In the midst of a lunar tear field that might have been the one in the city or the one at Gibraltar, an ash-colored tree twisted up from the flowers into the dark. It could have been any tree in any forest in hell, gnarled and dry and out of place among the drifting motes of stardust pollen. It lacked leaves or buds, but from one dimly pearlescent branch hung a shape he knew well. That of a black snake twisted and petrified into the shape of the very apple it was said to have tempted mankind with.

From the first day V had opened his eyes on a broken shore covered in metal corpses, the question around his continued existence had lingered, surviving where so many lesser concerns had fallen away. That was his answer. That was all he was.

The empty remnants of a qliphoth fruit.

He had no memory of a second severance because there hadn't been one. V owed his new existence to some part of the qliphoth's power that Vergil had not been able to completely take in. It was all too easy to imagine the excess seeping from Vergil's body like noxious sweat. Undigestible, yet still bound to his magic and inclined to serve its possessor in the same way the tree's whole had mistakenly nurtured Dante. That power was enough to patch the damage born from years in hell breaking weapons formed from his own soul against his enemies, and all it took was an apple made of innumerable lives condensed into a thing that could be held in the palm of one's hand.

Could the human half abide such a wretched act of cannibalism? Could Vergil's soul abide that one last act that placed him yet again so much closer to Mundus than Sparda?

For the refuse to take on V's image of all things, it seemed the answer was no.

From dredges he was born, to himself he returned, and from dredges he was born again. There was the basin's effect on him to consider, but ultimately he was the same pitiful effigy he'd ever been. However, 'V' was no longer a close-held but transient mode of existence he was passing through on the way to somewhere else. The question of whether he would disappear was answered.

Vergil was complete and there was nowhere for him to disappear to.

[Your heart wavers…] a raspy whisper called to him.

A woman waded through the flowers to join him. Slight, brown, and clothed in the mottled camouflage pattern of an unknown military, she was a stranger to him in all but one regard. Her face was hidden behind an ornate mask cast in bronze. The very same that appeared on Rubrum's cover.

"Borrowing more than a voice and a mind, I see."

"I borrow as I need, no different from you," she said with all implied impertinence. "A husk may be empty, but it need not want for the solidity of form. I have no shape of my own if none is provided."

"Even in a dream?"

"You may dream. I may only remember." The dragon spun in a slow circle, testing the remains it had exhumed from the grimoire. "Why do you fret over the truth of your being? Does freedom frighten you so?"

"Freedom…"

He had thought of it like that once, hadn't he? To have an instance where Sparda's blood meant nothing and affected nothing was a respite worth coveting. However, what once came with a tingling thrill of vindication now gnawed at him in equal measure. If he could master it, this body would not fail him. He would never have to crumble while being unable to do anything about it. It should have been a triumphant discovery, but all it left within him was an unexpected sensation of displacement.

"You guarded the boundary between you and your other self with a covetous heart, and now that you've no control over that boundary, you wish it removed. Like a child who runs away from home only to weep when he finds he cannot find his way back."

"This is… different." In so many ways it was difficult to parse one from the other.

"Merely the indecisiveness of the short-lived," the dragon said matter-of-factly. "Same as it has ever been."

His fingers grazed the ridges of malevolently carved metal at his wrist. Sharp in contrast to the soothing stir of magic that had once been as much a part of the background of his life as the scent of old books and rosemary, the cries of starlings, and the sound of his mother's footsteps. She would not mistake her son, nor misplace her love. To be graced by her was its own form of truth, and he needed no further proof that he was real enough.

Beyond the metal, his skin lay empty. Gossamer ghosts were all that remained of his contracts.

"It doesn't matter. I will fight as I am, as I always have, to reclaim what's mine."

The mask did not change, but her leer was audible. "And how exactly will you do that?"

Red claws ruptured from her body, spreading into a shape almost like wings and converging to force him down into the scentless lunar tears. The stolen body of Rubrum bent over him, her arms crossed almost casually.

"You were stripped of all. Had you not been freed from the outside, you would have been stripped of your life as well. That thing may bear the face of your nightmare, but it is far from a dream, and even were it not so—you are no longer the one who dreams it."

V minded the pressure of the hands about as much as she minded the point of his cane at her neck. "It seems the more power you gather, the less obedient you become."

"You have a contract with the being I once was, and I am no more them than you are Vergil."

"Is that what this is about," V laughed harshly. "Contract re-negotiation?"

The arm that bound them even now grew hot and the woman's skin ignited with sympathetic embers. Images of Zero flashed through his mind and the dragon's voice was a cold whisper felt in the depths of his heart as the mask leaned in close to his.

"The Flower's cage is not one Dante will come to free you from."

The flowers scattered. The empty, ashen branches of the lone tree shuddered and groaned. A black fury welled in V and the fruit welled with it. Pulsing in blue-violet that sliced through the woman with a single neat cut. The spray from her split body doused the white petals in red blood and black smoke and she disappeared, leaving V panting as he backed himself up against the tree.

