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“N-No, that’s not possible! The Axem Rangers Smithy Breaker Beam X is a weapon without compare, without equal! Its power level exceeds even nine-thousand! How could you, some lowly miscreant from a City far away, even hope to challenge its might?” The Red Axem Ranger stumbled to the ground, his bulging eyes threatening to pop from his shell, as he, frantically and pathetically, skirted back like some kind of miniscule spider. The aloof and cool samurai from a foreign land continued to approach without the faintest sense of urgency, still obscured by the purple straw hat that always hid his face. The young, redheaded girl, her innocent eyes glowing at the sight of her enigmatic savior, merely watched from her broken cage, her mouth agape, awestruck by the majesty of her savior.
“Who are you…?” Gudako asked, her face flushing with a mix of embarrassment, admiration… and a tint of love.
The samurai paused, as though the world itself stood still in his wake, and turned his head (despite the hat obviously obscuring his picturesque, sculpted face) to address her. With a simple nod, he spoke the first words that both the redhead and the utterly petrified Axem Ranger would hear from this otherworldly saint.
“So like I was trying to say, my name’s Sieghart, the operator of Turbulence Office. You guys wouldn’t happen to have a map, would you?”
Will Sieghart be able to meet back up with the Rat King and the Malkuth Reverberation and return back in time to pick up his dry cleaning before they close for the holidays? This one thought nagged at him, even as he stared at these two bizarre people, his new companions in a strange and unfeeling world, a bamboo forest sprawling across an eternal midnight. Only in time would the answer unveil itself to him, a horrible secret that may threaten even this charismatic and seasoned veteran.
Next time on Turbulence Office: Imperishable Night: The Kalpa Flame Rises III – The Final Dark God.
With a sigh, Roland shut the latest entry of Turbulence Office shut. The light novel shuddered in his grip, his shaking hands betraying his frantic heart palpitations. Wiping some of the sweat caking his face, he turned to Hod, the patron librarian equally shellshocked by the revelations.
“Holy shit,” Roland finally muttered, his arms finally dropping to his side. “To think that Max Muscular actually punched Master Hand. That’s insane.”
“And a whole new macrodimension, too…” Hod said, equally flustered. Her shallow breaths came quickly, her body still tense from the novel. “Who knows if the City will still be around when Sieghart gets back? He could… I mean it’s possible that he could…”
“C’mon, Hod,” Roland chuckled, slapping Hod playfully on the back. “There’s no possible way that they’d separate Sieghart and Lech. Not after the entire Matrix arc.”
“I guess,” she said with a disheartened shrug. “But still…”
“Relaaax.” Feeling his own breath steady, the Fixer swept his gaze across the floor of general works, the normally barren bridge of books deprived of company save for the occasional assistant librarian shuffling around, an armful of books in hand. Though usually he and Hod followed the monthly installments of Turbulence Office on her floor, a traumatic argument involving kettles, coffee, and tea had left the lower floors in a state of disrepair, its librarians still chipping stray pillars from the cracked and torn walls. Nonchalantly humming a familiar tune of pianos and violins, his gaze finally settled on a familiar, pale librarian, her eyes fixated on a giant stack of papers held in her grasp. As she busily thumbed through its contents, Roland strolled over toward her, peering over her shoulder.
“And what is our director spending her time looking for?” Roland asked, the multitude of needlessly long words and terminology causing his eyes to immediately glaze over.
“Oh, Roland, when did you…?” She shook her head, her dismissive gaze returning to the verbose text before her. “I’m going through my old routines from Lobotomy Corporation. My script.”
“Your script, huh?” Roland asked, his eyes occasionally drawn to one or two familiar terms. Disjointed mentions of EGO and Sweepers were otherwise lost amidst vague and rambling paragraphs about cogs and repositories and elevators. Hod shortly joined the two, an eerie silence coming over her as she too skimmed the endless text with empty eyes.
“So, why is it called a script?”
The former members of Lobotomy Corporation seemed to flinch, as though the question stabbed them in the back. They spun to meet an incredibly confused Roland, a quizzical frown spread across his face. “Like, back when we were going through your memories, you always spoke about this script as the stuff that you had to do to help this Ayin fellow finish whatever job he wanted to do. But isn’t that, like, a manual?” He threw up his hands in confusion as the two librarians still did nothing but stare blankly in return. “’Cause, like, scripts are for stuff like movies, or stageplays.”
“Stage… plays…?” Angela asked, blinking twice. Her eyes widened, as if… sparkling from enraptured intrigue. “I’ve seen some books mention these before. They are like… performances, if I remember correctly.”
“Something like that,” Roland said. Glancing at the bookshelf behind him, he thumbed through the nearest shelf, procuring a thin book with a bent spine. It cracked open with a small groan, the Fixer flicking through the pages. “Like this one. Astolfo was a huge fan of this one, would always try to get the rest of us to come out with him to watch it.”
“This one…?” Angela murmured, her eyes darting to the weathered title on the front of the book. “… The Impresario.”
Noting the director’s sudden interest, Roland slowly held out the book. She snatched it like a ravenous bear gulping down an ill-flying fish, her eyes and fingers a blur as she consumed its contents. Pretending not to be the least bit annoyed by her actions, he continued. “Yeah, he said the director of the play really had his bead on all of the characters, ‘brought the play to life’ and that other stuff. Every scene really consumed his attention. Despite it being a pretty short play at three acts, it felt like you’d experienced a full-blown saga.”
