Thunderous applause and cheers filled the room, issuing from nearly two thousand Templar throats. The spotlights followed him as he strode to the podium as if he were a rock star. Sofia supposed he was.
Her father's pleasant voice flowed out as the crowd's cheering died down and they leaned in, eager for his words.
"With the recent recovery of this Apple of Eden," Rikkin said, "our Order has achieved a monumental breakthrough. We now possess a complete genetic roadmap to humanity's instincts, a key that unlocks the deepest mysteries of human nature."
More applause. More excitement. Sofia had thought she could not feel more wretched, but now, she realized that what she despised in her father's attitude was not the exception among the Templars. It was the rule.
"But our ambition goes beyond mere understanding. We stand on the brink of something much greater. The means we now have at our disposal will allow us to merge this world with that of the fantastical, to intertwine reality with realms once thought to exist only in myth and legend."
Sofia squinted against the light, suddenly feeling nauseous. It was too harsh, too white; she felt exposed and vulnerable. Like a wounded animal, all she wanted was to seek darkness, stillness, and solitude. To lick her wounds and perhaps, some day, recover, if such a thing were even possible.
"This Apple of Eden does not just grant us power; it offers us the unprecedented opportunity to shape reality itself. Think of the possibilities, imagine a world where two realms co-existed. A reality where the tangible and the fantastical are no longer separate, but seamlessly merged," Rikkin went on.
Sofia went out into the main entrance area, the droning voice of her father and the click of her heels on the floor the only sounds. Up ahead, against the stained glass, movement caught her eye. Sofia thought it was another Templar in his traditional robes; perhaps a latecomer. Then she realized that the shape did not move like a Templar.
Her father's speech of hatred and genocide, couched in comfortable platitudes, fluttered to the floor. Sofia froze in her tracks as he approached her. She couldn't see his face beneath the cowl of the hood, but she didn't need to. She had watched him move, had learned to recognize the lithe, rhythmic flow of his limbs, like a big cat. She had seen it in the Animus Room. And she was seeing it here, now, in a place where it was the least likely—and those most dangerous—to be.
She knew she ought to be terrified to see him. This was a man she had captured and imprisoned, to whom she had exposed all manner of torment. But all that was going through her mind was how unspeakably relieved she was that he had survived.
He stopped three feet away. Now, she could see him; see the blonde-red growth of beard on his strong jaw, his unblinking eyes that, even as a prisoner helpless before her, always seemed to stare straight into her.
Sofia was having trouble breathing. From fear, grief, or desire, or all of the emotions striking at once in a heart that had been guarded against them since earliest childhood; she wasn't sure.
There were a thousand things she wanted to say to him. What came out was: "All I have to do is shout."
She could not tell if it was a threat or a warning. Once, everything had been so clear, so straightforward in her life. So orderly.
And this man and all he had taught her—about himself, about the Assassins, about Sofia Rikkin—plunged everything into unknowable, beautiful, terrifying chaos.
Still, she did not shout. And he knew she wouldn't. He trusted her, despite everything.
Cal's eyes were full of what looked like sympathy. He should hate her, but he didn't. He spoke, softly, as he always did.
"I'm here to help you. And you're here to help me."
Sofia flinched. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them spill. Once, she had said those words to him. Once, she had meant them.
"I can't help you anymore." Not him, not humanity… she couldn't even help herself.
"What about those great plans? Cure violence. Combat aggression." Was he making fun of her? Tormenting her, trying to shame her? No. That was not Cal's way. That was her father's way.
"That's not going to happen." Sofia's voice and heart both broke at the truth and despair in the words.
He continued to regard her steadily, almost sadly. Then, he stepped closer, closing the distance between them. Her heart leaped in her chest. Again, she could not name the emotion. She had been disconnected from them for too long. Was he going to kiss her—or kill her? And which did she want him to do?
But he did nothing. He did not even touch her. "You started this, Sofie. You don't get to walk away."
How did he know? How did he know that was the nickname her mother had given her? Wildly, she again thought of the woman who looked exactly like her, wearing an Assassin's hood.
"What are we to each other, Cal?"
"We both know what happens next," he whispered, adding, echoing her father's words, "Not everything deserves to live."
And she did. She knew exactly what he would do, and why. He would be justified in it. The Assassins did not deserve the fate about which her father pontificated in the next room to a gleeful, unnaturally detached audience. Cal did not deserve to have been abandoned like an old shirt that no longer fit. She could not blame him for wanting revenge—but yet, his expression was not that of a man obsessed and hungering for vengeance.
