Yet I shall forge a vow with thee…"
This employee carries a dream from before she wore this bloodstained armour. If there were such a thing as a judge in the City, this employee would gladly take its role. She would swing her hammer of justice at every evil, delivering justice like a judge's gavel.
"Shewing to nail the filth who have defiled themselves with those vile appendages…"
Over time, the employee grew an interest in reading, more so than the others. It then grew into a habit of constantly whisper to herself when she's not peering into something.
With what I have seen, there are quite a few people who talk to themselves. It can be to vocalize ideas, yet also to not drown in loneliness. There is a reason why some people talk in front of gravestones, even when no one is there to listen.
"Aha. 'Tis the reason we pierce the evil with nails, to utilize them as tools so the One Who Grips may enact justice…." The employee's eyes sparkled as she exclaimed this. Though the light was rather murky, there was still a visible spark.
"Break is over. All Mittelhämmer and Kleinhämmer, form the ranks."
"'Twas truly another fruitful respite… To be able to ingest the saying of the One Who Grips while resting… I could not ask for a better treatment." The employee stood up with refreshed energy, leaning against a hammer that was larger than herself.
"Third Hammer, march forward two blocks. Clean up the streets."
"I shall meet your expectations! Justice shall prevail!"
During all these months and years, even the most experienced Hammers were starting to grow tired of the constant campaigns of "purification". However, this employee didn't seem to be tired at all. On the contrary, she immediately sprinted ahead at a stunning speed as soon as the order was made.
"… Is that the one? Is that the rumoured Hammer who has never even once eaten the canned provisions?"
"Would you want to know more? She has never been subjected to a single "discipline" session ever since she was a Kleinhammer."
"…. That surprises me." As the employee galloped into the distance, the remaining two Hammers began talking to each other.
"As much a faithfulness is a virtue… she certainly is a strange one."
"Solemn Inquisitor."
"Stern Inquisitor."
"Solemn Inquisitor." Not much was conversed after that, for there wasn't much to say anymore. Neither of them have witnessed another recruit become so absorbed in the doctrine without never having received canned provisions or discipline. It must have put them off. It is fortunate that that's what put them averse.
"Hahahahaha!"
The poor fellows who were facing the employee had no chance to articulate any expression.
"H-… Help me."
"Lo, a heartless vessel of tin speaks! Ahahaha!" As she laughed without end, the squelch of torn flesh sounded as the massive blunt instrument buffeted the air.
"I-I can detach this… I-I'm.."
"Nay, an evildoer's words cannot be trusted!" Now the body was covered in gashes, lacerations, ruptures and bruises.
"Me…? Why, evil-"
"Juicio!"
It was as if every kind of noise and and wound could be found in this place. "Pandemonium" must be the adequate word for this sight. Some say the scariest people are those who believe to be always in the right… There might be a truth to that.
Perhaps the employee simply wanted to believe what she wanted to believe.
Belief can bring one closer to their goal, yet it can leave a heavy amount of damage behind.
I have told you once, that unwavering faith is not always a good thing. This employee should be a prime example to that rule. And yet, when met with such vile faith, you should have just as much faith in your employees and yourself, Manager.
…
While the group walked down the passage, the Manager had a bit of time to prepare for coming battles. They didn't doubt Faust's words, given how they were practically walking into the lion's den.
And yet, Dante was slowly having somewhat of a clear picture of what they should do. Or, rather, who they are fighting against. As the voice had shown them, these people had a terrifying amount of faith in the One Who Grips, yet it seemed like not everyone was as enthusiastic about it.
Was it a weak point that existed in these Inquisitors? Dante couldn't really tell. After all, the Identities and the real Inquisitors seemed to have some differences (or could they be called "real" Inquisitors? After all, the Identities were some sort of different version of the Sinners, if Dante remembered Faust's words right. Alas, they weren't "fake" Inquisitors). For one, they didn't seem as unsure or tired as the ones in the Identities. However, maybe the Inquisitors just covered it up.
As they kept walking down the branch facility, it was clear that this one wasn't as well-kept as the one in District 4. It seemed as though the Inquisitors had been using this place for their base for a while already, if the various torture devices and bits of flesh and machinery were a hint. Dante didn't feel comfortable here.
The group passed a few Inquisitors who were torturing a prosthetic user. Instead of walking away, however, Rodya struck them down without a warning beforehand. As the Manager looked at her, she simply gave a shrug.
"What? I wanted to take charge for once."
