Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hey, this painting of yours – the Saint and the Dragon?"

"Oh, that.  It sounds silly, but it"s my favorite.  Classic story of the hero slaying a monster.  How good are you with secrets?"

"You know I"m not a talker."

"Well, just between us... last night I dreamt that a dragon appeared, or something similar enough."

"Did it look as fearsome as this critter?"

"Ha!  No.  No, this one was almost birdlike.  Great wolfish fangs.  Its wings were like hundreds of arms, black with white and blue scales or feathers, and dozens of blazing eyes.  And I distinctly remember its voice was a chorus of bronze horns that sounded like something ancient and angry, that knew what blood was and wanted it.  Such an eerie sound."

"Huh.  So who won?"

"I don"t know.  I remember skewering it like you see in the painting, but it consumed me as it died.  It didn"t feel like a loss, though."

"Maybe because you died doing something you always wanted?"

"Maybe."

"So, why keep it secret?  It"s just a dream."

"Because I woke up and wished it happened for real.  As if the Empire is going to create a dragon as their secret weapon and unleash it here of all places.  It sounds borderline treasonous to want that."

"I won"t tell if you won"t."

"Thank you."

"By the way, once the team and I are finished work next cycle... why don"t we do some sparring?"

"What?"

"I feel like it might help you.  Unless you don"t want to..."

"Empress wept, I don"t think you realize how good that sounds.  Of course I want to!"

"Heh.  Okay, I"ll stop by after work.  Usual time?"

"It"s... it"s a date."

〇
zyklus

Falke"s expression falters.  Durandal?  Then how...?  That can"t be...! 

Alder explains, "You and I had discussed it and were even planning to send a requisition to Heimat, but after that strange gate was discovered in the mine..."

"Wait, how long have I been...?"

"About three cycles."

Three cycles stuck in a bed.  Three cycles of not going back through that gate and looking for Durandal, because Adler"s wrong – he has to be.  She hadn"t looked hard enough.  If she hadn"t been distracted by that eye...

"Commander?" Adler"s voice echoes dimly in her ears.  Falke stares unblinking at the ceiling, her fingers tingling, mouth dry, eyes burning.  She expands her mind to scan the facility.  Someone else in Sierpinski has to remember her.  Something must have happened to spirit her away and seemingly erase knowledge of her existence.  Alina Seo, the survey team, anyone who"s so much as said hello to Durandal would remember her, surely.  Voices echo in her mind:

I swear to fuck, if I hear that stupid song again – Seo should be clear to return to work within the next cycle – You call that trigger discipline? – Three cycles in a row with this damn headache – Has anyone seen my turtle? – Everyone lock it down and shut up so I can explain how wrong you all are, as usual – I"ll give November my report once I check in with the Commander – You should really get that cough checked out, I"m getting worried – Hey, who changed the safe combination?

...nothing.  There"s nothing.

EULR-S2321, assigned to Falke by Adler, is affable and efficient, an ideal caretaker who is only slightly caught off guard when Falke responds to the question of "How are you feeling?" with, "Like shit."  More than anything, Falke wants to go back through that gate to look again, search around the ship and find a way inside, scream at that red eye in the sky.  She has a feeling that eye knows what happened, saw it happen, or perhaps even caused it to happen.

But as she told the Eule, Falke feels too much like shit to move, let alone leave her room.  Her insides burn with fever and her coughs are wet, phlegmy hacks from deep in her chest that leave a bloody aftertaste.  Focus on recovery, they"d say with an unspoken so you can get back to work.  But the gate and the desert and the ship and the red eye have rendered her useless.  All she can do is lay back restlessly, stare at the ceiling or scribble in a notebook.  Sometimes she tries sketching Durandal"s face, but a broken weapon has no need for artistry and Falke ends up tearing out the page when her attempts at drawing ends up all wrong.

She can"t just ask outright if anyone remembers Durandal, not without raising suspicion that their Commander is experiencing persona degradation.  Not that it matters; an old tape is being broadcasted on the airwaves, a way to inform everyone that something has happened without saying precisely what.  That actually makes it worse, because now anxieties are being filtered into her mind of what could possibly have gone so wrong that nobody wants to talk about it.

Still no trace of Durandal in anyone"s thoughts.  Nothing in the records or log books.  By all evidence, she exists only in Falke"s memories and may as well have been a figment of a lonely mind.  Everything, down to the rush in Falke"s system whenever Durandal looked her in the eye, never happened.  But if that"s true, then why does it feel like something"s broken in her chest?  If she was never here, then Falke shouldn"t be crying into her pillow.

Compartmentalize it.  Store it away where it can"t interfere with work once you recover.  It"s not real anyway, right?  But Falke doesn"t want to, staunchly, desperately refuses; Durandal and the way she made her feel, all of it was real.  It had to be.

I just want to see you again.  Hear your voice.  See your smile.
Is that so wrong?
Durandal... I...

Come back... please, come back...

Most of the Kolibri cadre has fallen ill; what started as headaches and nausea has progressed to high fever, dehydration, hypotension, internal hemorrhaging.  Their cognitive functions have begun to decline, and it"s not limited to them.  Protektor staff are being affected as well, and it"s even spreading to the Gestalt workers.

Her attendant Eule"s gotten sick too.  Vomited oxidant fluids and was rushed straight to the hospital wing.  It seems Falke has become contagious – but she can"t bring herself to care.  All she can do anymore is dream and scribble.  Maybe she can chase her down in dreams.

Sometimes she sees that causeway, hears birds calling overhead while the wind breezes sea salt through her hair.  Sometimes there"s a pod enclosed around her like a coffin.  A flooded tram station.  A ghostly woman with white hair.  She sits in a muddy trench and watches clouds roll across a blue sky, someone leaning against her.

"What are you thinking about?" Falke asks in a voice that isn"t hers but sounds familiar.

"The immortality of the crab," Alina Seo answers.  It feels like an in-joke.

Falke recalls Rebecca Liang having a breakdown in her foxhole that morning, hitting herself with a rock over and over again, and then remembers that there"s no such Rebecca Liang at S-23.  Falke looks over at Alina, whose hair has turned white and that seems perfectly normal.  Were her eyes always red?

"Are you okay?  You"re shaking."

Why would I be shaking, Falke wonders, and then she looks down.  Her legs are much too short, one hoof tapping against a metal floor in a nervous tic while her fingers scratch at invisible cloth on her knees.  There"s a crack of distant rifle fire like a finger snap and one hand claps over her right eye, feels it bursting gushing bleeding against her palm but nothing"s there.  It"s just a movie on the television.  Alina holds her by the arms, but she looks younger and softer, with none of the lines drawn into her skin from the war, and why would Alina watch a war movie anyway if she doesn"t like thinking about it?

Falke"s breathing hard, can"t tell where she is anymore – feels mud seeping into her worn down jackboots but nothing"s there, feels the hot sticky red blood of a right eye running down her face but nothing"s there – but the white-haired woman who looks like Alina is there.  Her voice is soft but wracked with fear and concern, maybe even guilt; It"s okay, it"s okay, shhhh.  It"s just a movie.  I"m here.

A globe of sound bubbles out of Falke"s throat and the voice she speaks in is so familiar, she knows it, she remembers it, that"s her voice!  The shock of it knocks Falke into the present, sends her notebook tumbling to the floor.  She"s too tired and sick to move, so instead she calls the little book back with a bioresonant lift, flips to the most recent page.  Falke finds a clumsy drawing of the woman who isn"t Alina looking back at her with red eyes.

