In the shakes of his hands, in the giddiness in his feet, Ulrich's shock showed; anywhere else, he maintained a deterred composure. What he felt wasn't precisely relief, otherwise it would've been so much better – though he did breathe a little freer with lungs a little wider. It was as if, side by side, with Mephistopheles' arrival, arrived his permission to live. As if...?

But it was the reality! He couldn't believe it, but it was! To think that the demon, that he willingly came in to save him! Stupid demon, he thought to himself in laughable sarcasm, and ascertained that, because of him, he could smile once again.

Mephistopheles, much like his companion, was carrying a gun and a sword. Ulrich didn't understand why both, and didn't think about it – he was too focused on the demon's next move. It was quick to manifest.

"Sorry," the blond said, and hit the other executioner in the head with his gun. The poor guy didn't get to react, he just tumbled down the stairs, landing awkwardly in front of the cells. He remained as such, comatose on the spot. Ulrich took a step back, taken aback, staring at the unconscious man and the demon who descended. This was a negative sort of surprise, and so, he grimaced to it.

"Hey, Ulrich, you heard me?" He waved once he hopped in front of the bars, intolerable with his cheerfulness. Ulrich's constrained one would remain as such; he disliked the fact there was violence already stamped on his departure. Though there was no other way out, he just did not like it...

And by the Strings, who gave him the right to call him by his name?! He didn't have to call him anyhow, but he chose to call him by his old name! Perhaps to provoke him. So he calmed down. It wasn't a difficult feat, considering his emotional weariness.

He began, "I... did, but – what are you doing here?" Ulrich wanted to say something about the guy who lay before him, perhaps protest, but...

"Always so clueless. Guess for yourself." He couldn't because the demon continued on his own. "I couldn't just let you die, especially since I knew you would get killed here. So, I knock out the executioner, then I set you free. In addition... you get to hate me face to face! Doesn't that sound just perfect, Ulrich? Am I not your loyal servant?"

Ulrich, Ulrich, Ulrich. A reminder that this was not Ernst in the cell, this was Ulrich, and he very much was not pleased to be called so. The demon was eager to continue with his obnoxious demeanor; he sat on the floor and crossed his legs. He petted the unconscious man's head. All of this was a happy little ploy to him, and he took all of it too lightly. Ulrich did not know how to react, though he felt that, in face of such delight, his own had to stay sheathed.

"Don't act so wholesome. You're the one who put me in here," Ulrich told him.

Mephistopheles faked a gasp. "First of all, no, and second of all, is that how you greet your savior?!"

"Yes."

Mephistopheles stuck his tongue out, whereas Ulrich hid a chuckle. But the demon was correct, and his master was a bit ungrateful, and when it came to that... Ulrich believed he was in the right. Nevertheless, he was glad that his life was suddenly possible. He couldn't deny it, and denying it would be devastating. Whereas mostly hidden, the pleasure did crawl out, shown as his slight playfulness, and reluctance to argue.

"Alright, thank you, if that's what you desired to hear. I... can't be truly thankful, because you were the one who ruined my life in the first place," he explained, adding a little nod.

"Ruined it?! That's a hyperbole, but never mind that. A dishonest thank you is better than none!" He jumped back to his feet and let out a "well". In return, Ulrich stuttered a "what".

"What are we going to do with your cellmate, Ulrich? Is he a witness? A bully? Both?" The tone of the demon's dropped as his brows rose. This talk had no good connotation.

And immediately, Ulrich took a step towards Elmedin, one arm lifted in defense. "No, he's... good, you are not going to knock him out."

"Is that an order?"

"What else could it be?"

"Nothing, just checking."

"I thought it was a habit of yours to read my mind."

"No, the obsidian and iron in the bars prevent me."

"Now I prevent you too. If I haven't already, I forbid you from reading my mind."

Why did every conversation feel like... not talking to a wall, but hitting a wall? Incredible.

Ulrich turned his head around to look at Elmedin. The male was staring ahead, not quite blankly – he had a faint smile on his face, unmoving, absent, as if it were positive thoughts occupying him. Ulrich asked him if he was alright, and he looked over to his cellmate, spinning his head a little.

"Me? Yeah, just... kind of surprised, that's all. There's a whole... well, demon right before me."

"Yeah, Mephistopheles is surprising," Ulrich murmured, more to himself than Elmedin.

"No, you are surprising and I should thank you for that," Elmedin replied, his words trembling from suppressed laughter. Ulrich couldn't help but smile; though that demon of his was a nuisance, it was undeniable that he helped, not only him, but this other man too. He found himself relishing in the fact. Relishing, and smiling, and finally giving him a belated response,

"You're welcome. You've treated me well. It's only fair if I reciprocate. Thus..."

The demon was heard next, "You've made a friend while I was away?!"

But – had he? They had known each other for mere hours, so no, they couldn't have been friends. With that fact aside, he judged swiftly, and glared at the demon and asked readily, "Why, are you jealous?"

Mephistopheles let out a whine that quickly twisted into a squeal. "Absolutely not."

His expression came to a halt; smiles died down, lips flattened, lids almost fell. It was a harsh break in the narrative, and Ulrich followed it, confused by its inaptness.

With that, Mephistopheles touched the bars, sliding his fingers across them, creating something that should've been a melody, but stressed Ulrich's heart out. For some reason, the demon grimaced, halting his movements as well as his tunes. His brows furrowed, and he clenched that one bar before letting go of it.

"Demon, what are you doing now? Is something the matter?"

Voice so much more leveled than before, he replied, "Wondering when would be the right time to ask, when would you like for me to set you free?"

He was so caught up in other matters that he slowed down the most important one. He snickered. Laughter was so justified. "Now? I thought you were stalling for a reason, but since that's not the case, you may begin straight away." Ulrich glanced over to Elmedin for some reason. He glanced back.

"Very well."

Mephistopheles literally broke the bars with his bare hands. One by one, he discarded them, gently putting them down so as to avoid unnecessary noise. Ulrich stared in awe – the demon did it with ease. He had heard of mythical strength those beings possess, but never got to see it himself, luckily. He imagined this was only a glimpse of what Mephistopheles had to offer...

Though he had no use of it, he thought, almost with pity.

Once the hole was large enough, the demon stepped aside and bowed lightly. "Come hither, Ulrich."

That name had been bugging Ulrich for a while now. Once he stepped outside, he voiced his concern. "Don't call me Ulrich. It might cause problems."

"There's a whole lot of Ulrichs out there, what makes you so special?" Nothing for certain, but the name wasn't something he wanted to think of. And yet, Ernst wasn't a much more pleasurable option either. "I also think you have a bigger problem, for example, having a death sentence and being a wanted criminal," the demon informed him, as if he hadn't already known and loathed.

