Discover
“You frequent this place?”
Misery’s voice catches me off guard as I snap my head around from watering flowers.
“Oh, Misery, hello!” I wave.
“Greetings,” he nods, sauntering in and admiring some of the plants.
“I do come here a lot… I’ve got a lot more free time now. It’s quite calming, taking care of the plants here and there,” I go on, shifting the watering can to and fro, “The flowers are my favourite. The lotuses… perfect.”
“Just like your codename?”
“Yes. Waterlily,” I grin.
“Gotta say, that song. Blew many people away.”
“Oh, at New Years?”
“Yeah,” he goes on, “It… was nice seeing them again. Theresa too. Y’know Amiya cried for a good while,” he smirks.
“O-oh!”
“Don’t feel bad about it,” he waves, “Everyone loved it. The Doctor, the rest of the EO’s… Fantastic memory and tribute. Thanks.”
“You’re… all very welcome,” I bow, turning to him and sending my head down, “Though I wouldn’t have been able to do it with the Doctor or all those people’s support…”
“Of course,” he continues, “Extend my thanks to them too.”
“I will! U-uhm, well was there any particular reason why you came here today?”
“Not really,” he shrugs, “Raidian suggested I’d come up here to… relax a bit. Hell I think she said that to everyone,” he tosses.
“Not all that bad of an idea~” I hum, picking up a potted flower and admiring it, “This one… It’s one of Podenco’s favourites. She’s one of the primary caretakers here and-”
“Who’s that?” some Sarkaz blares.
Firey. Loud. Brash…
He crashes through the greenhouse’s doors wielding a sword and sharp hair. My eye instantly squints, eyeing him from here as I clutch the plant tighter.
“Flamebringer, hello,” Misery waves.
“Hey. You, Sankta,” he points.
“Yes…?”
“That’s one of the important plants. Who let you touch that?”
“Podenco,” I squint.
“Ah, so that’s who you are…” he lingers.
There’s something in that voice. Sneering and sinister but restricted only under the suppression of punishment.
“Is there an issue…?” I mutter, “Podenco and Perfumer noted you a lot. You’re a good caretaker of this place too.”
“That’s right,” he chuckles, “So don’t fuck it up, angel.”
“I won’t.”
“That’s enough,” Misery sighs, “Get on with it.”
“I didn’t do a thing…” he grumbles.
“Don’t make me repeat.”
“Fine, fine. Damn traitors,” he hisses, vanishing out the door.
“Oh by the Gods,” I breathe, gasping and finally throwing my breath out and setting the plant back down, “Thanks.”
“Not a problem,” he waves.
“You’d think people aboard Rhodes Island would be a bit… more open-minded?”
“They certainly are,” he coughs, “But you’re always bound to get… some bad apples. Not entirely bad.”
“I get it,” I sigh, “Laterano always slandered the Sarkaz for existing. Made them the origin of Originium. The reason of ‘sin’ and whatever bullshit they pulled out of their asses. They say their city is open to all… and then ban the Sarkaz from it.”
“Heard that plenty from Outcast,” he grimaces, walking over and tossing himself down into a couch, “The most devout of the Lateran religion… certainly believe in something. Your squad are all Laterans, no?”
“They are, but their views are far from short,” I sternly set, “Living outside of that holy city opened their eyes. We were once… so unbelievably privileged. But nonetheless, they serve Rhodes Island too. I understand they can’t just abandon their nation though… As for me, notice how my wings and halo are shattered?” I start, pushing them out.
“That little split too? Yes.”
“I’m what they call, a Fallen. Specifically, a fallen angel… granted that status for shooting another Sankta. Denounced by Laterano, in a way. But I can’t ever return to Laterano because I’m also Infected. So I’m here. Serving Rhodes Island and its will because… I want a cure to this damned Oripathy.”
“Giocatore’s wings are black too… Is he not a Fallen?”
“No actually… He said it was some… genetic thing?” I shrug, “But I’m not sure how true that is.”
“Interesting,” he blinks, “Thanks for telling me.”
“Oh, not a problem!” I smile, “Maybe I’ll talk to Bagpipe… I wanna know more about Outcast.”
“Hah, yeah… Sankta are hard to come by. Fallen even more so. Maybe I see a tiny piece of her in you.”
“Then I’ll try to live up to what she was.”
“If you want to… sure. But personally, I see a woman of her own will and path. You can walk that way on your own. You don’t always need someone to… guide you along. It’s nice to have help here and there, and it’s nice to have people to fall back on, but it’s also good to stand on your own two feet.”
“… Yes, you’re right,” I gently say, turning my eye to him, “Thanks, Misery. Your codename doesn’t quite fit I think~”
“Pftt… Keep that to yourself, angel.”
“Awh come on!”
ʚїɞ
“PT, seven-two-seven-four, engaging combat.”
I blink and stare into the sky.
