Hep2
Chapter 6: Beneath the Surface (Continued)
What was Caelum Aurealis beyond the stern, perfect emperor they had encountered? What hidden burdens did he bear that inspired such loyalty? These questions lingered in the minds of the Hyperversal Guard as they completed their preparations for dinner.
Chapter 7: The First Meal - Tensions and Revelations
The grand dining hall of Thronis Eternium was as magnificent as one might expect from the heart of a multiversal empire. A long table of polished material that resembled obsidian but glowed with inner light dominated the space. Thirteen chairs of exquisite design lined one side, while a single, more imposing seat stood at the head.
The thirteen women arrived together, each dressed in the attire provided—clothes that somehow reflected their individual styles while creating a subtle visual harmony among them. They found their places marked with small symbols representing their powers: a lance for Artoria, a staff for Vados, a flame for Amaterasu, and so forth.
"At least he's organized," Gilgamesh muttered, taking her seat marked with a gateway symbol.
They waited in silence, the tension in the room growing with each passing moment. Finally, the massive doors at the far end opened, and Caelum Aurealis entered.
He had changed from his earlier simple attire into something more formal—a high-collared coat of deep blue with silver accents, over a white shirt and black trousers. The effect was less militaristic than his armor but no less commanding. He wore no crown or other obvious symbol of rank; he needed none.
"Be seated," he said, though all were already sitting except him. He took his place at the head of the table, his posture perfect, his movements precise.
At his arrival, attendants emerged from side doors carrying trays laden with food and drink. The meal presented was a marvel of culinary art—dishes that seemed to draw inspiration from all the worlds represented at the table, yet combined in ways that transcended their origins.
"You may eat," Caelum said, reaching for his own utensils.
An awkward silence fell as the guardians began their meal. The food was undeniably excellent, but the formality of the situation and Caelum's imposing presence made casual conversation difficult.
Finally, Nero, never one to tolerate silence for long, spoke up. "Emperor Caelum, I must commend your chefs. This reminds me of a feast I once held in Rome, though with certain... improvements."
Caelum looked at her, his gold-white eyes unreadable. "The culinary staff drew inspiration from your memories. Each dish contains elements familiar to each of you."
"You read our memories?" Kali asked, her voice dangerously quiet.
"Not I personally. The palace itself responds to those within it, adapting to provide optimal comfort." Caelum took a sip from his goblet. "It is not invasion, merely accommodation."
"Still," Artoria said, setting down her fork, "it would be courteous to ask permission before accessing someone's thoughts, even for such a benign purpose."
A slight furrow appeared between Caelum's perfect brows—the first hint of emotion they had seen from him beyond cold certainty. "Perhaps," he conceded, surprising them. "The concept of permission is... unfamiliar in certain contexts. The empire functions through harmony, not negotiation."
"A harmony imposed from above is not true harmony," Reinhardt observed quietly.
Caelum's eyes fixed on her. "And what would you know of true harmony, Sword Saint? Your world exists in cycles of violence and death, where even divine protection serves only to perpetuate suffering."
Reinhardt did not flinch from his gaze. "We strive for better. We learn. We grow. That is what makes us human."
"Humanity," Caelum said, the word carrying a weight beyond its syllables. "A state of beautiful imperfection. Of endless potential never quite realized." Something like nostalgia flickered across his features before disappearing. "There was a time when I would have agreed with you."
"And now?" Velzard asked, frost forming briefly on her goblet.
"Now I know better," Caelum replied simply. He returned his attention to his meal, clearly considering the subject closed.
But Quetzalcoatl, emboldened perhaps by the brief glimpse of humanity beneath his perfect exterior, pressed further. "Your handmaiden, Lyra, spoke of burdens you bear. What did she mean by that?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Caelum's hand stilled, his knife and fork poised above his plate. For a long moment, he did not respond, and the guardians exchanged uneasy glances.
"Lyra speaks too freely," he finally said, his voice quiet. "It is not your concern."
"It is if it affects the empire we're now bound to protect," Artoria countered, her green eyes steady.
Caelum set down his utensils with deliberate precision. "Very well. If you must know..." He looked up, his gaze sweeping across all thirteen women. "The remnants you face are not merely echoes of the Old Chaos. They are fragments of myself."
Stunned silence followed this revelation.
"Explain," Vados requested, her usually serene expression troubled.
"When I confronted the root of all evil—the source of the Old Chaos—I could not simply destroy it. Such power cannot be erased, only... redistributed." Caelum's perfect features hardened. "I took it into myself. Contained it. Transformed it into order through sheer will."
"That's impossible," Gilgamesh said flatly. "No being could contain such corruption without being consumed by it."
"I did not say it was easy," Caelum replied. "Or without cost." For the first time, a hint of weariness showed in his posture. "Each remnant that appears is a piece of that corruption breaking free, seeking to return to its natural state of chaos."
"So when you kill these remnants..." Void Shiki began, her empty eyes suddenly intense.
"I am destroying parts of myself," Caelum confirmed. "What you witnessed in the observatory was not merely combat. It was... reabsorption."
The implications of this revelation were staggering. The guardians exchanged glances, their earlier resentment now complicated by this new understanding.
"Why tell us this?" Summer Morgan asked, her mismatched eyes calculating. "Surely such a weakness should be kept secret."
"It is not weakness to acknowledge reality," Caelum answered. "And you needed to understand the true nature of what you face." His gaze hardened again. "The commandment I gave you—the submission I require—is not born of arbitrary authority. It is necessary structure. Without absolute order, the chaos within me would grow stronger, find more avenues of escape."
"So your misogynistic rules are for our protection?" Kali asked skeptically. "How convenient."
"Not protection," Caelum corrected. "Efficiency. In battle against the remnants, hesitation means defeat. Questioning means death. The chain of command must be absolute, without the complications of ego or pride."
"And it must specifically be women who submit?" Artoria pressed.
A shadow of something like pain crossed Caelum's face. "Women possess a unique relationship to creation and destruction. A balance that men lack. It makes you... particularly effective against the remnants. But also particularly vulnerable to their influence."
"That's absurd," Gilgamesh scoffed. "I have never been vulnerable to anything in my existence."
Caelum's gaze locked with hers. "Haven't you, Queen of Heroes? Was there not one who made you question your own divinity? One whose death drove you to seek immortality out of fear?"
Gilgamesh's crimson eyes widened in shock. "How dare you speak of Enkidu! That was—"
"Vulnerability," Caelum finished for her. "The capacity to care. To connect. It is both strength and weakness." He looked away, his voice softening slightly. "One I have long since excised from myself, out of necessity."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. The meal continued with minimal conversation, each guardian lost in her thoughts, reconciling this new information with their understanding of their situation.
As the dinner concluded, Caelum rose from his seat. "Tomorrow, you begin your formal duties. Patrols of the empire's borders will be assigned. I suggest you rest well."
He turned to leave, then paused, looking back at them. "What I have told you changes nothing about your commandment. If anything, it makes adherence more crucial. Remember that."
After he had gone, the guardians remained seated, the implications of his revelations hanging heavy in the air.
"Well," Musashi finally said, breaking the silence, "that was... illuminating."
"And concerning," Vados added. "If what he says is true, then the remnants are not merely external threats, but manifestations of his own internal struggle."
