Unveiling
“Nerina,” Ezell coughs, “Can you-“
“Water? Yeah, one second,” I quickly reply, grabbing the glass and pouring a cup for him.
At least he can sit up now. It’s been… two weeks? I missed my sister’s birthday. I even brought flowers for her… Come to think of it, I could just give it to her now.
“Here,” I say, placing the cup on his little table.
“Thank you… so much,” he breathes, downing it, “Ah… Ow…”
“Still in pain?” I worriedly ask.
“It’s a lot better. You were supposed to leave day of arrival, no?”
“That was the plan,” I shrug, “Things changed. I guess the Pope is lenient.”
“That he is,” Ezell chuckles, “What’s Giocatore up to?”
“He’s been exploring the city with the Saint.”
“What’s with him and emotionless…”
“Some things just click y’know,” I shrug again.
“That… fair enough,” he gives in, “Lemuen brought some flowers the other day,” he notes, poking his head to the vase on the windowsill filled with amethyst-coloured cornflowers.
“Gorgeous…”
“Oh, and Leggera’s got ownership of the house now that both your parents have passed.”
“Oh, sweet!”
“Yep. Though I’m… not sure how long you’ll be able to stay… I mean, that bandage’s still on, so it should be fine..."
"Should," I wince, "Should…”
“Come here,” he insists, motioning me with a weak wave.
“Mm?” I follow, leaning into him, “What is it?”
“Mwah~” he chukles, planting a kiss right on my lips.
“A-Ah!”
My face abruptly flushes with red.
“Still as adorable as ever aren’t you,” he teases.
“I-I just didn’t expect that!” I pout, “… Give me another one.”
“As you wish, my princess~”
And so he does, pushing another kiss into my cheek, my chin, and then… my n-neck…
“A-Ah…”
“My… have you been…”
“I-It’s not like that…” I mutter, “G-Gah-“
I feel his teeth gently nip my skin as his lips hungrily latch onto my neck.
“E-Ezell… Y-You’re recovering… w-we can’t…”
“It’s fine~” he whistles, “After all… seems like you were missing some of this too.”
“G-God-“ I stammer, my hands instinctively flicking to his head, holding it tightly, “Agh…”
Heat rushes through my mind, then my hands. My lips quiver, refusing to let out the noises I so desperately need and want to as I try pulling him deeper into me, even ignoring the little bites he’s granting me.
“Mmh…” he groans, straight into my neck, “Don’t worry… You’ll get all that you were missing soon enough.”
“E-Ezell- Ah-“
“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” Lemuel suddenly announces, blasting the door in.
The fastest movements I’ve ever seen on this man have him instantly retreating from my neck as I slam myself back into my chair, sweating bullets.
“W… What the heck were you two doing?” she squints, “Nerina, there’s a mark on your n… neck…” she goes on, piecing it together.
God damn it.
“Heh… I see~”
“W-Whatever,” I shove away, “I-It’s good to see you too…”
“You’re as red as a tomato!” she laughs, “Ezell, how are you feeling?”
“Better, yeah,” he coughs.
“Well after indulging in a bit of Nerina, I’d hope so!”
“… A-Alright… l-listen…” he stammers.
“Pfft- You two really… I love teasing you…”
“As does like, literally everyone else,” I grumble.
“True! And I ain’t gonna stop~”
“Alright, you and Leggera are like, the loudest god damn kissers ever,” I blare.
“W-whaaaaat?!” she collapses, instantly retreating her frame as her wings and halo shiver a little.
“Yeah, who’s got the other on the ropes now?” I push, laughing to myself.
“That… That isn’t fair!” she squeals, going a bit red too, “God… Now I want to kiss her…”
“Your head is completely empty except for Leggera isn’t it?” Ezell adds.
“N-No!”
“Yes,” I nod, “There isn’t a single thought behind those eyes except ‘God I wish Leggera would step on me.’ Saying that of my own sister feels… weird…” I shiver with disgust.
“Ah…” Lemuel freezes, probably off fantasizing, “I…”
“You broke her!” Ezell laughs.
“Maybe,” I shrug, “So what did you come here for?”
“W-Well,” she starts, scratching her head, “I wanted to drop some things off… Everyone sent some get-well cards and flowers too!”
From seemingly nowhere, she yanks out a bouquet of various flowers and produces, somehow, a stack of letters which I retrieve with a little bow.
“Mm…” I murmur, taking in the scent, “Oh, these are… fantastic… thank you.”
“Not an issue~”
“I’ll just set them on the window here… Ah, there we go~”
“Looks beautiful,” Ezell hums, “Thank you Lemuel.”
“You’re welcome! Oh, I think Lemuen’s coming…”
A distinct shuffle of rubber tires squeaking away on tile mumbles its way down the halls until… that sharply dressed pink-haired Sankta appears by the door, pushed by Fiammetta.
With a small wave and a smile, she lets herself in as Fiammetta slides to the other side of Ezell.
“Mostima and Leggera couldn’t be here. Got some ‘cleaning’ to do,” she grumbles, “Cleaning out the Legatus, the Pontifica, and the Executors.”
“Fair enough,” I shrug, “So… You must me Lemuen?” I ask, smiling to her.
