""Need to get that portal shut...""
The vortex swirled violently, its crimson tendrils stretching outward, warping the space around it. The air in the room twisted like a funhouse mirror, objects shifting in and out of focus as space bent in protest.
((I don't have long...))
My mind raced to find the quickest and most effective solution while the hungering gazes of what lay beyond the vortex snarled at me, their very presence forcing the vortex to grow larger so that they may pass through.
((Although I'm not a guru on this subject like Limbo...according to what I've been taught there are multiple ways to deal with a demon portal—locking the area down and waiting for it to burn out, erecting a barrier strong enough to contain it, or disrupting its anchor point with Choromancy to collapse it entirely...))
I considered what I had available to me at the moment before quickly realizing that I had the PERFECT item to help me accomplish the last option I had in mind, I just confiscated it off of the Scarlet Chorus operative earlier.
""Wait a minute...I can use that""
I reached into my coat, fingers wrapping around the tachyonic dagger it was EXACTLY what I needed.
((Tachyonic weapons aren't conventional solid constructs. Instead of being metal forged into shape, they function more like containment vessels—a hollowed-out shell designed to stabilize and direct a volatile tachyon field. The blade itself is merely a framework, a necessary structure to harness and control the weapon's inherent space-warping properties. If I break the outer shell—shattering the barrier that holds the unstable particles in check—the resulting tachyonic cascade will unleash a burst of warped energy. That kind of localized spatial disruption would be enough to destabilize the portal's anchor, causing it to collapse in on itself from the inside out. It won't be a clean shutdown. The reaction will be messy—chaotic—but it'll get the job done...let's just hope the portal collapses quick though, I really don't wanna fill out damage reports...worst still if civies are caught in the blast))
I concluded that it was a risky move, if the portal doesn't shut down fast there is a slight chance it would consume a chunk of this building before it went out but it would work.
""I'm not particularly religious but Astraea guide my hand...""
I flipped the dagger in my hand, feeling the humming edge vibrate slightly, as if resisting the moment it would be undone.
""Here goes nothing..."
I braced myself, gripping the hilt with both hands—
*CRACK!*
And snapped the blade in two.
*CRACKLE!* *CRRK!*
The moment I snapped the Tachyonic Dagger over my knee, the core fractured, and Choromantic energy ruptured through the air like a shockwave.
*Ripple* *CRRK!*
The space around me fractured, the air rippling with violent distortions an ambient undulating wave followed by a sharp static.
*CRRK!**CRRK!*
The vortex reacted instantly, its structure convulsing, fighting against the sudden shift in localized space-time.
""Open up and say 'ah'"
I said blankly as I hurled the broken blade straight into the swirling red vortex.
The effect was instant.
*CRRK!**CRRK!**CRACKLE!* *CRRRK!* *ripple* *ripple*
The dagger's unstable properties reacted violently with the portal's spatial structure. The vortex convulsed, its edges folding inward like a dying star. Space twisted. The pressure in the room shifted, the very air bending as the portal's anchor began to collapse.
Just before the portal fully imploded, something tore its way through—no, not something—some things.
*Crack!* *creek!* *plop* *squelch* *Brzzzzt!*
A monstrous limb shot out first, chitinous and twitching, the serrated claw at its tip dragging deep gouges into the floor. Then came the sound of flapping wings, thick and leathery, like a thousand wet sheets slapping against stone.
"EEEEEE!"
A second creature squeezed through, its elongated form writhing unnaturally as if trying to pull itself free from the collapsing rift.
Then—one final burst of energy, a last, desperate struggle against the vacuum as the portal screamed in protest—
And the elongated one made it through.
*EEEEEE!*
The portal let out a deafening, otherworldly shriek, folding in on itself before finally collapsing with a violent implosion. The walls rattled, and the lingering, acrid scent of sulfur clung to the air. But that was no longer my immediate concern.
Two figures stood before me.
*Tatatatatatatat!**Brzzzz!*
The first was a fly-like humanoid, a grotesque fusion of man and insect. Its bloated, segmented body twitched erratically, multifaceted eyes gleaming like polished black gemstones. Patches of sparse, bristly hair covered its thorax, and its translucent, gossamer wings flickered with a rhythmic, high-pitched buzz. Its elongated, needle-like proboscis quivered, dripping a thick, viscous substance that sizzled as it hit the floor. A sickly-sweet stench filled the air, like rotting fruit left to ferment in the sun.
