The metallic husk of Chatterbox stood at the precipice of the gaping chasm, his battered frame still bearing the scars of his last encounter with that insufferable sorcerer and his Nikkes. The gouges across his plated body, the fractured servos whining as he moved—he should have been angry, furious even. But he wasn't. No, if anything, he was delighted.
His cracked optics flickered as he peered into the abyss below, the depths swallowing what little light remained in this forsaken place. Somewhere down there, in the labyrinthine corridors of this wretched facility, his queen had been taken.
His beloved Modernia.
His grin, perpetual, menacing, somehow widened.
"Ah, my dear Modernia…" His voice, a mix of static and amusement, crackled in the still air. "Or should I say, Marian? How confusing this must be for you."
A chuckle, mechanical and grating, echoed against the shattered remains of the once-grand structure. He tilted his head, as if listening to the silence, savoring it.
"They think they can keep us apart. That those frail human notions, loyalty, duty, love, can sever the bond we share." He tapped a clawed finger against his temple, his glee evident. "How precious. How utterly naïve."
He extended a hand toward the void, as though reaching for something unseen, something just beyond his grasp.
"You were meant for more than this," he mused, his tone almost wistful. "More than their pity, more than their misguided affections. You were reborn in perfection. You saw the truth and felt it in your very core."
His voice dipped into something softer, almost reverent. "But then, they stole you away, didn't they? Ripped you from your throne, forced you back into that fragile, uncertain shell." His fingers curled into a fist, trembling. "They made you weak."
A pause. A flicker of static.
And then, laughter.
It started as a low, glitched-out chuckle before morphing into full-bodied, almost joyous hysteria. His entire frame shook with mirth as he straightened, tossing his head back.
"Oh, but I cannot be mad at them. No, no, no. They're simply playing their part." He spread his arms, exultant. "Every great tragedy needs its foolish heroes, after all. And what delicious irony" he gestured at the chasm, his laughter subsiding into a manic whisper, "They've already led her right back into my hands."
He turned from the edge, his clawed fingers flexing, the servos in his arms clicking as he relished the sensation of movement. Even now, he could feel the shifting energy, the resonance of something great stirring deep below.
He grinned, because he understood what it meant.
"My queen, my Modernia…I will find you." He exhaled the words like a vow, a promise wrapped in corruption. "And when I do, we shall rise together."
John stared into the distance, locking eyes with the crimson glow that loomed far beyond his reach. They were watching him. Calculating. Measuring. He didn't know what they belonged to, whether it was a curse, some weird entity, or something beyond his understanding, but he knew one thing.
They weren't neutral.
They were waiting.
Steeling himself, his voice steady but firm. "Who are you?"
Silence.
The weight of the void pressed around him, thick and suffocating. He shifted forward. "What do you want?" His voice barely carried in the stillness.
Nothing. No shift, no flicker, no reaction.
Then, so faint he almost didn't catch it—
"Unity."
The whisper was soft, almost gentle, yet it sent a cold shiver down his spine. It wasn't Marian's voice. It wasn't anyone's voice that he recognized. But the moment it spoke, the space around him moved.
Chains erupted from the darkness.
John's breath caught as they lunged toward him, snapping through the void with terrifying speed.
He reacted on instinct. Ruinous Gambit.
He focused, willing his body to shift, to adjust, to do something.
Nothing.
His technique activated, but it had no direction. No physical form to enhance or weaken. His body didn't exist in this place the way it did in the real world.
The first chain coiled around his left arm, yanking him backward.
The second lashed across his torso, sending him reeling.
A third wrapped around his leg, dragging him down with a crushing weight. He felt stuck, anchored, being stretched to his limits. He struggled, twisting against the restraints, but it was like fighting against physics itself, something too fundamental, too ingrained, to simply overpower.
Then he felt it.
A flicker of warmth against his chest.
Not external. Internal.
The wisp.
It pulsed, moving with him, guiding him.
John's breath steadied, his struggles ceasing for just a moment as a realization clicked into place.
This wasn't the physical world. This was Marian's soul.
And a soul had shape. A structure.
Just like a body.
The chains weren't just holding him. They were part of this space. Part of her. They belonged here.
So if this space had rules… then all he had to do was understand them.
John stopped resisting.
Instead, he adjusted his stance, not physically, but within this strange void, aligning himself with the pull rather than against it.
The chains shuddered… then they loosened. Using every ounce of his strength, he slipped through the chains.
John barely had a moment to process his newfound mobility before the eyes moved.
They rushed toward him, the void shifting and twisting with their approach, no longer distant and watching but coming for him.
Fast.
John tensed, his instincts screaming at him to react. As the thing emerged from the dark, its form solidified. Metallic flesh, twisting plates of armor melded with sinew, grotesque and unnatural. Its structure was nightmarish, yet disturbingly precise, as if designed to be both alive and manufactured.
And then he saw them. The boots.
Gleaming red metal, impossibly polished, standing out against the warped monstrosity that surrounded them. Pristine, despite the horror of the being they were attached to.
It struck with an almost impossibly fast kick.
The void seemed to warp around its presence as it lunged at him, razor-sharp limbs splitting from its boots, reaching, grabbing, slicing.
John moved.
His soul twisted in a way his body never could, the void bending beneath him as he narrowly dodged the first swipe. A second lash came at him, and this time he countered, twisting his form mid-movement and driving a strike into the limb as it passed.
It connected.
For the first time since arriving here, he felt resistance.
John's mind raced, the pieces clicking into place mid-fight. His soul existed here, as a representation of his body, which meant it could be defended.
Strengthened.
He clenched his fists, willing his cursed energy to manifest. It flickered, then roared to life around him.
