A few minutes after Orland's death...
""Haaaa~""
I let out a measured sigh as I stepped through the crumbling doorway, leaving Orland's corpse behind. The blazing air of the afternoon met me like an old acquaintance, the silence of the anchorage dropping like a weight on me.
""Today's been too long...please just let it be over""
It was a futile prayer. A fleeting wish. I still had reports to file, clean-up to oversee—so on and so forth before the day could claim its peace.
""...""
Fatigue pulled at my limbs, sinking into the marrow of my bones. But this wasn't the usual exhaustion that came from a job well done, from hours of premeditated violence and precision. No, this was…something else.
Something off.
""Hmm...""
A slow, creeping sensation settled into my chest, foreign and unwelcome, like a whisper just at the edge of my hearing.
(("My strings are cut, but yours are tighter than ever…"))
Orland's voice echoed in my mind. Again. It's been doing that for a while now...
""Fuuuuu~ it's over...stop thinking about it...it's pointless to ponder the musings of a doomed man...he's already gone...""
I exhaled sharply through my nose, annoyed. It should've been meaningless. Words from a dead man should have held no weight. I had no reason to remember them. No reason to dwell.
And yet, despite my attempts to shut them out, they wouldn't leave me.
Like an itch beneath my skin, his final words pressed against my thoughts, circling back over and over.
(("My strings are cut..."))
I never gave much thought to the words of the dying. They were just noise—desperate, meaningless noise. But Orland…he hadn't begged. He hadn't bargained. He had laughed. Smirked, even as the blade found his throat.
He was content...
""...""
And although I would never admit nor let it show, more than anything, it unnerved me to no end...
""Ugh...""
A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth (or at least the closest thing to one since I couldn't really do anything about this eternally blank facial expression) before I forced it away by grabbing the bridge of my nose. My expression remained blank, my legs steady, but inside—inside, something wasn't right.
((What is this?...why can't I get it out of my head?))
I had no name for it. This feeling...It wasn't anger. Wasn't regret. Wasn't even curiosity.
It was just…there.
An unshakable presence. An unfamiliar weight in my chest.
Orland had been a defector, a traitor to the organization. A loose end, nothing more. His death had been necessary—just like everyone I've killed before him...
So why did it linger?
""Haaaa~""
I let out another quiet breath, shoving the thought aside.
((There is no point in lingering on a dead man, let it go already))
No point at all...
And yet, despite myself, something told me this wouldn't be the last time his words echoed in my mind.
""...!""
As I emerged from the collapsed building, leaving Orland's lifeless body behind, the sky above briefly darkened. A vast, winged shadow washed over me, blocking out the sunlight before light returned in slivers through the gaps between massive, membranous wings.
""About damn time...they must've been waiting for me to finish before arriving""
I muttered, my eyes tracking the descending figures.
*FLAP!* *FLAP!* *FLAP!* *FLAP!* *FLAP!* *FLAP!* *FLAP!* *FLAP!*
The air was thick with the sound of beating wings, a deep, rhythmic thrumming as the dragons made their approach. These were gray dragons—the lowest of their kind, barely a step above wyverns and other subspecies that weren't true dragons or loongs, with dull, slate-colored scales that lacked the luster of their more majestic kin. Their eyes, small and unremarkable, darted about as they slowed their descent, talons extended to penetrate and grip the ground of the anchorage below.
*Flap...* *flap...*
Strapped to their underbellies were reinforced cargo holds, wooden compartments bound in dark steel, their exteriors reinforced with etched sigils that pulsed faintly with enchantments. Thick cables secured them to the dragons' harnesses, taut under the weight of their precious cargo.
*EEEEE!* *Slam!*
The dragons landed not far from me, near the one warehouse that was conspicuously still intact through my fight with Cynthia as I had SPECIFICALLY avoided taking the battle near that warehouse because I knew that was where Orland was keeping the stolen assets of the Mekhanites, the same one where Orland's corpse now rests.