The same woman's body reformed before him and he wiped a smudge of blood from his cheek. "What is it you want?"

"Your understanding." The hands retracted, except for one left held out for him to take. "That you are helpless, but that you need not lash out because of it. Not this time."

V could rest easy in one thing at least: the dragon had been cryptic well before his perceptions were involved. "Congratulations on being vague, ineffective, and trite."

"Thank you," it said with an absent sort of smugness. "Your perceptions have not provided very many examples at honest conversation. You came to understand the girl-who-is-ours, so I'm hoping you will make similar progress in this."

"So Fern is 'ours' too now?"

"As I last perceived it."

Grimacing, he took the offered hand and let it right him. The mass of red and black was neither warm nor cold to the touch, and solid as bone in his grip. V had a fuzzy memory of a winged shadow spilling more blood than he thought could exist in this world. Of heat in his arm that was unlike fire and everything like the boiling river in the Inferno.

Music reached him as he stood. Wafting in from outside of the dream and calling V back to the waking world. To the threats that waited there.

"My word and our pact remain true," the dragon soothed. "I will do all I can to help you against this foe."

"As you should. The flower is your enemy, and this is the second time it has reared itself to my annoyance." He offered a leer of his own. If the dragon had internalized his games, he had no intention of being beaten at them. "An impotent roar seemed to be the best you could do—less than even my feeble resistance. So, in what way exactly are you going to help me?"

"Ha! Truly I find my company in fools and brats and you are both. Briar took one of my Verses. We have need of it if I shall help you to the fullest of my ability."

"So be it. I too have things to reclaim." He smoothed the white strands back from his face and spared another look at the black fruit hanging from its branch."If you know my heart so well, you should know already that whatever allows me to live, I will use."

The dragon's voice smoothed into deep, rich, and rolling laughter that did not suit the body it wore, echoing as the dream broke apart at the edges. "I know it well enough to know those are the words of a very small boy trying much too hard."

"GOOD MORNING, V."

He managed a muddled grumble of acknowledgment. Stiffness permeated him, from the cold and from the events of the almost endless day before. The fog of sleep dissipated quickly, but the lighter his mind became the more leaden the rest of him became, and the more keenly he felt his body protesting his efforts to get up. Despite Fern's joke, it hadn't been a month. Yet the soreness of muscles gone tight as tourniquets around his bones and the grinding in his joints made it clear enough that his body agreed more with her than with him.

From outside, the sound of humming reached him. Not the harsh electrical reverberations of Briar Rose but a lax, melodic voice that made him think of high windows full of light and his brother absently recalling a tune in another room.

"Slow down." Fern moved fluidly from sitting to her feet and offered him her arm. "Sheesh, you look worse than before you slept. You sure you don't need to lay back down?"

The humming lilted as if turning gently on a winding road. He was certain he knew that song. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Around twelve hours."

"Then yes, I'm sure."

Half-stumbling, he made it to the exit flap and parted it. The song cut off with a gasp, a scanner with short black hair jumping back and freezing to the spot like a kitten crouching in the snow. Bald astonishment similarly froze his features. Like he couldn't believe he was that close. V stared back dispassionately, nagged by a sensation that he recognized this one.

"You were in the city…"

"Yes!" he yelped, loud enough that V reeled back. "I'm 11S! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to disturb you!"

V clenched his eyes shut as if that would somehow help this situation slow down. The sudden noise and jumpy deference and the memory of all of the near-identical outbursts when V first met 9S and Fern crashed on V in a breaking wave of déjà vu that made him reconsider going back to sleep.

"You didn't," he muttered in a numb attempt to defuse the scanner. "It's fine."

Fern leaned out of the truck with a smirk and a roll of her eyes. "That's his way of saying he likes it."

"It isn't."

"So you don't like it?"

11S' face suggested his entire life hinged on the answer and V did his best to ignore it. "It's not that either. It's just… familiar."

"Well yeah, you hung out in the city for like a year. Everybody in Anemone's camp knows that song." Fern vaulted out and busily dusted away the snow so she could lower the tailgate. "Were you actually hanging around for something or did you just decide to serenade us?"

He jumped and immediately turned tail. "I gotta go see Anemone!"

Watching him dash off into the snow was enough to leave V exhausted all over again. The skittering of androids watching him from the edge of an undefined perimeter in shades of black and brown was little better, but at least offered him assurance. They itched to come closer, and if he was to retrieve what was necessary, he would need to make use of that.

"What's the plan?" Fern leaned against the truck's edge, staring up at him with an attentive if unusually serious expression. "You have that look on your face like you're about to do something stupid and dangerous. So, what are we doing this time?"

Briar wasn't an enemy he could casually approach alone, or even through the power of the dragon. What better to bridge the gap than a few hundred androids still clinging to the hope that their god existed? Making use of pre-existing conflicts and android programming got them through Sector H, and despite Theta's insistent reprimands and recounts of numbers lost, he didn't regret it. Not in the least. If they were so willing to descend into chaos over the mere idea of him; and if they could be moved back to a state of order by his word, it behooved him to do whichever was required. They were the right tools for the job.

