The stone steps leading from the lab's exit up towards the main castle were worn smooth by time and something else—the countless, repetitive footsteps of a single person walking the same path for years. They caught up with Uta just as she reached the top, where the grim architecture met the suddenly vibrant sky.
"Uta," Marya called out, her voice cutting through the cheerful birdsong that now felt like a mockery.
Uta turned, her smile as bright and fragile as stained glass. "Hey! Isn't it great? To finally hear the ocean and the birds? It's like the whole world woke up!"
Marya's expression remained a mask of stoic calm, but her golden eyes were sharp, analyzing every micro-expression that flickered across her cousin's face. "Uta," she began, then paused. The direct approach had failed. Threats were useless. Then, the solution presented itself with cold, brutal clarity. It was a gamble, but the only one left. "We are going to go."
Uta jolted as if struck. The vibrant energy around her dimmed. "But… why? You just got here!"
"This was only ever meant to be a short visit," Marya continued, her tone deliberately flat, a diplomat delivering difficult terms. "If you don't want to come with us, then we will be on our way."
Uta's laugh was a brittle, forced thing. "Don't be silly! You should stay a while! We can write some more songs, we can even perform together!" Her eyes, wide and pleading, darted to Vesta. "Wouldn't that be great, Vesta? We could perform together! We could bring in a whole new age of music!"
Vesta opened her mouth, her fan's heart warring with her growing dread, but no sound came out.
Marya closed the distance between them, her boots making no sound on the ancient stone. She stopped an arm's length from Uta, her voice dropping, becoming something personal, just between cousins. "Uta, I will bring Shanks back here, and we can…"
The change was instantaneous and violent. Uta's eyes bulged. Her entire posture locked up, shoulders hiking towards her ears, fists balling at her sides so tightly her knuckles cracked. "DO NOT BRING HIM HERE!" The scream was raw, shredding the peaceful atmosphere.
A cold, knowing smirk touched Marya's lips. The pieces snapped into place—the empty, scarred cylinders in the lab, the way Uta's emotions swung like a broken pendulum, the demon's reliance on her instability. She was talking to the lock, and she had just found the key.
"Uta," Marya said, her voice softening with a feigned pride that was a sharper weapon than any blade. "I am proud of you. For trying to escape."
Uta's head snapped up. Confusion, then dawning horror, then pure, unadulterated rage washed over her features, turning her face a mottled red. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!"
Marya pressed, her words measured and relentless, aimed past the girl and at the parasite within. "It's good to know the daughter of an emperor didn't just give up. You forced that thing to spend your energy. You made it waste clones. You fought back."
"STOP IT!" Uta shrieked, tears welling in her eyes, not of sadness, but of frantic, cornered fury. "SHUT UP!"
Marya leaned in, her final, devastating blow delivered in a near-whisper. "Shanks is the key, isn't he? His Haki, his very presence… it's a threat to this entire pathetic setup. It's the one thing you're truly afraid of."
"JAYSUS, Marya, what are you doing?" Jannali called out, her voice tight with alarm. She could feel the psychic pressure building, a wave of dissonance ready to break.
Marya stepped back, intending to put space between them, to give the final command. "All of you, get ready to—"
Her words died, strangled in the air.
Uta, driven beyond reason by the exposed truth, let out a final, wordless scream that was pure acoustic power. She didn't sing a note; she became one. The space around Marya warped, the colors and sounds of the world melting into a swirling, violent vortex of musical energy. Before Marya could draw Eclipse, before Atlas could unleash his Electro, an invisible force, like the hand of a giant, scooped Marya up into its grasp.
For a heartbeat, they saw her suspended in the air, trapped within a shimmering, resonant bubble of Uta's making. Then, with a sound like a crashing chord, both Marya was gone, vanished from the courtyard.
The air didn't just grow cold; it became a physical weight, a suffocating blanket of dread that stole the warmth from the very sun. In the center of the courtyard, Uta convulsed, a silent scream tearing from her throat as a torrent of absolute blackness erupted from her. It wasn't smoke, but a viscous, tar-like nothingness that swallowed the light and the cheerful birdsong, replacing it with a deafening, discordant hum that vibrated in their bones.