This was a clear sign that they were observing for a while now, probably even before I started my battle with Harold and Cynthia.
"GRAAAAAAH!"
"GRAAAAAAH!"
"GRAAAAAAH!"
"GRAAAAAAH!"
The dragons let out a unified roar as if to signal to the people they were carrying that they had landed.
((...))
Usually I'd be a little annoyed that I had friendlies nearby that didn't step in to help while I was fighting for my "dear" life but they were probably just a retrieval unit not fit for combat so I wasn't really that bothered by it.
*SSSSSSS!*
*Slam!*
A sharp hiss of pressure escaped as the holds met the ground, dust and debris kicking up from the force of their landing. Then, with a series of mechanical clicks and metallic groans, the drawbridges of the compartments lowered, heavy iron ramps slamming into the dirt.
"Move! Secure the perimeter!"
Barked a voice from within.
*Clomp!* *clomp!* *clomp!* *CREEEAAK!*
From the dark interiors of the cargo holds, figures emerged, marching in precise formation. Executerii operatives—more specifically, Mekhanite soldiers, clad in armor that seamlessly blended tactical efficiency with arcane craftsmanship. Their armor was sleek, comprised of darkened metal plates over flexible, enchanted underweaves, allowing for both mobility and protection. Straps and pouches lined their vests, filled with tools of their trade—magical seals, reinforced cables, firearms that hummed with minor arcane energy along with various melee weapons fastened to their hips. Their helmets, smooth and featureless, bore no visible eye slits, only faint, glowing runes pulsing where their faces should be.
"Spread out! Double-check the package integrity!"
Another officer commanded, his voice distorted slightly by the vocal enchantments in his helmet.
"Yes sir!"
A chorus of voices complied with his commands.
*Clomp!* *clomp!*
Soldiers moved with clinical precision, boots crunching against gravel and broken glass as they stepped into formation. Some immediately set to work inspecting the cargo, their gauntleted hands running over the reinforced crates that housed the stolen wetware. Others formed a defensive perimeter, their weapons angled outward, scanning the ruins for any potential threats.
""...""
I remained still for a moment, watching the efficiency of their operation. These weren't standard agents—they were a specialized retrieval unit known as "Task Force 31: the Stygian Couriers", the kind sent only for high-priority missions. Their presence meant one thing: the order wanted this job done cleanly, with no loose ends.
*EEEE*
""Guess it's time to report in...""
I muttered, stepping toward one of the grounded dragons. As I approached, the metallic shifting of a cargo hold drew my attention. The locking mechanisms disengaged with a hiss, the hatch lowering to reveal a single figure stepping out.
"hmm..."
*Clomp...* *clomp...*
A long, commanding stride. A sharp contrast to the others.
His presence alone carried an undeniable weight, even without any words.
Black military greatcoat, high-collared and adorned with intricate silver filigree. A heavy cap sat atop his head, its insignia of a boat on a great river gleaming under the sun's gaze. His hair was sickly white just like mine on the left but on the right it was a healthy black color, this mismatch was shared by his heterochromatic eyes, with the right eye being a cerulean blue and the left being crimson red much like my own. His uniform was practical yet authoritative, blending symbolism with cold efficiency.
I didn't need to see his face to know who it was.
((Callsign: Limbo...))
I exhaled lightly before greeting him.
""Limbo...""
His gaze met mine, and he returned the greeting with the same level of respect.
"Oblivion, congratulations on a job well done"
There was no unnecessary exchange of words, no pleasantries. We were both professionals, and our ranks demanded nothing less.
Behind us, the retrieval unit moved swiftly and methodically, securing the stolen wetware. Soldiers barked out orders as they worked—
"Move quickly!"
"Verify crate integrity!"
"We're not lingering, lock it down!"
The orders came rapid-fire, the urgency evident but never frantic. These were professionals—specialists who had done this countless times before.
""I'm ready to make my report""
"Proceed..."
