Getting out of the Palace was considerably easier. With a direct path, they were able to exit out the way they came in without encountering the cognitive Satan. As they stepped out, the sun was starting to set, bathing the land in fading orange light. Archer immediately moved to a vantage point to scope out Orleans. The horde in the city hadn’t moved. They were still holed up and guarding the place. Ren and Morgana had already explained that whatever happened in the Palace, the Palace holder wouldn’t know anything about it, which was fortunate for them.

As soon as they stepped out, Ren’s communicator beeped. Tapping it, the Master was face to face with Roman’s very panicked face. “Ren, where the hell were all of you?!” he demanded, his eyes manic. “We completely lost your location and couldn’t find you anywhere! All we had were your vitals and they were fluctuating like crazy! Just what-?!”

“Perhaps if you stopped talking for a few seconds, Romani, the prodigio ragazzo will explain for us,” Da Vinci noted. Her ever-present smile was still on her face, but it was certainly strained with no small amount of menace. Her eyes bore into Ren as she turned to face the screen. “So, what happened in there, my ragazzo and maginico gatto? I trust you’ve a rather fantastical explanation?”

Ren and Morgana glanced at each other before turning back to the screen. “We can’t tell you here,” the former replied. “It’s sensitive information. However, we can tell you that we may have found another way to the doppelganger. We might be able to stop her. We’ll explain as much as we can once we finish up here and come back to Chaldea, but we can’t tell you now.” He glanced around at the edges of the screen. Roman and Da Vinci immediately got the hint: Not around the other Chaldean staff.

Roman looked over Ren’s shoulder, where Mash was standing. “Mash, what’s your take on this?” he asked. “You’ve been with Ren this entire time. Your assessment?”

The Shielder blinked, then nodded. “Ren’s method is… unorthodox,” she phrased carefully. “However, it’s a safer way than trying to infiltrate Orleans by the regular method. It’s still dangerous, but within acceptable margins.” Ren shot Mash a grateful look, causing Mash to blush a bit. Still, she didn’t break her gaze from Roman. He trusted her, so she would trust him. And she told the truth to Roman as best she could. The Palace was safer than the city with its horde of monsters.

There was a moment as Roman considered, then he nodded wearily. “Alright, if it’s a better method, then it’s better,” he acquiesced. “However, when you’re about to head someplace where we’ll lose our readings of you, let us know so we’re not scrambling and panicking over what’s going on.” That was an acceptable enough condition. Ren and Morgana nodded in agreement. Roman sighed, looking more exhausted than ever. “Is there anything else you need to report then?” he asked.

“We’re planning on getting things resolved tomorrow,” Morgana piped up, drawing the gazes of everyone. “We’ll need to make some preparations, though. Da Vinci? We got requests for you.”

Da Vinci blinked in surprise, then her smile widened into an eager grin. “Oh? You always have the most interesting requests, my maginico gatto,” she purred. “What do you have in mind?”

“Something a little… flashy,” Morgana replied, matching her grin. “It’s about what we discussed before and it’s going to be a rush job. Think you’re up to it?”

The genius’s smile grew even wider.

----------

Once the requests were made and Da Vinci eagerly got to work, the group set up camp a distance away from Orleans. The last thing they needed was to attract the attention of the horde. There was a clearing where they were able to make a campfire, keeping it low enough so the smoke wouldn’t rise too far and alert anything or anyone keeping watch.

Ren sat by the campfire, staring into the flames. Both he and Morgana were exhausted. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to – delving into the Metaverse was taxing on one’s mind and body. Whenever the Thieves left either the Palaces or Mementos, at most they’d stop for a bite to eat (often at Ryuji’s request) before shambling home. Tomorrow, they would send the calling card and storm the Palace for the doppelganger’s Treasure. And after that…

He gripped his arm as he considered. Would stealing her Treasure actually resolve things? Before when their targets had their hearts stolen, they would end up confessing to their guilt, unable to bury the weight of their sins any longer. But if the doppelganger did so here, what would happen? Would she just… give up? If she did, what then? What would happen to the monsters in Orleans? What about her majordomo, Gilles de Rais? If he was in her cognition to that degree, no doubt he was in the castle as well. Was this worth it?

Or had he led Marie and Mozart to their deaths just to satisfy his ideals?

He heard a faint rustle and glanced over. Morgana came and sat down beside Ren. “Hey,” the catlike being greeted in a tired voice.