Ulrich turned around and glared at him. "Could be, but you created those problems. Now, you fix them."

There was another one, right before him. He looked at the unconscious executioner; he got hurt by the demon. Not a good look for Ulrich, but it was necessary. However, in other cases...

Mephistopheles sighed, throwing his head back, and snapped his fingers. "Yes, of course, you prude. Now look at your hand."

Ulrich lifted it. He couldn't see it, and in a weird reflex, lifted it even more – only to be smacked in the face by an invisible force, but nobody seemed to notice...?

No, Elmedin did. He questioned, quietly, hesitantly, "What... what happened?"

That was when the clogs in his head started working. He couldn't see his body either. He started turning around, staring at his legs, his stomach, or at least, where they should've been. Shocked, he turned to Mephistopheles, who had his arms crossed.

"I'm invisible!"

The blond sniffed. "Took you a while."

He looked at the indifferent demon with awe. "So your power is to make things invisible?!"

"Yes, and to cast illusions of all sorts, among other things." Upon saying that, the demon's uniform transformed into a black leather suit, the one Ulrich had met him in. The possibilities of that power, to change appearance at will...! Mouth and wonder wide, he openly questioned, "You could make me look taller too?"

"If that's what you wish." The demon laughed. Elmedin did as well. Ulrich shrank at the outburst. That was when the invisibility was taken away from him, and he straightened his back.

Clearing his throat, he hurriedly began, "Is this how you plan to get us out?"

"Us?"

Why, leaving Elmedin right over there did not amount to anything. He was free, but in a den of policemen – so... "I'll finish what I started and I'll help my acquaintance. He... was kind to me."

"There's always room for betrayal," Mephistopheles referenced Ulrich, which did not go unnoticed.

"Always. I'd be more inclined to expect it from you, than him, who had shown only..." Giving Elmedin a smile, he picked his next words with ease, "aggressive activism."

With a dear smile, the man placed two hands on his chest, slightly bowing. "This is so sweet, I might just rot here and now," he expressed, staring at Ulrich with twinkling adoration in his eyes. Was it... too much? Ashamed, Ulrich looked away.

"And I'll rot by the time we get outside this prison," the blond exclaimed. He was at the verge of frowning.

Ever since the odd interaction with the bars, he wasn't acting the same. Ulrich did not know him for long, but that much was obvious. Despite it, he took the comment as a more concerning reminder:

Time... time was limited, wasn't it?

He'd use what was left of it, and finished this entire conversation with something that ought to have been the beginning, "To introduce the two of you swiftly, Mephistopheles, this is Elmedin Mahkazah, and Elmedin, this is Mephistopheles. For now, we cooperate."

"Most absolutely honored and pleased as well as indebted to meet you!"

Despite all the dreaded emotions that had fatigued Ulrich's psyche, it was amusing to see Elmedin become smaller than Mephistopheles, as he had clasped his hands together and slouched his shoulders. The demon, in contrast, kept his posture straight and unbothered. All he did was close his eyes, thus putting out the yellow glow. The next thing he said was not even related to Elmedin.

"Hah, the only one indebted here is your friend." Ulrich's heart dropped at the remark, but he picked it up in the rush of excitement.

"Then fulfill your part of the contract and get us out of here," he ordered.

That caused a chuckle. "I shall. Here's the plan, and surprisingly, no, you don't have to thank me. You're my responsibility after all."

Responsibility? What part of Mephistopheles' behavior was responsible? Regardless, Ulrich didn't fuel another ridiculous argument, and waited as the demon explained the idea.

It was simple. Turning them all invisible, then walking out of the dreaded institution. With a few other details too, which Ulrich had to agree were reasonable.

"And! Ulrich, you'll be overjoyed to know that I've salvaged your uniform. You'll be an arbiter, at least on the outside, and it should be beneficial on our trip, no?"

Some cheer was back in his voice, and the former arbiter gave those words some thought. If others used their title for falsities and fraud, then he could use it too for reaching a far better and less harmful goal. Besides... he wouldn't relish in it, he never had. "I'd have to agree."

There was this faint little fact that Mephistopheles was so perfectly sweet, and it did not resonate well within Ulrich. There had to be more to his antics, to this plan, and while Ulrich was imprisoned, he had at least this illusion of freedom, in his loneliness, in his mind. With Mephistopheles near and propulsive and so repulsive, it was directly taken away. Because, before, he had surrendered himself to the absolute – he had to, it was only healthy. But now, he didn't have to. The wretched vomit of Hell could be washed away.

And... oh. As far as Ulrich's nose was concerned, the demon did not reek any more. Funny.

Ulrich's doubts mixed with the remainder of his waking emotions. The result was excitement, reactive, present and alive. Doubts remained, and would not be disappointed, for they so enthusiastically sought to be fulfilled.

They began climbing the stairs, Elmedin first, Ulrich second, Mephistopheles third. During their ascend, Mephistopheles caught up with Ulrich, not without a reason.

The fiend whispered right into his ear, warm breath igniting shivers all over his body, "You're an idiot. Why haven't you told them who you truly were?"

Words gripped Ulrich's heart, they harmed all the delicate and blemished spots that established it. "They wouldn't listen," he said, and imagined, and denied.

"But you certainly look the part."

Nonsense. Turquoise eyes, messy charcoal hair receding into pitch black, pale skin, longish face – those were the attributes many shared. At this point, Mephistopheles was just toying with him, trying to get him nervous or at least in a worse mood. Demon business, evil for the sake of it, and he rejected it.

"Cease the talk at once," he uttered, and climbed on, leaving the demon behind.

It would be nice to call it trivial nonsense and leave it at that. Yet, it was the ephemeral that moved the mind, brandished the thought – and his was a wide one, to a fault. He couldn't help but give in to empathy, to listening and not only hearing, to not only understanding but accepting. It was an automated process, erroneous at its existence, for he wasn't always fit to withstand it.

That was the case. Doubt dropped, and the mind abused the heart.

Because, again, the demon was right! In all that stress and overthinking, pessimism extinguished every little spark of hope. Maybe, he could've been saved if someone had listened, maybe, if only he had tried, and...! There was that small likelihood, sustainable in this reanimated organism, that perhaps someone would've halted and, looked, and recognized –

His breath hitched. Mephistopheles didn't have to be there. He would like to leave it at that, but... past possibilities were never an ally, and Mephistopheles was a present bother.

"You forgot! I go first!" Speaking of which, the demon announced himself, jumping multiple stairs at a time and swiftly passing by Ulrich. Once at the top, disguising himself into naught, the blond opened the black door – and revealed the hallway and its branches, united in whiteness, lit dimly and scarcely.

