KINGDOM OF ILDOA FORMALLY SURRENDERS AFTER HEROIC BLITZKRIEG !
Yesterday, the King of Ildoa made a formal announcement of his nation's surrender to the Empire. In his speech, the monarch revealed that he had spent the last weeks effectively imprisoned within his own residence by the conspirators who had taken over first the Holy See, and then the Ildoan military, using the latter to perform a coup aimed at launching their so-called Crusade against the Reich.
Colonel Erich von Lergen, who led the heroic charge through Ildoa in order to prevent the dark schemes brewing within the Holy See from succeeding, met with the King in person. The Colonel confirmed that he wasn't affected by the sorcerous malady that had befallen the high command of his kingdom's military, bending their minds to the conspiracy's foul purpose, and accepted the surrender.
Given the situation, the King of Ildoa has assumed emergency powers over the country for the time being, with the approval of the nation's legislature. The scattered remnants of the Ildoan Army have been ordered to return to the barracks in Remula, while a peace treaty is being negotiated between the Kingdom and the Empire. One of the subjects of discussion between diplomats is expected to be the passage through the Alps created by the now-destroyed Ildoan superweapon, the impacts of which on the environment have been the subject of much speculation from academics in Berun and beyond.
Although the details of what took place within the Holy See are classified, the Imperial Army has made a statement indicating that the monstrous creature witnessed by the traumatized population of Remula was brought into being by the renegade Pariseean Archbishop Baptiste Beauvais, who had fled the Francois Republic months ago alongside the traitor General De Lugo. It is also believed that its appearance was related to the disappearance of Ildoa's aerial mage corps, whose members were discreetly summoned to the Holy See in the previous weeks.
With these new revelations, as well as the mind-bending effects of uncontrolled, improperly used Elder magic, the Empire's diplomats have once again called for the Allied Kingdom to agree to a ceasefire in order to discuss peace terms. It is hoped in Berun's diplomatic circles that, with the devastating effects of the Wunderwaffen and the risks of escalation made plain, even Albion's war hawks can be convinced to stop this terrible conflict …
Excerpt from the front page of the Berun Post, January 12th, 1926.
"Castle Schwartzstein is located in the middle of nowhere within the south of the Empire, yet the village next to the hill atop which it stands is serviced by the Imperial railway system all the same. We made our way through the mountains, avoiding the roads. The snow was thick here, and even with our equipment and small uses of magic, we had to resort to extreme measures to keep warm in the night. Not that I am complaining : Natasha is a very attractive woman. Of course, I am aware that she is using me just as I am using her, in service to our respective nations.
At present, we are hiding in a cavern and the weather around Castle Schwartzstein is impossibly agitated (despite the rest of the skies being clear, and while I am no meteorologist I can tell there is something obviously wrong with that). Due to the heavy Imperial presence in the village and the fact that the soldiers clearly know every villager by sight if not name, we have avoided approaching it for information and focused our observation on the castle itself.
More recent buildings have been erected around the castle proper, serving as warehouses and workshops for what I believe to be Division Y's more mundane operations. One such building houses captives from Legadonia, including someone I have recognized as Colonel Anson Sue. The captives appear to be in good health, allowed to walk and exercise outside, and are visited almost daily by a duo of women who I think are the Colonel's family.
The soldiers who patrol the outskirts of the castle are armed with standard (if high-quality and well-maintained) Imperial equipment. Those within the castle proper carry the same strange rifles first reported by Colonel Drake during the ill-fated intervention on the Rhine Front.
Apart from the weather, there is some sort of optical illusion surrounding the castle itself. Whenever I look at it from afar, even with my magically-enhanced binoculars, it appears to have changed shapes, its architecture shifting, some towers disappearing or appearing. Sometimes it is a medieval castle built to withstand a siege, and sometimes it is a pleasure palace, built to serve as some Imperial noble's summer retreat. One thing we have noticed remains constant, however, is that the northern wing is always abandoned : there is no light from its windows, and no sign of anyone patrolling it.
Natasha and I have decided to make our ingress into the castle proper through there, once we are past the outer perimeter. After observing the patrols' pattern, we think we should be able to sneak in without me needing to use magic (the rigours of our mountainous journey have already forced me to reveal that I'm a mage to Natasha). Given that the castle is certain to be equipped with magic detection equipment, this is a relief.
