"I'm sorry…" Chloe said, her eyes fixed on Aliza.
"It's too late," she added, glancing up at the soldier suspended in the air above her.
"Why…why are you doing this?" Aliza's voice trembled with a mix of confusion and fury.
Chloe remained silent for a long moment.
"…It's for humanity," she finally said, her tone laced with reluctant sorrow.
Aliza stepped forward, her eyes blazing. "And how is kidnapping people supposed to help humanity?"
Flames flickered around her, rising with her anger.
Without a word, Chloe raised her hand and swept it sideways, summoning a sharp gust of wind that slashed toward Aliza.
But Aliza didn't move.
She stood tall, unflinching, and began to chant.
"Divine Flame, show thy mercy."
The gust tore past her neck, just close enough to sting. She knew Chloe wouldn't hurt her, not truly.
A circle of fire flared to life around Chloe, closing in fast.
"Flame Cage!" Aliza commanded.
The flames twisted and climbed, forming into a blazing birdcage that trapped Chloe within its searing bars.
"I surrender." Chloe said softly, as she began to lower the captured soldiers gently to the ground.
Aliza extended her hand, index and middle fingers joined, pointing directly at Chloe.
She watched her every move, body taut, ready to act at the slightest flicker of betrayal.
But Chloe didn't move. She remained still, trapped within the glowing flame cage.
"…Grandmaster Aliza," Chloe finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I've released the Skeleton Fisherman… in Dorja."
At those words, the air shifted. A cold sweat broke across the soldiers' brows.
Chloe kept her gaze lowered, her voice trembling.
"This time… it's the real Skeleton Fisherman," she said, shame and guilt heavy in her tone.
Aliza didn't need proof, she could see it in Chloe's eyes.
"What should we do?" So-Wong interrupted Aliza's thoughts.
Aliza remained silent, her eyes fixed on Chloe, who stared at the ground in shame.
"We'll have to split up," Aliza said at last. "Half of us will push deeper into the sewers. The rest should return to the city."
Meanwhile, at the rear exit of the sewer, Grathe's team stood watch, unaware of what was happening with Aliza's group.
"Think they're fighting down there?" Gray asked, glancing at Grathe beside him.
"I don't know about your master," Grathe replied, arms crossed, "but if there was a battle, and Aliza's involved... then it's already over."
"Then why are they taking so long?" Gray pressed.
"Probably rescuing the kidnapped citizens," Ifa mumbled, stretching with a sleepy yawn.
Minutes ticked by. The wait dragged on.
"Are we sure this is the only other way out?" Gray asked again.
"I scouted the area quickly with my puppets," Grathe answered. "This seems to be the only second exit."
"Then why not send a puppet in now?" Gray suggested.
Grathe shook his head.
"I'd rather not interfere with Aliza's plan. If she's setting something up, even a puppet could throw it off."
Gray's face tightened, his worry becoming harder to mask.
"You alright?" Ifa asked, finally noticing.
Gray swallowed. "I... don't know. I just have this gut feeling. Like something's not right."
A tense silence followed.
"Tch—screw it. We're going in." Grathe snapped, clicking his tongue and signaling his squad.
Grathe began to walk, followed by Gray and Ifa. And behind them were ten knights.
Then thirty eight puppets began to rush past them, their footsteps echoing in the tunnel of the sewers.
"You have quite the scary puppets…I thought you would have cute puppets like before." Gray commented.
"Liliya is special…I only bought her, because of magical core." Grathe replied.
"A magical core? What does that do?" Gray questioned.
"I too, am clueless about her core, and what it does." Grathe replied immediately.
While Grathe and the others walked toward the cult's hideout, far away from them, Liliya was trapped, burning and repairing endlessly inside a furnace.
"I have to get out of here…" He whispered, his voice strained with agony as his delicate porcelain body shattered and mended itself in a relentless loop.
His arms. His legs. His torso. His head.
Over and over—broken, then rebuilt. A cycle of misery with no end in sight.
But slowly… the heat began to fade.
The flames dulled, weakening with time. And in that flickering silence, his body finally found a moment to repair. The cracks sealed, the pain dulled. He was still whole… for now.
