Seraniti coughed violently, her chest heaving as dust clung to her sweat-drenched skin. She blinked, but her vision refused to clear, the black haze around her shifting lazily like a choking fog. It was only when the sharp pain lanced through her torso that she fully registered her precarious position. Her upper body dangled limply over a jagged edge of debris, the jagged surface beneath her stomach pressing mercilessly into her ribs. The wreckage groaned beneath her shifting weight.
"Nggh... damn it... Move!" Her voice cracked, and she clawed at the uneven surface, her hands slipping as ash and soot coated her palms. For all her effort, her limbs felt leaden, her body stubbornly refusing her commands. Then, as if mocking her resolve, her footing gave way, and her body plunged downward.
Her instincts kicked in at the last moment. She twisted midair, her arms raised in a desperate attempt to cushion her fall. The impact was far from forgiving; the collision knocked the wind from her lungs, her shoulder colliding painfully with a sharp edge before she crumpled onto a pile of dislodged metal. A dull, throbbing ache radiated across her ribs and arms.
"Ugh...hah..." She coughed again, expelling fine particles from her lungs. The acrid stench of burning metal and singed fabric filled the air around her. The fires, though distant, cast an ominous glow across the horizon, painting the jagged ruins in hues of orange and crimson. Faint alarm sirens sputtered in and out of existence, their sharp wails echoing like a dying plea for help.
The ground beneath her hands felt unstable. She pushed herself onto her elbows, wincing as pain shot up her side. Every movement felt like wading through tar, her muscles screaming in protest. The heavy silence around her was punctuated only by the occasional pop of weakening structures and distant shouts, but their sources were too faint to discern.
Finally, forcing herself upright, she took in the devastation around her. Twisted beams jutted skyward like the skeletal remains of some ancient beast, while charred remnants of the ship's deck sprawled in every direction. The flames licking hungrily at the wreckage seemed far too close for comfort.
Kahh—kahh—hahhh!
Her chest heaved. Her stomach twisted. The air around her felt wrong—like it had weight, like it was pressing down on her. She couldn't see. She couldn't breathe.
Then—images.
Flashes of things that didn't make sense, rapid and merciless. A thousand disjointed fragments of reality slamming into her skull. Back and forth. Over and over.
Standing tall. Lying broken. Breathing steadily. Screaming.
Alive. Dying.
It was all happening at once. It was all real and none of it was.
No—no, no, no, no!
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound of her own heart pulsed violently in her ears. It was too loud.
"HHRRAAAGHHHH! MAKE IT STOP—"
Her scream ripped from her throat, but the pain didn't stop. Her teeth clenched so tightly she thought they'd break. Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as though she could physically rip the torment out of herself.
But it didn't work.
It wouldn't stop.
Too much. Too much. Too much.
Her breath hitched as she forced her eyes open, but what she saw only made it worse.
Beneath her, black grass pulsed against the ruined ground, tendrils of golden particles drifting from its tips before vanishing. The moment she blinked, it was gone—no, it was back—no, it was gone again. Her body lurched, swaying on unsteady legs as her mind struggled to keep up with the flickering reality around her.
Move. Move. MOVE.
She pushed herself upright, but every nerve in her body screamed in protest. Her vision blurred, the edges turning dark, but still—she forced herself to stand.
Her eyes opened one by one, irises shifting unnaturally as the white circles inside them spun, pieces missing like shattered gears trying and failing to turn.
The moment she steadied herself—
She felt it.
Something wrong.
Slowly, her head turned. Her muscles refused to move properly, but she had to see it.
And then—
Far, far away—yet unbearably close—it beat.
A black heart.
Its sheer size made her breath catch in her throat. It wasn't just big—it was existence itself. A tree that consumed everything, so far away yet crushing in presence, an unrelenting force pulsing with slow, agonizing rhythm.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She staggered, her knees nearly giving out as she clutched her head. The same white circles—the ones in her eyes—around the heart, mirroring her own gaze. The rhythm of its beating out of sync with her own pulse, pounding through her skull, her chest, her bones.
"No… no—no, no, no—"
The more she stared, the more she saw.
Shapes. Things.
Things that shouldn't exist.
