"Perfection, or rather a twisted idea of perfection, is the driving force behind the Archmage's more recent work." The Voice pronounces, "Those unfortunates that we met at the hospital were the ones who paid the price for this misguided pursuit."

"Pardon me?" I protest with my eyes still closed, "Freak show and friends were the furthest thing from perfection. If that is Hobo Beard's idea of perfection, I have doubts about his other research."

The Voice rasps, "Do not merely look at externals Transmigrator, the test subjects we inspected may be ugly on the outside, but by a certain definition, completely flawless on the inside. Remember, the Archmage's business is not plastic surgery."

Beautiful on the inside, huh? That can only mean one thing. Souls. Is The Voice saying that freak show and friends have perfect souls? Thinking back to my experience at the ward, I did notice something unusual about the souls of the test subjects. Their souls were clean, light, unlike anything else I experienced.

"No pressure." I snap my figures as the memory comes to me, "The patients' spirit cores exerted no pressure on their surroundings. Their souls also felt somehow, pure? That would be the best way to put it I suppose."

"Correct." The Voice rumbles with approval, "The Archmage is trying to create a being that is a combination of the three races, and the first step is the fusion of three disparate souls into a single entity. The spirit cores of the patients release no 'pressure' as you put it as the core is in perfect harmony with itself."

"I felt pressure coming from the SOPO guards' spirit cores though." I comment.

The Voice says, "Their souls were fused with the souls of other humans only."

I frown while getting up from the bench and pacing about, "How does that work? Wouldn't the addition of two cores from completely different races add more chaos into the picture? Its like trying to cross breed a dog, horse and cat together. If anything, the black site guards' souls should have more 'harmony', as you put it. They suffer from no obvious mutations for one."

The Voice pauses for a moment before saying, "What if the three species have a common ancestor? What if those physical changes you saw were not mutations, but a reversion instead?"

I put my hands in my trouser's pockets, ruminating as I stroll about the park. Common ancestor. That's not possible. Is The Voice saying that angels and demons descended from apes as well? Well, not apes. Judging from the mutations, chimeras?

No, I'm thinking about things the wrong way. Racking my mind about what I know about Hobo Beard and his research, I recall one of the rules of this dimension's magic. Racial spell casting. Angels and demons cast spells that are unique to their race. But Hobo Beard worked out a way to allow humans to cast every spell, regardless of which race it originated from without exception. Everyone got worked up because it looked like Hobo Beard had overturned one of the big rules of magic.

But what if that was not true? What if Hobo Beard's discovery was something that worked well within the rules? Something like his soul growth research. It was just a matter at looking at things from a different perspective.

If Hobo Beard worked how humans could cast spells from angel and demon racial pools, then that means ...

"Humans share a common ancestor with angels and demons." I cautiously probe.

"Go on." The Voice grunts.

The gears of my mind spin relentlessly. I feel that I am on the verge of touching one of this dimension's big secrets. The missing link. Hobo Beard must have found the missing link that binds all three species together. So its not really three different species, its more like different breeds of dogs or cats. If I turn back the clock far enough, I can identify the founding genus. The root of this extended family tree.

"The precursor civilization." I blurt out as the pieces fall into place, "They were the ones that were on this world first. Then they died out. But that's not true isn't it?"

"Very good." The Voice confirms, "When the precursor civilization perished due to natural disasters, there were enough survivors scattered about to found successor civilizations of their own. Time and isolation from each other have resulted in these descendants becoming completely unrecognizable from their ancestors."

"But wait. These were the days before Fate, right?" I narrow my eyes in suspicion, "How in the world did these descendants get separated from each other? Heaven and Hell are kept apart from this world by dimensional barriers. Dimensional barriers that would have been controlled by you."

The Voice laughs humorlessly, "Its simple. I was the one that separated them."

"Why?" I ask while furrowing my brow, "For what purpose?"

The Voice rumbles, in a somewhat wistful tone, "After the demise of their civilization, the survivors were in a desperate position. They begged me for aid and I consented. However, the land was ravaged by a genocidal war they had fruitlessly waged in the last years of their civilization, a sad, futile burst of violence from a doomed people. Their future was hanging on a thread."

Wow, I never knew that. Guess war never changes after all.

The Voice continues, "Beasts. That was the best way to describe them. Warlike and violent, they still possessed the knowledge of their ancestors and put such gifts to terrible use. To save them from themselves, I had to separate them into three different tribes and the dimensional barriers were erected to ensure that peace would reign and the land had time to recover."

"But things did not work out." I comment, "If it did, Fate would not exist."

"No. Things most certainly did not work out." The Voice sighs, "Time passed, and so did the gratitude I received. Adventurers began to quest for the lost heritage of the precursors, which ultimately fell into the hands of Fate. You know what happened next."

"The long war that never ended." I conclude, "Is that why you're always so passive aggressive towards the locals?"

The Voice replies sullenly, "It was a difficult time for me Transmigrator. I washed my hands off the natives ever since Fate became the deity that governs life. The natives are welcome to live out their existences, as long as they do not infringe on my interests. No more and no less."

"Well, you've got me, if that helps." I offer. Never thought I would hear The Voice sounding so down. Everybody has something painful in their past I suppose.

The Voice snorts, "It is not as if you have anyone in this dimension yourself. Still, your presence has helped me immensely, Transmigrator. For that I thank you."

"Did I get Voice points out of that?" I joke. It seems so long ago, the time I was agitating for a waifu. Now those concerns appear so petty to the high stakes both of us were playing for.

The Voice laughs, "Enough to trigger my h-scene Transmigrator. I will spawn an old sock back at the hideout. Feel free to use my matter to pleasure yourself."

"Cute." I grumble, "But back to the business at hand, how did Hobo Beard get roped into this project?"

The Voice muses, "This is just a guess on my part, but the Archmage was probably scouted after his earlier experiments on soul growth produced a success."

I nod, "Magic Police Girl. But that was not genuine soul growth. And I think I know why the success could not be replicated. Once the P5 realized that the procedure required taking life, interest died out. Then a cover story was created, am I right? Can't have people finding out that the respected Archmage was killing his test subjects on the P5's dime."

"Most likely." The Voice agrees, "A story that Heroine Naiberg was truly unique, able to take advantage of a one of a kind miracle procedure that worked on no one else. An easy sell, since Heroine Naiberg is at her core indeed unlike almost anyone else."

"But there was someone who did not care about the body count." I say as I sit back down on the bench, my legs feeling tired from all the pacing, "That someone invited Hobo Beard over to The City and got him working on the SOPO officers and the precursor project."

The corruption in the URI. The money flowing into black box projects. The interference in SOPO. The connections with The City's government. And of course, all that talk about Unity. Unity between worlds. Unity between races.

We had our suspicions before, but all this evidence just confirms it.

"Michael. That angel." I declare, "He's the one behind the precursor project. But why?"

"Isn't it clear as day, Transmigrator?" The Voice rumbles, "Who do you think is eligible to access the knowledge of the precursors?"

Of course. Its so obvious.

"The codex can only be accessed by a precursor." I breathe, "And Michael is getting one made to order."