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“Remielle!”
The Ethereal’s barbed tail slices through the air, just slow enough for her to see it, but too fast for her to dodge it. All she can do is bring her arms and wings closer to her body, hoping to offer the bones in her limbs in exchange for protecting the vital organs in her torso.
Blood splatters across her cheek, her chin, her neck. Inhaling sharply, she prepares herself for the pain, for the sharp ache of torn skin and broken bones.
And yet, the pain does not come.
Eyes wide, Remielle stares at the sight before her, struggling to comprehend the situation.
The familiar lines of Beliora’s back, her ponytail swept almost horizontal by the wind. The tip of the Ethereal’s tail, impaled cleanly through her left shoulder.
Visibly surprised by the target at the end of its tail, the Ethereal makes a small, humming noise, pulling back with a sickening squelch. Beliora stumbles forward, blood spraying from her wound, somehow managing to stay on her feet.
“B-Beli!”
Remielle’s hands hover awkwardly over her shoulders, wanting to embrace her but knowing that she shouldn’t.
Without turning around, Beliora asks, “Are you alright?”
Remielle swallows the urge to smack her - she can do that later, when they’re both safe, when there isn’t an Ethereal the size of a truck bearing down on them with far too many bladed limbs. Instead, she searches the ground for her swords, which had been knocked out of her hands deflecting the Ethereal’s initial attack, and lunges straight for them.
Having seemingly read her mind, Beliora shifts in the opposite direction, intentionally charging up her blade to draw the Ethereal’s attention. Lured by the bright sparks, it scrambles after her like a moth to a flame, scattering drops of Beliora’s blood in its wake.
It is far too fast, six limbs reaching out for Beliora and biting heavily into the ground. For a terrifying moment, Beliora disappears from sight, concealed by white-purple limbs and chunks of dusty asphalt. Panicked, Remielle darts forward, rushing straight for its eyes in an attempt to divert its attention to herself.
The Ethereal cries out, pulling back two of its limbs to parry her attack. With four limbs trapped in asphalt and two busy with Remielle, it has only its tail left to defend itself, and that is the precise moment Beliora emerges from the dust, blade crackling red and purple.
With a shriek, the Ethereal does exactly as what Remielle had before - attempt to sacrifice a more disposable part of its body to protect its vital organs. Ducking its head, it raises its tail defensively to cover it, almost like a human cowering with both hands over their head.
Beliora’s blade slices deeply into the upper third of its tail, drawing a shriek of agony from the Ethereal. Flailing wildly, it slices blindly at the air between them, forcing the both of them to scatter in separate directions.
Remielle recovers first, launching in the air to continue targeting the Ethereal’s wounded tail. While her blades don’t hit quite as hard as Beliora’s, she makes up for that in speed, the sheer amount of attacks overwhelming the wounded Ethereal. Shrieking in protest, it claws wildly in her general direction, the movement of its massive limbs creating powerful gusts of wind that throw her off course.
Beliora is right there to catch her, hissing under her breath as she, once again, puts her body between Remielle and imminent danger. Beliora hits the ground first, cushioning Remielle with her body, arms instinctively curved to offer extra protection to her wings.
Clicking her tongue, Remielle tries her very best to glare disapprovingly at Beliora, who blinks up at her with large, innocent eyes.
“Are you alright?”
Again, those three stupid words. Remielle turns away with a huff of displeasure, slipping out of Beliora’s arms and flinging herself at the wounded Ethereal. A second later, Beliora is right by her side, Ether levels in the air skyrocketing as both their weapons kick into high gear.
Remielle goes straight for its head, not wanting to allow Beliora to continue using herself as bait. With a soft huff of her own, Beliora follows insistently after her, three blades bearing down heavily on the Ethereal’s limbs.
Under the combined force of their attack, the creature’s limbs begin to waver, cracks beginning to spread around its joints. Remielle presses downward with a desperate scream, hope stirring in her chest as she feels something give.
Together, their blades cut deeper and deeper into the Ethereal’s body, slicing through layers of crystallized Ether and shattering its core. At long last, it dissolves into a mess of glowing particles that dissipate rapidly in the air.
Beliora collapses first, dizzy from the blood loss. Remielle is by her side just a moment too late to catch her, swords clattering to the ground as she lays Beliora gently onto her back. Remielle tears away the ruined shoulder of her uniform, her heart leaping to her throat as the true extent of the damage is revealed.
The entry wound is more than twice the size of her fist, so big that Remielle isn’t sure where exactly she should be putting the pressure. Regardless, she knows she has to do something to stop the bleeding, and so she presses down with both hands on the space just beneath Beliora’s collarbone.
A sharp hiss, Beliora’s chest jerking beneath her hands.
“Couldn’t you be more gentle?”
Remielle rolls her eyes, relieved that Beliora still has the energy to gripe.
“I’m sorry. Should I let you gently bleed to death, Colonel Hero Complex?”
A soft laugh, Beliora’s voice hoarse and thin.
“You wouldn’t last a day without me.”
