Chapter Text
–Somewhere in The City–
CLANG! THWING! SQUELCH!
The echoes of clashing blades finally came to a halt as a wet, tearing sound pierced the air. Arrythmic steps stumbled through a puddle, sinking knee-deep into the murky waters of the gutter, staining their white cape and dark suit with filth, the blood of fallen comrades. A violent cough followed, vomiting out a fountain of blood into the black, flowing stream, mixing with it and being washed away with the other grime within.
The Index Proxy shifted his gaze towards his fallen comrades, their lifeless bodies floating on the surface of the muck, tainting the dirty stream even further with their blood. Their target was supposed to be tired from all the fighting they endured, yet three Index Proxies had fallen before him.
A former Star of the City was still a Star, it seems, even if it is dwindling.
His legs stumbled across the gutter as his spirit desperately clung to the last strand of consciousness. He couldn’t feel his own stomach, which was, of course, reduced to nothing by his target’s freakishly large lance. He couldn’t even get a clear view of his target anymore, his vision blurring by the second
Before long, the dwindling strength to even hold his weapon had run dry. Their right hand, which was meant to hold his spear tightly, suddenly let go. Letting the spear he had begun to hold ever since he was promoted to an Index Proxy fall into the dirty waters, never to be seen again.
He breathed in and out in a broken sequence, his breath as weak as his consciousness. He eyed his target, his desperate, murderous gaze against his target’s lifeless and dark eyes.
“Rien…” He called out weakly.
The man named Rien only glared at him. Silent. Well, what did he expect from him, honestly?
“Killing me won’t be the end of it…” He grunted, trailing off as death approached. He was already weak enough that standing on two legs was tiring, so his body had knelt.
“The Proxies… will never stop hunting you down.”
A warning, a threat. From a believer to a traitor.
“Lurking in the muck of this reeking cesspit… won't keep you hidden forever…” He trailed off, venom lacing each word that was uttered.
Finally, he gave in. His pale eyes rolled back as he fell back-first into the murky waters with his fellow Proxies. Their bodies floated for a moment before they sank deep, merging with every other dirt and filth in the bottom of the sewers.
The man, Rien, watched as the last of his assailants succumbed to his injuries. Well, the last of this batch, anyway - more will come soon enough. He let out an exhale of relief as he was given a moment of respite, before coughing violently.
Right, the open, gushing wound from his dear daughter’s Arayashiki has yet to heal. He surprised even himself, managing to defeat the four Index Proxies sent to kill him in this state.
He could feel the adrenaline wearing off, so he decided to sit down on a curb. Each breath felt painful. Oh, how he wished to simply rest. Bearing another fight with more proxies was likely out of his reach, as it would surely spell his death. Caduceus was already giving him unfavorable weapons; he couldn’t even manifest a Mang, and he was struggling to keep his Shin on for longer than a minute. The sizzling wounds did not help the matter, making every movement and action painful.
Yoshihide, his daughter. Thinking back to her crimson eyes filled with rage, emptiness, and determination back on that rooftop, he yet couldn’t help but feel… proud, in a way, despite all that happened.
Suddenly, he couldn’t help but look at the strands of white hair upon his head.
“Oh, dear… I'll need to… dye my hair again.” He muttered to himself as he brushed his hands through his bangs. He wondered.. How long was he to keep up this facade? This imitation of a father. Had he still needed to mutilate himself further? Hermes told him to cut his hair short. So he did that. Hermes told him to dye his hair black. So he did that, too. Hermes told him to keep his youthful look, so it was done too.
Beep Beep Beep!
The dreaded sound came from his breast pocket. The device beeped once more after its silence that lasted for some time, those moments like music to Rien’s ears. No orders to take, free from the cage to do whatever he wanted – or so he had thought.
His hand weakly grabbed the device, slowly reading what Hermes wanted of him this time. A hair dye job? More killing of Proxies? Surrender? And yet, none of those came near to what he read.
He stared at the device blankly for a moment, processing the order. “…I'm supposed to recite this?” He questioned himself with slight confusion. Another line from who he imitate?
I have nothing but my sorrow… And I want nothing more. It has been, it still is, faithful to me.
Rien swallowed, tasting the iron of his blood. Was this also part of the facade he played? Playing dress-up and reciting pre-delivered lines during his battle against Limbus Company wasn’t enough, it seemed. He still had more he needed to say, even at death’s door.
"I have nothing but my sorrow, and I want…"
..No. I think that’s enough.
“Hah… This is tiresome.” He sluggishly said as the hand holding the device fell to the ground, letting the device clatter onto the ground briefly as it repeatedly beeped, as it always did when a prescription was unfulfilled.
