The outpost festered like an open wound between two ridges of obsidian.
Tents stitched from shadow-hide sagged under the weight of ash. Cookfires burned cold violet, giving off no warmth—only light and the stench of spent mana. Everywhere, the low moan of the wounded drifted through the air: shadows waiting for resurrection that would forget their pain.
Orion and Aria limped through the gates as heroes.
For exactly one hour.
Then the whispers began.
Orion felt them before he heard them—eyes sliding across him like wet knives. His left arm had regrown only to the elbow, a stump of writhing smoke that kept trying, and failing, to solidify. Aria walked half a step ahead, supporting him without touching. She had not put her mask back on. The cross-shaped scars on her face drew stares nearly as sharp as his own.
A cluster of Soldier-class shadows parted, then closed ranks again.
"That's the Servant who didn't block," one muttered.
"He fought like he had rank," another replied. "That's not allowed."
Orion kept his gaze forward.
A translucent notification hovered in the corner of his vision, unblinking since the battlefield.
⊳ Status: Under Observation
Every breath felt recorded.
They reached the central pavilion.
An Administrator-class waited—taller than the last, hooded in deeper black—flanked by two armored guards.
"Aria of the Ashen Remnant," it intoned. "Debriefing. Now."
Its hollow gaze slid to Orion.
"The Servant will wait outside."
Aria hesitated.
Just a fraction.
The Administrator noticed. "Is there a problem?"
"No," she said at last. She released Orion's arm. "Wait for me, Orion."
He nodded and stepped aside as the guards closed ranks and ushered her into the pavilion.
Then he was alone.
Shadows passed him in a steady stream. Some stared openly.
A Warrior-class missing half its jaw spat black ichor. "Tool thinks it's a person now."
Another—Soldier-class, face half melted—sidled closer.
"You're him," it rasped. "The one who stood beside the Fallen."
Orion said nothing.
The shadow glanced around, then leaned in. "Name's Retch. Lost a bet on your flank holding. Owe me a new face if you live long enough." A crooked grin twisted what remained of its mouth. "You planning to steal all our deaths next?"
Before Orion could answer, the air glitched.
A ripple like heat haze swept through the camp.
Notifications flickered for every shadow at once—brief, involuntary. Orion saw his own reflected in Retch's hollow eyes.
⊳ System latency detected. Reviewing…
Retch shuddered. "Feels like something's… looking."
It hurried away.
Orion remained where he was until Aria emerged an hour later.
Her face was composed, but the scar across her lips bled fresh shadow ichor.
"Walk with me," she said quietly.
They threaded through the camp to the perimeter, stopping at a half-collapsed chapel. Once it had belonged to the Winged Monarch—cracked marble, shattered stained glass, faded seraphim defaced with claw marks.
A fitting refuge for a fallen paladin.
Inside, the wind howled through broken arches. Aria sat on a fallen altar. Orion remained standing.
"They praised the hold," she said. "Asked many questions about positioning. About why my Servant wasn't in standard formation."
"What did you tell them?"
"That I ordered you beside me. That it was tactical." She met his eyes. "They didn't believe me."
Silence.
She patted the altar beside her.
Orion sat. Close. Almost shoulder to shoulder.
"Orion," she said softly. "You deserve to know why I requested you."
He waited.
"I was not always Ashen. My true name is Ariael—Captain of the Seventh Choir. I served the Winged Monarch directly."
The chapel seemed to grow colder.
"I believed in the light. In purification." Her voice trembled, just slightly. "Until I was ordered to cleanse the Nursery Pits. Newly spawned shadows. Barely formed. Defenseless. The Monarch called them abominations."
She closed her eyes.
"I refused. Cassiel cast me down himself. Stripped my wings of light. Branded me traitor. I fell for three days and three nights."
When she opened her eyes again, shadow ichor traced the scars.