An indignant protest is just about to escape from her lips when Beliora’s eyes flutter shut, her head listing slightly to the side. Within seconds, Remielle’s hands are covered in blood, her heart leaping into her throat.
From what she can remember of her emergency medic training, a tourniquet above the wound is the go-to for bleeding, but where is she supposed to tie it when the wound spans a large part of Beliora’s shoulder? She could try to tie it diagonally, from the side of her neck to under her uninjured arm, but there’s no way that would be tight enough to be of any help.
Unable to do anything else, Remielle simply continues putting pressure on the wound.
“Stay with me, Beli,” she begs. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. Look at me, keep looking at me, okay?”
Beliora hums softly, clearly too exhausted to speak. Still, she does her best to obey, her eyelids parting just wide enough for Remielle to catch a glimpse of hazy purple.
“You’re right,” she continues, her voice breaking, “I can’t last a day without you. So don’t leave me.”
Why is the bleeding not stopping? How will she know if what she’s doing is making any difference? Why has her training escaped her, why is her mind blank when it matters most? She can’t even radio for help, communications don’t work within the Hollow, so she can’t even rely on her squad mates to come to their rescue…
“I knew… you weren’t listening…” Beliora whispers, her voice weak but warm, “open your field pack… gauze in the wound… and then pressure…”
Even now, Beliora is the one comforting her, guiding her, keeping her safe. With trembling hands, she obeys, packing the wound as best as she can before resuming pressure.
“You’ll be alright,” Remielle says, even though she doesn’t quite believe it. “Support will be here before you know it.”
Beliora smiles faintly, aware that Remielle is lying, but too kind to call her out on it.
“Mm, wake me up when they arrive.”
The bridge of Remielle’s nose burns, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep. Beli, hey! Beli!”
“Goodnight… Remi…”
The Number 3 Field Hospital is, unsurprisingly, hopelessly overcrowded.
Beds spill out of the wards and into the corridors, lined up as neatly as possible against the left side so that staff can pass smoothly on the right. Those with less severe injuries - a missing eye, a broken arm, a shattered kneecap - have been left waiting on fold-out plastic chairs slotted into any available space that can be found.
Beliora, who had required emergency surgery and has not regained consciousness since, has been given the dubious privilege of a bed in what used to be a single room. There are two other beds there beside Beliora’s, and both soldiers are in an equally terrible state, lying pallid and silent upon pale sheets. It looks almost as if they are already dead, that she is in a morgue instead of a hospital ward, and she rests one hand lightly on the top of Beliora’s chest because she needs to feel her breathing.
Remielle hates it here - the entire hospital is stuffy, built in a way to prevent Ether-contaminated air from flowing into the building, and the individual rooms have it the worst. Stirred by a single, weak ceiling fan, the air is so heavy that it barely stirs, almost thick enough to taste.
The staff have tried their best to keep the place clean, but no amount of antiseptic and fabric softener can cover the scent of human suffering - infected wounds, sweaty clothes, and blood, so much blood.
The nurses are exhausted, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of casualties flooding in, worsened further by the collapse of the Cretan front and the evacuation of the Number 1 Field Hospital. Their patients are exhausted, worn down by the pain of their injuries, the lack of medication, and the sheer magnitude of the misery that surrounds them. The air itself feels exhausted, almost defeated, the wounds of the spirit far more devastating than the wounds of the flesh.
Everyone feels defeated, overwhelmed, a terrible, hollow distance shadowing their tired eyes. It makes the war feel already lost, despair sticking to her skin like tar.
Remielle hates it here. She knows, logically, that this is probably the best place for Beliora to be, under the care of trained, albeit exhausted, medical professionals. What she feels, however, is a desperate urge to escape from this place, to sling Beliora over her shoulder and fly away, to take her anywhere but here, before the bleak despair of this place sunk into her wounds and infected her, too. Torn, Remielle can only pace the narrow space between the beds, flapping her wings in a pathetic attempt to clear the stuffy air away from Beliora.
She isn’t sure how much time passes - at one point, a nurse attempts to tell her that visiting hours are over, but when Remielle ignores her, the young man simply continues on his way. Once in a while, a nurse drops by to check on Beliora’s vitals, to change out her drip, and once, to change her blood and pus-soaked dressings. She offers Remielle food each time - standard rations, dry and tough like cardboard, and water with that distinct, sour taste of Ether purifiers.
Remielle accepts mechanically, too worried to feel hunger. The sun rises, falls, and rises again, a meaningless cycle that wears slowly away at her heart. Beliora continues to sleep, her breathing deep and even, leaving Remielle stranded on a tightrope between hope and despair.
Until at last, the stalemate is broken.
Beliora’s fingers twitch, curl tightly, as if searching for the hilt of her sword. Remielle is on her feet in an instant, slipping her hand into Beliora’s and squeezing hard. Beliora’s brows furrow, her eyelids twitching once, twice, before finally blinking open.
Hazy purple meets bright pink, dazed and confused.
Softly, as if afraid that her voice would shatter the magic that brought Beliora back to her, Remielle whispers, “Beli…”
A dry cough, her pale tongue darting between her dry lips. “Good morning, Remi.”
