Dive
“So…”
My gaze rests on Giocatore, eyes stuck open staring into the ceiling of his medical cubical. Been about a week. Should be around March by now…
Ah, no. Still a week.
Bright sterile lights. I’ve seen this room a bit too much…
His rifle lies dormant on my back as my own gun vertically dangles on a sling on the other side.
“He… was just… talking about his memory and…” Narcissa recalls, reading from her book with urgency.
“He was… quite literally in all of the sense, fading from reality.”
“What…?”
“His Arts began to spill from his body, so I urged him to sit. Then he lost consciousness and fell. Rosmontis caught him with her Arts.”
“What’s causing all this? I thought his infection was stable.”
“A medical checkup detected a spike of activity in his brain before he fell,” Aefanyl sighs, scrolling through a wall-mounted terminal, “Possibly nervous overload from attempting to find those memories. There’s a little artificial intelligence in his brain that regulates his body systems.”
“That damn AI’s trying to…?”
“None of us have been able to decipher what it does or says,” he continues, “At most, we have guesses from the smattering of text that he lets out.”
“Damn,” I mutter.
“Waterlily…” Narcissa mutters, tugging on my sleeve, “He’ll be alright?”
“Yeah~”
“Mm… Okay.”
All of a sudden, he blinks.
Those opal eyes flutter for a moment, almost glowing with a very dim violet hue before focusing and swivelling about.
“Hello…?” I murmur.
“… Hello,” he groans, sitting up with a jolt, “What happened? I last remember telling Rosmontis and Logos about… Ah, I remember now.”
“You have any idea what caused it?” I raise.
“There seems to be a suppressive conflict between anything regarding the search of my past memories and that AI.”
“Huh…”
“Though I do believe I can override it myself during combat. It’s no matter then,” he shrugs.
“It’s not… What…?” I sigh, “This isn’t fine.”
“It will be,” he swats, “I’ve got things to find and a past to unbury.”
“Just a moment,” Aefanyl raises, “Can we guarantee this won’t hamper your duties as an Operator?”
“If anything, it gives me instruction and intuition to deal with it in future events,” he delineates, climbing out of the bed and brushing down his coat, “Where’s my gun?”
“Right here,” I start, tapping my shoulder, “What, in a rush to jump into hell feet first?”
“Yes, actually.”
“… You really do perplex me, mister Lightfall,” I sigh, handing his rifle away.
“I tend to have that effect,” he says, retrieving it and slinging it onto his back.
“I- Alright… Rosmontis,” I hum.
“Yes?”
“How are you today?”
“I’m alright,” she murmurs flatly, “Lightfall?”
“I’m fine,” he states, brushing past me in a half hurry to the door.
“Hey! Wait!”
“Yes, captain?” he asks, flatly, and straightly as he snaps around on a dime.
“The Doctor told me. You’re going to the blacksite with Logos…”
“I am sorry, but-”
“It’s fine… I just don’t want you getting hurt. Well, more hurt.”
“Injury is inevitable in the line of combat, and if I take that harm for Rhodes Island, then so be it. I’ll willingly lay myself in front of you all.”
“I…”
“Lightfall, Logos,” Narcissa whispers, “Be safe.”
“… Then I suppose I’ll try my hardest to preserve myself, if it is your wish, Rosmontis,” he relents.
His voice then… became just the tiniest of fragments softer, like a drop of humanity landing upon his soul.
“Hah, you’ll do it for her and not me?” I tease.
“It’s different. Nothing personal, captain.”
“I’m joking!”
“I know.”
And with that, he deconstructs his form into smoke and shadows, making a cloud of darkness in his wake that quickly throws itself through the walls and doors.
“Woah,” Narcissa states, instantly scribbling down, “Lightfall is… really cool.”
My playful groan of disbelief slowly turns into a soft chuckle as I wander towards the door but not before taking one last look at Aefanyl.
“Logos…”
“Yes, Waterlily?”
“Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, alright?”
“You can trust me.”
“I do~ Oh, also, be safe.”
“We will.”
“Thanks~”
ʚїɞ
“Hello,” Ezell starts, pushing open a door to Lemuen’s office and waving a thin folder, “Forensic analysis complete. The blood on the back of that letter was indeed Falsità’s.”
