Chương 109: CHAPTER 107 - Severed Adonis

"What a lousy night…" Lance yawned as he wandered through the night corridors of the base, lit by moonlight. A small globe of Frequency floated around him, keeping him company. All the relentless training had forged a new mastery in him, along with aches that even a Meta's regeneration could not fully heal, perhaps out of fear and placebo more than reality. He massaged his shoulder as he drifted through the silence. With every step, he felt the echo in his thoughts, tried to distract himself, but failed.

The moon accompanied him, watching him roam the enormous futuristic complex.

"Who knows how much technology and discoveries NOIR and the Institute are withholding in silence?" Once they had been more in contact with the outside world, before the beginning of the Black era. Now the actual scientists who remembered Noir were buried, and the archives forgotten in the Institute by newer minds.

"It's freezing…" He licked his lips, rubbing his shoulders with his palms as he climbed nostalgic stairs. Above was the floor where he had received his keycard, a tool so habitual that by now he had even forgotten its origin.

"It's been a while since the storm blew… Maybe I should go relax there." Lance murmured, taking the dimly lit stairs. Lance knew why he couldn't sleep, and it was precisely the anxiety that name brought into his dreams that kept him awake.

"August Noir." That man, similar to him, and the first sign Lance evoked in others was associated with that dark figure worthy of never being named. August had been killed before he could be born, dead in the clash against Ofione, and nearly seventy years had passed since then, yet it seemed to him that name stirred too-modern memories.

"Me and him similar? Madness, a joke. I could never become a corrupt murderer like him." As he climbed, he finally saw the moonlight, a good omen signalling that the blizzard had relaxed, at least for this first week of the year. The base already existed on an island where physics and weather were precarious, but the gigantic rocky monolith was the cherry on top of the strangeness, its peak always wrapped in a huge storm of snow and lightning.

NOIR was now equipped with artificial fields and environmental purifiers, but that strange anomaly never ceased, now forced to remain there after the Unnamed's assault. Lance finally passed the last step and smiled, watching the white crescent moon greet him from beyond the heavy bolted glass. All of Dielmon was wrapped in darkness, as was the marine horizon, at times lit by the white crests reflected from the night rays.

In that dark, the waves continued to exist, minimally represented by the insignificant ripples on the sea. Lance observed the island for a while, his new home, before raising the arm that held Lachesi. In a few moments, a black mass enveloped him, transforming into a strange seat of rocky appearance, thorny and strangely translucent.

"In the file they said I was capable of it. So my body's Frequency can manifest like this too?" He sat down, finding it unsettlingly cold. His skin hated that natural sensation, but he steeled himself to improve and tolerate it. He raised his hand again, this time letting his fingers slide to touch the relic. Sheets of paper appeared silently in the air. He began to read them, even though it was now the tenth time his eyes had rested on the lines.

"Nyx Monoghan… That should be the name of a dead man, yet this file has to do with the experiments that caused my amnesia. Maybe someone found his documents and resumed the Fortschritt project, but why do it with the war long over, and will this really be only the second attempt? David and Malcolm know something, but capturing them and making them talk is a feat. I don't even know if I'd be capable of stopping or killing them, frankly." As he sighed, his eyes fell on the number 9, his sister's identifier.

He didn't remember those images, and perhaps that was the only positive note of that amnesia.

"Jude… I will find you. Faith in this promise will never fail." The sheets vanished, and he relaxed, staring at the starry night.

"At your age, you should sleep more than an old man like me." Lance turned sharply, smiling, confused at the sight of Lucas: no lab coat, only a bluish shirt with an almost imperceptible coffee stain on the collar. He wasn't wearing his usual mask, only the blindfold, always charged with that strange, baleful aura. He greeted him by raising a hand, sitting in mid-air, suspended in the void that after a few moments turned blue.

"What are you doing awake? Shouldn't you be coordinating tomorrow's operation?" The boy relaxed his shoulders, staring at the stars before him.

"I'm afraid for tomorrow. Is a man not allowed to have worries?" He smiled, followed by Lance, who nodded.

"Yes, you're right. After all, I'm here for the same reason. The bed tonight only gives me nightmares." Lucas sighed, nodding as he pulled his notebook from his breast pocket, always present in every one of their conversations. He opened it, staring at the sky.