It wasn't reinforcing his physical form like he had done so thousands of times before. It was shielding his very presence, strengthening and reinforcing his very soul.
The wisp circled him now, moving in tandem with his strikes. It pulsed faintly, guiding him, reacting, learning.
And as John spared a glance at it, his breath caught.
It was a fraction of something.
Not solid. Not whole. A remnant.
A piece of a soul.
A sorcerer's soul.
A whisper of power and understanding, left behind by someone who had walked this path before.
John exhaled, fists tightening. "Let's see what you've got."
The monster came at him again, limbs twisting, striking with inhuman speed, but this time, John met it head-on.
Rapi's breath came out in hard yet controlled bursts. The relentless chase had driven them deeper into the facility, forcing a retreat through shifting corridors, collapsing pathways, and an ever-pressing tide of Raptures at their heels.
Gunfire echoed off the metallic walls, muzzle flashes illuminating the dimly lit halls as Counters, Absolute, and Matis fought to stay ahead of the mechanical swarm. Each turn felt uncertain, each corridor seemingly identical, yet Maxwell led with an eerie certainty, directing the squad through twists and turns as though she had already mapped the place out.
Rapi noticed.
She hadn't mentioned it.
Not yet.
Now wasn't the time for questions, not when survival hinged on keeping pace. But the way Maxwell moved, the way she called out the right paths just before an ambush could have happened.
At last, they burst through a heavy set of blast doors into a vast chamber.
Metal catwalks crisscrossed the space above them, while massive conveyor belts lined the room, their worn surfaces still and lifeless. Machinery loomed around them, a forgotten assembly line, towering structures humming faintly with the last vestiges of power. In the center, an elevated platform overlooked the entire area, a command station, perhaps once used to monitor the manufacturing process.
And most importantly, only one entrance.
Eunhwa immediately took stock of their surroundings, eyes darting across the room before nodding. "This is our best chance for a defensive stand," she stated, already moving into position. "We hold here."
Emma pressed a hand to her earpiece, voice tight. "Shifty, we need an exit. Now."
The comms crackled, but Shifty's voice was muffled through interference. "Still working…damn it, the jamming is too strong. I'll try to piggyback on Drake's sensors, but you're going to have to hold your position until I find a way out."
Eunhwa's jaw clenched, but she didn't waste time arguing. "We hold."
The squads took up positions, bracing behind overturned equipment and broken machinery as the sound of approaching Raptures grew louder. The floor trembled under the weight of the approaching enemy.
Then, like a flood breaking through a dam, they came.
Spindly ground units crawled across the walls, their metallic limbs clattering against the steel as they skittered forward. Bulkier models stomped onto the conveyor belts, their missile pods locking onto targets before unleashing a rain of explosives. Above, drones weaved between the support beams, their plasma weapons charging with an ominous hum.
Laplace opened fire first, her beam cannon lancing through the first wave, vaporizing a dozen Raptures in a single, burning line of destruction. Drake and Neon followed suit, their shotguns sending burst after burst into anything that got close, tearing through metal and circuitry with brutal efficiency.
Emma stood near the center, a bulwark, her minigun spinning as a storm of bullets shredded incoming enemies. Vesti's rockets howled through the air, obliterating clusters of Raptures before they could even get in range.
Eunhwa called precise shots, marking key targets for Maxwell and Laplace, her sniper rounds punching through weak points with surgical accuracy.
Counters were just as relentless. Anis's grenade launcher painted the battlefield in fiery explosions, sending debris flying with every impact. Rapi and Marian moved in tandem, their gunfire cutting down anything that slipped through the initial barrage.
Minutes passed in a blur of violence.
The tide of enemies seemed endless, wave after wave pouring into the room, forcing them back toward the central platform. Every clip spent, every grenade launched, every second spent holding their ground felt like a battle against inevitability.
Then, as suddenly as it began—
The Raptures stopped.
Silence fell over the battlefield, the only sound the distant hum of machinery and the heavy breathing of the Nikkes. The corridor was empty.
Not a single enemy remained.
Rapi didn't lower her rifle, scanning the entrance with narrowed eyes. "Looks like we made it through the worst of it.
No more clattering metal. No more mechanical shrieks.
Just… nothing.
Eunhwa exhaled, lowering her rifle only slightly, her sharp eyes still trained on the corridor they had just spent the last several minutes defending. She pressed two fingers to her earpiece. "Shifty, status."
The transmission crackled, static breaking through the line in uneven bursts.
"—not—done—somet—wrong—"
Eunhwa frowned. "Repeat that. You're breaking up."
Another burst of static. Then, concern. A tone Shifty rarely had.
"—The whole room is a—"
The transmission cut out.
Rapi looked closely at Eunhwa's face as she cussed out the comms device. Studied her facial tics. Starred at where she had been impaled by the tentacles before they had fallen down into this hellhole.
Without a word, her hand shifted, making quick, sharp gestures behind her back. A language of signals known only to a select few.
Vesti's eyes widened first, something between shock and horror flickering across her face. For a split second, she looked as though she had been gut-punched. But it passed. Determination replaced the fear.
Neon and Anis stiffened beside her, their postures shifting ever so slightly. They knew too.
Understood.
They began making their way to the back of the group, their motions slow, deliberate—casual.
Neon quickly racked her shotgun several times before replacing the ammunition with different rounds, whilst Rapi quickly changed magazines. Vesti and Anis slid their sidearms from their holsters, slinging their main weapons onto their backs.
Rapi's rifle was steady in her grip, her every motion calculated, controlled.
Step by step, they repositioned.
Then, without a sound, Rapi raised her rifle.
Her barrel aimed directly at Eunhwa.
John and the entity clashed mid-air like two forces caught in the eye of a storm. Their simultaneous blows sent shockwaves straight through their bodies.