What was the sudden rush for? "Wait," Ulrich hissed. He quickened his steps, reaching and grabbing Elmedin's hand. The male returned a firm grip, then slid a glance towards Ulrich. Reliance. Blue eyes could barely support.

"I'm waiting."

Elmedin offered assurance in return. A fair trade. Humane, and that is why Ulrich enjoyed it.

That was all. The very next moment, the both of them were invisible.

Following Mephistopheles' plan, the two of them walked a hasty pace, following the demon – or at least, the little pointer he had made for them, the tiny apparition of a shadow, a negligible splotch on the floor moving at a sane pace. The demon was somewhere ahead, scouting the area for them.

Their attire helped them with this objective by consisting of, among everything else, strangely silent shoes. A positive aspect to feed the rising optimism.

At the end of one hallway, Ulrich stopped. They were about to take a turn when something stepped on Ulrich's foot and almost made him yell. Fortunately, he muffled that noise somehow, and all that was heard was a tiny "mmpf".

"Sorry," Elmedin whispered. Ulrich was too anxious to reply, and so he merely squeezed Elmedin's hand. In arriving hindsight, that was awkward, but he ignored it.

They continued. Ulrich didn't recall the hallways being this long. Once the thought settled, he was ready to risk and call Mephistopheles for clarifications... when the pointer stopped in front of a door. It was opened, and slowly, they entered. Mindful of the possible people inside, Ulrich checked the interior first. The room was pleasantly empty. Mephistopheles did his job.

It was the same room where Ulrich had left his belongings. The entirety of walls was covered with drawers, all neatly numbered and naturally – white. There was a separate chamber for changing one's clothes as well. What a civil welcome and goodbye for future and former prisoners alike.

"Salutations."

Ulrich jumped. Turning around, he saw Mephistopheles by the door, closing it. Since he was visible, Ulrich checked if he was visible as well, and he was.

Returning his attention to the demon, he saw that he held a pair of boots and some folds, grey and silver and so wonderfully familiar.

"Here, I believe these are yours. As for your friend, he'll have to find the right container."

Ulrich snatched his uniform. His shiny, clean uniform. He'd hug it if it weren't for the annoyance called Mephistopheles. So he did that once he entered the dressing room.

He had always loved it. It complimented his build, agreed with his gray locks. It was endearingly mute, with silver lines, so as to make it at least somewhat special. For a low-ranking arbiter like him, it was a satisfying fit. Once he put it on, he felt so much higher, so much more like himself.

Before wearing the gloves, he had a glimpse of his scar – damned may it be, the same way it damned his heart. He clenched his fist, turned it around and stuck it into the glove. If anything, it would no longer be exposed.

He adjusted his sleeves and looked downwards. Finally, he was his true self. He was in the suit that carried him through the mists of the unknown, that saved him from the known. He hadn't lost that cowardly identity, no, he was still a fallacious arbiter, now capable of deleting the errors.

Wasn't that enough? Just the possibility of change?

Chest out, arms in the air, head thrown back to grasp the moment and its infinity. That was him. A convoluted possibility, moving onwards, his stride free in the frame of the road.

He visualized stepping on Mephistopheles, and that was when he laughed quietly. He assured himself, he'd win this strange game the demon played.

He stepped outside, aware that, all which blocked his infinity was patience. After turmoil and acceptance of death, he could afford endless patience – he had overpaid the price.

Elmedin entered the dressing room with his own colorful batch of clothes and boots. So, Ulrich walked to the side of the chamber farthest away from Mephistopheles, and stood there, awaiting.

"It fits you," he heard the demon speak, probably referring to the outfit.

"Thank you."

"You look like an ugly duckling."

How dare he?! "You look like a... a..." Ulrich placed a hand on his chin, turning around. This wasn't looking good, any insult that he had in mind was too profane...

"A winner," the demon finished instead of him.

"For now." He crossed his arms, not knowing how else to deal with the temporary defeat. Minutes in, Elmedin reappeared, and he looked like a completely different person.

There was so much personality added to his appearance now. Colorful was the outfit, much like its bearer's behavior. A lot had to be taken in.

A green vest, with black linear ornaments, to bring out the similarly green eyes. Beneath it, a white shirt, characterized by puffy sleeves, tucked in leather gloves – a must for whoever was a heavy user of hand gestures, as Elmedin was already demonstrating, for he stretched his arms in several different ways. Something flew around too – the long tongues of bows that tightened the gloves. They added to that volatile appearance this man fully dedicated himself to.

And underneath, simple linen trousers, again tucked into tall boots that matched the gloves. Such was his presence, but incomplete – for in all that elegance, his face was dislocated. Absent was his smile, his sheen. Elmedin wasn't done just yet.

Ignoring the looks, he moved. He was looking through other drawers, digging through them, but not taking anything. Ulrich couldn't help but inquire, whispering,

"Is something amiss?"

"I can't go on without my memento. It's... extremely, incredibly important to me," he said. He didn't stop searching after the said memento.

Mephistopheles was heard muttering a bland "intriguing". Ulrich had a hard time believing this was happening. "Maybe we could help? What are you looking for?"

"It's a blue scarf," Elmedin stated while lifting a dress.

"Scarf?"

The demon was soundly amused. "Humans are so funny. I'll help."

Even with the supernatural coming to aid, the scarf could not be found. They opened every drawer twice, found all sorts of things: among fabrics, a couple of knives, and one of them had a beautiful purple blade. Ulrich managed to find a cane with an ivory dragon skull as its handle, and in the same container, rested a suit comprised of a long black coat and a top hat with velvet feathers attached. He halted to take a better look at them, but as he had no use of them, he moved past.

Elmedin wore a serious face throughout the process. Once it ended, he did not take it off. It didn't look good on him, Ulrich had to note. With time passing and surrender becoming inevitable, Mephistopheles suddenly exclaimed, as if he was waiting for that exact moment,

"Come to think of it, I may have spotted a blue scarf with a purplish tint –"

"Yes! That's the one!" Elmedin jumped, fists clenched and in air.

" – while I was getting the orders to end you from the police chief in her cabinet."

Ulrich sighed. Why in the name of Hell and everything above did the demon get involved with so many far-off topics? Disturbing, but he chose to further the discussion with,

"From her, you said?"

Come to think of it, that woman was issuing direct orders, both to officer Lyos and the executioners. As if...

"Does she happen to be a black woman with lush hair? Similar to a halo?"

"Except she's nothing like an angel. Trust me, I'd know," Mephistopheles said and immediately winced. "But yes, that's her."

What part of that statement was a lie...? Unimportant. Ulrich was shocked to know that the minister and the chief were the same person...

"Maria Merkator."

"Miss Merkator."

He was astounded. How could a single person hold so much power, or – no, just have two jobs like that?

