Story Reader / Floating Record / ER10 Deceivers' Rapture / Story
Remains of Polard Orphanage, Las Prados
Remains of Polard Orphanage
Outskirts of Las Prados
Warning: Corrupted presence detected. Punishing levels are nearing the containment limit...
The shrill alarm blares over and over, but to Lilith, it rings out like a triumphant war cry.
Big sister's home! Shouldn't you all look a bit more thrilled?
From the depths below, the undead surge upward, straining against their rusted bodies as they creep toward our defenses with a nightmarish crawl.
This horror is the byproduct of a botched experiment—a prototype Construct built by trapping a child's brain inside a metal shell.
The troops remain clueless that each enemy is a spirit doomed to wander, denied release. All they perceive is a nightmare ripped straight from the depths of hell.
All units, pull back the defense!
...Ammo's running out! Call for backup now! Ready for evac!
Dark crimson fluid splatters across the Constructs' wounds like rain, but they spare no moment to tend to it.
Stay calm, suppressive fire on the target group left corridor—short bursts!
Before the squad leader can finish giving orders, a deafening salvo of full-powered high-explosive rounds drowns out his voice.
...You want some too? Then come on! Bring it!
Graaahhhh!
Throwing trigger discipline to the wind, the Construct unloads a torrent of gunfire—only to have its ankle seized by a Corrupted crawling right up to the defensive perimeter.
He staggers once, then gets hauled over a wooden floor slick with fluid and grime, desperately forcing his handgun free.
Not today! Get away from me, freak!!!
Nn... Di-Director... don't... understa... I...
Round after round tears into that slithering, mangled husk. The Corrupted convulses violently, spewing out garbled babbling and some mysterious fluid.
Die! Just die! All of you die!!!
The kids just started warming up—don't crush their enthusiasm by being too harsh.
The silver-haired girl watches the soldiers and the Corrupted battle with keen interest, her long limbs carving a graceful arc through the air.
Like a gymnast nailing a high-difficulty move, she whips her leg around, and her razor-sharp knee spike stops right at the shattered corpse's skull.
Uh... Captain Eleanor! Th-thank you...
He forces himself upright, but his gratitude dissolves into a wet gurgle as fluid churns in his throat.
The Corrupted, stabbed in the head, snaps its metal arm upward and drives a corroded blade into the soldier's lower back—Lilith's non-lethal strike has only made the creature more ferocious.
?! Wh-what... what is this...?
A Construct soldier collapses, and the echo of roars and gunshots in the corridor slowly fades away.
...Elea... Miss... I'm so... I truly... apologize...
Its shattered form continues to spasm, dragging itself inch by inch toward Lilith.
She recognizes that voice instantly—even though it's altered, she knows it's the confession of someone who once tormented others.
You've certainly given us a warm reception, but my soldiers are confused. They just can't wrap their heads around why an orphanage would be the hottest spot for Punishing activity on the outskirts of Las Prados.
Please... I'm begging you... I...
The memory buried beneath that iron exterior ends in the excruciating moment when my very mind is wrenched from my spine and skull.
Years later, that imprisoned spirit is seized by an entity known as "Punishing", becoming a mindless puppet, lost to the present.
Dis... cord... she's... not... here...
The Corrupted's hydraulics groan as though on the verge of collapse, and yet it manages to choke out its final words.
Oh? You think I'm back here just for her?
She offers a soft, rewarding laugh, as if expressing genuine thanks for the Corrupted's honesty.
They say people are good at heart—turns out they were right after all.
In return... I promise I'll grant your wish.
But my Moon Umbrella's already a mess—I simply can't risk getting it any dirtier, you know?
The Construct's calf compartment unfurls, revealing intricate mechanisms. A well-oiled folding blade snaps into place with a soft whirr of gears.
She moves as though stepping over the fallen Construct soldier, lifting her foot with practiced elegance before letting her heel come down on the Corrupted's shattered remains.
Good night... sleep in peace, free from any need for restraints.
No Corrupted stir now, and the thunder of gunfire has faded. In the corridor leading to the orphanage basement, no one fights, and not a single voice is heard.
Those once-proud fireteams—Solemn, Scimitar, Ivy, Snow Ferret—find their glorious legacies cut short in this final stand, lost amid the wet, muddy carnage.
Beyond them all stands a lone Construct beneath the Moon Umbrella.
Her frame is streaked with grime, and her boots are thick with dust and fluid.
But she is still alive, needing no backup of her memory—no unbreakable circulation system to keep her going...
She opens herself entirely to the network spun from the Punishing data.
Construct Fireteam Maintenance Deck
Two hours later
Two hours later, on the Construct Fireteam Maintenance Deck
...So the final site we have to clear is the orphanage?
She goes over the mission's coordinates again, her voice edged with dissatisfaction.
That's right. It's the last high-density zone outside the city.
The Construct that has emerged from a brutal battle speaks with disarmingly calm detachment, as if narrating someone else's story.
Did I let you down? Should I apologize?
Her aunt casts a challenging look, and Lilith instantly grasps what she's getting at.
Discord remains missing, and yet Lilith shows no sign of worry.
So many years pass. Even if there's any clue left behind, it's likely been eaten away by the rampant contamination.
I appreciate you still watching out for me, Aunt. But we have more urgent business to deal with right now.
Since that leaked incident a few years back, Lilith appears far more willing to align herself with Monzano's vision.
...To sum up our progress: We've wiped out the Corrupted threat in Las Prados and effectively taken back control. With the city as our stronghold, our mission to reclaim the surface can finally get underway.
However, building large-scale conservation areas demands extensive purification systems. For now, our best move is to establish a stronghold in Las Prados.
Still, it stands as our first true victory in taking back the Earth.
I'm proud I didn't end up slowing you down, Aunt.
She packs every conversation with so much decorum that it comes off a bit forceful—though technically flawless.
...Don't go patting yourself on the back. I haven't exactly pinned a medal on you yet.
But the lady of the house is completely unfazed by that kind of smooth-talking.
I mean no disrespect. I'm honestly thrilled to see what you have managed to achieve all on your own, Aunt.
The implication is as if she doesn't want any kind of reward aside from recognition. But how could this be?
Sure, the results are here. But what's your real aim? Taking charge of a Construct unit? You want me to believe the top card player is vying for an officer's rank?
Control over a conservation area? Or is it something else altogether? Talk!
For the first time, she backs her only living relative into a corner with no escape.
You really don't know, Aunt? I've been gambling with my life all this time.
Walking away unscathed from a high-stakes battle... that sinful rush is like nothing else...
Sure, I was at fault for letting my guard down back then—but that unexpected crisis also handed you even more chances to run your experiments, didn't it?
Throwing myself into danger, turning the tables through skill, then reaping the rewards—that rush is everything I crave. I'm sure Auntie can see where I'm coming from, right?
With a calm drop of her gaze, the girl answers the interrogation in a soft, measured voice—like telling a story.
Don't get smart with me! You know perfectly well the only viable data sample escaped by latching onto that mechanoid—and we've never been able to recreate those results!
If it happened once, it will happen thousand times. Patience is the key to winning hands, after all.
The once-revered arbiter of the entertainment arena can rattle off those core principles as though reciting cherished heirlooms.
...How is it you're always the one who comes out alive?
Hmm?
The girl, under attack by cruel words, wears a startled expression.
I couldn't care less how many Construct squads I lose. But every single time, it's the same one who comes back alive.
This doesn't make sense.
Her triumphant claim barely hangs in the air before the mistress suddenly switches to an accusing tone.
So Aunt, using built-in shielding and transferring one's Memory could be how we overcome Punishing's challenge and step into the next phase of our evolution—am I right?
If you do nothing but flee from the virus, it's only a matter of time before it consumes you.
It feels like she's gently walking a child through each step, her voice so soft it could be woven from cotton.
Great genius, what's on your mind? An ultimate weapon that can drain the Punishing Virus?
Madam Monzano fires back with biting sarcasm.
I suppose my complete lack of fear in these high-risk environments is the reason I've been so lucky to survive every time.
Fear destroys clear thinking. Only a steady mind can make split-second, accurate decisions—and that's what boosts your odds of staying alive.
Despite the tension, the girl stays composed, presenting her straightforward hypothesis without hesitation.
It seems Madam Monzano has decided to drop her line of questioning.
...It's of no real consequence. Odds, luck—call it what you will, but I hold my own trump card.
I've been aware of all your contributions, so there's no need to fret.
With that measured cadence, she restores her sovereign poise.
As long as I remain in Babylonia, I'm bound to overthrow Kuronoy... and even topple Hassen himself.
I don't care what schemes you're brewing, but here's some advice: if you can't rein yourself in before I seize power, the fallout won't just swallow up you—or me.
Resources, authority—these lofty, elusive ideas still hold sway over every last survivor's destiny.
I'm only going to warn you once—don't play with fire, or you'll get burned.
I understand.
The sliding door behind them gives a soft click. A blond man they haven't seen in ages steps into the hallway.
Madam, Eleanor... I'm here.
Smooth op?
Monzano doesn't say a word. Instead, she holds out the terminal for Kephart to see.
On Las Prados's real-time warzone map, all traces of red have vanished—now it's covered entirely in a comforting blue.
This is invigorating! Then we can move forward with drafting the proposal to return to the surface...
Mr. Kephart... so you've been re-elected yet again?
Lilith suddenly drops this question out of nowhere, catching everyone off-guard.
Uh... yes, a landslide. The townspeople still appreciate everything we did during the crisis!
Though he maintains an air of confidence, a subtle hesitation seeps into his response.
Monzano shoots him a knowing look.
It's fine—speak your mind.
...
A tense silence settles in the air.
Sir, is there something you'd like to inform us about?
I'm only here under official appointment, so I...
I'll explain. No need for votes, 'cause there's no one left to vote.
What's going on here? Did something happen recently?
She willingly steps into the role of a frontline commander, completely oblivious to what's unfolding behind the lines.
It's proof that you poured everything into the ground offensive—so much that you never sensed the upheaval aboard the ship.
Because our retreat was so rushed back then, this ship's ecological systems never underwent a proper test. In short, water and food supplies are already running dangerously low.
This is why we must accelerate our return to the surface.
Madam lays out every detail of the intel that could upend the entire situation, speaking with the clipped efficiency of a briefing.
But what about everyone living there...?
Remember, the Eden-class was first conceived as a colony ship—outfitted with countless cryo-pods to endure the harsh realities of intergenerational voyages.
When people enter extended low-temperature hibernation, their metabolism slows so drastically that they scarcely need any external support.
Naturally, there's another perk in unfreezing a hero or two now and then: they emerge at full strength and can be converted into Constructs straight away, reinforcing our ranks.
...
Maybe that's the trump card her aunt is counting on: a colossal, never-ending supply of manpower.
Rest assured, Eleanor—day-to-day life in the core residential sector won't be disrupted in the slightest.
Drink up and dance away! Honestly, maybe it's because our ground operations are going so smoothly that everyone's more pumped up than ever!
The blond man can never quite shake that playful streak in his nature.
Policies and proposals still hinge on Kephart and his peers to drive them forward. Until that future is won by the few, everyone else should offer their support and understanding.
Does the Parliament truly approve of freezing the residents on such a massive scale?
When it comes to protecting one's own skin, who wouldn't make the same call?
Is this just another callous choice by the powerful?
Thus mediocrity's quiet dread enters.
Shattering common knowledge, breaking sense of reason, uprooting every belief since humanity fled to orbit.
Lilith can barely hold back her excitement—it's as if the entire world has gone mad, and no one even realizes why.
Ever since that tiny spark of a singularity, every so-called plan and strategy has been undone by something far more ominous.
Like a mad scientist peering through a microscope at colonies too small to see with the naked eye—and reveling in it—she craves to witness how it all ends.
...It seems you and my aunt have things to discuss. If you'll pardon me, I'll take my leave.
I'm heading over to... San Lorenzo for a drink.
Lilith infuses her words with a carefully measured hint of exhaustion.
Ah, please, miss, by all means. Merely picturing those grueling fights is enough to send chills down my spine...
Go on, indulge yourself. You've earned it.
Of course she has. But the treat waiting for her is far more than a single buzz-worthy cocktail.
Moving forward, we still have to trouble Mr. Kephart to handle the red tape on the stronghold's construction. We sincerely appreciate your diligent efforts.
Go. I believe you can keep it together, but don't let your guard down.
It appears our esteemed guests are so overjoyed that they've completely lost themselves in the moment.
Delivering both permission and a warning at once—that's so very Monzano.
Lilith drowns her instinctive reply before it ever leaves her lips...
Her aunt still believes the plan is rock-solid... Has she really not let it go to her head?
Thank you for your kindness, Aunt.
In the end, the words she speaks fizzle out like flat soda water.
Poised restraint is Lilith's hallmark style.
She departs the room, strides down the deserted hallway, and slips into the elevator bound for the San Lorenzo entertainment complex.
Beneath the crystal chandelier, the roar of the crowd surges, making every metal-ringed decoration tremble in its wake.
It's just like the day, long ago, when a young girl first set foot in the Lucky 38 Casino—this place has never changed in the slightest.
Whether during the Golden Age or in the aftermath of disaster, whether in an elysian city or beneath the orbital dome, its spirit endures.
Another round! Come on, top it off! Creds? Psh, I'm loaded with creds!
The eccentric man waves his wine glass with a flourish, shoving a flashy black-and-gold card right up in the robot bartender's face.
Error: Unrecognized input. Reformatting...
The mechanoid, unfazed by his shouting, just keeps looping its cryptic alert tone.
Told you these metal suits are no match for flesh and blood—can't even compare when it comes to touch... Hahahahaha!
A rowdy customer hurls a full glass of amber liquor at the robotic bartender, cackling in a coarse laugh.
H-hey, don't throw good booze away! If you won't drink it, hand it over!