"It could be manipulation," Kali suggested. "A story designed to earn our sympathy and compliance."
"I don't think so," Void Shiki said quietly. All eyes turned to her. "When he spoke of taking the chaos into himself... I saw it. Through my connection to the Root. There is a... wound in him. A division that should not be possible in a living being."
"So we're basically fighting pieces of our own boss," Quetzalcoatl summarized with her usual directness. "That's... complicated."
"It explains his obsession with order," Amaterasu observed, golden light pulsing gently around her. "If chaos threatens from within, external structure becomes paramount."
"It does not excuse his treatment of us," Artoria insisted. "Understanding is not the same as acceptance."
"No," Reinhardt agreed. "But it does give us something we didn't have before."
"What's that?" Nero asked.
Reinhardt's blue eyes were thoughtful. "Perspective."
Chapter 8: Dawn Patrol - First Intimacies
Morning came to the Thronis Eternium not with the rising of a sun, but with a gradual brightening of the omnipresent light that permeated the palace. In the western wing, the Hyperversal Guard prepared for their first official duties as protectors of Caelum's empire.
They gathered in the main courtyard, a vast open space surrounded by towering crystalline spires. The sky above was a shifting canvas of colors that defied conventional description—not quite aurora, not quite nebula, but something uniquely beautiful.
Varian, the Marshal they had briefly encountered before the remnant attack, awaited them with a holographic display hovering before him. His armor bore signs of repair, testament to the severity of the injuries he had sustained.
"Hyperversal Guard," he greeted them formally. "Today you begin your patrol duties. The Emperor has assigned you in pairs to different sectors of the empire's boundaries." He gestured to the display, which showed a complex three-dimensional map of what appeared to be overlapping realities. "Each pair will monitor for incursions and eliminate any remnants discovered. Communication devices will be provided to allow contact with the palace and each other."
"Only pairs?" Artoria questioned. "After yesterday's demonstration of the remnants' power, would larger groups not be more effective?"
"The Emperor's orders are specific," Varian replied stiffly. "Two guardians per sector provides optimal coverage while maintaining sufficient response capability."
The pairings appeared on the display:
Artoria and Reinhardt (Northern Quantum Boundary)
Vados and Velzard (Eastern Conceptual Divide)
Kali and Gilgamesh (Southern Temporal Fracture)
Nero and Quetzalcoatl (Western Reality Confluence)
Amaterasu and Tiamat (Upper Dimensional Fold)
Musashi and Summer Morgan (Lower Planar Junction)
Void Shiki (Central Veil Nexus—alone)
"Why does she get a solo assignment?" Gilgamesh demanded, pointing at Void Shiki.
"The Central Veil Nexus requires... special oversight," Varian answered carefully. "The Embodiment of Akasha is uniquely suited to this task."
Void Shiki showed no reaction to this explanation, her empty eyes focused on something beyond normal perception.
"Very well," Artoria said, speaking for the group as she had increasingly begun to do. "When do we depart?"
"Immediately," came a voice from behind them. They turned to see Caelum approaching, dressed once again in his void-black armor with gold trim. "I will personally escort each pair to their assigned sector."
He moved with his usual silent grace to stand before them. "The boundaries of the empire are not like physical borders. They exist between states of reality, between what is and what might be. Conventional transportation cannot reach them."
"Then how will we patrol them?" Musashi asked practically.
In answer, Caelum extended his hand, and reality rippled around it, forming what appeared to be a doorway in the very air—a rectangular opening that showed not the courtyard beyond but a landscape of impossible geometry, where equations floated like clouds and logic itself seemed fluid.
"The Northern Quantum Boundary," he announced. "Artoria, Reinhardt—you will monitor this sector for the next twelve hours. Any anomalies are to be reported immediately. Any remnants are to be eliminated without hesitation."
The two swordswomen exchanged glances, then stepped forward. As they approached the doorway, Caelum placed a hand on each of their shoulders—a gesture that was both commanding and oddly intimate.
"Remember your training," he said quietly. "Remember your purpose."
Something passed between them in that moment—not quite connection, but recognition. Artoria's green eyes met his gold-white, and for an instant, the implacable emperor seemed almost... concerned.
Then the moment passed. Artoria and Reinhardt stepped through the doorway, which closed behind them with a sound like a distant bell.
Caelum created another portal, this one opening onto a landscape where color itself seemed to have substance, where thoughts took visible form before dissolving back into potential.
"The Eastern Conceptual Divide," he announced. "Vados, Velzard—you are next."
The process repeated for each pair, Caelum creating doorways to increasingly bizarre and wondrous realms that defied description in conventional terms. With each departure, his brief physical contact with the guardians seemed to create a momentary connection—a sharing of purpose that none had anticipated.
Finally, only Void Shiki remained, her pale form almost translucent in the courtyard's light.
"The Central Veil Nexus is different," Caelum told her. "It is not a boundary but a fulcrum—the point where all possibilities balance."
Void Shiki nodded, understanding without explanation. "It is where the Root touches your empire most directly. Where concept becomes reality."
"Yes." Something like respect showed in Caelum's expression. "You alone among the guardians can perceive it properly. Your task is not to patrol but to observe. To witness."
"To judge," Void Shiki corrected softly.
Caelum did not deny it. "Perhaps. If judgment is necessary."
The portal he created for her was unlike the others—not a doorway but a thinning of reality itself, a place where existence became transparent. As Void Shiki approached it, Caelum placed his hand not on her shoulder but lightly on her cheek—a gesture of surprising gentleness from one so seemingly rigid.
"Be careful," he said, his voice barely audible. "The Nexus is... unstable."
Void Shiki's empty eyes met his. "As are you," she replied, equally quiet. Then she stepped through the thinned reality and was gone.
Alone in the courtyard, Caelum closed his eyes briefly, a faint tension visible in his perfect features. The dispatch of the guardians had taken more from him than he had anticipated—each portal, each connection, a strain on the careful balance he maintained within himself.
He turned to return to the palace, only to find Lyra, his First Handmaiden, waiting at the courtyard entrance.
"They are stronger than you expected," she observed, her silver mask hiding her expression but not the knowing tone in her voice.
"Yes," Caelum admitted. "Their potential exceeds my calculations."
"And the connections forming between you?"
Caelum's expression hardened. "Irrelevant. Necessary for the transfer of power, nothing more."
"If you say so, my Emperor." Lyra's tone suggested she believed otherwise but knew better than to argue. "The Council of Regents requests your presence. The Seventh Harmony requires adjustment."
"Very well." Caelum straightened, his moment of vulnerability passed. "Inform them I will attend within the hour."
As he strode from the courtyard, his thoughts remained with the thirteen women he had dispatched to the boundaries of his empire. Thirteen potential complications to his carefully ordered existence. Thirteen variables he had not fully accounted for.
Thirteen possible solutions to a problem he had not yet revealed, even to them.
At the Northern Quantum Boundary, Artoria and Reinhardt stood on what appeared to be a path of solid light stretching through a void where mathematics replaced physics. Equations swirled around them like living things, occasionally coalescing into briefly recognizable shapes before dissolving again.
"This is... beyond my experience," Reinhardt admitted, her hand resting on the hilt of her dragon sword.