Elmedin rubbed his hands together and turned around. "Well, thank you for your assistance so far! I suppose our paths will soon diverge –"

"As if I'd let that happen," Ulrich shot back.

His former cellmate turned his head around. "Thank you. But with or without you, I have to get my hands on that scarf."

"So... so, you're telling me that this one object is worth risking your life for?"

Elmedin nodded. Solemn silence landed. Expectations and hesitations were too many. They both had to give in. "I'll find a way –"

"No. No, I'll be helping you," Ulrich blurted out.

Mephistopheles cackled. Ulrich clenched his jaw at the sound.

What followed was an argument between the two, one built on politeness, stilted and shy of reaching the conclusion. Whereas Elmedin was equipped with patience and determination, Ulrich spoke in directs and rocks, pulverizing whatever excuse Elmedin had not to accept Ulrich's help. Because, no matter their representation, those were excuses – and by denying, the man affirmed, though in excess.

Ulrich told himself that this entire scheme would be all. That this was the end of his troubles, and he could go, and finally... just, rest, free and...

He looked over to Mephistopheles. Though it was ill intent that brought them together, there was no denial that his powers could be useful – and shielding. In his sleep, in his freedom, if only quiet and careful, Ulrich would be protected. And that was possible – only after helping Elmedin. Only.

There was no room for anything else. His nerves were overbooked.

Gratitude was exclaimed, hands shaken, and Mephistopheles turned them invisible. That was how they took a detour to freedom.

Using the same method, they followed the halls, then, passed the administration (Ulrich hated the way the stalls were empty), some guards, then ended up in the entering hall – he both recognized and remembered it with joy. And with the same joy, he observed others, while they could not observe him. They were all oblivious! Both to his presence and his misfortune! They all ignored him...!

He slowed down a little to take one last look. There they were, sprites of law, ignorant of reality, their world that of fairytales and corruption. Ulrich overcame them, shattered their fantasy with his own.

Elmedin squeezed his hand. Yes, Ulrich was stalling. Understandably, his acquaintance was more reason-driven. He followed that example, to be led into future liberty.

Steps carried them into the night, gently cold, darkly welcoming. The Moon was their lantern. Underneath, to push back the city, stood Mephistopheles, hands on his hips, neither happy nor sad, merely – waiting.

They showed themselves, at last, ecstatic under the skies and in the moist air, breathing different air, fresh and crisp and vast and –

Ulrich wanted to enjoy, but not with that crooked apparition before him and the wry buildings behind it. Not with those malicious reminders to smear his happiness. So he closed his eyes, took a full breath, and with the exhale, reopened them.

What was it, what was it that he saw with his malnourished vision? In all of its grotesque, Aurun, sprawled in front of him like a rotting, flea-infested carcass.

Streets were like clogged bloodstreams. Clumps of trash and estrangement rolled down the cobblestone, governed by the nightly haze. Stumbling through the mist were figures of men and women and everyone else, both rare and erratic, wearing hats and coats and anarchic clusters of clothes. Those figures, they resembled haphazard sketches more than sane build, and among each other, none was too similar.

Could Ulrich fit in, with his timid uniform, with his peculiar company? Was he redundant enough?

Delicacies were ignored. Mephistopheles dove into the foreign climate, Elmedin hurried too. Ulrich had to participate.

And he revealed himself, and he too stumbled inside, and he was bewildered. Humidity in his nostrils, vapor dazing, warm, like that of blood. Gusts of gas seethed from canalization, and he stepped onto the bars for the sake of it, moving on through puddles and diluted darkness.

Sometimes, he'd follow the smoky columns. And up above, he threw his attention around as if it were his first time in this accursed city. What else could he see but the neglected, dark walls, illuminated by civil lampposts and many tall windows? As if he hadn't seen them already.

But he did witness them with different eyes. With Ulrich's eyes. To meet someone was never to know them.

His coat fluttered in bitter winds. Insanity, to have one's prisons embellished, and streets tarnished. Like a beast with its grisly organs and veins pumping on the outside, and skin and fur, hidden on the inside. What sickly creator would ruin his creation so?

It wasn't just his intuition. It was the confirmation of it.

A thug ran into Ulrich – no, not Ulrich, rather his uniform – brandishing their knife, churning the fable of the night. A fiend shoved the other fiend; the cultured man had no business even thinking of violence. And yet, when faced with it, he could defend with violence only. Such a flawed system.

Ulrich glowered. It was the paradox that infuriated him, not the thug. They lay motionless by Mephistopheles' feet, no blood to stain their failed crime. He wanted to sympathize, and he revealed, that he could; that he felt sorry for the criminal, the circumstances that lead them there. He could not, however, admit, that he did not also feel glad. His fleeting heartbeats resonated within, and he appreciated them more than ever. Upon their very rise, his decency would fall. Despite the tiredness, the hunger, the emotional, mental depravity, he had never felt more alive.

Perhaps it was this state, perhaps it was other matters, perhaps it was the thug's very label, but he did not feel like aiding this person. He simply couldn't.

With the same dejected look, he stared. Mephistopheles turned around. His smile harbored improper hopes. No longer did Ulrich view it as an arbitrary evil, nor necessary evil. There couldn't have been a sense of evil in there, after all. It was something else, something gloriously childlike.

In the minutes they had known each other, he sensed, there had always been something persistently curious in his air, untamed and unrivaled, precise and resolved.

Mephistopheles' smile died. Such a quaint timing.

Ulrich raised a brow, a smile slipping through his question, "Reading my mind despite the prohibition?"

"On the contrary, lacking the context of it." The demon hopped over the body and trudged on.

Ulrich called it a small victory. Perhaps the demon could not read his mind, but he could hear Ulrich's laughter. It did not last long. Why would it? He stilled himself, realizing there could barely be anything inside the demon that could ache.

It wasn't fair. The way humans knew almost nothing about demons, and demons knew every crevice, every line that marked a man's soul.

If that was the case, was evil the way to man's heart? Surely, not a question fit for the highly intelligent yet inhumane Mephistopheles, and certainly not for the disturbingly quiet Elmedin. He kept that, just like the rest of the blooming thoughts, to himself.

How come strolls always moved the mind? Were the legs and the brain connected somehow? He huffed. Vapor escaped him. How infantile, but it made him happy.

On their long way, he noticed another oddity. Shops had massive windows, but most of them were protected with bars and slides of sorts – and were closed. They passed by one whose contents were adequately visible under a lamppost.

He stopped to look at it. Fashion. Long and short coats, weird patterns, feathers and gemstones, and teeth and beaks. Aurun favored extravagance, not individuality. If individuality was favored, then there would be no competitions. Not competitions like these – in prices, in amounts, in absurdity.

