The mansion that served as the organization's base seemed to be surrounded by a perpetual gloom. Perhaps it was because of the continued dreary weather, but there was something about the mansion, tall and lonely in the quiet woods, that cast a shadow over the heart of all that ventured near.

The inside, however, was the complete opposite. Bright, warm, and well-furnished (aside from the entrance hallway), it captured a homely feel that put anyone inside at ease. Not that Adrian could ever let down his guard, given his perilous situation. The effects of the house though, could be seen on the faces of all the cultists in the form of welcoming smiles and cheerful expressions. All of the cultists except for the sub-elite Madira, whose face seemed to be trapped in a permanent frown.

However, the main cause of the homilness was probably Jax, took took it upon himself to personally greet every single new recruit. His endless cheery demeanor was infectious, putting all the new cultists at ease. But even as Adrian shook Jax's hand, he couldn't help but wonder if that same hand had been used to slay an angel.

Every morning Adrian woke up, dreading whatever he'd have to face that day. Every day he lied to his parents about going on some sort of errand and made the half hour trek to the mansion, where he'd be greeted and go through the process to become a full member of the organization.

He'd been given a uniform--which, as it turned out, was only required to wear on special occasions (such as an initiation day)--and been taught the basic structure of the organization. He'd gotten far more information than he'd expected in just a few days, but there was far more he needed to know. Hopefully, the perfect chance was coming up--weapon assignment was scheduled that day, and Adrian needed to find out how they were getting enchanted weapons.

Once he entered the mansion, he was ushered down the entrance hall and into a large waiting room with a line stretching around the perimeter. It didn't take long for several initiates to join the line after him, far faster than people were exiting through the door on the opposite end of the room. The initiates chatted amongst each other impatiently. A few tried to start a conversation with Adrian, but he exercised his long-practiced skill of avoiding social situations and ended the conversation before it even started. As a basic rule of life, Adrian avoided talking to people if it was possible, and, besides, the initiates probably knew as much about the organization as he did.

Slowly but surely, Adrian made progress down the line, listening in on conversations for bits of information. He heard nothing much but small talk and the swapping of tragic backstories. It was bizarre; even as they painted tales of loss and death and misery, a pleasant tone edged every word they spoke. Almost every story ended with something along the lines of, "I'm glad to have a chance to get revenge."

Was that the reason for their cheer? Was the hope of justice the organization provided really what made them so happy? Perhaps, then, that was a good the organization had done. But they were still crazy murderers, Adrian hastily reminded himself, forcing himself to recall the image of the severed wing. The phantom scent of burnt flesh filled his nose, reminding him once again what the organization was capable of.

In the end, he heard nothing more interesting than the fact that new initiates would be given a tour of the building later that they. It was something, at least--perhaps he'd be able to spot an area of interest and investigate.

Lost in thought, Adrian made his way up the line as time dragged on. When he noticed how close he had gotten, he was snapped out of his reverie and anxiously watched the few people in front of him disappear behind the door. A few minutes later, they'd exit, sporting a new sheath strapped to their side, casting smug eyes over all the losers still waiting in line.

Finally it has Adrian's turn, and, swallowing his trepidation, he stepped through the door into a small, empty room the size of a walk-in closet. Another door was on the other side of the room, and on the other side of that was cool, damp air.

Adrian started as he stepped onto the back porch of the mansion, blinking as he struggled to adjust to the dim light. It was another dreary, cloudy day, the air full of moisture from a midnight storm. A cultist dressed in the standard uniform was seated on the stairs leading down to the backyard. Several large crates were stacked to his right, and a clipboard rested on his lap. Seeing Adrian, he grinned in welcome and gestured him over.

Adrian climbed down the stairs and faced the cultist. "Hello."

"Hey there," greeted the man. "Ready to get your weapon?"
"Um, yes."

"Let me tell you," chatted the cultist, "you're gonna love it. I haven't ever seen anybody disappointed. It's not every day that you get a dagger that shoots fire, after all! Oh--gosh, I didn't spoil it for you, did I? I'd assumed you've already heard talk about it."

"I've heard."
The cultist sighed in relief. "Oh, what a relief! I'd hate to ruin it for you. You know, I really love this job--I make sure to sign up for it every time a new batch of initiates comes through. There's nothing better than seeing the shock on their faces when they use an enchanted weapon for the first time! I'd say it's magical." He cracked up at his own joke.

Adrian listened on in silence. No wonder it's been taking so long.

Seeing Adrian's flat expression, the cultist continued. "Anyway. Your name?"
There was no way Adrian would give a cult full of murderers his real name; he'd prepared an alias to give him at least a tiny bit of protection. "Erik Minton."

The cultist scanned through the papers. "You're on here. Okay, take this." He picked up a small crystal and handed it to Adrian.

For just a moment, Adrian hesitated. The crystal was reminiscent of the crystal he'd been given at the testing site. Would it trigger the enchantments on the beads and burn his hand again? "What's...what's that for?"

