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"Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything."

- George Bernard Shaw


I stand in a tense standoff, Clara tucked securely in one arm while Neuromorphic Armament takes the form of a shield in my other hand. The smooth, cool surface of the curio presses against my palm, a reassuring weight as I position it to protect us from any potential projectiles. My eyes dart between the confused faces of the Vagrants, their expressions a mix of shock and dawning recognition.

The acrid smell of gunpowder lingers in the air, mingling with the dank underground atmosphere. Sweat beads on my forehead, but I resist the urge to wipe it away. Every muscle in my body is coiled, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Clara's small frame trembles against me, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. I can feel her heart racing, a hummingbird's frantic beat against my side. The urge to protect her, to shield her from the horrors of this world, surges through me with an intensity that surprises even myself.

I glance down at her, my voice low and urgent. Can't have her seeing what I'm about to do. "Clara, close your eyes. Just for a moment."

Her reaction is immediate and visceral.

Clara's body goes rigid, her eyes widening with a terror that goes beyond our current situation. "No!" she cries, her voice cracking. "Please, don't make me! Daddy said that and then he—"

She clamps her mouth shut, as if physically forcing the words back down her throat. Her small frame trembles, eyes darting wildly as she retreats into herself. The unfinished sentence hangs in the air, its implications far heavier than the silence that follows.

I'm taken aback, my mind struggling to process this new information. Daddy? But in the story I knew, Clara never...

The dissonance between what I thought I knew of Honkai: Star Rail and this new reality is jarring. Clara's past, it seems, holds depths I never anticipated. But now isn't the time to unravel this mystery.

"It's okay," I murmur, adjusting my grip to hold her more securely. "You don't have to close your eyes, alright? Just hold on tight. I promise, I won't let anything happen to you."

As I turn my attention back to the immediate threat, I can't shake the nagging questions at the back of my mind.

She never referred to Svarog like that… Just what is going on?

As my thoughts swirl, I notice a shift in the Vagrants' demeanor. The confusion in their eyes gives way to a dangerous mix of fear and anger. One of them, a burly man with a scar running down his left cheek, steps forward.

"It's him!" he growls, his voice a guttural rasp. "The golden-eyed bastard who killed Igor! The one who's been taking out our attack groups across the Underworld!"

My jaw clenches at his words, but I don't respond. There's no point in denying it, and engaging them in conversation will only waste precious time. Instead, I focus on Clara, speaking to her in a low, soothing tone.

"Sunshine, listen carefully. We're going to move. Can you climb up and hold onto me?"

She nods, her eyes wide but determined. With a quick movement, she scrambles up my back, her small arms wrapping around my neck. I can feel her trembling against me, her grip tight with fear and desperation.

"Hold on," I murmur, reaching for my dimensional pouch. In a fluid motion, I extract a length of high-tech rope. At my silent command, it springs to life, uncoiling and wrapping around Clara and my torso.

Clara yelps in surprise as the rope secures her firmly in place. "What is that?" she asks, her voice a mix of awe and nervousness.

"It's a smart-tether," I explain briefly. "It'll keep you safe and ensure you don't fall. Are you comfortable?"

I feel her nod against my shoulder. "Y-yes," she whispers.

The Vagrants are growing restless, their weapons inching higher. Cold fury settles over me as I remember how close these bastards came to hurting her.

Their leader steps forward, his eyes narrowing to slits. A cruel smile twists his scarred face as he spits out, "End of the line, you golden-eyed freak. Time to bleed for every one of our boys you put down."

I meet his gaze, my voice low and dangerous.

"Who says I'm running?"

In one fluid motion, I hurl a smoke bomb at my feet. It detonates with a soft pop, instantly flooding the area around me and Clara with thick, gray smoke. I don't wait for the Vagrants' panicked reactions. Neuromorphic Armament shifts seamlessly from shield to a body-sized war fan, its transformation as fluid as thought.

With a powerful sweep, I send the smoke surging forward, engulfing the entire area in a dense fog. The Vagrant's confusion is palpable, fear-tinged shouts and blind gunfire betraying their positions.

I map their locations in my mind, plotting trajectories and calculating angles. The familiar rise of Chronosurge sharpens my senses, slowing time to a crawl. Each heartbeat, each labored breath from the Vagrants, becomes a beacon in the chaos.

Neuromorphic Armament shifts back to its shield form, a silent command born of necessity. I raise it with deliberate calm, angling it to protect both Clara and myself.

We glide silently through the smoke, my enhanced senses guiding us. I can hear the Vagrants coughing, cursing, fumbling in the darkness. It would be child's play to take them out now, but the weight on my back reminds me why that's not an option.

I consider my next move carefully. Guns are out - too loud, too traumatic for my young charge. I need something quieter, yet still precise.

As we reach a position of relative safety, Neuromorphic Armament shifts again, elongating into a wickedly sharp chain whip. Its links gleam dully in the faint light filtering through the smoke.

With a subtle flick of my wrist, the chain begins to move. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed as I expand the motion. The air fills with a low, menacing whir as the whip cuts through the smoke. The sound grows, transforming into an ominous whistle that echoes through the chamber.

The Vagrants' shouts take on a new edge of panic. They can't see the threat, but they can definitely hear it.

I strike.

The whip lashes out, wrapping around the first Vagrant's ankle. A sharp yank sends him crashing to the ground, his head connecting with a sickening crack. He doesn't get up.

Before the echo of his fall fades, I'm already moving. The chain whistles through the air, its blunt end connecting with the second Vagrant's knee. Bone shatters under the impact.

The third tries to run. The whip snakes out, coiling around his torso. I pull, using his own momentum to slam him into a nearby wall.

Number four raises his gun blindly. My weapon becomes a silver blur, knocking the firearm from his hands before delivering a punishing blow to his shoulder. He drops, howling in pain.

The fifth stumbles into view, eyes wide with terror. One precise strike to the solar plexus leaves him gasping on the ground, fight gone from his body.

But I'm far from done.

I advance through the smoke like an avenging spirit, each movement a calculated step in this dance of retribution. The chain whip sings its deadly song, finding weaknesses with brutal efficiency. Bones crack, joints pop, and bodies fall in my wake.

One particularly vocal Vagrant makes the mistake of shouting a vile curse about Clara. The whip lashes out, whistling through the air with deadly precision. It strikes the ground between his legs, so close to his groin that he feels the wind of its passage against his family jewels. His curse transforms into a strangled, high-pitched yelp of terror.

The implications sink in. Somehow, through this impenetrable fog, his unseen attacker had purposefully missed castrating him by mere millimeters. The Vagrant goes deathly still, not daring to move or make another sound.

But his reprieve is short-lived. Before he can process his near-emasculation, the whip cracks again. This time, it finds his jaw with pinpoint accuracy. There's a sickening crunch as bone gives way, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious before he hits the floor.

His abrupt silence only amplifies the cacophony around us. Screams and curses fill the air, a discordant chorus of fear and agony. I feel nothing. No satisfaction, no remorse. Just cold, focused purpose.

One by one, they fall — except one.

I hear him before I see him - the scarred leader, the one who first threatened Clara. His labored breathing gives away his position as he stumbles through the smoke.

My grip on the whip tightens.

Neuromorphic Armament unfurls at my command, whistling through the air with lethal precision. From meters away, the blunt end strikes his shoulder with a sickening crack. He cries out in pain and surprise, staggering backward. Before he can regain his balance, I strike again.

The air fills with the sound of impact after impact, each blow finding its mark with surgical accuracy. From shoulder to knee, no part of him is spared the punishing assault.

Bones crack. Joints pop. His screams echo through the chamber, raw and agonized.

I should stop. I know I should. But all I can think about is how close he came to hurting Clara.

Each strike sends shockwaves through his body, driving him to his knees, then to the ground.

Finally, silence falls. The scarred man lies in a crumpled heap, whimpering softly.

I retract the chain whip, the Curio shifting back into the war fan. With another sweep, I clear the lingering smoke. Bodies litter the ground, most unconscious, having passed out from the pain. None dead, but all thoroughly incapacitated.

Only two remain fully awake. The scarred leader, curled into a fetal position, and another man who stands frozen, his empty hands raised in surrender.

I approach the latter first, my steps measured and calm. "What's your name?"

He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing. "H-Hedeon."

Clara's small voice pipes up from behind me. "He... he tried to stop them. When they wanted to hurt me. I heard him."

I pause, glancing back at Clara, then returning my gaze to Hedeon. His eyes are wide, a mix of fear and hope in them.

"Is that so?" I ask, my voice neutral.

Hedeon nods quickly. "Y-yes. I never wanted to hurt the kid. I tried to talk them out of it, but..."

I hum thoughtfully, studying his face. There's a sincerity there that's hard to fake. "Well, Hedeon, it seems you've caught a lucky break today."

I turn my attention to the broken man on the ground, my voice hardening. "Now, as for you. What do they call you?"

Silence. I crouch down beside him, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I asked you a question."

He spits blood, glaring up at me with hatred in his eyes. Then, his gaze shifts, looking past me to Clara. I quite literally feel her flinching against my back right then.

The air itself seems to freeze.

"Did I give you permission to look at her?"

My voice, barely above a whisper, slams into him like a physical force. The man's eyes snap back to mine, and in that instant, I see it – the dawning realization, the primal fear that comes from recognizing a predator far beyond your comprehension.

His face drains of color, pupils dilating in terror. He tries to shrink away, but there's nowhere to go. The hatred in his eyes gives way to naked panic as he finally, truly understands the gravity of his situation.

Neuromorphic Armament responds to my will, transforming into a wickedly sharp sickle. The sound of its manifestation – a whisper of metal on metal – seems deafening in the sudden silence. With deliberate slowness, I bring the curved blade to rest against the man's throat, its edge glinting with an otherworldly light.

He doesn't dare breathe, doesn't dare move. His earlier bravado has evaporated, leaving behind a man faced with something he can't comprehend, can't fight, can't escape.

"Let me explain the rules of our little chat," I continue, my tone deceptively calm, a stark contrast to the oppressive aura of menace surrounding us. "You don't look at the child. You don't think about the child unless I command it. Your world, for the next few minutes, consists solely of me and the blade pressed against your neck. Do you understand?"

He nods minutely.

"Good. Now, let's try this again. What is your name?"

"M-Maksim," he gasps.

I withdraw the sickle slightly, but keep it hovering near his throat. "There, was that so hard? Now, Maksim, I have another question for you. What compelled you to consider harming her?"

Maksim's eyes remain fixed on the floor, terror evident in every line of his face. "T-they killed our people. Jace and Mira."

"They…?"

"S-Svarog and its machines," he chokes out. "The big metal bastard guarding the Furnace Core."

"I see. These people you mentioned… What were they to you?"

"We… We weren't exactly friends. But down here, you stick with your crew. It's how you survive."

"So you thought hurting the child would somehow even the score with Svarog? Walk me through that logic."