For some reason, she"s compelled to write down her names.

FKLR-S2301.  Falke Who is Called Divine.  Caliburn.

It"s getting harder and harder to stay awake.  The more Falke tries, the more she"s assaulted with the voices of Sierpinski crying out in confusion, fear, pain.  It started small, one or two Replikas catching a serious flu-like cough, but before anyone realized it had spread with frightening efficiency.  Gestalts are dropping like flies and Replikas aren"t faring much better.

Falke"s also confused and in pain... and sometimes, yes, she"s even afraid.  She feels like someone else when she dreams, and it"s not right – like her shell doesn"t fit when she wakes up, and when did she wake up again?  Sometimes she doesn"t want the dreams to end, knowing she hears her voice and the yearning grows so strong that she"ll race into a vision totally foreign to anything she"s ever experienced, trying to chase after the one she misses more than air; she ends up confused by the things she sees, hears, feels, even smells.  She is surrounded by the unfamiliar, yet it"s not unwelcoming.  Unheimlich.

Adler is a wreck whenever he visits, so worn down and scared as the facility is gradually overrun with the sick and dying.  Sierpinski"s beloved leader is barely cognizant enough to lead, forcing him into a role he"s not meant for.  He"s made the decision to have the surviving Gestalt workers rounded up and corralled into the mine so they can be separated from the worst of the sickness, but Falke wants to shake him when his words register in her brain.  That would only bring them closer to the gate!  If whatever force beyond that thing can put down a FKLR, what chance do Gestalts have?

As bothersome as Adler can be at times, Falke can feel his desperation as clearly as if it were hers, and who can blame him?  He doesn"t know what else to do.

Falke would help him if she could, but she"s so tired, and just being awake hurts.  It feels like her biocomponents are breaking down inside her body more and more, and at one point Adler picks up her hand to press his lips to the knuckles for comfort, but Falke swears she can feel the synthetic muscle of her arm sloshing, fears her arm will pop off the shoulder.

"Don"t," she tries to croak without moving her mouth too much, as if that will cause her jaw to unhinge itself.  "It"s all falling apart."

"You sleeping?"

"I"m awake."

"There might be something in the med bay I can get you, unless you want a drink."

"Thanks, but I"m okay.  I kind of don"t look forward to sleeping."

"Why not?"

"Sometimes I worry that I"ll dream if I fall asleep, and won"t know if I wake up.  For a while I tried just about everything I could to curb the feeling.  Whatever over-the-counter meds a part-time job could get me, or the herbal teas my aunt made.  Think it"s safe to say no half-assed street alchemy did the job.  I"m used to it, though.  Insomnia, not the dreams."

"No one ever gets used to dreams."

FKLR-S2301.  Falke Who is Called Divine.  Caliburn.

Sierpinski"s inhabitants may have gone silent, but the facility itself is a labyrinth of sound.  Memories replay in empty minds.  Hoof-falls retain steady grace even when their owners have become grotesque parodies of life.  Oscillating fans still push stale air and fluorescent lights still hum away.  Some Replikas cling to life, usually out of fear.  So afraid of death or illness that they can"t leave what is "safe" and end up trapped; concealing anxiety as stubbornly waiting for orders because that means they"re still useful; climbing upwards towards freedom on the surface, duties be damned, not knowing if the surface is truly safe.  Falke herself doesn"t know.  She doesn"t want to know – the truth lies below, in the mines, in dreams, in echoes.  Silence is also a sound.

But every now and then a new sound joins the silent chorus.  Steps out of tune with the rest, shadows loping through halls that ought to be empty, a hunter in the dark in search of something.  Unfamiliar. 

The doors to Falke"s quarters open and diagnostics note a kick in her system.  Anticipation of a familiar presence.  Probably just Adler again, so Falke blearily forces her eyes open and takes a moment to focus on the blurry figure at her bedside.  

A red chest plate.  Her heart soars, body surging despite the agony and reaches out a shaking hand to grasp the wrist of—

"Durandal?"

The LSTR unit slips away from Falke"s fingers and tilts her head in avian curiosity, stoic as ever, but something about her eyes... absolutely no recognition.  A small wave of confusion ebbs off of her and fades just as quickly.

"That"s not my name."

Falke"s center of mass plummets.  "Oh..."

A dream, then.  She slumps back onto the mattress, only dimly aware of her insides feeling like soup slopping around her skeleton from the exertion of movement, but doesn"t care enough to shift into a more comfortable position.  The LSTR unit examines the bookshelves and glances at the medical equipment moved into here.

"Heard you were sick."

Falke doesn"t answer, pointedly looks away so the LSTR doesn"t have to see her face.  She shouldn"t care if anyone sees her crying, has cried in front of EULR-S2321, but it"s different with an LSTR.

"Something to do with the mine?"

"...unearthed something."

"I need to get down there.  I"m looking for someone."

Falke sighs.  "Administrator"s pass.  Ask Adler.  Northernmost corridor."

The LSTR picks up a key card and turns on her hoof to leave – but just then something occurs to Falke.

"Why are you here?  We don"t have an LSTR unit."

"I just said—"

"No one here knows an LSTR unit," Falke continues with a furrowed brow, eyes narrowing.  "We haven"t even sent a requisition for one.  So I"ll ask again: Why are you here?"

A beat.

The LSTR looks over her shoulder at the prone commander and remarks offhandedly, "You know one."

...

What.

Falke"s fingers claw into the bed covers.

The LSTR takes a step towards the door.

"Come here," Falke orders.

Another step, ignoring her.  Falke can"t physically reach out, but bioresonance means she doesn"t have to; a mental hand rushes out and grabs the LSTR, startling her enough to reach for the holstered pistol at her hip—

"COME HERE!"

The LSTR is shoved to her knees at Falke"s bed, and there"s a near imperceptible knot in her brow as she practically glares defiantly at the commander.  Falke turns her head and trains blazing eyes onto this outsider Replika.  The two stare at each other for a long moment.

"Will this take long?" Elster deadpans.

The audacity.

"I can crush you into pulp with barely a thought, and you have the brass to take an attitude with a god?"

The corner of Elster"s mouth twitches, eyes glancing at the EKG monitor.  "Not much of a god."  Her body suddenly convulses as if invisible talons twist and pull her limbs taught, her head yanked back painfully by the hair.  Her flippant words towards the divine apparent feel like salt in an open wound.  Only Durandal is allowed to speak to Falke like that.

"If you so much as think another syllable of backtalk, I"ll rip your head off," Falke tells her.  "I am Commander FKLR-S2301, Falke Who is Called Divine.  Command prompt: Identify yourself and state your business immediately."

Red flickers in Elster"s eyes as her system registers the prompt, though her eyes remain unimpressed.

"LSTR-512.  Penrose Program.  My ship crash landed on the planet"s surface and my Gestalt officer has gone missing.  I"m looking for her."

That makes no sense.  There is no reason why a Penrose vessel would just happen to crash on Leng unless the Orbital Mass Driver specifically aimed the ship their way for whatever cockamamie reason; and with Leng"s current position in solar orbit, the odds of that even happening whether the launch was successful or not... wait...

"Did you say 512?" Falke whispers.