*Flap!**flap!*
"Eeeeee!"
The second was a thing that resembled a harpy, though far more warped and vicious than the myths implied. It had the shape of a man twisted into an avian horror—its skeletal frame covered in jagged, rusted steel-like feathers, each one sharp enough to slice through flesh. Its taloned feet scraped against the stone, leaving behind deep, clawed impressions. A hooked beak jutted from its face, stained with remnants of whatever unfortunate thing it had last devoured. And its wings—unlike the fly demon's, were thick, matted with something resembling dried blood, the edges serrated like saw blades.
They both hit the floor heavily, their bodies pulsing with residual energy from their violent birth into this world. Their forms shuddered, twitching as they acclimated to the sudden shift in realms. Their unnatural bodies rippled and distorted, adjusting to the change in atmosphere. The air felt thicker, charged with something primal. For a few tense moments, they remained still, their limbs flexing, talons curling, mandibles clicking as they tested themselves.
Then—stillness.
Their eyes flickered, focusing.
Their breathing slowed.
Their bodies steadied slowly.
""Haaaa~""
I exhaled slowly.
Tension hung in the air. A moment stretched between us, the demons still adjusting to their newfound presence in this dimension, their bodies still trembling with residual instability. They were too slow...
*Crack!* *whoosh!*
I was already dashing towards them.
In a single motion, I reached into the [item box] and pulled forth my katana from sub-space—Mumei, the nameless blade, its stainless steel gleaming under the dim light.
*Shing!*
A gleam of my sword.
The demons didn't even realize they were dead.
The moment they twitched to lunge, I was already inside their guard—before their muscles could fully contract, before their claws could reach, before their wings could lift. My blade sang through the air in a single, flawless arc.
*Shing!* *plop!* *Splatter!*
A wet, slicing sound.
""...""
Then—stillness.
The Fly Demon's body stiffened. The buzzing of its wings abruptly stopped, its multifaceted eyes reflecting confusion. A thin red line carved through its bloated thorax.
The Harpy, mid-motion, froze as well. Its clawed foot had barely begun to lift off the ground, its jagged beak twisted in what was once a predatory sneer—now locked in an eerie stillness.
A single beat of silence.
Then—
*Schlik!*
Their heads slid from their shoulders.
Two *thuds* echoed through the room as their twitching bodies collapsed, black ichor pooling at my feet. The harpy's severed head rolled, beady eyes still locked in shock, beak frozen half-open as if in protest. The Fly Demon's grotesque proboscis convulsed, its final death rattle escaping in a faint, "brzzzt".
I flicked "Mumei", sending stray droplets of demon blood splattering onto the floor.
Then, silence.
The battle—if it could even be called that—was over before it had begun.
""Haaa~""
I exhaled, shaking off the tension in my shoulders.
""Well that was lucky...""
I said, returning "Mumei" to the void.
((Good thing they were just low-level fiends… and flying types at that. If they had been anything stronger, things could've gotten messy—massive collateral damage, potential casualties. Fighting in an enclosed space actually worked in my favor this time))
I cast a glance at the black ichor creeping across the floor.
*Sizzle…* *sizzle…*
The acidic blood ate away at the tiles, corroding them with a faint, acrid hiss.
""Tch- annoying...""
I clicked my tongue in slight irritation.
"This crap's gonna be a nightmare to clean"
I muttered, watching as the viscous sludge bubbled and burned through the stone.
"Phew~ haaa~"
I breathed through both my nose and mouth to calm down.
"Well…not my problem."
With a shrug, I turned toward the door.
""I'll call in a cleaning crew""
Stepping out, I pulled the remaining door shut behind me, tracing a rune across its surface. The sigil flared faintly before sinking into the wood, sealing off the room.
((Problem solved, now back to the task at hand...))
I reached into my coat, pulling out a compact communication orbment. With a practiced flick, I flipped it open, tuning it to a specific frequency. The device hummed faintly as it established a secure connection.
*Krrrr!*
For a moment, only static.
Then—
"This is command. What's your situation, Oblivion?"
A voice crackled through, crisp and professional, yet laced with the unmistakable undertone of boredom.
