(N.B. If able, please read the author's note section for info on future plans for the story.)
***
Back in Hawden Square, a wary and confused Claude pushed himself up off the floor, but his limbs betrayed him, sending him crashing back down with a jarring thud.
Thump!
"Ah…" A drawn-out sigh escaped his lips as the veins along his temples throbbed. Confusion. Doubt. Fatigue.
They surged through him, clawing at his thoughts, dragging him deeper into the mire of exhaustion.
He had burned too much of his Mental Energy. His reserves were still dangerously low.
Claude couldn't recall what had happened just moments before, but an echo remained. A faint heartbeat pulsed from the right side of his chest.
'I don't know how or why... but I'm still breathing.' His gaze flicked downward. 'Yet this presents even more problems...'
That throbbing mass within him, now awakened, was steadily siphoning away his life-force. Its rhythm quickened with each passing second.
Faster. And faster.
He barely had the strength to remain conscious, let alone stand. Claude had a feeling his end might be closer than he dared admit.
'I have two options…' His jaw tightened as he stared skyward. The heavens had resumed their serene cerulean hue after the rift had closed, as if nothing had ever happened.
'Either I find a way to boost my Mental Energy...' He thought.
Claude already understood this body had the potential to be a mage, but what caused his weakness was the ritual performed on him.
Every time he used Mental Energy, less of it would be available to protect him from the alien thing sitting in his chest, causing that strain he had felt before.
'But that's impossible. Growth takes too long…' He shut his eyes, exhaling slowly. 'Or... Could I do that?'
Questions spiralled in his mind, thoughts branching out like the roots of a dying tree. But eventually, he clenched his fists. The decision had already been made. Delay would only kill him faster.
The immediate danger had passed, but the corruption in his body had not. And it needed to be contained, now.
Once more, Claude attempted to rise.
But this time, he moved slowly, carefully. He rolled onto his side, elbow digging into the rough stone beneath him. He paused, waiting for the dizziness to subside.
Then, placing one palm firmly on the ground, he shifted his weight and pushed upward inch by inch. Soon, he managed to steady himself upright.
He remained still, bracing for another wave of vertigo. It came and went like a tide, but he endured it.
Drawing in a deeper breath, Claude set his eyes forward, toward the far end of the town square.
Scruff. Scruff. Scruff.
His footsteps were slow. Stone scraped faintly beneath his boots as he stumbled forward.
His vision swam. Nausea twisted in his gut, dizziness beat against his skull like a drum. But he kept moving. He had to.
After all that had occurred, he would not let this frail body collapse from something so pathetic as a stumble.
He had to survive.
Scruff. Scruff. Scruff.
Eventually, Claude came to a halt. His legs trembled beneath him, barely able to bear his weight. But he stood.
Before him, now conscious and upright, sat Alfred.
***
"Master Claude…?" Alfred's voice was low as he squinted at the figure before him. "What are you doing here? What happened to—"
"Alfred." Claude's voice cut through the air. There was no tremble, no hint of pain on the boy's face despite the horrific condition he was in.
Alfred could see specks of crimson and black coating the boy's attire. His skin? Translucent. His face? Gaunt.
Yet, Claude's eyes remained steady.
"I heard your conversations with those people earlier. Are you one of them?"
"What?!" Alfred recoiled slightly, his eyes widening. "Of course not. We belonged to the same sect once, yes—but we split after our ideals diverged."
Claude's gaze sharpened. "The Machina Sacra?"
Alfred gave a silent nod.
That alone seemed to satisfy Claude's suspicion for the moment, but the questions didn't stop.
"Why did you leave them? And what happened to Cogus?"
Alfred's brows furrowed. The tension in the square was palpable, and the weight of Claude's stare hung heavy on him. He glanced around uneasily, his instincts twitching.
"Master, this isn't the place. We shouldn't linger—"
But Claude's expression remained fixed. Empty. Watching him.
Alfred sighed. He understood that look. He was still being suspected, and any protest might only fan the flames.
Worse still, if Claude brought this up to his father, the Baron, Alfred could easily become the scapegoat for all of this. And there'd be no escape.
So, he answered.
"Simply put… Cogus fell. The other gods turned on him, and with his fall, the sect fell into chaos. For a long time, our prayers went unanswered." He paused. "But then... he came back."
Claude didn't speak.
"But he was no longer the same. He didn't speak of innovation or invention. There was no joy in discovery, only hatred. He craved conquest, ruin, and revenge. He wanted to devour the world that betrayed him. That wasn't the Cogus I followed."
Claude's next words came quietly, but pointed. "And so you left?"
Alfred's gaze drifted. He wasn't looking at Claude anymore, his eyes were lost, caught in some distant moment.
Images returned like ghosts. But they faded just as quickly, and he exhaled slowly.
"Yes. He had changed… they had changed. I didn't want to be part of that destruction." Claude nodded. It was barely noticeable.
"Is that all?" Alfred asked, voice quickening. "We must leave this place while we can. We don't know what remains here—and frankly…"
He hesitated, his eyes tracing Claude's form. The boy looked almost skeletal. The way his skin clung to bone, translucent and brittle—he seemed more like a wraith than a man.
"…You're in no state to fight."
Claude said nothing at first. He glanced down at the back of his own hand, studying the pale, thin skin.
He coughed suddenly—twice—and when he pulled his fist away, flecks of red speckled his palm.
"Master Claude, please. You need to get help, or else—"
"Alfred," Claude interrupted softly, eyes narrowing. "Do you still have your artefact?"
Alfred blinked, thrown off by the question. But he nodded and reached into his breast pocket, retrieving a timeworn watch, the same one he had always carried.
Its surface caught the first rays of morning light, casting a cold glint. Gilded etchings wound across its face.
The watch ticked not with a regular rhythm, but with a slight stutter, like a heartbeat that didn't quite belong.
Claude winced at the brightness, squinting.
"Good." A smile ghosted across his lips.
Then—
Squelch!
Alfred froze.
A sudden, sharp cold tore through his body, a pike of glimmering ice erupting from his back and bursting through his chest, mere inches from his eyes. His breath hitched, his limbs locked.
"M-Master Clau—?" His voice cracked.
Before him stood Claude, pale, barely upright, swaying like a candle's flame before it guttered out.
But there was no warmth in his eyes. No remorse. Around him, more pikes of ice hovered, suspended and deadly.
Alfred understood immediately.
He was going to die.
Not at the hands of some zealous cultist. Not by an old comrade lost to madness. But by a boy. A boy he had trusted. A boy he had once thought to guide.
Claude had become something else.
Alfred's breath slowed. The pain faded into the background as his thoughts were pulled inward. Memories came in bursts, fragments flashing across his vision like bolts of lightning in a midnight storm.
—He saw the Machina Sacra laughing together, exchanging wild theories and jokes.
—He saw the shift, their descent into obsession and fanaticism after Cogus fell.
—He saw monsters wearing familiar faces, razing towns in their God's name.
—He saw Liz. Her screams. The ritual. The betrayal.
—He saw himself wandering, alone, trying to stop what had become of them.
A surge of regret tightened in his chest. Not just for the past, but for what he couldn't finish.
I couldn't take my revenge…
I couldn't kill William for the greater good…
Still, amid the bitterness, a final sliver of hope remained. It rested in Claude. Twisted, yes—but not yet gone.
Even if he died here… perhaps this child, in his own cruel and strange way, would not let the Machina Sacra run free.
The world might yet be spared.
His lips moved one last time, whispering a name that no longer belonged to this place.
"Liz…" Alfred's eyes dulled, the light within them fading. "…Forgive me."