Chapter XXXI:

Best Friends Forever

"You look really cool. I'm guessing you're not an android or machine?"

"…"

"Umm… My name is No.9 but you can call me Nine. In fact, I prefer Nine. What's your name?"

"…"

"You don't like to talk much, do you? So, do you wanna be friends?"

"…"

The memory faded as quickly as it came.

Not a single chair went unturned. Calendars, documents, and folders were torn to shreds. Ripped pieces of paper lay scattered on the ground like a mound of snow. Lanterns that once dangled from the ceiling laid cracked and broken atop the ruined papers. The round table which once housed so many meetings between Amos and his dear team had been shredded by his claws.

Nothing was spared from Amos' grieving rage. No matter how vital to the mission it once was, it was all destroyed. Amos sat with his back to a corner. He surveyed the room in search of anything left to take his grief out on. The necklace lay in his tightened clutches. It exuded a presence that nearly caused the 10,000-year-old salt demon to feel sick to his stomach.

At the far end of the room, one object remained undisturbed. The onyx blade of his Prince. The way it sparkled under dull light made it seem as though it were beckoning to be wielded again. It tempted Amos, but even amid a psychotic breakdown, he dared not touch the Prince's blade.

Only when all became quiet did he hear her voice again. The Dragon spoke in a raspy telepathic whisper. He looked to the ceiling, almost expecting to see her face floating in the swirling darkness above.

"Take it! Take the sword and let him drink of their blood!"

He ducked his head. The energy to move was all but sapped from his pale body and not without for want of bloodshed. Flashes of 9S's grinning mug festered in his thoughts like the flipping pages of a photo album. He hissed under deathless breaths.

The abrupt sound of music pulled him back to the here and now. The distinct serenade of an expertly-played saxophone. Smooth soundscapes gently carried his attention to the doorway where the broken table lay in a pile of rubble.

A semitransparent figure stood among the debris. Pale skin was hidden beneath a uniform of black camouflage identical to the very same outfit worn by Amos for so many years. The apparition was distinctly human in appearance. A head of short black hair and blue eyes were the features that immediately jumped out at Amos. His body was semi-decayed. Maggots spawned from his rotting cheeks. The outline of bones bulged beneath malnourished flesh. The corpse stood perfectly animated.

The face, despite all the decay, was somewhat recognizable. Amos could scarcely place a name to that face until he noticed the brightly colored headphones sat atop his shoulders like a necklace. Obnoxious bass blared from them, polluting the peace. Amos looked down at one of the tags in particular. A tag with the name "Jubal" was inscribed on it.

"Hmm," the ghost muttered, admiring the saxophone. "Never thought I'd wrap my hands around one of these bad boys again."

He turned to Amos with a friendly smile. "Sup, Rookie! Long time no see."

The strangest sound escaped Amos' maw. The closest noise he could make to a gasp.

"After all this time, you still recognize me, huh? Hope this form doesn't offend you too much. It wasn't my choice to ditch the salt. I look like one of those hairless apes again, don't I?"

"Ehhhhuhhh."

Another bizarre sound left Amos' throat. Jubal perked an ear. He leaned closer, curious about what was going on with his estranged squadmate. "Are you… are you trying to speak?"

"Ju… Ju… Buh…"

Amos tried to force the word to form yet all that came out was a dying hiss. His weak vocal cords seemed incapable of producing more complex sounds. Eons of silence and a plague of salt made it all but impossible. He spoke in a frail, grainy tone that betrayed his bulky stature.

"That's it, Rook! You're almost there. Say it. Say my name!"

"Ju… Juuubaaal. Jubaaal…"

With a prideful grin, Jubal threw up his hands in celebration. "And it's just like that. You were always the cool silent type. I still remember what it was like when we were human. We'd ask you a question and you'd just grunt at us. No amount of time and sodium chloride can change that."

Jubal backed away. He picked up an overturned chair and claimed it as his own. He took a long look around the room. The ghost chuckled. "Quite a mess you made. Ezekiel's gonna be pissed, bro."

The light conversation proved to be no use. Amos slumped back over, head down. A posture completely uncharacteristic of the ever-stoic rookie.

