The journey to the Crimson Church was too uneventful. Riveria was the one who first noticed the building rising above the rooftops. There were no bells, stained glass, or steeples—only a brutal slab of crimson stone and blackened iron.
As they approached, Gareth let out a low whistle, his gaze drawn upward along the towering bulk of the machine beside it.
"I can see why all the blacksmiths are crying," Loki remarked, arms folded behind her head. "He must have bought the entire city's stockpile."
The Dreadnought loomed like a war god's abandoned prayer, its limbs splayed in a crouched idle, piston rods exposed, heat-warped gold plating flaring like sun-burned bone. Its fingers were half-curled, its claws were at rest, and its torso was layered with armor so contoured that it appeared more creature than construct. Servo joints twitched with residual tension, like a beast unsure whether it was sleeping or waiting to strike.
Then they spotted the church.
Its walls, as red as blood spilled on an altar, shimmered oddly—smooth and almost polished, yet deeply etched with sacred and profane symbols alike. Gold gears and mathematical diagrams spiraled across the façade, resembling divine calculus. Dozens of skulls protruded from its buttresses and archways, some carved, some frighteningly real. There were no windows, just sealed vents and heavy iron doors bolted shut like the gates of some divine prison.
"Subtle," Riveria replied, her voice as dry as a desert breeze.
"The boy's got taste," Loki said with a wolfish smile. "Perhaps we should ask him to redecorate our home."
"I thought we did not have the funds for that," Gareth stated, arms crossed.
"We don't," Riveria responded flatly.
Loki took a step forward without waiting, her boots ringing against the reinforced stone walkway. "Come on, then," she said with a false smile. "We have seen the garden—now let us meet the gardener."
Riveria and Gareth followed, the former calm and cautious, the latter alert and quietly impressed.
They approached the doors and paused; no one was sure whether to knock or announce themselves.
---Luther was stirring inside. He would only slept for an hour and a half when the server skull at his bedside floated forward and began making noise.
"Visitors have been detected."
Luther groaned and pushed himself up, his joints stiff and his mind foggy. He dragged himself out of bed, muttering, and let them in.
Loki, Riveria, and Gareth were already looking around when he arrived in the hall. It was cold and metallic, with a web of mechanical limbs stretching across the ceiling like a steel spider nest—some twitching, others still. Red light emitted from hidden panels, casting long shadows across the floor. The air was pungent with oil and heat.
Gareth murmured, "Feels like a metal cemetery."
Riveria did not say anything, but her gaze never stopped moving.
The sound of footsteps interrupted their conversation before they could discuss anything else.
Luther came out from the side room.
"I hope you have a good enough reason to disturb my sleep," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
"It is not time to sleep," Loki exclaimed, grinning. "It is not every day that a beautiful girl visits your home."
Luther gave her a look, wondering why all the gods have the same day.
Luther sighed and rubbed his temples. "Give me a minute and I will adjust."
Riveria gave him a polite nod, but her gaze was fixed on the limbs above.
"Take your time," she remarked quietly.
After about a minute, he squinted at them and rubbed his nose.
"So," he muttered, "why are you here?"
A pause occurred.
Loki opened her mouth. Closed it. Then turned to Riveria with a sly grin.
"Riveria, you tell him."
Riveria blinked. "Tell him what?"
"You know. Why we're here."
"You're the one who insisted we come."
"No, no," Loki waved a finger. "I suggested it. You agreed."
Riveria turned to her with a slow, deliberate movement—the look. The kind that didn't need words. The kind that made Loki completely shut up.
Gareth clapped his hands once as if struck by divine revelation.
"Ah! I remember now—we're here so Riveria can get married to Luther so we can get free weapons!"
There was a beat of silence.
Riveria turned that look on him.
Gareth coughed into his fist.
"Purely strategic," he said, then, looking at her eyes, added, "Why are you looking at me like this? Don't forget it was It was Loki—I'm just trying to remind you."
Luther, still groggy, is trying to decode this stupid dream.
"I see," he muttered. "A marriage proposal, cultural exchange, divine comedy."
He turned slowly and toward the bench, its surface cluttered with tools. "Don't. Just don't touch anything that hisses or glows."
Loki flounced past him with a grin. "So moody. You should get more sleep."
Riveria followed, silent and graceful, her gaze scanning the intricate weapons locked in the glass frame embedded in the walls.
Gareth lingered near the door, whispering, "I stand by the cultural exchange part."
Luther didn't answer. He dropped into a chair with the grace of a collapsing tower, rubbing his mask with both hands.
"So," Luther finally said, glancing from Riveria to Loki, "what do you actually want?"
Loki, still lounging where she stood, tilted her head. "Why don't you take that mask off?"
Luther shook his head, the motion slow and tired. "You'd better have a good reason. I don't have time for jokes."
"Alright, alright." Loki raised both hands in mock surrender. "But before I get to the big ask—how are you handling the Guild situation?"
"I've already explained my conditions to Hephaestus," Luther muttered, rubbing at the corner of his eye. "That should hold them off—for a short time, at least."
"Wait," Loki said with an arched brow. "Why are you the one who decides on the conditions? Isn't the Guild supposed to be the one laying down rules if you want to sell weapons?"
"It's the opposite," Luther replied evenly. "I can outproduce most Familia alone, so the situation is a little different."
Gareth leaned forward slightly, curiosity flickering behind his usual calm. "So that means... you can sell guns now?"
"It should be fine," Luther said with a shrug. "I just need to make sure I'm not selling them to the dark guilds—or other nations."
"Well..." Loki stretched the word out, clearly enjoying herself. "Let's say I'm here with an offer. A proposal, even."
Luther stared at her. "If this is about marriage and giving you free items then it's not possible."
Gareth chuckled under his breath.
Riveria sighed as she brushed her hair behind one ear. "She means an agreement between you and us for weapons.
"Ah," Luther responded, his tone dry. "Then instead of coming here, go to my shop."
Loki approached, grinning. "Come, but we want something better than what you are offering casually."
Luther gazed at her, then at Riveria, and finally at Loki.
Luther gazed at her, then at Riveria, and finally at Loki.