"What do you think? I've laid my eyes on this spectacle more times than I can remember, yet it's always like the first time. Sometimes I come here to think, and the night helps me." He smiled. Unfortunately, his eyeless face made it hard to decipher his expression, but Lance accepted, smiling and encouraging him with a nod.

"It's magnificent, that's for sure." A flash of fiery light lit up the sky, leaving a golden trail before vanishing. Both stared at it, amazed like children who, under the same roof, smile and get excited at the first fire of the night.

"I've never seen one, you know?" Lucas tilted his head, looking at the boy.

"Maybe hundreds have passed over my head, but I've never spent a single second worrying about them." The memories flowed slowly, sometimes of moonlit deliveries or nights spent on the terrace thinking about his family. The night had by now become for him a unique place of pain and catharsis, a small private torture garden.

"I think I have wasted my old life. What do you think, Lucas?" The scientist, absorbed in that calm, slowly lowered his head, opening his mouth only to sigh deeply.

"I don't think anything is ever wasted, because nothing lasts forever. In its finite span, its existence will have given something, however tiny, to the world." He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the seat manifested from nothing, smiling as the boy listened. He pointed a finger at a star, making him follow with his gaze.

"Lance… Nothing is forever in this world. The stars in the sky die, flowers decompose, time destroys itself to make way for another. The only things that remain are our sins, our mistakes, our conquests, and our loves." Suddenly his sharp sight saw one less light in the vast sea of the sky.

"I don't believe your life was wasted if it made you the man you are now." He smiled, and this time the attempt at comfort was clearly visible on his half face. Lance nodded, whistling something.

"Certainly the time I've spent here has changed me. I've become more… Severe, with myself and with the world, but I haven't lost that spark." Lucas nodded, laughing with satisfaction at the words.

"If you can speak like that, then you're on the right path." He stood, making the armchair vanish into nothing. He approached the glass silently, placing a hand on it as he stared at the forest that wrapped most of the island.

"What do you mean?" Lance asked curiously, motionless in his armchair, this time leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"People who know they are bad or wrong often aren't, or rather, they're on the right path." Lucas uttered that phrase motionlessly, his gaze still focused beyond his pale reflection. Lance stood as well, turning the small rocky throne back into slime.

"Lucas, what do you think I should do about that figure who pretends to be my mother?" The scientist turned slowly, pointing the black blindfold on his face toward the centre of Lance's face. Lance did not look at him; he simply stared straight ahead.

"I think you've realised that woman is not your mother." Lance nodded, as if that came from an internal interlocutor. He shrugged, smiling at the night.

"Yet she seems to know me well, so she must have been close to me." Lucas twirled his finger in the air, tracing a line of golden sparks.

"If I think correctly, you were still used for a re-edition of the Fortschritt project. Perhaps she is simply a copy or someone with her memories." Lance scratched his head with both hands, but his thoughts were perfectly aligned. His lips immediately moved to express that possibility.

"Was Nyx Monoghan a Meta?" Lucas immediately turned, a bluish vein pulsing under his neck. For the first time, Lucas lacked absolute certainty, devoid of any foundation. In his memory, the recollections were fragmented; only the vivid image of those two red eyes vibrated in his mind.

"No… He never was, and he died during the war. The Fortschritt explosion…" He covered half his face with his hand, tightening his fingers around his left eye. The cavity in his skull seemed to pulse and swell, shifting the organ left and right. He panted before speaking.

"I didn't see his body, but I'm certain he didn't survive. I saw the entire base devoured by the singularity." Lance nodded, turning with fire in his eyes.

"Malcolm was part of both projects… He knew Nyx and probably knows that woman and whoever impersonated Nyx Monoghan." A smile appeared on his sleepy face, radiant with satisfaction.

"Tomorrow's operation must be a success, Lucas. I'll handle it!" He struck his chest firmly, staring at Lucas, still stunned. The scientist also reached out, stroking his head.

"Lance, I… I've designed weapons, worked on experiments free from every rule, but the power I wield is the worst thing my brain could have given me. I no longer have any right to consider myself a good person, nor do I seek justifications for my past, but…" He spoke in a soft tone, finally free of the distortions caused by his mask. His hand was cold, opposite to his smile"I am happy I held on until this point, because I met you all and gave me the chance to still be happy.