Yet even as the fire died down, another fear clung to him, how was he supposed to escape?
His mind searched for answers, clawing through fragmented memories.
He remembered the first time he moved.
The moment he saved Grathe and Ifa.
That brief, miraculous spark of motion.
"I have to get out of here…" He said again, more desperate this time.
"Come on…" He muttered, straining to move.
But nothing. Not even a twitch. His fingers refused to respond.
"Please…" He begged.
Then a chilling realization washed over him.
"…It was the core," He murmured, his voice trembling.
The magical core. That's what gave him life. That's what let him move.
And now…was it failing?
But still, he clung to hope. Even if he was just a tool. Even if he didn't understand how it worked.
"I have to move. I have to move. I have to move…" He chanted like a prayer.
Bip. Bip.
A sudden beep echoed from within him. Then, pain.
A jolt surged through his chest. His body jerked violently.
"I have to escape!" He cried.
Then.
Slam!
His body lurched forward, launching him out of the furnace.
He was free.
He looked around, but there was no one.
Not a single soul.
No cultists. No citizens. Just silence…eerie and complete.
He tried to move, tried to stand tall, but his legs trembled beneath him. Every step was a battle, his fragile porcelain limbs barely able to support the weight of his own body.
He wobbled. Staggered.
Then.
Crack.
His legs began to splinter under the strain.
The magic core inside him was heavy. Too heavy.
But ironically, it was that same core that repaired the damage, knitting the cracks before they could worsen.
"I have to move…" He whispered to himself, gritting through the pain.
He steadied his steps. One foot forward. Then another.
Pain throbbed with each movement, but he didn't stop.
"I have to keep moving." Was the only thought echoing in his mind, over and over like a lifeline.
Then, slowly, a faint glow began to radiate from his body, a soft, shimmering blue.
Mana reinforcement.
He recognized the spell immediately.
But this time… it wasn't Grathe.
The mana was coming from within. From his own core.
"Did I… do this?" He murmured, staring down at his glowing limbs.
Bip. Bip. Bip.
A sharp jolt of pain stabbed through his chest, making his whole body flinch.
"No… it has to be the core." He said, breath catching.
Bip.
Another surge of pain, sharper, but weaker than before. Fleeting.
He clenched his fists.
Ignore it.
He began to walk again, slowly at first.
Step by step.
The pain pulsed, but he kept going.
Then he moved faster.
Then faster.
And then, he sprinted.
The world blurred around him, his body glowing faintly with magic, his every step driven by pure will.
His soul smiled, like the porcelain smile, he called a prison.
That unmoving porcelain grin, once hollow, now mirrored the quiet, flickering joy inside.
He ran and ran.
Then, light. A faint glow, flickering from the end of one of the tunnels.
He followed it.
But with it came a stench. Rot. Decay.
A pungent, vile scent that clung to the air like sickness.
Still, he dashed toward the light, the sharp taps of his porcelain feet echoing against the stone walls.
Then, he reached the end.
And what he saw made his eyes widen in silent horror.
Hundreds of citizens stood within a massive circle of crumbled ruins, men, women, children, all motionless.
Mouths agape.
Eyes wide and lifeless, whited out like glass.
From each gaping mouth, a thin stream of translucent white smog curled upward into the air.
Some of the older bodies had already begun to decay, skin peeling like wet paper, bones visible beneath cracked flesh.
And above each of their heads, fluttering eerily…
Red flags.
Suddenly, a voice whispered behind his ear. Familiar. Cold.
"Do you like what you're seeing?"
Liliya spun around, but too late.
A figure in a red hood grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air, effortlessly.
"Perspective Eight." The man said, chuckling darkly.
Then, the world glitched.
Like cracked glass. Reality fractured, lines splitting through the air.
Liliya's eyes widened.
"Perspective… Nine?" He muttered.
The sewers dissolved around them glitched away, revealing a vast, surreal open field.
A bright blue sky stretched above. White flowers blanketed the earth, rippling like an ocean.
Perspective Nine released his grip on Liliya's throat.