“I think I’ve heard about this story before,” Hod said, pensively bringing her hands to her mouth. “It’s the one romance with the two noble families right?”
“That’s right. Something about ‘celestially-scorn engagements,’ or something along those lines,” Roland said, flailing his hand in with an uncertain “eeeeh.” “To be honest, I find love stories pretty drab, but the finale was a damn good show. Angelica always got mad at me for falling asleep in the first act, though.”
“That does sound like you,” Hod said, giggling. Roland huffed and turned away, hiding a noticeably reddening face. “You should revisit it sometime. The romance between Maria and Draco is actually very engage-“
A loud thwack jolted the two from their erstwhile conversation. A beaming Angela stared them down, a disconcerting smile spreading across her face.
“You… okay there, Angela?” Roland said, feeling the hairs on his back of his neck standing on edge.
“The script that Ayin gave me was always so predictable and repetitive,” Angela stated bluntly, clasping the book against her chest like a fabled treasure. “But this… this is something that I’d love to direct.”
“Direct…?” Roland asked, tilting his head in confusion. His eyes widened as the revelation dawned on him like an unparried punch straight to his gut. “Wait no, Angela, I know what you’re thinking. It’s completely ridiculous and you’ll just embarrass all of us and you might even cause the Head to come down us if you seriously go through with thi-“
“I need a couple dozen invitations.” Her eyes fixated on the two quivering librarians as her disconcerting smile widened into a venomous grin, her glistening teeth reflecting their terrified faces. “And, of course, all of you.”
“Wait Angela please let’s talk about this…”
With a tired and bored yawn, Isadora slumped into her chair, sweeping off the small bits of dust from her jacket. The leather strap holding her two-handed sword in place dug into her shoulder, the only bit of discomfort she had or likely will suffer after yet another boring and mundane day. With the Stray Dogs and Rusted Chains abnormally quiet, she and Julia had only seen an occasional Urban Myth or Urban Legend syndicate request pop up from time to time, and even then they were but mild distractions in otherwise monotonous patrols across the Backstreets. Fiddling with one of her twintails with her off-hand, she lazily looked about the vacant Zwei office, their idle chatter naught but white noise. She huffed and kicked her feet up – an otherwise undistinguished action for the normally prim and proper Zwei Fixer, her eyes fluttering from one flickering bulb above to the next.
She idly thought, as idiotic as it sounded, she wouldn’t mind fighting for her life in the library once again. Surely another bout of heroics and a near-death experience would be more stimulating then yet another week of skirting through deserted alleys and trudging through the cold rain while getting accosted by rats and upstart association thugs. At the very least, dying to the library would be preferrable to death by boredom.
She closed her eyes briefly, images flashing of the black-suited Fixer that was always beside the pale librarian. The irritated frown of the director as she beckoned the Zwei Fixers into that lonely bridge of books. The deathly stare of an emotionlessly murderer as she felt her heart shudder, cry, and give way to the sword piercing directly through it.
Her eyes opened once again, feeling a silky envelope between her fingertips. She felt a lump in her throat, sweat beginning to drip from her brow, as she brought it up to her face. That familiar golden embroidery, the emerald insignia of the library, and the ever-familiar “Library of Ruina” emblazoned on the top. Isadora bit her lip so tightly she tasted blood. Once again, she was being heralded. Her eyes glazed over the familiar text, the cold eyes of that black Fixer in the back of her mind. “Dear Guest: I formally invite you to our play.”
…
… Wait, her what?
Isadora sat up, the tension breaking like a brick through glass. She started once again from the top of the invitation.
“Dear Guest: I formally invite you to our play.
The Library’s best and its distinguished guests can provide you with all the laughter, spectacle, awe, amazement, and enthrallment you seek.
However, this opportunity will only come once.
If you do not arrive by 6:00 sharp, this invitation will no longer be valid, and you will miss out on the performance of a lifetime.
- Angela.”
Isadora scooted her chair slightly out of her cubicle, waving across the room. Almost as if on cue, Julia popped up from her own cubicle, a similar invitation in hand.
“We should… ring up San and the others, right?”
In a flash of light, the three Hana Fixers soon found themselves once again at the entrance to the library. Olivier cocked his head with a wry smile, observing the small groups dotted about the hallway, ranging from Kurokumo enforcers to Liu Fixers, all giving the Hana trio a brief glance or two before returning to their conversation. What would have once been an entrance worthy of attention and applaud was but one of a series of spectacular, almost bizarre occurrence, the multitude of which must have become little more but another raindrop in the downpour of confusion that was Angela’s latest invitation. He checked his watch briefly – 5:50 – before turning to the entrance, gesturing for Mirinae and Harold to follow him.
“Alright, if I know him, he should be… ah, there.” Olivier gave a huge wave, returned in whole by Roland. Cutting through the morass of off-duty WARP employees and excited Shi Fixers, the three joined him by the entrance, quickly ascending up the library’s steps.
“Glad to see you could make it,” Roland said with an earnest chuckle. “Was beginning to think I'd have to suffer Angela alone.”