On the other hand... he placed his palm on the cold glass. Those extremes were everything for the citizens. A habit that they could no longer do without. Dressing up for others, never for themselves. It was the outside that defined. It was merely the end effect that counted.

Ulrich wasn't his uniform, as the looks dubbed him. Ulrich wasn't a criminal, as the people dubbed him. Ulrich was himself, and nobody knew who he was. If so, could it even matter?

Not in here. He removed his palm. The consensus was wrong. Atrocities transcend society. This community became an atrocity – and he needed no approval from it.

"You coming?"

He departed. Where everyone else was lost, he found himself. It was no knowledge. It was a feeling. Deep in the lungs, wavering in the blood. Something to drive him to drive others.

Elmedin. Ulrich got to look at his back throughout the entire walk. He could easily imagine his face: stiff and sour, lips a flatline and eyes dark. As if prison made him so much happier. As if he made Ulrich so much sadder.

He didn't. It just didn't feel right.

In the subconscious, he was called out, and acting on an instinct, he turned his head. The sight was simple: a dark alleyway with an overfilled waste container, and two horrendously dressed persons sitting next to it. Ulrich was in their sight too. He hurried.

They neared the egocentric heart of Aurun, and its rumblings were present in the cleaner architecture, the nicer folk. They crossed a bridge across a wide river, even, and Ulrich saw that the pier beneath was neat and well-lit. No lamppost had its light broken, and before, he had seen a few of those that were not working, or were vandalized in a way.

And while the prison was in the worse part of Aurun, the police station was nicely cradled by the center. Night was yet to settle there; people were out in strolls, restaurants and stores were wide open. Carriages were still in use despite the late hours, politely gliding from street to street.

Similarly, even by looking through the station's windows, one could determine that the evening went unnoticed inside. So would Mephistopheles, he stated.

"I must come along," Elmedin ordered. So, the two of them would enter.

Or not? Elmedin grabbed Ulrich's hand. He didn't object – being alone didn't seem particularly pleasant. And once the three of them underwent invisibility, and entered through the door Ulrich was once nastily ushered through, and stepped inside the bright, bright insides, they became null participants of the bustling workplace.

For a city so evidently oozing with injustice, corruption and crime, Ulrich was surprised to see their predators active. There was a rush in the air, policemen were quick on their feet, documents were carried around. And there was, strangely, a sense of euphoria, in their voices, their faces. They pat each other's backs. They handed over files, called each other by their first names and rudimental nicknames. They shouted and let out throaty laughs.

Why?

Ulrich was dragged by Elmedin's hand. Same plan as before – they'd follow Mephistopheles' little shadow arrow. Except now, they had to navigate through a labyrinth of bodies. Thankfully, the demon knew the destination.

They began. It wasn't all that hard. Halfway through, jumping to the side to avoid a running intern, Ulrich concluded that this was easy. Though he didn't find it enjoyable per se, he had to admit it was easy. Except for that one time he almost hit a policeman carrying coffee. That event distressed him, but he speedily continued following the pointer. They entered a maze of hallways, offices and halls alike, all with multiple people occupying them. Everyone was avoided, everyone was left in peace. They found their way to the right office gracefully. Their pointer entered it, and so did they, for the invisible force of Mephistopheles' hand opened the door.

Electric lights hung high and warm. Many shadows were left unbanished, hidden behind the chairs, the shelves and their sacramental content (photos of people, framed and numerous; they were too distant for Ulrich to judge their relation to the minister), the absolutely uncontrolled pile of documents that spawned on the royally large desk. Not to forget the plants, ferns, tucked in the corners of the office.

He let go of Elmedin's hand. This was Maria Merkator's office, and inside it, on that unorderly desk, lay Elmedin's prized scarf, blue with undertones of azure. What caught Ulrich's eye was an irregularity – at the scarf's very end, there was a golden lining, patterns clearly started but abruptly abandoned. If that weren't the case, the scarf had to be... a bit imperfect.

And just like the previous time, Mephistopheles closed the door. Gave Elmedin some privacy to laugh and marvel at the piece of fabric.

The scarf was picked up. It floated in the air, weirdly hanging, until its owner suddenly became visible. Elmedin... his scarf was on his face? He put it there?

"There, so you can know how to adjust it," the demon stated matter-of-factly. Elmedin laughed a full laugh, and showed his face, shining. Maybe it was Ulrich's own poor memory or the inadequate lighting, but on his friend's visage, he felt as if something was still off.

But, he suddenly got a weird revelation. He asked, "How do you know where we are despite us being invisible?"

"I think I have a very simple answer for every single one of your jittery questions." Mephistopheles turned his head around, no particular emotion displayed. "I'm a demon."

"That fed my curiosity. So much in fact, it's stuffed," Ulrich replied.

The demon stuck his tongue out before turning his back towards his master. Was this his way of escaping conversations...? It did amuse Ulrich to an extent.

He looked over to Elmedin. His scarf was already neatly placed around his neck. It worked as a wonderful way to hide his smiles and accentuate his mischievous feline eyes. The said man winked. Ulrich was caught off guard and he laughed, only to be smacked in his back by the damned demon. He yelped and stumbled towards the wall –

"Shush!"

But Mephistopheles warned, then vanished. So did Elmedin, and so did Ulrich, who almost fell onto the olive wall, and in the blink of an eye, the door was opened, and someone known walked inside. It was the minister herself, her face that of a tired despot, and behind her, another, another known figure, Ulrich just had trouble remembering the name...

Tinnitus? Tit... tight... us? Donao? The man he had bumped into after the parrot incident, that was him for sure, wearing a rich brown suit with satin ornaments, depicting birds among branches, their wings mostly open. But as the two of them walked inside, Ulrich faltered backwards, hitting the wall, so as to avoid being crashed into. That's how he crashed into someone else, presumably Elmedin, but the both of them remained both still and quiet as the minister walked to her desk and sat there. Her associate had to remain on his feet, and frankly, Ulrich could hardly imagine him sitting; the both of them appeared tense, with the exception of the bearded Doneo, who was pacing, his red face down and head shaking. He dragged so many long, dramatic sighs, and yet, none of them seemed to reach Maria, who kept her fingers pressed against each other, elbows on the desk.

"I've already said all which can be said. I have no interest in setting any of them free. It would damage my goal, my reputation, and my schedule," she said at last. It was an incitation for the man to erupt.

"But they couldn't have escaped your supervision! I know! If you set your mind to something, it will work –"

And by that volcano, she was a steady river, flowing unaffected. "Unless your Syndicate has set them free?"

"I've told you, time and time again, miss, that Mahkazah is a stranger to the Syndicate, and while Vero is a member, there has been nothing said concerning his release."