Jubal promptly changed the subject. "This planet's a shithole. I dunno how you lasted all this time, but we're all impressed. Fuck what Obidiah says, you were always the best. Out of everyone on the team, you alone deserved the title of Death Knight the most."

Another bout of silence went by. Jubal admired his surroundings again. The ruined meeting room that once housed not nearly as many memories for him as it did Amos.

"I still remember when our main mission was revenge. The scum-fucks locked us behind that wall and they damn well knew we weren't sick. All of 'em had it coming. Then those Hamelin pigs came around and started their weird projects. Then the mission changed. There comes a point where technology just goes too far. Enough quickly becomes enough. Those robots are an abomination."

To that, Amos zealously nodded.

"Remember back in training? How Isaiah would always harp on his wild conspiracy theories. Robot politicians and mind-controlling nanites. I used to think he just played too much of that one video game. The one with the trench-coat wearing cyborgs? You know the one. Fast forward a couple hundred years and all that suddenly came true. I find it both hilarious and incredibly sad."

Jubal hesitated for but a moment. "When the Hamelin corp was founded, we retooled. Did everything we could to stop them. We… failed. But you can still finish this thing. You have to! The Legion's back. It's time to claim our rightful victory. Now, get up. You got some silicon ass to kick."

Motivated, not by Jubal's words, but by the boiling hatred spawned by 9S's manipulation and betrayal, Amos stood up. Just a soulless bucket of rust that could only think in terms of predetermined ones and zeros. To think he considered that worthless iron homunculus a friend. The mere thought threatened to send him into another uncontrollable rage.

The Dragon's voice entered his thoughts again without warning. "Take the sword!"

Amos marched to the other side of the chamber where the sword in question beckoned. He reached out with his talons. His chalky fingers twitched mere centimeters away from the handle. The closer he drew, the more he could hear the whispers of all those slain by it.

The weapon seethed with a hatred of its very own. Like a malnourished vampire, it thirsted for the blood of another. An impression was imparted to the blade by its previous wielder. Of that, Amos was certain.

He did as ordered. Always as ordered. He took the sword. The instant salty flesh connected with the cold weapon, a million voices assaulted his mind. Screams of pain. Shouts of vindictive hate. Pleas for mercy.

White sparks erupted from the metallic creases. Small flames, colorless like the Legionnaire that wielded it, spawned from those ethereal embers. He turned to face Jubal only to find that he was alone in the room with only the haunted whispers of the blade to keep him company.

Of course, his long-lost friend was never in the room with him. All that remained of the previous conversation were fresh memories. The reality of the situation was not lost on the sole survivor of the team. Cast into the pit of lonely despair, Amos finally broke. An agonizingly familiar pit. With a violent howl, he swung the sword.

The blade cut through the air, producing white embers that descended to the floor and spread across a sea of torn papers. Within an instant, the entire room was engulfed in pale fire. Everything gathered or created by him and his lost friends over the past 10,000 years was erased forever.

Amos charged the front door. He threw it open but came to a dead stop in the hall. He looked down. Small bodies stood in a crowd surrounding him, blocking his path to revenge. The short frames of human children. Their faces were disfigured beyond all recognition. Their flesh was melted and bones were exposed to the open air as if they had just crawled out of an incinerator.

In unanimous silence, they lifted a single arm each, pointing accusingly at their murderer. Amos recognized them despite their horrid impairments. The experiments were fresh in his mind. Any semblance of remorse was long gone. He responded to their silent accusation with a swipe of his sword. The entire hall was consumed by a dreadful, colorless blaze that the tiny phantoms were already well acquainted with.

When the fire cleared, so too did his path. The ghosts left without a trace. Amos wasted no time. He stormed down the hall. His stomping left lasting echoes within the walls of the place he once called home.

Amos knew exactly where to look. He bothered not with recruiting reinforcements. The coming fight did not involve the Legion at large. Beyond ordering him to take up a once forbidden sword, the Dragon said not a word to him. Throughout the journey, however, he could feel her analytical gaze upon him from somewhere in the heavens. When she finally did speak, it almost startled him.

"I take it you don't want my help."

Amos hissed.