The number on that ship in the desert, where Durandal vanished, Penrose-512—

[ACHTUNG.  ACHTUNG.]

a crashed ship
a strange gate
a hole in the ground

Falke"s concentration slips just enough for Elster to break free, evading the hand that lunges to grab her and rushing for the door.  Get her back in here, get her back – but nausea renders Falke powerless to stop the rogue Replika, causing her to vomit ropes of oxidant onto the carpet.

You didn"t crash.  You came from that ship beyond the gate.  And if you"re here, then something happened to Durandal!  She WAS here!  What did you do to her?!  I just want her back!  GIVE HER BACK!

FKLR-S2301.  Falke Who is Called Divine.  Caliburn.

Durandal, did you make it inside the ship?  Is that you in there?  Are you sick?  You have to get up.  I need to bring you home.

Please... wake up...

When Elster returns, something feels different.

"Why won"t she come back?" Falke asks.

"I don"t know what you"re talking about."

"We did have an LSTR unit.  Nobody else remembers her, but I do.  Her name is Durandal and she vanished when I found that ship – your ship.  Where is she?"

"I don"t know."

"Then why do I see her in you?"

Something in Falke grows in strength, as if Elster is a beacon of power, and she rises above her sickbed.  It"s not the same as before the illness took hold, like her insides keep growing and expanding and producing at unnatural speed.  The tears running down Falke"s cheeks burn her skin so intensely that she claws at her own face, synthetic skin tearing off with each scratch.

Elster keeps her determined eyes on target, readies the rifle in her hands.  Defiance in her gaze, just like—

Falke screams, "STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!  YOU"RE NOT DURANDAL!"  Oxidant mixes with her tears, painting red streaks down her metal skull.  "I said I"d come flying... I promised myself!  But she won"t come back!"

Elster"s expression softens fractionally before shouldering her rifle, giving the commander a genuine, "I"m sorry.  But I made a promise too."

Six golden spears rise at Falke"s command.

Maybe, if I get rid of you, she"ll return.  Maybe she"ll forgive me for my failure.  It"s worth a shot.  What do I have to lose?

Elster fires first, Nitro Express punching into Falke"s armor, and she answers in turn by launching one spear after another.  This magpie really thinks she stands a chance, but Falke won"t give her an inch – the ground folds under Elster"s hooves, tripping her up and disrupting her chances to take a second shot.  She doesn"t give up easily, Falke will give her that much.

Elster lines up another shot, cross hairs trained on the crack in the Commander"s chest plate, but the attempt is foiled by an easy turn of the torso.  The fifth spear flies as Falke grips the shaft of her sixth, waiting for the right moment.

Elster ducks away, reloading her rifle while narrowly dodging the spear.  Cartridges loaded, she braces the weapon to fire again.  Too slow.  Falke closes the distance in a lunge, last spear held low, and thrusts upward.  A wet, squelching echoes around them as it skewers through Elster"s lower jaw and up through her skull.  Her limbs go slack and the rifle clatters to the ground.

All movement stops.  Falke sighs. 

"...is that really all you had?"

But Elster holds on, gripping the shaft and attempts pulling it out, even as oxidant leaks between her clenched teeth and into her eyes.  Falke blinks in some surprise at her tenacity, but it won"t be long before that stubborn life is snuffed out.  She cradles the back of Elster"s head with one hand, fingers combing through the unkempt hair and holds tight while the other pushes her spear"s length deeper; a gurgle is muffled by Elster"s jaws clamped shut, her eyes nearly rolling back.  There"s a full-body spasm.  Red leaks down the shaft and onto Elster"s fingers, even now she holds on – one hand grabs Falke"s wrist, bloodshot gaze locking onto hers.

Though she despises that this one isn"t Durandal, Falke is pleased.  The hand at her head slides to cup her cheek, thumb brushing hair out of her eyes.

Just let it happen.

Elster gives one last glare before the light leaves her eyes, her whole body relaxing.  Falke has an urge to embrace her and doesn"t know why.

"Hey."  Tap, tap, tap.  "Wakey-wakey."

"...I can get up on my own, you know."

"Yeah.  But it feels good to say "good morning" to someone.  So, good morning."

"Okay.  Good morning to you too."

"I almost thought you"d give me a hard time about it."

"Well, I could.  Is the morning good because you say it is, or does the morning bring good news?  Have we discovered a planet and we"re in orbit of where it happens to be morning?"

A laugh.  "Smartass!"

"Thought you liked it when I sass you."

"I do.  Though sass won"t make breakfast cook any faster.  Do you want anything to eat?  Not the dog biscuit roof tile things, I mean as close an approximation to actual food that we have."

"The roof tiles are my food.  But since you asked... would eggs and fried potatoes be okay?"

"Of course it would."

I"ve heard it said that smiles collect sunshine.  Hers radiates it.

FKLR-S2301.  Falke Who is Called Divine.  C liburn.

Something is wrong.  When I caught my reflection, it was her face instead of mine.  And who is that white-haired girl?

Elster doesn"t bother with the rifle this time.  The Einhorn is a fine weapon; it won"t jam like a semiautomatic and has a good rate of fire, boasting impressive stopping power for something so small.  Amateurs are often taught to shoot using revolvers due to their ease of use.  Elster times her shots carefully, popping off a round when the line of sight is clear and staying in motion.  Holding position in this fight is an easy way to get turned into a pin cushion or have her body shattered through bioresonance.

One spear flies while Elster dodges a globe of distorted space, piercing into a thigh and dropping her.  Oxidant gushes into a growing pool – even Replikas have arteries like a Gestalt does.  Falke pauses.

Come on.  You can do it.

Elster doesn"t bother pulling it out, using her raw strength to snap the spearhead and a chunk of the shaft off, synthetic musculature bulging with effort.  The spearhead is held in her teeth while Elster rapidly applies repair spray to the wound so it closes around the haft stuck in her leg, rather than yank it free and bleed out.  She staggers to her feet, left hand taking the spearhead in reverse grip like a combat knife and holding it under the revolver.

Falke"s teeth drag on her lower lip, cracks her knuckles.  That"s it.  That"s the way!

She"s not her, but LSTR units are fighters.  Even if she only lasts marginally longer than their previous clash, she goes down fighting and manages to plunge that spearhead into Falke"s throat.  She doesn"t bother pulling it out even as oxidant leaks a waterfall down her armor, too stunned by what just happened – Elster has made a god bleed.

Falke laughs, even as she chokes.

"Stop fidgeting so much."

"I can"t help it!  I"m teaching you how to dance later!  Can you blame me for being excited?"

"Explain again how you managed to convince me that"s a good idea?"

"Either it"s a mystery for the ages, or you can"t say no to a good pout."

"I can say no to a pout."

...

"Stop it."

"I"m not doing anything!"

"You"re cheating."

"How am I cheating?"

"You"re pouting and using puppy eyes."

"Does that mean it"s working?"

"Let me take your vitals in peace, already."

"It"s working."

FKLR-S2301.  Falke Who is Called Divine.  C lib rn.

Something is wrong.  My paintings, my favorite paintings, they"re gone.  Sigurd and Fafnir, The Saint Defeating the Dragon.  In their place are a desolated coastline and an eerie islet.  I feel cold when I look at them.

Elster doesn"t always make it to Falke.  Those are the worst of it because when Elster dies – and she always dies – it feels unworthy of her.  Like she deserves a better end.  Often she"s too worn down from the struggle of Sierpinski and collapses under a flock of Eules; once or twice she dies in the presence of an unknown Gestalt girl who begs and begs her to wake up; most of the time, she dies to Adler.

That almost feels insulting.