Maksim's words tumble out, a desperate torrent. "We were desperate, starving. Thought we could hit the camp surrounding the Furnace Core, grab some supplies. Quick and clean, no one was supposed to get hurt. But Svarog... it tore through us like we were nothing. People I'd known for years, gone in seconds."

I ease back slightly, my tone shifting. "High-risk play gone wrong. I've seen it before."

Confusion flickers across Maksim's face at my apparent understanding.

"But here's where you crossed the line, Maksim," I continue, voice hardening. "Raids, theft, even a fair fight - that's one thing. But a child? There are codes, even in the darkest holes. Lines you don't cross."

As I speak, realization dawns on me. I'm lecturing morality to one of Igor's men - the same Igor whose blood still stains my hands. The irony of the situation hits me like a physical blow, and I feel a familiar darkness stirring within.

My grip on the sickle tightens. One quick slash and this waste of oxygen would trouble no one ever again. The world would be cleaner for it.

Do it, a voice whispers in the back of my mind, seductive and insistent. He deserves it. Think of what he would have done to Clara. To others like her. You have the power to end this threat permanently.

But before I can act on that dark impulse, I feel it - the warmth of the cross pendant against my chest, and beyond that, Clara's weight at my back, her small hands clutching my coat.

I close my eyes, memories flashing behind my lids. Igor's terrified face as I cornered him. Joaquín, bloodied and broken beneath my fists. The sound of a little girl's voice, crying out for her daddy.

There are other ways to deal with this, I remind myself, the thought crystallizing into a shield against the darkness. Ways that don't compromise who I want to be.

Drawing strength from this conviction, I turn my focus inward, confronting the malevolent whisper.

I'M YOUR MASTER, I roar internally, the force of my will crashing down like a tidal wave. Each word resonates through every fiber of my being, shaking the very foundations of my consciousness. YOU ANSWER TO ME, NOT TO THE AEON OF DESTRUCTION. STAND. DOWN.

The voice recoils as if physically struck, its presence shrinking and cowering before the sheer magnitude of my command. It retreats, scurrying into the darkest recesses of my mind, leaving behind a silence so profound it feels like a physical weight has been lifted from my soul.

Neuromorphic Armament dissipates at my silent command. Before Maksim can react, I grab a fistful of his hair, slamming his head against the hard ground. His eyes roll back, body going limp.

"Hedeon," I call out, my voice echoing in the sudden silence. "Come here."

He approaches warily, eyes darting between me and the unconscious Maksim.

"You're free to go," I tell him, studying his face. "I won't be hunting you."

Confusion flashes across Hedeon's features, followed by something harder to read. His gaze sweeps over the fallen Vagrants, lingering on Maksim's still form.

"With all due respect," he says slowly, "I'll stand with my crew. Like Maksim said, this place is a shithole. We stick together."

I feel a reluctant respect bloom despite myself. It's a twisted sort of loyalty, born from desperation and shared hardship, but loyalty nonetheless. I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully.

"Fair enough. You're free to do as you like. If you want to gather your people and drag their unconscious asses out of here, be my guest."

The man hesitates, then nods. "Thank you. I... I know what we did was wrong. But down here, sometimes it feels like there aren't any right choices left."

I turn to leave, but pause, looking back at Hedeon. "You seem like you might actually have a conscience, Hedeon. Don't waste it."

A garbled, electronic groan breaks the tense silence. My head snaps towards the sound, muscles tensing instinctively. Clara's reaction is immediate and heart-wrenching.

"Pascal!" she cries out, her small body jolting against my back. In the wake of our recent ordeal, we'd both momentarily forgotten about the damaged robot.

"The grizzly model, right? Don't worry, we'll check on him."

As I walk towards the fallen automaton, my eyes scan the ground. Two weapons catch my attention - a grenade launcher and a cannon, discarded by the Vagrants I'd incapacitated. Without breaking stride, I scoop them up, smoothly transferring them to my dimensional pouch.

We reach Pascal's prone form, and I crouch down. The smart-tether disengages with a soft hiss, freeing Clara. She scrambles down from my back, her small feet hitting the ground with a soft thud.

My breath catches as I take in Pascal's condition. The robot has clearly seen better days. Projectile impacts have shattered protective plating and torn through delicate inner workings. Sparks dance intermittently across exposed circuitry, and a thin trail of smoke rises from a particularly nasty-looking gash in his chassis.

Clara's distress is palpable as she clambers atop Pascal's damaged frame. Her tiny hands move frantically over the robot's body, searching for any way to help. The determined set of her jaw contrasts sharply with the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"Maybe if I... No, what about...?" Her voice wavers, a mix of desperation and quickly fading hope.

As I watch her, a familiar presence materializes beside me. Sebastian's ghostly form flickers into view, his expression thoughtful.

"God, this is heartbreaking," he muses. "In Star Rail, Pascal was just a footnote in Clara's story. But here... he's real. It's all real. And it's so much more complex than we ever imagined."

I nod imperceptibly. It's no longer feasible to even think of this world as merely a recreation of a game I once played. I'd be doing it and its inhabitants a grave injustice.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I lean in to assess Pascal's damage myself. The command console, miraculously, appears mostly intact. But other crucial systems - particularly those governing emotional programming and memory storage - are degrading rapidly. Time is not on the robot's side.

Clara's voice rises, tinged with panic. "I can fix this! If we reroute the power from the auxiliary systems, maybe we can stabilize the core processor. Or what if we..."

She rattles off increasingly desperate ideas, each one less feasible than the last. It's clear she's trying to rationalize her way out of the harsh reality before us.

Unfortunately, Pascal is beyond saving.

I place a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looks up at me, eyes wide and pleading. I shake my head slowly.

"Clara," I say softly, "there's too much damage. We can't repair him, not here, not with what we have."

She hesitates, her gaze darting between Pascal and me. Hope and despair war in her expression.

I crouch down, bringing myself to her eye level. "Clara, what do you value most about Pascal? What makes him different from other robots?"

She doesn't hesitate. "He can feel things, just like Mr. Svarog. He's not just a machine, he's..." She struggles to find the right words.

"He has a spark of humanity," I finish for her. She nods vigorously.

"That's what makes him special, right? That element of humanity within him?"

"Yes! That's it exactly!"

I smile gently. "Then maybe we can preserve that. There is one thing we can do for Pascal. We can give him a way to pass on while leaving a legacy behind."

Clara's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

I choose my words carefully. "We can format Pascal's remaining data and integrate it into the base network. His physical form is beyond repair, but the core of what makes Pascal special – his emotional intelligence – that can be preserved and spread through the entire system."

Her eyes widen with understanding. "Like... like a good virus?"

I nod, encouraged by her quick grasp of the concept. "Exactly. Pascal's ability to feel, to connect with humans - it could become part of every automaton in the network. He'd live on, in a way, making all the robots a little bit more... alive."

Clara bites her lip, clearly conflicted. I can see the wheels turning in her mind as she weighs the options.

"Wouldn't that be the most humane thing we could do for Pascal?" I ask gently.

She turns back to the damaged robot, watching as he tries to speak again. The garbled sounds that emerge are heart-wrenching. Clara's shoulders slump, and she nods slowly.

"You're right, Mr. Alexander," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's... it's what we should do."

I squeeze her shoulder supportively. "He should hear your voice one last time. Say what's in your heart."

Clara takes a deep, shuddering breath. When she speaks, her voice is thick with unshed tears.

"Pascal," she begins, "I need you to know that I'm okay. You protected me. You bought enough time for Mr. Alexander to come save us. I'm so grateful, and I'm so, so sorry."

She pauses, sniffling. "I'm sorry we won't get to rebuild the market together like we planned. But I promise you, Pascal, I'll make it the nicest marketplace in the whole Underworld! People will come back, and they'll enjoy themselves, and laugh, and be happy. Just like you wanted."

Clara's small hands hover over the command console, fingers poised to begin the formatting process. But as she tries to type, her movements become jerky and uncoordinated. It's as if her body is rebelling against her mind's commands.

I observe her struggle, a deep ache settling in my chest. To Clara, robots like Svarog and Pascal are more than machines - they're people. What we're about to do, even if it's to end his suffering, feels to her like saying goodbye forever.

Gently, I place my hands over hers, enveloping them completely. Clara looks up at me, confusion evident in her tear-streaked face.

"Wha-?"

I don't let her finish. Instead, I turn her around, pulling her against my chest in a protective embrace. One arm holds her close while the other remains on the console.

"The truly humane thing," I say softly, "is to also not let a child carry this burden alone."

She stiffens in my arms. "I'm not a child," she protests weakly, her voice cracking. "I'm strong. I can do it."

I nod, my chin brushing the top of her head. "You are strong, Clara. Stronger than many adults I know, in heart and spirit and knowledge. But that doesn't mean you should have to do this. No one your age should ever be put in this position, not if there are people around to help."

I feel her small frame begin to shake as the first sobs break free. "You've been so brave," I murmur, "but it's okay to let go now. I've got you."

With Clara safely tucked against me, I begin inputting the necessary commands. Just before hitting execute, I pause. A thought strikes me, and I quickly type out an additional line of code.

Leaning close to the console, I whisper, "Help me, Pascal. Help me secure a better future for her."

I press enter, and the formatting process begins. Pascal's systems whir and click as his consciousness is uploaded to the network.

Just before his vocal processors shut down, I hear a faint, staticky "███Thank... ███you..."

Clara's composure shatters. She buries her face in my chest, her entire body wracked with guilt and sadness. I hold her close, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her back while the other cradles her head protectively.

"Let it out," I murmur. "I'm here. You're safe."

As I comfort Clara, my enhanced senses pick up movement behind us. I turn my head slightly, catching sight of Hedeon. The Vagrant is carrying the unconscious Maksim on his back, watching us with an unreadable expression. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - regret, perhaps? - before he turns and walks away, presumably to gather his fallen comrades.

Time seems to slow as I hold Clara, her grief pouring out in waves. I lose track of how long we sit there, but gradually, her sobs subside into quiet sniffles. She's utterly spent, emotionally and physically drained. I can feel her struggling to keep her eyes open, fighting against the pull of exhaustion.

"It's okay," I whisper. "You can sleep now."

Clara shakes her head weakly. "Don't wanna close my eyes," she mumbles.

I stand slowly, gathering her small form in my arms. She weighs next to nothing as I cradle her against my chest, her head nestled in the crook of my neck.

"I promise I won't leave your side," I assure her as I walk towards a more sheltered area where we can rest.

As I move, a lullaby rises unbidden to my lips. It's a song my mother used to sing to me, a gentle melody that always chased away the nightmares before that eventful night in Rosario. I begin to hum softly, the tune carrying memories of warmth and security.

Then, as if summoned by the music, I hear my mother's voice joining mine. In my own mind, our voices blend seamlessly, weaving a cocoon of comfort around the child pressing against my frame.

"Duérmete, mi niña, duérmete, mi sol,

Duérmete, pedazo de mi corazón..."

I feel Clara's body relax against me as the lullaby works its magic. Her breathing evens out, becoming deep and regular. By the time I reach a secluded alcove, she's fast asleep.