Liliya dropped to the flower-covered ground with a thud and tried to run, but his legs were caught in the glitching petals, tangled in a mess of corrupted beauty.
"What do you want?!" Liliya shouted, panic rising in his voice.
"You don't have to scream," Perspective Nine said, mockingly calm. "I can hear you just fine."
His face, if it could be called that, was nothing but a shifting void of static and cracks.
"I just want to talk to you two." He added casually.
"…Two?" Liliya echoed, voice lowering.
"Yes. You," Nine said, tilting his head, "and Perspective One…the Narrator."
His tone was still casual, but underneath it, something darker stirred. Something conniving.
The word Narrator made Liliya freeze.
"Oh? Did I catch your interest?" Nine teased.
"Do you want to know more about the other Perspectives? About their demon gods?"
His eyes, if they existed, would be focused on Liliya's unmoving porcelain smile.
"And what do you want in return?" Liliya asked, cautious now.
"I'm just trying to sow a little seed of friendship." Nine replied sweetly, his glitching mess of his face showed nothing.
If he had a face it would be a grin.
And if he had a grin… it would've been monstrous.
"Friendship?" Liliya muttered with suspicion.
"My knowledge is limited." He continued, adjusting his tie with eerie precision.
"Only five Perspectives, including myself."
"Perspective Nine: the Author." He gestured to himself.
"Perspective Eight: you, the Character." His gaze fell on Liliya.
"Perspective Three: the Coming Calamity."
"Perspective Two: a shadow you've already seen. The foreshadow. The one who announces the arrival of Three."
"And finally," He said, looking up at the bright blue sky, "…Perspective One. The most annoying of them all."
He laughed, just once.
"The Narrator, the one telling your story."
Nine crouched down in front of him, then slowly reached out and gripped Liliya's porcelain throat once more, cold fingers curling tightly around it.
"Do you want to know which Demon God reincarnated you into this pathetic little body?" he asked, voice dripping with mockery.
"Ye—"
"Farise," Nine cut in sharply, silencing him.
"The Demon God of Water."
He paused, letting the name settle like a curse.
"And as for me? It was Da'goth," He said with a twisted pride.
"The Demon God of the End. And this is his realm."
"Planes of the End."
Then, with a calmness that clashed with the fingers still tightening around Liliya's neck, he asked, "Would you like to hear more?"
Liliya struggled beneath the pressure, voice strained but steady.
"Why are you telling me all this… besides trying to be my friend?"
"It's simple," Nine replied, serene as ever.
"I want you to be informed. So you'll know who to choose as your allies... and who not to."
Despite his calm tone, the pressure on Liliya's throat intensified.
Crack.
A hairline fracture crawled across his porcelain jaw.
"I'm sorry...but I don't think I can be your friend." Liliya murmured, a flicker of fear in her voice.
Nine's voice dipped, colder than before. "Neither do I."
Crack.
A second fracture. Then a third. His shell was beginning to splinter.
"…Oops," Nine said, with a feigned innocence. "Looks like I went a little too hard."
And just like that, he released him, letting Liliya collapse back into the glitching field of flowers.
"Have you been seeing flags above people recently?" Nine questioned him.
Liliya nodded, as the cracks along his body began to mend themselves.
"You see, we reincarnated souls were born with different roles," Nine said, slowly extending his hands forward.
"Perspective Two's role is to foreshadow death and destruction, and Perspective Three's role is to walk the foreshadowed path, bringing nothing but death and destruction."
Nine summoned a book into his hand.
"Choose your allies well." he added, beginning to tear pages from the book.
As he did, the world slowly began to dissolve.
"What changed? Why do you want to be my friend all of a sudden?" Liliya asked, looking at Nine, who was also dissolving.
"It's a secret." Nine replied as he disappeared, his tone sounding conniving.
The smell of rot and decay hit Liliya. He was back in the sewers.
Back in the place where the life essence was being drained.
Liliya looked at the poor, unfortunate souls, and above them, red flags waved in a haunting reminder that they were going to die.
Liliya stood there and gave up, accepting it, as he always did.
"I can't do anything…" He muttered to himself.