"So be it, then. A shame. That one girl would have made a powerful ally. Though I doubt she will take kindly to you murdering her lover. You have a difficult fight ahead of you. I shall watch with great interest."

He ignored her discouraging words. The iron skulls of countless magic-wielding androids were crushed beneath his boots in the past. Popola was of no concern to him. He grinned at the thought of proving it.

The elevator ride was painfully slow. He clenched the Prince's sword. Claws dug into the metal as if a lighter grip would allow the weapon to sprout legs and run away from him. A shadow moved at a corner of the elevator. He looked up.

Jubal stood before him, back leaned against the wall on the far end of the descending chamber. The smile on his ghostly visage was gone. Replaced by a look of vicious contempt. He stomped his boot on the iron floor, producing a metallic echo that rattled Amos' brain.

"I don't regret a thing, Rook. Not a goddamn thing! I'd do it again and again if given the chance."

He stomped again. "These fucking ghosts. They just keep coming back. As if they could ever make a difference!"

His murmurs transformed into rage-induced shouts. His screams were directed not at Amos but at the tormented souls whose presence festered in the elevator like an airborne plague. Each one crying out for justice that was long overdue.

"I'm glad what we did to you! You hear me!? I'm glad what I've done!"

Jubal repeatedly bashed the sole of his boot against the floor. A desperate attempt to stomp out the unseen presence, meeting immaterial threats with material violence.

The elevator stopped with a jolt that rocked Amos' body. He looked away from his former partner and tried his absolute best not to engage with the apparition. It was only a trick of the mind. A teasing revenant of a friend that he would never have the chance to meet again.

Jubal calmed himself. His usual, carefree demeanor returned if only as a front to shield the burning resentment plaguing what was left of his soul. "We're here. It's time to go."

The doors slid open. Amos sprung to action. He moved through, checking both of his corners. He ignored the dazzling flowers that lit up the cave ahead. He advanced straight for the hut. With his sword at the ready, he whipped around to the front of the hut, fully intent to sever their heads before anyone was the wiser.

There was no one inside the hut to take his boundless fury out on. No one to punish for this transgression. The tags of his slain squadmates jingled around his neck. A tune that only provoked his lust for their blood. In that wrathful haze, he managed to keep himself collected just long enough to see a shred of paper left on the bed. He picked it up and silently read over the message left behind. The style and word choice instantly gave away the identity of the person who wrote it.

"Dear Sodium Boy,

We met a creepy guy with a moon for a head. Says he knows you. He wants to visit a place called Alchemilla. We're on our way to your hideout now. If you haven't run into us by now, then check Alchemilla. If we find a way to get there, we'll go on our own. Meet us there if you want. We'll explain everything then."

A smiley face was drawn at the bottom of the text.

Amos was at a loss of how they even knew the name "Alchemilla." Truly, he could care less. His body shook ceaselessly. He trembled with the urge to slice her into a million pieces. All three of them had to die.

Amos crumbled the paper into a wad and threw it back on the bed. He swung the sword, producing a crackling explosion of fire that subsumed the hut. Nearby flowers were caught in the blaze. It started spreading rapidly. The wondrous sight of the cave beneath the shopping center was about to be no more than a pile of ash.

He turned away and started for the elevator.

Once more, the Dragon's raspy words crawled into his salt-encrusted ears. "May I ask you an honest question? Do you truly mean to beat them, or is this just your own clever way of committing suicide?"

~O~

Emil sat with the others in the morgue, still unaware of the chaos unfolding in the city beyond. He glanced around the room. The trio of androids sat around him as though they were surrounding a campfire in anticipation of a haunting tale.

Devola used 9S's shoulder as a pillow. 9S in turn leaned against her. Their eyes were sealed shut but they were indeed awake. The sight was surreal for Emil to see. He glinted at Popola. She sat on her own only a foot away from the two. She paid them no mind as though the display of affection was a reoccurring thing.

The smiling automaton raised no concern about it. That whole thing was none of his business and he fully intended to keep it that way. Without further hesitation, he read the first seemingly noteworthy document aloud.

