The Three Hundred Year Grudge (Verus)

[Nemesis]

December 3rd
Fiji Jupiter Containment Zone Outskirts
Ruins "The Crypt" Entrance
8:18 AM

Dreams of what had once been.

Dreams of what could have been.

Nirai Kanai.



Such was the name that had been given to the Protoculture Ruins in the vicinity of Fiji Jupiter. Rarely if ever had there been a serious attempt at developing them - the land, it was said, was sacred. Or, depending on who you asked - cursed.

It would be hard to dispell that notion, as one was lowered onto the abandoned Mega-Float's surface. It was as if time had no hold on this place - the detritus of the sea was trodden underfoot, while other buildings seemed to have been warped into bizarre amalgamations of modern and ancient architecture. As if the entire place had been fused together between eras, bashed together in some kind of terrible accident that had banished it to a forlorn future, only to resurface to trouble the modern world anew with its existence.

"The Crypt" they had taken to calling it. On the surface, all that remained was a single, abandoned camp site near the entrance to the lower levels. Even from there, the sound of rushing water, and the strange scent of flowers and trees of uncertain origin mixing with that of drying kelp and decaying marine organisms formed an unforgettable admixture that burned the eyes and nose. A few ATs in standby mode were the only company, a couple of small crabs playing on the surface of one in the sunshine.

Who could tell what secrets this place held?

 

[Fenrir367]

Clara made footfall onto the damp metal platform, her heels ringing on the ground with each step she took. Looking around the area, she took observations of the architecture, the temperature and the life that remained. She had read about the Mu War in what books and archives she found during her post-graduate travels, and was little but fascinated by it. Perhaps ancient relics of yore would be found here too.

That said, this facility was massive for her to travel only by foot so she knew she would have to be prepared for a marathon of an expedition here. That said she had her priorities here, first investigating for any relics of significance. Second was the request's objective. Was there any energy left to spare she would find the lost survey team, were they still alive.

She placed her hand on the pommel of the blade sheathed at her side. Within the blade was a brilliant sapphire crystal that glimmered with an almost kingly manner, even in the subdued light of this megafloat.

There was little other choice than for her to proceed, but 'twould be best to do so with caution. It might be wise to check the ATs and campsite that remained, perhaps there was some mark the survey team left behind. This wasn't her first expedition, though even so, she wasn't confident in her ability to blindly delve into these ruins, so any sign or mark of existence would help her along the way.

She placed her finger up to her earpiece and spoke into it.

"Sera, keep the Prydwen on idle, and be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

Approaching the campsite, she would check for any signs of recent activity. Reports, memos, the fact that this camp remained gave her reasonable proof that they had been coming and going in and out of the ruins. It was just unfortunate that their most recent delve proved hostile. After checking the grounds, she moved to theidle machines and examined their exterior for any signs of combat, or any recent activity. Were the cockpits open she would slide inside and check the machine's logs for any data that seemed relevant.

 

[Nemesis]

Clara picked her way through the rusting heaps, the sound of seagulls squawking and trilling in the background adding a little punch to the sound of the ocean waves swirling below. The ATs purchased were second-hand, but sturdy and still functioning. The Diving Beetle would come to life under her fingertips if she so willed it, control panel giving a reassuring hum. Were she versed in such things, a check of the Mission Disc would reveal it had been recently accessed and updated - someone, apparently, fancied themselves a programmer of sorts.

What was out of the ordinary was the nature of the records it had been loaded with. A cursory glance through would indicate they had been pre-loading information about older model MTs - as old as they could possibly find.

Located under the nearby tent, someone had left a series of handwritten logs, in a leather-bound diary on a table, near a still-operating fan. Some entries, notably the last, appeared to be more hastily written than others:

Day One:

I can't believe we're out in this place. The prohibition was lifted, but the locals must be desperate to send us down here. Still, can't complain - pay's good, and the equipment's all provided on site. No sign of any locals either, so no trust-fund protestors getting in the way. Suits me just fine - if I had to cut one more Britannia hipster off a tree, I would have necked myself.

Day Five:

We reinforced the passages stretching down to the third level. So far so good, not sure why the officials seemed so jumpy - mostly just been clearing out a lot of rocks. The Diving Beetles have been working fine, I made some adjustments to the PRL levels to extend operating time. Need to make sure it's not being watered down, last thing we need is a cave in from a careless misstep.

Day Seven:

Still haven't found anything of note. The drawings here are giving me the creeps. They're telling a story, and it always ends the same way: with someone on an altar, getting their heart ripped out. What kind of fucked up race made this? It's like this place is... old... but also new? Nothing I need to pay attention to. Just keep my head down and get the job done.

