"Hhghh—hahhkk… splchhh…"
Seraniti's body trembled as she coughed violently into the shadows of the alleyway, her breath ragged and uneven. Her hands gripped the rough surface of the building beside her, using it as an anchor while her legs struggled to stay steady. Zora crouched beside her, patting her back with a measured rhythm, her expression unreadable.
Seraniti forced a weak smile, her lips twitching upward despite the nausea twisting in her gut.
I had forgotten why I hated crowds so much… Ugh… seeing so many of them at once makes me feel like I'm getting a fucking panic attack…
Her irises, already unnatural, spun faster within her pupils, reacting to the overwhelming sensory overload. The pressure in her chest only grew, her conscious waned, struggling to process the sheer volume of those things around her.
And then there's that THING.
Her fingers curled tighter against the wall, nails scraping against the rough texture. Connected to every single fucking person in this town.
Her heart pounded. The feeling was suffocating. It crawled over her skin, through her veins, like a hundred unseen hands grasping at her, each one tethered to the people that walked the streets just beyond the alley.
I think I'm gonna die…
The only small relief—if she could call it that—was that the things attached to the townspeople were weaker, smaller, mere fragments of something much larger. But that didn't change the fact that she could see it.
The beast above.
An amalgamation of shifting forms that loomed over the town, impossibly big, its presence high in the sky yet suffocatingly close. The sight of it made her bones feel like ice, her nerves stretched thin beneath the weight of its grotesque form.
She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled sharply, forcing her thoughts back into order.
She forced herself to take a slow, deliberate inhale before exhaling loudly. Her MICA chimed softly in response to her activation, its familiar resonance grounding her as a soft white glow traced the edges of her silhouette. The magicule sequence pulsed over her skin and clothes, Redo working its purpose—dirt and grime peeling away like dust caught in the wind.
It had been a long journey. Days of travel on foot, nothing but stretches of land between them and their destination. They had been lucky. The nearest black zones were miles away, meaning they had avoided any major catastrophes before reaching town. But exhaustion had still seeped into their bones, both physically and mentally.
Seraniti sighed, shaking off the weight clinging to her as she stood upright, stretching her stiff limbs before dusting off the last remnants of discomfort.
"Oi, Zora. What's the name of this town anyway? I wasn't paying attention earlier."
Zora looked up at her, blinking once before rolling her shoulders. But before she could answer, Seraniti's gaze flicked to the corner of her vision to Three of Faces.
It lingered in Zora's silhouette, as it always did, pointing silently down the alleyway with one of its coffins. Seraniti's fingers twitched slightly. A second later, Zora followed the direction of its gesture, her ears twitching slightly at the unseen suggestion.
Seraniti exhaled sharply and instinctively reached for TwentyEight hanging from her hip—the one she had tactically acquired not too long ago.
That was the name she had given it in a moment of spontaneity, a name she had cringed at almost immediately after. It was fucking stupid. But now? Now, it felt better to have a name to attach to the weapon in her hands.
A prickle of unease squirmed up her spine. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she tightened her grip, the unfamiliar weight of the axe feeling slightly more natural now. She pointed TwentyEight forward, her breath steadying as she focused.
The silhouette ahead of them grew larger with each step. Step. Step. Step. And then—
"Hhhkk—spit—hahh… gahh…!"
The figure lurched forward, coughing violently as if choking on air before collapsing to the ground. A bag slipped from their grasp, sending its contents scattering onto the dirt.
"Kah… give me a second… cough…"
Seraniti and Zora remained still, watching as the person—whoever they were—gathered themselves. One hand. Two. Three. Four. Their extra limbs moved fluidly, gathering the fallen groceries as they muttered complaints under their breath.
After a moment, they stood, adjusting the weight of the bag against their hip as they rubbed the back of their head.
"Um. My name's Amīrah… and for your answer—this little town is called Chernobyl II."
The voice belonged to a woman, her tone rough and worn, yet steady. As she approached, she stopped a few feet away, studying them with a casual ease.
She wore a neatly pressed dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, loose-fitting slacks, and a rugged brown apron draped over her clothes. Her boots were worn, the kind of wear that spoke years of use, yet they still held firm. But what stood out the most was the miniature whale that floated around her.
