The sumptuous cabin had lost most of its liveliness after its most beautiful flower had gone with the wind, leaving the ’Javelinist’ sprawled on a far-too-large mattress, alone with his thoughts and regret. After everything that had happened that night, he silently pondered what to do next—find a way to escape to Naturia or die trying to defy his destiny.
Well, there is always a third option. If I keep up the act, once the siege is over, they’re going to hand me over to Mari—NEVER!
Jacques violently punched his own head, silencing the brain he hated so much.
Clearly, he had neither planned nor imagined this outcome. His original plan was to roam the ship for a couple of days, gathering enough intel and trust to advise the Korinthians on a foolproof strategy that involved moving the Juggernaut just enough for Casimir to do his job.
Well, it’s Plan F then—find a way to hijack this fucking ship.
There were a few things the Javelinist hated—his cousin Valentino, Suzerains, Starfolks, etc. But he didn’t fear any of them because their behavior was, somehow, predictable within an acceptable margin of approximation. Now, however, he had to face the only thing he despised and was terrified of—his own [Luck].
“Oh Holy Trinity, it’s me, your faithful child, asking for one or two little miracles of yours.” Jacques kneeled, joined his hands, and closed his eyes. “I’m fully aware that, according to the outdated standards governing our stagnant Church, I may not be the first person on your list who deserves help, and I may very well rank in the top ten of your sinners’ ledger. That being said, we are in a war, and between a common soldier and a general, the latter must take priority, because losing his lead would lead to the collapse of the front and the consequent death of that aforementioned soldier. Therefore—not for my sake, but for the greater good—I’m willing to set aside my pride and propose an agreement that is deeply unfair to me, but I hope it shows you my commitment.” He hesitated for a couple of seconds, but after a heavy gasp, he decided to speak. ”I’m…prepared…to pay anything for a way into the command room of this ship—just name your price!”
*Knock!* *Knock!* *Knock!*
As he finished his prayer, someone outside his room asked for permission to enter in a most improper manner—knocking repeatedly, almost violently, yet without uttering a word.
“Who is it?” Jacques asked as he stood, grabbing an empty wine bottle to use as a makeshift weapon.
*Knock!* *Knock!* *Knock!*
The same wordless response, just those repetitive knocks, again and again.
“Identify yourself now, or I’m going to shoot!” His threat failed to discourage the unwanted guest, who continued the seemingly endless sequence of knocks. “Wait a minute…” The ’Javelinist’ frowned as he slowly began to recognize a pattern in the sounds—some knocks were short and light, others long and heavy. ”A code?”
The…Oasis…Has…Fallen…The…Rats…Are…Fighting…But…The…Poison…Is…Coming…
Then the sequence restarted, the same message looping over and over.
If I remember well, that’s a famous quote by S-Class ‘Moonless Prayer’ Aslan Rew from A Game of Whispers—something you’d say when it’s time to drain an extraordinarily toxic swamp.
Thus, Jacques opened the door, and his jaw nearly hit the floor at the sight of the traitor’s face. “Thank Adam you opened! I was literally shitting myself at the thought of being caught—even a drunk soldier seeing me at your door would be enough to drag me before a martial court!” The unexpected guest stormed inside the room, slammed the door shut, grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge, and poured himself a full glass of Evernightmare Tears. “I hate this rusty ship, I hate my bootlicker subordinates, and most importantly, I hate this useless war!” He downed the glass in one go. “Miraval City is a thousand-year-old cornerstone of Reactionarysm, and all the sons and daughters of the most powerful Essentias in your ‘HRE’ are trapped here, waiting to be killed by the explosion!” Then he grabbed Valentino’s shoulders, shaking him like a maraca. “Me and you. We are the only ones who can stop this madness before this border conflict escalates into a world war!”
“I fully agree with everything you have just said, but hold on!” He pushed the guest away. ”This whole operation was your idea—you’re the damn Admiral!” In response, Tereus fell onto the bed and burst into tears like a toddler, making the Marian businessman feel a twinge of guilt. “Oh come on—you’re overreacting.” He grimly witnessed the death of the flamboyant man he had met at dinner. Tereus’s hair was now half-gray, wrinkles had conquered his once-preened face, and his belly had inflated like a balloon—he had aged twenty years in less than an hour. “It’s all right. We’ll find a way out.”