Continuing the passage, a familiar voice rang out to them.
"Well I'll be… You've all gotten better at fighting, huh…?"
"… Saude?"
Gregor was the first one to notice her sitting on the ground, where she was resting against the wall in exhaustion. Her body was covered in bites and gnawings left by the Peccatula, but she was alive. That was all that mattered.
"Are you alright? Can you get up?" Ishmael quickly stepped closer to her, perhaps to help her out or to simply determine the severity of the wounds. Saude could barely speak, let alone stand, but managed to mutter a few words filled with pain.
"Effie… how is he? Alive… yeah? You must've…. Met him outside…"
No one answered for a moment. There was clear hesitation between the group. After all, how could they tell her that they had to put him out of his misery?
"… Yes. He's fine now." Hong Lu's answer was quiet, yet no one dared to elaborate.
"That's enough chatter. It seems that more of these oddities are approaching." Outis' words were a good distraction from the harsh reality of the situation. The group faced the Peccatula in relative silence, for it felt as if the guilt of not telling her the truth had taken shape.
As the Sinners took a quick breather from the fight, there was a familiar sound resonating through the passage. The sound of a nail being dragged across the floor.
"… Manager. If I may be forward, I'd suggest including steps in your combat protocol to confirm our foes are dead."
Dante listened only half-way to her, for their thoughts were troubled about who was approaching. Only the thought of his return made their skin crawl.
"You heretics… must be destroyed."
Guido's movements were slower than before, but his determination didn't seem to have vanished. His gaze was fixed on the Manager.
"And… the rest… shall be purified…"
The Manager quickly realised that they needed to rewind the clock. Most of the Sinners were either dead or gravely injured from the fight before. There was no way that a non-combatant Manager such as Dante and someone barely holding onto life could defeat him.
"Please stop…" Saude's voice took the attention from the Manager. And as they turned to her, they saw that she had took out a gun. The barrel was pointed towards them.
"I need you to keep still… the moment you try to turn that clock, my gun… will blow off your face…"
<… Saude?>
She was still breathing heavily from the exhaustion, yet her face gave nothing away. Dante wasn't going to try and dodge a gun, no matter how shaky it was being held.
"Don't look at me like that, I can't understand you. But I can tell you this… they promised… to let Effie go… if I helped them get rid of you."
"I let too much time pass." Guido's voice was rough as he walks to the Manager. He wastes no time in grabbing them by the neck.
Was this it? Was this how they were going to die? Could this have turned out differently if they were a better Manager? Dante remembered how Heathcliff had menacingly asked them if there was any way to open their head so he could look what was inside.
How ironic. He'd be missing out on a good show.
And as the Manager heard a few sounds of something breaking, it fortunately wasn't their head. Guido staggered as a nail was lodged into his back, and Sinclair was gasping for air behind him. It was surprising that he was still standing, especially since he was nearly unconscious. Just a few minutes ago, he had been lying still on the ground. It was a miracle that he managed to get up.
Thanks to that, the Manager could escape Guido's grip, yet he remained standing firmly. Collecting his breath, he turned to Sinclair.
"… I see. So you, too, are a heretic as well."
"You're… all insane… out of your minds…" He was still gasping for air, and Dante doubted that Sinclair could defeat Guido without any help.
"The One Who Grips had once said, that you could have become One as well… What a shame. You grip the wrong direction."
"No. I'm not… running away anymore."
"… I like that answer, Sinclair." Saude's words were almost too quiet to hear. And just seconds later, a gunshot resonated through the walls. Yet the bullet struck Guido's head.
"… You, who bring ruin to yourselves… the Hammer shall continue to pursue you…" With those words, Guido fell to the floor, motionless. In the silence that followed, the handgun dropped from Saude's hands.
<… Saude.>
"… Effie. He's dead, isn't he? You're all terrible liars. You could at least try to make it believable." She leaned back against the wall, letting out a few deep breaths. Gregor stumbled his way towards her.
"C'mon, Saude… Let's get you out of here. You'll be okay, we just… need to stop the bleeding and… patch you up a little." Ishmael nodded, muttering a few words to her as well. Yet Saude only let out a weak scoff.
"Don't be ridiculous, I can hardly lift a finger. Besides, those Inquisitors will continue coming, no? You guys need to keep moving down quickly. I'll hold them off here. You should go."
"You can't- you can't just do that…" Sinclair started complaining, and Ishmael was quick to join in, surprisingly. "You said it you can hardly lift a finger. I can't let you watch our backs when you're in such a state… please?"
