In good company, Souta couldn’t roll his eyes at Otsune, so he settled for a dry sort of smile while she did her thing.  As good a thing as a sense of identity is, he always thought that his sister tried too much to fit into the ghostly persona ascribed to her by others.  Even though she endeavored to be the epitome of dead-seriousness and eerie tranquility, her behavior struck him as might a manga hero with some sort of theme.  Of course, the experiences she’d gone through surpassed the empathetic understanding of most people—perhaps the Phantom constituted her real self, after all.  Souta felt like he knew his sister, having grown up by her side, but her ghostlike manner never failed to make him ill at ease.  In the Phantom, only the most cursory traces of the sibling he loved remained.

Regardless of their familial ramifications, though, personas seemed terribly common in the ‘lucid underworld’, as Souta called the community of people wise to the nature of existence.  Take these people, for example.  The woman called Mary, decked out in antiquated clothes and possessed of skin nearly as pale as Otsune’s, could have passed for some sort of mannequin easily.  By and large, Souta knew little of individual demon hunters, but he could easily imagine this woman cutting down creatures of heaven or hell, expressionless as a doll come to life to kill.  The smartly-dressed man sported no overt themes, but all the same he exuded a sort of confident slyness that extended to how he talked.  Were this some sort of movie, Souta would have instantly pegged Sevrin for a backstabber.  In truth, nobody could indict him for anything more out of the ordinary than yellow eyes.  Lastly, Souta expected that the Lady who sat before him was nothing like this in real life.  After all, one couldn’t exactly go around their daily routine in a white business suit more revealing than certain types of swimwear.  

Unwilling to let himself grow bored, he paid close attention to Lady as she began to brief him on the situation.  As usual, Otsune might as well have not been there for all the presence she brought to the room, large as she was.  News of a surge in demonic activity did not exactly surprise him.  Over the past few months, Gilgamesh had been in overdrive, which meant a steady stream of souls for Regalia to treat.  Less than a week ago, Souta completed his latest Devil Arm: Escre, a warhammer crafted from the soul of a demonic lich, capable of summoning spectral green skeletons to aid him just as they had done their previous master.  It pleased him to no end.  Mention of the seven seals thrilled him less.  Only in rumors and references had Souta heard of them, yet he knew enough to be unhappy that any of them might be broken.  For a moment he feared, albeit incredulously, that all seven were no more, but Lady soon set him straight.    

He spoke up when the opportunity arose.  [color=teal]”I’m up for busting a few heads.  Got a new Devil Arm I’m dying to test.  Well, not dying, but you know.”[/color]  Reclining, he placed his hands behind his head and expected Otsune to speak for Gilgamesh.

The soft, wispy tones of his sister obliged immediately.  [b]”Indeed, I am here because Gilgamesh anticipated something important.  We have sensors of our own.  I have already sent the confirmation signal; additional operatives from the Reclaimers will arrive shortly.  One more thing: we can expect angels to arrive as well, if they have not already.”[/b]  The mechanical flower on her head flared for a moment as she gazed into the distance.  Little clicks and whirs from her augmentations filled the silence that followed as she waited for a reply.