Kapitel 10: 144 Days of Reckoning
We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed;
2 Corinthians 4:8-9
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Dan settles on the couch, his back resting against the worn but clean cushions. He glances around the modest hotel room, taking in the simple furnishings and the single window overlooking the bustling streets of Belobog's Commercial District. Despite its age and modest accommodations, the place has a certain cozy charm.
March wastes no time, immediately claiming one of the twin beds as her own. She flops down on the mattress, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she sinks into the plush bedding. "Ah, this is nice," she murmurs, stretching her limbs like a cat basking in the sun.
Dan chuckles softly at her antics, shaking his head in amusement. He had been the one to negotiate with the receptionist and secure their room for the night, exchanging a handful of Shields for the keys and requesting an extra set for Xander whenever he decided to join them.
"The bathroom's pretty decent too," he remarks, nodding towards the small but clean en-suite. "The shower works just fine, and the place seems well-maintained."
March nods absentmindedly, her gaze fixed on the wooden ceiling above her. A thoughtful expression crosses her delicate features, and Dan can't help but notice the sudden shift in her demeanor. "What's on your mind?" he asks, tilting his head curiously.
March turns to face him, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "Things got a little tense back at the plaza, didn't they? With Xander, I mean."
Dan considers her words, replaying the events in his mind. He had been direct, perhaps even a bit confrontational, but he didn't think the exchange had been overly heated. "It wasn't that bad," he replies with a nonchalant shrug.
March frowns slightly, her brow furrowing. "For a second there, I thought he was going to punch you in the face. Just a gut feeling I got when I saw the look in his eyes."
Dan raises an eyebrow at her words but doesn't dismiss them outright. He knows better than to underestimate March's intuition. "You could be right," he concedes, leaning back against the couch. "But even if you are, he didn't, so what can we do about it?"
March falls silent for a moment, her gaze shifting to the window as she ponders his question. Finally, she turns back to him, curiosity etched on her face. "How do you feel about Xander?"
Dan exhales slowly, gathering his thoughts. "I'm a bit conflicted if I'm being honest."
"Conflicted how?" March prompts, genuine interest shining in her eyes.
Dan shifts in his seat, leaning forward. "I find it hard to open up to other people," he says, his voice low and contemplative. "It's something I've struggled with all my life, although I like to think I've gotten better since joining the Astral Express. In that sense, I can relate to Xander. I see that same hesitation, that reluctance to share things openly with others."
March nods slowly, taking in his words. "However," Dan continues, his tone growing more serious, "I'm not a fan of how comfortable he seems with lying. If he's tactless or brusque with me, that's one thing. But if he's rude or dismissive towards you, March, that's where I draw the line."
He shakes his head, frustration creeping into his voice. "I've seen how he disregards your feelings about how he approaches things since we've arrived in Jarilo-VI. I haven't said anything because, in all honesty, his planning and competency can't be questioned. But when we began discussing our next steps, I felt the need to set some boundaries."
March remains silent, her eyes downcast as she absorbs Dan's words. After a few moments, she speaks up, her voice hesitant. "Even so, I feel like there are times when Xander's actions show that he cares."
Dan raises an eyebrow, prompting her to elaborate.
"Remember when we were trekking through the snowy fields on our way to Belobog?" March begins, her expression distant as she recalls the memory. "We kept encountering those frozen, dead Silvermane guards along the way, and I was getting scared. Xander was at the front, leading the way. He wasn't looking at me, since I was behind him, and yet… he must have sensed how I was feeling. That's when he said, 'Focus on my back. The dead will never bother you. It's the living you should fear.'"
Dan frowns, considering her words. On the surface, Xander's statement might have seemed ominous or foreboding, but March's interpretation sheds a different light on it. "I guess he was just trying to reassure me in his own way," March concludes, her voice soft and thoughtful.
Dan nods slowly, his expression pensive. Perhaps there was more to Xander than met the eye, a depth of character that he had yet to fully grasp. Only time would tell if the enigmatic man would reveal more of himself, or if he would remain shrouded in mystery, his true intentions and motivations hidden from view.
March's gaze drifts to the window, her eyes lost in thought. "I wonder what he could be doing right now," she muses aloud, concern tingeing her voice.
Dan follows her line of sight, his eyes scanning the bustling streets below. Merchants peddle their wares, while pedestrians hurry along, their faces obscured by thick scarves and hoods to protect against the biting chill. "Who knows?" he replies with a shrug. "If he's not with Himeko and Mr. Yang, brooding, most likely. That seems to be his default state."
Still, a part of him can't help but share her apprehension, if only slightly. Wasn't his report taking too long?
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The flashes come more frequently now, glimpses of memories that shouldn't exist. A burning city, screams echoing, the sickly-sweet stench of death. I blink, and the sterile halls of the space station greet me once more.
Am I going mad? How long have I been here?
