Tuesday.
12:00 p.m.
The museum doors opened to a wave of musty stench so thick it seemed to coat the tongue.
What the hell is that smell?!
He covered his nose and mouth on instinct.
Before he could properly take in his surroundings, a chunk of rotting meat fell onto the pristine red carpet with a wet slap. The sound snapped his attention like a whip.
It had peeled itself free from a nearby "sculpture" that no words could adequately describe. A writhing mass of bound and stitched bodies mimicked a crowd fleeing from something unseen. Hands clutched at one another, fingers digging into necks already half-torn away. Mouths gaped—some sewn shut, others hanging by threads of tendon alone.
From a distance, the plaque was legible even in letters far larger than those on any other exhibit:
"We thank traitors and criminals for their contribution to this work"
Inevitability.
Traitors to what?
He forced himself away, putting distance between his lungs and that rancid monument. The smell still threw off his balance, disrupting the rhythm of his steps.
The next work on his path was a painting: a minstrel—or rather, what remained of him. The musician sat in the middle of a burning amphitheatre; his charred skeleton still cradled an untouched lyre and somehow continued to play.
The closer Kaishi came, the more the canvas seemed to radiate actual warmth. He didn't dare reach out, even though the odour had finally become bearable enough for him to lower his hand.
Flame of Injustice
Interesting one. But hold on—
A rapid scan of the hall confirmed his growing unease. The museum was empty. No guards. A handful of visitors at most.
Did it overwhelm my senses that badly?
And as though placed there on purpose, another painting caught his eye a little farther down—still slightly out of focus.
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
He approached carefully. Violet. Crimson. Cream undertones. A touch of black.
When he was finally close enough, the image resolved.
Self-Portrait
Nero, naked, reclined across a sea of blood-red roses. Subtle parts of her body were veiled by splashes of violet and red; the crimson appeared to drip slowly down the canvas.
Violet stands for Echo…
Kaishi brushed the red with a fingertip, staining his skin, then rubbed it between thumb and forefinger.
…and this is blood. Fresh blood.
A sudden warm current brushed the back of his ear and the nape of his neck, sending gooseflesh racing across his entire body.
The heat wasn't coming from the burning minstrel.
"Do you like what you see?" Nero whispered, her breath ghosting against his skin while Kaishi's eyes remained locked on the painting.
He spun instantly, hand already closing around the grip of his pistol. The moment they stood face to face, her violet irises pinned him in place; the tip of her brush settled feather-light against his carotid artery.
They were close enough for him to feel the warmth of her exhale and catch the faint note of solvent clinging to her.
She parted her lips as if to speak—but as she leaned closer, she felt resistance and glanced down.
The muzzle of his pistol already rested snug beneath her ribs.
I didn't hear her approach…
Nero let out a loud, delighted giggle.
Can she actually hurt me without the glass canvas? Is the brush just a bluff?
"You were supposed to find me, but I found you—right under my own nose too." Her eyes seemed to drill straight into him: piercing yet dreamy at the same time.
If she can, the brush will be faster. It'll open me up before I pull the trigger.
"Always full of surprises, dear Kaishi. Or should I say… Young Master Miyabe?" Her face drifted even closer. He could feel every syllable against his lips. "And as I said—I love surprises." Her voice dropped to something between whisper and hum; her gaze never wavered.
Best chance I'll get. The shot should shatter whatever aether reinforcement she's running.
"But I don't want our little game to end just yet, so I'll settle for a tiny reward for performance."
She closed the distance in one swift motion and dragged her lips across his.
Warmth. Paint. Blood. Cherry.
On the outside Kaishi didn't so much as flinch.
Inside, the furnace of his anger was almost impossible to contain.
You've crossed a line.
The air in his nostrils turned scorching.
In fury he pressed the muzzle harder into her ribs; she answered by pressing the brush tip deeper against his throat.