He twisted mid-motion, narrowly avoiding a serrated limb that sliced through the air where his ribs had been a second prior. He countered by rolling his shoulders forward, letting momentum carry his next punch straight into its gut. The impact rippled outward, sending jagged distortions through the void.
The creature didn't stagger. It didn't react.
It pivoted sharply, using the force of the blow to flip backward before launching itself straight at him again.
John barely had time to register its movement before it disappeared from his sight.
His gut screamed a warning, and he reacted instinctively—
Roll.
He corkscrewed to the side just as red-hot claws tore through his previous position. The air pressure alone made his skin prickle with heat. If he'd been even a fraction slower, he'd have been torn in half.
But he couldn't stop.
Keep moving. Stay ahead.
He kicked off an unseen surface—except there was none. His body adapted anyway, using the push to rotate into an evasive maneuver, twisting himself as the creature followed with inhuman precision.
It shifted, using its own mass to perform a rapid maneuver, cutting into his trajectory at an impossible angle.
It was reading him. Learning from him.
John exhaled sharply and forced his instincts into sharper focus. His soul was all he had here. His body wasn't real, his movements weren't bound by physical limitations. He just had to adjust.
He pushed forward, using the momentum from his roll to snap back around at the last second, flipping over the creature's path and diving down toward it.
His fists crashed into its form, striking with all the strength he could muster.
Aiming for the core.
He felt something give.
The thing shuddered.
The first sign of damage.
John didn't let up.
He adjusted mid-air and slammed his heel into its head, using the impact to flip back and away before it could counter.
The entity jerked back violently, the metal of its twisted body groaning as it reoriented itself.
Then it lunged.
This time, John couldn't dodge fast enough.
Its clawed appendage raked across his side, sending him into an uncontrollable spiral. The force of it threw him back faster than he could counter.
His entire form twisted violently, but he gritted his teeth, focusing on how he could recover. He caught sight of the wisp beside him. A tether.
He latched onto the feeling, redirecting his trajectory just in time to flip himself upright again.
Too slow.
The creature was already closing in.
It reared back, shifting its mass for a final strike—
Then, Marian screamed.
John's head snapped up.
The void trembled.
A pulse of black light exploded outward.
The sheer force of it was indescribable.
The entity was knocked back, but so was John.
The force swallowed him, sent him flying—
And then there was nothing.
CRACK.
John's consciousness slammed back into his body.
Gravity returned.
His back struck metal, and an unbearable shockwave of pain surged through every nerve.
He gasped sharply, the sensation of broken ribs, missing fingers, and torn flesh slamming into his awareness all at once.
The haze lifted.
His vision focused.
His body was not whole anymore.
John groaned, forcing himself to move, his right shoulder screaming in protest. The pain was grounding. It meant he was still alive.
His gaze snapped forward.
Marian was standing.
She was still, trembling slightly, but standing.
His breath hitched as he pushed forward, step by agonizing step.
"Marian…"
Nothing.
He reached out, hand hovering over her shoulder before placing it gently against her.
"Are you alright?"
Slowly, she turned.
Her eyes were empty.
The flicker of warmth, of doubt, of the hesitant humanity that made Marian who she was—it was gone.
Her lips parted.
"Who's that?"
John's stomach twisted.
Her voice was too cold.
Too foreign.
She smiled, a ghost of something not quite right.
"I'm Modernia."
John's instincts ignited the instant the words left her lips. Ruinous Gambit flared to life, raw cursed energy surging through his body as he pushed his reaction speed to its absolute peak.
Move.
His right hand shot for the pistol Snow White had given him.
But Modernia was already faster.
Her fist slammed into his right arm with devastating force, pinning it against the metal wall before he could draw his weapon and spinning his back towards her. The impact sent a sickening shockwave through his bones, pain flaring white-hot from his shoulder down to his fingertips.
John barely had time to process before he forced Ruinous Gambit into a new configuration.
He redirected the cursed energy, rewiring his cursed energy on the fly as he forced his joints to expand, tendons loosening, muscles stretching past their natural limits, pushing the elasticity of his body.
He twisted unnaturally, limbs bending at impossible angles as he spun mid-motion, contorting to face her again. His left hand snapped toward his pistol.
Too slow.
A blur of grey.
Modernia's knee slammed into his gut.
The sheer force blasted him through the wall.
Steel crumpled beneath him as he tore through layers of the facility's structure, his body ragdolling violently before he hit the next wall with a deafening crash.
Pain.
His vision blurred. His ribs groaned in protest. His stomach felt like it had been caved in.
And then, laughter.
A sweet, airy giggle. Lighthearted. Almost innocent.
As if she hadn't just nearly folded him in half.
John coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to push himself upright.
Modernia tilted her head, watching him with bright, childlike curiosity.
"You're so funny, Commander." Her voice was soft, honeyed with amusement. "You always act so strong, but your body is so fragile."
John gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand. His right arm was numb, barely responding. His entire stomach ached like hell.
Modernia smiled.
"Why are you trying to hurt me, Commander?" She took a slow step forward, almost pouting. "I don't want to hurt you. I love you."
John's heart pounded.
She took another step.
"And yet… you're fighting me. That makes me very, very sad."
The warmth in her tone was unnerving.
John's breath came shallow. He needed to think. Fast.
But Modernia was already smiling again, tilting her head in playful delight.
"I know!" she chirped. "If I break a few more bones, maybe you'll stop struggling, hm?
Rapi's finger was just about to squeeze the trigger when the floor beneath her shifted.
A warning instinct screamed in her head, but before she could react—
Turrets erupted from the ground.
The moment stretched, the world snapping into brutal clarity.
Then—
Gunfire.