“A chance to see the Impresario again? With you? Not even death could stop me, friend,” Olivier replied, sharing Roland’s laugh. “I tried to reach out to Charles and the others. Unfortunately, they seem to be busy – somewhere in the Outskirts, if my sources are right. You wouldn’t happen to have seen him at all, would you?”
“Shockingly, no.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t one of the performers, Mr. Roland,” Mirinae observed, a devilish grin on her face. “Why, you’re such an exemplary actor. You would have made for a great lead role.”
“Angela tried, alright,” Roland muttered under his breath. “Not quite sure how Hod managed to talk her out of it, but I’m happy she did.”
“Oooh, so you left her to the wolves instead, hmm?” Mirinae leaned forward, a knowing smile plastered across her face. “Even after all this time you’re still so blackhearted, Mr. Roland.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Hod had a very compelling argument,” he said, brushing the Hana director off. “For starters, she pointed out that I’d be very unlikely to take this whole thing seriously and that I’d be likely to mess it up.”
“And why would that be so bad?” Mirinae cooed, grinning.
“Well, she said that Angela might rip off my arms and legs in frustration, and that would be very unsavory for the entire audience.”
“I don’t know, that sounds like a lot of fun.” She turned to Harold and Olivier, winking. “Don’t you guys think so?”
“Of course, director,” Harold replied curtly.
“Sounds pretty funny to me,” Olivier replied, chuckling.
“Yeah, yeah… assholes,” Roland grumbled, ascending the final flight of stairs. “Not like I’m left off the hook, anyway. I’ve been… forcibly recruited into part of the ensemble instead.”
“A musician as well, huh?” Mirinae teased, barely able to hold back her laughter. “You are a man of many talents, Mr. Roland. It’s a shame you still won’t consider our offers to return, especially with the opening of so many different Colors. You could be… the Blue Blur. The Vermillion Vigilante.”
“Maybe I’ll sign up for the Aquamarine Agitation.” He paused as the stairs ended in a fork, gesturing to an embroidered archway flanked by silken curtains, its warm light almost inviting the librarians in. “With Binah’s ‘blessing,’ we requisitioned the Floor of Philosophy for tonight’s play. I need to go down and meet the rest of the performers. You got seats…” Roland rummaged through his pockets, pulling out three small stumps and shoving them into Olivier’s hands. “VIP Section, K13 through 15. Angela’s insisting we start on the turn of the hour so you better get to your seats.”
Without a parting word, the Fixer turned and immediately darted down the other hallway. Mirinae plucked her ticket from Olivier, waving Roland farewell. “Au revoir, Mr. Roland! Break a leg!”
“Do you think you’re being a little harsh on him, Director?” Harold asked, taking her own ticket as well.
“… No, I don’t think I was harsh enough,” she said, stretching her arms a bit before approaching the entryway. “Come on now; no need to keep them waiting.”
Passing through the entrance, the three Fixers were met with a large, sprawling auditorium, the weathered, desolate bridge that once made up the enigmatic Floor of Philosophy replaced with several rings of seats, rounding a wide, golden stage, its crimson curtain almost manifesting purely out of the glistening night sky that still made up the nonexistent ceiling, with but a few, patchwork webs of scaffolding sticking out amidst the spotlight-esque stars. Harold let out an awestruck whistle as she leaned over the small railing on the platform they stood on, her eyes skimming the sea of people already busily taking their seats, their excited conversations a welcome change to the otherwise suffocating atmosphere of the former Arbiter’s floor. The seats closest to the stage were dotted with a hodgepodge of City denizens, from lowly Fixers from random associated Officers to some notable Awls and Thumb members, their weapons notably absent. Dots of Liu jackets sat alongside grizzled Stray Dogs without a care in a world, an otherwise unheard of heresy quelled by the bizarre circumstances of the Library. She froze as her eyes centered on a familiar, jet black robe, its golden trimming splitting off into many spiraling diamonds, finally cutting off to reveal pale hands and golden rings. Beside her, a towering figure in a pristine, ironed suit stood unflinchingly still, three vials sticking unnaturally out of his armored arm and head. The Claw and Arbiter seemed to gaze back, lips curling into an unnatural, unnerving smile, before the Arbiter finally gave a small wave and returned her attention to the stage.
“Harold?” Olivier asked, shaking the petrified Fixer from her stupor. “Harold? We’re going to be late.”
“O-Oh, right,” she stammered, following behind him with an unsteadied gait. “Sorry, I was just… taken aback by this entire auditorium. I-It’s very… beautiful.”
As the three began to edge their way through the menagerie of Cane Office Fixers and Index Proselytes (with Olivier briefly wondering if they were going to remove their blindfolds for the play), Olivier tapped Mirinae lightly on the shoulder. “Director, off-handedly, do you remember that one message we got prior to entering?”
“Something about some rogue syndicates in the Backstreets getting wound up about this event?” she asked, giving a bored shrug. “It’s barely an Urban Plague threat. We can assign Dawn to it later this weekend. … Oh my.”
She stopped just short of their seats, met by a bored gaze. The ex-Fixer gave a light puff of her cigarette as her eyes met each Hana Fixer in turn, before gesturing for them to take their seats. “What, do I smell or something?”