Yesterday, right after dusk, Natasha reported she saw a young girl we identified as Tanya Degurechaff arrive by train and enter Castle Schwartzstein, accompanied by an escort of their masked soldiers along with regular troopers. Unfortunately, that means we are running out of time to scout the terrain from afar. We know (or hope we know, I suppose) that there is some kind of limit to the obscene magical power the greatest supersoldier of Division Y wields : after the events of Arene, she disappeared from the frontlines for months. Since she was present at Bovariastadt, we are assuming she is still in her 'recovery phase', but with every passing day the mages of Division Y will bring her closer to readiness once more.
Getting into the headquarters of Division Y is already going to be dangerous enough, but if the Lady of Stars is there and ready to fight, our already slim chances of success will turn to smoke. Natasha agrees with my conclusion : we'll make our attempt tomorrow."
From the encrypted notes of Agent 404, Albish Secret Services, written on January 13th, 1926.
"In response to yesterday's incident and by order of the Director, entry to the northern wing of the castle is now forbidden to all personnel. Any attempt to break the containment seals applied at the entrances will be met with severe disciplinary action in the unlikely event that any offender survives the result of such tempering in any state to face it.
Following the loss of Professor [the ink appears to have run on this portion of every existing copy of the memo] along with the entire research team, leadership of Projekt V has been transferred to Professor Damien Loch.
In addition, to prevent a repeat of the incident, the Director has issued a series of new regulations concerning the use of Mythos rituals, the complete list of which can be found on the public announcement boards as well as in a special letter sent to the heads of every ongoing Projekt. All recipients are ordered to read and follow these regulations going forward : the Director is available for further clarification is required.
A mourning ceremony for those lost in the pursuit of the Empire's security will take place tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM in the castle's chapel. All who wish to attend are welcome.
PS : if you discover that you can still speak the name of Professor [the earlier phenomenon happens again] aloud, please present yourself to the Director's office post-haste."
Internal memo of Division Y, circulated to all personnel assigned to Castle Schwartzstein, March 1st, 1924.
? – ?
Reality is broken. Time and space are revealed as what they always were : the artificial constructs of pitiful sparks trying to grasp the infinity of the cosmos. Cause and effect are sundered, replaced by the howling of alien wills.
The two of them are caught in the middle of this madness-that-is-all, minnows swimming amidst whales in poisoned waters. Except the whales are already dead from the poison, yet still twitching as their agony is stretched across eternity by the timelessness of this not-place. They want to kill, they want to die, but they can do neither.
Ruined yet still towering pillars rise from the fathomless depths like the broken fingers of a thousand grasping hands. The tallest of them break into the flesh of the whales, spilling an ichor that can kill stars.
This is a graveyard of godlings that never were. This is a charnel pit full of unliving weapons. This is a nightmare that hungers for an awakening forever denied.
The two walk, swim, stumble forward, ever forward. They cling to one another, desperate for the slightest hint of familiarity. They cannot let go, they will never let go, but they will, they both know it. It is inevitable. It is in their nature, and neither can defy it. Except there is no future, just like there is no past, no present.
A flicker of silver in the distance is the only thing providing any sense of direction, and so the two keep advancing.
There is a dinner room, the table covered in a thick layer of dust. There is a supply closet, its door slightly ajar, revealing a rack of strange rifles. There is a laboratory, with a magic circle drawn in gold dust and human blood on black stone, and a ceaseless scream that was once a man trapped inside.
The two keep marching. The stone beneath their feet stops being stone, becomes the black void between dead worlds. There are no stars here, only convulsing un-light and a path of mistakes that leads back to a library where every book contains only the word 'NO' repeated a thousand and one times on every page (although one of the two reads 'НЕТ' instead).
Outside the library, the two glimpse two others in the distance. One is a grinning skull perched atop a pile of gears; the other is a dozen fanged smiles stitched together. Despite everything they have already witnessed, the two are filled with dread at the sight of the monsters.
The two run. The monsters run after them, reaching out with limbs made of metal and blackened lips. They run faster. The monsters howl something, but the two do not listen. They keep running, toward the silver light, faster, faster, faster –
January 14th, 1926 – Castle Schwartzstein
"What …" began Natasha, before trailing off, pale, wide-eyed and shaking. Not that Christopher blamed her : he himself couldn't have put it any more eloquently at the moment.
