Chương 45: CHAPTER 44 - Dusk

The vessel's engine cut out, sending it rocking dangerously close to the mooring bay. Heavy, massive waves battered the hull every second, making it impossible to carry out any movement inside the hold. The bunks trembled without cease, and cases slid along the dark, damp floor.

"COME HERE!" Monica launched herself at one of the bags, catching it and crashing to the ground. Behind her, Jeanne and Maliard were desperately trying not to fall, gripping their equipment in both hands.

"Would you mind telling me how you are standing so normally?" Maliard asked, staring at Lance, fully rested, two heavy cases in hand. His feet followed the ship's lurches perfectly, adapting in an instant.

"I have a very good sense of balance, I think…" He began climbing the stairs entirely unbothered, only to have his face struck by a violent wall of sea spray.

"You simply need to keep a little control over your centre of gravity and —" A sudden wave threw him off the stairs, sending him flying directly to Monica's feet. She was gripping one of the corridor's heavy pipes.

"Am I wrong, or was some control required?" Maliard joked, walking slowly toward the deck while clinging to every metallic handhold available. After numerous attempts, the group managed to set foot on solid ground.

"The vessel?" Jeanne asked, gripping both her frame and her case in one hand. Monica took her things and wrung out her blonde bob with her free hand, now a confused, damp mass.

"We leave it here." She answered calmly, setting off with Maliard toward the ruins of a building as tall as a typical Bayork apartment block.

"Do you have that much money to spend?" Lance asked, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. Maliard and Monica turned in unison, staring at him.

"Yes." They answered in two opposite tones, one excited, one bored. Jeanne and Lance stared at each other for a moment, then watched the vessel being tossed by the waves.

"I imagine that is how it works…" He thought, walking alongside his companion toward the ruins. Wherever his eye landed, there was nothing but wreckage, trees, and craters. The earth beneath his feet was black as charcoal. On the hills beyond the ruins, large metal structures could be made out — though what purpose they had once served was difficult to say. Flashes of lightning periodically illuminated the water gathered in the craters, dark and filthy.

"What was this base?" Lance asked, trying to open his case, stuck for some reason. Jeanne took it from his hands and began working at the lock.

"An old research facility disguised as a civilian settlement. The Institute acquired the property with the intention of decontaminating it and converting it into another branch, yet even after years, very little has changed." Maliard explained, refastening his gauntlet to his arm. He, like everyone present, was drenched.

"Decontaminating it from what?" Lance asked again, watching with admiration as Jeanne managed to open his case. She gave him a quick smile before moving on to Monica's.

"Lambdite and Taumite. This is where one of the richest Lambdite deposits in the entire archipelago was located. Unfortunately, due to a lack of knowledge and resources, an accident during the war killed the land and forced everyone to abandon the area." He took a dark disc from his case, pressing it to his chest. The entire device trembled, expanding around him.

"These are the new combat suits designed by Maverick. Pseudo-Plasma, built from Lambdite and fluid iron to allow each personalised configuration to adhere and compact itself into the disc." He explained, noticing the stunned expressions of the duo.

"Maverick built a model for each of us to make it more effective." Monica, Jeanne, and Lance each took the disc from their respective cases. Monica studied hers with confusion, then shot Maliard a dubious look.

"The design is not... Standardized yet." Monica said, fixing Maliard as she mimicked his gesture.

"You can wear it wherever you like…" Maliard sighed, pointing to her back. Monica smiled with satisfaction, pressing it just below her neck.

"Dare to make a comment about my front, and you will become a name on the casualties list for this operation!" She exclaimed, becoming aware of his offensive stare. Jeanne turned her gaze toward her own case, silently extracting her disc. Lance did the same, noticing that his was slightly more square in shape.

"Yours was modified by Lucas. I do not know why, but he decided to take care of your design personally." Maliard told him, running a hand over the black fabric of his own suit. It resembled a military uniform, decorated with violet buttons and a long slit at the back of the cloak, attached at the shoulders by silver clasps. Monica sighed and pressed the button. The liquid condensed quickly, covering her shoulders and extending rapidly until it split.

