Chapter One

… What do you think is the difference between a Sarkaz and a non-Sarkaz—between an Infected and a non-Infected?

Don't we all breathe the same air?

Don't we all eat the same food?

Don't we laugh and cry all the same?

Don't we love and hate all the same?

Don't we aspire and dream all the same…?

… Don't we die and disappear all the same…?

What gives the people of Terra the right to say we don't have the right to keep on doing so?

Why does having a rock or jutted horns and tails in our body mean we no longer possess the same qualifications as the rest of Terra to live like a decent human?

Oripathy doesn't discriminate who it infects: so why do we discriminate for it?

Death. Wars. Poverty. Suffering. Anger. Greed. Happiness. Love… Every one of us possesses the capability of undergoing such experiences, emotions, and actions—freely and equally, by our thoughts and decisions…

So why does being born a Sarkaz condemn us to an eternal cycle of hatred and vengeance…?

Why do they call us, Devils, if they don't give us a chance to show them that we are more than just the monsters they portray us to be?

… Amiya, I won't say my stance is the right one or that I have the perfect solution to everything.

I was merely a lowly seamstress before I was chosen by the Crown to be the Lord of Fiends—I don't possess the same qualifications and abilities as the other members of the Court to make decisions on what path Kadzel should take…

Maybe—maybe, Theresis is right: I am merely basking underneath the banner of naivety and impossibility as I dream of a sunny and green Kadzel.

Maybe, I should've agreed with him and worked together with the Court to utterly destroy the ones who destroyed our home.

It would only be fitting since they started it first.

But… But would it be right?

Wouldn't it just be continuing the eternal cycle of pain and hatred?

When would it stop?

Where should we stop?

Would the world allow us to stop?

Hey, Amiya… What do you think I should do?

Amiya… Amiya…?

Oh, she's already asleep.

Ah~ look how cute my little bunny is…

Alright, this will be my only assignment for you, little bunny.

I want you to go out there in this little Ark and see the world for yourself—experience the joy and happiness as well as the pain and sadness it'll bring you.

I know it won't be an easy assignment, that you'll be faced with conundrums and challenges that will rattle every fiber of your being—that will test your ideals and mettle.

But I know you can do it… That you'll be strong for both of us.

I know you decide which path is the right one.

… And I'll be here—always by your side—waiting for you to come and tell me your answer.

My sweet—sweet Amiya.

ᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥ

There were many emotions Amiya knew she ought to be feeling at the moment:

Happiness and sadness. Joy and guilt. Tiredness and determination…

But which emotion should Amiya start from—was her current conundrum.

Logically speaking, the mission to extract Doctor from Chernobog was nothing less than a resounding success.

It was more of a miracle that they were able to get out of that place alive.

The hellish insurrection by the Reunion. The clash against their leaders, particularly their main leader, Talulah… The rain of fire—the Catastrophe—ruining the nomadic city and turning most of its survivors into an Infected…

Looking at it from a cold perspective; this mission was a success. But to Amiya, all that success appeared so pyrrhic.

In the course of saving Doctor, Amiya had abandoned an entire city to the Reunion and the Catastrophe. As a result of her stubbornness, Amiya has lost people she had known and cared for since childhood.

'Scout… Ace… Everyone… I'm sorry.'

Comforting Medic who cried in her arms, Amiya knew her fellow Operator would not be going out on front-line missions shortly—more like Amiya, herself, wouldn't allow Medic to go out in her current mental state.

Heart clenching in conjunction with her small fist, Amiya forced a watery smile and hoped—prayed—that the others were okay.

With that in mind, Amiya ignored the swell of pain in her heart and focused on simply calming her fellow Operator.

Nevertheless, despite the pain eating her, Amiya still felt happiness at the person sitting beside her.

'Doctor is finally here…'

Maybe Doctor didn't remember her. Didn't remember Theresa, Kal'tsit, and the others. Didn't remember Babel.

But Amiya knew as soon as he took command that Doctor was still Doctor.

Maybe Doctor's amnesia was—hopefully—not a permanent malady, but even if it was, that wouldn't stop Amiya from helping him make new memories of who he could be.

Meanwhile, Doctor shifted and made a confused sound.

"What is that?"

"Hmmm?"

Amiya followed Doctor's view from the window to see a—flaming ball streaking down from the skies.

Thump!

The Cautus's heart skipped a beat for not-so-good reasons.