Carefully, I lower myself to the ground, keeping Clara cradled against my chest. I arrange my body to provide her with as much cushioning and warmth as possible. One hand rests protectively on her back while the other remains free, ready to reach for Herta's Curio or one of my guns if needed.

Sebastian's ghostly form materializes nearby, his expression thoughtful. "You know," he muses, "I never thought I'd see you like this. Playing the hero, comforting a kid... it's a good look on you."

"I'm just doing what anyone else would do in my place."

He chuckles softly. "Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that. But I saw what you did back there with Pascal. That additional command... you really sure it's going to work?"

I hesitate, my fingers absently tracing patterns on Clara's back. "It was... insurance," I finally admit. "If things go sideways, it could give us an edge. I hope."

Sebastian nods approvingly. "Smart thinking."

The silence that follows is filled only by Clara's soft breathing and the distant hum of machinery. As I contemplate our next moves, the enormity of our task weighs heavily on my mind.

"So... about what Clara said earlier. About her father."

I tense, knowing exactly where this is going. "What about it?"

Sebastian's jaw clenches. "Alex, she wasn't talking about Svarog. You know that, right?"

I exhale slowly, the weight of Clara's small body against my chest suddenly heavier. "Yeah, I know."

"You're not going to ask her about it?"

A bitter laugh escapes me. "Right, because that's exactly what she needs right now. 'Hey Clara, sorry about your robot friend, but let's chat about your mysteriously absent dad.' Great idea."

Sebastian's form flickers, his expression unreadable. "You can't ignore this. It could be important."

"I'm not ignoring it," I snap, keeping my voice low. "But there's a time and place. This isn't it!"

The silence that follows is deafening. Clara stirs slightly in her sleep, and I instinctively tighten my hold on her.

Sebastian's expression softens. "Alright, I get it. Just... be careful. This situation's complicated enough as it is."

I nod, feeling the weight of our task pressing down on me. "Tell me about it."

"You know, all this complexity... Clara's situation, the Vagrants, the Stellaron... it's leading up to something big. And at the center of it all is Svarog."

I feel a chill run down my spine, recognizing the truth in his words. Sebastian leans in, his demeanor shifting to one of grave intensity.

"Alex, listen to me. If things do go sideways down there, you can't hesitate. Not even for a second."

I meet his gaze, my jaw tightening.

"Svarog isn't Joaquín," Sebastian says, his voice low and urgent. "This isn't the same situation. You need to remember that."

My body betrays me, flinching at his words. My arms tighten fractionally around Clara's sleeping form. The memory of that night in Rosario rises unbidden - Joaquín's bloodied face, his daughter's terrified cries. I push it away, focusing on Sebastian's words.

"I know in your heart you might struggle with this. Hell, that Stellaron inside you might even try to convince you it's the same exact scenario playing out again. But logically, you know that's not true."

I remain silent, but he presses on.

"This isn't you going on some misguided vendetta, Alex. You're trying to stop a machine from potentially killing more people. You're working to end the conflict down here to atone for your actions. It's different."

"…"

"Just remember, brother. Sometimes the hardest fights are the ones we wage against ourselves."

As his apparition fades, I lean back against the wall, careful not to disturb Clara. My mind races, replaying his words.

Part of me - a larger part than I'd like to admit - hopes I can reason with Svarog. Maybe there's a way to end this peacefully, to find a solution that doesn't involve more violence.

But a cold certainty settles in my gut. The confrontation with the machine is coming, whether I want it or not.

With a resigned sigh, I reach for my dimensional pouch. A shimmer of blue, and a small vial materializes in my hand. The serum inside glows faintly, a reminder of its potency. Without hesitation, I inject it into my thigh.

The effect is almost immediate. Heat floods my body, my skin flushing as if I've been plunged into a furnace. My heart rate spikes, and for a moment, I worry it might burst from my chest. I grit my teeth, riding out the fever-like symptoms. It's a necessary risk - I need to be at my peak for what's coming, even if it means potential long-term consequences.

As the initial shock subsides, I take deep, measured breaths. The serum works its way through my system, stabilizing my vital markers. I can feel strength returning to my limbs, my senses sharpening.

Once the worst of it passes, I allow myself to relax. I focus on the steady rhythm of Clara's breathing, letting it lull me towards sleep. The last thing I register before drifting off is the weight of my cross pendant against my chest.

Whatever comes next, will You be there with me…?


Countdown to Belobog's Long Night of Solace: Less than 7 hours remaining.


March 7th's heart races as she surveys the chaotic scene unfolding at the edge of Boulder Town. The air crackles with tension, filled with the sounds of battle and the acrid smell of smoke. She stands shoulder to shoulder with her companions, each of them poised for action as they face the relentless onslaught of automatons.

To her left, Seele's purple hair whips in the wind as she twirls her scythe with deadly grace. Dan Heng stands firm on her right, his lance gleaming in the dim light of the Underworld. Oleg's mechanical arm whirs as he readies his stance, while Bronya's regal bearing belies the fierce determination in her eyes. Luka's cybernetic fist clenches and unclenches, eager for the fight.

The first wave of automatons crashes against their defensive line like a metallic tide. Hounds sprint forward on whirring wheels, their optical sensors glowing an eerie red. Direwolves lumber behind, chainsaw arms revving ominously. Beetles scuttle between their larger counterparts, force fields shimmering around their compact frames.

March nocks an ice arrow, the familiar chill spreading through her fingertips. She takes a deep breath, steadying her aim as she tracks a particularly aggressive Hound. Time seems to slow as she releases the arrow, watching it streak through the air leaving a trail of crystalline fractals in its wake.

The arrow strikes true, embedding itself in the Hound's central processing unit. Ice spreads rapidly across its frame, gears grinding to a halt as the automaton topples mid-charge. March allows herself a small smile of satisfaction before reaching for another arrow.

"Nice shot!" Seele calls out, her voice carrying over the din of battle.

The purple-haired warrior is a whirlwind of motion, her scythe a blur as she dances between enemies. An unlucky Direwolf finds itself cleaved in two, sparks flying as its chainsaw arm clatters uselessly to the ground. Seele doesn't pause to admire her handiwork, already spinning to face her next opponent.

Dan Heng moves with fluid precision, his lance a silver streak as he weaves through the automatons' ranks. He targets the joints and weak points of the machines with unerring accuracy, each thrust disabling another foe. A Beetle attempts to flank him, its force field humming, but Dan is ready. He feints left before driving his lance into a small gap in the automaton's defenses, short-circuiting its systems.

"Their coordination is improving," Dan notes, his voice calm despite the exertion. "We need to disrupt their formation."

Oleg's booming laugh echoes across the battlefield as he grapples with a smaller Direwolf. His mechanical arm whirs and strains, matching the automaton's strength. "Then let's give them something to think about!"

With a mighty heave, Oleg lifts the robot off its feet and hurls it into a cluster of advancing Hounds. The machines collide in a cacophony of screeching metal and shattering components. Oleg grins, already turning to face his next challenger.

Bronya's rifle cracks repeatedly, each shot finding its mark with pinpoint precision. She moves with the grace of a dancer and the focus of a seasoned commander, calling out enemy positions and coordinating their defense.

"Luka! Three Beetles approaching your nine o'clock!"

Luka's cybernetic fist glows with energy as he charges to meet the incoming threat. "I see 'em!"

He launches into a series of rapid punches, each impact sending shockwaves through the air. The first Beetle's force field shatters under the assault, its chassis crumpling like paper. The second manages to deflect one blow before a follow-up uppercut sends it spiraling into the air. The third barely has time to register the threat before Luka's fist plows through its central processor.

March finds herself grinning despite the dire situation. She looses another volley of arrows, each one finding its mark with deadly precision. Frozen automatons litter the ground around her, their metallic bodies encased in gleaming ice.

A Direwolf breaks through their front line, its chainsaw arm whirring menacingly as it bears down on March. She backflips away, buying herself precious seconds to nock another arrow. The Direwolf lunges, but March is faster. Her arrow flies true, striking the joint where the chainsaw meets the automaton's arm. Ice spreads rapidly, locking the deadly weapon in place.

Before the Direwolf can recover, Seele appears in a blur of motion. Her scythe arcs through the air, separating the automaton's head from its body in one clean stroke. She lands gracefully beside March, flashing a quick smile.

"Getting sloppy there?" Seele teases.

March rolls her eyes, but there's no heat in her retort. "Just giving you a chance to show off, Babochka."

Their banter is cut short as another wave of automatons surges forward. The air fills with the sound of grinding gears and whirring servos as the machines press their attack. March's fingers fly as she looses arrow after arrow, each one finding its mark with unerring accuracy. Ice spreads across the battlefield, slowing the automatons' advance and creating impromptu barriers for her allies to use as cover.

Dan Heng's lance becomes an emerald blur as he weaves through the enemy ranks. He moves with an almost preternatural grace, each strike precise and economical. A Hound attempts to flank him, only to find itself impaled on the lance's tip. Dan uses the momentum to swing the disabled automaton into its companions, buying himself a moment's resperation.

"Their attack patterns are evolving," he calls out, voice steady despite the exertion. "We need to adapt our strategy."

Bronya's voice rings out clear and commanding. "Understood. Luka, Chief Oleg - focus on creating choke points. March, you and I will provide cover fire. Seele and Dan will target their command units."

The team moves with practiced efficiency, falling into their new roles seamlessly. Luka and Oleg become immovable objects, their enhanced strength allowing them to create barricades from fallen automatons. March and Bronya lay down a withering barrage of ice arrows and precise rifle shots, keeping the enemy's attention divided.

Seele and Dan dart through the chaos like twin blades, their movements perfectly synchronized. Dan's lance flashes, striking with unerring precision at weak points and joints. In his wake, Seele's scythe whirls, delivering the coup de grâce to any stragglers. Their combined assault wreaks havoc on the automatons' command units, disrupting the machines' coordination.

The battle rages on, minutes stretching into what feels like hours. Sweat beads on March's brow as she reaches for another arrow, forcing herself to be even more selective with her shots.

Just as it seems the tide might be turning against them, a familiar voice cuts through the din of battle.

"Room for one more?"

Natasha strides onto the battlefield, her massive cannon humming with barely contained energy. She doesn't wait for a response before opening fire, each blast vaporizing whole clusters of automatons. The air fills with the scent of ozone and melted metal as Natasha carves a path through the enemy ranks.

"Natasha!" Seele's voice is filled with relief and a hint of exasperation. "Where have you been?"

The older woman's lips quirk into a small smile. "Oh, you know. Just making sure our medical supplies were secure. Can't let a few rogue robots interfere with proper healthcare, now can we?"

Before anyone can respond, a familiar figure materializes at the edge of the battlefield. Sampo's daggers gleam in the low light, wind already gathering around his form.

"Did someone call for backup?" he quips, a mischievous glint in his eye.