Callum Lynch wanted something quite different. He wanted justice—something that, somehow, the Assassins, thralls to their emotions in a way the Templars found so repugnant, understood better than their age-old enemy. Her father. His contempt, his casual dismissal of millions of lives. Alan Rikkin could die a thousand times, and it would still not be justice for that.
She and Cal had been far too similar despite their differences not to have sensed a connection when had first arrived. Like her father, Cal wanted Sofia with him. But he wanted her for all the things her father and the Templar Order he represented would desire to see crushed in Sofia's spirit. Her fire, her curiosity, her compassion.
"I can't do this," she whispered. Something inside her shattered at the words. I have been broken all my life. I can live with being a little more broken.
Cal's gaze remained kind, as his eyes flickered down to her lips and then back up to her eyes.
"Yes… you can." Slowly, slowly, he leaned forward.
Sofia closed her eyes.
Cal did not smell of cologne and starch and fine wool suits, as her father did. He smelled of sweat, and leather, and the cleanliness of the evening's rain. And for a moment, Sofia wanted nothing more than to run away from the Templars, and their Order, and their lies; from her father, who embodied the very worst of them. To find out who the woman was who had gazed at her, surrounded by images of Assassins, at the base of a broken Animus.
But that gulf was too wide to cross. Not even an Assassin's Leap could clear it. Her father was a monster; but he was her father, the only one Sofia had. Her Order was horrifyingly wrong; but it was all she had known.
Cal sensed it, moving past her, silent but for a faint rustle of fabric, and she was left alone, shaking, and more lost than ever.
Sofia tried to calm herself, to breathe deeply. Her father's voice floated out to her.
"It is not for ourselves that we strive, but for the future," he declares, his eyes blazing with determination. "A future where humanity and the otherworldly coexist in perfect harmony, where the enchanting realms of Gensokyo merge with our mundane reality. This union will unlock infinite possibilities, propelling us into an era of unparalleled progress in knowledge, technology, and societal structure. We shall be the architects of a new world order, one built upon unbreakable Templar ideals, where stability reigns supreme and our enemies cower in submission."
Chess. Her father's lessons echoed in the halls of her mind, each strategic move mirrored in the current chaos. But this wasn't a game, and Sofia was no queen. Her father, once a revered figure, now lay sprawled on the bloodstained carpet, the Apple of Eden clutched lifelessly in his hand.
"Zugzwang," the forgotten German word resurfaced, a chilling reminder of her choices. Every step, every discovery, had led her here, to this moment of compelled action and devastating consequence.
Tears, long held back, streamed down her flushed cheeks. Who was she weeping for? The fallen leader, or the naive daughter he'd never truly see?
"Ladies and gentlemen," her father announced, a tone she recognized—the grandeur of it, the booming resonance tinged with excitement. "I present to you... the Apple of Eden!"
The crowd erupted in cheers, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within Sofia. She remained rooted, paralyzed by the weight of her knowledge.
Yet, she remained rooted as if sculpted from the same stone as the building. She couldn't move to join Cal. She couldn't move to stop him.
Then, with a disturbing crack that sent shivers down spines, a gap ripped open in the air, revealing a single glowing, menacing eye. Panic and confusion spread like wildfire through the hall as horrified gasps echoed in the air. The once harmonious gathering had descended into chaos.
Chaos erupted in the chamber as reality itself seemed to splinter and shatter, revealing glimpses of otherworldly realms. Sinister eyes peered out from these cracks, their presence both unsettling and foreboding. The boundaries between worlds were fading, unleashing a maelstrom of terror upon the Templars and Omnyoji. They stood in awe and horror as the rifts expanded, threatening to engulf them in a vortex of madness.
But the nightmare had only just begun. From the ruptures in reality emerged a horde of powerful creatures from Japanese mythology, their supernatural presence radiating with primal energy. The air crackled with fear and wonder as more and more mythological beings spilled forth, unleashing havoc upon the already frenzied scene.
Amidst the chaos, mischievous fairies from the realm of fantasy joined forces with the Youkai, adding an unpredictable element to the pandemonium. Their playful antics intertwined with the growing terror, creating a cacophony of madness that threatened to consume all within its grasp. The Templars and Omnyoji could only watch in horror as their world crumbled before their very eyes.
One such fairy, amidst the dramatic entrance, was an attention-grabbing spectacle. She embodied the essence of a mischievous jester. Her leggings and shirt were adorned with a pattern reminiscent of the American flag, with stars and stripes dancing across her clothing. Clownpiece's eyes sparkled with mischief, waving her torch, which she twirled with an expert flare, sending colorful flames shooting into the air.
