Story Reader / Floating Record / ER10 Deceivers' Rapture / Story
A dim beam of light breaks through the clouds, where sky and earth unite—and at that horizon's edge, the star's pinnacle surges into view.
It rips through sheer cliffs, skimming across cityscapes and wastelands, unleashing a pulsing crimson malice beneath the ruined dome.
Once they confirm that Monzano's vital signs have vanished, the remaining ground forces rush aboard their transports and escape this war-torn ground.
Even before leaving the atmosphere, those aircraft ignite their fusion drives, their plasma-blue exhaust merging in a tight V-shaped formation, threading a faint, receding line against the sky.
Nikola's last directive to the airborne squadron is clear: provide cover so the ground team can secure those vital samples and data—and make sure they get out in one piece.
Eventually, Babylonia's champions will uncover Project Winter's grim truths and put them to rest themselves.
But that won't happen today. Not in this place.
That won't take place within the lethal web Lilith has spun by her own hand.
As the first light of morning streaks across the sky, a fierce fight for survival erupts over Las Prados.
Lead craft reporting—radar warning! We've spotted missile trails—initiate evasive action now!
The pilots can't fathom how those Corrupted drones can coalesce into a tight swarm in the blink of an eye, cornering both our ground-attack gunships and air superiority fighters.
Protect the gunship formation—now!
Across the universal comm channel, one lone pilot—pushed to despair—still struggles to keep the barrage going.
Claymore Three—move! Move! Another shell inbound!
The squad leader, barely back from the brink, snaps a warning to the others.
...Deploy the flares! Ugh...
A massive explosion rips through the channel, followed by the ragged breathing of a survivor struggling under the crushing acceleration.
(Panting)
Cheyenne Five and Six are hit! I'm...
A mad circus crackles through the comms.
Yet she listens in silence, as if savoring a grand symphony echoing across the world.
...Yes. Don't stop now—keep running.
Even the most disciplined soldiers fall prey to the Punishing Virus's lethal snare. Such a shame...
Contact! Nine o'clock!
Broadsword Three, do you read me? Evade—now! Evade!
A raw, throat-ripping roar tears through the air again. This time, the squad leader can't cover his six, and the comms spark with the piercing buzz of incoming drone engines—alongside the frantic warning from his wingman.
Six o'clock—watch your six! Claymore One, you've got two stingers closing in on your tail!
...This is Claymore Five! We're pushing through on the right—commencing interception!
A new signal crackles over the comms, underscored by the dull thud of machine cannons ripping through drones.
Claymore Two! We're out of close-combat ammo!
We can't lose them! D*mmit, I'm out of decoy flares! Four—do you copy? Come in, Four...
Claymore Four here! Commander Cheyenne's been hit—we've lost all ground support! I repeat: ground support is down...!
Roaring, booming, shrieking—and then a split-second burst of white noise that tears it all to shreds.
The web spread across the dome brings only death, and all the comms can manage is to echo the last farewells.
Cheyenne One to all units—initiate emergency landing! Set approach angle to six-zero-five, now!!
The greenish-gray craft streaks through the sky, trailing a plume of black smoke as it dives toward the ground at a razor-sharp angle.
That clearly wasn't any kind of emergency landing.
Cheyenne One, what the hell are you doing?!!!
Mission accomplished, Sir.
A brief electronic chirp follows—then the Corrupted cuts off all comms.
Hmm? Guess it's time to roll out the welcome wagon.
The performance must come to a close. She refuses to let humanity's clamor defile the once-pristine scarlet sky any longer.
She exerts her will, and the Ascension-Network—linked to the swarms of drones across the sky—answers her summons.
Under the wrecked gunship's wing, a thirty-kiloton tactical nuke flickers to life in utter silence.
Go on—drown in your own masterpiece.
Above the stirring land, an artificial dawn unfurls—brilliant enough to dissolve every last trace of darkness.
A roar of sound and shockwaves shatters the dome into dust. Meanwhile, a stark white light casts a dark, corroded gold glow across the far-off city skyline.
And then—absolute stillness.
The rising sun washes the smoke-filled horizon in deeper shades of blood-red.
Lilith glides across the winding path that snakes between the shadowy stones.
Shards of glass—once mirroring a false cosmos—skitter across her feet in the wind, while burning splinters of metal streak through the air around her.
Under that monstrous black haze devouring the sky, twisted shards of wreckage rain down. They splash into the soggy gravel, then solidify into a macabre monument.
Lilith steps onto the rocky promontory, casting her gaze toward the perilous path beyond the wastelands. She alone is chosen to be the first in these lands to feel the warmth of the rising sun.
Huff...
She shuts her eyes, inhaling the sweet, irradiated dust along with the Punishing Virus.
That's the sweet taste of victory.
So... how did I do this time?
She sends out an invitation through the Ascension-Network.
For a rookie, that's a decent outcome.
A familiar voice calls from behind.
Lilith opens her umbrella, offering him a heavy-laden smile in return.
Because this is still nowhere near the Ascension-Network's true power.
Her joy is torn away, replaced in an instant by a ravenous, almost poisonous desire. She knows this is merely the beginning.
Naturally, there are more evaluations still to come.
