This Silence Is Mine - razororchard (2024)

Chapter 1: Arrival

Chapter Text

In the end, vengeance made the decision for Roland instead of compassion.

"Angela. The reason I give you a painless death, as opposed to my initial plan…Well, let’s call it a last bit of consideration for you—as my friend. Alright?"

Durandal carved through the air.

"It’s all over… Angelica…"

As Angela’s head toppled to the floor, the Library crumbled with her.

A solitary man stands in the middle of the City.

Next to him was a machine soaked in red.

The Library vanished, as if it were an illusion all along.

And the man disappeared into the City once again.

...

Aimlessly wandering from day to day, he took whatever jobs he could get and raised his blade to empty his mind. The bodies grew as he killed and killed and killed.

At first Roland thought that as long as he accomplished his revenge, he would be able to endure it.

"Such is the nature of the City. No matter how much I want to, it's impossible to break the cycle." he convinced himself.

But even after decapitating Angela, his sorrow only grew stronger.

He ended up spending his time inflicting his sorrow on others. So that he could run away from the pain.
Or maybe so that he could vomit out what had consumed him from inside.

A dark chasm, sinking deep into the earth, fill with more corpses than the light can reach. The further down it goes, the blurrier it get, until all that meet the eyes is a void. No anger, no past, no future, a single path to the end...

A bloodied Astolfo stared at the man bleeding out in the gutter.

"What did I tell you, Roland… You’ve killed too many… I warned you that if you relish murdering so much… you’ll lose yourself."

The man should have sank into oblivion, and that would be the end of the Black Silence.

But in his final, dying moments, he saw something inconceivable.

An invitation.

So, a Roland who chose revenge met a Roland who chose forgiveness.

"After seeing her choice, you... couldn't forgive her."

"Aah... I see. I thought it was weird... But if that's the case, everything makes sense."

"How can you be so calm? Just breathing from that day on was painful. I believed the only way to end it was by completing my revenge. Who...? A warm voice... oh... yes... you were there. No, I... didn't wish for that...You can't possibly want this... Stop...stop it!"

"Roland, are you sure you can handle this?"

"That me has reached the point of no return. So at least, before he can suffer anymore... Before he can inflict any more suffering, I have to finish this with my own hands. Even if I'm against myself, I won't back down."

"I wished to see the City's agony. It kept turning despite taking Angelica's life. At least, I should have hated it to that extent. But I feel like if I am released from this sorrow, there will be nothing left. I'm scared of what happens after the cycle breaks."

...

"Roland, are you alright?"

"No, not entirely. Even now I'm still feeling strained... Especially after knowing I can Distort like that."

"The other me had so many doubts. 'Is this truly alright?' He thought. But, the answer to that question was held deep within his heart. However when he came here, he finally found it. But it came to him too late..."

...

Elite Operator Ace saw something fall out of the sky, and the crackling of flames grew muted. No, all sounds grew faint, even the sound of his own heartbeat. A figure clad in black, but something was wrong about it. His cognition slid off it, refusing to focus. A reserve operator, a reunion grunt, a local police officer... His mind couldn't decide on who he is seeing. Another wave of flames swept across the plaza, and he ran in front of the figure and raised his shield, grimacing as the edges began to soften and melt. A shame his Arts can't redirect heat easily. The indiscernible figure seem to nod at him, and the surrounding rubble shattered in a burst of speed. An instant, and they were gone.

Roland ducked under a blast of superheated air as he surveyed the battlefield he had found himself in. An encirclement of white clothed figures, and a cadre of blue and black figures. A leader with flame focused weaponry. Another with a shield and hammer. Outfits didn't belong to any syndicate or fixer office he knew.

A difficult situation, but not impossible.

First, drive off the fiery one. He blurred in front of the woman, taking advantage of a lull in her barrage. Greatsword met Greatsword, steel cracking against X-Corp alloy. His other gloved hand slammed down and the axe barely missed her shoulder, only for the greatsword to disappear as he slashed under the guard with a dagger. Claw. Spear. Hammer. Durandal. Mace. Katana. Shortsword. Blood splattered across the ground. The woman had heated the ground beneath him, weakening his footing in certain moments to dodge blows, but enough had landed. An explosion of flame, too close to dodge.

A single-use T Corp device activated, something he had bought after the fall of the Library. It could shift time and push his actions forward 10 seconds ahead - a relative eternity in a battle. Before the flames burnt Roland, he became his attacking-self who was 10 seconds in the future. His shotgun's roar was muted under the influence of his gloves, the buckshot tearing into an arm and shattering the blade of her greatsword. He kicked her square in the chest, sending her flying.

Now, to break through the encirclement.

Ace followed as the dark blur carved through the encirclement. Rubble ripped through the air, crushing a group of Reunion casters. A masked body flew through the air, chest caved in and skull crushed, a sword slicing through the entire body of another at an angle. There was no screaming or other noises. Only the sound of weapons moving, as quiet as a breeze. Who exactly was this? An Ursus operative? A deniable asset they want to quietly test? Whoever this was, Ace knew that dealing with them would open another can of worms. Still, he would trust in the Doctor and Kal'tsit to see them through.

Chapter 2: Onboarding

Chapter Text

With a click, Dr. Kal'tsit, Head of the Medical Department of Rhodes Island, shut down the communication terminal.

Outside her office window, the skies of Lungmen were streaked with the warm colors of dusk, casting long shadows over the landship. The city-state had granted the company permission to temporary camp near the city. They've also agreed to compensate a portion of losses and expenditures sustained during the operation. Wei Yenwu, Lungmen's indomitable leader, was shrewd and uncompromising. The provisional permissions granted to Rhodes Island to camp near the city were a strategic maneuver, one laden with unspoken expectations and unvoiced demands. Kal'tsit was under no illusions; the forthcoming negotiations would be as much about gauging Rhodes Island's strength and intentions as they were about forming alliances.

The losses from the Chernobolg rescue operation were lower than expected. The extraction team had been pinned down by Reunion forces, and Ace's squad stay behind to buy time. Assistance from combatant 'Roland' allowed the squad to break through the encirclement and successfully make it to the southern extraction point. With new data on Reunion's leaders, particulary that of Talulah, the organisation's threat assessment needs to be changed, plans altered. And of course, their mysterious guest...

Kal'tsit flicked open her tablet and looked through his file, a slew of medical data and personal observations laid bare.

[Cell-Originium Assimilation] 0%

Roland shows no signs of Originium infection.

[Blood Originium-Crystal Density] 0.00u/L

His body was completely incompatible with Originium. Imaging tests revealed clear outlines of internal organs... and much more. Advanced optical implants, muscles replaced with strands of reinforced myomer, bones laced with an unknown alloy, altered blood and artifical organs allowing oxygen to be burned at nearly a thousand times the baseline efficiency... All these augments, and none had any interaction with Originium whatsoever. Some of the simpler ideas had been discussed in Columbia's scientific community and perhaps trials secretively conducted by their Department of Defence, but true implementation would be decades away at best, especially with the complexity of Arts required to allow test subjects to survive.

-gloves that seem to access a subdimensional pocket, from Operator Ace and Operator Green Pea's up close accounts. Despite similarities to Lich witchcraft, preliminary testing reveals that the spatial deformations detected cannot be attributed to originium arts due to-

-perception blocking mask, function analogous to illusory arts observed in Operation SRG187 when multiple-

Kal'tsit sighed. The man's accent didn't match any she knew, even dialects that have gone extinct. It wasn't simplified enough to be a pidgin language either.

Fixer. A Victorian term that recently entered widespread usage in Columbia. A person who serves as an agent to arrange for a desired result, perhaps by improper means. Somewhat similar to a mercenary. Roland had stated that he was a Grade One Fixer, and mentioned being a resident of the City, which had countless fixer offices, criminal syndicates and corporations. She had to redact most of the conversation log.

The civilisation of her creators had dabbled in body augmentations, but not to this extent of turning themselves into war machines. Nor did Roland have any knowledge of the Sacrophagi, or other preservation projects. He was a ghost in terms of identity.

According to the field operatives, his tactics were unorthodox, his movements unnaturally precise. Not just a soldier, but a tactician. And some of his equipment and augments are going to need maintenance, something that would be difficult to do without specialised equipment, equipment that Rhodes Island happened to have. There was also the deeper, more personal elements that Amiya had touched upon. If Amiya sensed a profound sorrow and despair in Roland, it was likely to be a significant aspect of his character, one that could influence his decisions and loyalties.

Determined to address every angle, Kal'tsit drafted a multifaceted approach. Alongside the contract of employment, she included provisions for a thorough psychological evaluation. It was crucial to understand the man behind the machinery, to gauge the risks and benefits of his integration into their ranks, or to hire him as an independent contractor. Rhodes Island could ill afford to take in someone whose mental state might compromise their missions or, worse, pose a threat from within.

Chapter 3: Search for a Purpose

Chapter Text

Ace's footsteps echoed softly as he navigated the corridors of the landship, his mind preoccupied with the recent mission. After checking on Scout in the medical bay, he made his way to the bridge. The bridge was dimly lit, with only the glow from the instrument panels and the distant lights of Lungmen illuminating the space. As he stepped onto the bridge, he found Roland standing by the window, gazing out at the cityscape with an intensity that seemed to cut through the glass.

Roland's mask, usually active with perception-distorting effects, was turned off, and Ace saw him clearly for the first time. Dressed in a sleek, black suit with a white undershirt and a loosely tied black tie, he could have passed for a corporate executive rather than a seasoned killer. His gloved hands, now free of the blood and grime of battle, rested calmly by his sides.

Ace approached him, his voice soft but clear. "Tough day, huh? How are you holding up after everything?"

Roland didn't turn away from the window. "It can't be helped. That's that, and this is this," he responded, his voice a blend of resignation and detachment. "When you're a fixer in the City, killing is as much a part of the job as breathing. You get used to it."

Ace chuckled, though there was little humour in it. "You sound just like Sharp used to when he first joined us. All business, no nonsense."

Finally, Roland faced him, curiosity flickering across his obscured face. "Sharp?"

"Yeah, another Elite Operator. He was a lot like you, once. Thought he could wall off his feelings about the job, just do the work and not let it touch him. But that kind of life, it changes you, doesn’t it? Whether you admit it or not."

Roland turned back to the window, watching the flickering lights. "Maybe," he conceded. "But what choice do we have? When every job might be your last, you learn to deal with it quickly or you don’t survive."

Ace moved to stand beside him, sharing the view. "I used to think like that too. After all, I was a mercenary before this. I thought I was fighting for some greater cause, but in the end, it often felt like I was just moving from one bloody job to the next. The disappointment... it was crushing. So I focused on the work, hoping it meant something."

"And did it?" Roland asked.

Ace sighed, his eyes reflecting the city lights. "Not until I came here, to Rhodes Island—back when it was still Babel. Our leader, Theresa, she had this crazy idea that we could cure Oripathy. I thought she was dreaming. How do you cure a disease as old as time?"

"And yet you stayed?"

"I stayed because, despite my doubts, Theresa and the others... they believed so fiercely that it was contagious. They showed me that no matter how impossible something seems, with enough will, you can make a dent in the universe. We haven't cured oripathy yet, but we've given many a new lease on life. That’s not nothing."

Roland was silent for a moment, then spoke. "Did you rehearse that speech, hoping I'd be inspired?"

Ace laughed, a deep, resonant sound that filled the space between them. "Maybe a little. But really, finding a purpose, helping others—it's not the worst way to live. Better than just surviving."

