Chapter 258: Conviction or Anger?

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Nestled deep within the reinforced cockpit of the. Alpha unit Anuran sat, her fingers loosely resting upon the controls, her back reclined. A smirk tugged at her lips as she peered through the panoramic display before her.

There, framed by the glow of digital targeting vitals data, was the slowly stirring form of Fiona, collapsed in rubble. Her body trembled as she forced herself upright, drenched in her own blood, light still burning feebly within her gaze.

Anuran tilted her head ever so slightly, observing her prey with fascination, as though she were admiring the final, twitching moments of an insect she'd just pinned beneath her heel.

"How beautiful..." she murmured aloud. "They always look so very, very pretty when they're right on the edge… when the fire hasn't quite gone out, but the body—ah, the body—knows it's already lost."

It was a scene she had witnessed countless times before. A cycle. One that repeated with excruciating reliability, as inevitable as sunrise.

Soldiers. Warriors. Revolutionaries. Zealots.

They all bled the same.

And in time, they all fell the same.

Fiona was no different.

Not yet.

But not far either.

Anuran crossed one leg over the other as her voice dropped to a thoughtful hum.

"You're still not broken enough, are you?" she whispered, tone not of frustration, but of indulgent curiosity. "Not quite yet."

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she tapped a command, zooming in on the glowing runes still glowing faintly across Fiona's battered frame. She would keep fighting.

Anuran sighed.

"They always get back up."

Her voice turned softer—more contemplative—as if tired by the repetition.

"There's always someone with a vendetta against Magitech." She mused. "It's always the same old reasons. Always a sob story waiting beneath the surface." Her eyes flicked to a diagnostic reading, then back to Fiona. "A dead sister crushed beneath metal heels. A father shot by a drone. A village lost to a march. A lover who didn't die with tears but with the sound of circuitry..."

She leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees, her expression distant.

"The same stories. Played over. And over. And over."

Anuran shook her head—not out of scorn, but from the weight of disappointment. Like a teacher watching a pupil repeat the same foolish mistake.

"How utterly... dull."

The display briefly flickered, catching a twitch in Fiona's claw. Still trying to rise. Still holding on. Still defying logic. And then, Anuran's gaze sharpened—not with anger.

"Vengeance," she began, "is the most illogical instinct our kind clings to. A parasite of the mind. A self-sustaining sickness passed down in stories and scars."

She leaned back again, sighing.

"It offers nothing but pain in return for pain. Loss repaid with more loss. It does not rebuild what was destroyed. It does not resurrect what was buried. And it certainly does not punish those responsible—at least not in the way it pretends to." She paused. "It merely poisons the vessel who carries it."

Anuran exhaled, the air hissing softly through her nose.

"And yet you all choose it. Again and again." Her hand rose, gesturing lazily toward the screen. "You bind yourselves to your rage. You make it sacred. You convince yourselves that you are the heroes of your own tragedy—that your pain gives you purpose. That your pain justifies anything you do." Her voice hardened. "But pain is not a compass. It is an anchor. And it always, always pulls you down."

Her gaze returned to Fiona, who now staggered fully to her feet, clutching her side, panting.

And then, almost tenderly, Anuran whispered:

"You think you're fighting me, little wolf. But you're not. You're fighting ghosts. You're fighting memories. Machines didn't take your life from you. They were just the tool."

A quiet beat.

"It was people. People who built them. Programmed them. Deployed them. And then machines are blamed when it all went wrong."

The smirk returned.

"And here you are, carrying out their hate. You're just another blade turned inward."

She raised her hand again—and this time, a warning flashed across the display: Alpha's second arm was reconfiguring. The remaining bladed limb shifted and locked into a more aerodynamic form—twisting in place.

Anuran flexed her fingers on the controls, and softly finished:

"So come on, little wolf. Let me show you the last lesson vengeance teaches. That it never ends with justice."

From below Fiona forced herself upright once more. Her legs trembled, a dull ache pulsing up her side from where Alpha's blade had pierced, but she pressed down on the pain, burying it deep as her breath came out hot and ragged. She gritted her teeth and raised her head slowly to meet Alpha's gaze.

Its reconstructed bladed limb snapped into place with a harsh metallic click-clang, the artificial limb rotating and folding as it began securing back into the socket. It stood still, for now. Almost mockingly. As if giving her time to think. Time to bleed. Time to accept that she was—by all metrics—outmatched.

She narrowed her eyes and glared up at the machine, her hand twitching near her side.

["See what rushing in blind gets you?"] The voice echoed crisply in her head—chiding, and unmistakably Victoria's.

Fiona winced, the corners of her mouth twitching down. Her eyes burned—not from pain, but from the sting of being reminded.

("Shut it,") she snapped internally, with more frustration at herself than her companion. Her mental tone was tight.

She could practically feel the soft exhale of a sigh echoing down the communication link, followed by the pause Victoria always took when collecting her thoughts.

Meanwhile, the Alpha unit above had not moved. Its core orb still glowed with a faint pulse in its chest, like a heartbeat. It finished reattaching its right arm, the broken limb sealing itself into place with a swirl of mana-powered mechanical locks and tightening bolts. Not rushing. It knew it had time.

["Doesn't matter, I suppose,"] Victoria said offhandedly. ["I've completed my analysis."]

Fiona's ears perked up. 

["The orb at the center of its chest—it's not the true core."] There was a faint hum. ["It's circulating a minimal amount of mana. Just enough to draw attention. It's a red herring. A clever one."]

Fiona's brow furrowed. Her eyes darted instinctively to the glowing orb in Alpha's chest, narrowing with scrutiny.

("Then where is the real core?") she asked sharply.

["That's the trick,"] Victoria continued. ["It's not fixed anywhere. The real core appears to be teleporting throughout the body. It's using advanced spatial-phase displacement—likely a proprietary piece of magitech developed for concealment and endurance. It's mobile."]

["But don't worry,"] she added, her tone shifting just slightly. ["I'll predict the probability patterns. I'll guide you to the right spot when it becomes vulnerable."]

Then, after a beat, her voice dropped lower.

["Still…"] Victoria exhaled. ["Fiona… your emotions are becoming unstable. There's even fluctuations in your mana signature… the sudden surges in reckless output… I can see it. You're letting it control you. Your hatred for magitech—it's bleeding through your form."]

Fiona's fingers clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. Her body tensed as her vision blurred slightly—from the knot of heat rising in her chest.

("I know that—") she began defensively, bristling at the implication. 

["No. I don't think you do."] Victoria interrupted. ["Everyone else is fighting too. Everyone here is giving it their all—not just for glory, not just for themselves, everyone has their own goals they want to accomplish."]

["This is not the time to lose yourself. This festival… It isn't a stage for personal revenge. It's a crucible, Fiona. And we're in it together."]

The words struck deeper than Fiona wanted to admit.

["If you fall now—if you burn out here because you let your rage blind you—then you won't be able to help anyone. Not me. Not the others. Not yourself. The ones you want to protect, and the ones you want to avenge—you'll only fail them. Again."]

Silence lingered for a moment.

And then Victoria's voice grew soft.

["So bury that hate. Not because it's wrong to feel it. But because it has no place here. Bring up something stronger. Something steadier. Conviction, control or resolve."]

A longer pause.

["Do you understand me, Fiona?"]

Fiona didn't respond right away. Her expression had shifted—no longer sharp with anger. Her jaw clenched. Her breath hissed out from between her teeth. She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

Because Victoria was right, she hated that the pompous girl was right.

It was her anger that had driven her forward. That had opened her guard. That had let Alpha's blade slip past her defense and dig into her side. It was her hate that had thrown her off balance—turned clarity into recklessness.

And now, that same hate was tempting her to rise for the wrong reason again.

But…

She exhaled. 

Her feet shifted apart. Her stance widened. One hand slowly opened, the other hovering above her waist. Blue mana began to gather at her heels again—not wild or blazing this time, but steady. 

She lifted her chin and glared up at Alpha.

("...I understand.") she whispered in her thoughts. The hate still burned but at this moment she could not allow it to guide her, even if she so desperately wanted to.