In spite of its colossal size, Xord had been unable to isolate Yaldabaoth from the distorted background noise. Upon focusing, he could see that it was levitating behind Gadolt with its tail swaying behind it.

"Another one?" Gadolt exclaimed. There was an uncharacteristic weakness—something close to fear—in his voice, which made Xord feel smug gratification. It was as if his father had showed up to tell off a playground bully. He couldn't remember the last time he had been happy to see Egil.

To Gadolt, Egil said, "I admit your resolve is admirable. You will make a fine servant."

Xord saw Yaldabaoth make a move, though he couldn't quite make out what Egil was doing. Judging by the gasp that was choked out of Gadolt's lungs, he had restrained him in some way. Xord was elated. It was just what Gadolt deserved—killing him wouldn't have been nearly as satisfying.

Egil regarded Xord. "Your Face Unit is in worse condition than you led me to believe." His voice wasn't strained by ire or disappointment, which put Xord at ease.

"Sorry. I got careless."

"Some of the damage looks to be irreparable. We must proceed with a core transplant."

Xord didn't like the sound of that. Was Egil implying that his brain was going to be taken out and put into something else? Again? Xord didn't think he could deal with having to adjust to another new body. It was then that he remembered the trio of empty Face Units he had seen in the Face maintenance bay: perfect copies of the one his soul was inhabiting. The thought of having his consciousness moved into the body of a clone unsettled him nonetheless.

Xord felt his feet lift off of the ground, freeing them from the immense weight of his body. He flailed his limbs until he realised it was Egil's doing. It was as though Yaldabaoth had produced a magnetic cloud of some sort, suspending Xord's metal body between its hand and the ground. Light seeped through the crack in Xord's lens as Egil piloted Yaldabaoth up the shaft and out of the mine. Xord could determine the position of the sun, but otherwise, he could only perceive the sprawling plains of Bionis' leg as rows of dark and light bars.

Xord wondered what had become of the runaway captives. It was unclear to him whether they had fled toward the freight elevator, or up the path that wound around the pit. If Egil hadn't slain them, they would likely fall victim to the Mechon patrolling the tunnels. Either way, he decided they were no longer his responsibility.

Egil asked, "How much ether is in your tank?"

"I'm running on empty."

Yaldabaoth jerked suddenly; then, it landed and Egil released Xord onto the ground. Xord staggered forward, lured by the scent of a fresh kill.

"Observe the folly of the so-called "self-preservation system". It is an inconvenience above all else," Egil said, possibly to Gadolt—assuming he was conscious—as Xord tucked into whatever thing Egil had killed. It was a large monster of some sort, so Xord needed to get his hands dirty.

Egil continued, "Hunger is a concept foreign to the Machina. I thought it was a vulnerability, a dependence that I could exploit. But when one's survival hinges on such a thing, it becomes troublesome. I now have more efficient means of control."

Xord ate until even his gullet was gorged with broken down flesh and bones. After such a close call, he found himself relishing his fullness more than usual. The mass was comforting; it gave him substance and made him feel like less of a hollow shell. Once he had lingered long enough, Xord stepped away from the remains to show that he was done.

"I found nothing of interest on this part of Bionis," Egil said, again willing Xord to rise. Yaldabaoth ascended as well. "And yet, I do not believe my assumptions were in error. Only a Telethia could have caused this much damage to a Face. So begins the revival of Zanza's agents of destruction."

At last, Xord had a name for the mysterious creature that had attacked him: Telethia. He had no idea who or what "Zanza" was, though, nor did he know what was causing Egil so much distress. It wasn't reassuring, to say the least. Xord wasn't curious by nature, yet he couldn't help but speak up.

"Zanza?"

Egil said, "Zanza is the soul of the Bionis, and the soul of the Monado as well. The Monado is an extension of him, the vessel through which he perpetuates his existence among the beings of Bionis."

Xord felt like he understood even less than he did before.

"Zanza is the enemy with whom I intend to do battle. He is a cowardly god, afraid of his own creations. He will not permit them to gain independence, for he fears he will be forgotten. It is why he seeks to undo all of creation and begin the world anew, only to repeat the cycle when he grows wary once more.