——————————————————————
Another flash—a woman's face, twisted in pleasure in a wordless gasp, red wine-colored hair. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the image away. What was that?
Focus, Alexander. One more attempt.
I ready my sword, the familiar weight a cold comfort. The gate opens, and I charge forward, guns blazing.
Fail. Try again. Fail better. The cycle repeats, madness fraying my mind.
——————————————————————
The flash comes again. Summer's face, smiling at me over candlelight, her chestnut hair shining in the flickering glow.
I should have told you how much I treasured you more often…
Screaming, I launch myself against hordes of the Antimatter Legion. Bullets shred monstrosities. Claws rip my flesh.
I die gasping her name. Again.
——————————————————————
The gate of hell pulses before me, an abyss of death. I charge in, bellowing a war cry.
Fail. Try again.
Sword slashes leave ruby arcs in the air. A claw punches through my chest. Darkness swallows me.
Fail better.
I lose count of attempts. My own voice mocks me in the silence between runs.
Just one more, it croons. Be better. Die better.
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My mind reels as I dodge another searing blast from the Blaze Out of Space. How long have I been trapped in this infernal simulated universe? Days? Weeks? Months? Time blurs together, each battle bleeding into the next in an endless dance of violence and survival.
"You're nearing the 72-day mark, so approximately 2 hours of real-world time have passed," Sebastian's voice drawls from somewhere inside the chamber. "We're going for the record, it seems. It's your longest bout yet."
Before I can even begin to process his words, I'm forced to dash below a towering blast of flames and jump over spikes of ice. The scorching heat of the Blaze's attacks mingles with the biting cold emanating from the Ice Out of Space, creating a tempest of conflicting sensations that assaults my senses. My abilities, pushed to their limits, flicker and wane. I need just a few more seconds—ten, to be precise—before I can unleash my full might upon these two.
"One," I growl through gritted teeth, my voice barely audible over the chaos of the battlefield.
Asta, March, and Arlan fight alongside me, their own abilities stretched thin as we face the relentless onslaught. The Blaze Out of Space's crystalline form shimmers with malevolent energy as it begins to conjure a massive fireball between its jagged claws.
"Huh. Better avoid that," I hear the phantom of my friend behind me say.
Two.
The Ice Out of Space, not to be outdone, summons towering walls of gleaming ice around us, trapping our party in a frozen prison. The temperature plummets, frost creeping along our skin, threatening to sap our strength and leave us vulnerable.
"Scratch that—you're screwed. Arlan's out of juice, and March can't help with the ice."
Three.
My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline surging through my veins like clockwork. We're running out of time. If that fireball is unleashed within these confines, we'll be incinerated.
"That's at least over 1,500 degrees Celsius—not even ash would remain. Chronosurge is still on cooldown, and you're cutting it too close either way. You need Asta's Astral Blessing, or you won't make it."
Four.
I turn to the astronomer in desperation, shouting, my voice cracking with urgency. "I need you to buff me, now!"
Her eyes harden with determination as she raises her scepter and prepares to chant.
Five.
The Blaze's fireball grows even larger than before, its searing heat overwhelming, scorching my skin even from afar as I desperately try to catch my breath. My muscles scream in agony, protesting the exertion of battle. Sweat pours down my face, stinging my eyes, but I force myself to remain focused.
"Better distract it with some shots. A single second earned can make all the difference."
Six.
"I swear to God, Asta," I growl through gritted teeth, glaring at the thing while I unleash a barrage of lead onto it. "I'm going to personally murder you myself if you don't hurry the fuck—"
Seven.
"How dare you speak to me like that!" Asta shrieks, her face flushed with anger as she brandishes her scepter. "You're one the most insufferable people I've ever—!"
I cut her off, my voice strained. "Curse at me later, woman! I need you to speed me up now!"
Eight.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see March summon a shimmering barrier around me with her customary finger gun, her brow furrowed in concentration. Arlan grimaces, bracing himself for the incoming onslaught that seems inevitable.
Asta's eyes narrow, but she begins chanting the familiar words that signal her ultimate skill. "Oh profound secrets of the stars—"
"Are you serious?!" I interrupt, unable to contain my impatience.
Nine.
Her voice rises, fueled by anger and determination. "—give THIS BASTARD your blessing!"
Ten!
The moment the words leave her lips, energy surges through my veins. My body becomes weightless as if gravity itself has lost its hold on me. Instinctively, I picture myself pushing down on the gear shift pedal of my old motorcycle, pulling in the clutch, and twisting the throttle.
The world shifts, colors bleeding away until everything is cast in shades of gray. Time slows to a crawl, the movements of my allies and enemies frozen in place.
Without hesitation, I leap over the ice walls and dash towards the Blaze Out of Space, my sword drawn in a fluid motion, pistols discarded. The first slash cuts deep, cleaving through the creature's crystalline armor. Five more strikes follow in rapid succession, precise and lethal.