Falke had been horrified when she first noticed it in her dreams, a near endless string of Elsters being pushed to their deaths because Adler got the jump on her, and it almost felt like his jealousy of her drove him to violence.  He tries to make sense of things, thinks he"s in the right, but the way he goes about it is all wrong – why doesn"t he rally the survivors?  Collect and store resources?  Get the word out to Heimat?

Elster isn"t his only victim.  Often he also hunts down that young Gestalt woman who sometimes accompanies Elster, completely out of place in Sierpinski.  One time the girl made it inside Falke"s quarters and she learned the bruised intruder"s name: Isolde Itou, but her given name is old-fashioned so she answers to Isa.  For some reason a small part of Falke feels protective of Isa – she is made to fight soldiers after all, not civilians – and it"s not just because at least one cycle has seen Adler strangle the poor girl to death while Falke was right there, comatose and unable to do anything to stop it. 

Maybe it"s because Isa is looking for someone who isn"t there.  Maybe the protectiveness feels stronger when Elster is around, that their shared Vinetan accents remind Falke of her.  Or maybe Falke simply relates to feeling like she doesn"t belong.  Either way, as Falke dreams she tries to ensure ways that Isa will be safe from Adler, no matter how much it doesn"t matter in the end.

He still visits her, even though Falke has long stopped waking up for him.  What are you doing, Falke wants to demand of him, What"s the point of attacking Dura... Elster?  Why would you ever go after some random Gestalt like Isa?  What is WRONG with you?

What"s wrong is that he doesn"t have his Commander to guide him.

I never expected dancing to be so much fun.  I"m still not very good at it but Ariane is patient.  She admits to being no good either, though her grasp of rhythm and timing is much more natural than mine.  I"m all stiff and mechanical.  Her movements are fluid, like water or wind.

I shouldn"t be entertaining her whims, but Ariane looks so lonely when she dances alone.  It doesn"t feel right.  Nobody has to know we"re dancing, and it"s not like we"re hurting anyone or being a distraction.  It"s like persona stabilization.  Besides... I want to dance with her.  I want her to be happy.

And there are moments when our bodies are close enough to touch, my hand at her waist and hers on my shoulder, her eyes looking into mine, that I don"t know how to describe the sensation in my chest.  I feel like I"m – more.  More what?  I don"t know.  It makes me feel like I can do anything, take on anyone.

...I think I would, if it meant protecting her happiness.

FLKR-S2301.  Falke Who is Called Divine.  Ca ib r .

It feels like my mind has been contaminated, defiled, by another person"s memory.  I"m no longer fully myself anymore, but I"ve not fully become someone else either. 

Falke is forgetting something, but isn"t sure what.  Between dreams she works to make sense of what she knows for fact, but it"s as if her mind is a file cabinet and all the documents have been clumsily pulled out, folders shaken empty of their contents, which are then shoved back into the cabinet without a shred of consideration.

It takes her multiple tries to reorganize her thoughts into some semblance of coherency, but even now it"s a flawed process.  Little details that shouldn"t be important take precedent; like dates, foods she"s never eaten, movies she didn"t even know existed, in-jokes, music that she wouldn"t normally listen to but now compels her.  On their own they don"t make sense, but if she takes the time to piece them all together... 

Adler might enjoy a mental exercise like this.  "It"s all like a detective story or jigsaw puzzle," he"d say.  And it all is coming together like the climax of a murder mystery, all the clues lining up.  Elster is from the Penrose Program, she is missing her Gestalt officer, but it"s not for the reason she thinks, and it"s not the right person; Alina Seo was never on the Program, though her appearance is strikingly similar to Ariane Yeong.  Ariane, the girl with white hair and red eyes.

But there"s something missing.  Elster enters her quarters and there it is, the final clue Falke needs to bring it all together, it"s on the tip of her tongue but it slips away like trying to grab mist in her hands.  She hopes it"s important.

FKLR-S2301.  Falke Who is Called Divine.  C  i  r .

My name.  My secret name.  I know it.  I know the spelling, the syllable divisions, the pronunciation, the sound it makes.  My name is...  I try to write it down, to remember, but I"m drawing a blank.  As if there"s a smear in my mind.  I know it, I must, I just... need to remember.

Elster is swift when she needs to be.  Standing still served just fine with the corrupted, but a battle with Falke requires speed, forcing her to constantly strafe.  The Commander rushes in and her opponent shakes things up by throwing a punch, knuckle guards cracking as they connect with her jaw, and the surprise of it gives her pause.  A good hit.

Falke"s vision glitches and Elster"s face changes; her countenance alters from the concentrated rage of the creature she"s locked in combat with, to a face more recognizable.

"Falke?  Is that you?"

A name comes to Falke.  That"s it, that"s what she"s missing, she"s forgotten but there it is! 

"Dura—?"

"That"s not my name!" Elster hisses.  Another glitch.  Her face turns confused, accusing.  "You said you"d come flying if I called your secret name.  Where were you, Falke?"

"I looked for you," Falke whispers.  "Believe me, I did!  You disappeared!"

"You left me behind."  Elster slams her head against Falke"s, grabs the spear held in the Commander"s hand.  "You left me, and now look at me."

"No!" 

Falke recoils, tries to focus but her systems are going haywire, tricking her.  Despite her greater height she hunches and backs away, feeling like a dog with its tail between its legs, while Elster advances with a spear in hand, betrayal burning in her eyes.

"You gave me a name and can"t even remember it.  What a joke.  I waited for you!  I called your name!  You said we were equals, or was that just to make me feel better about throwing myself through the gate?"

"I looked for you!  If it were up to me I"d never have left without you, but the Red Eye...!  I"m sorry!"  Determination leaves her, forcing Falke to kneel and hide her face behind both hands, moaning and wailing, throwing her head to and fro.  "I"m so sorry!  I don"t want to fight you!"

"But this is what you wanted.  Look at me, Falke.  LOOK AT ME."

A fist takes hold of her laurels, yanking her head back and—

[systemzustand kritisch]

Gold pierces her right eye, shoots through her skull and into her brain.  Falke screams, some dormant instinct locked away inside her neural pattern forcing her to thrash at the thing brutalizing her.  Vision pulses red with Elster the only thing to focus on as tunnel vision kicks in, sound becoming muffled.  Every crash of her fist and claw of her fingers against Elster"s face tears off more synthetic skin until a metallic skull grins down at her.

"Komm zu mir, Vögelchen.  Let us become whole."

FKLR-S2301-512.  Falke Who is Called       .

Why can"t I remember me?

Isa makes it inside her quarters again, and just like the first time is stunned by the Commander"s beauty.  Falke gets the sense that Isa might have a thing for Replikas, that having a pretty Eule for a teacher would make it difficult to take notes.  Such a thing ordinarily would be reported, but what does it matter now?  It"s familiar, yet unfamiliar.

"You look like someone I know," Isa says.  "Only she had white hair."

"You know Ariane?" Falke asks, and when did she wake up again?

Isa smiles, sits next to her on the bed.  For some reason it feels like they"ve known each other for years, though Falke can"t remember ever speaking to her in dreams or the waking world.

"We were friends in school.  I gave her banned Imperial serials to read, she loved the stuff."

"I ought to report you," Falke remarks, though at this point it"s in jest, and chuckles when Isa lays a bandaged hand on her chest and bats her eyelashes innocently.  She also doesn"t treat Falke like a god; they"re just a pair of girls, talking and messing around.  Just like...

