The metal hatch of the Tidal Hub groans and begins to buckle under heavy impacts.
Sound ricochets between the steel beams, stirring up echoes that taste of rust.
Deep in the corridors, alarms still blare in bursts. The crowd flooding into the Tidal Hub has turned the once-quiet structure into a roaring chaos.
Red light sweeps across the walls, only to be swallowed by deeper shadows. Crimson crystals spread across the surfaces like a plague.
The next instant, the entire wall explodes into fragments.
Crystalline threads weave through the debris, pulling rubble and stone into geometric spikes that converge inward like claws.
Lithos twists aside the moment he lands. Paper Crane sweeps out behind him, its blades biting precisely into every incoming shard.
A burst of crimson smoke erupts.
—!
In the same instant that Paper Crane is pinned down, Arius snatches a crystal from the air.
The scattered fragments snap back as if pulled by gravity, reforming in his palm into a lance that drives through the smoke.
Yan Zhen. Now.
Green flames shoot out from the gaping hole in the wall. A fist drives straight for Arius' ribs at the same instant.
Arius drops the butt of his lance and slices it across the Ascendant's fist, using the momentum to force the entire arm wide.
Another burst of crimson mist erupts.
Dr. Arius... never thought we'd meet like this.
Arius falls back to his previous stance.
An Ascendant, an agent, and a survivor of the Phylotree of Ousia...
The Transatlantic Economic Community grows more interesting by the day.
Leave now, Arius.
You stand at the threshold of salvation, yet all you reach for is the conquest of death through Sefirah and the Punishing Virus... Lithos.
Your grasp of miracles is far too shallow. Even closer to desecration... really.
I have no interest in your "miracles."
The experiment has already begun. There's no reason to stop it now.
John Doe offers no response and quietly takes his place beside Lithos.
That's the difference between you and me.
I would never surrender myself to the Red Tide... much less call that union evolution.
Beneath the hood, a shadowed smile crosses the man's face.
Time I took back what's mine.
Arius raises his hand and traces a line through the air.
Every crimson crystal still hanging in the corridor freezes in place.
Then the walls begin to move, bending into impossible geometries. The hallway contorts, and the senses that measure space and sight turn inside out.
...?
He advances toward Arius, but his next step plunges him into the folded corridor.
Perhaps we'll meet again... once you've come to "understand" me, Agent.
Lithos lifts his gaze. At the end of the corridor Arius has twisted, several sets of familiar footsteps are closing in.
...Agent and Ascendant signatures detected.
A Construct stops in front of him, long blade lowered at her side.
Sigh...
Cyan flames and mechanical paper cranes collide with the oncoming blade, metal shrieking in protest.
Inside the Tidal Hub
The screens flicker as signal disruptions tear through the feed. Static and noise crawl across the edges of the footage.
Lithos' profile flashes briefly on screen. The hooded man confronting him shows only the lower half of his gaze.
On the city surveillance feeds, the streets are already in chaos. Explosives throw up clouds of dust, and figures dart through the smoke.
The Sefirah's energy output is slowly climbing from its lowest point. He just needs a little more time.
Ophelia... you haven't changed at all.
After a long silence, he slowly reaches out and picks up the old family photograph from the desk.
The photo has aged with time.
In it, he stands close to his wife, Helentine, and Ophelia.
Back then, the Atlantic Calamity had not yet happened, and the Punishing Virus had not yet come to the world.
Those were the days before death and separation, the things too painful to speak of, had arrived.
His gaze lingers on the photograph, but in the end, not a single word escapes him.
He turns away. The battle suit Lithos forged for him gleams cold and hard in the dim light.
The suit awakens to his command. Its mechanical arms unfold with heavy deliberation.
The first plate seals against his chest. Then the shoulders, the back, the arms, the legs.
The final piece locks at his collarbone with a heavy, resonant click.
The chill of the metal seeps through his shirt and into his skin.
For all the dead who came before and are yet to come...
And for you, my daughter.
The Veil Rain must fall.