“Oh, nothing like that,” Mirinae said, taking her seat next to Gebura with just the faintest hint of apprehension. “This entire event doesn’t… seem like something that would have piqued your interest is what I was thinking, Kali.”
“I thought I told you guys, the name’s Gebur-“ she shook her head, returning her attention back to the stage. “It’s not. This sorta drama shit and theatrics are boring to me.”
“What, is Angela also holding you hostage, then?”
“No, it’s not that,” Gebura’s eyes darted away, a faint, rosy tint spreading across her cheeks. “Just fulfilling a favor to someone is all.”
“Hm, how boring,” Mirinae said with a yawn, settling into her own chair. “Though if you’re so inclined to take up favors, maybe I can ring you up for one.”
“Not interested,” Gebura cut her off with an irritated huff.
“It’s nothing too big, I assure you, Kali. I’d just like to spar, exchange some combat techniques, very mundane stuff like that.”
“What, you want to die?”
“I could ask you the same.”
A forceful cough from Olivier broke the intense pressure building up between the two Fixers as the lights from the sky above began to dim. The audience’s discussions quieted down immediately, as if swallowed into a nocturnal sea, as a bright spotlight shone down on the golden stage. The tiles shifted, giving way to a small elevator, as a solemn choir began to ascend from the depths below. At the foot of the stage, the ensemble quickly gathered into position, the brief whistle of Martina’s flute met in turn by the stray, tuning note of Oscar’s guitar. The spotlight flared as its final performer reached the ground floor, the same, stoic frown adorning his face. Yesod stepped forward, he (just like the rest) still adorned in his patron librarian garb, and rose his hand. The ensemble perked up as one unit, their eyes fixated on the librarian, as Yesod’s gaze was cast outward, to a pale librarian nestled far in the back, away from the prying eyes of the crowd. She too met him and nodded once, and brought his hand down in a firm, decisive swipe. The drums blared under Gyeong-mi’s sticks, and the trumpets rose in one, unified ascent.
“LOOK INTO THE SINS OF YOUR PAST!” Walter and Esther’s booming voices came in a steady, reverberating echo.
“LOVE AS IF TODAY WERE YOUR LAST!” Chesed and Alloc’s voices countered in a vibrant treble.
“Better times have slipped away
I’m lost beneath the waves.
Nothing left to save…”
Yesod dropped to his knees, his arms outstretched to a moonless night. The choir expanded in unison, a cruel and uncaring accusation accompanied by chimes and brass.
“SAVAGE CRIME!
IT WAS NOT YET HER TIME!
FOR WHOM THE TOWER PEALS
ONE FINAL MOURNING CHIME!
FOR THE SURVIVORS…!”
The choir broke and stepped aside, the EGO of the floor flaring to life in a melancholic sea of monochrome flowers. Lowell stepped from the shadows, cradling Hod’s unmoving, broken body in his arms.
“Speak to me, before my fate is reckoned.
Comfort me, they’ll arrive at any second.
Six o’clock, and I got no doubt, the gang is out for…”
“BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS!
OUR OWN, KILLED IN THE FIGHT!”
At Chesed’s cue, a string of Thumb and Shi flanked him, with Alloc and his sword at his side. His hateful, tear-filled eyes centered on the grieving Lowell.
“YOU’LL DIE TONIGHT!”
Oscar’s guitar erupted in a loud roar, accompanied by the accusatory swathe of the Cofe house, as the black and white scene burst into color, the EGO of a welcoming city block spreading into view. Lowell stared down the gathering crowd of his rival house, flourishing his glaive in a protective posture. Hod’s head peeked out from Boris’s shoulder, the young maiden being pushed back by her retainers. Her sorrowful eyes met Lowell’s, a lingering passion and longing brought to heel by the eternal rivalry between their houses.
“O”
“(THERE HE IS!)”
“Maria”
“(WHY IS HE ON OUR BLOCK?)”
“Morte mia…!”
“(TRACK HIM DOWN, MAKE HIM BLEED!
WE’LL TAKE HIM!)”
Alloc vaulted forward, the nimble swipes of the Cofe family parried by Esther’s timely intervention. As Walter and the Zwei house arrived to his son, Lowell’s, aid, the firstborn son could only stare back at his beloved, the fairest maiden of Cofe still flanked by Chesed’s finest. The families clashed sword and spear as Lowell reached his hand out to Hod, his voice a blade cutting through the cacophony of steel and string.
“I’ll be waiting”
“(WE’LL BEAT HIM DOWN!)”
“Patiently.”
“(TAKE HIM TO THE GROUND!)”
“Come on out and dance with me!”
“(THE DEVIL!)”
“The night is young
and so are we!”
As the two lovers reached out for each other, the morass of violence and unbridled fury, a grudge nursed over a thousand years, swallowed them whole. Yesod rose to his feet, his arm sweeping across the familiar scene, as the EGO ignited and wreathed itself in flame. Even as Walter threatened to choke Boris with the hilt of his greatsword and Miris parried both Esther’s and Bada’s coordinated advances, the smoke and embers continued undaunted, a mirror reflecting the fires of passion and longing.
“O, Maria!
Cara mia!
And I know the deck’s stacked against us
Even though it feels so right…”
The smoke cleared, the families long dispersed. As the blue stars shone, the EGO devouring the sound that once threatened to deafen the audience, the two lovers embraced amidst a violet twilight, their flushed faces streaked with tears and caked with blood.