Lemuel’s standing behind me as I absent-mindedly scroll through some notes. The projects, Giocatore’s condition, the blacksite…
By the Law, I think Giocatore’s from the blacksite. But something just… won’t let me believe that. If my entire squad died there, how did that raggedy ass man crawl out of that hellscape unscathed? When did he learn all of that Arts?
Mostima’s across, Fiammetta’s staring out the window, and Lemuen’s analyzing an absolute spider web of information tied with red ropes all over a board with nails.
All of a sudden, the pink-haired Sankta let’s out a most guttural groan before flopping in defeat against her wheelchair.
“Ew,” I shiver, “I think I touched that.”
“Did you wash your hands…” he blandly mutters.
“… No.”
“Ew!” Lemuel cries, jumping away from me and almost tripping over a couch, “Woah-!”
“Dumbass!” Mostima cackles, giving her one last nudge and sending her spiraling into the ground.
“You-!” she gasps, “Mostima!”
“What~?”
“Grr…”
“What’s up Lemuen?” Fiammetta sighs, walking over.
“Nothing at all…”
“God, not even a step?”
“We’re flipping through the same damn notes… Ezell, what else came from that blood test?”
“High blood Originium concentration,” he reads off, “Seems like this was written when he was close to death.”
“But the fact that he was shot by Nerina…” Lemuen trails.
“Though we can’t guarantee he was actively suffering and decaying because of Oripathy,” he squints, “That mind of his could’ve easily fabricated his own suppressants.”
“Fair. And his body would’ve disintegrated into dust already,” Mostima raises.
“Fact of the matter is,” I start, “He learned what Eclissi was doing and seemed to have a last-minute revelation… but then did nothing to reverse what he did? He just said he had a great guilt, that was it. His hands were twisted into shooting Nerina, or so he said.”
“Any other information on the Projects?”
“Project Foundation…” Ezell hums, scrolling through a digital terminal, “Was more than just for neuroscience. It tested prosthetics and even artificial frames. Their most stunning creation was a miniature machine that could carry out the functions of entire organs.”
“Interesting…”
“It’s said that the project was approved in 1077.”
“That’s when I was… born…” I murmur.
“… Alongside Project Skychaser.”
“Both? At the same time? When did he get Infected?” Lemuen inquires.
“Around when Nerina turned eight, I think…? Gah, my memory’s foggy that far back.”
“1085.”
“So when I was eight. Got it.”
“Then he should’ve died when he shot Nerina,” Fiammetta assesses, “Oripathy’s violent. How’d he get Infected?”
“Seems to be a work accident outside of Laterano. His last outing was recorded as a trip to… to Sami?” Ezell stammers, “Sami… Why did he… go there…? Project Skychaser was approved and had research conducted in the icefields too, or very far north under the reasoning that cooling would be far cheaper.”
“He most certainly made his own suppressants then,” I assert, “Nerina was shot… about three years ago. A bit before the first Summit.”
“So he managed to live 14 years Infected,” he calculates, “And in that time, shot Nerina, then was killed by her.”
“Seems like it.”
“When did the missing children start cropping up?”
“1082,” Lemuen blinks, “Though that’s a guess. The first actual report came in 1086. The Hall guessed four years prior as a sort of precaution… As well as the time it might take to plan a feat like this.”
“I think we’re all thinking the same thing,” Mostima hums, “Falsità was responsible for the missing children.”
“It… No, there’s still not enough evidence,” Lemuen sighs, shaking her head, “Yes, I’m thinking that, but there’s no smoking gun.”
“Still doesn’t give us any details on the third or forth project,” Ezell states, closing his pod, “We’ll need more information anyways. And the blacksite… Not a single trace of anything like that, which is to be expected.”
“So what do we do now?” Lemuel groans, standing up and planting her chin right on my shoulder.
“Wait for Nerina and Giocatore to figure things out,” I shrug, nuzzling her, “He’s gonna dive into the blacksite. Whatever he finds… I’m sure Nerina will relay to us.”
ʚїɞ
“Launching.”
The machine screams into the sky as it aims itself towards a set of coordinates.
Aefanyl flies beside in a dropship, though not for long as we both deploy along the edge of the crater overlooking another crater that was formerly a towering facility.
Spires of glowing Originium spew outwards, leaning all in one direction like a hurricane frozen with dark glass. Upon the ground, ashes and petrified trees. Many once standing and sprawling vines of obsidian pieces crawling in all paths.