Thank you, Lance, thank you for helping me." His voice began to break, but Lance smiled and squeezed his fingers.

"You have nothing to thank me for. I wouldn't be here if I didn't have someone to share my mission with. Without you, I would have already collapsed after learning about the sickness. Lucas, as you said, you're on the right path." Lucas chuckled, stepping away without taking his eyes off the boy. Now that he looked at him, he saw his growth, in posture and in appearance: his hair had grown longer, darkened, while the already muscular body had refined under the agency's work.

He resembled August, as always he reminded him, but the smile was profoundly different. Suddenly, countless stars left trails behind them, streaking the sky with pale bluish flames. Lance smiled, pressing himself against the glass. The scientist smiled, placing his fingertips on the cold transparent wall.

"Our existence is cursed. We stand between humanity and the horror below, but only a Meta or someone who has lived as such could see this spectacle." Lance pulled away, still smiling with his eyes now turned to the dark forest.

"A certain reward in this curse…" Lucas nodded, hitting his shoulder with a terribly weak punch.

"I thought you were much less direct." The scientist kept his smile, relaxing his shoulders and back.

"This is too beautiful an evening to waste time brooding over the past. Now that the future is uncertain, it's right to enjoy the certainties of the present." Lance burst into laughter, startling the poor scientist, who believed anything but that he had spoken from the heart.

"We really are terrible at speeches, you and I…" He chuckled, stretching out on the floor.

"What are you doing?" It wasn't a reproach. Genuine curiosity accompanied his words as he watched the boy lie down and spread his limbs on the cold, smooth floor.

"When I was overwhelmed by everything in my old room, I used to remove the rug and lie on the floor. I'd stare at the ceiling in total silence! It calmed me every time I felt unable to go on." Lucas nodded, sitting down beside him.

"You know…" The boy continued, spotting a couple of stars peeking between the metal supports and the ice films on the dome.

"I talked with Monica during the operation on the island. She's suffering too." On Lucas's face, a new expression, never seen: his lips had curled, trembling faintly, and the muscles under his eyes had contracted. A long sigh left his lips as he sat down, crossing his legs.

"She has no idea how much I suffer for her, Lance. If only she could see how much she has helped me…" Lance, remembering the night on the beach, turned toward him, moving only his neck.

"Are Monica and the commander the same thing?" Lucas stared at him with such confusion that it ignited a question about all the knowledge acquired over the century. He thought for a few seconds, shaking his head.

"Monica is Monica. There's no meaning in your question. Monica is the commander, but she's always Monica." Lance chuckled, returning his gaze to the sky. He gave a nod.

"Monica loves you, Lucas." The scientist stood up abruptly, staring at him as he dusted himself off. Lance smiled, shrugging.

"I can't help telling you, seeing you like this. I beg you to come up with something." The boy spoke sincerely, chuckling with embarrassment.

"Monica can understand me, but I don't like secrets. I only keep my mouth shut about them if I'm the one getting hurt."

"And what should I do…" He murmured, immediately stunning Lance. Their combined experience was identical to ignorance. Lance remained silent, his lips pulled inside his mouth. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"… Try telling her." Lucas thought that after that eternal pause the boy had produced useful advice, but disappointment washed over his face the moment he understood those words.

"You really have nothing else to say." Lance shrugged, scratching his forehead with his index finger.

"You're much smarter than me! You'll find a solution, and it will surely be better." He headed toward the stairs, tidying his hair. Lucas, behind him, laughed nervously, covering his face with his hand.

"When the problem is of the heart, the brain is no help." He turned, finding Lance a step from his face. The boy punched Lucas's shoulder, smiling.

"Then you know how to speak just like me!" He joked, immediately being pinched by the scientist. The two stared at each other for a moment, then laughed in unison under the moon.

"Rest, because tomorrow will be hard." Lance nodded, waving as he started down the stairs. He was about to vanish when suddenly Lance heard himself called. He peeked around the wall, looking at Lucas.

"Once it's over… We'll find your sister. Together, agreed?" His heart skipped a beat, but he smiled, nodding gently before disappearing. Lucas remained silent, staring at the stars, and meanwhile the clouds began to form again around the great monolith.

