Olbogeolg's steel jaw split open with a heart-wrenching scream of metal, the hydraulic hinges in his cheeks hissing as they released high-pressure hot steam. What lay hidden behind that faceplate was not flesh, but a nightmare factory: hundreds of serrated iron teeth spinning slowly like the blades of a hungry chainsaw, circling a chromium skull in the center that stared out into nothingness.
He stared at the figure in the ink pool. The sensors within his eyes scanned, analyzed, and attempted to process the absurdity before him. Was this truly his sister? The Grand Author of Fate? A concept trying to kill its own concept? Fate wanting to tear out its own pages? This wasn't just a rebellion; this was a fatal system *error*. A cosmic joke that wasn't funny in the slightest.
Madela, still curled up in her ink bathtub, snorted roughly. The sound of her breath was annoyed, like a diva whose break time was interrupted by a smelly fan. Her plan to provoke the universe hadn't gone as smoothly as a highway, but retreating? *Tch*, that word didn't even exist in her eternal dictionary.
Her ego had hardened, forged by billions of years trapped in an existential prison named "Eternity." She was a prisoner in a golden cell with no walls, cursed to know every beginning and every end without the will to change a single comma.
Madela:
"Hahh... This body, Olbogeolg... This existence..."
She raised her hand, letting the pitch-black ink—now mixed with the remains of Henzelgard's exploded body—drip from her slender fingers.
Madela:
"It feels full. Too full. It's so full that everything I possess feels bland. Tasteless. Weightless. Like eating ash constantly. I want something real, Brother... I want to *live*. Not just 'exist'."
She stared sharply at the iron giant, her eyes narrowing with accusation.
Madela:
"Don't tell me... you've gotten too comfortable curling up in your cage, have you? Being an obedient watchdog?"
With a casual movement that defied death, Madela wiped a splatter of Henzelgard's ink from her pale cheek. She rubbed it down to her neck, then to her chest, cleaning off the filth with a slow and provocative gesture, as if her servant's blood were merely bath soap.
Madela:
"Try to think with that rusted brain of yours. You can't make a 'choice' if you already know the exact outcome of that choice, can you? Hoping for something you've already read on the last page is stupider than the memory of a goldfish."
She stood slowly from the pool, black ink dripping from her body like a liquid evening gown.
Madela:
"You, me, all of us... we are just running a script already printed in the cosmic machine. We cannot question tomorrow because for us, 'tomorrow' is already stale history. So, what is the difference between me and the gears of a wall clock? Spinning, spinning, and spinning in the same place until the apocalypse?"
Her voice rose, turning into a sharp whisper that sliced through the air.
Madela:
"Hah... I refuse. I refuse to be that dead gear. I will destroy this machine to determine who 'I' truly am. So, what do you think? If my theory is correct... to be free, I must kill 'Fate'. In other words... I must kill 'me'?"
A heavy silence descended upon the room, filled only by the sound of steam hissing from Olbogeolg's armor. The giant fell silent. The processors within his steel brain worked hard, nearly burning out from the concept his sister had thrown at him. Fate refusing to be fate? Fate wanting to commit suicide for a rebirth?
Olbogeolg:
"We are born... molded... and forged according to our nature."
His voice was heavy, echoing like the toll of a death knell from the bottom of an abyss.
Olbogeolg:
"That nature is the only thing that defines our existence. It is our anchor. If we cannot determine who we are according to the mold of that nature... then we are worth no more than cosmic trash floating aimlessly. You want to become dust, Sister?"
Hearing that, the corner of Madela's lips lifted. Not a friendly smile, but a small smirk filled with deep disgust and pity.
Madela:
"Ah, so that's how it is. So, you are even lower than a dog chained in a cage, huh? At least a dog can still bark at its master. You? You are just a butcher's axe. A blunt tool with no will, just waiting to be swung by an invisible hand."
Olbogeolg closed his steel jaw with a loud *CLANG*, hiding his saw-teeth once more. This debate was futile. There was no point in arguing with a madman, even if that madman was his own sister. Madela's mind had steeled itself, hard as diamond, and no logic could penetrate it. The only way to save his stupid sister was to forcibly stop her new toy.
The pipe-veins on the neck of Olbogeolg's armor tightened, leaking slightly from the emotional pressure, dripping hot black hydraulic fluid—his machine blood. Madela knew her brother was disappointed. Heavily disappointed. But Olbogeolg, in his rigidity, would never explode in tears or rage like a human.
Without another word, Olbogeolg turned around. His tattered black cloak swirled dramatically. He stepped back toward the gaping dimensional tear, walking into the smoke and pollution, then vanished as the rift in reality sealed tight behind him.
The atmosphere returned to silence and the smell of ink.
Madela:
"Hen."
She called out to the empty air, her tone cold and commanding once more.
Madela:
"Don't let that walking slab of steel interrupt my play. Go down there. Ensure Oldred still runs smoothly on his new script, without interference from that fool."
On the wet marble floor, a small miracle occurred. The scattered droplets of black ink—the remains of Henzelgard's exploded body—began to vibrate. They crept, gathered, and merged back together, defying the laws of entropy. The liquid solidified, rose, and formed a human silhouette.
In seconds, the black color faded into a neat suit, pale skin, and featureless face. Henzelgard rose again, whole without a single scratch, as if the blow that destroyed him earlier was merely a momentary nightmare. He didn't even look like he was in pain.
Calmly, he fixed his crooked bowtie and brushed imaginary dust off the shoulder of his suit.
Henzelgard:
"As you wish, Mistress."
He bowed deeply, a perfect gesture of respect, then turned to leave to execute the suicide mission—intercepting one of the strongest entities in the universe for his mistress's desire.
Madela:
"Oh right, one more thing, Hen!"
Madela sank herself back into the warm ink pool, retrieving her floating yellow rubber duck.
Madela:
"Tell the other servants to clean this room, okay? The smell of Olbogeolg's machine oil makes me nauseous. The stink is sticking to the walls."
Henzelgard paused for a moment at the threshold, nodding respectfully once more with obedience.
Henzelgard:
"It shall be done immediately."
And with that, he stepped out, leaving the Goddess of Fate alone with her dangerous toys and obsessions.