As the final blow lands, the world snaps back into vibrant color, the grayscale filter lifting abruptly. The fiery orb the Blaze Out of Space had been conjuring implodes, unleashing a searing blast of heat and flame as its sorcerer is split into pieces.
March's barrier holds firm, shielding me from the worst of the detonation. The Ice Out of Space isn't so fortunate, its icy form melting away under the intense heat.
I collapse to the ground, my skin raw and burning, each breath a searing agony. March rushes to my side, eyes wide with concern.
"Xander!" she exclaims, her voice laced with worry.
Gently, she presses her cool hand against my face, providing blessed relief from the scorching pain. I can't help but flinch, gritting my teeth against the lingering sting.
"I was expecting you to not have any hair or eyebrows left after that attack," Asta comments, her tone somewhere between amusement and annoyance as she approaches.
Mustering what little energy I have left, I shoot her a withering glare. "You should worry about your own makeup. It's falling off."
Asta's eyes narrow dangerously, her lips curling into a sneer. "At least I don't look like a charred piece of coal."
"Better than looking like a clown who got caught in a hurricane," I fire back, refusing to back down.
"Asshole!"
"Bitch!"
"Enough!" March and Arlan exclaim in unison, their exasperated voices cutting through our bickering. "Both of you, stop it right now!"
I'm about to cuss both of them off when a thought hits me.
Alexander, what are you doing? Why are you arguing with the simulation of a fictional character of all things? Are you going insane?
"Yes, you are. How else would I be talking to you like this?" Sebastian chirps out from somewhere around me.
Fuck you.
I sigh, tired of everything. "Whatever you say, Asta. I'm a charred piece of coal. Happy?"
As I respond, March continues using her hand to cool my neck, helping me with the mild burns I sustained.
Asta, conscious of her simulated nature, remarks, "I can't believe you get along with my real self."
"There's no 'getting along' because we don't talk that much," I reply. "I just run small errands for her per my agreement with Herta. Also, why do you assume I have a bad relationship with her? Is the lead researcher of the Space Station not able to keep things professional even with coworkers she dislikes?"
"You'd be surprised by how much prejudice she has to deal with while keeping a straight face as Herta's right hand in the station. Don't underestimate her," she replies matter-of-factly. "So what is it? You dislike the real me then?"
"Don't be delusional. Dislike is too strong a word. I just don't know you enough to form an opinion, and honestly, I don't care about you."
The simulated March chastises me, "You don't have to put it in such harsh words."
Asta waves her off. "Don't bother. At least he's honest. I'll take that over him being a hypocrite."
Why is she still talking?
"Could you just… disappear? Your voice is beginning to grate on my nerves. I've had enough of it already with how long I've been in this place," I exclaim.
"Way ahead of you, jerk," she replies, disappearing in a shower of blue sparks and lights.
Arlan, who I had completely forgotten about, comments, "You lead well, Xander, but you could do without the constant insults."
"And you without the constant suicidal attempts you call attacks. No wonder you're always fucking injured," I retort.
He shrugs while hugging his injured arm. "Fair," he declares, disappearing in another shower of blue sparks like Asta.
I can't help but mutter under my breath, frustration rising within me as I recall his performance throughout our time in the simulated universe.
March and I lapse into silence, the only sound being the gentle hum of her powers as she works to soothe the burns on my skin. Her sudden question catches me off guard. "Why haven't you dismissed me?"
Sebastian chimes in again. "Yes, Alexander. Why haven't you?"
When I look at her with a raised eyebrow, glancing at her hand, she sheepishly clarifies, "Aside from the obvious, I mean."
"You're useful, March."
"Just useful? Don't you even consider my real self a friend?"
I'm about to tell her that I don't, but I hesitate.
"It's okay if you don't feel that way," she answers for me, her touch never wavering.
"March, I..."
"Xander, do you know how our memories inside the simulated universe are built?" she asks.
The sudden question catches me off guard. Where is she going with this? "…I can roughly imagine. It's baking in trillions of computing data that Herta has gathered about anything and anyone she can find information on."
"You're right, but the data is far from stagnant. It's constantly being updated through multiple mechanisms, including yourself. Whenever someone like you enters the simulated universe, their memories are automatically incorporated. That means my dataset has been updated with your memories of my real self."
What?
I shoot up, eyes wide and tense. "Are you saying Herta can access my memories while I'm here?"
March shakes her head. "Hmmm… how to best put it… Okay, let's try this. Think of the simulated universe as a highly advanced AI that absorbs and integrates information from the outside world, including the memories and experiences of those who enter it. It analyzes these memories, attempting to match recognized elements to its existing database. If no match is found, it either discards the information or creates a new data entry."