Usually I'd watch them work but right now all of my attention was focused on my compatriot before me, serial number: DB-013, Callsign: Limbo.
A GEN-7 augmented soldier, like me—but unlike me, Limbo wasn't the Maestro's personal creation. The Mekhanites had engineered him instead...he was designed by a few Mekhanite scientists for a singular purpose: to act as a living, breathing conduit for the void, the same realm hotel Nowhere resides in. Where others needed pre-set doors scattered across Mekhanite territory to access the extradimensional safehouse, Limbo could bypass that entirely. He could will the gateway open with nothing but a thought, a walking key to a place that shouldn't exist.
He carried himself with the weight of command, his long coat—regal yet tactical—swaying slightly in the afternoon air. However there was one thing peculiar about him, the edges of his body seemed translucent somehow, as if he was a mirage that wasn't fully there.
((Still hasn't mastered his powers...))
I noted internally, as a result of his status as a living conduit for hotel Nowhere, or more specifically the dimension where it resides, Callsign: Limbo, much like his name sake existed physically in both dimensions at once, stuck in a limbo between the real world and the extraspatial realm. He has to make a conscious effort not to fade out of the real world entirely.
Despite my thoughts, I remained focused on giving him my report.
He held an orb in one gloved hand, a mana powered device called an "orbment" similar to the Rivalin's car, the orb projected a hard light screen into the air that he proceeded to use to take notes as I delivered my report. This device was called a "projection orbment".
""Primary objective completed, target eliminated. Secondary objective of securing stolen assets also completed. Collateral damage within acceptable parameters. No civilian witnesses. No loose ends""
I said, beginning my report keeping it as concise and to-the-point as possible.
"Mmm hmm...seems like it, though the retrieval of assets is still in progress"
Limbo's fingers scratched across the orbment screen in swift, practiced motions. His face betrayed nothing as he recorded my words. He was methodical, professional—analyzing every detail without the need for unnecessary conversation.
"Any complications?"
He finally asked, his tone cool and measured.
""...""
I remained silent for a moment, not sure how to broach this topic.
"Hmm?"
There was a beat of silence before he glanced up. Even through the impassive mask of his cap, I could feel his scrutiny.
"No complications at all?"
He asked again.
""...""
I hesitated for a fraction of a second. Orland's final words echoed in my head, unbidden. "My strings are cut, but yours are tighter than ever." The smirk frozen on his dead lips, the eerie satisfaction in his last breath. A man who had won even as he died.
""You were probably watching my battle, but...""
I started, voice as flat as ever.
""...Orland's client in this transaction was the Rivalin Merchant's Guild—a proxy of the Scarlet Chorus""
I finished.
"..."
That made Limbo stop momentarily.
For the first time in this entire interaction, he went completely still. His fingers ceased their movement, hovering just above the orbment screen. Even through his cap, I could feel the shift in his expression.
"..."
*Thump*
A beat passed. Then another.
*Thump*
Finally, he spoke.
"I see..."
His voice was calm, level—but there was a distinct edge to it now. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around the orb before he resumed writing.
"I'll bring this to the higher-ups"
That was all he said. No further questions, no speculation—just an acknowledgment and a promise to escalate the information.
""...""
I didn't say anything else either. There was nothing more to say.
And just like that, Limbo moved on, his professional mask slipping seamlessly back into place.
((I hope Limbo's reaction is what you wanted Orland...))
For some stupid reason, even now, I still can't get that damned, dead man out of my head.
*Clomp!* *Clomp!* *Click* *Clack* *eeee!* *slam!*
Behind us, the Stygian Couriers continued their work, hauling all of the crates containing the Mekhanite's wetware into the cargo holds of the dragons. A soldier approached—a sleek, reinforced helmet concealing their features, the dark visors giving them an almost inhuman air.
"Sir!"
They addressed Limbo, offering a precise salute.
"Majority of stolen assets accounted for. Some damaged, others gone to us, but losses remain negligible"
"Mhmm..."