Good morning. Good morning. Remielle wants to strangle her (fondly, of course).
She laughs, breathy and incredulous. “Is that all you have to say after scaring me half to death?”
Beliora’s brows furrow again, and she bends her neck awkwardly to look at her wounded shoulder.
“It can’t have been that bad.”
She’s speaking a little slower than usual, her words not quite as defined, almost as if her tongue is unfamiliar inside her own mouth. It’s a little cute, Remielle thinks, but she’s still too angry at Beliora to think of her as cute right now.
“It was so bad that they ran out of blood during your surgery,” she huffs, hands trembling. “You’re lucky that we’re the same type.”
“Oh,” Beliora blinks slowly up at her, almost kitten-like in her sleepy innocence. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She doesn’t dare to shake Beliora, not when she’s only just awoken, so she settles for squeezing her hand really, really hard instead. Beliora hisses, startled, which makes Remielle feel just a tiny bit better.
“Forgive me for interfering with your noble sacrifice, Colonel Martyr. I’ll make sure to let you die for me next time.”
Her eyes fly open, wide and hurt.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
Guilt rises in Remielle’s chest, and she quickly interrupts with a curt, “I know.”
Weakly, defensively, Beliora says, “I just… couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.”
“And so you made me deal with the reality of you getting hurt. Because of me.”
Beliora visibly deflates, looking very much like a pathetic wet cat.
“I… didn’t think that far ahead.”
With a sigh, Remielle intertwines their fingers.
“And you call me impulsive and hotheaded.”
Relief lights up deep purple eyes, equal parts guilt and fondness. “You must be rubbing off on me.”
She pouts, “Are you blaming your poor decisions on your subordinate, Colonel Vike?”
“Of course not, Lieutenant Colonel Dan. It was merely an observation.”
For a moment, they stare at each other, determined to not be the first one to laugh. In the end, they break at pretty much the same time, their laughter soft and hesitant and devastatingly fond.
Suddenly devoid of all the tension that had kept it running over the last few days, Remielle’s body collapses, the ensuing yawn nearly dislocating her jaw. All of a sudden, her eyelids feel weighted down, and all her bones seem to have turned to jelly. Resting her chin down on top of their joined hands, Remielle yawns again, tilting her head slightly to rest her cheek against Beliora’s knuckles.
“Remielle…?”
“Just sleepy,” she reassures, looking up at Beliora through her eyelashes. “I’m fine, promise.”
Beliora scoots slightly to the right, before gently cupping Remielle’s face with her free hand. The movement makes her wince, but the pain doesn’t show in her eyes, which are twin oceans of bottomless affection.
“Come here.”
Playfully, she asks, “Is that an order, Ma’am?”
“It can be,” comes the retort.
Smiling, Remielle allows herself to be led up onto the bed, carefully bracing her weight on her left arm to avoid putting any weight on Beliora’s left side. Slowly, she drapes herself over Beliora like a weighted, feathery blanket, tucking her head into the curve of her uninjured shoulder.
The sheets smell of antiseptic and something sweet and musky and uniquely Beliora. Surrounded by the person she trusts most in the world, Remielle melts into a puddle of relieved bliss.
“Goodnight, Beli.”
A warm hand rests on the small of her back, right where feathers meet skin.
“Goodnight, Remi.”
She had been given the estimated size of this Ethereal during the pre-mission briefing, had heard those numbers repeatedly emphasized, but that has still failed to prepare her for just how large this creature is.
With six bladed wings and a stinger almost twice as long as Remielle is tall, this wasp-like Ethereal seems to have walked straight out of one of her nightmares. Even its eyes appear larger than Remielle’s entire body, with a terrifying red glint that seems to glow brighter as it notices their approach.
Remielle rushes it, the extra boost from her new wings causing her to shoot right past the Ethereal and a couple hundred meters behind it. Confused, the Ethereal turns to follow her movement, inadvertently creating an opening for Beliora to strike.
And like lightning does she strike.
The air trembles with excess energy, the resulting wave of air nearly knocking Remielle upside down. The boosters on her wings flare, managing to generate enough thrust to stop her from being blown away.
And yet, despite the obvious force of the blow, the Ethereal appears more annoyed than injured, whipping around with a loud shriek. Beliora parries the return blow from its stinger with ease, electricity mixing with the Ether in the air and slamming into its armored body.
Surging forward, Remielle smashes into the Ethereal’s undefended back, trying to cut through the thin but tough tissue that connects its wings to its body. Unhappy at being attacked on two different fronts, the Ethereal throws itself skyward, attempting to put some distance between itself and its opponents.
Remielle takes off after it, her artificial wings responding to her as if it were a living, breathing creature, capable of responding to her thoughts. With its help, she can fly faster, further, stay in the air for much longer, with only a fraction of the effort. The muscles in her back are not burning, her real wings are not aching, even as she zips between the Ethereal’s bladed wings and circles around its head like an annoying fly.