Day Eight

Not sure if its the seafood diet or not, but this place is giving me weird dreams now too. Had a dream I was watching a ceremony of some kind. Some poor girl, some kind of sacrifice, with short dark hair. Weird clay masks. Woke up with the worst headache I've had in a long time.

Keep hearing weird noises in the night. Nobody else does. Need to keep my trap shut before the boys start thinking I'm some sorta Refrain junkie.

Day Ten:

Shit fire son of a bitch.

We tripped some kind of alarm. What came out were the oldest, clunkiest looking MTs I've ever seen in my entire life. We got outta there ASAP, but I can still hear them at night, patrolling down below. Whatever they're guarding has to be long gone. We're gonna have to deal with them one way or another, impossible to get our Normals down there without risking a cave in. Not sure if the ATs have the firepower or not, but only one way to find out.

Day Fifteen [Unsent]:

We got them. Some creative use of tripwire and we managed to disable the security MTs. Weird thing though - their batteries were long, long gone when we opened them up. Nothing but rotted hulks.

Putting in for a transfer out of this shithole.

Day Eighteen [Unsent]:

Heard it again. That noise. What the fuck is it? I'm the only one who heard it until now, apparently. Something singing, from really far away. Not today, though. It reverberated through the whole superstructure. Was LOUD. Collapsed the L2 main shaft. Evans and Brockman are trapped on the other side. Gonna go down and see if I can find an alternate route around to them. If we don't come back, send a rescue team.

Never should have come here. It's as cursed as they said.

 

[Fenrir367]

Scanning through the data files of the machine, finding the map outline drafted by them, she took a long look at it, looking over and remembering all the details of it as possible. It was at times like this she was grateful to her memory. Other times, not much.

Hopping out, she approached the campsite and picked up the diary in a slow and anxious manner. She read the diary with a somewhat concerned look on her face, the cryptic writing perhaps discouraging to one who wanted to explore these depths.

"Sacrificial Rituals, Hallucinations and Ghost MTs huh…"

She placed her finger to her chin and pondered for a moment. None of it was particularly disturbing, Sacrificial Rituals were common practice in ancient civilizations. It was just a question of for what purpose they were had.

She set the book back down where she found it and looked to the entrance of the ruins.

"Well, there is little else to do other than to do a little spelunking."

While most might be deterred in fear from reading the diary, Clara had a grin on her face; the opportunity to make a new discovery was handed to her on a silver platter. She began her walk into the ruins, peering into the dimly lit pathway. An exciting journey was before her, and she would face whatever horrors awaited her head on.

That said, she took a final look at the ATs with a new question in mind.

"Just why were they still out here?"

 

[Nemesis]

Down into the depths went Clara, the sound of her own footsteps echoing off the walls. Lights had been strung up along the route. and despite it being made for ATs to traverse, the going was relatively easy. The interior was, much like the outside, a strange mix of old and new, ancient stone occasionally overlapping rusted metal. Here and there, much as the notes had mentioned, bracing apparatus had been put in place to hold up the tunnel, and a series of (now silent) drones on caterpillar treads stood ready to receive debris from the path-clearing efforts, their tracks well documented underfoot.

According to the map, the first layer itself had been mostly excavated, leaving little that wasn't buried under a veritable mountain of rock. Slightly under half an hour's walk would have led her into the second layer - and with it, the sound of rushing water.

What had formerly been a shopping district and residential area was now flooded, and the catwalk beneath her feet, slippery. Sections here had been reinforced as well, requiring more creativity to support the weight of the ATs. Faded signs and storefronts with ancient electronics behind yellowed windows indicated that despite its age, no raider had been brave enough to tread these halls. Bleach-white mannequins posed in a shattered storefront as she walked past, like ballet dancers... and the dust, the omnipresent scent of seawater and mold on the air.

Were she to venture onward, according to the map, it would eventually open into the main undercity - and it was here, supposedly, that the AT team had first encountered the phantom MTs. However, there were various areas that hadn't been explored on this level - with an alternative route having been hastily scribbled down as leading from underwater into the undercity. Perhaps the locales mentioned were too dangerous for the ATs to explore?

Lastly, were Clara to peer below, there were another pair of Diving Beetles half-submerged at the lip of the lower layer, but immobile - as if they had halted in mid entry to the depths below - but due to the distance, it was difficult to make out any further details.

