There were a few pinned up papers. One of them was much larger than the others. It was a map of the city. Without hesitation, fully blown firebricks studied their find. A description of the buildings. Routes, streets, the standard ideal. On the bottom right corner, the manufacturing company of the map, their copywright symbol, and the year issued.

Five years ago.

Should be fine, very little has changed anyways. Misfortune would come if they demolished any of the locations on this map within these five years however. Though lady fortune played an often present role in Domitrix's game of hunt and battle. Without bothering to undo the pin, both gripping index and middle fingers, and thumbs, pulled on the paper, disattaching it from the board. It didn't have a fold's crece anymore. Why should it have been touched recently anyways, nothing else on the bulletin board was.

Instead of folding it however, the demon rolled it up with both hands, reaching one in to tuck it inside the darkness of obsidian cloak.

"I know where to go now." whispered his indifferent maw to himself. Before long, greaves turned, and crimsons met with the doorway. Whence door was swung open, the shadow of a being leaped down to the ground beside the lighthouse. Landing amongst the sand upon knee and palm of plated hand. Visage then fixated themselves towards the horizon and the Cimmerian skyline.

Having immediately chosen a destination in sight, knees bent as greaves spread some. The earth beneath his onyx bodice sprouted the growth of a few tremors as a red hexagram appeared beneath his position, spinning. In due time, a rough invasion of sound shook the ground as he demon dashed into the atmosphere. Straight as would a bullet of propelled blackness through the skies. Sanguine retinas locked upon the roof of an adequate building in the heart of the city.

Hands swam back and forth, flushing unecessary papers out of the way. From the desk, to the floor.

The Empyreal had made his way back down to the small office just above the house, on the near base of the tower. Rubies shunned uninformative sheets away, as refocusing optics honed in on the contents of each paper. With no satisfaction present, onyx greaves glided over to a small archive of a couple of iron drawers. They were locked with a key. Didn't matter. A firm pull and that obstacle became quickly irrelevant, as well as the condition of the handle of the drawer.

There were folders inside, labeled with dates of shipwreck accidents. More labels. Armored digits opened each folder, one by one. Tossing some of the 'nonreponsive' ones on the ground. Employment dates. Schedules. When maintenance was performed on multiple parts of the lighthouse, most entries being the spinning mechanism for the spotlight. The costs, along with the repainting of the building. Still nothing.

Not until when his right gauntlet switched his torso around to toss another folder, did the demon catch a glance at a bulletin board, to the far corner of the room. Why was it occulted from catching his eye when he first walked in. Why were there so many crates infront of it. It didn't seem frequently used. The top crate collected a thin layer of seldom dust.

"Ah, there you are."

Domitrix stood the railing, the bar of solded iron finding an unnatural balance to the demon. Perched upon edge were the heels of onyx greave pair. His obsidian hooded cloak blew in the light breeze, at lighthouse's nearmost highest altitude. With two burned illuminaires gazing out into the sea. The twin sister Shinto daikatanas of legendry remained at hip's fidelity. And gauntlets complimented his hellish brigandine plate, by crossing eachother infront of the chest piece.

He wondered whom had information of their whereabouts, or where he could find them himself even. Not a scent picked up. Not any hint, from the rustling of papers in the office on the bottom floor of the tower. Not one word spoke of them, "Who may know.." he thought outloud, in question that awaited no chance for reply.

In his height, only the scent of salt water from the Eternal Sea grazed his nose. Not a single lead.

In the darkness of the night, only his broad figure of a silhouette protrayed shadow to the spinning spotlight. There was someone operating it, but they didn't seem to know anything. The man from the earlier subway event attained business attire. An expensive suit. A double bracketted suitcase forged from steel. Never having seen an image of the demon, or so one would assume, it would have been wise to release any information. For he knew not whether he was to talk out of that subterranial transport station alive, or with his life at mercy's forfeit.

A "Hmph" turned the demonic entity about, hopping softly unto the platform just beneath the spotlight. Nothing caught his interest along the waters. Most would have given up at no sight of a boat or ship. But diligent was the wait of the hunter.

He decided, if all else apparently failed, to seek a map of the city. Mayhaps there, he may find a lead.