San Francisco, Demon Island.
The isolated island, which had once imprisoned countless hardened criminals, had long since been abandoned, leaving only rusting barred windows and stone walls eroded by the sea wind.
But deep within the island, a forgotten basement was brightly lit.
Daolon Wong stood hunched over.
Tara leaned against the wall, his arms folded, his face unreadable now that he had regained his true form.
He had now returned to his muscular red-cat form.
"He's late."
Tara spoke, his voice low and hoarse, tinged with impatience.
"You said he'd come."
"He will."
"Loke never misses his own pranks."
Tara snorted.
"That god of lies? You trust him?"
Daolon Wong finally turned and glanced at Tara.
"I don't trust anyone."
"But I trust self-interest."
He walked to the other side of the stone table and tapped the black gemstone with a finger.
"He wants a show. We want power and freedom. Everyone gets what they need."
Tara stared at him for two seconds without arguing.
The basement's iron door suddenly made a sound.
It was not the sound of it being pushed open.
Rather, it sounded as though someone had lightly knocked twice on it with a finger.
"Knock, knock."
Daolon Wong and Tara looked toward the doorway at the same time.
The iron door opened silently.
Loke stood in the doorway, wearing a well-tailored dark gray suit and holding a plastic hammer, with the kind of smile that made people want to punch him yet unable to bring themselves to do it.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
He walked in, his leather shoes clicking crisply against the marble floor.
"Sorry I'm late."
Daolon Wong's brow furrowed even more deeply. This fellow had even changed into modern clothing.
He's out of his mind.
"You're forty minutes late."
Loke shrugged, walked over