"Oh, don't worry." The man chuckled. "It's just something to help gauge if you're able to use an enchanted weapon.

"I...I see. Just a moment." Adrian shrugged off his jacket, where the beads were tucked in a pocket, and tossed it onto the porch.

"You really that hot? It's pretty chilly out."

"It's warm in the waiting room."

"Got it. Okay, hold the crystal."

Adrian took the crystal, sighing in relief as it didn't do anything strange.

The cultist reached in his pocket and pulled out a second, slightly larger crystal. It glowed dimly in his hands. He nodded and stuffed it back in his pocket, then held his hand out to Adrian. Adrian dropped the smaller crystal in the man's hand, which he also put away.

"Average power. Congratulations, young man. You can use an enchanted weapon." The man grinned at Adrian, then searched through a crate next to him. He drew out a dagger, inspected it, jotted something on his papers, then handed the dagger to Adrian. "Why don't you try it out? Face away from the base, please."

"Okay." A slight shock raced through Adrian's arm as he wrapped his fingers around the hilt. Yellow light shining from the windows glinted off the polished blade, almost like flames were already dancing around it. On the outside it appeared ordinary, but, indeed, it seemed to sizzle with a strange energy. "How do I use it?"

The cultist shrugged. "It's different for everyone. It probably feels weird, right? Concentrate on that energy. Try and make it real. There's no rush."

Adrian recalled the ever-growing line inside the mansion. "Of course." He turned away from the building and shut his eyes, concentrating on the energy in the dagger. It's going to be fire, so should I imagine that? He pictured the energy turning into flames crawling around the blade, and, in a few seconds, heat brushed his hands. Adrian opened his eyes to find sparks of fire jumping along the cool metal of the blade.

The sight of fire sent his heart racing, and chills raced up his spine. It was all Adrian could do to not drop the dagger on the spot. As he struggled to regain his composure, the flames died away.

"Good job!" called the cultist. "C'mere and I'll give you a sheath."

Adrian turned and took the sheath, sliding away the dagger. He picked up his jacket and put the dagger next to the knife the angels had given him. He turned to the cultist, and inquired in his most casual tone, "So, who enchants these weapons?"

The chatty cultist was eager to answer. "An elite of a different base. His name is Malias Lamki, or something like that."

"Oh? So he has magic?"

"Yeah, that's why they say. Real powerful fire magic. Anything that's been enchanted with fire came from him. He's the only one with magic in this organization. Well, aside from Master Dark, that is. And you know what? I hear he's only a kid--younger than you, probably! But if he's really that powerful, then it makes sense why he's an elite."

"And he's human?"

The cultist laughed. "I have trouble believing Master Dark would recruit an angel for such a high position." He spat the word out as if it was poison in his mouth. "No, I hear he was cursed. Cured with magic by an angel. But Master Dark rescued him from his abusive village that hated him for his powers, and helped him turn the angels' curse against them."
"Was Master Dark cursed, too?"

"Have you had cotton in your ears the last few days?" teased the cultist. "No, that's not what Master Dark says. He says that, after his parents were killed by angels, his desire for revenge manifested in the form of his magic. Of course, we strive not for revenge now, but justice."

"So...what exactly is Master Dark's magic?"

"Nobody knows the entire scope of his powers, but I hear he can sense manipulate energy. I heard he once knocked out an entire crowd of people without even moving. It's with tools he enchanted that we can sense the magical energy of angels and track them down."

"Then those crystals are enchanted by him, too?"

"That's right!" said the cultist. "The ones I tested you with are linked. The smaller crystal senses the magical energy of whoever's holding it, and the bigger one takes that signal and glows depending on how strong it is."

"What about the crystal I had to hold at the testing site?"

"Oh, that." The cultist nodded. "It's sort of a lie detector. It also senses people's energy, but only glows if it fluctuates oddly. And since lying tends to send people's energy out of whack, the crystal will glow when they lie!"

"That's interesting. I saw Sub-elite Madira use something to knock someone out without touching him. What was that?"

The cultist grinned. "Oh, that. That's Madira's prized orb. It's just a little metal sphere, but Master Dark enchanted it with some really powerful magic. You have to be really magically adept to use something that strong, which is why only Madira can use it. With it, she can decrease people's energy--or maybe muffle it--and then they fall asleep. Apparently she can weaken magic with it, too."

"That's impressive," said Adrian. He reminded himself to not mess with Madira.

"But did you know"--the cult leaned in, eyes gleaming with the thrill of gossip--"why Sub-elite Gale carries a gun?"

Adrian started. "She--she what?"

The cultist laughed at Adrian's reaction. "Yeah, that's right! Y'know, guns are a pain to obtain and difficult to enchant, so we only give them to very special cases like Gale's."

"...what's that?" asked Adrian, still unnerved by the revelation. Swords, daggers, knives, magic--and now firearms. Great. So many different ways I can die.