Ursus hasn’t changed much. This far, far north city is at the edge of their influence. Yet still they march on, attempting to snuff out the Infected that precariously attempt to live. No… that attempt to survive.
“An approaching noble army is setting their sights on an Infected camp,” I read off, “PT, demolish heavier units. Leave the humans to me.”
“Understood.”
A blitz of thruster fire and roaring gunfire explode from the heavens as a zipping object careens through the sky.
“Encampment, ahead. Pinged.”
“I see it,” I reply, eyeing a rigid, digital translucent beacon through buildings and ruins.
The desecrated city still harbours traces of life and repair, but constant war tears it all apart again and again.
All of a sudden, a bolt flies towards me. But I see it too clear and too obvious, sliding to the side and watching it miss painfully. In a fluid motion, my rifle slides into my arms, up at the soldier attempting to sprint away, and blasting his head apart into pieces a fountain of blood and bone with threads of shadow.
17 rounds left, 36 bullets reserve. Squinting, I chamber the next round via the lever on my gun, blasting into a sprint and pouncing onto the walls. Arts kick up from my body as I glide along the ruin’s hell-scorched frames, boots slamming into fading concrete and splintering glass while the rifle moves to my other hand.
Targets, all along the roof. I’ll have to get up there somehow…
Winding around a corner, I weave my way between a small alley still riding the walls, now in a slender path where the buildings are mere meters apart.
So I leap away from one and pounce onto the others, letting my feet connect for just a second before pouncing higher. Between the walls, ricocheting like a bullet between shields, up and up, until the roof becomes ground.
I throw myself up the edge, readying my gun. My clothes flow with me, my Arts spill in front of me, winding across the rifle and its barrel, condensing at the muzzle. I peer through the scope, a long tube with minimal magnification right to the heads of distracted soldiers, finger ready on the trigger, eyes closing to a slit.
In the middle of the air, I let the gun scream. 17 rounds, 17 soldiers, 17 trigger pulls, and 17 lever strokes, all with one hand. 17 heads burst like those water balloons from Dossoles, lined with darkness, accented with ruby, and sprinkled with bone. Brain, blood, and bullet, all one, spilling into the air and the surroundings like a misty cloud.
My feet finally touch the ground, or more so the ceiling of ruined buildings as I gaze towards PT’s direction. A sky-shaking explosion rattles the horizon as I walk across the roof towards it, scanning away, stuffing new bullets into my gun, two at a time.
“Army destroyed,” PT reports.
“Good work. I’m-”
A change of wind pops behind me, triggering my body to bend around in an instant and blast to the side.
I catch an ambushing Ursus soldier mid-strike, now missing by meters as I end up behind him while a blade of darkened Arts floats into my hand.
“-Finishing this fight,” I end, slitting his throat in an instant.
He lets out a most painful sigh as his soul escapes him. His once-lively skin peels away into emaciated ruin and drains of all living colour, hands gripping onto his own neck, clawing into the skin and wound in a futile attempt to hold down fate. He collapses to his knees, screaming away until all that’s left of his voice is a mutilated hiss and a flaking corpse below me.
“Let’s get these supplies to the camp now,” I order.
“Right.”
I kick the body next to me down the building, sending it crashing into debris and watching it splinter away into dusty dark fragments before the entire thing turns to powder.
I leap down from the building and begin marching along the frigid, snowless ground. Dead barren trees lie ahead as the dirt crumbles beneath my heels. The howl of chilling air weaves its way between my coat, but it is neither comforting nor disturbing.
Simply present. Much like all these sensations on my skin, in my body, and in my mind.
The clothes rubbing along my skin. The air ending up in my… ‘lungs.’ The blood flowing from my brain down into this body.
It is present. And it’s always been there.
As I shamble through the wasteland, a patchwork of tents appears as that beacon PT pinged vanishes. It gets closer, as do I to it.
PT kneels on a knee, waiting by the entrance, as a horde of people admire its plating cautiously from afar.
“Hello,” I announce, tossing the gun onto my back as the wind sweeps my jacket abroad, “Is this the Infected camp?”
“Yes,” an Ursus woman announces, though with a sharp Ursus accent, “That машина [machine] of yours… What is it?”
“My combat partner, to a degree.”
“Rhodes…” she starts, “Island…”
“Victorian is difficult,” I say, “Yes, that’s what I serve. We serve.”
“I am pleased,” she nods, “The army?”
“Taken care of. You don’t need to worry about them anymore. PT, supplies.”
“Right away,” it beeps, detaching a few containers from its back as I levitate them down to the ground gently.
“They sent an entire army after you?”
“Yes… The nobles here are… divided,” she goes on, “We simply try to live,” she sighs, turning around to the camp teeming with people, children, elderly and others alike. Mostly Ursus, but some Feline and Lupo too.