“No, we won’t do it if we don’t act right now! But you will never understand the danger if you don’t let me explain everything from the beginning.” Admiral Laestrygonian sobbed as he wiped his tears on the Basilisk-Leather Overcoat, while Valentino offered him a box of biscuits. “It all started twelve years ag—”
A hand silenced the speaker. “Holy shit. For the love of Adam—STOP THE INFO-DUM—”
Tereus posed one finger to his lips—
*shhh!*
—and continued anyway. “At that time, I was at the peak of my life. I had just been appointed Admiral by our glorious Chairwoman—at thirty years old, the youngest since the Insurrection—spending half the year sailing across the Mediterranean Ocean, fighting pirates and Kaiju alike, and occasionally overthrowing a dumb Naturian Warlord who refused to sell us their res…ahem…I mean, who refused to sign our mutually beneficial development agreements.” A spark of nostalgia lit his tired eyes. “And when I wasn’t at sea, I enjoyed the warmth of my beautiful wife and wonderful children while traveling across Western Chaotia, admiring its wonders, giving speeches to my fellow comrades, attending dinners with the most powerful men, and participating in the most exclusive social events—all paid by the Party, of course.”
“Sure, dude, your life was awesome. Now. PLEASE, get to the point!” Valentino snapped.
“I was getting there!” Tereus huffed. “So, I was six months at sea and six at home, but, half of my time on land wasn’t vacation only. I still had paperwork to do, three days a week, at my comfy office in the Akropolis. There, from its windows, I could admire the outstanding panorama of Korinth, such as the ruins of the Great Wall, the sun rising and setting on Sapphire Beach, and the monuments of the Eleutheria Square—the place where absolutely nothing happened in 1611.” He paused, expression darkening. “But that day…something did happen in that square.”
”That faithful morning I glanced out the window around 12 AM, as I always did, expecting to see some street performer. Instead, I saw…him.” His throat tightened. “A homeless man, standing alone in the square while holding a sign with a single word painted in capital letters—ASLANTUMA. That was the old name of Bloodmarch, but in the local dialect, it also means—never forget.
”Every day, for thirty-three hours straight, he stood in that same spot with that same sign, repeating that one word, and as the news spreaded, inevitably, the Proletárioi—frustrated with the current status quo—projected their anger and desperation onto him, glorifying that homeless man into the embodiment of their collective will.” Tereus shivered, the memory clearly haunting him. “During all his protests, he never shaved and never visited a hairstylist either. So, eventually, his black hair and beard merged into something resembling a lion’s mane, and that became his symbol, and to this day he hasn’t changed that hairstyle, with everyone still calling him—the Black Lion.”
“Let me guess—no one knew him before the protest, and there’s no record of him in any archives either?” Valentino asked, and Tereus replied by frantically nodding.
It seems this black cat has the potential to join my literally-me list.
“The protest continued until some idiot from a minor party tried to capitalize on his popularity by putting the Black Lion’s name on his electoral list. And…he actually got elected…as a representative of the people in the Kyane Ekklesía…” Tereus began to cry again, throwing himself into Valentino’s arms while the Marian awkwardly patted his back, whispering in his ear that everything would be okay.
“With a seat in the supreme legislative organ of our nation, he finally started talking about something other than Aslantuma. Every day, he wasted countless hours delivering endless speeches about whatever topic the public was obsessed with that day, and we were all forced to listen because it was his right as a deputy. To be clear, Valentino, it isn’t unusual for a new representative to chase the spotlight. But one day, even though he was factionless, the Black Lion did the unthinkable…he…presented a bill to the assembly—the Army Comprehensive Reform Bill.”
”It demanded severe modernization of the military, the extension of conscription to women, and the full incorporation of Animas and Legalist mercenaries into the army’s machinery and bureaucracy. We all laughed at him—no representative dares propose anything in their first year—but his bill promised to cut military costs by one-third, and combined with the secret ballot and the suspicion that some powerful faction was behind him…the bill actually passed.
“One month later, he proposed the Declaration of War on Famine that aimed to fund a famous chemist’s research on insecticides. We voted for it because the title sounded appealing…how foolish we were…” Tereus’s eyes sank into the darkest abyss of the human heart. “Then the bastard waited for the results of his earlier bills, and once he had the political strength, one year after his election, he introduced his final proposal—the Children Salvation Act. It declared that all youths were now under the protection of the state, with their basic needs guaranteed regardless of their origin.”
“And let me guess, it passed,” Valentino stated the obvious.