“Forbidden is our love,
Our families, divided from above.
Your brothers will see through the lie…”
Lowell’s hand brushed away dirt and a stray lock of hair from Hod’s whimpering face, allowing their lovestruck gazes to meet undisturbed.
“Tomorrow… they won’t ask why.”
The stars evaporated in a puff of smoke, shrouding the stage in darkness. Mirinae stole a glance at Gebura, the redheaded librarian looking unusually annoyed.
“Popcorn, Director?” Harold asked, holding up a small bag of popcorn. “Pierre came down and passed me some. She promises it’s vegan this time.”
Trying her hardest to mask her laughter, Mirinae nodded, taking the popcorn and avoiding the librarian’s wistful stare. A single star lit up above the stage, illuminating an imposing, solitary tower. Lowell lingered at its base, gazing up at the forlorn maiden leaning from its balcony. With a soft piano accompaniment, the black gloves of its reluctant performer eloquently leading into the next scene, Hod wiped her eyes, reaching out to blood rival, her forbidden love.
“O Maria…
Far away now…
Will I ever see your smile?
As night turns to day,
I beg you to stay,
I’m down, down on my knees here…”
Without a second thought, the desperate girl leapt from the balcony, her eyes never leaving the man that stole her heart. With a bound and a wide hug, Lowell caught Hod mid-flight, the two embracing as the violins and drums accentuated their frantic hearts. Their lips met only briefly, their fingers tightening across each other’s bodies as if their families would threaten to steal them away from each other once again.
Off in the distance, Xiao bit down hard on her rat skewer, her teeth cleanly cleaving through the wood. Cecil and Chun chuckled and awkwardly patted the simmering director on the back, trying to ignore the sudden rise in temperature. Unperturbed, the duo erupted in a synchronized duet, dancing underneath the glistening stars above.
“I’m the darkness,
You’re the starlight,
And I’m burnin’ up in here.”
“(My heart will…)”
“I die every day, while you hide away,
“I don’t want to fear…”
“(Their… rivalry…!)”
They froze, inches away from each other’s faces, hands interlocked. A single tear rolled down Lowell’s face as he looked down on his lover, a flower that had long bloomed for most of his life, a flower that had been callously spirited away time and time again by a timeless and fruitless conflict.
“So even though they may discover us…
I’m never givin’ you up.”
His hand drifted up Hod’s arm before it brushed tenderly against her face. They leaned forward, their foreheads meeting, tears beginning to drip down their chins.
“And if they to tell me what to do…”
Opposite the pair, a spotlight shone across Yesod, with the emblematic choir following suit.
“(I love her.)”
“I’ll kill them…”
“(I love her!)”
“I’ll kill them…”
“(Leave us alone!)”
“… down to the last…!
“No!”
Lowell tore away from Hod, his glaive in hand, as a ring of shadows began to form around the pair. Hod hung desperately to his arm, biting her lip until it drew blood, hoping that this fleeting moment of happiness could last just a little bit longer.
“O”
“(Come get me!)”
“Maria!”
“(Upset me!)”
“I need her…”
“(Come cast a stone!)”
“for my own!”
As Gyeong-mi, Oscar, and Roland filled the sudden blackness with their own duet of piano and guitar, Gebura rose to her feet, nearly biting her cigarette in half. She turned and brushed past the Hana trio. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“But you’re going to miss the good part,” Olivier said, sipping on some boba tea. “We’re just about to start the third act.”
“I don’t give a shit,” she muttered, cleanly breaking free of the seating.
As Gebura vanished into the depths of the library, the spotlight focused on Chesed and Alloc, a myriad of Thumb and Liu all gathered at a single table. Chesed clasped his hands together, laughing at the guitar signaled him in.
“Star crossed lovers
Laughing at the truth!
Easy fortunes,
Foolish in youth,
HA HA HA
After all is said and done
You’ll both be on the run…”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Chesed drew his sword and plunged it into the table in front of him, splitting it cleanly in two.
“AND WE’LL FIND YOU.”
The spotlight faded and the ensemble halted. A low, haunting melody from Roland shone the spotlight on the other end of the stage where Lowell stood, eyes downcast, ringed by a solemn Esther, Walter, and a number of Shi and Zwei Fixers. The backdrop EGO melted into an eloquent library, its bookshelves torn down and its books thrown asunder. With a loud yell, Esther punched Lowell in the face, sending him down to the ground, sprawling.
“Just what was your plan?
You arrogant man?!”
“Ti ammazzo!”
“Ti ammazzo!”
“Ti ammazzo!”
“Intruso!”
Esther drew his blade, bringing it to Lowell’s neck. “He was with the whore!”
“Cretino!”
Walter threw out his arm, the Fixers moving in unison. “Show him to the door!”
The opposite side of the stage was set alight once again, a fiery visage of a burning city following Chesed and his armed retainers.
“Follow him!
Corner him!
Murder him!
Beat him down!
Beat him up!
Send him to his grave!”
The spotlights cut out, leaving only a distraught Lowell on his knees. Hod appeared in the distance, Yesod beside her. Together, the two reached toward Lowell, so close and yet so desperately separated by fate.
“Maria…!”