“The supplies here are food and medical,” I read off, “Needles are injected into the muscle of the shoulder. They’ll suppress Oripathy for two weeks on mild cases and a week for more serious ones. Tablets for general use here, painkillers, bandages, and similar can be found. The lists are in Ursine on the insides of the crates. Everything’s labelled, instructions of use, quantity, and contact to Rhodes Island.”
“Goodness… Thank you gentleman,” she bows.
“I’m doing my duty, but I appreciate your thanks nonetheless.”
“What’s that word along your chest?”
“Rhodes Island, Elite Operator. Pay the last two words no mind. It’s… a symbol of will rather than distinction.”
“Astonishing… Thank you for your time. Is that… blood on your face? Are you injured?” she gasps.
“No, it’s not mine. I’m unharmed. Thank you for your concern.”
“Pilot,” PT blares, triggering me to flick my head to it, “New mission.”
“Already?”
“Yes.”
“Urgency.”
“Immediate.”
I sigh and turn back to the Ursus woman, noticing Originium crawling along her neck. Shards upon shards, like scales of a Phidian.
“Need to leave?”
“Yes, unfortunately. I would’ve stayed to distribute the supplies and aid in medical delivery, but it seems that won’t happen.”
“Will you be back?”
“One of my fellow coworkers may be here later, but there’s a sizeable chance,” I reply, walking over to PT as its cockpit opens, “In the meantime, stay safe.”
“We will,” she nods, “Спасибо [Thank you], dearly, sir.”
I reflect her signal of affirmation as PT folds the cockpit up, sealing me within as a song of hydraulics and pneumatics hiss away while the screens come to life. It immediately soars into the air before catapulting itself ahead, city turning to blur beneath me.
The sky… is darkening. The sun disappears behind thick clouds. A storm is coming, and not one of just thunder and rains.
“What’s the rush?” I ask, taking control.
“Operator Lightfall!” a voice beams through my communications.
“Raidian? What’s the situation?”
“Not good,” she sighs, “An uhm… Emperor’s Blade is making his way over to an Infected tent city.”
“Consider it done.”
“Just a second!” she raises, “Do not kill him… That will instigate some Ursus issues that Rhodes Island is not meant to deal with. Their strength is… unparalleled. While I don’t doubt your skills from Logos and the Doctor’s notes, I still advise you to be very careful!”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Just… Don’t underestimate him.”
“I understand.”
“Pilot, black snow,” PT beeps, zooming into a dark cloud along the streets.
<Demon.>
I squint, then force the machine to dive. The ground races towards me as metal rattles through my air, softly, then furiously.
A figure draped in void armour. Tubes of stiff metal from its face, spilling forwards and back, like some sinister sea creature. A drawn blade of blazing shadow and bleeding cherry, and a stature only known to be ferocious.
I lower the heavy cannon on PT’s shoulder, unfolding its barrel as we grace the ground with a meter of clearance. Arts race across its barrel, its frame, its muzzle, collecting, sparking, bursting, finally unleashing a torrent of shadows towards my target.
Except it doesn’t reach. The projectile never does.
The Blade snaps around in inhuman speeds, drawing its blade and slashing the air, slicing it, sending a blood-red vertical crescent straight towards me. It splits my shot apart, bursting mid-air into smoke and harmless crackles as that wave careens ahead. My ears detonate with a deafening blast, shockwave rocking my body and machine.
A blood red eye is all I see in the collapsing ruins of smoke, dust, and ash.
PT flies. Alarms blare.
“Eject!” it screams, instantly sending me into the sky.
I blink and watch the sky above me coming ever closer. Approaching heaven, like so many wished to do.
PT zips out of the battlefield, thrusters flickering as it spills smoke and fires before plummeting behind some ruins.
Its dark, cloudy, and mystifying. Puffs of darkness. Lighting racing. How beautiful.
I turn my eyes back to the ground, back to that armour behemoth below me. The Blade stares right up at me, ready to strike yet again.
My eyes shrink. My muscles fire with fury, bending my body and wings to their widest. Arts bursts from my spine, solidifying along my Sankta heritage before sprouting a pair of shadow-bound figures. In one second, my body was obeying gravity. In the next, it obeys me.
My body jerks to the side as another blazing blast of shadows and fury grazes my frame, gun coming down, aiming and yanking the trigger all in a blaze.
A bullet screams ahead, dead on target, but it merely bounces off its armour with a sharp ding. Arts spill across his helmet, but his mind doesn’t wander or falter. He simply lowers his neck and ceases to move the second my boots strike the ground, crushing the failing concrete.
I raise my eyes to his, standing no further than thirty meters apart. My gun is drawn but lowered. His blade is ready, armed straight to my chest.
Dark snow falls all around him. Glints of red on his helmet pierce through the sinister smoke and fog around him.
“Assaulter,” it breathes, in a voice most demonic, oppressed, and raw, “The will of Ursus surpasses your intelligence. Your arrogance and stupidity will be your downfall.”