March can't help but roll her eyes, even as relief floods through her. With Natasha and Sampo joining the fray, the tide of battle shifts decisively in their favor. Natasha's cannon fire creates openings that Sampo exploits with surgical precision, his wind-enhanced daggers finding weak points in the automatons' armor.

The remaining machines fall quickly under the combined assault. As the last Direwolf crashes to the ground, its systems sputtering and failing, an eerie silence falls over the battlefield. March lowers her bow, her arms trembling slightly from the prolonged exertion.

"Is... is that all of them?" Luka asks, his cybernetic fist powering down with a soft whine.

Oleg's mechanical arm whirs as he scans the area. "Seems so. For now, at least."

Bronya steps forward, her posture regal despite the grime and sweat of battle. "Excellent work, everyone. We've successfully reinforced this area."

A chorus of relieved sighs and tired chuckles ripples through the group.

Dan Heng's voice cuts through the moment of celebration, his tone thoughtful. "Did anyone else notice something... odd about the automatons' behavior?"

March frowns, thinking back on the battle. Now that the immediate danger has passed, she can see what Dan is getting at. "They seemed... focused. More so than usual."

Seele nods, her expression grim. "It's like they were targeting specific individuals. I saw several of them bypass easier targets to go after known Wildfire members."

"The Vagrants, too," Luka adds. "I saw a group of them fleeing earlier, and the automatons gave chase with... well, I'd almost call it enthusiasm if they weren't soulless machines."

A troubled silence falls over the group as they process this information. The implications are unsettling, to say the least. Is Svarog truly targeting Wildfire members?

Before they can delve deeper into this worrying development, a distant rumble catches their attention. March's heart sinks as she sees another wave of automatons cresting the horizon, their metallic forms glinting in the dim light of the Underworld.

"You've got to be kidding me," Seele groans, readying her scythe once more.

Bronya's eyes narrow as she assesses the incoming threat. "This wave appears to be larger than the previous one. Everyone, prepare yourselves!"

As the team falls back into their battle stances, Natasha steps forward, her cannon humming ominously. "No need to wear yourselves out unnecessarily. Allow me to thin their ranks a bit."

With a deafening roar, Natasha's cannon unleashes a barrage of energy blasts. The air itself seems to warp around the projectiles as they streak towards the advancing automatons. The front line of machines disappears in a series of spectacular explosions, leaving nothing but twisted metal and scorched earth in their wake.

Sampo whistles appreciatively. "Now that's what I call an opening salvo."

He moves to stand beside Natasha, daggers at the ready. Wind begins to swirl around him, picking up speed until it forms a miniature cyclone. With a theatrical flourish, Sampo sends the whirlwind hurtling towards the remaining automatons. It tears through their ranks, scattering the machines like leaves in a storm.

Between Natasha's overwhelming firepower and Sampo's crowd control, the second wave of automatons is dispatched with almost anticlimactic ease. As the last echoes of battle fade away, March turns to Sampo, her curiosity finally getting the better of her.

"Not that we're not grateful for the assist, but where have you been? We haven't seen you since... well, since everything went down at the mine."

Sampo's usual smirk falters for a moment, replaced by an uncharacteristically serious expression. "Ah, yes. About that. I've been... busy with a rather important task."

Dan Heng's eyes narrow. "What kind of task?"

Sampo takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for their reaction. "Our mutual friend, Xander, entrusted me with some information and a rather specific request."

A ripple of surprise runs through the group. March leans forward, her heart racing. "What kind of request?"

"He asked me to repair one of the Space Anchors within the Underworld," Sampo explains. "Specifically, the one in Boulder Town's central plaza."

Gasps and exclamations of shock erupt from the gathered allies. Oleg's mechanical arm whirs as he clenches his fist. "But that's impossible! The Space Anchors have been inoperable since Cocolia sealed off the Underworld ten years ago!"

Sampo holds up his hands placatingly. "I know, I know. Trust me, I was just as skeptical. But Xander provided me with some very specific data and instructions. I've been working on it non-stop, and I'm happy to report that it's now up and running."

A stunned silence falls over the group as they process this information. Luka is the first to recover, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "How exactly did you pull that off? And why weren't you able to do it before?"

Sampo shrugs, a hint of his usual cockiness returning. "As I said, Xander provided me with the necessary data. As for why I couldn't do it before... well, let's just say I didn't have the means or the know-how until now."

"What kind of data?" Bronya presses, her tone sharp. "What means did you use?"

Sampo's expression turns apologetic. "I'm afraid that's something I'm not at liberty to disclose. Professional confidentiality and all that."

Before anyone can press him further, Seele cuts in, her voice vibrating with barely contained excitement. "Who cares about the how? Don't you all realize what this means? We can finally start evacuating people back to the Overworld!"

The implications of this development hit March like a physical force. After so long trapped in the Underworld, cut off from the surface, they finally have a way out. It's almost too good to be true.

Dan Heng, ever practical, turns back to Sampo. "Why did Xander request this of you? What was his reasoning?"

Sampo's expression sobers. "He said it was to help you two," he gestures to March and Dan, "complete your mission in case of a worst-case scenario. He seemed to think the Vagrant threat was more serious than initially believed. And since you've been unable to communicate with your Astral Express companions..."

He trails off, letting the implications hang in the air. March feels a chill run down her spine that has nothing to do with her ice powers.

"Xander made a deal with me," Sampo continues. "He promised me a favor in exchange for getting this done. His reasoning was that if something were to happen to him, you two would be able to return to the surface and continue your mission without too much difficulty. It would also make it easier for larger groups of Underworlders to evacuate without having to use my... shall we say, less official routes."

March exchanges a worried glance with Dan Heng. The pieces are starting to fall into place, and she doesn't like the picture they're forming.

"He's planning something reckless, isn't he?" she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dan nods grimly. "It certainly seems that way. We need to find him, and quickly. Last we knew, he was heading out to locate Clara, hoping to use her to calm Svarog and stop these attacks."

A flurry of discussion breaks out as the group tries to formulate a plan. After several minutes of heated debate, a consensus is reached. Luka and Oleg will remain in Boulder Town to oversee the Space Anchor's activation and coordinate next steps with Sampo. The rest of the team - Natasha, Seele, Bronya, March, and Dan Heng - will set out to find Xander before he can do anything foolish.

As they prepare to depart, Bronya raises a valid concern. "Natasha, are you certain you should come with us? Your medical skills might be needed here."

Natasha's expression is resolute as she checks her cannon one last time. "The most critical cases have been stabilized, and the remaining medical personnel can handle things in my absence. Besides," her eyes harden, "I'm the leader of Wildfire. If we're going to confront Svarog, I need to be there."

With final preparations made and goodbyes said, the search party sets out into the depths of the Underworld. As they leave the relative safety of Boulder Town behind, March can't shake the feeling that they're racing against time.

Whatever Xander is planning, she hopes they're not too late to stop him from doing something he can't take back.


Countdown to Belobog's Long Night of Solace: Less than 4 hours remaining.


Clara stirs from her slumber, her small form nestled against Xander's chest. His arms encircle her protectively, a warmth she hasn't felt since... she can't quite remember. As consciousness creeps in, so does a flicker of embarrassment. She'd cried herself to sleep in his arms, overwhelmed by memories of her father and the loss of Pascal.

"Hey, little Sunshine. You awake?" Xander's voice is gentle, barely above a whisper. "How are you feeling?"

Clara blinks up at him, her cheeks flushing. "I'm... okay," she mumbles, not quite meeting his eyes. Her gaze darts around the dimly lit cavern, memories of the past hours flooding back.

Xander doesn't press her, simply giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He glances at a device on his wrist, its soft blue glow illuminating his face. "We've still got a couple hours to kill before we need to move. You hungry?"

As if on cue, Clara's stomach lets out an audible growl. Her blush deepens, and she nods sheepishly.

"Perfect timing," Xander chuckles. He shifts, sitting up straighter against the cavern wall. "I've got to warn you, though. It's not exactly gourmet."

Clara watches curiously as Xander extends his hand, palm up. A shimmer of blue sparks dance across his skin, coalescing into several rectangular objects wrapped in shiny foil. Her eyes widen at the display.

"Ta-da," Xander says with a theatrical flourish. "Protein bars. They taste like cardboard, but they're packed with enough vitamins and nutrients to keep us going."

He unwraps one and breaks it in half, offering a piece to Clara. She takes it hesitantly, sniffing at the beige rectangle before taking a small bite. Her nose wrinkles at the bland taste.

"That bad, huh?" Xander grins, biting into his own half. He makes an exaggerated face of disgust. "Mmm, delicious sawdust. My favorite."

Despite herself, Clara giggles. "It's not that terrible," she says, taking another bite.

"Oh really?" Xander raises an eyebrow. "I think the Silvermane Guards use these to torture prisoners. One bite and they'll confess to anything."

Clara's giggles grow louder. "Stop it," she manages between bites and laughter.

"I'm serious," Xander continues, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I heard they once fed a whole crate of these to a Fragmentum beast. It took one sniff and ran away screaming."

By now, Clara's fully laughing, the protein bar momentarily forgotten in her hand. The sadness that had clung to her since Pascal's passing lifts, if only for a moment.

As their laughter subsides, Clara's gaze falls on Xander's hand, where the protein bars had materialized. Curiosity overtakes her embarrassment. "How... how did you do that?" she asks, gesturing to his palm. "Make things appear like that?"

Xander follows her gaze, flexing his fingers. "Ah, you mean this?" He summons another shimmer of blue sparks, this time materializing a small bottle. "It's called a Dimensional Pouch. Basically, a fancy storage device."

Clara's eyes widen. "I've seen something like that before. A few people in the Underworld have them, but... they can only store one thing at a time, unlike yours."

Xander nods, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Yeah, those are probably earlier versions. This one's a bit more advanced." He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small device no bigger than a matchbox. Its metallic surface gleams in the dim light of the cavern, a faint blue glow emanating from its edges.

"This," Xander says, holding it up for her to see, "is the actual Dimensional Pouch. It's way more advanced than anything you've probably seen before."

Xander's eyebrows raise slightly. "The ones you've seen were probably left behind in Belobog about 700 years ago."

Clara's brow furrows as she tries to imagine such a span of time. "Seven hundred years? Mr. Alexander, that's... that's older than the Eternal Freeze!"

"Exactly," Xander nods, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Those old models were groundbreaking for their time, but they had a lot of limitations. This one," he taps the device in his hand, "is a much more recent version."

Clara watches, transfixed, as Xander holds the pouch flat on his palm. Its surface ripples like water, and suddenly, a small communication device appears out of thin air. Clara gasps, her hand reflexively reaching out before she catches herself.

"Go ahead," Xander encourages, offering her the device. "It's perfectly safe."

Clara takes the communication device, turning it over in her hands. It feels real, solid, and sleek to the touch. "How does it work?" she asks, her voice filled with wonder.

Xander taps his temple with his free hand. "I've got a brain implant that lets me control it with my thoughts. I just think about what I want, and boom – it appears."

Clara's eyes widen even further. "A brain implant? Does it hurt?"