The phantom that only Lilith can see answers in a hushed, distant tone.
Kurono intends to follow their own plan—Project Winter—to probe a deeper truth within the Ascension-Network. Moving forward, I'll make sure they have my support.
After all... whether humanity endures this merciless winter remains a pivotal variable.
Their genetic code is incapable of preserving either knowledge or history.
It's ironic that the knowledge we record and transmit from one generation to the next is really just carefully curated pieces of memory. In that sense, it works much like our own genetic code.
Every memory, at its core, is nothing but encoded data.
That's exactly the issue. Thanks to human innovation, even the most insignificant scraps of information get preserved as-is, creating a "common sense" that's supposedly untainted—yet at heart, it's already corrupted.
Because this common sense isn't filtered, it's simply handed down to the next generation.
With no mechanism to weed anything out, the so-called "reality" built on that common sense permeates our world, nudging it ever closer to its eventual decline.
Evolution ends here.
And my dear aunt—doesn't she repeat the exact same error at the heart of Babylonia? It seems she insists on following only her own version of evolution.
Lilith finds this person's reasoning just as stale, but she still respects the core of his understanding.
That's why Punishing, a force born outside simple genetics, becomes the most vital variable in the Filtering.
And for you, a single paradise suffices. There's no need to risk sending you to Babylonia—that's precisely the reason.
But isn't the only thing I've been entrusted with...the Key?
Deciding which paradise to unlock... that's entirely my call, Mr. Vonnegut.
She stands firm and delivers her rebuttal with unwavering resolve.
Loyalty and obedience... they have no place in the Ascension-Network. Once her strength can fuel every dark ambition, the "agent" standing before her is nothing more than an obstacle marked for elimination.
My aunt is nothing more than a rival in this grand game—and the next round is destined to go on.
The sealed Project Cthylla files from Monzano are absolutely indispensable. On that front, I won't deny your worth.
When the moment is right, your intern assessment will kick off.
The Ascension-Network snaps offline, cutting all communications. In a storm of billowing ash, that lone figure vanishes from sight.
Ugh... cough, cough...
Much to Lilith's surprise, a whisper-thin human voice emerges from behind the rock.
Yet the moment she spots those familiar curls and that suit, she instantly grasps the situation.
He staggers forward, dragging his weakened body with each step—apparently surviving only because he was deep within the facility moments ago.
He comes to a halt before Lilith, forcing himself to stand as he once did, even if just barely.
What do you mean by "Mister"? And the "Key"?!
No... This can't be happening!! Cough, cough... Trout—Trout, where is he?!
I've... I've read every single one of his books! Von... cough, cough Vonnegut—yes, that's him! Where is he?!
Faced with this mundane line of questioning, Lilith finds herself at a loss for words.
She holds back from pronouncing the final judgment, choosing instead to relish the last confession of the old world's sole survivor.
Ah, Mr. Kephart...
I'm afraid the fireworks show ended just moments ago.
In answer, the man refuses to back down, unleashing a ragged roar.
Who are you talking to? There's no one here! cough, cough...
Lilith almost pities the person before her. He may grasp telephones, holographic transmissions, even neural implants... yet he can't envision the web Punishing has spun.
Your ambition is that of a lion... but alas, you lack the imagination to see it through.
...Ugh...
He fights through the agony and drives a thin syringe into his neck.
But that place is all emptied out now. Not a single drop of that life-saving serum remains.
After everything I did for the old man all those years ago... cough, cough... I never even set foot in Babylonia...
Thanks to Trout, Monzano's scheme is back on track—simply splendid!
Because... mark my words, someday Monzano's entire empire will—ahem—belong to me!
That's exactly why I'm teaming up with Trout!
And you brought it all to ruin!!!
The kingdom, the power, the glory... cough ...every bit of it was mine by right!!!
Logic from a bygone era stands exposed, pouring out its hollow proclamations without restraint.
Skulk in the shadows, betray your allies, then claim dominion over the mortal world—how typical. This unfiltered idea masquerades as "common sense", and it's laughable all the same.
Is it the money you want? Or perhaps the chance to rally the Eden III Colony Ship's forces and mount a challenge against Babylonia?
With a hint of innocence, she asks her question.
R–Rome wasn't built in a day... I've... cough... I've got to start somewhere!
Lilith exhales softly. As with that Sky Circus from before, she finds no further amusement in this relic of a one-person act from a bygone era.
Mr. Kephart... did you know? You're surprisingly old-fashioned.
Huh?! You... what exactly are you trying to say?
He clings to his last shred of vitality just to maintain a pointless stance, as though it might let him die with a sliver more dignity.
...They call it "old-fashioned", but all it really does is assume everything is owed to them.
She turns once more, letting the petals of her Moon Umbrella veil show only her entrancing eyes to Kephart as she whispers her goodbye.
To him, that distant voice feels like a cold serpent's venom, burning through the final slender thread that keeps his mind intact.
But you...
With the half-formed syllable clinging to his throat—and dread of the unknown weighing on him—this final remnant of the old world crashes to the ground.
Blood spills from his frozen lips, corrupting the once-resplendent finery into a grotesque shadow of its former glory.
In this new world, nothing is guaranteed—nothing is ever a given.
