mittelt hovered nearby, clearly relieved at having completed her mission, Marcus headed off to clean up, leaving behind the scent of charred earth and the adrenaline of the spar.

After a quick shower, Marcus dried off and dressed in a fresh set of clothes, relishing the feeling of his muscles beginning to unwind after the intense sparring session. The magical practice with Vali had left him sore and exhausted but oddly exhilarated—there was something fulfilling about pushing his limits, especially against an opponent as skilled as Vali. Emerging from the locker room, he found Mittelt waiting nearby, her wings shifting nervously as she glanced around.

"Thanks for waiting," Marcus said with an easy smile. "Let's head to Azazel."

Mittelt perked up at his approach, her hands relaxing as she gestured for him to follow. "Of course! Azazel looked really eager to see you." she said as they walked, her voice softening. She stole a quick look up at him. "You and Vali… you two really went all out back there, didn't you?"

Marcus chuckled, rubbing his neck where he could still feel the sting of Vali's last attack. "Not quite, it was just a spar, so we weren't going for the kill. Still, sparring with Vali feels a lot like surviving a storm. Makes for good training, though."

She nodded, smiling faintly. "I think most people would run the other way if he tried sparring with them. I know I would."

"He grows on you … like a prickly silver fungus." Marcus said lightly, a slight warmth in his tone.

Mittelt let out a small laugh at that. "I'll have to take your word for it."

They rounded a corner, and Azazel's lab door came into view. As they approached, the door slid open, and Azazel's voice called out from inside. "Ah, Marcus! Good to see you finally made it." Azazel's usual grin greeted them as they stepped inside, his eyes glinting with a combination of excitement and satisfaction.

"Thanks, Mittelt," Azazel said with a nod to the young fallen angel. "You're free to go."

Mittelt gave a quick nod and a brief smile before she stepped out, leaving Marcus alone with Azazel.

Azazel wasted no time, motioning Marcus over to a table piled high with items that immediately caught his attention. Marcus's eyes widened, and he felt a rush of excitement as he recognized an array of magical weapons, armor, and enchanted items—a treasure trove of powerful tools. Laid out across the surface, each piece seemed to pulse with latent energy, a testament to the potency they held. In the center of it all, oddly out of place yet distinctly noticeable, lay a single bullet among a small cluster of arrows.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Azazel remarked, grinning as he saw Marcus's reaction. "These are my finest works—powerful enough to hold their own against most Sacred Gears." He gestured for Marcus to step closer, his tone more serious now. "But that's not all. I'm working on something even more ambitious."

Marcus raised a brow, intrigued. "More ambitious than this?"

Azazel nodded, his eyes gleaming. "I'm in talks with Fafnir. Yes, the Fafnir. If I can secure him, He's agreed to be bound to a Sacred Gear—an artificial Sacred Gear with enough power to outclass anything we've created so far."

Marcus's eyes widened. Fafnir, the dragon of Norse legend, sealed into an artificial Sacred Gear? Dragons of his caliber had almost unshakable pride, making such an agreement nearly unthinkable. "You're saying he's actually considering it?"

"Not just considering. He's interested," Azazel replied with a grin. "I won't deny he's cautious, but he's tempted. Dragons are prideful, sure, but Fafnir? He's greedy. I showed him some of these pieces and the wealth Grigori can offer. I think I've finally got him on the hook."

Marcus processed this with growing astonishment. Over the past few months as Azazel's lab assistant, he'd noticed the bottleneck they'd hit, struggling to power artificial Sacred Gears with only minor, non-sentient magical creatures. Working with those limited resources had kept the gears from reaching their full potential, but Azazel had never mentioned any negotiations with Fafnir.

Azazel caught Marcus's questioning look and gave a casual shrug. "I didn't bring it up before because it started off as an exploratory conversation. But now that Fafnir's showing real interest, it's serious."

Marcus shook his head, amazed. "And he's willing to let himself be bound?"

"Willing, yes—but only on his terms. It'll be a decade-long contract, and he'll get to keep the Sacred Gear when it expires. Think of it as an investment for him. The dragon gets a whole new treasure to hoard, and I get a decade to make history."

Marcus nodded, the scale of this deal finally sinking in. "I can see why he's tempted," he admitted, a grin breaking through his surprise.

Azazel smiled, sensing Marcus's growing excitement. "It'll take everything we've got to pull it off, but with a little help from my favorite lab assistant, I think we can make this happen."

Azazel placed a hand on Marcus's shoulder, his expression shifting from excitement to something more calculating. "That brings us to the matter at hand. I need a second set of eyes—someone with a draconic instinct—to assess whether these weapons and armor are, let's say, up to the standards of a true dragon."

Marcus blinked, a little surprised. "Me? I'm not sure how much help I'd be with that. I mean, I can tell you if something's practical in a fight, but… dragon standards?"