Roland looked down at his hands, the same hands that killed Angela, Olivier, and countless others, all to satisy his hollow revenge. "And if your hands are too stained to hold anything clean?"

"We all have pasts we're not proud of. Here, at Rhodes Island, we try to build a future that can forgive that past."

Ace offered his hand to Roland, who hesitated before taking it. "Think about it. We can use someone with your skills, and maybe, just maybe, you can find something here worth fighting for that doesn’t involve losing more of yourself."

Roland nodded slowly, considering the possibility. As Ace walked away, he stood there for a long while, lost in thought.

What remained of the man who had failed to protect what he vowed to save?

Who had slain those dear to him?

An empty husk, that’s what remains.

Is that all he could ever be?

Chapter 4: Permafrost

Chapter Text

In the situation room of Rhodes Island's mobile command center, the atmosphere was tense. Maps and digital projections flickered across the screens, showing the intricate web of Chernobolg’s streets and corresponding Originium contamination levels. Kal'tsit, her expression stoic yet intense, addressed the assembled operators.

"The Recon Squads sent to scout out the remnants of Chernobolg have fallen into a Reunion ambush. Combat personnel have been dispatched. Meteorite's squad is within the Originium-dense zones left by the Catastrophe, so the LGD wouldn't be able to venture further without the risk of being infected," she began, her voice cutting through the murmurs.

"Operator Roland, you are to shadow Amiya's squad, with your top priority to protect the Doctor and Amiya. The incident with Skullshatterer has proven that we cannot afford to underestimate Reunion. At least we managed to secure Misha safely... Should you encounter any of their leaders, try to capture them alive."

Roland, standing slightly apart from the others, listened intently. His eyes narrowed slightly as he processed the orders. “Kal'tsit, what about the plan to confront Crownslayer? Scout tracked her down in downtown Lungmen. Are we really planning to handle her with just one operator accompanying you?”

Kal'tsit glanced at him, a slight arch to her brow. “Thank you, but your concerns are unwarranted. Specialist Red and I will be enough to take care of Crownslayer.”

Roland turned his gaze towards the red-cloaked operator standing beside Kal'tsit. Something about her struck a chord in him. "There's something familiar about her," he murmured, almost to himself. "It's strange not seeing her scream in anger and having both eyes."

Red, overhearing the comment, tilted her head slightly, her expression one of confusion. “What do you mean?”

Roland shook his head slightly, dismissing the moment of nostalgia. “It’s nothing. Just reminded me of someone I used to know. Forget I said anything.”

Kal'tsit observed this exchange with a keen eye, then shifted her focus back to the mission at hand. “Focus on your assignments. The stakes are high, and we can’t afford distractions."

.. .

Amiya rushed towards Frostleaf, who leaned heavily against the crumbling wall of an abandoned storefront, barely illuminated by the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp. Her breath visible in the chilly air, she called out, "Frostleaf! Frostleaf, is that you?"

Frostleaf, trying to straighten up despite her evident pain, managed a nod. "It is. I've taken care of the enemy," she said, her voice hoarse but firm. "Sorry for making you worry, Amiya."

Amiya reached her side, concern etched on her face. "Are you injured?"

Frostleaf winced, a flash of pain crossing her features. "Ugh... It's minor. Don’t worry."

Amiya was unconvinced. "Medic, hurry!" she called out, scanning Frostleaf's body, noticing the signs of frostbite. "No way... Why is your body all frostbitten? What happened to you..."

Frostleaf attempted a reassuring smile. "Meteorite and Jessica are still in the main square. They should be safe for the time being, but it’s hard to say for how long. I managed to lure the enemy out, so Reunion hasn’t found them yet."

"The enemy?" Amiya’s voice sharpened with concern.

"Our cover hasn’t been blown yet, so there’s no need for concern yet," Frostleaf assured her. "But, he's going to come soon..."

Suddenly, Mephisto’s taunting voice echoed through the desolate streets. "Where are you hiding, little fox? Hurry and come out. Our game of hide and seek is about to come to an end. For every minute you stay hidden, I'll break another one of your friends' fingers—Do you still plan to keep running?"

Amiya clenched her fists, feeling the cold bite into her skin. (Mephisto...!)

Frostleaf caught her eye, signaling silently. (He's bluffing. Don’t take the bait.)

(What is he doing...) Amiya thought, her brow furrowed in frustration.

"Reunion is moving," Frostleaf reported, her voice low.

"That little...!" Amiya’s frustration was palpable. She pulled out her communicator to contact Meteorite but found no signal. "Why can't I get through? We’ve clearly already crossed the contaminated area..."

Frostleaf sighed and pulled out her own communicator, showing it to Amiya. "Take a look at this." Amiya took the device, her eyes widening. "It’s... frozen over? Did it get... ruined by the frost?"

Ace, who had been scanning the perimeter, joined them, his expression grave. "The frost isn’t natural. I don't think Mephisto or his casters are capable of wide range arts like this."

"It's not from Mephisto," Frostleaf said quietly, ignoring Mephisto’s ranting in the background. "There’s something wandering in this city... that is far more terrifying."

"Something more terrifying?" Amiya echoed, turning to Ace.

"The Yeti Squadron. If we run into them, we’ll be in serious trouble," Frostleaf explained hastily. "They are the ones behind the sudden temperature drop, as well as our squads’ injuries."

"It seems like this squad has already established their territory within this city." The Doctor, who had been monitoring their communications, finally spoke, his voice steady over the comms. "Amiya, Ace, focus on securing Meteorite and Jessica first. Avoid engagement with the Yetis unless absolutely necessary."

Amiya looked up, noting the darkening sky. "The sky is getting darker. This is a good opportunity for us... We’ll be able to cross this open area more easily. Let’s go rescue Meteorite and Jessica first."

"I’ll lead the way," Frostleaf stated, moving ahead with renewed purpose. Amiya followed, her eyes scanning the shadows. "What are those things in the main square? I can’t really see... Are they... statues of some sort? Their shapes are really strange... And this smell makes me want to vomit..."

Frostleaf paused, glancing back at Amiya with a serious expression. "Over here. Don’t get separated. Don't go look at those things..."

Suddenly, they heard Mephisto’s voice again. "How long are you going to keep hiding, Rhodes Island insects?! Aww, still don't feel like coming out? Don't think I didn't see your reinforcements coming. Well, whatever. I have something to show you. I'm sure you'll like it. Looking back now... We were originally planning to take over Chernobog from the very beginning... We waited for so, so long... and finally, our time has come... The moment when we take our revenge against Ursus! Against those who persecuted us Infected!"

As he ranted, his voice took on a chilling edge. "But, what about the fellows in this sub-city? They ran away. They had pretty quick reactions. Ran away before we had a chance to take action. Disconnected themselves, and took off as quickly as they could—But where did they hope to escape to? Our comrades had long permeated every district, waiting for our opportunity. In the end, we caught up to them, and gave them the punishment they deserved. These cowards, these perpetrators; what were we to do with them?"

"It's simple - we would make an example of them!" Mephisto declared, his voice echoing ominously. "A proclamation that all injustices against the Infected would be purged... Yes, that is the symbol of the Reunion Movement... Let them all turn into effigies of terror, one by one!"

"You, set that nearby effigy on fir-"

As Mephisto's sinister monologue reached its climax, a suffocating silence abruptly fell across the square.

The atmosphere thickened, charged with a palpable tension.

In that breathless moment, Roland appeared—his presence alone was an embodiment of relentless violence.

With a single swing of a mace, dozens of Reunion members were reduced to mere chunks, the violence so abrupt and extreme that it bordered on the surreal. The Doctor, witnessing the brutality, quickly covered Amiya's eyes, shielding her from the horrific sight. This was not a battle—it was a massacre. Roland moved with terrifying efficiency, his weapons pulverising bone and tearing through flesh with mechanical precision. Each blow was delivered with a chilling detachment, as if he were merely conducting business as usual. His mask and gloves became increasingly stained with the red of spilled blood, a stark contrast to his emotionless demeanor.

The Doctor, though grateful for the protection Roland afforded them, felt a creeping dread at the ease with which the man dealt death. He knew Roland's attacks were efficient, aimed solely at killing without cruelty, yet there was an inherent fear in witnessing such unbridled ferocity. The unsettling thought lingered in his mind: could someone so proficient in violence truly be free of its corrupting influence? Amiya, even with her eyes covered, could feel the waves of hatred and anguish emanating from Roland. It was as if he was trying to wash away his own bloodstained past with the blood of others, a futile attempt to cleanse through further violence.

Mephisto, now overtaken by fear, began to cast frantic arts. He produced a shimmering powder that healed wounds but had a dire side effect—it intensified oripathy, causing crystals to burst out of the bodies of his allies, driving them into a state of mindless rage. Despite the chaos, Roland's movements remained precise and unfazed. He whispered venomously about a 'puppeteer' before cutting down his frenzied adversaries with such speed that there was nothing left to heal.

Wrath is like a blade with the sharpest edge. If you aren’t careful with wielding it, you might end up cutting yourself before you even realize it. The words of Geburah echoed in Roland’s mind, a stark reminder of the dangerous line he was walking. This moment of reflection momentarily halted his relentless assault.

With a sudden burst of clarity and control, Roland's next move was a calculated strike rather than an act of blind fury. A powerful kick shattered Mephisto's staff and crumpled his left knee. Grasping the crippled leader, Roland then threw Mephisto's body towards Amiya's squad with a bone-shattering crack. A hail of ice splinters flew at him with deadly precision, but he danced around the barrage effortlessly. Only the final shard caught his attention, which he snatched from the air and examined briefly before crushing it in his gloved fist.

As the temperature plummeted, ice crystals spread rapidly across the ground, and a chilling mist enveloped the area. Emerging from this frigid fog, a pale-haired caster with distinct rabbit ears stepped forward, her presence alone intensifying the cold.

"The faceless demon in the flesh, and as formidable as expected," Frostnova stated coolly. "As much as Mephisto disgusts me, he's still one of us."

Roland responded with a wry tone, "I met another Red Riding Hood earlier, and now another Snow Queen." His glance briefly swept the battlefield, noting the escalation.

Suddenly, the ground trembled as a massive armoured figure burst out of the shadows, its speed surprising given its bulk. Mephisto was seized in an instant, while a halberd swung out with incredible force. Ace sprang into action, his shield steadfast as it absorbed the blow. His arts allowed him to redirect the burst of kinetic energy, and his hammer crashed into Patriot's shield, harnessing the strength of Patriot's own attack to push him back slightly.

Patriot's voice, broken up by the ravages of oripathy, carried a gruff respect, "Warriors... Worthy of praise." His mind briefly wandered to his years stationed at the northern border of Ursus, where he had fought against demons that twisted reality. He remembered the visual corruption, unable to distinguish the faces of his fellow soldiers as identity itself was obliterated. He was relieved his suspicions about the faceless man—Roland—weren't confirmed; that he wasn't some new experiment Ursus was using to harness the power of demons.

Roland and Ace exchanged a knowing look. Roland drew his pistol and shotgun, preparing to engage Frostnova at range, while Ace continued to contend with Patriot. Together, they bought crucial time for the Rhodes Island forces to initiate a retreat.

The Doctor, commanding with authority despite the strain in their voice, rallied the personnel. "Protect the medics and the injured! Snipers...! Aim at those black crystals. Keep firing!! Disrupt their formation! Demolish the entire building to cover our escape!"