No more, he won’t play pretend anymore. This has gone on for long enough. He’s tired, he wants out. He wants to start anew, free from the Index and Hermes’s grasp. Yet that alone is nothing more than a fleeting dream. He was given many chances, and he ignored them all, pushed them away. All because he was too cowardly, too scared. For all his life, all he had known was the prescripts.
CLINK!
Suddenly, Caduceus had produced something. He silently watched, as it took shape completely, resulting in something that wasn’t a tool or a weapon, but a kitchen utensil. A spork.
Caduceus… had given him a spork.
Hah… Ha ha ha…
“Hahahahaha!!” Rien laughed like a madman.
Indeed, this is a Hermes thing to do. Seeking entertainment from the suffering of others.. Oh, how his cruelty never changes.
An image of Yoshihide came to mind.
“Sweetheart… Looks like…”
“Sweetheart, this… is called a "spiral."
A memory.
“...It may not sting any worse than the prick of a thorn at first, but the more you try to yank it free, the further it will drill into the body.”
Just like the doubt in his heart. The same doubt that had led him to his own fate.
“No, Dad. It’s freeze tag!”
An innocent voice. One that brought light to his void of a life.
“… What's… freeze tag?”
Perhaps he should’ve spent more time with her.
He slowly shifted the hand holding Caduceus to the side of his head, the tip of the spork now pointing towards his temple. His hands are trembling.
“You forgot…” He mumbled.
“Then I… I'll keep waiting until my darling daughter decides to unfreeze me.”
He shut his eyes. He never got to say goodbye to Yoshihide, did he?
“...to unfreeze me.”
SQUELCH!
Everything went black. Rien used every last ounce of strength to drive the spork right into his temple. Blood erupted from where he stabbed through his skull, his body losing all ardor. His trembling hands stopped moving, his arms slumped. His body leaned towards the sewer stream before giving in and falling into the sewage.
His death was nothing climactic nor grand. It was simply the nature of The City - no matter how prestigious you are, how great you are, or how feared you are, you will still find yourself dying in some unknown gutter.
Just like that, the Pale Imitation sank into oblivion, in black silence alongside the karma he bore.
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–Sal Viento, Iberia–
Rien’s eyelids opened wide as he instinctively woke himself from his slumber in cold sweat, gasping for air. Another nightmare, it seems. Dreams of that day wouldn’t cease. He placed a hand on his chest, calming himself down. He checked the clock in his room. 11:02 AM. Seems he overslept again.
The Oracle’s Proxy let out a sigh as he rose from his bed. Took a quick shower, got dressed, and ate some stale bread for breakfast; it wasn’t tasty, yet it’s more than enough to fill him with energy for the rest of the day. Before heading outside, he fixed his tie in the mirror and stuffed Caduceus inside his coat. The moment he opened the door, the smell of seawater attacked his nostrils.
Of course, this was a natural occasion for those who live in Iberia. Specifically, in a run-down motel near the coast. When Rien first came here, he was quite surprised nobody was running the motel - no staff, no other residents, and the front desk was empty, and he was the sole resident. Yet, electricity seemed to be running, weirdly.
The dark-haired man closed the door to his room before walking outside the motel. His shoes crunched as he walked across the sand-covered floor, and he thought back to when he first arrived at this place, Sal Viento, about a week ago or so. Death should have already claimed him - he should be at the bottom of The City’s gutters, collecting grime like the other Index Proxies he had slain.
He should’ve been burning in Avīci Naraka and Raurava for all the unforgivable misdeeds he has done through the course of his life.
Yet it seems fate would have it differently. Instead of finding himself floating in a dark void of nothingness for all of eternity or the fate he expected, he found himself regaining consciousness at the coast of this town, devoid of life, in a world different from The City and yet familiar in certain aspects.
Truth be told, it wasn’t completely devoid of all life; it simply seemed that way, as most townspeople seemed to be catatonic, their faces blank with no desire nor sense of prospect - even the average denizen of N Corp. would seem happier than them.
Another glaring issue that Rien had noticed was the lack of food. He had heard it was worse before, and that it was “getting better by the day”. Unfortunately, in the one week he had lived here, he noticed no such change.
Better yet, parts of this town seem to be crawling with the ‘Inquisitors’, he heard. The ruling regime of Iberia, which also acted as the backbone for protecting Iberia and repelling the ‘Sea Terrors’ and the ‘Church of the Deep’. These terms were completely alien to Rien, but the half a day spent within a run-down library the previous day had let him catch up to what should be expected within this new world.
He learnt a lot about Iberia, most notably how this bleak nation once had a ‘Golden Age’ of marvellous prosperity. According to the books he read, Iberia used to be visited by ‘Aegirians’ who willingly helped the people of the land by crafting marvellous ships for them. Their cities were swathed in gold. Iberia was a regional superpower, and other nations often envied its seemingly endless prosperity. Yet, it was the same folly that would soon lead it towards its downfall.