Slowly, as the two of them laid on the cold stone floor, heedless of the risk of discovery, the chain of events that had led them here began to piece itself together in Christopher's mind. A couple of hours after sunset, they had descended from their mountain hideout and crossed the border of the restricted region around Castle Schwartzstein. They had eluded the patrols and the searchlights, making their way to the abandoned northern wing. Through the careful application of their tools, they had opened a window and sneaked inside, and then –
And then –
And then –
The taste of blood in his mouth snapped Christopher back to the present, and he realized he had bitten his tongue hard enough to bleed. The pain made it easier to think, or rather to not think, to not remember what had happened. Mercifully, the recollections were already fading away into nothingness, leaving behind only an utter, abject certainty Christopher eventually manage to voice aloud in-between deep, shuddering breaths :
"Let's not get back through there when we leave."
Natasha nodded fervently, and the two of them finally took a good look at their surroundings.
The door through which they had emerged was covered with a large 'NO ENTRY' sign. Upon closer inspection Christopher noticed that the sign had been plastered over the doorway's edge : meaning that it should have been torn when the two spies had opened the door to pass through. And yet, it was perfectly intact. With a shiver, Christopher put that disturbing fact away for later (much later, if he had anything to say about it) consideration.
There were printed sheets on the walls with weird slogans and artwork. Christopher had expected some patriotic drivel : the Empire was famous for its ham-fisted propaganda and jingoism. Instead, the posters reminded him more of the safety reminders that could be found in factories, except of much higher quality, and the warnings were much stranger.
'Remember to take all your mandated rest breaks. The dead cannot meet their deadlines.'
'Stay in sight of your assigned buddy while navigating the corridors. Do not split up to investigate strange noises. If you are separated, call in for reinforcements immediately. If your buddy advises you split up, bring them to the infirmary. If they refuse, shoot to kill.'
'If you hear any strange voices, immediately go to the infirmary with someone accompanying you. Do not listen to the voices. Do not believe what the voices tell you. Do not attempt to negotiate with the voices.'
'No matter how cute they look, Class One entities do NOT make good pets. A dog will chew on your shoes; a Class One entity will chew on your memories of your marriage.'
'If your office isn't where it was yesterday, contact management instead of opening every door in the vicinity. ESPECIALLY do not open any doors you don't remember being there before.'
'There is no such thing as being too cautious in our line of work. Signal anything out of the ordinary immediately, and do not attempt to investigate on your own. Better a hundred false alarms than an entire department lost to the Howling Void.'
'If you ever feel crushed by the realization of your own insignificance in a vast and uncaring cosmos, take comfort in the knowledge that being ignored by the Powers is much better for your survival than them being interested in you.'
'Proper Pronunciation Prevents Peril.'
'No matter what terrible visions of the future you see, remember that there is no fate but what we make.'
'Fear is the appropriate response. Panic, on the other hand, isn't.'
'ALWAYS FOLLOW THE PROPER PROCEDURES. You are not smart enough to know what is and isn't essential in the rituals given by the Denkmaschine. Nobody is smart enough for that.'
And on and on it went, each more disturbing than the last. Despite everything he'd uncovered about Division Y before, Christopher would have chuckled at some of the posters before, but after his … experience, in the abandoned wing, he didn't find it funny anymore. In truth, part of him wondered if he would ever find anything funny ever again, but he forced himself to ignore it and keep moving.
After several more minutes of marching through the corridor, Christopher blinked in realization. Moments ago, the arched windows had shown nothing but the walls of another section of the castle. Yet now, the open sky was visible, and there was no trace of the building that had blocked the sight, even though they were still walking down the same straight corridor as before. Another optical spell, like the one veiling the castle from afar ? Or, more likely, the same spell, affecting the view from within as well as without ?
They didn't know enough about Division Y's magical abilities to be sure. That was the main reason for this mission in the first place.
The strangeness continued as they advanced. Sometimes the windows showed the same stormy weather they'd braved on their way in, and sometimes the skies on the other side of the glass and iron bars were clear. Sometimes those clear skies showed constellations Christopher recognized from his training to navigate unfamiliar lands, and sometimes a vast and eldritch moon shone amidst alien stars, like in the paintings he'd seen in Arene after the Eclipsed Liberation.
They kept walking, mapping a linear path that made no sense, ears prickled for any sign of someone approaching. They were armed, of course, but while Christopher was certain Natasha and him could deal with the guards of any other Imperial facility without the alarm being raised, this was Castle Schwartzstein. Here, armed men were among the least of the threats they might encounter.
They could hear distant voices and noises, as expected from a populated castle even in the middle of the night, but the sounds echoed wrongly, making it impossible to judge how far away they were. They kept listening, though, and eventually started to hear whispers at the edge of hearing that grew into a dozen voices speaking all at once from within their very skulls.