"Then, mister, there is a third party. I have no other explanation."

She blinked at Donao who was, at the moment, shaking from rage.

"Is that a problem?"

He yelled around, pacing around, as if it were the end of the world, "It – of course it is, he's a danger to society, he's insane, he can't be free! We can't let him walk free. He'll go out and... who knows what he'll do! I know him, he drinks tea with murderers, minister! He is a murderer! His lover is a prostitute, he, he... you know what he was hiding! He's a disgrace, he's criminally insane, a maniac! And you'll let him walk free?! You'll let him walk your streets?! He is undeserving of freedom or death, we need him behind bars! He has to be detained!" With a red face, speaking so much and in such a voice, he was an overwhelming presence. And yet, the minister sat through it all, calm in every sense. She listened to the tirade and waited for a pause to take over, and she did, with sharp words of, "I'd advise you to calm down, mister Donao."

Having heard that, he jumped, and approached the minister's desk. "Calm down? Calm down in this –"

"Or else."

He stopped in his tracks, face and rage frozen. Some recollection ensued, likely. He moved the chair with a careless creak, landed on it with a thud, and buried his head in his hands. Sighs escaped him, all unbridled and genuine in their torment.

"O Strings..."

"You are upset. You should go home and relax. There's no use of you being here in this condition. Furthermore, there's no civility in your behavior whatsoever. State whatever else may be on your mind, respectfully, then kindly see yourself out."

But the minister couldn't care less. Donao understood that. Glaring back at her, he gave her silence to find meaning in it, then spoke, "Nothing." It was so tame.

Maria nodded multiple times, not breaking eye contact with Donao. "Farewell," she finally warned, standing up. That provoked Donao who, true to his temper and ego, hurried to leave the room first. He stomped away and ended with presence with a loud crash of the closing door. The minister made a sour chuckle and followed after him, reopening and gently closing the door as she too left.

That was a... lot to grasp, certainly. Ulrich laughed, relieved that this ordeal was over. He whispered, "We're done? That's it?"

"Yeah, let's get going," Elmedin replied. And on cue, the door was opened, courtesy of Mephistopheles. They could leave.

Finally. Meandering through the busy halls and ways, they neared the exit, the entrance to freedom, at long last...! They exited that station so much faster than they had entered it, and Mephistopheles guided them to an isolated spot behind some bushed, to reveal themselves, and that was it.

Once they did, they walked away, free men on the pavement. Elmedin hopped. That was it.

Until a foreign voice was heard, mere meters away, striking Ulrich at the spot. "Oi, you arbiter was here in the morning," it shouted. Ulrich slowly turned around, heart cascading into sourness. Two guards, it seemed, who had sandwiches in their hands and guns in their belts. He laughed. Fate loved him so much. He wasn't keen on surrendering to it.

But the demon acted, unprompted. He dashed towards the two of them, his speed inhuman, and grabbed the both of them and then, in the whirl of the rush, he twirled, and – did Ulrich see that right? Mephistopheles made a flip mid-air, and upon landing, smashed the guards flat down against the cobblestone.

That course of action was exceptionally violent and eye-catching. The same way it shocked Ulrich, it shocked everyone else.

Enveloped in nervous silence, hugged relentlessly, hugged cruelly, Ulrich found himself in yet another death grip, another tearing paralysis, and he had no energy to fight it. He stared ahead, expression surely sorrowful, for he was so troubled, so beyond tortured, that this one act, and the very thought of it, made him want to erase himself.

And he tried to. He remained silent, hoping that the demon would simply vanish, and make everyone else vanish, and so, delete it all. But he was very wrong to even think of that. Mephistopheles was a vile demon, after all, and he was once again proving it by shouting, staring straight and Ulrich, "Wouldn't it be great if you were earnest with us, my Ernst?"

Ulrich remained silent. The crowd went quieter. From the restaurants and cafes, dropped cutlery was still ringing.

"Ernst Sonderman! My dear Ernst?!" the demon sang.

He had to do something. This was impossible to avoid, so while he was in the spotlight... he better use it well, to show himself for who he was. "I'm not your Ernst! Let them go! They didn't do anything wrong!" He had to defend himself, he had no other choice! His truth had to be heard!

And ahead of him, a gleam of a smile lit up, a cold candle in the dark. Mephistopheles tilted his head, inquiring, "So, we're going with your other self?"

Ernst and Ulrich shared only the face. "They are the same," he hastily replied, "and all of me does not want you to harm them!"

Mephistopheles dropped the guards, and informed, "Then all of you can kill both!"

Elmedin's nervous taps bothered the shuffling quiet; understandable, he could be another casualty, if Ulrich didn't just hurry up –

In a split second, the decision was clear, only with some thought later did it become somewhat obscured. Hesitation got him paralyzed, evil a bit obtuse. However, the danger moved. Guards were confused, frozen in that state, but they saw, and they would remember, just like all the masses around.

What was done was done. Ulrich could only soothe the leftover damage.

"I don't want anyone dead! Rest assured, while you are under my command, no human will die by your hand. Leave them be, and we'll get going soon, for all I want is peace," he spoke his wishes. The demon had to listen.

Ulrich looked around. Truly, he was listened to. People would remember. At long last, something decent to fix the massive indecency...!

A gunshot cracking in the air, and he flinched. Dangerous ping, right by his side. He stared down, saw a smoking scratch on the floor; he turned around, and realized in horror, that his cowardice was not shared. It bore the face of a floored guard, by Mephistopheles' feet. Somewhere in the crowd, a child wept.

If only they were selfish too. If only they were cowards... too. He pleaded, silently, a warning in his eyes: it wasn't up to him, the demon would kill whoever threatened Ulrich, despite his order against it.

But he pleaded in vain. Mephistopheles stepped on the guard's arm, and the gun fell onto the pavement. The man winced, not withholding his voice, only adding to Ulrich's worry. He gritted his teeth. And as a materialization of that feeling, a hand landed on his shoulder – Elmedin. "Stop talking. We've got to go. Now."

They could turn invisible and escape, indeed, but... but things weren't over! This matter was still too bad to be left at that! Ulrich stared at him, shocked in vain.

Mephistopheles announced himself again, his voice ringing all around, "Ernst! You might get killed! I cannot control who enters the audience! So stop being an idiot, stop bawling because you'll do that later, and tell me what to do!" But he was the one to start this entire mess?! His foot was still on the guard's likely broken arm! That cursed –

The police station was near, it was. Guns had to be near too. Ulrich had to move.

One quick action to cut him open. He sliced the air with his arms, spreading them, readying his sacrifice, "Come! Let them live and save my poor soul! And if you, demon, do not follow my orders, and if someone does truly attack me, I will take the hit! If that would mean clearing you from this plane, I would gladly sacrifice myself!"