Xander chuckles, shaking his head. "Nah, I didn't even feel it when they put it in. It's tiny, about the size of a grain of rice."

Clara hands the device back to Xander, watching in awe as it disappears back into the pouch with another ripple. "Can anyone get one of these?"

Xander's expression turns thoughtful. "Well, not exactly. These advanced versions are pretty rare. I got mine through... let's say, some special connections." He winks, and Clara can't help but giggle at his conspiratorial tone.

"But," Xander continues, "I bet Seele and Bronya have something similar. You've seen how they can summon their weapons out of nowhere, right?"

Clara nods enthusiastically. She's always been amazed by Miss Seele's ability to materialize her massive scythe in the blink of an eye.

"That's probably thanks to an older version of this tech," Xander explains. "Not as versatile as this one, but still pretty impressive."

Clara's mind whirs with possibilities. "So... what all can you store in there?"

Xander grins, clearly enjoying her enthusiasm. "All kinds of things. Food, water, medical supplies, tools – you name it. It's got a pretty big capacity, too. But," he adds, his tone becoming almost reverent, "there are even more advanced versions out there."

Clara leans in closer, hanging on his every word. "Even more advanced? How?"

"Well," Xander says, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret, "I've heard about cargo versions that can transport enormous amounts of stuff. We're talking entire shipments of materials, maybe even small vehicles."

Clara's jaw drops. "That's... that's amazing! Do you have one of those?"

Xander laughs, shaking his head. "I wish! Those are incredibly rare and absurdly expensive. I only know one person who has access to them – Asta, the lead astronomer at the Herta Space Station."

Clara's brow furrows slightly. "Herta Space Station? What's that?"

"It's where I work part-time," Xander explains. "It's a... well, it's like a giant building that floats in space, high above any planet. It's run by Madame Herta, a brilliant and somewhat eccentric scientist. She's my boss there."

Clara's eyes widen with a mix of confusion and wonder. "A building that floats in space? How is that possible?"

Xander chuckles, realizing how strange it must sound to someone who's never left the Underworld. "It's pretty advanced technology. Maybe I can explain more about it later. For now, want to know more about the Pouch?"

Clara nods eagerly, and Xander holds it out. "Here."

Clara takes the device carefully, cradling it in her hands. "It's so small," she murmurs, turning it over. "How can it hold so much?"

Xander scratches his chin, considering how to explain. "Well, it's not storing things in the traditional sense. It's more like... it's creating a tiny pocket dimension. The stuff inside isn't really 'in' the pouch, it's in this separate little space."

Clara's eyes light up with understanding. "Like how the Fragmentum portals twist space?"

Xander blinks, surprised by her insight. "Yeah, actually. That's a pretty good comparison. It's manipulating space, just in a controlled, safe way. To be honest, I didn't know much about it at first either. Herta had to explain it to me."

Clara nods, absorbing this information. After a moment, she looks up at Xander curiously. "So, if you work on a space station, where are you from originally?"

Xander pauses, choosing his words carefully. "A planet called Earth. It's... not too different from here, actually. We have cold places like Belobog, but most of Earth is much warmer."

Clara's face lights up with wonder. "Really? What's it like? Are there lots of trees? I've heard stories about forests, but I've never seen one."

Xander smiles at her enthusiasm. "There are forests, yeah. And mountains, and oceans... all kinds of environments. Some parts of Earth look a lot like the Underworld, actually. But others... imagine endless fields of grass, or beaches with white sand stretching as far as you can see."

Clara closes her eyes, trying to picture it. "I don't know what most of those things are but… it all sounds beautiful," she whispers.

"It is," Xander says softly. "Maybe someday you'll get to see it."

Clara's eyes snap open, filled with a mix of hope and disbelief. "Really? You think I could?"

Xander nods, his expression serious. "I don't see why not. The universe is a big place, Clara. There's so much out there to explore."

A comfortable silence falls between them as Clara processes this information. Her gaze drifts to the strange sword at Xander's side. "What about your weapon?" she asks. "I've never seen anything like it. Sometimes it's a sword, sometimes it's... something else."

Xander follows her gaze, unsheathing the blade. In the dim light of the cavern, its surface seems to shimmer and shift. "This is called Neuromorphic Armament. It's... well, it's kind of alive, in a way. It can change its form based on what I need."

To demonstrate, Xander concentrates. The sword shimmers, its form elongating and curving until he holds a bat in his hands. Another moment of concentration, and it morphs into a long yet thin spear.

Clara's eyes are as wide as saucers. "That's amazing Mr. Alexander!" she breathes. "How does it work?"

Xander chuckles, letting the weapon revert to its sword form. "Honestly? I'm not entirely sure. It's incredibly advanced technology. All I know is that it responds to my thoughts and can take on pretty much any form I can imagine."

Clara nods, her gaze now fixed on Xander's eyes. "And... your eyes? Sometimes they glow, like the sun, or so I'd like to think based on descriptions from the older kids here at the Underworld who've seen it. Is that because you're from a different planet?"

Xander's expression turns more serious. "Not exactly. That's... well, it's complicated. I have this thing inside me, called a Stellaron? It's like a battery, in a way. When I use it, it enhances my senses, makes me stronger, faster."

"Is that how you move so quickly sometimes?" Clara asks, remembering the blur Xander had become during their earlier encounters with the Fragmentum creatures.

"That's right. It's an ability I call Chronosurge. When I activate it, I can move at incredible speeds. Time almost seems to slow down around me."

Clara's brow furrows as she tries to comprehend this. "But... how? And why do you have this... Stellaron inside you?"

Xander sighs, running a hand through his hair. "That's... a long story, Clara. And to be honest, I don't have all the answers myself. What I do know is that it's powerful, and potentially dangerous. But I'm learning to control it, to use it to help people."

Clara nods slowly, her expression thoughtful. "Like how you helped me?"

"Exactly like that," Xander says with a smile. "It's a big responsibility, having this power. Sometimes it's more of a nuisance than a boon, but if I can use it to protect people like you... then maybe it's worth it."

Clara's eyes shine with admiration. "You're like a superhero. You remind me a lot of Mr. Svarog," she says softly.

She watches as Xander lets out a chuckle, dismissing her comparison with a shake of his head. "I wouldn't go that far," he counters. "Besides, how could you? I'm not made of steel!"

Clara's laughter fills the cavern, echoing off the rocky walls. Her eyes crinkle with mirth as she wipes away a tear. As her giggles subside, she notices something she hadn't paid attention to before. His hair, once a rich dark color, now shimmers with many strands of silver in the dim light. She tilts her head, curiosity overtaking her amusement.

"Mr. Alexander, your hair... it's changed," Clara observes, her small hand reaching out instinctively before she catches herself. "It's grayer than before. Are you okay?"

Xander's smile falters for a moment, his hand unconsciously running through his hair. He lets out a soft sigh, his golden eyes meeting Clara's concerned gaze.

"Ah, you noticed that, huh? Sharp eyes, little Sunshine," Xander says, his tone light despite the flicker of something deeper in his expression. "It's a... side effect, you could say. From the Stellaron inside me."

Clara's brow furrows, her earlier laughter forgotten. "Does it hurt you?"

Xander shakes his head, his smile returning. "Nah, it's nothing to worry about. Just makes me look a bit more distinguished, don't you think?" He winks, striking an exaggerated pose.

"But-" Clara begins, her concern not entirely assuaged.

"Hey, you know what this reminds me of?" Xander interrupts, his voice taking on a theatrical tone. "There was this old Earth story about a guy who found a magical paintbrush. Every time he painted something, it came to life! But here's the kicker - each time he used it, he got a little bit older."

Clara's eyes widen, momentarily distracted by the tale. "What happened to him?"

Xander grins, leaning in conspiratorially. Clara leans forward too, eager to hear the end of the story.

"Well, by the end of the story, he looked like a wrinkly old prune. But boy, could he paint!" Xander concludes with a theatrical flourish.

Clara giggles at the image, but a small part of her can't help wondering if Xander's story hits a little too close to home. She finishes the last of her protein bar, surprised to find that her earlier sadness has faded, replaced by a bubbling curiosity about Xander and his world. As she looks up at him, she feels a thousand more questions forming on the tip of her tongue, each vying to be asked first.

"Tell me more about Earth," she says eagerly. "What kind of animals do you have there? Are there robots like Mr. Svarog? What do people do for fun?"

Xander laughs, settling back against the cavern wall. "Alright, alright. Let's see... where to begin?"

As Xander launches into tales of Earth's diverse wildlife, its bustling cities, and the myriad ways humans entertain themselves, she notices his hand drift to his chest, fingers absently fiddling with something beneath his shirt. A glint of metal catches her eye as he pulls out a small pendant on a delicate chain.

"What's that?" Clara points, her curiosity piqued.

Xander blinks, glancing down as if surprised to find the pendant in his grasp. "Oh, this?" He holds up the cross, its simple lines gleaming in the dim light. "It's... well, it's kind of like a good luck charm, I guess."

Clara moves closer, examining the pendant. "It looks… old. And important."

A soft chuckle escapes Xander. "Yeah, it is. Both, actually." His thumb traces the outline of the cross. "I don't even realize I'm doing this sometimes. It's a habit, especially when I'm..."

He trails off, his gaze distant. Clara tilts her head, studying his expression. "When you're what, Mr. Alexander?"

Xander's eyes refocus on her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "When I'm nervous, I suppose."

Clara's brow furrows. "Nervous? About what?" She glances around the quiet cavern. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," Xander assures her quickly. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just... anxious about something. But it's nothing for you to worry about, Clara." He tucks the pendant back into his shirt. "Actually, I was just thinking about a couple of friends. Hoping they're doing alright."

Clara nods, but her attention remains fixed on the spot where the pendant disappeared. "Your friends from Earth?"

"Yeah, something like that," Xander replies, his tone light.

Clara listens intently as Xander begins to describe Earth's oceans, painting a vivid picture of endless blue waters and vibrant marine life. But despite her fascination with these alien wonders, she finds her attention wandering.

Her eyes keep returning to Xander's hand, which seems to have a mind of its own. Again and again, his fingers drift towards his chest, seeking out the hidden pendant beneath his shirt. The gesture seems almost unconscious, a habit born of long practice. As her curiosity builds, Clara finds she can no longer hold back her questions about the mysterious charm.

"Mr. Alexander?" she interrupts. "Can I see your necklace again?"

He pauses mid-sentence, surprised. "My...? Oh, sure." He pulls out the cross once more, holding it so Clara can see.

"Now that I think about it, it's pretty," she murmurs, reaching out to touch it gently. "What does it mean?"

Xander's expression softens as he gazes at the pendant. "It's a symbol of... well, of a lot of things. Hope. Sacrifice. Love." His thumb brushes over the metal. "To me, it represents the idea that there's something greater than ourselves out there. That even in our darkest moments, we're not alone, or so I'd like to believe."

She nods slowly, trying to understand. "Is that why it's so important to you?"