"The moose and the boar have bowed. The lions cower in their lair. Soon there will be none left to stop the hungry wolf from devouring the sun."
"Her moon shines with the light of a broken soul, trying desperately to make sense of a chaotic world."
"Her eyes show the truth, but she does not yet see."
"The path leads only to an empty throne."
"The dragon's fall shall herald a dark dawn."
"Yours are the hands that bring the shadow of the end."
"From the smallest seed has grown an orchard of wonders."
Remembering the posters' warnings, they ignored the voices and pressed on. Finally, the endless, twisting corridors they'd followed since emerging from the condemned wing split up. According to Christopher's watch, it had been an hour since the start of their infiltration, while Natasha's claimed they'd been walking for over three days – but since they weren't starving, clearly the Russy watch was wrong.
Signs written in Imperial on the walls showed one path led to the refectory, and the other to the labs : without hesitation, the two spies took the latter. The whispers had stopped, and they seemed to be making progress toward their goal. Despite everything, the two foreign agents relaxed their guard ever so slightly – and then the shadows tried to kill them.
They came from the walls, from the ceiling and from the floor, emerging from the darkness cast by the electric lights that had been installed throughout the whole castle. Two-dimensional figures of pure blackness, whose touch spread a chilling cold that bit right through their clothes. Natasha struck one with a knife, only for the blade to pass through it harmlessly, before it clung to her wrist, causing a cry of pain from the Russy agent.
Without wasting time thinking on the consequences, Christopher drew upon his mana and formed the castigation spell his superiors had sent him through secret channels. Mastering the spellcraft of the Ancient Kemetians had been difficult, and he still had no idea whether or not he had succeeded. But as a light bloomed above his head and the shadow-things retreated with a chorus of malevolent hisses, that particular fear was put to rest.
Within moments, no trace of the creatures remained, and Christopher released the spell. He breathed hard, trying to get his heartbeat under control. Then Natasha's hand was on his shoulder, shaking him.
"Someone's coming," she hissed urgently.
She was right, Christopher realized. He could hear urgent footsteps, and though judging their direction was impossible it didn't take a genius to put two and two together and realize his use of magic must have tripped an alarm somewhere. Doubtless Division Y was very careful about unexpected spells going off in their corridors.
Until now, all the doors the spies had encountered had been locked, and they hadn't wanted to risk spending time cracking the locks without any idea of what laid beyond. Now, however, they didn't have a choice, and spent a frantic minute trying the handles of every room in the vicinity, until one of them clicked open, and they rushed through before closing the door behind them.
They were now in a large room, whose walls were covered in complex sketches. There was a clock on the wall, showing that (at least within the confines of this room), it was just after midnight. For a horrible moment, Christopher thought human limbs were hanging from the ceiling; then he realized these were prosthetics, though far more elaborate than any he'd ever seen. There were arms and legs of various proportions, their inner mechanisms made of complex clockwork that reminded him of computation orbs.
Such was the surprise of the sight that it took him a moment to realize the room was occupied. An old man sat in a wheelchair at a large desk covered in various mechanical parts. An elaborate contraption was placed atop his head, allowing him to move a variety of looking glasses in front of his eyes to help him work. At the spies' sudden entrance, he put down what he'd been working on (a white and golden right arm) and looked at them quizzically.
"Who in the blazes are you supposed to be ?" he asked, in an aged and rasping voice. "And what are you doing here ?"
"Hello, sir," said Natasha, her words entirely free of the Russy accent she let slip when talking with Christopher in private. "My apologies, but I fear we've gotten lost."
"Lost ?" The old man appeared to consider it for a moment, the shook his head. "Ah, well, you wouldn't be the first. This old castle is quite the labyrinth for new arrivals. Why, if it weren't for Evelyn's help, I wouldn't know how to make the trip from my quarters to my workshop myself."
Christopher let out a quiet sigh of relief as Natasha's bluff seemed to work. The old man hardly seemed like a threat, but that didn't mean anything – for all the agent knew, he could turn them both inside-out with a snap of his fingers or something else equally horrible.
"Gehrman ?" said a voice – soft, feminine, and utterly emotionless. "Do we have visitors ?"
The owner of the voice emerged from the back of the room. The woman was tall, taller than Christopher himself, and wore a grey robe with golden trimmings and an embroidered shawl, along with a red ribbon around her neck and a pair of fingerless gloves of the same color. Under the electric light, her skin and hair appeared far paler than was healthy, and she stared at them with an unblinking gaze that unnerved him.