"Mine as well," Artoria agreed, Rhongomyniad held ready at her side. "Though I have traversed the Reverse Side of the World, this is... different."
They began walking the light-path, their senses alert for any disturbance in the already chaotic environment. For a time, they moved in professional silence, each respecting the other's focus.
"What did you make of his touch?" Reinhardt finally asked, breaking the silence.
Artoria glanced at her. "You felt it too? The... transfer?"
"Yes. Like he was sharing something of himself. Power, perhaps, or knowledge."
"Or control," Artoria suggested grimly. "A way to monitor us."
Reinhardt considered this. "Perhaps. But it felt more like... preparation. Like a knight anointing his sword before battle."
Before Artoria could respond, the equations around them began to move more rapidly, swirling into a vortex of mathematical chaos. From within this disturbance emerged a shape—at first amorphous, then gradually taking form as a creature of living geometry, its body composed of theorems and proofs arranged in impossible configurations.
"Remnant," Artoria said tersely, raising her lance.
Reinhardt drew her sword in a single fluid motion, divine light emanating from the blade. "Remember what he said—these are fragments of himself. Corruption breaking free."
The mathematical remnant observed them with what might have been curiosity, symbols flowing across its surface in patterns that almost resembled eyes. Then it attacked—not with physical force but with conceptual contradiction, sending waves of logical paradox toward them that threatened to unravel their very existence.
Artoria thrust Rhongomyniad forward, using its power as the lance that pins down reality to stabilize the space around them. Reinhardt followed with a strike of perfect precision, her sword cutting through the remnant's equations, separating truth from falsehood with divine authority.
The remnant shrieked—a sound like error messages cascading through a cosmic computer—and split into multiple smaller entities, each attacking from a different angle of logic.
"They adapt quickly," Artoria noted, spinning her lance to create a shield of conceptual stability around them.
"Then we adapt faster," Reinhardt replied, a small smile on her face. She raised her sword high, channeling the divine blessing that made her the Sword Saint. "On my mark, release your shield and strike at the central theorem—the one pulsing with red light."
Artoria nodded, recognizing the tactical advantage of their combined powers. "Ready."
"Now!"
What followed was a display of combat prowess beyond mortal comprehension—two masters of the blade, one with the sacred lance that anchored the world, one with the sword that defined perfection itself, moving in perfect harmony against a foe that existed halfway between idea and reality.
When it was over, the remnant lay dissolved into harmless equations, floating away like mathematical confetti. Artoria and Reinhardt stood back to back, breathing hard but triumphant.
"We work well together," Reinhardt observed, sheathing her sword.
"Indeed," Artoria agreed, allowing herself a small smile. "Perhaps there is something to Caelum's pairings after all."
As they continued their patrol, neither noticed the faint golden glow that lingered where Caelum had touched their shoulders—a connection that remained active, transmitting their victory back to the Emperor himself.
In the Eastern Conceptual Divide, Vados and Velzard faced a different challenge. Their assigned sector was a realm where ideas took physical form, where philosophy became landscape and debate shaped the very terrain.
"Fascinating," Vados observed, her staff gliding over a river of pure epistemology. "The conceptual principles here are similar to those in Universe 6, but with remarkable differences in application."
"It reminds me of the Sea of Thought in my world," Velzard replied, frost forming and dissolving around her feet as she walked. "Though less rigid in its structures."
They moved through a forest of competing theories, past mountains of established dogma, and across plains of intellectual possibility. Their patrol was methodical, their conversation professional yet increasingly friendly as they discovered shared interests in balance and order.
"You seem comfortable with the Emperor's demands," Vados noted as they paused in a clearing where Platonic ideals floated like soap bubbles. "More so than most of the others."
Velzard's icy blue eyes were thoughtful. "I understand hierarchy. In my world, I served my creator, Veldanava, without question. The Emperor's authority feels... familiar."
"Even his views on women's roles?"
A faint smile touched Velzard's lips. "Those are merely words. Actions reveal truth. And in action, he has shown us respect by entrusting us with the defense of his empire."
"An interesting perspective," Vados acknowledged. "Though I suspect Kali and Gilgamesh would disagree vehemently."
"Those two..." Velzard shook her head. "They resist for the sake of resistance. Pride without purpose."
Before Vados could respond, the conceptual landscape around them shifted dramatically. Ideas began to darken, theories twisted into parodies of themselves, and from the corrupted philosophy emerged a remnant of terrible beauty—a being composed of perverted wisdom, its form a mockery of enlightenment.
"How appropriate," Vados commented, her staff glowing with power. "A corruption of knowledge itself."
Velzard's eyes narrowed as frost gathered around her hands. "Shall we educate it on the error of its ways?"
The battle that followed was less physical than metaphysical—Vados's perfect technique and Velzard's absolute zero combining to freeze faulty premises and shatter corrupted conclusions. The remnant fought with weapons of sophisticated fallacy and armor of circular reasoning, but against the complementary powers of the angel and the dragon, it stood little chance.
As the last fragments of corrupted concept dissolved into the ether, Velzard and Vados found themselves standing closer than they had realized, their powers still intermingled in an elegant harmony of precision and cold.
"Most satisfactory," Vados said, a hint of genuine pleasure in her usually composed voice.
"Indeed," Velzard agreed, her own satisfaction evident in the slight upward curve of her lips.
Like their counterparts at the Northern Boundary, they failed to notice the subtle connection that remained from Caelum's touch—a golden thread linking them back to the Emperor, transmitting not just their victory but the growing rapport between them.
A rapport that was precisely according to plan.
Chapter 9: The Unexpected Bath - First Embarrassments
After twelve exhausting hours of patrol, the guardians returned to the Thronis Eternium, each pair having encountered and defeated at least one remnant in their assigned sector. They gathered once more in the courtyard, comparing experiences and insights gained from their first official duties.
"The temporal remnants were particularly troublesome," Gilgamesh reported, unusually serious. "They existed partially outside of time, making them difficult to target."
"The dimensional ones attempted to fold us into non-existence," Amaterasu added, her golden light dimmed slightly from exertion. "Tiamat's primordial nature proved essential in anchoring us to reality."
Void Shiki, returning last from the Central Veil Nexus, said little about her solo assignment, but her empty eyes held a new wariness that the others noted with concern.
"You all performed admirably," Varian told them, reviewing the data from their encounters. "The Emperor will be pleased with these results."
"Speaking of our illustrious leader," Nero inquired dramatically, "where is he? Should he not be here to receive our reports personally?"
"The Emperor is attending to other matters of state," Varian answered stiffly. "You will provide full written accounts of your patrols for his review."
"Written reports?" Kali scoffed. "Are we bureaucrats now as well as warriors?"
"The proper documentation of remnant encounters is essential for understanding their evolution and developing effective countermeasures," Varian insisted. "The reports will be collected after you have refreshed yourselves."
With that dismissal, the guardians dispersed toward their quarters, many heading for the bathing chambers to wash away the metaphysical residue of their encounters with the remnants.
The grand bath was already steaming invitingly when the first group arrived—Artoria, Reinhardt, Musashi, and Summer Morgan.
"I never thought mathematical combat could leave one feeling so... grimy," Artoria commented as she disrobed, placing Rhongomyniad carefully within reach as always.