A storm of lead filled the air, hammering into the metal around them with brutal, unforgiving force. Sparks erupted as rounds ricocheted off the conveyor belts and storage crates, filling the space with the deafening roar of gunfire.
"Cover!" Rapi barked, throwing herself behind a crate just as a hail of bullets tore through the space she'd been standing in.
Neon yelped as she dove behind an overturned cart, Anis and Vesti sliding into cover beside her.
Then came the voices.
Soft at first. Then rising. Repetitive. Unnatural.
"Justice."
Rapi's stomach dropped.
Laplace stood rigid in the haze of gunfire, her face twisted into an eerily empty grin.
"Justice."
Her voice was too light, too casual—wrong.
Her glowing red eyes burned like coals beneath the dim facility lights. There was no recognition in them.
"Justice. Justice. Justice."
Beside her, Maxwell was already raising her rifle, eyes locked onto Rapi's squad with absolute certainty.
"Obstruction detected."
Her voice was steady. Like she was reciting a fact.
Drake let out a low, husky chuckle, rolling her shoulders as she cracked her neck. "We're the bad guys, right?" Her head tilted too far, the grin never leaving her face. "Then let's play."
And then—
"Traitor!"
The word cut through the battlefield like a gunshot.
Rapi barely had time to turn before a round snapped past her head, close enough to feel the heat.
Eunhwa stood across the room, her rifle leveled, her eyes burning.
"Traitor!" she screamed again, her voice raw with emotion.
No hesitation. No mercy.
She fired again, and Rapi barely threw herself out of the way in time, her boots skidding across the metal floor as another bullet whizzed past.
They were being hunted.
Outnumbered. Outgunned.
And then—
A deep, resonating hum.
The entire room trembled.
A pulse of energy throbbed through the air, vibrating through Rapi's bones. She turned, eyes snapping toward the massive construct at the center of the facility.
Material H.
It came to life with a violent shudder, blue light burning to life along its frame. The massive core at its heart began rotating, whirring faster and faster until—
A beam of raw energy erupted from its center.
The blast cut through the battlefield like a god's judgment.
Conveyor belts melted into slag, metal crumpled like paper, and the sheer force sent crates, debris, and bodies flying.
"MOVE!"
Rapi lunged forward, yanking Neon by her collar, dragging her out of the way just as another turret opened fire.
Bullets rained down from every angle.
Eunhwa and Laplace were advancing with unnerving speed, weaving between cover, firing relentlessly.
Maxwell's rifle flashed with deadly accuracy, every shot finding its mark, forcing Rapi's squad further into retreat.
Drake vaulted over a railing, landing in a crouch before bursting forward in a full sprint.
Anis cursed, ducking behind cover as another hail of gunfire ripped through the crate she was using for protection.
"Rapi, we need to fall back!" Vesti shouted, her sidearm trembling in her grip as she peeked out to return fire.
John's fist shot forward, a brutal haymaker aimed at Modernia's jaw.
She caught it.
Her fingers closed around his wrist with crushing force.
A sickening crack.
White-hot pain lanced through John's arm as his wrist shattered. The bones didn't just break, they collapsed under her grip, his nerves screaming as the sheer force threatened to tear his hand off entirely.
He barely swallowed back a gasp, his mind already shoving past the pain.
He had one shot at this.
His cursed energy surged as he forced his will into a binding vow.
The rules of his technique changed.
Instead of amplifying one function at the cost of another, he chose his drawback. The boon would come at random.
Nerve sensitivity.
He shut it down.
The pain faded into a distant echo, the burning in his shattered wrist muffling into nothingness. His entire body felt dull, disconnected, as if he was floating outside himself.
Then the boon hit.
Lung capacity increased.
...Not exactly what he needed.
Modernia tilted her head, watching him with unsettling curiosity. "That's strange," she murmured. "Your expression changed. Did you do something, John?"
He didn't answer.
He moved.
His cursed energy shifted again, this time through Ruinous Gambit's normal activation.
Speed.
His muscles exploded with power as he twisted his body into a spinning roundhouse kick.
Modernia dodged, leaning back with inhuman precision.
But John wasn't finished.
His technique flared again.
Strength.
He followed the kick with a lunging elbow strike.
Durability.
His bones braced for impact.
Speed again.
He flickered across the room, pressing the attack faster, faster, faster.
Switch.
A straight punch.
Switch.
A knee strike.
Switch.
A feint into a sweeping leg kick.
He was burning through his technique at a reckless pace, pushing his body to its absolute limit. Each attack carried everything he had, but every single strike, every kick, punch he launched at her, she dodged.
Every.
Single.
One.
Modernia weaved through his strikes like a dancer, her movements fluid, effortless. It was mocking, the way she barely even had to try.
Her hand snapped out.
John barely had a second to process before she caught him by the throat, and slammed him towards the wall behind him.
The impact sent shockwaves through his skull. The wall behind him cracked on impact, fractures spiderwebbing through the metal.
He gasped, trying to pry her fingers loose, but she barely seemed to register his struggle.
Modernia's voice was soft, almost gentle.
"Calm down, John."
He snarled, twisting, struggling. Her grip tightened.
"Don't be stubborn," she sighed. "You're only hurting yourself."
He barely saw it. Just the faintest flicker of red light.
Then-
Wings.
She changed.
Her body shifted, expanded. Mechanical plating forming along her back, her limbs elongating, her thrusters roaring to life as she took off, her metal hand still gripped around his throat.
The force nearly ripped the skin from his bones.
The world blurred, walls and structures smashing apart as she dragged him through them, tearing through the facility at breakneck speed.
Walls shattered on impact, steel beams bent like paper, and the sheer force of acceleration left his body screaming in protest. The wind howled, a deafening roar as they tore through corridors, bursting through reinforced walls like they were nothing.