"Ah-ah-ah!" she scolded, sweetly mocking.
Once again she conjured the illusion of distance between them.
"Don't thrash so much, Young Master," she said coolly, "or you'll end up butchered by the Holy Scales like the rest of your clan." Then her voice rose theatrically. "And we wouldn't want that! …Or would we? Actually, that would be delightful."
Shoot, Kaishi!
His legs still felt unsteady.
No! Think.
"What's all of this for?" he asked at last, forcing a crooked smile that hid everything boiling underneath. "Couldn't you simply invite me to dinner?"
"Oh, you really don't understand anything." She answered in a teasing singsong, then added more softly, "Would you have come?"
"No."
The honest reply seemed to burn the entire careful thinking plan to ash.
Yet Nero froze for a heartbeat. A blink-long pause—and Kaishi's eyelids suddenly grew impossibly heavy.
Her sudden laughter echoed off the museum walls and yanked him back to full alertness.
"You are such a thrilling individual, Young Master Miyabe! Perhaps I should keep you forever."
What the hell is wrong with her?!
She slowly turned her head toward the entrance.
Now!
"Oh, we have—" she began.
Kaishi was already squeezing the trigger.
He felt warmth on the side of his neck.
A thin, warm trickle slid down.
The cut was surgical—skin parted cleanly, his artery still untouched. His finger locked mid-pull, as if his hand had forgotten how to finish the motion.
What do I do?
Without taking her eyes off the entrance, she clicked her tongue against her teeth in faint irritation.
"That was dull, Kaishi." Her voice icy. "Third time's the charm, and you wouldn't want the charm to bore me." She looked back at him. "We have guests."
Kaishi darted a glance toward the doors. Through the window, he caught blue-on-black—Consortium.
One silhouette looked uncomfortably familiar.
Nero sighed, as if the world itself had inconvenienced her.
"They really know how to ruin the mood. Run before I change my mind. Neither of us wants them finding you here."
He hesitated one more second—eyes never leaving her—then bolted in the opposite direction from the entrance.
Will this ever end?
As he rounded the corner and pressed himself against the wall, he heard the doors open, followed immediately by a voice he recognised.
"Nero, darling!"
Satoshi…?
He peeked out just enough to confirm.
Did he come here officially to address the incident at the western temple?
"How's the hunt going?" Satoshi asked, arms spread wide as he approached her.
Kaishi went rigid.
It was him! But why?
At least two more Consortium seekers had taken positions outside the entrance, ensuring no one else came near.
Is Keegan in on this too?
Nero stepped forward to meet Satoshi, letting him wrap her in an embrace and spin with her so she could glance straight at the corner where Kaishi hid.
Her look was unmistakable.
Even in silence, it screamed.
Move!
She didn't need to say it twice.
Kaishi stopped listening. He strode quickly through the exhibition halls.
She knew exactly where to look. She'll find Akari next. I have to hurry.
He tore through the museum corridors at a fast, controlled sprint that kept building.
Step after step.
Turn after turn.
Like an avalanche finally deciding to fall.
Away from that grotesque sculpture, his senses finally began to clear.
The non-exhibition pieces would have to wait for another day.
Akari has to run!
A small, unremarkable door appeared ahead.
Rear exit.
He slammed into it shoulder-first, tearing the hinges free.
Beyond—daylight shattered into raindrop prisms, and another, colder gleam.
Blue. Black.
Glowing glove.
Kaishi cut his forward momentum short and slapped the aimed hand aside in one fluid motion, yanking the attacker toward him.
Bald head. Short stubble.
"Kai—!" the man tried to choke out.
Kaishi's knee drove into his spleen, stealing the breath from his lungs instantly. The man's robes shuddered from the impact.
Keegan…!
The back of the pistol grip cracked across the man's mouth, drawing blood from his lips.
Before the head could recentre, a kick sent Keegan crashing into the alcove wall. Brick cracked in a spiderweb across dark red stone.