“Hey,” Ren responded in kind.

Morgana was quiet for a bit. “Servant Palaces sure are a different breed, huh?” he murmured. Ren chuckled grimly. That was an understatement. They knew that with a Palace like ‘Hell’ it was certainly going to be far more challenging than what they did before. What they experienced and went through, though, made Shido and Maruki’s Palaces pale in comparison. Vicious demons killing and devouring victims, people crucified and frozen, and of course, the cognitive Satan…

The others were out and about. Siegfried and Georgios were keeping watch. Mash, Jeanne, and Elizabeth were talking together a small distance away. Saber was staring out at Orleans, most likely figuring out any further points of ingress or escape if they needed to head in in real life. Or possibly comparing the Palace layout to what the city was like. They weren’t sure. Kiyohime, who normally spent her time with Marie and Mozart, was by herself, staring up at the stars.

“So what did you and her talk about?” Morgana asked out of curiosity. Right, he was there when Kiyohime called him away. Ren explained the conversation between the two. Morgana bristled as he listened. “What the hell!” he exclaimed, barely keeping his voice low enough so the Berserker couldn’t hear. “We’re here busting our butts to make sure humanity comes back and all she can think of is-is you lying?! Hell, what did you even lie about anyway?! As far as I can tell, you haven’t lied to her once at all!”

“First time dealing with a Berserker?”

At the voice, both Masters whirled around to see Archer standing above them, smiling sardonically. “Asking for rationality and logic from a Berserker class is the same as asking a tree to rain gold on your head,” he commented. “They’re called Berserkers for a reason – their madness is ingrained into their very being. And for someone like Kiyohime… are you aware of her legend, Master?”

Ren blinked and racked his brain. It was an old Japanese legend that he heard once or twice before. “She was a princess who fell for a… monk. Anchin, I think,” he murmured as he dug up the details from his memory. “Anchin rejected her advances but promised to see her again. However, he was afraid and ultimately didn’t visit her, so she turned into a dragon out of anger, chased him into a bell, incinerated him within, and then drowned herself in a river. Is that about right?”

Archer nodded, glancing over at Kiyohime, who thankfully still wasn’t listening. “The princess was driven into a rage by two factors: Lies and Anchin,” he explained. “As a Berserker, those two factors are amplified considerably. She has such a hatred of lies that she can immediately detect them, and she’ll normally dote on her Master as her Anchin.”

He looked at Ren through the side of his eye. “Be thankful you’re not her Master,” he added. “If she had mistaken you as Anchin and you lied, I doubt you’d be here right now.”

The leader of the Phantom Thieves and Morgana felt a cold chill down his spine. He kept forgetting that these weren’t normal people he was dealing with. These… Servants were heroes, villains, and even monsters of myth and legend. They were people who became that way not just through their perseverance, strength, intelligence, or kindness, but through their own individual distortions pushing them well beyond what other people would be capable of. Distortions that made their previous targets seem like mere pushovers in comparison.

Ren looked up at Archer. The man’s grey eyes were looking off into the distance, always on the watch for something amiss or a detail that might either harm them or give them an edge. Though his body was relaxed, he knew well that, if the situation calls for it, he could immediately spring into action. “How… how do you do it?” he asked faintly.

The red-mantled Servant glanced back down at him, blinking. “Do what?” he asked.

“How do you… kill?” Ren clarified. He felt completely lost and alone. The Phantom Thieves lived by a code of not killing. They wanted their targets to be properly punished for their crimes and to give hope to others. The act of killing was repugnant to them, a line they weren’t willing to cross else they would become just like their targets.

“Killing isn’t something that is taken lightly, Master.”

Ren and Morgana jumped a bit as Saber came up from the other side, sitting by the fire as well. “Forgive me for eavesdropping,” she apologized. “I happened to be nearby.” She gazed into the fire, lost in memories. “Do you know what we are, Ren Amamiya? Morgana?” she asked, glancing over at the pair.

The two Masters looked at each other. “You’re… Servants,” Morgana answered hesitantly. “Beings from myth and legend, right?”

Saber nodded patiently. “Indeed. We are kings, heroes, generals, monsters, and many more,” she explained. “However, if you know anything about our tales, you will know that people with our standings rarely have easy lives.”