“Of course it passed! Imagine the headlines if it hadn’t!” Tereus wailed. “And right after the vote, the Black Lion shocked everyone by resigning from the Kyane Ekklesía, declaring that his promise to the people had been fulfilled. Then, he enlisted in the army as a common soldier.”
Valentino raised a brow. “Clearly, there was a catch. Wasn’t there?”
Tereus nodded. “By law, the children of Bloodmarch were still considered Korinthians…obligating the state to protect them. And how do you ‘protect’ citizen in a land under foreign occupation? By declaring war on the Holy Rolandish Empire!” He put his shaking hands over his face, overwhelmed by shame. ”That’s how the Liberation of Bloodmarch started, but, at first, we were confident, fully believing we could end the conflict in three weeks and force the Reactionaries into signing a child-protection deal.” His next words came out as nothing more than a whisper. “But nothing could have prepared us for what followed…millions of deaths…”
“You’ve taken five hundred years to choose a name, and this dude literally achieved everything he wanted in one year?” The Marian couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “You all deserved it.”
Tereus squirmed, but he held his rage for the sake of the discussion. “What you call inefficiencies are simply part of the game, but that monster learned how to exploit them to control the system as if it were a little dog—a democracy’s greatest threats lie within itself.”
“Democracy? Perhaps you mean Peoplecracy.” Tereus grimaced at that smug, grabbing Valentino by the collar and letting his tears freely stream down his face.
“Millions of deaths, for what? JUST WINE! No resources, no strategic value for an eventual invasion, and a population that despises us. Do you know how much of the Rolandish GDP goes to the army? Less than 1% in peace, while barely reaching 5% in war. And us? More than 10% in peacetime, and during the Liberation of Bloodmarch our expenses almost reached 40%! That is the price we Soulfuls must pay for a ‘fair fight’ against Essentias---our entire economy almost collapsed over NOTHING but WINE!” Tereus released him, showing Valentino his shaking palms. “See these filthy hands? They’ve signed hundreds of authorizations for chemical attacks. I am directly responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent civilians\dots” He clenched his fists. “Every single day, I put my Tigress in my mouth and argue with the mirror about why I shouldn’t pull the trigger---there is no redemption for a man like me\dots”
“Wait a minute, I thought we Reactionaries weren’t supposed to be humans to the C.C.C.P.”
“SHUT UP!” Tereus screamed, outraged. “That is exactly how that monster justified using gas. At first, we laughed at his rhetoric, joking around by calling for the extermination of all Rolandish scum—but it was just a joke. However, the Proletárioi didn’t take it as a jest. The more we joked, the more we were normalizing it, and by the time we realized what was happening, it was too late, and anyone who tried to warn them was labeled a traitor—lynched on the spot.” He clung to Valentino’s sleeve like a drowning man. “It was all part of his plan, the Black Lion! I KNOW it! We have to stop him for good, before it’s too late!”
“We? Why the hell should I jeopardize my nation to save your ass?” Valentino shot back. “Your problem, your responsibility—git gud.”
“Because he won’t stop at Oldmarch—Maria is next!”
“The Free City of Maria is an inexpugnable fortress. Our fleets rule the waves, our commerce guarantees infinite supplies, and our alliance with the Evernightmare Kingdom provides us with all the manpower we’ll ever need. Let him try—it’d be fun.” Valentino shrugged him off.
“I always wondered why no one stopped Mandrake during his meteoric rise. Were they too stupid to notice the fire growing right in front of them? Now I understand.” Tereus wiped his tears. “They were all like you. Sitting on their laurels, enjoying the sight of flames consuming their enemies while believing themselves to stand too high to ever be touched by them.” He abruptly rose. “Goodbye. We’ll meet again—in Hell.”
The Admiral strode toward the door, but Valentino grabbed his arm. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that I’m willing to endanger my beloved city for your delusions. What exactly am I supposed to do?”
A new sparkle lit the Korinthian’s eyes. “Our flawed institutions allowed his rise, but they may also be the cause of his downfall. I’m building a political faction. I’ll become his enemy from within, but I need resources and no one is wealthier than a Marian…” Admiral Phlegraean whistled softly and extended his hand.
“You’re asking me for money like a DIRTY BEGGAR?!”
“Politics is favors, information, and money. The Black Lion owns the first two, so I must rely on the third. Please, just a few million Marini would do the job—for now.”