 

[Fenrir367]

The atmosphere was delightful for Clara, despite the darkness and unease that filled the air. It felt like... home. The fascinating melding of architecture was a sight to take in, unlike much of what she'd seen before. As she reached the second layer, she gave a whistle to the open area. Taking a look at the rickety platforms and other makeshift routes throughout this area, lines began to connect in Clara's mind as to why the ATs were left outside.

"There are certainly some areas that would be difficult for machines to traverse. That said it's equally suicide to come in here without something that could deal with the MTs.”

It was foolhardy to say the least.

While visiting the various stores was quite enticing for Clara to pursue, she doubted she’d find something she’d really want in one of them. The real prize was down further into this hole. Recalling the map, it seemed there were only two known routes into the undercity, one which was sealed off and the other through the water below. At the moment she was hardly in the mood for a swim, so she took a third option, and chose to explore one of the unexplored areas. Perhaps another route was possible through that.

Walking past the stores, temptation grew higher and higher before she finally broke, deciding to do a quick sweep through the two stores closest to her. Removing whatever door or obstacle was in her way, she grabbed what could fit on her person before proceeding down one of the unexplored routes.

 

[Nemesis]

The lonesomeness of the place was certainly oppressive. Picking through what was available in the storefronts would have yielded, initially, quite little - everything was besotten with rot, falling apart at the slightest touch in a cloud of tiny flies and dust that hurt the lungs. Yet, at the moment she made to leave, the sunlight above, filtering through the cracks and gouges in the ceiling, glinted off something on the floor. A small satchel, of a silken, woven material that was soft to the touch - and noticeably newer than the ruins around her. Were she to shake its contents loose, a chunk of faintly glowing red rock would have plopped into her hands. It was warm, and pulsated slightly in her fingertips - but otherwise showed no sort of reaction, nor of being harmful in any sort of fashion.

With that seemingly being the only immediately available bounty, the map would have taken her down a side route between the buildings. Though much of it had caved in and was clearly unsuitable for an AT to travel, she would have been able to squeeze through the gaps, slowly but surely making her way through to the opposite end.



The remnants of a subway station, like the metal skeleton of a leviathan, greeted her. The sound of rushing water had receded somewhat, becoming only a dull hum in the background as her footsteps would have carried her along it's length. The faded logo of Chrome Corporation was emblazoned on its side at intervals, and was just barely readable in some of the faded advertisements that had once been placed along its sides.

But, that likely wasn't the most immediately impressive sight.

Hunched at the rear of the station, as though in a bow that placed its head to the ground, beneath a gaping hole in the infrastructure was...

...an Arm Slave. There was, for the moment, no sign of its pilot - and the machine itself was inert, albeit locked. But... It meant she wasn't alone.

Taking that information to the account, the limited information on the map indicated that the station opened up to another set of streets if she were to cross the tracks, or go up a level on the ruined escalators. The track, visible in the distance, plunged down into oblivion, so following it seemed for the moment unwise.

 

[Fenrir367]

She took nicely to the red rock in the pouch, inspecting it briefly before pocketing it away. At the very least this expedition wouldn’t turn up empty handed. As she proceeded to the subway station, she immediately ducked into cover in the shadows of the relic train, peeking around the corner to the machine.

“Well that’s no MT…”

She was surprised by the Arm Slave, more mysteries lining up about this place by the second. Was it part of the survey team…? No, it looked far too advanced to be something used for a mere mining exploration. So then why was it here? What was its pilot looking for?

Those questions, and more. Surely she’d find answers to them soon enough. That said, if this person was here too looking for some relic buried within this ruin, then there was no time to spare in trying to get to the bottom of this place. Moving along, as to not make any loud noises as she stepped, she proceeded cautiously to the escalator, keeping her eyes on the Arm Slave near her.

Compared to before, tension and anxiety began to fill up in her, the competition now raising the stakes in her plunge here. If the pilot left their Arms Slave here, then they must’ve proceeded in the direction where it couldn’t take them. Maybe she could catch them off guard. If anything, she was confident in any fight that took place on foot.

 

[Nemesis]

As Clara neared the top of the steps, there was a resounding CRACK, and the sound of a body hitting the floor - hard. Were she to peer over the lip, a curious sight was unfolding along the upper platform. A black armored figure, clad in white robes, was now sprawled on the floor, leaking a glimmering, ichorous ooze from a new hole where its face had been. Another matching its description was standing protectively before a young woman with short dark hair, her features a mask of indifference.