John's mind was a haze of pain and desperation. His right shoulder was a ruined mess, his wrist still crumpled and useless from earlier, and his body felt like it was barely holding together.
Then, he saw natural light.
They broke through the ceiling of the facility.
Modernia erupted from the underground structure, soaring into the sky like a missile, the ground below vanishing in an instant.
John barely registered the sudden rush of open air. His mind swam, his vision flickering, the edges of his consciousness darkening.
But even through the haze, he could feel her holding him close, cradling him like something precious.
"John, John, John~," she sang, her voice laced with giddy delight, pressing him against her chest. "You're so stubborn. But that's okay! That's what makes you special."
Higher.
The air grew thinner, his lungs burning despite his earlier enhancement.
Then, they stopped.
For a fleeting second, they floated, weightless at the peak of their ascent, the world stretched endlessly beneath them.
Gravity took hold.
They plummeted.
The wind screamed past his ears, his battered body helpless against the fall. Modernia dove alongside him, holding him in front of her, her red eyes watching him with adoring fascination.
Impact.
The ground split open, the facility beneath them collapsing inward as Modernia drove him straight through it. Layers of steel, concrete, and machinery tore apart, the facility crumbling under their force.
Dust, rubble, and debris billowed out in all directions, consuming them in a storm of destruction.
John was sprawled on the floor, his body barely responsive, his vision swimming in and out of focus. Blood pooled beneath him, warm and sticky, soaking into the shattered remains of whatever chamber they had crashed into.
His mind was hanging by a thread.
Above him, Modernia stood having transformed back into her Nikke form, tilting her head as she stared at him with an intense, unsettling affection.
She smiled.
"Oh, John~. You always do this, you know? Always trying so, so hard. But it's okay. You don't have to anymore."
Her voice was soft, almost childlike, yet carrying an undertone of something wrong, something cracked.
She crouched beside him, brushing her fingers against his cheek. "You see… I get it now. I really do. It's not your fault you don't understand. You were just born in the wrong place, surrounded by the wrong people."
John's breathing was shallow, his body unresponsive, his mind fraying at the edges.
Modernia's voice dropped to a whisper.
"But I can fix that."
Her fingers trailed down to his chest, resting just over his heart. "All that pain, all that guilt? It doesn't have to be there anymore. You can just let it go, John. We can be together. Forever."
She giggled, the sound unnervingly sweet, like she genuinely believed every word.
"And I'll keep you safe. I'll take care of everything, just like I was meant to."
She stood up slowly, stretching her arms out, spinning gracefully like a child lost in a dream.
"They don't understand, John. Humans. Nikkes. Even the Raptures. They're all the same. They take, and take, and take, and never give back. But I—" she pressed a hand to her chest, her voice trembling with earnest conviction, "—I can change that."
She turned to him, her eyes gleaming.
"You believe in me… don't you, John?"
John could barely think.
His mind was slipping, his body failing, his vision a storm of colors and shadows.
But then…
Her voice faltered.
She twitched.
Her hand clenched into a fist, her fingers trembling against her own chest.
"John, I—"
A sharp breath.
She stuttered.
"I—w-we—"
Modernia's entire body shuddered, her frame jerking unnaturally as if something inside her was tearing apart.
She clutched her head, nails digging into her skull, her breath hitching into something ragged and unnatural.
She screamed.
It wasn't just one voice.
Two voices fighting, clashing, warring over dominance.
One was Modernia's, warped and distorted, brimming with obsession and hunger, a declaration of absolute possession.
The other—Marian's—was raw and desperate, pleading for control, a voice trembling under the weight of self-loathing and sorrow.
"Let go!" Marian's voice cracked.
"No! You are meant to be this! You are meant to be mine!" Modernia's voice roared in return, an echoing, guttural snarl that sent tremors through the facility.
John barely registered it.
He could feel it now. His body shutting down.
His mind was fracturing, slipping through his grasp like sand through open fingers. Every breath was shallow, his lungs barely working, his body screaming in agony from the sheer overload of pain signals. He knew he was dying.
Move. Get up. Survive.
But how?
His brain refused to form a coherent answer. Every instinct screamed at him to act, to fight, to claw his way back from the abyss, but his mind was blank, white-hot static drowning out logic and reason.
His vision pulsed with darkness. His heartbeat was erratic, slowing, failing, giving up.
He had seconds, just mere seconds.
Do something.
Fix it.
Fix yourself.
John forced his technique to activate. Ruinous Gambit surged to life.
He didn't think. He couldn't.
He just pushed everything he had into healing.
Instantly, his body reacted violently.
A searing, excruciating heat tore through him. His skin felt like it was melting from the inside out, his muscles locked, then spasmed, then burned.
It wasn't just repairing, it was consuming.
His body devoured itself to fuel the healing.
Every reserve of fat, every ounce of muscle, every stored nutrient—Gone.
Burned away in a matter of seconds.
His ribs, cracked and broken, stitched themselves but without enough material to fully repair them or for someone to set them in their correct place.
His shoulder, torn apart, knitted itself together just enough to stop the worst of the damage, but left the area weak and still bleeding.
His missing fingers—the stumps sealed, but no new flesh formed.
His body was eating itself alive, and it still wasn't enough.
His breathing became shallow, ragged.
The pain vanished.
There was nothing left to burn.
His limbs felt weightless, his strength completely gone.
His body, hollowed out.
He was barely recognizable. His once-powerful frame now skeletal, his muscles stripped away, leaving him gaunt and malnourished, bones strikingly visible beneath his skin.
He was still alive. Barely.
But he couldn't stay awake.
His body had nothing left to give.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Marian was drowning.