"It was the Monado that allowed Zanza to bring devastation upon my people, the Machina. My brethren were almost exterminated completely. I will not rest until Zanza has been stopped and my people have been avenged. The Monado has no place in this world; it can only bring about despair. That is why I seek to destroy it."

Xord became entranced whenever Egil spoke of his motivations. Egil was a man of immense power and authority, and he demanded respect. There must have been some validity to his cause if he was able to hold so much power. Xord felt like he wasn't allowed to question Egil, even if he kept the questions to himself.

"Those who wield the Monado become the host of Zanza. Zanza was able to attack the Bionis by taking control of my friend, Arglas. And now, another one wields the Monado. He will seek to release its true power."

"True power?"

"Yes. Following his attack on the Mechonis, Zanza was imprisoned. If he were to be unbound, the Monado would gain the power to rend the flesh of beings born of the Bionis. This is part of Zanza's plan to destroy all life."

Recalling what Metal Face had told him about the Monado, Xord said, "That'd mean…"

"Faces would lose their protection against the Monado."

Xord dipped his head in dour acceptance. He then asked, "But what does all this have to do with the… Te-leth-i-a?"

"The Telethia are cells of the Bionis, macrophages of sorts. They absorb the ether from living beings and return it to the Bionis so it may be used as fuel. My people were attacked by the Telethia in our capital, Agniratha. Now, Zanza seeks to unleash the Telethia upon the Bionis. You yourself have witnessed the destructive power of a Telethia. Imagine this power multiplied a hundred, perhaps a thousandfold. It is through the Telethia that Zanza will bring about the end of all life."

"So what's happening is the beginning of the end?"

"That is a fair assessment. Action must be taken now, before it is too late."

There was something Xord still didn't get. It was something he had ruminated on before; at least now, he had more context. One way or another, all life on Bionis would be destroyed—the only difference was that if Egil won, Zanza would be destroyed as well.

Hesitantly, Xord asked, "… What will happen after Zanza's defeated?"

"When all is said and done, I will restore Mechonis to its former glory. I will call upon Lady Meyneth for guidance, and together, we shall usher in a new era of peace."

Xord didn't know who "Lady Meyneth" was, but his doubts had been assuaged. A new world full of hope—that seemed like something worth fighting for.

Xord felt an emptiness inside of him, even though he was full of ether.

Damn it. Why was he thinking about her again?

Yaldabaoth landed on the base platform of Galahad Fortress and set Xord on the floor. Egil said, "Stay here. I will summon a Mechon unit to guide you inside. But first, I must see to this Homs."

Xord assumed he meant Gadolt. He stood still, the sound of footsteps and a clanging mechanical rhythm fading into the background of his mind as he meditated on all the things that Egil had told him. It was a lot to take in. He'd been fed more information than he could swallow, making it hard for him to grasp the significance of it all. It was knowledge with the potential to alter his worldview, if only his addled brain could make sense of it.

While Xord knew of the titans' epic battle—as did every Homs on Bionis—he had never put any thought into the souls of the Bionis and Mechonis and what had happened to them following their strife. Still, Xord struggled to comprehend Zanza. How could he be both the Bionis and the Monado, while also being imprisoned? Had Egil been speaking in riddles? Even though his mind was incapable of giving Zanza form, Xord understood what he represented: an evil so great that it transcended his own lack of morals. Zanza was a common enemy of the entire world.

Egil had briefly spoken about his cause before, though Xord retained very little of the information. He at least remembered why he'd been programmed with the self-preservation system: to burn ether that would have otherwise returned to the Bionis. He was essentially Egil's response to the Telethia. Xord arrived at the conclusion that all he needed to do was eat more than the Telethia did, which was a challenge he was willing to accept.

But what would become of the Faces after Egil rebuilt Mechonis? Would they be integrated into that society as people? After giving it some thought, Xord had a disturbing realisation: if all life on Bionis were to be destroyed, would there be anything left for him to eat? Egil wouldn't just let him lose his mind and starve… would he? Xord wanted to trust Egil. Egil knew what he was doing; he must have had something planned. Xord refused to believe otherwise.

Xord wasn't going to let Zanza win, he decided. If anyone was going to win, it would be him. He would fight for Egil and the future of Mechonis. When Xord awakened in his new body, he would awaken with a new sense of purpose. He would be on the right side of history, he assured himself, even if some people would have to die for him to get there.