"It's not physical dirt," Reinhardt explained, loosening her crimson hair from its battle-ready ponytail. "It's conceptual contamination. The remnants leave a... residue on those who fight them."
"Whatever it is, I intend to soak until it's gone," Musashi declared cheerfully, already submerging herself in the perfect waters.
Summer Morgan approached more cautiously, her mismatched eyes examining the bath with fae suspicion. "There's magic in this water. More than simple cleaning."
"The entire palace is imbued with the Emperor's will," Reinhardt reminded her. "I suspect these waters purify not just body but spirit."
They settled into the bath, sighing collectively as the warm water began to work its restorative magic. Conversation flowed more easily now than during their first bathing experience, their shared combat having forged bonds that transcended their initial wariness of each other.
"So," Musashi said with a mischievous grin, breaking a comfortable silence, "what did you all think of the Emperor's little... touch before our departure?"
Artoria's cheeks colored slightly. "It was merely a tactical connection. A means of monitoring our progress."
"Perhaps," Summer Morgan said with a knowing smile, "but did you notice how his hand lingered? How his eyes seemed to assess more than just our combat readiness?"
"You're imagining things," Reinhardt insisted, though her own face showed a hint of pink. "The Emperor views us as tools, nothing more."
"Tools that he selected with remarkable... attention to detail," Musashi countered, gesturing to their various forms with an appreciative sweep of her hand. "Thirteen powerful women, each with unique beauty as well as strength? That's not coincidence."
"Are you suggesting he summoned us for... personal reasons?" Artoria asked, sounding scandalized.
"I'm suggesting that no one, not even a perfect emperor beyond gods, is immune to appreciation of feminine power in all its forms," Musashi replied with a wink.
Before this provocative conversation could continue, the bath chamber doors slid open. All four women turned, expecting to see their fellow guardians joining them.
Instead, Caelum Aurealis himself stood in the doorway.
Time seemed to freeze. The Emperor, clearly not expecting to find the bath occupied, stood momentarily motionless, his gold-white eyes widening fractionally as they took in the scene before him—four of his summoned guardians, completely unclothed in the steaming waters.
For what might have been the first time in his existence, Caelum Aurealis looked genuinely shocked. A faint color rose to his perfect features, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.
The guardians reacted in various ways to this unexpected intrusion. Artoria immediately sank deeper into the water, her face flaming red. Reinhardt reached instinctively for her sword, though it lay beyond arm's reach. Summer Morgan made no attempt to cover herself, instead regarding Caelum with calculating amusement. And Musashi, ever the unpredictable one, actually laughed aloud.
"Well, Emperor," she called out, "care to join us? The water's perfect!"
Caelum regained his composure with visible effort. "I... apologize for the intrusion," he said formally, his voice slightly less steady than usual. "I was not informed that the imperial bath was in use."
"Clearly," Summer Morgan observed dryly. "Though the question remains—why would the Emperor need the bath at all? Does perfection require cleansing?"
A shadow crossed Caelum's face. "Even perfection can be... contaminated." He began to turn away. "Please, continue. I will seek restoration elsewhere."
"Wait," Artoria said, surprising herself as much as the others. Caelum paused, not looking back. "You... encountered a remnant yourself today?"
A long silence followed her question. Finally, Caelum answered, still facing away from them. "Yes. At the Council of Regents. A particularly... insidious one. It has been contained."
The tension in his perfect posture, the slight tremor in his voice—these subtle signs told the guardians more than his words. Whatever confrontation had occurred, it had affected him deeply.
"The waters here are restorative, as you designed them to be," Reinhardt said quietly. "Surely there is room enough for all."
Caelum turned his head slightly, his profile visible against the steamy air. "That would be... inappropriate."
"Why?" Musashi challenged boldly. "Are you afraid of what you might see? Or of what we might see in you?"
The question hung in the air, laden with meaning beyond its words. Caelum remained still, caught in a moment of indecision that seemed utterly foreign to his nature.
"We are your guardians," Artoria said, her voice gaining strength despite her embarrassment. "If you are wounded, it is our duty to know."
"Wounded?" Caelum repeated, a hint of bitter amusement in his tone. "What makes you think I can be wounded?"
"The fact that you seek the healing waters," Summer Morgan answered simply. "The fact that you stand there now, uncertain, when uncertainty should be impossible for you."
Another long silence followed. Then, with a decision that seemed to cost him visible effort, Caelum turned back to face them fully.
"Very well," he said, his voice once more in perfect control. "If you insist on witnessing weakness, so be it."
He began to remove his attire—the formal robes he wore when not in armor—with methodical precision. The guardians watched with varying degrees of embarrassment, curiosity, and clinical interest as the Emperor of the Hyperversal Concord disrobed before them.
What was revealed left them speechless.
Caelum's body was indeed perfect in form—tall, powerfully built, proportioned like a classical statue come to life. But across his torso, extending from just below his heart down to his hip, was a wound unlike any they had seen before. It was not a cut or burn or bruise, but a... distortion. A place where reality itself seemed to warp and twist, where his flesh became something both more and less than physical.
"The price of containing chaos," he said quietly, noting their shocked expressions. "Each remnant that breaks free leaves its mark. Each reabsorption reopens the wound."
Wordlessly, the guardians made space as Caelum entered the bath, the steaming waters accepting him with a faint luminous ripple. He sat apart from them, his posture rigidly formal despite the intimate setting.
"Does it pain you?" Reinhardt asked softly.
"Pain is irrelevant," Caelum replied, though the slight tension around his eyes suggested otherwise. "Function is what matters. The ability to maintain order."
"Always order," Musashi observed, her usual playfulness subdued. "Never joy or pleasure or simple rest."
Caelum's gold-white eyes met hers. "Joy is a luxury I sacrificed long ago. As for rest..." He glanced down at the distortion on his torso, now partly submerged in the healing waters. "It is brief, when it comes at all."
A new understanding began to form among the four guardians—a glimpse of the burden Caelum had alluded to, the cost of his perfect empire. The man who had summoned them against their will, who had commanded their submission with seemingly arbitrary authority, suddenly appeared in a different light.
Not less arrogant, perhaps. Not less controlling. But more... comprehensible. More human, despite his claims to have moved beyond such limitations.
"The water helps?" Artoria asked, professional concern overcoming her earlier embarrassment.
"Temporarily," Caelum acknowledged. "It stabilizes the distortion, prevents further fragmentation."
"There must be a more permanent solution," Reinhardt suggested, her tactician's mind already analyzing the problem.
A ghost of a smile touched Caelum's lips. "If there is, I have not discovered it in centuries of searching." The smile faded. "The chaos must be contained. The price is secondary."
They sat in silence for a time, the healing waters working their magic on all five occupants. Gradually, the distortion on Caelum's torso became less pronounced, the reality-warping effect diminishing to a faint shimmer beneath his skin.
As the Emperor's wound healed, the atmosphere in the bath subtly shifted. The initial shock and discomfort gave way to
Chapter 9: The Unexpected Bath (Continued)
As the Emperor's wound healed, the atmosphere in the bath subtly shifted. The initial shock and discomfort gave way to a strange intimacy—four of his summoned guardians and Caelum himself, sharing not just a physical space but a moment of vulnerability previously unimaginable.