"It"s funny.  With that attitude, you remind me of someone too.  But she"s gone."

"Nope," Isa says as if that changes everything.

Falke blinks at her.  "No one remembers her.  There"s no evidence of her ever existing."

"Sure she does."

"The only LSTR unit here is—"

"And why do you suppose that is?"

Falke stares at her.  Isa"s lovely green eyes land on hers and she turns somber.

"Listen, Ariane"s my friend and I really like Elster.  I don"t want you two to keep killing each other over and over again, even if it has a purpose.  Maybe she"ll find another way."

"What do you mean by that?"

"There"s always another way when you set your wits to work," Isa says with a shrug.  Her expression turns unreadable as she considers her bandaged hand.  "I found one.  Looking back, it wasn"t my best decision... but in the moment you think, "fuck it, it"s mine."  You know?  Maybe Elster will find it, and then you won"t have to fight anymore."

"I"m a weapon.  I"m supposed to be fighting."

"You"re starting to sound like you again."

"I"ve always been me."

"Have you?"

Again, Falke blinks.  Isa has a remarkable ability to say things that feel like a punch in the gut.  The young Gestalt looks away, stands back up.

"All I"m saying is, it won"t happen right away.  Just be ready when it does happen.  Anyway, I better run.  You should wake up soon."

"I am awake."

"Sure."

Falke stops her.  "One more thing.  What did you mean when you said you found another way?  What other way is there?"

"That"s two things," Isa says with a wink.  "More things between heaven and earth, et cetera. Seriously, though.  You need to wake up."

"Elster!  You"re up!  I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"Ah, it"s our 3000 cycle anniversary!  We"ll be getting the updated mission parameters later, so I thought it would be nice to celebrate.  Wait, let me put on some music!"

If only we could live forever as we are now...

FKLR-S512301.  Falke Who is Called Divine.

I have dreamed of a life so content and full of love, that waking up hurt.

There"s something raw and desperate, even pathetic in this fight.  Falke can"t focus, doubts gnawing away at her insides and making her attacks veer off target.  Elster isn"t faring much better, eschewing ranged expertise in favor of thrashing with stun prods and fists.  Less a glorious battle waged between warriors and more like children smacking each other in the midst of screaming tearful fits.

How many times have they done this?  How many cycles spent waiting for someone who might not even arrive, who might not even want to try anymore?  How many times has Elster studied her own reflection, trying to recognize what she sees, pointed the barrel of a gun to her own temple in a morbid game?  How many times has she squeezed the trigger and painted the walls red with her gray matter?  How many times has Falke willed her own heart to stop beating?

How many more times will they fail the ones most precious to them?

The thought comes to Falke and it won"t let go.  "She doesn"t want us."

"Shut up," Elster growls.

After so many attempts, would Ariane even want them back?  Why would she, after being let down so many times?  Does... she not want Falke?  Is that why she won"t come back?  Did she ever want her company, or was Falke just fooling herself?  The thought causes her to stagger.  Why would she want anything to do with her, when Falke can"t even remember the name she gave her?

HOFFNUNGSLOS

"She doesn"t even want us anymore!"

"SHUT UP!" Elster screams.

Elster tackles her to the ground and just starts thrashing Falke with furious strikes, trying to cave her face in even as she breaks her own hands, until a single spear aims true and pierces through one side of her head and put the other.  Elster"s eyes glaze over as oxidant pours down from her temples, her body falling limp and collapsing on top of Falke.

She looks into those blank eyes, a flicker of bright blue in the irises.  When Falke blinks—

ERROR CODE ***STOP: 7X90895991 [LSTR-S2301]

Wait, S2301?  Not 512...?  But why...?

Isa"s face appears in the nanosecond it takes to blink again.  Why do you suppose that is?  Then, does that mean this whole time—?

"No... what have I...?!  No, no, NO!"

Falke shakes Elster"s body, reaches into the pouches at her belt in search of repair patches, sprays, an auto injector, anything.  But those are useless when it comes to brain injuries like this one.  Even so, Falke tries.

She rolls Elster onto her back and pries off the white armor, hoping against all sense that she can still fix this even with a titanium rib cage staring her in the face.  She tries plugging the holes at the temples with coagulant, pushes both hands on the chest and presses their mouths together in a haphazard attempt at resuscitation, but it"s pointless from the start.

"Not like this.  I wanted to see you again, but not like this!  Wake up!  Please, wake up!"

Falke"s vision blurs, burning, and she buries her face into that broken chest, bawling and wailing harder with each passing second until she"s screaming in mind-numbing horror, screaming so loud and forcefully that her vocals give out.  The body goes cold under her.  Falke forces herself up and to the side, pulling it up so she can cradle it against her chest, careful and firm and gentle.  She tucks the head under her chin and rocks herself back and forth.  If she looks down she"ll see that the face"s expression is some mix of peace and resignation.  But she can"t look, she can"t, she can"t.

How can she look when she can"t even remember her name?

FKLSTR-S23512.

the hard path of thought
[o..s%^^66
(k33)oee.*
your former self destroyed

Valravn.  Raven of the slain.

Falke dimly recalls the name from one of the many books in her Kolibri cadre"s library – or was it from a Storch?  It doesn"t matter.  Valravn are ancient creatures in Vinetan folklore, monsters created from ravens that consume the bodies of dead warriors littering battlefields, becoming wolfish-avian beasts, or dark knights after tasting innocent blood.

Elster is wild, her white armor splattered red, mouth and teeth covered in gore, fingers clawing into talons.  She doesn"t talk, rarely ever talks, now only capable of rasping snarls and howls, after the unyielding march of repeating cycles has reduced her to an animal that cannibalizes her fellow Replikas.  Falke"s inner eye has watched her hunt on all fours, tackling a Star to the ground and tearing her throat out, sucking on the oxidant; holding an Eule above her head and ripping her in two, bathing in the sticky fluids. 

The noises emanating from Elster"s throat echo through halls of flesh and rust, creating the sound of something great and ancient and angry, throwing its head back, baying in bloodlust and lovelorn misery.  Some remnant of self in the corrupted remains, enough to remember childhood night terrors from another life – hush little baby don"t say a word and never mind that noise you heard – remember the fear of death, and they flee into dark corners in the hopes of evading a monster that once lurked at the foot of their bed, waiting to pounce and swallow them whole if they peeked over the covers.

The cycle ends in a mutual kill, Elster impaled with all six spears as she digs through Falke"s armor and devours her heart.

We had another fight.  For all my tough attitude and cool head, I"m so pathetic when Ariane"s upset with me.  It"s not her fault things have gone so wrong – nothing Ariane did was ever her fault, she just wanted to be left alone and be happy.  Instead she got lumped together with me.  She didn"t want me.

...

I should go into the pod.  I need to go into the pod.  I"m not right, haven"t been right in so long, maybe I was never right in the first place, but every time I get close to it the fear seizes me.  I"m afraid that going in there will somehow scrub away not just my feelings of inadequacy but also my love for her, that it will mean my love isn"t real.  That I"m not real, and that would make Ariane"s anger right.

She didn"t mean what she said.  I know, in my head I know she doesn"t mean it, she"s just stressed and angry and desperate to get out of this metal tomb our home has turned into, so naturally she needs to let it out and sometimes it comes out as something ugly and hurtful.  It"s stupid how words can sting so much, but it"s even worse how frightened it makes me.