""Command, there's a slight issue. One target tried to take me down with him—sacrificed himself to open a gate to Gehenna. Two demons got through—""
I paused, glancing back at the sealed door, where the scent of scorched ichor still lingered in the air.
""They've been handled. But I need a cleaning crew up here—demon blood's corrosive...and honestly I don't wanna deal with it. Also, I'm out of leads. Did you manage to get anything out of the one I captured?""
A faint, distant noise bled through the connection.
*Crack!* *Splatter!* *Crunch!*
Something wet.
Something visceral.
"GYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
The unmistakable sound of screaming in the background, it seems they haven't been slacking either, though considering the hotel's hyperbolic effect on time I wasn't sure.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
It was strained, broken, full of agony—the kind of raw, animalistic suffering that came from someone who had long since abandoned the concept of dignity.
""...""
I listened impassively.
"Yeah, we got something"
Command replied, their tone disturbingly casual given the background noise.
"Turns out your three little friends were planning to meet up at the gala to talk to a decryption specialist"
*Snap!* *Crunch!* *Plop!* *Splatter*
"Ga-!"
A wet, gurgling noise in the background. The snap of bone. The prisoner wailed.
"Said specialist was working for us—until recently, that is. Turns out he pulled a fast one, which explains how they were able to enlist his help"
Another traitor...how predictable.
""I can see why I was given this spring cleaning list then""
I said remembering the white envelope where my mission came in.
"Yup and here's the fun part..."
Command continued, almost amused.
"During your little chase, our guy slipped out from the party. He's making a run for it, probably heading back home to lay low, either that or trying to leave the city. We've got a description"
The orbment screen flickered, projecting a grainy image of a middle-aged man with sharp, hawkish features, graying hair, and nervous eyes hidden behind round spectacles. A gray Mekhanite robe clung to his thin frame—tattered at the edges, as if he'd been in a rush.
"Oblivion, meet your new target. He won't make it far on foot, but we'd rather not take chances"
I stared at the image for a moment before snapping the device shut, there was a new name on my list "Ibarim" he was called.
""Acknowledged""
Then, without another word, I took off.
A few moments later, on a street dyed with the fading glow of street lamps...
*Clop!* *clop!* *clop!* *clop!* *clop!*
Footsteps echoed against the damp pavement—hurried, frantic, stumbling.
"Haa~ haa~ haa~"
Ibarim was running.
The once-proud Mekhanite specialist, a man of intellect and calculation, was now nothing more than a panicked rat scurrying for a hole that no longer existed. His robes, though finely woven and adorned with runic etchings, were tattered from his escape. Sweat dripped down his wrinkled face, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he darted through the empty street, glancing back every few seconds.
"Come on...come on! Just a little longer acursed legs!"
He knew.
He knew something was hunting him.
And the worst part? He couldn't even see it.
""...""
I kept to the shadows, weaving through the alleyways, silent as death itself. The man was clever, I'd give him that. He didn't follow a straight path—he cut through side streets, took sharp turns, even doubled back at one point. A lesser pursuer might have lost him in the maze of buildings.
But to me?
It was like watching a cornered animal, flailing uselessly before the jaws closed in.
After all, no matter how much a rabbit runs, even if it outran all predators it encounters in it's lifetime...
...Death eventually catches up with everyone...
I let him tire himself out, let him think he had even the slightest hope of escape.
"HAAA!~ HAAA!~"
Only when his legs trembled and his breath turned to wheezing did I step into the open.
""Going somewhere?""
The moment he saw me, he froze.
"Hee-!!!"
For a brief second, he did nothing. Just stood there, panting, eyes wide, chest heaving. Then, like every cornered fool before him, he tried to bolt.
""...""
I moved.
Before he could take a step, I closed the distance. One second, I was standing several meters away. The next, I was in front of him.
His pupils shrank.
"A-!"
His mouth opened, likely to scream—
*Crash!*
I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the nearest pillar.
"Ghck!"
His feet kicked against the air as I hoisted him up, his thin fingers clawing uselessly at my wrist. I could feel his pulse racing beneath my grip. Could see the terror in his eyes as he struggled to process how quickly I caught up with him.