His gaze lingers on my body, across my clothes and jacket.
“That's what you are now…” he grunts, “No matter. By the will of Ursus, lie forgotten.”
In a burst of demonic energy, his very form teleports to me. Yet my eyes and mind receive signals I have yet to realize, instantly leaping away as a scythe of shadows materializes in my hands.
I twist my form around, slashing my scythe down only to find he’s dashed away, preparing a strike.
A burst of malevolent Arts screams towards my face, forcing me to thrust my arm outwards as a barrier of shadows deflects the impact and an explosion shakes the air between us.
This energy within him… It’s the same I feel upon me.
<Demon. Destroy it.>
I’m working on it!
Throwing my arms down, force detonates in my legs as I lunge towards him, scythe ready.
But half a second into my attack, I deconstruct my form into smoke and shadow.
Confused, he snaps his blade up, guarding his frame as he flicks his head around.
However, I’ve yet to move. The shadow that is me slithers across the ground, meters at a time with each passing second, until I burst from the ground, ramming the hilt of my formless weapon deep into his chin.
A din of a clang breaks through my mind as he stumbles backwards, lowering himself for just a second as I dash after. My weapon raises again, and then falls-
-And even then, it ends up caught on his sword.
Crossed blades. Sparking, grinding, screaming. Shadows surge across our weaponry, one of violet and another of ruby, blazing violently as souls sigh and darkness turns physical.
My eyes remain unwavering, staring into his armoured, inhuman helmet. He peers back. An abyss of storming reds, rising like flames, boring its way through my soul. Hatred. Fury. Anger.
In a sudden burst, a force plunges into my stomach as I end up off balance in the air. In the second it takes me to realign my sights, my gaze is only filled with a blood-red slash ripping my chest apart, sending rives of black sludge spewing from my torso in all directions.
A drop of it ends up on my mouth. Its bitter and metallic, mixed with crystals and sorrow.
My vision doesn’t falter. It doesn’t waver, much like my will and devotion.
I finally find my strength again, forcing my wings in such a way to cease my unwelcome movement, boots skidding into the ground and ending in a stop.
The Blade marches ahead, firm, unyielding with his sword sternly brandished at his side. That scythe of mine still in my hand, and a gun with 17 bullets in it.
Gazing downwards, I notice the gash across my body and the torn condition of my clothing, but my objective has not yet been accomplished.
<Destroy the demons.>
Purge the north.
<Destroy it.>
Black snow bursts from my body, oozing in all directions as twisting vines burst from my body, yet not tearing my skin or clothes.
Zinnias without root or reason appear from thin air as something in my body begins humming wildly. Vibrations rumble through every bone and inch of my being, every fiber, vessel, and intact wire stringing my function to this world.
An awakening occurs, and a hellish, demonic power turns to a fusillade of shadows and snow, light and darkness, straight from my chest in a line as unwavering as humanity’s will. Two strands spiral around it, twisting, intertwining with the air, vaporizing it into plasma, searing the very air, and punching holes in reality itself, or so it seems.
The opponent hastily raises its sword to block, even thrusting its arm out to form a shade of a shield, but such strength cannot shield him entirely against fate.
The beam pierces the veil like a spear of truth against a shroud of lies, desecrating the shield before harshly deflecting off his armour. A moment later, a catatonic explosion envelopes him, filling the air with dark smoke with bolts of light shooting through it.
My breath rises, hoarsely tearing through my throat as my eyes stare ahead, watching that cloud, watching it spark and twitch until it finally washes away.
A crack in that once impervious armour, long and deep, like a trench dug into one’s face with an eternally sharp knife. He stares at it, pressing his unholy hands with those mechanized fingers all across the scrape in the armour, then staring back at me.
“Ursus shall remember you, demon.”
And in an instant, he vanishes into a mist of dark fog, black snow, and putrid mist, only leaving a rapidly encroaching blast of shadows towards me.
I try to pounce away, letting my wings launch me back, but even at this speed I won’t outrun it.
So I force myself into a shadow, yet that wall still approaches. Closer, and closer.
I leave that useless form and spin around, slamming my boots against the concrete as a single word pounds through my mind.
<Survive.>
Survive.
“Survive, Giocatore.”
That voice. Again.
Delicate as glass, as fine as silk.
But how? I can’t outrun darkness, and nothing can outrun light.
Whenever light reaches anywhere, it finds darkness already waiting. Yet…
“I am not losing you again, Pilot.”
“?!”
PT crashes from the skies, dragging me violently with a single arm straight into its cockpit before it slams itself into the ground, veering horribly against the ground as painful rockets blare. The screen flickers on, showing me a failing scene of the outside, a wall charging towards us, and the machine all too close to the ground.
I can feel the heat of that encroaching blast, but in a blink, it’s all gone.
