- Theresis' POV
She charged at me like a ferocious beast.
Not a soldier. Not a trained killer. Just a... Beast—small, fierce, filthy. Her bare feet skidded across the mist-slick earth, her arms trembling under the strain of a blade too long for her height. But her eyes—violet, burning with such ferocity—never looked away from mine.
She screamed, slurred:
"Yew... argh! Gra... grab!"
The blade came down.
I caught it.
Quick Instinct. Nothing more. My hand closed around the steel mid-swing. The edge met my palm—split it with ease.
My skin tore. Blood welled up, hot and fast. The girl snarled and twisted, wrenching the blade free with strength that matched her size. She crouched low, feral and panting, the glinting black blade held in shaking hands but aimed well—at me, and at the silent ranks behind.
"Hom! Yew… hom! Hom!" she shrieked again, voice cracking with rage.
I didn't move. I watched her.
Then I looked past her—toward the crumpled figure half-sunken in the dirt.
They hadn't moved much. Still slouched, face obscured behind a visor clouded with dust and impact fractures. The armor was strange. White, not pure but worn—dulled by sand and wear. It was advanced. Angular. No emblem. No clear make.
Is it Lateran made? That would explain the gun on their back. But I did not see neither halo nor wings from them, so not a Sankta.
Ursus? Possibly, the Helmet's feature looked like those worn by their Emperor's Blades. Full face and all that.
Victorian? Unlikely, they would rather arm and upgrade their Steam Knights.
Leithan—
No.
I... I do not know.
Of all enemies I've personally felled, none of them looked like... that.
I couldn't tell if the person inside was dead or merely insensate.
Then...
There were lights.
A flicker.
Subtle flicker.
It shimmered across the surface of the suit in a ripple—blue, cold, and sudden. Like water flowing in reverse, each wave distorting the air around it before vanishing again.
I stared.
It happened again—at the elbow this time. Then at the torso.
Each ripple came in response to the smallest movement, like it reacted to motion or threat. The air around the pulses seemed to bend, warp, and then snap back into place.
My brow furrowed.
What in the Ancestor's name…?
I had never seen something like that. In my centuries of living, no technologies I knew acted like that. There was no sound—wait there are some vibrating noises, no visible emitter—just this strange, fluid response, like the suit refused the impacts of dust and pebbles around it.
Alien. That was the word.
It was like watching physics misbehave.
I looked again through the cracked visor. Beneath the grime, it was faint, but I saw something visible—eyes.
Violet, just like the child's.
A connection, then. Blood? Perhaps. Family. That blade the girl wielded—if I had to guess, it came from the one in white. Between the two of them, only that one bore the hallmarks of something made. Something forged, or even crafted.
And not by the hands of this land.
I turned back to the child.
But... if they were family, why is the child the only one wearing rags?
Is she their slave, perhaps?
No.
She seemed protective of them.
She even went as far to attack me to protect them.
"You want to kill me?" I asked, voice low and flat.
Her arms trembled harder. Her chest rose and fell, more breath than body.
She bared her teeth.
"Keel… kill you!"
She meant it.
And I finally realized—
She didn't know who I was.
And she did not care.
Soft footsteps approached behind me—steady, calm. The scent of my sister's perfume reached me before her voice did.
"Theresis?" she asked quietly, her tone strangely reserved. "Are you alright?"
I flexed my hand once. Blood seeped from between the fingers.
"I got cut," I replied bluntly, raising my bloodied hand for her to see. "The blade's of fine quality. It managed to dig and cut through my skin."
Theresa's pink eyes lingered on the wound. "We should get your hand treated after this," she said quietly. I only hummed in response. Still, her gaze drifted past me.
I glanced again at the child's thin figure—frail, starved-looking, barely standing—and yet something gnawed at me. A warmth. Faint, but familiar. Not physical.
It seeped in at the back of my mind like a tug through a thread that shouldn't be there—yet was. The kind of sensation I'd only ever felt when Theresa and I were still young and untrained, when emotion bridged the space between us without intent. Like a memory shared across a mirror.
She was using the Crown.
Quietly.
Her voice came softer now, almost distant as she spoke:
"Nobody taught her how to speak. She simply emulates the sounds made by those who pass by… mimics them. Copies. That's all."
She paused, then said more quietly, "Theresis?"
But I wasn't looking at the girl anymore.
My eyes had moved past her, drawn again to the slouched figure in white—still seated, but no longer inert.
The helmet had turned slightly. Subtle, but deliberate. The figure was more aware. I noticed some shift of posture. A slight tension in the limbs.
Cautious.
On guard.
But that wasn't what held me.
There was some confusion in the stance, in the faint angle of the head.
Confusion ?
What are you confused of?
What is in your minds?
I spoke without turning. "And what of them?" I asked, voice low.
Theresa's reply came slowly—like someone pressing their thoughts through a sieve.
"I can't…" Her voice was low, tight with something close to strain. "I can't see into them. The one in white… I can't read their thoughts. Not even their emotions. There's nothing."
My fingers twitched.
Nothing?
That couldn't be right. Not with the Crown's powers.
Not with her.
I took a half-step forward, placing myself subtly between Theresa and both the girl and the slouched figure—between her and that faint, impossible warmth still threading through the back of my mind.
I looked at the seated figure more closely, suspicion beginning to sharpen behind my eyes.
Who—what—are you?
That suit hid any possibilities of them being a descendant of the Elder or Ancient races.
I see no tails.
The helmet obscured their head, I cannot see what lies beneath
But before my sister could continue, before either of us could press further—
A roar.
Raw. Bitter. Furious.
" How dare you! "
"PROTECT THE KING!"
"FOR KAZDEL!"
The shout echoed from behind us, cutting through the tension like a blade. I turned just in time to see the procession behind us break—some Sarkaz warriors and hired mercenaries surging forth, eyes lit with hate, voices raised in fury.
They weren't coming for me.
They were charging at her.
At Them!
Cleavers, swords, maces, axes. Crossbows raised. Bows drawn. Casters crackling with Arts.
"No!" Theresa shouted, horror dawning in her voice.
I barely had time to register what was happening before she stepped forward, both hands raised as light poured from her like dawn itself—Civilight Eterna, manifesting in its full glory.
"Stop," she commanded, voice ringing with layered resonance. "Lay down your weapons. Stand down."
But it didn't work.
Not this time.
Their rage was too great, too strong. Or something deeper in their psyche had urged them forward.
Bolts whistled past us. Arrows screamed through the air.
No.
The thought came unbidden, raw and primal.
I turned, pivoted fast, trying to cover my sister as a barrier, to shout a warning, something—but my eyes caught the slouched figure in white just as the projectiles neared—
The air shrieked with death.
Bolts. Arrows. Streaks of boiling energy.
They all arced towards the small girl.
Toward the child who barely knew how to speak.
But the white figure moved first.
In a single fluid motion, they stepped forward, arms wrapping around the child, pulling her close in an embrace. No words. No hesitation. Just that one, unmistakable gesture:
A hug.
No!
Fool!
I reached out my hand towards them—
The barrage struck.
But it did not land on them.
As the arrows and bolts closed in, they shattered—deflected, rippling, absorbed.
A strange distortion shimmered around the white-armored figure, like air bending through heat, but tinged with a pulse of soft riplling blue light. A wave rolled outward every time something struck her, causing the space around her to ripple like water.
It... was mesmerizing.
Me and Theresa both stood still, jaws agape. Unmoving, shocked
"…What is that?" I muttered.
I had never seen anything like it. No Sarkaz magics. No Arts techniques. No technologies. Nothing in the annals of war nor history.
I couldn't even feel what it was.
I turned to my sister, she said nothing. Her lips trembled, eyes wide—not with fear, but wonder.
But there was no time to ask, no time to make sense of what they were seeing.
Before I could fully turn around again, a sudden yank pulled my back, almost knocking me off my feet.
But it sure as hell knocked some air from my lung.
Who dare—?!
I turned, half-ready to rip the arm off—only to freeze.
It was a man. Pale, tall, regal. Skin the color of rotten parchment hidden under his bandages, eyes that I know did not blink behind his death mask, a solemn calm carved into the shape of death.
"…N-Nezzsalem," I said. I didn't mean to say it aloud. It just came out.
The King of the Nachzehrer. The old blood. The thing that ruled the grave.
He held my shoulder, shielding me.
And beside Theresa—a presence like a whisper before the scream. Tall, black-robed and veiled, motionless.
"R-Ramaline?!—" I heard her say.
The Banshee Queen stood before my sister, bone-pen raised like a spear. Her pale fingers coiled tightly around its cracked hilt, pointing straight toward the girl and the white-armored figure.
"What is that thing?" she hissed. Her voice slithered, cold and clear.
Theresa's eyes snapped toward her. "Stop!" she shouted, her voice cracking with urgency.
A flare of silver light surged from her crown, searing across the path. For a moment it felt like everything was held in suspension, the air pulsing with her will.
"I said stand down!"
But they didn't.
The charge didn't stop.
They were still coming.
And I could do nothing but watch as time began to fall apart again.
++++++++
- Maria's POV
What the fuck?
What the fuck? What the fuck?! What the hell is going on?!
One moment, I'm still down on the ground there, trying to figure out with my blurry brain about what's going on with that tall guy and the pink-haired woman, both of which had pink hairs, and horns—and the next, I see some people, with horns as well! Charging in with cleavers and swords, crossbows, freakin' magics—and they're heading straight for the girl.
AM I ACTUALLY IN HELL?!
IS THIS HELL?!
ARE THEY DEMONS?!
DEVILS?!
IS EVERYBODY HERE LOOK LIKE THEM?!