On the ground, Beliora continues striking it with heavy, devastating blows, having succeeded in severing two of its legs and leaving it in very obvious distress. Its loud, unhappy cries are clearly drawing attention - from her vantage point in the sky, Remielle can see a pack of four-legged, hound-like Ethereals convening with each other, while a group of small, spider-like Ethereals have already started running toward them.
“Beli,” she calls out, gesturing in their general direction with her chin, “it’s got friends!”
“Of course it does,” Beliora grumbles, her voice just barely loud enough for Remielle to hear. Louder, she asks, “Should I cut them off?”
“I can do it,” Remielle chirps, pausing to parry a blow from its tail with the edge of one artificial wing, “I just need you to distract this one for a minute.”
Beliora nods, her eyes taking on a faint, reddish glow as her blade lights up once more.
“Consider it done.”
The air crackles with power, the asphalt cracking beneath her feet as she launches herself into the air like a missile. The Ethereal twists its body sharply, bringing its stinger up to meet Beliora’s blade just in time. For a brief moment, they are frozen in place, held to a standstill, but Beliora still has more power to give.
A single crack, right where red-purple meets bone white. Rapidly, it spreads, a cry of shock and agony escaping the Ethereal as the stinger shatters.
At the exact same moment, Remielle circles the large group of spiders, the hum of her weapon changing in pitch as it releases a bombardment of pink light. A heartbeat later, the first of the spiders explode, setting off a chain reaction that eliminates every last one of them.
Startled by the noise and its injury, the Ethereal attempts to fall further back, bladed wings slicing into the ruins of an apartment building and sending it crashing to the ground in a wave of noise and dust. Coughing, Beliora leaps back to avoid the worst of it, giving the Ethereal a brief moment to gather itself.
Before it can get too comfortable, Remielle returns with a short strafing run, the projectiles bouncing harmlessly off the Ethereal’s armored skin. Still, the attack succeeds in throwing it off balance, its neck swiveling as it tries desperately to keep both Remielle and Beliora in its line of sight. It probably knows that it’s being worn down, and that its position is growing increasingly precarious the more injuries it sustains.
Backed into a corner, the Ethereal rears backward with a loud cry, powerful waves of Ether exploding from its body. Seconds later, the Ether limit gauge on her belt begins to scream as the area around them warps, plunging into red-tinged shadow.
The high-Ether environment takes an immediate toll on their bodies, encasing their limbs in invisible weights. With a sharp gasp, Remielle feels her body plummet, the boosters firing at the maximum power she can get them to in an attempt to counteract her fall.
She hears the sound of her name, the crackle of lightning, a warm arm enclosing around her waist. With the addition of the force of Beliora’s tackle, her sharp fall turns into more of a tumble, and somehow, Beliora manages to manipulate their bodies so that it is her back that hits the wall first.
Beliora lets out a pained wheeze, but her embrace remains firm and steady. Looking down at Remielle, she croaks out, “Are you alright?”
“I’d be better if you stopped getting hurt because of me,” Remielle grumbles, pushing herself upright and away from Beliora with a pointed scowl.
Getting back onto her feet, Beliora protests, “But I’m not hurt.”
Shooting a quick glance over her shoulder, Remielle confirms that to be, at least on the surface, true. Beliora’s uniform is intact, there is no blood, and when she resumes her fighting stance, she doesn’t seem to be favoring any one limb over the others.
Stretching her wings, Remielle winces at the feeling - it is almost as if she were deep underwater, the pressure heavy and unforgiving. It seems like, while this Ethereal is nowhere near the level of an Enchainer, it has a heightened level of control over Ether.
It seems that her biggest advantage - superior air control - has been taken away from her, which isn’t very nice of the Ethereal. How is she supposed to show off in front of Beli when she’s stuck on the ground?
As if responding to her question, her artificial wings pulse, her vision momentarily inverting colors. With a soft gasp, Remielle pauses, cautious - is this one of the negative side effects Professor Arche had warned them about? If so, why now?
A second pulse, an invisible hand wrapping around her soul and tugging. A third, a little bit gentler, almost as if the weapon were a child tugging on her hand for attention.
Closing her eyes, she focuses on that pull, on the strange, almost fuzzy sensation that begins to spread across her back. Her breathing and her heart rate slow to a crawl, a faint golden light blinking to life beneath her eyelids.
Come, the light seems to call, in a voice that sounds both like her own, yet not. Around her, space seems to fold in on itself, leaving her in a dark, empty room with nothing but that small ball of light.
Cautiously, Remielle taps her foot out in front of her, testing the ground. While she is unable to see a thing, the ground appears to be solid for at least two steps in a circle around her, which is nice to know. About eight to ten meters away, the light floats at roughly eye level, silently calling out to her.
Slowly, she approaches it, her wings spread and ready to carry her weight at any moment. The light remains, quiet and unmoving, as she comes to a stop before it, casting a warm, golden glow across her palms as she reaches out.