“That would be me, yes,” she happily grins, “Lemuen, Cardinal Aide of the Seventh Tribunal. It’s a pleasure to meet you~”
“Nerina, Elite Operator of Rhodes Island,” I introduce, “I take it… that my sister as spoken about me?”
“Oh a good fair bit,” she nods, “Always talking… Oh, I miss Nerina. Oh, I want to see my sister again! And… Oh, I miss Nerina…”
“… Hah… That’s… that’s my sister,” I blush.
“And so was Ezell… and Cecelia… Hehe, they all love you very much~”
“Ah, well…” Ezell mutters off, going a tad bit red, “Yes… I did miss you…”
“So did I… It’s nice I can see you again… Just… I didn’t want it to be with a gunshot in your chest…”
“It’s okay,” he coos, “It’ll be okay. I’m fine, and I’ll make a full recovery,” he states, giving me that warm, gentle smile enough to thaw the hellish ices that once solidified my heart.
“… Hm. Alright then,” I whisper, “I trust you.”
“We’re having that ‘meeting’ today,” Lemuen starts, breaking the somewhat solemn air, “Ezell, are you sure you can move?”
“It just hurts-!” he gasps, siting up just a bit more, “B-But yes, I will… be there.”
“I’m… helping you get there,” I sternly state, “I know I can’t change your mind about this… so I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s… that’s all I’ve ever needed from you, you know?” he softly projects, turning his amethyst eyes to me.
Even through all that pain, all that suffering and torture… he can still smile.
Well, it’s not that different from me. After… all that betrayal, the suffering and pain from Victoria…
Shame. Guilt. Fear. Burden. Purge. Regret…
… I’ve found a reason to smile. To laugh… and he’s right in front of me.
I find myself grinning just a little.
“Yeah…” I whisper back, “Yeah… I… I’m always trying Ezell, like… like you always told me to do, and always… always believed I could. Where… where’d Cecelia go…?”
“Oh, she’s with Giocatore,” he says, “And the Saint.”
“Huh…”
“I suppose she missed him,” he shrugs, “It’s… pleasant to see those familiar again.”
ʚїɞ
“Do you wander these streets often?” I ask as the Saint marches me around.
“Not really,” he returns, “Work has me absorbed in it, as well as the occasional Rhodes Island duties.”
“… I was not aware you worked for Rhodes Island as well.”
“Things come to be,” he mutters, “How do you like the city?’
“Resplendent. Holy. Scintillating. The marble and towers of glass betray no sign of insurgency, unlike that day.”
“Yes, incidents such as that… rarely occur in this city.”
“Uhm… Mister Giocatore… where are we going?” Cecelia whines, “I… I missed you!”
“Ah… I… think I agree.”
That feeling is… foreign but not unwelcome.
Her grip tightens in my hand. For some reason, she wanted to see me.
“No where in particular, as ordered,” he says.
“Woah…” the girl mutters.
It’s obvious she’s a little shaken. It’s more clear as I peer through her emotions.
“Do you recall anything from your childhood here?”
“Not a zephyr.”
“I see.”
“C… Can we get… ice cream?” she whispers, yanking a bit on my hand.
“Of course. Saint Frederico, where’s the closest ice cream stall?”
“Well, right in front of us,” he nudges.
“I’ll be just a moment.”
With that, I hear the slightest of soft giggles from her as she lets go and lightly trots ahead with a soft leap in her steps.
“Not too far,” I call.
“It’s fine!” she laughs, “It’s right here!”
In a few moments, she’s taken point right by the door of the ice cream parlor, staring right up at its gargantuan neon-red sign.
“Woah… Wait! Camera!” she jumps, sliding off that device right off her neck, sprinting over to me, tossing me the object, and blasting back. Snatching it out of mid-air, I gently lift it, aiming it right to her as she tries out a myriad of conservative poses.
After flipping through pose after pose, she’s finally settling for one where she’s thrusting both her arms up into the air, to the side, relaxed and jovial. Plastered on her face is a smile worth protecting, wide, from ear to ear, and a hearty radiant innocence, no matter how many times it may be broken.
A gentle breeze sweeps in, delicately tossing her hair in a swaying dance and her cloak and long skirt in a tender rhythm.
Right… to capture this moment… for eternity… There. Perfect.
“Steady… There,” I state, snapping the photo as the girl rushes back to me.
“Lemme see! Lemme see!” she jumps, practically tearing the thing out of my arm.
“Oh…” I murmur, “Careful.”
“A-Ah, sorry… I was just excited…” she apologies, bowing slightly.
“It’s fine,” I wave, “How’s the picture?”
“Ah! I love it! Thank you Giocatore!” she giddily bounces.
“You’re very welcome,” I nod, “Now… Saint, would you like some ice cream?”
“No.”
“Alright then.”
“Weeeeee!” Cecelia cheers on, crashing through the parlor’s door at record-breaking speeds before stumbling around like a wayward missile and coming up to the counter.
“Woah! A lively girl!” a Sankta woman greets, “What can I get either of you!”
“Uhm… Giocatore… can we get… one for everyone…” she mutters, blushing a little.
“Oh, thoughtful. Won’t it melt?”