((No more idiotic suicide attempts))
With a mere thought, I invoked my nihilomancy, unraveling the blood magic coiled within him before it could activate. The embedded weave of the self-destruction spell dissipated into nothingness, erased from existence in an instant. I had no patience for any more of these today.
"Ga-! Argh-!"
He tried to speak—tried—but all that came out was a pathetic, wheezing gasp. His fingers clutched weakly at my wrist, struggling in vain to loosen my hold.
I let him dangle for a moment longer, watching as the panic in his eyes flickered between defiance and terror, before finally easing my grip just enough for his throat to function.
""Where are the documents?""
Ibarim coughed violently, spitting blood onto his already-dirtied robes.
"Gargh! *Cough!*"
His breaths came in ragged, uneven bursts, yet despite everything, his lips curled into a weak, smug smirk.
"You...heh...you really think this matters, don't you?"
He rasped, his voice a wet, broken thing.
"That whatever it is you're fighting for will change anything?"
""...""
I didn't respond.
"The Mekhanites...they're relics, clinging to a dying idealogy. You, Jackal? You're just a puppet. A mindless tool marching to their tune. You think you're feared? No...you'll be forgotten. Just another footnote in history, discarded the moment you're no longer useful—"
""...""
Something in my mind snapped.
A voice, a memory—an unwanted, haunting echo from the recent past.
(("For all your skill, all your incredible abilities, all your little tricks—you're nothing but a goddamn tool. A disposable weapon the Mekhanites will toss aside the second you're not sharp enough to cut"))
Hanuman Orland's words.
"Argh—!"
I didn't realize my grip had tightened until Ibarim choked, his eyes bulging as his airway closed. I watched him struggle, his legs kicking weakly, his fingers clawing at my hand, trying to pry himself free.
""Haaa~""
I let out a long, tired sigh.
""That line again? It's starting to get old""
I muttered, half resigned, half annoyed.
"Gargh! Wha—?!"
I didn't realize my fist was already swinging until it connected.
*Slam!* *Splat!*
"Ghhk—!"
My fist caved in the bastard's nose, sending a spray of crimson across the pavement. His skull whipped back, cracking hard against the pillar behind him. A wet, gurgling cough sputtered from his throat as his head lolled to the side, dazed but still conscious.
((Why...))
""Where.""
I stepped forward, driving another fist into his face.
*Slam!* *Splatter!*
"Agh—! Guh—!"
More blood. More flesh bursting open beneath my knuckles. His body jerked, limbs twitching involuntarily as he weakly tried to push me away.
((Just why...))
""The.""
Another strike.
*Slam!*
"Khh—ghhkk!"*
I felt cartilage give way, bone splintering beneath the force. Ibarim let out a wet, pained wheeze, his lips trembling as he tried to suck in air through his broken nose. Blood streamed down his face in thick rivulets, mixing with his saliva, dribbling down his chin.
He sagged in my grip, the man was dangling loosely, his body held up only by my hand gripping his throat. His splattered blood made a grotesque art piece on the wall. His eyes were unfocused, one already swollen shut, teeth scattered across the ground. A wet, ragged cough rattled in his throat as he struggled to form words, but only a pathetic croak came out.
((Does it bother me so much...?))
""F*CK!""
*Slam!* *Splatter!*
"Ghuh—gagh—!"
A strangled, choking sound. His head snapped to the side, blood spraying from his split lips. His fingers twitched, feebly grasping at my arm, but they had no strength left.
""Are.""
*Slam!* *Splatter!*
"Khh—! Ngh—!"
A wet, gurgling choke.
""The.""
*Slam!* *Splatter!*
Ibarim's face was barely recognizable now, nothing more than a pulped mess of shattered bone and torn flesh. His body convulsed violently, his breath coming in broken, stuttering gasps. He wasn't even trying to fight back anymore—just clinging to consciousness, barely tethered to life.
But I wasn't done.
*Slam!* *Splatter!*
""Documents?!""
With a final blow, I drove his head straight through the concrete pillar.
*Slam!* *Crash!*
"Gkkh—!"
A large chunk of stone blasted outward from the force, and Ibarim's limp form slumped forward, body twitching violently.
*Crash!*
His twitching body slammed into the floor, his breath hitched in a grotesque, rattling wheeze as blood poured from his face in thick rivulets, pooling at his feet.
""...""
For a second, I considered hitting him again...
And again...