Devil hunters hunted devils, YoRHa fought on behalf of humanity.

[You burn another's house to warm your own.]

The words crawled along his skin, past his grinding teeth, and gathered into a festering mass in his chest. He could not fathom the look he must have given Rubrum. Fern had seen many expressions of his temper, but this one was enough to make her step back.

"Excuse me," Anemone's mellow voice interrupted. She was carrying a crate. "Something for you. From Anthurium."

Memories of a balmy forest full of light and thick pollen and a book full of lovingly made notes flitted through V. "Anthurium came with you?"

"No. He said…" She sat her cargo down heavily on the tailgate with a soft grunt. "That this was what he was made for. And even if he got called a coward or a deserter for staying behind, he'd be satisfied as long as you got this."

Anemone didn't think of the old forest android as either of those things. It showed in the subtle but defiant highness of her head, an open invitation for V to make the claim and the promise that she would shut it down. A small wonder she was well regarded despite having little of Theta or even Wisteria's grasp on authoritative presence.

He lifted the top of the crate with his cane. Black marks under the lid caught his attention. Kneeling, he found a message in crude handwriting and a bright pop in his senses: the scent of oranges.

Thank you.

-From Anthurium and Witch Hazel

The journey could not have been short, but it must have been cold enough to keep them. The first one V touched was half-frozen. No matter. They weren't rotten, food was food, and it spared Fern the need to run off looking for water. He eased himself down and focused on eating. At the edge of his periphery, Fern whispered something grateful to Anemone, who decided rightly that the moment was private and left them as efficiently as she'd approached.

Empty peels dropped into the snow between his feet. Fern didn't prompt him for an answer to her previous question.

Looking at the camp more closely, it was crowded. Far more so than he remembered from the burned-out blur of their arrival the previous night. The YoRHa keeping their close circle around him were merely the minority in a busy blur stretching as far as the limited light of the red pods allowed him to see. He recognized a few of the dark, well-bundled outfits. Night kingdom natives. Androids who would not have arrived with Anemone's group.

"Survivors from Roswell?"

"Been trickling in all night," Fern confirmed. "That song 9S played actually ended up guiding some of them this way."

"He played for that long?"

"An hour, maybe. 11S took over afterward on Theta's request. She must have wanted as many of them as possible to make it this way."

A second peel dropped to the snow. "How many?"

"Less than a nine-hundred," she reported, with a long sigh. "Out of five thousand."

His thumb stopped where it was half-plunged into the frigid rind of a third orange. "…Theta?"

"She's been taking in information non-stop, but I don't think she really knows what to do next." A knowing gloominess crossed her face. The kind that said whatever was on her mind was a matter V could not be privy to as one who was not an android. "She might be coming up on the end of her natural lifespan as a command unit."

That was cryptic for Fern, but there were only so many ways that could be taken. He opted not to think about it. In much the same way, he chose not to consider Anthurium's desire to throw a feast for mankind, or why he had signed his and Witch Hazel's names together.

Sentiment, he convinced himself as the third empty peel fell to the ground, not finality.

A smaller yet far more grating voice wondered why it should matter one way or the other. They were only strangers who had passed one another by.

9S was hard to miss when he came into view. Even among so many bodies with him ducking and squeezing around and between them, the black coat stood out as much as the black dress fluttering after him and the black pod floating among all the red. Bundles filled his arms, and he marched dutifully to his destination, pausing only to answer a stray question. Directions, or something similar, given confidently with a smile that brimmed with reassurance and warmth.

It was the first time V had ever seen 9S in his natural element. Casually interacting with other androids in a context that was, at minimum, adjacent to war. No need to hide himself. No secrets to keep. 2B close in his wake.

He'd never seen him look so happy. Or so alive.

"Let me guess," Fern said with a leisurely, mischievous grin. "You don't want to intrude?"

Leaves and stems fell at his feet. Three oranges couldn't possibly be enough, but his appetite had dwindled. "He's occupied."

"He's keeping himself occupied." He could sense her gearing up to meddle. His mouth stretched into a wide, flat line, but she was already yelling off into the crowd. "Hey, Nines! V's awake!"

It was like a switch flipped. His priorities upended, steps tangling as he nearly ran straight for them, remembered his arms were full, and darted a few steps toward what must have been his original destination only to decide it was too far and drop the bundle on the bed of the first truck he came across. 2B stood still through this display, until he tugged her along toward them. He seemed to grow brighter the closer he came, liveliness spilling out of him like honey overflowing a jar.

If he'd been any more excited as he introduced 2B to them, he probably would have burst like a firework.