Valentino held in his throat a tsunami of insults. “Do you remember my cousin Rinaldo? He loved selling coffee to the Starshitters, and he made a fortune from it. Oh, look, one of your officers is behind you.” The panicked Admiral hastily spun around, giving Valentino enough time to take a small metallic card from his [Inventory]. “Just kidding, a little humor brightens the atmosphere,” He smirked as he showed the Admiral the card. “This grants full access to an anonymous account in the Aries Bank. Inside is all of Rinaldo’s coffee profit—thirty-seven million Marini, all yours.” Greed widened Tereus’s eyes as his hand moved toward the card—only for Valentino to pull it back at the last second. “One last thing. If Miraval City gets destroyed, it’s over. Stopping Mother Korinna’s explosion is our top priority.”
“That will be difficult and extremely risky for me…” Tereus murmured. “But…I’ll do my part.”
“We can’t jeopardize your so-precious position, so here’s the plan. You and your loyalists must get as far away from Miraval Lake as soon as possible—just use any excuse and get everyone to Fercheval. Meanwhile, I’ll try to stop the ship. But first, answer me one thing…”
“How many Sphinxes are on board right now?”
***
The waves pressing against the window-wall, the clicks of glowing buttons on the control station, and the bursts of the engine spasming within its amniotic fluid—a cold cacophony seasoning the silence of the engine room. There, seated in an uncomfortable metal chair and fiddling with the console, a young technician was testing the limits of the engineering marvel, both separated only by a thin veil of reinforced glass.
“My Goddess…” The operator wore a weird yet blissful smile as he recalled her attention. “Sadly, this station can’t open the engine hatch. But—” He resumed typing and fastened his patch, trial-and-erroring as casually as possible to emulate the Antimagic Chaos. “I did find a way to further isolate the engine from the Antimagic Reactor. If your operation fails, this should reduce the consequences of a potential detonation.”
”You’re an angel who has descended from the sky to save my life—you’re my hero.” A soft hand caressed his cheek, and with each touch, his heart raced faster and faster—at that moment, he was the merriest man on earth.
Men are simple creatures—just be nice to them.
FF-Class ‘Ego Witch’ Carmen Austurias thought. After more than two weeks, she had finally found a safe way to test her [Skills], and she was slowly beginning to enjoy her new powers.
“My Empress.” Mishaab knelt, kissing the tip of her stiletto. “This deck has been purified of your enemies, and all access points are now barricaded from the inside. Nothing will interrupt Syreja’s work.”
*Slap!*
Carmen’s hand crashed across Gauda’s cheek, sending him crashing to the floor. The Kaliph—worshipped by billions as a living god, conqueror of calamities, survivor of five centuries of battles—was now enduring the most excruciating pain he had ever felt. “Have you forgotten I only have less than one hour left?” From the impact point on his cheek, humiliation spread through every layer of the Warlord’s essence. “You claim to be the strongest human alive, and yet you wasted the little time I have on a handful of Soulfuls—tsk, how pathetic.” The Alpha hastily crawled forward, kissing her feet, begging for another chance to prove her his worthy.
Men are simple creatures—just wound their pride.
She thought, as a seasoned official entered the room, carrying something in his arms.
“My Mistress, this is for you.” The middle-aged man presented a neatly folded blue uniform. “If you wear this, you’ll have no trouble infiltrating the command deck.” His eyes shone with eagerness, clearly expecting a reward. However, all he received was a cold stare. The ‘Ego Witch’ didn’t utter a word, she simply pointed at the size tag—the uniform was slightly too large. “Oh no, no, no…I didn’t mean to…oh no, n—” He fainted midsentence, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings. Fortunately for him, Gauda caught his head before he could hit the floor and get a brain injury.
Men are simple creatures—just toy with their guilt.
Carmen moved behind a large metallic object to change into her new clothes. ”How do I look?” she asked her slaves, who promptly put themself in line, complimenting her with claps, gestures, and whistles.
”My puppies, the plan is simple! Syreja and Nicholas shall continue sabotaging the engine, while Gauda will escort me to the command deck. Agreed?” The Alpha childishly celebrated his reward, while the two Korinthians were visibly irritated by the decision. However, Carmen gently caressed them, assuring both that in case of success, she would be very grateful.
***
“Mr. Di Mario…t-this room is of-ff-limits even for s-someone of your s-status,” the young soldier stammered, fear and fascination mixing as he stared into Valentino’s Trinitarian Eyes.