She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "The simulation can only access the most recent and vivid memories of the person who enters, as they're the most readily available. However, intricate details, like personal memories and thoughts, become 'lost' within the simulation. They influence the simulated universe's growth and development but are no longer discrete, accessible pieces of information."
March offers a smile. "Herta can access certain records and data about each simulation run, such as your overall performance metrics and key events. But your memories, once integrated, are like drops of water falling into a vast ocean. They become part of something greater, influencing the whole, but they're no longer separable or retrievable in their original form. That's why I know how Belobog Sausage is still being served 700 years after the Eternal Freeze, but Herta can't directly access or pinpoint the source of that specific information. Thank you for taking me to that kiosk, by the way."
I exhale in relief as I lie back down on the floor. The mere thought of the doll accessing my foreknowledge and discovering my origins sends shivers down my spine. If she were to learn the truth, what would she do to me? She'd be driven to hold me captive, or worse, in her relentless pursuit of answers.
"March… while I appreciate the thorough explanation, that still doesn't tell me what you are getting at."
She pauses for a moment, her eyes searching mine. "Xander, as I mentioned before, my dataset has been updated with your most recent memories. I've seen how you've been watching over my real self and Dan Heng, ensuring our safety, even if your methods are sometimes harsh and your words abrasive."
I hesitate, trying to find the right words. "You misunderstand. I'm not doing it for either of you. It's for the mission. How can I expect to complete it if my teammates aren't at their best?"
A sad smile plays on her lips. "Even if I'm just a simulation, I can tell you're lying. You do care deep inside. Are you trying to convince yourself otherwise? Why?"
"Because—"
The word escapes my mouth before I can stop it, but I manage to cut myself off.
A tinge of sadness washes over March's eyes. "You can't even tell me, can you?"
She maintains her focus, her powers flowing steadily until the task is complete. As she finishes, her eyes lock with mine, a profound sincerity in her gaze that catches me off guard.
"Xander, I might not understand why you're so insistent on not opening up to us, but one thing is certain—you're not alone," she says, her voice gentle yet assured. "My real self and I, we're both here for you. Whenever you're ready and in need of a friend, remember you can always find one in me."
I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. A lump forms in my throat as March's genuine care and concern wash over me. I find myself unable to hold her gaze, my eyes darting away as a mixture of emotions swirls within. The warmth of her kindness seeps through the cracks, stirring something deep inside that I've tried to bury.
Suddenly, the floor around us transforms into a black vortex, swirling ominously beneath our feet. Before I can react, it pulls us in, dragging us down into unfathomable depths where not even a sliver of light can penetrate.
March screams, her voice piercing the darkness as we plummet. Acting on instinct, I dive towards her, wrapping my arms around her slender frame as my coat flaps around me. I rotate our bodies, positioning myself beneath her to shield her from the impending impact.
"I've got you," I whisper fiercely, my breath warm against her head. "We'll be okay."
After a few harrowing seconds of freefall, we land on an invisible surface with a surprisingly gentle thud. I exhale sharply, the impact knocking the wind out of me momentarily.
"Are you alright?" I ask March, my voice strained.
She nods, her eyes wide with fear and confusion as she takes in our surroundings—or rather, the lack thereof. We're enveloped in complete darkness, our vision utterly obscured.
Suddenly, a golden light appears in the distance, faint at first but rapidly growing brighter and closer. March instinctively gets up and takes a step towards it, her curiosity piqued.
I react swiftly, grabbing her arm and pulling her behind me. With my free hand, I summon my sword, the blade materializing in a flash of brilliant light. My eyes narrow, locked onto the approaching radiance.
"Xander, what—"
"That's no ordinary light, March," I warn, my voice low and tense.
As the light draws nearer, its source becomes terrifyingly clear—a massive, jagged scar that runs across a towering figure's chest. Golden liquid seeps from the wound, the light pouring forth like molten metal.
Nanook, the Aeon of Destruction, emerges from the shadows, his appearance both majestic and grotesque. Long white hair frames his weathered face, his brown skin marred by countless scars. A quarter of his arms float ominously, disconnected from his body, while his lower half is consumed by golden flames and billowing black smoke.
His piercing golden eyes fix on March and me, and I feel her trembling behind me, paralyzed by fear in the presence of this embodiment of annihilation.
Gripping my sword tighter, I steel myself, calling upon the power of the Stellaron within me. A warm light begins to emanate from my chest, my eyes shining with an otherworldly radiance as the cancer of all worlds answers my silent plea for aid.
Nanook's eyes narrow, his gaze sharpening as he notices the change in me. Suddenly, the air around us grows unbearably hot, and an overwhelming wave of pain assails me from every direction.
Darkness clouds my vision as the agony becomes all-consuming.
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Asta leans forward, her eyes glued to the digital screen in Herta's office as reports and footage from the Simulated Universe stream in. She can't help but be drawn in by Xander's fluid movements and actions, each one of his strikes calculated and deadly. It's hard to believe that just a short time ago, he could barely last a minute inside of the machine.
As the station's lead researcher, Asta has encountered a wide range of characters from many corners of the universe, from the respectful and the rude to the interesting and the boring. Among millions, she's met those who stand out, for better or worse. They're different somehow, and everyone can sense it. Herta is one of those people, and now, Xander has joined that list.
He's a mystery, with no background records in the databases of the IPC. Even more surprising, he's the first person to host a stable Stellaron without going insane or suffering from physical deterioration. As soon as Herta discovered his unique condition, she tasked Asta with keeping a close eye on him, reporting back on his actions, personality, behavior, and activities while inside the space station.
Asta's observations paint a picture of a man who is aloof, brusque, cold, and unapproachable.
Xander's unique circumstances had already caught Asta's attention, but it was Herta's announcement that grabbed her interest. He was to be the new test subject for the Simulated Universe, a role that few would agree to given how dangerous it is. Even fewer could last more than a few seconds before "dying" and being kicked out.
In just under 48 hours, Xander had willingly gone into the Simulated Universe an impressive 26 times, each of his runs lasting longer than the one before and ending with a horrible, painful death.
The first time he entered the simulation, a Reaver's blade found his gut, ending his run in a mere 31 seconds. The second attempt saw two Distorters crushing his limbs, and on the third, a Trampler's weight bore down upon him. Each time, he emerges from the simulation, collapsing to the floor as agonizing phantom pains wrack his body. He grits his teeth, fighting back screams as the worst of the sensations fade, only to dive back in with renewed determination.
With each run, something changes. Xander's movements become more precise. He starts to anticipate the dangers and react more quickly to them, learning from his past mistakes and adapting to the simulation as his mind and body work together to overcome the challenges thrown his way. The phantom pains stick around for hours, a testament to the intensity of the experience, but Xander assures them that the feelings eventually subside.
During his first try, Xander hardly used his sword, the Neuromorphic Armament Curio that Herta gave him. But by his fourth, he was putting himself in situations where he had to use it and learn how to fight with it. He even simulated crew members from the Astral Express to give him tips and help him improve, leveraging the simulation's database of knowledge.
At first, Asta thought he might be clinically insane, but Herta's brain scans didn't show any signs of mental disorders. Just like any other regular person, they showed that his amygdala was firing when he felt fear and anxiety every time he went into the simulation. But Herta pointed out that after each run, the response got weaker.
She explained to Asta that, for a long time, most psychologists believed that memories—including fear memories—became "consolidated," or unchangeable, soon after they were acquired. That understanding, at one point, shifted. Research began to show that every time we recall a memory, it undergoes reconsolidation, meaning people could add new information or a different interpretation to their remembrance, to the point of turning fearful memories into fearless ones.
In Herta's words, Xander was
As she observes his progress, she can't help but wonder what drives the man to push himself so hard. He's already spent nearly 70 days in sim-time, breaking the record for the longest duration within the Simulated Universe by anyone other than Herta's dolls. The pain he endures with each death is unimaginable, yet he keeps going back, determined to improve.
Herta, who has been watching alongside Asta, makes an off-hand comment. "The brat's improvement is remarkable, almost unsettlingly so," she muses, her tone a mix of intrigue and annoyance. "It reminds me of the fighter prodigies I've heard about through my conversations with other members of the Genius Society."
She pauses, a specific example coming to mind. "Take Jingliu, the former sword master and champion of the Xianzhou Luofu.
Suddenly, an alert flashes on the screen, just as the man in question is ejected back into the real world. Asta and Herta both turn their attention to him, ignoring the alert for the moment. Xander's latest demise seems to have been the worst of them all. He writhes on the floor, his screams echoing through the office as the phantom pain consumes him.
Asta rushes to his side, her heart clenching at the sight of his agony. She takes his hand, wincing as he grips it with a force that threatens to crush her bones. Summoning her powers gifted by the path of the Harmony, she reinforces her limbs, enduring the pain as she tries to soothe him. "Shh, it's okay," she whispers, her voice trembling. "You're safe now. Just breathe."
Xander's face is ashen, his skin slick with sweat as he gasps for air. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and his lips move, forming words that Asta strains to hear. Leaning closer, she catches a single name before he loses consciousness: "March."
Herta appears next to Asta, her expression serious. "We need to take him to the infirmary," she states, assessing the severity of his condition. With the help of the space station's staff, they carry his body out of the room.
As they leave, she can't help but glance back at the screen where they had been watching the reports on Xander's performance. In bold letters, a new message now dominates the display.
"Alert: Aeon Encountered."
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I wake up with a gasp, my eyes flying open as I suck in a desperate breath. My heart pounds in my chest, sweat beads on my forehead. As my surroundings come into focus, I realize I'm lying on an operating table, bright lights shining down on me.
"Easy there, take it slow," Asta soothes from my side, her voice gentle. She presses a hand to my face, her touch cool and calming. "You're safe now, just try to breathe normally."
I struggle to regain my calm, my chest heaving as I gulp down air. "What... happened?" I manage to rasp out, my throat raw and dry.
Before Asta can respond, Herta's unmistakable voice cuts through the air like a knife. "You died, that's what happened."
I turn my head to see the petite woman approaching, her expression cold and clinical. She comes to a stop on the other side of the table, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm.
"Died?" I croak out, my mind spinning. "How did I—"
"Congratulations," she interrupts, a cruel smile twisting her lips. "Your plan worked. You finally managed to encounter an Aeon." She pauses, her eyes narrowing. "You had the terrible luck of it being Nanook out of all options."
My blood runs cold as the memories come flooding back in fragmented bursts. The simulated universe, my battles, that overwhelming force slamming into me with the fury of a thousand suns...
"The original Nanook never met Akivili before," Herta continues, her voice clinical and detached. "So it's understandable he doesn't recognize you." She smirks. "I didn't expect him to attack, though."
I struggle to remember, the details hazy and indistinct. It had all happened so fast, less than a second. I hadn't even had time to blink before Nanook's power had crushed me like an insect.
"That's the Aeon of The Destruction for you," she says with a shrug, as if commenting on the weather.
The reality of it all sinks in, a heavy weight settling in the pit of my stomach. If I had to face the true Nanook today, there's no way in hell I'd win.
A sharp pinch in the crook of my right elbow jolts me out of my spiraling thoughts. I glance down to see Herta withdrawing a syringe, a vial of my blood clutched in her hand. As if sensing my confusion, she gestures to my left arm, where another syringe is embedded, connected to a bag of clear fluids via a thin tube.
It's then that I realize I'm not fully dressed. My coat, vest, gloves, and turtleneck are all missing, leaving my upper body exposed. Even my boots are gone, and as I shift slightly, I can feel the coarse fabric of the table against my bare skin.
My gaze darts back to the master of the space station, a mixture of anger and unease churning in my gut. Before I can say anything, she holds up a hand, forestalling my protests.
"Don't have a fit," she says, her tone bordering on amused. "The IV is supplying you with necessary vitamin complexes, minerals, and calories. You stayed inside the simulated universe for approximately two hours. That's roughly seventy-two days of sim-time, your longest bout yet."
She waves the vial of blood, her expression one of clinical curiosity. "All your hormonal checks are off-balance due to the phantom sensations of what you underwent. I'm taking blood samples to study how your body was affected by being in the simulation for such an extended period." A sly grin spreads across her face. "It's also an opportunity to examine the Stellaron's impact on your physiology."
Asta seems to sense the tension, stepping forward hesitantly. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Madame Herta?" she asks, her voice soft.
Herta waves a dismissive hand.
I groan, closing my eyes as a sense of dread washes over me. Asta, on the other hand, seems confused by Herta's amusement.
Before the astronomer can make any comments, Herta lets out an exclamation of surprise, her eyes widening as she stares intently at the medical device displaying the results of my blood analysis.
"Fascinating," she breathes, leaning closer to study the readout.
"What did you find?" I ask, my voice hoarse.
Herta meets my gaze, her expression one of pure fascination. "It seems your blood has incredible regenerative effects," she says, her tone tinged with awe.
I can't help the curiosity that seeps into my words. "Does that mean I could heal someone if I did a blood transfusion?"
Her eyes gleam with excitement at the prospect. "It's possible," she confirms. "However, it would most likely give them cancer."
A chill runs down my spine at her words, my stomach twisting into knots. As if sensing my disturbance, Herta continues her explanation.
"Your body has a unique mechanism that prevents your cells from breaking down and dividing with errors, even as they replicate at an astonishing rate. If you were to transfuse your blood into someone else, it would indeed stimulate rapid tissue regeneration. However, without your body's built-in safeguards, the recipient's cells would be unable to maintain the same level of integrity during the accelerated replication process. As a result, the newly generated tissue would be fundamentally flawed and non-viable, effectively dead."
I swallow hard, trying to wrap my mind around the implications of what she's saying. To possess such an ability, yet have it be so degraded... it's almost cruel.
Herta seems to sense my inner turmoil, her expression softening ever so slightly. "I believe it's possible to ameliorate or cancel this side effect with the help of a powerful enough Emanator following the Path of Abundance. I could be wrong, however. I'd have to run tests to prove if it's even doable."
She examines me for a moment, her gaze turning piercing. "As for your body, I'd like to run more studies to understand its properties better. I can only make assumptions right now with the bloodwork I have. I hope you'll cooperate with me."
I watch warily as Herta prepares a tray of medical instruments, her movements precise and clinical. She reaches for a scalpel, but before she can make a move, I hold up a hand, stopping her.
"Wait. Do you have anything that could boost me temporarily? Medicine, enhancements, anything?"
Herta raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my request. "Why the sudden interest?" she asks, her tone curious.
"I need you to patch me up so I can go back inside the simulator," I explain, my voice firm despite the exhaustion weighing down my limbs.
Asta steps forward, her expression etched with concern. "Xander, you were in that simulation for what must have felt like two months. When we brought you to the infirmary, your body was jerking uncontrollably." She pauses, worries creasing her brow. "Those phantom sensations were so intense, they were physically affecting you."
I shake my head. "I'm fine," I insist, my gaze never leaving Herta's. "We can hold off on the studies. But you want more data on the Aeons, don't you? I finally encountered one in the simulation. Next time, it could be Nous or Qlipoth. I can gather intel on them."
Asta turns to Herta, her expression pleading. "Madame Herta, please. Can't we at least wait a moment before sending him back in?"
Herta studies me intently, the silence stretching thick with unspoken questions. Finally, her clinical voice cuts through. "I don't care if you're in pain. The longer you compile data for me, the better." She leans closer, eyes narrowed. "But I'm struggling to understand your eagerness after what happened. You met Nanook. Died an excruciating death, vaporized to atoms. Anyone else would be averse to repeating that torment. Why are you so desperate to return?"
I clench my jaw, frustration burning in my throat. I force myself to remain calm, meeting her stare steadily. "Why do you care?"
"I don't care about you," she clarifies, her tone matter-of-fact. "But I do care about Asta, who is clearly concerned for your well-being. As the lead researcher of my station, her feelings are of importance to me."
A bitter laugh escapes me. "How cute. The doll can feel something after all."
Asta's eyes widen. She steps forward, her expression stern. "Xander, you're speaking to the leader of the space station. She should be treated with the respect that status demands."
I don't look at the astronomer, keeping my narrowed eyes on Herta. "I'll never understand your attachment to her."
Herta sighs, patience waning. "Done yapping? I'm not letting you back in until you explain what's going on."
I press my lips together stubbornly. Asta's expression softens as she touches my arm. "Please, talk to us, Xander."
I close my eyes, the weight of this strange world threatening to crush me. I breathe deeply, struggling to release the tension coiled within. When I open my eyes again, I face Herta, my voice steady despite the inner turmoil.
"Since I woke up here, I've felt alone, cornered, anxious, confused, and desperate," I begin, choosing my words carefully. "One moment, I was living my normal life. The next, I found myself in this place, with no idea as to how or why."
I pause, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. "I don't trust any of you," I admit, my voice raw with honesty. "But inside the simulated universe, I can train, get better, and at least trick myself into feeling like I have some semblance of control over my circumstances. Out here, I'm repeatedly and painfully reminded of just how little control I actually have. Does that answer your question?"
Herta nods, her expression inscrutable. She turns to Asta, voice crisp. "Contact medical. Tell them what Xander needs. I want him back in the simulation within thirty minutes."
Asta looks like she wants to argue, but after a beat, she just nods, resigned. "Yes, Madame Herta." She murmurs the words before turning to leave.
Herta watches her go, then tilts her head toward me, tone almost conversational. "I have another question."
I raise an eyebrow, prompting her.
"What was it like encountering Nanook?" Genuine curiosity shines in her eyes. "How did it feel being before an Aeon?"
I consider her words, my mind drifting back to that fateful moment. The memory blurs with pain and fear, but the overwhelming awe and alarm remain seared in.
"Otherworldly and disturbing, both at once," I finally say, my voice distant. "The sheer power emanating from him, the way reality seemed to warp and twist in his presence... it was unlike anything I've ever experienced."
Herta leans forward, her expression intent. "Were you terrified?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I shake my head, a humorless smile tugging my lips. "I was, yes. But not for myself."
Unbidden, the image of vulnerable March comes to mind - trembling, huddled as if in a corner, eyes wide with primal terror at the encroaching shadows. The thought of that bright, bubbly girl consumed by such fear twists something deep inside me.
Herta sits back, studying me with a calculating gaze. "I don't know whether to call you brave or an idiot," she muses, nearly amused.
Minutes later, Asta returns with medical staff. They inject me with serums, and I immediately feel a surge of energy coursing through, chasing away lingering aches and pains.
As they lead me back to the simulation, I can't help shuddering at the memory of Nanook's overwhelming power washing over me again. In an instant, I was obliterated - my existence snuffed out like a candle flame. The sheer force of that single attack haunts me, a stark reminder of how outmatched I truly am.
My jaw clenches as renewed resolve takes root. I can't afford to remain as I am. If I have any hope of surviving this insane world and finding a way home, I need to become stronger. Much, much stronger.
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The white peaks of the mountains surrounding Belobog gleam in the distance, their pristine slopes a stark contrast against the inky black sky.