She had the same doll-perfect face he remembered, but there was a solemn determination to 2B's living expression that aged her. A type of melancholy that Fern only allowed out in the occasional moment of vulnerability, and which they shared through a nod exchanged peaceably but stiffly between them. The weight of the lives she had taken away from 9S sat on her like grave dirt. She was at once his executioner and the one to pray with her last words that he would survive.

"Sir," she began stiffly.

He held up a hand immediately. "Just V."

She gave a small, bewildered frown. Her lips parted, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to address him by name. The effort went abandoned as she stood straight and bowed her head.

"Thank you," she said with unexpected warmth. "For taking care of 9S."

His fingers twitched for his cane out of habit. If she were anyone else, he'd have lifted her chin himself, but all he could think of was her corpse among the lunar tears, cared for with such unabashed devotion he could barely stand to look. Even by extension, even to stop something so unnecessary as gratitude from her, he could not imagine touching her at all.

Luckily, the display was as brief as it was uncomfortable.

"You left a message behind that was difficult to ignore," he said sparsely. "See to it that there's no need to leave another like it."

2B took the dry words in as though they were in a language she knew better than any other. As if it were an order. "Understood."

"Hey, where'd that come from?" 9S beamed, pointing to the orange.

"Anthurium." He handed it over. He'd only been pointlessly plucking at it anyway. "A good change of pace from fish and demons."

9S stopped mid-peel; his face curdling in on itself. "You ate a demon?"

"It was almost enjoyable after a year of bland meat and your occasional attempts to feed me grass."

"Ooof… You haven't changed a bit."

V smiled. Despite the theatrical groan, they both knew it wasn't a condemnation.

"You're eating now?" 2B asked plainly.

"Not regularly. You remember than guy out in the forest kingdom who asked us for the moose meat? I got to know him and he sent these from a big grove way out past the megaflora. You can eat the oranges right off the trees when they're ripe. V and I went there one day and ate a lot." He split off half of the fruit and held it out to her. "Try some, it's really good! And it feels great good to eat with people you're close to so…" All at once, his mind caught up to what his mouth was trying to ask and each tripped over the other. "So… If you want to."

"…Maybe later." The answer was measured and reserved. But the gathering of her shoulders and the way she couldn't quite resist looking at the fruit was shy in a far more girlish manner than V expected. "I'll finish the delivery. We can rendezvous later."

She was every bit the child 9S and Fern were. Far from hungry, he thought he was going to vomit.

"Seems like you've got a type," Fern laughed while 9S was still watching 2B stalk away. "If I had to guess, she's just trying to give you two some space, and I'm going to follow her example."

He gave a genuinely disappointed frown. "You too?"

"Hey, only one of us got to enjoy maintenance yesterday. A little visit with an H-type while I know V is with you will be good for me." She grinned, waving lazily. "You're the one who said I belong with you, so enjoy the break before you have to deal with the consequences."

9S slowly pulled himself up onto the truck, leaving the usual polite distance between them. On one hand, it seemed unnecessary at this point. On the other, V was painfully aware of mistaking someone for Dante and holding onto them as if they were the promise of safety itself and that wouldn't have been Fern.

"She's different, isn't she."

"So are you."

Nero had his own reasons to fight and his own calling to the top of the qliphoth. Yet he hadn't left V behind despite having no real reason to care where he fell. Looking at 9S, V knew it was probably inevitable that he had conflated the two of them, and the brief interaction with 2B left no room to pretend it wasn't just as inevitable that 9S had done the same. It was an accident, but it was as natural as gravity, that they knew one another.

V slouched against the crate of oranges.

"You okay? You seem like you're still a little out of it."

"More physically than mentally. It will pass." Or so he hoped. Too much had happened at once. His mind was in a dozen places, and he didn't relish discussing any of them with 9S. "How was the moon?"

9S didn't need a second prompting.

Swinging his legs enthusiastically, he chattered while devouring one orange after the other. Weaving a story of footprints on the surface of the moon and his discovery of the factory where YoRHa models were put together. Of the lunar site with its hundreds of red pods all sharing a single consciousness and the forty servers he'd searched through with the help of two more YoRHa discovered alive on the moon. Returning to the city and watching the first YoRHa unit be successfully transferred from the ark back to a new body. Of hearing about the Descent mission in Sector H and nearly losing Shadow (at which he shot V a wounded scowl, but said nothing).

At some point, it stopped being a recount and transformed into energetic descriptions of those he had encountered. 801S, who had helped him defeat the final protocol and promised to restore 2B. 10H, who had learned she was stationed on the moon sixty-six times. 1S, who organized to establish YoRHa's place in the world. Pod 006, who was really into human idioms and wanted to make right the damage done to 10H. Anemone, who didn't hate him when he explained that he knew V had been human the whole time, and who was glad the mattress had been of use. A dragon he hadn't named but who fought beside him for a month. He even spoke well of Theta and Scheherazade among his account of a dozen scouts, comms units, and repairers he'd called his allies while V was in hell and Roswell was reduced to a battlefield.

Most of them were probably dead.