"What the bloody hell is that?" Jannali breathed, her hand instinctively closing around the cool metal of Anhur's Whisper, her spear already extending with a series of sharp, segmented clicks.
The darkness coalesced, twisting and expanding into a monstrous form that dwarfed the castle spires. Tot Musica, the demon king of song, stood revealed. Its body was a jagged silhouette of nightmare, all sharp, broken angles and multiple, hateful crimson eyes that pulsed in the gloom. Its limbs ended in bladed points that scraped against the stone, sending sparks skittering into the oppressive dark. A crown of twisted, thorn-like horns speared upwards from its head, and its very presence made the air taste of metal and forgotten graves.
"Looks like round two," Atlas growled, a feral grin spreading across his face as blue-white Electro began to crackle along his arms, his fur standing on end.
"Everyone, spread out!" Galit's command was sharp, his voice cutting through the horrific symphony. His emerald eyes were already darting, analyzing the entity's form for a weakness, his mind a whirlwind of tactical calculations. "Don't let it corner us!"
"Squishy fight time!" Jelly Squish wobbled with determined energy, his translucent body morphing his hands into giant, cartoonish mallets.
From the swirling darkness around Tot Musica's feet, the air itself seemed to congeal into solid, shimmering forms. Sing Sing Soldiers, humanoid shapes woven from solidified sound and musical notes, stepped forward. Their faces were smooth and blank, their movements jerky and unnerving, like a poorly played instrument. They raised weapons of pure, resonant energy and charged without a sound.
The four fighters met them in a storm of motion.
Galit Varuna became a whirlwind of deception. His twin Vipera Whips, Current's Deception, were a blur, never striking where an enemy expected. He would feint high, the whip cracking the air, only to snap low and wrap around a soldier's ankle, using its own momentum to send it crashing into two others. He moved with the fluid, restless grace of a reef eel, his long neck allowing him to spot attacks from impossible angles, his whips tangling and redirecting the silent warriors into each other. "Your rhythm is off!" he taunted, his voice a rapid mutter as he created chaos within their ranks.
Atlas Acuta was his brutal opposite. Where Galit used misdirection, Atlas used overwhelming force. He met the spectral soldiers head-on, his Sulong-enhanced speed making him a rust-red blur. He didn't bother with complex maneuvers; a single, Electro-infused punch from his seastone-core mace, Stormclaw, shattered a soldier into a shower of fading music notes. He moved through them like a thunderstorm, a force of pure, predatory destruction. "Is that all you've got?" he roared, a bolt of blue lightning from his fist vaporizing three soldiers at once. "You hit like a quiet melody!"
Jannali Bandler fought with the practiced grace of a master huntress. Her spear, Anhur's Whisper, was a extension of her will, its dark sea-stone tip a lethal kiss. She weaved between Atlas's brute force and Galit's tangled currents, her movements economical and deadly. A quick, sharp thrust would pierce a soldier's core, and it would unravel like a cut string. With her free hand, she'd send an Echo Boomerang whirring, its swirling path carving through the enemy ranks before slapping back into her waiting palm. "Crikey, this mob is louder than a Den Den Mushi with a feedback loop!" she cursed, her accent sharp as she ducked under a silent sword swing and retaliated with a sweeping kick.
Jelly "Giggles" Squish was the wild card, a chaotic, bouncy variable in the calculated fight. He'd morph his body into a giant, wobbly paddle to swat a soldier away, sending it flying with a comical boing. When two tried to flank Atlas, Jelly expanded his form into a giant, sticky trampoline, bouncing them high into the air where Atlas's lightning finished them. "Bounce time! Bloop!" he giggled, though the sound was strained as a spectral blade passed harmlessly through his gelatinous side, the disorienting venom of the attack making the soldier's form flicker uncertainly.
Behind a large, scarred boulder, Vesta Lavana panted, her chest heaving. Eliane clung to her side, the young chef's eyes wide with terror. Vesta's vibrant rainbow hair seemed muted in the unnatural gloom. She watched her friends, her crew, risk their lives against this impossible foe. Her hands, meant for strings and melodies, were clenched into useless fists. Then she felt it—a violent, insistent gyration at her back. Mikasi. The living guitar was trembling against its straps, not with fear, but with a resonant, furious energy. It was reacting to the music. To the corrupted, world-ending song that was Tot Musica.
The demon king, seemingly bored with its foot soldiers' lack of progress, moved. One of its bladed limbs, large enough to crush a house, swept down in a terrible arc aimed directly at Jannali, who was momentarily pinned by a trio of Sing Sing Soldiers.
"Jannali!" Galit yelled, his whip desperately trying to pull a soldier off her, but he was too far.
Atlas was already a blur, crossing the distance in a heartbeat. He met the descending limb with both maces crossed above his head, a storm of Electro and raw power erupting from the impact. The force of the blow drove him to one knee, the stone beneath his boots cracking into a spiderweb of fractures. The sound of the collision was a physical wave of pressure that knocked the breath from everyone.
"Noodle Neck… actually doing something useful…" Atlas grunted through gritted teeth, muscles straining against the impossible weight, holding the line.
From behind the boulder, Vesta's eyes met Eliane's. In the young Lunarian's terrified gaze, she saw a reflection of her own powerlessness. Then she looked at Mikasi, which felt like a living star of pure, musical intent against her spine. It wasn't a weapon of destruction, but of creation. And it was screaming at her to act. The battle for Elegia, for Uta, and for their very souls, had reached its crescendo, and she could no longer just stand and watch.
*****
The hold of the freighter was a cramped, utilitarian space, smelling of old lubricant and the faint, metallic sweat of fear. The four armored frames, secured in their launch cradles, dominated the room like sleeping giants of polished grey ceramite and worn joint hydraulics. They were sleek interceptors, built for speed over durability, their surfaces still bearing the scuffs and hastily painted-over insignias of their previous, unknown owners.
The air itself felt heavy, thick with unspoken anxieties. Suddenly, the ship's comms crackled to life, filled with the familiar sound of fraternal discord.
"Peter, I'm telling you, the sensor ghosting is getting worse! We're too close!" Tony's voice was pitched high with alarm.
"We are at the designated coordinates!" Peter snapped back, his voice strained. "If I get any closer, the gravitational eddies will peel the paint right off my baby! And don't you dare touch that console!"
"I'm not touching anything! You're the one who's going to get us all eaten!"
Josiah Manos, standing before the four pilots with a data-slate in hand, let out a short, weary breath and reached over to flick the comms unit off. The sudden silence was somehow more oppressive.
"Okay. One more time," Josiah began, his voice a low, steady drumbeat against the frantic rhythm of the brothers' argument. "The four of you will fly these frames close to the nebula's gaseous boundary—"
"—enough for the Typhon to sense our unique energy signature and then pursue," Souta finished, his arms crossed. His dark eyes were fixed on a schematic of The Bastion hovering over Josiah's slate, mentally calculating vectors and escape trajectories. "The trick will be maintaining a proximity to the prison that encourages the swarm to divert towards it, but not so close that their pursuit instinct is overridden by the closer, more immediate target." He tapped a finger on the image of the massive orbital penitentiary. "Us."
Kuro adjusted his spectacles, the lenses reflecting the harsh hold lighting. "A delightful dance on the edge of a razor. We lead the cosmic horrors on a merry chase, hoping the big, shiny CUA fortress looks more appetizing than we do. And we do all this without any of the Bastion's defensive batteries deciding to 'mistake' us for the vanguard of the attack."
"When we receive the signal from Cassius that his business is concluded, we disengage and retreat at maximum thrust," Aurélie stated, her voice calm and final. She stood with one hand resting on the hull of her assigned frame, her posture as straight and unyielding as the blade at her hip. Her silver hair gleaming in the dim light, a stark banner in the gloom.
Josiah gave a single, curt nod. "Easy enough."
Kuro's lips twisted into a thin, humorless smile. "For you. You get to wait here in the relative comfort of this flying argument."
"I will be here," Josiah replied, his gaze unwavering, "to coordinate your return and escort you back to Káto Lávyrinthos. The CUA's response should create enough of a sensor-scrambling, weapons-heavy distraction to keep the bulk of the Typhon swarm occupied. They'll be too busy fighting for their lives to follow four small frames on a retreat vector."
His eyes then shifted to the smallest of their group. "Ember," he said, his tone losing none of its firmness but gaining a fraction of softness. "Are you confident? Can you handle this?"