"But in falling, I saw the truth. This war isn't holy against unholy. It's a machine. Both sides fed just enough victory to keep it running forever. Resurrection. Memory wipes. Protocol Laws." Her gaze sharpened. "All designed to prevent anyone from remembering enough to question it."
She leaned closer.
"You are the exception. One hundred and fourteen deaths. One hundred and fourteen memories retained. You've carried barbarians, knights, even fragments of Administrators inside you."
"With that many voices," she whispered, "you can see the loop. And maybe… break it."
Hope flickered in Orion's chest.
Then doubt followed.
"Why trust me?" he asked. "One direct order and I become your shield again."
"Because you already chose not to," Aria said. "And because you're the only one who can."
The air shattered.
Violet runes ignited across the chapel walls—symbols that had not been there before.
A voice spoke.
Not in Orion's vision.
Aloud.
Everywhere.
⊳ Anomaly detected.
⊳ Memory retention exceeds safe parameters by 114 iterations.
⊳ Recommend immediate purge and full memory reset.
Orion's body locked.
Chains erupted across his skin, burning white-hot.
Aria moved instantly. Her palm slammed against his chest, corrupted holy light pouring into him, wrapping the chains in blackened radiance.
The voice faltered.
⊳ Interference detected…
⊳ Observation level elevated.
The runes faded. The chains cooled—but did not vanish.
The notification updated.
⊳ Status: Active Surveillance
⊳ Threat Assessment: Rising
Aria met his eyes.
"That was the Observer," she whispered. "The thing behind the System. It's awake now."
Footsteps thundered outside.
Torches flared.
An Inquisitor-class entered—tall, cloaked in writhing chains. Its mask was smooth bone, eyeless, with a single glowing slit.
"Inquisitor Vex," Aria murmured. "They sent the worst one."
"Fallen Paladin Aria. Servant Orion." Vex's voice was dry as parchment. "You are summoned for inspection regarding Protocol anomalies."
Chains leapt from its cloak.
Aria stepped in front of Orion.
"He is under my command."
"Not anymore."
The fight exploded.
Steel and chains screamed. Aria's corrupted blade clashed with living metal. Orion swung Kargan's axe with every stolen skill ignited—«Blood Rage», «Reckless Charge»—cleaving guards apart.
Too many.
Vex gestured once.
Invisible force crushed Orion to his knees. The Protocol amplified it—his own chains betraying him.
Aria took a blade across the ribs shielding him again.
They were losing.
Then Retch appeared in the doorway.
The melted shadow hesitated—then hurled a mana grenade.
BOOM—!
Violet fire tore through the guards.
"Run, you idiots!" Retch screamed.
They ran.
Out the chapel's rear. Into the wastelands beyond the outpost.
Alarms wailed behind them. Horns. Shouts.
The Observer's voice boomed across the camp.
⊳ Deserters confirmed.
⊳ Purge authorized.
They didn't stop until the outpost was a distant glow.
Somewhere along the flight, Orion's arm finished regenerating.
A quiet notification flickered.
⊳ Current Rank: E+ → D
Aria collapsed against a ridge of bone, breathing hard. Shadow ichor soaked her side.
Orion knelt and bound the wound with a strip torn from his own cloak.
"There's a place," she said between breaths. "The Forgotten Spire. A fracture in the System. Memories aren't wiped there. They can be shared. Unleashed."
"How far?"
"Deep Neutral Abyss. Past both armies."
Behind them, distant horns still echoed.
A final message burned into the air—visible to both of them.
⊳ Subject: Orion
⊳ Former Designation: Servant
⊳ New Designation: Threat Level Omega
⊳ All factions notified. Purge authorized by Observer Protocol.
The letters faded.
Orion looked at Aria. "If we end the war… what happens to everyone who's already died a hundred times? To the memories I carry?"
She met his gaze.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "But staying in the loop is worse."
Lightning split the sky.
Somewhere behind them, wings beat. War-beasts roared.
They stood.
Together.
And walked deeper into the Abyss.