"Full disclosure! This project was done under the guidance of the Watchers. A Watcher who identified himself to me as Armaros. He whispered to me, a way to revive our fallen hero. We never had a chance to meet him and we all know he was more than qualified to join our team. Think of this coming project as recruitment. With you guys gone, I need some backup. And I must admit, it's a bit depressing without you. Maybe this whole thing will end in failure. Maybe it's too good to be true. We'll see in time. ~Amos"

Emil silently read over the document to ensure his eyes were not playing tricks on him. "So… he was trying to bring my friend back to life?"

"Sounds like it," said Devola.

"But why?"

"Why are you askin' us? Keep reading and you might find out."

Emil nodded in agreement and flipped the page. "I fucked up. Either I made an error or that piece of shit Watcher punked me. This whole operation is FUBAR. The body's moving but it has no mind of its own. It just keeps staring blankly at the walls and groaning. Acts like a zombie from those shitty movies Jubal used to make us watch with him on the weekends. Technically speaking, the ritual worked. I did indeed bring someone back. Like I just mentioned, however, there's just one little problem. Whatever I brought back, it ain't Nier. ~Amos"

Emil briefly paused, waiting for the others to say something. When no one spoke up, he took their silence as a reason to carry on reading.

"It just keeps getting worse. I thought to reopen the doors to Alchemilla. Maybe run some more experiments of my own to pass the time while you guys were away. I wanna know more about these robots. Reason I bring this up is because I had a captured android chained up in a closet near the morgue. My fucking mistake, I guess. The zombie must have heard the screams during my first interrogation. I know damn well I locked up the morgue, but somehow, the stupid thing figured out how to escape. I found him munching on the prisoner's brains. If nothing changes in the Nier future (pun intended) then I think I'm gonna have to put him down. ~Amos"

Emil steadied himself. The machine body he hijacked was starting to sway dizzily. The onslaught of devious revelations left him beset by vertigo. A fleeting hope was granted the instant he heard the possibility that his long-dead friend could possibly be alive. As he read the next entry, that hope was gradually diminished into a swirling vortex of grieving terror.

"The zombie escaped again. I have no idea how or when it happened. It's like he just vanished. I knew I should've just killed him the last time I was here. We've officially got a literal zombie running around the city, now. He could have made it as far as the Northern Plains by now. This obviously wasn't my intent. I already made that clear. Nier would have been an excellent addition to the team, and yes, even in life, I do think he would've taken the offer had we put extra emphasis on Shade killing. I'm off to search for him. If I find him, I'll kill him and bury this failure of a project. And yes, I accept full responsibility. ~Amos"

Devola stirred from her spot on the floor. She lifted her head off of 9S's shoulder, much to his displeasure. "Hey, Sis? Remember that dying scanner I found on the coast a while back? Didn't he say something about a brain-eating zombie?"

"Yes. He claimed something came by and killed his friends. He had a massive cut in his skull to boot. You recall following his trail, right? We found a whole pile of dead androids with their heads cut open."

"…And their gray matter was missing," Devola concluded with a shudder. "I don't know how long ago these documents were recorded but it's clear we have the origins of our culprit. Looks like Nines ain't the only aspiring necromancer of the group."

Emil struggled to conceal his escalating dread. "So, he's actually alive!? My friend's been brought back from the grave!?"

Devola shrugged off Emil's misplaced optimism. "Do I need to read all of that to you? Your friend isn't alive. Amos found a way to animate a corpse. A walking cadaver with an appetite for brains. Unless that fits the MO of your buddy, then I'd recommend not pursuing this any further."

Emil lowered his head in dejection. "But…"

"Crazy that he tried this," said 9S. "Why did he go through all the trouble, though?"

"Ain't it obvious," Devola coldly asked. "He's lonely. Imagine waiting in that dark bunker day in and day out for thousands of years, waiting for your best friends to come back. Only for them to never show. If I were him, I'd have lost my mind long ago."

The boy bowed his head solemnly. He tried to fathom it. All that came to mind was a void as black as Popola's magic. Occasional memories showed through the dark but only to taunt him with fleeting reminders of how things used to be during better days. The feeling caused his stomach to turn. He muttered under his breath. "Is this what he felt?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," interjected Popola, ignoring 9S's whispering. She turned to face her lover. "A bit of topic but all this talk of Amos and his late friends just reminded me. How did he react when you gave him the necklace?"