Limbo reviewed the incoming data on his orbment before nodding in approval.
"Acceptable...complete the inventory and prepare for departure"
The soldier didn't linger, immediately turning back to relay the orders. The retrieval was almost complete. Soon, this entire operation would be nothing more than another entry in the endless cycle of classified reports and forgotten assignments.
""Phew~""
I exhaled slowly, my role in this was done, now I just needed to wait for extraction.
Limbo could handle the rest. The Couriers would finish securing the assets. My mission was over, from here on out it's their show.
""...""
And yet, as I stood there, watching the final stages of extraction unfold, I couldn't shake the lingering weight of Orland's words. A quiet unease, foreign and unwelcome.
(("My strings are cut...but yours..."))
Those damned words replayed in my head again, I remained outwardly blank, my expression as neutral as ever. But inside, something stirred. Something I didn't recognize.
And I didn't like it.
((How unpleasant...))
I thought, attempting—but failing—to frown. My facial muscles, conditioned into permanent neutrality, refused to move.
""...""
Trying to get my mind off of Orland's final moments I sat down on the draw bridge of one of the cargo holds, my eyes turning to watch the task force doing their work.
*Clomp!* *Clomp!* *Skid!* *Slam!*
The loading process continued with the same professional efficiency that defined the Stygian Couriers. Crates of stolen wetware were hoisted into the cargo holds, locked into place with precise movements. Soldiers moved in synchronized formation, securing their positions as the final checks were completed.
""...""
I kept watching in silence, not saying a word...
(("Tell the Maestro I said..."my strings are cut...but yours are tighter than ever"..."))
But inside that BLASTED memory of Orland's last words repeated again, over and over like a broken recording orbment.
(("even if the assassin they sent failed, conflict between the two would've been inevitable after this..."))
There was nothing left to do. The mission was over. The assets had been retrieved. And yet, I found myself lingering, observing as if expecting something more—something I couldn't name.
((Of course there'd be conflict, there's ALWAYS conflict between the factions under the surface...but...what exactly was he hoping for? Ever since the grandmaster disappeared tensions between factions were steadily rising, a few skirmishes have already happened...so it's not like what happened here will affect either faction that much, this event will probably be just another infraction that would get settled over a sit-down and some well placed compromises, quid-pro-quo and all that, worst case scenario the Mekhanites will send me to intimidate the Chorus into concession))
Despite every attempt to shake it off, bury it or just forget it outright, something inside screamed at me that something very bad was about to happen and that there would be no going back for all of us. All because of my actions today...
((Also...what did he mean by the Maestro's strings being tighter than ever? What strings would that infuriating man even have?))
Endless questions filled my mind, this was the first time I've questioned the situation this much, something just felt wrong about this whole thing, and deep down I can sense it.
"Final load secured"
""...!""
A soldier called out, snapping me from my stupor.
"Mount up!"
"Sir yes sir!"
Limbo ordered, as the men began to pack it up and enter the cargo holds along with the retrieved assets.
""...""
Without hesitation, I stepped onto the drawbridge leading into the cargo hold. The reinforced metal beneath my boots hummed faintly with residual kinetic energy, dampening vibrations from the dragon's shifting stance.
*RRRRR*
"..."
Limbo followed, his posture as composed as ever. His long coat, adorned with the insignia of his task force, barely stirred despite the wind blowing. The moment he stepped inside, the remaining Couriers boarded the other dragons as well.
*Thrrrrr!*
With a deep, resonant thrum, the dragons lifted off.
*Flap!* *fwoosh!* *flap!* *fwoosh!*
The force of ascent pressed against me, though I barely registered it. The world outside the hold tilted as the ground below shrank away, the anchorage fading into a patchwork of flickering fires that were petering out.
""Hmm?""
It should have been protocol.
And yet—
""Why aren't we closing the hold?""
I asked why the cargo hold remained open.
I noted it immediately. The reinforced doors, which should have sealed shut the moment we departed, remained slightly ajar. Cold air swept in, carrying the scent of metal, ozone, and the distant echoes of the world below.