“Hey, kid, have you ever heard the word ’infinitesimal?’” Valentino asked, placing a cigarette between the soldier’s lips and lighting. “I’m sure they mentioned it at school. In mathematics, the inverse of a number X is 1/X .” Purple smoke billowed into the air. ”For example, the inverse of 3 is 1/3, 10 is 1/10, 100 is 1/100, and so on." He wrapped his arm around the young soldier's neck. "Therefore, the inverse of ∞---infinite---must be 1/∞---the infinitesimal."
“It’s a very interesting fact, Mr. Di Mario, bu—” The young soldier’s words collapsed into a flat whisper as a sharp pain flared in his chest, and within instants, he couldn’t even hold his breath. The cigarette slipped from his lips, and the Korinthian soon followed it to the ground—both flames, the one at the tip and the one in his eyes, fading at the same time, consoled only by the knowledge of who his killer was.
So the legends about that little scorpion were true after all.
Yanking the corpse by the armpits, Jacques dragged it into the first room he found. There, he calmly stole the man’s uniform, put on his brown contact lenses, and finished by hiding his hair beneath a military beret.
In less than an hour, I’ll be a corpse just like him…
He exhaled out his thoughts, his only regret being that Carmen would share his fate. ”Uh…what is this?” In one of the uniform’s pockets, he found a small silver watch. Inside, a photograph of a young girl smiling with all her teeth out. On the inner lid, an engraving—'Just three years, do it for her.' ”Ahhhhhh…not again.” The ‘Javelinist’ grimaced, already imagining the exclusive suite the ’Dawn Sovereign’ had prepared for him in Hell.
One of these days, I’m going to pay for all my sins.
He shrugged, slipping the watch into his [Inventory]. ”Well, if I die saving Miraval City, the Holy Trinity might commute my life sentence to thirty-seven billion years of forced labor in Purgatory.” And with that little flame of hope, Jacques headed toward the gallows.
***
*Wee-oo!* *Wee-oo!* *Wee-oo!*
The siren shrieked throughout the Juggernaut, abruptly waking up every soldier as their Hydros boomed the same message—'Dress up, ready your Gaussbows, and evacuate the ship.'
They didn’t question it—inquiring about officers’ decisions to spread fear and doubt among the troops is basic Tricknology—so, steadily, each human cog in that well-oiled machine calibrated itself for a monumental display of cooperation among thousands of men. Within minutes, the lifeboats were crowded with fully armed soldiers, all of them half-convinced they were about to launch a night assault on the monster that ruled the Miraval Dam.
"Ει, εσύ εκεί!" A minor officer hollered to the only recruit who proceeded in the wrong direction.
“ΑΪ ΓΑΜΗΣΟΥ!” The ‘Javelinist’ ungentlemanly replied the only phrase he knew in Korinthian—also known as Simplified Western Shurapatri—and seasoned it with a majestic movement of his middle finger. The officer was visibly outraged, but he couldn’t risk a demerit to pursue an insolent recruit. Thus, he let the rascal go, confident that the martial court would deal with that idiot soon enough.
Jacques’s paranoia kept him from using any elevators. Instead, he relied on the secret vertical ladders hidden in different locations on each of the twelve decks. But since each deck was divided into three separate compartments, several times, he found himself forced to descend back to a previously visited floor just to enter the correct segment.
In the end, he reached the storage room on the command deck less than thirty minutes after the explosion—a cramped and dusty space packed with shelves overfilled with spare parts, dense enough for the perfect hiding place. There, Jacques double-checked the blueprint on his [Contacts.Window], sent an [Email] to alert Casimir, and recited one last prayer, reminding the Holy Trinity of the deal.
After days of preparation, he had crafted an impressively large array of plans to destroy Mother Korinna. However, due to Tereus’s unexpected news, the toolbox had been reduced to a couple of single rusty instruments, and among them his favorite was to walk casually into the command room, use his [Illusive.Javelin] to unleash enough confusion to open the hatch, and then—if by some divine will he is still alive—escape with [ChariotJavelin]. A suicidal plan, indeed, but he had already accepted what he was, a dead man walking—if you know that leaving the table will earn you a bolt in the head, what’s the fear in playing your last hand?
Watch me, Holy Trinity. Today I die neither for honor nor wealth, but to protect the future of the Holy Rolandish Empire. So that one day, a better man than I will make this world a better place—by burning to the ground the city of Suare—
*BUMP!*
Jacques rushed out of cover with the fury of a hundred mounted knights, only for his patriotic charge to abruptly end as he slammed into something whose skin felt less like flesh and more like stainless steel
It’s over…It’s fucking over!