And so is any semblance of movement as PT slams into something with a most horrific metal-shredding screech, screens going black and thrusters finally dying.
“Pilot,” it starts, “Are you alright?”
“I am alive,” I cough as PT reorientates itself to a sitting position, back against the wall. Its cockpit weakly wheezes open as I climb out, gazing ahead into a plume of darkness ahead.
Limping on, I lift my arms as strands of Arts surge across my hands.
“Pilot?”
“I am… cleansing this area.”
“Pilot.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Pilot!”
I snap around, facing a heavily damaged machine.
One arm missing, armour bashed and battered. Several plates missing, yet the sigil of Rhodes Island still remains intact on its head.
“Yes?”
“Raidian is inbound very soon. You should wait for her to fix your wounds.”
“I’ll be fine. Trust me.”
I nod once and turn back, climbing over debris and ruin alike. The buildings that once stood here have all been flattened, coated with a slick of darkness and a void-like snow, raining from above. Rubble, piles of concrete, dots of glass and sticks of twisted steel litter the city
A single splotch of darkness sits ahead, powder surrounding it like flies around the most vile of carrion. The source of all this… corruption, undoubtably.
My hands lift as my rifle sings. It hums, brimming with activity. Threads of Arts linger from it, coming to my fingers while I gaze towards the body.
Muscles tense. My mind brims. Face twitches just here and there. Energy shakes my core, but I present only stillness.
Hurricane within, calm without.
“Exile to another plane… And rest for eternity,” I whisper.
I present my palms outwards, and in an instant, darkness captures the corpse. A sphere of complete shade forms, then collapses into a dot, and the body is no more.
“Lightfall!” Raidian calls.
I turn around only to find an extreme exhaustion overcoming me. It bubbles like a deep turmoil in my soul before it no longer can be contained, consuming my mind and soul entirely.
At first, I try standing, but my legs give in as my entire frame crumbles into the ground. My vision turns to a blur, then darkness.
<Augmented Sankta, P8-621, Entering Recovery Mode.>
ʚїɞ
“You look like Kazdel,” Mostima coughs as Leggera steps into an office.
“Fuck you,” she chuckles, setting down a file, “Lemuen, Ezell’s filed his findings here.”
“From your house? Yeah, thanks,” she waves, not even looking up from her computer.
“Where’s Lemuel?” Leggera murmurs.
“Wouldn’t you love to know,” Mostima teases, rolling her eyes.
“Yes, that’s why I asked, madam messenger…”
“Pfft… Got it, don’t hit m- Agh!”
Leggera’s hand whacks Mostima heartedly on the back.
“Goodness that arm of yours is strong…” she winces.
“Bionic. What can I say~” she hums, fiddling with the mechanized fingers, “Could really beat the shit out of some brat with it~”
“A-Alright now,” she stammers, raising her hands in a half surrender, “S-She’s with Fiammetta getting some data!”
“I knew that already~”
“Then why the hell did you ask me?!”
“Eh, was bored,” Leggera shrugs, “See ya!”
“Alright, bye~” Lemuen sings.
“Right… right… Ow, yeah, see you later,” Mostima chuckles, shaking her head.
Leggera smugly grins before swinging her way out the office, lightly shutting the door the moment she slips away.
“What do you think of her?” Lemuen asks the moment the door shuts.
“Mm…” Mostima trails off.
“What… Come on. You told me much about Nerina. What about her sister?”
“Nerina’s different,” sharply states, “She… she’s…”
“Yes?”
The Fallen shuts her eyes as a stiff breath exits her body. A moment later, she turns towards the woman in the wheelchair with a perplexed gaze, opening those twin sapphire orbs that many call windows to a soul.
“She’s a friend,” Mostima finally forces out.
“I’m glad you’re able to call someone that,” Lemuen nods.
“I told her… what happened.”
“In 1091? You trust her that much?”
“Fiammetta did,” she shrugs.
“I’ve… Then I’ve gravely underestimated her,” she blinks.
“She’s a Fallen too.”
“Saint Federico told me already.”
“She killed her father because she shot her! And made her an Infected!”
“That… I also know.”
Mostima’s breath has abruptly risen, forcing the Legatus to swallow a cold breath of air before resting her mind again.
“This… never leaves this fucking room.”
“You got it.”
“… I hold them both… very… highly to me. Because… Nerina’s been through a hellscape and back. Dragged herself out of it with Ezell pushing her along, and she’s determined to drag other people out of it too. You know Leggera’s story. That’s what you talked about with her when you first saw her.”
“You’re right… and those graves. There were only eight. Where’s the nineth?”
“Finally at rest. At least, it looks like that.”
“That’s good then.”
“They’ve… both shown me something. That… people… are important to…” she gasps, turning away.
“That the warmth of friends and family, even if not blood related, is… something you always wanted.”