"You know… in moments like these… you're all supposed to just nod and be on your way. Why care so much about the one who volunteered to stay behind?"
"You can't… you can't just…" But Sinclair's words fell on deaf ears. Saude cut him off, but tried to give him a somewhat reassuring smile.
"Aww… you're making this pretty awkward, you know? Here I thought I could have a cool farewell… Faust, please take these absolute dorks out of here."
"I'll make sure to give Vergilius your regards." Faust nodded, probably one of the only ones that had no problem against Saude's words. Or if she did, she wasn't showing it.
"No need to do that. Just… tell him to come visit and say hello sometimes. Do you know what I mean?"
"... Of course."
No more words were exchanged after that. Instead, the Sinners headed for the next area, leaving Saude to die. All of them stayed silent for a good while.
After a while, there was a strange noise coming from one of the hallways. Heathcliff raised an eyebrow, glancing at the Manager.
"… You hear beasts crawling around somewhere or is it me?"
And sure enough, there suddenly appeared strange creatures at the end of the hallway. Beast was an adequate term to call these things. Gregor gave the Manager a questioning look.
"Uh… are those Abnormalities?"
"No. Take a closer look. They're not Abnormalities. Do you see that emblem…?"
Ishmael softly whispered to the group, pointing to the beast. It took Dante a few seconds, but they were able to see an emblem on the beast. One that resembled that of Nagel und Hammer.
"E.G.O. corrosion has befallen them." Faust's words were calmly said, as if it was the most normal thing to happen. Well, the Manager knew how likely it was as well. After all, they had seen it happen to the Sinners.
"Do you mean that nauseating state…?"
"I think it happened to me once when I was in a battle and on the verge of a breakdown. It… felt like I was being devoured." Again, Gregor and Ishmael seemed to be the most talkative at this moment.
"Although it's not quite consumption in the conventional sense… I suppose it's a suitable analogy, for it eats away at your essence. And as an observation, this floor seems to not merely serve for torturing prosthetics users. It would be fair to say that its function seems to be to induce Corrosion unto oneself."
Staring at all those beasts, Dante couldn't help but sigh. Was it really necessary to go such lengths, to transform oneself into such a mindless and hideous being, just to destroy their artificial head? Choosing to lose themselves, to be possessed… was it really worth it? What about claiming the Golden Bough after going to such lengths? Would it even be of use to them?
And that was when it occurred to Dante that they weren't that different. After all, they were looking for the Golden Boughs mindlessly without even knowing what it would be used for.This isn't what I had hoped for. I didn't really know what I was getting into. I just… I wanted to be better. What Cathy said that day pierced my heart over and over again… So I ran, swearing that I'd never go back.
"This should suffice. We'll head back."
How did I get myself caught into this, with all these other Inquisitors?
"You there, Kleinhammer."
"… Ah! Sir!"
"Did you not hear what I just said? We're heading back. Follow me."
What was even the deal with that odd-looking nail? There's some kind of… transparent needle at the center, and it starts filling with something when it's jabbed into a person. It's… as if human-
"What thought are you occupied with?"
"Gh- It's nothing, sir.
"Leading Inquisitor."
Tch… then I guess he was called 'leading Inquisitor'. It was all the same anyway. Them and their bloody rituals. They'll just make me spend time reading that headache-inducing book over and over again, till I memorize every damn phrase of it. After that, they'll feed me some sort of white porridge out of a crummy can…
It feels like my memories slowly blur and melt together whenever this sort of thing happens…
"Now, the chant: Heretics-"
"- shall be purged."
Huh? What… did I just say?
…
That was… a short story. Very short. The voice didn't even bother to give them some kind of advice. Why was that? It had happened once, but only when it had been that L Corp. Identity… and this was an N Corp. one. It wasn't even a very special one, just a common N Corp. Identity.
While Dante wanted to give it a bit more thought, there was no time to do so. The Sinners finally arrived at the end of the long passage.
And there was an endless amount of mountains of dead bodies. The Inquisitors who were around raised their arms as if to worship something. And that something had to do with Kromer. She stood at the highest peak, gesturing to the Golden Bough that was placed on an altar.
"The fathoms of the ego are already open. Someone has resonated with the Bough before us." Even with Faust's explanation, there were still things that confused the Sinners. Mainly Gregor.
"The hell are they up to? What are they raising their hands for?"
"… Prayer."
