What Happened Backstage (II)

One Year Ago— June15, Central Year 118

Day of the Incursion

9:23 p.m.

There were two peacekeeping organizations inside Babylon City.

The first was the more commonly known hunter association which was, in a way, the lifeblood of the city itself.

Being the organization that monitors, manages and in some cases, even controls gate formations, it was undoubtedly the main attraction for deviants all over the world looking to put their abilities to good use and earn a living by migrating to the city that spawned the most dungeons in the world.

Babylon had a good amount of flexibility when it came to the newly established industry of dungeon diving and all the precious materials that could be harvested from said activity.

Thanks to the ingenuity of the 'towers' dotted across the city, Babylon had the means to direct gate formation within its borders, meaning that the city naturally had a greater opportunity to maximize on all manner of dungeon resources, and as a result of that the small nation state experience a level of economic prosperity easily rivaling that of the world's largest superpowers.

However, with such a large amount of superpowered individuals converging in one place—a fairly new nation state to be exact— there was bound to be some amount of friction arising from vying interests among the population.

Thus, a counterbalance was necessary to mitigate not only the threat of dungeons and gates, but also the deviant elements who existed outside the realm of law and order.

Longinus fulfilled that role, it was the city's second judiciary institution that handled the task of keeping order on the ground, whilst the hunters-maintained order by venturing inside the gates and preventing any possibility of a dungeon break occurring.

Both sides of the city's law enforcement operated in entirely different realms, meaning they rarely needed to cooperate—unless dire circumstances demanded it.

At the moment, the situation inside Longinus' headquarters could indeed be called dire—dreadful, even. Yet, despite the fact that the person responsible for causing such an uproar in Longinus' main headquarters was a human woman, nothing could be done, for she was, in fact, a saint.

She stood among the highest orders of power in the world—an existence akin to a walking calamity—baring her fangs at one of Babylon's bastions of law.

An elevator arrived on the building's fiftieth floor.

Before the smooth metal doors could even attempt to separate themselves naturally, they were instantly blown apart from within. The steel doors wrenched and wrinkled as they bounced along the floor, only coming to a stop once they'd lodged themselves along shimmering corridor.

Longinus' upper floors rattled from the impact; dust billowed up, only to be swept away by the intrusive nighttime gales swooping in through the thoroughly shattered glass panes.

The corridor sang with the low hiss of destruction for a moment as the figure responsible for the devastation emerged from the busted contraption. It was a woman who appeared to be somewhere in her early thirties, her auburn hair resembled a cascade of deep plum and crimson that caught the moonlight with a near-metallic sheen as it reached down to tickle her shoulders.

Her face—framed by two thin bangs — appeared surprisingly youthful, as if they'd taken no notice of the passage of time. Whatever delicacy her youthful appearance would have normally brought with it was absent, for now, her ruby-hued eyes and gentle features held taut with a single emotion—rage.

Wordlessly, the woman fitted in her black turtleneck and matching trousers advanced, her arms folded and her heels digging into the porcelain floor like small anchors. The alarms blared ceaselessly, flooding the corridor with flashing red lights and booming announcements.

Still, she paid no heed.

If the trained personnel downstairs had failed to stop the trail of destruction she had carved through the past forty-nine floors, there was little reason to spare concern for the futile warnings. After all, her objective was now in sight, the two polished Maplewood doors at the end of the corridor seemed to welcome her openly, even under the harsh glare of the alarm sirens.

Halfway to her destination, she heard a thunderous symphony of bullish footsteps hammering up the nearby corridor and before long the source of the terrible sound was upon her.

"H-hold it right there!" A muffled voice shouted.

The woman halted her pursuit and slowly turned around, her sharp eyes glaring daggers at the obnoxious pursuers.

Almost instantly, nearly forty people emerged, all clad in identical dark suits reinforced with helmets and protective plating—an ensemble completed by the hefty rifles now trained on her. In the back of her mind, the closest comparison she could draw to their appearance was riot gear.