Seraniti's eyes locked onto it immediately.
The creature had four hands where a mouth should have been, each one twitching and shifting unnaturally as if grasping for something unseen. Above its head was a circle with a missing piece, its presence familiar. Its entire form had a tar-like texture, tendrils trailing from its twisted mouth as it drifted soundlessly through the air around the woman.
Seraniti felt a throb behind her temples.
"A Rakshasa?" She exhaled, shifting TwentyEight slightly but keeping her guard up. "Aren't you far from home?"
Rakshasas weren't exactly common in this part of the plate. Most of them resided in the Black Sand Wüste, and from what Seraniti knew, they were among the stronger species.
Amīrah's lips quirked slightly, her expression somewhere between amusement and nostalgia with a head full of grey hair.
"Ahh, well, firstly—hello. And secondly, not really. I moved here with my parents when I was younger. The Shahs of the West and East wouldn't stop fighting, but I'm doing fine so far."
Seraniti remained silent for a beat, taking in the information. A Rakshasa raised outside of their native territory? That was rare, but not impossible.
"Say, what's your name? If you don't mind me asking?"
"Ah. You can call me Seraniti, and this right here is my Maid Knight, Zora the lazy."
The words barely left her mouth before she smacked Zora on the back of the head, causing the latter to jolt forward with a small, exaggerated whine.
"Oi!" Zora pouted, waving a hand dismissively as she turned away, clearly unbothered.
Amīrah chuckled at the exchange before shifting her attention downward, her brown eyes settling on the axe in Seraniti's grip.
"Can I see your axe?"
Seraniti hesitated for a moment before exhaling and holding it out.
"Sure… here."
Amīrah took TwentyEight in her free hands, her extra limbs adjusting to get a better grip. She rotated it slowly, running her fingers over the worn tape, feeling the weight, tracing the subtle imperfections along the blade's duller edge. Her expression was unreadable—until she finally spoke.
"Did you kill its previous owner, Sera?"
Seraniti blinked.
Zora's head snapped back toward Amīrah, her brows furrowing slightly.
"How'd you know?" she asked, crossing her arms. "You're not a Durin."
Amīrah hummed, glancing briefly at Zora before returning her attention to the axe.
"Zora, right? I might not be one, but my papa is. He's a metallurgist, and I'm working as an apprentice too."
Seraniti raised a brow.
"It took a minute, but I'm able to translate the information protons in weapons. Though it's much harder with ones that have more complex engineering." Amīrah turned TwentyEight over one last time before extending it back to Seraniti.
Seraniti took it without hesitation, her grip firm around the handle.
"Come! I'll take you both to the store we run. Oh, and my mom's the shopkeeper, so I guess that makes it a family business."
Amīrah's voice was light, as if none of this were unusual but not before taking at peek at Seraniti's box.
Seraniti and Zora exchanged a glance before following her lead, their steps steady as they moved toward the streets of Chernobyl II.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, the quiet stretching between them like an unspoken agreement—until, of course, Amīrah decided she'd had enough of it.
"This might be a stretch, buuuttt…" She dragged out the word, her tone playful yet knowing. "Taking into account that I've never seen you two before, Sera's messy, like-she's-survived-a-disaster hair, and the fact that the ship that crashed days ago is still in the news… I'm going to take a wild guess here and say… you two are survivors. No?"
She glanced over her shoulder, casually drawing a circle in the air with her fingers.
Zora and Seraniti exchanged a glance before nodding in quiet confirmation.
Seraniti, however, kept her gaze lowered as they walked.
Now that I think about it, a lot of people here carry weapons. Her eyes flickered over the people they passed, noting the subtle bulges under jackets, and more noticeable weapons. I mean, it makes sense, considering we're in The Crest.
This place was practically an untamed land—run by cabals, each holding their own stake in its operations. Kjera Industries. Messenger Trade LTD. Teekay Manufacturing. Even some outside countries had their hands in it. That wasn't new information to Seraniti. She knew it all too well.
She stayed quiet, tuning out the conversation as Zora and Amīrah continued speaking.
"Right, Sera?"