AM I THE ONLY HUMAN HERE?!
WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THI—WAIT!
The kid!
Why would you attack him?! We don't even know who he is—wait… did you know who he is?! Is that why you attacked him?!
We could've just asked him for shelter first!
Pain suddenly flared up across my side and ribs, snapping me out of the spiral.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow!" I hissed. The suit tightened a little, as if responding to my discomfort.
Then text started to flash across my visor:
[ASSESSMENT: MULTIPLE CONTUSIONS. FRACTURED RIBS. INTERNAL BRUISING. LEFT SHOULDER IMPACTED.
[BLOOD LOSS: MINIMAL. TRAUMA LEVEL: MODERATE.]
[MOBILITY: 73%. STABILITY: 59%. ]
Another line blinked on-screen:
[RE-INITIATING MEDICAL STABILIZATION.]
[PLEASE REMAIN STILL.]
The hiss of air and something cold against my skin—beneath the armor—told me that the suit's built-in meds were already doing their thing. But then more text popped up:
[INJECTION REQUIRED. RIGHT FLANK.]
[AUTOMATIC INJECTION-ERROR.]
[MANUAL ACTIVATION NECESSARY.]
"Wait, what? What injection?! Is it like the one you did on the back of my neck?!"
Another line appeared:
[LOCATE SIDE PORT. STRIKE FIRMLY TO ACTIVATE INJECTION.]
I stared at the blinking indicator, then at my armored side. "You want me to punch myself? There's a freakin' needle in there, isn't there?"
The response was quick:
[POSITIVE. NEEDLE WILL DISINTEGRATE UPON ENTRY OF MEDICATIONS. NO INTERNAL HARM.]
I bit down on my lip. Hard. "Fuckin' Fine!," I growled.
I braced myself, lifted my arm—and slammed my fist into my own side. There was a mechanical click, a sharp shhht, and then—
"AHh—shit!" I groaned through clenched teeth, feeling the needle stab in and deliver whatever weird painkiller or stim the suit was carrying. It wasn't pleasant, but at least it wasn't unbearable.
More data began scrolling across my visor as the HUD recalibrated.
[VITALS STABILIZING. PAIN SUPPRESSION AT 64%. ADRENAL BOOST ENABLED.]
I exhaled shakily, sweat clinging to the inside of my helmet. "How the hell did I move so fast back there? Those bolts are flying straight at her."
The HUD flashed a new line:
[MUSCLE MEMORY.]
"That's not creepy at all," I muttered. "So, can my muscle memory help me fight these lunatics?"
[POSSIBILITY: YES.]
PROBABILITY: LOW. INJURY LIMITATIONS SIGNIFICANT.]
"Great," I sighed, wiping my mouth with the back of my armored hand. "Guess we're doing this the hard way."
But I still had two arms working well enough—and a Holtzman shield that shimmered with blue ripples every time something hit me. The Sardaukar suit. The strength I shouldn't have.
What the hell am I?
And just what the hell have I gotten myself into now?!
I looked down at the kid who clung to me.
Whatever happens, I'm not letting anything get past me.
But still...
Can I take them on?
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!
Maybe just run? Yes, grab the girl, run like hell back into the storm, back to where the Shelter's coordinates originally were.
She's small enough. I could carry her in one arm, bolt into the wind and disappear.
But then the HUD's interface blinked aggressively across my visor, text forming in harsh blocks of red:
[Mobility compromised. Multiple lower limb injuries detected. Run capacity diminished. Projected endurance: 7 minutes before collapse.]
[Subject A (The Child) unwilling to evacuate. Risk of resistance: 96.8%.]
Of course she'd struggle. She'd probably drag me back toward them, ow my wrist...
"Damn it," I whispered aloud, my voice dry with stress. "What do I do then—"
Another notification snapped onto the visor:
[Magnetic lock: rear compartment—disengaging. ]
[T-231 Imperial Pattern Lasgun: ready.]
[Recommended. ]
My blood ran cold. I felt it—the faint shifting weight along my spine, the soft metallic click as the mount on my back loosened the hold on the Lasgun. My hand instinctively hovered near my shoulder, like it remembered where to reach.
"No—no, no! I'm not killing them!" I hissed through my teeth. "This is a misunderstanding! I don't want to kill anyone! We can fix this with words—!" My voice cracked. "I didn't want this... I'm sorry."
[If lethal response is unconfirmed, Subject A (child) projected casualty risk: 98.4%.]
[Is Subject A's death acceptable?]
[To you?]
I froze. I looked at her. The child. She had clung so tight to me just now. She was still holding onto my suit.
My heart clenched.
No. No!
There must be another way!
But...
I couldn't let that happen.
I swallowed, hard, and stared at the blinking prompt on my visor. My pulse was pounding in my ears. My mouth tasted like copper and fear.
"...Give me options," I whispered.
"Please, give me another way."
[Fight or Die.]