All of a sudden, Mephistopheles screamed in agonizing hilarity, scarring and scaring his master and everyone present. The houses were victimized by this slander of a laughter. It echoed all around, rumbled in the chests, cut the eardrums, dehumanized and ridiculed.

His darkness overpowered the night, and he did it with ease.

"You look like an idiot," he claimed, heated, "you think your sacrifice would mean something?! You'll banish one evil at most, but what about everyone else?! You humans are so foolish!" He spread his wings, like two massive black scythes, eliciting scares from the crowd. They cut the air like a whip, shining in their polished leather, sharp like his temper.

With vicious pulses in his ear and hearing, Ulrich spread his arms even further, puffed his chest even more, inviting destiny to take its bold shot. He shouted, voice quivering, "Foolish, and yet, we command you. Now obey me! Come!"

Mephistopheles cackled his characteristic chuckles. He took the two heads and bashed them together. The thud echoed against the buildings, undisturbed by the mute crowd.

That was unnecessary.

"In that case, get ready for a flight." He took a step backwards, both arms spread as if to readily run into and grab Ulrich, who... he hated it, but he told him to wait.

"What about my – my friend?" He looked at Elmedin, who nodded.

Mephistopheles frowned. "Seriously? Now you're going to play the nice guy? You don't even know him!"

"Just take the both of us."

The demon let out an animalistic groan, baring his teeth. He yelled, "I could barely carry your sorry bottom, what makes you think I can carry the both of you?!"

"I don't know! Just get us out, now!"

Mephistopheles sighed. "Turn around, the both of you."

"Eh?"

He yelled, "Just do it!"

He did as demanded, and so did Elmedin. They exchanged looks once again, both firm, both barely firm.

Forceful footsteps splashed over puddles. A sound like that of the sails. The next thing he knew, he was grabbed by the back of his uniform, and his feet were no longer on the ground, and his guts were wild. And the vile world became so much smaller...

He couldn't look at it. Cold was the wind in his face, and dry to his eyes. He was flying, consciously, this time, he was flying, and his heart was full of it, thrumming along with his shivering, shock and disbelief that came with it. He brought his hands close to his chest. He was flying, and the butterflies in his stomach were too. So sensational, he smiled in spite of the wind, in spite of the dubious occurrences and the demon's very presence.

He heard gunshots somewhere in the distance. Hopefully they wouldn't reach them. He peeked downwards, and saw that they were flying just slightly above the rooftops. As if Mephistopheles descended...? He closed his eyes again.

Elmedin was heard, "Woohoo!" At least someone was enjoying. So, Mephistopheles shouted in the wind, "You're happy, I see, but maybe I deserve a thank you?"

"Tha-thank you," Ulrich managed to stutter out. His jaw was shaking, teeth hitting each other. Elmedin let out a normal "thank you" instead, seemingly untouched by the cold.

"You're welcome!"

That was very childish of Mephistopheles, Ulrich had to notice. One moment, he was a monster, the other one, he was a brat. None of which was too nice, but... it certainly was contrasting. Never mind that. He had already settled with the fact that he'd have to deal with the demon. He hid his face with his hands so as to at least somehow warm it up. Except his hands, albeit gloved, were cold too. It did not prevent him from enjoying the flight.

In a couple of minutes, Mephistopheles announced that they would be landing in moments. Ulrich removed his hands from his face – and saw that they were above a sparse forest...? Aurun was gone?! Ulrich was unsure if he was smiling, he couldn't feel his face.

And soon, as promised, they neared a clearing. The demon slowed down, flapping his long wings, only to almost stop. At that moment, he dropped Ulrich and Elmedin, and landed elegantly next to them.

Ulrich rolled on the grass, lay on it and gazed upwards. Lying down for once made him realize just how tired he was, just how pleasant rest was. After so much time, he could, it seemed, rest a little... he curled up for warmth he lacked. He realized he'd been feeling a bit dizzy.

He even ignored Elmedin, who was dying from laughter. He praised the entire flying experience, with Mephistopheles replying curtly.

Ulrich was still in disbelief. He stood up after a while, stumbling from the faint vertigo. He put his cold gloves on his cold cheeks. He'd get sick after this for sure. While he was still in that stupefied state, Elmedin sprinted towards him and grabbed his hands, beginning a very, very long ritual of gratitude. "Your kindness and benevolence strike this rotten criminal's core with its purity, and I am cleansed, and humbled, and reminded of my insignificance. I will remain forever grateful, though my gratitude is worthless and absolutely putrid to your wonderful soul. I am undeserving, I am horribly undeserving of this act, good man –"

It would be an understatement to say Ulrich was astonished. The avalanche of words perhaps seemed lovely at first, but as it continued, as Elmedin's hands gripped Ulrich's with growing fervor, Ulrich became wildly awkward. He didn't ask for a performance to play before him, he didn't ask for a single thank you, which was, he expected, a must... but this! Ulrich did his best to keep the eye contact, so as to at least respect this man to the fullest.

As his praises turned slower and tamer, Ulrich began nodding and adding some excuses to his behavior, saying that it was nothing special, it was an obligation, it didn't cost him anything, etcetera. All of this was ignored by Elmedin.

"How could I ever repay you?!" His frantic question took Ulrich aback.

"I don't need anything, it's n-nothing," Ulrich murmured – for he truly did not need anything, but that one sword he and Mephistopheles ought to uncover. A holy artefact like that shouldn't be of interest to a man like Elmedin. He hardly knew anything about it.

"And I truly can't offer much, I'm a puny man myself," he complained.

"Elmedin Mahkazah, I uhh... don't need anything from you, and the fact you're alive is sheer luck. Use it well, and try to preserve this life you've been given, simply," Ulrich tried to formulate an intro to his reply, "aside that, I can only wish you a... long lasting life, filled with much joy and health. May the Strings ever sing softly for you...? All in all, you're welcome."

That was an imperfect finish for sure, but it was greatly needed. He finally managed to let go of this clinging man, and upon setting his hands free, he shifted his numb fingers.

"I... what now? We go or stay here?" His question was directed to the demon.

"Well, first, we say, goodbye Elmedin," Mephistopheles said and waved, which, for some reason, unsettled the man. He began waving his arms, sleeves adding to the gestures' strength, and he said in what seemed like panic, "Wait, no, sorry! A word, please! Can I have a word?"

Ulrich was ducking to sit down on the grass, but he stopped and looked at Elmedin. "Yes?"

"Where are the two of you going? Our roads might – overlap, interject, conjoin – be the same."

Did Ulrich want to bother him? Did Ulrich want to be bothered? Not really. But before he could speak up his mind, the demon decided to answer instead of him, and speak nothing but truth: that they're looking for an artefact. Good job, Mephistopheles, once again complicating everything.