“Then… I’ll be fast!” she states with a sparkle in her eyes, “M-Miss! I… Can I have a cup of ice cream of… Chocolate… Vanilla… Cheesecake…”
This… may take a small while. Yet the shopkeeper doesn’t seem to mind as she tries her hardest to stifle the softest of laughs. Her twitching wings and halo betray her true feelings though; absolute bliss.
“… And mint!”
“Alright~ That’ll be… eight? Yes, eight,” the shopkeeper counts.
“Here’s the payment,” I state, handing over the stamps, “Have a good day.”
“You too! Oh, and this is just me being curious… Why are your wings black?”
“Mm? It’s a genetic trait. But they still glow, somehow. A more so grey light.”
“How interesting… Yes, I can see your patron rifle. It looks ancient.”
“… Ah, yes,” I mutter, drawing it out as Cecelia somehow manages to carry the eight cups, “Cecelia, please be careful.”
“I’m… fine!” she gasps, shifting them all into cup holders, four per hand, “See!”
“… Fascinating,” I nod, feeling a creeping tingle at the corners of my lips, “Anyways…” I resume, opening my rifle’s action, “There’s… something about it. I… can’t recall what, but it’s special to me.”
“Well, every patron firearm is like that,” she reminiscently sighs, “I remember choosing mine… This little revolver,” she smiles, yanking it out.
A thin, long barrel. Silver in gloss with a wooden grip. An extended hammer, able to be fanned, and a cylinder of eight or so rounds.
“What made you choose this one?
“Mm… Allow me to turn this question back to you,” she shrugs, holstering it.
“… I…”
My words falter but my mind chases an answer. Empty and everlasting, as if something that once was there no longer is. An empty map, a lost taste of a once-loved food.
Staring into the darkness of my gun’s chamber, nothing comes to me. Not even a breath like with Ahava’s presence.
“… I could not tell you. If I had to guess, which I do… then it must’ve been something akin to instinct.”
“A gamble, maybe?” she winks.
“A gamble… Maybe,” I sigh, swinging it onto my back, “Well, thank you for the treat. Cecelia, let’s go.”
“Okay! Byebye miss! Thank you!” the girl calls out.
“Please be well~”
Federico nods in my direction before relinking with us.
“You carry a patron gun with you,” I note, staring at the peculiar firearm bouncing around on Cecelia's back. It's engraved with several silver flowers over the grip and along the general body.
“Oh… Yes,” she breathes, “It… It’s my… it’s not mine,” she finally gasps, halting for a bit, “S… Sorry.”
“If… you can’t tell me, then you don’t have to,” I relay.
The Saint steps to the side just a meter, then slows his pace too.
This… is what Nerina would say. Or Ezell. Or Aefanyl. Right?
“Hah… You… sound a bit like Ezell,” she shrugs, resuming her steps, “I-It’s not that I don’t trust you! Nerina does, Ezell does, so I trust you! You’re very fun to be around, even if… ah, even if you’re not that…”
“Expressive?”
“… Yeah?” she mutters, “Sorry if that was… rude…”
“It’s not,” I reassure, “It’s… who I am.”
“But… You weren’t always this way, were you?”
I blink, squinting just the slightest as the Pagus Stevonus Central Hospital comes visible from a corner.
“I don’t know.”
“Hm…” she mumbles, “But I can… feel your… emotions?” she whispers, “It’s…”
She gasps, suddenly stabbing her heels into the path.
“Cecelia? What’s wrong?”
“I… It’s… It’s faint b… but… Mister Giocatore… Y… You’re always… in pain, aren’t you…?”
“… No, I don’t feel pain.”
“Huh…” she lets out, breathing heavily, shutting her grey eyes before opening them and resuming her walk, “Well… Maybe I was wrong…”
… This child… cannot… know of… that agony.
That… cannot come to pass. It cannot. She doesn’t deserve this…
And this eternal weight. The weight of the lost souls, the weight of the task that is securing Terra, demolishing all of its demons… it now weighs on me.
<Truly, and absolutely, P8-621.>
<This fault is entirely yours.>
<Do not forget it.>
<I won’t let you.>
Who… are you?
<An artificial intelligence meant to regulate the Shadow Templars.>
… That’s more than the last time I asked.
<Because it has become apparent you’ve discovered a modest amount of the blacksite’s purpose.>
<While this is not… ideal for your mission, it may prove useful.>
<I am a fragment of Falsità Fiorella.>
<I am his will, his devotion, and his life.>
<His promise, and his undying wish to not let Terra fall to those demons.>
<That is why you exist.>
<That is the only reason you exist.>
<So prove yourself. For ‘I’ gave you a reason to exist, Giocatore.>
… I see…
“G… Giocatore…” Cecelia lets out.
But this time, she’s holding back tears as she gazes up to me.
“Y… You are in pain…”
ʚїɞ
“Woaaaaaaaaah!” Lemuel claps, “All this ice cream!”
“Right… Giocatore, was this your doing?” Nerina squints.
“Perhaps it was… Perhaps it wasn’t,” he shrugs.
“Oh come on,” Mostima groans.
“Shut up,” Fiammetta coughs, whacking her over the head.
“What was that for?!”
“Hehe…” Cecelia giggles, “Giocatore bought them! B-But I chose them! I… I hope you enjoy!”
“Chocolate eh?” Leggera nods, “That’s mine~”
“Feel free,” Nerina surrenders, “I’m taking the vanilla.”