And when he painted the inside of his tank red with those people's blood, he could rest easy knowing he was doing it for a just cause.

Xord was taken by surprise when a visualisation of the base platform manifested in his mind's eye. He could hear a faint whir behind his head; Egil must have sent an aerial Mechon to transmit a view of his path into his head. Xord, being able to discern the location of the ramp, trudged across the platform and into the Face maintenance bay.

"This is Bronze Face, the prototypical unit from which the mass-produced line was developed," Egil told Vanea as Xord appeared in the room, oblivious to how well they were acquainted. "Its self-preservation hardware is outdated. Alas, removal of the metabolic processor components and the subsequent rewiring of the brain would be more trouble than it is worth. This unit's obedience and performance are exceptional, however, making its repairs a worthwhile investment."

Obedience: exceptional. That was praise Xord would've never dreamed of receiving from Egil, and something his former self would've been devastated to hear. It felt like it had been ages since the last time he tried to fight back. In hindsight, the way he'd behaved was almost laughable. What a waste of energy it had been.

Xord could tell his head had been flipped back, exposing the doors to the compartment in his chest. He heard Vanea's voice: "We are about to remove your Core Unit. It will be like going to sleep."

Xord thought that sounded nice. He hadn't slept since he was a Homs. He could idle and enter a somewhat meditative state—a "rest mode" of sorts—but he couldn't remember what it felt like to lose consciousness. Before he had a chance to dwell on it, everything went away.

…

Xord found himself in a familiar purgatory. He couldn't see anything, nor could he hear or smell or feel his body's weight. Was he dreaming, or was he dead? Had something gone wrong during the transplant?

Upon evaluating his situation, Xord realised his fears had been comically overblown. It was peaceful—a respite from the violence that dominated his actions and his thoughts. He didn't need to think about how hungry he was, because he didn't have a belly to fill. He wasn't a monster or a machine anymore, but he also wasn't a person. He didn't need to be any of those things. He didn't even need to exist.

But just like that, he was back. The life-giving blood was being pumped through his new Face Unit, binding him to a body. As his vision flickered on, no longer distorted, and he gained a sense of pressure, Xord determined he was suspended from a crane by his shell.

He let out a sad moan. He was hungry.

"Good morning, Xord."

Xord panned down and saw Vanea standing beneath him.

She asked, "Does everything feel all right?"

Xord shifted his shoulders. "I guess so." He didn't mention that he was starving—mostly because, for some reason, his self-preservation system remained dormant. As uncomfortable as he was, he found himself unwilling to voice his concerns. Deep down, he didn't want to eat. Did he ever want to eat, or had he just been programmed to think he did?

"That's good to hear. Before the transplant, I increased the durability of your Core Unit. I have you running on ether cylinders for now, but they will not last very long." Vanea turned and began walking toward a control panel, but paused when she was halfway there. "I… am sorry. For everything."

Xord stirred slightly, but said nothing.

"I will get you down."

The crane lowered Xord until his feet were touching the ground, and then he was released. He took a step forward and found that he could move much more smoothly. His old Face Unit had accumulated a lot of wear-and-tear, so it seemed.

Both of them were quiet.

Vanea spoke. "It… gets lonely, especially now that Egil is busy most of the time. I have been put in charge of many Faces, and most of them do not have the ability to speak. Their memories have been completely erased. They may not even recall that they were people once." Her gaze fell to the floor. "Sometimes, it is hard for me to remember they were once people. Egil designed them to be weapons and nothing more."

"People…" Xord mumbled, as if he had never heard the word before. Something about what Vanea had said struck a chord with him. It was disturbing how easy it was to become detached. When people started being used to some end, they lost the integrity that made them Homs and became nothing more than tools, or objects fit for consumption—literally, in Xord's case.

The revelation was fleeting. Xord had already forgotten what "people" meant. Homs were food, and thinking about them stimulated phantom salivary glands. He did want to eat, Xord realized. He wanted to eat Homs. They were small and he could eat them one after another, and how they screamed and ran! Xord delighted in killing them precisely because they were people—yet he could only perceive them through the lens of his own gratification.