The Profound Silence, a catastrophic tsunami that washed over Iberia. Large enough to forever shift how Iberia would work and submerge their glorious Armada, as well as half of their land. Their ignorant ruler and his royal court died alongside the Golden Age that day. Sea Terrors plagued the coast; many infrastructure links to Iberia were lost, and it was plagued by famine and societal unrest.
Though they naturally recovered from such a great depression with enough time. And that is when the religious ruling began, where the Iberian people began to erect a religious figurehead to replace the royal court long gone, to guide the Iberians out of their misery. This had led to the establishment of the Inquisition, which was maintained by the Eight Saints. This era, led by the Inquisition, marked the age of strict conservatism and isolationism for Iberia. Iberians would now have to forget about their magnificent maritime activities, as the Inquisition held an iron grip regarding its restrictions on seafaring.
The very same era also sparked persecution against the Aegirians. People who were once admired as the harbingers of wealth were now seen as the envoys of disaster, responsible for the Profound Silence. This led to the Inquisition actively arresting and executing many innocent members of the Aegir race and nation.
Rien emphasized that part. In this world, racial conflict posed a bigger threat than it did in The City. These Aegir are described as having ‘no visible features’ at all save for pointy ears, considering they’re basically ‘fish-people’ if Rien himself had to visualize it. This also made sense, given how some of the denizens of Sal Viento with a semblance of sanity left, often gave Rien a second or third look whenever he walked past them. To avoid the Inquisition’s wrath, he made sure to always wear a cloak to hide his being whenever he visited the town, lest he wanted to create more thorns to prick his side.
Another thing he had to deal with, other than Terra and Iberia’s workings, was Caduceus… and the device.
Ever since he woke up on the coast of Sal Viento, his Oracle Device never once beeped. He thought it was just broken. So he pried it open and found himself surprised that nothing was wrong with its inner workings. So he waited hours upon hours until night came. Still no response. He waited until sunrise the next day, refusing to sleep. No beeping had come.
..Is he... truly free now?
Free from Hermes’ grasp. Free from the indulgence to commit prescripts in this new world. A chance where he could start anew.
But was he deserving of such a thing? He had done many terrible things throughout his life for the prescripts. Always dreaming of freedom, yet too afraid to even grasp it. That very inaction pricked a feeling of doubt, burrowing deep within his soul.
On the other hand, he also ran into some trouble in maintaining Caduceus. At first, the relic wouldn’t obey him, and attempts to summon weapons would fail. Yet as time passed by, he managed to make the vial submit to him at least partially. He could now use three weapons: the greatsword, the bastard sword, and the lance. It was a shame he couldn’t manage to generate blunt options or summon the scythe, as it was his trusty weapon, with its properties to cut through space. Oh well, he’d have to make do with what he had.
Thoughts of acquiring this world’s weapons just in case Caduceus stopped working also crossed his mind, yet he never entertained them for long.
After moments of rumination, he finally arrived at the beach. The familiar sound of waves crashing against the shore rang in his ears. He shut his eyes to take in the sound of the waves. The sky was dark, the sun blocked out by grey clouds. The waters seemed empty from his vantage point above the surface, and yet, he could feel the myriad of voices speaking out just by the sound of the waves.
The waves… sounded differently in this world
Silence.
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–Once Upon a Time–
A beach appeared before his eyes, one that felt quite familiar, one he liked to visit back when he still had a wife and child. A feminine figure was standing close to the shore, and the waves of the ocean crashed against her feet. Her figure was obstructed by an impenetrable darkness.
The little girl stood alone, her arms pulled to her back. Her legs kicked the water, playing with it. Even though Rien couldn’t see her expression, he was sure she was happy. Finding joy on the beach is always an easy feat for children.
After a moment, the little girl froze. Her eyes gazed upon the sea before turning around.
“Dad, why do sea waves keep crying?”
A figure of similar build, looks, and stature to Rien appears behind her. Their face was obstructed by a dark shadow, with red threads floating inside it.
Rien just watched.
“Because they're sad that they're knocking over the sand castles.” The imitation of Rien answered. In a similar tone to Rien himself back then. The weight of his voice echoed in the fathoms.
The Oracle’s Proxy only watched as the memory unfolded in front of his eyes. He didn’t question why it kept plaguing his mind. Perhaps it's his own little purgatory. His special hell. For people like him.
He wanted to act, to embrace his daughter once more. Yet he couldn’t. Deep down, he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He couldn’t bring himself to move and merely witnessed it all in silence.
“Then, Dad… when will they be happy?”
When will they be happy?
I don’t know, sweetheart.
Deep down, you always knew it’d be impossible for you to be happy, didn’t you?
So you never once tried to tackle the question head-on.
That same question planted the seeds of doubt inside you.
