The door clicked shut behind him, Victor let out a soft sigh as he stepped away. Leaving Katherine behind wasn't easy, he'd grown more attached to her than he cared to admit. He shook his head, forcing himself back to the task at hand. "So what now?"
"We go to the central hospital and search," Garett said.
"And if we don't find anything there?"
"Well." He put a hand to his chin. "I suppose we're out of options then."
"Seriously?"
"I'm only kidding. Even if we don't get some at the Central Hospital, there are two more clinics we can visit." Garett said, looking at Victor's face. It appeared that the joke he made didn't land well. "I'm sorry." He whispered.
The toll of the church bell echoed through the desolate city, each ring irritating Victor even more. His eyes flicked to the towering structure. At its base, people slowly walked within, heads bowed as they gathered for mass.
"They think praying to the Monarch will spare them," Garett chuckled, "Like some twisted echo of the old religions."
"The old religions were built on faith, not fear," Victor replied.
"What's the difference?" Garett added, glancing away toward another looming structure—the hospital.
Once the pride of the city, the hospital now stood as a monument to ruin. Its upper floors had been sheared away during the Lament, leaving jagged edges and gaping holes. What remained was an architectural husk, cloaked in dust and rubble.
Victor could remember coming here once, long ago with Nathan. His son had caught the flu, and Anissa had been beside him, certain the boy wouldn't make it.
He could still hear her panicked voice and see her tear-streaked face. He had laughed back then, assured her Nathan would be fine, and took them both here. He had been right, of course—but the memory stung now, a sharp ache buried beneath his ribs.
"You good?" Garett's voice pulled him back. Victor nodded curtly, brushing the memory aside.
Together, they stepped into the ruins of the hospital. The front end still held the remnants of the reception area, though it bore no resemblance to the bustling hub it once was.
The chairs, where the sick and weary had once waited for their names to be called, were overturned. The walls were smeared with dark stains—evidence of corpses long since removed.
"You want to split up?" Garett asked.
Victor didn't reply. He was already striding toward one of the rooms, his boots crunching on broken glass and debris.
"Guess not," Garett muttered, trailing behind.
Victor glanced over his shoulder as he navigated through the rubble-strewn lab, his boots grinding against shards of glass and crumbling stone. "Your armor," He started, bending under a low-hanging beam to step deeper into the ruined space. "It's impressive."
Garett absently brushed his hand over the chest plate, the metal cold and smooth beneath his fingers. "It was a gift... from my father," He said quietly.
Victor straightened, scanning the empty room. He had no idea what 'Rilipse' was supposed to look like, but he knew enough to recognize when a place had been stripped clean.
"It's a remarkable piece," He said, his tone earnest."You should be proud of it. And moving the way you do in that heavy armor? That's no small feat."
"Considering you almost skewered my neck earlier, I'll take that as a compliment. My parents always dreamed I'd become a knight. They thought it'd be our way out of East Bay. Guess it never worked out."
"You're from East Bay?"
"You've heard of it?"
Victor nodded slowly. "When I was a kid, I used to hear stories. They called it the slums, said it was even shittier than Laasbell."
Garett laughed again, this time bitterly. "That's about right. Maybe if I'd been stronger, I could've become the Skyknight. Maybe then the Sovereign would have noticed me. Maybe he would've noticed all of us."
Victor's eyes narrowed. "You alright?"
Garett took a deep breath, his gaze momentarily distant. "Yeah... It's fine. It's all behind me now."
"I see."
Victor walked out of the lab and the both of them trekked down the hallway, branching into separate rooms and looking for whatever they could.
"What about you?" Garett asked, shouting from the opposite room.
"What about me?" Victor responded, scouring through broken cabinets.
"What's your story?"
"It's uninteresting."
"Doesn't matter."
"It does." Victor lifted one of the shelves, pushing it away. "I'm merely a heartbroken father who wants to avenge my family. Pretty average right?"
"Ever since my father died that day in the Lament. I've dedicated my life to making sure they pay for what they did." Garett spoke. "Your story isn't average, it's valiant."
"I'm no knight," Victor said, bending over to get a closer look at a cabinet. "I kill whatever stands in my way, man or beast. Is that still valiant?"
"Considering you saved a little girl from certain death?" Garett muttered. "I'd say it's a bit valiant."
Victor laughed softly. "Maybe so,"
"But still," Garett walked into the room Victor was in, "I doubt there's anything here, even if the lament didn't destroy it or it wasn't nicked, there probably wasn't any to begin with."
Victor pulled up another shelf, that one too had been stripped clean. Nothing. He dusted his clothes as he stood up, "There's probably nothing in those clinics either."
"Most likely," Garett muttered, reaching down and grabbing a small piece of paper from the ground, on it was a colored drawing of a mother holding a child. "Even if it existed in one of the clinics, it's valuable right? It would have been sold off by now."
"What now?" Victor inquired, staring into Garett's eyes.
"We could tell Theo to find some. If it exists he should be able to get it."
"And if he can't?"
Garett turned and looked directly at him, he knew what Victor was avoiding and while it was definitely the only way they had, he'd be reluctant. "Fighting that beast with one vial of Constalin is suicide."
"I'll manage," Victor said, walking away.
"Fuck me," Garett said, his voice low as he walked beside Victor. "So what's the plan? We just rush in, hit the Pillar with the vial, and—boom—problem solved?"