The sounds of explosions began to thicken the haze enveloping the square, prompting a quick reaction from Amiya. "The explosions are making the haze thicker...! Here's our opening! Get moving!"

As the troops mobilized, Amiya led the charge, "Everyone, we're retreating from this square!" Her voice echoed through the chaos, a beacon of resolve guiding her team out of the immediate danger, leaving Roland and Ace to cover their retreat, ice and fire clashing as the entire landship shook with the force of impacts.

Chapter 5: A Voice as Warm as the Sun

Chapter Text

...

On the rooftop of LGD Headquarters in Upper Lungmen, the scene was charged with tension. Mephisto, visibly weakened, faced off against Ch'en, her blade ready and her stance resolute.

Chapter 6: Prayer for Loving Sorrow

Chapter Text

"Who in their right mind would travel so far for a simple lunch? Charles is gonna scold you, y'know," Angelica remarked with a playful tone, her white hair catching the brilliant light of the noon sun.

Roland looked at her fondly, his eyes softening. "He'll let this slide. Astolfo and I earned some downtime after sorting out that whole mess with the Pinky."

"You're not planning on feeding me something weird, right? I heard a story about a person tricking another fellow into trying out a 'delicacy'. It turned out that they were eating human meat," she joked, a hint of mischief in her voice.

Roland snorted, amused. "This ain't District 23. The restaurant's perfectly ordinary, and the food is made with ordinary ingredients."

They arrived at a quaint establishment, its aged wooden sign 'Dong-hwan's Pub' painted in a vibrant red hanging above the door. "A groggery?" Angelica raised an eyebrow.

"It looks a bit old, but the food is good," he reassured her as they stepped inside.

The interior of Dong-hwan's Pub was unexpectedly lively, with more customers than Roland had anticipated. The cozy ambiance was inviting, yet it meant they had to wait a few minutes for a table. Soon, they were seated at a small corner table, their order of pajeon and makgeolli promptly taken by a friendly waiter.

"Wo, this pajeon is really tasty!" Angelica exclaimed after her first bite, her eyes lighting up.

"Yeah, the taste goes especially well with Makgeolli," Roland agreed, taking a sip of the milky rice wine.

"By the way, have you brought someone else here for a couple's meal before?" Angelica asked.

"Well, I had lunch with Olivier here a few times," Roland replied.

"Hmph, you two seem so close. I'm almost jealous," Angelica teased.

As they finished their meal, Angelica rubbed her blue eyes, slightly glossed from the alcohol. "I'm starting to feel a bit tipsy. I don't usually drink in the day."

They got up, preparing to leave. "It's a pretty charming lunch to have from time to time. So there's gotta be a reason you brought me here," Angelica said, grabbing his hand firmly. "I'm not letting you go until you tell me!"

"Okay, okay. I actually - I like you," Roland confessed, his voice slightly nervous.

"Heh, then you'll be glad that I like you in that way too," Angelica responded with a soft smile, her words warming Roland's heart.

Roland smiled fondly, remembering how he was just going to confess that he accidentally broke the Mook Workshop sword she had bought a few days ago. He had planned to express his feelings in a fancier, more refined place. But when he heard her reply, it didn't matter.

But all dreams must come to an end.

"Buy some pajeon for me when you get back, ok?"

He remembered the sorrow that had followed. That awful melody...

As the surge of anguish and rage overwhelmed Roland, a different tune—calming and gentle—began to smother the storm within him. It was a melody that drained away the negativity, replacing the vivid scenes of carnage from his rampage with serene images of Angelica’s wedding. But amidst this deceptive calm, he remembered Mephisto, the boy whose flesh and bone billowed outward into white dust. A Distortion, a kind that trapped the mind in a painless, beguiling past, born out of naive desires.

I have nothing but my sorrow, and I want nothing more. It has been, it still is, faithful to me.

Roland dismissed the happy illusions, focusing instead on the painful present. His will hardened, clashing against the seductive melody. Centimetre by centimetre, He could slowly feel awareness of his body returning. Once the precipice, a warm, familiar voice entered a crack in his mind.

You rejected dwelling in the past, yet, what future could you look forward to? Angela was dead by your hands, and your revenge is complete. Who would you point your blade at next? Perhaps it was easier to give in to spite than to deal with that uncertainty.Pile up corpses to form a hill. Kill until the hill becomes a mountain that blots out both past and future. You couldn't protect anything, so why not give up this whole deal with Rhodes Island? The nature of a sword was forever to cut.

"Shut up!" Roland snuffed out the invasive voice. Yes, he admitted that he was wrong to kill Angela, to kill and trample over the countless bodies in his career. But he wouldn’t give in to his spite, for the other Roland had proved that he could be better.

“Observe simply what your eyes can see, without imputing any external values to it. Everything shall repeat. What truly matters, however, is that the cycle did break at least once,”Binah's words echoed in his thoughts.

He might have become a lump of obstinance, a hollow life trying to wrap itself in a glossy package. But that wouldn't stop him from changing. Even though he couldn’t protect everyone, he would save the ones he could. That is why he swung his sword. Aimless wrath or apathy would lead him no longer.

That's This, and This is That.

...

Ch'en clenched her jaw, the familiar scenes of her and Talulah's carefree childhood flashing before her eyes within her shell, brutally juxtaposed against the current horror. Mephisto had transformed into a grotesque abomination, now a sprawling mound of white dust that vibrated with a song sapping everyone’s will to fight. The LGD, along with Ch'en herself, were gradually being encased in the powder, effectively turning them into statues that further propagated this debilitating effect.

Even the helicopter, their last hope for a quick escape or reinforcement, wasn’t spared. It was caught in a sudden deluge of the white powder, a stark white pillar shooting up from the roof to trap it in an unyielding grip.

At the epicenter of this chaos was the once-leader of Reunion, now nothing more than a condensed mass of powder taking on the grotesque shape of feathers. Avian heads sprouted haphazardly like tumorous growths, each one singing that same eerie, draining song.

"C-Chi Xiao..." Ch'en murmured, her voice faltering. The situation was dire. Despite her resolve and training, she found herself unable to summon enough focus to unleash her arts without risking severe backlash.

Suddenly, a distinct crack pierced through the monotonous singing. It was one of the statues breaking, dark energy coalescing within it. As more cracks followed, the singing intensified, the dust scrambling to seal the breaches, but the force within was relentless.

With a final, resounding shattering noise, something broke free. A figure emerged, shrouded in a black haze that clung to his suit like armor and coated the edge of his sword. His head was cloaked in darkness, his mask now appearing as a boundless void. The swirling dust around him formed a storm, attempting in vain to halt his determined advance.

One step. Roland pushed forward, the eerie song growing muffled beneath the weight of his presence.

Two steps. The dust melted off him as soon as it touched, unable to cling to his form.

Three steps. He attacked.

...

Eno was enveloped in bliss. To him, his song was everything—a melody woven from the depths of his soul, shared freely and without burden. Sasha and his friends echoed this tune, their voices blending seamlessly with his, free from pain or remorse. In Eno's world, nothing else held weight; only the music existed, only the song mattered. He would sing and sing, spreading his notes until every ear was filled with his sound.

But amid the harmony, a discordant note persisted—a blot of ink marring the purity of his chorus. This dissonance was made of darker materials: hatred, sorrow, despair, guilt—ugly things that contaminated his beautiful song. Eno sought to bury these jarring tones beneath his melody, but they were relentless, stubbornly resurfacing. His song faltered, the notes trembling in the air. His friends' voices dwindled into silence.

Then came the agony, as sharp and sudden as a shard of Originium jammed into a throat. The painful present dragged him back from the blissful reverie of the past. That black silence was back, no it was death. He was going to die. He... He needed to heal, to eat, to survive. But wouldn't that hurt his friends? He didn't want to hurt anyone - he wanted to live on. Live on. That was what Sasha wanted, right? Live on, even if he had to devour others.

As this internal conflict reached its peak, a thunderous clash broke through the contemplation. Ch'en watched in awe as Roland's greatsword tore into Mephisto's core. The strike was powerful and decisive, cutting through the roof and sending half of the floor tumbling down the building. The powder that had entrapped them began to dissipate, clearing the air and grounding the moment back in reality.

Ch'en rushed to the edge of the crumbling rooftop, her heart pounding in her chest as she peered down.

On the streets below stood a Mountain of Smiling Bodies.

Chapter 7: Countermeasures

Chapter Text

Wei Yenwu stood in his office, now transformed into a frenzied command center. Normally a bastion of meticulous order, it was overrun with activity as sectaries and personnel darted about, their voices a blend of urgency and panic. They scoured every available piece of intelligence, their eyes glued to the multitude of screens showing live feeds from the security cameras stationed around LGD headquarters.

On the screens, a horrifying scene unfolded. The creature that the Reunion leader had become staggered to its feet, each movement causing its coal-black skin to crack and fissure, leaking a tar-like ichor that dripped onto the ground below. This vile substance pooled and coalesced into grotesque mounds of dead flesh, rotting meat, and corroded bone, which seemed to pulsate with a life of their own. The beast itself was a nightmarish vision, covered in thousands of bone-white skulls that protruded from its form, their eyes and mouths snapping at the air with a ravenous hunger.

Suddenly, with a terrifying force, the creature lunged downward, shattering the road beneath it and descending into the sewers. Its maws tore into a nearby corpse, the sound of flesh being rended echoing grotesquely through the cameras' audio. With each corpse it consumed, the creature grew exponentially, its body spawning foul, meaty outgrowths that mirrored the main body’s ravenous appetite.

Wei's tablet shattered in his trembling hands, an echo of his fading control over the situation. At that moment, his aide interrupted, "Sir, incoming call from Dr. Kal'tsit."

He accepted the call, his voice taut with stress. "Chief Executive, Operator Roland has provided vital information on the anomaly, designated: Mountain of Smiling Bodies. It's a mass of melded corpses that increases in size, strength, and endurance with every body it absorbs. Additional capabilities include debilitating sonic attacks and blasts of caustic vomit. If allowed to proliferate, it will pose a substantial threat to the entire city," Kal'tsit reported, her voice eerily calm amidst the chaos.

"The Yan Censors—" Wei started.

"I've already contacted them and... reached an understanding. They will not impose any restrictions on this operation. Amiya and the Doctor are currently negotiating a ceasefire with the Yeti Squad to ensure containment can—" Kal'tsit began to explain.

"Lungmen does NOT negotiate with terrorists—" Wei interjected sharply, his frustration peaking.

"No, it is Rhodes Island that is doing the negotiating, not Lungmen," Kal'tsit clarified coolly.

Wei paused, taking a deep breath to collect himself. "Very well. I will contact my underworld associate to coordinate evacuation procedures. Inform your personnel that if the threat cannot be suppressed, this district will be detached from the landship and the outer cannons activated." His decision was final, his tone resolute but strained by the gravity of the potential loss.

He ended the call, his mind racing through scenarios and contingencies. As he stared back at the screens, his resolve hardened. Wei Yenwu was prepared to do whatever necessary to save his city, to protect his people, no matter the dreadful cost. His city's safety was his paramount duty, and he would fulfill it at any cost.

...

After ending the call with Wei Yenwu, Dr. Kal'tsit stood motionless for a moment, her expression unreadable. She slowly turned away from the communication terminal, her gaze settling on the chaos of Rhodes Island's own command center. Operators moved rapidly, screens flickered with data, and her mind raced with the weight of the incoming crisis.