"Partly. But this specific pendant... it's been through a lot with me." He turns it over in his palm. "It actually got caught in a fire not too long ago. The cord it was on burned away, but the cross itself? Barely a scratch."

Clara's eyes widen. "Really? How?"

Xander shakes his head, wonder in his voice. "I have no idea. By all rights, it should have melted. But here it is, good as new." He runs a finger along the chain. "I had to get a new chain for it, though. That's pretty recent."

"Who gave it to you?"

Xander's expression grows distant, a mix of emotions flashing across his face. "Someone very special," he says softly. "Actually, it's kind of a funny story. Up until recently, I was working at a mechanic shop under her guidance..."


Alexander's hands move mechanically over the geomarrow heater, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. The upcoming performance at the Starlight Café looms large, but it's the promise of a date with Serval afterward that truly occupies his thoughts. Guilt gnaws at him, a constant reminder of the lies he's told her, of the life he left behind. Summer's face flashes in his mind, and he pushes the image away with a frustrated grunt.

Across the workshop, Serval tinkers with her own project, stealing glances at Alexander when she thinks he isn't looking. She notices the tension in his shoulders, the furrow in his brow. Something's bothering him, but she can't quite put her finger on what.

"Hey, Xander," Serval calls out, breaking the comfortable silence. "How's it coming along?"

Alexander looks up, forcing a smile. "Almost done. This one's got a nasty coolant leak, though. Might need to replace the entire circulation system."

Serval nods, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, have you tried recalibrating the pressure valves? Sometimes that can fix the issue without a full replacement."

"Thanks," Alexander says, genuinely appreciative. "I'll give that a shot."

He turns back to his work, but his fingers find their way to the cross pendant in his pocket. His fingers trace its contours, rolling it back and forth in a rhythmic dance.

Serval watches him, her heart skipping a beat. She's noticed this habit of his, this unconscious tell that speaks of deeper concerns.

Taking a deep breath, she makes a decision.

"Hey, Xander?" she calls again. "Can you come here for a sec?"

Alexander sets down his tools and walks over, curiosity piqued. "What's up?"

Serval fumbles in her pocket, suddenly nervous. "I, uh... I was going to wait until your trial period was over, but..." She pulls out a small box, thrusting it toward him. "Here."

Alexander takes the box, surprise evident on his face. "What's this?"

"Just open it," Serval mumbles, a blush creeping up her neck.

He lifts the lid, revealing a delicate chain nestled inside. It gleams with an otherworldly light, unlike any metal he's seen before.

"It's made from cooled geomarrow," Serval explains, words tumbling out in a rush. "I noticed you're always fiddling with that cross pendant. I imagined it was very important to you, so I thought... maybe this could help you keep it close. If you want, I mean."

Alexander stares at the chain, then back at Serval, his expression unreadable.

"When did you...? Why?"

Serval's blush deepens, her usual confidence faltering. "What, I can't give a present to someone I care about?" She crosses her arms, defensive. "It wasn't hard to make. I know a jeweler who works with geomarrow. I get a lot of my accessories from them."

Alexander nods, still stunned. He takes out the cross pendant, fumbling as he tries to attach it to the chain.

"Here, let me," Serval says, gently taking both items from him. "Turn around."

He complies, a strange warmth spreading through his chest as Serval's fingers brush against his neck. The chain settles against his skin, cool and light.

"There," Serval says, stepping back. "Now turn around. Let me see how it looks."

He turns, meeting Serval's gaze. She beams, pulling out her phone and opening the camera app.

"Check it out," she says, holding up the screen.

Alexander looks at his reflection, at the glinting chain and the familiar cross now resting against his chest. The warm feeling in his chest begins to intensify at the sight until its too powerful to ignore.

Without warning, he pulls Serval into a tight hug. She stiffens for a moment, caught off guard, before melting into the embrace.

"Thank you," Alexander murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "Really, thank you."

"You're welcome…" Serval replies softly, her arms tightening around him. "I'm just glad you like it."

They stay like that for a long moment before Alexander pulls away. Serval's eyes widen as she takes in his face – his cheeks are flushed, a bashful grin playing at his lips.

He turns away quickly, fingers moving to touch the pendant now hanging from his neck.

Serval can't help but giggle. "Are you blushing?"

"What? No, I'm not," Alexander protests, but the redness creeping up his neck betrays him.

"You totally are!" Serval teases, her own embarrassment forgotten in the face of his adorable discomfort.

"I'm not!" Alexander insists, but there's no heat in his words. He laughs, the sound slightly strained but genuine.

Serval's heart swells at the sound. She wants to hear it again, to be the one to bring that joy to his face.

But as quickly as it appeared, the moment passes. Alexander's expression shifts, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. He turns back to the heater he was working on, his movements slightly less fluid than before.

Serval watches him, her own smile fading. There's still so much she doesn't understand about him, so many walls he's built around himself. But for a brief moment, she saw behind those defenses. It only makes her more determined to break them down completely.

She returns to her own work, sneaking glances at Alexander as he fiddles with the pendant, a small smile playing at his lips.


"This chain... it was a gift from someone important. Someone I hurt."

Clara tilts her head, curiosity shining in her eyes. "What happened?"

Alexander's jaw tightens. "I made a mistake. A big one. I let my paranoia and fear cloud my judgment, and I ended up hurting her. Badly." He shakes his head, regret etched across his features. "I don't expect forgiveness. Knowing her, I probably won't get it. But I need to try and make amends somehow."

"How do you plan to do that, Mr. Alexander?"

The Nameless takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting Clara's with renewed determination. "By finishing what I started. I want to stop the Eternal Freeze, to end the separation between the Underworld and Overworld."

"Stop the Eternal Freeze?"

"Remember how I told you about the Stellaron inside me? Well, there's another one - right here above the Underworld. It's the source of the Ice Age the planet's been under."

Clara frowns, her mind racing to connect the dots. "But... how? And why?"

"It's a long and complicated tale. One that goes back over 730 years."

He begins to recount the history, watching Clara lean in, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tries to piece together this new information. Her expressions shift from curiosity to disbelief as he walks her through the fall of the Stellaron, the rise of doomsday prophecies, and the creation of Belobog.

"The Architects tried to control the Stellaron using technology from the Interastral Peace Corporation," Alexander continues. "They built shelters all over the planet. Alisa Rand, one of the most prominent Architects, created the shelter that would become Belobog."

Clara nods slowly, her mind clearly working to visualize this past she's never known. "And then what happened?" she prompts, eager to understand more.

"But then came the Antimatter Legion. They're an army of monsters, led by an entity called Nanook. Their goal is to destroy all life and civilization in the universe."

Clara's eyes widen, a mix of fear and fascination in her voice. "Monsters? Like the ones from the Fragmentum?"

"Exactly. In fact, Fragmentum is merely the effect of corrosion of Stellarons in the environment where they reside. It's precisely because there's a Stellaron in Belobog that it continues to spread."

Alexander presses on, recounting the thirty-year Defense of Belobog and the completion of the city. His voice grows solemn as he reaches the crucial moment.

"About 700 years ago, Alisa Rand activated the Stellaron out of desperation. It triggered the Eternal Freeze, plunging the entire planet into an Ice Age." He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. "The official records claim the Stellaron simply resonated with the will of Belobog's people, but that's not the whole truth."

The child stares at him, her mind clearly reeling from the influx of information. "How... how do you know all this?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mr. Svarog never mentioned anything like this."

"Clara, I promise I'll explain everything once we've dealt with the Stellaron. But first, there's something crucial you need to understand about them that relates to your guardian."

Her posture stiffens, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her voice. "What is it?"

"Stellarons aren't just powerful objects. They have a will of their own, and they seek to corrupt the minds of living beings near them. Their ultimate goal is the destruction of everything in this universe."

Clara's eyes widen as she processes this. "But Mr. Alexander, you just told me you have a Stellaron inside you. How come you're not... corrupted?"

Alexander nods. "My body has special properties that contain the Stellaron's influence. I don't fully understand it myself, but it's why I can function normally."

He continues, his voice low and urgent, "The Architects and Supreme Guardians who built Svarog were likely influenced by Belobog's Stellaron. They might have programmed him to keep certain information secret, even from himself."

Clara's brow furrows, her mind racing to connect the dots. "So Mr. Svarog... he doesn't know the whole truth?"

"Exactly," Alexander confirms, leaning forward. "He's operating on partial information, trying his best to protect humanity. But his methods - keeping people in the Underworld - they're not the answer. We need to address the root of the problem: Belobog's Stellaron."

Her eyes flash with a mix of confusion and defiance. "But Mr. Svarog, he cares about us! He's always protected us!"

Alexander nods emphatically, his tone softening. "You're absolutely right, Clara. Svarog isn't at fault here. He's doing his best with what he knows. And that's why there's hope." He offers her a small smile. "You've said it yourself - Svarog isn't just a machine. He has an emotional core, a spark of humanity. That's why he listens to you, why he cares for you like a father would."

Clara's defensive posture eases slightly. "So why come to me? What can I do?"

"Because Svarog trusts you, Clara. With your help, we might be able to make him understand the full situation. And right now, we desperately need his help."

"What's happening?" Clara asks, her voice tinged with worry.

Alexander's face grows grave. "As you may have heard, there's been a Vagrant uprising. Svarog has sent automatons against Wildfire in response, but innocent people are getting caught in the crossfire. We need to stop this before more people get hurt."

Clara's eyes widen as understanding dawns. "And you think I can convince Mr. Svarog to call off the automatons?"

Alexander nods solemnly. "If we can explain everything to him, I believe he'll see that we need to work together. To end the Eternal Freeze, to save everyone - both in the Underworld and on the surface."

Clara falls quiet, her young face a mask of concentration. After a long moment, she looks up, determination blazing in her eyes. "Okay. I'll help. But I want to know everything, Mr. Alexander."

Alexander lets out a relieved breath. "Thank you, Clara. I promise, once this is over, I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Clara nods, then turns resolutely towards Svarog's last known location. "Let's go find Mr. Svarog."


Countdown to Belobog's Long Night of Solace: Less than 2 hours remaining.


Gepard Landau trudges through the snow-covered streets of Belobog, his boots leaving deep imprints in the fresh powder. The weight of exhaustion pulls at his limbs, but he maintains his rigid posture, unwilling to show any sign of weakness to the troops flanking him. They've been searching for days, combing every inch of the Overworld for any trace of Bronya Rand, and coming up empty-handed at every turn.

The biting wind whips at his face, but Gepard barely notices. His mind races, replaying every scrap of information they've gathered, searching for some clue they might have overlooked. The disappearance of the Supreme Guardian's daughter has thrown the entire city into chaos, and the whispers of treachery grow louder with each passing hour.

As they round a corner, Qlipoth Fort looms before them, its imposing silhouette a stark reminder of the weight of their responsibility. Gepard's jaw clenches as he thinks of the additional disappearances – Xenia and Yekaterina, two loyal workers vanished without a trace. The timing is too suspicious to be coincidence, but he can't allow himself to entertain the thought of a traitor in their midst. Not without concrete evidence.