The higher his Trinitarian eyes climbed, centimeter by centimeter, up that body, the more he realized whom he had just bumped into—his hope for survival dying out the moment they met Gauda’s Opal ones.
“Jacques!” A familiar voice—the most beautiful voice he could have hoped for at the Gates of Damnation—yanked his soul back from the underworld.
“Carmen…you are…alive?!” The Suzerain lady cried as she wrapped her arms around Jacques with a force that could have strangled a Nephilim. “And what…are you doing here…with HIM!?” He roared, torn between the unbearable bliss of her scent and the frightening sight of the Warlord towering behind her. ”He’s going to kill us all!”
“No! My pup…ahem…I mean, Mishaab is on our side now. Right?” Jacques watched, astonished, as the strongest being alive nodded frantically, like a schoolchild begging his parents for a day off.
“Ahem…yes, I’ve always been on your side,” Gauda declared, whistling while avoiding eye contact. “I only joined the Korinthians to take my revenge because I know when they hired my brother to kidnap the Maquis, they had always planned to kill him after the job was done. So I feigned loyalty to strike when it hurt the most, and during my preparations, I met my Emp…ahem…I MEAN, this lady, who offered me a plan far superior to mine.” Gauda scratched his neck while stealthily glancing at Carmen, who winked in approval.
“Oh, so this is the plan you were talking about in the cabin. But, how did you know he was on our side if you two never spoke without the Korinthians watching?” Jaques inquired.
“Eheh…my [Skills], I guess.” Carmen mumbled, avoiding his piercing eyes.
“A plausible answer, one I can’t refute since I can’t access your [Status.Window],” Jacques shrugged, then took her hand. “You saved my life, Cammy—YOU SAVED EVERYONE’S LIFE!” Their sights locked in an everlasting enchantment.
“Ahem… time is up, and I think we should move—NOW!” Gauda pried the two apart with a single motion, shooting Jacques a glare so cold it could have frozen a Hyperborean.
Afterwards, the trio stepped into the vast opening that separated the storage room from the command center—the hangar. Mother Korinna had been built on a carrier’s skeleton, and its command deck still bore the architecture of that old doctrine, featuring a massive open space that could house hundreds of Wyverns to be fed and armed in preparation for battle. To accomplish that, two-thirds of the entire command deck was sacrificed to make room for these beasts, but now, with the Sky Nomads having their own transportation vessels, the place was empty—a barren expanse of nothing but steel.
”Storming the command room would have been a suicide for both of us, but he’s a Level29—a living god. Thanks to you, Carmen, we have nothing more to worry about.” He gave a thumbs-up to the lady, making her smile. ”Nothing and no one can stop us no—ACK!”
*CRRRAAUNCH!*
A wave of bluish energy hit the ’Javelinist’ striaght into the face, crushing him to the ground.
”Good evening, Mr. and Miss Di Mario.” A cold voice was heard, backed by the thunderous yet synchronized thuds of dozens of sabatons hitting steel like a war drum. “Only twenty minutes until midnight, are you here for the fireworks too?” A group of knights emerged from the command room, all of them wore towering plate armor as azure as the Konnie Blue Flags hanging over the walls, while their Captain wore a purpura cape flowing like a living candle’s shadow—the unmistakable mark of leadership. Before Carmen and Gauda stood thirty-six Kataphracts, and at their head their Hegemon—Harmatia. “I would have loved to spend my final twelve minutes of life with such very important people. However, I have a feeling you’re not who you say you are, am I wrong?”
A sore Jacques dragged himself upright, blinking as his [HP] slowly restored the eyes pulverized by the bluish blast. “How…how did you know?” He rasped.
“Maybe even the real Valentino isn’t aware of it,” Harmatia began, advancing while his men stayed behind. “But I infiltrated his business once, disguised as a fawn-eyed secretary while studying him like a guinea pig.”
A fissure split across the Hegemon’s armor, and from within it emerged something that, if defined as alive, would be blasphemy to the Trinitarian Faith—the Dragonguts-Ambered Bastard Sword, commonly known as the Rougeserker. For Jacques, it looked like a beating heart, but in truth, Rougeserker was a mix of organs and entrails braided together—tendons, stomach lining, veins, sacs, and coils shifting and rearranging themselves to obey its master’s orders.