Kal'tsit's thoughts were interrupted as Ace approached, his expression serious, reflecting the gravity of the situation. "Dr. Kal'tsit, how did the call go? Is Lungmen taking steps?"

"Wei Yenwu is moving to secure the city, but it’s on us to handle the immediate threat," Kal'tsit responded, her voice steady despite the swirling tension. "Roland's new capabilities could be pivotal. His transformation has not only magnified his strength but also his resilience. We’ve never seen him wield power like this."

Ace nodded, understanding the potential and the risks involved. "Roland's always had a knack for surprising us at the right times. If whatever he's got can hold off that abomination, it could give us the edge we need. Blaze and I wil also join the frontline defense. I also suggest deploying Operator Rosmontis as ranged support."

Kal'tsit paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed the suggestion. "Yes, Rosmontis's walls could help pin down the target while the others engage directly. It’s a sound strategy, Ace. Prepare for deployment immediately."

"I’ll make sure we’re ready. Every second will count against that...thing."

As Ace hurried off to prepare, Kal'tsit’s gaze drifted back to the screens, where Roland had leapt off the building with Ch'en on his back. Chi Xiao was fully unleashed, a crimson star falling to the earth, riding upon a haze of darkness. She murmured to herself, partly in awe, partly in concern, "Roland, what have you become? Let’s hope this power is enough."

Chapter 8: La Brèche de Roland

Chapter Text

When Blaze and GreyThroat arrived at the frontlines, the scene before them was a catastrophic tableau of urban destruction. Roads were torn apart, with rubble cascading into the exposed bowels of the sewers below. Above this devastation loomed the Mountain of Smiling Bodies—a grotesque titan of melted corpses towering as tall as the buildings it mercilessly plowed through. Its limbs, as large as cars and tougher than steel, smashed down on the beleaguered figures that dared to challenge its rampage. The mouths adorning these limbs emitted a chilling mix of screams, laughs, and giggles, forming an incomprehensible and horrific cacophony that chilled the bone.

From various grotesque mouths, blasts of caustic vomit erupted, spewing forth with deadly accuracy. This vile secretion ate through bitumen, concrete, and metal with horrifying ease, adding another layer of peril to the already dire situation. The air around them was thick with the sounds of explosions, as casters from both the LGD and RI unleashed an onslaught of Arts in a desperate attempt to halt the creature’s advance.

Scout paused in his relentless firing to brief Blaze and GreyThroat on the current situation. "The plan is to drive it toward areas that have already been evacuated," he shouted over the din of combat. "Then, we’ll try to push it off the landship into the wasteland below. Hopefully, the city's cannons can finish it off there."

Blaze, her chainsaw revving with a menacing buzz, nodded sharply. "Got it." Her voice was a gravelly roar, barely audible over the chaos.

GreyThroat, her crossbow at the ready, scanned the surroundings with a sharp eye. "What about the Rat King and the Yeti Squad? Where are they positioned?" she asked, calculating the best vantage point for her shots.

"They're attacking from the other side," Scout replied, reloading his air rifle with practiced ease. "We're hoping to pincer it. Keep it disoriented and under constant pressure."

Blaze cracked her knuckles, a fierce gleam in her eyes. "Time to show this monster what happens when it messes with Rhodes Island. GreyThroat, cover me!"

GreyThroat nodded, positioning herself behind a half-collapsed wall. Her eyes narrowed as she took aim, her fingers steady despite the pounding of her heart. "On your mark, Blaze."

As Blaze charged forward, her chainsaw cutting a harsh, metallic symphony through the air, GreyThroat’s shots whistled through the battlefield, each bolt finding its mark in the soft, fleshy mouths of the titan. The creature roared, its movements becoming erratic as it faced assaults from multiple angles.

Blaze's chainsaw tore into the tar-like flesh of the monstrous entity with violent force. Her arts supercompressed the air, creating explosive bursts along the path of her cuts, showering sparks and ichor in every direction. As a spiked tendril shot towards her, Blaze ducked swiftly, but not swiftly enough to avoid a gash across her cheek. Unfazed, she utilized the flowing blood, combusting it and channeling the fiery energy back into her weapon, enhancing its destructive power.

Chi Xiao cut and cut and cut, blazing a baleful red. Ch'en didn't even have time to curse, focusing on maintaining her breathing as she fought. Each blow from the monster was enough to cripple or kill. Nearby, a dark blur that was Roland smashed through the facade of a nearby building. He recovered just as quickly, blasting back into the fray with a surge of speed that was inhuman. Torn and bleeding, his suit shredded in several places, he continued to attack at a ferocious rate, seemingly indefatiguable. A lance piercing deep into flesh, sabres slashing faster than her eye can follow, bullets shooting out eyes, creating temporary blindspots. He didn't block, instead slipping into attacks and dodging, every action leading into an counterattack. The mantle of darkness that covered his form also coated his weapons, magnifying their blows. Ace was maneuvering strategically, using his arts to redirect the monster's blows back onto itself, creating openings for Ch'en to exploit. Together, they orchestrated a relentless assault, yet the creature's regenerative abilities were formidable. Wounds sprouted new, hungry mouths, and severed limbs reattached themselves, enhancing its grotesque form.

On another front, FrostNova, her teeth gritted in concentration, used her arts to flash-freeze and shatter a lunging head. The extensive use of her powers, however, was taking a toll on her, exacerbating her oripathy. She could feel crystals piercing through her skin, a painful reminder of the cost of her efforts. The environment around her turned into a chilling landscape of ice, her squad supporting her as she fought back against the relentless advance of the creature.

All the while the Mountain of Smiling Bodies grew. It had never consumed this many corpses and grew to such an extent. And some of the corpses were infected, their remains containing high concentrations of originium. The abnormality developed even further. A mouth opened and a blast of force came roaring out, Lin Yühsia dispersed it with shards of glass ripped from an office building, her father blasting the offending limb with sand, flensing away flesh and bone. Still, the abnormality grew and grew, now the height of skyscrapers and much wider.The battlefield was a nightmarish vision of thousands of eyes and hundreds of stinking limbs, a demonic entity that seemed unstoppable.

Just as hope began to falter, a new voice crackled through the comms. "Operator Rosmontis, in position." From her vantage point, the young feline operator manipulated massive chunks of rubble, compressing it into jagged points that lifted into the air and drilled mercilessly into the creature. With visible strain, she pushed the mountainous abomination towards the edge of the landship.

Never had Rosmontis been forced to push her arts to such an extent. As she exerted herself, the attacks intensified, and slowly but surely, the mountain of smiling bodies was pushed to the brink of the landship. The creature, sensing the imminent danger, began to root itself, sending masses of its grotesque form deep underground in a desperate bid to anchor itself and resist the relentless push.

Amid the chaos of the battlefield, a profound realization swept through Roland. The surging emotions he felt were akin to those experienced in the Library, where collected Light resonated with emotions, transforming them into tangible strength. This mountain of corpses before him, a grotesque mirror of his own past rampages, slaughtered without purpose, senselessly accumulating death as he once had in the days following the Library’s collapse. Back then, he had swung his sword relentlessly, each strike a desperate attempt to bury his mounting guilt beneath the bodies of the fallen.

His past was before him, and he would not lose to it.

Rings of Light began to encircle the edge of Durandal, pulsing with the force of his emotions. With each beat, his strength and speed surged exponentially. In a breathtaking display of prowess, Roland unleashed a flurry of attacks so rapid they seemed to occur simultaneously, each strike fueled by the depth of his emotional turmoil and newfound resolve.

With a tremendous force born of desperation and clarity, he smashed the grotesque abnormality over the edge of the landship. Even as they plummeted toward the ground below, Roland did not cease his assault. He continued to slice and cut into the creature, each blow delivered with the precision and ferocity honed by years of conflict. The dirt kicked up into a massive cloud upon their impact, enveloping them in a dense, obscuring haze.

Despite the ferocity of Roland’s onslaught, the creature’s vast mass allowed it some measure of evasion, potentially enough to survive the impending bombardment from the city’s defenses. Roland felt his EGO flickering, the strain of maintaining such intensity threatening to overwhelm him. He knew he couldn’t sustain this level of combat much longer.

In that critical moment, the teachings of Iori and the overwhelming attacks of the Red Mist flashed through his mind. He needed one final, devastating strike to end this. Gathering every ounce of his strength and channeling the resonant energy of his emotions into Durandal, Roland prepared for one last, overwhelming slash aimed at annihilating the enemy entirely.

Roland swung down with all the force he could muster. Durandal cut through the air with a power that seemed to split the very atmosphere.

The impact was monumental, a cataclysmic release of energy that resonated across the battlefield.The Mountain of Smiling Bodies have been spilt in two, matter crumbling to nothing. A vast chasm had been gouged into the earth, the crack a scar upon the landscape.

And Durandal... the sword had changed, a covering of black flesh and teeth coating it.

Exhausted, Roland dropped to his knees and fell unconscious.

Chapter 9: Aftermath

Chapter Text

Blaze's footsteps echoed softly as she entered the medical ward of Rhodes Island, her gaze sweeping over the rows of beds occupied by operators in various stages of recovery. The air was thick with the faint, sterile scent of antiseptics, and soft beeps punctuated the quiet.

Approaching Rosmontis's bedside, Blaze noticed the young operator's concentrated expression as she scrolled through her tablet. The room was filled with the soft beeps of monitors and the quiet shuffle of medical staff tending to the wounded.

"How are you feeling?" Blaze inquired, pulling up a chair and settling beside Rosmontis.

"Getting better, slowly," Rosmontis replied without looking up. Her fingers paused on the tablet. "Where's Dr Kal'tsit? Isn't she usually around?"

"She's tied up in surgery right now," Blaze explained. "FrostNova's condition escalated. Her Oripathy flared up badly due to the overexertion in the battle. The Doctor made a deal with the Yeti Squad to get her treated. They’ve had to induce a coma to stabilise her vitals."

Across the ward, Roland lay quietly on another bed, unconscious and vulnerable. One arm was encased in a heavy plaster cast, and the absence of his usual mask revealed a surprisingly ordinary face, contrasting sharply with the ferocious warrior they had witnessed in combat.

"It’s almost surreal," Blaze continued, her gaze fixed on Roland. "Seeing him like this, after the power he unleashed out there... It makes you wonder about the depths of strength we carry inside us."

Just then, Ch'en stepped into the ward, her presence commanding immediate attention despite the understated clink of her sword. Her coat was slightly open, revealing bandages wrapped around her torso.

"How is he?" Ch'en asked, nodding towards Roland.

"Still hasn't woken up," Blaze answered, eyeing Ch'en warily. "Did Wei send you to check up on things?"

Ch'en smiled slightly. "Not exactly, though he's definitely keeping a close watch on everything. We both know how much he wants to keep Lungmen safe. He's under a lot of pressure to make sure everything looks controlled, especially with the Yan censors watching."

Her tone then shifted, lighter this time. "You know, if we managed to 'borrow' Roland from you, it would surely show that we have a viable countermeasure to further attacks from these monsters."

Blaze chuckled, the tension easing further. "Wei would have to get past Ace first. And good luck with that."

Their laughter mingled with the beeps and soft murmurs of the ward, a momentary respite that lightened the heavy air.

“You know, seeing Roland out there...” Blaze began, her voice a mix of awe and concern, “it was unlike anything I’ve witnessed. His transformation, that surge of power—it was terrifying and impressive all at once.”