Ember, who had been staring at her own hands as she nervously twisted the charred ear of Mr. Cinders, looked up. Her face was pale, her mismatched eyes wide. She looked the absolute opposite of confident; she looked like a child who had been asked to disarm a live warhead. But after a heartbeat, she gave a tight, jerky nod.
Josiah held her gaze for a moment longer, then accepted the answer with a soldier's pragmatism. "Okay. Suit up and get into position. The sooner we begin, the sooner it's over."
The command hung in the air, a starting pistol shot that launched them into motion. The four pilots moved toward their respective frames, the silence between them now filled with the sounds of climbing ladders, the hiss of pressurized cockpit canopies opening, and the heavy, final thud of them sealing shut, each one a prisoner stepping into their own mobile cell, ready to be launched into the storm.
---
The void around them was not black, but a seething, luminous tapestry of violent beauty. The Indrexu Spiral Nebula unfolded in great, slow-moving waves of magenta and deep cobalt, threaded with filaments of sickly green that pulsed with a faint, unnatural light. Cosmic dust, fine as powdered jewels, drifted past their cockpits, and where it touched their hulls, it didn't simply scatter; it clung for a moment, sizzling with static charge before sliding away like oil on water. There was no sound but the hum of their own systems, yet a low, sub-audible thrum permeated everything, a psychic pressure that vibrated in the teeth and set nerves on edge. This was a place where normal physics went to die, a stellar nursery that had given birth not to stars, but to nightmares.
Inside her cockpit, Ember stared, her mismatched eyes wide, her breath fogging the inside of her helmet. "This is amazing," she whispered, the words swallowed by the vast, colorful silence. The chaotic artist in her soul was captivated by the swirling, impossible hues.
Kuro's voice, sharp and strained, cut through the shared comms channel. "Don't get distracted. Stay focused. This isn't a pleasure cruise." His own frame, a sleek interceptor, hovered with nervous energy, its sensors sweeping the kaleidoscopic gloom.
Souta's voice was calmer, but laced with a scholar's warning. "Emily said this is one of their primary nesting grounds. The density of the gases provides cover and... sustenance. There could be—"
As if summoned by his deduction, the nebula ahead of them stirred. A massive bank of violet and crimson gas, which had seemed a permanent feature of the landscape, suddenly swirled inward upon itself. From the coalescing heart of the cloud, shapes began to tear themselves free. First one, then a dozen, then a score. Class IIs, each the size of a small frigate, their forms a nightmare blend of chitinous plate and writhing, whip-like tendrils. Among them, larger, more defined horrors lumbered into view—Class IIIs, their hides glittering with embedded asteroid rock, single massive eyes or cavernous maws glowing with captured stellar energy.
They didn't roar. The only sound was a sudden, sharp spike in the psychic hum that made Ember gasp and clamp her hands over her helmeted ears. The swarm turned as one, a single predatory consciousness fixing its countless eyes upon the four tiny, vibrating sources of energy that had trespassed in their sanctum.
Aurélie's voice was a crystal-clear command, cutting through the rising wave of psychic dread. "Typhon sighted. Swarm pattern Delta. Coordinates for The Bastion are laid in. Ember. Kuro. Souta. Confirm."
"Check," Kuro bit out, his hands already flying across his controls.
"Check," Souta confirmed, his mind already calculating the optimal evasion pattern.
A moment of silence, then a small, shaky, "Check," from Ember.
"Initiate the plan," Aurélie ordered, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.
Four sets of thrusters flared to life, burning brilliant blue against the nebula's riotous colors. The armored frames pivoted as one and shot away from the swirling gas, a synchronized retreat. For a single, heart-stopping second, the Typhon swarm seemed to observe them, a poised wave of living, breathing destruction.
Then, it broke.
The entire mass surged forward, a tidal wave of claws, teeth, and elemental fury. They moved with a terrifying, silent grace, flowing through the nebular gases as if they were water, their pursuit immediate and relentless. The frames were faster, built for this single purpose, but the swarm was endless, its hunger a tangible force that warped the very space behind them, the beautiful, deadly colors of the Indrexu Spiral now the backdrop to their desperate flight toward the unsuspecting prison fortress, The Bastion.
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