Everyone understood Ignis and Jane Doe's sudden departure—though there was more regret than anything else.
After all, a private beach in New Eridu was an absurd luxury. It wasn't merely a matter of money; it was something that required genuine privilege to obtain.
But compared to the news about Fantasy, none of that mattered anymore. That colorless mist-born abomination had resurfaced. Whether the information was real or bait, Ignis had no choice but to investigate.
Underground auctions, however, were notoriously difficult to enter. One needed proof of assets, and one needed an invitation. Markus could handle the former. Jane Doe already had the latter.
"Honestly, I don't get it," Jane Doe said as she sat at the vanity, applying makeup. "Why go through the trouble of hosting an underground auction for a narcotic? Normally, selling it quietly would be far safer."
"Maybe the spectacle is the point," Ignis replied as he reloaded his shotgun. The lever-action weapon let out a sharp click-clack.
"The point for who?" The Rat Thiren frowned slightly. This kind of ostentatious display served no purpose other than drawing the attention of Public Security and rival factions.
Ignis shrugged. "For the thing that provided the method to make the drug. A daemon from beyond this world—like me, in a way. They like attention. It feeds their vanity."
Jane Doe continued sketching lines across her face. In moments, her features subtly reshaped into someone else entirely.
"If it's a daemon," she asked lightly, "then what are you?"
"Me?" Ignis answered without hesitation. "I'm an angel."
"There aren't many angels this dark-skinned," she teased. "Did you burn up a bit reentering the atmosphere?"
"That's a little hurtful," Ignis began to explain—then caught her smile in the mirror and understood. This was her way of relieving pressure before an undercover operation.
Fine. She was his lady, after all. A little teasing he could endure. Besides, the XVIII Legion were all dark-skinned—it was hereditary.
"No weapons," Jane Doe said, painting heavy dark circles under her eyes until she looked like she might collapse at any second. "There'll be checks. Forget the shotgun and the hammer—leave them here."
"But these I can bring." She slipped two short blades into her underwear. "They don't usually check there."
She changed into a studded, glossy leather jacket, paired with a tight, shiny leather skirt. A loud red wig, a loosely hooked lip ring, and a tongue stud completed the look. She looked like a member of a heavy metal band.
"What the hell is that outfit?" Ignis couldn't help commenting. Just last night she'd looked elegant—now she was completely unrecognizable.
"Rock 'n' roll, baby!" The punk-styled Rat Thiren threw up metal hand signs, deliberately lowering her voice.
"I should warn you," Ignis said dryly. "Daemons tend to like rock music. Some even use sonic rock attacks."
"Then that's f***ing perfect," she replied, fully committing to the role. "Makes it easier to blend in."
It was, frankly, a bit too avant-garde for the Salamander.
"Don't sigh. You're getting makeup too," Jane Doe said, flicking her tail. A mask landed in his hands.
It was a gorilla mask—or more precisely, a Kong Thiren mask.
"Your citizen ID says you're a Gorilla Thiren. Might as well make use of it." She patted his stomach. "Sit. I'll fix you up."
She truly was an expert undercover operative. Not only disguises—she even did special-effects makeup. She shaved what little hair Ignis had, replaced it with a highly realistic mane that covered his shoulders, and fitted the custom mask perfectly to his face. Even muscle movement looked natural.
"Make a few expressions," she said.
"Huh?" Ignis opened his mouth—and she immediately stuffed in a set of fake fangs.
"Thiren have tusks. Hide them properly." She flicked one of the protruding canines. "You're a bit tall. Act the part—it'll look more convincing."
Ignis stared at the mirror. The reflection looked exactly like a gorilla. "New Eridu's Thiren really lean hard into animal traits."
"Good news is, you don't sweat much," she said. "If I had to wear all this, I'd suffocate."
She even added padded shoulders, making his already exaggerated musculature swell even further.
"Do Gorilla Thiren really look like this?" Ignis asked, doubtful.
"I've seen an orangutan Thiren before," Jane Doe replied vaguely. "Gorilla Thiren are rare, but they're all huge."
"Of course, you're huge even among them."
New Eridu's technology was strange in very specific ways—or perhaps Jane Doe simply had exceptional connections due to her work. This place was only one of her safe layers, yet the wardrobe was filled with disguises.
"When did you prepare all this for me?" Ignis asked, watching her busy reflection in the mirror.
"When?" She smiled faintly. "I don't remember."
She wouldn't say it outright—she rarely allowed herself to appear vulnerable. But the fit of the disguise made it obvious she'd put real thought into it.
"Thank you."
"What's there to thank?" She blinked, genuinely confused. "With your build, you stand out too much in New Eridu. If I didn't prepare something in advance, what would we do when we needed it?"
"Can I ask what you were preparing for, exactly?" Ignis laughed. The mask didn't shift at all.
"I'm not telling." She clapped her tools back onto the vanity. "Your clothes are ready. Change."
Her own outfit screamed underground metal rocker. Ignis's, by contrast, was… interesting. She'd prepared a classic black suit, white shirt, and perfectly matched black sunglasses.