“Fuck…” Mostima lets out, blinking tears away, “God damn it…”
“It’s alright to cry~”
“I know!” she screams, but its more like a cry, “I just… Agh…”
“You’ve made friends beyond the… three you’ve had here.”
“It’s nice… That warmth again… Thought I denounced it but…”
“You’re still human, Mosti.”
“God… Thanks…”
“Not a problem~ Can I rub your horns?”
“Fuck off…”
“Heyyyyyy!” Lemuel screams, kicking open the office door with Fiammetta in tow.
“Holy shit- Could you be any louder?!”
“Yes~”
“Don’t,” she grumbles, “Where’d Leggera go?”
“Dunno,” Lemuen shrugs, flicking her computer off and sliding over to them, slyly positioning herself between Mostima and the others, “What did you find?”
“Nothing much,” Fiammetta sighs, “Though, something interesting. We dug through Falsità’s life. In addition to being a phenomenal surgeon, he also performed rigorous research in prosthetics and neuroscience. One such experiment of his proved that a human brain could be ‘uploaded’ with data in a way.”
“Anything about the projects?”
“Ezell’s still digging into that,” she returns, “Project Foundation was the first one, stated to be a testing facility for cutting-edge neuroscience research. The other was Project Skychaser, an alternative power producing technology that could outperform Originium… without the horrible side effects. Peccato wasn’t in the system.”
“Pft, good damn luck,” Mostima spits, rising from behind Lemuen, “Would’ve thought Columbia and Rhine Lab figured out something. If they haven’t, no chance in damn hell this guy has.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate him,” Lemuen raises, “He’s noted to be the top researcher in both overarching projects, in addition to possessing degrees in biomedical engineering and mechatronics.”
“Damn,” Fiammetta curses.
“There’s no point in overthinking this,” she sighs, “While I can see a thread between the blacksite and Falsità, there’s nothing else that’s concrete. Giocatore, I feel like, can be a clue, but we have no clue where he fits between this.”
“So we have four projects?” Lemuel asks, “Peccato, that other one that was mentioned in the letter, Skychaser, and Foundation?”
“Seems like it,” Fiammetta affirms, “Two were secrets, the others were public.”
“We didn’t hear anything about them recently though,” Mostima mentions.
“Because both ceased to function when he was Infected,” Lemuen notes, “But the letter suggests… No, it proves that he worked on Peccato and the unnamed project beyond that. Well, at least until he died. And because he was Infected, it would make sense that these other ones would’ve… quietly gone under.”
“We’re still in the dark?” she sighs.
“Yep. Though… I feel like light is just about gonna fall on this case here.”
ʚїɞ
The sky… finally appears.
But it’s just a blur.
Blinking, my vision returns to refined focus, sharply.
Dark clouds. Crackling lightning. Bolts of fire racing through. Flakes of snow begin drifting fiercely like hails of bullets striking my skin. Their touch of raw frost drills into my face, causing twitches and little sparks of movement.
<Augmented Sankta, P8-621, Entering Standby Mode.>
“Ugh…” I groan, sitting up.
The entire city is as barren as I last remember it. The catatonic blast, the annihilated ruins…
Now it’s all… draped in white snow. How long has it been snowing?
My back’s against a tree overlooking the entire town. But further ahead… snowfields. Ice, dead trees, and rolling bleakness.
A thin footstep pops into my ear. In an instant, I whip my gun down, snapping it towards the noise only to see Raidian carrying a bundle of twigs.
“My deepest apologies,” I quickly discharge, throwing the gun onto my back, “Where’s my machine?”
“Down a fair distance,” she replies, nudging her head in that direction while setting the sticks down, “It was terribly worried for you.”
I throw my arm to the side of my head, punching the communicator active in an instant.
“Pilot,” it finally says through some static and noise.
“Yes?”
“It is good to hear you again,” it… ‘breathes,’ as a set of heavy mechanized footsteps begin marching ever near.
Step by step, inch by inch, it emerges from a downslope ahead of me, halting and then kneeling as it lifts its brimming cerulean eye to me.
“You’re missing an arm,” I note, eyeing its sparking, oil-oozing wound.
Closure is not going to be pleased.
“I am aware,” it beeps, “Flight capabilities should be enough to return to Rhodes Island.”
“I wouldn’t,” Raidian interjects, kneeling to light a fire, “This entire area’s been destroyed-”
“The encampment?” I cut.
“… Damaged. Many injured, many dead, but many still lived,” she winces, “I delivered them the supplies I had, but most of them were destroyed in the fight you had.”
“Apologies… I should’ve been more careful,” I sigh, attempting to rise only for Raidian to motion at me to sit.
“You’re injured badly. Just rest for now,” she sternly yet gently orders, “We’re going to stay here for the night and see if your machine can actually fly the next morning.”
“I can conduct field repairs,” I grunt, leaning back.