And again—
"P-please..."
The voice was barely audible.
A weak, trembling hand reached into his robes, his fingers fumbling desperately.
"J-just...stop...please..."
His voice was broken, raw with pain, barely clinging to the edge of awareness.
"Arg-! Just...take it"
He pulled out a mundane case of some kind from his [item box], the mere act of pulling the object out of thin air seemed to cause him great pain.
I reached out, snatched the case from his weak grip, and stepped back.
""...""
The night was quiet, save for his ragged, gurgling breaths. His body convulsed against the shattered pillar, barely holding onto consciousness.
I checked for traps, feeling along the edges for any embedded mechanisms. A quick scan confirmed it wasn't booby-trapped.
((Yep, these are the documents))
I flipped open the case, scanning its contents with a detached efficiency. The papers inside were intact, covered in intricate ciphers and Mekhanite encryption.
""...""
Mission complete.
((...))
I looked down at my hands.
Blood.
Warm, wet, sticky—coating my knuckles, dripping from my fingertips.
""Haaa~""
I took a slow breath.
Then another.
And another.
((...))
I didn't know what to feel.
What to think.
I had the documents. The target was neutralized. The mission was a success.
So why—
*Thud*
Before I could register my own movement, my boot had connected with Ibarim's broken body, sending him crumpling further against the shattered pillar.
"Guhhh—!"
A strangled, pitiful groan slipped from his lips, barely more than a whisper. His body shuddered from the impact, his head lolling to the side, too weak to even flinch.
I stared down at him, my foot still pressed against his ribs.
Ibarim let out a weak, shuddering wheeze—barely conscious, barely alive. Blood dribbled from his split lips, pooling beneath his battered face. His body twitched uncontrollably, spasming with the last dregs of life.
He was finished.
The mission was over.
And yet—
((Why do I still feel so...unsatisfied?))
The answer never came.
""Haa~""
"Gargh!"
I exhaled slowly, pressing my foot down a little harder. His body gave a pathetic jolt, a strangled sound escaping his lips, but there was no real resistance.
I should've walked away.
I knew I should've walked away.
But instead—
""You know...""
I crouched down and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at me. His skin was clammy, sticky with blood and sweat. His single remaining eye fluttered weakly, unfocused, barely clinging to awareness. His breath came in faint, wet gasps, like his body had forgotten how to breathe properly.
""I've always wondered...""
I tightened my grip.
"AAARGH! Ga-!"
His good eye flickered, sluggishly registering something—pain, realization, fear.
I added more pressure.
"Ghck!"
A pathetic, strangled whimper. His hands twitched at his sides, feeble, useless.
"Gghh—"
His body tensed, spasming as his skull started to give.
""Do you feel it?...""
I murmured.
""Do you think you'll feel it when it happens?""
I watched him. Studied him. His eye widened slightly.
""What I mean is—will you physically feel the moment life is snuffed out of your body?""
I continued, my voice as detached as ever.
""Or will you go numb first? In some institinctual attempt to protect yourself from the inevitable?""
My fingers dug deeper, pressing into flesh, into bone.
"A-Ah—"
His breathing turned frantic, panicked.
""As good of a time as any to find out I suppose...""
I squeezed.
"G-Gahhh—!"
A wet choking sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sob.
I squeezed harder.
"P-please—!"
Ibarim's legs kicked weakly, his broken hands trembling, trying—failing—to push me away. Blood vessels popped beneath his skin, his face swelling, veins bulging against the pressure.
More pressure.
The bones started to bend.
"N-No—s-stop—!"
His words were barely coherent, slurred and wet, but I wasn't listening.
((Why am I doing this?))
Even I didn't fully understand why I was doing this.
A sharp *crack!*.
His body jerked. A shuddering, animalistic whine escaped him.
Then—
*Crack!* *splinter* *crunch!*
His skull began to cave in.
His one good eye rolled back. His entire body seized, a final, instinctive struggle.
Then—
A wet...*pop!*.
The pressure gave way all at once—like a melon bursting under force. A grotesque splatter of warmth coated my glove, my sleeve, the pavement beneath him. His body gave a last, violent twitch—then slumped, motionless.
Dead.
""...""
I let go.