"The others should know of this," Artoria said finally, breaking the prolonged silence. "If we are to guard against these remnants effectively, we must understand their true nature—and yours."
Caelum's gold-white eyes regarded her thoughtfully. "Perhaps. Though knowledge can be as dangerous as ignorance, in its own way."
"We're not children to be sheltered," Summer Morgan pointed out, her mismatched eyes sharp with intelligence. "Nor are we fragile mortals who might break under the weight of difficult truths."
"No," Caelum agreed, his gaze sweeping over the four women with newfound consideration. "You are far more than that. Which is precisely why the knowledge is... complicated."
Musashi leaned forward, sending ripples across the bath's surface. "Try us," she challenged, her usual playfulness undercut by genuine curiosity. "What's the worst that could happen?"
A shadow passed over Caelum's perfect features. "The worst? You become like me."
Before any could respond to this cryptic statement, the bath chamber doors slid open once more, and the remaining guardians entered—Vados, Velzard, Kali, Gilgamesh, Nero, Quetzalcoatl, Amaterasu, and Tiamat. Only Void Shiki was absent, still engaged in her mysterious duties at the Central Veil Nexus.
The newcomers froze in unified shock at the sight before them: their four comrades sharing the bath with none other than the Emperor himself.
"Well, well," Gilgamesh was the first to recover, a dangerous smile curving her perfect lips. "What have we here? A private audience with the great Emperor?"
"It is not what it appears," Caelum said, his voice regaining its usual authoritative tone despite his compromised position.
"No?" Kali's silver eyes flashed with mockery. "It appears the mighty Emperor who commands women to be submissive wishes to see them in precisely that state—unclothed and vulnerable to his gaze."
"That's unfair," Reinhardt objected, her sense of justice overcoming her embarrassment. "The Emperor came seeking healing, not... whatever you're implying."
"Healing?" Vados repeated, her analytical mind immediately focusing on the significant detail. "You were injured?"
Caelum rose from the bath, water cascading from his perfect form. The reality distortion on his torso was now barely visible—a faint shimmer beneath his skin rather than the obvious wound it had been. With dignified movements, he reached for a towel and wrapped it around his waist.
"Yes," he admitted, facing the assembled guardians with unflinching directness. "A remnant manifested during the Council of Regents. More powerful than anticipated. More... personal."
"Show them," Artoria urged quietly. "They deserve to know what we face."
After a moment's hesitation, Caelum removed the towel from his torso, revealing the faint but unmistakable distortion that remained despite the bath's healing effects.
A collective intake of breath followed this revelation. Even Kali and Gilgamesh, the most openly defiant of the guardians, could not hide their shock at the metaphysical wound their Emperor bore.
"This is what happens each time a remnant breaks free," Caelum explained, his voice cool and clinical despite the intimate setting. "A fragment of the chaos I contain tears away from me, becoming the entities you were summoned to fight."
"And when you... reabsorb them?" Amaterasu asked, her golden eyes thoughtful.
"The wound reopens, temporarily. The chaos must be reintegrated, the order restored." He gestured to the bath. "Hence, the need for restoration."
Silence fell as the newcomers processed this information. Then, to everyone's surprise, Nero stepped forward, disrobing with theatrical flourish.
"Well then," she declared, "if our Emperor requires healing waters, should we not join him? After all, we too have battled these remnants today."
"Nero," Artoria began cautiously, "I'm not sure that's—"
"An excellent suggestion," Quetzalcoatl interrupted cheerfully, already removing her colorful garments. "We all need purification after facing those corrupted entities!"
What followed was a moment of absurd normality in their otherwise extraordinary circumstances—nine powerful women and one perfect emperor, navigating the suddenly inadequate space of the grand bath with a mix of embarrassment, pragmatism, and in some cases, barely concealed amusement.
Caelum, for his part, maintained a dignity that bordered on the supernatural, his expression impassive despite the unprecedented situation. He sat rigidly at one end of the bath, his gold-white eyes fixed firmly on the middle distance, avoiding direct observation of his disrobed guardians.
"You know," Musashi observed conversationally, breaking the awkward silence, "for someone who summoned thirteen women against their will and gave them a commandment about submission, you seem awfully uncomfortable with female presence, Emperor."
A faint color touched Caelum's perfect cheekbones. "Comfort is irrelevant. Propriety serves purpose."
"And what purpose does your discomfort serve?" Gilgamesh challenged, making no effort to minimize her golden-armored presence even in her unclothed state. "Does it maintain your precious order somehow?"
"It maintains distance," Caelum answered simply. "Distance necessary for clear judgment."
"Judgment of what?" Kali pressed, her four arms creating waves as she settled into the water.
Caelum's eyes finally focused, sweeping across the assembled guardians with unsettling intensity. "Of whether you are the solution I seek, or merely another failed attempt."
"Failed attempt?" Vados repeated, her usually serene expression troubled. "There were others before us?"
The temperature in the bath seemed to drop several degrees despite the steaming water. Caelum's face became utterly still, a mask of perfect control that revealed nothing.
"This discussion has exceeded its useful parameters," he said, rising from the water once more. "You have your duties. I have mine. The empire does not maintain itself, even with my will sustaining it."
He stepped from the bath and dressed with efficient movements, ignoring the various expressions of curiosity, concern, and in some cases, outright suspicion that followed his abrupt shift in demeanor.
At the door, he paused, looking back at them with an expression that might almost have been regret on a less perfect face. "Rest well, Hyperversal Guard. Tomorrow brings new challenges."
After he had gone, the guardians exchanged significant glances.
"Well," Nero said dramatically, breaking the tense silence, "that was... educational."
"'Failed attempt,'" Velzard repeated thoughtfully. "What could he have meant?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Kali's silver eyes gleamed with dark insight. "We're not the first he's summoned for this purpose. There were others before us. Others who... failed somehow."
"And what happened to them, I wonder?" Summer Morgan mused, her mismatched eyes calculating.
No one had an answer to that disturbing question.
Chapter 10: Midnight Revelations - The Hidden Archive
Sleep came uneasily to the members of the Hyperversal Guard that night. Their encounters with the remnants, combined with the revelation of Caelum's wound and his cryptic parting words, left many minds restless with questions and theories.
Near midnight, by the palace's arbitrary measure of time, Artoria found herself wandering the western wing, unable to find peace in her chambers. The corridors of Thronis Eternium were never truly dark—a soft, ambient light emanated from the very walls, casting no shadows yet providing perfect visibility.
As she turned a corner, she nearly collided with another sleepless guardian—Void Shiki, her pale form almost ghostly in the gentle illumination.
"You should be resting," Artoria said by way of greeting.
Void Shiki's empty eyes regarded her with unnerving directness. "As should you, King of Knights. Yet here we both are, seeking answers in the night."
"What answers have you found at the Central Veil Nexus?" Artoria asked, cutting directly to what she suspected was the source of Shiki's sleeplessness.
A fleeting expression crossed Void Shiki's usually impassive face—something like concern, if such an emotion were possible for the Embodiment of Akasha.
"Not answers," she replied softly. "More questions. Disturbances in the fabric of the Root itself. Patterns that should not exist."
"Related to the remnants?"