They drifted around the heart, their forms shifting before she could understand them. They had no shape, no structure, no logic—but they were there.
Her stomach turned violently.
She couldn't take it anymore.
Her knees hit the ground as she vomited, thick, black liquid splattering at her feet. Her body convulsed, rejecting something she didn't understand—something that wasn't supposed to be.
She gasped, fingers digging into the dirt as her eyes spun wildly in their sockets.
The sounds of the world returned—but not all of it.
The alarms, the flames, the screams—she could hear them again.
But the black heart remained.
Fuck, fuck, fuck it all!
Seraniti's breath hitched, her voice breaking as she screamed into the wind. Her throat burned, her body trembling as she stood on unsteady legs. Her eyes were teary, frustration and exhaustion bleeding into one another until she wasn't sure which weighed heavier.
The wind howled around her, whipping against her face, momentarily guarding her from the world. The gust settled, and with it, her ragged emotions dulled, fatigue taking their place. Her eyes—once wild, raw with desperation—became heavy-lidded, tired.
She exhaled sharply, throwing her arm upward before snapping her fingers.
A violent bang echoed from somewhere nearby, a deep metallic thud as it went above the crash site. A few moments later, Svalinn came hurtling down toward her from the wreckage, its mass carving a jagged gouge into the black grass beneath it—grass that flickered in and out of existence, as though the world itself refused to acknowledge its presence.
Shff-shff-shff!
The unmistakable sound of shuffling grass made her ears twitch. Instinct kicked in. Her fingers curled, and with a sharp yank of her arm, Svalinn snapped to her side, hovering still. Her body moved on its own, stepping toward the source of the noise.
Her breath was uneven, her mind caught between the pulsing echoes of pain and the gnawing paranoia clawing at the edges of her thoughts. Something felt off.
Her steps slowed as she glanced over her shoulder.
Footprints.
Each of her movements left a trail of black liquid, barely perceptible in the dim glow of flickering flames in the distance. Something someone with her eyes could see. And just like the grass, it disappeared as soon as she moved forward, as if denying its own existence.
"Hahh… hahh… Oh! Mashaa~!"
The voice cut through the thick air, snapping Seraniti's attention forward.
Zora.
Seraniti's eyes focused as Zora appeared from behind a corner, her usually well-kept hair slightly disheveled, strands sticking out in places they didn't belong. Her expression was one of relief, of forced playfulness layered over ragged breath. But Seraniti wasn't looking at Zora's face.
She was looking at it.
That thing.
Every time she looked at someone—every single damn time—there was always something around them. Some kind of sound, a pattern, a movement that only she could perceive. And now, standing behind Zora, using her shadow as its form, was one of them.
Its upper body was partially visible, shifting with an unnatural stillness, wrapped in a black, tattered robe that barely clung to its form. From beneath it, four distorted arms extended outward, dragging massive coffins behind them. No, not coffins—Seraniti wasn't even sure what to call them. They were like glass planes, reflecting distorted images that shouldn't exist.
Her stomach twisted.
They were Zora. Three of them.
Serenely smiling, eyes closed, their expressions eerily peaceful. And the fourth? Empty.
Her vision narrowed as the three began to shift, their forms becoming increasingly distorting, repeating the same set of movements like a broken record, their smiles never fading. They looked exactly like the ones she used to see before—before she had gained even the smallest break from these things.
Zora's gaze lingered on Seraniti, a faint frown crossing her face as she stepped closer. Without hesitation, she cupped Seraniti's face in her hands, her touch warm despite the cool air surrounding them. A soft smile graced her lips, but her eyes held something else—concern, perhaps, or understanding.
Behind Zora, the thing moved. The three coffins settled in place, their ominous weight pressing against the very air. The empty one rested directly behind Zora, a silent invitation. This thing—this Three of Faces—stood between them, its face veiled, as if mocking her, as if watching with an amusement she couldn't comprehend.
"Mashaa? You okay? Can you see them again?"
Seraniti turned away from Zora's hands, her expression hardening as her eyes flicked toward Three of Faces.
Sigh… these ugly things… Tch!
Before she could say anything, the sound of rapid footsteps rustled through the black grass. Her head snapped in the direction of the noise just as two figures emerged from behind the debris.
And then—gold.
