Father Vain stood with arms behind his back, his usual unreadable expression flickering under the warm light.
Across from him, Henry Ford leaned against a chipped pillar, arms crossed, while Emilia sat on a bench nearby, flicking dried wax from her sleeves and pretending not to be completely bored.
"Alright, Father," Henry said with a half-smirk. "Lay it on me. What's the next trauma-filled list I have to check off?"
Father Vain let out a slow breath and turned toward the dusty old lectern, opening a leather-bound tome with torn edges. The Book of Haza gave off a smell that could only be described as ancient regret.
"The Route beyond Peer," he began, "the next step—Route –3, is wrapped in riddles, missing pages, and unspoken names. The name of the Route itself is unknown."
Henry raised an eyebrow. "Wait, how can I ascend without knowing the name?"
"You don't need to know the name," Father replied, "only the Rituals."
He turned the page with a creak that sounded like an old man stretching his back after a terrible night.
"Ritual One: Find the Red Nentis."
Henry blinked. "Is that a flower? A bird? A mythical ex-girlfriend?"
"Close," Emilia murmured. "Sounds like a drink I'd order after losing a bet."
Father ignored them.
"Ritual Two: Engulp Zhanjir's Teeth."
"…Okay," Henry said. "I have questions."
"You'll find answers when you're bleeding somewhere regrettable," Father said with a tiny smirk.
Emilia chuckled. "Is that a real phrase?"
"Everything's a phrase if you say it with a beard," Henry replied.
Father cleared his throat and continued.
"Ritual Three: Two Dead Spirits. You must confront them. Bury them. Or speak with them. The book is unclear."
Henry frowned, his tone dropping. "And Rituals Four and Five?"
Father closed the tome slowly. "Missing. Torn out of every surviving copy. Not even the Archivists know. Some say the missing rituals were alive. That to even write them down would infect the world."
There was silence for a moment. Even Emilia stopped messing with her sleeve.
"So, just to summarize," Henry said, "my next steps are to find a possibly imaginary red thing, eat someone's teeth, hang out with ghosts, and then wing it on the rest while ascending to a Route whose name I'm not allowed to know?"
"Correct," Father said. "Welcome to spiritual adulthood."
Emilia gave a laugh that sounded like she was holding back a real snort. "Spiritual adulthood. Is that like when your soul finally starts paying rent?"
Father gave her a side-eye glance. "Child, in this Church, rent is trauma. And yours is overdue."
Henry cracked a grin, then let it fade. "So what happens if I fail?"
Father looked directly at him. The jokes left the room.
"Then you lose your identity," he said simply. "Not death or madness. Worse. You become someone else's face. A hollow repetition of something you never were."
The wind outside howled briefly through the old stained windows. Father began to wrap the book in a colourful paper and slam it in a cardboard box.
Henry looked at Emilia, then at the tome, then back at the flickering flames.
"…Alright then," he said softly. "Let's find the damn flower."
The candlelight flickered strangely, like it was reacting to something unseen. Before Henry or Emilia could turn to leave, Father Vain raised a hand.
"Wait," he said, voice low but commanding. "One last thing."
He turned back toward the altar and retrieved a small silver bowl and a thin wooden stick wrapped in crimson thread. He dipped the stick into an oily black liquid and began to draw a symbol in the air like an upside-down eye inside a spiraled circle. The symbol shimmered, then faded like breath on glass.
"I'll perform a Luck Enchantment. It won't make miracles for you," he muttered, "but it'll push fate's hand just slightly off course."
Henry and Emilia stood still as Father waved his hand over them, murmuring something in a language that neither could recognize. The air tingled. A small gust rolled through the room though no windows were open.
"Done," he said, placing the bowl back.
"Great," Henry replied, brushing his coat. "Maybe now I'll finally win an argument with myself."
Father gave a half-smile. "As a Peer, don't wander too far alone. The Route amplifies your emotions, but it also draws eyes that shouldn't be watching. Stay near companions when possible."
Henry nodded solemnly.
"Speaking of people…" Father added, "Have either of you seen Allen?"
Henry looked at Emilia, then back at Vain. "Yeah. We ran into him at a ruined bar down in south Prada. Saved some civilians. Used some flashy moves, too flashy for his age, honestly."
Father Vain's eyes narrowed slightly. "Did he seem… different?"
Henry tilted his head. "Hard to tell with him. Kid has a brick wall for a face."
Emilia chuckled. "He was colder than the ice in my drink."
The priest sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Keep an eye on him if you see him again. He's farther ahead than he should be."
"Noted," Henry replied.
They began walking toward the chapel door, the creaking of wood under their boots the only sound for a while. The wind had softened outside, and a pale light broke through the stained windows.
Before stepping out, Henry turned back briefly.