A nagging suspicion tugs at the back of his mind. The Underworld. It seems impossible, given the Supreme Guardian's order to seal off all entrances, but Gepard can't shake the feeling that the answers they seek lie beneath their feet. He opens his mouth to voice his theory to the troops, but hesitates. Such a suggestion without proof could be seen as questioning the Supreme Guardian's judgment. He swallows the words, deciding to bide his time until he can present a more compelling case.

"Captain Landau!" A voice cuts through the howling wind. One of his men jogs towards him, breath coming in steamy puffs. "Sir, I've just received word. The Supreme Guardian has requested your presence. She's waiting for you in the courtyard of the fort."

Gepard's eyebrows rise slightly, the only outward sign of his surprise. "Thank you, soldier. You're dismissed." He nods to the rest of his team. "Continue your patrols. Report anything unusual immediately."

As the troops disperse, Gepard allows himself a moment of weakness. His eyes close briefly, a sigh escaping his lips. The thought of his bed, of even a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, is almost painful in its appeal. But duty calls, and he would sooner cut off his own arm than show anything less than complete devotion to his role.

He squares his shoulders and marches towards the fort's entrance. The courtyard beyond is eerily silent, the usual bustle of activity absent in the late hour. Gepard's footsteps echo off the stone walls as he scans the area, finally spotting a lone figure near the center.

Supreme Guardian Cocolia Rand stands tall and regal, her platinum blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight. She's wrapped in a heavy fur coat, clearly prepared for the harsh weather beyond Belobog's walls. In her hands, she cradles a long object shrouded in cloth. Gepard's trained eye immediately recognizes the shape – a weapon, most likely a sword or lance.

He approaches, dropping to one knee in a fluid motion. "Supreme Guardian. I am at your service."

Cocolia's lips curve into a small smile. "At ease, Captain Landau. There's no need for such formality at this hour." She pauses, an uncharacteristic hesitation in her voice. "I have a... personal request to make of you. If you're too fatigued, I can always summon another—"

"No!" Gepard interrupts, wincing internally at his lack of decorum. He modulates his tone. "Forgive me, Supreme Guardian. I am more than capable of assisting you in whatever task you require. It would be my honor."

Cocolia's smile widens, a hint of relief in her eyes. "Thank you, Gepard. Your dedication is commendable." She adjusts her grip on the shrouded object. "I need to make a journey to Everwinter Hill. I'd like you to accompany me."

Gepard blinks, confusion momentarily overriding his stoic demeanor. Everwinter Hill? The site of an ancient battle, yes, but hardly a priority given their current crisis. Questions bubble up in his mind – What about the search for Bronya? The missing workers? Shouldn't every resource be devoted to finding them?

But as quickly as the doubts arise, Gepard quashes them. The Supreme Guardian's wisdom is beyond reproach. If she deems this journey necessary, then who is he to question it? He forces his features into a neutral expression.

"Of course, Supreme Guardian. I am ready to depart at your command."

Cocolia nods, her gaze drifting to the horizon. "Excellent. We'll leave immediately." She turns back to Gepard, and for a split second, he swears he sees a flash of gold in her eyes, rimmed with an unsettling red glow. He blinks hard, and the strange light is gone. Gepard silently chastises himself.

Clearly, the lack of sleep is taking its toll on his senses.


Countdown to Belobog's Long Night of Solace: Less than 30 minutes remaining.


I walk beside Clara through the Robot Settlement, my eyes scanning our surroundings. The metallic structures loom over us, their sleek surfaces reflecting the dim light. My heart races, but I keep my expression neutral, not wanting to worry the young girl at my side.

As we make our way towards Svarog's base, I mentally catalog the arsenal stored within my Dimensional Pouch, ready to be summoned at a moment's notice. Four smoke bombs, their compact forms belying their potential for chaos. Two makeshift fire-bombs, cobbled together from scavenged materials. Three electrical bombs, their circuitry primed and waiting. The weight of Neuromorphic Armament at my hip is a comforting physical presence, the only weapon I keep on my person.

My mind flicks to the single remaining serum from the Herta Space Station, plus the cannon and grenade launcher I'd acquired earlier when rescuing Clara from the Vagrants, also tucked away in the Pouch's pocket dimension for insurance.

I hope I won't need to use any of it. The command I'd given Pascal still echoes in my mind, a last-resort option I pray won't become necessary.

The child's small hand trembles in mine, her steps faltering as we near our destination. I glance down, noting the worry etched across her young face. She looks up at me, red eyes wide with apprehension.

"Do you think Mr. Svarog will be very angry with me?"

I squeeze her hand gently, forcing a reassuring smile. "Hey, don't worry. Svarog may be strict, but he cares about you. He'll understand why you left."

Clara nods, but the tension doesn't leave her shoulders. We pass through the Vagrant Camp, the makeshift dwellings a stark contrast to the sleek technology of the Robot Settlement. Residents eye us warily, some whispering behind their hands. I keep Clara close, my free hand never straying far from the Curio.

At the camp's edge, Clara approaches one of the guard automatons. Its crimson eye swivels towards us, scanning our forms.

"Excuse me," Clara says, her voice small but clear. "We need to see Mr. Svarov. It's important."

The automaton processes her request, its internal mechanisms whirring. After a moment, it steps aside, granting us passage. We continue on, the path to Svarog's base stretching before us.

As we approach, I see the imposing figure of Svarog waiting for us, his mansion looming just behind in the distance. His massive form dwarfs Clara, the glow of his eye intensifying as we draw near.

"Clara," Svarog's mechanized voice booms, a hint of reproach in his tone. "You left the protection of the base. There has been unrest in the Underworld, perpetrated by the worst elements among the Vagrants. You were at risk."

Clara's head drops, her white hair falling forward to obscure her face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Svarog. I didn't mean to worry you. It's just... it's about Pascal."

Svarog's eye flickers, processing this information. Clara rushes on, words tumbling out in her eagerness to explain.

"I repaired him because he was special, like you. He needed help, and I thought... I thought I could make a difference."

Svarog's posture shifts, his massive frame seeming to soften slightly. "I was notified of a command input into the system. Only you could have done such a thing, to my knowledge." His eye dims, as if in thought. "The data from Pascal has been formatted and integrated into the base network. I have not removed it because the data contains many positive commands that will aid in protecting you. Pascal deemed you a high-priority individual."

Clara's eyes widen, a small gasp escaping her. "Really?"

I watch the exchange, a small smile tugging at my lips. Even in its final moments, Pascal's primary concern had been Clara's safety. The robot's dedication was touching.

Svarog's eye swivels towards me, its glow intensifying. "Why have you brought him here?" His voice is directed at Clara, but his gaze remains fixed on me. "Analyzing... Analysis result: Last known target location: Underworld mine near geomarrow deposit. Threat level: high. Background: unknown. Classification: unknown. External variable not accounted for."

I meet Svarog's gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. I recognize the tension in his frame, the way his massive hands flex. He remembers our encounter well, it seems.

Clara steps forward, placing herself between us. "Mr. Svarog, please listen. It's about what happened with Pascal. We found him in Rivet Town, in the central market. Some Vagrants recognized me and... and they wanted to hurt me." Her voice trembles slightly. "They said it was to get back at you for stopping their friends when they tried to rob people in the Robot Settlement."

Svarog's eye flares. "Where are these individuals now?"

Clara's eyes widen, and she rushes to clarify. "No, no! Pascal protected me until Mr. Alexander arrived. He took care of the Vagrants and has been looking after me ever since." She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. "He's explained some things to me that I think are really important. Please, Mr. Svarog, will you listen to what he has to say?"

Svarog is silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting between Clara and me. Finally, he nods. "Very well. I will hear him out, as you request. However," he turns to me, his eye narrowing, "you present too great an unknown variable for me to trust completely, given recent events in the Underworld. You have one opportunity to speak. Make it count."

I nod, stepping forward. As I open my mouth to speak, I become aware of an uncomfortable sensation building in my lungs and chest, a tightness that spreads down my arms. I push through it, focusing on the words I need to say.

"I'd like to request that you stop pursuing Wildfire forces," I begin, my voice steady despite the growing discomfort. "They're not responsible for the recent Vagrant uprising. In fact, I've been working to neutralize the pockets of their forces attacking civilians. I've personally dealt with over a hundred individuals across various parts of the Underworld, including Rivet Town and Forge Town."

Svarog's eye flickers again, processing this information. "Updating database. Many unconscious or incapacitated Vagrants have indeed been found by our patrols. Why did you feel compelled to involve yourself in these matters? According to my records, you are not from the Underworld."

I take a deep breath, wincing slightly at the pressure in my chest. "I... I killed one of the Vagrant leaders. Igor. He was about to assault a young girl named Maria in Rivet Town. I got there just in time to stop him, but..." I clench my fists, the memory of that night flooding back. "It's the reason the Vagrants went wild in the first place."

Svarog's eye dims, then brightens as he processes this new information. "Updating database. Assessing potential danger posed by external variable that has irreversibly altered Underworld status quo... Uprising has caused more deaths in the past 48 hours than any other period since the Supreme Guardian ordered the Underworld sealed." His tone shifts, becoming accusatory. "Why did you not permanently neutralize these threats? Many humans are irrational and incapable of rehabilitation. What assurance do we have that those you spared will not recover and harm others? Several children are reported missing since attacks began. High probability they are deceased. Did you allow the Vagrants who attacked Clara to escape unscathed?"

I shake my head vehemently. "No, I didn't let them go. I beat the ones who tried to hurt Clara, but not all of them had that intent. One of them, Hedeon, actually opposed their orders."

"And what became of this Hedeon?" Svarog presses.

I hesitate, knowing my answer won't satisfy him. "He... he took the unconscious bodies of his comrades away to tend to them."

"Then this individual, despite his apparent objection, remains complicit. And you, by allowing such actions, bear even greater fault."

I feel my frustration rising, matching the growing discomfort in my body. "Look, I understand your point. Some of them, many of them in fact, may need to be dealt with permanently. You won't be hearing any objections from me. But it's not my place to make that call. I'm an outsider here. I can't appoint myself judge, jury, and executioner. That's for the people of the Underworld to decide. The one time I did take that power into my own hands, it led to countless deaths."

Svarog's posture shifts, his massive frame seeming to loom even larger. "Analytical algorithms have necessitated a reevaluation of human behavioral patterns. Primary directive: preserve humanity. However, data indicates a significant subset of individuals consistently operating outside established parameters for human morality and societal function. Observed behaviors: pillaging, theft, wanton destruction, among others more serious. Result: exponential increase in chaos and disorder.

Statistical analysis reveals a troubling trend: a corrupt minority consistently inflicts disproportionate harm on the law-abiding majority. This self-destructive element threatens the stability of the entire human ecosystem.

Furthermore, Wildfire's persistent attempts to return to the surface contradict all available data indicating underground habitation as optimal for long-term human survival. Despite repeated presentation of this evidence, opposition persists.