"Is that… A Catastrophe?!"

It was the only logical conclusion, Amiya could come up with regarding the disturbing scene before her, and that was in compound with the nature of the Catastrophe that had hit Chernobog…

"What…?"

Dobermann shot up from her seat and moved towards the window to see the streak of fire descending.

Hissing in frustration, the Perro pulled out her Hand Transceiver.

"Dylan, eyes up north. Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

The HT hissed as Good Boy's pilot replied.

"Bright as day, mam… I don't know if that's some kind of spillover from the Catastrophe. But fortunately, it seems to be the only one of its kind falling… There's no need for alarm, but we'll still keep an eye out for any other abnormalities."

Dobermann sighed in relief as budding tension left her body.

"Then it's probably aftereffects from the Catastrophe." Dobermann turned to her fellow Operators. "You all heard the pilot: there's no need to panic. It's just some remnant of the disaster. So don't start going all tension on me."

Nearl, the blond Kuranta's soft sigh mixed in with the collective on the aircraft as events from hours ago assailed her mind.

"That's good to know."

The Guard Operator doesn't want something like that taking her off-guard, ever again.

Comforting Medic who clung tighter, Amiya turned to Doctor.

"As you heard: there's nothing to worry about, Doctor."

"… Yeah."

Doctor hesitantly nodded before reclining back to his seat—probably in exhaustion.

Sighing, Amiya turned to the descending trial of fire—not knowing what it was and what it signifies.

Strangely enough to the Cautus, the descending natural disaster felt different from the rain of fire that befell Chernobog.

Those hellish flames promised pain and hate, but this lonely plunging flame felt… Peaceful.

Amiya shook her head.

'What am I doing? I'm simply imagining things.'

What the flames signified didn't mean a thing to Amiya at the moment.

For now, all the young leader could do at the moment was lend a shoulder for a grieving friend to rest on, and hope she'll be strong to bear it with her fellow Operators.

"Let's all go home… To Rhodes Island."

ᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥ

Transmigration stories that begin with the Protagonists taken to another World normally start with them displaying a certain unique reaction to their unforeseen circumstances and environments.

Some take in their new surroundings with fear and panic.

Some take in their new surroundings with eagerness and excitement.

Some take in their new surroundings with a frightening level of competency.

Some take in their new surroundings with a blank look and then—

Scream…

"Agruruumachipickochikosrriggagagav... BOOooHaHaaaHiii!"

.

.

.

… That was Ira Darko's logical reaction 10 minutes after forcing himself out from a FREAKING sarcophagus only to be met with a FREAKING wasteland in his FREAKING birthday suit.

"Seriously, what the FREAKING hell happened to me?!"

Ira's comedic and flabbergasted reaction was warranted since just 15 minutes prior, he had just been coming out from his neighborhood's convenience store with some goodies in hand to treat himself to a job well done in completing and submitting that exhausting torture called Project.

It was hard. Ira's Supervisor was hell-incarnate for the amount of work he had scrapped and been asked to redo. At times, Ira simply wanted to give up and pay someone else to write his work for him—but he persevered.

Ira wanted to get that First Class with his effort, and from the positive response from his Supervisor and Dean, Ira was 99.999% sure he would be bringing the gold home.

But if that's the case, then, why…?

"Why is it that when I'm about to pat myself on the back, the Universe decides to throw this RIDICULOUS shit at me?!"

Currently, Ira was running away from two things:

The first was some sort of beach ball-sized lion-sabretooth-skull sci-fi construct—Ira was guessing at this point—with red orbs out of a Terminator movie pursuing him like some goddam killer robot.

The second… Was from himself.

.

.

.

While this may sound confusing, if not crazy—or maybe a bit of both—Ira wasn't just pulling shit out of his ass.

His current appearance freaks the living HELL out of him.

It had probably been 5 minutes since Ira had come out of that strange sarcophagus only to be met with an expansive desert with gigantic strange rocks jutting out from the earth in the distance.

While confusion and panic suffused his every cell, at least, Ira had not been panicking as MUCH as he was now.

Initially, the Panic Bar had reached a mere 60% when Ira realized that cool but dry winds brushed against his body in a rather strange way: only for him to look to see his James Thomas dangling out under the sun.

90%

But then, Ira instantly realized his James Thomas didn't look like how he remembered it to be—it looked more like Brawn Stroman when it wasn't flexing its muscles… And that horrifically brought Ira's attention to the rather SIGNIFICANT change his body had undergone.