It wasn't enough to compromise the integrity of the hold, but it was an anomaly.
An oversight? No. Limbo would not make mistakes like this. If the doors were left open, it was intentional.
"You'll know soon enough..."
Limbo replied.
""...""
I said nothing. Simply observed.
The dragon above us adjusted its wings, the subtle shift in pressure almost imperceptible. But I felt it all the same.
""...""
I watched in silence, uncertain of Limbo's intentions. His expression remained unreadable, his posture rigid with the weight of unspoken decisions. Then, something else caught my attention—something peculiar.
""Hmm?""
Below, scattered figures moved frantically, waving up at us. The soldiers left behind. They gestured wildly, attempting to establish contact through their communication orbments, their voices flickering like dying embers in the cold air.
""Aren't those…your men?""
I tilted my head slightly, there were a select number of the task force that were still on the ground despite the rest of the squad already loaded along with the cargo on the dragons flying away.
"..."
Limbo didn't look down. He didn't need to.
"Yes..."
He said at last, his voice even.
"They were..."
A faint, familiar tension laced his words. One I recognized all too well.
""Ah. I see...""
Understanding settled in immediately. The quiet, inevitable logic of it.
""Orland pulling this off never made sense...""
I continued, my voice level.
""Even as a former operative, his clearance should have been capped at Level 4 since he wasn't a GEN-7 like you and me and from what I've seen he doesn't possess anything particularly useful for the organization that would warrant a higher clearance. There was just no way he could've stolen this many high-priority assets. Not without triggering every safeguard we have...""
I let the thought linger for a second before concluding.
""Unless…""
A beat of silence followed.
"He had help..."
Limbo confirmed, saying out loud what we both already knew.
""...""
That meant there was only one way this ended.
"..."
Limbo extended something toward me, wordlessly.
A wand-like instrument, its frame crafted from dark metal, smooth and cold to the touch. At its tip, a crescent-shaped structure curved around a droplet of crystal-clear liquid. Suspended within that droplet, a blood-red reticle pulsed faintly.
""This is…""
I took it without hesitation, knowing full well what it was.
"A target designation orbment..."
Limbo confirmed, his voice still impassive.
"The Maestro has brought the "Hog" online and authorized its use"
""...""
I glanced down at the soldiers below. Still trying to signal. Still scrambling for a response that would never come.
Then, I raised the wand to shoulder level.
The droplet of liquid expanded, its surface rippling outward like ink spreading through water. A reticle materialized in my view, sharp and unwavering.
I held the targeting wand steady, the crystal-clear droplet at its apex as I adjusted my aim. The crimson reticle flared to life, projected onto the landscape below, its edges shimmering with ethereal precision.
((So he's really authorizing its use…for this?))
The thought passed through me, weightless, devoid of shock or hesitation. Only quiet acknowledgment.
The H.O.G.D, which stood for "High Orbital Glassing Device"—or the "Hog" as it is commonly called—is an artifact level orbment created by the Mekhanites, a weapon designed to erase anything from a small town to a region to the entire world on it's max output. A silent arbiter, jury and executioner that hung in the skies, unseen until its judgment came crashing down.
All it needed was a target.
""Target locked...""
And I had just given it one...
"...H-hey, what's that light—?"
"That's..."
"No...no, no, no, no!—"
"Command, do you read?! There's a targeting marker down here, what the hell is going on?!"
"Wait—WAIT! WE'RE STILL HERE—"
"They wouldn't...they wouldn't do this to us, right?"
"...Oh, Astraea above...they're gonna..."
"Run! MOVE—"
"...No point..."
The men below—former comrades, now marked for annihilation—realized what was about to happen. Their movements became frantic. Some waved desperately toward us, others fumbled with their communication orbments, trying to hail the very command that had already condemned them, others already realized that they had been condemned and despaired, there were all kinds of reactions that I could see even from so high up with my enhanced eyesight.
Worst of all I could see blue beams from the heavens penetrating through the clouds, drawing a large glowing circle on the very ground they stood on, a circle that encompassed the entire anchorage.
But it was too late...
*Brrrrrr...*
Above, the sky shifted.
Multiple lights, pale at first, flickered through the thinning clouds. Then, it intensified—brighter, hotter—until it bloomed into a radiant blue sphere, a miniature sun forming in the heavens. The air seemed to still, a vacuum of silence just before impact.
Then—
The sky came crashing down...
*BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!*
*BOOOOOM!!!*
*VRROOOOOOOM!!!*
A pillar of pure azure light erupted from the heavens, a torrent of destructive mana condensed into an unstoppable force. It struck the ground like the wrath of a god, engulfing everything in its path.
"...!"
The traitors below barely had time to scatter before they were consumed. Their screams were swallowed by the overwhelming roar of the blast, their bodies disintegrating into nothingness before they could even comprehend their end.
*BOOM!*
The energy traveled throughout the land in waves, blowing over trees and shattering cliffsides, everything within a roughly 2 mile radius had been effectively atomized. The shockwave would travel 4 times that distance causing further damage.
*Rattle* *Rattle*
Even from high above I felt the earthquake like shockwave as the dragons had to exert themselves to steady their flight and to not be blown out of the sky.
The land itself blackened and warped under the immense heat, the once-solid earth turning to glass, its surface reflecting the glow of the lingering energy like a shattered mirror.
*Kek* *Crik!*
A massive amount of pebble sized remains rained to the ground smoke coming off of them like debris blasted out from a volcano.
A crater remained—smooth, pristine, as if nothing had ever existed there at all.
No wreckage. No bodies. No traces of life.
Only silence, ashes, and distorted clumps of metal and glass.
*Splash!* *Burb*
Before the sea began to fill in the displaced landmass, burying whatever remains in a salty, watery grave.
""...""
I lowered the targeting wand, the crimson reticle going out of sight as the droplet of liquid that housed it shrunk to it's normal size.
((...I see, this was what Orland was talking about...))
The thought drifted through my mind, detached and mechanical. No different from any other mission. But it felt oh so final in it's unnerving conclusion.
For a fraction of a second, I felt that same unwelcome stirring. That same discomfort, slithering beneath the surface of my mind.
I ignored it, or at least I desperately tried to...
"Phew~"
Limbo exhaled, an almost imperceptible sound. He wasn't watching the aftermath—he didn't need to.
"The Hog's firing sequence is complete..."
He stated, his voice level.
"The weapon will return to standby...since we fired at 2% power it'll take 4 weeks at most until we can use it again"
""...Understood""
I nodded despite not really listening to him as my eyes were glued onto the destruction below and what it meant.
The operation was finished. The traitors were erased. Loose ends tied.
There was nothing left to do but leave.
The dragons carrying us shifted their wings, stabilizing in the air. Below, the glassed ground still glowed faintly, a silent monument to the consequences of betrayal.
*Fwoosh*
The wind howled through the still-open cargo hold, cold biting against my skin.
I let it wash over me, before the cargo door closed.
""...""
Then, without another word, I turned away.
"I'll open the gate now"
Limbo said unfeelingly.
""...""
I sat down on one of the seats to the side of the hold.
A low hum resonated through the cargo hold, a frequency just below hearing, felt more than heard.
"I invoke the ever expanding sky, to tear a hole for me to ply, unveil to me the path that's hidden, let me traverse the road forbidden, [Realm gate]..."
Limbo raised a gloved hand, fingers curling into an intricate sign as he invoked his authority and began to chant. The space around him distorted, warping like light bent through water. A pulse of power rippled outward.
Up ahead in front of the dragons, I saw through the sealed windows of the hold, stone tablets materialized in the air, each bearing an unreadable glowing blue rune. They multiplied and formed into one big circle before the space in the middle of the circle ripped open, revealing the dark vacuum of space with landmasses floating around directionless-ly.