That was your first defiance against your god, your oracle.
When the waves show their first signs of retaliation, the winds couldn’t help but strike back fiercer. Perhaps it is a show of authority—the power of its will.
The waves crashed against the foot of the figure in the form of Rien’s daughter. Her legs slowly fell apart until her body fell to the ground. Her body slowly melted until it became one with the sand. The imitation of Rien turns to look at the original. Their shadowed face with red threads gazed deep into Rien’s entire being. A wave of uneasiness crashed against Rien.
He didn’t act.
Soon, the sand beneath his feet began rising, morphing into the shape of a hand. Slowly, but surely, the hands moved and enveloped every part of his form. Rien could feel the coarse, rough grains of sand against his body. Some of them seep into his suit. The hands were heavy; it was getting tiring to stand on both feet.
He didn’t act.
Before long, he felt himself being dragged into the floor. All while his imitation never broke contact with him. Little by little, he was swallowed by the sand. He sank deeper and deeper. The sounds of waves crashing against the coast were muffled as the sand congested his ears. It wasn’t long until everything went dark.
How much longer will you continue to stagnate, Rien?
…I don’t know
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–Sal Viento, Iberia–
The man in black opens his eyes as he is freed from his memories. The sound of crashing waves hit his eardrums once again. How long has he been standing here? His perception of time is so warped that he can’t even realise just how long he’s been idle. Maybe hours upon hours. He takes a breath.
The sound of another set of footsteps crushing the grains of sand coming from his right then interrupted the sound of the waves. The Oracle’s Proxy looked to his right, his sight meeting with the familiar figure of a pale-haired, young, ‘Liberi’ (That's how the ‘bird’ race here is named, he recalls. ) youth dressed in rags, collecting seashells.
His name is Gabriel. If he recalls, he remembers lurking around the town to see him sell sculptures made of the seashells he found. Must be a weird place to start a business, he thought.
The teen feels his gaze as he straightens his slouched posture from observing a seashell and stares back at the Oracle’s Proxy. Rien would be the first to act. He donned an empty smile, raising his arms and waving a ‘hello at the boy, like he always had. The boy would give him a small nod before continuing about his business. A part of Rien slightly wished that the boy would begin some small talk with him.
After greeting the boy, he’d face the sea once again and stare blankly towards the distance. After a few minutes, the sounds of footsteps growing ever more distant could be heard again. Gabriel had left, and Rien was once again lonely.
The sun was setting.
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Moonlight shone over Sal Viento. Rien felt as if the day had passed by too quickly. The streets felt the same as if it were daytime, quiet and bleak, except nobody was walking around mindlessly. The only thing in the air was the smell of the sea and the sound of creaking bugs. Sal Viento was incredibly cloudy during the day, yet it somehow managed to clear its clouds just in time for nightfall, a little strange, he thought.
Currently, the Index Nursefather was lying on his back, on top of a roof of someone’s house. Stargazing. He didn’t feel like sleeping. Even back when he was still in The City, he never slept. Sometimes he would either go out to the street, kill some sweepers, or even lurk around the corridors of the House of Spiders. Perhaps it was because of the nightmares that burdened him with each passing day.
Now that he thought about it, when had he ever dreamt a decent dream, or any dream at all?All he could recall from the days when he had slept were constant, terrible memories and nightmares. It’s as if the manifestation of his karma dug into his mind and made its mark, reminding him every day of the path he chose.
The nursefather sighed drearily as he lost interest in entertaining the thought further. Why was he questioning his now? He reminded himself that there was no reason for him to feel like this. The consequences of his choosing to live in a blissful haze…
Perhaps he-
“S-SOMEONE HE-”
A voice crying out for help rang through the air before it was cut off and interrupted Rien’s thoughts. It didn’t come far from where Rien was resting. The dark-haired Index Proxy, filled with curiosity, stood up and decided to indulge it with some attention.
He leapt through the buildings of Sal Viento with ease until he saw who was calling out for help. It was Gabriel, who was being held down by multiple figures in dark-green robes, their faces obscured by a veil. One of them could be heard muttering something to Gabriel, something regarding his body ascending to a higher plane, whatever that means. Are these the ‘Church of the Deep’ Rien has read in Iberia’s books?
The heretical cult that worships the seaborn, aiming to assimilate all of Terra with them. The way they operate partially reminds Rien of the Index.
Caduceus slid right out of Rien’s right arm sleeve and right into his hands. He had no reason to intervene. This matter doesn’t involve him. He needn’t involve himself in the matters of another cult.
Yet, an unknown force in his heart caused him to act before he could think.
In unperceptible speed, Rien leapt downwards as he willed Caduceus to take the form of a bastard sword and decapitated the cultist who was aiming to plunge their dagger into Gabriel in one fell swoop. The other cultists froze, processing what just happened before Caduceus formed a lance and dug its tip into another cultist. A cultist tried to retaliate.