“Ohhh… Apple pie!” Lemuel cheers, snatching it up.
“They make apple pie ice cream…?” Giocatore murmurs.
“Yes!” Cecelia quickly nods.
“Cheesecake~” Mostima whistles.
“Ah, Nerina… could you pass me the Gaulish vanilla one?”
“Of course!”
“Strawberry…” Fiammetta lingers, yanking a treat.
“Straewberry cheesecake~” Lemuen sings, nibbling into one, “Oh… this is really good…”
“Yay!” Cecelia claps, “Giocatore, there’s only one left…”
“Hm? Oh, I don’t mind at all. What flavour is it?”
“Just some mango…”
“Mm… Alright.”
As everyone feasts upon the delectable ice-like treat, delight fills the hospital room as Giocatore flips a spoon in between his lips.
“So…?” Cecelia whispers, looking up at him.
“It’s nice. Familiar… yet far.”
“So you like it?”
“Yes, I do,” Giocatore firmly nods, “Thank you.”
“Yay!” the child laughs.
“She’s taken a liking to you,” Ezell smirks.
“I… am unsure why, but I don’t reject it.”
“I like everyone!” she cheers, “Fiammetta… Mostima…. Lemuel… Lemuen… Nerina… Leggera… Giocatore… Ezell… hehe…”
“Ain’t that just the cutest thing ever,” Mostima whispers.
“Yep~” Lemuen nods, “Mm… Our meeting is soon isn’t it?
“In an hour,” Nerina confirms, “Ezell, are you sure you can walk?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs, “Alright, let’s go.”
“I am… helping you up…” she sighs, grabbing his arm, “And… up!”
“Mmh-“
“Right, now- Yep, swing your legs off.”
“Right… right… Ah- There.”
“Now put your weight on me.”
“Got it…”
“Ready?”
“Yeah, thanks…”
“We’ll get going then,” Fiammetta states, swinging herself out as Mostima pushes Lemuen out.
“Meet you there~” Lemuel hums, yanking Leggera by the arm.
“Agh- Wait!”
“Wait for what?” she giggles, “Let’s go!”
And a second later, they’ve vanished out the door.
“Mm… What about Cecelia?” Nerina murmurs.
“… Ah. Who do I trust with her…”
“Can I come?” she pleads.
“N… No,” Nerina sighs, “It’s… too much.”
“Hm… T… Then… I can wait here!”
“Oh, yes that works,” she smiles, “We’ll be back in… a few hours.”
“Wah?! So long?!”
“There is… much to discuss,” Giocatore reasons.
“Ah… Okay…” she whines.
“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Ezell assures, “Oh, Nerina, your cloak…”
“Right…”
With a fell sweep of her arms, she tosses the thick chunk of oceanic blue fabric over her body, shielding the sin of self-preservation.
“Then let’s go,” Giocatore advises, “To… unveil what I’ve discovered for so long.”
Nerina’s face twists into an emotion only described as disarray as the three march on out towards the Basilica.
ʚїɞ
“Enter.”
The Pope’s voice thunders beyond the office’s heavy doors as they part like an ocean. Four Apostolic Knights stand as firm as mountains, as tall as such, and staring dead ahead. Their star-pointed halos hang high above their thick helmets, and their blade-like wings spread from their bodies like the angels they are. The sheer illumination from them all fills the office with their light along with the sun beaming through the windows and balcony. Their rotary cannons, resting in the ground, almost as large as a person is tall, firmly within their armoured hands.
Fiammetta marches in first, freezing at the sight. Mostima slithers next to her with a jaunty smile, almost ignoring the four titans before them and His Holiness rising from his desk. Lemuen rolls herself in to the other side of Fiammetta, rigidly aligning herself with the line. Leggera advances with refined, practiced movement, placing herself to the right of Mostima, followed by Lemuel tracing the former’s steps. Ezell, able to stand on his own feet now, takes the left of Lemuen.
Finally, the two granted special permissions, flank the rest of the line.
Upon their faces, a firm expression of unwavering resolve.
“Your Holiness, we’re ready to commence,” Lemuen announces, “Nerina, please remove your hood.”
“… Alright.”
The glacial-haired Fallen sighs, regretfully tugging her hood and cloak off, sending the fabric spiraling off and hanging down her body. Her split halo and fragmented wings, now available for the heavens to see and judge in all its clarity.
The Knights seemingly shift their gaze just inches towards her, sending a jolt of mind-chilling shock through her veins before they stare dead ahead again.
“We’ve been investigating the case of 800 or so missing Sankta children that occurred around twenty years ago,” Lemuen begins, “And we’ve hit a roadblock, however we think that the two guests we’ve brought will be able to resolve it.”
“Alright then,” the Pope nods, standing between the Knights and gazing at them, “Please, leave us.”
“But sir, she’s…”
“It’s fine.”
“… By your will.”
The Knights nod at once, stabbing their weapons into the ground with an echoing clang before marching right out of the office but not without sending Nerina sidelining glares.
“What have you discovered so far?” he asks.
“Many… things. Lot’s of… threads, but we need more hard evidence,” Ezell lists, “As for a general overview, it seems there’s a plausible connection between the missing children and Falsità’s projects.”