The second she makes contact with it, the world comes rushing back - the red-tinged sky, the Ether particles glowing in the air, the giant Ethereal backed into a building. In her hands, her swords have taken on a faint gold sheen, pulsing with a confidence that feels much like her own.
It takes her a moment to realize that the world is frozen - the Ether particles in the air are perfectly still, the monster as quiet and lifeless as a statue, and behind her, Beliora is not even breathing. Squaring her shoulders, she takes off into a run, both sets of wings flexing as they prepare to send her up into the air.
The moment her blade touches the Ethereal, time begins to flow again, Beliora calling out her name in surprise and confusion. The Ethereal attempts to lash out at her, only to suddenly blanch and fade, its limbs freezing in place as all the color drains from its body.
A heartbeat later, Beliora is by her side, shouldering her back with so much force, Remielle nearly crashes back to the ground. In the distance, thunder rumbles, and the accompanying flash of lightning highlights what appears to be a pair of long, thin horns jutting from Beliora’s forehead.
The impact of the blow sends the Ethereal deep into the ground, the concrete foundations and surrounding asphalt practically disintegrating into dust. Thick, heavy clouds of dust and Ether are thrown into the air, and Remielle distantly registers what sounds like the world crumbling as the ground begins to shake.
The chaos lasts both a lifetime and a heartbeat.
At some point, the sky has turned back to normal, and the heavy clouds disperse. The Ethereal is gone, reduced to rapidly dissolving Ether particles, and in its place is a massive hole spanning the length of several streets. Its depth is about half, maybe less, of its length, but still deep enough to punch through the foundations and reveal the soil beneath.
In the very center of that hole is Beliora, her uniform smoking lightly, her sword alive with electricity.
Deeply impressed, Remielle whistles.
“Damn, Colonel, you really showed that giant bug who’s boss.”
At the sound of her voice, Beliora visibly relaxes, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world had just been lifted from them.
“Remi!”
The attack, unsurprisingly, seems to have taken a lot out of her, and she can barely stumble her way out of the crater she had made. Taking pity on her, Remielle floats gently down to her side, yelping in surprise when Beliora throws her arms around her and squeezes, her sword clattering to the ground.
Wheezing, she protests, “Beli, you’re gonna break me…!”
Her grip loosens immediately, an adorable blush spreading across her face as she apologizes. Unable to meet Remielle’s eyes, she transforms from a terrifying force of nature into an adorable, red-faced young woman. Her hands, so strong and steady around the hilt of her sword, are shaking now, tracing the curves of Remielle’s back like she can’t quite believe that they’re both alright.
“You were right in front of that thing. I thought…”
Beliora trails off, but Remielle understands. It seems that time had really been frozen when she had reached out for that light and attacked the Ethereal. For Beliora, Remielle would have been by her side one moment, and right in front of the Ethereal the next; of course she would have assumed the worst, thought the Ethereal had manipulated space in a surprise attack, and that Remielle was in danger.
“I’m alright,” Remielle soothes, wrapping both arms loosely around her neck. “The only thing that’s hurt is my ego.”
It takes Beliora a second to process what she’s said, and Remielle can tell the exact moment it sinks in, because a laugh starts to rumble through her chest.
“Your ego?” Beliora echoes, incredulous.
“Yeah,” she pouts, putting on the biggest, wettest, puppy-dog eyes she can manage, “I was planning on impressing you with my overwhelming aerial superiority, but you just had to steal my thunder.”
A short, breathy laugh.
“This is a highly classified military operation, not a performance, Lieutenant Colonel.”
“Who says it can’t be both?”
Beliora rolls her eyes, fondly exasperated.
“Come on, let’s go home.”
“Shouldn’t the right words be ‘mission complete, RTB’, Colonel Honor Student?”
“Shut up.”
Remielle laughs.
“This could be it, Beli.”
Remielle is flat on her stomach in Beliora’s bed, her wings spilling off the sides. The sheets are clean and tidy and smell of standard military-issue detergent, with a hint of Beliora’s familiar, musky scent, mixed with the sweet, floral notes of Remielle’s own, a fact that fills her with immense satisfaction.
“If Professor Arche’s theory holds, we might actually be able to eliminate one of the Great Hollows!”
Beliora hums in acknowledgment, the curve on her lips impossibly fond. She isn’t looking at Remielle - ever the hardworking honor student, she’d asked the Professor for all the unclassified documents related to the project, and is diligently reading through them. Even so, Remielle knows that she’s listening, because her expression changes depending on what Remielle says, from gentle smiles to fond eye rolls.
“And, with the power of an Enchainer, maybe even multiple Enchainers, we might be able to march into the Hollow where it all began, find the entity responsible for it, and cut Hollows off at their source!”
Beliora laughs.
“You might be putting the cart before the horse, Remi.”
She pouts, looking over her shoulder at Beliora, who still isn’t looking at her.
“I can’t help it. This could be a miracle even greater than the verification of the Rosetta Data and the creation of Void Hunter weapons!”