Within a few seconds, the woman was wearing a uniform similar to her companion's: simply more streamlined, with a jacket fitted with violet studs. Jeanne had difficulty getting the disc onto her back, gave up, and positioned it on her abdomen instead. This time the transformation was even faster, creating a long single garment split at the back like a swallow's tail. Her legs fitted into a pair of wide, long trousers. Jeanne rotated her arms slightly, walking in a small circle near Monica.

"What are you doing?" Lance asked, rummaging for something else inside his case. He pulled out a heavy platinum revolver, identical to the previous one, save for the initials L. K. engraved on the barrel.

"Better." He smiled at the thought of seeing his initials on his most trusted weapon. Jeanne stopped bouncing and turned toward him.

"My mother… Used to tell me to move around to see how… C-clothes fitted." She answered rapidly, quickly grabbing her golden frame from the column she had propped it against.

"Really? I always just took whatever seemed largest…" He answered, embarrassed, prompting a faint laugh from Monica.

"With those shoulders of yours?" She joked, striking him on the back with enough force to make him blink. Lance pressed his disc to his back and activated it. Unexpectedly, nothing happened, only a metallic click.

"Did I do something wroooOOOOO?!" The substance enveloped Lance with considerably more force than all his companions. It extended rapidly along his sides, spreading as though it were a pair of wings. The boy slid to the ground and rolled through the dust and mud, yet the substance immediately began cleaning itself. The trio stared at him, confused and concerned, until he stood back up, gasping. A long, dark coat adorned his body, extending past his knees, decorated with numerous lines of silver metal.

Behind his neck, a thick hood was attached to the coat's heavy collar. Every button a deep violet.

"I always thought long garments suited you well, but Lucas has truly done extraordinary work!" Monica smiled, striking him again as he tried to adjust his sleeves.

"I love it. Though I am wondering…" A doubt crossed Lance's face as he pinched the fabric at his neck: silk-like in texture, yet heavier.

"What?" Jeanne asked, watching him carefully while quickly raising the sides of the garment.

"For combat, it might prove cumbersome…" He moved to take it off when suddenly the entire fabric transformed back into liquid, cinching around Lance's sides and becoming something like a cloak tied at his waist, leaving him in only a dark, long-sleeved uniform, completely smooth.

"Better." He smiled, a bolt of lightning falling just outside their small shelter in the ruins, showering them in dust and smoke.

"Let's move. The sooner we find Dirac, the sooner we can stop that thing from destroying Bayork." Maliard answered, followed by a nod from the entire group. He climbed through one of the windows, bringing down several chips of dirty glass. The others exited through the enormous hole beside it. Maliard signalled for silence before resuming his walk. The minutes passed, but the only things visible around them were the remains of the island's settlement.

Enormous skeletons of iron and concrete, once inhabited, had become grim and unsettling monoliths, now part of a forest of rubble. The streets had been entirely upended, as though struck by a wave. Signs and the carcasses of military equipment jutted from the earth like gravestones. The wind grew more and more intense in that starless night, ravaged by wild rain to the point of making communication difficult.

"Comms are almost cooked. The singularity is almost fully formed." Monica pointed to her watch, tracing the contacts for Lautre and Maverick.

"Unfortunately, we need to distract Dirac from the Demiurge first, otherwise the storm will sever the Diem." Maverick specified, wiping the incessant rain from his face.

"I must say, Maverick built a prototype that is a little too useful…" Monica murmured, amusing herself by letting the drops slide along her jacket.

"Prototype?" Lance asked quickly, appearing from behind the two like a ghost in the middle of the rain.

"Yes, these suits lack pigmentation, self-regeneration, and connection to the communication device. Maverick decided to work on them but stopped to participate as a subdual asset." Maliard pulled his watch from beneath his sleeve, making it reappear on his wrist. Lance let out a sigh of relief.

"Were you afraid they were not sufficient?" Monica asked, leaning directly against him in the middle of the storm and nearly making him slip. Lance whistled distractedly, moving away from her.