Ch’en nodded thoughtfully, her eyes flickering towards Roland’s still form. “I’ve heard stories of Operators experiencing profound changes to their Arts under extreme stress, but Roland... he’s different. The sheer magnitude of his abilities...”

Blaze leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “Exactly. And what he did out there, it wasn’t just about strength. There was something deeper driving him. I mean, to push back that abomination single-handedly...”

Ch’en’s expression hardened slightly, a flicker of professional curiosity shining through. “Yes, his actions likely saved many lives today. But at what cost to himself?”

The conversation paused as both women considered the silent figures around them.

Ch’en sighed, her gaze drifting. “Still, we do what we must. Lungmen, Rhodes Island... we’re all fighting the same battle, just on different fronts. And as for encountering something we can’t handle,” she paused, looking directly at Blaze, “we adapt. We always have.”

Blaze smirked slightly, her usual fiery demeanor peeking through. “Adapt, huh? Sounds about right. But back to Roland—do you think he’ll change after this? After tapping into something so... intense?”

Ch’en shrugged lightly, her gaze returning to Roland. “Only time will tell. But one thing’s certain: his demonstration today will have repercussions. Wei Yenwu is already talking about measures to ensure we can harness such power.”

The conversation turned then, as Blaze brought up the broader implications of the day’s events. “And the civilians? The city? This battle took place right in the heart of Lungmen. The public’s reaction won’t be mild.”

Ch’en’s face grew stern. “We’ll manage the public’s reaction. Wei’s already planning a series of press releases, and we’re tightening security measures city-wide. As for Rhodes Island’s role...” She trailed off.

Blaze chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’re not going anywhere. We’ve got our own share of problems, but leaving Lungmen to Reunion isn’t an option. Not when there’s so much at stake.”

Ch’en nodded, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards in a semblance of a smile. “Glad to hear it. Despite everything, it’s good to know where we stand. Allies, after all.”

“Yes, allies,” Blaze agreed, standing up and stretching. “And speaking of allies, I better check on the others. Keep me posted on Roland, will you?”

“Will do,” Ch’en replied, watching as Blaze walked away, her steps resolute and purposeful.

Rosmontis, still absorbed in her tablet, continued to scroll through her notes. She read on about how her powers had gone haywire, and how a Maylander agent had pulled her from the debris of a collapsed Columbian laboratory. The agent was a white-haired woman who had effortlessly deflected her projectiles and calmed her down amidst the chaos.

She called herself Angelica.

Chapter 10: Head, Eye, Claw

Chapter Text

Rhodes Island buzzed with a tense, controlled chaos as Kal'tsit and Amiya oversaw the final stages of securing the Mountain of Smiling Bodies into its temporary cell. The massive structure of reinforced steel and Arts powered inhibitors was designed to hold the dangerous Abnormality in place.

Kal'tsit, with a clipboard in hand, monitored the readings on a nearby panel, her expression one of calculated concern. "Ensure the perimeter is clear of any organic material. We can't afford a breach," she instructed a nearby operator, her voice carrying the weight of her vast experience.

Amiya, standing beside her, watched the monstrous form of the Mountain of Smiling Bodies through the thick, reinforced glass. Its myriad eyes roved restlessly, and its mouths gnashed silently against the containment fields. "Roland mentioned that these beings perpetuate the same behaviors indefinitely," Amiya remarked. "He said that they forget past interactions in favor of their current behaviors, making permanent containment a delicate balance."

Kal'tsit nodded, glancing at the readings that flickered on her screen. "The organisation that handled them, L Corp believed that Abnormalities are manifestations of abstract concepts and ideas from the human psyche."

"This one thrives on wrath and gluttony. We need to keep it engaged with Instinct and Repression work primarily. Any lapse in these protocols could lead to a catastrophic breach." the Doctor added.

Amiya considered this, her mind racing through potential strategies. "Instinct work, then, would involve feeding its psychological hunger without actual food. What about using simulated environments or scenarios?"

"Potentially," the Doctor responded, "though we need to ensure that these simulations are devoid of any triggers that could induce a rampage. Repression work will require a more direct approach, suppressing its desires and actions through containment measures tailored to its specific needs. Satisfied Abnormalities also sometimes produce gifts or essences that can be used to forge EGO weapons. Roland was not familiar with the exact process, but perhaps we can research into harnessing this aspect as well."

Kal'tsit wrote something down on her clipboard, her mind already formulating experimental protocols. "That's an avenue worth exploring. For now, our priority is ensuring that this containment holds. Amiya, coordinate with the security teams to set up a double-layered surveillance protocol around this facility. No unauthorised personnel should come anywhere near here."

"Yes, Dr. Kal'tsit," Amiya replied, moving away to relay the orders.

As Kal'tsit watched the containment protocols fall into place, a thought crossed her mind, adding another layer to their strategic defense against the Abnormalities.

Turning to one of her aides, she made a mental note aloud to ensure it was captured and actioned upon immediately. "Once Logos returns from his mission, remind me to set up a meeting with him and Closure. We need to expedite the development of a cognitive filter. It could make direct interactions with these abnormalities more manageable."

Her aide nodded, tapping the instruction into a tablet, "Will do, Dr. Kal'tsit. Anything else that needs immediate attention?"

"Yes, actually. Reach out to the Lichs—they owe me a few favours, and it’s time to call those in. We need their expertise to implement spatial containment measures. It’ll add another layer of security and containment that could prove crucial."

The aide jotted down the details, understanding the gravity of each task. "Spatial containment from the Lichs, got it."

Satisfied, Kal'tsit turned back to the viewing window, her gaze lingering on the Mountain of Smiling Bodies, now subdued within its layered confines. Each step they took was a move towards greater control and understanding of this threat they faced.

...

Chapter 11: Interlude - The Knowing I

Chapter Text

Dust swirled in the aftermath of the skirmish, settling over the wreckage left in the wake of the Blacksteel mercenaries' efficient onslaught. The scene was one of grim finality; the Rusthammer marauders, notorious for their ruthless pillaging, now lay silent in the dirt.

The mercenaries had moved like a single, well-oiled machine, their strategy flawlessly executed with military precision. The munitions, brazenly stolen from a Columbian convoy a few days ago, were now safely in their possession, a small victory in the grand scheme of the ongoing conflicts that tore through the continent.

Alda, with the swift grace of a panther, chased after the lone survivor attempting to flee into the scrubland on a burdenbeast. Each stride brought her closer, her eyes fixed on her target with unwavering focus. Yuri, perched high, the red-haired Sankta's rifle flashing as she covered her partner.

The chase culminated in a single, powerful leap from Alda. Her sword, an extension of her will, cleaved through the air with a whistling ferocity, decaptitating the animal and unseating its rider. The bandit tumbled to the earth, his ragged armor doing little to break his fall. As he lay there gasping, his eyes locked onto Alda's, and he begged for a mercy that would not come.

Alda's blade, now little more than a jagged shard of steel, plunged into the man's chest with a merciless precision. As life fled from his body, her mind echoed with the words, "That's that, and this is this." It was a refrain that hollowed out the guilt, segmenting her actions as a mercenary from the girl who once played in the fields without a care in the world.

Her mother's voice haunted her—a plea for her not to follow in her footsteps. But it was Auntie Iori's assurances, the promise of purpose and the allure of adventure, that had tipped the scales, steering Alda into the life she now led. She tied her black hair back into a short ponytail, the ends coated in dried blood.

"Captain, I've finished off the stragglers," she reported upon her return, her voice betraying none of the inner conflict she harbored.

Captain Gregor, a Sarkaz man with a rugged countenance, was in the midst of loading the reclaimed crates of ammunition onto their armored truck. His prosthetic hand made a distinct sound as it clamped onto the metal containers. He looked up at Alda's approach, and his face broke into a tired grin, one that had seen many such battles and would likely see many more."The 7th blade you've broken this month, Alda. Your strength is as much a curse as it is a blessing."

"But I cut down 18 enemies this month," Alda retorted, finding solace in the camaraderie of her fellow mercenaries. Her mood lightened, a rare moment of levity amidst the carnage they dealt in.

The armoured truck roared to life, ready to carry them from the scene of their latest engagement. As they drove away, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched behind them, mingling with the darkness that was slowly enveloping the land.

...

In the melancholic tranquility of twilight, a solitary figure stood on the balcony of an ethereal building, his gaze lost in the vast expanse of a barren desert stretching before him. The Library, once a beacon of accumulated Light, had relinquished its hoard, yet even in its relative dimness, it pulsed with a serene luminescence under the setting sun's caress. This was a place unmarked by the chaos of the Outskirts; The Head had cast them adrift, not just from location but from expectation and familiarity.

Ayin, founder of L Corp and now the Patron Librarian of General Works, allowed his mind to drift through memories of struggle, the Library's once-constant battle with the City, and the profound realizations that came from such conflict. Angela may hold onto her grievances with him, her trust not fully restored, but a bridge had been built, however tentative. His mind, turned inexorably to what happened at the end of it all — an encounter with Carmen.

I wanted to live. The desire to live was stronger than anything… That’s when regret finally ran a shudder through my body.

I’m just a human being like any other. I thought sacrificing myself for everyone’s sake would be the perfect ending… but that wasn’t the case.

I doubt there’s anyone in this world who can sincerely decide to sacrifice themselves for the sake of others. Humans can only love themselves, after all.

I whispered into people the essence of life. So that they will cherish their own emotions and focus on them only. So that the fluctuating shape of the mind can be exposed to the world.

"I'm sorry, Carmen... for everything I had done to you, for you. But you have forgotten the original shape of your dream."

Back in the present, Ayin’s gaze drifted over the serene desolation that spread before him, his thoughts intertwining with the echoes of the past. "Despite everything, the Library endures,” he murmured, his voice a mix of resolve and regret. “I will make you see that the path you chose is a mistake."

Chapter 12: Thaumiel

Chapter Text

The light of the office cast long shadows across the walls, filled with the quiet hum of distant machinery and the occasional rustle of paper. Roland sat across from the Doctor, his face etched with concern and curiosity as he relayed what he knew about M Corp’s singularity, the source of 'moonlight stones'—mysterious artifacts reputed to offer protection from psychological attacks.

“The singularity isn’t just used for creating those stones,” Roland explained, his voice low and cautious. “It’s integral to M Corp’s rehab and reeducation centers. But honestly, I wouldn’t recommend it.” He paused, searching the Doctor's face for any sign of reaction. “It leaves people psychologically 'metastable.' It doesn’t resolve their issues, just... masks them, in a way.”

The Doctor nodded, his expression unreadable, his mind racing. “And the version the Arbiter used? Could it interact with amnesia, perhaps stirring up forgotten memories?”

Roland leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s possible. The properties of the singularity could resonate with latent memories, dredging them up unexpectedly.”

...

Alone in the bathroom, the Doctor stood hunched over the basin, staring at their reflection in the mirror. Their face, usually so composed, was now a mask of turmoil. The reflection seemed to move independently, its lips parting as if to speak.

“You can calmly, happily, and safely wait for the Originium to give birth to a future that does not have to end,” their reflection whispered, its voice a ghostly echo.

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “No,” they muttered, their voice a mix of defiance and fear. “That’s not the way.”

The reflection continued, relentless. “Originium will become the starlight that guides the next civilization. It will preserve everything—from intelligent life to the vortex of light and stars in the universe. Even if time itself will cease to exist.”