Just then, the entire world slowed down just for Rien. The Index Nursefather dug deep into his own emotions, pulling out memories he had buried deep within his heart. The bloody scene that shaped the imitation he had played throughout his damned life.
The screams and pleas of his wife and daughter.
"Don't go..."
"Don't go... Not... like this... Daddy... Please... help us..."
The Mang of Sorrow formed around his left leg. He bent it backwards before throwing a light kick towards the cultist’s stomach, blowing a hole straight through it. Spraying blood and guts all over the ground and nearby walls.
The lance Caduceus formed started to liquify before returning to the vial. “My, it seems this place also had its fair share of fanatics.” Rien thought out loud as he observed the dead bodies in front of him.
“W-who are… you?” A question graced his ears.
Rien turned to Gabriel, who asked. Right, they never got to introduce themselves to each other formally, did they? All they ever shared were waves and nods. He can already see the boy getting more nervous by the second. He’s not that scary, is he?
“Rien, you may call me Rien…”
“E-er-” Just before Gabriel could ask Rien another question, the street was instantly drowned with the sounds of footsteps and squelching.
In just a moment, more cultists of the church emerged from the dark, all of them armed with blades. Inhumane creatures with disgusting features accompanied them: the Sea Terrors.
Rien’s golden eyes scanned his surroundings, looking for a path to escape. They sure do know how to swarm on people, he’ll give them that. Then, he spotted a chink in their armor. A part of their circle that seems to be lightly guarded, a large road was also behind them. It could be a great opportunity for his companion to escape.
“Hmm… It’s best if you run home now.” Rien spoke to Gabriel as he observed his enemies. His mind was racked on how and who he should exterminate them. He can’t always rely on Caduceus; that relic still hasn’t been tamed, and it may just refuse to heed him at any point. So he’ll have to adapt.
“B-but how could we-”
Rien tightened his grip on Caduceus. “I shall clear the path for you.”
Not a second has passed after he said that, as black liquid shot out of the golden vial from Rien’s hand and formed a greatsword. Within the instant it was formed, Rien swung it towards the pack of cultists in front of him, cleaving them in half in one fell swoop.
Luckily for Rien, Gabriel was fast enough to escape. Any other approaching cultists who dared to give chase were quickly cut down. Soon, the sound of running grew ever distant as Gabriel was finally out of their range. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Rien faced the still living cultists and sea terrors.
“...Aegirian, why? Why do you oppose us?” A cultist spoke towards Rien, accompanied by a screech from a nearby sea terror.
Rien kept quiet.
“We only seek to assist Terra in survival, to soar towards the skies, and-”
Enough of that.
Rien dashed madly towards the cultist who couldn’t keep their mouth shut and dug his broadsword deep into their face, twisting it, before retracting, spraying blood all over the ground and pavement.
Two other sea terrors move in to assault Rien from his back, their tendrils extending, lunging towards the seemingly defenseless man in black, but Rien turned around at breakneck speeds and swung his broadsword in a wide horizontal arc, cutting their appendages like butter before rushing in to kill them with a single strike.
An interesting bunch of non-humans.
Another cultist charged in, Rien prepared to swing and-
Without warning, the broadsword liquified and retracted back into Caduceus, leaving the Index Proxy weaponless.
Ah, seems he’d have to resort to fisticuffs much sooner than he thought.
“Your whims truly are unpredictable, aren’t they?” Rien thought out loud as he slid Caduceus back into his sleeves
Rien eyed the nearest cultist who charged towards him, their hand extended far to stab Rien with their dagger. The Proxy caught the armed hand as he sidestepped. At a glance, he could spot an odd substance oozing from the blade of the dagger. Is it poison?
By simply tightening his grip, he broke the cultist’s arm, drawing an agonized screech from the veiled individual. Their broken arm dropped the dagger, which Rien grabbed before it hit the ground. He proceeded to let go of the man’s arm before he backhanded the cultist’s face as hard as he could, blowing their cheek and jaw away.
Suddenly, Rien’s ear caught a familiar sound of whizzing in the air getting closer, one that is familiar to a projectile piercing the air. He turned to his left instinctively and deflected the bolt with a slash from the dagger he had just stolen. The bolt came from a flying sea terror; there are four of them, in fact.
The other three flying sea terrors started shooting simultaneously, following the first. Parrying them didn’t even take much effort; he had faced guns that could shoot bullets fifty times faster before.
Sea terrors resembling a skeletal walking fish dashed madly towards Rien in a pack, the leading one leapt to bite off Rien’s face, unfortunately for it, Rien ducked under before grabbing it by the tail and using it as a bludgeon to knock away all other shell sea runners. He swore he could hear it yelp after each blow. After he’s done with it, he throws it at an approaching pack of cultists.