“Valentino Di Mario is a man I know better than his own mother,” Harmatia revealed. “And while I’ll concede your acting was, indeed impressive, your body language could never keep pace with it. I knew from the start you were an impostor. But those eyes…” His featureless visor tilted as the Korinna’s Knight admired in awe the three pupils of Jacques’s Trinitarian Eyes. “Flawless…even I didn’t know it was possible to fake a Gift of Adam.”
How was it possible for that mass of organs and solidified hemoglobin to enlarge and shift its form at will? The Dragonchrome was a bacterial species that, much like the Zaverin Spider, produced mana-conductive filaments, allowing its wielder to project their will onto the weapon. In short, Rogueserker was originally nothing more than a minuscule colony of germs that had colonized scraps of rotten meat. Hungry bacterias that, after feasting on the flesh of the strongest warriors that had ever wandered Chaotia, were reborn as the Eldritch Abomination now twisting around Harmatia’s arm.
“Tell me, do you know why a woman performed the card test at the dinner?” Jacques clenched his jaw. “Admiral Laestrygonian and his men believed you would go soft on her—fools. I knew the real Valentino would have shot her in the face, taking joy in having ruined such a fine beauty forever. But you? You not only spared her, you even aimed in a place where she’d recover perfectly without leaving a single mark on her skin—wrong move, Mr. Impostor.”
Oh, fuck it! Why does this always happen every time I try to be gentle?
“Then why have you waited until now to hunt us?”
Harmatia raised his arm while, behind him, the thirty-six Korinna’s Knights unsheathed their Zweihänders in perfect unison. “Just, look around you—so much space. What better arena for our Leitmotif?” After multiple screams and spasms, Rogueserker reshaped itself to mimic the Knights’ weapons, becoming a crimson longsword as tall as its wielder. “I admit, Mr. Gauda’s betrayal was something I never expected in a million years—I did my homework, and his grievance over his brother seemed genuine,” Harmatia whistled a couple of times. “But it changes nothing, and by the end of this day, there will be one less Reactionary to stain this world.”
“Harmatia, my dear friend.” The Warlord stepped forward, tone full of contempt for the small ant standing on his path.“We seem to have found ourselves in an awkward situation—well, you have. In my short time on this vessel full of subhumans, only you proved to be an equal in the fine yet often forgotten art of conversation. So here’s my offer—walk away now, and I’ll spare your life.” Gauda’s smirk widened with delight. “After all, you Omegas don’t stand even the slightest chance of harming a living go—”
*CRRRAAUNCH!*
Another wave of blue energy blasted toward him—faster than lightning—yet Gauda dodged it with a single and graceful leap. ”AAAACK!” The blast, instead, hit the man behind the Naturian Warlord, Jacques, propelling him towards the wall and sinking his body in its debris.
“I have told you this already. On Mother Korinna—I am your god.” He pointed his living weapon at Gauda. “Traitor!”
Gauda did not flinch, sneering. “There is only one thing a man can ever truly betray.” He turned his head toward Carmen, her terrified eyes sparkling in him a feeling difficult to define yet impossible to misunderstand. “His heart.” The transformation was instantaneous. The Alpha’s bones cracked, and his muscles writhed as white scales began to cover every millimeter of his body, hardening like diamond while his tongue became a whip twice the length of his tail.
”Your idiocy is almost funny.” A bitter and metallic laugh rattled through Harmatia’s featureless helm, preluding a dark revelation. ”And you are wrong because the human heart is the source of all egoisms—the root of all suffering." The Hegemon snapped his fingers, prompting the Kataphracts behind him to move toward a console next to the command-room door. ”Before we begin, let’s test the outdated and bigoted education systems of your Reactionary nations with a simple question—tell me, do you know how a caterpillar becomes a butterfly?”
His words caught even the Warlord off guard, blinking twice—his nictitating membrane closed horizontally, and not vertically like human palpebrae. ”Metamorphosis…right?” Carmen replied as she finished nursing Jacques back to his senses. ”The mature caterpillar encloses itself inside a cocoon, where it mutates into a beautiful butterfly.”
”A correct answer, Miss Impostor,” Harmatia conceded with a mocking clap. ”But do any of you know how this actually happens? Have you ever cut open a cocoon and watched the entire trans-formation?” As the Kataphracts stopped manipulating the console, from the ceiling above the hangar, three metallic tubes dropped down, dangling like vines in a jungle. ”No? Then watch—this will be educational.” Harmatia tore away his purpura cape and stretched out his arms so that his subordinates could attach the three tubes to the circular-shaped sockets embedded in the back of his armor.