Seraniti didn't respond, too lost in thought. She only snapped back to reality when she walked face-first into Zora's back.
"Ow."
Zora turned, raising an eyebrow.
"Sorry? What were you saying?" Seraniti blinked, rubbing her forehead as if that would somehow restore the conversation she had missed.
Zora and Amīrah shared a look before Zora flicked Seraniti across the forehead, her smirk betraying her amusement.
"I said, we were planning to reach Yamatai before that plan turned into a ball of flames."
Seraniti exhaled, rolling her shoulders. "Yeah, sounds about right. Hey, is there any ship that would take us from here?"
Amīrah pursed her lips, tilting her head slightly in thought.
"I mean, there was, but it came about a month ago. It's not coming back for… many, many months." She hummed, glancing toward the sky as if trying to mentally count the days. "And considering this town isn't under anyone apart from the mayor…"
Seraniti suddenly had the sinking realization of where this was going.
"You're kinda stuck here, no?"
She stiffened immediately, her entire body freezing as if she had just been struck by lightning. Then, in an exaggerated display of pure existential dread, she staggered forward, taking a few sluggish steps as if the weight of the town had just been dumped onto her shoulders.
Zora watched her, unimpressed.
"There it is." she muttered, sighing as she walked past Seraniti's hunched-over form.
Who knew how long they walked like that—probably too long—but eventually, they reached their destination.
A modest store sat ahead, unassuming yet well-maintained, its entrance marked by a simple sign that read in bold, slightly faded letters—HOT STUFF.
Zora snorted, immediately reading it out loud. "Hot Stuff? Quite the name indeed."
Amīrah wasted no time. The moment they reached the door, she shoved it open with force, sending it swinging inward with a dull thud against the wall. The impact echoed through the store, disrupting the quiet atmosphere inside.
Amīrah wasted no time. The moment they reached the door, she shoved it open with force, causing it to slam against the wall with a dull thud.
"I'M BACK! And I brought a potential customer! Heh."
Her voice carried the same smugness as before, as if she had accomplished something noteworthy.
From deeper inside the store, the sound of shuffling echoed in response. It was slow but deliberate, the kind of movement that suggested someone had been in the middle of something before being interrupted. Seraniti and Zora stepped inside, their eyes adjusting to the store's dim lighting.
Weapons and equipment filled the space, some carefully arranged, others stacked in controlled disorder. Arms, drivers, screens, MICA's in the form of staffs, bracelets, and guns. And of course, swords—everything one might expect in a place like this.
A rough voice followed the sound of movement.
"Calm down, girl. You'll scare them away."
From the back of the store, a man stepped forward, his figure finally visible. His clothes nearly mirrored Amīrah's—rolled-up sleeves, a rugged apron—though his pointed ears made one thing clear.
A Durin.
Unlike the exaggerated tales of stout, beer-swilling dwarves, Durins were average in height, their builds compact with strength. The man's features were worn but sharp, brown eyes set against brown hair that had begun to gray at the roots. His expression was unreadable, but Seraniti wasn't focused on him.
The moment she looked at him, the space around her changed.
Everything darkened.
Her vision distorted, as if her consciousness was being pulled in different directions, both standing still and falling at the same time. Her body tensed, muscles locking against the disorienting sensation.
She turned her head slightly, and for a moment, she saw it.
A heart, pulsing irregularly, its movements uneven, almost sickly. Twisted figures clawed at its surface, their hands stretching and pulling, desperate to take something from it.
A flicker in her vision pulled her attention elsewhere.
A card, wedged into the wall like peeling paint. A tarot card. It depicted a beast wrapped in chains, blindfolded with white cloth, surrounded by riches that melted into tar. The ink on the card seemed to waver, shifting between solid and liquid, as if struggling to decide what it was meant to be.
Then it was gone.
Her breath caught slightly as she blinked, the world around her snapping back into place. The old man was looking at her, but this time, there was something in his expression that hadn't been there before.
"Mephisto the Beast."
Seraniti barely realized she had spoken, but the way the man reacted told her everything she needed to know. His expression cracked for just a second, like something had finally clicked into place.
"Are you by chance that woman's sister? What was her name again… Yeah, no wonder you look familiar!"
