Humans with dead eyes.
Beast-race girls with matted fur.
Monsters in chains-scaled, winged, horned-snarling or simply staring.
A few cages held rarer things: a small dragonet with clipped wings, a kitsune whose tails had been brutally shorn to stumps.
However Loki's expression hasn't change.
He scanned the surroundings, slowly. "I want a cool pet," he said flatly.
The cloaked man's smile widened beneath his hood. "Excellent taste. Follow me."
They walked past cages. A succubus with clipped wings pressed herself against the bars, whispering something in a broken voice.
A werewolf boy-no older than fourteen-growled low until a guard's baton cracked against the bars, silencing him.
Loki didn't glance at any of them.
The man stopped at a cage near the back.
Inside sat a beautiful elf girl-silver hair matted, pointed ears trembling, wrists and ankles bound with silver-threaded rope that burned faint red welts into her skin.
Her eyes were wide, nervous, tracking Loki's approach. She shrank back against the bars as he drew near.
"Special offer," the man purred, gesturing grandly.
"Seer bloodline. She can glimpse fragments of the future. Seventy-five gold. A steal."
Loki glanced at the price board beside the cage.
"1 gold = €113.8 times that by 75"
"75 gold = €8,535"
"That's hella expensive." He thought to himself.
He walked right past the elf's cage without a second glance.
The man blinked. "Sir-?"
Loki stopped at the next cage over.
Inside, curled in the corner on a thin blanket, was a small black cat.
Sleek fur. Golden eyes. One notched ear. Nothing particularly special-looking.
Loki crouched down to eye level.
The cat lifted its head, blinked once, then stared straight back at him-unafraid, just curious.
Loki's lips twitched. The closest thing to a smile he shown all day. "This one," he said.
The merchant hurried over, confused but eager to sell it either way.
"Ah-yes, excellent choice! Very discerning eye. This one is sensitive to scent. Can track a single drop of blood across kilometers."
"Perfect for hunters, assassins, or... gentlemen who like their privacy. Shall we say... eight gold?"
Loki stood. "Five."
The man opened his mouth to haggle-saw Loki's expression-and closed it again.
"Five it is."
Loki reached into his pocket, pulled out a small stack of euros (courtesy of Rémi's generous transfer).
He counted out the equivalent, and dropped the bills into the merchant's gloved hand.
The merchant unlocked the cage door. Black cat stood, stretched languidly, then padded out and immediately rubbed its head against Loki's ankle, before leaping lightly onto the top of the massive teddy bear.
The merchant bowed low, still clutching the cash.
"Pleasure doing business. May your... pet serve you well."
Loki walked passed the elf's cage. The elf girl pressed against the bars of her cage, still eyeing him.
He didn't stop walking, he gave the girl a cold side eye stare it made the elf look away for a second.
The black cat wiggled its tail once letting out a yawn.
Loki straight went back to the dark alley and looked at his phone, 3 hours before midnight.
"Might as well head back to the mall and watch some movies. Isn't that right kitty?" He muttered to himself.
Kitty cutely nod his head like it understand something and quickly went back to licking it's own ears.
The mall was quieter now, most of the daytime crowd long gone.
Neon signs still glowed, but the corridors felt cavernous under the low evening hum of air conditioning and distant escalators.
Loki walked back through the nearly empty halls carrying his absurd haul of plushies-the giant teddy bear still slung over one shoulder like a trophy, smaller ones tucked under his arms, inflatable hammer bouncing against his back with every step.
The black cat perched comfortably on top of the teddy's head, golden eyes half-lidded, tail flicking lazily.
It had accepted its new life with the calm indifference only cats can manage.
He headed straight for the cinema on the top floor.
The ticket counter girl blinked at him-once at the mountain of plush, twice at the unimpressed expression, three times at the cat.
"Uh... one ticket for... uh... what movie?"
Loki pointed at the poster for the late-night screening of "Dune: Part Two" (the extended cut).
"Single, back row."
She nodded quickly, printed the ticket, and slid it over without asking about the plush army.
Inside the theater, the lights were already dimming.
Only seven other people scattered across the seats some were couples kissing.
Loki claimed the very back corner row, dumped the plushies into the three seats beside him (the teddy bear took two by itself), let the cat curl up on his lap, and sank down.
The opening logos rolled.
The kitty purred.
- Port of Le Havre Supply & Transit Fortress
The massive fortified compound overlooking the Port of Le Havre looked more like a modern military citadel than a simple supply depot.
Thirty-meter-high reinforced concrete walls topped with razor wire and mana-dampening fields
Four corner towers each mounting triple-barreled anti-air/magic cannons.
Floodlights sweeping in slow arcs. Hundreds of knights, operatives patrolling in shifts.
At the very center of the compound, on a raised command platform overlooking the main gate and the hidden underground vault entrance, sat Prince Valthor Kress on his custom oversized throne of salvaged battleship steel.
He was currently eating.
A roasted aurochs haunch the size of a small motorcycle rested on a reinforced steel platter in front of him.
He tore into it with both hands, grease shining on his thick black beard, laughing between bites loud enough to carry over the rain.
"More sauce!" he bellowed, voice booming across the courtyard. "And another barrel of that honey mead! I'm still hungry!"
A servant-pale, trembling-scurried forward pushing a cart loaded with gravy boats and a barrel the size of an oil drum.
Valthor grabbed the barrel with one hand, ripped the top off like it was a soda can, and drank deeply.
Standing rigidly to his right was Aldric Veyne, Holy Knight of the Order of the Iron Chalice.
2.05 meters of mirror-polished silver plate, longsword sheathed at his hip, face hidden behind a visored helm engraved with sacred sigils.
He had not moved from parade rest in nearly seven hours.
Valthor wiped his mouth with the back of a meaty hand, belched thunderously, and leaned back on the throne.
"Still no word from the Paris cell?" he asked, voice suddenly sharp despite the casual posture.
Aldric's voice came through the helm, clipped and metallic.
"Last transmission reported they were moving to extract the artifact tonight or tomorrow."
Valthor snorted, bits of meat flying.
"Then they're either dead, captured, or screwing around with whores again. Typical cultist trash."
He tore off another hunk of aurochs, chewed thoughtfully, eyes glinting under the floodlights.
"If the French lose that prism, the continental barrier collapses. Portals will stabilize, monsters everywhere, chaos, war meaning Opportunity."
He grinned, teeth stained with grease and mead.
"And I like opportunity."