“PT, remain here. If we don’t return in two days, return to Rhodes Island and inform the Doctor.”
“Understood.”
“Your timer begins now.”
“Counting. Be safe, Pilot.”
“I’ll try my utmost.”
I start towards the site, drawing my gun as Aefanyl matches my pace, flipping his bone pen in hand.
“I must say I’m quite curious about that,” he starts.
“My rifle?”
“Yes… The only other Sankta I’ve laid my eyes on frequently are Cyclamen and Waterlily. Their guns are… refined. Yet yours looks ancient.”
“It’s an odd style, one that is not common today. Many find it heavy and unwieldly, but I prefer its nature. A lever is no hinderance because I can operate it with both hands. And the bullets it fires are larger than that of Leggera’s.”
“I see…”
Running across my rifle… lines of gold. Accents. Silver, dark wood, and a pitch-black steel barrel. As of now, it’s cold, but the fires of combat will set its warmth into a gentle glow.
Further inscribed are multitudes of butterflies, all across the stock and grip. As for what reason… it escapes me.
“About that bone pen…” I ask.
“It’s simply like a staff that I can cast my Arts through.”
“How direct.”
“Things are usually best that way.”
“Right. 500,” I spit out, instantly arming my rifle.
“… I see nothing.”
“Another hallucination?” I blink.
And sure enough, whatever was there is now gone.
“Most certainly,” he sighs, “Come… We have a past to find and mistakes to amend.”
“Of course.”
He motions for me to inch a bit closer to that edge again. The remnant corpse of the Collapsal that was here reveals only a splotch of darkness on the ground.
I peer into the abyss, watching the abyss stare back.
“How are we making it down?” I toss.
“There,” he points to a side path, “No stairs. Don’t lose your footing.”
“Got it.”
Winding and precarious. The stone turns to dust as my heavy steps crunch the earth away, yet the Banshee’s grace allows him no such burden.
It twists and is thin, like a wire strung along skyscrapers. Balancing on the zephyr of life and death. The deeper we go, the less the light shines.
Light falls here for now. And soon, it will eternally fall.
Shattered rooms and floors sprinkle the edges of the crater. Tiles, plaster, concrete. Lights, chairs, tables, desks. Bars, cuffs, barricades. Canteen. Reception. Holding area. Secure area. Thick steel, warped and bent away. Plates melted. Concrete shattered.
“Those bombs did a significant blow… and so did whatever reactor was here,” I note.
“Appears so. Do you hear anything?”
“Not the slightest.”
“Then they are lying in wait…”
“Below-!”
A sharp glint bursts from a hidden line of debris, far too deep and behind layers upon layers of intertwining stacks of broken rebar. Through all that cross and hell, something saw.
A deafening blast evaporates the earth between us, sending me tumbling away.
“Lightfall!”
I squint as I force my body around only to see a shard of the ground inches from my face.
Too late.
My head slams into it with a horrid crunch, but only a stiff sensation shoots up my face.
Blood bursts from my face.
Fragments of ceramic fly into the air, stabbing across my visage as my eyes daze for but a second. Twisting myself around, I catch the scene below. Rapidly descending, my body giving entirely to gravity. But I will defy it.
My wings fan outwards as Arts spew on either side, erupting out of my back as darkness eclipses my sides. A harsh jolt of force blasts up through my frame, rocking me side to side as the ground turns from a fierce rush to a hastily slowing approach.
The ‘ground.’
It’s nothing but utter darkness, but that’s our goal.
My goal.
I line my eyes to it, scanning all the surroundings for any other creatures. But there’s nothing, and the trip down is rather uneventful by the time my boots slam into the concrete. Rifle up, sweeping.
“Clear.”
“… None here. I destroyed that creatures overhead,” Aefanyl states, landing right beside me, “Are you alright?”
“Ate a face full of the floor. What of it?”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’ll live.”
“No,” he starts, immediately casting some Arts at me, “You need to preserve yourself. For Rosmontis and the others.”
A fine tingle meddles its way through my face as the cut slowly begins to seal itself.
“I can’t do more than that though.”
“It’s more than enough. Forwards.”
“Just a moment,” he urges, “Ahead of us…”
“A door.”
“Not any door. It’s a chamber vault. Is it familiar?”
“… It feels that way.”
The sunlight above is quickly dimming, not because of the time, but because of how far in the earth we are. I stare upwards, only for my view to be harshly obstructed by chunks of broken flooring, dust, debris, and various ruin. Dust and Originium towers protruding from the walls like needles within a patient.
