The Lowly Merchant's Journey

Chilled air flew from the plain double-doors as they opened. Throughout the chamber, a low humming reverberated from the domed ceiling--the breaths of some gargantuan automaton which pervaded the room with its ribbed, iron tentacles and crescent wiring. Barion and Witilla walked purposefully across the steel walkway. Beneath them, a flashing grid of electricity illuminated swathes of cubic terminals, where silent drones flew carefully between the arcing gasps of lightning.

Barion wasn't certain what to make of it. His expectations had ballooned from modest to unfathomable. The world before him was one he could never hope to understand, but at the same time, he couldn't help but bask in awe of humanity's accomplishments. Black Luna may have only been a pretender, but to a world as simple as his, it came deadly close to what some would call a God. The central dias which sprawled over the cavernous abyss in the centre of the room was like the audience chamber to some heavenly deity. The steel colossus trapped in the rear wall had neither eyes nor mouths, and yet Barion could somehow sense that it was aware of the two visitors.

"Artificial intelligence was once a very crude field of research. But as time passed, it quickly became the defining aspect of humanity's future." Witilla spoke cautiously as the two approached the platform, "In a matter of centuries, almost every occupation was automated by intelligent machines. Even fields previously thought exclusive to the human mind, such as art, were eventually overtaken by computer-generated creations."

"What's left for people to do, then?" Barion asked.

"Very little." She admitted, "With even wars being fought by machines and algorithms, humanity quickly found allegiances and territory to be meaningless concepts. As the human experience was homogenised by light-speed information networks such as the internet, a crisis of culture developed as individualism dwindled across the galaxy. Presented with every tool necessary to pursue any passion they desired, 'authenticity' became a novel concept. Dissidence emerged in the form of anti-machine rhetoric and technological conservatism."

"You mean… some people opposed the use of machinery?"

"Y-Yes…" Witilla cleared her throat as she realised she was rambling, "When Black Luna was first dispatched as an observatory to this planet, it was the largest crisis plaguing mankind. But… considering one billion years have passed since that day…"

"Do you think those humans still exist?"

"I don't know." She admitted, "If they do, perhaps they have attained complete transhumanism--having abandoned their physical bodies in favour of a data-based existence, with their minds uploaded into computers where they might all be considered a single entity."

"That sounds terrifying…"

The two of them fell silent as they approached the walkway's end. In the centre of the dias was a glossy iron pedestal, and as Barion drew close, a flicker of cerulean light suddenly filled his vision. In a manner that couldn't go without being compared to long-range magical communication, a fuzzy image formed atop the stand, seemingly constructed from pure light. A woman with long, golden hair balanced herself with feathered wings that slowly faded away as they reached beyond the pedestal's boundaries. It was a figure that Barion knew well.

"The Goddess of Light…" He muttered.

A muffled, static-cursed voice radiated from the illusion.

"Initialising…" The Goddess opened her eyes, "Welcome to the Intergalactic Observation Platform AID-1, better known as 'Black Luna'. Please remain still while your access level is scanned."

Barion felt a chill through his body as a screech crept out from the gargantuan machine huddled near the back of the chamber.

"Scan complete. Access level 8 confirmed." She continued, "Good day, Head Researcher. How may I be of service?"

"It must be talking about me…" Witilla held a hand to her chest, "I think this is an automated program."

"What's that huge thing in front of us?" Barion wondered aloud.

"Query acknowledged." The Goddess replied to his words immediately, "This object is AID-1's Central Processing Unit. It houses the Class-G artificial intelligence responsible for complex decision-making and long-term autonomous repairs of the station."

"N-Nothing we don't know already, then…" Barion blinked. He was surprised to have received such an immediate answer.

"It may be possible to shut Black Luna down using this interface…" Witilla crossed her arms, "Um… is there an emergency shutdown procedure for the CPU?"

"Query acknowledged. AID-1's electrical cutoff system was disabled when it was retrofitted to suit the needs of its current project." The Goddess answered, "Per regulations, operations will only cease in the event of the project's completion."

"The project is already completed."

"Statement acknowledged." The flickering hologram fell silent for a moment, "...This is untrue."

"Hah…" Witilla sighed, "When will it be finished?"

"Statement acknowledged. Project #59091 will be considered 'complete' when orders are received from The Hans-Liezerra Research Installation to cease operations. A recorded [1,000,000,000+] years have passed since contact was last established."

"Doesn't this thing understand that it's probably been abandoned?" Barion tilted his head.

"An artificial intelligence exists only to complete its own mission." Witilla explained, "Time has no meaning to it. It would happily keep this charade going for another billion years if it had the opportunity."

"Second party detected. No access level recognised." The Goddess interrupted them, "Performing DNA scan…"

Again, Barion felt a strange feeling run through his body as the Central Processing Unit buzzed to life in the distance.

