Engineer sat at his workbench, eyes narrowed in concentration as he adjusted the delicate mechanisms of Shambala. The Teigu had fascinated him ever since he'd taken it from Syura—an artifact of Imperial design with teleportation properties unlike anything he'd seen before. If he could crack its secrets, he could turn the tides of battle in ways no one had ever imagined.
The dim glow of his workshop was punctuated by the rhythmic hum of machinery and the occasional spark as he welded, adjusted, and fine-tuned the device. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he wiped it away without breaking stride, his hands moving with the precision of a master craftsman. The portal gun, an extension of his genius, lay on the table beside Shambala, its modifications nearly complete. The combination of the two technologies was a delicate endeavor, one that required precision, patience, and an understanding of mechanics far beyond what most engineers could comprehend. Tonight, he would test them.
A knock at the door interrupted his work. Sheele stepped inside, her expression calm but curious. "Still working on that thing?"
Engineer chuckled, adjusting his goggles. "Ain't just 'workin' on it, missy. I'm about to make it somethin' special."
Sheele tilted her head. "Special how?"
He grinned, setting down his tools and holding up the portal gun. "I ain't just fixin' the old functions—I'm expandin' 'em. If my calculations are right, I'll be able to create multiple portals at once. Imagine that—droppin' in on the enemy from three different places, or escapin' without a trace. This ain't just a tool no more, Sheele. It's a game-changer."
Sheele nodded, her usual blank expression betraying a hint of admiration. "That does sound useful. But you should test it somewhere safe."
"Already planned on it. No sense in causin' a mess here."
Engineer stood, grabbing his equipment, and motioned for Sheele to follow. They made their way to an open clearing outside the base, a secluded spot where no stray bodies would be caught in an unintended teleportation. The air was crisp, the moon casting a silver glow over the field. The cool night breeze ruffled Engineer's coat, but he barely noticed. His mind was too focused on the moment. He had tested Shambala's functions before, but this was different. This was a direct modification, an attempt to push its abilities beyond anything Syura had ever managed.
With a deep breath, Engineer aimed the portal gun at a nearby rock formation and squeezed the trigger. A swirling blue rift erupted in the air, shimmering like liquid glass. Then, without missing a beat, he fired again at a tree on the opposite end of the clearing. Another portal materialized, connecting seamlessly with the first. The space between them folded, allowing a direct passage where there had been none.
Sheele watched intently as Engineer took it further. With precise movements, he activated a third, then a fourth portal, linking the space between them all. A moment of silence followed before Engineer grabbed a small stone from the ground and tossed it into one of the swirling vortexes. In an instant, it vanished—only to reappear from another portal across the clearing and drop back onto the dirt.
A smirk crossed Engineer's face as an idea struck him. He grabbed a metal wrench from his belt and hurled it at one portal. It reappeared instantly from another, ricocheting off a rock before vanishing into a third portal. The wrench flew through the loops of space Engineer had created, bouncing unpredictably before clattering to the ground. Sheele raised an eyebrow.
Engineer whistled low, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The implications were staggering. Tactical insertions, surprise attacks, instantaneous retreats—this wasn't just an upgrade. This was revolution.
"Well, I'll be damned," he murmured, rolling the wrench between his fingers. "Ain't never seen somethin' move like that."
Sheele, ever the quiet observer, finally spoke. "So? Satisfied?"
Engineer adjusted his hat, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Darlin', I do believe we just changed the battlefield."
Sheele didn't reply immediately, but there was a flicker of understanding in her gaze. The war was evolving, and with weapons like these in their hands, they had a fighting chance against even the most dangerous opponents.
Engineer holstered the portal gun, looking up at the sky. The stars seemed brighter tonight, or maybe it was just his optimism. Either way, things were about to get real interesting.
As they walked back to the base, Engineer's mind raced with possibilities. Could he link portals in real-time during a battle? Could he combine them with other Teigu? What would happen if he linked two portals at different gravitational points? The thought sent a shiver of excitement through him. He had work to do—this was just the beginning.
Meanwhile, Sheele glanced at Engineer. "You ever think about what happens if the enemy gets their hands on that?"
Engineer paused for a moment, considering. "Then we make sure they don't."
Esdeath stood in the training yard, her blade glinting in the sunlight, the crisp air charged with her overwhelming aura. Soldiers and officers watched in awe, some trembling at the sheer presence of the Empire's strongest general. With each calculated movement, she displayed her mastery, dispatching wooden training dummies with precise, lethal strikes. Her control was absolute, her strikes flawless. Yet, as she moved to deliver another devastating blow, a sudden wave of dizziness struck her.
Her vision blurred. Her grip on her sword faltered. A moment later, her body betrayed her, knees buckling as she collapsed onto the cold, hard ground. The unexpected weakness was alarming, a sensation she had never once encountered in her years of domination over both battlefield and adversary.
"General Esdeath!" Wave's voice rang out, panic laced in his tone. He was at her side in an instant, his normally confident demeanor shaken. Run followed closely, kneeling beside her, his sharp eyes scanning her for signs of injury.
"General, are you alright?" Run asked, his usual composed demeanor cracking ever so slightly.
Esdeath frowned, pressing a hand to her forehead. The world around her spun, a sensation entirely foreign to her. She, the very embodiment of strength, had never felt weakness before—not like this. The thought infuriated her. She gritted her teeth, pushing against the disorientation as she attempted to rise.
"I am fine," she growled, her pride unwilling to accept such a moment of frailty. But her body disagreed, her balance unstable. Wave gently caught her arm, steadying her.
"We need to get you to the infirmary," he said, his usual easygoing nature replaced with genuine concern.
She hated feeling fragile, but even she had to admit—something was wrong.
The sterile scent of antiseptics filled the air of the infirmary as Esdeath sat upon the examination table, arms crossed, her patience thinning with each passing second. The flickering lanterns cast eerie shadows across the room as the doctor worked, the faint scratching of his pen on parchment the only sound aside from the rhythmic tapping of Esdeath's fingers against the wooden surface of the table. Wave and Run stood nearby, tension evident in their rigid postures.
When the physician returned, his expression was unreadable, his eyes flicking between the clipboard in his hands and the infamous general before him. He hesitated, as if unsure how to deliver the news, an odd sense of unease settling in his stomach. This was Esdeath—an apex predator of war. And yet, what he was about to reveal was something that no blade, no army, no battlefield could prepare her for.
"Speak," Esdeath commanded, her voice sharp as a blade, cutting through the doctor's hesitation.
The doctor swallowed hard, adjusting his glasses. His hands trembled slightly as he pushed them together, taking a steadying breath before finally delivering the verdict. "General Esdeath… you are with child."
The room fell into utter silence.
Wave's jaw nearly hit the floor. "W-What?!" he blurted out, his usual bravado stripped away in an instant.
Run's usually calm expression broke into sheer astonishment. He adjusted his glasses, as though hoping he had misheard. "That's... unexpected."
Esdeath, however, remained eerily quiet. Her icy blue eyes flickered as she processed the information. A child? Hers? The implications were staggering, but her mind was swift, calculating. She sifted through her memories, piecing together the puzzle with cold precision.
Then, slowly, her lips curled into an amused smirk.
She traced a finger along her chin, pondering. "So... it was Tatsumi after all."
Wave and Run exchanged uncertain glances. Neither had expected this revelation, nor could they grasp the implications. A child, conceived between their terrifyingly powerful general and the boy she had so obsessively pursued? What did this mean for her? For the Empire? For Tatsumi himself?
But Esdeath? She saw it differently.
Rather than fury, she found this turn of events intriguing. Fate had decided to tie her and Tatsumi together in a way even she hadn't foreseen. This was no accident—this was destiny unfolding before her. A new piece had entered the game, and now, the battlefield would shift yet again.
What she didn't realize—what no one in that room could have known—was that the "Tatsumi" she had spent the night with had not been the young revolutionary.
It had been Spy.
Kurome's eyelids fluttered open, her vision swimming in hazy darkness. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled her nostrils, mixing with the cold, metallic taste of fear. Her body felt strange—sluggish, unresponsive, as though submerged in water. She tried to move, but leather straps bit into her wrists and ankles, keeping her bound to the operating table. Panic flared in her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs as she realized she was completely immobilized. What happened? Where was she? The last thing she remembered was... battle. The weight of her sword in her hands. Then—nothing.
She strained her senses, trying to gather any information about her surroundings. The faint beeping of a monitor. The sterile hum of overhead lights. The chill in the air that made her skin prickle. She wasn't in a battlefield anymore. She was in a lab. A place that felt eerily controlled, calculated.
A shadow loomed over her. Two figures stood nearby—one she recognized instantly. Sheele. The woman's normally soft eyes were clouded with unease, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she averted her gaze. It was as if she couldn't bear to look Kurome in the eye. Beside her stood a man in a bloodstained white coat, his unsettling grin framed by round glasses. His presence radiated an unnatural confidence, a predator inspecting its prey.
"Ah, our patient is awake!" Medic's voice was laced with enthusiasm, as though he were greeting an old friend rather than a restrained prisoner. "Guten Morgen, Fräulein Kurome. How do you feel?"
Kurome's breath hitched. Her throat was dry, her muscles too weak to resist, but she forced her lips to move. "W-What did you do to me?" Her voice came out hoarse, quieter than she had expected. Every word took effort, like she was forcing her way through a dense fog in her mind.
Medic adjusted his gloves, his grin never wavering. "Oh, just a little experiment. You see, your dear Empire had quite the fascination with controlling their soldiers, ja? They used certain... chemicals to make their warriors more obedient." He leaned in slightly, his glasses catching the dim light, making his eyes unreadable. "Night Raid may have burned their supply, but I am nothing if not resourceful. I replicated the formula. Improved it, even. And now... you are my test subject."
A cold shiver ran down Kurome's spine. Her thoughts raced, trying to process his words. He had recreated the Empire's obedience serum? The same drug that had helped mold her into an unflinching assassin? The one that kept the voices of the dead at bay? She had relied on those drugs, even if she never admitted it. Without them, the weight of her sins—the voices of the people she'd killed—would have drowned her.
Sheele shifted uncomfortably, her brows knitting together. "Medic... Are you sure about this? She's still a person. Not an experiment."
For the first time, Medic's smile faltered. He turned his gaze to Sheele, his expression unreadable. "Of course. I am not some monster, Fräulein Sheele. I do not seek to break her. I seek to fix her. To bring her back to herself, away from the Empire's grasp. But first, I must understand how deep their poison runs."
Kurome's breathing grew shallow. She clenched her teeth, fighting against the sluggishness in her limbs. It wasn't just her muscles that felt heavy—it was her mind. Thoughts came slower, like she was wading through thick fog. Was it already taking effect? Was she losing herself?
No. She refused. She was Kurome, the Empire's blade, the last standing soldier of her unit. She had survived countless battles, slain monsters, stood side by side with the only family she had left. She would not let this man tamper with her mind. But something was wrong—her resolve, her defiance, it felt... dim. Like she was trying to hold onto something slipping through her fingers.
Medic saw the defiance in her eyes and chuckled, amused. "Ja, good. Hold onto that spirit. I would hate to see it fade. But do not fear, my dear Kurome." His voice lowered, almost reassuring. "I am not your enemy. I will fix what the Empire has broken. I will make you whole again."
Kurome wasn't sure which was worse: the certainty in his voice, or the fact that a part of her almost believed him.
Sheele swallowed hard and looked away, as if she, too, was unsure where the line was between salvation and violation.
She tried to speak, to demand her freedom, but the fog in her mind thickened. Her heartbeat pounded sluggishly in her ears. Whatever was in her system was strong—stronger than the drugs the Empire had given her. If she didn't focus, she might actually lose herself.
Medic reached for his instruments, his face illuminated by the cold glow of the operating room. "Now, let us begin, shall we?"
The wind howled over the cliffside, kicking up loose dirt and pebbles that tumbled into the abyss below. Scout stood at the edge, his arms crossed as he stared out into the distance. The weight of the last mission still sat heavy in his mind. Bols, Kurome, Bolic—pieces in a game that was spiraling beyond his control. Even Heavy, usually unshakable, had been affected. And Medic? Hell, he had his own twisted ideas about morality. Scout wasn't sure where he stood anymore.
He kicked a rock over the edge and watched it fall. His fingers twitched as memories of the last fight resurfaced—Heavy carrying Bols' body, Medic's cold calculations. It wasn't supposed to feel this complicated. War was supposed to be simple: good guys, bad guys, winners, losers. But the more he saw, the blurrier those lines got. And now, standing here, he wasn't sure if he still had a side.
The sound of approaching footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. He knew who it was before he turned.
Tatsumi.
The kid had that determined look, jaw set, fists clenched. Scout could see the anger simmering beneath the surface. He wasn't here to chat.
"Tatsumi's voice was sharp, edged with barely restrained fury. "What the hell are you guys trying to do?" He took a step closer, his glare unwavering. "You blackmailed Mine. You stole Bulat's body, didn't even let him rest. You abducted Bolic, and now you've taken Bols and Kurome. How far are you planning to go? What's next? Who's next?" His fists trembled at his sides. "Do you even care about the damage you're causing, or are we all just pieces on a board to you?""
Scout let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Damn, man. Not even a 'Hey Scout, how's your day been?' Nah, we just get right into it, huh?" He chuckled, but there was no real humor in it. His fingers drummed anxiously against his arm, his usual smirk faltering for just a second. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Ain't like we got time for pleasantries anymore, huh? Just straight to the part where we rip each other apart."
Tatsumi didn't flinch. "Answer me."
Scout dropped the act. The usual smirk, the cocky bravado—it all slipped away. He looked at Tatsumi, really looked at him. "You ever ask yourself how this all ends? 'Cause I do. Every damn day."
Tatsumi blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in Scout's tone. Scout took a step forward, gesturing vaguely at the war-torn landscape around them.
"Look, I ain't some mastermind, alright? I don't got some big-ass plan where we swoop in, take out Honest, and live happily ever after. Nah, man. War don't work like that. War eats you up. It turns you into somethin' you don't recognize." Scout let out a bitter laugh. "We're just tryin' to make sure we're the ones still standin' when the dust settles."
Tatsumi clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "That doesn't justify everything you've done. You've crossed lines, Scout. Lines that shouldn't be crossed, no matter how bad things get. Taking people, using them, twisting the war to fit your own needs—it's not right. It's not what we stand for. And if we start justifying that, then how are we any different from the monsters we're trying to fight?"
"Maybe not," Scout admitted. "But lemme ask you this—if doin' things the 'right way' don't get results, then what? You just keep fightin' until there's nothin' left? You think Night Raid's got the luxury to play fair? 'Cause the Empire sure as hell don't."
Tatsumi exhaled sharply, his resolve shaken. He had spent so much time believing in Night Raid's cause, in the righteousness of their fight. But Scout... he wasn't the monster Tatsumi wanted him to be. He wasn't an enemy. He was just another guy trying to survive a war that didn't care who was in the right.
Scout sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Heavy, man... you should've seen him after Bols. I think it messed him up. He ain't the type to lose it like that. You ever see a guy tryin' to hold onto his own damn principles in a war that don't care? That was him. And Medic? He's playin' his own game, but even he's got limits. Or at least, I hope he does. Sometimes, I dunno if he even sees people as people anymore. Just... pieces. Like we're all one big experiment, waitin' to see how we break. And I keep askin' myself—when's it our turn?"
Tatsumi frowned. "So you're telling me you don't agree with everything they do?"
Scout scoffed. "Hell no. But it ain't about agreein', it's about survivin'. 'Cause when this war's over, there ain't gonna be medals for honor, Tatsumi. Just who's left standin'."
A long silence stretched between them, the wind cutting through the tension. Tatsumi seemed to consider his words, doubt creeping into his usually steadfast expression. He had always believed in Night Raid's mission, in the clarity of their cause. The Empire was evil, corrupt beyond salvation, and they were the ones who had to burn it down. But now, standing here, listening to Scout speak with the weight of experience behind his words, Tatsumi felt something he didn't want to admit—uncertainty.
Had they crossed lines in the name of justice? Had they sacrificed people who might have been saved? And if the fight turned them into something unrecognizable, then who would be left to build the world they dreamed of? He clenched his fists, wrestling with the realization that maybe, just maybe, the fight wasn't as black and white as he once thought.
Then, before either of them could say another word, the wind carried a rustling sound. A presence, fast and lethal.
Suzuka.
The ambush came in a flash of steel.