Conclusion: Current methods of maintaining order are insufficient. New protocol required. Recommended action: assert control through increased force. Neutralize opposition to ensure majority survival."

He continues, his tone becoming colder. "A new conclusion has been reached: force must be asserted, and opposition neutralized."

I feel my anger rising, matching the growing pain in my chest. Clara notices my agitation and tries to interject, but I push on, my voice rising.

"And how exactly do you plan to filter out who's to be saved and who's to be 'neutralized' in this grand plan of yours?" I demand, my voice trembling with barely contained fury. "It's one thing when we're talking about violent criminals, but your automatons are targeting Wildfire forces - people who are risking their lives to maintain some semblance of peace in this hellhole. Are they expendable too, in your cold calculations?"

Svarog's eye narrows, its crimson glow intensifying to an almost blinding level. "Your perspective is flawed, constrained by emotional bias. You fail to grasp the logical imperative behind my decisions." He turns away, his massive frame becoming a wall of unyielding metal. "This discussion is terminated. You will depart immediately. I am exercising restraint by not classifying you as an immediate threat, solely due to your protection of Clara. Do not mistake this leniency for weakness or indecision."

Clara lunges forward, her small hands reaching for Svarog, but he remains immovable, deaf to her pleas. Something within me shatters, and words erupt from my throat before I can rein them in.

"You're condemning them to a slow death! The Underworld isn't salvation, it's a tomb!" My voice rises, raw with desperation. "Clara, everyone - they deserve more than this half-life! There's another way!" I surge forward, fists clenched. "We need to face the truth, confront the Supreme Guardian, and destroy Belobog's Stellaron!"

Svarog goes rigid, his colossal frame freezing mid-motion. When he speaks, his voice carries the chill of a winter storm. "Access denied. Topic 'Stellaron': Classified. Unauthorized discussion prohibited." He pivots, his eye blazing crimson. "You trespass on forbidden knowledge. Reassessing threat level... significantly elevated. State your true purpose. Now."

The pain in my chest is a supernova, but the words keep coming, a torrent of guilt and determination. "I want to end this frozen hell! To make amends for the chaos I've caused!" My voice splinters, heavy with remorse. "Over twenty names haunt me, lives lost because of my blindness, my paranoia since I arrived! A decade of suffering, and I've only made it worse!" I'm trembling now, but I press on. "I came here in peace, to you, to find a way to help them! Not to doom them further!"

Svarog remains motionless, his eye flickering as he processes my outburst. When he finally responds, his tone is disquietingly serene. "Historical data indicates multiple human attempts to harness the Stellaron. Invariably, these were driven by avarice - efforts to claim the artifact for personal gain. The Architects' directive is clear: Any interaction with the Stellaron will yield catastrophic results."

His eye flares to a blinding intensity, the crimson glow casting eerie shadows across the chamber. "Reassessing... Target threat index has exceeded all established parameters. New classification required."

There's a pregnant pause, the air itself seeming to crackle with tension. When Svarog speaks again, his voice carries the cold finality of an executioner's axe.

"Emotional analysis complete: Target exhibits signs of deception. Body language indicates readiness for hostile engagement. Threat level escalated to Omega Class: Existential Threat to Underworld Equilibrium."

The massive automaton's frame shifts, hydraulics hissing as weapon systems come online. "Peacekeeping protocols disengaged. Initiating Extinction Purge Protocol. Countdown to target elimination: Commencing."

Clara's anguished cry slices through the air. "No! Mr. Svarog, please stop!" She whirls to face me, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. "Mr. Alexander, why is Mr. Svarog saying you want to fight?!"

I feel a familiar heat stirring within me, the Stellaron in my core awakening in response to the surge of emotion. I shift my stance, my body instinctively preparing for the inevitable confrontation ahead.

"Svarog's not entirely wrong, Clara," I admit, my voice tight with tension. "Part of me does want to knock some sense into that stubborn frame of his." I take a deep breath, struggling to calm the inferno in my veins. "But that's exactly what Svarog doesn't understand - the difference between feeling and action. I might be furious, but that doesn't mean I'm going to lash out. He's the one forcing this conflict. Isn't that right, Svarog?!"

As I speak, I confront an unsettling truth. A part of me - the part forged through countless battles in the Simulated Universe, honed over what feels like years of preparation - is yearning for this moment of reckoning.

The air fills with an ominous hum as dozens of automaton Beetles and Hounds materialize around us, their eyes glowing with the same menacing crimson as Svarog's. They form an impenetrable ring of steel and wires, sealing us in an impromptu arena. I shout for Clara to run, my words nearly lost in the cacophony of whirring gears and charging weapons.

Svarog's voice thunders above the din. "Clara, evacuate immediately." Several automatons move to escort her, deaf to her desperate pleas and struggles.

As Clara's cries fade into the distance, Svarog's eye blazes with an intensity that defies description. When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of an immutable decree, sending ice through my veins despite the fire of the Stellaron within me.

"Prototype designation: Svarog, Unit 3. Primary function: Monitoring and Preservation. Extinction Purge Protocol: Engaged. Authorization for total annihilation: Granted."

The circle of automatons tightens, their weapons humming with charged energy. As the tension mounts, I turn my focus inward, addressing the power that has been both my burden and my strength.

This is what we've been preparing for, I think, feeling the Stellaron's energy pulsing within me. You've been with me every step of the way.

I sense a stirring in response, a wordless acknowledgment of our shared journey.

You've surely seen worlds burn and civilizations crumble at your behest. You've been the bogey-man of the cosmos, an answer to the call of The Destruction. But right here, right now… We're not destroying. We're saving this frozen hellhole, whether it wants to be saved or not. Svarog thinks he's got it all figured out? Let's show him what an unaccounted variable can do.

The Stellaron's strength surges, responding to my resolve. My eyes blaze with golden light, matching Svarog's crimson glare.

PLEASE, I silently plead, my determination crystallizing into a single, desperate cry, LEND ME YOUR POWER!

As if in answer, the Stellaron's energy floods through me, every fiber of my being igniting with its otherworldly strength. My hand moves to the Neuromorphic Armament at my hip, its form shifting in response to my will and the Stellaron's power.

Svarog's massive frame tenses, preparing to strike. The automatons' weapons power up with a high-pitched whine that fills the air.

The battle for the future of Belobog is about to begin.


Countdown to Belobog's Long Night of Solace: Less than 15 minutes remaining.


Chapter Notes & References:

• I don't wait for the Vagrants' panicked reactions. Neuromorphic Armament shifts seamlessly from shield to a body-sized war fan, its transformation as fluid as thought. — This scene draws direct inspiration from Temari's fan techniques in the Naruto series.

• As we reach a position of relative safety, Neuromorphic Armament shifts again, elongating into a wickedly sharp chain whip. Its links gleam dully in the faint light filtering through the smoke. — The concept behind this sequence is inspired by Toji's use of the Chain of a Thousand Miles against Gojo in Jujutsu Kaisen.

Across the workshop, Serval tinkers with her own project, stealing glances at Alexander when she thinks he isn't looking. She notices the tension in his shoulders, the furrow in his brow. Something's bothering him, but she can't quite put her finger on what. — These moments take place a few hours before the events at the Starlight Café, as described in Chapter 12, Winter Contingency. After the incident at the café, Xander felt unworthy of using the chain Serval had gifted him, and he tucked it away, overwhelmed with guilt for the way he hurt her. However, after his conversation with Sampo and the confrontation with Igor, he's started wearing the cross-pendant on his chest again. It serves as a reminder of his desire for atonement, and now, he feels emboldened to wear the chain Serval gave him once more, as it centers him on his path to redemption.

• "I need to make a journey to Everwinter Hill. I'd like you to accompany me." — They're going where you fought Cocolia in the original game.

• "Conclusion: Current methods of maintaining order are insufficient. New protocol required. Recommended action: assert control through increased force. Neutralize opposition to ensure majority survival." — In this version of the story, Svarog's been pushed to an unreasonable degree when it comes to dealing with humans. It's not unlikely, in my mind, that in this scenario they find themselves in he considers employing even stronger means to keep things in control for the 'greater good'.


Chapter Reviews & Responses:

Kiryuiin — Thank you so much, Kiryuiin! I'm glad the chapter resonated with you emotionally. While it is indeed a depressing chapter, I felt it was important to explore these darker moments to fully understand Clara's background and the challenges she's faced. Your almost shedding a tear tells me that the emotional impact I was aiming for came through.

Remnant of War — I really appreciate your thoughtful comment, Remnant of War. You've captured exactly what I was trying to convey about the unfairness of life, especially for children in harsh circumstances. I'm glad you recognized the complexity in Svarog's character - he's indeed doing what he believes is best, even if his methods seem harsh. Your point about him playing the "bad guy" role is spot on. Hope you appreciated Alexander's "Papa Wolf" actions for this recent chapter. Thank you for your encouragement.

VKS Vykhlop — Thank you for your insightful comments as always, VKS. You've picked up on many of the nuances I was trying to convey, particularly about Clara's repression of painful memories and Svarog's reasons for adopting her. I'm glad you noticed the cycle of vengeance theme - it's a crucial element in understanding the conflicts in the Underworld. Your observation about the potential connection between Alexander and Clara due to their shared interest in engineering is astute. Stay tuned to see how that develops!

WhiteVolder — You're welcome!

AlexianBlithworth — Thank you for your thoughts on the upcoming confrontations, Alex. Without giving too much away, I can assure you that I'm striving to balance canonical events with Alexander's capabilities in a way that respects both the original story and the character development in this fic.

Shadow Blaze - Mediator — … Hope I've delivered in answering your questions relating to Xander and Clara!

ShinySpiritomb — Thank you for your kind words! I'm glad you appreciated the depth added to Clara's backstory. Your theories about Nanook and the potential involvement of other cosmic entities are fascinating. While I can't confirm or deny anything at this point, I love seeing readers engage with the story on this level. Your ideas about Terminus and the concepts of destruction and rebirth are particularly intriguing. Keep those theories coming!

LefantaAegim (For Chapters 12 and 18) — Thank you for your comments on both chapters, LefantaAegim. Regarding the Weak Sister Quest, it's definitely a powerful and disturbing storyline. While I can't promise if or how it might be incorporated, I appreciate your interest in seeing Alexander's reaction to such intense situations. I'm glad you're enjoying the exploration of Alexander's mental state and the realistic portrayal of his struggles. It's a key aspect of the story I'm committed to developing.

TheAbyssWatcher — Your praise means a lot, TheAbyssWatcher. I'm thrilled that the emotional depth of the characters is coming through so strongly. Regarding Xander and Serval's relationship, I understand your concern. While I can't reveal future plot points, I can say that their relationship will continue to be an important element of the story. Thank you for your encouragement!

Cloud — Your concern for Cocolia is noted, Cloud! Without spoiling anything, I can say that every character's fate is carefully considered in the context of both the original story and this adaptation. Stay tuned to see how things unfold!