"…Necklace?"

Devola's jaw dropped. "You didn't give it to him, did you!?"

His eyes suddenly widened in terror. The memory came back to him like a tidal wave. How could he have forgotten? Did the Cherub steal that memory? He shook himself to keep his mind on track.

He dug his gloved fingers into his dimples. "I totally forgot."

"Nines, where is it now?"

"Probably in my satchel, but I haven't seen my satchel since…"

Popola was the first to stand up. "We have to find it."

"It could still be at the coast," said Devola.

"We'll start our search there."

Popola then turned and gave Emil an apologetic bow. "I'm sorry but something just came up. We have to leave now."

Emil shrugged his metallic shoulders. "Um. Okay. I'm going to stay here for a while and look for clues."

They shifted to the exit, leaving Emil alone in the morgue. Before Devola left, she paused and turned back. 9S and Popola noticed her sharp turn and eyed her curiously. Devola stared Emil down. Her past treatment of him gave him no reason to suspect this meant anything good. He shuddered and backed away.

Suddenly, Devola lifted her dominant hand, tossing her treasured flashlight his way. "Take this. You'll need it."

Emil sprung forward and caught the precious light source. He was overjoyed at the sight of it. His fears of being plunged into darkness were quelled in an instant. "Thank you so much!"

She huffed.

In the background, Popola smiled and nodded with approval. Devola ignored her sister. With a pout, she twirled back around and stormed out of the morgue.

"I'm just letting you borrow it! I expect you to give it back the next time we meet!"

"Uhhh… Got it! Thanks again!"

As the only remaining light source, Pod 153 took the lead. 9S moved alongside her. The sight of him so close and moving at such an angle caused bittersweet nostalgia to surge through her thoughts.

Devola and Popola lagged behind. In dreary silence, they both brainstormed all of the locations the necklace could have been left. The most obvious spot was their old home on the coast. An area reduced to a pile of ruin by the Cherub, it would be no easy task to find it.

The lobby they entered this cursed hospital from was in sight. Marked by a set of doors at the end of the current hall. As they neared it, 153 broke the silence. "Pod 153 to Unit 9S. A question, if I may."

"You may."

"This support unit was unclear on what to do with No.9. Do you still wish to resurrect him? I took the liberty of installing his memories to 4S's body while you were away but the OS chip was not installed. I set it aside to await your instructions. Whether the body survived the building collapse is unknown."

9S came to a dead stop. Devola and Popola did the same. Their heavy gazes bore holes in the back of his skull. It had been the first time he had heard that name mentioned in what was only a few days, but what felt like an age or more. "What do you think I should do?"

"Is Unit 9S requesting the opinion of this support unit?"

He detected a trace of shock in her tone. Astonishment accompanied by the faintest hint of excitement. It brought a smile to his otherwise grim expression. "Of course. I want to hear it."

"I believe No.9 is best left in the past. We should dig the body out of the rubble on the coast and bury it to honor 4S."

He grimaced at the mention of that name. Guilt sapped his smile, turning it upside down. "Maybe you're right. We'll for the body when we get to the coast."

He grinned once more at the sound of the twins collectively sighing with relief.

153, on the other hand, paid them no mind. "There is another matter this support unit would like to discuss."

9S perked an ear to his floating assistant. "What's that?"

153 glinted at the sisters who still stood well behind her white-headed android. "I have watched your relationship with the twins blossom into something I could have never predicted."

The scanner blushed ever so slightly. He scratched his head sheepishly, unaware of where this conversation was about to lead. "Uh. Right…"

"My original intent was to see you and Unit 2B repaired. Pod 042, of course, would have been with us. With YoRHa gone, our freedom to do or go where we wished was assured. This did not happen the way I anticipated but this is no less an exciting and hopeful outcome."

"Exciting" exclaimed Devola. "You and I give that word very different meanings, Pod."

"Forgive the miscommunication. This support unit was referring to the fact that 9S has forged new relationships with you and your sister. I trust that he will be in good hands henceforth."

Popola smiled and gave a confident nod. "You can count on us. We will make sure he stays out of trouble. If I may, you speak as though you're trying to say goodbye."