*Thud!*
What was left of his head collapsed against the pavement with a sickening *squelch!*, a dark, formless mess of shattered bone, pulped brain matter, and torn flesh. Blood oozed outward in slow, sticky rivulets, soaking into the cracks of the concrete.
""Phew~""
I exhaled, staring at my hand.
*Drip*
The blood was warm, wet and sticky, it dripped from my hand to the floor.
This was out of character for me, unervingly so...but—
It feltgood crushing that bastard's skull.
((I don't know why...but it feels really good...))
I didn't understand it, I didn't try to.
""Oh and just to set the record straight...I wasn't ordered to kill you, I just felt like it…"
I talked spitefully down to the broken corpse before wiping my hand against his tattered robe, before I turned away, and left.
A Few Moments Later...
""Sh*t...""
The high had worn off, leaving behind the sinking realization of what I'd just done.
Ibarim was dead.
That meant I'd have to report his death to command.
I sighed, already dreading the conversation. How the hell was I supposed to explain this?
""Ugh...""
((This is what I get for being emotionally compromised))
I dragged a hand down my face, groaning in frustration. I needed an excuse—no, I needed a way out of the mess I'd just created.
""...""
But before I could spiral further into that thought, my awareness sharpened.
((Two presences...))
At the edge of my perception I felt them.
((Haaa~ I already know this is going to be another headache))
I stilled, focusing on them. They were…strange. One was hazy, unfocused, like it wasn't entirely present in this moment.
The other…the other was an absence. A hole in the atmosphere. Something I could only perceive through what wasn't there rather than what was.
((Nihilomancy...))
I thought, being all too familiar with the signs exhibited by the second presence.
""Come out if you have business with me. Otherwise, I'll be forced to consider you hostile""
My voice cut through the quiet of the night. I knew they heard me.
((More traitors?))
Just in case, I moved. My hand reached into my sub-spatial [item box], fingers grazing the hilt of Mumei—
"—!"
*Shing!*
I froze, the familiar feeling of cold steel rested against my throat.
"A word of advice, young one..."
The voice was aged, weathered, calm.
"The drawback of keeping your weapon in an [item box] at all times is that it takes far too long to draw. That, and…"
The blade pressed slightly closer.
"…It's easy to detect the mana fluctuations from retrieval"
The aged voice schooled with a confident but level tone.
""...""
Slowly, I turned my gaze.
An old man. His stance was relaxed, his presence measured, but I could tell—he was dangerous. His long, white hair cascaded past his shoulders, his beard thick enough to obscure much of his face. He wore priestly vestments, decorated in blue, gold, and a hint of red. But the most notable thing? The chains around his neck.
Dozens of small, intricate clocks hung from them, each displaying a different time zone across Valentia. A five-fingered claw rested on his right hand, strapped with a dial—some kind of timer.
And then there was his weapon.
A single-edged sword, much like Mumei. But its blade…
It resembled the hands of a clock.
""The Chronostatic Corps, this visit is… unexpected""
I murmured, still calm. Although the first drops of cold sweat began to appear on my body.
""I appreciate the lesson, Ancient One. But using [Time Stop] just to get a leg up on me…isn't that a little excessive?""
I kept my voice level. Unprovoking. I sensed from the changes in the ambient Mana present in the atmosphere that he had used Chronomancy to stop time in order to move his blade to my throat before I could react, similarly to my [Moment of Truth] spell though MUCH more advanced as it seemed he didn't need to kill a certain amount of people to activate it.
((What in Gehenna are the Chroniclers of Morn doing here?))
I asked myself, I was starting to become a little bit nervous, despite that my hands moved subtly out of his sight preparing something unseen.
((They aren't supposed to be involved in this conflict. Unless something had changed...))
A small spark appeared in my hidden hand traveling down to the ground.
""Phew~""
I kept my breathing even, forcing my mind to slow down.
((No. They're historically neutral. They wouldn't side with the Chorus))
I studied him as he studied me. The moment stretched.
And then—
"Hahaha!"
A deep, hearty laugh. The steel left my throat.
"Apologies, young blood"
The old man stepped back, sheathing his blade.
Now that the sword was in it's sheath it looked like an inconspicuous cane.
"I was merely curious to see the infamous 'White Jackal' for myself"
His gaze flickered downward.
He'd noticed the glowing magic circle beneath his feet—the one I'd been preparing to detonate.