"… What is that sound?" Ishmael glanced around, but there was nothing that could give a hint as to where that shrilling sound came from. It seemed not many were familiar with it.
"It sounds oddly familiar… Somehow annoyingly tingly… and very unpleasant…"
"It's a school bell. Our boy hated school that much, eh?"
Gregors response to Heathcliff's words seemed to lighten the mood of the Sinners slightly. Except for one. The one who should have been the owner of the fathoms, Sinclair, still seemed to feel uneasy.
"N-No.. I don't want to show my memories… they-… they're.."
Unfortunately for him, the realms paid no mind to his plea.
The Sinners stood there for a while, looking at Kromer and the speak she was giving from where she stood. The remaining Inquisitors remained where they stood, applauding and cheering every word she spoke to them. It felt almost a bit surreal to the Manager.
Her speak came to an end, and she looked directly at the Sinners. Or, rather, she looked directly at Sinclair. There was still that vile smile on her lips, one that managed to make Dante feel anxious every time.
"Sinclair. Did you bring that final coin with you?"
And before the Manager could react, the fathoms suddenly activated with Sinclair.
Given where we are, let me explain the story to you, Manager.
The breaks between classes are always lively, given how everyone gathers around to talk to one another. And while the adults seem to find it a heartwarming sight, there is one thing they do not realise.
Upon closer inspection, these merry conversations between students are filled with envy, vainglory, pride and guile. Children are crafty creatures, after all.
"I heard Rahul from the next class over's getting surgery on both arms by his father. Gonna be with some new tech that's never been shown before. How cool is that? " One of the students talks, and another one quickly follows with a better story.
And amidst all of these students, Sinclair sits anxiously. Ever boasting story makes him feel worse. Less.
What could he share? Their expecting eyes were locked on him, yet he was certain they could turn into mocking or condescending looks in an instant if his reply wasn't as interesting.
".. T-This is a secret… but…"
He begins talking, yet hesitated for a moment. Maybe they weren't asking him for a story after all. And yet, he desperately had to keep their curious eyes on him. He'd become an outcast the moment they looked away, he knew that.
"My dad.. signed a contract with P Corp. They saw the technology he was working on and immediately signed a contract with him."
'Just what was I thinking when I spilled that?' Those were his exact thoughts. Out of fear of being isolated from his own peers, he made the mistake of spelling his own ruin. It was a compelling urge, childish even, an inherent desire to be recognized by the other students. No matter how often his father had said to keep it a secret, he didn't listen.
And it worked. Within seconds, he was the center of conversation. He could feel the stimulated eyes of the other kids drawn to him. Superiority was one of the sweetest things for a child, after all. He was driven by a depraved craving for attention.
"Oh, right! Sinclair, your procedure's soon, isn't it? You know, for the prosthetic."
"Y-Yeah.. of course. They'll told me I'd get…. The newest model."
If they had paid a bit more attention to his face, they could have noticed the reluctance in his expression. Fortunately, no one had ever bothered to point it out.
Soon enough, a massive wave of guilt hit him after the break was over and he was left alone again. He was supposed to keep the contract with P Corp. a secret… and if his father found out.. Ahh…
Blood leaked from his fingertips.
With time, the bad habit of biting his fingernails whenever he felt anxious ended up hurting him. He had clipped his nails as short as possible to break the habit, but he never considered that he might bite into his skin instead.
Watching the blood droplets fall on his desk, his mind soon started to wander. Once he'd graduate, he'd get a prosthetic replacement. And if that happens, he'll never get to be hurt or see his own blood again.
But, is that really…
"You're… bleeding."
A shadow was cast over his desk, and a whimsical whistle followed the motion. He didn't recognize the face much. He only knew it was a classmate of his, yet he had never bothered talking to her, so he couldn't remember her name.
And yet, despite the circumstances, she still talked to him. She talked about his father, about prosthetics, about how filthy it was to replace one's limbs with those things. And surprisingly enough, she agreed with him. Not one of his classmates had ever done so, he knew that.
And after that day, Kromer and Sinclair became close friends who'd talk often.
As a household rule, Sinclair's family used to have breakfast at the same table every single morning. It was a pleasant time. Their family could share stories and encouraging words. And for Sinclair, it was one of the best things. Those morning were kind and gentle to his heart. A natural and unchanging world that belonged to him. His world.
And yet, one day, that world began to feel alienating.
It was the day when his sister sat at the table with her prosthetic transformation complete. The day when his father sat at the table with a head made out of wires, steel and circuits. The family breakfast no longer provided the same comfort and connection. It became an occasion of detachment, where he would talk less and less with each day.