"Related to everything." Void Shiki glanced down the corridor, then back to Artoria. "I was seeking the archive. Will you accompany me?"
"Archive?" Artoria frowned. "What archive?"
"The Imperial Record. The true history of this place, this emperor." Void Shiki began walking, clearly expecting Artoria to follow. "It exists at the heart of the palace, though few are permitted entry. From the Nexus, I could sense its presence—a concentration of knowledge and memory."
Intrigued despite her misgivings about what was clearly an unauthorized excursion, Artoria fell into step beside the mysterious woman. They moved through increasingly unfamiliar passages, the architecture growing more abstract and symbolic as they approached the palace's central zones.
"How do you know where to go?" Artoria whispered, though there seemed to be no one to overhear them.
"I follow the threads of causality," Void Shiki answered enigmatically. "All events leave traces in the Root, and I can perceive them, faintly."
They came at last to a vast circular door, its surface inscribed with symbols in a language Artoria had never seen—geometric patterns that seemed to shift and change even as she looked at them.
"The Imperial Archive," Void Shiki announced. "Sealed against intrusion, even from beings such as ourselves."
Artoria studied the door with a tactician's eye. "Then how do you propose we enter?"
In answer, Void Shiki simply placed her pale hand against the center of the door. The symbols began to glow with a blue-white light, racing along invisible circuits throughout the door's structure. Then, silently, it began to open, rotating inward like the iris of an enormous eye.
"How...?" Artoria began.
"I am connected to the Root of all things," Void Shiki reminded her. "This door, like all constructs, is ultimately rooted in the same source. I simply... reminded it of this fact."
They stepped through into a space that defied conventional description. It was a library, yes, but one where the books were composed of light and memory rather than paper and ink. Shelves stretched in all directions, some following the laws of physics, others bending into impossible geometries. At the center of the vast chamber stood a pedestal of crystalline material, upon which rested what appeared to be a simple leather-bound journal.
"What is this place?" Artoria breathed, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information surrounding them.
"The memory of the empire," Void Shiki replied, moving toward the central pedestal. "Every event, every decision, every consequence—all recorded here by the Emperor's will."
"And that?" Artoria nodded toward the journal.
"Something more personal, I think." Void Shiki's empty eyes showed a flicker of something like curiosity. "Something from before."
They approached the pedestal cautiously. The journal seemed oddly mundane amid the metaphysical splendor of the archive—worn leather, yellowed pages, a simple clasp holding it closed. Yet it radiated an importance that far outweighed its humble appearance.
"Should we?" Artoria hesitated, her sense of honor warring with her need for answers.
"We must," Void Shiki replied simply. "To guard effectively, we need to understand what we guard against—and whom we guard for."
With delicate movements, she opened the journal. Light spilled from its pages, coalescing into images that surrounded them—a three-dimensional record not just of words but of experiences.
And so, standing in the heart of the Imperial Archive, Artoria and Void Shiki witnessed the true origin of Caelum Aurealis.
They saw a world consumed by chaos, where eldritch abominations fed on reality itself. They watched as a young boy—mortal, vulnerable, yet possessed of extraordinary will—survived against impossible odds. They followed his journey from desperate survivor to reluctant warrior to messianic figure.
They witnessed his final confrontation with the root of all evil—a cosmic horror beyond comprehension—and his impossible choice: to destroy it and risk universal collapse, or to contain it within himself at the cost of his own humanity.
They saw the birth of the Hyperversal Concord, the establishment of order across countless realities. And they saw the first cracks appear—the initial remnants breaking free as the chaos within Caelum fought against its containment.
Most disturbingly, they witnessed twelve previous attempts at creating a guard capable of fighting these remnants. Twelve groups of powerful beings, summoned from across the multiverse, trained and deployed against the growing threat.
And twelve failures, each more catastrophic than the last.
"The thirteenth attempt," Artoria murmured, understanding dawning with cold clarity. "We are the thirteenth guard he has summoned."
"Yes," came a voice from behind them.
They turned to find Caelum Aurealis standing in the archive entrance, his expression unreadable. He wore simple attire—a black robe over loose trousers—but his presence filled the vast chamber nonetheless.
"You were not meant to discover this," he said, approaching with measured steps. "Not yet."
"Why keep it secret?" Artoria challenged, standing her ground despite the palpable power emanating from the Emperor. "Why not tell us from the beginning?"
"Would you have believed me?" Caelum countered. "Would you have accepted your role had you known twelve others had failed before you?"
"Failed how?" Void Shiki asked, her empty eyes fixed on Caelum with unnerving intensity.
A shadow crossed his perfect features. "Some were corrupted by the remnants. Some turned against me, believing they could manage the chaos better than I. Some simply... broke under the pressure of what they faced."
"And what became of them?" Artoria pressed.
"What do you think?" Caelum's voice was quiet, almost gentle, yet underlaid with steel. "Those corrupted by chaos became part of what they fought. Those who rebelled were subdued. Those who broke were released back to their worlds, their memories adjusted to spare them further suffering."
He gestured to the journal, and it closed itself, the surrounding images fading. "I am not a tyrant, whatever you may believe. I do what must be done to preserve the order that keeps countless realities safe."
"Including summoning women against their will and commanding their submission?" Artoria could not keep the edge from her voice.
"Yes." Caelum met her gaze unflinchingly. "The previous guards were mixed—men and women of various origins and natures. The men invariably challenged my authority directly, wasting time and energy in pointless power struggles. The women were more... adaptable. More willing to cooperate for the greater good, once they understood it."
"So your commandment is pragmatic rather than ideological?" Void Shiki observed. "Interesting."
"Necessity rarely aligns with ideological purity," Caelum replied. "I need guardians who will fight effectively, not waste energy questioning every command in the heat of battle."
"And the 'lowering your eyes' part?" Artoria asked skeptically. "The 'women are caregivers' rhetoric? Is that necessary too?"
For the first time, Caelum showed a hint of discomfort. "Perhaps not. Old habits from a world long dead, where such structures maintained peace." He straightened imperceptibly. "But the principle remains sound—clear hierarchy prevents chaos."
A tense silence fell as the three stood amid the accumulated knowledge of an empire spanning multiple realities. Finally, Artoria spoke again.
"What happens now? Will you punish us for this unauthorized exploration?"
Caelum regarded them thoughtfully. "No. What's done is done. Knowledge, once gained, cannot be truly revoked." He looked around at the vast archive. "Perhaps it is better this way. Truth, however difficult, is preferable to comfortable ignorance."
"Will you tell the others?" Void Shiki asked.
"No." Caelum's answer was immediate and certain. "You may share what you've learned, at your discretion. Coming from peers rather than authority, it may be better received."
He turned to leave, then paused, looking back at them with an expression almost human in its complexity. "Whatever you may think of my methods, know this: the threat is real. The chaos I contain grows stronger with each passing day. If it breaks free entirely..." He left the thought unfinished, but its implications hung heavy in the archive's rarified air.
After he had gone, Artoria and Void Shiki remained in the archive, processing what they had discovered.
"Do you believe him?" Artoria finally asked.
Void Shiki's empty eyes were distant, seeing beyond conventional reality. "Yes," she answered simply. "The Root confirms his account. The chaos is real, as is the danger it poses."