She stared into the fire as she remembered Camelot. “When I was a king, I did all I could to ensure the prosperity of my kingdom and my people,” she murmured. “If there were peaceful methods to avoid conflict, be it diplomacy or otherwise, I pursued it. However, many times that was not possible. I had many enemies both within and outside my kingdom.” Especially within. Camelot fell in the end – not to foreign enemies, but to its own knights and her own hubris. A mistake that came from pursuing her ideal kingship to the very end.

“As king, I led my men into battle,” she continued. “I have no love for killing, nor did I wish to, but if they threatened the safety of my people, then I cut my enemies down without hesitation. I mourned those who fell as they fought by my side and did my best to honor and respect those I fought against, but in the end, war is little more than a bloodbath. Chivalry helped restrain the worst of it, but in the end, killing and death is unavoidable.”

The two listened to her, both horrified and contemplative. A king became and stayed a king by winning his battles and claiming territory. A hero became a hero by killing monsters and men. There were those like Mozart who became legends through more peaceful deeds and work, but that unfortunately wasn’t what was needed. Even Mozart himself would freely and happily admit that his skills wouldn’t even be close enough to what was needed.

Ren thought he knew how bad things could get back in Tokyo, but this was beyond that. It wasn’t like with their targets who, even if they killed, kept things subtle or untraceable. They were dealing with people who would kill them without a second thought. There weren’t things like ‘law’ or ‘justice’ here – such things were dictated by those who were still alive in the end.

“If it helps, Masters,” Archer spoke up. “Servants are already dead. We’re merely copies of people who have long since passed – the best you can call us are their legacies. Even if we’re killed, it matters little in the end. We’re beings who have no purpose in the present – only the mission we have been summoned to do.”

Ren’s eyes immediately snapped back up to the red-mantled hero. “We’re not treating you as disposable tools or pawns,” he replied harshly. “If I had treated everyone like that, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. And neither am I willing to sacrifice you guys – there has to be other ways. If I have to sacrifice anyone else, then I’ve failed as a Master and as a leader.”

Both Archer and Saber stared at him as Morgana cast his gaze to the ground. The catlike being was the perhaps the only one left who knew just how Ren felt about sacrifices. No matter what, he always went out of his way to help those close to him, no matter the risk to himself. Whether it was saving their companions from abusive authority figures to taking on the heat so attention would be off them in turn, to even saving former enemies from certain death, like with Maruki.

“How did you fight then, Master?” Archer asked. “It’s clear both of you have experience in combat and command, yet it wasn’t under wartime environments. And it would seem the doppelganger’s Palace was far different than what you had experienced before, judging by how you two reacted.” Though his eyes were still sharp, Archer’s tone was surprisingly calm and far from accusatory or condescending. Saber was also calmly analyzing them as well, awaiting their answer.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Ren considered. What they were asking for was hardly unreasonable – it took a few fights whenever a new Phantom Thief joined for their style to truly ‘click’ and they could figure out how they worked. And if he was going to be fighting alongside his Servants, it would be better to know their modus operandi as well as their history. But…

“Not right now,” he replied, looking between the two. His expression was deathly serious. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you guys, but I don’t know who’s listening or not, both here and in Chaldea. Once we’re done here, I’ll tell you guys everything I can and we can coordinate enough. Does that sound fair enough?”

Archer and Saber glanced at each other. “Are your secrets worth keeping even now, Ren Amamiya?” the latter asked, her stern green eyes boring into Ren’s, searching for any sign of weakness or falsity. She may not have Kiyohime’s instinctual detection of lies, but years of being a king had honed her political senses well enough.

The Master shot her a humorless smile in turn. “More than you can imagine,” he simply replied.

Their shared gaze held for a few more seconds before Saber relented. “I shall trust your judgement then, Master,” she replied gracefully. “Although it is not ideal to have such unsurety the eve before the battle, it’s far more common than you think.”

Ren blinked. “What were battles like for you guys, then?” he asked, looking at the two Servants once more. He might as well get a stronger handle of how they composed themselves and handled war. This was far more their specialty than his own, after all. He would definitely need their advice in the days to come.

He inwardly smiled in nostalgia, sadness, and bitterness as he remembered his confidants. Yoshida, who taught him speechcraft, Oda, who taught him gunmanship (even though it was virtual), Hifume, who taught him strategy and tactics, and of course, Sojiro, who taught him how to cook and make the perfect cup of coffee. It seems even here, some things don’t change.