"I think I'll go to my room. My research will be fruitless with everything I'm going through tonight." He unbuttoned his shirt as if he were burning, yet on his skin he couldn't even feel the night chill. His steps were slow, accelerating only when he neared the laboratory. Lucas had always had his own room; he simply chose not to use it, dedicating himself to his research, often collapsing on the window ledge or the sofa.

"A Meta doesn't need much sleep anatomically. That's more a mental need." He said it to himself as if he hadn't drawn that conclusion. His vision began to blur, and he rubbed his tearful eyes more often. He arrived in the corridor leading to his room, noticing a strange figure intent on knocking on the door. It was a woman with blonde hair, a little dishevelled and scattered on her nape and shoulders. She wore a grey robe that reached just below her hips, leaving her toned thighs bare.

She wore no stockings, only a pair of massive greenish slippers comically too large. Between knocks, she lowered her hands, twisting her fingers and murmuring something.

"Monica?" Lucas called, immediately startling her and making her turn. Blood rushed to her cheeks, lighting up her drowsy, strangely pale face. A drop of sweat formed on her forehead, sliding down her cheek to shatter on her collarbone. She swayed a little before opening her mouth, watching the scientist approach with a smile.

"Good evening, Lucas… I hoped to find you here." She smiled, a little hesitant in her words. The scientist stood before her, towering over her.

"And why didn't you come to the laboratory? You had a better chance of meeting me." The smiling half-face was pervaded by a strange sense of relief; perhaps it was his fatigue deceiving him.

"I had a feeling you'd come here… A little whim on my part." Her swaying didn't stop, along with that sweet, tired tone of voice that accompanied her little laughs. Lucas gave a nod, opening the door with the key.

"I sense you want to talk, don't you? Then allow me to offer you a cup of tea." Monica nodded, tilting her head. Both entered Lucas's room: it was small, painted white, with a small bronze kitchenette, a table, and a large bed. On the wood and in the space under the window were dozens of sheets and broken pencils, along with mechanical fragments and papers printed by the machines.

"Forgive the mess… I haven't come here in a while." The room was terribly clean, just untidy. Monica sat on the corner of the bed, while Lucas silently poured water into the pot. The flames lit quickly, dulling the iron. Meanwhile, she had taken off her slippers, remaining barefoot on the soft black carpet. She bore some scars, one quite deep and dark, extending from the heel to the shin, resembling a serpent. She shook her head, stopping to look at it with a grimace.

"It's a new variety, a gift from Edvard. I know it's very delicate." He stirred the water with the leaves gathered on the surface, smelling the floral aroma spreading through the cold room, grimly lit by the moon and the flames. Monica watched his shoulders in silence, feeling her stomach twist and a strange knot form in her chest. A few minutes later, the steaming cup appeared before her eyes, complete with saucer.

"I put in a sugar cube. I'm sure that's your taste!" The scientist joked, bringing the blue ceramic to his lips. Monica did the same, again feeling that "mass" grow. The flavour was vaguely sweet, with a strong citrus note. Monica drank it in one gulp, surprising Lucas, who had barely reached half the cup.

"Wasn't it boiling?" He asked, confused, setting the cup on the kitchen counter. She shook her head, resting it on her strangely warm thighs. The heat of the scorching material didn't bother her at all as she smiled.

"It's cold tonight. I don't mind." Her voice was different from usual, less ringing and lower, more mature. Their ages were nearly the same, both people mistreated by the same destiny they believed in. One forced to destroy, the other forced to endure the destruction of everything dear to her. Both had seen war as children, both knew their families were gone, that no one in the outside world remembered them anymore.

"You think? I don't worry about it much anymore." He sat on the edge opposite her, silently unbuttoning his shirt. Lucas was the tallest agent in NOIR; with the mask and lab coat, everyone would have thought him a skeleton, yet he was more muscular and less emaciated than expected. Monica stared at the empty cup in silence, occasionally stealing a glance at that man.

"Too many years have passed to worry about it now." She chuckled, setting the cup on the mat. Slowly she slid toward him, pulling herself along with the dark, unsettlingly thin blankets.

"The way you speak now reminds me of when we met during the war." He raised his chin to the ceiling, clearing his throat, unaware of her movements.

"We were both scared, strangely nearly the same age and with a particularly similar story. You were always by my side. I believe those were happy moments." A strange sensation spread through Monica's chest, as if something were twisting.

"Frankly, I was terrified, haunted by guilt for abandoning everything, for causing the disaster. I failed to control myself, but you were always there with me." In her memory, a recollection surfaced, immediate but vivid. The island of Dielmon was sunny, without a speck of snow, green and floral as never before. Gusts of cold wind contrasted with the beating summer sun, while little animals and insects scurried freely through the stems.

Flowering meadows accompanied the girl, who walked briskly, following a trail of plants and broken twigs. Dielmon had never seen a better day and never would. Now the sun vanished, obscured by the dense forest. Mosses, creepers, mycorrhiza, and strong roots appeared from the ground and on the bark. Small termites fed on a fallen trunk, unsettled by some movement of the island.

Every so often she looked around, avoiding the cobwebs floating in the air or the buzzing of midges, continuing to advance, now following reddish patches. Thump A strong impact resounded in the air, heavy and massive, alerting the small rodents standing guard in the oaks. Thump A far more tremendous blow echoed through the woods, this time travelling from the soles of her shoes to her head. Unconsciously, her pace quickened. Thump! This time it was followed by a raw scream, almost a roar.

Her sense of smell, so strangely fine, immediately recognised the metallic note of fresh blood. By now her walk had become a ride, no longer caring about the flowers beneath her or even herself, however many twigs slapped her and however many stumbles she took. Finally the girl arrived at a small clearing free of wood and rocks, decorated only by the red tone of Andimica roses. They were a peculiar breed, born white.

They turn a pale red because of the insects that pollinate them, which, penetrating them with their stems, bring the sap into contact with the outside air. Before her stood a man in a white shirt, drenched in sweat and red patches. He turned, letting blood drip onto the pale petals. The poor flower bent under that red drop, marking itself.

"Monica… What happened? You're pale." His forehead was soaked with blood, the gash full of thorns, his eyes moist with tears. His lips were dry, cracked, almost to the point of splitting. The girl brought her trembling hand to her mouth. Some drops stained her bluish skirt and pink blouse as she struggled to walk.

"Never mind me… What's happening to you, rather?" Her words reached him, trembling, like the leaves sliding through the air around them. He looked at his hand, stained with his own blood and clutching one of those roses, torn from the earth on a whim.

"I can't do it…" Monica stopped walking, bringing both arms to her lap, soft and without strength.

"I can't stay with you; I'll just lose control again. I'm scared! I'll fail, I know I'll fail!" He violently punched the same tree against which he had tried to split his head, which, unbeknownst to him, had already regenerated.

"What for? Kill you all because I'm a brat incapable of controlling myself? Why can't I die alone in the laboratory?! I think it would have been better if I'd died in that shitty and creepy base! You place in me a trust that doesn't exist. I'll only destroy! That's all I know how to do! Even what I've created has turned to destruction!" Monica listened in silence, head bowed to her chest, hands low and fingers laced.

"Lautre, Maverick, Edvard, Bluette, Maliard, and the commander… How can I be worthy of them? Me, who abandoned everything to destroy." His gaze fell on the rose he clutched with all his strength. It was crumpled, but its beauty was still visible. Staring at it, Lucas felt himself dying inside, with so many pulses in his organs that his eyes simply couldn't hold back the pain.

"I'm a destroyer! I've charred lives and razed nature. I'm not worthy of this world's affection!" He stretched his arm, trembling like a stalk in the wind, toward her, holding that proud flower in his weak fingers.

"And yet… I can still caress this rose's petals. What kind of joke is this, Monica? Why, if I must suffer, can't I do it completely? Why has the world made me imperfect even in what curses me… Why?" He didn't have time to finish before she grabbed his red-stained hand and placed it on her cheek.

"Look… Am I suffering from your touch? Am I suffering from your presence?" She smiled, gently taking his other hand.

"Lucas, evil is committed by everyone. Even if you try for a lifetime, you cannot avoid being unkind to someone or doing them wrong, however small. But as long as that evil comes from the inevitability of your life, it cannot strip you of your universal rights." Monica drew closer, making him blush as he felt her weight on his leg and his back pressed against the tree.

"Everyone deserves to be loved, even those like us who are different. We are obliged to harm by living, but that cannot strip us of our right to love and be loved. However much you desire an end, it will never come, but that isn't sad, because it means we can continue to be loved with our flaws!" Her smile was warmer than summer itself, and in that moment a single thought surfaced in Lucas's mind.

"If everyone has the right to be loved, then I want to honour that for you all my life." Quick as it had come, so that evanescent memory was extinguished. Monica, without realising it, had drawn closer to him, feeling the fabric of his trousers caress her skin. Lucas stared at her, perhaps also a victim of that reminiscence.

"Lucas… What do you dream of?" Monica shook her head while she leaned against him in total silence.

"What kind of question is that?" The scientist smiled, immediately being hit by her fierce huffs. Her nails dug into his leg.

"Ow… I get it, I get it, I'll answer!" Monica, without looking at him, managed a small smile, trying to calm her ragged breathing.

"I wish for all the members a serene life, that this association may one day stop hiding, and that the world accepts people like us. That's what I want. A happy life for all of us." Monica chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder. Only now did he notice the curves of her chest and her slightly laboured breath. A floral scent rose from her skin, not quite white but not dark either, of a particularly warm tone.

The image of Monica had long been carved into his head, yet even after centuries he now caught certain details: the warmth, the hair pushed onto her face, the warm breath, and the small freckles on the tip of her nose.

"That's just like you! I thought a scientist would have more selfish wishes." Now she kept laughing, stroking his leg.

"I also want freedom. For my brother, for NOIR, for you…" She stood, slowly lifting her robe from her shoulders. She pinched it and began pulling it up; Lucas blushed before feeling a pang in his heart, moved by anguish. For a moment he even looked away. Her legs were incredibly toned, with a few scars scattered here and there reaching down to her feet, dark as pitch. She wore black underwear, different from what she usually threw in the laundry, smaller than her charms and decorated with small weaves.

His interest had already vanished as he saw the red, rough scar stretching across her whole back. Monica had lifted her hair to show it, her eyes heavy with sorrow.

"Monica…" Lucas tried to stand, but her little laugh froze him at the corner of the bed.

"This is my brother's last gift. I hated myself for not being able to do anything to save my family. I just cried and cried while the wood burned my back. Even after becoming what I am, it never went away. After Bluette… It burned again like never before, for years and years." A single tear slid from her eye, while the fingers holding her hair and clothes grew weaker and weaker. Her long nails bent from the force as she tried to keep them in place.

"But in the end… You helped me, you said I was just Monica, nothing more. The scar hurt less, and eventually I forgot decades of pain, because you were with me." She let go of everything and suddenly found herself lying on the bed with her above him, all her weight resting on Monica's wrists and knees pressed against his leg.

Lucas's head was wrapped in her hair like a curtain, able to focus only on all the new details Monica offered him: her eyes shone with an emotion never seen in her, her chest heaved with ragged breath, a trickle of saliva ran along the edge of her lower lip, and the robe had risen, revealing her abdomen.

"Actually, I also had another wish… That at least for this night you would see me as a woman." Monica grabbed his hand, slowly guiding it under the robe. She lifted her damp breast to feel a strong, rapid, unceasing heartbeat. She pressed his fingertips into her flesh, gasping.

"See? Can't you feel how I tremble? I'm afraid, Lucas, afraid of everything! What will happen tomorrow? If I fail? Can I be with you again?" The beats quickened as her tears splashed onto his flushed face.

"I want to be cuddled, loved, cared for, treated, considered, praised, taken care of, at least for one night!" Her cry ended only when their lips mingled with both their tears. Lucas grabbed her shoulders, gently caressing her.

"Then I will be more than grateful to give myself to you, Monica." The woman pulled away from him, still kneeling over him with wet eyes and a trembling mouth. She smiled, lighting up for an instant before murmuring something through her teeth.

"I love you." The robe fell, revealing her in her nudity, stunning despite the marks of war and calamity. With her fingers, Monica moved the fabric away and kept on savouring the lips of the man she loved. The night before the massacre stretched on for everyone, a dream for all.