Beliora’s smile is complicated - clearly, she doesn’t share Remielle’s sunny optimism, but she’s too fond of her to rain on her parade. Remielle assumes it’s because of all those documents she’s looking at. After reading them, Beliora has probably learned just how complicated the process is, just how little they actually know about what they’re doing, just how many variables are outside of their control, and that has made her expectations more… measured.
“Even if all we do is get rid of the side effects to our weapons, that would be huge,” she says, her excitement not dimmed in the slightest, “we could be so much stronger if we didn’t have to constantly limit ourselves.”
She can hardly imagine how powerful she could be, with Thaumiel’s ability to halt the flow of time completely unshackled. Even if they could not eliminate the other Hollows, even if new Enchainers were to be created to stand against them, Remielle’s power could quite literally freeze them in place and buy humanity all the time they need to learn, to adapt, and to overcome. And that is running on the assumption of Remielle being the project’s only success - with Beliora, their raw detective power would be unmatched. She would probably be able to take down any Ethereal less powerful than an Enchainer in a single strike, though they would have to find a way to reign in the amount of collateral damage she would cause.
If the other Void Hunters choose to join the experiment after them, if they can at least eliminate the cost of using their weapons, the sky would be the limit. And, if they all succeeded in becoming Enchainers, if Professor Arche was right every single time…
Humanity would be poised to finally win this war.
Full dominion over all the laws within a Hollow. Imagine what they could do with that - by manipulating gravity, they could single-handedly move large amounts of debris, preparing the city for reconstruction. By manipulating space, they could shorten travel times between different construction sites, speeding up the transportation of raw materials and reducing the amount of fuel consumed. By manipulating the Ether levels in the air, they could turn the Hollows into safe spaces to live, all while concentrating the Ether in certain areas for easy mining and harvesting, providing a steady power supply for nearby cities…
Her wings flutter involuntarily, so overwhelmed with excitement that they have a mind of their own. And of course, this embarrassing lapse of control is the moment Beliora finally looks up at her, that soft smile somehow becoming even softer.
“You’ve already won the war in your head, haven’t you?”
“I have,” Remielle replies primly, even though her ears are burning. “The future is going to be beautiful.”
“Of course it will be,” Beliora agrees, “you’ll be there.”
Taken by surprise, Remielle lets out a startled squeak, blood rushing to her face. Hoping to hide her rapidly reddening cheeks, she buries her face into Beliora’s pillow, heart stuttering in her throat.
“If you’re thinking of changing your character setting,” she mumbles, voice muffled, “there isn’t enough space for two flirts on the Void Hunters.”
“I’m not flirting,” Beliora protests, the affection and trust and utter faith in her voice genuine and devastating. “I truly believe that you will be able to change the world.”
Her heart is beating so fast, she’s surprised it hasn’t torn out of her chest yet.
“What do you mean by ‘you’?” Remielle grumbles, "Shouldn’t it be ‘we’?”
“I would make a terrible hero. What did you say back then - as much personality as a flagpole?”
Remielle leaps at the chance to derail the conversation, her voice low and suggestive.
“Well, you’re a very pretty flagpole, and I’ll be happy to climb you.”
With a fond roll of her eyes, Beliora reaches out to throw something at her. It hits her right between the eyes, a piece of candy wrapped in bright pink. Fluttering her eyelashes, Remielle picks it up, tears open the packaging and places it slowly, suggestively, on her tongue.
“You’re a menace,” Beliora says, without any heat.
Shifting the candy to one side of her mouth, she retorts, “I’m your menace.”
“I mean it, you know,” Beliora says softly, just barely loud enough for Remielle to hear her. “The future only looks bright to me because you’ll be in it.”
Remielle nearly chokes, the piece of candy going down the back of her throat whole. Beliora is by her side in an instant, a warm hand between her shoulder blades, the contact sending an explosion of little sparks shooting up her spine.
Gently, she captures Beliora’s wrist, feels the other woman’s pulse hammer against her fingertips.
“Me too,” she whispers, looking up into the endless purple of Beliora’s eyes, “I believe in the future because I know you’ll be there with me.”
It is Beliora’s turn to blush, the pink of her cheeks going very nicely with the dark purple of her hair. With her other hand, Remielle cups her cheek, guiding her down until the bed dips beneath her weight, Remielle’s wings curving around her waist and urging her closer.
“So stay with me.”
She is so close that she can feel Beliora’s jagged exhale warm against her lips.
“Change the world with me.”
She doesn’t close the distance entirely, leaves barely a fingertip’s space between their mouths. Beliora’s eyes have fluttered shut in anticipation, and Remielle savors the confused little whine she makes when nothing happens.
“Choose me,” Remielle breathes, somehow managing to sound both goading and pleading.
When Beliora finally kisses her, she tastes of promises and hope and a brighter tomorrow.
The Void Hunters are, unsurprisingly, a strange bunch.
After all, it takes a special kind of person, a special kind of recklessness, a special kind of obsession, to wield something as powerful and poorly understood as a Karma Core. Remielle is pretty sure that most of the Void Hunters have next to no sense of self-preservation, and would happily risk their lives just to kill one more Ethereal, to extract one more pile of Hollow data, or to obtain one more DNA sample.