"Then what do we do?"
"What we were summoned to do," Void Shiki replied. "Guard the silence against the chaos that would shatter it. But perhaps... on our own terms."
As they left the archive, the massive door closing silently behind them, neither noticed the faint smile that briefly touched Caelum's lips as he watched from the shadows. The first pieces were falling into place exactly as he had hoped—not planned, for planning implied uncertainty, but hoped, which acknowledged the one element even his perfect will could not control.
Free choice. The cornerstone of order that was freely embraced rather than forcibly imposed.
The real reason he had summoned thirteen women of power beyond measure.
Chapter 11: Morning Training - Tensions and Attractions
Dawn found the Hyperversal Guard assembled in the training arena, ready for their daily exercises before returning to their patrol duties. Artoria, as appointed by Caelum himself, took the lead in organizing the morning's activities.
"We'll begin with sword forms," she announced, Rhongomyniad standing tall beside her. "Even those of you who don't primarily use blades can benefit from the discipline and precision of swordplay."
The guardians arranged themselves in rows, some with obvious enthusiasm (Reinhardt, Musashi), others with barely concealed skepticism (Kali, Gilgamesh).
"Is this really necessary?" Gilgamesh asked, examining her golden nails with affected boredom. "I have the original prototypes of all weapons in my treasury. I hardly need basic training."
"Having a weapon and knowing how to use it optimally are different matters," Artoria replied evenly. "Besides, this is as much about moving as one unit as it is about individual skill."
Before Gilgamesh could offer further objection, the training arena doors opened, and Caelum entered. The Emperor was dressed in simple training attire—black pants and a sleeveless tunic that revealed his muscular arms and, to those who knew to look for it, the faint shimmer of his metaphysical wound.
"Continue," he said, noting their pause at his arrival. "I am here to observe only."
Artoria nodded and resumed her instruction, leading the guardians through a series of sword forms drawn from her experience as King of Knights. To her surprise, even the most reluctant participants gradually engaged with the exercise, finding unexpected connections between Artoria's techniques and their own fighting styles.
Caelum watched from the sidelines, his gold-white eyes missing nothing. Occasionally, he would approach a guardian to offer a small correction—adjusting Nero's grip, shifting Tiamat's stance, refining Amaterasu's footwork. His touch was brief, professional, yet each contact seemed to leave an impression beyond the physical adjustment.
"You favor your right side too heavily," he told Kali, demonstrating the proper balance. "It creates a predictable pattern that remnants will exploit."
Kali bristled initially at the correction, but grudgingly adjusted her stance. "In my world, I fight with chaos, not precision," she muttered.
"Chaos with purpose is still chaos," Caelum replied. "Precision with adaptability becomes unreadable—a better strategy against entities that learn from each encounter."
As the training progressed, the atmosphere in the arena shifted subtly. The initial tension of Caelum's presence gave way to a focused energy as the guardians worked to integrate his guidance with Artoria's instruction. There was something almost... collaborative about the dynamic, so different from the rigid hierarchy he had initially imposed.
"Pair off for sparring," Artoria directed as they completed the forms. "Practice applying these movements in combat situations."
The guardians divided themselves naturally, gravitating toward partners whose abilities complemented or challenged their own. Musashi with Reinhardt, Vados with Velzard, Gilgamesh with Summer Morgan, Nero with Quetzalcoatl, Kali with Tiamat, Amaterasu with Void Shiki. Artoria herself stood apart, intending to observe and provide guidance.
"You require a partner as well," Caelum said, approaching her with quiet certainty. "One cannot teach effectively without demonstrating."
Before Artoria could object, Caelum had drawn a practice sword from the arena's weapon rack—a simple blade, unadorned but perfectly balanced. He assumed a fighting stance that was both familiar and alien to her eyes, elements of her own swordsmanship visible but transformed by techniques she had never encountered.
"Shall we?" he invited, his expression betraying nothing of his intentions.
Artoria hesitated only briefly before placing Rhongomyniad aside and taking up a practice sword of her own. "As you wish, Emperor."
What followed was less a sparring match than a conversation conducted through steel and movement. Caelum's style was unlike anything Artoria had encountered in her long existence—fluid yet precise, powerful yet economical, adapting moment by moment to her own techniques while subtly challenging her to expand beyond them.
Around the arena, the other guardians gradually paused in their own sparring to watch the remarkable display. The King of Knights and the Emperor Beyond Gods, engaged in a dance of blades that transcended mere combat.
"He's holding back," Musashi observed quietly to Reinhardt. "So is she."
"Of course," Reinhardt replied. "This is instruction, not true battle."
"No," Musashi's eyes narrowed as she analyzed the exchange. "I mean they're both holding back emotionally. Look at their eyes, not their blades."
Indeed, there was an intensity in the way Artoria and Caelum regarded each other that spoke of something beyond the physical exchange. A testing, perhaps. A questioning. A curiosity neither was willing to acknowledge directly.
The match ended in a draw—Caelum's blade at Artoria's throat, her blade at his heart. For a moment, they remained frozen in that position, breath coming slightly faster, eyes locked in silent communication.
Then Caelum stepped back, lowering his weapon. "Well executed," he said, his voice betraying nothing of what might have passed between them. "You adapt quickly."
"As do you," Artoria replied, equally composed on the surface. "Though I suspect you showed only a fraction of your true capability."
A ghost of a smile touched Caelum's perfect lips. "As did you, King of Knights."
He turned to address the assembled guardians. "What you witnessed was an example of integrated combat styles—taking elements from different traditions to create something unpredictable. This approach will serve you well against the remnants, which learn from repetition but struggle with innovation."
The training session resumed, but with a new energy—each guardian seemingly inspired by the display they had witnessed. Caelum moved among them, offering guidance here, demonstration there, his earlier aloofness partially dissolved by his direct engagement with their training.
As the session concluded, he addressed them once more. "Your progress is... satisfactory. Continued improvement at this rate will significantly enhance our defensive capabilities."
Coming from Caelum, this modest praise carried unexpected weight. Several of the guardians exchanged surprised glances at what amounted to effusive compliments by his standards.
"Today's patrol assignments remain as yesterday," he continued. "However, I have adjusted the rotation to provide different pairings over time. Experience with various combat styles will strengthen each of you individually and as a unit."
The new pairings appeared on a holographic display:
Artoria and Gilgamesh (Southern Temporal Fracture)
Reinhardt and Musashi (Western Reality Confluence)
Vados and Amaterasu (Upper Dimensional Fold)
Velzard and Summer Morgan (Eastern Conceptual Divide)
Kali and Nero (Northern Quantum Boundary)
Quetzalcoatl and Tiamat (Lower Planar Junction)
Void Shiki (Central Veil Nexus—still alone)
"Seriously?" Gilgamesh raised a golden eyebrow at being paired with Artoria. "The King of Heroes with the King of Knights? How predictable."
"Is there a problem with the assignment?" Caelum asked, his tone suggesting the question was genuine rather than challenging.
Gilgamesh flipped her golden hair dismissively. "Merely noting the obvious symbolism. Though I suppose there are worse partners one could have." She glanced at Artoria with an expression that managed to be both arrogant and appreciative.