“Remember what Priestess said. This was the only way to let Originium cover the earth, to let matter and time, tides and wonders, light and crying all return to the vast sea of information. Only then can we find change, breakthroughs, and even avoid the fate of the end.”

The Doctor's breathing grew ragged, their mind a tumult of memories and revelations. “This is not a transformation, this is death."

"Not extinction, but survival.”

They whispered to themself, a litany to anchor their fraying sanity. “I want to cure Oripathy. I want to end the misery of the Sarkaz. I want to wander in this civilization, to experience the vitality of new life we once had but lost for so long.”

The reflection, now almost pitying, stared back at him. “Even though, in hundreds and thousands of years, all the familiar and nostalgic things we see will no longer exist.”

"If the Originium Project ends in failure, no, even if it is just delayed for a while... The few known forms of life on this planet are but a fleeting bubble. I have been deceiving myself for a long time. But...how can I explain this to Kal'tsit? To Amiya?"

"How can I tell them, 'The torture you are going through is the only way to save you, you should give up resistance'? How should I tell them, 'Terran civilization is just a short-lived illusion. Only by being accepted by the Originium can we have a chance to reverse our fate'?"

The toll of watching the lives of those infected disappear like smoke was not lost on him. "This is a common sight in Terra, but it is ultimately the passing of life, sad and cruel. They followed the process of Originium assimilation, and through death became parts of the internalized universe, becoming an opportunity for life to break through the ultimate darkness." their reflection countered.

The Doctor’s fist collided with the mirror, shattering the glass as blood seeped from a glove. Their fractured reflection continued its relentless monologue, even as the sharp pain momentarily grounded their spiraling thoughts.

"I killed Theresa. I killed Theresa. I killed Theresa!"

The reflection stared back at him, unblinking and severe. It spoke with a voice that was their own, yet twisted by a harsh, unforgiving truth. "She was kind-hearted, but naivety doesn't save anyone. We did the right thing, betraying Babel to Theresis."

The words hung heavy in the air, a suffocating cloak of justification draped over an act that could never truly be justified. The Doctor's hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into palms, the physical pain a mere shadow of the torment wracking their soul.

"Because, sometimes the greater good demands sacrifices that are neither clean nor kind. You know this."

"I'm sorry, Theresa," they whispered, their voice breaking. "I am so, so sorry."

But there was no forgiveness to be found in the silent room, no absolution from the shadows that watched and whispered.

Their voice broke, choked with emotion. "...Amiya...Kal'tsit...Priestess...what should I do?"

Chapter 13: Confinement

Chapter Text

...

Chapter 14: Preludio

Chapter Text

The Doctor sat across from Kal'tsit, their face shadowed not just by the light but by the weight of their revelations. The room, usually a place of clinical efficiency, now felt like a confessional.

"I remember, Kal'tsit," the Doctor began, their voice cracking under the strain of their memories. "I remember the original purpose of Originium—to assimilate and record all life on Terra." Their hands trembled as he clasped them tightly together, seeking some anchor as they delved deeper into his past. "And I remember... Theresa’s assassination wasn’t possible without my betrayal."

As they spoke, the walls of their well-guarded emotions crumbled, and tears started to track down their cheeks. By the end, they was sobbing, each confession tearing at them as if spoken for the first time.

Kal'tsit watched, her face a mask of stoicism that barely concealed the turmoil beneath. After a moment that stretched between them like a chasm, she replied, her voice steady but cold. "Theresa made me promise to protect her murderer in her dying moments." Her eyes, usually so impassive, flickered with a pain she seldom showed. "I told her I wouldn’t take revenge, but I will not forgive them, nor forget their sins, even if they regain all their memories and atone for their actions."

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze locking with the Doctor’s. "You once told me to find my own purpose in life. I hope you can do the same for yourself."

...

In a bustling workshop of Rhodes Island, Mechanist and Talulah stood by a workstation, surrounded by tools and metal parts. The air was thick with the smell of oil and metal.

Talulah held the longsword delicately, balancing its weight in her palm. "Mechanist, this is lighter than I expected. The balance is perfect."

She had envisioned something like a swordstaff or perhaps a greatsword like the one she used before, but Mechanist had opted for a longsword. It was sleek and elegant, made of similar alloys used in Blaze's heat-resistant chainsaw, with an originium core embedded in the handle.

Mechanist, wiping his hands on a rag, smiled with a touch of pride. "I thought a lighter frame would suit your style better. The originium core should add the necessary heft when you channel your arts."

Talulah swung the sword gently, getting a feel for it. "It's different from what I initially wanted, but perhaps this suits me better now."

Roland had mentioned that a Stigma Workshop in the City manufactured superheated weapons used by fixers. At the very end was the signature weapon of someone called the Vermillion Cross, a weapon that burned so intensely they could cut through almost anything and were capable of causing explosive strikes by superheating the air. Inspired by this, Mechanist designed Talulah’s sword to mirror those capabilities.

Talulah gripped the sword, channeling her arts through it, making the edges glow an intense orange. Pleased with the initial test, they headed to the training facility to put it through its paces.

The clashing of steel greeted them as they entered. Flamebringer and Roland were already there, their blades meeting in a fierce conflict of metal and might. Roland's movements were precise and controlled, his breaths even and measured, while Flamebringer was visibly exerting more effort, his breathing heavier.

Flamebringer taunted, pushing off the ground to regain his stance. "Going to get serious and use that black, toothed sword of yours, or are you like Shining, refusing to wield a blade you believe has been besmirched?"

Roland's reply was calm, his eyes never leaving his opponent. "We are training, not fighting to the death."

Scoffing, Flamebringer prepared to launch another attack. "Then that's a shame, for swordsmen without faith in their swords are beneath mention."

Talulah stepped forward, about to intervene, but Roland held up a hand to stop her. "He's as stubborn as Renaud," he muttered, then Durandal was his hands. The sword appeared, black flesh pulsating, pale, withered faces shifting along its length, their empty sockets seeming to observe the room.

Handing it to Flamebringer, the moment the swordsman’s fingers touched the hilt, the dormant voices within the blade roared to life."Grr… Ghrrrgh… Consume… eat all…!Sweep them all… Get more bodies…!!!" The chants were maddening, clawing at the edges of Flamebringer's mind.

Quickly, Roland snatched the sword back. "When using an EGO weapon, you risk fusing with the abnormality if your sense of self isn't strong enough," he explained, his voice low. "That’s why I’m cautious with it outside of battle."

Meanwhile, far from the clang of swords and the heat of the forge, in Leithania, a youthful woman and an older, bearded man examined a rusty music box in an empty room. The words Theresia were engraved on the front.

Ermengarde, her wide-brimmed hat casting shadows over her thoughtful face, spoke softly, "I probed them with witchcraft, and there are fragments of human emotion lingering, though no discernible arts can be found."

Fremont grumbled, "A music box driving back the campus to hysteria. Can't these Leithanians keep things together for even a single day without us?"

"Could this be one of the 'abnormalities' Dame Kal'tsit mentioned in her message?" Ermengarde asked.

His expression darkened. "That woman is giving me more headaches by the day." Yet, his curiosity was piqued. "Still, I wonder if we could use these things to open a path to the Genesis Horn..."

Chapter 15: Adagio

Chapter Text

Beagle stood among her fellow operators, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, trying to quell the unease twisting in her stomach. The seminar room was packed, a low hum of conversation buzzing through the air as everyone awaited Kal'tsit's arrival. She glanced around, noting the varied expressions on her comrades' faces—curiosity, trepidation, determination. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation.

Kal'tsit entered the room with her usual air of authority, her presence immediately commanding silence. She wasted no time in launching into the day's topic: abnormalities and their threat levels. Beagle's heart pounded in her chest as the screen behind Kal'tsit flickered to life, displaying the stark, unnerving images of the Mountain of Smiling Bodies.

Kal'tsit's voice was steady, clinical. "Abnormalities are classified into five threat levels: Zayin, Teth, He, Waw, and Aleph. Each level indicates the potential danger and difficulty in managing these entities."

As she spoke, footage of the abnormality in action played out on the screen. Beagle watched, horrified yet mesmerized, as the monstrous conglomeration of corpses moved with a grotesque fluidity, its many mouths opening in silent screams. The containment cell footage was equally disturbing—an oppressive, writhing mass that seemed barely contained by the reinforced walls.

"The Mountain of Smiling Bodies is classified as an Aleph-level threat," Kal'tsit continued. "It represents the highest level of danger, capable of causing massive casualties if not properly contained."

Beagle's breath hitched as Kal'tsit transitioned to another topic: the phenomenon called the "Light." The screen now showed ethereal, glowing rings encircling Roland's weapons, the light casting a foreboldingly bright glow.

"The Light is akin to a living noospheric disturbance," Kal'tsit explained. "It heightens emotions, potentially inducing what is called Distortion or E.G.O."

Distortion, E.G.O—terms that sounded almost mystical, yet here they were, part of the grim reality they faced. Beagle could hardly wrap her mind around it.

Kal'tsit's announcement of new departments only added to Beagle's growing bewilderment. The suppression department, led by Roland, would handle abnormalities and distortion-related affairs in the field. The containment department would manage captured entities, and the department of welfare would conduct psychological examinations. Kal'tsit also mentioned ongoing research into potential therapeutic uses of extracted Enkephalin and the infusion of weapons with abnormality essence.

Beagle's mind reeled. Suppression, containment, psychologically magical Light—these were realms she hadn't imagined she'd be involved in when she joined Rhodes Island. Her duty as a defender felt suddenly insignificant against the backdrop of these grand, terrifying responsibilities. The room buzzed with murmurs as the operators processed the information. Beagle could hear snippets of conversation, a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

...

The clang of metal and the hum of machinery filled the air as Roland watched Ace and Scout pry open a battered, ancient vending machine. The corridor around them was dimly lit, the overhead lights casting long shadows. The scent of rust and stale air mixed with the faint tang of old oil.

"Got it," Ace grunted, his muscles straining as he forced the door open. Inside, amidst a jumble of expired snacks and drinks, he triumphantly pulled out a dusty can of beer. "Well, well, what do we have here? Looks like I won our bet."

Scout scowled good-naturedly. "Fine, fine. You win this round." He glanced at Roland. "Hey, Roland, how about a challenge? Ever thought of racing Logos to a stool once he gets back from Kazdel?"

Roland chuckled, shaking his head. "No thanks. I've got enough on my plate with that report on abnormality work protocols. Besides, I need to nominate a few candidates for the new departm-"

Ace slapped Roland on the back, his laughter echoing down the hall. "Relax, we've still got a few more days until we reach Wolumonde. Take it easy for a while. Even Flamebringer's indulging in his gardening hobby instead of looking for more fights."

Roland's gaze softened, a rare smile on his unmasked face. "Mmh. I had thought about writing a book. About what I'd seen of the City and its people. Though I gave up 'cause I had no talent in writing whatsoever… My writing was just too crude. I couldn't show it to anyone."

Ace's eyes lit up with genuine interest. "I'd love to give it a read anyway. And who knows? Maybe it's not as bad as you think."

Scout nodded in agreement. "I'll help out and edit it in my free time. We could make it a project."

Roland felt a warmth spread through him, a strange but welcome sensation, something he thought he wouldn't experience again. Maybe, just maybe, there was room for more than just survival, duty and violence in his life.

Chapter 16: On the Precipice

Chapter Text

4:32 P.M. \ Overcast, Visibility: 7 km

Rhodes Island Landship, Hallway outside the bridge

Earthspirit approached the navigator with her usual calm demeanor, though her eyes betrayed a hint of urgency.