"That's because I am. When this is all over and when you no longer require my services, I wish to return to Pod 042. Seeing you three come together has made me… long for his company. This support unit cannot quite find the words to explain this sensation."

9S's jaw dropped. "You… won't come with us? You don't want to leave the city with us?"

The thought that even just one of his companions would not always be at his side was something he never considered. He had no chance of anticipating a request such as this. He was stunned with melancholy.

The twins were equally shocked. Neither uttered a word.

153 carried on down the hall. The group swiftly caught up to her. "If you wish me to come, then I will. However, I must confess that what this support… That what I desire most is…"

A loud crackle ripped through the dead air. A single gunshot caused 9S's whole body to jerk in fear. He reflexively blinked. When his eyelids parted, 153 came into view. She still hovered in the air. A lone hole in her mechanical frame burst with static and smoke.

"Pod!"

Three more shots exploded from afar. Each round embedded itself in Pod 153.

"This…" Her words were marred with glitches. Her minced words warped into a final, horrifying scream. "S-s-s-s-s-supp… -int… w-w-wishes tooooo be w-w-w-with… AHHHHHHHHHHHH-"

She exploded. Fragments of metal and torn wires flew across the room. Coolant sprayed everywhere, splattering on 9S's face like clear blood.

"Pod!"

"The hell is going on," cried Devola. She could clearly see 153 explode like a firecracker. Her brain simply failed to process what was happening.

Popola was quicker to realize the situation. She pulled her staff and ran straight ahead. Seeing her sister spring to action, Devola finally snapped out of her trace. The two raced to 9S's side. With her staff ready, Popola was fully prepared to fight back. Devola drew her sword soon after.

9S was too shocked to draw his blade. Too confused. A second ago she was alive and well. In the literal blink of an eye, that all changed. He turned his head, casting his gaze to the far side of the lobby. In between him and the exit stood a towering figure of muscle covered in black, digital camouflage. A hard helmet concealed his salty head. Two rows of jagged teeth lined his growling maw.

"Amos!? …Why?"

"Amos," the twins shouted in mortified unison.

A smoking pistol was held in his right hand. He aimed directly at 9S.

Devola stepped forward. "Amos! What the hell are you doing!? Have you finally lost it!?"

The Death Knight winded back with his left arm and tossed a black object at 9S. On instinct, he caught it in his arms. His lost satchel. The boy's heart sank. He eyed Amos' chest. Sure enough, dangling from his neck were six tags all strung up on the same chain.

"No… No! No! No! No! Amos, listen to me! I wasn't trying to hide it. I was… I was going to give it to you! I swear it! I just needed time to…"

The time for diplomacy was long over. Amos aimed his pistol. Devola threw herself at 9S, grabbing hold of him, they were both flung behind a row of old chairs. Bullets peppered their path. The rounds pierced the chairs with ease and burrowed into the back wall. Devola held her head down, forcing 9S face-first into the floor to keep them both narrowly out of the path of danger.

Popola was still out of harm's way. She seized the opportunity and charged. Her staff shimmered with red light.

The Legionnaire pointed his smoking gun her way. Without a hint of hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

Note: While there are still a few major plot points to address before the conclusion, the ending of Digital Necromancy is in sight. A while back, I began work on the next story as I wanted to continue writing, but also take the occasional break from this story.

Digital Necromancy, as I've said in at least one note is based, in part, on the weapon story for the Drakengard 1 weapon Skald's Song. The same sword also made an appearance in NieR under the name Blade of Treachery which had a different weapon story attached. The question on my mind since I began work on Digital Necromancy was, "Should I give the Blade of Treachery the same treatment?"

I decided I'd do so only if a compelling idea came to me, and in time, I got an idea. The project will be called "Starry Nights" which should give you an idea about where the story takes place. It will follow the same three core characters, Devola, 9S, and Popola but they'll be taken in a very different direction. However, it will not be a sequel to this story. It will have the odd reference here and there but it's going to be totally different beyond that.

As it stands, for now, I'm leaning towards just writing the whole thing, editing it, and then releasing it once it's done. I am tempted to release a chapter or one shot in the near future just to get feedback on it as I'm experimenting with a new writing style. We'll see what happens.