The Queen's elimination opened an exit to escape. Commonly, they manifested as a portal, but they sometimes came in obscure forms that couldn't be discovered at a glance.

  Hermes caught it in the distance, where the others were located.

  Ian sprawled against the frigid ground, unwilling to move. It'd be a lovely time to take a nap, he concluded. The worst thing that could occur was hundreds of spiderlings swarming his body.

  He promptly reconsidered the nap.

  However, he decided that if his eyes were closed, nothing mattered. What he didn't see, didn't exist. Everything ached terribly; his throat drained raw of speech. Their chatter had worsened it, but Ian found Hermes oddly comfortable to speak to.

  It'd been mostly the other describing a spider's properties in comparison to a harvestman for seven long minutes, but it hadn't been entirely boring.

  Ian always preferred those who spoke a little more. It was contradictory to despise noise, but seek echoes of it in the hollows of his loneliness. Yet he did.

  Lucian, too, would routinely explain the insignificant details of his days, regardless of Ian's response—the overcooked potato he had for lunch, or how a stain now marked his white uniform.

  For a fleeting second, he remembered that elegant, stubborn Guide. It was a fool's errand. Ian knew better than to cling to memories, and he didn't have time to spare for things unrelated to his sister.

  But people too easily became ghosts that haunted free time, when thoughts ran rampant.

  He couldn't help but wonder if they'd cross paths in the future, or if, in some place Ian didn't know, that man's life had already been snuffed?

  Agitation coiled in Ian's chest, and he shifted. "Enough talking," he announced unreasonably. "I'll come over once I've taken a nap."

  Hermes peered at the ruins, the uncomfortable stone floor, and the shrivelled corpse curled in fetal position, as much as a spider could. He tilted his head. "Here?"

  "Where else?" said Ian unreasonably.

  Before Ian could commit to sleeping, a pair of sturdy arms slid beneath his body. Ian jerked, snapping his eyes wide, but the burn of his limbs and aching joints reduced him to limpness. Instead, he flopped over the other's shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

  A hard shoulder poked his ribcage, and his brows knitted. "What the hell is this? A kidnapping?"

  Hermes attempted to readjust him. "I'll carry you to the portal."

  "Without consent, it's called a kidnapping," informed Ian as he accepted his potato fate, dangling.

  Hermes said nothing more, venturing on the least damaged paths until he ducked around a broken corridor. A circle of pillars framed the temple, and upturned stone paths led to the center.

  The other's arms began trembling slightly. Ian was moderately malnourished, although he'd recently indulged in a surplus of potatoes.

  However, he remained a large man with lean muscles. In a little over a month, his pathetic self had sharpened its edges, gaining more strength than he'd ever had.

  Ian sighed. "Drop me. Your shaking is uncomfortable."

  He didn't offer any gratitude, but the other didn't seem to mind. Hermes nodded patiently and gently lowered Ian down. The Guide rolled over like a worm and froze. His heartbeat quickened, and dread pooled in his stomach.

  A sea of white assaulted his vision.

  Cocoons after cocoons, haphazardly stacked. They crowded a circular platform, where a massive dead spider lay.

  The stench of flesh and death was pungent, and the spider's backside had been violently ripped open. Countless spiderlings were crushed against the stone slab, forming a sheet of sticky black.

  Ares claimed a clean spot on the second step leading to the platform, one leg outstretched. Artemis fiddled with his hand solemnly, while his free hand tossed a vermillion core up and down.

  A short distance away, Apollo took to examining cocoons, as if searching for any treasures.

  It was somewhat disturbing—Apollo's desensitization to the withered corpses, but Ian supposed the child had been forced to see far more than he should.

  Ian propped himself up and locked eyes with a pale face.

  One frozen in a picture of horror, corpse still fresh. It carried a thickness to their youthful cheeks, yet to be entirely drained of blood, and trails of spider silk spilled from their parted lips.

  The young man who'd taught Ian the meaning of 'passenger princess'.

  Adam, and a companion of mere moments. Perhaps they would've cooperated on several more missions, or have met along the desolate streets and chatted. Perhaps they would've met countless times more—

  —Were he not dead. Now, all possibilities had turned into nothing.

  Ares glanced over, waving tiredly.

  "Now, Hermes," he drawled. "Isn't it a gentleman's duty to take care of his Guide? Why is he more exhausted than you—and why do you look completely fine?"

  It bordered on an accusation, but Hermes shook his head, and Ares only smiled faintly. They trusted each other—both members of the Alliance.

  Ian ignored it. Had Hermes attempted to use him like a charger, as many others did, he'd make sure the Esper came out just as bruised as him. Instead, he tore his gaze away from Adamn and swept it across the other countless corpses.

  This garden of death, and only hollowness, encompassed him.

  Or was the emptiness he felt merely a cavity of disbelief, waiting to be filled once he'd faced a greater horror?

  Ian's fingers dug against his scraped thighs, nodding to the torn cocoons. They'd been deliberately ripped open. "You tried to check if they developed cores?"

  Artemis grimaced, cuddling closer to the Esper, but Ares only grinned.

  "That thinking is twisted," he laughed, tapping his head twice. "But you're right. They don't have any, just do you know."

  The Rifts underwent constant research. One of the popular topics was the properties of the cores. Ian had managed to track a few experiments conducted within the facility—his insignificance had been a useful tool, back then.

  Three years ago, researchers abandoned a dog in a low-level Rift. Upon retrieving it, the dog displayed attributes of a monster.

  Records revealed that it happily sprinted up to them with a wagging tail, licking its owner's hand. Then, they'd brought it back and dissected it, finding a core tucked above its kidneys.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  A second experiment revealed that a regular bird, hypnotized by an S-Rank, otherwise known as a Queen, could also develop a core. They theorized that things that belonged to the Rift could develop cores.

  In this Rift, corpses were not merely dead bodies, but a necessary food source belonging to the spiders. Thus, Ian had also considered fishing for a core.

  Thankfully, Ares' thoughts were just as fucked as his.

  He changed the topic. "What was the rule?"

  A dull throb echoed from his abdomen, but he dismissed it. All he could do in the face of the Rifts' destruction was to seek knowledge.

  Ares chuckled. "Didn't I tell you? Rules are all arbitrary, lacking any cohesiveness whatsoever. Irregularities always exist. Regardless, this pretty lady here was the Queen, and that's all you need to know."

  Above the collapsed spider, the oval vortex beckoned them. Like a slice out of space.

  To reach it, they'd have to leverage the soft corpse and jump up.

  Ares turned his attention sideways. "Hermes, you let him fight alone?"

  Ian had confirmed that Hermes was an Esper, but either the other's throwing arm was incredibly practiced, or his ability was related to that.

  Abilities varied without a clear range; many assumed they were mutations from exposure to the Rift's radiation, which had deformed animals and eliminated countless humans.

  Espers and Guides were moderately immune to the radiation, but regular humans were at constant risk of mutation and transforming into a monster. If Espers failed to control their energy, they could additionally fall prey to the mutation and turn into a high-intelligence creature.

  Ian had confirmed that Hermes was an Esper, but he hadn't revealed any ability. Abilities varied with no clear range; many assumed they were different mutations from exposure to the Rift's radiation that deformed animals and infected humans.

  Espers and Guides held a certain immunity to the radiation, but regular humans were at risk of mutating and becoming monsters. For Espers, if they failed to control their energy, then the mutation could take control and transform them into a higher-intelligence monster.

  Guides, on the other hand, were only at risk of mutation after direct fluid exchange. Therefore, they were often directed to the standalines to limit the risk of injury.

  Of course.

  Espers were developmentally stronger, and their unique abilities granted an unrivaled strength. Power Ian would never possess, no matter how badly he desired it.

  Then, a small hand found his, snapping him from his thoughts. Apollo, at some point, had crouched beside him with his thick brows furrowed deeply. Ian tilted his head, but allowed the boy to do as he pleased.

  Hermes shook his head again. "He didn't require my assistance."

  "Bullshit," snorted Ian. "You hid in the sidelines happily enough."

  "I threw rocks."

  "Thank you for your efforts that even a child could do." Ian glanced at Apollo, who blinked at him brightly, and coughed. "Less than, actually."

  Ares raised an eyebrow and shrugged, staggering to a stand. He looked up at the portal. "Well, whatever. Let's head out now, shall we? Unless you want to linger with any remaining survivors?"

  Nightfall had returned, illuminated by the circular moon, a perfect circle in the abyss. It cast a glow on the endless sea of cocoons.

  Survivours? What a joke.

  All these were humans who only sought to live another day, now prisoners to the Rift.

  Ares slowly trailed over, silky hair unravelling over his shoulders. His clothes bordered on androgyny, fluttering fabrics stained by red.

  He stopped at the edges of the white flood, a core in one hand. He gazed deeply at Ian, who knelt on the ground.

  "Handsome," he drawled half-heartedly. "What's your aim? I'd like to recruit you. Are you seeking revenge, or do you want to dismantle the system of the Base that directs humans to their deaths?"

  Ares smiled. "Do you want to kill those responsible? I can see it, you know. The hatred in your glare."

  Ian lifted his chin coldly, and even Apollo stiffened.

  Vengeance fueled his desire to live. It became the floating, undefined thing that branched together his existence. He'd lived so long with his purpose designated by others.

  Vengeance was one of his few choices.

  Thus, he didn't dare to stray away from it, to take another route and find himself far away from familiarity. If he found his vengeance, would he find satisfaction?

  He didn't know.

  "What the hell are you saying?"

  Ares shrugged his hands into his pockets. "Join the Aegis Alliance."

  "It seeks to overthrow the Base," he said mechanically, drilled into him by what he'd heard daily. "Everything is for the sake of humanity."

  He loathed that chant, and resisted countless standards, and cruel expectations. But he'd lived his life underground, modified to perform his role in society. He existed as an energy bank for Espers; a tool to bleed dry, recharge, and repeat.

  In the corner of his eyes, Ian could see an illusion of his past. His young self obediently sat with a haunted gaze.

  There was no total evil. All systems were corrupt, and morals were put to question. The Base brought death, and simultaneously protected an entire society while cultivating strength to protect the weak.

  This cruel, unjust system functioned.

  Ian couldn't imagine another system, no matter how he strained his mind. It was a madman's task, and it wasn't his.

  He was neither selfless, empathetic, nor emotional. He was a bastard who cared about himself and those he chose to love, with no room for anything more. A rebellion? That was far beyond his knowledge or interest.

  "The Base," interrupted Hermes quietly, behind Ian, "exists to prolong humanity's survival."

  Ares' gaze sharpened into venomous slits. He let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Sure, it does, it really does, and what does it sacrifice? You're too naive—you think this is functioning? You can only say that because you hardly know the beginning of it. My mother! She—"

  Footsteps pattered against the earth, and Artemis leaped up, wrapping around him like a koala. A glow pulsed in her eyes, and she squeezed. "Big brother Ares. You're not handsome when you're upset."

  Energy sizzled in the air as Ares huffed, exhaling deeply. He stepped back, hugging the little girl carefully, and shook his head. "Let's just say, handsome, that whatever you've seen is only the beginning."

  His story was a simple one.

  His mother, a young Guide, had been entangled with an older Esper during a mission and had him at an early age. The assault that occurred inside the Rift was never mentioned, and they lived as a family of three for many years in the Center.

  He remembered his mother, her gentle but noble disposition, and wondered how a woman so intelligent and compassionate could fall to such foolery.

  But violence had a way of disguising its blade; oh, it could be as gentle as a caress before they realized they were suffocating.

  She would return bruised and exhausted, and throughout the years, he witnessed how suffering eroded her beauty, chipping away at happiness.

  From a young age, Ares knew his mother would not last long.

  On his twelfth birthday, he clung to her trousers and begged her to stay. He didn't remember why, but he remembered how her fingers glided through his long hair, braiding them gently.

  "We hold a responsibility to close Rifts," she explained softly. "And maybe that's not always fair, but I've saved many lives. I hope humanity continues to stand for many years, and you'll witness its evolution. I hope that so dearly for you, my boy."

  She promised she'd return soon.

  But only his father did.

  Ares had rushed up, sobbing and begging, even after his father struck him across the face and sent his frail body crashing to the ground. She fulfilled her purpose, he'd said.

  There were five Espers and two Guides that entered that S-Rank Rift.

  Only the Espers returned.

  "For the sake of humanity," his father announced coldly. "Your mother understood her role."

  And indeed—maybe it was her sacrifice that ensured the Rift's closure, and maybe it had saved countless other lives. But she'd been terribly young, his mother, and he longed for her gentle touches, her soft smiles.

  She was exposed to that accursed sentence over and over until it became all she knew.

  It was easy to claim to never fall for manipulation or a foolish ideology that brought ruin—but most didn't know until they'd withered into ashes, left with nothing but death to enlighten them.

  "I wonder," muttered Ares, a flicker of vulnerability quickly masked by cold arrogance. "What conclusions will you have in a few months?"

  They were ghosts floating by, haunting the narrative. In a thousand years, what would be the worth of their lives, of all these sacrifices made to protect something meaningless?

  And what could they do now?

  Ares' eyes scorched with resentment. But in the end, who could claim right or wrong? The Base killed thousands, and protected just as many.

  Artemis squeezed his hand again, climbing onto his back. "Breathe, Ares! Sis Zeus always tells us, remember! Remember—"

  "We're alive," said Ares with a nod. "Remember that we're alive."

  Ian jerked his head, staring straight at him.

  Ares shook his head with a sigh and turned away, swinging the little koala higher before he walked over and scooped Apollo under his arm. The boy flailed, resisting. "Here's the end of this party, then. We'll talk more once you join us."

  "The Aegis Alliance is no less lawless than the Base," said Ian slowly. They could be considered terrorists, sabotaging missions, interfering, and stealing. They risked humanity's lives—although perhaps they had protected just as many.

  Perhaps they protected the ones the Base sacrificed.

  "We're lawless," agreed Ares with a laugh. "Do you prefer the justified morals of the Base or our blatant disrespect? Forget it—I can see your eyes. It's lacking something essential. I think the good fate will bring us together again soon."

  He leaped up nimbly in two strides, standing at the front segment of the collapsed spider. His solitary figure basked under moonlight, hair billowing with the faint breeze. He looked like a conqueror—a wild, but free beast.

  A beast with nowhere to go.

  He tapped a finger against his left eye. "You remind me of somebody I know. Maybe that's why you get along with that madman nobody can understand."

  Then he pivoted through the portal, and the three bodies dispersed into the spinning vortex. It continued to swirl round and round, captured in Ian's black eyes.