Глава 14

Thirteen hours into the operation...

The further we go, the more dire the situation becomes.

Freshly-rent canyons, diverted rivers... pathways that withstood the weight of great normadic cities, now torn, distorted, warped beyond recognition.

The maps of the past are now no more than scrap paper. Every trail must be charted anew.

There is no doubt that the Blood of Teekaz lies this way, though. Our bond yet hums.

The closer we get to the heart of the battlefield, the higher the rate that Originium integrates with all information.

The rocks, the soil, the waters, the peoples... Originium's influence has its clutch around virtually everything on Terra, yet perhaps we have long forgotten the fundamental principles of how it works.

What did you mean by 'information' just now, Kal'tsit?

Perhaps you shall find out rather soon, Doctor.

Or maybe... No, never mind.

Objectively speaking, this Originium contaminated terrain does give a tactical advantage to Theresis's military operations. In contrast, the Victorian front is all but shattered.

But this level of Originium activity still pales in comparison to the Catastrophe strike earlier.

Theresis will never use Originium so recklessly just to gain a slight tactical advantage, this much I know of him. He knows the consequences.

Sounds like we're in for a difficult journey.

There's a vehicle heading this way!

'HALT'.

The truck shudders to a STOP as several familiar faces hop off.

Master Banshee, and... and the <i>King of Sarkaz</i>.

I told you we shouldn't have taken this road! We can't run away now!

Well, it's not like they're bad guys...

You... Weren't you supposed to stay at the Lifebone?

Ah, well, I... I-I'll be honest, here...

Master Banshee, Your Highness, we were scared. Terrified. Having to stay inside that skeleton, not knowing who or what might come running over the hills to attack us. So we ran...

I-I know that desertion is a crime! But... we were never going to be any use, were we?

So I beseech you, milord, Your Highness, p-please don't execute us! We'll happily take the whip instead! However many lashings you wish!

I'm not going to execute you, and I never demanded that you fight for me.

If you want to go, then you may go.

Oh, thank you, thank you so much, Your Highness! You are wise and merciful and—

Can we three go along with you?

Shh! Say no more! Her Highness has already done us an incredible kindness by sparing our lives, and you would still demand more of her?

Don't be a fool, Shopkeep. How much of a chance do you think the three of us and that broken truck's got? We'd probably get blown up by a bomb, or worse.

Your Highness, this is just my humble request, but please get us off this battlefield. I'll give you everything I have. As long as these two live. I... I'll swear my undying fealty to you.

You... No, that's not the issue here. If you were to follow us, I'm sorry to say that it would be just as dangerous.

What do you think we should do, Doctor?

I can't imagine they'll survive the battlefield on their own.;They might expose our whereabouts to the Military Commission.;Their ride's not bad, we could commandeer it.

Hmm...

No, no! We would never!

I swear, we will never be mercenaries ever again! On our lives!

Now that you've mentioned it, Doctor, I think it would be more prudent if they came with us.

Doctor... Do you really want to do that...?

I see... you're just trying to liven the mood.

Very well then, Driver. We can travel together for a while.

After we pass through the warzone, you should leave Victoria once and for all.

Thank you.

My deepest gratitude. And please use our transport, it should carry us far enough.

O K-K-King of Sarkaz, you are a most magnanimous soul, and I truly do not know how I could repay this kindness of yours—

The coin.

Huh?

The coin I gave you.

Ah, I completely forgot about that, haha, good thing I didn't drop it. Here, for you, milord!

I was wrong to beg it of you! It was my honor to serve, Banshee Lord. How could I have expected payment for such a privilege?

I think they're scared of you.;You really wanted your coin back.

I hope you don't think me a miser.

I need to ensure that they are not imposters.

You need not fear, I hold no malice against you.

Logos moves his finger, and the coin in his palm vanishes, only to reappear in the Shopkeep's hand in a heartbeat.

The shopkeep stares, first at the hand capable of quaking the earth and shaking mountains with a single pen stroke, then at the coin in his own hand, and finally back at the deadpan Banshee, unsure of how to react.

Was that... a magic trick?

Haha, how delightful! You are a man of many talents, sire!

I... Well, I better go help Driver start the car!

A most interesting performance.;Tough crowd, huh?

I saw Scout and Outcast demonstrate it several times, but I could never quite get the movements right. It is my lack of skill that made for a lackluster effect.

I've never seen that side of you.;Are you a bit of a jokester?

Doctor, there are times when I also regret the fact that many of our shared memories have disappeared into the ether.

We never did talk about the past much...;I suppose the right time never came up.

If we ever find ourselves time to reminisce after this ordeal, perhaps you will be pleasantly surprised by the anecdotes of your past.

But for now, we must go.

There's... no sound here.

This stillness is... strange. I can't hear the sound of our breathing or the vehicle's engine. I can't even hear my own heartbeat.

Is this some kind of Originium Arts? Could someone have blocked all sounds in the vicinity to conceal themselves?

No, Amiya. Listen carefully.

It is not that sound has forsaken this place. Instead, there is a great, tremendous roar, so great that it drowns out its lessers.

It is the deafening cry of death itself.

Look, over there!

That leaf...

A leaf hangs from the lowest branch, its surface tinted with vibrant yet bizarre colors, like the work of a haphazard artist or sunlight reflecting off a puddle of grease.

Like the vestiges of some sort of Arts.;...;Like some kind of fungal infection.

It is rotting.

Decay unhinges its maw, gnawing at all in its sight, leaving behind only iridescent bite marks.

Within a few seconds, the sprightly yet strange coloration spreads across the entire plant and even onto other bushes.

The once succulent leaves become drips of foaming liquid, leaving behind only bare vein networks quivering in the wind.

Just like a finbeast's skeleton after its flesh has been picked clean, unceremoniously discarded.

The wind rises, as if wanting to tear at their skin.

It is the sigh of an unsatiated beast.

Logos, the marsh!

Silver incantations flow forth, plunging into the depths of the marsh.

Did you manage to stop it?

...No.

The muffled sound of water sloshing ripples from the marsh, echoing about in the deathly silence.

The sound of a foot pulling from the ooze, then stepping down again. Steady, unseen steps churn the muddy water, slopping it to the shore.

Prepare for battle. Stay where I can see you, Doctor!

Black Arts shoot into the marsh, but the burst of sound quickly dies down, as though swallowed up.

The steps begin again, their rhythm unchanging, their resolve unyielding.

A tattered hem floats above the surface of the water as ripples crash into ripples, becoming a chaotic jumble of lines and shapes.

Mon3tr.

(Cautious growl)

A dazzling beam of light spews forth from Mon3tr's mouth, but the shining lance is lost amidst the dark swamp.

The slow sloshing changes.

Hah—

A series of hurried footsteps erupt in the silence, and all lost sounds return once more. A brilliant cacophony, an ear-splitting din.