"A-Alice Severin! Under Section Three, Article Forty-One of the Deviant Code of Conduct, you are being detained for misconduct, assault, and extensive property damage. P-Put your hands behind your back and get on the floor!" An officer at the front shouted, the rifle in his hands swaying more unreliably than a fishing pole in the wind.

Despite the dire circumstances—guns trained on her, barrels loaded—Alice heaved a sigh, appearing more bored than afraid.

"Shouldn't you lot be taking care of your comrades that I knocked out a little while ago? I know you're just doing your duty and all, but I would advise you not to interfere, this is between me and Michael. Besides..." she said, tearing her eyes away from the armed battalion. "...It's not like you can stop me."

"W-wait! These are MP rounds you know!"

"Stop it."

A deep voice chided from the back.

The officer in front spun around, prompting the rest of his unit to follow. Their gazes all drifted up to meet the face of a middle-aged man standing well over six feet tall. He had muddy brown hair with features— particularly his eyes — that conveyed a lack of luster to all who witnessed them.

Still, the thing that stood out the most about him wasn't his height, his listless face, nor his draping black trench coat—it was instead the authority coursing through his voice.

His words carried the intonation of a veteran—the kind of person you obeyed whether you liked it or not.

"Lieutenant Conrad, give the signal and-"

"You fool." Conrad grated, cutting the officer off with a dismissive wave. "She's a Saint. MP rounds barely faze B-ranks—what do you think you'll accomplish by shooting at her? If you're lucky, they won't ricochet and take your head off."

"But sir, what should we do? At this rate she's just going to barge right into the director's office."

The Lieutenant cast a dreary look out the shattered window, sighing reluctantly as he gazed over the city skyline. As a professional in law enforcement, even he must have found it hard to phrase his next sentence. With a practiced hand, Conrad reached into his trench coat, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and effortlessly tucked one into the corner of his mouth.

As he twirled the small match box, preparing to commit a clear violation of conduct, he simply muttered, "Nothing."

Even the thick helmet strapped underneath his chin couldn't keep the officer's mouth from gaping open. "We're....not supposed to do anything? Are we going to just stand here and let her go assault the director?"

"That's all we can do Ethan. Like I said before, she's a saint, even if we charged at her guns blazing, she'd send us all flying in the blink of an eye. If you really want to make yourself useful, how 'bout you take your squad and go clean up the mess she left behind. We've got forty-nine floors worth of cleanup to do."

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The barrel of Ethan's rifle shifted targets; its scope now uselessly aimed at the floor. Noticing his subordinates drooping head, Conrad smacked him upside his helmet. "Relax kid, I'm afraid that's just how it is sometimes. I don't think Alice is planning on getting too wild in there, she's not that reckless, but she is here to make a point. All we can do is hope for the best between them."

Ethan cast one last solitary glance at the saint's swaying shoulders as she inched ever closer to the doorway. In his mind, she was the very embodiment of the phrase 'absolute'. "Alright, you guys heard the Lieutenant's orders, we've got some cleaning up to do, let's get going! There's nothing more we can do here!"

As soon as Ethan barked the order, the cacophonous noise of hard steel boots drummed mercilessly in perfect unison as they marched back down the stairway.

"I'm glad he's adaptable; I really hate giving those kinds of pep-talks." said Conrad, bringing a small flame to his mouth. Before long, a puff of white smoke billowed from his lips, drifting off on the cool night air.

"Let's see how this turns out."

The Maplewood doors shattered with a bang, its fragments scattering all over the large corporate office. A calm voice rose amidst the rain of splinters and dust, its intonation unwavering and absolute.

"Alice, I can vaguely guess as to why you're so angry, but for your sake, I suggest you calm down—unless you really came all this way just to fight me and make national headlines when we bring this entire building down with hundreds of people still inside."

