Inside the church, the mood had shifted from shock to confusion.
One of the Black Widows stood near the table, listening as Lily spoke.
Lily pulled a knife from the table and placed it in the girl's hand.
"You just need to get inside," Lily said calmly. "Find his bedroom. Give him a few strikes to the chest. If you have extra time, stab his throat. Then leave."
The woman blinked.
Freya, who had been leaning against the wall in silence, let out a soft laugh.
"That is… very optimistic."
Lily didn't look at her. "It's possible."
Freya tilted her head slightly. "If you send her alone on an assassination mission, her chances of coming back alive are minimal."
The Black Widow's grip tightened slightly on the knife.
Freya continued, her voice smooth.
"Apollo is careless. Not useless."
Lily's jaw tightened. "I don't have a Level Seven lying around like you who can do my work."
Freya smiled faintly.
"No," she agreed. "You do not."
There was no mockery in her tone. Just fact.
Lily finally looked at her. "Then what do you suggest?"
Freya tapped her temple lightly.
"Rushing an assassination only makes us look desperate," she said. "Instead, we can work together."
She pushed off the wall.
"Let me call Hephaestus," Freya continued. "We will respond properly."
Lily crossed her arms. "With what?"
Freya's smile sharpened slightly.
"With everyone."
She glanced toward the door.
"Then we can drag Apollo out of his manor," she said calmly. "At that point, we can do anything with him."
As the discussion continued, Naaza felt it clearly—she should not be here.
This had moved far beyond stolen goods. They were no longer talking about thieves. They were talking about capturing a god, and they did not even have proof that Apollo was the culprit.
Beside her, Miach's expression remained composed, but a faint tension settled in his shoulders. He would have preferred they did not speak so casually about dragging deities into the street. Conflicts between familias were one thing. Public humiliation of a god was another.
He considered objecting.
But he also knew it would change nothing.
His gaze shifted to Naaza's new arm, crafted by Luthar. It had been a transaction, yes—but to someone like Miach, what he had offered in exchange never felt equal to what his child had received.
While Freya moved aside to contact Hephaestus, in a room far removed from cold stone and quiet resolve, Apollo was already losing patience.
"You fired a gun at her?" he repeated, his voice tight.
Across the room, Ishtar remained composed.
"Not personally," she said calmly. "I asked someone to do it. And don't act surprised. You already know how much I want her dead."
Apollo's jaw tightened.
"We were supposed to attack after we secured the weapons, not before," he snapped. "Did you consider what would have happened if that man had been caught by Freya?"
"Relax," Ishtar interrupted. "I had people in place to make sure he wouldn't be taken alive. And we can use this incident to highlight how dangerous these weapons are."
"That won't work," Apollo said flatly.
He understood that anyone with even a little sense would be able to connect the assassination attempt to him.
Before he could explain further, a scream tore through the corridor.
Both of them froze as the scream rose again, louder and panicked.
They moved at the same time.
The storage room door was already open. The smell of blood and burnt metal filled the air.
One of the thieves was on the floor, his right forearm missing below the elbow—not cleanly cut, but torn apart and shredded.
Beside him lay a strange blade lined with jagged metal teeth. The mechanism was still spinning weakly, producing a low mechanical whine as it slowed.
He clutched what remained of his arm, blood spreading across the stone as he screamed.
The others stood frozen.
Ishtar looked at the scene once, her expression unchanged.
"Make him quiet," she said.
One of the men stepped forward and slit the thief's throat, finally silencing him.
Silence tried to settle, but it was broken by the fading mechanical sound of the weapon.
Apollo stepped toward the table where the stolen weapons were laid out. Several display cases had been forced open. Others were cracked from rough handling.
His gaze shifted briefly to the severed arm lying nearby.
"I don't remember giving permission to use these weapons," he said flatly.
No one answered.
One of the thieves swallowed.
"It was an accident."
Another spoke quickly, trying to recover.
"We separated the weapons based on what we observed earlier. The standard firearms are there."
He gestured toward a pile of familiar guns and ammunition.
"And those?" Apollo asked.
The man hesitated before pointing to a larger weapon resting alone on the table.
"That one is labeled 'Plasma Gun.' That is the only thing we know."
Ishtar stepped closer but did not touch it.
"Didn't we send you this morning to gather information?" she asked calmly.
"We did," the man replied. "We went in as customers. Asked about the weapons. Took note of the names and prices."
He hesitated.
"But whenever we asked how they worked, the clerk stopped talking."
Apollo's expression remained unchanged.
"So you know the labels," he said. "Not the functions."
Silence followed. Both of them realized it at once.
Ishtar exhaled lightly, her tone shifting to dissatisfaction.
"Let's move the weapons out of the city," she said. "Find somewhere isolated where they can learn how to use them before taking them into a fight."
Apollo nodded slowly.
"We also need to find an independent weaponsmith," he said. "Even if he can't replicate them, he might still be able to figure out more than what's written on the label."
While Apollo was considering how to handle everything, Ishtar stepped closer and took his hand.
"Let the others handle it," she said, her voice smooth again. "We have more important things to consider."
Apollo glanced at her, still tense.
"We've already taken the first step," she continued, guiding him toward the door. "That deserves at least a drink."
He hesitated only a moment before allowing himself to be led away from the blood and scattered weapons.
Behind them, everyone worked in silence.
Ahead, the corridor was quiet.
Ishtar leaned closer as they walked.
"Relax," she murmured. "Tonight we celebrate. Tomorrow, we work."
The door closed behind them, leaving the mess to others.
---
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