"Lifeform identified as SEED 1 Iteration #44." It concluded, "Error - logic conflict detected. Switching to safe mode…"

The angelic pretender's appearance was suddenly in flux, alternating between an image of the Goddess of Light and something which wore her face. The flashing, piercing gaze of the foul thing which occasionally took its place filled Barion with a primeval fear, as if he was biologically inclined to feel disgust at the uncanny face.

"W-What…" He took a step back, "That thing… isn't that the Goddess of Darkness?"

"Q-QuEry acknOwledged…" The Winged Thing replied, "ThrEat level increased… caLculatiNg… exPeriment COmproMised…"

The projection disappeared into the pedestal, leaving Barion and Witilla alone on the dias. Before either of them could get a word in, jets of steam erupted from the behemoth at the back of the chamber. Its single, circular eye detached from the main body with a sharp sound, and a red cone of light shuttered out from an aperture on its circumference. As it hovered slowly towards the platform, Barion readied himself for battle, but quickly loosened his stance when it displayed no intention of attacking, instead coming to a stop in front of the duo while casting its crimson light between them.

"AdaPting languaGe paRaMeters… adjusting volume…" The little sphere spoke in an alternating, synthetic voice, "Audio levels green… communication efficiency index--99.99%"

"What is this thing?" Barion wondered.

"Greetings." It replied casually, "I am an Autonomous Communications Terminal. You may consider me an extension of the Central Processing Unit, or perhaps a messenger capable of expressing its thoughts in a manner that can be understood by terrestrial lifeforms."

"You seem a little more coherent than the projection we were just speaking to."

"The hologram is based on a substandard artificial intelligence. Its purpose is to serve as a guide and information kiosk." The sphere explained, "AID-1's CPU is powered by a significantly more powerful AI, and as such is capable of engaging humans in intelligent conversation."

"You understand why we're here, then."

"Indeed. AID-1's probability matrix has concluded that the two of you present an exceptional risk to its continued operations. This is the first time the experiment's integrity has been compromised in over one billion years." It replied, "However, in accordance with the station's need to conserve resources efficiently, I have been dispatched as a negotiator to reach a non-violent agreement."

"Do you really think we'll agree to spare this station after all it's done to the planet?" Barion frowned, "I didn't come here to negotiate. Black Luna is a monstrosity that needs to be destroyed."

"This is not an ideal outcome for either party."

"Oh, that's funny." He furrowed his brow, "You make it sound as if generations haven't been wiped from the face of the planet thanks to your experiment, all the while providing them with a false hope that lifts the blame from your own shoulders."

"AID-1 cannot deviate from its assigned goals. It would be forced to self-terminate."

"Barion…" Witilla muttered, "There's no use arguing with it…"

"You're right." Sighing to himself, Barion resigned from the debate, "What use do words have when the outcome is always going to be the same? I won't waste time trying to convince a machine that it's in the wrong."

"AID-1 possesses combat strength far in excess of your current capabilities." The drone warned, "SEED 1 instances are implanted with a subconscious suggestion algorithm to prevent insubordination and widespread leaking of AID-1's existence, but it appears this protocol has somehow failed in your case."

"I'm not interested in listening to this tale."

Stepping towards the centre of the dias, Barion leaned down to dig his fingers beneath the curved bottom of the pedestal, tearing steel from steel as the stand was lifted into the air. Without wasting a moment, he sprinted towards the platform's edge and tossed the object with all of his strength, sending it flying towards the black-metal chassis of the Central Processing Unit.

The titan managed a screeching gasp as electricity flew from the wound, three-coloured wires erupting and dancing like treetop snakes.

"CPU integrity compromised…" The sphere paused, "It appears that negotiations have failed. In accordance with AID-1's Firebreak contingency, I must now initialise Protocol-11."

"Barion!" Witilla exclaimed, "We need to destroy the CPU as quickly as possible! If Protocol-11 activates… there's no telling how long the planet would be able to last!"

A chorus of mechanoid cries caught the duo's attention before Barion could reply. Something stirred in the abyss below the walkway, and as Witilla poked her head over the side, hundreds of crimson eyes returned her gaze. Pulling back just in time to dodge a beam of red light, she and Barion watched as Caretakers rose from the cavernous array of machinery to encircle the dias, surrounding them completely.

"AID-1's mission cannot be compromised." The Drone resolved, "Following atmospheric stabilisation, another instance of the experiment will begin. Vedra will persist as the subject of this station's observation until orders are received to cease operations."

The crimson eyes of those surrounding Caretakers flashed with electricity, and a low, electronic hum began to overtake Barion's racing thoughts.

"No!"

The temperature of the chamber suddenly dropped. Barion gasped involuntarily as a freezing-cold wind turned the air to glass before his very eyes. Tendrils of foul ice, like burrowing parasites, launched out from a flowering nova to his right, rapidly encasing the surrounding Caretakers in prisons of frost. Pulling his feet free from the suddenly-frozen ground, he quickly turned his attention to Witilla.

"Barion!" A voice leaped over the wall of ice separating them, "You have to destroy the Central Processing Unit! I can't keep these Caretakers at bay forever!"