"The pairings are based on complementary abilities, not symbolism," Caelum replied, though a faint color touched his perfect cheekbones. "If you find the arrangement ineffective after today's patrol, adjustments can be considered."
This unexpected flexibility—so different from his earlier rigid commands—caused another round of surprised glances among the guardians. Something was changing in their stern Emperor, subtle but undeniable.
As they dispersed to prepare for their patrol duties, Void Shiki approached Artoria quietly. "You have not told them," she observed, her empty eyes questioning.
"Not yet," Artoria confirmed, keeping her voice low. "After last night's revelations... it needs the right moment. The right context."
Void Shiki nodded slightly. "The Emperor watches you differently now. You have earned something few receive from him—consideration."
Before Artoria could respond to this unsettling observation, Caelum called for the first pair to prepare for deployment. The conversation would have to wait, but Void Shiki's words lingered in Artoria's mind as she gathered her equipment for the day's patrol.
Consideration from Caelum Aurealis. What did that mean? And more importantly—why did the thought provoke such a complex reaction within her own heart?
Chapter 12: Temporal Fractures - Unexpected Alliance
The Southern Temporal Fracture defied conventional understanding of space and time. Past, present, and future existed simultaneously in overlapping layers, creating a landscape where cause could follow effect, where possibilities manifested briefly before dissolving back into potential.
Artoria and Gilgamesh stood on what appeared to be solid ground, though it shifted subtly beneath their feet, sometimes hard as stone, sometimes yielding like sand, occasionally transparent enough to reveal other temporal layers flowing beneath.
"Charming location," Gilgamesh commented dryly, her crimson eyes scanning the impossible horizon. "Though it lacks the architectural grandeur of my Uruk."
"We're not here as tourists," Artoria reminded her, Rhongomyniad held ready at her side. "The temporal remnants are particularly dangerous, according to yesterday's reports."
Gilgamesh yawned theatrically. "Danger is relative when one possesses the original treasures of the world." She gestured, and the Gate of Babylon shimmered into existence beside her, golden ripples in reality from which weapon hilts protruded, ready for use.
They began their patrol, moving carefully through the fractured timescape. Despite their apparent differences, the two kings fell into a surprisingly effective rhythm—Artoria's disciplined vigilance complementing Gilgamesh's confident power.
"I've been meaning to ask," Artoria said after they had walked in silence for some time, "what do you make of our Emperor?"
Gilgamesh's perfect lips curved in a knowing smile. "Fishing for gossip, King of Knights? How unexpected."
"Professional assessment," Artoria corrected, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. "We guard his empire, fight his enemies. Understanding him seems relevant."
"Hmm." Gilgamesh pretended to consider the question deeply. "He is arrogant, controlling, and possessed of power that might approach a fraction of my own. His fashion sense is acceptable, if overly militaristic. His physique is..." She paused, her smile widening. "Well, you had a closer look yesterday, didn't you?"
Artoria's flush deepened. "That was not what I—"
"Oh, spare me the righteous denial," Gilgamesh interrupted with a laugh. "I saw how you looked at him during your little sparring match. Even kings are not immune to appreciation of beauty, are they?"
Before Artoria could formulate a suitably dignified response, the ground beneath them trembled violently. The temporal layers began to shift more rapidly, overlapping and separating in chaotic patterns.
"Something approaches," Artoria said, grateful for the distraction. She raised Rhongomyniad, its power stabilizing the space immediately around them.
"Multiple somethings," Gilgamesh corrected, her playful manner instantly replaced by battle-readiness. The Gate of Babylon widened, more weapon hilts appearing as she prepared for combat.
From the fractured timescape emerged not one remnant but three—each a twisted mockery of temporal existence. The first appeared as an elderly being whose body aged backward as they watched, growing younger with each step. The second existed in multiple time states simultaneously, parts of its form shifting between past, present, and future versions with dizzying speed. The third had no physical form at all, merely a distortion in the air where time itself seemed to unravel.
"Coordinated attack," Artoria observed grimly. "They're evolving."
"Good," Gilgamesh replied, a fierce grin spreading across her beautiful face. "I was beginning to think this duty would provide no worthy challenge."
The remnants attacked in unison, each using its temporal nature as a weapon. The aging remnant accelerated time around Artoria, attempting to age her to dust. The multi-state entity assaulted Gilgamesh from three temporal perspectives simultaneously. The formless one began unraveling the very ground beneath their feet, creating a void into which they would fall endlessly through shattered time.
Artoria thrust Rhongomyniad into the ground, its power as the lance that pins down reality creating a zone of temporal stability around them. "We need to coordinate," she called to Gilgamesh. "These entities are more dangerous together than separately!"
"I coordinate with no one," Gilgamesh replied haughtily, even as she drew weapon after weapon from the Gate of Babylon, firing them with deadly precision at the approaching remnants. Yet despite her prodigious firepower, the temporal nature of their enemies made conventional attacks largely ineffective—weapons passing through temporal shifts or aging to dust before striking their targets.
The situation deteriorated rapidly. Artoria found herself fighting defensively, using Rhongomyniad's power to maintain their existence as much as to attack. Gilgamesh's arsenal, though vast, proved increasingly inadequate against entities that existed outside normal temporal constraints.
"This isn't working," Artoria shouted over the cacophony of fractured time. "We need a different approach!"
"What do you suggest, King of Knights?" Gilgamesh demanded, genuine frustration breaking through her usual arrogance.
In that moment of mutual vulnerability, an unexpected connection formed between the two kings—a recognition of shared purpose that transcended their considerable differences.
"Your chains," Artoria said suddenly, inspiration striking. "Enkidu. The chains that bound the gods. Can they bind time itself?"
Gilgamesh's crimson eyes widened. "Theoretically. They bind divinity to natural law. Time is merely another law to be enforced."
"Then I'll stabilize the space with Rhongomyniad, creating a single temporal reference," Artoria proposed, her tactical mind racing. "You bind the remnants within that reference, forcing them into a single timestate."
A slow smile spread across Gilgamesh's face. "Not entirely foolish, for a lesser king." She reached into the Gate of Babylon and withdrew not a weapon but a set of golden chains that hummed with divine power. "Prepare yourself."
Artoria nodded, then channeled her full power into Rhongomyniad. The lance blazed with golden light, imposing a single, stable timestate on their immediate surroundings. The remnants shrieked—a sound that existed in past, present, and future simultaneously—as they were forced into temporal synchronicity.
"Now!" Artoria commanded.
Gilgamesh swung the chains of Enkidu with perfect precision, their golden links wrapping around all three remnants at once. The divine bindings tightened, forcing the entities not just into physical containment but conceptual conformity—making them obey the laws of linear time.
"They're stabilizing," Artoria observed, maintaining Rhongomyniad's power with visible effort. "But not dissolving. We need to eliminate them."
"Obviously," Gilgamesh agreed, strain showing on her perfect features as she fought to maintain the chains' grip on entities that fundamentally rejected constraint. "But conventional weapons won't work even now. They'll simply regenerate once released."
Artoria's green eyes met Gilgamesh's crimson ones. "Then we need an unconventional weapon."
Understanding passed between them—kings recognizing a necessary sacrifice of pride for victory.
"Together, then," Gilgamesh conceded, her voice unusually serious. "Your lance. My chains. United purpose