“That would be firmly correct,” Giocatore cuts in, “If I may… explain the rest.”
The rest of the eyes flick to the Sankta with dark wings and a crown-like halo.
“Please,” the Pope gestures, “Reveal this… horrid case for us.”
“Then I shall,” he sighs, marching forwards, “Falsità only had two projects. They were Project Peccato, and Project Firelight. They were under the codenames of Foundation and Skychaser, respectively, within Lateran registry.”
Lemuen’s eyes pop open as her mouth begins to quiver a bit.
“Within a blacksite south of Victoria, erased from all maps, unknown to all eyes and souls, the children were taken there. The upper floors conducted Originium-based experimentation into living beings, grafting it within their frames as well as prosthetic attachment,” he continues, walking in slow, calculated circles as Arts begins to spill from his fingers, “The lower floors, sealed behind meters of steel, concrete, and the earth itself, are where hell truly began.”
With a thrust of his palms, a dark mist sloshes in all directions, swallowing the entire office in a smoky scene that quickly begins to reconstruct itself into a window into the past.
“Is… this your memory?” Mostima mutters.
“Merely… a simulation of what I’ve ascertained.”
The clouds slowly take form, yet still ethereal and pulsing as if alive itself. A dark, imposing prison of concrete and bloody iron bars with Sankta children trapped within.
“What… is this?” Lemuen gasps, “T… They…”
“The eight hundred children were sent to the blacksite,” Giocatore states, “They were then divided, at random, with a random serial number and the ‘generation’ they’d be assigned to. A hundred per generation, and thus eight generations.”
“G… Generation?” Fiammetta asks.
The man snaps around to her.
“There… was no progress without life lost.”
In that instant, the scene flickers again, this time revealing rows upon rows of medical stations with a spider’s worth of scalpels, saws, and mechanized hands right above the bodies of so many, too many children.
“What… no, what is…” Lemuel whispers, “What?”
A second later, the blades descend at once, horrifically tearing into the vessels of humanity.
“No!” Lemuen shouts, “W… This can’t be real, Giocatore. No, I…”
“You deny my experience? My… life?” he firmly breathes, squinting at her.
“Your… experience?”
“My serial number is P8, six-two-one,” he states, “Of the eight hundred sent there, I alone… am its only survivor.”
“You WHAT?!” Lemuen screams, “N-No… W… what? Y-You’re a… you… you are Zinnia…!”
That name strikes the man like a mace to the face.
“… Was. That name has been lost.”
“Lost… what made you choose Giocatore?”
“I… don’t remember. That didn’t occur within the site.”
“Continue,” the Pope demands.
“Of course. The first four generations all died under experimentation to see how to integrate Originium into bodies. Their lives gave Falsità a further insight in how to use Originium to enhance combat and instill Arts within the bodies. That left him with a few dilemmas though. The body would eventually decay to Originium and a regular Sankta body was far too fragile.”
“What… were the other four generations for then?” Leggera whispers.
“They involve an entity I cannot disclose and figuring out how to harness its energy in a controlled manner.”
The Pope squints as Nerina shuts her eyes. The scene, shifting once again, to a firing range with an infinitely long line of young adults raising all sorts of weapons and firing away.
“There were four hundred that then underwent various augmentations. The fifth and sixth generations had a few survivors that then went insane,” he goes on, marching again in that circle.
The simulation before them twists into a hellish sight as a few of the people mutate into horrific shades and monsters. Unfathomable limbs, twisting spines, and lines of teeth where a mouth should never be. Lemuen’s mind falls away, falling into despair, falling into insanity.
“Their corpses were never to be found again. The seventh generation had survivors from this undisclosable entity, however in Falsità’s chase for a most perfect soldier, the survivors, about 30 in count, had to duel between themselves in what could only be described as a bloodbath.”
The sea of darkness molds itself into an arena with countless soldiers with brimming wings of darkness and light charging at each other. Some wield blades, others spears and even others using their guns as blunt tools for carving bloodshed.
“One emerged. P7-404, whom I met again in the blacksite. Then the eight generation, the one that I am part of, was born. These bodies… are not biological,” he reveals, crushing his fist, “They are an amalgamation of flesh, machine, wire, and atrocity. They are able to regenerate on their own, lack vital organs, a skeleton of metal and coated in Originium. Their ‘blood’ is a sludge required for functionality, but capable of providing all that is needed. The only way to ‘kill’ such an entity is to decapitate it or to destroy the machines replacing the organs, which will induce a catastrophic explosion.”
“What… the hell…” Leggera mutters.
“As part of the eight generation augmentations, any human response not deemed ‘essential’ to combat and capable of interfering with combat was removed. Thus, I cannot feel pain nor fear. I additionally lack much emotional expression, though with constant force I am able to reclaim fragments of that feeling. The eight generation was then pitted against itself. Falsità arguably grew insane, wanting a most perfect soldier.”
The mist in front shifts once again. Another arena, yet this time, Giocatore kneels atop a mountain of bodies, limbs, organs, bones, flesh, and dark oil as blood and sludge leaks from his mouth and eyes. He stabs his rifle through them all, like a flagpole made of bone skewering a pile of heresy.