And so, what happens when you take these delightfully weird individuals, wrench them away from their obsessions, and dump them into a ball filled with only the richest and most well-connected members of high society?
Chaos, usually.
Upon Remielle’s arrival, she immediately spots Joyous, who has set up camp by the bar and is currently drinking from two large bottles of vodka, one in each hand. Hopefully, he doesn’t throw up on the mayor’s daughter again, or end up in a drunken brawl with some spoiled heirs to the city’s biggest conglomerates.
To the left of the bar is a decent-sized spread of food, set out on long tables by the wall. There, Arche is reluctantly trying to convince a couple of rich people to part with their money, aware that his projects aren’t free and the government is, unfortunately, not a charity. He is listing out his latest non-classified achievements, growing increasingly excited as he talks about the specifics of Ethereal biology in human-corrupted specimens, completely unaware of just how uncomfortable his listeners have become.
A significant number of participants are gathered near the food, talking to each other in small groups. A pair of extremely long ears stick out from the crowd, pushing thoughtlessly through them as if their owner did not regard those around her as people. Remielle wouldn’t be surprised if she was doing some special “Hoshimi family training” to “tune out unnecessary noises in search of melons” or something equally useless and hyper-specific.
At the top of the stairs, a towering silhouette with long horns stares quietly out over the party, like some sort of twisted guardian demon. Any attempts to speak to her are rebuffed with silence, as if she were a decorative gargoyle instead of an Intelligent Construct. And right under her, in the shadow of the curve of the stairs, is Beliora, engaged in polite conversation with a small group of people Remielle doesn’t recognize.
There are three of them - two men and a woman. The woman is dressed in a navy blue and gold dress that looks frighteningly expensive, while the two men are in muted, dark colors. The woman asks Beliora something, leaning into her personal space and resting one hand on her bare shoulder in a familiar, intimate gesture.
In response, Beliora flinches so hard it is almost comical, taking two big steps backward and standing at attention, her heels clicking together on instinct.
Startled, the woman says something else, causing the two men to laugh. A beat later, Beliora smiles thinly, uncomfortable but unwilling to be rude.
Remielle makes a beeline right for them, a smug smile playing at the corners of her lips when Beliora automatically reaches out to loop an arm around her waist.
“You’re late, Lieutenant Colonel.”
The relief in her voice is very well hidden, but Remielle knows her well enough to tell.
She pouts, leaning her head against Beliora’s shoulder.
“You can’t rush beauty, Beli.”
Turning to face the woman, Remielle puts on her brightest smile. “Sorry for the interruption. My name is Dan, Remielle Dan. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“Marie Rose,” the woman says, holding out her hand. “It is lovely to meet you, Lieutenant Colonel Dan.”
“There’s no need to be so formal,” Remielle says, taking the woman’s hand with the firm grip of a soldier. “Please, call me Remielle.”
The woman is, to her credit, willing to back down after Remielle’s possessive little display. They make polite, pointless conversation about the weather, about the Void Hunters’ latest conquest, and they both heap generous amounts of praise onto Colonel Beliora Vike for exterminating a Companion Hollow before it grew large enough to cause any harm.
Flushed a shade of pink that matches the color of Remielle’s hair, Beliora ducks her head and mumbles, “It’s all thanks to Professor Arche…”
“Speaking of the Professor, doesn’t he have a project with Helios Academy starting tomorrow?”
“He does,” Beliora responds, somewhat stiffly, clearly unsure how much she can say about the classified operation.
Stepping in, Remielle manipulates the ball back into the woman’s court. “What do you think about it?”
“It sounds very promising. And with the legendary Colonel Vike participating, we are almost guaranteed to see returns on our investment.”
So this woman is an investor. That makes sense - the people fortunate enough to hold on to their wealth despite the repeated disasters have taken to funding all sorts of military experiments, from mass-produced Intelligent Construct soldiers to specific, individually tailored enhancement programs for humans.
“If anyone can do it, Beli will,” Remielle agrees, slipping one arm around Beliora’s waist and squeezing. “She’s the strongest fighter I’ve ever seen.”
Blushing, Beliora averts her gaze to a random corner of the banquet hall, her voice adorably small as she protests, “You’re just biased. How could I possibly compare to the likes of Lady Sunbringer and Lady Hoshimi?”
“Mm, maybe because you’re a lot easier on the eyes?” Remielle teases, nuzzling against her shoulder like a cat.
Beliora huffs, looking almost petulant, “You say that as if you haven’t flirted with them both. Multiple times.”
“I didn’t mean it,” Remielle whines, “I only ever mean it when it’s with you.”
Beliora’s skeptical side-eye is powerful enough to pierce through the side of a battleship.
“Uh-huh.”
The investor laughs, amused by their antics.
“I suppose I should get out of your hair,” she says, “it must be difficult for Void Hunters such as yourself to spend time together like this.”
“I apologize, we didn’t mean to make you feel…” Beliora trails off, blushing.
“Like a third wheel?” Remielle supplies helpfully, teasingly.
