Story Reader / Arcade Anima / Candle Light Torment / Story
Painkiller
The biting chill hints at impending snowfall.
Hauling Noan back up to the tower's summit, your face drains of color as you struggle for air.
Yeah.
The young man, summoned by name, approaches, checking you for any potential injuries.
Any other wounds?
Noan's demeanor is eerily composed.
Don't sweat it.
With those words, crimson liquid coats the young man's hands, trickling down to the floor, forming macabre patterns like viscous blooms.
He seems like a broken instrument, struggling to produce a melody amidst turbulent seas.
What's the matter?
...
Given Dark Aries' current plight, the only shot at improvement lies in uprooting the source of the problem.
This could be our chance.
Lithos would rather see the "original that's replicable." Let me handle it.
No, but...
If it's the only way out, it's not entirely unreasonable, is it?
Even if we only manage to eliminate a few replicas and gather intel... it's better than sitting idle.
...
That's what I should be asking, right...
A crack finally appears in Noan's composed demeanor.
These lingering issues and people have ensnared my team and pulled you into this mess.
...
He glances up, bewildered, as if the answer lies before his eyes...
You've already been snatched by Bethe once.
Didn't I warn you clearly enough last time?
Because I only divulged his identity, not the depths of his depravity nor the difficulty of confronting someone who's abandoned their morals...
Remember when we trailed him to rescue someone?
After prying open three doors, we stumbled upon the innermost one in his lair, rigged with delicate fishing lines.
Breaking those lines while opening the door... it was like using someone's scream as his "doorbell."
And all those lines were tied to the same person... we were trying to rescue.
When you mentioned April 1st's disappearance was linked to Bethe, I felt a fleeting relief, thinking Lithos was holding him back.
Ha... Lithos was holding him back...
Noan weakly shuts his eyes, his hidden emotions leaking out like the blood on his hands.
If these things happen to you or Commandant Simon, how could I...
He chokes on the rest of his sentence.
This was my solo mission, unauthorized—I shouldn't have "borrowed" your aid.
Leaving the Clean Zone was a last resort. At the time, I assumed you'd return with Commandant Simon.
Even if begrudgingly, after splitting up, Captain Palma would've escorted you back.
She'd do it forcefully—she always protects those she trusts.
Even if she couldn't locate you, I had an arrangement with you to call me or Gray Raven for help if danger arose.
Even if I couldn't handle it and wasn't dependable, the invincible Gray Raven would always come through, right?
But then Bethe sent word that you were taken by "another me."
I really don't want to witness that again, Commandant.
Just when I dare to hope for a brighter future, it all darkens.
No matter how much I try to keep myself grounded and composed, there's always something throwing me off balance.
I start to question... maybe this composure itself is a mistake?
...
"Wouldn't act on impulse like this," huh?
He lets out a rueful chuckle.
Noan's body trembles slightly, caught off guard by your embrace.
He raises his blood-stained hands, wanting to reciprocate but fearing staining the coat.
After a hesitant pause, he embraces you tightly, letting go of rationality for a moment.
...
Well... I'm just glad you're okay now.
You could've given me a heads-up, you know.
He was seriously considering offing me just now.
Until he recovers his full memory, it's best to treat him like an adversary.
Sounds like tomorrow's stale bread to me.
What would you do with bread about to go bad?
Yeah, that's what "I" would do too.
Once memories come flooding back, facing up to past deeds...
No, the bigger worry now is that Lithos won't let "him" remember.
Perhaps we could still hoodwink Lithos.
He cast a worried glance at the sea below the lighthouse.
He's definitely still kicking, right...
It's been ages. We probably can't catch up now.
Back?
...
Noan quietly recounts what went down when he met Simon.
Simon's interrogation, and that bottle he didn't get a chance to ask about.
Then, he saw Palma whisper something to Simon, and Simon took a shot at Noan.
Can we still go back?
...
Atiel?
You lower your head with a sigh.
Yeah.
His voice is calm as he fully agrees.
Let's give Captain Palma a taste of her own medicine.
Making her aware of the consequences might make her think twice next time.
But... I didn't expect you to propose such a cunning plan, oh great expert of unity and friendship.
Got it.
Noan gives a knowing smile.
As the smile fades from his lips, a sorrow that always lingered beneath the surface finally emerges on his face.
Amidst the biting cold wind, you sneeze twice.
You're out here without enough layers. Should I call Gray Raven to pick you up?
Leaving the lighthouse behind, you walk toward the base along streets where the snow still lay thick.
Walking silently side by side, neither of you speaks much along the way.
When you glance up again, the sky is filled with falling snowflakes.
...
He watches them drift down, his gaze growing distant.
It's snowing...
It's snowing again.
Yeah.
Yeah...
I don't know how much longer I'll be of use, or how many more people I'll have to harm.
Even Lithos might become suspicious, and even if I could deceive them, there would be consequences.
And... I've found no evidence of my own replication.
You show Noan the terminal in your hand.
When did you get that?
To gather this evidence?
His expression grows subtly complex.
No, it's not that. But in some matters, having just one of me is trouble enough.
And I can be selfish too. There are things I'd rather not trade or share, even with "me."
...But got distracted by the firefly?
...
For some reason, it felt like hearing a long-lost friend telling me to "wait."
And when I turned around, there it was, what I'd been searching for so long, in your hands...
...
Noan responds in silence.
Noan also reaches out his hand to reciprocate, but then pauses as if sensing something...
Just a moment.
He glances around, swiftly makes his way to the roadside, scoops up a handful of snow, and uses it to cleanse the blood and vital fluid seeping from the wound on his hand.
After a few moments of silent contemplation, he hastily wraps the wound with a bandage, then returns to you and takes your hand.
It is only at this moment that the soul trapped in the stocks slowly comes to its senses.
...
It's alright, I'm fine now.
Let's go back.