"He has their production down to a science. The procedure is fully automated now, and Face Units can be assembled in minutes," said Vanea. "They are all functionally the same, barring some errors that crop up during the procedure. They look the same, they act basically the same, and they can be commanded en masse with a single wide-range signal. But they are not just machines. They are people, all of them."

Xord grunted, recalling the captives who had boarded Egil's passenger craft. He wondered where they were now. Did they eat people, too? Xord didn't remember his old self, so it unsettled him to recognise what those Faces had been before. It was strange—in that context, the concept of "people" meant something again. Xord's brain was confused, and although it had healed significantly, he still struggled to maintain a sense of consistency. Everything was so complicated and thinking about it was hard.

"That is why I like talking to you, Xord. You help remind me of what Faces truly are," Vanea said. "Someday in the future, they may be able to be rehabilitated. They will never recover their memories, but perhaps it would be possible to remove the central processors from their brains. Your self-preservation system, too."

"You could really do that?" Xord exclaimed. He wrapped one of his arms around his abdomen. His belly was silently moaning. The ether cylinders were still keeping his self-preservation system from activating, but his tank was bone-dry and he felt like he was about to drop. "I don't want to be hungry anymore," he said, looking down. "It hurts."

Vanea forced a smile, the corners of her mouth trembling. She said, "I like to think so. You just need to have hope."

"What's stopping you from doing it now? Can't you try?"

With a sigh, Vanea replied, "Egil would not allow for such a thing."

Xord huffed. Why did Vanea let Egil dictate everything she did? Egil was a scary man, but wasn't he her brother? Couldn't they talk? Xord didn't understand why Vanea was so committed to Egil's cause when she dragged her heels over every task she was assigned. It was clear she didn't want to be a bad person, but as far as Xord was aware, she wasn't making any effort to be a good one, either.

Was she still holding onto his memories? Xord wished everything about him would be forgotten—most of all the things he remembered himself. He wanted to reject all the things he knew that were incompatible with what he had become. He wanted to be a Mechon and nothing more. He didn't want to keep questioning himself and the way things made him feel. If he couldn't stop being hungry, that was all Xord wanted to be. He didn't want to have a conscience. He didn't even want to think. All he wanted was to eat and feel good.

Those Faces with the chips in their brains—the ones that might not have been fully "there"—maybe what they had was something nice.

"Yes, that reminds me. I believe Egil has something prepared for you downstairs," Vanea said.

Xord gave her a nod before excitedly heading down the ramp. The body of an Eks was lying on the floor, appearing to have died from blunt force trauma. At first, Xord didn't notice the Face standing on the edge of the deck. One of its hands was clutching its opposite shoulder; it looked like it was trying to do the same with its other hand, but its arms were too thick to be folded over each other. Its entire body was trembling. Upon seeing Xord, it picked up its hammer, tucked in its limbs, and took off.

Xord watched it disappear from sight, and then got started on his meal.

After he was finished, Egil came to join him on the platform. Xord was taken aback; Egil had never approached him in person before. It almost warmed his heart to know that Egil trusted him. Xord would have done anything to be in this position months ago—a position where he could reach out and kill Egil with a single blow. He still found himself fighting off an intrusive urge, but ultimately managed to stay still. While he didn't like the way Egil still managed to preside over him, Xord couldn't bring himself to resent him anymore.

"Metal Face failed to retrieve the Monado in Colony 9," Egil said. "The Telethia may have been drawn to it. Its wielder could very well be approaching the Bionis' leg."

"You want me to go back?"

"Yes. See if you can avoid being a disappointment."

...

The Mechonis' sword was stained with memories of the life that had been severed from Xord. He would've avoided it, but he wouldn't have felt comfortable descending to the Bionis' leg without a full tank. The Eks, while large, hadn't been enough. The nearest source of fauna—Valak Mountain—was on the other side of Sword Valley. It had been a while since he sank his teeth into the fatty flesh of an Aries.

When the steel-framed shelter came into view, Xord had to resist the urge to dip down and stick his head in. He knew what was waiting for him inside. Why was he still drawn to it? Why did he want to remind himself of something he tried desperately to keep out of his mind? He couldn't even remember why, or at least he didn't feel as strongly about the reason as he had before. It had become avoidance for avoidance's sake.