Azazel let out a scoff. "Oh, please. I've seen your room, Marcus. You've got that unmistakable hoarding instinct that comes with your inner dragon. There's no way you don't have an eye for what's valuable."

Marcus flushed slightly, caught off guard. "Hoarding instinct?" he repeated, bristling a little. "It's not hoarding; I just like things organized… and accessible."

Azazel grinned, not backing down. "Trust me, dragons are particular about their treasures. Fafnir will want to be impressed, and I think you can tell quality craftsmanship when you see it."

Marcus sighed, realizing he was already in too deep to back out. He nodded slowly, turning his attention to the weapons on the table. With a careful hand, he picked up a dagger first—a slim, streamlined blade with a faint, icy glow emanating from its edge. The hilt fit perfectly in his hand, almost like it was crafted specifically to respond to his grip, and a subtle cold seeped from the blade, but not enough to harm the wielder.

"This one's impressive," he murmured, inspecting the fine runes etched into the blade's edge. "It looks like it's enchanted to draw on the user's inner magic and freeze the enemy on contact."

Azazel watched, nodding approvingly. "Not bad, Marcus. That one's enchanted with cryomanctic magic and is nearly indestructible. Good call."

Marcus continued through the collection, picking up various weapons and pieces of armor, testing each with the care of someone who knew the value of quality equipment. Some items, he found, lacked a certain... gravitas. Others were brilliant but impractical. Piece by piece, he compiled a small selection that held both power and practicality, envisioning how Fafnir might appreciate each one.

Finally, he reached for the single bullet lying amidst the arrows. He raised an eyebrow and turned it in his fingers. "I'm guessing this one is for something… unconventional?"

As Marcus examined the bullet, Azazel leaned in, his expression a mix of admiration and amusement. "That one," he said, nodding toward the bullet, "isn't just any old magic round. It's a replica of Tathlum —a devil's bullet with a reputation as one of the deadliest projectiles. Once it's fired, there's no avoiding it. The original was used to kill the Evil God, Balor."

Marcus arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "I've heard a little about the Tathlum, but I thought it was a stone ball fired from a slingshot. The original was used by Lugh, right?"

Azazel grinned, clearly pleased. "You got it. The Tathlum was a slingstone forged from a mixture of druidic magic and a devil's essence. It was powerful enough to pierce anything, with absolute accuracy—Lugh could kill Balor without him ever seeing it coming." He paused, his grin widening even more. "And Fafnir specifically requested I make this modern replica for him. Said he wants a 'god-killer' weapon of his own."

Marcus raised the bullet, rolling it between his fingers. "I see why it'd appeal to him. But a replica of something like this… it's no small feat to craft."

Azazel chuckled, a note of pride in his voice. "Tell me about it. Replicating the properties of the Tathlum was one of the more challenging projects I've worked on. It took ages to get the devil's energy and curse alignment just right. It's not as powerful as the original, but for a dragon of Fafnir's caliber, it could very well be deadly enough. That 'no-escape' curse is potent."

Marcus nodded, weighing the implications. "So, a part of Fafnir's condition in accepting the Sacred Gear deal is that he wants this… just in case?"

"Exactly. Dragons like Fafnir don't exactly trust anyone but themselves," Azazel explained, his tone light but pointed. "He might want to be bound to a Sacred Gear for ten years, but he's not fully giving up his autonomy. With a Tathlum replica in his stash, he'll feel a lot more secure. Gives him a safeguard."

Marcus placed the bullet carefully back on the table, feeling the weight of the bargain they were striking. "Then I'd say it's a fitting offering for a dragon."

Azazel clapped his hands together, his excitement palpable. "Now that we've sorted the offerings, we're on track to finalize the deal in two weeks."

Marcus nodded, absorbing the significance. "Two weeks. It's happening that soon?"

"Assuming nothing interferes, yes," Azazel replied, his grin sharp with anticipation. "We'll meet Fafnir at a neutral site to negotiate the final terms, ensure everything's up to his standards, and—if all goes well—bind him to this gem." He grinned, flourishing a dark purple gem.

Marcus's mind raced as he considered the potential complications, the sheer power Fafnir would bring… and the logistics of handling a dragon. "I'll be ready."

Azazel smirked, raising a brow. "I'm sure. But before you're back to tinkering with spells or fighting with Vali, I suggest you hit the books. Specifically, Norse mythology."

Marcus chuckled. "Right, I'll do my research."

"Good," Azazel said, patting Marcus on the shoulder. "You're about to deal with one of the most infamous dragons in myth. Best not to get on his bad side."

As Azazel turned back to his work, Marcus felt a thrill of anticipation—and a touch of trepidation. Two weeks wasn't much time, but with the stakes this high, he knew he'd be ready. He gave a final glance to the Tathlum Replica, then headed off to plunder the library.