act43side

What a terrible scent. This Zalak compelled you to use your Arts, as well as the skills you were so determined to abandon.

You do know what sort of situation you've put yourself into, yes?

Chaotic, disorderly, uncontrollable... like a ball of unruly yarn I've yet to sort out.

And you wish to face him, even end him, as you are now?

...That is why I've come here, Miss.Christine.

When I stood up from the river as Shalem continued to sink below, my mind was already made.

This is the performance I've repeated the most. I cannot refuse, nor do I want to... not until the true end comes.

Fine.

Perhaps you will become a monster.

Listen, Lucian.

Lucian stays still, and does not look up.

The lady sighs, and her azure eyes light up like never before. She shakes her tails, and her body splits into two identical figures...

One walks into Lucian's shadow, while the other remains sitting before him, staring...

Both Miss.Christines speak in a staggered pattern, like a strange duet—this way she ensures Lucian will hear every word she says.

To be honest, I much prefer 'Phantom'...

It implies nothing good, but it is a name you came up with yourself.

Humans are so troublesome. Sometimes I miss the cafe where we met. Your emotions were much more complex and slovenly than they are now...

But still far better than today... The bitterness of your obsession is making me want to sneeze.

Go, meet him if you must.

If you turn into a madman, I will devour all your emotions... No matter how hard they may be to swallow.

If you cease to exist, I will haunt him, and figure out a way to make his life miserable...

After all, he can't do a thing to me.

Break a leg, Phantom.

Mrow~

Hurry... hurry! Lemme into the underground passage!

Hey! Did the storm blast your eyes blind? Do you have any idea how long I've been in this queue? Why, I oughta teach you a lesson—

No pushing or shoving, people! The passage can only fit two at a time, so don't clog up the entrance and leave space for those behind you! There's still time to get everyone in!

Miss Stone, the plate's western paths and outer guardrails have been destroyed by the storm.

If this keeps up, we won't be able to hold out for long even in the engine layer.

I sent people to move supplies in. If we can survive this calamity...

No, I'm sure we'll make it through.

Miss Rutherford, you should hurry inside! The storm will tear your dress into shreds!

So this is the wind she felt...

Huh? What'd you say?

Nothing.

Didn't you go looking for Tip to discuss the backdrop earlier? Where is she?

She seemed to have figured something out and took off. I couldn't catch up to her.

And we're supposed to be the adults. In the face of a Catastrophe, not one of us is as cool-headed and brave as her.

Because she doesn't know what fear is yet.

Only by experiencing it, hoping through it, and getting crushed by it, will she understand just how idealistic it is to keep going.

Is that not the difficulty and charm of film production itself?

...Don't tell me you wanna finish shooting this damned movie even now?

Miss Stone! The supplies are all underground now, and most of the crew too.

Thank you, Hautin. You should hurry down yourself.

Is there anything else?

I asked around, and no one's seen the director ever since we started approaching the storm.

A stagehand in charge of the west side told me earlier that the Catastrophe destroyed not just the guardrails, but some buildings too...

That's where Steven's studio is!

The storm showers Originium dust all over the exquisite, dream-creating backdrops. In an instant, only the blackened skeletons of a dozen sets remain, slanted supports scattered all over the plate.

Like a cage crushed into pieces.

Lucian pays closer attention to the wind, and it brings more voices—

Shouts and sobs, scolding and cursing, sincere prayers and subconscious wailing...

The hands of fate and the play staged by nature will not allow everyone time to take their positions.

Lucian walks into the ruins—

He sees a figure that absolutely could not have showed up right here, right now.

The Catastrophe shows no respect for the dreams crafted by man, and the storm has removed Lady Dupont's manor from the scene, leaving only a grand staircase in its wake.

Thick clouds lie low, but stage lights still shine onto the steps from afar, turning the ruins into a stage...

A middle-aged man slowly walks up the stairs.

He tugs on a curtain torn apart by the storm, trying to restore its neatness and beauty. Finally, his efforts pay off as the dirt and dust fall off the cloth, revealing its original shade of red.

He grips a bottle in hand as usual, but is not at all a listless drunkard. He checks the stage right before the show begins—there is no one more dedicated to the work than him.

Your habits haven't changed... do you require assistance?

It's almost time, Lucian.

You came at the perfect moment.

I know.

Not surprised?

Should I be?

Of course you wouldn't.

There is no way for a character who has bowed out with a real death to return to the stage.

But this is <i>your</i> play, where all sorts of 'miracles' occur.

'This is where the show begins, and where it should end as well.'

The Playwright might remark on how ingenuously this play has been handled.

Or perhaps he would muse on how perfect it all is.

Because once you push aside all the theatricality, this is what I look like when 'officially collaborating' with you again, after so many years apart.

How is Abyss doing? Oh, my apologies, you are more inclined to call him Shalem, I believe?

Traveling, gathering inspiration, disaster relief... In short, he won't be showing up here.

Of course. The Crimson Troupe has long since ceased to exist, and I'm glad to see the both of you walk out from its haze.

A new role, a new life, a new home... I see the company known as Rhodes Island has provided you many a revelation.

But you? Why have you come here, child?

Should I not have?

No, no. You are our most important individual now, as the curtains are about to fall on this new play.

...I'm already on the stage, after all.

Of course, of course.

The marvelous scene we saw at the opening of this show was all thanks to you and him.

Dalton personally handed you the weapon that would kill him, and his death raised the curtains on this story.

And you witnessed it all through his eyes.

Lucian, surely you felt something was off the moment you held the knife.

While I was relieved to confirm it...

I am also curious: why exactly did you swing that blade with zero hesitation...?

Once an actor takes the stage, anything unexpected must become a part of the performance.

Your lessons have been engraved into my mind, and nothing more—

Troupe Leader.

Long time no see, Lucian.

My deepest apologies for ruining the play.

If you are referring to how you dealt with that Moira girl... then you owe me no apologies, Lucian.

With your intellect, I can only assume you've figured out the original ending of the story.

An old case from five years ago, and a Catastrophe that arrives right on cue. Both the storm and the delayed judgment rain down on this plate.

The Zalak, who once stood outside the story, slowly walks to the center of the stage—and kills all those burdened with sin.

Later, she comes to realize that everything she's done has been driven by delusion. She awakens—hollowed out, broken—and judges the last remaining soul—

Herself.

And you?