Disfigured arms of pure, grotesque gold erupted from the duo's chests, writhing unnaturally, clutching something that made her stomach turn. Beating, pulsing, far too real—each hand held a thumping golden heart, as if they had been torn straight from their bodies.
She didn't wait as palm shot upward toward the sky thick with smoke, fingers spread. Svalinn obeyed instantly, launching into the air with gusto. Then, in a single, fluid motion, she dropped her hand down. Svalinn followed suit.
The screen slammed into the ground between the two figures with crushing force. The golden arms shattered instantly, the grotesque hands crumbling as black blood pooled beneath them. The hearts, once pulsing, disintegrated like dust swept away by an unseen force before returning into their chests as if nothing had happened.
The duo didn't even have the chance to scream before the shockwave sent them flying in opposite directions.
Seraniti snapped her fingers once, and Svalinn levitated smoothly back to her side, hovering like a sentry awaiting further orders. Her gaze, disgusted and pained, followed the trajectory of the one on the right. Their body had collided violently with a jagged piece of debris, the impact enough to leave cracks in the twisted metal.
Disgust curled her lips as she stalked toward them.
The person—no, thing—twitched where they had fallen. As Seraniti approached, something grotesque took form. From their mouth, skeletal black arms pushed their way out, dragging with them a white bag filled with glistening icosahedrons, their color sickeningly familiar—a brownish tint, the same shade as Óhrin, the plague that had consumed so many lives.
And then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
"Disgusting parasite. You people are all the same."
The person shuddered violently, their face contorted with pain. A hacking cough wracked their body, their hand clutched desperately at their side. Despite their suffering, they forced themselves to move, using their legs to scramble backward in a weak attempt to escape her.
"Wait! I was just passing by! Believe me!"
Seraniti barely looked at her.
She had heard that line before. Too many times. Always the same. Always with the same desperate plea, the same cowardly justifications. The words meant nothing.
The woman coughed again—only this time, what came out wasn't phlegm or blood. The particles that left her mouth shimmered black before twisting into something more tangible, forming a card—The Seven of Swords.
Seraniti's gaze locked onto it, her teeth clenching harder by the second.
The card depicted her. Her own form kneeling down, an outstretched hand reaching forward—yet behind her, five swords were plunged deep into her back and through her chest. Two more lay at her feet, as if waiting to be used by unseen hands.
A face pressed outward from the card's surface, stretching the material as if something inside wanted to break free. Then, as if mocking her further, a jester's mask formed—a grotesque, smiling thing, uncaring, indifferent, amused by her suffering.
Tch.
Her teeth ground together, her fists curling tightly as something hot and bitter coiled in her gut. The woman, still trembling, reached behind her back, her breath hitching.
Seraniti reacted instantly.
With a sharp snap of her fingers, an agonizing ringing sensation filled the air, rattling through their skulls. The woman let out a strangled cry, her hands shooting up to clutch at her ears as she crumpled to the ground, writhing in pain.
The mask dissolved into smoke, vanishing like a whisper in the wind. Seraniti exhaled sharply before nudging the woman onto her side with a swift kick. Her gaze drifted to what the woman had been reaching for—a worn, battered axe.
The weapon had clearly seen better days. The edges were chipped, parts of the blade dulled from overuse. Strips of tape wrapped tightly around its throat and belly, but even those were coming undone, their adhesive long eroded by dirt and time.
It dangled from a holster strapped low on the woman's back. Without much thought, Seraniti pressed her boot onto the woman's spine and reached down, yanking the axe free. She turned it over in her hands, testing its weight—only for it to nearly slip from her fingers.
Her grip was wrong. It was too heavy, unbalanced in a way she wasn't used to. She adjusted her hold awkwardly, but the weapon felt foreign in her grasp, its weight demanding a finesse she didn't have. When she shifted her stance, she overcorrected, leaning too far to the left.
Her balance wavered—
Shit.
Before she could react, she fell, and the axe tumbled from her grip. It clattered against the ground with a dull thud.
Seraniti coughed in embarrassment, scrambling upright as fast as she could. The woman, seeing an opportunity, tried to crawl away in a desperate attempt at escape. But Seraniti was faster.