“He cut you across your chest about three inches deep. Lost a lot of fluids… I know your body isn’t particularly regular, but we do know that black goop has to stay inside you.”
“I can… regenerate.”
“I’m aware. I’ve read your file penned very nicely by Aefanyl,” she grins, “Still, you’re just a kid.”
“I’m… twenty-five…”
“Precisely my point~ Still, defeating an Emperor’s Blade is… a phenomenal feat.”
“Thank you. I… could’ve fought better. I was careless and-”
“Shh,” she coos, “It’s okay. You’re alive. And he’s dead.”
“… Right.”
“What did you do to the body afterwards?”
“Sent it to a different dimension. It seems that… drew my energy to its very limits.”
“You were passed out for six hours,” she recalls, stepping back from the now glowing campfire, “The ‘bleeding’ from your chest lasted most of that until it finally stopped on its own. You’ll find a bandage tightly wrapped there~”
And indeed there is, at least that’s what the texture my hand tells me as I run it along that gash.
“That shard of Originium was exposed, so I did my best to cover it up.”
“Thanks.”
“Just my job~”
“Duty,” I start, “Will. Devotion.”
“Seems you have lots of that too! Aefanyl praised you highly for that.”
“I see…”
“Your coat was in a… precarious state. I tried sewing what I could, but it might just be better to get a new one when we get back.”
“Right. How are you getting back?”
“Drop ship,” she shrugs, “Though I’ll wait until tomorrow morning to make sure you’re recovered enough. I did some rudimentary repairs on PT, so it should be able to fly enough to get to RI.”
“Alright. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome~”
After tending to the fire just a bit, she lowers herself down, tucking her knees close to her chest and crouching, balancing herself with just her feet. Her other two arms though stabilize herself by propping her up from behind while the actual arms delicately roast some meats over a makeshift grill.
“I would’ve loved to get to know more about your past, but it seems not even you know about that,” she sighs.
“Unfortunately, correct. I only have a lead, that being the blacksite south of Victoria.”
“A dangerous place,” she squints, “As I’ve heard from Nerina.”
“It is. And it still is.”
“Right, right… When do you plan on exploring it?”
“As soon as I can. With the combat experience from the Blade, I feel more confident about conquering the depths.”
“Mm… best not to take things too quickly,” she advises, turning her head to me yet somehow tracking my eyes through her shut eyelids.
“That… Yes, that’s true.”
“A past suddenly brought to light… It’s like seeing truth for the first time. If it’s fed too quickly to someone, they’ll be overwhelmed with sudden realizations. Do you observe ants often?”
“I do, though less so during the winter. I like watching animals too.”
“Yes, yes… Well, imagine you’re an ant wandering the forest of grass. The processes in your mind are… rudimentary. Acquire food, follow others, protect the nest and whatever. You don’t think much… you just do. But then all of a sudden, you stumble upon, let’s say, a scrap of a magazine. As an ant, you wouldn’t understand a word of it. But… for just five seconds, let’s say you do.”
“… I believe I follow.”
“Right? And so, for those five seconds, your mind is… overwhelmed with knowledge. You know those words, those pictures, and all those meanings. But the second they’re over, you lose that ability, yet you still… witnessed it, and now you have to figure out what you just saw. Echoes of… things you cannot comprehend swirl in your mind. Can’t make use of that knowledge, but you remember that. Tell everyone else, trying to figure out, trying to reach that enlightenment again… So how… do you move on?”
“You… cannot,” I calculate, “That truly… that’s the definition of madness.”
“Precisely. And that’s why… I urge you to take your time in exploring your past.”
“I’ll consider it closely. Thank you.”
“Mhm~ It’s not like you’re in some hurry to… well, die, are you?”
“I wouldn’t say so. But if I had to lay my life for Rhodes Island, I would at the first opportunity.”
“Ah… Well, savour your life a little. It’s… a gift.”
“I see.”
“You are Infected… but it seems it hasn’t affected you that much?”
“Not to the degree of Nerina, no. Or other Operators.”
“Right. One day though, you’ll see people for the last time,” she solemnly murmurs, “I’ve… seen many.”
“I apologize.”
“No, I should,” she hastily redirects, “Shouldn’t just dump that out all at once.”
“I do not mind.”
“Ah, is that so…?”
“Yes.”
“You’re much gentler than your voice or demeanor suggests~” she giggles, plucking a cooked slab of meat off and tossing it onto a plate, “You should eat.”
“Right.”
I accept the dish and dice the filet with a flick of Arts as a fine aroma of savoury sear ends up in my nose. Carefully, I lift it into my mouth and end up consuming it, slice by slice.
“Oh wow,” she notes.
“My Arts specialize in mental degradation as well as shadows and high-strength combat,” I summarize.
“I can see that much,” she hums, nibbling on some food, “You are a Sankta, no?”
“I am.”