He moved around the counter that had an a pretty black vase clearly well maintained, stepping closer, his gaze fixed on her.
Zora moved before Seraniti could react. One second, she was standing at her side. The next, she was behind the man, one of Mŕtvy resting lightly against his shoulder while the other pressed against his back.
"She said the same thing when we met. She had the same look in her eyes that you do too."
Seraniti felt her fingers curl into fists.
"And where is she now?" Her voice was sharp, unyielding.
The old man exhaled slowly.
"Dunno. She was here a few months ago."
He kept his tone calm, but his body betrayed him. A thin layer of sweat had begun to form along his forehead, barely noticeable under the store lights.
"So… could you take your swords off me, please?" His arms raised slightly, a poor attempt at looking non-threatening.
Amīrah let out a nervous chuckle, fidgeting slightly where she stood before taking a step closer. The tension in the room clung to the air, thick and suffocating, but she forced a casual grin anyway.
"Heh. No hard feelings?"
Seraniti and Zora sighed at the same time, their shoulders finally easing. Zora withdrew Mŕtvy, the weight of both swords vanishing as they returned to their proper places. Across from them, the old man remained cautious but finally moved, stepping around the counter before lowering himself into a worn-out chair.
With a quiet exhale, he waved a hand in a casual gesture.
"Now, my name's Samīr, and you've already met my brat. And this here, is me wife."
His palm landed gently against the side of a black vase resting beside him, his fingers lingering on its surface for just a moment longer than necessary. A small, wistful smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Seraniti and Zora froze.
It was subtle—like being struck by lightning, yet no sound followed. Their postures tensed, their bodies suddenly too still.
Amīrah's smile didn't waver, though something in her expression softened.
"But that's enough about me for now. So, how can I be of service?"
Seraniti struggled to find words at first, her mind catching up to what had just been said. With a sharp inhale, she shook her head abruptly, forcing herself to focus.
She lifted a hand slightly, and Svalinn moved to her side with a flick of her wrist. Reaching for both hielaman, she placed them on the counter before speaking.
"Um. For the smaller one, I want it to carry more stuff—like a packguard. Right now, it can only carry my gun, a few magazines, and some other bits, but that's about it."
She hesitated briefly before placing TwentyEight beside them.
"And this. I don't want to carry it on me, so it'd be nice if it could hold this too."
Samīr leaned forward, his sharp eyes scanning the equipment. He picked up the smaller hielaman, flipping it over and feeling the texture, his fingers drumming against the surface.
"Mmm… it's got a bit of thickness to it… about five inches." His hands moved with practiced ease, weighing its balance before nodding slightly. "I can do it, but the extra storage will stick out a bit on your side. Maybe a Shekel?"
Seraniti raised a brow.
"A Shekel?"
Samīr shrugged. "A type of harness, mostly used for close-body storage. Not bulky, but lets you carry more without getting in the way. The added weight won't be much of a problem for you, seeing as you can use telekinesis. Now, what about this skinnier one?"
Seraniti hummed, her gaze drifting around the shop before stopping on something that caught her attention. Her expression barely shifted, but there was a faint light in her tired eyes.
"Can you do something like this?"
She motioned toward a screen in the shape of a blade, roughly the same size and proportions as her hielaman. "Or I could just buy it… Mmm… could you change the gray on this, though? Is it possible to change its material?"
She was lost in thought until Zora lightly chopped the back of her head, earning a small wince.
"Slow down, will you? Let the old man talk."
Seraniti pouted but stayed silent.
Samīr let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "No need to sweat it, but for your question—yeah, I could change the material of the reinforcement panel. Any preference?"
He reached under the counter, pulling out a small box, its edges lined with faint etchings, likely some kind of storage unit.
Seraniti put the screen back onto the rack before walking with a low hum.
"What about Óhreinn? And then put the design of the hielaman inside… um… I don't know what it's called, so heh. The reinforcement panel. Yeah!"
Samīr raised an eyebrow as he closed the box, sliding it back under the counter with a measured motion. His gaze lingered on Seraniti for a moment before he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of experience.
