Where is he?" the voice asked in a thick, pressurising tone.
The Deity seemed deeply amused by it, though. She stepped forward without a shred of hesitation in her actions.
"With my colleague. If you want to know more, you have to submit to a few of my demands... well, just one demand actually," she responded without turning back.
"He's also famously known as 'The Accomplice'," she added, playing with her strands of hair.
The man's figure became clearer as the dust vanished. A fiddling old man with blue hair and green eyes stood ominously still. His black outfit, brown trench coat, and silver necklace made his stance even more baleful.
The man dug out a small paintbrush from his pocket and pointed it at her. "You're bluffing."
She gradually turned her body, exposing the menacing expression she'd been suppressing. The formerly fresh air was polluted with a strong bloodlust seeping out of the two.
Potter furrowed his brow intensely. "Scavile."
A dark, murky substance gathered at the brush's tip; the matter expanded until it resembled a pulsing ball of squishy liquid. By increasing the pressure on the brush's angle, he fired.
The ball closed the distance within the blink of an eye. In that moment, she gaped, then stretched a large smirk.
SNAP!
The attack passed her like a needle through fabric, as though she disappeared and reappeared in an instant.
"What..." he exclaimed beneath his breath.
The Potter darted back to gain distance; he pointed the brush once more. "Scava lel ein?"
The matter gathered, expanded, and fired into a straight beam. As it went forward, its shape warped and twisted into a dragon-like creature. It slithered on air, nearly snagging a bite off the Deity's head.
SNAP!
The creature permeated through her body—or more accurately, she disintegrated from the spot in a split second, not because of the Potter's attack but rather a more calculated force.
SNAP!
She reformed like a phoenix without flames behind him, her back turned to his, comfortably resting on his tense back. He swung his hand to decapitate her, but she bent over and dematerialized.
The result was a failed slash that split various materials but not the enemy. At that point, frustration boiled within the Potter's blood, and his eyes reddened from rage.
"Arifura, 'The Potter'. I dare not speak your true name; in exchange, reciprocate my respect and settle this calmly." She spoke completely unaffected, hands tucked away, with a deranged grin.
Splatters of what resembled ink shot up like spikes from the ground. Though caught off guard, the Deity dodged by a hair's breadth, suffering only minor scrapes on her hands. In that brief second, the Potter splashed more dark matter that hardened in the air, forming into spikes.
She managed to tilt her neck and avert fatal wounds; however, the pointed edge of the splatter intercepted the black spikes from the ground, creating a sort of restraint. Three black splatters sank into the girl's skin, but fortunately, they didn't penetrate past the surface.
She chuckled insanely. Blood ran down her lips all the way to the sharp splatters on her neck. "Kill me if you want, but that kid is going with me." She smiled.
The Potter narrowed his eyes and pointed. "Where is he?"
She grinned. "Past the barrier. Though I doubt you're manly enough to go outside after all these years." She spoke in a cracked, slightly hitched tone.
It was easy to read from her gaze; she pitied him like a wounded animal.
The Potter's hand shook—from fear or rage? Even he couldn't discern that much. He gulped down a bile of spit and stuttered, "Wh... what do you want?" His eyes slowly faded.
"I just..." She strained her neck. "...want you to make a Homunculus to help a friend." Her heated glare, unsteady smile, and treacherous face didn't align with her statements.
"Tell me more." The Potter raised his head in intrigue.
'Bingo!'
***
Meanwhile...
Cole was still a bit curious about Ohami; he kept staring at him like a science experiment. Ohami noticed this and darted his eyes away as much as possible. Even then, Cole's gaze became more discomforting.
The chef was in between them, silent yet present. The presence in the restaurant was beyond awkward; not a single customer promising to shatter the drowning silence dared to enter.
"So where is your home, Ohami?" Cole finally spoke out. "If we can identify your address, we'll be able to return you home quicker."
Ohami scratched his head, turned his gaze to the floor, and remained silent for over three minutes. Cole felt the unwavering pressure and decided to withdraw any further conversations between them.
"I don't know," Ohami uttered.
Cole gasped; a mix of joy and shock swirled within him. 'He actually answered?'
"My home isn't one place; rather, it's everywhere," he continued. "That's why I got lost; I've been trying to find the gap in the barrier that leads home."
Ohami curled up where he sat and hid his lips beneath his arms. "Someone must have tampered with it; this has never happened before."
Cole didn't understand a word but was pleased regardless. The chef stroked his chin, pondering on something.
"Say, boy, who is your father?" the chef asked. His gloomy eyes sucked any trace of joy Ohami had lingering within.
Ohami lowered his head with widened eyes, maintaining a painful silence. Cole raised his head, studying the chef from his behaviour, posture, speech pattern, and expression.
It was like that for at least thirty-nine minutes, until...
RING!
He arrived.
"It's been quite some time, Cole."
A large, ugly frown stretched across Cole's face as he grit his teeth. He shot up, his veins bulging, with red eyes and a growling voice. "Atasa!"
"So you still remember me? That's good." He took off his large trench coat and placed it at the edge of the chair. "I thought you'd have memory loss given the brains I blew out." He smiled brightly.
Cole yanked the fork and tossed the plate; as Atasa dodged, Cole intended to drive the fork into his skull. Atasa shifted to the side with ease and avoided the attack.
Using his various knife and small weapon skills, Cole swung, pierced, and slashed the air with the intent of landing a concluding blow on Atasa. Met with futility at each attempt, Cole darted several steps back and recontextualized his approach.
"I'm sort of disappointed, Cole," Atasa spoke almost playfully. "Much like the first time, you barely lived up to your name as a mercenary. Now you're not even scratching the surface of Indulgers."
Atasa widened his left eye and looked at Cole's figure as though his sight were a crystal mirror. "Are you sure you're an accomplice?"
Huge wrinkles spawned in the middle of Cole's brows; he was beginning to resemble a roughened sheet of paper. "What's it to you?"
Atasa parted his lips, but before a sound could escape...
BANG!
A swift blow sent him flying through the tables until he crashed into the back wall. His body turned the objects into rubble, but he seemed uninjured.
He stood up and dusted off his outfit, then looked at who had landed the attack.
"Firstly, I don't let my customers get attacked nor have fights." The chef reached into his sleeves and brought out a collection of different knives and daggers.
"Secondly, you're not leaving here alive without paying for the damage," he concluded.
"Payment isn't an issue," Atasa muttered.
Cole didn't understand why the chef was helping him; at that point, it didn't matter. Cole needed all the help he could get.