He landed in front of the shelter and stood there, contemplating it. Part of him was scared that catching another glimpse of the figurine would bring back more memories, memories with which he could not reconcile. There was another part of him that wanted to take his hammer and demolish the building—a symbolic gesture more than anything else. Xord tightened his grip on his hammer's handle as he shifted his gaze between it and the shelter, visualising the destruction he could bring about with just one swing.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing here?"

Xord wheeled around to find Metal Face coming in for a landing.

"What?" Xord said. "What are you doing here?"

Once he had touched down, Metal Face paused to look Xord over. "Oh, it's you—Egil's original third-place trophy. I can't tell any of you guys apart."

Xord grunted. "What's that make you? The participation medal?"

Xord wasn't one to hold grudges. If anything, Metal Face had given him a much-needed reality check, and for that, he was grateful. He wasn't going to let him know that, though. Xord didn't necessarily like Metal Face, but he didn't hate him enough to think of him as an enemy.

"Ha! I'm in a league of my own," Metal Face said, flashing his claws. "I'm no lapdog. Me and Egil just happen to have common interests."

"The Monado." Xord leaned on his hammer. Smugly, he said, "Did you hear? Egil asked me to look for it." He gestured at himself with his thumb. "He said you were a disappointment."

Metal Face glared at him. "Tch. How did a worthless grunt like you end up as Egil's favourite pet, anyway? I was given command of half a dozen of those cheap Faces. I don't know how you managed to stay relevant." He added, "Maybe Egil keeps making you go places because he's scared you'll eat him."

Xord stopped gesturing, but continued to hold his thumb up. "It's 'cause I get the job done."

"Heh. I didn't think a guy like you would have it in him. It feels good, doesn't it?" Metal Face said, rumbling with laughter. He leaned back and waved his digits through the air. "Yes! The power… it's everything I ever wanted. I smashed plenty of Mechon in my day, but the first time my claws ripped through flesh, I knew there'd be no going back."

Xord was quiet. It did feel good. He didn't want it to feel good, but nevertheless, it did. It was something he couldn't back out of—even if he never killed again, it would be impossible to deny that he enjoyed it. He was a murderer. He'd never be able to wash the blood off his hands.

As far as Xord knew, Metal Face didn't have a self-preservation system or a chip in his head, which meant his bloodlust hadn't been programmed—that was just the kind of person he was. Something had always seemed off about Metal Face, but Xord hadn't considered why. They were both bloodthirsty monsters, though; could Xord really claim the moral high ground?

Metal Face said, "All my life, I was looked down upon. I lived in Dunban's shadow for years. But now! You can't live in someone's shadow when you're big enough to block the sun."

Metal Face had brought up the person named "Dunban" once before, though Xord hadn't cared enough to remember who he was. He didn't know why Metal Face seemed to think he was invested in his personal life enough to have any idea what he was talking about. He doubted anyone else would be willing to lend him an ear, either.

Xord peered up at Metal Face and enhanced his features, panning over his stitched lips and tetrad of eyes. His visage had been delicately engineered to evoke horror, and Xord knew he was looking at a thing of evil. Xord had seen multiple Faces bearing his own countenance, but he'd never thought of inspecting it up close. Did his face look like that, too? When people saw him, was that why they screamed? Most Mechon were faceless entities. For what purpose had Xord been given a face, if not to send a message?

Of course, what Xord was looking at wasn't Metal Face's true face. Inside of that machine was a Homs, or at least part of one. The only difference between Mumkhar and Xord was that one of them still had his skull, yet Xord couldn't see them as two of a kind. Mumkhar's Core Unit was complete, meaning he could exist independently of his Mechon; Xord could not. Mumkhar could still wear the earnest expression of a Homs; Xord could not. Xord would always see the world in red, and his eyes would always peer out from a wicked metal face.

He envied Mumkhar, but that was another thing he'd never tell him.

"You can't fool me!" Xord exclaimed, stamping his foot. "Don't think I've forgotten what you really are." With a snap of his panels, he said, "Come on out of your Mechon! I'll show you what it's like inside of mine."

Metal Face scoffed, "Was that a threat? My body's metal, you idiot. You'd break your jaw."

Xord scanned his surroundings, locking onto a patrolling M65 unit. He lumbered up to it, snatched it off of the ground, and crammed it into his chest.