"Pretty much," Victor replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
Garett let out a dry laugh. "You're something else, you know that? Risking your neck for her like this."
"Maybe I'm more valiant than I give myself credit for," Victor admitted.
"You owe me a beer if we make it out alive. No arguments," Garett said, pointing a finger at him.
"Deal," Victor replied.
As they reached the entrance to leave the hospital, a voice broke the uneasy silence behind them. Coarse and strained, it stopped him in his tracks.
Victor turned slowly, his hand slowly reaching for his shoulder. Standing in the dim light was a man dressed in tattered black robes. His disheveled hair clung to his face, and his bloodied fingers were shoved into his mouth as he gnawed on them, tearing at the flesh.
"The Monarch saved us," The man whispered, his voice trembling with devotion and madness. Blood trickled down his hands, staining the floor. "He keeps us from harm. And this... this is how you repay him? By plotting to kill his follower!"
Victor's hand instinctively tightened around his gun strap, ready to pull it off. Garett shifted beside him, a low curse escaping his lips as the robed man stepped closer, his unhinged gaze locking onto them.
"Who is that?" Victor asked.
"Probably a cult member, I heard talks within town that people have been getting followed by them," Garett answered.
"UNBELIEVERS, YOU ALL ARE UNBELIEVERS. YOU WILL BE CULLED. YOU WILL BE CULLED!"
"I'm not one to talk about religion." Garett pulled his blade from its sheath. "But your so-called god killed my father."
"Our Monarch culled the weak, the wicked, the unbelievers. He halved our population, keeping only the ones he deemed fit for this world, but even with his great power, with his tough decision. You defy him, YOU PLAN AGAINST HIM! YOU WILL BE CULLED. YOU WILL BE-"
Thud
With a flick of his arm, Garrett sent blood splattering from his blade onto the cracked floor. He stood motionless for a moment, watching as the man's body followed the crimson trail, collapsing lifelessly onto the ground.
Calmly, he flicked his blade downward, the blood streaked across its steel splattering onto the cold ground. Softly, he slid the weapon back into its sheath, its blade vanishing in a quiet, metallic hiss.
"Will they be a problem?" Victor asked, releasing the strap on his shoulder as Garett strode up to him.
"Probably not," Garett replied, glancing briefly at the corpse. "Their strength is in their numbers—ambushes and swarming tactics. Without a crowd, they're just delusional fools." He turned toward the doorway, stepping through. "You coming?"
"Yeah," Victor turned.
"Tarnic-"
"Tarmis-"
A creak echoed through the dimly lit room as the door slowly swung open. Victor and Garett stepped inside.
"Tarnished!" Katherine's voice pierced the silence as she darted from the corner of the room, throwing herself toward Victor.
"How did it go?" Helen asked, abandoning her notes and turning her attention to the pair.
Garett shook his head. "Nothing."
"Don't beat yourself up. I had a feeling it might turn out that way." She stretched her fingers, cracking each one methodically. "Looks like brute force is our only option now."
"You talk like you're part of the brute force team," Garett gestured toward her.
Helen chuckled, brushing her hair back. "I'm not the one stomping around in full armor, am I?"
Before Garett could reply, the door creaked open again. This time, Doris and Theodore walked in. Their faces sweaty and pale, as if they'd run a marathon—one of them at least.
"How did it go?" Helen asked, her gaze shifting to the newcomers.
Doris slumped into a chair in the corner, catching her breath. "We've got something," She said between gasps. "Crucial information."
"What is it?" Garett asked, walking toward them.
"The possible location of the Pillar," Theodore answered. "And if we're interpreting things right... a potential weakness."
Helen raised an eyebrow. "What kind of weakness?"
"It has a habit of going to the abandoned train tracks every evening or at least every other evening," Theodore explained. "It just stands there, staring at the sky."
"What time?" Garrett inquired.
"Around six, should be there tomorrow."
"Sunday,"
"That's odd," Helen muttered, tapping her chin. "Any idea why?"
"None," Doris replied, rubbing her temples. "But it's consistent enough to be worth investigating."
Helen nodded. "Weird, but definitely worth a shot."
"Good." Theodore leaned back. "What about you two?" He asked, glancing at Victor and Garett. "How'd it go on your end?"
"Empty," Garett replied flatly. "The hospitals were a bust. Nothing there to help us. Not that we didn't expect it."
"So, what's the plan now?" Doris asked, her voice strained.
"It's a suicide run," Garett said bluntly,
"Can't we make another vial?" Theodore asked, looking toward Helen.
"We could," Helen admitted, flipping through her notes. "But if we did, it'd be the last one we ever made."
"Why?" Theodore asked.
Helen's gaze darkened. "It would take three liters of her blood to craft another vial from scratch. That much blood would kill her outright. Even with Rilipse, we'd still need about a liter. And that's assuming we can even get our hands on enough of the compound."
"We have to get to Ira." Victor echoed.
"That's the plan," Garett responded, rubbing his eyes. "But going in with just one vial is a massive risk. If it doesn't work, we're all dead."
"Then we can't afford to fail," Victor said, watching as Katherine walked toward him. "I'll make sure we don't."
"Tomorrow, then," Garett said, unbuckling his blade and dropping it onto the counter with a resounding clang. "Tomorrow evening, we kill the Pillar of Sanctuary."