“It’s fine,” the woman makes a dismissive gesture with one hand, “I’m relieved to see our Void Hunters in high spirits before tomorrow’s experiment.”
Huh, she even knows the official start date of the experiment - this woman must not be an ordinary investor. Remielle doesn’t recognize her, but that doesn’t really mean anything when Remielle can’t recognize about two-thirds of the rich and elite gathered here today.
Stopping just short of doing a full military salute, Beliora pledges, “We will do our best to ensure everyone’s efforts will not be in vain.”
“I know that you will.”
With that, they politely bid the investor and her two subordinates farewell. Another group of rich people make as if to approach them, but before they can get too close, Remielle untangles herself from Beliora’s hold and drags her onto the dance floor.
“Remi, I—”
“Dance with me,” Remielle interrupts, intertwining their fingers.
A deep sigh, an ocean of fondness and a spark of fear in Beliora’s eyes. Under ordinary circumstances, Beliora would put up more of a fight, maybe even reject her outright, but today, on the eve of a project that could change everything…
Beliora is a little more obliging than usual.
Her hands find Remielle’s waist once more, their bodies moving in perfect unison. Her eyes flit from Remielle’s eyes to her nose to her lips, desperate and hungry in a way that suggests she thinks this might be the last dance they’ll ever share.
And yet, despite that desperation, or perhaps because of it, Beliora isn’t truly present. She’s too busy trying to catalogue the moment to truly enjoy it, her mind so focused on carving every small detail into her synapses that she’s not even looking at Remielle properly.
Even so, her soldier’s reflexes are decent enough to respond to Remielle’s lead, despite her wandering attention. In fact, Remielle feels that a thoughtless, distracted Beliora is a better dancer than a focused, overthinking Beliora, her body keeping the beat a lot better than her mind.
“Beli?”
A soft hum, hazy purple eyes tracing the curve of Remielle’s wings, as if she’s trying to memorize the way the lights of the banquet hall spill across white feathers. Remielle sighs, stepping even closer, trying to force Beliora to meet her eyes.
Unfortunately, all that results in is Beliora stepping on her foot, and the other woman is too distracted to even notice. Remielle pouts, but Beliora doesn’t notice that, either, her brows all furrowed in concentration.
Hoping to break her out of it, Remielle attempts to guide her into a spin. Beliora’s body gladly obliges, muscle memory kicking in to make up for her lack of focus. It is, frustratingly, one of the easiest spins they’ve ever pulled off, and Beliora remains focused on everything but Remielle.
She can almost hear the sound of the gears grinding inside Beliora’s head, working furiously to process her thoughts. Her eyes are a complicated maze of emotions, from fear to longing to grief to faith, as if she were trying to mentally prepare herself for every single possibility the future might offer.
And, in doing so, she completely neglects the present that is currently in her hands.
“Beli,” she says again, louder this time, squeezing her hand with all her might, “Hello? Earth to Colonel Vike.”
The use of Beliora’s title seems to rouse her a little, her eyes finally losing their hollow shine.
“Mm?”
“You’ve been really distracted today, Beli,” she pouts, running her thumb against the sensitive skin of her palm. “Is something on your mind?”
Blinking up at her with wide, innocent eyes, Beliora replies, “No, nothing in particular.”
Remielle turns them around, forcing Beliora to focus on the placement of her feet as they circle each other in time with the music.
“Really?” She hums, “In that case, that would mean you’ve stepped on my foot three times today on purpose.”
Beliora blushes, averting her eyes as she mumbles, “T-that’s…”
She doesn’t continue, probably hasn’t thought of anything to say, a pathetic wet cat.
“Don’t be so tense.”
Remielle leans closer, her voice a little softer, because these words are meant for Beliora and Beliora alone.
“I know that you’re worried about the experiment, but just look at me. I don’t seem worried at all, do I?”
The corner of Beliora’s lip curves upward, a lopsided smile.
“You never seem worried about anything.”
The answer is simple, heartfelt.
“That’s because I know, no matter what happens, you’ll be right behind me. Just as you always have been.”
A shaky breath, Beliora’s fingers curling into the cool silk of Remielle’s dress.
“That’s right,” she smiles, “just as I always have been.”
Just as Remielle is about to give in and kiss Beliora, audience be damned, she hears the sound of shattering glass and startled gasps.
A familiar voice yells, “Joyous!”
A low groan. Remielle rolls her eyes, leaning her head against Beliora’s shoulder as the entire ball grinds to a halt.
Nervously, Beliora asks, “Should we help out?”
“Our seniors can sort it out among themselves.”
A sharp laugh, somewhere between a scoff and a nervous sob. “To think these are the people we’re entrusting our lives to tomorrow…”
“Well, Joyous isn’t directly involved, at least…?”
“Thank goodness for that.”
“And, most importantly, we’ll be together. Don’t forget, we still have a hundred percent mission success rate whenever we’re deployed together.”
Beliora presses a kiss to the top of her head, warm and affectionate.
“I’ll have to work twice as hard to make sure it stays that way.”