"I'm not here to play games Michael, I want answers." Alice spat, her tone growing bitter.

All she did was step towards the large corporate desk at the far end of the room, and yet that was enough to make the space shudder.

There was a loud DUM the moment she stepped across the doorframe. The tension peaked as a dark pressure slowly blanketed the area, its weight sending cracks through the porcelain floor as if it were nothing more than brittle glass.

Amidst all the animosity, the man standing proudly in front of the massive rectangular window—so large it could be mistaken for a piece of the sky—seemed unfazed. With both hands buried in his pockets, he surveyed the cityscape with a satisfied expression.

Every few minutes, bright flashes of orange and red illuminated the landscape—fading remnants of the numerous conflicts below.

Michael had the appearance of a mature older man, yet his longevous features made it difficult to pinpoint his exact age. On one hand, he looked no older than twenty, but his soft amber eyes conveyed a sense of peerless wisdom that must have stretched back decades.

His shoulder-length blonde hair, neatly tied at the back, framed his chiseled face between two slender bangs. Complementing his already earnest expression was the tuxedo-like suit he often fancied, its sleeves rolled up—not for aesthetics, but for flexibility.

It was a habit of his, something he only ever did when the situation demanded it.

"How could you let this happen?! Those terrorists escaped the city through the access gate in district thirteen, it's supposed to be under Longinus' protection, isn't that why you have armories there? They used your—" catching herself, Alice chewed on her lip before continuing "...Longinus' equipment to cause all the chaos that spread through Wharram! The guns, uniforms, shields...everything belongs to your organization. At one point your men didn't even know who they were supposed to shoot at!"

"I'll admit to one thing." Michael said calmly, shifting his posture to meet her eye-to-eye.

"The takeover at the port should never have happened. That post was meant to double as an emergency response station, ready to answer calls for aid from outside the city. It was nothing more than an incentive—just in case London, or dare I say, Her Majesty the Queen, ever needed assistance."

His words carried weight.

The Hunter Association employed hunters, but it couldn't truly command them. Their purpose was to clear dungeons and fight monsters, not save people. In that sense, it was a far more self-serving institution compared to Longinus, whose duty was to maintain social order.

"The forces stationed there had thinned after we discovered evidence suggesting that Victor Hodge, the second-in-command of that organization, had infiltrated the city. I redirected a portion of my troops to patrol the other sectors, hoping to strengthen our position and trap him—but it backfired. That was exactly what he wanted."

"Give me a break." Alice snapped, her aura surging with intensity. The translucent sheen of light over her skin flared so fiercely that it stirred the air into a howling frenzy.

"You're telling me that you—Michael Livingston, of all people—fell for such a petty trick? The old bait and switch? Cut the crap. Cyril ran into those bastards and nearly got his face melted off after going head-to-head with some brat from the Phoenix Clan. I'm tired of your little games. If you hadn't interfered and had me removed from the convoy, none of this mess would have happened."

"Cyril?" Michael raised a brow, pondering for a moment, but clapped his hands as soon as the dots connected in his mind. "Ahh, you mean that kid from the experiment—your 'successor'." He jeered

"I was wondering why you were being so extra today, so that's why." His humble expression subtly twisted, it wasn't enough to be called malicious, but that was never the man's goal.

Had he made it too obvious, it would've set the saint's blood ablaze.

"You weren't removed from the convoy; it was a simple reshuffling. It's good that a vast majority of the people here have faith in the hunter association, but please do keep in mind that Longinus has a job to do as well." Michael said, tearing his gaze away from her.

From his perspective, having a saint on hand to readily solve all of the city's problems would ultimately render his entire organization useless. In the first place, saints hardly needed to be mobilized unless the situation was particularly dire. Summoning one to deal with mere terrorists would be like pushing a giant brick wall along to crush an anthill—there was virtually no point to it. Even when his plans had gone awry, as long as the incident was resolved swiftly and efficiently, he could still use it to bolster Longinus' reputation as a swift and adaptable organization.

"As I'm sure you know, my subordinates have largely quelled the uproar in a matter of hours. If you're still somehow dissatisfied by their performance, feel free to go down there and round up the rest of those ruffians yourself. You'd actually be doing us a favor."

"I'll pass. You should learn to clean up your own mess."

Michael chuckled enigmatically as he looked on from above. "Is that all you came to say? I could have sword you would have thrown the first punch by now."

"Don't look down on me, I'm a saint. I've been practicing restraint since the day I was born." Alice told him wrathfully, her glare glowing with a prideful light. "What do you plan to do about the pod now that it's been stolen? The Nephilim was my quarry, and now thanks to your ineptitude we've lost that too."

"I see you still have no interest in monetary compensation—what a bore. Worry not, we're coordinating with the local law enforcement to track them down. Some of the small fry have started to retreat, and now that their entire operation is a bust, the chances of them actually escaping with the pod is practically zero. We will recover it in due time."

"I suggest you make haste. If that thing gets on the market, we'll all have hell to pay."

With a swift clank of her heels, Alice turned away from the blasé man with a scowl. As she made to move, he called out again.

"Of course, I'll do everything in my power to retrieve it. You have my word as the director of Longinus, and..."

He trailed off, his tone falling into a deep pit.

"...as the founder of this city."

"..."

A verbal reply never came, Alice simply flung a disinterested glare behind her and stomped away with a huff.

There was a figure standing in the shattered hallway littered with broken glass panes and crumbling plaster. Wordlessly, Alice strolled past the man with a sour expression.

"Didn't go as planned, eh?" The Lieutenant asked, exhaling a cloudy puff of smoke.

"I wouldn't say that." she replied mid movement. "I've thrashed this place enough for it to serve as a warning. He's the type to prioritize appearances above all else you know, with his precious headquarters in such a sorry state I'm sure he'll be more careful with the way he approaches things next time. If he doesn't, I might have to do more than just shake this place up a little." said Alice, idly flicking her wrist at him.

"Please don't. 49-floors worth of cleanup is no joke you know...."

"Hang in there Conrad, you know it's not personal~"

He couldn't help but chuckle after hearing her speak in such a cheery tone. Where had all that ferocity from earlier gone?

Alice stopped a short distance away from him. Since she had destroyed the elevator earlier, there was no choice but to take the more scenic route down the fifty-story building. She grabbed onto the building's busted metal railing and leaned out through the gaping hole, more than a hundred meters above the ground as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"You planning on lending them a hand down there?" Conrad asked, sounding surprised.

"Hah, as if. They've already done most of the grunt work, so Longinus can have all the glory for this little incident. I'm heading to the hospital to check up on my stupid son." She leaned out further, the tension in her expression easing as she did so.

"Oh, I see. Then I wish you both all the best, Madam Saint. It might not mean much coming from me, but I am truly sorry about all of this."

"How earnest of you, Conrad," Alice said wryly, bending the steel beam in her grip. "You have nothing to apologize for. I know you were just following orders. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for dragging you into this mess. Next time we meet, drinks are on me!" She said, flashing him a wink.

"You mean that cheap, low-malt beer of yours?"

"Hehe, you know me well, Conrad!"

With that, Alice leapt through the gaping hole with enough force to send a howling gust through the hallway, her body cutting through the metropolitan streets like a rocket. Conrad watched her fiery silhouette blaze away, vanishing from sight within seconds.

"What a free-spirited person."

Equipping a fresh cigar, the Lieutenant struck a match, the tiny flame casting a flicker of light over his face. He brought it to the tip, inhaled, and let the ember catch. Smoke curled from his lips as he exhaled, eyes narrowing against the dim glow.

"Now then, where should I begin?"

[SECOND-CLASS SAINT — VOLUME ONE — END]

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