Hod wiped the tears from her eyes, as she and Yesod joined in unison.
“Draco, love!
We were never meant to live this lie!”
With a final click, Lowell was truly and utterly left alone. He rose to his feet, brandishing his glaive, as over the (metaphorical) horizon, came the ever-familiar sight of Chesed and his family. The sword dragging across the stage, sending sparks as it cut across its gilded surface, heralded their final meeting.
“Then I will die.
Sooner than see you gone.
I’m gonna go down swingin’
Ears are ringin.’”
As Oscar’s guitar, flanked by a repertoire of strings, led into the final ballad, Lowell began to approach Chesed, an empty and bloodthirsty stare burning away the last vestiges of his passion.
“Dumb fucking story,” Gebura grumbled, emerging from the small bathroom that was inexplicably made after Netzach suggested some people may in fact need to use it during the play, much to Angela’s bafflement. Procuring another cigarette from her pockets, she tried in vain to light it with the small lighter she always kept on her, her thoughts still preoccupied by the two leads.
“I told her I wasn’t even that interested,” she still continued, the fruitless flicking only adding to annoyance. “Don’t even know why I’m here. I could have asked Iori if we could spar for a bit. That’d be much better than seeing her galivant around with that Liu dude… come on fucking hell why won’t you light?”
With a muffled scream, she crushed the lighter in her palm and sunk to a sitting position, the cigarette still dangling from her mouth. Her eyes swept across the stage, with Lowell desperately fighting off the waves of Cofe members, Hod anxiously watching in the corner. Above, the stars danced and swerved in unison, a mix of orange and gold following the action with vested interest.
… Dancing stars.
“Binah said that she’s just flicking the floor of this EGO on and off when Angela needs her to…” Gebura said aloud. With a flash of light, Mimicry materialized in her hand, its eye similarly fixed on the inexplicable phenomena above. “The hell’s going on there.”
“The hell are you doing, man?” The Syndicate officer grumbled, leaning over the sniper’s shoulder. Clad in discarded R. Corp armor, the orange trimming painted over with a smooth, black gloss, the small group of “guests” traipsed the patchwork of scaffolding like they were but one of the innumerable voids of a night sky, their loaded rifles dangling anxiously from their shoulders. The sniper scope fruitlessly failed to follow Lowell’s precise movements as he parried Chesed’s blade while punching Alloc and kicking Boris away.
“He’s just too fast, sir,” the grunt replied, cursing under his breath. “I can’t get a bead on him at all.”
“Well figure it out, then!” the officer yelled, resisting the urge to kick something in frustration, lest it give away their position. “We already have Xiao and Yujin zeroed in.”
“Sir,” another sniper called out. “I got eyes on the Hana Director, Mirinae. She’s also caught up in the play.”
“Excellent. What about that machine bitch? Any luck?”
“Yes, sir. She appears to be in the back, seems to be avoiding any attention. If we fire after we take out the other directors, her librarians may think the Fixers struck her in retaliation. That’ll give us our window to escape.”
“Proposal, sir,” the first sniper called out, shifting his focus. “What if I shoot the one patron librarian, the brunette?”
“The hell would that accomplish?”
“If we take her out loud enough, that might cause Lowell to flinch. That’ll be our opportunity to take the rest of the shots, then we take our aim at Angela. They might think the Thumb started the altercation, and between the three of them fighting, we can easily slip out.”
“I see…” the officer mused, looking down on the quivering Hod beneath them. She, much like the rest of the performers, was completely oblivious to the rifles above them. “I think I remember her. She was the bitch we ran into when we first came in here.”
“The very one in the same, sir.”
“Do it, but use the explosive rounds. I want to make sure nothing’s left of her but a bloodied stump.”
“Hehe… will do, sir,” the sniper replied, unclipping the magazine and sliding in the new rounds. “I got her in my sights, sir. On your mark.”
“Do-“
A muted scream tore the officer’s attention from the performance below. With a kick, Gebura removed the body of the impaled Syndicate sniper off of Mimicry, her eyes fixated on the officer and his nest of snipers.
“Pretty sure this area’s off-limits,” she said, leveling her blade at them. “I’m also pretty sure you aren’t on the guest list, anyway.”
“T-The Red Mist!” he screamed, falling to the ground. He drew his pistol, pointing it directly at Gebura. He frantically looked at the rest of his squad, still staring dumbstruck at their dead comrade. “What are you doing, you idiots? Shoot her! Shoot her!”
Below, the spotlights centered on a city ablaze, with a number of bodies lying motionless on the ground, (fake) blood pooling from their gaping wounds. Lowell lay motionless, a deep gash carved across his face and across one of his now-destroyed eyes, his glaive cut in two. Hod fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably, before Boris dragged her by the collar, following Chesed as they made their exit.
“But I’m alive!”
Each head turned to Lowell as he smashed what remained of his glaive into the ground, holding firm against its splintering wood as he rose to his feet. With one eye opened, staring at the frantically flailing Hod, he brandished a spare sword, vaulting toward the Cofe family.
“Ah!” Chesed screamed.
“Ah!” Alloc defensively moved in front of the head of the Cofe house, his blade raised.
“Ah!” Hod’s eyes, blinded by tears, looked on at her wounded lover.