“Dark wings… dark halo… and your halo looks quite interesting.”
“Do you think so? As far as I can remember, which… Hm, then perhaps it is.”
“It looks like a crown of sorts.”
“A crown… Yes, I think Nerina noticed that.”
“She’s quite the observant girl~”
“A girl? … She’s only two years younger than me…”
“Mm, and~? Such young ones~”
“It makes me wonder how old you are.”
“Well, that’s a little secret~” she sings, placing a single finger over her lips.
“I see,” I cough.
A bolt of dark blood blasts from my lips, splattering on the frigid ground.
Panting. An alarm ticks in my head, but I shove it aside. Saliva. Gasping. Air.
“And… that’s why you should stay and rest for a bit,” she sighs.
“I understand.”
ʚїɞ
“Giocatore!”
A flickering machine careens through the air, twisting, veering. Raidian steps out of a dropship, waving towards the Doctor before wandering off into the landship.
His machine… haphazardly wavers and drifts through the air before crashing into the roof, cockpit popping open and man limping on out of it.
“W-what happened?” I gasp, dashing to him.
“It’s fine,” he waves, shaking his head, “Did you just shower…?”
“T-That’s not the point! You are… absolutely not fine! There’s a giant gash across your chest, a bandage soaked in your blood, and there’s red blood coming from your lips!”
“Raidian assured me,” he continues, marching onwards as Feist and Closure pop up, “Either way, I’m heading to the medical bay.”
“What happened?”
“Emperor’s Blade and careless combat,” he grunts, “Had I known, I believe I can destroy two.”
“Em-Emperor’s Blades…”
“It’s no matter. It’s been dealt with.”
“And your primary mission?” I hastily ask, matching his pace.
“Completed. It’s late. Why are you awake?”
“Letter from Ezell,” I whisper, blushing just a bit, “But also waiting for you.”
“It’s… four in the morning.”
“Letter from Ezell!”
“I understand.”
“Giocatore,” the Doctor calls from behind, “Good god, what happened to you?”
“An Emperor’s Blade.”
“… Ah. And you won?”
“Yes. Though, had I been more careful, I would’ve come out unscathed.”
“You just ran at it didn’t you…” I groan.
“… Yes.”
“You… Alright… get to the medbay…”
“Will do, captain,” he nods, walking off with a most visible limp in his step.
“You think he’s gonna make it there?” I sigh.
“Raidian said he’d be fine,” the Doctor shrugs, “Frankly I was more concerned when she called mid-flight and gave me a post-op rundown.”
“She can… set communications like that?”
“That’s her specialty,” she goes on, “As well as caring for children and the younger Operators.”
“Oh,” I blink, “So that’s why she treats me like a kid… B-But I’m an adult!”
“Pfft, not to her,” she chuckles, “Hell, she even does it with Aefanyl and me!”
“I think she just likes caring then,” I deduce, then yawn, “Goodness…”
“It’s like… really late. Go to sleep!”
“Alright, alright!” I gasp, “I’m gonna read Ezell’s letter, and then I’m sleeping!”
“Good! I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Eh? Missions?”
“Oh, just some preparations for Giocatore’s adventures,” she states, “Rest well!”
“Okay~”
With a quick smile, I spin around with a line of snow and frost leading my movements as I drift away to my room, pushing the door open, tossing my uniform off, throwing a tanktop and shorts on, and fully drying my hair before throwing myself to bed.
Snatching up a letter sealed with a stamp of Laterano, I giddily slice it open and absorb the words so delicately and lovingly written in.
‘Dear my sweet Waterlily,
I hope things are well, and that Rhodes Island is safe. I’ll have you know that… Cecelia misses you quite dearly, as do I. Everyone else wishes well to you! Your letter got here just fine too. Leggera cried just a bit when she read it… Laterano’s not that much different from back then or my last trip here with Cecelia. Maybe I’ll be able to bring you here one day. I’d love for you to see the flowers at the Ecclesia Requietum.
As for the investigation and Giocatore’s situation… we haven’t made much progress, but I think his own agenda in chasing his memories in the blacksite should aid us. Keep him safe too if he does, alright? … Yes, it’s my wish that everyone I care about remains safe, and you. Don’t worry too much about us; Laterano’s very safe.
The news we did find though… Your father worked on four projects from what we can tell. Project Peccato, Project Foundation, Project Skychasers, and an unnamed one. He wrote one final letter in blood too which also had his will written on it. I’m running a DNA analysis to see who’s it is, but I already have my guesses.
I’ll let you know if anything major comes up. Love you,
From your most loved Ezell.’
“Ah…” I blurt, feeling a heat in my chest as I cuddle the letter, “Love you to…”
Those projects… Huh…
… Maybe…
“No that… that can’t be possible…”
Giocatore… just… just what are you…?
A nightmare draped as a daydream…
… or a dream stuck in a nightmare?