Unlike the other fairies, Clownpiece's approach was unique. While they unleashed playful attacks, she aimed her torch not at the Templars or Omnyoji, but at the very fabric of reality itself. With a mischievous grin, she cackled, "Time for a little chaos, Gensokyo style!"
As the colorful flames touched the rifts, the unsettling atmosphere shifted. The menacing glow softened, replaced by a playful, almost cartoonish aura. The Youkai, instead of rampaging through the hall, began chasing each other in playful scuffles. The once-terrifying roars morphed into laughter as even the fierce oni found themselves inexplicably compelled to join the silliness.
Sofia watched in disbelief as the scene unfolded. The weight of her research, the fear, the despair – all momentarily suspended by the sheer absurdity of it all.
Suddenly, Clownpiece twirled towards Sofia, her grin widening. "Well, well, well, lookie here!" she exclaimed, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Little scholar, lost in your big book learning, and you accidentally opened a door to our little corner of fun! Did you miss me, friends?"
She winked at a bewildered kappa who was now trying to stuff a stack of paper on the head of a grumpy tengu.
Ignoring Sofia's speechless state, Clownpiece continued, her voice taking on a theatrical tone. "But alas, little scholar, it seems your understanding of interdimensional travel isn't quite as 'stellar' as you thought. Next time, try consulting a professional jester instead of dusty old tomes. We have a knack for finding the funny side of even the most serious situations, wouldn't you agree?"
Sofia stammered, unable to form a coherent response.
Clownpiece chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "Don't worry, little scholar. We'll clean up this mess eventually. After all, even chaos needs a little organization, wouldn't you say?"
With a final mischievous wink, Clownpiece twirled her torch once more, sending a final burst of playful flames towards a particularly grumpy kappa, eliciting another round of laughter. As quickly as she arrived, she vanished back through a shimmering rift, leaving Sofia alone amidst the fading sounds of laughter and the echo of Clownpiece's parting words.
An unsettling prickle crawled down Sofia's spine, a sharp contrast to the fading echoes of laughter. It was the chilling sense of unseen eyes burning into her back. Tadakuni materialized by her side, flanked by several grim-faced Omnyoji and Templars. Their silent but purposeful movements left no room for argument as they ushered her towards the exit.
The remnants of chaos lingered in the air, a stark reminder of the absurdity of the situation. Sofia turned with glacial slowness, her gaze already fixed on the inevitable. Ellen Kaye stood there, her sharp eyes boring down on Sofia with an intensity that threatened to pierce through her. Beside her, an assembly of Elders formed a silent, ominous tableau.
Kaye's hands were clasped behind her back, their serenity a jarring contrast to the storm raging within Sofia. A memory flickered – Kaye standing beside her, both of them silently watching Rikkin as he fixated on the Apple.
"Your time will come, child," Kaye had whispered, her voice strangely prophetic.
Now, as she faced the unyielding gaze of the woman who once offered prophetic words, Sofia braced herself for the coming storm. Her actions, no matter how unexpected the outcome, had set in motion a chain of events. She knew, with a chilling certainty, that it was time to face the consequences.
"It is not to ourselves," Kaye declared, her voice echoing through the silent hall, "but to the future that we must offer our sacrifice." The weight of her words resonated deeply, carrying the undeniable implication that Sofia's future was no longer hers to choose. Her quest for knowledge, though riddled with unexpected twists and turns, had culminated in this moment. The price of knowledge, it seemed, would be paid in full.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea before Sofia. Each averted glance and mumbled whisper spoke volumes, a chorus of fear and disapproval drowned out by Tadakuni's glowering presence. Outside, the city hummed with its usual indifference, blissfully unaware of the tremor that had just shaken their foundations. Yet, Sofia knew, the shockwaves were coming.
The wail of distant sirens served as a grim reminder. Days of questioning, scrutiny, and the careful crafting of a palatable narrative awaited. The world would mourn the tragic demise of CEO Alan Rikkin, the details sanitized, the truth veiled.
Raising her eyes to the sky, Sofia sought solace, not in the clouds or the faint stars struggling to peek through the twilight gloom. Instead, she saw the city's silhouette, a concrete jungle where her adversary, a man who teetered on the precipice of love and hatred, now resided.
But fear was absent. The Templars, with their unwavering resolve, would find him. They would find them all. The price of knowledge had been paid, a heavy burden, but one she would bear with a steely determination.