*Gluuushhh!* *Gluuushhh!* *Gluuushhh!*
The sound of flowing water filled the room, and soon blue vapor began to rise from seams of Harmatia’s armor. The steel plates vibrated, their internal structure unraveling into countless thin wires that wove, coiled, and twisted together as they enveloped more and more of the Hegemon, until the thickening strands formed a pulsating cocoon around his body.
”Are you retarded or what?!” Jacques roared as he rose back to his feet. ”Have you never read a fucking book in your life? KILL THE BASTARD BEFORE HE FINISHES TRANSFORMING!”
After a few seconds of confusion, Gauda threw himself at the cocoon with all the speed his legs could muster—but it was already too late. The instant his claws slashed the silky-metallic membrane, a bluish flash detonated, blinding him and vaporizing both his retinas and all the scales along his arm. Then, the shockwave lifted his tail off the ground, flying him straight into the wall. ”AAACK!” Thankfully for him, the ’Deceptio Squamata’ crashed into the soft ’Javelinist’ instead of solid steel.
”BREAK THE CHAIN!” The thirty-six Kataphracts shrieked their death-chant in perfect unison as metallic tentacles detached from the cocoon and pierced their blue armor, impaling them all in the heart. From these thirty-six holes, threads spread like parasitic veins, wrapping the Korinna’s Knights and sucking their dissolved-by-acid remnants like a straw.
Once all the subordinates had become part of their Hegemon, the cocoon shrank into a writhing mass, and from it emerged a towering figure three times Harmatia’s former size, yet completely different from the Kapharath she once was. Her lower body remained encased in the Knight’s armor, but her torso was now bare, featuring smooth skin made of the same ship’s steel, which gleamed beneath the few rays of moonlight filtering through the portholes. However, the detail that stole everyone’s attention was her newly exposed woman’s treasure, shaped with such divine proportions that she seemed like a statue of a goddess brought to life.
At the same time, a face surfaced upon what had once been a featureless helm, outstanding features yet ruined by a cold and emotionless expression—as beautiful as the ’Romantic Dreamer’ and as hollow as the ’Imperfect Eclipser.’
And lastly, the Knight’s thirty-six Zweihänders sprouted from the Goddess’s back like petals, surging upward above her head and forming something that resembled a crown or even an aureola.
“So, how does a caterpillar metamorphose into a butterfly?” The Hegemon’s voice was no longer human. To Jacques, it sounded like the stereotypical off-stage voice of a god in a theatre play. “Inside the cocoon, the caterpillar secretes an acid that dissolves its entire body until every fiber breaks down and nothing of the original organism remains. And yet, the caterpillar does not die—its cells continue to communicate, to reorganize themselves within that liquid.
”Do you understand what this means? All the processes that once occurred inside its body now take place in this broth of cells and proteins. So we can say that, during metamorphosis, the caterpillar is alive in the liqu…do, that would be wrong. A better way to put it is that the liquid itself is alive—and that is what I am.”
The Zweihänders’ blades began to glow, a familiar sight on any battlefield, since they had been designed to accumulate energy. However, their bluish hue quickly deepened into a radiant purpura, and above their tips, a bluish halo formed around Harmatia, as if Mana itself were evaporating to fill the gaps between the swords.
”These three pipelines are connected directly to the Antimagic Reactor.” she gestured as more Mana hissed through the tubes attached to her back. "They pump into my armor Mana in its purest and unrefined form, one that can be created only by the Antimagic Particle now trapped in my heart—the Quantum Mana.” Her chest rang as she tapped it with her metallic finger. ”When I formed this cocoon, the Mana had melted down my whole body, separating each of my atoms without, however, severing their hyperconnections. Moreover, at those astronomical temperatures, my armor melted inward, merging its atoms with mine—meat, steel, and Mana fused into a single alloy that is now my exoskeleton.”
Rougeserker began twitching again, fast and harder, so rapidly that its organs became a blur of motion, vibrating at frequencies no human eye could keep pace with—the sheer ecstasy in feasting the flesh of Adam’s first creation.
“And now, my consciousness can flow with the water throughout the Pipelines that connect every part of this ship. In other words---
"I have become Mother Korinna.”