Opposing them, and lowering her leg from the fierce kick it had just delivered, was a Beastwoman - a fox, it seemed, whose teeth were set in a low growl that exposed her fangs. The short-haired girl looked at the crumpled figure, with disappointment.

"I thought I smelled mange." Said Frieda, the slightest hint of distaste coloring her tone.

"Nice t'see you too." Said Grete, eyes now on the other Servitor - but it remained where it was, hand closed on a pistol of unfamiliar make, likewise watching her every move.

"I'm not surprised to find a failure like you rummaging through the trash... but disappointed, nonetheless."

Freda, The Innocent, stepped past her bodyguard. Before Clara's eyes, the crumpled body seemed to boil on the spot, dissolving into a glittering vapor that sunk into the pavement beneath. Frieda gave a small, cold smile to Grete.

"I'm sure that you'd prefer I kill you. It would be a mercy compared to... well." - She placed a hand on the shoulder of the Servitor, causing its visor to pulse cerulean in acknowledgement - "Ending up like that."

Grete's hand curled a middle finger up in Frieda's direction.

"Fuck you." She spat.

"Gettin real tired of you n' the rest talkin' bout me, like I'm a walkin' carcass."

Frieda blinked slowly, as if dealing with a particularly stubborn child. Her voice was soft and tender... yet dripping with condescension, like poisoned honey as she gave the Beastwoman a pitying look.

"Grete... if you were ever going to Actualize, it would have happened by now. With acceptance... comes peace."

She closed her eyes, and smiled.

"Don't you... want peace?"

"Not the kind you're sellin', y'crazy bitch."

With a look of mild disappointment, Frieda folded her arms. After a moment's contemplation, she continued, as if already tired of the standoff:

"I may as well tell you: What you're looking for is no longer here. I've already taken care of it."

"...that so."

"This is my domain. It's only natural. But by all means, keep looking. Maybe you could find a nice little flea collar-"

"SHUT! UP!"

Grete's hand lashed out, claws spread wide - but hit only air, as the Innocent and her protector vanished in a spark of light, leaving behind nothing but a phantom chuckle. Even so - the force of the blow, inexplicably, seemed to carry forward, tearing four massive gashes in the storefront before Grete. The Beastwoman's body heaved... and her hand went to her chest, slowly, painfully, as if she were suddenly exhausted.

And yet-

"I can smell you. Come out."

She turned in Clara's direction, tail swishing back and forth as one hand flexed in preparation... Just in case. Having to deal with Frieda had left a bad taste in her mouth, but... there was only one question on her mind, which was posed to the newcomer in the most straightforward terms possible.

"You a cop?"

 

[Fenrir367]

Clara stuck behind the corner of a wall as she listened in on the two peoples’ conversation. The majority of it made very little sense to her, but with the tension as it was, she felt it wasn’t smart to try and approach them. She just waited and listened to their conversation. She had several questions and more, but what perked her interest the most was that ‘what she was looking for was no longer here’.

“I’m neither a cop, nor your enemy… yet.”

Clara stepped out from the corner and faced the beastman.

“Perhaps on the contrary, we can be of assistance to each other, Grete Samassa."

She smiled and placed her hand on her chest. This was quite an unexpected development, but she thought best to make lemonade out of the situation. She was hardly a bounty hunter nor a 'hero of justice', and had little care of what her head was worth or what transgressions she had committed.

"Clara Pendragon, CEO of the Prydwen Institute. I've heard all about you… and a little more based on that conversation you just had."

She stepped forward unfazed by the beastman's strength.

"I'm not 100% sure what you two were talking about, but I do know you came here looking for something."

She continued to move closer to Grete.

"Do you think she actually took care of what you were looking for? She could be lying just to dissuade you from continuing your search."

Rather than facing her she simply walked past Grete, continuing her walk.

"Well, I plan to keep delving into these ruins, as I have my own goals here. You're welcome to join me if you'd like, and maybe you'll find what you're looking for. Or you could believe that girl's words and leave here empty-handed."

Before leaving, she gave one last look at Grete.

"And who knows, maybe you'll find something even better than what you came here for. Sounds like you and her have a history, and she's about to stick it to you again."

 

[Nemesis]

Grete's teeth pulled back in a snarl at the mention of her name - but she remained poised, evidently not in a hurry to deliver the first blow, as Clara walked past. For a couple of minutes, there was only silence as she walked along the desolate hallways, her offer apparently having been rejected. Until there was a soft fwmp, and Grete's voice from behind her.

"Hold it."

A couple of hurried steps, and the Beastwoman was at her side, matching her pace, still wearing a scowl on her face... but there also seemed to be a sort of curiosity, like a dog that was following her, but growled when she moved to pet it.

"Y'don' want anything to do with that gal. Nothin' but death's waitin' for ye down there."

She shook her head, remembering the previous men that had went in, and what had happened to them. The movement sent her hair split ends and all back and forth across her shoulders, brushing the surface of her worn jacket. She gave a shrug, as if acknowledging that a CEO was just a criminal with better publicity... and lawyers.

"Yer not like the other roundears. Guess y'don need the money..."

In mid sentence, her nose twitched, as if smelling something on the air, and her brow creased in surprise. Her gaze traveled over Clara's body, to the small satchel she'd picked up earlier, with the glowing rock.

"...What's that you've got?" She said suddenly - trying, but not completely succeeding in hiding the curiosity in her voice.

 

[Fenrir367]

Clara continued walking as Grete caught up with her, heeding her presence but not her commands. Her pace was relaxed and leisurely, though her steps resounded with determination.

"Reading your profile, I didn't think you'd be one to get cautious of others. But I get it, there's always a bigger fish in the sea and all."

She gave a mild quip at her newfound 'partner', not to anger her but rather a little tough love to revitalize the beastwoman's spirit.

"It's not that I'm not unsuspicious of her, but if she isn't an immediate threat, I have other things to think about."

Her voice was serious, perhaps in the slight bit of being harsh. Clara could sense she was getting closer to what she was truly after, but the closer she got to her objective the more dangerous it would surely become.

"You know of what's down there? Did you meet with the survey team here prior?"

She finally turned her head to look at Grete as she walked. What she needed most now was information about what she was getting into.

"It being dangerous is the reason I'm here. For what treasure hunt is there without danger?"

She gave an almost foolhardy smile as she spoke this ridiculous statement. It was a short-lived smile though, as she quickly returned to her serious gaze.

"Money is but a means to an end. And the end I'm looking for doesn't require money, not yet."

She turned her eyes forward, keeping them locked on the path ahead. When Grete questioned her item, she pulled it out and held it in her hand opposite to the beastwoman.

"This? A relic of some sort I found earlier in the main hall. When I get back to my ship I'll get it analyzed."

The red rock held warmth in her hand still, the pulsating feeling somewhat reminiscent of a heart. Could that perhaps mean something?

 

[Nemesis]

"Didn't meet 'em. Saw what happened though." Said Grete, in response to her inquiry about the Survey team.

"One of 'em turned. Shot his buddies in the back, crack-crack." - Her finger came up, doing a little rootin-tootin into the air with faintly humorous indifference.

"That's how they work... the Mulians. This place is crawling with them."

The silence around them - and the fact that a Mulian hadn't been seen in over a hundred and fifty years - seemed to suggest otherwise, but Grete nevertheless continued, her eyes flicking back and forth around them.

"There's something big under here, in the water. I dunno what it's waitin' for. Just sits there, wailing to itself. Like it's waitin' to die."

The beastwoman's eyes widened as Clara showed the rock she had found earlier. The beautiful color in its surface was even more radiant as the light kissed it. Grete's hand rose... and then stopped, seemingly as the wanted woman exercised an unexpected amount of self control.

"That's... Philosopher Stone. Lapis Philosophorum. But... yer no Alchemist."

...Here, Grete lapsed into silence. She seemed... torn, almost, bringing a hand over her mouth as she eyeballed it, as if two very different forces were clashing against one another behind her eyes. Finally, she sighed, seeming to give in to whatever her conscience was attempting to say.

"If it's a Relic yer after... there's one here."

Her foot tapped the ground... and she averted her eyes, looking straight ahead. One hand came up... and sloughed away one of her sleeves. Immediately visible, running out from her chest across her shoulders, were dark lines cut deep into her skin. Occasionally, a very faint pulse of blue flowed through it.

"...Bein' straight, I'm in a bad way. Not sure how much longer I got before I become one of... them. With that stone... I could last longer. I might... have a chance."

She replaced her jacket... and in spite of herself, seemed to stand a little taller, looking the CEO in the eyes. There was a little pride there, whatever hadn't been dashed digging through trash on the streets - a tiny ember left from the campfires of her youth, of her people.

"I know y'don't trust me. Beastmen have honor too. I dun' some shameful things... but nothin' I didn't need to in order to survive. I pay my debts... and honor my promises. Y'don't go far in the underworld if your word doesn't mean a thing."

Wiping it off on her jacket, and with only a little hesitation... Grete extended her hand to Clara.

"If 'yer willin' to part with it, I'll help ya' get the relic. It won't be easy. But if we work together... we can seriously piss that bitch off."

 

[Fenrir367]

"The philosophers stone… huh?"

She looked from Grete to the rock in her hand, with a somewhat contemplative look on her face. She listened and watched as her companion exposed herself to her and gave a stroke of her chin

"So that explains the previous conversation. Your 'actualizing' has to do with that condition you have."

Things were beginning to make more sense in her mind, and this trip grew more complicated by the minute. That said, there were options to take here. If her bounty was anything to go by, Grete had the skills of a strong pilot, her underworld connections would be useful, and she possesed a 'get it done' mindset which made it even more attractive to her.

"Alright Grete, here's the deal."

Clara came to an abrupt stop and turned to face the beastwoman.

"Your offer is a good start, but far from what I see as ideal."

She held the stone before Grete, the dim light giving illumination to the two's faces. She could see the spark in her eye and decided to strike while she could still be emblazoned

"Judging by your wording, even if I give you this stone, it's hardly a permanent cure, just a temporary fix."

With her free hand, she lightly tapped the woman's chest.

"This isn't a simple transaction for me, but rather an investment. I have to look at the big picture here. This stone will buy you time, but who's to say it's only delaying the inevitable. So how about I do you one better: I give you this stone, you come and work for me. You come with me and we'll work to find a cure to this. My institute specializes in the ancient, and that lost in the annals of history. Your chances of being cured are much higher with me than sticking it alone."

She gave a grin of confidence towards Grete.

"And you may be asking what I get out of this deal? It seems pretty generous for you, no?"

She held the stone down.

"I want your loyalty. To me that is worth more than anything else. I'm not just a pretty face who runs an archeology company, I have plans that will sweep the world in disbelief. In order to do that, I will need loyal companions at my side."

Her end was something far beyond the simple gathering of relics, she wanted a revolution, an emancipation. She would revive the legacy of Albion even if it killed her. Grete too, would see the fire that burned in Clara's eyes. But no small embers these were, but rather a raging wildfire that scorched the land. And from that land, a new Kingdom would rise.

"...But, should you not like this offer, by all means decline and we'll be on our own ways… but after what you've told me, don't expect me to not cut you down right where you stand."

It was the harsh truth of the situation. It would certainly be easier to kill her now when she weak before she 'actualized' and became a nuisance down the line.

"So what'll it be Grete? The ball is in your court."

She held out the stone, offering it to Grete. Despite her rather strong armed tactics, Clara gave Grete a sincere smile, without any malice or ill-intent to it.

 

[Nemesis]

"Yer not the first t'offer."

Grete's eyebrows raised in amusement as Clara talked, giving a low whistle. The swagger in her step - here, she thought, was a human who thought the sun shone right out her ass. She tapped her throat knowingly as she spoke, saying:

"I'm not interested in bein 'yer pet, roundear. Not th'first time someone's tried to collar me. Seems to be a bit of a fixation with you lot."

That statement, with all its connotations, was left to hang in the air for a moment as the beastwoman looked Clara dead in the eyes.

"Equals. Y'scratch my back... and I scratch 'yers. I've heard the pretty talk before."

And Clara, she added mentally, sounded like someone who knew how to draw someone in with shock and awe. For someone like her, however, who had hailed from the streets? She'd seen how a silver tongue was just as, if not more deadly than a steel knife. She gave a shrug, as if saying "this is for your own good".

"Besides. Y'have any idea how big a target you'd be painting on 'yer back with me around?"

She stretched her arms behind her head momentarily - but her eyes were still on the stone. At length, she added:

"Consider this a trial run. See if we can work together... before makin' the commitment."

 

[Fenrir367]

"That's what I said, didn't I?"

Clara matched Grete's gaze with her own, unblinking as she burned holes in the beastwoman's eyes.

"Loyalty is a two-way street. When I'm asking for your loyalty, you're getting mine in return. I want companions, not underlings."

She then disengaged and looked forward again.

"Actions can be bought; sold to the highest bidder. Loyalty is earned. I'm sure you know that."

She ran her hand through her ashen hair and took a step forward before looking back at Grete.

"So prove to me you deserve to sit at the adult table and let's get this relic and take care of that 'beast' down below, shall we?"

She smiled again and placed the philosopher's stone in Grete's hand before continuing her march onward. These ruins had more to explore and Clara was itching to continue this exploration.

"If you're worried about your bounty, there are ways to handle that. Though that's a problem for another time. How about we focus on what's before us, yeah?"

 

[Nemesis]

"Yer an interestin' sort."

Grete's hand closed about the Philosopher's Stone. She closed her eyes, and there was a brief, short flash of light - and she gave a short gasp, somewhere between relief and pleasure, the kind that sent a shiver down the back of your neck. Unseen to both, the lines that had been snaking around her ribcage retracted somewhat, curling back inwards towards their starting point.

"I'll show y'the way. But, first-"

Grete's hand reached out... and tapped the side of Clara's head, a spark erupting from her fingertips as she pulled it away, as though an electric connection had been formed.

The young woman's vision would have exploded into stars, as if her blood sugar had just dropped, and been filled with a momentary dizziness. But, when she opened her eyes next... the world had changed.

"Y'should be able t'see them now."

Arrayed all around the two were what could only be described as ghosts. They perched on rocks, or hovered in the air, clad in all manner of robes or swaddled in rags. Their semi-transparent forms flickered and wavered, as though they were underwater, their faces hidden by clay constructs like helmets, each ornately unique in make. They stared off into space vacantly, their mouths moving soundlessly, as if they were mouthing along with a somber hymn.

"Sorry things. Trapped in another world, not fully asleep, but not awake either." Said Grete, shaking her head.

"Place like this feel like home to them, but also not. They're drawn to it."

She shoved her hands in her pockets, seemingly unconcerned herself about the abundance of Mulian phantoms. Saying as she walked ahead:

"Let's get movin'. Keep an eye on them. If one's lookin' at ya... Don't meet its gaze.

Don't acknowledge it. No matter how strongly y'feel... or they'll take you too."

---

For the next half hour or so, the two traversed the ruins. Going was at first slow, but Grete's nose seemed to know the way - following, she said, the scent of the sea. They descended through more amalgamated buildings, frozen halfway between ancient terrace and modern business center, picked their way past more scores of slumbering Mulians. Despite Grete's word of warning, not once did Clara feel their oppressive presence shift to her, even as some seemed to slow in their hymn as she passed by.



Eventually, the two dropped down out of a passageway atop a large building - and the undercity sprawled out before them. It was cold down here - their breath came out before them in puffs of white, and Grete pulled her coat a little tighter, visibly wincing. Carefully they would have made their way down, sometimes moving from building to building across open gaps, finding their way down... before, in the lobby of what must have once been a corporate staple, Grete signalled for the two to slow... and flattened herself against a wall.

A voice, shrill and piercing, reached their ears.

"Ach. Zis ees unacceptable!"

Outside, something massive loomed, nestled between the wide, dilapidated streets. Its body was a coarse yellow, and its construction looked... dated, to say the least, but it hovered in near silence nontheless. Below it were two figures - one, who remained silent, wore the uniform of the Survey team, and a Mulian clay mask upon their unresponsive features. Unlike the rest, they seemed very real - much to the chagrin of the other participant, who jabbed its head aggressively with a pale fingertip.



"'Allo~? Anyone home~?"

The other individual, a woman who looked to be in her early forties, gave a scowl behind her glasses. There was an emblem on her clothes, easily decipherable even from a distance. that of Chrome Incorporated - and not getting any kind of response from the Mulian, she instead went to rubbing her temples in aggravation, a German accent adding a rasp to her words.

"'Ow am I supposed to excavate like zis? Muzt I do everyzink myself?"

 

[Fenrir367]

Clara marveled at the sights and architecture of the ruins, her gaze shifting throughout the place, like a child seeing snow for the first time. Frankly, she was more curious about the ruins themselves rather than the ghosts that populated the halls. Of course she was no newbie and knew the golden rule of ruins exploring, “look but don’t touch.” Nonetheless, what felt like a journey through an entire city, they had finally arrived at the actual undercity of this ruin.

Clara adjusted her overcoat as well, following Grete’s steps to the lobby, where they encountered the target of her quest.

“That must be the MT.”

She spoke quietly with whitened breath.

“...And that woman is…?”

She peeked from around the corner at the green-haired woman, making what observations she could. At the back of her mind, she felt she was developing a habit for voyeurism, something she never thought she’d imagine. She shook the thought away and placed her hand on the handle of her sword, looking to Grete with a nod of confirmation.



Slowly drawing the sword from its sheath, the silver edge bared itself to the world, with a pristine polish enough that Grete could see her own reflection in it. At the hilt, a red crystal was socketed into the weapon - a crystal that held a not too dissimilar glow to the philosopher stone that the beastwoman had.

Clara stepped out from the corner and approached the scene with caution, blade held at the ready.

“Maybe you want to step aside, unless you’re looking to get cut down along with that MT there.”

She shared in the woman’s scowl, giving her an antagonizing stare

“Or explain who you are and what you’re doing here. I’ll let you decide.”

 

[Nemesis]

"Uwa!"

The German reacted with alarm as Clara suddenly stepped into view, visibly shrinking back with a yelp... but as she spoke, a look of indignation crossed her features. Between them, the helmeted Mulian stepped away... and sunk into the shadows, silently.

"...MT?! Nein, zis is mein Phantasma! It is no Muscle Tracer, rather it's-"

Here, Grete decided to also make her presence known, clearing her throat loudly with a threatening growl that caused the woman's argument to die in her throat.

"Beat it, lady." She growled; "I can smell th'stink of bluebloods on ye.

I don't know how much Frieda's paying you to be a guard dog, but it's not worth your life."

"Nein, you have it all wrong."

For the second time, the German seemed to rebound from terror, puffing herself up as she put a hand on her chest, proudly gesturing to the MT overhead.

"I am Farbe Blechern, President of Chrome Incorporated. We funded zis Phantasma's development-"

Grete interrupted with a sneer of disbelief, causing Farbe's expression to contort into one of fury.

"Oh aye, sure. Chrome's been outta business fer over three hundred years. Delisted from th' stock exchange n' everything."

"...ach, yes. Ze delisting. A little nuclear war, and all of ze sudden everyone gets ze cold feet."

As Farbe tapped her fingers together, muttering under her breath, Grete gave Clara a knowing glance, the beastwoman rolling her eyes.

"Point is... We're after the Relic th' Innocent's hiding down here. Y'must know where it is."

"Ja. But, you see, vell..."

Farbe made a show of hemming and hawing, fidgeting with her fingers... before turning away, and as she looked back, a small remote had materialized in her grasp. She gave a grin full of sharpened, shark-like teeth.

"I'm... not going to tell you!"

There was a mechanical groan overhead, as Phantasma raised one of its arms - and brought it crashing down, pulverizing the building besides the two of them, sending a cascade of rock slamming down on top of the two as the CEO scampered up the MT's extended arm, the whine of Phantasma's rotor-jet engines only marginally less audible than her shrill laughter, like claws on a window pane.

 

[Fenrir367]

Clara watched the woman talk in her panic-like expression, giving her a look of doubt. She tightened the grip on her blade, waiting for what would come.

And in perhaps the least of surprises, the woman decided to flee, but not before leaving a mess of a situation for them to get through.

"I hope you're not useless without your Arm Slave."

Clara looked to Grete and spoke in a calm manner despite the falling debris around them.

"Let's catch this bitch."

She smiled and held her sword up above her, pointing it skyward. As she did, the red gem in the hilt began to glow and shine with a surprisingly bright luster.

“Culhwch Excalibur tron”​

With those three words, Clara called forth her holy chant, as she became enwrapped in boundless light. Golden rings surrounded her arms and legs, knightly armor beginning to manifest around her body. A glistening silver armor adorned her body, replacing her former clothing.

SGx-11 EXCALIBUR
SYSTEM: ALL GREEN
NORMAL OPERATION

​

As the armor formation completed, a golden aura began to enwrap the sword she held, gradually increasing in splendor.

"I will sing a song of a civilization long forgotten to the world - a language lost to time."

Bringing the blade back down low to her hip, she closed her eyes took a deep breath. From her mind words came to her tongue, and from her soul, a voice rang out, resounding off the walls of the ruins, echoing in the hearts of all present.

"Kuwata (soba) tsuno wovalai"​

Phonic Gain began to spike as Clara began singing, and in a singular swiping motion, she drew the blade in an upward arc, the energy radiating from the blade extending beyond the length of the blade and cleaving through the falling debris.

"Tsurizhi (swakhna) pura alekai"​

Clara stepped out of the clouds of dust kicked up by the broken debris and tracked the direction in which the German fled. Clara narrowed her eyes in the woman's direction; she wasn't about to let some other CEO best her. She'll drag that sorry Kraut's ass back to the museum where she belongs, she'd swear it on her Pendragon Blood.

"Kondəvain (kondəvain) umbu fərtun blonnuwail / Shurtətei (skora) chegi hiato"​

Breaking the ground at her feet, Clara kicked off the ground into a sprint, chasing after the CEO and her orange lobster. She assumed that Grete would keep up, or find some other way to make herself useful, either way, her pursuit was fierce, and she wouldn't stand down now.