The one who just asked for a refill seems utterly crestfallen, abandoning their glass on the velvet bar top as if in mourning.
It won't listen to you—so what's wrong with me stepping in to straighten it out?!
A sharp rebuke lands him a fist that stinks of booze.
...Ugh! D*mn it, you b*st*rd!
Bring it on!
Men in tailored suits wrestle in a vicious tangle, provoking raucous laughter from the card players at the next table.
In the dim light, the decaying patches on their skin remain indistinct—no one really bothers with such unpleasant, mood-killing details.
Enjoy yourselves...
A rank, suffocating air eats away at everyone's nerves. Not a single person notices the young woman with her Moon Umbrella, quietly threading her way through the bar and the labyrinth of poker tables.
Her eyes settle on the self-serve buffet along one side of the hall.
A time-tested tactic: hand out free snacks, and people will lose track of time and stick around.
Of course, you won't find a clock in a place like this—any hint of time passing gets taken out of the equation.
Hey, why are we out of that fancy gold-leaf bacon today?
The automated cook on the other side of the diner's been dead silent for ages—its status lights are practically buried under dust.
Ugh, I knew it—these contraptions can't hold a candle to real human hands.
He stops fussing over extravagant requests, lifting the tray to survey the mountain of food before him.
Mmm... let's kick things off with a roasted lobster!
With thick, stubby fingers, he scoops up a fungus-riddled morsel and stuffs it straight into his mouth.
Lilith can practically smell the rot in the air...
Like a lingering phantom, the Punishing Virus refuses to be banished; it steadily gnaws away at the once-pure air and delicate flesh, year after year.
They call it the "unaffected" core district, and yet it—and the labs hidden beneath—are sealed off entirely, serving as a perfect petri dish for the Punishing Virus.
Munch, munch... Pfft! Blech—what in the world did I just eat?!
The man's face contorts in agony, and he chokes out a harsh, gut-wrenching heave.
An unnatural dark red tinge spreads across his tongue and neck.
Bon appetit, everyone.
She instinctively runs her tongue across her lips—the raucous crowd is none the wiser, but the atmosphere brims with a sensation she craves.
The girl wastes no time heading to the escalator that leads straight to the first-floor lobby.
Seductive jazz and defiant rock pierce everyone's ears; the jarring blend still earns raucous applause at the heart of the dance floor.
From their council seats, the self-righteous elites immerse themselves in this grimy tide of sound, raising their glasses to toast its eerie harmonies.
For those confined within these walls, there is nothing beyond fleeting pleasure—only the void.
When champagne flows in streams and gold is piled higher than the eye can see, what's the point of locking horns with hardship any longer?
She studies her handiwork with cold satisfaction.
Yes... Poisoned wine and cheese—my special treat for you all. Go on, indulge yourselves!
The source of this "gift" remains deliberately hidden—after all, those about to be swept away by their own cravings needn't know who's pulling the strings.
Lilith is certain her aunt won't object to this outcome. She needs an environment brimming with intensity for her experiments, and Lilith's approach provides the perfect breeding ground.
And these so-called elites? They're no different from those lying in cryo-sleep—just disposable resources, ready to be consumed.
Still, someone calls out to the girl. At the foot of the steps, a flushed figure emerges from the haze and dares to ask an impertinent question.
Hey... y-you—who are you!?
Who am I?
Your esteemed arbiter and master mixologist?
The heiress who struts about under Madam Monzano's banner?
...
A wave of euphoria sweeps across every inch of synthetic skin, seeps in through the nose, and tinges the very soul with crimson.
She remembers the ancient city consumed by flames from the heavens, and the brazen revelry that once raged within its walls.
The power to judge lies with a net that hasn't even descended yet. She clearly has no authority to summon heavenly fire.
But history already has its share of those who've drowned in the whirlpool of intoxication and desire.
Lilith, at your service.
She carries herself with such dignity and grace that even the faintest misstep in her composure is instantly pardoned.
Her heels, steeped in defiled blood, are hidden beneath silver trim. Each step on the marble stairs rings with poise and cruel delight.
She is the one who bestows this prison with its ultimate rapture, by her own hand.
In the end, those revelers will topple one after another into the crimson pools born of their own revelry, while the black clock that has no place here will never toll its final note.
The opulent lamp perched on its triangular stand never dims, and yet Lilith remains unwavering in her certainty about how this Filtering will end.
Why is it that you always manage to survive?
Because I don't fear the very things that terrify you. It really is that simple.
At last, the world admits the Red Death is here, but people remain disturbingly numb to their rotting flesh and frantic nerves.
In this Fallen Garden, the Red Death ironically called "Euphoria" begins its endless dominion over all.