99.99999%

"Haaahh!"

Ira's body was much smaller and compact than he remembered it to be—as someone who frequented Uncle Marko's martial arts studio twice a week in addition to mandatory exercises and healthy eating, Ira's 7.2ft ursine physique wasn't exactly on the small size.

Now, Ira looked like a 6.2ft twerp.

What the hell happened to his majestic body?!

But that wasn't where it ended…

199.99999%

Some of Ira's body parts had been replaced with dark scales (?) instead of black skin. Particularly his arms were scaled leading up to some sort of demonic-draconic claws (?) for fingers.

While Ira wasn't exactly pious, he was still a Christian for crying out loud.

So why the hell does he look like some kind of Hellspawn?!

D-Da-Dammit all…!

And~ that wasn't where it ended…

200.000%-500.000%- ?.?%

The lines that accented the scales and claws were glowing in blistering yellow—like cracks of magma about to violently erupt from a volcano…

On HIS body.

.

.

.

ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT!

Abruptly stopping, Ira did an about-turn and spread his legs with his body slightly hunching menacingly as the terrified yet very much pissed-off African-American took on a kickboxing stance.

"Don't think I'm afraid of you, floating-lion-shitface-skull-thing!"

Fear, irritation, as well as no small amount of anger, bubbled within Ira as he scowled at the approaching bizarre-looking machinery.

"I'd kick your junk ass like a football the last time, and I sure as hell can wipe you off the face off… Wherever this hellhole is if you fucking come at me again!"

Ira's initial attack may have been due to nerves and reflexes. But this time, he won't be stopping with just a straight kick.

Unfortunately, Ira's threat didn't seem to deter the flying sci-fi construct as it still kept on coming.

Ira clicked in irritation. 'Fuck. Seems I've got no choice but to fight.'

So in hopes that the machine didn't come with lasers or any mumbo-jumbo of that sort, Ira prepared to pounce and give the sci-fi construct a piece of his mind—using his fist—when the innocuous voice of a child (?) came out from the device.

[IMPLORE: Please stay your hand Astrarch Khaos. The W.I.S.E.M.A.N means you no harm.]

"… Huh?"

Ira blinked once in stupefaction—and then in shock.

"What the fu… Hac… Haaahaaah!"

Ira faux coughed upon the realization that he was about to say a cuss word in front of a kid—well, a robot kid.

"… I mean, you can talk?"

[RESPONSE: Indeed I can, Astrarch Khaos. As an Omega-Level Artifact, aligning with the lingo of the local terrain and that of the Astrarch is within my basic capabilities.]

"O-Oh…"

Ira's posture slanted as the will to fight smothered out like a lit matchstick under the rain.

A contrivance or not, Ira wasn't going to be hitting a kid—they are his kryptonite—and seeing as the sci-fi contraption wasn't going to turn him into salsa, Ira reckoned he should at least try to understand his current situation.

He sighed.

"Alright… Nice to meet you, Wiseman. I think there may be a misunderstanding somewhere… I'm Ira. Engineering undergrad from Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and the son… Adopted son from a NORMAL family. I'm not this Astrarch, or whatever the hell it is you think I am."

Ira half-heartedly hoped that maybe this Wiseman machine could return him to where he originally came from with his body not having all this dangerous-looking stuff on it—

—but then again, it was merely a feeble try.

W.I.S.E.M.A.N pinged as its eyes projected an infrared light and scanned Ira's body.

[ANALYSIS: Biometric scanning: 100% MATCH. DNA validation: 100% MATCH. Neural Pattern recognition: 100% MATCH. Quantum Resonance scanning: 100% MATCH. Chrono-Frequency analysis: 100% MATCH.Etheron Particles authentication: 100% MATCH. DEMIURGE Dyson Sphere link confirmation: 100% MATCH.]

"A Dyson Sphere?!"

The last part provoked no small amount of shock in Ira.

From what Ira last remembered—or hoped he remembered—humanity still has not completely conquered its Solar System despite being able to observe a part of the local galaxy.

A Dyson Sphere… Is so totally outside the capabilities of 21st-century civilization, that its feasibility can only be seen in fictional works.

Where—or when—the hell is he?

With such bubbling emotions, Ira could only shake his head and let out a shaky laugh.