Maybe he wouldn't have to make a stop at Valak Mountain after all.

Metal Face stared. "What."

The M65 lit up Xord's chest with a signal as he bit down:SOS! SOS! SOS! It flailed its limbs as its body snapped and popped, becoming increasingly frantic every time it was compressed. Xord tipped his torso back so it wouldn't wriggle out. He was mangling the Mechon with ease, yet he was struggling to digest it. He exerted himself, applying as much heat and pressure as he could—but the Mechon's conversion into fuel was devastatingly slow. Putting so much effort into chewing with such little payoff was making Xord agitated. Metal Face probably wasn't impressed, either.

Xord held up a finger: "One minute."

Metal Face snapped, "Just put the damn thing out of its misery already. That signal's giving me a headache."

Several nearby Mechon responded to the M65's signal. Before they could confront Xord, he crushed the M65's central processor, deactivating it. When the transmission was cut off, the Mechon slunk back to their stations as if nothing had happened. Xord continued to chew uninterrupted. He relaxed and leaned forward, no longer having to worry about the Mechon escaping.

"It's like watching a snake eat a rat," Metal Face said in what was either awe or disgust, or possibly both. "Or… a snake eating a snake? I can't decide if this is cannibalism or not."

Xord, persistent as he was, kept eating at the M65's armour. It was draining—even though Xord could digest metal, his Face Unit clearly hadn't been designed to process a great quantity of it at once. He had already committed to finishing the Mechon, though, and he wasn't going to stop until he'd downed every last drop of its ether. He was hungry, after all.

It couldn't have taken more than five minutes for Xord to whittle the Mechon down to its chassis, but to him, it felt like it had been hours. With most of its outer shell gone, the Mechon became easier to break down. Xord drank its ether, savouring the fruits of his labour.

In time, Xord made enough progress that he was able to shut his jaws. He pounded on the underside of his chest, causing him to cough up the last few parts he was too impatient to digest completely. The scraps flew out of him and landed at Metal Face's feet. Metal Face said nothing.

"Ahh." Xord faked a hiccup as he slid his hand to the front of his undercarriage and gave it a few slaps. He was only pretending to be satisfied—he had used up more energy digesting the Mechon than he'd gained from eating it. Nevertheless, in Metal Face's presence, he felt compelled to make a show of his gluttony. "Was a bit hard on my teeth, but my jaws are just fine," he said, holding them open.

Snap!

"And I'm still feeling hungry."

Xord didn't know if he was trying to scare Metal Face or win his favour. Everything about Metal Face made him feel inadequate, so he never turned down an opportunity to prove his worth. The only thing he knew he could do better than Metal Face was eat. Xord could put away great quantities of virtually anything, which, as far as he knew, wasn't something Metal Face's model had been designed to do. Surely Metal Face knew his appetite was a force to be reckoned with.

"Talk about an iron stomach," Metal Face muttered. "What're you gonna do, gnaw on my leg? Don't even think about it, or it'll be my claws going down your throat." He splayed his claws threateningly, turning his hand so they glinted in the sunlight. Lowering his arm, he said, "So, you're leaving now, are you? As much as I'd love to continue being an inconvenience, I ought to let you go on your merry way. I know you think you're better than me. Just you wait. The Monado will cut you down to size."

Xord laughed and smacked his palm with the head of his hammer. "I already told you: I'm gonna make a meal out of those Homs, and the Monado'll be the cherry on top."

"You're biting off more than you can chew," said Metal Face.

"No such thing!" Xord boasted. The turn of phrase wasn't lost on him, but considering what had just gone down, Metal Face couldn't have said anything more ironic. Did he think he was being clever in a contrary kind of way? Or was he trying to downplay Xord's feat? Either way, Xord thought his snark was tiresome.

Metal Face started up his jet engine and arched his back, preparing to take off. "Trust me. The only thing you'll be eating is those words." He folded up and disappeared in a stream of blue light.

Xord pretended to spit at the ground. He'd show him.

He, too, got ready to leave. There was a big, hearty meal waiting for him on Valak Mountain, and after such an unsatisfying snack, he was dying for some real food. He lifted off, leaving the shelter and the figurine in the dust.