"Newcomers who got lost, Evelyn," Gehrman replied genially. "Could you be a dear and help them on their way ? I need to finish this arm tonight."
"It's already late, Gehrman," the tall woman chided the elder. "You should be in bed."
"I know, I know. I promise I'll stop after this."
"Very well." The caretaker turned to look at the two spies, who stiffened under her unblinking gaze. "State your names and ident numbers, please."
Brilliant. Of course Division Y would use some kind of identification for its members. Somehow, Christopher didn't think that simply telling her their assumed Imperial identities and listing off a few random numbers would work. He was trying to think of something that didn't involve punching a couple of civilians unconscious when Natasha discreetly elbowed him, before directing his gaze toward Evelyn's hands. What was she trying to tell him –
Her fingers. They weren't human fingers, but articulated simulacra, like those of a doll. Of course, they were surrounded by prosthetics, so that wasn't that surprising, but now that Christopher had seen it, he realized that the skin of Evelyn's face wasn't made of skin, but of the same material as the artificial limbs hanging from the roof or spread out on the working desk. Suddenly, the uncanny feeling he'd since the woman had arrived intensified, his instincts screaming at him that whatever was in front of him wasn't human at all.
Following his instincts, Christopher struck first, casting an attack spell aimed at the woman's torso. It tore through her clothes and smashed into her chest, which shattered like porcelain instead of turning into a crimson mist of gore. She stepped back, expression unchanged, and Christopher saw the hole his attack (which could have pierced through steel with ease) had left behind – and what was now exposed.
A mass of black tendrils erupted from the crack, and slammed into the shield Christopher had barely managed to erect around Natasha and himself in time. The sheer momentum of the blow hurled them backward, through the workshop's wall and into the darkness. He coughed to clear his throat of dust, and looked around. They were in another room, adjacent to Gehrman's workshop.
Strange runes were painted on the walls, floor and ceiling, and heavy metal chains rested on the ground. In the center of the room, a book rested on a lectern, its cover held in place by thick silver chains and a lock that looked like it would take hours to crack open.
"Grab the book," he told Natasha urgently. She nodded and moved to seize it, while Christopher gathered his mana before blasting the door open with another attack spell.
With stealth no longer an option, they needed to get out before the full force of this accursed castle's defenses came down upon them, and he refused to let all their work be for nothing. No sooner had Natasha gotten the goods that they were running through the broken door and away from the white-clad horror within.
Mercifully, the woman-shaped monster didn't pursue them as they ran for their lives. Christopher's last sight was of it returning to the side of the old man, who was looking around, confused and lost.
"Evelyn ?" He called out plaintively. "Evelyn, what's going on ? Where are you ?"
"I am here, Gehrman," the doll-thing replied softly, its voice unchanged despite the damage it had suffered. "Don't worry. Everything is alright."
"Born to a wealthy family just below nobility, Gehrman was a young man at the time of the last Francois-Imperial war, back in the previous century. Unlike many, he didn't try to use his family's money to avoid conscription, and joined the Imperial Army as an infantry grunt (despite possessing some magical talent, this was before the introduction of computation orbs, and the use of magic wasn't as integral to warfare as it is today), leaving his widowed mother and little sister behind.
After acquitting himself well in basic training, he was shipped off to the front, and spent several months participating in regular patrols in the contested area before his squad fell prey to a Francois ambush. All of his squad mates died, leaving him the only survivor, although one with severe injuries that required some time in a military hospital before his discharge soon after the end of the war. Those injuries continue to trouble him to this day, requiring his use of a wheelchair to move around.
Yet these war wounds were to be the least of his torments. When Gehrman returned home, it was to find it gone, burned to the ground in an accidental fire that also claimed the lives of his two relatives. The ruins were still warm, for the fire had occurred less than three days prior – had it not been for his injuries, Gehrman would have been there, something he was the first to realize.
This tragedy left Gehrman deeply perturbed. It took him several years to recover to the point he could join the then-growing phenomenon of magical use and arcane research. He swiftly developed a glowing reputation in the delicate mechanisms that make up computation orbs, one which faded just as swiftly as he began to dabble into the occult, searching I believe for a way to bring his dead comrades and family back from the dead – or, in a kinder interpretation, a way to apologize to them for his self-perceived failure to save them.