"Earthspirit? What brings you here?" the navigator asked, looking up from his console.

"I've updated the geological monitoring report I submitted this morning," she replied, handing over a tablet. "The numbers changed quickly. Made me miss my afternoon nap."

The navigator frowned, skimming through the report. "You needed to make an adjustment so soon? That's unlike you."

Earthspirit's voice remained steady, but her eyes were sharp. "There are anomalies in the data. More than one cyclone is forming ahead, and it's far more intense than expected."

"Sounds pretty vague," the navigator replied, glancing nervously at the screen. "We set our route a month ago, and it was approved. Changing it now would be a mess."

"Just ensure you got my warning. The decision is yours," Earthspirit said, her tone cool as she turned to leave.

As the navigator pondered over the data, the Doctor approached, their presence commanding attention. "There's no time for that," they stated firmly.

The navigator jumped slightly, surprised by the Doctor's sudden appearance. "Doctor?! Shouldn't you be in your office?"

"I was heading to the bridge," the Doctor replied, gaze intense. "The windstorm is right in front of us."

"Is it that serious?" The navigator's face paled as he looked at the readings again.

"Yes," the Doctor said, turning to Earthspirit. "Come to the bridge with me. We need real-time observations."

Earthspirit nodded, her resolve clear. "This is within the scope of my duties."

4:39 P.M. \ Overcast, Visibility: 4 km

The bridge was a hive of activity, tension thick in the air. The central control staff called out, "Warning, the wind speed is increasing rapidly!"

Amiya, standing at the helm, was calm but focused. "Did you turn on the assisted driving function for sandstorm mode?"

"We've had it on for a while," the control staff replied, anxiety creeping into their voice. "But this might not be an ordinary sandstorm..."

A sudden exclamation from another navigator broke through the noise. "Sensors detecting thunderstorm clouds ahead!"

Amiya's expression tightened. "Open the PA, tell the whole ship that Rhodes Island will pass through a thunderstorm shortly, and raise the alert level by one!"

As the ship rumbled under the assault of the winds, Amiya's voice cut through the chaos. "What's the situation?"

"The pressure on the hull side panels is skyrocketing! 70% of the outermost storm shutters have been damaged and are failing!" the control staff reported urgently. "Also... multiple abnormal heat sources detected near the hull, energy amplitude approaching critical threshold!"

"It's a Catastrophe," the Doctor said, tone grave.

Amiya's eyes widened. "How... can this be?"

"No time to explain. It's a supercell."

Amiya took a deep breath, steadying herself. "All hands, activate code red Catastrophe alert! Evacuate all personnel on the first deck, bridge excluded. Gather all non-engineering personnel from the second to sixth levels in the central area for safety! Central control, maintain minimum speed cruising."

Navigator Pavel, his face pale, looked up. "These sudden-onset storms usually pass within an hour or two, but it's hard to say for sure."

The Doctor turned to Earthspirit. "Your analysis?"

Earthspirit scanned the data swiftly. "Multiple small cyclones within two kilometers are converging and intensifying. The core is about to generate, possibly reaching two kilometers in diameter and lasting seven to eight hours."

Amiya's voice was strained. "What happens if Rhodes Island maintains its speed as it approaches the core?"

"We could collide with high-speed active Originium dust, equivalent to hundreds of maximum-payload Originium bombs detonating across the bulwark," the control staff explained, their voice trembling. "I'm sure you can guess how that might go for us."

"Do we have enough time to change course?" Amiya asked, desperation creeping in.

The Doctor cut in decisively. "There is a way. We won't have to take damage."

Amiya's eyes locked onto the Doctor's. "Are you suggesting we continue straight ahead?"

"Yes," the Doctor affirmed, voice steady and commanding. "I need Earthspirit to keep calculating the real-time coordinates of the vortex and PRTS to help with the energy amplitude of the Originium on the surface."

Despite the rising tension, the central control staff grumbled, "Calculating a safe route in such a short time sounds like a bad joke."

"If anyone can do it, it's the Doctor," Amiya insisted, her voice unwavering.

The landship rumbled as it plunged into the storm, the crew holding on as the ship shook violently. "I'm getting a nosebleed from this speed!" one staff member exclaimed.

Navigator Pavel shouted, "Cyclone number two is moving southeast, cyclone number three... cyclone number four..."

"Hard right, now!" the Doctor commanded.

The ship banked sharply, narrowly avoiding a powerful wind gust.

"Maintain current trajectory and keep moving forward!" the Doctor urged, eyes never leaving the swirling chaos outside.

"We're surrounded. Rhodes Island is going to collide in just two or three more minutes!" the control staff warned, panic in their voice.

"Trust me," the Doctor said, their voice cutting through the fear.

The staff member took a deep breath. "Even if I have to tie my hand to the steering handle, I'll keep pushing it forward until the very end!"

As alarms blared and the PA system announced a red alert, the Doctor remained calm and resolute. "We still have time to move things in the right direction."

Finally, the landship emerged from the Catastrophe storm, battered but intact. Kal'tsit, observing from a vantage point, nodded approvingly. "Not half bad."

She pointed to the horizon where a settlement was visible. "The settlement of Wolumonde is in sight. Atro, our representative, will meet us there."

Chapter 17: Sostenuto

Chapter Text

-traditionally, Leithanian scholars divide Arts into six classical schools based on observable traits:

Beschwörung/Conjugation: The most ancient and widely-used form of Arts, capable of altering, deconstructing, and summoning objects by using Originium as the energy source and a target matter as its medium.

Hervorrufung/Evocation: Commonly known as "summon type" Arts, evoking energy to manifest physical phenomena such as fire, electricity, wind, and ice.

Umwandlung/Transmutation: Tracing back to ancient alchemy, this school alters matter on a molecular level, producing chemical substances, plastics, and even tissues.

Verbesserung/Augmentation: Enhances the biology of living creatures, ranging from physical strength to intelligence improvement, requiring deep knowledge in biology.

Wiederherstellung/Restoration: Often labelled as a sub-branch of the school of Augmentation, enhancing body recovery by accelerating metabolism, demanding a deep understanding of biological structures and medical science.

Wahrsagung/Divination: The rarest and least studied, involves mystic abilities and disrupting biological processes like mind-control and summoning of wild animals.

The classical method is based on natural observations and is easier for commonfolk to understand, while the modernist approach from Columbia seeks to apply Arts industrially, focusing on the nature of Originium, allowing everyone to master Arts and decreasing the margin between Casters and non-Arts users. By the turn of the-

...

The landship lay silent and still, an ominous shadow against the backdrop of the Winterwisp Mountains. The radio messages sent by Rhodes Island had received no response, an unsettling silence echoing back. Kal'tsit and Folinic disembarked with a sense of foreboding, the air thick with unease. The wind whispered through the desolate streets, carrying with it the scent of decay and neglect.

Folinic, her brow furrowed with worry, glanced at Kal'tsit as they made their way into Wolumonde. "Atro was my best friend," she murmured, her voice a thread in the silence. "We studied together, laughed together. I can’t help but fear the worst. What if Wolumonde was hit by a Catastrophe like the one we barely managed to evade?"

Kal'tsit’s gaze was steady, her voice calm. "We need information on the current state of Leithania. It’s essential for our negotiations with the Kurfürsten and the Lichs. Focus on that for now."

The streets were eerily quiet, the gates hanging open as if abandoned in haste. The stillness was unnatural, the kind that cloyed and choked the senses. Folinic stopped, pointing to a small bakery. "Look here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "How long do you think it’s been since this bakery was open? No one’s been sweeping up the dust and leaves around the door."

Kal'tsit observed the bakery with narrowed eyes. "There's no functioning economy here. No daily life. I understand they've fallen on hard times, but no one wants to buy or sell bread? There’s no public transit? This isn’t normal."

The windows of the bakery were clouded with grime, and the door hung slightly ajar, creaking with the occasional gust of wind. The marketplace, once the heart of the town’s social and economic activity, was now a ghostly tableau of empty stalls and abandoned wares. A child’s toy lay forgotten in the dirt, a mute testament to the lives that once thrived here.

As they continued their journey through the marketplace, the emptiness pressed down on them like a physical weight. The once-bustling stalls were now silent, their goods left to decay. Rotting fruits and vegetables lay in heaps, a feast for originium slugs and vermin. The air was thick with the stench of neglect and abandonment.

Moving into Schaukelplatz, they were greeted by a makeshift barrier blocking off a street. Sets of automatic Arts defenses, ‘gramophones’, were installed on the top, and they began charging up at their presence. The barriers were hastily constructed, a chaotic mix of materials that spoke of desperation and fear. They stood as silent sentinels, their magical energies humming with latent power.

A shout broke the silence. A man stood at the top of the barrier, unkempt, with a long beard and heavily bloodshot eyes. It was evident he hadn’t slept properly in a long time. His clothes were ragged, hanging loosely on his gaunt frame. "Who are you, and what do you want?" he demanded, his voice rough and edged with suspicion.

Kal'tsit stepped forward, her voice clear and authoritative. "I am Kal'tsit, and this is Folinic. We are doctors from Rhodes Island. We are here to pick up Dr. Atro."

The man’s eyes widened in recognition before he disappeared from the top of the barrier. Moments later, the barricade opened, allowing them through. They could hear murmurs of relief and whispers about 'amnesia' and 'disappearances' as they were let in.

The atmosphere inside was tense, a palpable sense of fear hanging in the air. People glanced at them with haunted eyes, their expressions a mix of hope and dread. The buildings were in various states of disrepair, their facades cracked and weather-worn. Windows were boarded up, and doors were reinforced with makeshift locks.

Severin, the man who had challenged them, approached, his steps heavy with exhaustion. He looked like a man burdened by the weight of the world, his shoulders hunched and his eyes hollow.

"Thank you for coming," he said, his voice a strained whisper. "We need your help. We’ve been dealing with... strange occurrences. People disappearing, memories fading. The town's also been cut off from the outside world. We're short on supplies. And a gang of armed Infected are out there circling."

"A gang?"

Outlanders. All of them Infected, all of them armed. Leithanian, but there are also Sarkaz among them. Took out that monster for supplies, not that it did any good. Those f*cking devils are merely vultures waiting to pick our bones- "

Kal'tsit nodded, cutting off the man's incoming tirade. "We will do everything we can to help. But first, we need to understand what has happened here."

Severin led them deeper into the settlement, the whispers following them like ghosts.

"Severin," Kal'tsit began, her voice steady. "What can you tell us about the disappearances?"

He sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair. "It started a few weeks ago. People would go missing, and no one could remember them. Infected or not, it didn't matter. No bodies, or anything at all. If not for written records or pictures and items, we wouldn't have know they even existed."

Folinic frowned. "And what about Dr. Atro? What happened to her?"

Severin’s face tightened with grief. "She... she was investigating the disappearances. A week ago,, she vanished too."

Kal'tsit’s eyes narrowed. "We need to see where she was last seen."

He nodded and led them to a small, dilapidated building on the outskirts of the settlement. The windows were broken, and the door hung off its hinges. Inside, the air was cold and musty, filled with the scent of mold and decay. Papers and medical equipment were scattered across the floor, remnants of Atro’s desperate search for answers.

"This was her office," Severin said quietly. "She spent hours here, poring over her notes, trying to find a pattern."