Elmedin had a hand on his chin, and spoke in a thoughtful tone, "Delidria! Caverns of Delidria! Do you know how to enter them?"

"No," Mephistopheles replied. Ulrich stared at him.

"How could it be that you don't know the way to the caverns?" Because Mephistopheles knew almost everything, did he not? He had an explanation for that.

"I... have spent the majority of my life in dimensions and worlds that are not this one."

Elmedin offered himself, "Then I'll be your guide! As an experienced travelling merchant, I've got sufficient experience! Besides, I suppose you don't know of the language of the locals, therefore... I'm your only option for now." Ah, yes, some Slavic people lived there.

His former cellmate politely reminded, "No need, you must have other plans –"

"On the contrary, I do not. I don't have any plan, aside from the two of you. My pockets are empty and –"

"No, it's completely fine, completely..." Ulrich shook his head, which caused him an ache. He winced. "Honestly, do whatever pleases you, and you have my apologies if I sound brash. I think I'm a bit overwhelmed right now."

"No, no, good man, all is forgiven. Do rest. We'll speak later." He gave him a thumbs up. Ulrich barely chuckled and slowly lay back on the grass. He had to check, however,

"We rest here?"

"Indeed," Mephistopheles said.

Lovely, most lovely, to know it was over. He had to close his eyes, inhale and exhale soundly, and he relished in the idea of sleep, so vastly needed sleep.

He started rethinking everything that had happened, but could not continue. Someone decided to whisper in his ear,

"You have all the time in the world now, and me to prolong it."

Ulrich raised his brows. That sentence ought to sound warm, but it did not, solely because it came from Mephistopheles. Regardless, he didn't say anything. Logically, why would he play along the taunts?

"In other words, rest, and I'll watch over you," the demon whispered again.

Ulrich huffed, reopening his eyes to stare at the heavens. "Delighted, though I can't fully trust you."

"Good. You shouldn't."

Ulrich moved and glared at him. Mephistopheles was down on the grass too, his chin propped on his hands, watching the man, eyes glowing like caged stars. Ulrich narrowed his own, and let out an "eh".

Was he supposed to do something about that? He didn't have the energy to think about it, let alone argue, though he had much to say, "Alright. Thank you for your most profound insight, as well as yet another heartthrob back at the police station, I truly couldn't have lived without that."

"I know! You're welcome!"

"And you did it...?"

"To rile you up, as usual."

Ulrich barely restrained himself from frowning. "What's the next course of action? Sleep? Because at the moment, in this state, I'd very much appreciate it and I can't hold back that desire. So, no more riling up." He raised his brows, noticing how odd the motion made his head feel. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "Or is there, once again, something you know that I don't?"

Elmedin's stomach growled so loudly it scared Ulrich. Mephistopheles hopped back onto his feet and walked away.

"Tragic," Mephistopheles commented on that. "But indeed, now you rest, and since you have to satisfy your mortal hindrances, I'll go get you some food and water. I suggested that myself, that was very kind of me, no need for praise." He raised his arms, shrugging off the compliments he gave to himself.

Ulrich rephrased that. "Steal some food... and water, you mean?"

Elmedin, however, shadowed Ulrich's question with his own. "Can I have, if you find it, I have no idea where you're looking for the food..."

"Speak, no need to hesitate, I suppose I can get you almost anything."

Elmedin jumped on the spot. "Truffles? Chocolate truffles? There's a restaurant in the center of Aurun, serving them, called Mango! So, if you have time, if you have..." Elmedin waved his hands around. "The possibility, please, pretty please, can I have chocolate truffles?"

Needless to say, the request shocked Ulrich. On the contrary, Mephistopheles shrugged, not surprised at all. "Well, if I find them being prepared at this hour, I'll bring them, why not? And you, master?"

"Uh... something warm and healthy, like a soup? No, you can't transport that," he thought out loud, "I'm not too picky, so, anything... my only preference is no cinnamon."

"Alright, I'll be back in fifteen minutes or so." He began walking away. "Also, a little truthful joke to make you laugh! I have no idea what truffles or cinnamon are!" With that, he unwound his massive wings and jumped up high, high in the sky, assimilating with the night.

Ulrich raised his head to look at it. As it was over quickly, he threw it back onto the ground, only to hit his head in the process. He hit that one place that he had hurt a day before... he hissed and ow-ed and lay on his side. Sweet, sweet grass, and its dewy smell. No matter the circumstances, he adored it...

"I suppose you'll try to get some rest now?" It was Elmedin.

"I'm afraid I have to," Ulrich whispered.

"Understandable. Then I won't interfere. Rest well, and once again, thank you."

Ulrich murmured, "You're welcome."

It was time. Undisturbed, he could rest, gather some thoughts, rearrange them and give them some much needed order.

He thought of the entire public argument with Mephistopheles. The demon was quick to end it, and it didn't make much sense. Again, evil for the sake of it, but it didn't play in the demon's favor too much. Because, unexpectedly to Ulrich too, he didn't feel too bad throughout it.

Was this all because he could no longer read Ulrich's thoughts? Perhaps. He found it nice, if anything, because in that whole situation, he was presented as the contrast to Mephistopheles. A light to tame the dark. He adjusted his position, curling up more.

The fact he was a low-ranking arbiter accustomed him to sleeping on the ground. He felt as safe and as sound as whenever, in that regard.

Things weren't ideal, but they weren't bad either. Far from that! Mephistopheles was there to satisfy the material needs while on their trip, and Elmedin.... oh, with Elmedin, everything would be so much more bearable. Looking back at the gratitude he had shown for Ulrich, and how he... during the gratitude, he mentioned...

Elmedin admitted that he was a criminal?!

Ulrich jumped up so quickly that his head hurt.

Should he intervene somehow? How? He stared at Elmedin's motionless body. His pillow was his scarf, and his back was turned to Ulrich. Criminals too had to take a rest. Such a banal thought.

Ulrich hesitated. Opening that conversation could lead into complications, and he was alone, in case something unpredicted were to happen. Then again... he was alone. If Elmedin were to do anything, he would've done it now that Mephistopheles was away.

That, and... the fact it was obviously beneficial to him to stay with Ulrich, in so many aspects. He dropped down again. After all, though it wasn't mentioned, naturally, Ulrich would pay him for his help. That much was evident. That much he had confirmed back in prison.

They would have to lead that discussion, someday. But not now. He clenched his fists. He wasn't able to do much, not in this fatigued, out-and-out demoralized state of his. But fate was back in his grasp. For now, that was enough. Just enough to keep him going.

Or in this case, to give him some well-earned rest. To a new day and a new life, conceivable, and soon to become his own.