No, not drowning.
She was being consumed.
The voices hissed and shrieked inside her mind, their claws digging deep into her thoughts, pulling, twisting, unraveling her piece by piece.
"Give in."
"You were never meant to be one of them."
"They'll never trust you. Never look at you the same way."
"You don't belong."
The weight of it all crushed her, pressing against her like an unseen force, wrapping around her like chains.
She could feel it seeping into her limbs, slithering through her circuits, whispering into every hollow place inside her.
Memories.
Flashes of her time as Modernia.
Of her hands drenched in the oil and blood of her own kind.
Of Nikkes screaming.
Of their bodies breaking.
Of her own voice laughing, declaring herself a queen, their queen, the harbinger of their destruction.
"This is what you are."
"This is what you were meant to be."
Marian clenched her teeth, her body shaking.
No.
"Why are you resisting?"
A new memory bloomed before her, cruel in its simplicity.
John.
Heading out alone in the dead of night. Bleeding himself dry to protect everyone else.
He hadn't told her. Hadn't told anyone.
He had kept fighting, always fighting, even when no one saw it.
She remembered watching him go, feeling the weight of something ugly, heavy, poisonous settle in her chest.
Because she knew.
She was a burden.
If she wasn't here, if she had never come back, he wouldn't have had to fight so much.
"You slow him down."
"You hold him back."
"You put everyone in danger just by existing."
The voice dug in deeper, its venomous whispers slithering through her veins, wrapping around her heart, crushing her with doubt, fear, helplessness.
"You know what you have to do."
The world around her shifted.
The outpost.
Familiar faces staring at her, but not with warmth.
With mistrust. Suspicion. Fear.
She could see it in their eyes.
"You will never be one of them."
Her vision darkened.
The world cracked.
And in its place, once again was Chatterbox.
Kneeling.
Calling her his queen.
Behind him, another figure.
John.
On one knee, deferential, submitting.
The sight made her sick.
It was a lie.
A manipulation.
But the worst part—the ugliest, most damning part—was that some dark, twisted piece of her wanted to believe it.
Because it would be easier.
It would be so much easier to stop fighting.
To just give in.
"Stop pretending, Marian."
"You know what you really are."
The voice's final whisper was soft.
Almost gentle.
"Modernia."
Marian's body shook.
Her hands clenched, nails digging into her palms until they threatened to pierce through the skin.
The weight pressed down harder.
The chains tightened.
The voices coiled around her like vipers.
And then—
She roared.
The force of it ripped through the suffocating darkness, shaking the very foundations of her mind.
No.
She wasn't Modernia.
She wasn't some puppet, some broken thing made to serve the Raptures.
She wasn't.
Her body was hers.
Her mind was hers.
Her life was hers.
She was Marian.
A Nikke.
A soldier.
A protector.
A goddess of victory.
The chains snapped.
The darkness shattered.
And Marian stood.
Triumphant.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity—she was free.
Her breath came fast, ragged, but steady.
She won.
She was herself.
And then she saw John, and it felt like her heart stopped.
John's body was broken.
Hollow. Barely recognizable.
His powerful frame had been stripped down to nothing. Muscle, fat, strength. Everything. Gone.
He looked like a corpse.
Her hands trembled as she ran to him, dropping to her knees, scanning him.
His vitals were weak. Dangerously weak. He was barely breathing, and whatever he had done to try and heal himself had done its job only halfway, his wounds still leaking blood.
She needed to stop the bleeding. Keep him alive.
But what could she use?
Their supplies and their gear were either gone or destroyed.
Her eyes darted across his body, looking for anything, anything.
His commander's jacket.
Torn. Stained with blood. But still there.
Her fingers hovered over it, hesitant.
Because she remembered.
Their first mission together.
When her shirt had been ripped near the chest. And John had—He had covered her. When other commanders would have ignored her discomfort or leered at her, he helped her. A small action in his mind, but one she was not used to coming from a commander.
Her hands clenched around the fabric.
Slowly, carefully, she peeled the jacket from his frail form.
She held it for a moment.
Then, with quiet, desperate determination, she tore it into strips.
She worked quickly, wrapping the makeshift bandages around his wounds, pressing them against the places where his body still bled.
It wasn't much.
It wasn't enough.
But it was something.
She tied the last bandage with careful precision, then let out a slow, shaky breath.
He was still alive.
And she wouldn't let that change.
Her hands hovered over his chest for a moment, then she grasped his hand, or at least what remained of it.
Her voice was soft. Steady.
"I'm here."
She slowly and as gently as she could, lifted his body in a bridal carry. She needed to find the others. Hopefully they were having a better time.
The room containing Material H was chaos, a storm of bullets and energy beams.
Rapi, Anis, Vesti, and Neon were barely keeping ahead of the onslaught, forced to move constantly, dodging between cover and repositioning before the sheer force of firepower pinned them down completely.
The corrupted members of Absolute and Matis were ruthless. Eunhwa snarled accusations of traitor as she lined up shots with her sniper rifle, her expression twisted in fury. Laplace and Emma were little more than engines of destruction as they tore through walls and cover. Maxwell and Drake moved constantly to flank them, barely giving them any time to rest or regroup properly and come up with a plan of attack.
And all the while, Material H loomed above them, its core pulsing with deadly energy, beams of raw power lancing across the room.
"We're getting boxed in!" Neon shouted, voice strained as she pumped round after round into the oncoming forces.
"No shit!" Anis barked back, sliding into cover just as Eunhwa's sniper round clipped the ground where her head had been moments ago.
They were losing.
They were running out of steam, out of ammo, out of time.
Every movement burned. They were accumulating small wounds, glancing hits from enemy fire, bits of shrapnel tearing into armor, into synthetic flesh.
Rapi reloaded with practiced efficiency, slamming a fresh magazine into her rifle, but her movements weren't as crisp as usual. They were slowing down.
The tide was shifting.
And they were on the wrong side of it.
Then—a moment of opportunity.
Vesti saw an opening. Drake was overextending, pushing forward too aggressively, her body wide open to a counterattack.
Without hesitation, Vesti moved.
She darted forward, her small frame weaving through the storm of gunfire like a ghost.
Drake barely had time to register her presence before Vesti was upon her, twisting around her body like a wraith, using the taller woman's own momentum against her and climbing her like a frame.
Two quick shots at point-blank range.
The suppression rounds slammed into Drake's temple.
The corrupted Nikke let out a choked grunt, body locking up as the signal interference disrupted her neural functions.
A moment later, she collapsed.
Vesti launched herself back into cover the second the ground touched feet, panting, eyes darting around as she prepared for retaliation.
But it wasn't enough.
"We can't hold this!" Anis gritted out, firing blind as she ducked behind a mangled piece of cover.
Marian ran as fast as her legs could carry her, the weight of John's weakened body in her arms barely registering compared to the urgency pounding in her chest. His breathing was shallow, his face pale, but he was alive.
That was the only thing keeping her moving forward.
The corridors blurred past her, walls stained with fresh scorch marks and bullet impacts. The deeper she went, the more Rapture corpses littered the path, their metal husks twisted and shattered. The sheer number sent a chill through her—how had they fought through all of this?
Then she heard it.
Gunfire. Nearby, close, desperate.
Marian skidded to a stop, her head snapping toward the sound. Her grip on John tightened before she carefully, gently, placed him on the ground beside a chunk of fallen metal plating.
She couldn't take him with her into that fight.
She ran a hand across his forehead, a ghost of a touch.
"I'll be right back."
Then she turned and sprinted toward the battle.
Marian hit the battlefield like a storm, her feet barely touching the ground before she was already moving. A blur of steel.
The others had been struggling, cornered, backs to the wall, forced into a losing melee fight. Their bodies were battered, their movements sluggish from exhaustion, their every effort met with an inhuman counter from the corrupted.
But the moment Marian entered the fray, the tide shifted.
Laplace reacted first.
"Justice!"
The corrupted warrior spun toward Marian, cannon raised, a golden flare sparking at its muzzle, but Marian was already in motion.
She sidestepped the blast, the searing energy slicing just past her shoulder, before twisting low into a sprint, closing the distance in an instant.
Her fist crashed into Laplace's stomach.
The impact sent the hero of Missilis airborne, her body cratering into Maxwell and knocking both of them off balance.
Marian didn't stop.
She was already pivoting, locking onto Material H's turrets as they swiveled toward her.
She could feel them.
The pulse of their weapons charging.
The moment the beams would fire.
The exact angles they would track.
She didn't have to think. She just knew.
Her body moved flawlessly, weaving between the streams of gunfire, each step landing with perfect balance, each movement executed with deadly precision.
Her side-mounted machine gun roared, tracking the central core of Material H with an unrelenting spray of fire, piercing deep into its mechanical heart.
A metallic screech filled the room as the massive construct shuddered, its systems faltering. The turrets buckled, their targeting systems disrupting mid-fire, bolts of energy scattering wildly across the battlefield.
Marian pressed forward, pushing herself past her limits, past pain, past hesitation.
Material H's core overloaded.
The explosion ripped through the air, fire and metal bursting outward in a concussive wave. Marian braced herself, but the force still threw her back, skidding across the floor.
Then, the dust settled.
And the corrupted were still standing.
Eyes glowing red. Unwavering. Unrelenting.
Marian clenched her fists.
Laplace had already recovered, the explosion barely slowing her down.
She lunged at Marian, her hands grabbing for her neck, fingers tightening with surprising force.
Marian barely caught them in time, locking them in a deadly grapple, the sheer strength behind Laplace's grip surprising her.
The corrupted warrior was strong.
Marian's feet dug into the ground, her muscles tensing to keep from being overpowered, but she was still holding back. Despite them being enemies, she didn't want to hurt her.
"Justice!" Laplace's voice was strained, manic. "Justice will be served!"
Marian gritted her teeth. Damn it.
Meanwhile, Rapi and Vesti were locked in a brutal dance with Eunhwa.
Rapi was relentless, her kicks striking like whips, each movement precise, rapid, unpredictable. She flipped, spun, and countered with expert efficiency.
But Eunhwa adapted.
She had abandoned marksmanship entirely, using her sniper rifle as a spear, jabbing with the long barrel and firing when oppertune, swinging it like a staff to parry Rapi's strikes.
Their fight was one of finesse, each movement countered by another, neither willing to let the other land a decisive blow.
Across the room, Neon and Maxwell weren't so elegant.
Their fight was a brawl, sloppy and driven purely by desperation.
Maxwell swung wildly, her attacks clumsy but fueled by brute strength. Neon ducked one punch, took another, swung back, missed, caught a counter to the stomach, then tackled Maxwell into the ground.
They rolled across the metal flooring, snarling and clawing like street fighters, neither gaining the upper hand.
Anis was less lucky, pinned to the ground by Emma and getting choked. One arm was around her neck, the other holding her down in a vice grip, fingers like iron pressing against her throat. Her vision blurred, her body convulsing as Emma's arm crushed her windpipe.
She kicked wildly, struggling, her vision swimming.
"D-Damn it—"
She was losing strength.
The world was fading to black around her, Emma's iron grip unrelenting, crushing the air from her throat. Her lungs screamed, her body jerked in weak defiance, but it was useless.
Her vision blurred at the edges, dark spots creeping in.