Five thousand, reduced to hundreds. Only YoRHa and the resistance androids led by Anemone remained untouched by what had transpired in Roswell.

"I'm glad I got to do this with you again."

"…Eat oranges?"

"Yeah," he admitted with a somewhat self-conscious laugh. "That day in the grove was the first time I was really happy after losing 2B. I wanted to go back with you again, but everything happened sorta fast after that. I guess it works out I'm getting to have them again now that she's back."

"You're easily impressed if oranges left that big of an impact."

9S made a face and chucked a peel at him. "I'm serious. It might not have been anything special for you, but the people who knew what I was hated it or ignored it or excused it or forgave it. Nobody… ever told me it was alright to be what I am."

V could barely remember what he'd said, but he remembered a bowed shape hiding under his coat like it was a security blanket and the small, lost voice of a child asking if their worst suspicions were true. He assumed bluntness of himself. A truth, but not one told with bad intent. Mostly, he remembered sleeping under the sun with a stomach full of sugar, filled with a lazy sense of security he hadn't tasted since his youth.

"I may have been speaking more to myself than you," he said, picking another frigid orange from the crate. "I finally found out what I am. How I became separated from Vergil again."

9S looked up at him. Curiosity cycled over his features, but what he asked for was not an explanation or any further information.

"Does it matter?"

The question was genuine. The way all of his questions were. No implication of unimportance. No pretense one way or the other. And as it so often had before, that curiosity completely absent of anything but the desire to understand paved an easy road between V and the truth.

"It provides certainty about what will happen to me if I manage to return that I did not have before. Whether those changes will be a blessing or a curse, I do not know. But while I am here, no. It doesn't matter." Peels feel again to his feet. His appetite still evaded him, but it gave his hands something to do. "I am still me."

"I'd hope so," 9S said, with sunniness that defied the night and all its stars. "You're the only you I've ever known."

What delight lived in those words—in the concept of an unbroken experience that connected their full knowledge of one another. In this world where memories were so susceptible to loss and manipulation, and identity was similarly in flux, how many other people close enough to call him Nines could make that boast?

It was odd. Ease had not come naturally to V in thirty years, but he'd been at ease in those ruins despite having no idea when or how he'd get home. And though a power far greater than any demon he'd ever contended with had stolen what was his and was birthing itself somewhere beyond the horizon, he was at ease now.

"What?" 9S asked, patting his cheek. "Did I get some on my face?"

"You do eat like a pig," V deadpanned. "It's impressive, considering you've never been hungry."

"Is that something a guy who ate demon meat should be saying?" Fern called, swinging around the side of the truck with an unimpressed look. "You should've seen him, 9S. We get back from hell and he's got a fist full of meat off one of those pyramid snakes."

The combination of indignance, disbelief, and exasperation that took over 9S made V look away. Mostly so he wouldn't laugh. "You complained about my food and then ate that?"

"I think this guy would probably eat trash if it kept him alive."

V found a mild smirk in him. "Doesn't mean I wouldn't call it what it was."

Fern hopped aboard, light-footed and spry, and sat beside 9S. He handed her an orange, and she made a briefly conflicted face before waving it off. "We're in the middle of what used to be a desert. It's the only food V's going to have for a while."

9S nearly dropped it in his rush to put it back in the box. An already peeled one sat in his lap and instead of stuffing it whole into his mouth like he had the others, he tried to hand it to V.

V rolled his eyes. "Just eat it."

He split it with Fern, who regarded it again like something she wasn't sure if she was supposed to have. But she ate it every bit as dutifully as 9S did. V managed to finish his as well. Food had in their company tasted better.

He understood. For the first time, the cost of using everything he could was clear to him.

2B might be the most important thing in 9S' life, but he did have a life besides. People who knew him. Those in whom he could place his trust. A home and friends and even kin as much as androids could be said to have. Using everything meant putting both 9S and 2B at risk, after they had only just reunited. Were their positions reversed, V would have said no without flinching. But 9S wasn't V. His presence was already the proof that he would still be every bit as foolishly kind as he had always been. Fern had already made her oaths. Not one among these androids tethered her to this world. But even her aid was not free. She had finally come to the decision that she would like to try living by her own will, and the possibility of her losing her chance played through V's mind like a dismal joke.

YoRHa's joy was earned, each body a house rebuilt and filled with memories infinitely more significant than any could-be soul. They had been born as sacrifices once; V couldn't bring himself to submit them to the fire a second time.

"I don't have the power to face Briar or defeat that demon," he acknowledged. "Nor does the dragon. Nor do either of you. You've seen what it can do. Knowing that, would you fight?"

The two of them looked at each other, both visibly struggling not to laugh. "Yeah? What are you getting all shy for all of the sudden?"

He nodded toward the curious, child-bright eyes watching all around them. "Would they, having just received their lives back?"

"Probably," 9S said easily. "We are still soldiers, V. Fighting is what we do."

"These are not machines. This is not your war."