She grabbed the axe again—this time without hesitation—before lunging forward, her body slamming into the woman. The tackle was clumsy, driven more by instinct than skill, but it was enough to force the blade downward.
The axe head buried itself deep into the woman's back.
"GYYAAAHH!!"
The scream was raw, filled with agony as the woman's body jerked violently against the impact. Seraniti's breath came out uneven, her hands still gripping the handle. Her eyes flickered, catching something others wouldn't be able to see.
Óhreinn shards.
They ruptured from the wound in chaotic bursts, crystal-like formations emerging from where the axe had struck. The irregular, jagged growths pulsed faintly before fading away—except Seraniti knew they hadn't truly disappeared. They had simply become something invisible, something that lingered beyond sight.
Her brows furrowed as she examined the blade, tilting it slightly in her grasp. For all its dulled edges and worn handle, the damn thing was sharp enough to split flesh with ease. A nasty little thing, brutal and unrefined.
She yanked the axe free, tearing another scream from the woman as fresh pain shot through her system.
"Oh! You got Óhrin too!" Seraniti mused, her tone shifting to something lighter—mocking.
The woman gasped, her fingers twitching weakly as her body convulsed. Seraniti leaned closer, examining the edges of the wound. Tiny shards of black crystal embedded themselves into the torn flesh, lingering even as the others faded. The pieces she had seen moments ago had vanished, but these remained.
The woman used her remaining strength to claw at the dirt, dragging herself forward inch by inch. Her voice cracked as she rasped out a desperate plea.
"Just... let me go! Please!"
Seraniti tilted her head slightly, watching her pathetic struggle. From the other side of the wreckage, a pained voice rang out.
"LET HER GO! YOU WRETCHED MONSTER!"
Her eyes flicked toward the speaker. A man—disheveled, wounded. He knelt on the ground, his right arm missing from the shoulder down, blood dripping from the open wound in uneven spurts. His face twisted with fury and grief.
Near him, Zora sighed, running a hand through her hair, clearly unimpressed by his outburst.
Seraniti met his gaze and saw nothing but desperation.
Pathetic people. Hypocrites.
She slowly stood, rolling her shoulders as she lifted the axe to her eye level, turning it over in her grip. The balance still felt wrong. It was an ugly tool, unwieldy in her hands.
But she brought it down anyway.
The blade bit deep into the woman's shoulder.
"Morrígan! AH! LET GO, YOU DAMN DIRTY FELINE!"
The man screamed, struggling to rise, but Zora barely acknowledged him. With an unimpressed sigh, she shoved his head into the dirt with her boot, pinning him down with little effort. His tears pooled beneath him, mixing with the dirt and blood.
Morrígan, on the other hand, could barely breathe. Her body trembled beneath Seraniti's weight, her weak gasps coming out in pitiful bursts. Tears streamed freely from her eyes, rolling down her face and sinking into the dirt below.
Seraniti leaned in, pressing the axe deeper, watching as those glassy, pain-filled eyes looked up at her.
"You know," she began, her voice unsettlingly casual, "being born in the wonderful country of Barrio De Porte Fiesta—or Fiesta for short—wasn't easy. I spent two years as an apprentice in the Crisis Control De Fiesta, and you know what I found out?"
Her irises burned with something dangerous, something unrelenting.
"If you think I'm a monster, you should see what they do to children."
The man's expression twisted further, but he was powerless beneath Zora's foot.
"I'm not saying I'm a saint, but I'm no monster either." Seraniti scoffed, her grip tightening around the handle. "Is it hypocritical of me? Maybe, but oh well. You don't live long in that mierda by being a nobody. Tch! Fucking puto."
For a brief moment, her thoughts drifted elsewhere. A certain handler... probably dead by now.
She inhaled sharply, forcing herself back to the present, looking at the two broken people before her.
"But all I'm doing is talking my talk. What's my goal in this?"
She shrugged, a small smile playing at her lips.
"Nothing much. Just to travel this plate of ours... and touch the sky."
The smile faded as her gaze drifted upwards, momentarily lost in the sky above them.
She blinked and turned back to the woman—only to find her eyes open, unblinking.
Seraniti tilted her head slightly before reaching out, pressing a finger against her cheek. There was no response.
