The mage steeled himself as he swallowed his prayer and waited for the signal of their escape.

And to their godless behests, it arrived.

The vessel was struck by one of the many hurtling spells, cracking the translucent walls of the container as beams of light began to escape through the cracks—seams straining with uncontainable radiance.

At the same time, D planted his spellhand onto the floor as the earth beneath began to twist and distort, short bursting quakes occurring as the moment of escape neared closer and closer.

Until all at once, the puzzle pieces were sewn together.

The glass object totally shattered as another bolt of magic struck it, and a massive surge of blinding light filled the hall—an artificial sun in the depths of the underworld.

The guard could do nothing but have their retinas burned by the flash, and even if they could recover to resume their flurry, the outlaws were brighter than even their luminous trick let on us as the second half of their escape swelled up from the very ground itself.

Emerging from the floor, a massive, jagged pillar of pure bedrock rushed forth from below, creating an unshakeable shield of gravel and minerals as the law scrambled to recuperate.

"Exit C! Take exit C!" A shouted to his partner as he stood up in the now still air, gesturing with hurried movements.

Even with the lucky draw of cards, D wasted no time as the window for flight shrunk with every passing second, sprinting from his position to his counterpart's as they both ran past the vault and through the winding labyrinth of decorated halls, eventually leading down a set of stairs.

As they reached the bottom of the steps, a long hallway barely lit with hanging lamps presented itself, a heavy door at the end of the corridor. The pair made haste as the disarrayed sounds and blood-rust odor faded from their senses, arriving at what was marked on their map as "Exit C” a maintenance entrance unseen by the visitors and sparsely decorated—even the walls spared the vibrant paints used in the main hall.

Without sharing a word, they both got into a position to unlock the final blockade to their freedom.

The two outlaws quickly skimmed through their list of spells on the incorporeal blue scrolls above their wrists, locking onto glyphs of sharp blues and cloudy whites as mana began to well up in each of their fingertips.

The gray-haired mage placed his wrinkled fingers onto the leaden hinges of obsidian steel—a lamina of creeping frost steadily appearing on the locks as the once black sheen took on a misty blue.

As the bolts began to compact and fracture, his partner spellcaster began to conjure his own spell, taking a stance low to the ground as he focused his mana into his palms—one hand above the other as a ball of energy spun and formed like a typhoon in his grasp.

"Ready?" D asked, the layer of ice totally coating the once adamantine latches.

"Aye!" And as the sound of the frost creaking turned into an almost reverberant shattering, the spellslinger loosed his hex of pure kinetic energy straight into the barrier, sending it flying into the darkness behind the door—the sound of metal scraping through the grimy brick floor the only indication of its presence in the shadows unpierced by the lamplight.

"Blast it with water, force, melt the thing, whatever! Just tear the thing down and search the damn place, or it's our asses!" One could hear through the walls and floors of the bank—the echoes of their would-be captors unceasing even when escape was in their grasp.

The black hats ran into the darkness, covering their escape with a second Groundswell upon the depths' entrance before sprinting deeper into murky halls and moss-ridden floors of the hidden chambers—avoiding the use of light spells so as not to leave any traces of mana to be followed by their pursuers.

Each step that dared them to slip echoed within the blackness of the corridor, and one would scarcely be blamed for calling their escape a blind and thoughtless retreat through the inscrutable chambers.

But that was not the case.

"Let's see..." A whispered to himself, placing his hand on the wall while running, "...Left here and then straight ahead." He detailed as they made a sharp turn and picked up their speed even more—mud and grime sent flying with each stride.

"We should be far enough now, around District Seventeen." The young spellgun spoke up, his pace slowing as he began to gasp at the rotten air.

"Good, we're practically right under the bar for rendezvous then," D replied, letting his aging bones take a moment to rest as his legs halted their exertion.

"If they didn't abandon us by now. After what we did, the entire lower side's probably crawling with the Guard." A griped as he looked to his bangle and casted a luminous spell—a small blue flame appearing atop the pointed hat of the sorcerer.

"They will stay." The husky voice snapped back, certainty and vitriol lining his words, "Or else they'll end up like the last two who double-crossed us." He continued as a similar spell of red hues materialized above him.

"So, into a macabre demonstration of the three states of matter? Just great, Davi. We should charge tickets and turn it into a show." Away from the danger, the young spellgun joked and called his elder by his proper name, "It might even make a better payout than bank heists."

"Very funny, Ascel, very funny." The veteran lawbreaker did the same, dusting off his coat as he followed his second.

The duo continued to trek the long halls of the underworld's roots—Ascel leading as his fellow outlaw rode his coattails.

"It's impressive you've still got this place memorized." Davi commended, his eyes failing to discern much of anything in the hidden maze while his nose was overwhelmed with the rancid stench.

"Growing up in the lower side layer meant a whole lot more than just taking what you could get," The young magus began, raising his head in glum recollection, "It meant you had to take what you could learn." He added, returning his gaze from memories passed back to his inescapable present.

The paths they traversed were the bottom of Gaksi, the ugly foundation that supported every layer above it. It acted as the wasteways of the city, modified from its original purpose as a hidden route for soldiers during the great wars that once ravaged the lands of the caste metropolis—even from the beginning it was graves and ruins that served as the basis for the so-called great city.

Each turned corner presented the same unwelcoming sight. Every inch was built with dilapidated stone bricks covered in rampant moss and staining feces as the sounds of flowing wastewater and scurrying mice filled the hollow walls.

Kobolds nor Goblins were neither amiss in the depths as even the putrid odor that lined every nook of the sewers failed to deter them from easy and veiled access to the few yet necessary bounties of the lower side layer—something some local denizens knew all too well as they dealt with the rampant pests daily.

"And to think I managed to turn this gutter rat into one hell of a spellgun." The self-proclaimed sage added with a proud grin.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

"I don't exactly consider this life much better, Davi." And with a scornful retort that merited no reply from his partner, the two continued their walk in wordlessness.

After a while of traversing the dingy underbelly of twisting turns and miry crevices led by the fleeting memories of the young outlaw, the two decided to fill the air with something other than stagnant miasma.

"By the way, how much did that bottle from earlier cost?" The wizened outlaw asked, taking off his hat to fan away the stench from his face.

"Bottled Ignis Fatuus are plenty expensive, especially ones as potent as those." While more commonly called Will-o'-Wisps, the wealthy treated these ghosts as exotic pets equal to wyvern hatchlings.

In reality they were spirits, vengeful and seeking to lure unsuspecting travelers with their luminescence. While once effective during the times of the nomads and villagefolk, their beguiling trait had turned them into a commodification in the modern era.

But what was only known to the crafty and streetsmart was that when the dormant spirits were overloaded with their favorite food source—mana, their lights turned into portable stars.

"Why didn't you just steal the thing then, and besides, didn't you nab anything from the vault before we ran?" Davi replied with disappointment in his husky voice, now out of danger, further realizing the scale of their failure.

"Firstly, we're running out of shops that actually wanna do business with us, and with this new mess of ours, I doubt that number's gonna go any higher," Ascel sighed, searching his pockets as he walked before his gloved hands landed upon a bottle of deep blue liquid, "Second, if you consider twenty whole Grailles anything, then yes, I did manage to nab something." He added with further exasperation before throwing the flask to his partner.

"Great." Jeered the seasoned sorcerer as he caught the vessel, uncorking it and promptly downing the drink heartily before wiping his mouth with the sleeves of his overcoat, "We can use that to start working towards paying our bounty, just another one-hundred-ninety-nine-thousand-nine-hundred-eighty Grailles to go." The joke fell on deaf ears as the sarcastic quip elicited no joy from the young spellgun, who saw no comedy in their handiwork.

However, this statement did prove one thing—that the pair was far more than random delinquents who bit off more than they could chew—these two were masters of their craft whose reputations far preceded them.

After all, a light shines brightest when placed within the dark and even amongst the lower side layer's litter and filth of swindlers, thieves, and delinquents—Ascel the Brazen and Davi the Cunning were of royal renown in the criminal netherworld.

But notoriety is not something one wears with pride.

It is something one carries like an omen.

The stillness of the depths began to stir ever-so-slightly as drops of muck fell to the floor, echoing glassy notes in the abyss as the droplets crashed into the grimy brick.

The two froze in their tracks as they looked up at the ceiling in confusion, but an answer came not through sight but through the vibration of their very bodies.

A sudden outbreak of tremors began to occur, quake-like yet distinct as when the young mage took a moment to observe, he realized that the shaking was not from an unmoving source beneath the ground.

It was coming straight at them.

"Get back!" Ascel shouted as he dove backward and into his partner, skidding onto the filth of the floor but narrowly avoiding the collapse of the ceiling before them.

Coats drenched in the urine of unknown creatures and silt of origin better left unknown, the pair scrambled to get back on their feet as rubble and debris piled in front of them and cracks appeared in the ceiling—the reason still as unclear as the lightless depths.

"There's no damn way anyone managed to find us down here, right?" The brazen mage blurted, convincing himself as he drew his spellshot—the weapon brimming with energy that brought a faint copper glow into the void as he prepared for a possible confrontation.

His senior did the same, spelltrigger at the ready as his bangle glinted with energy. The two waited with muscles tensed and mana coursing through their limbs as the dust slowly settled onto the damp floor.

Part of what made the pair of sorcerers so successful was their cold-bloodedness. Not in the way that they were willing to kill without remorse—they were smart enough not to leave a trail of bodies in their wake after all.

No, it was that they worked well under pressure.

But as a hulking silhouette appeared through the shadows, one clad in plates of monotone silver and regal gold whose frame spanned the width of the dilapidated corridor, that fact had changed.

Without even so much as an inch of movement, the figure exuded an asphyxiating aura with their mana signature that crushed the pair's spirit within a second of staring down the shadow.

"We're not fucking playing around! Who the hell are you, and what do you want?!" Davi demanded, but the cracks in his faltering bravado did little in the way of intimidation.

"Justice." This word was all that echoed from the direction of the collapse.

Just as the world below could breed Machiavellian criminals of unbelievable moxie and callousness, the heavens above forged warriors of unflinching power and Herculean strength and will.

"That's...It can't be..." The young spellgun whispered as he lowered his weapon in sheer fear, his legs growing weak as he took a feeble step back.

A faint glow of purple began to line the figure, painting its shape in the dark and providing a dull luminance to the hallway as the details of their aggressor became more and more visible through the shadowy murk.

Without another word, the behemoth outstretched their hand, causing the ground to shake and snag before a plume of gravel and brick erupted from where they stood—the dust settling to reveal a massive greatsword with edges so straight and angles so precise it was practically a geometric marvel.

Did he summon that thing from the ground..? No, that's what caused the cave-in - all of this from one sword…

The armored unit paced forward, the footfalls like that of ten men marching as moonbeams began to seep in from the massive hole in the ceiling, bathing the silver knight in its emerald radiance.

The sentry's appearance came into full view as each thick and layered plate of gold-engraved silver reflected a matte sheen—the mail matching the blade in its design as perfect edges lined the easily half-a-ton garment.

What was peculiar was the mask. It was fitted to the knight's face, making it disproportionate with the rest of the suit—but it did confirm that the wearer was still human, and what little reassurance that brought was quickly stolen as the helm itself was blank, even slits for eyes not being apparent as it more resembled a polished stone.

"...A Paladin..?" Ascel finished his words with a whisper as the sentinel raised their blade one-handed to their shoulder in one swift motion, light as a feather in the grasp of its master.

The phrase "Bred for war." perfectly accommodated those known simply as Paladins—or at least what the scarce knowledge of these soldiers led many to believe.

Usually heading multiple squadrons and platoons, some posit they came from lineages of noble guards, and others conspire that they are human-wyvern hybrids born of legends.

"So now they send the army against two good-for-nothing bandits." The older spellgun commented, gritting his teeth as he readied his spell glyphs, "Great."

What stays true in all tales of their origin and history are two things.

First, they command immense pools of mana and have unmatched aptitude in magic; hence, they are chosen by royals of not just Gaksi but the entire country as soldiers of unmatched power and control, acting as iron fists for those too proud to dirty their hollow-hearted velvet gloves.

A Paladin? Here? Chasing down two fleeing rodents like us? Just what kind of ill repute have we garnered to get the army of all people on our asses?

And second, that their temperaments are like that of golems, resolute and one-tracked, thirsting not for blood or glory but for justice on behalf of their lords.

"Davi of Kosoru and Ascel of Gaksi." The bellow of the abyss echoed, taking a stance as he planted his sword into the ground in front of him, "By the jurisdiction of the Gaksi Royal Vanguard, I, Efraim, am here to take you in by command of the king himself." This was the Lodefist of Gaksi, Efraim, the Paladin, and the angel of the underworld.

"Come quietly or face the consequences." The knight beckoned, debris continuing to rain as they stood motionless in the dark.

"That sounds just pleasant," The young outlaw began, baring his teeth with intent and venom seeping from his fangs, "But we all know you'll just have us hung either way, so let's cut the bulls-"

"Cease." And with that single word, a surge of indigo energy flowed from the sentry's gauntlets and into his blade.

In that second, the ground began to fracture and rupture from where the sword was pierced as a fissure was sent across the hallway—silt and stone sent flying as the pair dodged to the side and clung to the walls to avoid the tremor.

"Well then! Feisty, aren't we?" Davi tried to quip, but as bricks slipped into the cracked foundation from his feet, part of the mage's confidence also fell into the abyss.

"If you wish to live like rats," The Lodefist began, unhanding his blade as he raised his arm and clenched it into a fist with ominous sparks of lilac leaking from the cracks of his digits, "Then die like rats." With a motion that showed no effort at all, the Paladin achieved a near-impossible feat.

The walls were pulled closer together.

As if using the power of tectonic proportions, the dimensions of the space were instantly changed as the hallway tightened and the sorcerers were crammed tighter into the corridor, slamming into each other and getting thrown off balance as they were forced to face their stalwart judgment.