More bolts from the flying sea terrors came at him, and he avoided them effortlessly. This is getting annoying, he admitted internally. Before the former Index Proxy could do anything about those pests, three other sea terrors shot their tentacles at Rien; he avoided two and caught one. He yanked in the sea terror he had caught, as their body got closer, Rien reeled back his arm, wielding the knife as a ring of light formed around the blade. With a powerful thrust, a large hole made its mark on the sea terror’s head.
Rien charged towards the other two sea terrors, exerting all the strength he could muster from his augments to each of them. Their mortal shell was no match for the former Star of the City’s strength and blew apart within a single blow.
Three cultists ran towards him; unfortunately for them, the Index Proxy thwarted their attempts to injure him and instead dug the knife he was holding deep into one of the cultists’ skulls. Before the other two could act, Rien dug his elbow towards the throat of the cultist at his left with enough force to crush their windpipe and snap their neck. The one towards his right found their neck to be at Rien’s mercy, only for him to break it by simply tightening his grip, their body going limp in his hands before tossing them away.
A blue harpoon shot towards Rien’s skull. The Index Proxy sidestepped and caught it before it could pierce him. He followed the path where the harpoon came from, a sea terror with its head in a similar shape to a flower. These things come in many different sizes and shapes, he guesses.
Another wave of projectiles shot towards Rien from the flying sea terrors. Right, that’s enough of them. He parried all the shots with his newfound harpoon before throwing the harpoon towards one of the flying sea terrors with great force, taking it down in a single hit. Three remain.
A group of cultists took the opportunity and charged at him, and it seems to be the last one. The Index Proxy could only sigh in annoyance. Their attempts to slash Rien were futile as the Index Nursefather moved at speeds their eyes could not follow. The first cultist fell as Rien swung a right hook towards their face; the force was enough to render the cultist jawless as they fell to the ground, bleeding out.
Another cultist tried to avenge their death, yet Rien spotted the flower-head sea terror charging up a harpoon shot. Utilizing this opportunity, he pulled the cultist in to force him as a meatshield. The harpoon impaled the cultist’s head, spraying blood and gore all over Rien’s clothes, ending their miserable life.
The sea terror that shot the harpoon then screeched; it sounded mad. To think these non-humans regard these cultists as their fellow brethren is interesting. This world keeps getting more intriguing, albeit disgusting by the moment, Rien thought as he blew away the head of another cultist.
The three remaining flying sea terrors shot another wave of projectiles at Rien; unfortunately for them, he had seen this coming. The Index Nursefather swiftly pulled out the blue harpoon that anchored itself on the dead cultist’s face and parried the incoming projectiles. One of them went flying straight back to one of the sea terrors, damaging and incapacitating it as it dropped to the ground.
Rien took this opportunity and threw the harpoon at the sea terrors that were still flying. The harpoon was long enough to impale both of the sea terrors in one go, killing them instantly as he rushed towards the fallen one to finish it off with a simple stomp.
All that was left now was a couple of cultists and the flower-shaped head sea terror with a harpoon pierced through it. The two cultists took a few steps back, likely finally processing just how hopeless their situation is. One man managed to take down a horde of them without breaking a sweat. Rien made a slight smirk; the slaughter ticked off his sadistic side a little. Shouldn't be too much trouble, he thought as he eyed the remaining ones.
Grggrglglgrgl…
As Rien was tightening his white gloves, ugly sounds of gurgling were heard. He turned towards the source, which came from the corpse of the dead cultist, whom he impaled with their own ‘poisoned’ dagger through their skull.
Slowly, the supposedly dead cultist stood up in an inhumane manner. Their body were moving as if they were possessed. He could hear bones cracking with each twitch. Rien had to admit, he was quite shocked when he saw that. No human being could get up from a decisive strike to the brain, unless…
The veiled cultist’s head began to twitch in rapid succession, blue substances oozing from their head and tainting their robes. It wasn’t long before the resurrected cultist’s head exploded into bits and pieces, and the knife that was once stuck in their face dropped to the ground. Revealing a disgusting, blue, and white soft body resembling flesh that pulsates, with tentacles. Parts of the fleshy body have white flowers growing out of them. The fleshy body is split open, exposing an exceptionally long, giant tentacle with a scythe-like end to it made out of bone.
Rien showed no reaction, having been exposed to Callisto’s ‘shock value’ arts for a long time, which has desensitized him to views such as these. Although internally, he’s somewhat more interested in this Church of the Deep now.
“Aaah-! Our sister has ascended! It’s a success!” One of the cultists can be heard preaching.
“W-We must report back to Serra! His research has reaped a bountiful harvest!” The other spoke.
The sea terror with a harpoon through its head screeched.
Rien then shifted his gaze towards the cultists and the sea terror, and it seems they’ve finally decided to retreat. Well, he can’t have prey escaping the web he had snared, now can he?
Rien dashed towards the two cultists. They weren’t given the time to react as one of them found their neck snapped at an inhuman angle with a powered karate chop. Before Rien could finish off the last one, the harpoon shooting sea terror shot its blue harpoon towards Rien; he could either take the hit to finish the cultist off or avoid it. Rien chose the latter as he dashed to the side, letting the harpoon fly past him and digging itself deep into the wall behind him.
The last cultist took this opportunity to run away. Before Rien could give chase, he heard a fleshy sound of flailing before his peripheral vision caught the mutated cultist’s scythe tentacle lashing out at him. He ducked the horizontal slash before rushing in and reeling his right fist back, a ring of light manifesting around it as he threw a decisive blow towards the mutated cultist’s fleshy body. The moment it connected, it blew away in bits and pieces.
Cleaning himself from the bits of gore that landed on him, Rien faced the harpoon-shooting sea terror. The only one left standing.
The sea terror screeched again.
“The sounds of your whining and curses are becoming unpleasant to the ear,” Rien spoke calmly as he eyed the sea terror.
The street between them was covered in blood and gore.
The streetlights flickered.
Silence stretched.
Rien squinted his eyes.
Finally, the sea terror reared its head back and shot its final harpoon towards Rien. The Index Nursefather could only lightly scoff at the pathetic attempt as he caught it in the air before spinning to build momentum and throwing it back with greater force, all in one succession. The spear hit its mark right back at the sea terror’s head. It screeched in pain as Rien dashed towards it at breakneck speed. The Index Nursefather reeled his fist back and punched the blunt end of the harpoon, launching it forward once more and blowing a sizable hole through the sea terror’s head, ending its misery.
The fight was over. Mangled bodies, blood, and guts were spilled all over the walls and street. A signature of the Index Nursefather. Rien himself also wasn’t spared from all the grime. Looks like he’ll have to wash his clothes thoroughly this time, he thought as he fixed the tie of his suit.
He internally hopes that he can get Caduceus to work as intended soon. He dislikes the notion of having to resort to hand-to-hand. Having weapons would make the scuffle quicker to end.
Rien didn’t bother searching for the cultist that had made themself scarce. By this point, he assumes they’ll have run far enough into the town. Internally, he took a slight hit in his pride as a nursefather to let someone ensnared by the web he had crafted run freely.
Now, Rien didn’t wish to draw unwanted attention to himself, especially during the nighttime hours. He also needs to account for the probability of running into the Inquisitors or the Penal Battalion; he wouldn’t dare step foot into their radar. At least not at this moment.
He’s already lucky enough that the area of town he’s in currently seems to be pretty lax on patrols.
The Proxy sighed as he fixed the lapel of his suit and headed back home. The silent night accompanied him all the way.
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Morning came as fast as the night had gone. Rien had dressed himself in similar rags to those the average Sal Viento denizens had. Any man with common sense wouldn’t walk around town in such an inconspicuous outfit like his suit, especially when it’s dirtied with the blood of a plethora of cultists and sea terrors. He had them cleaned and left out to dry back at the motel.
He had to admit, these rags, although unpleasant to look at, did feel comfortable to wear. However, he isn’t quite fond of the idea of having to give up on the extra protection his suit gave. His suit was made of the infamous Nuovo Fabric after all, which is much more durable and sustainable than any other fabrics you could find in The City. Still, lest he wanted to attract the attention of the Inquisitors, he had to bear with it for now. Especially when he’s about to enter the town to resupply on food. He also made sure his hood was fit enough to cover his head.
Just as when Rien was walking down a dark, decrepit alleyway. His eyes spotted a familiar figure over at a distance. It was Gabriel, looks like he made it back home safe and sound, and he appears to be conversing with someone?
Rien moved in closer to take a look. He made sure he stuck to the shadows and the walls so it would be harder for the average bystander to spot him. He scanned the person Gabriel was talking to. The boy seems to be nervous.
Rien took a sharp glance at the person he was talking to. She’s wearing some kind of uniform, with a white-pink color palette. White and pink, she also has a lantern strapped to her belt. That must be one of those Inquisitors, right? It’s quite hard to imagine them whilst he’s reading those history books. The Inquisitor has long gray hair, short stature, and a Liberi. Rien pieced two and two together. She must be questioning him about what Rien did last night.
Before long, both the Inquisitor and Gabriel seem to have reached an understanding. Rien’s eyes squinted; he wasn’t too sure what they could be talking about. Soon, the Inquisitor left with Gabriel, off to who knows where. Rien watched closely as they did.
