The path to the Crimson Church was uneventful—too uneventful. It was Riveria who first spotted the building rising above the rooftops. There were no bells, no stained glass, no steeple—just a brutal slab of crimson stone and blackened iron.
As they drew nearer, Gareth let out a low whistle, his eyes tracing 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've bought all the city's stockpile."
The Dreadnought loomed like the abandoned prayer of a war god—its limbs splayed in a crouched idle, piston rods exposed, heat-warped gold plating flaring like sun-scorched bone. Its fingers were half-curled, claws at rest, and its torso was layered in armour so contoured it seemed more creature than construct. Servo joints twitched with residual tension, like a beast uncertain if it was asleep or waiting to strike.
And then they saw the church.
Red as blood spilt on an altar, its walls shimmered oddly—smooth and almost polished, yet deeply etched with symbols both sacred and profane. Gold gears and mathematical diagrams spiralled across the façade like divine calculus. Dozens of skulls—some carved, some unsettlingly real—stared out from its buttresses and archways. There were no windows, only sealed vents and heavy iron doors bolted shut like the gates to some divine prison.
"Subtle," Riveria said, her voice dry as a desert wind.
"The boy's got taste," Loki added with a wolfish grin. "Maybe we should ask him to redecorate our mansion."
"I thought we didn't have the funds for that," Gareth said, arms crossing.
"We don't," Riveria replied flatly.
Without waiting, Loki stepped forward, her boots ringing sharply against the reinforced stone walkway. "Well, come on then," she said with false cheer. "We've seen the garden—let's meet the gardener."
Riveria and Gareth followed, the former calm and cautious, the latter watchful and quietly impressed.
They approached the doors and paused—none were entirely certain whether to knock or announce themselves.
---
Inside, Luther stirred. He'd barely slept an hour and a half before the server skull at his bedside floated forward and started making noise.
"Visitors detected..."
Groaning, Luther pushed himself up, joints stiff and mind still fogged. He dragged his body out of bed, muttering, let them in.
By the time he got to the hall, Loki, Riveria and Gareth were looking around in the hall. It was cold and metallic; a web of mechanical limbs sprawled across the ceiling like a steel spider nest—some twitching, others still. Red light pulsed from hidden panels, casting long shadows across the floor. The air smelled of oil and heat.
Gareth muttered, "Feels like a metal graveyard."
Riveria said nothing, but her eyes never stopped moving.
Before they could talk about something else, came the sound of footsteps.
Luther emerged from the side room
"I hope you have a good enough reason to disturb my sleep," he muttered, his voice still thick with sleep.
"It's not time to sleep," Loki said brightly, grinning. "It's not every day a beautiful girl comes to your house."
Luther gave her a look, thinking, why do all gods have the same day?
Luther sighed, rubbing at his temple. "Give me a minute; let me adjust."
Riveria gave him a quiet nod of greeting, but her eyes were fixed on the limbs above.
"Take your time," she said softly.
After a minute He squinted at them, then rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"So…" he grumbled, "why are you here?"
There was a pause.
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, brow arching. "Why are you the one setting 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, brushing her hair behind one ear. "She means agreement Between you and us, For Weapons.."
"Ah," Luther said, tone dry. " then you should go to my shop instead of coming here."
Loki stepped forward, grinning. "Come, but what we want is something better, not something you're selling casually."
Luther looked at her, then at Riveria—then finally at Loki.