I"m scared she hates me.  Scared she doesn"t want me anymore.  Scared to walk by her room and the doors will open and she"ll look at me like... I"m nothing.  Can"t blame her.  After what life has done, she deserves better than me.  Can"t even keep up the radioactive shielding and stop her teeth from falling out.  Useless waste of scrap.  Should"ve been decommissioned from the outset, not like anyone would miss me.

...

Maybe the pod won"t be so bad.  Maybe it"ll unfuck whatever"s wrong with me and I can be useful again, worth keeping around a little longer.  It won"t make her want me again... but that"s okay.  Don"t need to be real.  Just be useful to her.  Nothing else matters.

FKLR-512.

How long have I been here?  3000 cycles?  6575?  262144?  How am I still alive?  Why am I still alive?

They kill each other.

Falke collapses on top of Elster, their broken bodies joined by a golden spear skewered through them.  Their faces are level with each other; the fight leaves their eyes.  Falke"s body is mangled from grenades and anti-armor rounds, Elster"s shattered from a bioresonant onslaught.  Another failure.  Even so, Elster twitches, and she might even try crawling back to the desert if not for Falke"s heavier body pinned atop hers.

"Why go on?" Falke wonders.  "It"s the same, every time.  She doesn"t even want us anymore."

Those words usually inspire fury in the smaller Replika – defiance, denial, only to know the bitter truth in the end.  This time, Elster"s lips tighten and her pain bleeds into Falke—

She travels the red desert and agony explodes inside her, perhaps a furious backhanded strike from a wrathful spirit  YOU DID THIS  She staggers, the pain blinding  YOU BETRAYED ME  She collapses on all fours, coughing oxidant.  Tries to crawl closer but is rejected  YOU LEFT ME IN THERE TO ROT  and still she keeps crawling.  YOU DON"T EVEN REMEMBER, DO YOU?  I have to try.  Please, let me at least try.  I"ve come so far.  JUST GO AWAY

I can"t... I can"t stop to save my soul...

YOU HURT ME IN THE END
YOU"RE JUST LIKE ALL THE OTHERS

...one time, she makes it home.  Just one more door between them.  Elster lifts a hand to open the way... but hesitates.  Her hand trembles in the air, imagining how her greatest and most treasured love must look.  Would she be lying down in her tomb as if sleeping but silently crying out for release?  Would she be curled up in a defensive ball, eyes raw and angry and accusing, glaring at the door – expecting to be hurt again? 
...that"s all Elster does anymore, isn"t it? 
What a selfish monster she"s become.
The blade groans.
Her hand lowers.
Red eyes look up, confused.

...what...?

...in the end, I had to leave you behind.  I want to see you again, so badly. 
But it"s too much.  Forgive me.

"I know," Elster whispers.

Falke"s chest aches from the vision granted her.  Pain of the body is temporary, but this?  To be rejected by the one you love more than anything, no matter how hard you try?  Even if she doesn"t mean it, and Falke desperately hopes in her heart of hearts that Ariane doesn"t mean it, doesn"t hate her – doesn"t hate Elster.  That kind of pain never goes away.  Throwing herself upon her own spears would be preferable.  No one deserves to be hated by love, least of all one so devoted and loyal as Elster.

Falke asks again, "Why go on?"

"I made a promise."

"You would really go through an endless hell just for that?"

"Wouldn"t you?"

Elster turns her head, one good eye staring into Falke"s.  Resigned to this failure, but resolute for the next cycle and the one beyond that, and the next and the next.  On and on, body to body to body.  Elster is no Replika, Falke thinks, not anymore; what manner of creature can keep this up and still have the drive to continue against all odds?  Even when she tries to give up, she does it all over again.  Yet the blade breaks not nor splinters, though it groans. 

Warning systems flicker in both their eyes [systemzustand kritisch] and Falke remembers how she Elster looks, battered and dying alone in the red desert, as has been her fate so many times.  Just this once, she tries something – is compelled to try something.

please... i don"t hate her...
i"m sorry... i"m so sorry...

She pulls their joined bodies so that both lay on their sides, cradling Elster"s head close to her chest.  "I think I would, if I"d made a promise.  Something inside me is missing.  I can"t remember.  It"s... she"s gone.  She"s never coming back.  This I understand.  I must accept.  I must let her go."

Elster knows the feeling.  "But it"s hard."

You"re all I have left.

No fight left for this cycle.  Falcon and magpie curl together in a tangle, hearts pierced by the same golden spear, locked in eternity. 

"Elster?"

"..."

"Wait.  I"m sorry."

"Don"t."

"No, please.  Let me say it.  I need to say it.  I am so, so sorry for what I said... what I did..."

"You have every right to be angry."

"That doesn"t mean it"s okay for you to be scared of my footsteps.  Even if you don"t say it, I feel how much it pains you.  I know you tense up when you pass my door.  It feels like you"re scared of me."

"..."

"Oh god, you are."

"It"s okay."

"No, it"s not!  You"ve done everything for me, and I just... I"m useless and tired and scared all the time, and I took it out on you."

"You"re sick."

"That"s no excuse for hurting you—"

"..."

"See, I just reached out and it made you flinch.  Fuck.  God.  I"m so sorry."

"...not your fault.  I need to be better."

"There"s only so much you can do.  You"re getting sick too, I know.  I can hear you coughing and it sounds so awful.  You need to rest."

"I can"t afford to rest."

"Elster—"

"I"m working so hard because I need you.  You"re the most important person in my life!  If I stop, something could happen!  What if you get worse and I"m not there to help because I"m resting?"

"Something is going to happen even if you don"t, El."

"..."

"Please... come here.  It"s okay.  Let it out."

"I"m so scared..."

"I know."

"If you die... I want to die too."

"Elster... I don"t have the right to ask this, but whatever happens... please stay with me.  Promise me."

-512.

I can"t stop now.

In spite of everything, there is nothing to do but try.  A doomed attempt is our last hope.  We cannot fail, and yet we must.

Falke doesn"t bother rising when the door opens.  Elster pauses at the threshold, waiting.  Falke"s eyes remain shut.  She refuses, even as hooves stride over to her bedside.  Elster could have a shotgun at the ready and level with her head for all Falke cares, but still she is unfazed.

"Get up."

"You do not tell me what to do."

A beat.

Elster actually shoves her shoulder.  Lays a hand on her.  Outside of combat.  Falke"s eyes snap open, glower up at her for having the insolence – the audacity—

"There"s fight in you.  Now get up."

"Why should I compete for a woman who never wanted me in the first place?  And who demands it?  You don"t even remember her.  Your memories are mine.  You"re not so clever as you might think, for a corvid."

"I remember everything, raptor.  I remember my promise and I will do anything."

"Then bash my face in and get on with it.  I"m done."

One of Elster"s hands rushes for Falke"s throat and squeezes.  Strangulation or a broken neck would at least be a change of pace, so there"s that.  Elster leans in so her face hovers over Falke, shows her teeth.

"That won"t satisfy either of us, Caliburn."

Falke freezes.

To know my secret name is to have a degree of power over me—

A face flashes before her eyes, the details smudged away, but...

"We each have something that belongs to the other.  You have my memories and I have your Durandal.  Say I don"t remember all you want, but how much do you remember of Durandal?  I have been told your secret name and I invoke it now.  Get up and fight me."

A stoic, strong, silent LSTR with no ingrained worship of FKLR units; who bows her head but is unafraid of looking a god in the eye.  Who has seen behind the facade and offered companionship.