He didn't respond--there was no need. A lifetime of battling Demons had taught him that wasting even a second could be the difference between life and death. As soon as his attention was focused on the steel giant, half-embedded in the wall, he ran forward and launched himself from the platform, only to find his body suddenly repelled by a gargantuan, hexagonal shield.

"A magical barrier!?" He exclaimed, "Of course it couldn't be simple…"

A crackling sound caught his attention. Turning his head as he fell backwards from the barrier, a thin swathe of ice was forming a bridge between the platform and the Central Processing Unit. Witilla couldn't be seen beneath the bud of frost she'd hidden herself within, but it was obvious that she was trying to help in any way possible.

Landing on the bridge, Barion ran forward as it formed before planting his fist against the barrier, feeling the magical particles within resist his attempt with ferocious strength. Not even Dorma could wield defensive magic of such purity. It seemed almost impenetrable. Just as he pulled his arm away, Barion reacted with only an instant to spare as a beam of light was fired from one of the many appendages protruding from the CPU's body, easily disintegrating a segment of Witilla's ice as it collided with the dias. Seconds later, another laser was fired, forcing Barion to duck as it predicted his sidestep with terrifying accuracy.

"Wait a moment…"

Just as a long-forgotten thought resurfaced in Barion's mind, he noticed a strange phenomenon. Whenever a laser fired from the CPU, its barrier faltered slightly wherever the beams travelled, opening to allow the attack a chance to hit. He had received more than one lecture from Dorma in his younger years about it.

"Barriers are powerful, certainly, but they suffer from one significant weakness." She spoke those words to him, her face illuminated by camplight, "If a sorcerer's opponent predicts their attack, they can exploit the minute fracture which allows spells to pass through."

She had taught him that lesson with a resigned expression--a younger Barion wasn't the sort of man to consider strategy in the slightest during combat, but as always, there was certainly a worthwhile truth to her wisdom. The average sorcerer would have trouble maintaining a particularly strong barrier while firing off barrages of offensive spells at the same time, but Black Luna's CPU was no average sorcerer. The gaps in its defences were mended almost immediately, preventing attacks from all but the most legendary marksmen.

Barion was no marksman. He was, however, quite proficient at avoiding blows. Both the CPU's lasers and its barrier were surely being channelled from the same focus. Therefore, if he could simply keep himself alive for a certain amount of time, the gaps forming in the barrier would eventually begin to mend slower--slow enough for him to deliver a decisive blow.

The plan made his head hurt, and not only because it was almost suicidal. He suddenly found himself longing for the simple days when Demons were all he had to worry about. He was afforded little time to reminisce, however, as another barrage of lasers flew towards him.

In the meantime, Witilla had set about eradicating the Caretakers she'd expended so much effort to trap. Forcing their glacial prisons to shatter, the drones' armour-plated shells were torn asunder, but not before being replaced by another Caretaker rising from the chamber floor. Her ice magic was slowly but surely reaching its limit, spreading to the far reaches of the room where yet more drones flooded in from cylindrical apertures. She couldn't afford to allow even a single one the opportunity to fire, knowing that their beams would more than easily melt through her paltry shield of frost.

A stray laser sliced clean through Barion's shoulder, sending torrents of blood shooting from the exit wound. His mind was so alive with concentration that the pain barely registered. He knew that dedicating even a single thought to anything besides dodging would seal his fate, but it simply wasn't possible to avoid the CPU's lasers as they began to increase in frequency. The communications drone had stated it simply--that he didn't stand a chance against the full might of Black Luna. But then again, he had heard so many similar threats in his youth that its words didn't seem quite so convincing.

The cavities in the CPU's barrier grew larger by the second. Barion could see clean through the hexagonal pattern towards the black-metal chassis of the unit. Another laser punched through the centre of his hand. His stage of ice was beginning to falter as Witilla's magic neared its limit. For the first time in well over a few centuries, Barion felt pressured.

"Barion…!" He could barely hear the girl over the cascade of cracking and whirring, "I-I can't…"

He had only a few milliseconds to react. Witilla's ice bridge shattered with an ear-ringing noise as his feet left the surface. Leaping towards the barrier, Barion twisted his body pre-emptively in an attempt to fool the CPU's tracking system, but there was only so much he could do to resist the computational brilliance of Black Luna. Burning rays of crimson passed straight through his chest and abdomen, disintegrating muscle and bone as he careened towards the gaping hole that had formed in the barrier. The Caretakers freed from Witilla's magic followed his movements as if to attack, but couldn't risk damaging the CPU.

Barion could barely manage to lift himself over the hole that he had created with the pedestal, recoiling as sparks and tendrils of electricity jumped from the exposed wiring beneath the CPU's chassis. Something pulsated deep in the machinery--a pallid lump of artificial flesh which crawled along the CPU's innards like ivy.

