act17side

...Tch, old fool.

How old are you anyway? A hundred? How do you... ugh... still pretend to have so much energy?

It is my duty.

So you must... *cough*, *cough*... urgh... know all sorts of things...

Tell me, Inquisitor. Tell me the truth, you wretched executioner...

Why would you... urgh... destroy a band of people... hoping to rebuild... their home?

All of you... All of you...

Don't speak, Thiago! I can't stop the bleeding!

Ha... Hah... No, I must ask.

All of you, the Inquisition! Those Ægir you took from Gran Faro... were there really any cultists among them?

Tell me... Did you really, out of... *cough*, paranoia... nothing more than a laughable paranoia... kill all those good people?

Ordinary citizens have no right to know the Inquisition's secrets.

You bastard...!

Knowing the truth will not help you cling onto your fading life, Thiago.

No, no no no... I'm begging you... I'm begging you... I'm going to die, and you still won't tell me the truth...

At least... Marin... Tell me...

The files on Gran Faro's Ægir have been sealed. I am unable to disclose anything to a civilian.

...No... *cough*, *cough*... Gah...

I... Curse you. I swear, I'll never forgive you!

Iberia... Ibe... will...

His malediction never leaves his mouth.

Old Thiago looks at the dim, damp ceiling, where a drop of water is about to fall from the wooden beams.

Drip.

He’s gone.

So, what's the truth?

I don't see how this has anything to do with you either, member of Rhodes Island.

Return to Kal'tsit. We've lost too much time, and the Eye of Iberia will likely fall.

Please. Tell me.

As a member of Rhodes Island, I also wish to cooperate with the Inquisition. But before that, I'm an Iberian.

I didn't know Thiago for very long. But I just realized... he would never curse Iberia. Because he truly saw this place as his home.

But after realizing that, that's all the more reason I can't just...

Lord Carmen, after witnessing so many tragedies in my homeland, surely you can't just... tell me to turn a blind eye to it all.

Carmen glances over at the aged laborer resting in Elysium's arms. His eyes betray a slightly different emotion.

After a moment of silence, he speaks.

Roughly a hundred thirty Ægir were taken from Gran Faro, and of them, about half had ties with the Church of the Deep. Even some members of the Penal Battalion formerly stationed in the town were revealed to be traitors.

They stole a large amount of information on Iberia's Seafaring Era, obstructed the Inquisition, and were plotting from the very beginning to turn Gran Faro into a nexus for the sea's invasion of the land.

Leading them was a female bishop, an Ægir Islander. A woman the people called 'Marin.'

Now, give him his burial.

Strong. Work together, and you are strong enough to lead our kind.

But, you do not plan to do this. This puzzles me.

Our kind, how will you treat them?

Willpower, begets all. Any chasm, can be crossed.

Our environment, complete and pure. Impurities, are not needed.

About parents, I am trying to find an answer. Yet the question, is not clear. I cannot ask yet.

(Sound of bones grinding and rubbing)

Do all of the sea's infants learn to talk as quickly as you?

What's wrong, Mister Captain? Has your loneliness finally compelled you to seek companionship with talking Seaborns?

You know, every wound on its body has been MY handiwork so far.

*Spit*.

It's still alive and kicking. We're just getting to the good part.

...Fighting, is meaningless.

Leaving, is the correct choice.

Ugh, get back here!

It tore through the wall and fled. Why did the Iberians have to make this ship so complex anyway?

I won't allow it to continue trashing my ship. Garcia!

That's cheating, you know~

How do you think we managed to keep this ship from getting riddled with holes and sinking, while surrounded by monsters for all these years? Relying solely on Breogan's technology?

We systematically kill the ones threatening enough to cause damage. Then, little by little, the survivors slowly sew up the scars they left behind.

This one can be considered intelligent, as far they go, but it's by no means the strongest.

I'm not in the mood to play games with you anymore, so this farce ends here. Kill it now, before it does something we can't undo.

The fleeing Seaborn easily tears through the ship's walls. It can smell its kin as well as the ocean just outside this strange box.

It is hurt. It needs healing. It needs nourishment. It needs time. The scaleless kin had bought it a chance to breathe, but far from enough time.

Many preparations are yet to be completed.

What?! A Seaborn!

The Seaborn does not speak.

Because it faces something that is not its kin. Not kin that speaks. Not kin without scales.

In which case, the small, fragile creature struggling before its eyes is just an ordinary lifeform. Just another part of the Cycle.

It should be consumed.

After coming to this conclusion, the Seaborn almost immediately lashes out at Irene with tooth and claw.

(So fast! Its body is different from before?!)

It's so tough?!

(Merda— I can't dodge it this time—)

(Roars)

(Eldritch noises) Stand... up... and run...

You... You can talk?! In Iberian?

(Eldritch noises) I... save you. Don't let... him know.

(Eldritch noises) Don't let... Alfonso... know I'm... still human.

Language, you also know it.

Efficiency, relatively low. Not enough information, not enough time. If necessary, I will complete it.

Kindred, you have formed your own group. And your offspring, consume one another.

You, are incomplete.

(Eldritch noises) Alfonso... cannot... get here fast.

(Eldritch noises) You... run.

Kindred, no point in nurturing.

Flesh and blood, donate to us.

(Howling) —!

Still attempting to spit out vestiges of human speech, the chief mate is punctured by the Seaborn's fangs.

It neither underestimates its enemy nor is distracted by Irene's presence. The Seaborn's motions have clearly evolved.

You...

Alfonso... Hurry... Hurry...

(I can't even pierce its carapace!)

(At this rate, I...)

Irene. You know where this is.

Yes! It's the Inquisition's—

Underground. Where every High Inquisitor has seen the truth.

The truth...

Consider this one thing, Irene. What is the Inquisition fighting for?

For Iberia's purity and virtue, for the sanctity of our Laws and Scriptures.

But what if the concept of truth as seen by the people is only superficial? What if the Law has no reach, the Scriptures fail to prophesize, and the morality that governs all things amounts to naught? How will you pass down judgment then?

I... will judge based on my own standards.