Dead.
The man screamed, his body thrashing against the ground. He tried to push himself up, but Zora simply planted her foot harder, keeping him restrained with ease. His sobs turned ragged, his voice breaking under the weight of grief.
Seraniti exhaled through her nose before yanking the axe free with an ugly sound.
She turned her attention to the remaining survivor.
From the dirt beneath him, something writhed. Black arms, skeletal and thin, twisted upward, emerging from the ground itself. Their palms bore mouths—gnashing, writhing, stretching hungrily toward her.
The arms thrashed, clawing at the soil, but they did nothing to her.
Seraniti walked straight through them. She could feel them—grabbing, tugging—but they had no real hold over her.
She came to a stop in front of the man. He was trembling now, his eyes wide with a mixture of rage and despair. Her own eyes were tired, exhausted. They reflected his pain, but not in the way he wanted as all he saw was disappointment.
"Is this how she saw things for all her years of life? These fucking things! Ugly fucks that constantly harass my existence?"
Seraniti's voice carried a venomous edge as she stared down at the man before her. He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. Maybe she had. Maybe she hadn't. Not yet, at least.
She reached forward, her right hand stained red with ash and dirt from the earlier wreckage. The grime clung to her skin like a second layer, the remnants of destruction etched into her very being. The man tried to pull away, his body tensed in fear, but Seraniti's grip was firm.
The moment her palm met his cheek, flames erupted.
The fire spread in an instant, slithering across his skin like a living thing, feeding on his flesh as his screams tore through the air. And then—
Silence.
Zora and Seraniti stood over two still figures, now covered by a black tarp they had scavenged from the wreckage. The flames had left no trace of what had transpired, yet the weight of it lingered in the air. Seraniti inhaled deeply, closing her eyes before clapping her now-clean hands twice. A quiet farewell.
With a flick of her finger, she traced a simple symbol in the dirt between their heads—an incense stick, with a faint, curling line of smoke rising from its tip. The sign was nothing elaborate, but it carried meaning. It was enough.
She let out a sigh before turning away, her steps steady but heavy.
Zora, for her part, lingered a moment longer before following suit.
"Say, Mashaa, that was quite the show, no~?" Zora's voice broke the quiet, a teasing lilt dancing through her words. She covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes glinting with amusement.
Seraniti's brow twitched as she shot her an annoyed glance but refused to fully meet her gaze.
"Zora, is there a city somewhere close to us?" Seraniti yawned, stretching before shifting her attention to her left, where Zora walked beside her.
"Well, dear Mashaa, if you look overrr there!" Zora spun on her heel and dramatically pointed toward the distant horizon. "You can juuust make out the faint outline of a city… err actually, it's shorter than I expected, so safe to say it's a town. I think?"
She tilted her head slightly, ears twitching atop her head as she studied the distant structures.
Seraniti, without hesitation, reached out and grabbed one of Zora's ears, her fingers slipping inside as she gave a mischievous flick.
Zora froze.
"WAH WAH WAH! What are you doing, you pervert?!" She yelped, her tail snapping straight like a spear, nearly pointing to the sky.
Seraniti smirked as she let go, shaking her head. "The mood was getting weird."
Zora puffed up her cheeks in mock offense, pushing Seraniti away as she fixed her ears, her face now tinged with a slight blush.
Seraniti's expression softened, her gaze drifting toward the distant horizon.
"Zora?"
"Yeah, Mashaa?"
Zora stopped, tilting her head as she looked toward Seraniti, who had come to a halt. Her face was turned away, but her posture—stiff, uncertain—spoke volumes.
The wind shifted, brushing strands of white hair across Seraniti's face.
"You won't disappear on me either, right?"
The words were quiet, almost lost in the breeze, yet they carried a weight far heavier than anything else spoken that night.
Zora took a step forward without hesitation, wrapping her arms around Seraniti from behind, holding her close.
"No. I won't leave you, Mashaa."
They stayed that way for many minutes, neither speaking, neither moving. Just the sound of the wind, the distant hum of a yet-unseen town, and the quiet reassurance of another presence.
Eventually, Seraniti exhaled, nodding slightly.
Together, they continued walking toward the closest town—where the real beginning awaited them.