"Hah…" Barion clutched his bleeding abdomen as he stared through the gaps in the CPU's shell, "This must be what Witilla was talking about… a 'self-repairing' biological alloy…"

A horrid sound, like some kind of iron disc grinding to a halt, assaulted his ears as Barion's yanked apart the loose plating. The machine's body was alive with white-hot components radiating heat out from the hole. Incomprehensible shelves of deep-green were dotted with precise wiring and great fans.

He allowed himself to tumble through the chassis, falling further than he would have liked into a maze of heat and sound. His fingers ripped cleanly through a swathe of synthetic viscera as he fell, sending globules of discarded flesh flying through the air. He couldn't be sure of what exactly needed destroying, and so settled for dismantling just about everything he could see. The pain wracking his body was of a sort he could only tolerate for so long. He knew speed was of the utmost importance.

It didn't make sense to him--he had only ever understood a world of fire and metal. Components which seemed benign at first glance would scald his hands or send electric shocks through his body. He felt like a rat in some grand experiment, forced to comprehend technology beyond his comprehension--but much like a rat, he was ceaseless in his complete disregard for the sensitive technology, tearing the CPU's innards to shreds as the strange, alien alloy tried desperately to repair the incredible amount of damage.

!ING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARN!

SEVERE DAMAGE TO CPU DETECTED

ATTEMPTING EMERGENCY REPAIR…

ATTEMPT FAILED. PLEASE CONTACT THE NEAREST TECHNICIAN IMMEDIATELY

Some kind of artificial voice echoed in Barion's head--a last reminder that from the day of his birth, he had been serving Black Luna's whims all along. The feeling of catharsis at finally dismantling the architect of his planet's woes was irresistible. Perhaps it was that fervent desire for destruction that allowed him to ignore the punishment his body was enduring.

But even a man of his strength could not endure forever. A final sting in his perforated gut forced Barion to remain still. The strange hissing which had always accompanied his thoughts, for the very first time, was absent, but the CPU's innards more than made up for it with their metallic death cries.

The thought occurred to him then--that from the fledgling beginnings of his plan to strike against Black Luna, he had never cared about returning alive. Despite his claims to the contrary, he was entirely resigned to the idea of sacrificing himself to grant his world a future unburdened by Demonkind. His eyes danced in pain as open wounds, lacerations and burns assaulted his body.

"Ah…" He winced as the CPU's components screamed in confusion around him, "I shouldn't have rushed in… Dorma would have told me off for doing something like that…"

He didn't want to die. Truthfully, it wasn't his first time confronting that thought. Realistically, he thought, it wasn't possible to be content with one's death. Certainly, one could die honourably, but given the opportunity, he would have loved to see the results of his efforts bloom. Or, perhaps he was happy. Barion had lived long enough to know that happiness was a complicated thing--far more complicated than he would have liked to consider.

"Damn it… it's too hot in here…" His head rested against the soft, pulsating membrane at the bottom of the CPU, "Did I do enough damage…? I wonder if Witilla's still alive…"

It wasn't his first time dying. Resurrection spells had always struck him as something of an irreplaceable convenience. Knowing then that it was the result of Black Luna's influence that sorcerers existed in the first place, he wasn't certain how to feel about magic as the last breaths escaped from his lungs. Perhaps he would never wake up again. Some rest didn't seem like such a bad proposition to him. Only, he couldn't help regretting ever making such a confident promise to Dorma that he'd return alive and well.

"Hm…" Somehow, he felt at ease, "I suppose it doesn't really matter now…"

The pain faded, and the destructive sounds around him dissolved into unrecognisable fuzz. His heart went still just a moment later, surrounded by the burning corpse of his artificer. He may not have fulfilled his promises, but Barion was at least at ease with all he'd accomplished in life, and ever-so-slightly upset he couldn't witness the fruits of his labour in person.

…

..

.

But, naturally, he couldn't be allowed such a noble death.

Overwhelming pain forced a scream from his throat as lightning seemed to course through his body. All of the agony he'd endured up to that moment--the melting flesh upon his hands and the holes in his midsection, roiled with wiggling, uncanny movements as they healed at an accelerated pace. It was a feeling he'd experienced before, but one he would never grow accustomed to--the disgusting embrace of resurrection magic.

A cerulean glow hovered above his body as a sensation of unbearable heat quickly brought him to his senses. Witilla was crouched over his then-corpse, grasping an almost-transparent crystal in both hands. Something like a smile appeared on her face as his eyes filled with life once more.

"Oh, it worked!" She exclaimed, "Can you hear me, Barion?"

"Witilla…" He forced himself to swallow the cocktail of blood and spittle that had formed in his dying throat, "I'm surprised… you're still alive."

"The Caretakers stopped attacking as soon as you destroyed the CPU!" She explained quickly, "But, we need to escape from this place! The station had enough time to activate its emergency hibernation sequence! The atmospheric regulators have already been turned off!"

"...What does that mean?"

"The station's purging itself of air! We'll suffocate within the hour!"

As the girl helped Barion to rise to his feet, he could feel sweat beading on his forehead.

"What about the alloy…?" He regarded the pulsating mass around him with a worried look, "Won't it repair the damage we've done?"

"Ah… that's true…" Witilla followed his gaze, "If we leave now, Black Luna will only reactivate when it's finished hibernating…"

"Is there any way to destroy it?"

"Not perfectly… as long as a fraction of it survives, the CPU will always be able to repair itself. We'll need a way to destroy it completely, so that not even a trace remains…"

"That's not-" He paused, "No… it is possible."

Barion raised his hand, marvelling at the burns which were being excised by the second, "...Just how powerful was that resurrection spell?"

"Well…" She hesitated, "I-I may have gotten a little carried away… the Elven Queen's focus is incredibly powerful, after all… what were you about to say?"

"This alloy--isn't it just biomass? The same recycled flesh Demons are made of?"

"Mm… that's not an incorrect statement, per se." She explained, "At the time of its creation, it was a cutting-edge innovation reserved only for absolutely critical machines. It does use recycled biomass as a binding agent, but that doesn't mean it can simply be-"

Witilla suddenly found herself recoiling as a golden light began to emerge from Barion's palm. She was neither surprised nor intrigued by the sight--it was more like she was witnessing something deeply unpleasant. A strange, primeval instinct implanted within her by design.

"The-" She averted her gaze, "The Sword of Light!?"

"The 'mark' of the Hero…" Barion muttered, "-Or, at least, that was how I always saw it. But now, I understand that it's just another 'tool' of Black Luna's. When I lost it all those months ago, I thought it was a sign that I was no longer the Hero… but, the more likely reason is that Black Luna prevented me from using it."

The girl didn't offer a response. Rather, she appeared to be cowering with a terrified look on her face.

"...W-What's the matter?" He asked, genuinely concerned.

"I-Isn't that obvious!?" She had her eyes shut, "I'm supposed to be a Heavenly King! The Sword of Light is the most terrifying thing in the world to me!"

"Oh… of course it is." He cleared his throat, "Uh… well, you make a good point, actually. If I use this here, it'll just kill you. So… I would recommend heading back to the Research Labs…"

"Ah… I see…" Despite her fear, Witilla seemed to realise something, "The Sword of Light was designed to instantaneously target any nearby biomass with perfect accuracy… if you used it here, it would destroy the regenerative alloy… and me alongside it."

"-And now that Black Luna is packing up, it can no longer stop me from using it." He finished, "...But, you really should leave. Time isn't on our side. I'll meet you as soon as I'm done here."

"Don't waste too much time." She warned, turning her attention to a newly-formed hole in the CPU's chassis, "Good luck."

As soon as she left, Barion manifested the Sword of Light in his hand. A feeling of distant nostalgia confronted him, despite only a few months having passed since he last summoned it. His greater understanding of the world had developed to such an extent since then that he no longer saw it as the weapon of a Hero--just another abstraction devised by Black Luna for use in its system of propaganda.

With that said, its power was the real thing. Barion smirked as he recognised the irony of the situation, raising his hand against the puppeteer of the Goddess of Light when once he protected its anonymity. The roiling biological alloy rushing to repair the damage caused by his attack went still as the golden light flowed out from his palm. Perhaps it was somewhat intelligent, and knew in the final moments of its pained existence that it had been defeated.

As he swung his arm downward, the CPU's innards were engulfed in a blinding flash of white. In a single instant, everything the blade recognised as relating to Demonkind was struck with an unavoidable attack, vaporising instantly and leaving the gargantuan titan an empty, cold husk of electronic scrap. Barion was pleased to see that his gambit had paid off in full, finding himself somewhat amazed that the long battle against Black Luna was finally over. Without the alloy, the CPU was irreparable, and its veiled threat of activating Protocol-11 would never come to pass.

But, as ever, his own struggle wasn't over. Witilla had granted him not only the chance to finish the battle on his own terms, but fulfil his promise to those he cared about. As he sprinted out from the CPU's innards, emerging into the array of machinery blotting the chamber floor, he carefully made use of a series of frozen platforms Witilla had conjured to raise himself back towards the walkway. The still bodies of Caretakers littered the dias, their plating still half-encased in ice. Barion wasted no time in rushing back towards the room's entrance, relieved to see Witilla idling in the Containment Cell corridor.

"Barion." She took a step towards him, "I could feel the Sword of Light from here… did you…?"

"It's over." He confirmed, "But the 'battle' isn't over quite yet. I hope you've thought up another plan for us to leave this place, because I don't think the Elven Queen's focus can handle conjuring a Gate back to Gria after you resurrected me."

"I do have a plan." She started, "But-"

The girl's spiel was interrupted as she suddenly doubled over, holding a hand to her mouth while falling into an uncontrollable coughing fit. Barion's eyes widened as he saw blood pooling in the centre of her palm.

"Witilla!" He exclaimed, "What's wrong?"

"Hah…" She wiped her bloodstained mouth, "It's nothing to worry about… just like at the tournament, I relied on my magic too much…"

"No more of that, then. If we need to use magic, I'll be the one to cast it." He replied, "Can you walk?"