The door before us is almost fused together on either end. Upon it, white paint in a most refined print.
“Peccato.”
“Is that not your surname…?”
“It is. As for why it’s here…”
<What are you doing?>
Finding what I must.
<… There are demons here. That is what you must do.>
I understand.
I shake my head and step towards the door, raising a palm as tendrils of Arts spill from my gun and fingertips. My gun lowers to my free hand as I shut my eyes. The noises within my ears fall away… and cloud with static.
You’ve arrived?
You followed. You chase…
You know what we are.
Seek us, and seek finality.
No… I must destroy you. Entirely.
I force my hand forwards with a lunge of strength, slamming it into the door as a deathly bell toll rings throughout the facility. The barricade begins shivering, humming like a tower, melting between my fingertips as my eyes remain shut.
I feel the fluttering of something rippling across my eyelids. Memories, blasting by them. Past, present, all blending, molding as one. Yet I cannot grab any single one because they’re as delicate as silk. Infinite voices, infinite sights. Everything here, all at once, flooding my mind until-
The Banshee’s hand tears me off the door, throwing me onto the ground.
“… What is it?” I let out, opening my eyes.
Ahead of me, the way has finally opened. But before us… is an eternal darkness. A void with a myriad of rootless flowers sprouting and blossoming. Tendrils of blackness, putrid snow, and dense fog. There’s no light here.
“… I see.”
“Are you sure you want to advance?”
“I came here for a reason. If I can’t do something for myself, if I run away from the darkness of my probable past when it’s right before me… then how do you expect me to stand for Rhodes Island?”
“… I understand,” he nods, “I’m right behind you.”
I thrust my gun up as I begin scanning every inch of ground. We slowly move into the doors, now finally resting with a deep metal sigh, lodged into either side of the still intact wall.
“It’s… silent,” I note, “Even the mind… is quiet.”
“… That…”
A deep howl. Demonic. Inhuman.
“Eyes forwards,” he states, readying his bone pen.
A glean of violet light shows up for a nanosecond, but that’s all the time I need to blast four rounds into its chest. It instantly bursts into dark ooze and blood, splattering all across the floor and ground.
“More,” he reports, stabbing the air as golden text circles him and darts of Arts zip ahead.
More groans. More incantations from him, more pleads from the others.
How many souls were lost here? How many were destroyed when Nerina dove? How many more must perish too?
I cannot number them. I wasn’t ordered to.
My brow furrows tracking the lines upon lines of violet singularities bobbing in my sights. In utter darkness, only that sinister refraction grants me their location… unless…
<P8-621, Activating Extermination Mode.>
The night falls away. Light replaces it, and I suddenly see everything as clear as diamond. Canted digitalized crosshairs target and lock onto every hostile, marked entirely as DEMON.
I see it. I see the goal, my order. My will. And I will fulfill it.
I charge ahead, skidding under a blast of Arts in pure instinct before thrusting myself up, uppercutting a beast before grabbing its neck and thrusting it into the ground. It blows into putrid mist as I keep my eyes ahead, drawing my gun, and firing fourteen rounds.
Fourteen bullets, fourteen targets. One shot, one lever yank, and one shift of my arms. A pattern I’ve done enough times… something I’ve learned. Engraved into my mind, until it’s simply part of my body and mind.
Fourteen corpses are added to the ground, among the myriad that Aefanyl has sent to the grave. He soars from the battlefield, then walks. His grace, his Banshee stride, still flows with utter elegance even in the most horrid of combat.
Every swipe of his pen, every incantation he mutters, every step of his is so precisely calculated. Enemies fall before him as he dances between them all, striding from the left to the right, exiling, obliterating, and destroying.
A scythe of shadows appears in my hand as I shut my eyes.
Yes, I don’t need to see you demons to know…
You’re all around me.
So I too start ‘dancing.’
The blade spins and sings, sweeps and slashes.
This battlefield is my canvas… and this blade is my brush.
With every strike, a vibration hums to me. It tells me that something has died, and that something will never be those I must guard.
Something bursts into fluid, splattering on my clothes. But simply… I do not care. I continue spinning. I continue fighting, until all those voices in my head…
… finally fade away.
Piece by piece, they grow quiet.
Their howls, their growls of incessant agony fall into the void.