"Are we really from the same organization?" Ignis muttered while adjusting his tie. "Our styles are worlds apart."
"It's fine," she said with a sly grin. "The smuggling group I joined poses as an underground metal scene. They use live shows as cover for trading Hollow resources and illegal drugs. I've already replaced their bassist."
"And you?" she continued. "You're a bodyguard I hired from a mafia family I know. Don't worry—the boss is an idiot. He trusts me completely. I'll probably push out their second-in-command soon."
"You can do that too?" Ignis murmured. This woman was terrifyingly deep.
"Undercover work means knowing a bit of everything." She stepped closer. "Your tie's crooked. Let me fix it."
"Do you have a plan?" Ignis asked. "You're not just attending the auction and leaving, right?"
She patted his chest—tie adjusted. "If I were alone, I'd identify high-value targets and tip off Public Security."
Her smile sharpened. "But with you there, you won't just sit back and let the deal happen, will you?"
"Of course not," Ignis said grimly. "That thing cannot be allowed back on the market."
Images of the Vulcan Quarter power plant flashed through his mind—chilling, even for a Space Marine. "You know what it's made from, don't you?"
Jane Doe frowned. "Human glands. Blood. Chemicals. Normally it's plants or pure synthetics—but using human parts? That's new. Feels like some cult horror movie."
Ignis exhaled slowly. "You're right. It is a cult. In my world, there's a Chaos God of excess. It sent a daemon here. This drug is made using soul-bearing materials—blood and spirit. It doesn't just addict the body. It ensnares the soul."
"So, you can tell if it's real?" Jane Doe asked. "We've had cases here using living people as materials—but those were old. I thought that kind of experiment was long dead."
Anything tainted by Chaos caused the holy sigils on Ignis's face to burn. The stronger the corruption, the worse the pain.
"Yes. And it must be destroyed immediately. Anything carrying a Chaos God's blasphemous power endlessly tempts mortals. Almost no one can resist. Touch it once, and not just your life—your soul becomes their toy and their food."
Jane Doe frowned deeply. "That complicates things. I was going to alert Public Security beforehand and have them tail my signal. Looks like it's just us now. And without weapons—that's annoying."
She drew one of her knives from beneath the skirt. "These are easy to hide. Your shotgun and hammer aren't."
"You don't need to worry," Ignis said, flexing his arm. "I am a weapon."
And that wasn't even counting psychic power.
"Hm." She circled him. "True enough. Even unarmed, you're dangerous."
She pulled a guarded combat blade from the cabinet. Ignis recognized it instantly—his own craftsmanship, likely from a Bladesmith Guild order.
"That's mine," he said, surprised. "You placed an order?"
She shook her head. "Black market. Tuck it inside your coat. A bodyguard carrying nothing looks suspicious."
"Oh—and there's a shotgun too."
This one was… crude. Over 30mm caliber, roughly machined, with visible flaws inside the barrel. Break-action feed. The shells were homemade—plastic casings stuffed with steel balls. At least it used a proper hammer instead of battery ignition, though the hammer clearly came from some mismatched antique.
Calling it a shotgun felt generous. It was more like a hand cannon.
Still, given his size, normal weapons wouldn't work anyway. Ugly and primitive as it was, the caliber was intimidating enough when shoved in someone's face. Acceptable for a hired mafia enforcer.
They'd have to hand it in at the venue anyway.
The inner lining of the coat had hidden pockets—perfect for stowing both items. This rat… how thoroughly did she prepare?
Once everything was ready, Ignis followed Jane Doe to the rendezvous point.
Each invitee had a custom route. Jane Doe's instructions sent her to a yellow old sedan outside the Ballet Tower subway station.
At least it wasn't "midnight at a crossroads, wait for a lit carriage."
"Found it," she murmured, nodding toward a yellow sedan parked in a blind spot.
"My car won't fit someone that big," the driver said warily. After checking the invitation, his face went slack.
"I'm not paying just to lose my bodyguard," Jane Doe snapped. "We move over ten kilos a month with our lives. If you don't want to delay business, find a car that fits him."
The driver rolled his eyes. She clearly looked strung out, and her Gorilla Thiren bodyguard was bulging suspiciously. Not worth the trouble. He reported up.
When the reply came—a vehicle will be sent—Jane Doe slammed her fist into the hood. The studded glove punched several holes straight through.
"Hurry up!" she shouted. "I'm not patient!"
She pulled out a transparent waterproof pouch filled with white crystals and dumped it into her mouth.
"Ahh…" She exhaled, visibly calming. "Much better."
The driver froze. Even the Gorilla Thiren stepped aside—clearly, she was high as hell.
"Get lost while I'm in a good mood." Jane Doe flicked her wrist, and a compact pistol appeared in her hand.
The driver nearly lost his soul. This was just a delivery job—why had it turned into a death threat? He floored it and vanished.
"You didn't actually take that, did you?" Ignis asked quietly.
"Sugar," Jane said, handing him the pouch. "If he kept staring at us, it'd get awkward."
===BREAK===
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