A question rang within Rien’s mind: Is Gabriel going to tell on him? No, he can’t have the Inquisitors and the Penal Battalion fishing him out now. He… he has to make sure Gabriel doesn’t speak too much. Rien moved from his position and stalked the two.
Are you willing to kill the boy if it comes to it, Rien?
…I don’t know.
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–Somewhere in Sal Viento–
Drops of water fell onto the tiny puddle that formed on the stone floor. The cobblestone walls were covered in blue moss and dried blood. The air is tainted with a foul smell. The entire room seems to be lit by four lamps; even though they are small in number, they are just enough.
In the center of the room, an operating table lay with a dissected body on top of it. Blood and viscera stained the table. The body is pale in color. Surgical tools found themselves stuck in multiple parts of the body. There was a plethora of scalpels, scissors, needles, you name it. Multiple surgical lights are placed on top of the surgical table, all focused on a single spot of the body, the head.
In the distant corner, another table sat, on top of it were multiple brewing stands, trays with strange organs and fleshy parts on top of them, and a handful of scientific tools. A figure adorning a white lab coat stained with blue substances and blood is seen tinkering with something atop the table. Before long, he took the ‘thing’ and placed it under a microscope for observation. A few seconds passed before the man smiled with glee and success.
“Just as expected of myself.” He complimented himself with a prideful grin.
He had already made substantial progress in his project for the past few days. Unlike that man Quintus, who was the previous bishop of Sal Viento. Too engrossed in that oripathy-ridden abyssal hunter. Really, what does he actually see in her? The Seaborn’s true potential lies within the sea terrors themselves, not in a mere washed-up imitation that the Aegirs have worked on and cancelled themselves. He also had harsh words for Bishop Cicero. Indulging himself deeply within the humanities of seaborns, he can’t help but find his preachings a little stale. Oh, no matter, he will soon be relegated to the role of a Bishop, with that opportunity, he could present to them that the true solution for survival is to accelerate the seaborn’s evolution and influence upon Terrans rapidly.
Just then, the sound of footsteps descending a flight of stairs could be heard coming from outside the chamber. The doors of the chamber opened, revealing a weary Church of the Deep cultist.
The man didn’t face the cultist. “Ah, Luis. I always thought you were not the kind to watch me work. What brings you here?” The man asked the cultist, now identified as Luis, with slight glee as he went over the sink across the corner to clean his hands.
Luis catches his breath for a moment before answering. “...Sir Serra, regarding your ‘on-field experiments.’, it has proven itself to work.” He pauses for a second. “Yet, it seems to only take effect when it is within one of our sisters.”
When it’s only within another follower? Interesting, Serra had thought. He never once tried to nor thought of implanting the seaborn parasite inside another follower. An oversight he had to reprimand himself for. Nevertheless, this means that his parasite could rapidly evolve a fellow kindred. Still, as great as this breakthrough is, he has yet to find a solution to rapidly assimilate non-bloodkins.
“That is the most excellent news I’ve heard in a while,” grinned Serra as he turned on the faucet of the sink and began cleaning his hands thoroughly.
A few beats of silence passed by between them as the sound of running water filled the room.
“On another note, Luis.” Serra broke the ice. “What happened to our fellow brothers and sisters that went out yesternight? I have yet to see them return to the lab.” He questioned.
The cultist named Luis gulped. “W-Well, they were assaulted by an unknown figure.” He stammered.
“Oh? Then I trust they must be recove-”
“None of them survived, sir, save for one.”
.
.
.
Now this is intriguing.
“...Let me confirm once again, you said it was an unknown figure, correct? A single person, not affiliated with the Inquisitors, or the Penal Battalion?”
“Y-Yes, sir.”
Serra’s mind thought of the Abyssal Hunters, no, that wouldn’t make sense. For what reason do they have to return to Sal Viento when they had already regained what they had lost, the oripathy-ridden abyssal hunter. Could it be those ‘Rhodes Island’ people? Nay, another large stretch. Just what kind of person could annihilate an entire pack of cultists and sea terrors all on their own? What kind of anomaly has taken its abode in Sal Viento now?
“Pray tell, then, does the sole survivor of the massacre provide any descriptions regarding their attacker?” Serra turned off the faucet after dousing his hands long enough in the water and reached towards a napkin to wipe off any leftover moisture.
“Fortunately, yes. They described him as a man dressed in black, with short dark hair and wearing an odd-looking porcelain mask.” Luis described slowly.
Without saying any more words. Serra finished cleaning his hands before he began walking towards the door where Luis had entered from before and began to exit the chamber. Luis stepped to the side to make way as he did.
Dark short hair, white porcelain mask, and dressed in black. With that kind of attire, that man should be sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of the Iberians. Well, now that he has an apt imagery of this anomaly, some scouting wouldn’t hurt, right?
Just what kind of subject are you, newcomer?