"She's got no magical potential," whispered the cultist with a huge grin on his face. "Absolutely nothing. Even if we gave her the easiest to use weapon in the whole stock, nothing would happen. She just can't. So she gets a gun so she isn't completely helpless. But I didn't tell you, okay? Don't mention it to her--she's awful touchy about it."

"She must be a talented person, then, to make sub-elite without any magical ability."

"Yeah, she's got a great aim, and she's really efficient." The cultist winked. "So don't mess with her, 'kay?"

"Got it," said Adrian. "So...what kind of weapon does Master Dark use?"

The cultist's eyes lit up. "A sword."

"How old-fashioned."

"Perhaps, but it's the grandest sight you'll ever see--Master Dark standing proudly over his subordinates, sword in hand. I hear it's not enchanted, either, since he does all his magic himself. He says it belonged to his parents, so it's only right that he uses it to avenge their deaths."

"Interesting," said Adrian.

"Oh!" exclaimed the cultist. "Look at me, rambling on and on. Sorry, pal, but I'm gonna have to send you off. Got initiates to arm, after all."

Adrian headed toward the door. "Of course. Thank you for talking with me."

"No problem, pal. See you around!"

_____________________________________________________________________________________

"In the west wing we keep our spare weapons..."

The cultist leading the tour droned on in the most bored monotone Adrian had ever heard. The other initiates obligingly oohed and aahed when necessary, but the guide's voice was obviously luring them into a daze.

Adrian struggled to listen to every word; he didn't know exactly what he was looking for, so he needed to listen for anything of interest. So far, it had been mostly mundane--storage rooms, training rooms, lounges. They had gone through the first floor already without any leads, but hopefully the second floor would be more fruitful.

"And back here we...actually, nevermind."

There it was. A small slip--most of the initiates were so dazed, they didn't notice. Something they didn't want newbies to see. Adrian slowed his pace, letting the rest of the crowd file past him. Once he was at the end, he detached from the group and drifted down the suspicious hallway. A master of going unnoticed Adrian successfully slipped away.

Once he was sure he was out of sight, Adrian turned and investigated the hallway. It was rather short, with nothing in it but a door at the end of the hall. Swallowing, Adrian made his way toward the door.

"What are you doing?"

A deafening voice roared down the hall, shattering the world around Adrian. He froze, then almost collapsed to the ground as all his limbs turned to jelly.

"Are you lost?"

Adrian, too scared to move, froze on the spot, as if staying sill enough would mean the person would go away. I've done it now. I'm doomed. Doomed. She's going to kill me. I shouldn't have pushed it. This is--

"You're a new recruit, right? I can help you back to the group."

Adrian squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to take long, even breaths. Play it cool. She doesn't know. After he was sure he wouldn't crumble immediately, he steeled his nerves and turned around.

"Are you okay?" asked the sub-elite Gale.

Sub-elite Gale carries a gun. Sub-elite Gale carries a gun. The cultist's words echoed in Adrian's head, bouncing back and forth until it worked him up into a panic. He forced himself to look calm, to steady his breathing. "I'm f-fine."

Gale frowned, skeptical, but gestured for Adrian to come over. "I'll lead you back to the group."

Adrian forced a jerky nod and staggered over to Gale. The flat expression he usually wore was, for some reason, so difficult to maintain now. "Th-thank you."
"So, why were you wandering around back here?" Gray eyes burned into the side of Adrian's head.

Adrian kept his eyes trained forward, refusing to make eye contact. "I got lost."

"How, exactly? The tour is pretty straightforward."

"Well...this hall seemed interesting, so I wanted to look down it. It was just a second, but when I turned around, everybody was gone."

"So you went back down the hallway?"

"I figured I'd take a closer look, since they were already gone." With Adrian's heart beating as hard as it was, it was miracle his voice sounded so even.

Gale raised her eyebrows. "Really, now?"
"Who knows when I might get another chance to explore?"

"Every day in your down time."

"Is that so? Nobody told me that."

Gale frowned, but gave up her interrogation. "Perhaps you just lack common sense. What's your name?"
"Erik Minton."

"It's nice to meet you, Erik." Gale held out her hand and gave Adrian a small smile.

"Same here." Adrian shook her hand--her grip was rather firm. "If you don't mind me asking...what's in that room back there?"

"Oh, that?" said Gale. "The room Master Dark stays in when he visits. He doesn't really like people messing around in it, so we tend to keep it closed off when he's away. He also doesn't actually own much, so the room's probably pretty empty. Not worth showing initiates."

"...I see."

Gale lead Adrian back into the main hall, marching off at a brisk pace to catch up to the group. It didn't take long at all--she smirked a bit at Adrian when the group came into view. "Look at that. Not very far at all."

"It appears so," said Adrian, putting on a sheepish smile. "Thank you, ma'am."

"It's no problem," said Gale. "Welcome to the organization."