"I think I know what you're getting at, even though you're terrible at saying it. You're coming at it from the wrong angle, V. They're here for themselves." Fern leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her thighs. "Everybody here knows you are leaving. Some of them came here for you, and some of them didn't, but once you're gone, that's it. All of them have to decide what to do with themselves. And they all know it. Just like they know this is probably the only place in the world where they know they'd be welcome."

"Sounds like quite the assumption."

"It's a natural one," she said with a defenseless smile. "You could have had your pick of anyone in this world, and you decided on two half-broken YoRHa every time."

9S blinked, as if only just realizing for himself what Fern had already figured out. He hopped down from the truck, brushed off his coat, and held himself with the same clarity of purpose he'd gathered for going to the moon.

"Let's go talk to Theta."

They found her as Fern had described, embroiled in the work of command. Desperation had settled over her, carving harsh angles on the lines of a face that had rarely been anything but impartial. V could not recall the numbers she cited, but he knew she had already tallied those lost into the ledger of total androids in existence. The sudden jump toward zero after what must have been a fairly successful effort against the demons had stolen something from her. No amount of officious clipboard handling or authoritative glaring could cover the hole it had left behind.

"Something you need?" she asked distractedly.

"An update on Briar would be a good start," said V.

"We received a report four hours ago that the main body shifted to Node #28."

"Of course it can do that," Fern sighed. "Where's that in relation to us?"

"North. Not any closer to our current position, but if we had continued northwest, we would be in range. It can be presumed Briar doesn't know our actual location but is attempting to follow us."

"Then time is of the essence. Where are the celebrants?"

"Scheherazade is still being repaired. Jorinde and Jorindel are maintaining communications with the twins."

9S' brow scrunched suspiciously. "The twins…?"

"Twin models previously assigned the job of tracking the shade dragon's movements," Theta rattled off impassively, her eyes elsewhere and her mind clearly close behind. "Seeing that it's dead now, they're tracking Briar."

"Theta," 9S gritted on the fine line between patience and impatience. "Is it the twins?"

"Was that not implicit, Unit 9S?"

"They died." His mouth opened, but he bit back on his intimate knowledge of their burial. "They were crushed by the tower falling."

Her gaze fell on 9S then, razor-sharp and harsh with disapproval. "You've come this far and you're still naïve enough to think that's the first time those two have died?"

V raised his cane to keep them from getting too excited. There would be time for that discussion later, or they would all be dead, and it wouldn't matter anyway. "We intend to confront Briar."

"I don't recommend it."

"You also didn't recommend I enter hell."

That gave her pause. Enough that exhaustion crept into the corners of her eyes, but so too did wrath. "Under the Pods. Twenty minutes."

At exactly the time she dictated, V sat within a circle of crates and trucks hastily aligned into a boundary between those deemed important to the conversation and those who would end up affected by it. He recognized a number of them. Anemone, 11S, Jorinde and Jorindel carving fresh words into Scheherazade's new plates, and even a pair bundled in the standard dark clothes of the night kingdom, strangers save for the green of their eyes and the flares of red hair beneath their hoods. A number of YoRHa had also been included, though he didn't recognize any save 2B and 11S. He imagined the two other male units must also be scanners, but the females were beyond him to guess at.

Anemone was the first to raise her voice. "Where do we begin?"

"Any knowledge of what we're actually dealing with would be welcome," said Theta. "Threat assessment is difficult to get final data on when the threat is still growing."

Fern turned, looking up at Rubrum. "You said you'd explain. Now's the time, I think."

The book did not answer. Something had the dragon's attention, but V could not gather more from it than a sense of deep annoyance, targeted somewhere within the crowd that had pressed in to hear the discussion.

"The black flower and the dragon are naturally opposed creations of the same gods," said 9S. "The Intoner is a being infected by the flower who uses the power of Song. I'm not exactly sure of the details but we might be on the edge of another white giant appearing."

"Sounds like we don't want any Intoners around at all and we've only got half a dragon around to begin with." Fern turned to Jorinde and Jorindel. "Can we do anything about this? Something celebrant-like?"

Both of them scowled at her as though she were something unfortunate they found on the soles of their shoes. "If a celebrant existed who had that much power it wouldn't have taken a thousand years just to expel a bunch of ambient maso."

"Great. Anybody have anything helpful to add?"

"Briar has hold of the Verse of Form," said Rubrum. "It is that which allowed it to fashion the demon we saw."

"Mundus," V clarified, not without a chill seeping like cold oil down his spine.

"Let's start with that," Theta suggested. "Can you provide details on the scope of its abilities? Are meteor strikes going to be a problem we have to deal with?"

"Yes. Mundus was once the king of hell, and you should expect his powers to exceed reason. He is also a puppeteer by nature. He manipulates. He creates. I would say his and the seeds powers are well suited to one another. If we should be worried about a new Intoner being born, it would serve us well to treat Mundus as a being who, unlike the seed, can simply create what is needed from nothing."