—-------

The two Servants taught Ren what they knew in the short time they had for the evening: Saber taught Ren about logistics and war planning. An army marches on its stomach, as the old saying goes. No matter what time period, that was always a constant in war. Thankfully logistics were extremely easily dealt with on their end – any supplies that Ren, Morgana, and Mash needed were provided from the base itself while the Servants didn’t need food; the prana upkeep from Chaldea was enough to sustain them.

Through her, they learned a few aspects of the relationship between Servants and Masters. Prioritizing Masters was often the more effective method as they were weaker than their Servants. Unless the Servant had some special ability to allow them to live longer, killing the Master would deprive them of prana and pretty much cut them off then and there. It was also what allowed the doppelganger to be so deadly – any resupplies necessary could be done with the Grail, from food to men, or in this case, monsters. Thus, the traditional tactic of cutting off their supply lines wouldn’t work either.

Archer went on a different tack. He had the two bring out the maps of the cognitive Orleans and instructed them on vantage points and utilizing the lay of the land. In his words, the two excelled in infiltration, but less so in exfiltration and more importantly, what would happen if the enemy did the same thing to them. That was true – back in their own adventures, the shadows often had easy-to-follow patrol routes. It made ambushing them almost laughably easy.

Ren remembered the agonizing pressure from Berserker’s gauntlet around his head. He genuinely thought he was going to die then and there. Only the timely intervention of Mash saved him from getting his head crushed like a fruit or ran through with his blade. The threat of imminent death still sent a shiver down his spine. Even back in the interrogation room, he never had that close a brush with death – there, Akechi had been close but not close enough. Here…

The red-mantled hero used his own battle with the enemy Archer – Atalante – for an example. Quickly pinpointing the position of their battle, he discussed the movements both he and Atalante made, utilizing both cover and vantage points to flush the other out. He made it clear that such confined territory was the Huntress’s home territory and thus Archer was put on the back foot. Thus, he lured her into an alley with a few clear openings and exits by making deliberate mistakes, then killing her when her guard was down.

The two Masters listened with rapt attention to Archer’s battle. It was both similar yet exceptionally different to their own fights as Phantom Thieves. The areas they have been in – a castle, an art museum, a bank, a cruise ship, and more, were far more constrictive than the city they fought through, but many of the tactics of what Archer explained could still be applied. From how Archer described it, Ren doubted he would’ve fared against Atalante any better than he did against that Berserker by himself.

Still, it did leave a lot of thoughts for him to mull on as he stared out over the ruined city of Orleans. Despite the setting sun, there were no lights coming on in the buildings. Well, that was to be expected – who would be living in them anyway? Especially when he could see wyverns roosting and monsters prowling about. He didn’t get a chance to look at most of the towns or cities here during the night. Bordeaux had some semblance of life despite people being scared for their lives. But staring at Orleans like this, it felt… surreal. And oddly terrifying.

It felt completely unnatural.

“May I sit here?”

Ren glanced up at Jeanne, who smiled down at him. He returned the smile and patted the grass next to him. The saint sat down beside him looking over the city. They sat in silence, each with their own thoughts. Before long, he heard her murmuring a prayer, her head lowered and eyes closed. Ren waited patiently until she finished. “Who are you praying for?” he asked.

Jeanne glanced over at him. “For everyone,” she murmured. “For those who have died from my doppelganger’s rampage. For us and our mission. For those who are still alive and will rebuild this country. And… for my doppelganger and those who serve her, and hoping they find forgiveness under His grace.”

He stared uneasily at the city. “Doesn’t it bother you?” he inquired. “You’re a saint, yet you’ll kill if you have to.” Ren sighed. “Sorry, I’m sure I sound like a child right now,” he muttered ruefully. “It’s just… everyone here seems comfortable killing if necessary. Before… well, everything, I never killed before. I thought if I killed, I’d lower myself to… a level I don’t want to match.” He had to be careful here – he would rather not talk about their targets in the open. But even now, he just felt like he was rambling, trying to find a way to justify sticking to his usual ways instead of doing whatever was necessary.

The saint didn’t judge, merely quietly listening. She smiled sadly. “You are not much older than I am, you know,” she pointed out, which quickly drew Ren’s attention. That’s right – Jeanne d’Arc had started her mission and campaign when she was merely sixteen years old. He was only older than her by a year or so, if that.

