A simple plan. A simple objective.
But reality, as the two runaways were learning with frustrating regularity, was rarely so accommodating. The battle devolved into a high-stakes, deeply frustrating game of whack-a-mole, played against a regenerating, steampunk nightmare.
The black sphere, the mechanical heart of the Mark II, was not a stationary target. It was intelligent. It was fast. And it was slippery.
“It’s in the arm! I see it!” Raito yelled, his voice a raw, triumphant cry. He dodged a spray of projectiles and lunged forward, his flaming chair leg a crimson blur. He brought the improvised weapon down in a powerful, overhead smash, enveloping the machine’s shoulder joint in a roaring inferno.
The arm melted, dripping molten brass and slag onto the stage. But just as the flames licked at the exposed internal mechanisms, the small, obsidian sphere zipped away, a black streak disappearing down the machine’s torso.
“It moved!” Raito shouted, leaping back as the arm, which had been a molten stump a second before, instantly began to regenerate, new gears and pistons whirring as they rebuilt themselves from nothing. “It’s in the legs!”
“On it!” Yukari’s voice was a sharp, clear note from the other side of the stage. She landed gracefully from a leap, her hands outstretched. A wave of pure, crystalline frost shot across the floor, encasing the Mark II’s newly repaired legs in a thick, solid block of ice, rooting it to the spot.
“Did you get it?!” Raito called out, his eyes scanning the frozen limbs.
“No! It moved again!” Yukari growled in frustration. Just before the ice had fully formed, the black ball had shot upwards, relocating into the machine's head.
“Insolence!” Lily’s voice was a furious, theatrical shriek from her velvet throne. She was done playing support. She snapped her fingers. From the humid air itself, a dozen high-pressure water jets, sharp as diamonds, materialized and pierced the machine's head from every conceivable angle.
The machine’s head was reduced to a shredded, sparking wreck. But it didn't matter. The black sphere was already gone, zipping back down to the main chassis just as the head began its grotesque, rapid regeneration.
“Why is it so slippery?!” Lily shouted, her voice a high-pitched, frustrated thing as she stomped her foot in a very un-ladylike display of irritation.
“That means we are overpowering it!” Emile’s voice was a calm, tactical anchor in their sea of frustration. He fired another precise crimson beam, forcing the Mark II to stumble, his gaze sharp and analytical. “It is now focusing its primary function to just keeping the Core safe.”
He parried another yellow beam with his arm cannon, the impact sending a shower of sparks into the air. “We just need to corner it,” he declared, his voice unwavering. “Overwhelm its regenerative capabilities. Then, we sever the Core from its main body.”
“Easier said than done, honestly,” Raito grumbled, his voice raw with frustration. He dodged a fresh spray of shrapnel as the machine’s head finished reforming. He scanned the machine’s body, his crimson eyes narrowed in concentration. “It’s back in the torso. Its original position.”
“Then we focus on one body part at a time,” Yukari shouted, a new, desperate plan forming in her mind. She pointed out, her voice a sharp, clear command that cut through the chaos. “Just like before! Raito, you take its arms! I’ll attack the legs! Lily, focus all your water jets on its torso! Overwhelm its regeneration in one spot! Emile…!”
“I will strike the head when the Core moves there,” Emile responded, his voice calm, finishing her sentence before she could. “Understood.”
The three of them nodded in perfect, silent unison.
“Hmph!” Lily huffed from her chair, a look of profound, theatrical annoyance on her face. “Thou art all so dreadfully uncouth, ordering me about as if I were some common stagehand! But…” a slow, cruel, and utterly terrifying smile spread across her face as she raised an elegant hand, the air around her crackling with contained power. “Thy plan is not without its merits. Very well! Let us begin this final, glorious act!”
The Mark II, its regeneration complete, stood in the center of the cratered stage. It was cornered. Its glowing yellow lens swiveled, calculating, assessing the four figures who now fanned out, their expressions a mask of grim, unified resolve. It knew it could no longer focus on just the anomaly.
A new, high-pitched, electronic shriek ripped through the air. The machine’s hands, which had been simple, grasping claws, began to spin. Faster and faster they blurred, until they were two, conical drills of polished brass, their tips whining as they reached an impossible speed. Small, circular openings sprouted all along its chassis—shoulders, chest, legs—the dark muzzles of new, hidden weapons. And from its back, with a heavy, grinding groan of protesting metal, two giant, box-like canisters, each as large as a carriage, rose up, their front panels clicking open to reveal a dozen or more sleek, metallic projectiles.
The Mark II had just revealed its full, terrifying arsenal.
And then, with no warning, no charge, no final declaration, it opened fire.
With everything it had.
Yellow beams of pure energy shot from its chest. A hail of explosive projectiles erupted from its shoulders. The new, terrifying rockets screamed from their canisters, arcing through the air in a cloud of smoke and fire. It was an indiscriminate, overwhelming barrage, a storm of pure, mechanical rage that filled the entire opera house, aimed not at one of them, but at all of them, with a chaotic, destructive fury that was designed to simply erase everything in its path.