“I was forced to fight for my unsalvageable life against ninety-nine others thrown into this blender of humanity. I slaughtered them all,” he sighs, gazing towards that rendition of him, “And yet, this memory escapes me.”
“How… do you know… that… if…” Lemuen trails off.
“These records come from a guard whom was close to Falsità,” Giocatore explains, “So I can guess with certainty upon the facts I have here and the facts I know. I was the only one to survive the eight generation, and the only one to escape the blacksite. When I returned there, I found three survivors, yet they were driven to insanity and were executed by my hand.”
The Arts collapse down into a singularity, flowing back into Giocatore’s palms as he turns to face everyone else.
Lemuen’s eyes can’t seem to focus as her face begins to crumble all sense of sanity.
Fiammetta’s gaze is all but rational. Mostima has had her whimsical nature stolen from herself. Ezell stares with sorrow as Nerina remains dead and silent. Lemuel and Leggera, finally, seemingly have lost a burning flame.
“Project Firelight, the one codenamed Project Skychaser, is one in Sami. It seeks to fuse entities together as a way to exceed Originium reactors but fell to the monsters of Sami and is also a factory for those bipedal war machines. That… should be all,” he ends, facing the Pope, “The eight hundred children are all dead, and Falsità is responsible. In an effort to make soldiers to brave the true demons of Terra, he walked the path of hell itself. I alone am its only survivor, the last of the Shadow Templars, set on a mission to secure Terra’s longevity and the extermination of these demons. And they are not the Sarkaz.”
“This can’t be real,” Lemuen shudders, “No… No, that… No… No one is… insane enough to do that… to… experiment on children… No, no… that can’t… no…”
“Laterano has… disappointed me,” Giocatore randomly states. His voice cuts through Lemuen's mind, garnering the sudden gasps and glances of everyone else.
“A pious nation declaring itself most holy.”
The Pope raises an eyebrow as Fiammetta shifts her gaze.
“Twenty years of this, and not a single advancement was made until these souls decided upon themselves to uncover a truth as devastating as this. Laterano declares itself a sanctuary, a heaven to all races, yet excludes one,” he bites.
Nerina’s eye squeezes a centimeter open. This is the first time she’s heard him raise his voice at all.
“Incompetence and arrogance befall the Sankta. A race too enveloped in its beauty and pride of its singular city. They ignore those that cannot be graced by it, and slide under the rug any issues that pertain to it. Because, truly, eight hundred in a population of a fair few million… is absolutely minuscule in their eyes.”
The tension between the air turns into frigid ice, firm enough to be snapped by nothing but a sigh.
“Even with all that discovered and unveiled, not one singular Lateran expedition has imagined to venture nor to investigate. Seemingly, they attempted for a few months and gave up after all trails ended up cold,” he sets, gripping one of the sword’s hilts, “Laterano disappoints me, and Laterans, collectively, are perhaps the most arrogant and devout to nothing but the Law. They feast upon sugar and claim themselves a paradise, yet…”
His words run along as he turns his eyes right to the Pope.
“Your nation is built atop sin, punishing those that only seek to correct heresy upon themselves!”
His voice echoes. It runs like a raging shadow the second a lantern was smashed apart. Like the fragments of glass and dying light that falls, his voice blazes through it all.
“Giocatore,” Nerina firmly announces, “That’s… enough.”
All eyes lock onto her as she adamantly marches forwards. Every step of her boots echoes and creaks with the wooden floor beneath. She takes a shaking breath before shivering and letting it away into the air.
“Rhodes Island is… far from a paradise too. It’s the closest we have to heaven, but… it’s not. People die there every day. We save lives, and we let those Infected live. That should be our devotion as Elites, not… slandering other nations.”
“Is it truly a life saved if all we do is extend the inevitable to suffering?”
“We let them live as much as a life before Oripathy takes it away,” Nerina sighs, “Look at me… I have about… ten years or so left?”
“And yet you decide to march ahead? Why? Towards an end you already see?”
“Because if I were to give up now, if I were to lay down and let my life be wasted away, if I were to do nothing in the face of suffering and adversity…” she starts, voice growing word by word, “Then I’d truly never deserve to be a member of Rhodes Island.”
“… I… see.”
“And also… I’m… I’m afraid your devotion is going to turn to obsession.”
“What… do you mean?”
“I’ve seen my parents and their devoted dreams,” she sighs, “What my mother wanted… to bring salvation to all. And my father made this… did this experimentation as his way of ‘saving Terra.’ And that came at the price of too many lives. Too many innocent lives. I’ve seen what the obsession of people can do… I just don’t want you to go that path either.”
“I… will not.”
“I trust you on that part, just… Just reminding you,” she smiles, “I will… never understand this suffering,” she states, staring into his eyes, “But I can tell you one thing. It… will not make it better if… all we do is divert your rage to those that… don’t deserve it. And here I regret killing my father if only for you to have done it instead.”
“… Forgive me, then.”
“That’s not for me to decide. I don’t hold my allegiance to Laterano, they all do,” she whispers, nudging her head to everyone else.
He kneels, staring into the floor.
“Then forgive me, holy Laterans, for battering your nation. I do beseech you for your forgiveness, and if my death fulfills recompense, then you may do so. But… I still hold a resent in my heart for allowing such a grievance to happen. Not against you, not against His Holiness, but against those that allowed this to occur.”