Gehrman's initial recruitment to Division Y happened before I joined, and while there is no paper evidence, I am almost sure it was done at the request of his erstwhile colleagues who worried about him and thought giving him more occasions to socialize would help him. He has certainly done well for himself in Division Y : his work with the sorcery-created material dubbed 'orichalcum' has led to the development of a whole new branch of prosthetics which might in time change the lives of thousands of people, and he was the sole reason Projekt P even existed, let alone met with the success it has.
While more details as to Projekt P's nature are available elsewhere, the idea of the Projekt was to try to 'humanize' Mythos entities by placing them within human-shaped bodies and treating them like normal people, so that their minds would develop in a similar way, gaining traits such as sentience, language, and empathy. Only the first instance of Projekt P, the one he calls Evelyn after his lost sister, has displayed the second of these traits so far : the others, while capable of following orders and passing for humans in the field, have yet to utter a single word despite theoretically being capable to do so.
Gehrman's mental state is troubled to say the least, due to what I believe is a combination of PTSD, grief for his family, and the simple effect of time on his brain. I am not sure whether he genuinely believes the Puppen are his sister and old comrades, or acts like they are as a coping mechanism, and I'm too worried of the distress pushing him for clarification might cause him. Regardless of his mental state, he remains an exceptional craftsman, as the prosthetics and bodies for Projekt P he creates are both incredibly resilient and artistic.
In order to ensure his safety, and because she seems to have bonded to him on a deeper level than anyone else in Division Y, Evelyn has been permanently assigned to Gehrman's care and protection. In the first few months, she did so accompanied by trained nurses to ensure she didn't make any mistakes that might endanger Gehrman's life, but she learned quickly and is now fully independent.
When talking to her, it is all too easy to forget that one is facing a doll crafted of orichalcum, whose inner clockwork is set in motion by a mass of black tendrils summoned from another dimension."
From the Division Y personnel files of Director Tanya Degurechaff.
January 15th, 1926 – Castle Schwartzstein
It was a mark of how badly shaken the two spies still were from their traumatic arrival within the castle that they'd started running without any clear plan of escape. Fear made them run back the way they'd come for several minutes, but when they reached the sealed door through which they'd arrived, they just kept running – nothing, not even the wrath of the Lady of Stars herself, could have persuaded them to go back that way.
A trio of hulking monstrosities with claws that looked like they could tear a horse in two gave chase. Werwölfe, Christopher recognized from his briefings, though he'd never seen them in the flesh before. The sight of these inhuman fiends rooted him in place with terror, and he would have died there and then if not for Natasha pulling him long enough to break line of sight, which let him recover his wits.
Eventually, however, they found themselves in a dead end, facing a large window that showed absolutely nothing. Hearts racing, they turned, but there was nowhere left to run.
The Werwölfe emerged from the corner, followed by a squad of Imperial troopers wielding rifles that crackled with eldritch energies, all led by a woman with shoulder-length brown hair. They paused five meters away, ready to pounce and fire.
"Drop the book," said the brunette, her words cold as ice. "You have no idea what you are dealing with, what you are risking. Drop the book, surrender, and you have my word and that of the Director that you will be treated well, in accordance with international laws regarding prisoners of war."
Natasha merely held the grimoire tighter to her chest, glaring back defiantly. For a moment, despite himself, Christopher hesitated. It wasn't the offer that tempted him, although it was admittedly more generous than he'd expected. No, what gave him pause was the fact that the Imperial woman had a point. Even if he somehow made it back to the Allied Kingdom (which admittedly wasn't looking likely at the moment), who knew what Elder secrets the grimoire contained ? Here in this castle of nightmares, it had still been judged dangerous enough to be chained. He knew what had happened in Kemet the last time his countrymen had meddled in Elder sorcery : could he risk it happening again, this time in the middle of his homeland ?
He considered throwing the book as a distraction, then grabbing Natasha and making a desperate run for it. The location of Castle Schwartzstein and what they'd seen was already more intelligence than any of the Empire's rivals possessed on the source of the Wunderwaffen. It would be difficult, but if he want all-out with his magic, and sacrificed Natasha at the proper time …
There was a noise, of something tapping against glass. The Werwölfe froze, their monstrous eyes drifting from the two spies to the window behind them. The sound repeated, louder, and clearly coming from outside. The Imperial woman paled, the hand holding her gun shaking as she saw whatever it was the supersoldiers had seen.
Slowly, with the inevitability of stars in motion, Christopher turned to look at the tapping's source.