Kaishi didn't let him peel away.
A quick step closed the gap again.
Forearm pinned the throat. Muzzle ground against jaw.
"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right now," Kaishi snarled through clenched teeth.
No answer came.
Only wheezing breath begging through the compressed windpipe for a moment to make the hellishly difficult explanation.
"They're working together… Satoshi…" Keegan rasped. The forearm dug deeper in response. "Found out this morning… he changed route after leaving the lab, so…"
His voice was barely a whisper now, but his words struck a convincing chord.
The sweetest breath of Keegan's life filled his lungs as Kaishi eased on the pressure.
"…I followed him," he finished, still pinned. "Thought he was the one running."
Kaishi's stare demanded the rest.
"Met Nero in secret. Didn't mention it. Lately he's barely said anything about Akari either. So I started digging. Went through sealed archives…"
"Time's running out, Keegan," Kaishi cut in, calmer now but no less determined. "And so is my patience."
"Truth. Her Gift—Nero's Gift—is truth." Keegan blurted.
Kaishi's face twisted into a grimace of pure incomprehension.
Her Gift is a fucking concept?
He almost voiced the disbelief, but the questions simply migrated deeper into his mind.
What if he's telling the truth? A conceptual Truth… but she discovered it expresses itself through painting? Or…!
"…needs a medium to channel the Gift, the way I do," he finished aloud.
"Because its application is limited by Echo," Keegan corrected. His heels finally kissed the floor again as the pressure eased slightly. "Terrifying to imagine what she could do in other states."
"So if I take away the brush I get a window to shoot?" Kaishi more stated than asked.
"Assuming she doesn't have spares," Keegan replied. "There's still the matter of her Resonance. In Echo, it could be monstrous."
So he doesn't know the details.
The Progenitor lowered the gun with a heavy exhale.
"I'll have to catch her off guard."
"You'll have to use your own Resonance to even stand a chance. Do you even resonate Hush?" the seeker pressed.
"My Resonance won't help here," Kaishi answered, impatience rising again. "If I overcharge the crystals the pistol won't survive it."
She made it for me…
"You won't keep up with her otherwise."
"I need to warn Akari." He ignored the last remark. "You handle backup."
"If I report him, our backroom deals come out too," Keegan countered instantly.
I can't break it.
"Go stall them," Kaishi threw back, already taking two steps away.
"They'll be suspicious I'm even here. I followed him. And you don't officially exist in Consortium records, so—"
"Do something, for fuck's sake!" Kaishi snapped, retreating.
He held Keegan's gaze a final second, then turned and ran.
Toward the Lab.
He sprinted without pause, without regard for anything.
Elevators seemed like decorations rather than necessities.
Right now, speed was the only currency that mattered.
He took corners like gravity was a suggestion.
Street to alley.
Up and down.
Guards barely had time to turn their heads, but time itself was chasing him faster with every heartbeat.
And with it, that silent command in Nero's eyes.
Move!
Half a district left.
Around the next corner, at the following intersection, he froze. Water parted from puddles to stop his slide.
Too many eyes were waiting for him.
Focused ones.
Treacherous ones.
And hungry ones.
No…
"Kaishi!" Nero called brightly. "And here I gave you so much time!"
The hungry.
The last colour drained from his already pale face; his step backwards was unsteady.
Akari…
"You know where to go," Nero told part of the imperial soldiers under her command, flicking them away with a lazy gesture. "Technology Emporium. Have fun."
Half of the focused left.
The treacherous chimed in, splitting the rain with his words.
"I almost regret," Satoshi began, "that I can't join them—hear how pathetically she screams for…"
A blue lance of aether snapped toward him.
One rune on Satoshi's glove flared.
An invisible barrier snapped into existence at the last possible instant, swallowing the shot—and shattering completely in payment.
Ding.
Nero laughed with her whole chest.
"This time you're not getting away."