The false dawn over Gantz faded, and the night returned. Tingarth's tower, the tallest building in the city, crumbled into a pile of rubble.
Leo sat calmly in his floating egg-chair amidst the ruins. He held up the Yata Mirror, aimed it at the dead assassin's body, and created a duplicate. He set the new, mindless 'Asher' to the task of looting the corpses while he reviewed his own performance.
"My first real fight. I was unprepared," he critiqued himself. "I knew their numbers, but not their abilities. I need better intelligence." He made a mental note to acquire a predictive artifact from Earth. "And that Archon, Folgreis, manipulated me with his words, controlled the rhythm of the battle. I can't let that happen again."
He recalled Iyet's intel. The kill-squad had five Legends, but only four had appeared. Two were still out there. "I'll ask Iyet at the next gathering."
He focused inward, feeling the new domain that had settled within him. **Devour.** It must have come from his performance as Jörmungandr. "But I also played Loki," he wondered. "Why didn't I get a domain of Trickery or Fire?" Perhaps another god already held those. He'd have to ask Ephram.
Putting the questions aside, he took out another precious Wish scroll and tore it, sending the call for the next gathering out into the planes. He was running low. He wondered if Archmage Tingarth had any more stashed away.
In the capital city of Kisinyov, at the Gotha Grand Theater, Fiona Russell was enduring a dreadfully sentimental play. A man in an archaic nobleman's costume was on his knees, professing his love to a princess on a balcony.
"Oh, Angelina, my princess, my sun, my love..."
Fiona subtly rolled her eyes, catching a glimpse of her suitor, a man named Turner, who seemed utterly captivated. Maintaining her elegant smile, she leaned over. "Mr. Turner, the play is wonderful, but my master has just sent word. She has arrived in Kisinyov. You must forgive me for leaving early."
Turner, ever the gentleman, bought the excuse. "Of course, Lady Fiona. May I call on you tomorrow for another performance?"
*Please don't,* she thought, but said, "I shall await your invitation."
Outside the theater, a raven landed on her shoulder and dropped a sealed letter into her hand. It was from her master, Albella.
"My dear Fiona," it read, "I am pleased you have written to me for a reason other than asking for something. Your question about the False God likely pertains to the Plane of the Natural Heart, a primitive world that recently merged with our own. Their belief systems are crude, based on blood sacrifice, which has given rise to these new, unstable deities. As for 'steam'... I have heard whispers of a new invention in the Holy Vexcian Kingdom called a 'steam engine'. Your answer may lie there."
Just as she finished reading, the white light of the summons pulsed on her wrist. The gathering was about to begin. A thrill of excitement ran through her.