Story Reader / Floating Record / ER10 Deceivers' Rapture / Story
<size=50>This is a mission she cannot afford to abandon; yet, in that split second, uncertainty washes over her...</size>
<size=50>It's been so long since she last saw Eleanor. Now that they're face-to-face again, what is she supposed to do?</size>
Gunfire detonates beside Discord, the deafening blasts and swirling vertigo threatening to tear apart the fragile calm of Discord's M.I.N.D.
Ugh...
We need to move, Boss!!
A raw, desperate scream jolts her back to reality.
Don't break formation!
About thirty meters ahead, mechanical undead and Corrupted Constructs converge into a foreboding army.
The emergency lights bathe every surface in a crimson glow, blurring the line between blood and oil.
...!!!
Stay in single file and pull back along the left wall! Disengage now—no lingering fights!
In a heartbeat, a few stray rounds whistle by, slamming into a pipe on the metal wall. A dense cloud of gas erupts with a violent hiss.
Issarius? Daemon?
No one responds. Only the desperate crackle of gunfire echoes around them, as Constructs and soldiers scramble to hold their ground.
She presses the comm button on her throat mic.
Issarius? Daemon? Give me a status update—now!
...pull back... set up our defenses, and await... reinforcem...
The intense concentration of the Punishing Virus isn't just driving the enemy into a wild onslaught—it's also wreaking havoc on the communication.
Repeating the order: Should we pull back to the plaza, set up our defenses, and await reinforcements? Please confirm. Over.
Confirmed.
A short, clear reply cuts right through the static on the comms.
Understood.
Wait! That thing—what kind of Construct is that?!
The soldier's alarmed shout catches the ears of the few remaining survivors.
No—this gas is completely disrupting visual tracking! Switching to thermal imaging...
A sinister hiss of metal cutting through air echoes from the depths of the thick fog.
...Ugh...
He doesn't even manage to choke out his final words before a jagged slash tears open his chest.
The mechanical heart seizes in a violent spasm, expelling a narrow crimson-and-blue current of vital fluid.
We need immediate fire support! Unleash everything you've got—eliminate the threat!
She remains composed as she issues her orders, but the sight before her makes her falter. Lodged in the center of that ravaged torso is a dart shaped like a playing card.
That's a weapon only one individual in the world could ever wield.
...Rifle ammo depleted! Switching to non-leth...
Just as it happened to her companion before, she has no chance to speak her final words.
Long, purple-black spikes spear through her body in an instant.
Uh... Th-this is...
The sole survivor stands before a truly nightmarish sight.
The heavy mist refuses to disperse, and what overtakes Discord's entire field of vision first is a jagged spike drenched in swirling fluid.
Once the spike appears, the neatly coiled membrane shows no trace of menace. Its intricate patterns convey only a poised elegance.
The purple-black blade sinks into the Construct soldier's abdomen, and the shredded gear, synthetic skin, and scattered circuitry spill out like a doll's stuffing.
It's a folded Moon Umbrella.
Forgive me, I...!
She speaks without thinking, driven by pure reflex. It isn't her duty to answer, but confronted by the quivering voice of a dying Construct, she can't imagine what else she could say.
Moon Umbrella withdraws from the battered doll, leaving it to collapse amid a spill of loose stuffing.
Between the lone survivor and the master of the Moon Umbrella, the last barrier crumbles.
Ah... so it really is you...
It's been so, so, so long since we last saw each other!
Five years, or maybe ten—neither one can remember for sure. Even once they tally the exact months and years, there must be a few extra days—those lingering moments hidden away in the leap years of that vast stretch of time.
Cradling the Moon Umbrella in one hand, its bearer rests the weapon by the wall, propping it up like a cane.
Defector Construct, stand down at once and identify yourself.
Discord lets the carbine drop toward the floor, and yet keeps a firm grip on her cocked pistol with the other hand.
A defector? We're in Babylonia! What on earth are you talking about?
Playing along, she strikes a completely defenseless pose and lets out a mock gasp.
...I don't know if that was truly your call, but you know full well it was me who headed for Babylonia during the Great Evacuation.
A voice, cold and mechanical, betrays not the slightest emotion. She's not here to reminisce—she demands an answer.
Oh? So life there wasn't good enough for you? You really had to come all this way just to hunt me down?
I'm after Monzano. The Constructs she's mass-producing are the perfect incubator for the Ascension-Network.
And what makes you so certain I'm not one of them?
Or... maybe it was me who set everything in motion from the start?
That's got nothing to do with my mission, defector Construct.
Eleanor Sinclair is officially listed as missing—or presumed dead.
You're threatening me? Or maybe you'd rather go one-on-one with Monzano?
Walking into this with barely any cards to play... That's suicide.
I was just about to pay her back for what she's done... You and your little friends couldn't have picked a worse moment to show up.
She studies her slender fingertips, lost in her own thoughts. Gone is the glossy polish—now, they're nothing but exposed, lethal weapons.
Ever since the Great Evacuation, you've been under Monzano's thumb by choice. Care to explain why?
Control? You seriously call that pathetic little trick "control"?
She finds the person's remarks nothing short of insulting.
Did you really think I wouldn't notice that this so-called "heavy spacecraft" is just a descending elevator pod wrapped in a holographic display? I still remember the smug look on my aunt's face...
Still, my reflection in the window feels more genuine than those pathetic mock-ups! A lie like this might fool the pampered elites, but it won't fool me.
As for those so-called cargo planes that show up during the ground crew runs, they're every bit as ridiculous.
But their contempt is our once-in-a-lifetime chance. Don't you see?
She trusts only her own brand of order, only her own version of reality... I bide my time within that arrogance and corrode it from the inside—that's my greatest ace.
Lilith appears to be calmly walking a rookie through the basics, but that venomous malice lurks behind her faint, deceptive smile.
My aunt can't muster the nerve to head for the true Babylonia and begin anew. Instead, she holes up in her subterranean stronghold, biding her time. But a person like her... she just can't leave old grudges behind.
That's why she sent you back to Kurono—counting on you to play both sides. Too bad the disaster spiraled out of her control, and she cut off all contact with you soon after...didn't she?
Speaking of which...that "truth" you were hunting down in Kurono—did you manage to find it?
She smiles, satisfied, and lays her trump card on the table.
...Don't go there. There's no reason to dredge this up.
No need for what? Kurono turned his back on Rosewater and had Monzano finish him off.
So, as you've pointed out, your real objective all along has been Monzano.
You saw the package. You know full well the truth isn't that simple.
The letter says the intel station was abandoned. By rights, I'm the one who should have taken Rosewater out myself.
Infiltrating Monzano's circle was just the next step in the plan—it doesn't mean he was the one who pulled the trigger.
Oh? Care to share what you've uncovered?
She looks intrigued, a mischievous glint in her eye as she lightly licks the corner of her lips.
...Enough.
With that kind of feeble conviction, you think you can take down Monzano? You already know the truth—now speak up!
Lilith closes the distance.
She makes no move for a weapon; with nothing but her stance and her voice, she crushes the final trace of mercy in her opponent.
My objective is Monzano. The past means nothing now.
Speak!
She's getting angry now—refusing to face the obvious is, in her eyes, that person's greatest flaw.
For instance, the real culprit... and, for that matter, the true nature of "Eleanor".
...Eleanor, please don't do this.
Eleanor Sinclair is dead—those were your own words, weren't they?
...
Every second you waste only makes Monzano's thugs hit your troops harder.
Because the mission is the only logic they recognize, she bets everything on that final strike.
...This is my final plea, please stop.
She lifts her mask with deliberate care, removing it slowly.
Stop what, exactly? You're being too vague. Is that really a request?
Lilith's patience is at its limit.
She draws a long-handled pair of scissors from behind her back and offers them to Discord.
A mysterious stain has left a layer of rust-like oxidation on the blade, but it fails to dim the subtle glow of its silvery-white steel.
Then I'll speak for you.
You knew it from the start, didn't you...
That stranger who bumps into a girl in a fancy dress on Christmas Eve and sends a parcel tumbling to the sidewalk?
You're talking about that so-called mini spy who just needs a quick check to see the package only has my prints on it?
Discord raises the gleaming silver shears to her chest and closes her eyes, unhurried.
She no longer possesses the esophagus or stomach as humans define them, and yet the first sensation that rises in her M.I.N.D. is the comforting warmth of a satisfied hunger.
Then comes a single coin, offering a rest free from any restraints.
Still, the memories of grueling training and years under lock and key linger with undeniable clarity.
You know everything—but you still choose to invite me along anyway.
Why? Is it because you fear a destiny that can never truly be steered by your own hands?
Or is it that after considering it all, you realize that life under the military and Kurono's thumb might still be better than dealing with that paranoid lunatic, Monzano?
Lilith's smile never wavers. That curve on her lips is like a permanent brushstroke, destined to remain there.
You've endured the same torment... but we all need a purpose—something to convince us our suffering isn't in vain.
Behind her, someone lets out a cold, mocking laugh.
There are always two kinds of pain. One empowers you; the other is nothing but meaningless suffering.
I don't waste my time on anything worthless.
That razor-edged grin slashes straight into the heart of a former ally.
If you've served in Babylonia, you must have heard the story of "Undying Lloyd", right?
That has nothing to do with my mission, and I've never bothered with any propaganda.
But wasn't that exactly what the military used to create your so-called "target"? Believe it—your unshakable conviction is your greatest strength!
Lilith effortlessly adopts the broadcast's precise cadence.
Countless souls hold on to hope as their only means of survival.
So tell me, what exactly do you hope for? Another mission, and another, and another... is that it?
I don't see any point in thinking too far ahead. After all, nobody foresaw the Punishing outbreak.
If that grand Babylonia manages to reclaim our cherished Earth, then what's the next move?
Are you really going to track down the old tailor's remains... and hold a proper funeral for him?
She's clearly hinting at something, but Discord opens her eyes with fierce resolve.
This meeting was never meant to hold anyone back; it's more like sealing a grave with its headstone.
If you hate me, you're truly hating yourself.
Lilith's voice drops into a dark, foreboding register, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, ready to strike.
We were all meant to have our minds carved out. Do you really think the world shows any mercy to disposable tools like us?
This world looks down on us, just like my dear aunt once did.
They wring wealth and power from their scorn, while I wring filth from a discarded rag—the Punishing Virus, that vile force they despise and dread...
And it's the very thing that gives me strength.
Yet you choose to pick up that rag, wash it clean, and raise it high for all to see.
It's a mission, a goal—a hollow symbol of how life might one day go back to the way it was.
What makes this any different? Do you really think your choice is somehow more "reasonable"?
Common sense? It's nothing more than a flimsy cover the weak use to obscure the truth. Nothing else.
Those who refuse to evolve face only one fate—annihilation.
She slowly breathes out her final words. There's no disappointment in the one before her; rather, this is her last kindness—an explanation of her true motive.
I bear no hatred toward anyone. There is no place for emotion in a mission.
And I still have a mission that I must fulfill.
Realizing the truth and accepting it aren't the same thing. Of course, the two of them have been on diverging paths for a long time, but now she sees exactly how that painful knot in her memories was first tied.
She has nothing left to regret.
Bold words. Seems that's the only area where you've made any progress.
So what's your plan for taking down Monzano? There's really only one option...right?
You went out of your way to track me down—sure, I'll give you a hand.
You keep saying I'm nothing but a "defector Construct"... So tell me—since you're in the Purifying Force, are you really going to retreat without even pulling the trigger?
Monzano's Construct is a single-use asset with an internal cloaking module.
But you already know—I don't need anything that absurd...
Lilith presses in closer.
And let me make one thing clear—I'm no disposable pawn!
All right, carry out your orders!
She nearly traps Discord against the wall, her grip ready to lock her in place.
Exactly as she anticipated, the gunpowder's detonation reverberates through the tight corridor, and a strangely satisfying ache blooms just above her lower abdomen.
Hah... Ugh... Ha... Ha...
Lilith's nostrils flare with unbridled ecstasy, each breath trembling with exhilaration.
The high-explosive warhead unleashes its chaos from within, obliterating the last sliver of control that once kept the Punishing Virus at bay.
A crimson glow surges toward her. Like a rapturous baptism, that shimmering veil fuses with the air around her and flows into the depths of her spirit.
...Consider this my final gift to you. Eliminate her.
Discord lowers the barrel of her gun, still poised for a point-blank blast.
That once-cataclysmic descent, tangled in dread and shadow, now lies like a searing spent shell on the metal floor—worthless, forgotten, and lost to memory.
Call it terror or delirium—it doesn't matter to me anymore.
Driven by the same purpose, she makes the choice to trust Lilith one final time.