“Ah!” one of the Fixers screamed, barely parrying Mimicry’s edge with the butt of his rifle.
“Ah!” Yesod cried, in unison with the ascending choir
“Ah!” Olivier said, looking at his emptied boba tea. “Dammit, should’ve gotten more.”
“Make him dead!” Chesed yelled, unsheathing his blade.
“(Hit him in the head!)”
“Take his life!”
“(Someone get a knife!)”
Undeterred, Lowell plunged into the mass of humanity, striking Alloc dead as his blade flew across his unprotected neck. His eyes were focused solely on Chesed as he fought his way through the Cofe horde, a whirlwind of crimson and scarlet.
“Suddenly, (GET HIM!)
In a flash, (KILL HIM!)
I was up,
On my feet (STAB HIM!)
With a knife (DRILL HIM!)
Spun around
With a slash (PRESS HIM!)
In a split (GRILL HIM!)
Second of murderous (END HIM!)
Clarity, (SPILL HIM!) I could see,
One by one, they stood before me!”
Lowell parried Chesed’s blade, kicking him away with a savage roar. His last remaining eye skirted across the mindless action, widening in horror, as he and Yesod joined in unison
“Then from the ground
Came the most awful sound
And I saw her then,
Maria lying there.
Someone had had stabbed her and
Her time was at an end…!”
On cue, Esther and Walter descended on the flatfooted Cofe family, cutting into their weary ranks like frenzied, bloodthirsty wolves. Kicking Esther and Boris aside, Lowell descended on the dying Hod, scooping her up in his arms even as blood gushed from the wound in her side. Yesod quickly joined next to him, their voices overpowering the ensemble as they entered the climax of the play.
“And then I ran and ran and ran and RAN!”
With Oscar’s guitar guiding Lowell to the exit, the wounded noble pressed his way through the endless battle. Forsaken by his family and a unforgivable vagrant to his rivals, both families converged on him, their blades aimed straight for the heart of the couple as if to completely sever their love. Still cradling Hod in his arm, he parried Esther’s blade as it tried to fall on Hod’s defenseless head, before bashing his own head straight into Esther, sending the secondborn son of the Zwei reeling. Without a moment’s hesitation,
Gebura thrust Mimicry straight through the hapless Syndicate officer’s throat, before twisting her blade and sending the head spinning in a scarlet, bloody arc. Hearing the readied click of several rifles, she ducked to avoid the stream of bullets coming her way before deflecting the last few rounds, closing the gap in a single bound and splitting both in half, one horizontal and one vertical. Gripping one of the rifles in hand, she (unsuccessfully) attempted to fire an (empty) magazine at a nearby sniper, before (successfully) flinging the (very much tangible) rifle at his face, knocking him down. Swinging her blade around, she blocked the officer as he attempted to bring his axe down on her face, the two of the locked in a grim stalemate
“You sleep with the whore, you kill your blood, and now you raise your hand against your father,” Walter barked, forcing the weight of his greatsword down on Lowell. “You are more than a disgrace to this family. I will strike every single mention of your existence from our tree and drain your and her mud blood from every inch of our family.”
“Father, fottiti!” Lowell yelled, surging forward and knocking Walter away. “May you rot with the rest of our damned ancestors!”
Keeping Hod close, Lowell spun and parried Boris’s blow with the flat end of his blade, grunting as the metal groaned and bent under the Cofe enforcer’s savage fists. Ducking underneath his follow-up swing, he readied his blade and thrust it forward, tearing through his side. Boris let out a loud yell and fell to the ground, clutching at his wound as blood gushed from it. Leaving him behind,
Gebura ran straight toward the officer as he began to make his escape. Hearing a faint click behind her, she spied a stray dagger and kicked it in the air, snatching it and flinging it behind her without a second glance. The remaining sniper gasped in surprise as the blade flew toward him, before he was silenced with an unceremonious thud as the knife carved through the scope and straight into his eye. With a huff, she resumed her pursuit of the final officer, closing the distance before he could even escape down the scaffolding. She flung Mimicry forward, the blade, cutting his leg at the knee and sending him falling unceremoniously to the ground. Suppressing what would have been rather pathetic and unbecoming, bloodcurdling screams, the Syndicate officer slowly rolled onto his back, clasping his hands in apology.
“Wait, no, please, I can explain.”
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t gonna listen anyway,” Gebura said, walking up next to the fallen officer and raising her heel. “But consider this a personal slight from me for threatening her.”
“Wait no ple-“
And Gebura’s foot fell with a meaty stomp.
With Lowell in the distance, Yesod joined the mourning Walter, cradling the decapitated Esther in his hands, and the solemn Chesed, Alloc’s broken blade in his grasp, as the three and their ravaged family watched the forsaken couple vanishing into the shadows. The families joined, for the one and only time, in unison with Yesod.
“Blood on the street
Now young Draco shall meet
With his faaaaate!”
The fires slowly faded as the EGO lost the last of its fuel and, like a dying candle, slowly gave way to the encroaching shadows. Slowly, the remainder of the cast sunk into the stage, leaving only the mourning Lowell. A pale, starlight spotlight shone down on him as he cradled Hod’s body in his arms. With one last, gesture, he brought his hand over her eyes, slowly bringing them to a close.
“O Maria,
Now it’s clear.