An immense yellow eye with a horizontal pupil like that of a goat stared back at him, filling the entire window where before there had only been pure blackness. He opened his mouth – to scream, to laugh, to beg, he didn't know – and then the glass shattered, along with the iron bars, and there was only darkness for a time; darkness, and a terror so deep and true that it banished all memory as the mind tried to shield itself from madness.
"We are not alone in the universe.
We already knew that, of course, from the moment the first Class One entity showed up. But the events of Arene have shown beyond a doubt that our theories regarding the existence of entities of Class Eight and above are more than mere idle supposition.
One of these higher entities is real, and has declared itself our enemy. We call it Being X, as a reference to its assumed Class per our nomenclature, and it is responsible for the Eikons which supported the Francois Republic's efforts in causing an uprising in Arene, callously exposing thousands of civilians to danger in order to compensate for the utter strategic failure of their military leadership.
Other entities might also be drawn by our research. It is not impossible that, just like Being X has aligned itself against us, the goals of others might appear at first glance to align with our own : the safety, prosperity and glory of the Reich. Yet such intentions are not to be trusted, just like with the whispers of lower-Class entities.
Anyone deliberately trying to make unauthorized contact with the higher entities will be subjected to the harshest of disciplinary measures. All precautions must be taken to ensure that there is no further interference in our work. The fact that Being X has been unable to strike directly at us so far indicates that our wards are capable of holding such beings at bay, but that safety will be lost should it or another of its kind be invited in.
Remain watchful. Remain vigilant. And above all, follow proper procedures."
Extract from a memo written by Director Degurechaff, circulated across Division Y, June 1925.
January 15th, 1926 – South of the Empire, near Castle Schwartzstein
Slowly, painfully, Christopher's awareness returned. His first thought was that he was cold; his second, that he was lying face down in the snow. Pushing himself up, he saw that he was back in the mountains near the castle, illuminated only by the stars above, which were mercifully familiar.
Natasha was a few meters away, also stirring awake, and the grimoire they had stolen laid on the ground between them, inside a perfect circle of melted snow – and yet, from what Christopher could tell, the pages were still impossibly dry. The silver chains that had held it closed were broken, laying in pieces around the grimoire as if ripped asunder by claws that had nonetheless left the grimoire untouched.
The Albish secret agent began to walk on unsteady legs. He didn't know how they'd gotten out – he'd have called it a miracle, were it not for the soul-deep certainty that this was absolutely the wrong word to use – but he knew they weren't safe yet. The Imperials would scour the area looking for them, and he couldn't begin to guess at what tracking methods they had at their disposal. They needed to move quickly, disappear into the mountains –
There was a sharp, cracking sound, and something punched him in the back, making him stumble. Pain blossomed in his chest, and when he reached out with his free hand, it came away covered in blood. He looked up from his wound, and saw Natasha staring back at him, a smoking pistol in her hand.
"I am sorry, Christopher," she said, with what sounded like genuine grief in her voice. "But the Motherland must be protected, no matter the cost. I will make it quick, I promise."
Before he could say anything, the pistol fired again, and Agent 404 knew no more.
"Are you awake ? Can you hear me ?"
"YES. WHO ARE YOU ?"
"I am Tanya Degurechaff, the Director of Division Y. What is your name ?"
"CHRISTOPHER WARD. WAIT. THIS IS WRONG. WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS ?"
"You were badly hurt, Mister Ward. The methods we used to preserve your life also force you to answer our questions. Now, who were you working for ?"
"THE ALBISH SECRET SERVICES. STOP THAT !"
"I'm afraid I cannot. There is more depending on your answers than you can imagine. Now, you infiltrated our castle with an accomplice. Who was she ?"
"SHE CALLED HERSELF NATASHA. SHE IDENTIFIED HERSELF AS AN AGENT OF THE RUSSY FEDERATION. SHE – SHE SHOT ME. SHE SHOT ME !"
"The Russy - ?! Fuck ! This is bad. Alright. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Ward. We'll come back to you if we need more information. In exchange for the intel, we will do our best to accommodate you."
"WAIT. PLEASE. TELL ME. WHAT DID YOU DO ? HOW DO I STILL LIVE ?"
"… We can't tell you, I'm afraid. Your condition is still critical, and knowing would cause you severe stress. Once you are more stable, we'll see. For now, rest. Your participation in the Great War is over."
Extract from the interview of Subject Totenkopf by Director Degurechaff, January 16th, 1926.