The silence that followed was deep enough to hear a thin, twiggy snap from somewhere in the crowd. V's arm flashed with heat, and hands erupted from Rubrum's pages, parting the crowd to snatch a single android and drag her forward, suitcase and all.

"Well, well," said V, twirling his can over his wrist. "How gracious of you to make an appearance, Accord."

"You know each other?" Theta asked.

"Not well," Accord said comfortably in spite of being upside down. "Mr. V and I are merely acquaintances."

"Start talking. The dragon seems very put out by you and I'm not inclined to bring it to heel."

"I'm afraid there's nothing in my book that can help this situation. None of these events have ever happened this way before."

"But they've happened," Theta pointed out sharply. "What was the solution then?"

"Not one you are capable of repeating. The black flower is extremely dangerous. It only appears twice in our records. The first time required the strongest sealing gate we had. The second required a highly developed Intoner and the dragon designated as Gatekeeper combine forces to destroy it."

"Whatever Mundus creates will not be cooperative," V said sourly.

"That's what I was afraid of. Is it within your power to retrieve that Verse, Mr. V?"

"It is within mine," Rubrum supplied. "But it necessitates this Mundus be defeated."

One of the female models ground her fist into her open palm. "Sounds like a job for combat units."

"Use your head," a stern scanner with a determinedly neutral face countered. "Physical contact will get you absorbed and turned into one of those white things. We can't fight it hand-to-hand."

"No," 9S agreed. "But we can organize an orbital strike. It moved to get in our way—clearly, we have something it wants."

"It wants V," Accord said, shifting her glasses. "This world lacks good candidates for the power of Song and he would be its best option at this time. But it won't take long before the reprogramming function catches up and compensates, especially if Mundus is able to create Intoners. At this rate there may be another early cataclysm—it would necessitate sealing this branch off entirely."

The chill seeping through V solidified into ice. If Briar wanted him for a possible Intoner, it wasn't a wonder that the dragon threatened him about the Flower's cage. He would end up like Zero if he was too hasty.

Over his head, Rubrum flitted like a wasp in Accord's face. "This is no longer a mere flower that can be contained with a strong enough seal The influence of hell twists the germination process. You will leave this world to its ruin only to find it breaks through once more."

"Buying time is what we do."

"That and being extremely selective in your interference!"

"I provided instruction," Accord pointed out with a frustrated frown. "But following instruction really isn't Mr. V's strong suit…"

Rubrum's cover flared red. "I have seen your so-called instruction! You provided him no warning that alternatives might present themselves and then went so far as to close the gate behind him!"

"That decision came from above me. And given how things have turned out, closing it sooner may have been prudent. The timeline has been accelerated far beyond the Association's ability to control. There are no sealing mechanisms large enough to deal with a complete bloom this early. The dragons are too immature; they aren't capable of speech yet, much less self-evolution or anti-harmonic functions. The Mercurius Gate won't even be a thought for another three thousand years, assuming it comes to exist at all after all the changes to this branch."

"What happens if you seal the branch?" V interrupted.

"It is a complete dimensional lock. It won't affect this world, it will simply sever it from others."

"In other words," V said mildly. "My way home will be cut off."

"Accord is there a reason you didn't just tell V where the red dragon's bones are?" asked 9S. "Wouldn't that have prevented all of this?"

Accord sighed and flipped through her book, toward an unexpectedly early entry. "The dragon plummets from the tower of red thunder and where it falls no one has seen."

For a few moments, V didn't understand. When it finally clicked, his grip on his cane tightened. "Its final resting place went unobserved. You don't actually know it's here."

"Oh, it's absolutely here. It'll be discovered in about two thousand years. There's just…" She made a futile effort to smooth down her skirt and straighten her blouse. "A substantial blank space in our records regarding where and under what circumstances."

"Useless," the book snapped, and threw her aside.

9S chewed at his lip and disappeared into a brief conversation with the short-haired scanner 11S. He nodded at several points and stepped forward with no change in the querulous scowl that seemed to be his default expression when addressing other androids.

"It doesn't matter if this thing is magic, a god, a nightmare, or a demon; it's still a quantum computer that behaves like a small-scale machine network. We'd like to propose a scanner operation ahead of the orbital strike."

"Briar is like Pod 006," 9S explained further. "It's just one consciousness, but it can inhabit any of its nodes. If we're going to fight it, we should shut down every available framework but Node #28 so it can't move around. Otherwise, we run the risk of having to kill it forty-six times."

"1S, does any scanner have the ability to take down a system that large?"

"...Not alone," he said carefully. "My generation was field trained through cooperative all-scanner operations. There are eight of us. We should be able to do it if we all attack at once."

"I'll take point." All eyes went to 9S. "I've been inside Briar's network before. It's not normal to begin with and I doubt that's changed for the better."

"You what?" Fern blurted. "When?!"

"At Node #7 when I was trying to track you and V down. I also did simultaneous and directly networked hacking with 801S at the lunar server that might give us a boost."

"Networked hacking…?" asked 1S.