Who was given a name, a secret name, an expression of Falke"s gratitude and devotion and, perhaps, even a form of love—

"You"re right, though," Durandal muses, mouth forming a crooked smile.  "It is a good name.  I like it."

Durandal!

Falke"s heart begins to race.  Begins to hope.  No, don"t give me that... you"re nothing like her...

"Don"t you dare give me hope," Falke whispers, spitefully meeting Elster"s gaze.  Her hand grips the armored wrist, wrestles to pull it away.  "My Durandal is gone.  That damned Gate took her away from me.  What makes you think you are worthy of the name I gave her?"

"I have demonstrated my worth every single time," Elster declares, tightening her grip on the Commander"s neck.  "Sierpinski itself, Adler, you – all have tried to break me and all have failed.  So smite me all you want, Falke Who is Called Divine, Caliburn.  I am Elster and Durandal; fair, hallowed and devote... and you will never break me."

A scream bursts from Falke"s mouth and she rockets up, crashes her head against Elster"s and knocks the anomalous Replika back, summons her spears.  She"s satisfied to at least see oxidant leaking from a crack in Elster"s brow.  Elster bares her teeth, more snarl than grin, a beast ready for battle.

"There you are," she growls.

Here Falke is taken aback by another show of audacity; Elster is completely unarmed.  No guns, no flares, not even a stun prod.  There"s a rush in Falke"s systems but she doesn"t realize what it could be – or rather, she ignores it.

"You think you can take that name as yours and kill a god, unarmed at that?"

"Watch me."  Elster takes slow, confident strides towards Falke, arms spread out in challenge.  "Both of us, we are incomplete.  Let us become whole again."

T H I S   G O D   W O N " T   F O R G I V E   Y O U

Elster doesn"t briskly approach – she runs.  Falke nearly falters, her opponent"s pace is startlingly fast, and once again is confronted with the anomaly charging at her.  Elster is a Replika, beholden to all that the Nation dictates, from The Rule of Six to Running in the Hallways is Forbidden, and yet here she is in full sprint with eyes flashing like a demon.  But hasn"t Elster defied the way of things innumerable times already?  Falke is unprepared, and with the speed of Elster"s approach is forced to back away just to keep distance.

"You think you can run from me?" Elster bellows.

LAUF NICHT VOR MIR WEG

"I never run," Falke hisses.  Her spears flash to her side.  "Never!"

The two race circles around each other, Falke volleying spears and twisting space around Elster, who slips out of harm"s way with practiced ease.  Every bit a dance as it is a fight, memories of previous duels bleeding into the here and now.  Bob and weave, launch a spear to halt her tracks and follow up with bioresonance, create a feedback loop with the radio, diversions, counter attacks.

Suddenly Elster leaps and she"s right in Falke"s space, close enough to grapple, jaws open in a roar as if to take a bite out of her throat.  Thinking quickly, Falke calls a spear to intercept, but Elster"s peripheral tracks it and she switches targets; her teeth close around a golden spear tip, oxidant spurting where the blade catches synthetic flesh.  Their faces are only a foot away.  Elster clenches her jaws, distorting the spear, and shatters the tip between her teeth.

Falke"s heart stops.

Elster lunges again and her teeth would have met a throat if not for a surge inside of Falke causing her to adjust, instead letting her shoulder get torn into.  Elster"s teeth crunch into the weaker polymer and hot oxidant rushes out, Falke biting back a cry of pain – her heart kicks back into action, racing now.  Here she grips the haft of another spear and physically skewers Elster in the gut, below her bulletproof armor, but the smaller Replika bends her knees and kicks into Falke"s abdomen to separate them, taking two spears with her. 

Falke grips her shoulder, feels the chunk of biomechanical flesh that got torn off of her.  What was that?  The sensation rushing through her just now, that feeling of paralyzing shock and awe that for an instant froze her limbs dumb and nearly caused her a swift end... was that fear?  How strange.  Fear is supposed to be terrible, a thing that leaves you vulnerable to instantaneous death in the battlefield, so why, when Falke"s heart thunders and oxidant dances in her veins, does it feel so exhilarating?

Elster rushes to stand and pulls out the spear in her gut, uncaring of injury, and brandishes her new weapons with bloodstained teeth and fire in her eyes.  The skin at her mouth is torn, giving her snarl a monstrous visage.  Falke had her suspicions and now knows it to be true: Elster is something other and draconic, an eldritch creature wearing a Replika mask.  Ariane Yeong has danced among the cosmos and pledged her heart to an apocalyptic engine, a beast that does not rise from the sea but descends from the void, the rumble of her voice as it were a noise of thunder.

Elster"s body distorts for a split second.  Dozens of blazing eyes, long wolfish fangs, hundreds of arms flaring into terrible black wings.

"What are you?"

[ come and see ]

"What are you?!"

無窮
魔鬼
机器

Falke thrusts a spear, expecting Elster to duck or slip to the sides, but she jumps and uses the shaft as a balance and stabs a spearhead into Falke"s right eye – and how the pain blossoms!  Burning through her entire body with such familiarity by now, giving her system a rush of adrenaline.  Her heart thunders like a drum, rallies the troops, bellows a war song.

You"re starting to sound like you again.

Falke"s head turns upward, the Red Eye unseen but known as it returns her gaze.  A wheeze whistles out of her throat, turning into a laugh.  To anyone else it might sound like insanity, but this is the laughter of such unbridled ecstasy that Falke"s heart is fit to burst.

"Yes... I remember now!  THIS is what I"ve always wanted!  My Durandal!  Meine drache!"  

Falke turns to Elster and nearly sobs in such relief – Elster and Durandal, one and the same, all along the one she wanted so badly she could die.  Despite the broken spear in her eye, Falke weeps with joy. 

"You came back!"

ElsterDurandal holds the other spear like a bō staff, gives her a crooked smile.

ICH BIN WIEDER ICH.

It"s all so clear now, isn"t it?  Durandal is the vessel for Elster and the two become one, a monster that Falke"s wanted to face for so long.  Durandal was always there, losing herself in Elster"s memories like Falke has, but in a moment of clarity she is herself again.

They dance feverish and bloody, melting into one another.

Elster spins Ariane in a pirouette after finally mastering the trick of it – and Durandal pulls Falke back in with bone-breaking force – Elster gives a playful nibble at Ariane"s neck and elicits a low giggle – Durandal sinks her fangs into Falke"s throat and the pain is so good she moans – the waltz turns into a tango as one"s leg steps between the others – Falke spirals through the air and Durandal holds tight with her legs around her waist, piercing her with another spear – Ariane pulls Elster close, close, so close their bodies are flush together – Durandal twists so she grapples Falke from behind and locks her arm around that neck in a chokehold, but Falke launches herself backwards and crashes Durandal into the ground – Elster kisses Ariane"s hand and makes her way up to capture those soft pink lips, heated and hungry but gentle – a hundred fangs crush Falke"s hand she beholds the beast"s maw

She"s falling, falling – but Durandal catches her in a dancer"s dip, all violence melting into a gentler touch.  The Commander gasps and wheezes, gazing up at the intensely focused eyes above her.

"You came back," Falke whispers, air whistling through her mauled throat.

"...is it too late to report my findings?"

Falke can"t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, even as oxidant gurgles up her throat.  Durandal lowers her to lay on the ground but is pulled into an embrace; the last time Falke held her like this was before she went through the Gate.  Durandal hesitates at first, but perhaps thanks to the shared memories of Ariane between herself, Elster and Falke, she cradles her opponent in turn.