Folinic knelt down, picking up a photograph from the debris. It was a picture of Atro, smiling and full of life.

Kal'tsit’s gaze was sharp, her mind already working through the possibilities. "We need to gather more information. Talk to the people who still remember. Find out if there are any common threads."

Chapter 18: Echoes from the Beyond

Chapter Text

The cold air bit at their cheeks as FrostNova and Ayerscape trekked through the wilderness just outside the fringes of Wolumonde. The path they walked was rough, winding through ancient, gnarled trees that whispered secrets in the wind. The ground was uneven, strewn with frost-kissed rocks and patches of grass that glimmered like silver in the autumnsunlight. FrostNova moved with a graceful fluidity, her eyes sharp, every sense attuned to their surroundings. Ayerscape, a seasoned catastrophe messenger, scanned the landscape with practiced vigilance.

"It's been a long time since I've seen terrain like this," Ayerscape said, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "Straight after a Catastrophe passes through. Harsh, but beautiful in its own way."

FrostNova glanced back at him, a faint smile touching her lips. "Yes, it does have that rugged charm. It's peaceful, in a way."

Ayerscape nodded, his gaze sweeping over the landscape. "How are you finding life with Rhodes Island? Quite a change from leading Reunion, I imagine."

FrostNova's expression grew thoughtful, her eyes distant. "Reunion lit a fire, a fire that was, is, and will always be burning across all corners of Terra. But Reunion does not represent all Infected. Rhodes Island offers a different path, one of understanding."

Ayerscape hummed in agreement, his breath misting in the cold air. "Different methods for the same goal, perhaps. It's good to see you've found a place where you can continue the fight, in a way that suits you."

As they continued their trek, a conspicuous earthen dome came into view, nestled against the backdrop of the forest. It stood out starkly against the natural surroundings, its form rough and unrefined, yet sturdy. The dome seemed almost alive, pulsing with a quiet, eerie energy. FrostNova and Ayerscape approached it with caution, senses alert for any signs of danger.

Suddenly, an armored, horned figure emerged from the shadows, her presence imposing and formidable. Mudrock, the leader of the Sarkaz warriors, stood before them, her eyes widening in surprise as she recognized FrostNova.

"Yelena?" Mudrock's voice was a deep, rumbling sound, filled with equal parts surprise and curiosity. "Why are you with Rhodes Island now?"

FrostNova met her gaze steadily, her voice calm and measured. "Reunion's fire will always burn, but it is not the only flame that matters. The Infected deserve more than just a fight. They deserve a future."

Mudrock studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly."I see. So you can to the same conclusion."

"Do you know the whereabouts of Big Bob?" Mudrock asked, her tone shifting slightly, a hint of concern creeping in.

FrostNova's expression softened. "He was heading towards Kazimierz. He hopes to earn enough money to make it to Columbia. He believes there's a chance for a better life there."

Mudrock hummed thoughtfully, seemingly pleased with the news. "Kazimierz... it’s quite the distance to travel, but if anyone can make it, it's Big Bob."

FrostNova nodded, then gestured towards the dome. "How have you and your squad been faring since you left Reunion?"

Mudrock's gaze turned to the earthen structure, a touch of pride in her eyes. "Many Leithanians have joined us, and our ranks have grown bountiful and diverse... But I... am not Reunion either. Not anymore. I'm just the captain of Mudrock Squad. A... mercenary? No, let's say I'm just an Infected."

Ayerscape's curiosity piqued, and he asked, "What's with the earthen dome? Why are you camped outside Wolumonde?"

Mudrock's expression hardened slightly. "With the town's Gendarmeries sent away, they didn't have enough fighters to deal with a monster that appeared in the town. The Councillors, under the advice of Schultz Severin, made a deal with us. In exchange for supplies, we had to contain the creature. It was a warbling thing whose singing and tendrils inflicted insanity and serious brain damage at worst."

"Fragment of the Universe…" came a voice from behind Mudrock. She turned sharply to see Roland standing there, his presence almost ghostly in its suddenness. Her eyes widened in shock; she hadn't sensed him at all, despite using her Arts to sense the earth in the surrounding area.

"Roland!" Ayerscape greeted, relief evident in his tone. "Have you finished recon already?"

Roland nodded, his gaze sweeping over Mudrock's squad. "They have too few numbers and quality weapons to be bandits or mercenaries. Those guarding the abnormality are using arts to muffle sound."

Mudrock confirmed, "I put a layer of hardened mud into their suits to dampen the mind-rending sounds the monster makes."

Roland nodded in approval. "That's a good idea. We need your help in the suppression operation. Rhodes Island will handle containment once that's done."

Mudrock considered for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Let's get to work."

The group moved with purpose towards the dome."Ayerscape," Roland called, his voice low. "We need to keep an eye out for anything unusual. This place feels... off."

Ayerscape nodded, his expression serious. "Agreed. We can't afford any surprises."

Mudrock glanced over at them, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean by 'unusual'? Are you expecting something other than the Fragment?"

Roland hesitated for a moment before responding. "It's just a feeling."

Chapter 19: Unknowable

Chapter Text

...

We had a brief respite today. A supply convoy managed to make it through the storms. I saw Elara's face light up when I told her we had more inhibitors. It felt like a small victory, but I know it's temporary. The town is tense; everyone feels the weight of the Catastrophe hanging over us. Severin is doing his best to keep spirits up, but I can see the strain in his eyes. How long can we hold on?

...

Several patients have been brought in, comatose or muttering gibberish. Their eyes are vacant, as if they've seen something that shattered their minds. I don't know any sort of arts or creature capable of inflicting something like this. Tatjana, Severin's aide, told me that the Sarkaz mercenaries managed to contain the monster responsible under a mound of dirt and rock. They don't know how to kill it permanently. It's… unsettling. The town is rife with rumors. People say it sings, that its voice can drive you mad. I wish I could dismiss these as mere tales, but the evidence is lying in the beds before me.

...

I worked late into the night, trying to stabilize the new patients, and remembered something strange. I looked at my previous entries and can't remember anyone named Tatjana. Severin never had an aide. When I asked Severin about them, he seemed confused. He doesn't remember anyone like that in Wolumonde. Is it possible that I'm misremembering? Or is something else at play here?

...

Severin never had any children. So who is that young man in the picture he has?

...

More people have disappeared from memory. They were here, I know they were. I see their beds, empty now, and the notes I wrote about them. It's like they were erased. I know this town should a catastrophe messenger, but I can't remember if Wolumonde ever had one. The patients I treated, the conversations I had with them, they're all slipping away. How can memories be so fragile, so easily manipulated? I found a list of names in my drawer, names I don't recognize but in my handwriting. Who are these people?

...

After I, and several others had informed him about it, Severin is growing increasingly paranoid. He's organising the town, trying to create some semblance of order. We're writing down who we remember and what we did every day, but even these records seem to fade. I asked about Elara today, and no one knew who I was talking about. Her bed is empty, her family gone. The only evidence of her existence is in my notes. What is happening to us?

...

The tension in the town is palpable. People are scared, whispering about another monster, one that erases memories. I don't want to believe it, but what else explains the disappearances? Severin's face is a mask of determination, but I can see the fear in his eyes. We're all afraid of forgetting.

...

Chapter 20: Accelerando

Chapter Text

The silence in Wolumonde was thick and heavy, a suffocating presence that pressed down on the town and its inhabitants. Severin and a group of townsfolk stood at the edge of the marketplace, their eyes scanning the area for anything abnormal.

Suddenly, a distant rumble echoed through the streets, followed by the sight of Kal'tsit and Folinic sprinting towards them. Accompanying them was a black, crystalline creature, Mon3tr, which fired arts blasts in seemingly random directions. Each shot lit up the surroundings with an eerie glow, casting long, twisted shadows, despite the fact that there shouldn't be anything to block the light.

Severin squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "What in the world…?"

Kal'tsit's voice cut through the confusion, sharp and commanding. "Evacuate Wolumonde immediately!"

Severin stepped forward, his face a mask of concern and determination. "We can't just abandon the landship. Wolumonde as a town wouldn't survive."

Mon3tr unleashed another barrage of arts blasts, some hitting seemingly empty air but producing flashes of pallid flesh and the sickening smell of burnt flesh and blood. Severin caught a glimpse of something grotesque and otherworldly, but the memory slipped away as quickly as it came.

Kal'tsit reached Severin, her eyes blazing with urgency. "The lives of the townsfolk or the landship, Severin. Which is more important?"

Before Severin could respond, Folinic stumbled forward, her face ashen. She seemed too shocked to speak, her eyes wide with a terror that had taken root deep within her.

Kal'tsit didn't wait for an answer. She pulled out her radio and connected with the Rhodes Island command. "Doctor, Amiya, engage evacuation protocols immediately. We need the Suppression Team here, now. And send Operator Talulah. If my suspicions are correct, we're going to need all the firepower we can get."

Severin shook his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion and fear. "Kal'tsit, what are we dealing with here?"

Kal'tsit turned to face him, her expression grim. "The abnormality responsible is using the main power plant as its epicenter. It's spread throughout the landship, wearing it like a shell. It is everywhere."

Severin's heart sank. "If the entire landship is compromised, then how-"

"We evacuate first," Kal'tsit said firmly. "And then figure out a way to contain it once the risk of collateral damage eliminated."

Severin looked around at the frightened faces of the townsfolk. He knew Kal'tsit was right, but the thought of abandoning their home was almost too much to bear. "Alright," he said finally. "We'll do it your way."

The townsfolk began to move, their steps hurried and their faces pale. The air was thick with tension, every sound and shadow a potential threat. Mon3tr continued to fire into the unseen enemy, its blasts illuminating the fear etched on every face.

As they made their way through the streets, Kal'tsit stayed close to Folinic, her presence a steadying influence on the younger woman. "Stay with me," she murmured. "We'll get through this."

Folinic nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "I just… I can't stop thinking about what we saw in Atro's office. The journal… And inside the flesh was-"

Kal'tsit's expression softened for a moment. "I know. But we need to focus on getting everyone to safety first. We'll figure out the rest later."

As they neared the gates, the sense of urgency intensified. Severin barked orders to the townsfolk, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at his insides. "Everyone, move quickly! We need to get out of here!"

The gates loomed ahead, their iron bars twisted and bent as if some great force had pushed against them. Severin's heart pounded in his chest as he urged the townsfolk forward, his eyes darting to Kal'tsit for guidance.

She was already on her radio, her voice calm and authoritative. "Doctor, we're holding our position at the gates."

The response crackled through the static. "Roger that. Reinforcements are on their way. Hold tight."

Severin felt a glimmer of hope at the Doctor's words, but it was quickly overshadowed by the reality of their situation. He looked at Kal'tsit, his expression pleading. "What exactly are we dealing with here? Is an Abnormality is same as the thing those Sarkaz trapped?"

Kal'tsit met his gaze, her eyes hard and unyielding. "Correct. Abnormalities are creatures born from the human subconscious. They are fears and desires given form and operate according to the concepts they embody."

Severin swallowed hard, his mind racing. "But how do we fight something we can't even see and remember?"

"Wide area attacks for a start," Kal'tsit replied. "The entire landship would need to be assaulted in all directions. Which is why the evacuation is necessary."

The townsfolk were now crowded around the gates, their faces etched with fear and confusion. Severin watched them go, his heart heavy with the weight of his responsibility. He knew Kal'tsit was right, but the thought of abandoning and allowing their home, their landship, to be destroyed was almost too much to bear.