"The epicentre of the storm is at the centre of the island, directly in the old plaza." Maliard fixed his watch in silence, stopping at the remains of what appeared to be a tunnel entrance.

"The entire zone is surrounded by debris and dozens of buildings. However, the signal originates from a depression of a few dozen metres in diameter." He studied the map on the small screen for a moment, then pointed directly in front of them.

"For Maverick, the line of fire is not a problem, but we need to find a way to hit him quickly." Monica added, sitting on one of the beams. Lance and Jeanne rested their backs against the rough, damp wall. Then, without warning, all the rain stopped. A violent flash of lightning, resembling a column of silver light, plunged from the sky. The impact shook the earth and sent an enormous cloud of black smoke and debris skyward.

"FIND COVER!" Maliard shouted, watching the shockwave peel back the earth like a lid being pulled off. Their feet immediately lost their footing, swallowed by the rock below. The fall lasted a few seconds before Lance made contact with the water. All the air became trapped in his throat.

"Dammit, was that Grayson?!" His eyes burned, and yet he kept them open. In the tide of waves, foam, and debris, he managed to make out a familiar silhouette. He seized the girl's hand, launching himself toward the surface with every last ounce of strength. His head burst out of the water, followed by his companion's. She immediately caught hold of one of the ropes along the underground dock. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

"Are you all right?" Jeanne began coughing and heaving out bucketfuls of water.

"Get it out…" Lance sighed, exhausted. That entire athletic feat had been accomplished on nothing but his own strength. Another figure emerged from the sea, carrying a body draped in seaweed and rope in their arms.

"What have you got there, Maliard?" The boy asked, immediately turning to help Jeanne back to her feet.

"Commander Net." He answered, letting the woman's sea-wrapped body drop to the ground. Monica sprang upright, coughing and shouting simultaneously.

"I DESPISE THIS ISLAND!" She exclaimed, tearing off anything related to the ocean floor. Maliard removed a strip of kelp from his ear.

"I had not imagined that neither of you two could swim." Lance said innocently, watching Jeanne hide behind one of the iron mooring posts on the concrete. Monica fixed him with an angry stare, only to stop short.

"And is that a problem?!" She asked, moving swiftly toward him and pointing her finger just below his chin. Lance retreated quickly, vanishing behind another mooring post, too small to cover him.

"You ought to ask yourself why he is such a good swimmer. Coming up to the surface with someone in tow is no simple matter." Maliard added, still catching his breath.

"HEY! ARE YOU SAYING YOU ARE TIRED BECAUSE YOU DRAGGED ME UP?!" Monica straightened on one leg, sizing up Maliard with embarrassment.

"No, but I am not an athletic monster like that thing back there!" He pointed directly at Lance, who felt his small heart shatter and dissolve in that moment.

"In any case, where did we end up?" Monica asked, studying the grim corridor carved into the stone, strewn with glass and heavy blocks of rock. The rusted remnants of rails were visible, broken at the sides.

"It is the island's military dock. Over time, the sea entrance probably collapsed, but not the complex itself." Maliard said, feeling the walls. Another tremor passed through the structure, bringing down a shower of dust and mould.

"Splendid… Another abandoned underground complex." Lance stood up, rejoining the group. Jeanne emerged from her hiding place, spraying water at every step as though she were a punctured barrel.

"If fortune smiles on us, we should find a gallery before long." Maliard projected his map onto the wall, showing a raised section at the far end of an enormous rhomboid plaza, fitted with several corridors on each side. Lance let out a sigh of relief, taking the lead.

"What kind of person is this Grayson guy?" Monica broke the silence of the walk, appearing behind the boy.

"Not a bad one, that much is certain. I only felt sadness in what he said, the way anyone would after what he has been through." Monica listened in silence, nodding.

"His girlfriend died in an accident, and his closest friend was sent to the hospital. Even the best of us can be broken down." He murmured in a thread of voice, recalling the conversation on the bench.