Only then do I dare open my gaze, throwing my scythe down atop a smoldering corpse.
“Where did they come from?” Aefanyl asks, brushing a line of filth of his shoulder.
“This door,” I shrug, “Right behind me. Seems this floor is… a receiving area. How deep are we?”
“Considering your fall, I’d say probably forty floors down.”
“Goodness.”
The door behind’s blown out on both its hinges, like some beast was pounding on the other side and finally ripped its way through.
Aefanyl flicks his pen sharply as a dense ball of light pops at the end of it, igniting the hall ahead with a fine illumination.
“That would’ve been helpful earlier.”
“It would have.”
“Better late than never I suppose.”
“Absolutely.”
The hall is… empty. Stagnant. The walls are cracking concrete with pipes and wires running along. Sparking wires, broken pipes.
Something’s coming out of the walls.
… It’s blood, again. It isn’t real. None of…
… Nerina?
A glacial-haired girl stands in front of me as my footsteps grind to a halt.
“… Waterlily…?” I mutter.
“Lightfall?”
She spins around, flashes me a wide smile, and then vanishes the next second I blink.
… Illusions. All of it… are lies.
“… Lies. Curtains of them.”
“I see. Here, a sign… It’s Lateran.”
“… Surgical area. Holding area. Training area. Enhancement area. Arena.”
“Arena?”
“Yes.”
“Is any of this familiar to you?”
“No. Let’s got to the surgical area first.”
“Right.”
Lonesome halls. Derelict stairs, yet still intact. The corruption isn’t as extreme here.
Another door, but the blockades are missing. The path has been torn asunder as Aefanyl’s light beams ahead.
He carefully extends his arm about, scanning the walls and ceiling, revealing a towering chamber with rows and rows of rooms.
“Medical stations,” he analyzes.
On the roof of each ‘cell’ hangs a spider’s worth of metallic appendages wielding all sorts of tools. Thin blades, scalpels, saws, pliers, tweezers, needles…
By now, many of these instruments are missing, decayed, or coated in Originium sludge.
The walls are crumbling, or in the process of doing so. Horrid vines stab their way into the metal and rock, sending gorges of cracks deep through every piece possible. Upon the ceiling, a human-like figure’s been infused into the surrounding flora, almost being consumed.
As I take a step forwards, I notice the slightest additional amount of sensation on my boot. Lifting it and taking a gaze, I squint at the mixture.
“… This black substance coating the ground… It’s all black blood,” I whisper, raising my sights back ahead.
Darkness. Shimmering darkness, like obsidian glass. Yet so painfully clear.
“That’s what that scent is,” Aefanyl determines, brow furrowing, “The scent of death itsel-”
“Logos get down!” I scream, shoving him to the side.
A blast of steel comes alarming close to decapitating either of us as it sails behind, shattering the sound barrier and crashing into the wall.
“Thank you,” he gasps, immediately rising to his feet before stabbing a barrier in front of us.
I raise my rifle ahead.
A behemoth stands before us.
Mechanized. Two bulky legs, a heavily armoured carapace, and gargantuan arms of hissing pneumatics, violent lightning, and volatile Arts.
Atop its ‘head,’ another near-singularity, condensing yet not quite forming. It boils and brews, like a stew on the verge of eruption.
“Another one…?” I breathe, gun lowering in simple awe.
One arm holds a cannon, still smoking, sluggishly drifting downwards before it lifts the other, shaking, trembling, as if on the verge of collapse. A violet light suddenly shines like a raw cry, straight from the machine’s helmet into my soul.
“… Destroy… all… shadows…” it groans, stomping with tumultuous steps, “Destroy… destroy… for… for Terra…”
“No… You’re the demon,” I hiss.
And in an instant, I lunge ahead.
A flare of Arts explodes from my wings.
“Lightfall!”
No. This is my order and purpose.
The beast flicks into action, aggressively stabbing its blade with a roaring earthquake into the ground. Veins of vicious Arts surge through the floor, flooding with energy before bursting like geysers all around me. Yet I press onwards, even if those flames lap against my neck.
“FOR TERRA!”
Its cannon rapidly raises, then fires.
My mind blinks. An alarm beeps, but it’s too close to dodge fully. I wince, shoving myself as far as I can and-
-A shredding sensation null of sharpness obliterates my side. My ears ring, air filled with nothing but the rancorous cry of a deafening gunshot.
My brow furrows as my body falls away before I reform my frame into a shade, skidding across the ground, and reappearing in this plane with my scythe ready to strike.
It trails behind me, ripping the ground at my heel into fragments of rock, metal, and rotten blood as I slide harshly on the ground and when that beast is just close enough, I cut the shadow from reality.
Its leg collapses, crunches, and folds. Metal screams, wires cry and oil shouts. Fluids and electricity burst as one, soiling the ground and parts of my clothes as the titan crashes onto a knee.
Yet its head still gazes to me. Not furious. Not pained. Only… devoted.
It jams its arm into the ground, its blade too, attempting to lift itself off as I disintegrate the scythe and draw my gun.
“No… No, you… you demon…” it stutters.
But its voice is all too human.
I squint as I approach it, silent footstep followed by silent footstep.
“No… No, I… Terra will… will fall to these demons…”
“No, it won’t. Not as long as I live,” I sigh.
I aim my gun towards its face. Its still swirling violet eye at the center of a storm of dark snow and shadows.
A curious… sensation flutters into my mind all of a sudden.
Resonance. Shared… feeling.
… Empathy.
It… is not afraid, but it is desperate. For an answer, for a reason… for a purpose.
But inside, it still understands that this is its purpose.
I lower my gun and sigh, instead drawing a blade of shadows from my side. The weapon raises and falls, splicing open the cockpit.
That heavy chunk of metal drops to the ground like a boulder, echoing with a heavy ring before silence once again swallows me.
“By the…” I murmur.
A Sankta within.
Dark wings, dark halo. Just like me. All that coalescing singularity… begins to fade.
His eyes are nearly devoid of all light and life. They’re ruby, but akin to gems that have lost all their luster. His hair is caked with blood, oil, and dark sludge. His skin, almost as pale as snow. Flaking off, peeling, breaking.
“Logos!”
“I’m here,” he states, peering over my shoulder and instantly beginning to scribe.
“No…” he breathes, “Don’t try…” he goes on, but his voice falls apart like glass, “No just… Hah, I am… I was the demon all along… I… You came back… dear… Pilot… You shouldn’t… be here anymore… That’s… what she wanted…”
Aefanyl’s arm carefully lowers, energy still brimming from the pen however.
“… Pilot?”
“That… yes, that is… you… To pilot… a new future for Terra… They shall be… at the helm for all… things ahead…”
“… What?”
“Do you not… remember? Six… six two one…?”
“You… know who I…”
No. No, this…
“I… know, yes… You look the… same…” he painfully smiles, “P… seven… four-oh-four…”
P7-404. Another… bearing my ‘inscription.’
“Ex… executioner-class… of the… Shadow Templars…”
“What do you mean? Tell me.”
“I… I can’t bear… do that to you… Is that… a Liberi by your side?”
“No, a Sarkaz.”
“Hah… Sankta and Sarkaz… together… Then that dream… is soon to come…”
“Theresa…”
“Who…?”
“Never mind. I’m going to-”
“You can’t save me,” he coughs, staring nowhere in particular, “I am… one with this machine.”
My eyes trace his frame. Wires, clamps, fluids… all run within his body, stabbing, leaking that dark sludge also within me. And in the center of his chest, a sharp and gargantuan Originium crystal.
All across his arms… tubes. All flooding with some sort of… oil.
“So, Pilot, I ask… just one last request…”
“What is it?”
“Grant… me peace…”
I shut my eyes as a breath enters and then leaves.
Silently, my gun lifts, finger well off the trigger for now.
Slowly, I open my vision.
Pulsing, my ‘heart’ runs.
His skeletal, emaciated fingers phlegmatically lift. They tremble and shiver, as if a leaf within a Catastrophe, able to collapse at any moment.
“What are you…?”
His hands wind along the barrel like a serpent, then crush upon the steel with unholy force. Blood from his nails seep and drip across the cold barrel. He sharply tugs on the gun, but all I feel is the slightest of movements pulling along.
I let him.
The muzzle drifts inch by inch across a timespan felt like an eon. A deathly smile appears on his face, carved by a knife. His eyes finally shut.
The end of my gun touches his forehead, perhaps the first sensation of relief ever granted to him.
“Thank… you...”
For a split second, the figure suddenly blinks into a girl with one shrouded eye, and one glacial eye. Her hair, glacial too, fading to snow whites at its end.
Still, she smiles.
“Nerina-!?”
A gunshot sounds, heard across the entire world. My wings and halo remain whole.
<Augmented Sankta, P8-621, Emotion Recorded.>
<Guilt.>
ʚїɞ
“Nerina!”
A child bounces towards me, thrusting a sheet of paper up at me.
Olivia!
Her light blue eyes have once again regained that innocent child-like light. And she looks much healthier too. Her fur’s in a far better condition as is her tail and ears, but those little nips at the tips of her ears won’t fade.
The Originium is still there but filed down at least.
A playful drawing scrawled with pencil and haphazardly coated with crayons. A bright yellow dot, a stick figure… two, actually. One has brown hair, draping to her shoulders, the other sky blue down to her chest. The brown-haired one is considerably shorter, but they appear to be holding hands at least.
A towering tree of bright green shields the two, dotted with red apples here and there. Adorable…
“Oh did you make this?” I ask, gazing at it softly.
“Y-Yes!” she giggles, “It’s…”
“Lemme guess… You, and me!”
“Y-Yeah! I… I want you… to have it…” she bashfully mutters.
“Oh… That’s so sweet of you… Thank you…” I happily murmur, gingerly taking it from her.
A moment later, she bows before scurrying off and playing with some cars.
“I see you’re well-liked around here?” Oliver chuckles as he steps around toys littered about.
“You could say that… How’s the landship?”
“State-of-the-art. It’s a dream, really. To finally have a place where… they can get the care they need. They all eventually decided having a viable future meant more than staying in Victoria. And we’re not that far anyway.”
“That’s great~”
“Seems even the combat personnel have some skill,” he chuckles.
“Well, every Operator has their strengths. Just because I’m an Elite doesn’t mean reserve or regular ops mean less.”
“Of course.”
“Everyone has their niches~ And mine’s combat, as well as childcare, I suppose…” I blink as a child waddles next to me.
“Yes~?” I hum.
“Hi!” he blurts, then wanders off.
“Hi~” I call back, laughing to myself.
“It’s nice seeing them all… as children again,” Oliver breathes.
“As a doctor, it must also be nice seeing everyone share that spirit. To care, to help and to heal.”
“Yes... Kal’tsit… She’s certainly a character, but her command and skill is unrivalled. I already to trust her.”
“That’s good~”
“And that… Doctor of yours… She’s… she’s phenomenal, really.”
“Oh she is,” I glow, “She does a lot for everyone.”
“I’d imagine so. Ah,” he lets out, gazing at his wrist, “Seems I have to check on a patient… See you around Nerina!”
“Bye~”
The man quickly bows before departing with a slight haste in his step and I once again find myself chuckling.
A moment later, the door blasts open.
“Huh?” I gasp, “Raidian?”
“Roof, now,” she orders.
“Understood,” I mutter, mouth tightening, “I’ll see you kids around! Don’t make it hard for the caretakers!”
“O-Okay!”
Scurrying out, the two of us bolt through the landship. Through doors, through the gazes of some odd Operators, blasting through doors, through stairs, and all the way to the roof.
An evening sun. Giocatore and Aefanyl left earlier this morning… First thing, even. Said they’d be back in two days.
The rose-hued sun bleeds across the horizon, decorating the barren forest and plains with its gorgeous brush. Sparks of clouds flutter by, long and wisped, like strands of fiber.
“What is it?” I ask.
Raidian simply points in a direction as I draw my gun across my chest, peering into the distance.
“There’s… Ursus soldiers outside,” I blink, counting those figures.
Way too many for just a friendly appearance, and one a far amount larger, heavier armoured and with a thick blade by his side.
“Yeah…” she sighs.
“Does the Doctor know?”
“She’s there with Doctor Kal’tsit and Blaze… They’re looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“… A Sankta with a crown and blades for wings,” she whispers, gazing towards me.
My brow furrows. He isn’t here right now though.
“I’ll go-”
“No, you’re staying here, Doctor’s orders. Keep your sights trained on the large one.”
“… Alright then.”
“Here I… I can listen into that conversation…”
“Are you allowed to…?”
“Yeah, Elysium’s helping too. Doctor wants a record anyways.”
ʚїɞ
“Why the hell are you guys even here…” Blaze grumbles, staring at the armoured soldiers before her as the three make their way over, “Fuck you want?!”
A captain draped in thicker metals, a stiff blade sheathed in a wide sash, heavy boots, and impenetrable metal mask shifts ahead, rattling step by rattling step.
“Blaze, calm yourself,” the Doctor whispers, “Kal’tsit?”
“Damn it, fine.”
“They seek Lightfall,” the stiff-faced Feline starts.
“He and Raidian were at Ursus recently. Killed an Emperor’s Blade that was approaching an Infected camp.”
“Ursus would have no reason to send a Blade to exterminate a camp… Even their current emperor supports their existence.”
“Where is the suspect?” the captain stiffly demands, setting down a gargantuan crossbow.
“Not here,” the Doctor sharply returns, “I understand your emperor is one gentler heart, but you haven’t given us a reason as to why you sent an entire battalion after him.”
“That’s information we can’t disclose.”
“Then screw off!” Blaze shouts.
“Здравствуйте, doctor,” he continues, turning to Kal’tsit, “Surely you’ll be more agreeable?”
“We’re not about to hand off an Operator without a solid reason.”
“Гавно. All of you are the same… Here, tell you this. That Blade was sent after him. That dark Sankta. Wings of swords, a crown on his head. Surely you have him here. Rhodes Island Elite Operator along his lapels and coat.”
“For what damn reason do you send a Blade after a singular person?!”
“Think about that again, Feline,” he hisses, turning an unfeeling gaze to her.
“He did something in Ursus borders…?” the Doctor squints, “The only thing he’s done in Ursus is defend Infected interests. From post-operation reports from the two Operators involved, you sent a Blade after an Infected camp.”
“We’d have no prerogative to do so. The Blade was sent to fulfill a twenty-year old contract that has recently come to light. So we have to fulfill it, regardless of where or what path he’s chosen now. In the eyes of the contract, he’s simply material that must be disposed of.”
“Are you fucking out of your mind?!” Blaze screeches, “That man’s a human, not some damn trash you get to burn away!”
“Blaze,” Kal’tsit sighs.
“Fine, fine.”
“Operator Lightfall then. Giocatore Peccato,” the captain goes on, tearing out a terminal as a hologram of the Sankta in question flashes upon it, “We simply have a job to do. A single Operator, and it’ll be done.”
“Not happening,” the Doctor states, “That Operator is still my Operator, a member of Rhodes Island, an Elite, and a person who is, yes, more than just ‘disposable.’”
“I do not need your understanding, miss, but your compliance.”
“If compliance puts the interests of Rhodes Island in danger, and one of our Operators, it is out of the question,” Kal’tsit puts down, “It doesn’t matter if he was a logistic Operator or an Elite as of right now. He hasn’t committed a crime, you won’t give us information, and thus we have no reason to give him over to you.”
“I’m sure you’re also well aware what diplomatic turmoil assaulting a pharmaceutical company will get you into,” she trails on, starting to step inches ahead, “For the reason you’ve put forth, there’s no reasonable explanation that would put the slightest drop of reassurance for his safety. You degrade is humanity and reduce his life to something akin to the dirt on your heels.”
“Would you allow a Royal Guard upon your o so divine landship?” he raises.
“No,” the Doctor carefully words, “What are you implying?”
“Well, I believe it’s quite simple,” the captain sneers, turning away, “If you don’t shackle him today, you’ll find yourself crowning him tomorrow. And it will be a crown of complete sorrow.”
“He defeated a Blade, and you’re suggesting he’s as dangerous as one?!” Blaze cries.
“Blaze!” the Doctor shouts, “Stand down!”
“That’s precisely what I’m suggesting-No, not suggesting. I’m telling you. That thing you call a man is a hazard. A danger to all he is around. The same danger you’d perceive from a Blade. It’s meant to be destroyed. If you don’t allow us to fulfill this end of Ursus’ will, then whenever it enters our borders, we will shower it with an unrelenting hunt.”
“… Your soldiers will certainly regret engaging a man of his caliber,” she sighs, shaking her head.
“The blood left soaking into your soil will be your own men upon their own will,” Kal’tsit says, yet her words laced with serrating fervor.
“It is a nightmare,” the captain closes, motioning the rest of the unit away, “A nightmare dressed as a daydream.”
He marches away, towards the setting sun now grazing the horizon. A company of soldiers, as dark as shadows, melting away, backdropped by nothing but a blood-red sun.