""...""
I said nothing.
"The Maestro's boasting of you was not unfounded, I see"
His laughter rumbled again.
""...""
I didn't relax. Not yet.
"I assure you, I mean no harm"
His voice was warm, but something about it felt…ageless.
"So I implore you to pull back your magic. Though, I suppose that won't be necessary..."
The moment the words left his mouth—
*Crack!*
""—!""
My magic shattered.
Thanks to the second presence here.
((The other one...))
I had accounted for it. I hadn't forgotten. But I had hoped—hoped to deal with the Chronomancer first before turning my attention to it.
""...!""
I turned, my body reacting instinctively before my mind could even process it.
"Apologies for the rudeness, big brother."
The voice was inhuman. Flat. Hollow.
"But I must insist that both sides cease all hostile actions"
My instincts flared.
((What the—?))
And then I saw it.
Or rather, I saw the outline or mold of it.
A figure. Roughly man-shaped. It wore a form-fitting cardigan and suit, its posture eerily composed.
But its face.
There was no face, at least not a conventional one.
Instead, there was an oval obsidian...head? Mask? Face?—cracked, fragmented, incomplete. A simulated left eye peered through the fractures, white light seeping through the gaps like something trying to escape from within. A jagged, rictus grin was formed by the same cracks, a cruel imitation of human expression.
It wasn't a person.
It was something else.
""A Faceless of the Retconius Foundation...""
I muttered, equal parts impressed and wary.
""Haaa~""
((Great…two supposedly neutral factions showing up unannounced. As if this night wasn't already long enough))
I exhaled, rubbing my temple. My patience was wearing thin.
"Wait…did you just call me big bro—"
The words caught up with me, and I blinked. Had I misheard? No. He definitely said it.
"I mean no offense, big brother…it is simply the title the Keeper instructed me to use when addressing you"
The Faceless bowed slightly, his tone disturbingly polite. There was no hostility in his voice, no malice—just something...off. Even without pupils, I could feel him boring holes into me with his "eye".
((The Keeper…he means the Keeper of Oblivion. An Ophion of the Executerii just like the Maestro as well as the leader of the Retconius Foundation))
My unease deepened. Their presence here was anything but ordinary.
"Try to relax, young one. We have no intention of lingering. We are merely here to deliver a message—to both you and your master, the Maestro"
The old man's voice was lighthearted, almost jovial, as he withdrew a letter from the folds of his robes.
""A message for me…and the Maestro?""
I echoed warily.
"Yes, that is what I said. You're far too young to be going deaf already…unlike this old coot, hah!"
""...""
He chuckled at his own humor, shoving the letter into my coat pocket with casual ease—like he was trying to put me at ease. It had the opposite effect.
"Well, I won't waste your time any longer. After all, time is the most finite of all valuable resources. Hahaha!"
His laughter faded as he straightened, adopting a more solemn tone. The shift was subtle but noticeable.
"The envelope contains a message for the great artist. As for your message, it is simple"
He cleared his throat, speaking with a formal weight that now felt befitting of his priestly vestments.
"Withdraw from the upcoming war at your earliest convenience, young one. We have no doubt that you possess the strength to survive what is to come—perhaps even flourish within it. However, your true calling lies elsewhere. Should you ignore this message in spite of our warning, your full potential shall remain forever unrealized. That is the oracle we have received from our great Prophet"
His words settled over me like a lead weight.
""...""
I didn't know how to react. There was too much to process all at once.
((Prophet? The Chronicler? Another Ophion of the Executerii…why are the highest authorities of the Executerii suddenly so interested in me? Enough to send their envoys in person?))
I thought my mind doing backflips as it tries desperately to analyze what was going on
"The Keeper shares the same sentiment. Please withdraw from the conflict, big brother"
The Faceless added from behind me.
There was something in its voice—or at least, in its attempt at a voice. Concern? Mockery? I couldn't tell.
"Well then…we have said our piece. Farewell, young one. May the winds of destiny guide you towards the future you desire"
The priestly man gave a slight bow before retreating into the darkness.
"Farewell, big brother"
The Faceless followed without another word.
""...""
I stood in silence, waiting…listening…not relaxing until I was sure they were truly gone.
""Okay…seriously. What just happened?""
I had to admit—I had never been more confused in my life.