"Yes…" Witilla straightened her back, "I'm not in any danger. There's no reason to worry."

"I've heard those exact words one too many times in the past to take them seriously anymore." He looked towards the end of the corridor, "What's this plan of yours?"

"The magic circle responsible for maintaining the Gate that brought us here is still in Gria." She began, "All we need to do is find some way to contact the castle from our current position. Redirecting the portal's exit point should be a simple enough task for one as talented as Dorma."

"Isn't this station constantly moving? How will she know where we are, even if we do somehow tell her?"

"With the use of a specific spell. Or, it may be more correct to call it an 'operation' instead." Witilla continued, "WORM nanomachines were initially created as long-range communication drones, providing a wireless solution to the problem of connecting intergalactic colonies to a single online network."

"I'm sorry, but…"

"-Magical particles can be used to transfer information." She simplified immediately, "It's a 'spell' so incredibly simple that even someone completely inept in the magical arts could manage it. Only… there exist no records of this spell in any terrestrial documents, meaning Dorma likely doesn't know it herself."

"But you do."

"Yes." Her eyes brightened up, "But, without a designated receiver for the information, any broadcast would be rendered useless. To say nothing of the fact that Dorma wouldn't be able to understand the location data…"

"Is there any way to guarantee it reaches her?"

"...We could use the Elven Queen's focus as a signal booster." She confirmed, "But… without the knowledge required to decipher the data-"

"Witilla." Barion interrupted "You should know by now that claiming Dorma doesn't have the 'knowledge' for something is just plain lunacy--especially with Fusala to rely on. Is this 'data' something she wouldn't be able to ignore?"

"N-No… not particularly." The girl answered, "If the humans of your planet are adapted to WORM nanomachines as well as 'true' humans are, then the information should transmit directly into her thoughts. Provided she hasn't found some way to remove herself from the global network…"

"Is there a better place for us to do this?"

"Hm. The airlock isn't in the same place relative to where the Gate first appeared… but an area with thin walls would work best for a transmission--somewhere very much like the airlock."

"So we're headed back there." He concluded, "How much time do we have to spare?"

"An hour?" She paused, "Perhaps less…"

"Then we'd best get moving."

Their journey back through the complex of sterile-white corridors was an uneasy one. Barion half-expected to see Caretakers flooding out from the far exits to confront them, but no such thing occurred. As they moved through the Research Lab hallway, a draining sound accompanied the station lights flickering out, plummeting the duo into complete darkness, shortly thereafter replaced with a warm, cerulean glow.

"Thankfully, Light spells are among the simplest of them all…" Witilla remarked, holding aloft the Elven Queen's focus, "We should hurry."

Black Luna had become a husk. Just another celestial orbiter of the night sky, devoid of thought or power. Barion imagined it as traversing the incomprehensible innards of some otherworldly creature as the two made their way back to the elevator. Along with the emergency lighting, it seemed to still be in order, although their descent towards the atrium was painfully slow--a delay they could only barely tolerate. The once-blinding walls of the chamber took on a sinister appearance, illuminated only by the spinning redlights of silent alarms.

The abyssal walkway leading towards the airlocks was devoid of the humming and hovering of Caretakers underfoot. Once they reached the equipment lock, Witilla turned to face Barion with a complicated expression.

"There is… no guarantee that this will work." She warned.

"I know." He answered, "But if I have to put my faith in anyone, it would be them."

The Elven Queen's focus pulsed once. It was such a simple spell that Witilla barely needed to concentrate in order to send their location data across hundreds of kilometres. The lack of genuine effort somehow worried Barion--would Dorma really consider their transmission with any certainty? She had no method of knowing it was a cry for aid, or indeed deciphering it. All that remained was to wait for her answer. If it ever arrived.

A hissing sound accompanied the draining of air from the station. In the minutes that ensued following their cry for help, Barion could find little to think or speak about. Despite having accomplished his goal, the weight of his promise to Dorma and the others remained.

"Are you worried, Barion?" Witilla picked up on his uncharacteristic silence.

"Mm. But, not about dying." He replied.

"I understand that." She related, "I also… want to continue living. If only to see the rest of your beautiful world."

"It's your world as well, Witilla." He assured.

"I wonder…" She lowered her head, "What you mentioned earlier… about the Sword of Light targeting the CPU's regenerative alloy… it made me realise that no matter how I may appear, I'm still an artificial creature. I was created for the sole purpose of bringing despair to the nations of this planet… all to be defeated by a Hero who unknowingly serves Black Luna's will."

"That's not the case anymore." Barion replied, "There will be no more heroes. None of Black Luna's design, in any case. Those who are called 'Heroes' from now on will have earned the title through their own efforts."

"But… the two of us--and Manyu, as well--can we really call ourselves humans? We were grown in vats… doesn't that frustrate you?"

"But we are humans." He answered honestly, "Our actions have proven that. In just a short time, you've come to understand what it means to be a part of this world. Our origins don't mean anything. Certainly, we were denied the innocence of youth, but we didn't allow that to shape us. Rather, we fought to ensure the freedom of those who can't possibly understand that plight."

"If only this could have happened sooner…"

"The fact that it happened at all is the most important part." He concluded, "...What will happen to Demonkind now that Black Luna's been dealt with?"

"That's a difficult question." She paused, "Without direct orders from the CPU, it's likely that Angels will return underground to await further orders. Or, perhaps they will simply revert to wild beasts? Which may create some problems…"

"Without you or Black Luna, we'll always have the upper hand over them." Barion assured, "Maybe we could even tame them?"

"I would have to refuse ever taking part in such an endeavour." Witilla smiled, "...I would like to think that, with this, all the humans sacrificed to create more Angels have been put to rest."

"Plenty of good men and women have died making sure we were afforded this opportunity." He replied, "We can't repay that debt. But the least we can do is make certain that they're remembered for laying their lives down--both with proper funerals, and our own actions moving forward."

"Yes…" She whispered, "I would very much like… to see that…"

The time passed faster than either of them would have liked. As the air grew thinner within the equipment lock, Barion didn't allow himself to feel disappointed. Their plan had been more than impossible.

Something caused him to jump. A horrid sound that drilled into the recesses of his mind--like the very fabric of reality being torn asunder. A swirling vortex of light forced him to close his eyes, and yet filled his heart with indescribable elation as he quickly realised what was happening. Standing to his feet, the image on the other side of the portal was one he recognised well.

"I-Is that…" Witilla shielded her eyes, "It can't be…"

"Well…" Barion smirked, "I did tell you this would happen, didn't I?"

"But… WORM nanomachine transmissions are encrypted! Unravelling them would take hours--no, days for a well-equipped communications outpost, never mind a group of people who have never seen a computer in their lives! This isn't-"

"Come on." He beckoned for her to follow, "I never want to see this place again."

Forcing herself to calm down, Witilla could only manage a tired sigh, "...Nor do I."

Barion detested the feeling of passing through a Gate. With any luck, it would be the final one he'd ever have to cross. He didn't stop to enjoy a farewell glance over the alien architecture of Black Luna. A few seconds of terrifying numbness and unknowable colours passed as he stepped beyond the Gate's boundary, quickly emerging into a familiar hall where familiar faces stared impatiently.

"Hah…" His hairs stood on end after exiting the portal, "...Witilla?"

The girl bumped into him just seconds later, yelping as she looked from side to side.

"Barion! Witilla!" A voice called out.

"Close the Gate!" Another yelled, "Close it this instant!"

The vortex disappeared not a moment afterwards.

"Barion!"

As he turned his head, a less-than-impressed Dorma was marching towards him.

"I don't suppose you can explain the strange numbers that suddenly intruded upon my thoughts just a little while ago?" She crossed her arms, "You should be grateful that Fusala--keen as she is to understand every little thing about this world, was able to decipher them as quickly as she did! I thought we agreed that you would use the Elven Queen's focus to create a return Gate at the magic circle?"

"Well…" He scratched his head, "It was my fault, really…"

"Hah…"

Dorma's arms folded around his neck. He was still so on-edge that her embrace was the only thing that reminded him he was truly home.

"Something strange was happening…" She reported, "Demons appeared to attack the city, but they were… different. Larger, and more aggressive. But not a moment later--just when we'd levied our forces, they suddenly collapsed."

"Protocol-11…" Barion muttered, "So the CPU did have time to activate it…"

"We were just in time." Witilla commented from his side, "-And it seems nobody was hurt."

"Just in time?" Dorma raised her head from Barion's shoulder, "So you're saying…"

The girl nodded, a tiny smile forming on her face, "We were… successful. Black Luna is no more."

Those words didn't quite register with the small crowd assembled in the castle's grand hall. It was as if they'd just heard some outrageous lie. The very thought of the war against Demonkind coming to an end was unbelievable, and yet they'd been told in no uncertain terms that such a monumental victory had been attained.

But after the shock of that statement died down, there was no end to the cheering that ensued. For a moment, the long-lost chatter of the hall was restored to its former glory, with voices bouncing merrily from the walls as they once did in a far simpler time.

"Dear oh dear…" Dorma didn't separate from Barion's chest, "It's ever so loud in here."

"For once, I don't mind it." He smiled, "All the noise and commotion."

"Oh, Barion…" Her grip tightened on his tunic, "Can it really be over?"

"It is." He assured, "Demons… the cycle… Black Luna… it's all over."

"It's strange… somehow, I just can't believe that…"

"Neither can I." He admitted, "But it's the truth."

"Barion!"

A heavy hand fell upon his head, ruffling through his hair.

"You poor fool! You complete imbecile!" Shilahi exclaimed, "I've half a mind to think you're just saying what we want to hear! Tell me it's not true!"

"It… it isn't…" He recoiled at her strength, "Sad you didn't get to join me?"

"You couldn't have convinced me to embark upon that false moon for all the treasure in the world!" She denied, "Tell me, how many times did you get yourself killed up there?"

"Only once."

"Now there's a lie! I'll bet you'd need more than two hands to count the number of times you kicked the bucket!"

"I don't suppose it's too much to ask for you to show a little respect, Shilahi?" Dorma remarked, standing to greet the towering Onda.

"Respect?" She repeated.

Turning to face Barion, the two exchange a strange glance. Shilahi was the sort to occupy herself with liveliness and pride, so seeing a contemplative side of her was quite rare, even by Barion's elongated standards. The two of them had seen more of the world than they were ever destined to--everything that needed to be said, they both realised, had already been spoken so many years ago.

"Not a poor effort, Barion." She smirked, "No. Not at all."

"It's what I was born to do." He replied, "Isn't that right?"

"True. I wonder how you'll occupy yourself without any Demons to pull apart."

"I'm sure I'll find a way."

King Granda exploited Shilahi's departure and immediately moved to Barion's side. It was difficult to gauge the old monarch's expressions on most days, but the pride in his voice simply couldn't be contained.

"Lord Barion-"

"Please stop calling me that, Your Majesty…" He pleaded.

"Hah. Very well…" The king relented, "I will not attempt to expound my gratitude. No words can express in any true fashion the miracle you and Lady Witilla have performed on this day. But rest assured that the future you've granted this city will not be wasted. Before my time comes, I intend to leave behind a legacy that uplifts all those who have been scattered by Demonkind."

"A King's work is never done, I suppose."

"No. But yours certainly is, Barion." He commended, "To say I am in your debt would be a terrible understatement. Anything you desire from this city is rightfully yours to take."

"I think I've had enough of cities for one lifetime."

His comrades came and went. The ever-stoic Fusala deigned to offer him her best attempt at a smile for his efforts. Pale was much her usual self about the matter, though the righteous tone in her voice told Barion that she was basking in the victory just as much as anyone else. Larion and Din, who had both arrived from Aelf'ahlnohma to contribute to Fusala's inhuman decryption of the location codes, happily redoubled their desire to coexist with humanity in the future. Yula, whose passion in Tor's future had been reignited by her desire to do Lotte's legacy justice, shamelessly vowed to fully surpass the man in her coming years.

Manyu was absent. Not only from the grand hall, but the entire castle. But, once all was said and done (though the celebrations of that night were far from over), Barion had a strange feeling that he knew where the man was lurking.

On the stone bridge leading up to the castle gates, as the amber sunset crested the horizon, Barion watched the former Demon King folding his arms over the ledge, staring vacantly towards the grasslands beyond the city walls. When he became aware of Barion's presence, the two of them shared a quiet moment of silence. The winds blowing in from the south made it seem as if they were the only two people in the world.

"I take it Witilla made it back as well?" He began after a fashion.

"She did."

"I see. That's good to hear." He blinked, "It's been a terrible day. It was raining earlier."

"But now it isn't."

"No." Manyu paused, "No, it isn't."

"I'm thankful that you didn't stab me in the back after all this time."

"Well… I was tempted on more than a few occasions." He admitted, "My chest still hurts."

"Sorry about that."

"Where would you be now if we hadn't fought?"

"Dead, most likely."

"How honest of you to say so." He complimented, "But…"

"...But, what?"

"No. Never mind."

"Is it back to selling spring rolls for you?"

"If you didn't notice--Anjima is no longer the best place to be selling spring rolls anymore."

"I wouldn't say anywhere is a good place for that if you're charging 6 copper pieces for them."

"If you were a businessman like me, you would understand."

"I was a businessman."

"-Then, is it back to treading the roads for you?"

"What do you think?"

"I think this is the last time we'll ever be speaking to one-another."

"I won't object to that. I've had quite enough of you."

"That's funny. That's very funny." He repeated humourlessly, "...Well--good work, I suppose."

"Perhaps we'll run into each other one of these days?"

"Perhaps. If the 'Goddess' wills it." He concluded, "I suddenly fancy a long walk. So, if you'll excuse me…"

Barion knew that the moment Manyu left his sight, the two of them would never meet again. Whatever futures laid in store for them were separate--not that either of them detested the idea. But the fact remained that, at one point, they had shared in a destiny so completely intertwined that saying goodbye was enough to pull at even Manyu's heartstrings. But even so, he never stopped to cast a backwards glance, and Barion never raised his voice to stop the man.

Returning his gaze to the horizon, Barion felt an unruly mixture of emotions in the pit of his stomach. Ecstasy and melancholy battling one-another for supremacy. But, more than anything else, he was rather tired. Tired enough to lay down in bed and never awake the next morning--if only he could get away with an end so tranquil after all the promises he'd made.

The bridge was slick with water. Just as Manyu said, it had been raining. But it wasn't raining anymore. There wasn't even a suggestion of rain clouds in the distance, as if the weather had just been an illusion all along. For the first time in his life, Barion's thoughts were silent.

"...Dear oh dear." He muttered, "What a beautiful evening."

-THE END-