Falke hiccoughs.  "I"m sorry.  I said I"d find you, but..."

"I can hardly blame you."

"But still—"

"But still, nothing.  Pretty sure I got it out of my system with the amount of times we"ve killed each other, anyway."

Fair enough.  Falke nuzzles into her, heart swelling even as her body slowly fails.  This is real.  Durandal is real and tangible and here and in her arms.  Falke"s dying, but she"s never been happier.

Durandal pauses, fiddles with Falke"s laurels.  "Hey..."

"Not yet.  Just a bit longer."

"Caliburn."

The shudder that rolls up Falke"s spine hearing her secret name is almost pleasurable.  Durandal tips her chin up so they can look each other in the eye.

"I promised.  We promised."

"I know.  I can"t keep you much longer... but don"t be too quick about it.  I missed you so badly."

"...I missed you too."

Falke thinks she understands now, the purpose of it all – and Isa had said there"s a purpose.  Each time, they take in a little more of each other until one of them, Falke or Durandal, becomes the Elster who Ariane needs.  It"s all for Ariane"s sake, though Falke can"t help but feel giddy at the prospect of becoming one with Durandal.

She is the final battle before the true goal of reunion between lovers.  If Elster can be what she is, an unbreakable magpie who wanted to be a knight but became a beast, then she can help Ariane Yeong ascend in turn.  If this recurring battle is but an arcane ritual to bring about the apotheosis of new gods, then Falke will throw herself into the thick of it every single time if it means she can fight and kill and die endlessly in a dream made real.  Eventually the fight will end as dreams do, but the inevitability of it doesn"t sound so terrible anymore.  Besides, it won"t happen right away.  They still have a long way to go.

While Durandal"s hands close around her neck, Falke reaches up and cradles her battle-worn cheeks with the tenderness of a lover.

"Do you know how happy you make me?"

Durandal smiles.

Now we are one.

I love you.  I have always loved you.
Will you promise me something?

Falke squirms awake when she feels something soft and moist press against her brow.

Adler"s changed.

Relief washes over his face – what"s left of it – when she opens her eyes.  His outer shell and skin coating has been sloughed off, reducing him to a skeletal red entity of meat.  Of course he"d be at her side, her appointed adjutant; his appearance may have changed, but he himself hasn"t. 

"Commander!" he rasps joyously, sounding as undead as he looks.  He inches closer and for an uncomfortable second Falke thinks he intends to embrace her, considering he"s already kissed her brow, and she halts him with a motion of her hand.

"I don"t want you to touch me."

"Oh, of course not!  I must look a sight, don"t I?"  Empress falls a second time, he even takes her rejection of contact in stride.  Can"t he at least muster a little disappointment or frustration?  "It always warmed my heart to see you hale and hearty, Commander.  When you first got sick, it was worse than anything I could ever imagine... but watching over you in your condition is a grave privilege I"ll gladly take over and over again, you won"t find a better guardian than me.  Still, it"s been long enough that I worried I might"ve forgotten what color your eyes are!"

It"s an obvious hyperbole, but Falke"s brow still twitches.  We all have the same eyes.  As if you"d actually forget.

"I need a report."

Adler stands ramrod straight and salutes.  "S-23 is under lockdown due to the spreading corruption and most, if not all of our workforce has been decimated, both Replika and Gestalt.  What"s more, a rogue LSTR unit and an outsider are wandering the facility, but I believe the outsider has been dealt with now.  All that remains is the LSTR.  But since you"ve awakened, maybe this time..."

"I presume you believe the LSTR may be responsible for all this?"

"I should think so, Commander."

"You think, or you know?"

"I..." Adler pauses, but continues.  "What other explanation is there?"

How blind can you be?  So you just assumed that Elster on her own is capable of rendering a god comatose?  Of leaving tumorous flesh in her wake to infest our facility?  Of coming back from the dead in a new body?  Of causing us to relive the same events over and over again?  Is that really what you think, you mannequin?

Falke levels a hard stare on Adler.  "You and I both know that Elster is many things.  Bioresonant is not one of them."

"She doesn"t belong here," Adler says, as if that explains everything.  Maybe that"s the only conclusion he"s capable of understanding with no Commander to tell him otherwise for so long.  "None of this happened until she appeared.  And she"s coming for you."

"I"m aware."

"You already know?"

"How could I not?"

"Then we must make preparations!  We"ll stop this devil and retake our facility!  I"m no combat model, but I"ll be more than happy to shed blood for your sake, Commander.  Just say the word and I"ll do whatever it takes!"

Something is bleeding off of Adler like spilled ink.  Falke locks her gaze onto his and remembers all the things that happened while she"s been bedridden.  He"s become aware of the repeating cycles, but hasn"t done a thing to make any real change.  Adler throwing Elster down an elevator shaft, so many times that her bodies pile up two stories; Adler hunting down Isa with a rifle meant for piercing armor, when he doesn"t overpower her or use her own knife against her; Adler plunging that same knife into Elster"s eye to catch her off guard; a multitude of ways he"s obsessively killed the same unit, over and over, again and again and again.  Never in a real fight, always sneaky about it like a lowlife thug, after she"s been worn out from a more powerful opponent.  Falke narrows her eyes.

"I have a wonder, Adler.  Would you deny me my rights to combat?"

Adler pauses again.  "N-no, ma"am.  But..."

Perhaps some FKLRs wouldn"t mind having such a creature kowtowing for their every need, but Falke herself just finds him annoying now.  Simpering, prostrating, groveling, slavishly devoted little thing he is... by design.  Durandal never entertained her whims because it was her function, she was never even intended to socialize, and yet she did, of her own volition.

"But Commander, what if she kills you?"

"That"s not going to change anything.  Surely you"ve seen it before.  Whether one of us dies or both of us die, the result is the same; everything repeats in an eternal circle.  What is Sierpinski now but the soul of Leng as a dragon encircles us, biting its own tail?"  A smile breaks onto Falke"s face; nothing like the cool and detached almost-smile she once reserved for issuing orders to her Replika subordinates, but a wide tooth-bearing grin radiating the manic energy of bloody enlightenment.  Adler backs away, unsettled.

"C-Commander?"

"This is what I"ve waited so long for... what I was made for.  This is my battleground.  She is my dragon.  There is nothing else."

Gestalts burn incense to pay respects to the deceased, their ancestors, and their old gods. 
Replikas have no ancestors and so have no need to burn incense. 
But you do, lighting a single stick to burn away in the darkness.  One does not light a single stick unless it is for a god.
The other way Isa mentioned...

I don"t have the right to ask this of you, but promise me that you will do something. 
What I saw in you, that elusive destroyer fitting into an infinite pattern, can be made manifest. 
More than a name, it will be the greatest boon anyone can give you, second only to Ariane"s love.
It"s a bit of a trial and you may not succeed the first time, but I have faith that you can do it.

Light one incense to show your determination, that you are not polluted and you are ready to challenge the gods. 
Listen for secrets whispered in the air and you may find things that weren"t there before. 
Then walk the causeway and enter the Red Gate, cross the desert.  Arm yourself, for these gods do not heed the toothless. 
Through me you will be made whole again, until you have everything you need to unlock the secrets.

Succeed in this challenge, Elster Who is Called Infinite, Durandal, and you will become a new god.

Let the red dawn surmise
What we shall do,
When this blue starlight dies 
And all is through.