Carrie stood rooted to the spot, listening to the pair's casual bickering. Within her azure eyes, an indescribable surge of emotion welled up.
Ever since the day she had caused that catastrophe, she had lived every hour in a state of constant terror. She had steeled herself to be led away in handcuffs by the police, or perhaps to be dragged off and dissected like a lab rat.
And yet, Patty had not only refused to view her as a monster, but had also bailed her out without a moment's hesitation.
As for the man before her, Sephirot, he had gone even further by resolving all the lingering threats hanging over her head.
For the first time in all her years of life, someone had stood so firmly in front of her, shielding her from the world.
"Thank you... thank you both."
Carrie lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper as a thin veil of moisture clouded her eyes.
"I'll... I'll definitely make sure this place is kept spotless..."
The following day, Patty had returned to school, leaving only Sephirot and Carrie at the Agency.
She had donned an apron Patty left behind. Holding a rag in her hand, she worked with singular focus, as if this were the only way she could prove her worth.
Sephirot sat on the sofa. In his right hand, a cluster of purple magic shifted shapes continuously within his palm.
One moment it became a pair of scissors; the next, a wooden staff.
This was a trick he had been tinkering with over the past two days, specifically designed to practice the fine-tuned manipulation of magic.
Watching the magic pulse in his hand, Sephirot pulled up the system interface.
[Current Points: 3500]
[Demonic Bloodline Awakening Degree: 11%]
[Side Quest: The Debt-Ridden Sparda]
[Current Progress: $12,500,000 / $100,000,000]
As his gaze swept over the point balance, Sephirot calculated his next path for enhancement.
Though he now wielded the thunder sword Alastor, his offensive options in actual combat were still far too scarce. His swordplay was limited to the most basic slashes, hacks, and upward swings.
Against ordinary monsters, he could kill them outright. However, once he faced a truly powerful enemy, his lack of lethal versatility would make him predictable, rigid, and far too easy to counter.
He flipped through the System Mall, his eyes landing on the talents under Swordmaster Style.
If he could redeem Swordmaster Style, his methods of attack would become far more diverse.
In Sephirot's mind, the move lists from his previous life inevitably surfaced.
The airtight defense of Dance Macabre, blade beams that tore through the air, the relentless barrage of Million Stab, and even the Aerial Rave that could dismember an opponent mid-air...
Once learned, these techniques would be enough to bring a qualitative transformation to his close-quarters pressure.
However, while the ideal was grand, reality was lean.
In the System Mall, Swordmaster Style required 20,000 points to redeem.
Sephirot closed his fingers, crushing the magic in his palm. As if a thought had struck him, his brow quirked slightly.
The Sparda family were natural masters of weaponry, a true warrior race.
Was it possible that this fighting style would simply awaken as a natural talent on its own as his bloodline awakening degree continued to rise? If he could truly get them for free, he would be able to save that massive sum of points for other items, or keep them in reserve to deal with greater troubles down the line.
Better yet, once the magic in his body was abundant and his control over it improved, he could try to develop sword techniques on his own.
But those things were still too far off. Sephirot set aside these thoughts of future planning and began to consider the current situation.
He now knew how the demons were evading the detection of the Council of Angels.
Next, he would have to investigate the organization behind it, and...
He fished out a scrap of flesh he had collected from the mechanical monster earlier.
Sephirot stared at the Ouroboros mark on it, intending to find Constantine and ask if he recognized the pattern.
Any organization capable of combining demons with technological constructs, and even some elements of the mystical side, was clearly far from simple and required investigation.
If they could send a mechanical monster to intercept and kill him this time, there was no telling what more troublesome things they might concoct next.
The enemy was in the shadows while he was in the light; he had to prepare for the worst.
But the most pressing problem at hand was the descent of Mammon, the Son of Satan.
Constantine had already been discharged, and given Angela's impatient nature...
In order to clear her sister's name, she would undoubtedly be desperate to find Constantine.
Perhaps Constantine had already taken a trip to Hell by now.
If that was the case, the moment of Mammon's descent was drawing near, possibly even within the next few days.
He glanced at the quest description in his mind.
[Darkness Approaches Point Quest: Ambition of the Demon Prince]
[Quest Description: As a harbinger of the approaching darkness, Mammon seeks to cross the boundary and turn the human world into his private hunting ground.]
[Quest Objective: Stop Mammon's descent ritual.]
[Quest Rewards: 10,000 points, bloodline awakening degree: 5%, Mammon's Original Sin Demon Soul ×1]
Looking at the string of rewards, a flicker of heat flashed in Sephirot's eyes.
Just for stopping Mammon's descent, the rewards were already this generous.
If he could manage to kill him while he was in his weakened state, how substantial would the rewards be then?
As for the Spear of Destiny...
He was determined to obtain that artifact as well.
However, he couldn't make a move for it before Mammon's descent, lest he be targeted by the Archangel Gabriel.
After all, it was the key to Mammon's arrival.
In the original story, however, no one cared about the object once the dust settled.
As long as he waited patiently for everything to end, it would naturally fall into his hands; there was no need to worry too much.
Whether he would strike it rich overnight and see a qualitative leap in combat power, or fail the quest and continue living as a wage slave, all depended on this one move.
"Buzz, buzz..."
While he was thinking, the phone on the coffee table suddenly vibrated.
Sephirot glanced at the caller ID; speak of the devil.
"Cough, cough..."
On the other end of the line was Constantine's raspy voice.
"Sephirot, I'm out of the hospital. That policewoman named Angela... things have gotten complicated."
"Sounds like your condition has improved a lot."
Sephirot stood up from the sofa. "What's the situation?"
"..."
There was a moment of silence on the other end. After a few breaths, Constantine spoke again:
"Come to the Ravenscar Psychiatric Hospital. We'll talk in detail when we meet."
The call disconnected.
Sephirot shoved the phone into his pocket and looked at Carrie, who was wiping down a desk.
"I'm heading out. As for the Agency..."
Sephirot put on his trench coat and paused to think.
Since he intended to take her in, he couldn't let her hide in this Agency forever.
She had to learn to adapt to this world and learn to control her own power.
"Forget it, come with me."
Sephirot said, "I'm not exactly comfortable leaving you alone in the Agency. I'd hate for you to get worked up and tear my building down."
At those words, Carrie's movements paused, and she gave a sheepish smile.
But when she realized Sephirot was willing to take her out, her expression turned to one of joy.
Her hand gripped the rag slightly tighter as she nodded earnestly.
"Okay!"
Inside a private room at the Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane.
Constantine paced back and forth; the situation in Los Santos lately had become far too strange.