"I understand!" Monica exclaimed, leaning against his shoulder with a smile. Lance stared at her, confused, bracing for a reprimand.

"If you say so, it is almost certainly true!" She answered, widening the smile on her red lips. Lance stared at her face in even greater bewilderment, then let out a faint laugh a moment later.

"We are almost there. Prepare your weapons." Maliard rotated all the cylinders on his gauntlet, releasing a faint whitish cloud. Jeanne pulled the frame from her shoulders, gripping it with the fingers of her left hand. Monica smiled, sliding her metal plates onto her knuckles. Lance examined his reflection on the metal of the revolver before pointing it downward. They found themselves in an enormous plaza strewn with rails and carriages. Along the sides stood dozens of reddish metal boxes and shards of glass.

The entire environment was covered by a thick underground vegetation: vines, carpets of moss, thick walls of mould. The atmosphere was damp and suffocating, making normal breathing an effort. The light was faint, granted only by the remnants of the old Taumite installation.

"What a smell…" Monica complained, kicking a small piece of wood off the tracks. Maliard looked around, examining the space.

"This vegetation is completely unnatural!" He realised, examining a shrub with his hands. However much his senses detected nothing anomalous, his eye would not stop telling him that what he was holding was not the product of nature.

"The flow is completely altered, nothing but a replica!" The moment he turned toward his group, he saw Monica being dragged away by a dozen dark shadows deeper into the gallery, then a violent reddish flash. He began to cough, waving his hand in front of his face to disperse the dark cloud.

"JEANNE! LANCE!" He shouted, hoping to be heard. Fortunately, two figures emerged from the fog. Lance had a deep gash across his face while Jeanne was covered in dust and debris. The ceiling above their heads began to crack and tremble. Maliard allowed himself a sigh of relief, walking toward them.

"Monica?" Lance asked, his cut already regenerating. Maliard fixed the wall of debris behind them and bit his lip.

"The structure has collapsed to a level even lower down. Monica cannot reach us." He showed the map, pointing to a signal several dozen metres below them.

"I had not expected this much power from a couple of charges…" A figure rose from the plants, brushing the remnants of the ceiling and the algae from his bluish jacket.

"Roman Dostoj…" Lance growled, staring at the gentleman with the long whitish cape and a tall hat the same colour as his garments. A few white tufts of hair peeked out from beneath the brim, partially covering his right eye. At his side, a gleaming foil, barely longer than his forearm.

"Good day, Lance. Feeling nostalgic?" He smiled, dropping from the raised ground. The earth at his feet was immediately drained of its vitality, turning grey and flat. He shifted his gaze to Maliard, who was slowly turning one of Compulsion's cylinders.

"You must be the Raven? The one who manages a good portion of the singularities in Sector II?" Roman asked, drawing his blade with calm elegance, wasting no movement. Maliard nodded in silence at his question, smiling.

"And you? The old man who keeps making me work overtime?" He pointed at him with a finger covered in black metal, lit by the faint light from the minerals and the ceiling.

"Quite right! Though calling me old when I am younger than you seems rather offensive…" He bowed, sneering beneath his beard.

"You wear that beard very badly, then…" Maliard answered, cracking his neck with composure. Roman's figure trembled for an instant before materialising in front of him. The rapier swung through the air, pointing at his throat. A thin layer of condensed air formed between him and the blade, sending sparks flying.

"Still certain I wear it badly?" He smiled, straightening up quickly. His cloak swung across his shoulders, blending with the faint shadow his body cast. Maliard let out a laugh, pointing directly above him.

"Perhaps not, but the story changes when it comes to those two." Roman raised his gaze just moments before Jeanne's fingers drove through his eye. A mass of greyish mire ran between his fingers, transforming immediately into iron. The frame in her other hand snapped into shape, becoming a thick blade with golden details. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a black spark just below his abdomen.

"Is she faster than the last time?" Roman asked himself, blocking the violent impact from Lance with his tendrils. The old man slid along the ground, scattering dozens of black filaments through the air.