“Either dodge or block, quick!” Yukari shouted, her eyes widening as the world dissolved into a storm of incoming fire.
There was no time for a coordinated plan. There was only instinct.
Yukari moved, her formal gown a blur of blue and white. She didn't try to stop the barrage, only to survive it. Her hands waved in the air, creating one shimmering, translucent ice sheet after another, each one shattering with a sharp crack as it parried a projectile. She dodged between her own crumbling defenses, a graceful, desperate dance.
From her velvet throne, Lily was a picture of serene, deadly focus. A dozen massive tentacles of pure, churning water erupted from where she is sitting, rising to form a protective, writhing dome around her. Projectiles and beams slammed into the liquid barrier, their explosive force swallowed and muffled by the sheer volume of water, detonating harmlessly in its depths.
Emile was a whirlwind of crimson light. He didn't hide. He advanced. His arm cannon was a blur, firing a rapid stream of counter-shots, his aim precise as he shot rockets out of the air. He spun, his body a solid, unyielding presence, deflecting stray beams with the reinforced plating of his own mechanical arm, a one-man firing solution against the overwhelming tide.
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And then there was Raito.
He was a frantic, desperate inferno. Waves of pure, crimson flame roared from his flaming chair leg, each swing a desperate attempt to create a shield of fire. But he was getting overwhelmed. The Mark II, even in its chaotic rage, still recognized its primary target. The bulk of the barrage—the explosive projectiles, the searing yellow beams—was focused on him.
His stamina, already battered, was fading fast. His fiery shields began to flicker, his movements growing a fraction of a second too slow. A single, stray explosive projectile, small and fast, slipped through a gap in his flaming defense. It arced through the smoke, its trajectory true, aimed directly at his chest.
Emile saw it. His tactical calculations, faster than any human’s, registered the threat. He didn't shout. He didn't hesitate. He just moved. He sprinted across the stage, a blur of motion, shoving Raito to the ground in a rough, unceremonious tackle. Raito hit the floor hard, a confused yelp escaping him, just as Emile shielded him with his own body.
BOOM!
The metallic projectile exploded against Emile’s back. The blast was deafening, a sharp, concussive force that sent a shockwave through the air.
Yukari and Lily both saw it. Their own defensive measures faltered for a fraction of a second as they stared at the cloud of smoke and shrapnel now obscuring the two men. They looked at each other, a shared, silent, and instantly understood plan passing between them in a single, grim nod.
“Go!” Lily shouted. Her water tentacles, which had been a defensive shield, now expanded, a massive, swirling barrier that rose up to intercept the full, undivided force of the Mark II’s barrage, taking the pressure off everyone else.
Yukari didn’t need to be told twice. She sprinted through the smoke, her heart a cold, hard knot of terror in her chest, towards the spot where Raito and Emile had fallen.
The acrid, black smoke was thick, stinging her eyes. She found Raito first, pushing himself up from the floor, his ears ringing but otherwise unharmed, thanks to Emile's tackle.
"Hey, man... are you alright?" Raito’s voice was full of a deep, genuine concern. He was looking at Emile, who was kneeling, his back to them.
Emile’s formal suit jacket was gone, vaporized in the blast. His back was a torched, smoking ruin, the synthetic skin melted away to reveal the cold, hard truth beneath. A complex, gleaming network of brass-colored machinery and whirring gears, almost identical to the internal workings of the Mark II, was visible. A large, jagged chunk of his left shoulder was simply gone, torn away by the explosion, revealing sparking wires and severed pistons.
"I am... quite... al-alright," Emile said. His voice was no longer the smooth, gentle melody of the florist. It was a strained, electronic stutter, a sound glitching with static and effort.
Yukari and Raito exchanged a single, grim look. They moved as one, each taking one of Emile's arms, their earlier shock replaced by a single, focused purpose. They half-lifted, half-dragged him, moving him behind a small cluster of overturned velvet chairs that offered the barest illusion of cover.
"You weren't kidding when you said you were similar to that thing," Yukari said, her voice a low murmur as her eyes scanned the intricate, damaged machinery of his back.
"Hey," Raito's voice was a whisper of desperate, dawning hope. "That means you can also regenerate like that thing, right?"
"Unfor-tunately... no," Emile glitched, his voice a painful, electronic rasp. He leaned his head back against the chair, his system struggling to compensate. "I am... Mark I. Built for assassination... and infil-infiltration. I lack the... regeneration feature... to make me look more... human."
He looked at them, his kind smile still in place, though it now seemed like a grotesque, malfunctioning mask. "Even my... weapon systems... are less capable. Meanwhile, Mark II is built for... frontal assault. This... this was an error in my... calculat...ion..."
“Stop talking, man,” Raito interjected, his voice a low, urgent thing as he gently helped Emile lean against the shattered remains of the chair. “Save some of your… er… oil?”
Yukari shot Raito a withering side-eye. “Really?” she said, her voice a deadpan monotone. “A joke? At a time like this?”
“Well, I don’t know what he’s running on,” Raito gestured helplessly at Emile’s sparking, mechanical shoulder.
“Ha… haha… ha…” Emile made an awkward, glitching attempt at a laugh, the sound a static-filled rasp. “You two… are the same… as how you two are in my… memory bank.”
Raito and Yukari exchanged another look of pure, baffled confusion. The words were just… words. Technical, alien, and utterly meaningless to them. “What do you mean?” Raito asked, his brow furrowed.
“The memories,” Emile explained, his voice struggling to maintain its steady, logical flow. “The ones… stored inside me. They were… recorded surveillance… of you two. You were my targets.”
He looked at their stunned faces, his own kind, malfunctioning smile still in place. “But before I knew it, those memories… they ended up having more influence on me. I guess… ‘IT’ is not perfect after all. This error… is something even beyond ‘IT’s’ capability.”
“We don't understand what you're saying, who is this ‘IT’, why does everything seems to turn into something bigger.” Yukari said, her voice a mixture of frustration and a dawning, terrible awe. “We never asked for what we are currently being dragged into.”
“We’re always the wrong people at the wrong time,” Raito added, his own voice a weary, frustrated groan. “We are just here for some vacation!”
“But that is precisely why… ‘IT’ is scared of you two,” Emile stated, his voice suddenly gaining a burst of clear, electronic strength. “You two constantly rebel. You keep moving outside of ‘IT’s’ prediction. That is your power.” His gaze, still calm, still gentle, met theirs. “That golden light in Hanyuun… was the proof.”
Raito and Yukari let out a simultaneous, long-suffering exhale. “Not you too,” Yukari groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Everyone there kept mentioning that stupid golden light. Something both of us don’t even remember.”
Raito stood up, brushing the soot from his ruined suit, his earlier fear replaced by a stubborn, weary resolve. “What she said,” he declared, his voice firm. “What happened was nothing more but a coincidence. Nothing more. So don't force us to become what we are not, and just let us have our fun holiday under the sun, or… or take it back, by this point.” He finished with a small, humorless smile.
“That light is not a lie, you two can become….” Emile tried to say and lift himself up.
Yukari stood beside him, her own expression a mask of cold, determined resolve. She looked down at the damaged, smiling machine-man at her feet. “Stay there, and don’t say another word, I or we don’t want to hear another savior talk.” she commanded, her voice a low, steady thing. “We will get that sphere to you. Heal yourself, or… or whatever it is you do. You have Mary and Anise waiting for you, right?”
Emile’s smile, for the first time, looked completely, utterly genuine. He just nodded.
A loud crash echoed from the back of the auditorium. The main doors, which had been sealed by the panicking crowd, burst open. A figure stood silhouetted against the bright, chaotic lights of the plaza beyond. She was clad in her full, practical combat gear, her massive greatsword, glinting in the faint light. It was Mila.
She leaped into the ruined auditorium, landing with a soft, cat-like grace. With a fluid, practiced motion, she unslung two objects from her back and threw them, two perfect, spinning arcs that shot across the theater.
“Catch!”
Raito and Yukari didn’t even need to look. Their hands shot out, their fingers closing around the familiar, comforting hilts of their own weapons. Raito’s hand found Koenka, its black-and-gold hilt a perfect, familiar weight. Yukari’s fingers wrapped around her own matched set of silver daggers.
Raito unsheathed his blade. The crimson sword of pure Elenium, ‘Koenka,’ hummed to life, its surface glowing with a sudden, intense heat as Raito’s Flame Core pulsed, responding to his will.
Yukari assumed her usual, low, fluid combat stance, the silver daggers held in a reverse grip, her own Core ring already pulsing with a cold, white light.
Mila walked calmly towards the center of the stage, her greatsword held in a ready, two-handed grip, the green Gust Core crystal set into its hilt already glowing with a faint, swirling light.
Lily, who had been silently, and single-handedly, holding back the Mark II’s relentless barrage, finally stood up from her velvet throne. “Are you two done talking?” she asked, her voice a low, irritated purr.
“Yes,” Raito and Yukari replied in unison, their voices now a low, confident growl.
“Good,” Lily huffed, a theatrical, impatient sound. “Dost thou not realize I have been continually taking care of the incoming wave of barrages this entire time?!”
“I almost forgot,” Yukari teased, a sharp, dangerous smirk on her face. “But you are doing so well. Can’t you deal with it yourself?”
“You—!” Lily’s indignant shriek was cut short.
“Focus!” Mila’s voice was a sharp, clear, and utterly no-nonsense command that silenced both of them. She gestured with her massive blade towards the Mark II, which had finally broken through her water barriers and was now lumbering towards them, its cannon arm already glowing with a fresh, yellow charge. “That thing is attacking again.”
“Then,” Lily declared, her earlier irritation melting away, replaced by a grin of pure, predatory, and theatrical delight as she rose to her full height, her arms spread wide. “We shall deliver the true climax of the show for it!”