As if it was routine to them the dragons dived towards the newly conjured portal, intending to cross over to the other side.
"Brace yourself"
Limbo said as our dragon hit the portal.
A hollow chime rang through the air, and suddenly, the world around us unraveled.
Reality twisted. The great gaping hole in space, swallowing the fleet of dragons whole. The transition was seamless—one moment, the beasts soared under the vast, open sky; the next, they vanished into the void beyond, their forms dissolving into the dark expanse of Limbo's making.
""...""
A strange weightlessness settled over me as the dragons navigated the void, weaving between the landmasses that drifted aimlessly around us.
We were in the void now—the space between spaces—where the laws of physics lost their meaning and existence seemed to bend.
Behind us, the portal Limbo had opened closed, the last flicker of light from real space fading until we were engulfed in darkness.
"Now… let's chart a course home"
Limbo muttered before he began chanting another spell, and suddenly the void was alive again.
A funnel of multicolored mana streamed across the void, illuminating the dragons fleet as it poured into the dark, stretching forward toward a destination unseen.
"Phew~"
Limbo exhaled in relief, slumping into his seat as the dragons began to glide through the tunnel of light he'd conjured.
""Need a break?""
I asked, my voice lacking concern, more a matter of practical caution.
Limbo would need to let us out of here eventually. Unlike the safety of Hotel Nowhere, where the Maestro's wards protected us like an island in the vast darkness, we were now completely exposed to the chaotic properties of the void. Spend too much time here, and we risked getting trapped in-between realms just like…well, Limbo here.
"Negative...I can keep going until we reach the hotel"
Limbo replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion.
"I should be asking you that question, do you need an R booster?"
Limbo asked showing genuine concern for me despite his professional tone.
""...""
I was a bit taken aback, R-boosters are very rare and hard to synthesize, every GEN-7 no matter how valuable they are, are only given a maximum of 2 syringes at any given time. So him offering one of his to me was rather selfless of him.
""No I'm fine...thanks for the offer anyway...""
I said blankly, waving it off.
"No problem"
Limbo said, returning his focus to keeping our path through the void stable.
((Being a conduit for the void has its perks, but there's a catch. Unlike preset doors, the [Realm Gates] Limbo opens can only take him and whoever he decides to take with him to the corresponding point in the void. They don't have the luxury of the doors that deliver us straight to hotel Nowhere, no matter where they're set up. Also it consumes quite a lot of energy from him for these trips as he has to open the gate again every once in a while to prevent us from being stuck in limbo like him. It's kind of like coming up from the water to take a breath every now and then...he'll be out of gas for at least a month after this))
I thought about the limitations of Limbo's abilities, the same limitations that prevented the organization from using him to deliver me to Garellia initially.
((Well…these limitations will resolve themselves once he develops his abilities further. After all, he's still only 4))
I thought, my gaze drifting back to the sealed window, my reflection flickering in the multicolored stream of light outside as it carried us toward our destination.
For the moment, Limbo wasn't my primary concern...
((I did tell Orland that conflict between the two factions would only mean that there'll be more jobs for me…but perhaps I underestimated the scale of it all. Gathering all the traitors in one place, using the "Hog" on them…It's official now. This isn't just a minor spat between the Mekhanites and the Scarlet Chorus, is it? This...))
The pieces fell into place, and Orland's plan began to make an unsettling kind of sense.
((This is an official declaration of war. The two factions are preparing to slug it out until only one remains or both are annihilated. And not only that, but this war will drag in the other powers-that-be within the Executerii…))
The realization hit me like a cold wave. Orland had succeeded. His revenge was set in motion, his final "screw you" to all of us.
((We've crossed the point of no return...and it's all my fault...))
The thought echoed grimly in my mind, I didn't exactly fear or regret it, but the realization made the unsettling nature of Orland's final moments even moreunnerving to me...
And a nugget of concern was forming in my chest, whether I realized it or not...