She hugged her knees as she looked out at the desolate city. “In my campaigns, I never drew my blade nor actively participated in fighting,” she murmured. “But my hands aren’t any cleaner. I was the one who led my men into battle, after all. As for how… I could say it was my mission from Him and therefore it was justified, but even then, there were many times I wondered if such bloodshed was truly necessary. It is violence and death, no matter how you look at it.”

“But when I saw the brutality the English had inflicted on my people, when I saw the consequences of their crimes running unchecked, I couldn’t restrain myself,” she continued. “I led my men into battle against them and did everything I could to oust them from my land. I do not regret it, even when I was captured and burned at the stake. Was it my punishment? Many called it such, accusing me of being a witch. But that didn’t matter in the end. All that mattered was that in the end, my people were free.”

Jeanne glanced back over at Ren and smiled. “I will not tell you whether or not to kill, Ren Amamiya,” she said. “Your heart and cause are righteous ones. If you follow them, I’m sure you are following His will in the end.” Her face fell as she looked back over Orleans. “Though it would certainly seem our enemies aren’t inclined to follow diplomacy. Perhaps if your method works, we can resolve this without any more bloodshed – though it is only a cautious hope.”

“Yeah, same here,” Ren muttered. A distant roar of a wyvern sent shivers up his spine. Things were far different here than they used to be. But perhaps, hoping against hope, just this once, they could still be Phantom Thieves after all. His hands tightened into fists.

They had to be.

—-------

Joker raced through the icy streets of Hell. All he could hear was his breathing and the ice crunching underneath his boots. Where was Mash? Archer? Saber? He could hear the snarls of demons all around him, though he couldn’t see anything. The roars of wyverns echoed overhead. And somewhere in the distance, buildings were being smashed by that cognitive Satan. He needed to find the others before anything else could happen to them!

“J-Joker! Help!”

He whirled around and his face lost all color. Crucified on two crosses were Makoto and Haru, their faces twisted in pain from the nails that pinned them to the cross by the arms and feet. They were wiggling desperately against their crucifixion but couldn’t budge an inch, blood dripping from their wounds to the ice below. As he started running towards them, wyverns swarmed in, clawing at him. He slashed with his knife and shot them with his pistol but they were too thick. He tried summoning his personas, but none of them came.

Before long, the two girls were snatched by wyverns and carried away, their shrieks echoing in the void. “QUEEN! NOIR!” he roared. He tried gunning down the wyverns, but they were too far.

“AAAARTTHUUUUURRR!!!!”

Joker turned again and saw the Berserker, its visor gleaming with that malevolent red light. Near it, Yusuke was pinned to the wall with its greatsword impaled through his torso. Futaba was hanging in its clutches, its gauntleted arm around her head. “J-Joker,” she whimpered. “Hel-AAAAAAAH!!!” She screamed as the knight squeezed, and the only sound left was a disgusting squish. Her lifeless body dropped as the Berserker howled into the empty sky.

His breath was caught within his lungs. He wanted to pull up his gun and fire, but everything felt too heavy and slow. He could barely move. Joker glanced down. Ice was forming on his legs as frost settled on his hands and arms, his gloves still splotchy from blood.

He turned. Ryuji and Ann were caught by a horde of demons, screaming as they were shredded and devoured piece by piece.

He turned. Sumire was in the cognitive Satan’s grasp, her futile struggles and shrieks reaching no one as she was lifted to its maw and ended her being with a single wrenching bite.

He turned. Akechi was there in his detective prince outfit, holding a gun up to his head. A malevolent smirk danced on his features. “Case closed,” he announced with finality. “This is where your justice ends.” Then a gunshot rang through the air and he felt the bullet tear through his skull-

—-------

Ren’s eyes shot open. He was panting for air, his body in a cold sweat. He raised a hand to his eyes, feeling the wetness on his palm. Oh. He cried in his sleep. It had been a while since he had such a vivid nightmare, and especially one that didn’t exactly involve the interrogation room. Then he noticed someone was nearby: Mash, who had been reaching over to him. She was kneeling beside him, her face etched with worry.

“S-senpai?” she asked. “Were you having a nightmare? You were tossing and turning.”

He blinked, then plastered on his usual easy grin. “Yeah, I did,” he replied easily. “Sleep doesn’t exactly come easy to me nowadays.” Not like he could hide it, and besides, Kiyohime might be nearby. The last thing he needed was for her to detect more lies from him. He knew he was on thin ice with her as is. “Sorry if I woke you up, Mash. Did you sleep well?”