"Shit—"
So this was how she was going out?
Her fingers clawed weakly at Emma's arm, but the corrupted Nikke's grip didn't budge. Emma's expression remained eerily serene, her glowing red eyes void of warmth, her strength inhuman.
Anis' thoughts slowed, her struggling weakening.
And then—she saw him.
A grotesque, shambling figure dragging itself across the floor.
Torn uniform. Skin stretched tight over malnourished muscle. Barely able to move.
A corpse.
A damn zombie.
For a second, she thought she was hallucinating. A final, fevered image conjured up by her oxygen-starved brain before she blacked out.
But then, it moved.
Dragged itself forward.
Its one remaining eye locked onto her.
And she realized with horror—
It wasn't a hallucination.
It was John.
"What the—?"
Anis wanted to scream, wanted to ask how the hell he was even alive, but she could barely think, let alone speak.
John wasn't walking. He wasn't even crawling properly. His movements were unnatural, sluggish, twitching like a puppet with half its strings cut.
But even in that mangled state, he moved with purpose.
His arm shook violently as he reached into his holster, fingers barely able to function as he dragged out the pistol Snow White had given him.
Anis barely processed what was happening before the gun slid across the floor.
A weak, sloppy pass.
But it reached her.
Anis didn't even think.
Her body moved on sheer instinct, fingers barely closing around the grip of the pistol.
Her chest burned. Her lungs ached for air.
She had one shot.
And she took it.
BANG.
The round slammed into Emma's stomach, the impact forcing her off Anis with a sharp gasp. Emma hit the ground hard, clutching her stomach, her body convulsing.
The moment Anis was free, she sucked in a desperate, ragged breath, coughing and gasping as oxygen flooded her system again. She rolled to her side, coughing violently, but she was already pushing herself up, ready to beat Emma into the floor.
"You—" she wheezed, stumbling to her feet, gun raised, hands shaking with adrenaline.
But then, Emma looked up.
And the red glow was gone.
Her wide, glassy eyes were no longer corrupted.
Her breath came in frantic gasps, her body trembling as if she'd just woken up from a nightmare.
"W-what…?" Emma's voice was small, confused, scared.
Anis froze.
She blinked, her body still coiled for another strike.
Emma wasn't attacking.
She was just staring at her hands, like she couldn't even recognize her own body.
Anis lowered the pistol, just slightly. She looked down at John, who hadn't moved since tossing the gun. His shallow breathing was the only thing proving he was even alive. She was torn on what to do.
Her body screamed at her to run to John—to check if he was even still alive. But if she did that now, if she wasted even a few seconds, then this fight wouldn't end. They were still outnumbered, still under fire, and if they lost, then John's condition wouldn't even matter.
So she made the call.
With a growl of frustration, she shoved the pistol back into her holster and threw herself at Maxwell.
The Matis scientist had barely turned when Anis collided into her full force, sending them both tumbling across the metal flooring.
"Neon, now!" Anis shouted.
Neon was already moving, using the opening to bring down the butt of her shotgun onto Maxwell's head.
Maxwell's body twitched, then went still.
"One down—" Neon started, but Anis was already scrambling up, barely pausing to check if Maxwell was breathing before her eyes darted to the others.
Rapi and Vesti, joined by the now uncorrupted Emma had finally managed to disarm Eunhwa, overwhelming her and forcing her to the ground.
Eunhwa snarled, her eyes still glowing that unnatural red as she thrashed beneath them.
"Get off me, traitor!" she spat at Rapi, venom laced in every word. Before Eunhwa could continue to struggle, Rapi drove her knee into Eunhwa's back, forcing her fully down, and with a swift motion, she jammed a suppression round into the back of Eunhwa's neck using her bare hand.
A single, shuddering gasp left Eunhwa's lips. Her entire body locked up, then went slack.
Marian still had Laplace locked in a grapple, the Matis leader's unnatural strength matching her own.
Laplace struggled, her body twisting violently, her corrupted eyes flashing.
"Justice… Justice!" she snarled, her breath ragged.
Marian's grip tightened, but her expression was calm. She was waiting.
Waiting for the right moment.
When the tension in Laplace's muscles shifted, when her body tried one final lunge forward, Marian moved.
She let out her strength just enough, and in an instant, Laplace was flipped onto her back, pinned with firm but controlled force.
Laplace struggled, her breath shuddering but Marian wasn't budging. Forcing the Matis members hands above her head with one hand, she let out a powerful palm strike straight to her forehead.
And with that, Laplace stilled.
Silence fell.
They had won.
The battle was over.
But there was no time to breathe.
Marian was already moving before anyone else could, rushing toward John.
Anis and Emma were right behind her.
John hadn't moved.
He was still crumpled on the floor, his body far too still.
"Shit, shit, shit—" Anis dropped to her knees beside him.
Marian was already pressing her hands against his chest, feeling for breath, for movement—for something.
Emma pulled out her med kit, fingers already working to check his vitals.
"His breathing's shallow," Emma said immediately, her voice tight.
Anis was gripping his shoulder, her fingers barely registering how frail he felt.
"Goddamn it, John. Why do you always have to be the one who looks worse than the rest of us?"
Marian was handed a bandage from Emma's first aid kit before wrapping it tightly around his still-bleeding wounds. "Stay with me," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Rapi!"
Vesti's voice cut through the tense air as she and Neon secured the unconscious forms of Matis and Eunhwa.
Rapi was already activating her comms. "Shifty, we need an immediate medical evac. We have downed squad members and critically injured personnel."
Static buzzed for a second before Shifty's voice crackled in. "Andersen and Ingrid have already dispatched extraction airships and personnel. Medical teams are en route to your location to secure the area and retrieve all wounded. ETA is one hour."