"His shield is stronger than when I faced him before…" Lance observed his hand in silence, noticing the scratches on his knuckles and the fine burns beside his wrist. Jeanne gripped the blade with both hands, pointing it directly at her opponent's throat.

"I must say, Ed did excellent work optimising this zone." Roman smiled, then felt a strange breeze graze his neck. A shard of ice severed his ear, freezing the wound immediately. Maliard started running directly at him, with a light held between his hands.

"Unlike Jeanne, my ability reproduces an actual phenomenon. It is less unpredictable, but considerably more effective in a confrontation!" He seized the blade, freezing it immediately. A moment later, a violent burst of flame struck Roman, hurling him directly against the carved wall. Maliard blew on his fingers, examining them.

"With less control, I risk overload far less…" He murmured, signalling for Lance and Jeanne to come closer, though the boy had already appeared in front of him, clashing with one hand an enormous lance composed of hands and bone, viscous and filamentous.

"He is still conscious?!" Maliard immediately prepared a second strike at the sight of Roman's figure. He rose from the dust, covered in bone and plants charred to a grim petroleum black. His face was wrapped in tranquillity.

"Decent... Truly. It lives up to your reputation!" He smiled, brushing down his suit. The spear was shattered by one of Lance's blows, clearing the line of fire for Maliard. A violent burst of invisible blades tore through the filaments in the damp air, cleaving the wall behind their opponent. Roman's beard reappeared from behind his barrier of bone and tendrils, partly severed. He rose slowly, pointing his arm to his right.

"That will not work again, Witch…" Jeanne's blade penetrated his shield by only a few fingers. A single orange drop slid down his leg, immediately burning through his clothes with a spark.

"Clever…" He smiled before being enveloped by another burst of flame. Lance and Maliard fixed their gaze on Jeanne, intent on retrieving her sword using a single thread of paint.

"I am sorry, Klint…" Maliard murmured, turning once more toward the wall.

"For what?!" He exclaimed, but his companion was resolved not to turn around for any reason in the world. The old man rose from the wall, descending from it wrapped in a thick armour of bones, skulls, humeri, decorated with phalanges covered in long filaments resembling drapery. A series of tendrils returned the foil to his hands. An enormous shadow emerged from his shoulder, carrying a grim, chipped, and contorted axe.

"Unfortunately, you will not be reaching the Architect." He smiled, enveloping his blade in a thick mantle of tendrils, doubling the length of the rapier. Lance, Jeanne, and Maliard set themselves again, but the ground above their heads began to tremble until another violent collapse erupted.

"Another tremor now of all times?!" Maliard seized Lance, pulling him toward the gallery with all his strength. An enormous block cut the line of sight between him and Jeanne, who vanished beyond the wall of debris.

"I'm stuck?" The girl struck the wall hard, registering its thickness. Behind her, Roman appeared, confused and startled in equal measure.

"I had not imagined it could be this strong…" He stroked his beard, gripping the foil even more firmly than before. Jeanne turned toward him, staring with fury.

"How do you feel about keeping me company?" He smiled, bringing his blade toward his chest. The girl seized the hilt of her frame and pulled with force. The blade was beginning to fold in on itself, becoming more like a large cube.

"Hamerkop." The grip extended, growing as long as her entire body.

"A hammer? A poor choice for that pretty face of yours!" He grinned, pointing the edge of his dark, filamentous blade toward her. Jeanne's arm held the maul steady, raising it above her shoulder.

"You disgust me…" She murmured, biting her lip. The red liquid changed colour and volume immediately, spreading across her hands and legs.

"Grijs…" All the paint became a thick plate of iron, moulded directly to her skin. For an instant, Roman recalled their first confrontation. Jeanne brought the hammer down against the ground, launching herself at him. On the other side of the wall, Maliard and Lance made their way toward the surface. Lance sighed, pressing his hand hard against his shoulder. Maliard turned after a few steps.

"We can't... Right?" Maliard nodded.

"I am sorry too, but have faith in her. Understood?" He helped him pick up his pace, while the sound of rain grew ever more intense, accompanied by sporadic flashes from the sky.