"You sure you want to do this? I mean, even though most civilizations heavily use Óhreinn engineering, being so close to so much of it can cause Óhrin to spread faster. That's if you don't have it already."
His words hung in the air, unspoken caution buried beneath his casual tone.
Seraniti rubbed her wrist absentmindedly, her fingers pressing into the fabric of her sleeve as a low, self-deprecating chuckle escaped her lips.
"Hehhe... It's fine, I have suppressors with me. You get used to it after a while."
For just a second, her ears drooped slightly, betraying a flicker of sadness that passed across her face like a fleeting shadow. It was gone as quickly as it came, buried under the practiced ease of someone who had long since learned to ignore it.
"Um. That's all I have for you."
A silence settled over them.
Samīr said nothing at first, his expression unreadable as he leaned against the counter, lost in thought. Zora, standing nearby, remained uncharacteristically quiet, her presence a steady contrast to the conversation unfolding before her.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Samīr spoke.
"Considering I need to take materials out from the smaller one and replace the material with Óhreinn for that one…" He gestured toward the screen Seraniti had placed back on the rack just moments ago, his gaze scrutinizing it before continuing. "Let's see… it'll be around fifteen thousand. And it'll take two days to do."
He nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied with the estimate, before shifting his attention elsewhere.
At that moment, Amīrah returned, holding a small terminal in her hands. She placed it on the counter between them with a slight flourish, grinning as she turned it toward Seraniti.
"Here ya go! Just sign and press your thumb, and the contract will be established."
Her tone was light, but her eyes carried an amused glint, as if enjoying the small dance of business negotiations.
Seraniti exhaled through her nose, staring at the terminal for a moment before reaching forward, her fingers hovering just above the screen before pressing her thumb.
Two days. Fifteen thousand.
It wasn't cheap, but nothing worth doing ever was.
The lights inside the store flickered, a sporadic, almost panicked stutter between illumination and darkness. For a few seconds, the shifting glow turned the store into a disorienting nightmare, stretching shadows along the walls like grasping fingers. Then—without warning—everything plunged into black.
A faint hissing slithered through the silence.
Seraniti tensed, confusion flickering across her face like the stuttering lights before. Samīr, however, didn't hesitate. He pivoted on his heel and bolted for the hallway he had originally emerged from, his movements sharp with urgency. His fingers slammed against a red button embedded in the wall, the force of his action rattling the panel.
The sound of a generator rumbled through the building. The lights surged back on with a metallic hum, their glow harsh, white, and unsteady.
Then came the voice.
"Get down. NOW!"
Zora moved before Seraniti could process the command. She was behind her in an instant, arms coiling around her torso, a protective grip that was firm but not constricting. A screen flared into existence around them, multi-layered and shifting, its translucent barriers reinforcing one another in rapid succession.
Less than a second later, the entire storefront sealed itself. Windows and doors were swallowed by a similar, protective screen, as if the building itself had braced for impact.
Then—detonation.
The world outside erupted.
The first explosion sent a violent tremor through the ground, rattling the floor beneath them like an earthquake. The second followed almost instantly, a thunderous bang that slammed into the reinforced screens. The entire store shook under the barrage, overhead lights spasming between brilliance and darkness as the concussive waves pounded the structure.
Boom. Boom. BOOM.
The attack was relentless, a calculated assault that didn't aim for destruction, but precision. Something was being targeted. Something—or someone.
Alarms screamed into existence. A cacophony of high-pitched wails tore through the air, intermingling with the distant roar of collapsing structures. Yet, despite the blaring chaos, one sound cut through it all—a haunting, mechanical howl that stretched over the ruins of civilization like a mourning dirge.
AWWWWWWWWOOOOOO!
Seraniti's breath hitched. The ghostly wail clawed into her chest, wrapping itself around her ribs like a vice. The weight of the noise alone was suffocating, a deep, unnatural resonance that sent involuntary chills racing along her spine. Her legs buckled. She stumbled backward, barely catching herself against the store's counter.
Her head swam.
The walls around her distorted, shifting between the harsh fluorescence of the store and the blurred, fiery chaos outside. It was as if the world beyond the reinforced screens was unraveling in real-time, its collapse accompanied by the distant, muffled screams of the unfortunate.