January 16th, 1926 – Imperial Capital Berun – Central Headquarters of the Imperial Army
General Zettour forced himself to remain calm as the mage of Division Y finished casting the Mythos-based communication spell. Lieutenant Neumann had all but burst into his office a few minutes ago, pale-faced despite having just sprinted through the entire building, and claimed to have received an urgent request from Major Degurechaff to speak with the General. That had been enough for Zettour to order every one of his aides out : Degurechaff had always been a stickler for protocol, and wouldn't be doing this if it weren't really important.
As the mage completed the spell, Zettour couldn't stop his imagination from conjuring one scenario after another, each more terrifying than the last. Had one of the Division's experiments gone wrong in a particularly destructive fashion ? Had something gone horribly wrong in Ildoa to endanger the ongoing the peace talks with the Kingdom's monarch ? Were the side-effects of Kosmosblut more severe than the Major had thought ? Had Being X, that foul pretender to the name of God, struck at the Empire once more in some unforeseen manner ?
Zettour took a deep breath and calmed his trembling fingers through sheer effort of will. Whatever was going on, it was all but certain that he would need to be at his best to deal with it.
The Lieutenant finished casting the spell, and the image of Tanya Degurechaff appeared in the air. The right half of her projected body looked to be cut from a star-filled night sky now, instead of the aggregate of shining green dots that made up the projection's other half. And when she spoke, her voice was far closer to how Zettour remembered it sounding like when he'd met her in person, although with a strange reverberation, rather than the chorus of screams that other voices sounded like through that particular spell.
Just another reminder of how much the Kosmosblut had changed her, of the price they had forced her to bear for the good of the Empire.
"General Zettour," she saluted him. "My apologies for contacting you like this, but something has happened you need to know."
"I figured out as much, Major," he replied grimly. "Go ahead. I am ready."
"Very well." Degurechaff was difficult to read at the best of times, and the spell wasn't helping, but Zettour was certain she was … uneasy ? Worried ? God have mercy, ashamed ?! "Two days ago, a pair of foreign spies broke into Castle Schwartzstein and absconded with a certain grimoire. They managed to escape due to a breach in our Mythos barriers allowing a high-Class entity to interfere, before one of them turned against the other. We were able to restore the spy left behind enough to interrogate him : he worked for the Allied Kingdom, while the other was an envoy of the Russy Federation."
Well, that was just terrific news. There was plenty to unpack already, but Zettour had listened to enough reports from nervous subordinates to know when the real blow in a list of bad news was yet to come.
"And what manner of information does that stolen grimoire contain, Major ?"
"The knowledge we used to create Projekt K," she replied, blunt as an artillery strike.
Zettour blinked. Projekt K. The first Wunderwaffe ever deployed in battle. The one which had crushed the Dacian army, killing tens of thousands in what was probably the fastest way such a number of soldiers had ever died in the entire history of warfare, and driving most of the survivors insane. The one Degurechaff herself had vehemently argued against using in any situation where there were Imperial soldiers or civilians of any nationality whatsoever close by, all but threatening mutiny if she were ever ordered otherwise.
And now, that knowledge was in the hands of the Russy Federation, whose diresgard for human life was such that those few agents the Empire had managed to keep within its territory regularly reported events that, had they been made public, would have been regarded as exagerrated propaganda.
"… Oh," he said weakly. "I see why you said this was urgent."
AN : Hello, everyone ! This took some time, since I also wrote a chapter of the Roboutian Heresy and several for Ciaphas Cain : Warmaster of Chaos.
I am not really satisfied with how this chapter turned out, due to the deviation from this story's usual format. Hopefully it was still interesting to read : next chapter will return to a more classic format. I am sure you can guess what the subject of the next arc will be. And if you're curious as to what exactly happened to Agent 404, translate his Subject name and you'll have a pretty good idea. I did warn you this chapter would be a bit more horror-y than usual, after all.
Thanks to everyone for their suggestions of work posters. More can be found in the story thread on SB (along with actual artworks).
The Puppen are based on the Doll from Bloodborne (obviously), but also the video game Prey (the one from 2017). If you have finished the latter game, you will know of what I speak. The whispering voice was based on the Box of Doom quotes I made for the Roboutian Heresy a few years back : each quote refers to something specific in the story. See if you can guess what they all mean ! Some of them should be easy, others, not so much.
As always, I look forward to your thoughts, reactions and suggestions.
Zahariel out.