Broken through the pain and the fear…
Before too long…”
He closed his eyes. A pistol slowly raised, toward his head, toward the stars above.
“I’ll be with you…”
The stars faded, the stage bathed in shadow. With one last flash of light, Roland brought the play to a close with a final flourish of the piano keys.
“Never again, Angela.”
Yesod pushed Angela aside and quickly exited, a bottle of liquor in his hand. Mirinae and Olivier joined a confused Angela and a laughing Roland, the former still blinking in complete and utter bewilderment.
“… But I thought he sounded nice,” Angela said, her shoulders dropping in defeat. “Was his performance bad?”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Mirinae laughed, playfully hitting the pale librarian in the back. “I gotta say, I didn’t think you had it in you, but that was probably one of the best plays I’ve seen in years. Did you have experience directing plays before?”
“I don’t… think so,” Angela said, pursing her lips in thought. “Most of my work has just been with Lobotomy Corporation and with the library, and there were… scripts involved, I suppose. I was informed by Roland that this was entirely different.”
“Man, I don’t really know,” Roland said, sipping a bit of champagne. “Maybe you’re just a genius, Angela.”
“I suppose,” Angela shrugged. Her eyes followed Xiao as she strode into the afterparty room, trailed by the incredibly worried trio of Miris, Mei, and Cecil. The simmering Liu director nearly snapped her neck as she swept the room, quickly centering on Lowell as he lounged near one of the several tables with Walter, Alloc, and Hod.
“But next time, could you be a bit gentler?” Alloc asked, occasionally thumping the side of his head with his palm. “Dalloc said I might need to have my ocular sensors recalibrated at District 2. That’ll eat up at least a month’s worth of my savings.”
“Shit, did I really hit you that hard?” Lowell asked, blushing a bit. “Sorry. Look, when I find Cecil… oh, there!” He waved to Cecil and Xiao. “Hey Cecil, honey. Cecil, could you earmark some funds from that Urban Nightmare job and have them sent to Gaze Office? I messed up a bit and need to… uh…”
Lowell stepped back a bit as Xiao strode up toward him, a strained smile forcibly spread across her face. She approached Lowell and, without warning, “gently” slapped him into the table and the floor. The room fell silent as all eyes fell on the Liu couple, with Hod and Walter helping Lowell to his feet.
“O-Ow…” Lowell groaned, nursing a small burn to his cheek. “Xiao, look, I-“
Before he could finish, she wrapped her arms around him like a vicegrip, dragging him close and forcing a kiss onto him. The not-so-quiet and passionate moaning from the couple as they held each other in their kiss had some in the room begging for the quiet again.
“Um… Director,” Cecil said, tapping the two on the shoulder. “They’re staring… like… a lot.”
“O-Oh,” Xiao stammered. The two broke away immediately, attempting to appear as nonchalant as possible to the persuasion of literally no one. Xiao turned away, her eyes still lingering on Lowell and Hod. “So, uh… between the two of us?”
“X-Xiao!” Lowell yelled, exasperated. “Of course you’re… I mean that… Xiao!”
The silence slowly turned to laughter as the uneasy tension in the air quickly dissipated. The group continued their chat, Hod looking around the room with increasing discomfort.
“… Something wrong?” Mei asked, playfully shoving the librarian. “Come on now, you should be celebrating! You did great!”
“T-Thanks…” Hod murmured, deflated. “I was hoping that I’d hear that from someone else, though.”
Almost as if on cue, Gebura stumbled into the room, a bloodied Mimicry hanging from her shoulder. The party fell silent once again as all eyes fell on the patron librarian with an almost judging silence. Gebura looked around, blinking in confusion. “… Uh, so I missed the end of the play. But, uh, there’s still something left to drink, right?”
“Of cooooourse,” Hod said in a singsong tone. Pouring a glass of red wine, she leapt from the table and walked up to Gebura.
And promptly threw the wine in her face.
“H-Hey!” Gebura yelled, wiping her face. “Hod, what was that for?!”
“Like you don’t know,” she huffed, pushing past the librarian and out the door. The room remained awkwardly silent as Roland and Mirinae approached the irritated Fixer.
“You seriously walked out on her?” Roland asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you some sorta idiot?”
“I-I did not!” Gebura said, her face lighting up as red as her jacket. “I just had to use the restroom.”
“Uh-huh…” Roland gestured to the bloodied Mimicry at her side. “And that.”
“Well, uh… you see…” Gebura stammered, rubbing her head in visible embarrassment. “Like, hear me out. See, there was this… rogue group of… uninvited guests…? And they were… threatening to shoot everyone?”
Mirinae flicked open a notepad, jotting down some notes. “Kali, the Red Mist. Shortcomings include… comedy. Relationships.”
“H-Hey, I’m serious!” Gebura yelled.
“… and reading the room,” Mirinae concluded, glancing up at Gebura. “Well this will be interesting to file into the records. … So, you gonna go after her?”
“I-I…”
Her eyes darted from Roland to Mirinae, then to the rest of the room, their judgmental stares boring into her like the eyes of a particularly annoying bird. With a sigh, she slammed Mimicry into the ground and ran out of the room, calling Hod’s name all the while.
“Hm,” Mirinae shrugged, turning to Angela. “… So, do you have plans for a second showing?”