"Thanks… for everything."
Father Vain didn't respond with words, just a slow nod, his expression unreadable.
Then the doors closed behind them, and the chapel fell into stillness once again.
....
The air grew still—too still.
The tentacles writhed again. Their oily surface glistened with mucus, stretching far across buildings, slithering like serpents with no master.
Then they struck.
One long, monstrous appendage curved sharply downward, heading straight toward an apartment block where dozens of families still remained. It made no sound as it fell, just a heavy, awful presence, as if the world itself held its breath.
From a nearby rooftop, Andrew Fritz sensed it first. His body stiffened. His irises fogged with pale gray light.
"They're reacting," he muttered. "Something… or someone awakened their instincts."
Without a second word, he leapt from the rooftop, his form melting into gray mist midair. The fog raced forward like a streak of memory, warping between alleys, curving across railings and broken billboards.
The tentacle was almost there.
Inside the apartment, people screamed. Children cried. A mother clutched her son, bracing for the shadow that had begun blotting out their window.
Nothing happened.
The tentacle passed harmlessly, smashing into the open street below instead.
The people inside blinked in confusion, unsure what had just happened. But outside, on a street corner far from the blast, Andrew reappeared from the fog, panting heavily.
"I altered its fall path with illusion," he muttered to himself, "but not for long. They're adapting."
A radio crackled.
"Fritz!" shouted Nelson Carter from the upper scaffolding of a half-collapsed train station nearby. "More incoming at East 5th! A cluster's breaking through the west tunnel too!"
Andrew responded into the comm, "Divide squads. I'll handle the eastern drift. Keep civilians underground. These aren't random strikes, they're sensing a presence."
Nelson adjusted his black gloves and looked down at the narrow tunnel filled with panicked people. He motioned to two other Vanguards near him.
"Get everyone under the subway access. Reinforce it with steel bindings. Move!"
All around the city, the Vanguards spread into action.
A duo leapt across rooftops with flamethrowers, scorching tentacle heads trying to snake into ventilation shafts. One of them, a tall woman with braided silver hair shouted, "I've got three above Block 7! Don't let them wrap the towers!"
Another team with electromagnetic pulse rifles stationed near the hospital shot stunners into the softer underbellies of the tentacles. Each hit sent jolts through their flesh, forcing them to withdraw—temporarily.
Back at East 5th, Andrew arrived again, fog swirling off his shoulders.
More tentacles now, writhing midair like they were sniffing. They moved unnaturally fast, attracted to something unknown.
Andrew gritted his teeth.
"This is coordinated," he whispered. "Not random. Something powerful just entered Prada."
And the tentacles like dogs catching scent of an old enemy were coming to devour it with hunger of eternity.
Andrew Fritz and Nelson Carter sat near the edge of a collapsed wall, boots caked in ash and grime. Distant sirens pulsed in and out like a failing heartbeat. Between them lay a strange weapon. More bone than metal, more alien than anything man had crafted alone.
Nelson picked it up, spinning it in his gloved hand. "You know," he said, "when I signed up for Vanguard, I thought I'd be carrying rifles, not... this stitched nightmare."
Andrew glanced at it without blinking. "That's one of the new pieces from the F~31 wreckage, I guess. These things are at least less annoying than you."
"Yeah. Just like you used to spam 'Nothing' whenever someone asked you something. Anyways, those jawbone from the headpiece, fused with spinal coil from its midsection. Shoots shock pulses that scramble electronics and apparently, people too."
Andrew tapped the side of his fog-burned helmet. "Efficient."
Nelson grinned. "Creepy is what it is. You seen the way those things twitch even after they're dead? Like the parts still remember something."
Andrew's eyes flicked to the edge of the broken road. "They do," he said quietly.
Nelson leaned back, raising a brow. "Huh?"
Andrew snapped out of it. "Nothing. Just thinking."
Nelson reached into his pouch and pulled out a small knife. "This? Carved from one of their optic shells. Cuts through steel like it's butter. One of the guys in Research calls it a 'Vision Blade.' Real poetic, right?"
Andrew smirked faintly. "They love naming things. Makes it feel less horrifying."
Nelson gave a low chuckle, then paused. "You ever wonder if we're going too far? I mean ripping them apart, fusing their parts into weapons. Using them to fight… more of them."
Andrew's expression didn't change. "We do what we have to."
"Yeah, but still…" Nelson stared at the weapon again. "Feels like we're becoming more like them. Just smarter monsters."
Andrew said nothing. A faint shimmer of pale light pulsed under his collar, hidden.
Nelson didn't notice.
He stood up and stretched. "Come on. Let's get back before another tentacle decides to redecorate the station."
Andrew followed, silent. A part of him wanted to speak the truth but his soul didn't allow him, not yet.