Mash bit her lip, obviously wanting to ask about it but took the hint. “I slept alright, senpai, thank you,” she murmured, nodding slightly in acknowledgement. “I actually came to wake you up – it’s morning.”

He looked. Indeed, the sky was turning light. It was cloudy, but not so grey as to promise rain. It was a cooler day than yesterday, but not that much. “Huh, so it is,” he noted casually. He stood up, stretching out his stiff and sore muscles. Sleeping on the ground like this wasn’t the most comfortable, though it was cushioned by the grass and softer soil underneath. Still, the hard bed of LeBlanc was more comfortable than this.

Ren smiled. “Well, I woke up at a good time then,” he noted with a small chuckle. “Now, let’s get some breakfast first, then check in with Da Vinci. If she’s done with her work, then we’ll get to the next part of the plan – and you’ll get to see how we do things.” He flashed Mash his usual cocky grin, which Mash met with a nervous smile of her own – one that vanished into a worried expression once more when he turned to walk towards the campfire. Morgana had already gotten out ration packs and was getting them cooked for breakfast. Most of the Servants were there as well.

“Morning Ren, Mash,” he greeted, yawning. He flashed Ren a stink-eye. “Didn’t I tell you how important sleep was? Today’s the big day!”

The leader of the Phantom Thieves chuckled as he grinned down at the catlike being. “Speak for yourself,” he shot back. “You look like you’re about ready to pass out. But then, cats are supposed to be sleeping three-fourths of the day away – aren’t you the one lacking sleep?”

“Bah, don’t compare me to some common cat,” Morgana snapped. “I’m the amazing Morgana! I don’t need as much sleep as they do!” Ren chuckled again as his friend huffed. Still, the silent observation between the two was there: Neither had gotten much sleep, and he had a suspicion it was for the same reason he didn’t rest very well either. Neither of them addressed it though. They had a heist to complete.

Once breakfast was heated, the three quickly ate the bland meals before contacting Roman and Da Vinci. As promised, Da Vinci had their items made overnight: Three grappling hooks, one for Ren and Mash, and a smaller one for Morgana. It would only fit his Metaverse form – further adjustments would be necessary so he could wear it as a cat as well – but it would do for now. There was also a special arrow as well, loaded with a particular kind of magecraft, designed to hold a rather large amount of items without compromising on the aerodynamics of the arrow.

In this case, a large quantity of the Phantom Thieves’ calling cards. Da Vinci being Da Vinci, she sent them an unpacked copy so they could admire her handy work. Striking red-and-black theme with jagged textures, the Phantom Thieves logo on the back with the words emblazoned ‘Take Your Heart’, as well with words resembling cutouts of a newspaper. It was all embellished with artwork of angels and demons that lined the borders.

‘To the doppelganger Maid of Orleans,

Your wrath has consumed the country of France in eternal flame and destitution, bringing widespread suffering to countless people, both innocent and guilty.

We will condone your sins no longer and thus, will take your distorted desires without fail.

From, Chaldea.’

Ren and Morgana had to laugh. Da Vinci certainly went whole hog on this one. She was a Phangirl through and through. The Servants looked over in askance but the two shrugged it off. Again, it wasn’t the time to explain things. But now, it was time for action. Giving the arrow to Archer, they used Roman’s readings to pinpoint the location of the doppelganger, who of course was at the keep. Thankfully, Archer had a clear shot. Drawing back his bow, he took a second to aim, and fired.

Everyone watched as the arrow zipped through the air and pierced through a window. Once the arrow was in, it would explode into confetti of the calling cards. In such a location, she certainly couldn’t ignore it. All of them waited for a sign that she read it. A moment passed, then two…

Suddenly, the wyverns and monsters within Orleans stirred. They began roaring and shifting in rage, many of them taking to the skies. It was akin to disturbing a bee’s nest. Morgana grinned. “Well, as if we needed any more proof the Palace ruler’s disturbed.”

Ren nodded. That was as clear a sign as any. He turned back to the others. “Alright, the Treasure has manifested,” he announced. “We only have one shot at this, so let’s do this and make it quick.” Everyone nodded. With that, he pulled up the Metaverse app and their surroundings distorted once more. It was time for a heist.

Beginning navigation.