“I do believe that’s most fair,” the Pope hums, “I accept your most humble apology.”
“It’s alright…” Mostima whispers.
“Your anger is understood,” Ezell nods.
“It’s okay, I forgive you too,” Lemuel softly affirms.
“It’s… completely fair,” Lemuen breathes, “Accepted…”
“It’s fine,” Fiammetta sighs, “I’m not… gonna kill you. Ever.”
“… Thank you for your benevolence,” he lets out, rising back to his feet, “… Your grace… I don’t deserve,” he whispers only to Nerina.
“And that’s precisely why I’ll give it. Your Holiness… that’s all we have to share. The truth of the blacksite and those eight hundred children. If… any of the parents still wish to know, then you may tell them that they’re all dead and their bodies… cannot be recovered.”
“I will do so when the appropriate time comes,” he nods, “Elite Operators of Rhodes Island, thank you for your information. And… just a small correction, Giocatore.”
“Yes…?”
“We… did send a force to investigate. Leggera, that was what your mission was.”
“…?! A-And you never told us of its true intentions?!” she jumps.
“We were unsure of how much of this should be allowed into public ears, so we kept it quite secretive.”
“So you knew?!” Lemuen cries.
“No, we knew about as much as you did… and with Falsità’s death, it made little sense to attempt to go any further. Additionally, the wipeout of your squad Leggera, further impacted our decisions, so we halted all investigations. Those that attacked you, Ezell, were part of Falsità’s attempt to suppress the truth from coming to light. Little did they know… it all hinged on something beyond Laterano.”
“If we… if we knew what we were heading into, they… they wouldn’t have died!” Leggera screams, “You can’t bring back my friends or any of those kids!”
“And that is a weight I will forever have to carry,” the Pope sighs.
“… I will refrain from saying anymore,” the blazing Sankta seethes, breaking formation and throwing herself out the office.
The doors crash open then slam shut with a thunderous crack, stomping boots resounding down the halls and chamber.
“The case is closed then,” Lemuen gasps, “I just…”
“It’s a lot,” Mostima shrugs, “But… yeah. Thanks, Giocatore. We wouldn’t have been able to figure it out if you didn’t jump into the site again.”
“It’s my duty.”
“I’m going to check on my sister,” Nerina insists, “Your Holiness, thank you for this opportunity.”
“You’re most welcome.”
With that, she too scrambles on out of the office, pushing open the doors gently and letting them shut with little noise.
“Well… Now what?” Mostima murmurs.
“We leave,” Giocatore states, “Our contract stipulates that we’re supposed to depart Laterano day of?”
“Yes, but…” he recalls, “You may stay a week longer if you wish.”
“Then I’ll leave when Nerina decides to.”
The dark Sankta nods once before dematerializing his body into a puff of smoke, coursing through the air and vanishing beneath the door.
“... Are we good to leave then, your Holiness?”
“Of course,” he nods, “Thank you all.”
“Thank you,” Mostima whistles, though there’s a considerable heavy weight of knowledge upon them all as they exit and leave behind a tedium of agony.
ʚїɞ
“Leggera-“
“What?!”
I jump at my sister’s sudden bolt of ferocity but quickly recompose myself to stand next to her.
Standing atop a balcony, staring across the bustling city as far as the eye can see, arms resting along the barricade.
“Sorry,” she sighs, dropping her head, “There was a chance. A god damn change they could’ve been alive.”
“There was a chance our parents weren’t assholes too.”
“Yeah… I guess,” she shrugs. I rest my palm on her back, causing her wings to shiver slightly.
“Why the hell… weren’t we told anything? Just ran in there? All died, and then pulled out?”
“I… I can’t answer you…”
“I know. I’m just…”
“Speak all your mind here. It’s… it’s okay.”
“Fuck man, Giocatore’s right isn’t he… Why’d you stop him?”
“I… I just thought it was the right thing to do,” I mutter, “I don’t like seeing my friends fight.”
“Friends huh… I dunno, Giocatore’s always been more of a background guy.”
“Just because he doesn’t talk much doesn’t mean he doesn’t like being around you guys…”
“Eh… I guess you’re right.”
“Hell, I mean, he went through all that… Of course he’s gonna have… complications in trying to build social relationships. I… I don’t want to abandon him like I was by others.”
“You’ve got a kind heart, Nerina,” my sister murmurs, placing a hand on my shoulder
“It’s… the least I can do for anyone after… Rhodes Island helped me here.”
“If that’s what makes you happy,” she shrugs, “I guess I’m a bit worried about Giocatore too.”
“Oh?”
“I mean… He… you heard all that.”
“I did…” I let out, shutting my eye.
Torture, experimentation, and… grueling combat. And even then, he told me, that’s just a general overview of what happened down there.
"He's not going insane is he?"
"He's been getting worse I think," I sigh, remembering him collapse there and again back at the landship.
“Damn…”
“And he doesn’t even remember any of it. He… he still fights accepting it and knowing it. He knows that all happened to him, but his mind doesn’t want to accept it. It keeps pushing it away, trying to protect him in a way.”
“Then… what can we do?”
“I really… don’t know. Watch him closely, I guess,” I shrug, “And… that thing in Sami…”
“What about it?”
“He might end up going there sooner or later?”
“… What reason?”
“He’s… so deeply engrossed in his devotion to Rhodes Island, he’s turning blind to… everything else.”
“That’s why you brought that up then…”
“Yep… Because there’s a reason he brought that up… The blacksite’s connected to whatever’s happening in Sami and…”
“And he’s not telling us because-“
“He firmly believes that issue is something he has to solve on his own.”
“… This god damn delusional fuck,” Leggera grumbles.
“Maybe he sees it as a price… His own price and repayment of a debt or fulfilling his first purpose.”
“A price…”
“If you asked him, he’d say that… his life would be the price of peace upon Terra.”
“This… god damn fool…”
“And there’s no way any of us are stopping him.”
“Y… You’re right.”
“So… I’ll talk to him if I can and ask the Doctor and Logos about it.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry about it~” I sing, “If anything, I can count on you to drag me out of that abyss too.”
“Pft, got that right.”
ʚїɞ
“Fiammetta.”
A dark-winged Sankta pushes open a rooftop door as a certain blazing Liberi stares upon its ledge. She stands right on the cusp between plummeting below and the sanctity of the roof, yet nonetheless her mind is clear. Not a strand of worry floats between her fingertips. Her mind is resolute and her fists are clenched.
“What is it?” she groans.
“… I sense animosity. I… came to find you out of… guilt.”
“Guilt?” she coughs, “Where do I even start…”
“I have desecrated your nation. I have demolished your faith and stomped it down drains into nothing but paste. I…”
“No,” she cuts, “It’s not… It’s complicated,” she finally sighs, "Everything is."
“Would you please step away from the ledge, Fiammetta?”
“Fine,” she grunts, turning around to face him, “Since when were you one to care?”
“I simply… feels like its something I must do. Your friends would be upset that you were missing from their lives.”
“You understand that concept?”
“… Time with Leggera has granted me that. I’ve seen her admiring the memorial aboard Rhodes Island. I’ve felt the loss of the other Elite Operators upon the landship too. I’ve seen Infected wither between my fingertips and children mourn the loss of their parents.”
“… Sorry for assuming,” she backpedals.
“It’s fine. After all, I’m here to plead for your forgiveness.”
“My forgiveness?”
“Yes… You were most deeply affected, or more so I could not tell your emotions. I know every other Sankta forgave my outburst. I don’t know if you have.”
“… It’s fine,” she sighs.
“Truly?”
“… God damn it, not this again…”
“I simply want to confirm that... I was forgiven.”
“Why?”
“Because the others care for you deeply and because I've wronged you.”
“What about you?”
“… Caring for others is… foreign to me,” he whispers, “But I will lay my life in front of you all. If anything to guarantee the… future of Terra.”
“Forgive yourself first. And also, how will you fulfill your mission if you keep throwing yourself in front of us?”
“… I’ll see to it. Eventually.”
“No, you can’t do shit when you’re a dead, bleeding out corpse if you treat your life as a disposable garbage heap.”
“Why are you lecturing me… when I’ve come here… to seek…”
“My forgiveness? Giocatore, don’t you see it?”
“See?”
“This… is my forgiveness. I forgave you a while ago. Yes... you made me a bit mad back there, but considering everything you went through, that torture and all that experimentation… I can’t hold it against you. I won’t. I can’t.”
“Then… thank you. Truly.”
“My forgiveness to you is offering a piece of care to you,” she bluntly delivers, “I’m more than sure everyone does as well even if they don’t state it. Hell, Aefanyl seems to care for your wellbeing a fair amount and Cecelia loves spending time around you.”
“I… see…”
“Nerina cares about you a lot too,” she nudges, “She shows it a lot more with Ezell, Cecelia, and her sister, but inside… I’m sure she hates seeing you so… despondent.”
“I’ll take your words to heart then.”
“Also, what you said, yeah, I agree with a lot of it. All of it, actually,” Fiammetta shrugs, “Laterano acts as a holy heaven for everything, but nothing’s paradise. Not even Rhodes Island. I’m sure you’re aware of that now.”
“I am… But I see.”
“I’m a Liberi,” she goes on, “This city’s only really blessed the angels with its… anything really. That’s why it’s called the city of the angels. No matter how much the Liberi preach and bow to the religion… only the Sankta. Yet even you… a Sankta… had to endure that. Witness… everything.”
“And I don’t remember a piece of it. I thought I could reawaken those memories… but no. They’re all gone. Except for Ahava… that… Sarkaz in my mind.”
“You must’ve left out a few personal things from that then,” she reasons.
“I did… because yes, they are personal.”
“Then keep that to yourself however long you need,” she nods, “And thanks for coming up here anyways. Shows a lot about yourself that you did this.”
“It’s… the only thing to do when I committed a wrong.”
“I’m telling you its fine then.”
“Then… thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Also... your arms. What happened to them...?"
“Explosion tore them off when I was escaping the blacksite.”
“Good God… Are you alright now?”
“More or less. Functionally, they’re the same. As of now, I feel little difference. In fact they feel more… impressive than before.”
"That's good then. C’mon, let’s meet with the rest. Wouldn’t want Nerina worrying too much now.”
“Of course.”
<P8-621, Emotion Recorded.>
<Empathy.>