Zachary
```asciidoc
☾• "—𝘩𝘳𝘬...! :: •☽
☾• "Lower! Beneath...𝘶𝘨𝘩...The diaphragm!" :: •☽```

A pale, aureate flame glows alongside the lanternlight that illuminated a recessed area, overshadowed by an awning, set upon the perimeter of the Festival. Lit by the dancing candle-light, two figures loom over the injured sorceress—who herself was reclined atop a cot—all three distantly overseen by restless armed figures who rested past the shadow of the awning. Her golden flame flickered violently with each outburst of pain that flared from her wound, its light glittering against the stream of blood trickling across her bare and wounded flesh.
Michael
```fix
"Okay——I've got it."
"Exhale deeply for me, all right? I'm going to count from five and pull on three."```

A cross bound by thin, golden chain dangled loosely from the neck of the tall, black-haired man who donned simple, clerical attire. Spatters of blood mottled the length and span of his forearm, the sleeve of his shirt pulled to his elbow, his overcoat folded and slung over his opposite shoulder. The blue eyes of the man were filled with a focus that continued to be challenged by the pressure of the night, his calm retained as he closely observed the open wound of the injured. Sweat crept in small beads along his tawny brow — this was not the first mortal injury he had treated this night, and it most certainly would not be the last.

His large and gentle hands pressed cupped around the outflow of blood slowly oozing from her middle-abdomen, shifting to make way for the soft, green mana that circulated from his fingertips and deep into the sorceress' wound. The spindly energy wrapped like invisible shoots of vine around the bullet-shard that laid, buried deep within the woman's wound, just before a major artery. The use of such delicate mana beyond where the eyes could see demanded a demanding type of poise and composure that only a man like Isaac could maintain for so long.

_ _
```fix
"Ms. Lucia, please slow the bleeding."```
Amanda
Lucia stood beside the much taller man, her hands folded and her lips softly moving in invocation. Her eyes opened from the closure of one in prayer, and she breathed, deeply, the melodic tone of her spell and prayer changing its key. Again, the sister's eyes fell closed, and mana began to envelope the site of the wound: in prayer, she incants *The miracle of healing.* In like manner to the change of her voice's pitch, her spell too changed, acting now as a stoppage to the bleeding rather than as a passive, rejuvenating force—she acted in a natural and perfect synchrony with Isaac, her miracle securing the wounded tissue that he now infiltrated with the shoots of his spell.
Michael
```fix
"Five, four..."```
Porfirio
```
"This is unbelievable."```

Matteo leaned against a wall, glaring, his fingers tapping repetitively and his brow deeply furrowed. Alessandra, who remained still and with squinted eyes, leaned alongside him. They both stood against the wall with their arms folded, observing the work of the two miracle-workers bearing their same Cross.

```
"They are openly encouraging violence at a festival of peace,"atteo grumbled. "May the Lord grant me wisdom. What are those '𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴' thinking?"
"We will only see more injured by this Hunt. And for what purpose...?!"```

The shard of copper-lead pulled clean from the sorceress' body. As the bleeding worsened, the two healers expedited their work.
Christopher
```
"Dogs needn't a reason for bloodshed," he clapped his scripture shut. "You are mistaken if you think of them as anything more than ravenous beasts."
"The hounds of the O.S.A will leap at any opportunity to rip their fangs through tender flesh."```

*Index Pierre of the Divine Machine.* The chief finger of this hand of the *Benedetta* Was the third beyond the recessed assembly. He was a short man of pale-white hair, clasping tight his black, leather-bound book to his chest with one hand, his other loosely touching its fingers against the bandage that travelled the height of the right half of his face. His expression was stoic, blank, and his tone of voice was both articulate and austere, his single uninjured eye of deep brown, glaring distantly at the sorceress atop the table. He donned the overcoat of a cleric, bright and snow-white in color, a bold, silver embossing marking the form of the Cross that embellished the length its breast.

```
"Alessandra. Where is Lotte?"```

Sable, at this time, had taken a deep exhale as the worst of the pain had passed—the bullet removed and her wounds slowly mending—unclenching her teeth as her eyes went closed. The sorceress fell into unconsciousness.
Robert
*`"There's a hidden reason behind this all, no doubt——"`* She muttered beneath the exchange of the two. She would have spoke her opinion clearly if it was not amidst the vast minority—the two had already reached their conclusions, and now were only looking to confirm them.

Alessandra closed her eyes, and, still thinking deeply, responded almost subconsciously:

"Lotte is still searching."
"She mentioned unease, at the Festival. She believes she may have found a *Seed of chaos.* Perhaps multiple."
Christopher
```
"If the Devil has sewn the seeds of dissension, then we are obliged to unearth and eradicate every last one of them."
"The Reverend Vicar is soon to come."
"It is our responsibility," he spoke, lowering his hand from his eye and stepping to face away from the two, "To uproot the weeds along the path of our master's arrival."
"That is our duty. As fingers of the 𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘰 𝘉𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘢."```

Pierre paced beyond the two ministers, his single eye staring askance at the unconscious sorceress as he passed her. At his lead, his subordinates — Matteo and Alessandra — followed behind him, each emerging into the orange light of the city streets beyond.