The city is eerily quiet at this late hour, the usual buzz of activity replaced by a heavy stillness. My boots echo dully against the pavement as I make my way through the commercial district, the only sound breaking the silence. The streets are deserted, the light lamps of shuttered shops and cafes casting an otherworldly glow over the empty sidewalks.
It didn't take me long to find the hotel Serval suggested, where Dan arranged for the three of us to stay. It's around one in the morning, and I'm sure I've spent nearly six hours outside the city between reporting to Himeko and Welt and dealing with the chaotic events at the space station.
Dan had texted earlier, saying he and March left my room key at the front desk. I collect it, weary steps echoing down the hall as I use the walls for support. Inserting the key, I push open the door. Darkness envelops the room, but I make out the sleeping forms of both my companions.
Dan is curled up on a small couch, his position looking rather uncomfortable, but he seems undisturbed, his features relaxed in slumber. March 7th, on the other hand, shivers slightly on a tiny bed, the thin blanket doing little to ward off the chill in the air.
The blessing of the Trailblazer fends off the worst of the cold, but not all of it…?
I pause, taking in the scene. Despite the turmoil raging within me, a small part of me can't help but feel comforted by their presence. It feels like an eternity since I last saw their faces.
Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain lances through my right arm, causing me to double over and clutch at it instinctively. The phantom agony is so intense that I collapse to my knees, biting back a scream. Waves of torment ripple through my body as I curl in on myself, forehead pressed to the cold floor.
"Please go away, please go away," I chant in my mind like a desperate mantra, squeezing my eyes shut against the blinding flashes of pain. Each breath is a struggle, the air hissing through gritted teeth.
Just as suddenly as it struck, the phantom pain dissipates, leaving me trembling and drenched in a cold sweat on the hotel room floor. My ragged gasps for air echo loudly in the stillness as I slowly uncurl my body, relief washing over me.
After a few steadying breaths, I push myself up to a seated position, running a shaky hand through my disheveled hair. My heart still pounds in my ears, but the agonizing onslaught has finally passed.
I hold my breath, straining my ears for any sounds that might indicate I've woken Dan or March with my pained gasps and choked cries. The room remains still and silent, save for the soft cadence of their breathing.
Carefully, I turn my head to look at them. Dan is still curled up on the couch, his brow unfurrowed and lips slightly parted as he slumbers peacefully. March hasn't even twitched, the thin blanket rising and falling gently with each exhale.
A heavy sigh of relief escapes my lips. At least I managed to keep quiet enough not to disturb their rest. The last thing I need right now is to explain what just happened.
I approach March's bed, carefully adjusting the covers to tuck her in more snugly. My hand hovers over her hair as if to caress it, but I stop myself. The words from her simulated self echo in my mind.
"Friends, huh…?"
Moving quietly, I make my way to the balcony, slowly sliding the door open just enough for me to slip through. I ease it closed behind me, careful not to let the cool night air rush in and disturb Dan and March's slumber.
I take a seat on one of the chairs, summoning a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from my coat pocket. With much effort, despite my trembling hands, I manage to light one. I take a long drag, savoring the familiar burn in my lungs.
As I exhale a plume of smoke, I take a moment to survey the city of Belobog from my vantage point. The view isn't half bad, I'll admit. The towering structures and intricate architecture are a far cry from the familiar skylines of home, but there's a certain beauty to it all the same.
Reaching into my coat again, I withdraw my father's broken watch, studying it in the dim light. The stainless steel case and bezel are intact, but the leather strap, crystal, and internal mechanism are still missing, courtesy of my battle with the Doomsday Beast.
For a fleeting moment, I consider the possibility of fixing it, now that I have access to Serval's workshop. But I quickly shake my head, tucking the watch back into my pocket with a pang of regret.
There are more important things to focus on.
I take another long drag from my cigarette, exhaling slowly as I lean back in the chair. Closing my eyes, I try to clear my mind, to find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos of my senses telling me I'm hurt when I know I'm not.
Unbidden, a memory surfaces from my childhood. My father's voice, gentle and patient, as he taught me a prayer to recite before bed. A prayer for a peaceful night's sleep, free from troubling thoughts and bad dreams.
Almost without realizing it, I find myself whispering the familiar words under my breath, the Spanish syllables rolling off my tongue like second nature.
"Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who brings sleep to my eyes, slumber to my eyelids. May it be Your will, Lord my God and God of my ancestors, that I lie down in peace and that I arise in peace. Let my sleep be undisturbed by troubling thoughts, bad dreams, and wicked schemes."
As the last words fade into the night air, I open my eyes, staring up at the unfamiliar stars twinkling in the sky above. A small, rueful smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
If only it were that simple.
——————————————————————
Countdown to Belobog's Long Night of Solace: 6 days remaining.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein