Chương 34: Hunt for the Atoms

The engravings stretched out before Lance: three distinct rows, each one exceptionally long. The cuts were deep, and Lance found himself wondering just how far Lucas's ability could go.

"I've seen him reshape objects and manipulate temperature, and now he's written out an entire dataset across the floor. What are the limits of his ability, exactly?" He wondered, dumbfounded, waiting for the scientist's next instruction.

"What you're looking at are all the coordinates and possible access codes for the Demiurge facility. Between the war and the lack of maintenance, there's probably very little left besides the reactor core itself." Lucas began copying all the data onto his portable screen, his fingers tapping away at an unsettling speed. Lance noticed one of the larger rows, marked with the letter Y, showing an absurdly high number.

"Lucas… Why does it say 2143 here?" He asked, baffled, glancing between the floor and Lucas before staring back down at the engravings again.

"That's the altitude." He answered, perfectly calm and relaxed, continuing to transcribe the data onto his strange little computer.

"I'd already figured that part out, Lucas…" Lance stared at him with a blank, empty expression, waiting for some reaction. Lucas kept his eyes fixed on the boy.

"So what's the problem, then?" He asked, scratching at the edge of his mask, as if trying to rub at a beard he didn't have.

"Why on earth is the Demiurge somewhere so far up?!" He exploded, stomping repeatedly on the engravings with the tip of his foot. Lucas looked confused, but went on to explain.

"For secrecy, first of all. And the area is rich in Taumite, which keeps the ground fertile and solid even at those altitudes." Lucas stopped fiddling with the device. He seemed fairly satisfied with the answer, though something lingered behind his smile.

"The facility sits on the slope of Mount Argo, the second-highest peak in the Rogier range. It's about halfway up, but it's still a fairly steep climb." Lance swallowed at Lucas's words, attempting to mimic a confident smile.

"Now I feel stupid for asking..."

"You're afraid of heights, aren't you?" Lucas asked, perfectly capable of seeing straight through Lance's facade. The boy nodded, fairly embarrassed.

"I figured as much, back on the tower. Though I imagine Arden must have been quite the ordeal for you." Once again, Lance could almost picture him smiling beneath the mask as he asked.

"In that case, the fall wouldn't have hurt as much…" He murmured, remembering his tumble into the trash. Lucas snapped his fingers, conjuring a black trunk in front of him.

"I'm not as skilled as Maverick, but I can put together something decent myself." He grabbed the edge of the chest and flung it open. Inside, lined in violet and gold, sat an enormous square-shaped bag and a folded coat. The garment was a deep white, fitted with a collar of white fur, while the rest of the fabric looked almost plastic and smooth.

"Try it on. I'm calling it the Thermo-Suit. The name still needs some work…" Lucas held it out to him, noticing with some surprise a flicker of light in the boy's eyes as he unfolded it to put it on. The coat reached down to cover most of his shins, stopping just above the ankle. It was loose enough not to restrict his movements at all, yet it rendered the cold completely powerless. He pulled up the hood, sinking his head into the fur.

"Do you like it? You're practically glowing, like a child." Lucas began rummaging through the box, pulling out the bag as well, while Lance hugged the new garment close to himself. He turned around and nodded, a little embarrassed, slipping it off and handing it back.

"I like long, heavy clothes…" He murmured, shaking his head from side to side, trying to look less ridiculous in Lucas's eyes, though, unexpectedly, the man only seemed intrigued.

"So do I. Unfortunately, I'm stuck wearing this lab coat all the time. Does it remind you of anything in particular?" He asked, stretching out the sleeves of his lab coat.

"My landlady gave me a couple of coats like that when I turned seventeen. That was my first birthday present." Lucas felt a lump form in his throat and had to swallow." He's barely eighteen, and he had to live like that. Every young person should grow up surrounded by family, with people who care for them... Not abandoned, forced to live the way he did." He clenched his fingers, hiding them behind his back.

"When's your birthday, Lance?" He asked, pulling out an old, worn-out notebook from his pocket, possibly made of leather. He took out a pen tied to the spine and opened it.

"June seventh. I turned eighteen just before coming here, unfortunately." He smiled, shaking the hair at the back of his neck. Lucas nodded, beginning to write the date down on one of the yellowed pages.

"Lucas… You could just put that directly into one of your devices." He murmured, wondering why he had to waste those small sheets of paper on something so trivial, something that could easily be jotted down on anything else.

"No." He answered flatly, snapping the notebook shut and tucking it back into the same pocket.

"Didn't take you for an old-fashioned man."

"This notebook is for things that truly matter, and the celebration of someone's birth matters a great deal to me." He absentmindedly polished his visor and cleared his throat.

"A birthday might seem like something minor to most people, but to me, it's proof of the miracle this world holds. On that date, people came into being. It's the mark of their true existence, something even science can't control or deny. That's the gift of life. Your birth, to me, is something essential to remember. It shows just how much I've come to know you." Lucas failed to immediately notice the emotion welling up in the boy's eyes.

Lance had been caught completely off guard by those words, words he'd heard so rarely in his life. He knew how ordinary a greeting, a well-wish, or a compliment could be in everyday life for most people, and yet for him, they were a source of genuine joy and vitality, something that told him to keep going. Lucas finally registered the state Lance was in.

"I'm mortified! I didn't mean to embarrass you…" Lucas found his hand caught in Lance's grip, the boy standing motionless before him. A single tear ran down from his right eye, tracing along his cheek.

"Thank you so much, Lucas. I really appreciate those words." He let go of his hand, sniffling. He might have looked ridiculous in that moment, but after everything he'd been through, crying like this felt almost owed to him.

"I'll get you something nice, you'll see. A scientist's word." He rested his hand on the boy's head for a moment before going back to typing on his thin, lightweight computer. After a moment, he handed over the bag. It was extraordinarily heavy, and yet elastic and sturdy at the same time. Lance slowly opened it after strapping it to his side with the shoulder strap.

"What are these for?" The boy asked, confused by the ice axe and the strange pair of gloves resting alongside several square-shaped food provisions.

"For climbing." The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds before Lance started fidgeting with the gloves, a dazed smile plastered across his face.

"Climbing?" He asked, even though he already knew exactly what his companion meant. Sweat began trickling down his forehead at the very thought.

"Unfortunately, the facility was destroyed, and with it, every entrance I used to know about. Dirac and his colleagues have probably dug out a second passage, but I have absolutely no idea where to look for it." Lucas pressed his device against Lance's watch. A set of clamps latched onto its edges, glowing red and violet.

"Here. These are the coordinates and the best route. Those gloves will help you up the slope. They're fitted with Lambdite claws. They regulate temperature and can withstand most of the injuries you'd normally take." Lance hesitantly put them on, noticing how light they were despite their thickness. Each finger was tipped with thin, sharp, curved claws, a dark color like crude oil.

"These are way sharper than I thought!" His nail glided right through the wall. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

"The ice axe is made of the same material. Fortunately, we Metas have more than enough resilience to survive in an environment like that, even without oxygen, though I do hope you'll find a relatively quiet path ahead of you." Those last words made him shudder slightly, now thoroughly convinced he had no choice but to take part in this expedition.

"The route runs almost entirely vertical, and even though the altitude isn't extreme, plenty of people avoid it because of the wind currents and the lack of places to camp. Make sure to use your ability whenever you can, since you don't have much time to reach what's left of the facility." Lucas began waving his finger through the air, tracing out sequences of numbers and letters. Suddenly, everything stopped, merging into a single figure.

"Roughly speaking, you have about twenty-three hours to stop Dirac from activating the Demiurge, and considering he's probably already on his way, with faster means of travel than you have… I'd say you're already behind." Lucas made the figure vanish, turning toward Lance with his index finger raised toward the ceiling, satisfied with his calculations.

"Thanks… That's definitely not making me anxious at all." He muttered under his breath, thinking about the monumental task ahead of him"The train ride alone will take half a day. Add the hike up the mountain, the climb, and the time to search the facility, in the best case, that's around nineteen hours." Lucas went back to calculating, while Lance's brain felt like it was frying in greasy oil.

"Okay, Lucas, got it. I'll leave right away." He answered, heading for the door, only to stop short as a shiver ran through him.

"I imagine you still have more to tell me about Grayson Dirac." Lucas, hearing those words, nodded and sighed.

"I'm sure you understand how dangerous a Meta can be when their Awakening time is this short. Dirac's is one of the fastest ever recorded in this era."

"Maliard's fears were true..." Lucas nodded, tapping the mask's filter.

"Lance... I don't think I need to explain why the Demiurge and Dirac can become the last nail in the coffin for Andimica."

"Of course, but I have no idea what kind of ability he might have manifested. With Malcolm, it's hard enough to tell, but I don't have a single clue as to what Grayson might have become." Lance began running through every clue left in the notes, but couldn't find anything solid to go on.

"Judging by the state of this room, I'd say he fled right after detonating the first shot. His regeneration must be extraordinary to let him walk with a destroyed brain." Lucas turned, staring at the remains of the desk, the parts he hadn't reshaped himself. The blood had set into the floor like paint.

"Maybe he's a Stärken?" He suggested, drawing on what he'd read in the notes at Arden Ring. Lucas shook his head, continuing.

"I doubt it. A Stärken has an instinctive mechanism for limiting damage. If he belonged to that category, the bullet would have been shattered as soon as it made contact with the cranium." Lucas pointed toward the sketches on the wall and to the side.

"I know you read my notebook. I made sure Monica gave it to you. Those were just theories, but every Meta's ability originates differently, depending on the trauma behind it. Stärken come from helplessness, Kontrolle from the need to keep something in check, Änderung from having to control something beyond one's own capabilities, and Hybride from a mix of those negative emotions." He listed them off one by one, raising a finger with each, until only a single finger remained resting against his palm.

"And the Verwirrend?" Lance asked, expecting some explanation for that name, one the Agency hated so much.

"Metas of that type come from individuals at the edge of something truly repulsive. I found out that it is not from trauma or weakness but from genuine, morbid attachments to something that shapes their cores. I understood that by watching August." A thin trickle of blood escaped from beneath Lucas's mask, trickling down his neck until it stained his coat.

"August…" The temperature turned to ice as those letters dissolved into the air of the room. Lance remembered everything that name had stirred up within NOIR.

"We'll talk about that boy some other time. Right now, we need to focus on the Demiurge." Lucas leaned out through the hole that used to be his window, beginning to rebuild it. He pulled a small black pouch from his pocket and took out a few silver coins, not much bigger than a bottle cap.

"These are for the train. You should get off at Catteridge Station and head out along the trail from there." He slipped the coins into Lance's pocket and started working with the materials of the room, slowly rebuilding it.

"What about Maliard and Monica?" He asked, glancing at the watch on his wrist, which for some reason hadn't gone off even once. Lucas grabbed his wrist, fiddling with the device until he'd shut it down completely.

"Don't worry about our conversation. My Frequency interferes with most common electronics and disables long-range devices. With this, you should have a couple of hours before anyone can reach you again." He gently let go of his arm and gave him an affectionate pat on the chest.

"I believe in you, Lance." At the sound of those words, the boy felt a profound sense of duty settle over him, and he darted out the door. He paused for just a moment to look back at the scientist one last time. They exchanged a nod, and the boy fled the room.

"I hope he can pull through… If Dirac ends up like me, then Bayork is truly lost." He pressed a hand to his chest, revealing countless columns of numbers etched into his skin. He flicked his mask back into place, letting his face register the chill of the cold air once more. His long black hair spilled free from its confinement, caught by the wind.

"Christopher… You were cruel to leave me like this." His tired lips curled into a crooked smile, while the bandage over his eye seemed to glow with a faint blue light, the same color as his one remaining good eye. Meanwhile, Lance ran as fast as he could, heading for the station outside Bayork. He flagged down a taxi, leaping in front of it in the middle of the street.

"What the fuck do you-" An ID card from the Institute was slapped right in front of his eyes.

"Catteridge Station... Now!" The whole cart was shaken by his voice. The driver gulped and started speeding up, heading for the outermost Boulevard." Grayson… I'm coming for you. I won't abandon you." As the streets and shapes outside the window shifted and changed, Lance began preparing himself for the mission ahead. He felt Lachesi tremble under his coat." I promise. Just hold on a little longer."

Deep within the forest, a figure wrapped in heavy rags struggled forward, clutching a battered pistol with a worn-down barrel. Part of its face was twisted into a grimace. In the darkness of a room cluttered with Taumite and Lambdite instruments, a figure was violently slamming their fists against a desk. A heavy black iron gauntlet shook with every blow, yet the old, poorly maintained furniture proved incredibly resilient. The villa trembled under the assaults of the constant flow of insults and imprecations.

The man's wrinkles and veins were reflected by one of the jet-black monitors.

"DAMN IT! THAT BASTARD'S GONE MISSING AGAIN!" He grabbed his green cloak in a hurry, wiping the sweat from his face. He grabbed the piece of armor and slid it onto his arm, then covered it with a heavy leather guard, scarred all over with scratches. He kicked the door open and bolted down the stairs, slamming his finger against the screen of his watch.

"JEANNE, MONICA, ANSWER ME!" He shouted into the silence of their house, grabbing a pistol from the shelf in the kitchen.

"What's going on, Maliard?" A woman's voice called out from his earpiece, just as he furiously twisted the door handle.

"Is Jeanne with you?!" He asked, worried, finally managing to get outside the small house. Despite the bitter cold, his clothing kept him warm enough to head into the city.

"She went to patrol the main route. She said she had a bad feeling about something." Monica explained, swinging her legs off the ledge she was sitting on, overlooking the sea of Bayork.

"Tell her to come back, now!" Maliard climbed into one of the vehicles left behind by Round and his crew, fumbling with the ignition key more than once. Finally, the glass tubes lit up red, and the rumble of the engine signaled the vehicle was ready to move.

"Did something happen with Lance?!" She asked, worried, immediately standing up and turning her gaze toward where she remembered Jeanne had run off to.

"That fool's gone missing, and his watch is out of commission…" A burst of steam cut the conversation short as Maliard tore off down the asphalt, slamming the accelerator to the floor, the pumps and gears swelling with pressure.

"That bastard's going to pay for this!" His vehicle rounded the curve, heading out of the city." What can you even do for him? You moron!"