"Active hacking while connected through a physical network cable to maximize synchronicity. I'll share the data with you later. It's not good for mobile combat situations, but if we're stationary it could be invaluable. "

Theta looked to Pine. "Do you have a way for them to access Briar remotely?"

"Not a chance, but if they get back to the ship, Jackass can probably work something out with the onboard terminal."

"Let Emil take them there," said V. "If Briar cannot be isolated, defeating it will be impossible. We need to know if it can be done sooner rather than later."

The first sprouts of possibility that order, if not victory, might be attainable brought Theta back into her element. She signaled to one of the red pods and it floated gladly down to her, antenna spinning at the ready. "All scanner units remaining in the camp are to gather up and depart with Emil for the landing point within the next two hours. Descent forces are to fall back on foot with YoRHa forces to a point between the ship and Node #28, exact coordinates TBD. Units should be prepared for an extended defensive skirmish as part of Phase 1. Legion activity is highly probable and combat units will need to hold the line until the Phase 2 orbital strike." She paused and looked to V. "Will you need to be there?"

"V has another engagement." V, 9S, and Fern immediately turned their attention to Rubrum. "Briar has the Verse of Form. But I only have eleven Verses with me. Another is absent."

V pinched the bridge of his nose. "You say this now?"

"Do you have any idea where it could be?"

"Blood is the Verse," it said with a spin. "All Verses were gathered together as individuals before the false wyrm's birth. I, the Verse of Amplification remained, and the shade took eleven into itself. Only one other being was there to take the remainder."

"The white dragon's flesh," said Scheherazade. "But it is lost."

"Not as lost as my bones. 9S has something that will know the way."

9S rubbed at his arm and took an unexpected breath. He held out his hands and the golden sparks that usually accompanied materialization popped in violent gunshots of gold and white before coalescing into a sphere the color of pale pink roses. The moment it was solid, his hands snatched back from it and it fell steaming into the snow. He was breathing heavily.

2B's hand was on his shoulder before V had even seen her move. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sorry, I just... For some reason, I can't actually touch that thing. Even the NFCS has a really hard time dealing with it."

V reached down and lifted the gently glowing sphere in his hand. Dazzled gratitude shot through him like a fallen star; an emotion that wasn't his but didn't seem to belong to the dragon either. It soon faded, and all that was left was the same urgent pull he'd felt at Gibraltar.

"It's not strong... but it's out there. He's still alive."

...He?

"Then we'll organize a search operation as well," Theta said efficiently. "Fern, I assume you'll escort?"

Her eyes darted between V, 9S, and 2B, before she set a hand on her hip. "No can do. I'll be participating in the defense operation like all the other combat units. Finding dragons is a magical effort. Scheherazade should go with him."

"Scheherazade's condition is because of V. Is that wise?"

"We can work together," V said with a not-quite-amicable smile. "Provided she doesn't come between me and what's mine again."

Scheherazade nodded. "I do only as I must. So it is with V."

"I'll organize a pair of dragons for you two. Flight should be the fastest and safest way to cover ground. Pod 006? Can you spare another unit for Scheherazade?"

"ABSOLUTELY."

"Good. I'll be working closely with YoRHa's Operator models to stay apprised of each group's status. You have your orders. Prepare to move out."

"Wait."

It was a simple and humbling and almost paralyzing thing to see so many heads turn to him on a single word. He remembered why he'd hidden in the clothes of a YoRHa at first. This was power, but not any kind he wanted. Least of all over a bunch of children foolish enough to have hope in a world that demanded miracles before they could even claim their own bodies as something that belonged to them. Maybe he'd listened to Theta one too many times, or maybe he was still his old self, unaccustomed to the idea that grace could be given any more than it could be received. Either way, the newly manifested face of his tormentor had struck him with the same numbing terror that invariably drove Vergil to do everything Mundus had done to him.

Not this time. This time, he wanted to bet on mercy.

He climbed up, beyond a crate and onto a truck. Without his familiars, he was momentarily at a loss for how he should make his point. But it wasn't his first time without them. From the very beginning, the very first tolling of the bell, he'd had his own magic. His body unraveled at the extremities, in glistening trails of violet, the empty tattoos white-hot and holding mostly humanoid shape around the solid mass of the qliphoth fruit. It did not beat by itself, but magic pulsed around it in a steady rhythm.

"This is what I am," he said. "Whether that something is human or not, you should decide for yourselves. Your gods are dead. So is the android responsible for the inception of YoRHa. You do not owe anyone your lives. If you choose it, fight for the lives you've regained. Struggled. Cry. Scream and pray and hope that someone more forgiving than the gods will hear you. Retreat and desertion are acceptable. Only death is prohibited."

It was easiest to miss Griffon in situations like this. He was precisely the type to address a crowd with the most abrasive form of the truth. But he wasn't there. Until V reclaimed him, all that was left were the words he'd said while V still lay naked in a pile of trash.

"We work together or we die. But that is your choice to make."