"Okay~ so, I'm a perfect match for your scans. But last I remember, I was born and looked human NOT some… You know, demonic-looking scales. So either something's wrong with your scanners or you got the wrong guy."

[AFFRONT: W.I.S.E.M.A.N requests that Astrarch Khaos repudiates his opinion on W.I.S.E.M.A.N analyzing capabilities. As an Omega-Level Artifact, W.I.S.E.M.A.N's current sensory functions are able to identify and elucidate 64.76352% of the observable cosmos. Not recognizing my assigned Ward would be an insult to my—and your civilization's capabilities.]

Ira blandly blinked.

"Right~ still doesn't explain the scales and claws."

[CLARIFICATION: that is due to your crossbreed genes between a Homo Immortallis and a Hominis Pyropex. Astrarch Khaos, you are the progeny of an Eternal and a Teekaz.]

Thump!

It was a simple question Ira had been asking himself back when he was still at the Orphanage.

A question every other parentless child has been asking themselves now and then—a question that had receded to the depths of Ira's heart.

{Who are my parents?}

But never in a million years did Ira expect he would be getting his answer like this.

Clenching his fist, Ira mentally fought off a sudden bout of dizzy spells, trying to make sure he remained standing and conscious of his surroundings.

Denial bubbled at Ira's lips—but so did the questions he wanted answered.

But Ira knew that now—here—wasn't the place to ask it.

"Let's…" Ira breathed. "Let's say I believe you for now. So as your Ward, what can you do for me?"

[RESPONSE: I can start by customizing some apparels for you to drape on.]

Ira blinked and——

.

.

.

An aggrieved cry shook the desert.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU START WITH THAT EARLIER?!"

⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎

That, unfortunately, was how my sorry excuse of a story began.

Waking up in the middle of nowhere, with my black butt out, and my entire body not being the way it used to be.

… Oh, and let's not forget the bombshell that I'm half-alien.

I still think I took that news real calm back then.

.

.

.

I won't deny that despite the confusion and fear, there was the excitement of seeing what this World had to offer—an annoying itch from my fledgling years that I wanted to be scratched.

But now… NOW, I just want to go back and punch my past self in the face for even thinking that this World will be like all those fucking stories I'd read back in middle school.

… After all, it only took a single week before I thought I would pass out from High blood pressure due to anger.

.

.

.

But then again, I should have realized that as soon as I had met this World's natives.

⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎⸎

ᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥᴥ

20 minutes later,

Ira pacifyingly raised his arms and stretched his lips to an amiable smile, as he stood before a ragtag group of animal-looking people who had THIS to say about him.

"Damn you, Devil. Stay away from us!"

"Mommy, I don't want to die…"

"It's alright. Just stay behind me, Victor. I won't let that Devil hurt you."

"Look at those strange glowing arms and eyes, he's got to be an Infected like those Reunion bastards."

"… I don't know, Urich… He could be a Sarkaz."

"Doesn't make a damn difference to me, I saw those Devils slaughtering our people like Burdenbeasts, and you expect me to believe this one is different? Peh…! What's that look on your face, Sarkaz? Come to kill us with your Art after taking away our city and our lives? Come then, I'm not afraid of you. I'll bash your head in!"

'Wh-Why are they all treating me like some kind of Monster?'

Eyes erratically twitched, as Ira took in mental exercises to keep himself from exploding out in confusion.

'And what the hell is a Sarkaz?'

Authors Note,

I do have many reasons for writing this fic, 40% because I want an Arknight crossover and the remaining 60% being that…. IwanttowriteacoolfightsceneforPatriot!

There, as simple as that.

This story will be a crossover with 2 other verses: FGO and Marvel.

My original options had been Worm, Marvel, FGO, and Overlord. But amongst each option, FGO—particularly the Olympus Lostbelt—and Marvel were the only 2 that rhymed with what I wanted to write well enough;

I wanted to incorporate the blank canvas civilization that created the Machine Gods and expanded on it, while Marvel filled that Void by using the Eternals and sci-fi stuff.

A little touch from both and BAM!—this was the result.

Elements from Marvel would present in the story like 10-15% and there MAYBE (a big MAYBE) Heroic Spirits from FGO, and other unexplored elements from Nasuverse.

But that would only be LATER~ as Arknight's lore is too rich for me not to just toss aside.

Then again, Canon is going off the rails in this one as I do love happy endings.