Ah, he started to feel an abhorrence for prostheses.
'That's filthy…'
His heart couldn't comprehend the idea of replacing flesh and bone with something else, let alone the need for it.
Why do we use prosthetic bodies?
He carefully asked for an explanation, and the answer was simple. The human body, in its unmodified state, was too "old-fashioned". There are too many basic needs like water, food, sleep, and injuries take a long time to heal.
All this makes the human body incredibly inefficient.
As such, his father concluded that the need and use of prostheses will grow more commonplace as time goes on, and ultimately become a natural part of their daily lives.
And Sinclair thought: "Why don't I just fall behind the times, if that's what the mainstream will be?" Yet it wasn't an argument rooted in logic.
"Yo, Sinclair… you don't actually wanna take the replacement procedure, do you?"
It was one of the days were Sinclair and Kromer talked to each other for a long time. A regular day. And Sinclair, as an answer, nodded without a word.
"Hmm, but your parents sure won't like that confession. Isn't it frustrating that there's nothing you can do about it?"
He nodded again.
"What if I helped you out, then? You could live a life with no worries of that junk."
"B-But how..?"
"That you will find out next time. In exchance… you'll help me deal with a grudge of my own too."
One day, not long after that conversation with Kromer, there was a new transfer student at his school. A guy named Demian was placed in the class next to his.
He was surrounded by a crowd every time Sinclair saw him. However, he got the feeling that he wasn't really attached to anyone around him. To him, it seemed as though he was floating in the air; he was aloof like that.
Likewise, Demian didn't seem too interested about him either. That's how it was at first, at least.
It all happened during a boring engineering class. His eyes were drifting awa from the board, and before he realised it, he was looking out the window instead. Through that window, he saw Demian taking a walk.
Like usual, he was surrounded by his classmates, wearing a faint smile. Even his expression was different from the kind someone of his age should make; that smile carried a mature yet solitary aura.
Basking in the sunlight, Demian stroked his hair.
"… Huh?"
Sinclair thought he saw some weird red thing on his forehead. Was he mistaken? Maybe it was the blinding sun reflecting off his skin. And then… he had the feeling he made eye contact with him.
"…"
Some of the students were still chatting outside. As soon as Sinclair felt his gaze, he quickly averted his eyes and looked down at his desk, feeling oddly embarrassed. Or flustered that Demian had caught him.
Regardless, ever since that day, Demian started talking to him in a friendly manner. Oddly enough, Kromer wasn't around on the days when Demian approached him. It didn't stop her to come to him and remind him of their promise whenever she had the chance.
"I often have this dream, Sinclair. In it, I climb an endlessly long ladder. Everything down below me comes into view. The Nests, the Backstreets, the Outskirts, all of it. And when I look down at my feet, all the lights are out in the City. It's as if the end of all things had come. Fallen into silence, empty of any motion. Indeed, it's the state of death itself."
"… Demian, have you been to the Outskirts?"
He whispered to him, as if it was something forbidden. And it was. Demian was talking about a forbidden place where no one should or could go. However, he only smiled at him.
"Sinclair, the world as people want to define it can't be divided into places where you should and shouldn't go. Do you believe that freedom and love can be found within the confines of this Nest? Compared to the life here, life is much richer in the Outskirts. There is something that I have been pondering for a long time, and I thought that maybe that's where I could find my answer."
Whenever Sinclair spoke to Demian, he felt his soul mature a little. However, he never mentioned his fear of the impending prosthetic procedure or his peculiar relationship with Kromer. Even though Demian wanted to know more about him, if not everything, he was hesitant to share his secrets with him. He was too ashamed to bear his deeply hidden fears before Demian.
And finally… the promised day had come.
"Yo, Sinclair, can you show me your basement?"
Kromer's words struck him out of nowhere, yet they were as light as a feather. She talked about it as if it were as easy as picking up an eraser, and he almost agreed to it.
"W-Why our basement specifically?"
"Well, if the rumor I've heard is true, there's a scandalous place connected to it, and I want to find out something."
"But my parents…" 'won't allow it' was the sentence he was too ashamed to finish.
"If you let me check the basement, Sinclair… I swear I'll keep that promise with you, cross my heart. Just sneak me the basement key and I will manage just fine…"
Unable to detect that faint, familiar feeling hidden in her words, he slowly nodded. Thus, the world of evil began there, right in the middle of his house.
Notes: