「 ...Here. 」 After minutes spent silently listening in to Paris's shuffling, we finally glance up to find two black cloths being handed to us. It's plain to see from her extended arm that these long cloths were cut free from what was once the loose ends of her sleeves. 「 Hide your faces with these. 」 An intricate gold dragon head textures each cloth, severed from their weaving bodies over Paris's arms. 『 ... 』『 ... 』 「 Is something... wrong? 」 We pause, then wordlessly take the soft yet tough fabrics into our hands. The brief words we exchanged back in the charred forest play over in minds. 「 ...I see. That act certainly has... a chance at convincing them. 」 『 Is... there any chance you could get cloaks for us? Something concealing? 』 「 No -- but explain to me regardless why having such would matter to you. 」 『 One of Nine-Tails's instructions for us was to "veil ourselves from mortal eyes". 』 「 A task... you've already failed then? 」 『 That's not... that's not an excuse for us to stop... 』 「 ...Hm. 」 ...She changed the subject then, and never brought it back up. So to suddenly hand us these makeshift masks now... Is she... plotting something still? She must be... 「 ...Why do you hesitate? 」 『 Are we not... 』『 ...going to where your friends are? 』 「 No, I've decided this place is more... fitting. 」 It's fitting... she says... Gently, we unravel the severed sleeves and open them above our heads, but before we can even begin trying to wear them as masks... click. Crier suddenly feels her hair pin being snatched away. It takes immense concentration to not immediately snap. 「 ...I will return this -- later. 」 We pause for a moment... before refocusing on the cloths. The hair pin would have been in the way. As upsetting as it is to have it taken, by her of all people, there's, unfortunately, some sense in having her hang onto it for now. With a bit of necessary force, we finish pulling the coverings down over our heads, leaving them to hang loose over our faces and ears. 『『 ...We can't see. 』』 「 And you will not need to... to follow my directions. 」 She eases the royal elegance off her tone as she replies, subtly replacing it with a deeper, heavier, grimness. ... 「 ...If you -- ever feel your Eldritch Serendipity spike, say "Fae'larias." 「 If I otherwise need anything of you -- I will tell you directly. 」 『 ...? 』 「 Ours is just one of many ancient tongues lost to time. 「 None of them speak or understand it... even if some might care to learn. 「 ...Do I need to explain what that means? 」 『 Be reserved... only speak when necessary... 』 「 Correct. That's all you need to know for the encounter. I will handle the rest. 」 『 But... what are you going t- 』 「 Don't -- make me repeat myself. 」 『 ... 』 This feels... wrong... but our death sense doesn't seem to be rising... In fact, we can hardly feel any pain in our spines... at all... It's... unsettling... knowing the sheer venom she's suppressing... 「 I will be calling them now... do not move. 」 『 ... 』『 ... 』 We hear her pivot on her heel. Her then metallic f00tfalls fade into the distance... until the room's warm breeze carrying faraway roars drowns out all else. Just like that... we're alone again, unceremoniously, just the two of us. ... We immediately try to move. Eldritch Serendipity promptly stabs through our joints, daring us to move against an excruciating test of resolve. ...We quietly breathe out the pain. We can't fight it any harder than this. Ours and Paris's death senses are... intertwined now. If we can tell when she's fighting against it, we should assume... she can tell when we are. ...We take slow, deep breaths, releasing the building tightness in our chests. It's clear at least that our death sense values Paris's cooperation highly... Either that, or it's afraid of her -- neither are too hard to believe... Aaaah... this is ultra lame... It's so hard to focus and think when she's near... Wasn't it enough for her to be The Demon King? She had to have Marie's face and voice too? Really? That was a necessary thing that had to happen? What a dumb plot twist... really -- just the worst... ... Geeze... Ah... Well... If we... can't even think about moving without our death sense going off... then all we can do is stand here and think, right? Get our thoughts in order? Solve the mysteries of the universe -- etcetera etcetera... Mega-sigh... Really wish we... found Setsuna in here... We were really looking forward to it... We were going to be all like: we knew all along you'd be here! It was going to be great, we'd look so smart... but now... Now... we're just standing here with our insides feeling a little emptier. It... feels cold in a different way... you know? A sort of biting sensation... ... Ah... well, if she's not here, then... she must be on the way or taking a detour first. This is the only natural place for us to meet given that we've split up... assuming she's... not dead, and also, that she doesn't hate us... but those last two are illegal thoughts to have anyway! You'll be arrested if think them, and then given the death penalty! ... We... have debts to repay after all. So... we have to meet up again... ... Paris... is... really taking her time, huh? It was really early in the morning, last we saw... She probably has to wake a bunch of people up, right? What are they all like... we wonder... ... We yawn -- silently. It's fine, our faces are covered. How long has it been since Paris left? Um... feels like half an hour or something? Wonder if everything's alright... Maybe FATE sent a giant monster to attack them? Heh... Or maybe she's just dealing with some stubborn people... The former is a lot more amusing to imagine though... ...Oh? Wait, we hear footsteps... Dozens of footsteps -- and whispering? Clattering armour plates and jostling trinkets... Are they here? Is it starting already? Right now? With all these people? Aaah... we can hear so many... The situation is suddenly becoming dangerous... Hm? It sounds like... they're spreading out now? Their marching steps are slowly shifting outwards to our left and right, before eventually settling down to a halt, voices hushing to murmurs. It's already time... Ah... have to focus -- no flinching... Get into character... stay calm and collected... Just like Agehatate taught us... just like her... 「 Ⱥłᵽħ... 」 We suddenly hear Paris speaking from some distance behind us, her slow, pronounced, and sharp weighting with every sound is unmistakable, but there's a... hint of something else in her voice... something like an accent? 「 …▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ Sɨnǥ… ▯▯▯ Ȼɍɨɇɍ。 」 Definitely an accent... our names sound way different... 「 ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯、▯▯▯▯▯▯？〜 」 Almost instantly, from our far-right, we hear a masculine sing-songy voice chime in. Of course, we can't understand any of what they're saying... but we can still listen in to the tone and tempo of the conversation. An angry person should speak angrily no matter what language they shout in, right? So even if we don't completely understand... we should still be able to pay attention and learn something. Not to mention... if this whole discussion is going to be about us... we need to be prepared if things take a turn for the worst. 「 … 」 Mmhmm... silence... A critical part of any meaningful dialogue... 「 M-Maɍɨɇ？ 」 This stuttering lady sounds worried, we think? ...And they really do call Paris: Marie. Very mixed feelings about that... 「 …▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯。 」 Paris responds and... 「 ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ー 」 「 ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ー 」 「 ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯！▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯！ 」 Oookay! Some people did not want to wait their turn to talk! Very aggressive and loud... it feels like tensions are already high...? 「 ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯… 」 In response, Paris carries... a softer tone, a bit more sombre and delicate. 「 …▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯。」 ...Then -- silence. There's a bit of movement coming from directly behind us; Paris, or...? No -- it's almost certainly Paris, she was the last to speak, and it's silent now so... that usually means she's captured everyone's attention... She might be moving... just to retain speaking priority? The... Demon King used to do that a lot. He'd intentional pause to make you overthink things as he moved, pressuring you to wait for him to stop and finish speaking. 「 ▯ ▯▯▯▯… ▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯… 」 ...There's a slight tremble in her voice here, the hint of a crack in her royal shell. It feels like this is... meant to escalate into an emotional appeal of some kind? 「 ▯ー 」 「 ▯▯▯。▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯。」 Someone cuts off Paris; she stops moving. It's a serious guy's voice, blunt, with an unamused kind of tone. It sounds like... he's challenging her, maybe her message... or Paris herself. 「 … 」 No reply. 「 ▯ ▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯… 」 「 ▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯、▯▯▯▯▯▯？ 」 The serious guy continues, exasperated. A deep... wobbling voice quickly joins the conversation as well... they sound hostile. We hear a breathy sigh from the same direction as Mr.Serious. It really feels like there's a lack of... discipline in this group? Is Paris not the leader figure? Why does it seem like everyone's speaking out of line? ...We then hear a quick uncontrolled breath, an exhale. A few more follow, barely resembling the start of a dry laugh. An erratic breath... that incites the idea of hopelessness. Only after we hear footsteps sluggishly meandering leftward, unrhythmic and on the verge of shambling, can we tell these sounds are from Paris and her armour. ...We feel it begin, the faintest chill in our spines. Paris whispers. 「 ▯ ▯▯… ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯… 」 Clink. The light clatter of a hand resting on loose metal rings out, as if grazing a gun in its holster, or a sword in its sheathe. Almost instantly, similar clatters echo across the group in a wave. Feet shuffle, bodies shift in place, and loose baubles ring gently. 「 ▯▯ ▯▯… 」 「 Maɍɨɇ…？！ 」 「 ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯。」 「 ▯▯▯▯▯▯… 」 Paris's murmuring is laced with pain, as if she were squeezing the life out of her lungs to speak. ...From her -- we hear sudden armoured clattering, some sort of swinging motion. A half-second passes, during which the group clamours to life. The chill in our spines intensifies just a little more... Paris shouts. 「 …▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯！」 「 ▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯！〜」 An instant sing-songy reply is accompanied by the scratching of a phantom hand into our spines. A biting wind creeps through us from the same direction as that voice, but we endure it and hold still, having long since braced for it. It's not nearly painful enough to force our hand, it's a pain level in the twenties at most... ...What is your plan right now, Paris? What are you trying to make us do? ... Whatever -- this is what we would call a spike so... 『『 Fae'larias. 』』 We decree one of Paris's names, as she told us to. Instantly, and for about a full second -- our Eldritch Serendipity jams, just like it had when we first arrived in the canyon forests. It spikes high, then drops low, over and over, sending unintelligible shocks and flourishes through us, briefly infinite in its fluctuations and aching. It's blinding. Unmeasurable. Enough to now force at least a twitch out of our fingers. C̛̜̩r̻a͔ͅc̨̦̱̱̰̦ḵ̸.̶͍͓ Bone splintering, flesh-tearing- such awful noises we hear loudest through Sing's ears. A gust of wind blows from behind us, which quickly loses all of its strength. We feel the presence of people near us, just behind us, although closer to Sing. The air starts to smell... metallic. 「 ▯▯！Maɍɨɇ！ 」 「 ▯▯▯▯▯▯？！〜 」 We hear one pair of footsteps shuffle away, an armoured body falling, collapsing at our heels, and several other bodies approaching us from the crowd. Volume escalates throughout the group, too many movements and too much noise to really say what's going on, but we can pick out a few of the more distinct sounds near to us. There's... that stuttering lady and the light sounds of magic ringing from the ground at our heels. An older raspy voice is with her, whispering quickly. We can hear that masculine sing-songy voice practically singing in the sea of noise. And there's a big burly voice shouting above everyone despite having to filter through what sounds like a full helmet. There's so much uncontrolled commotion... All manner of panicked expressions... People shouting over each other... It's really... really familiar... This... This isn't the time to be nostalgic...! We need to figure out exactly what just happened. It should be possible just by looking back at the sounds in order. We slow our breathing down, it had quickened on its own. ... Okay -- that was Paris that just got hurt, wasn't it? And that sing-songy person is the one responsible? 「 ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯… 」 That's... is that Paris mumbling at our heels? Her voice sounds so weak it's hard to fully... accept. Is she... just really good at acting or -- did she seriously get hurt to that degree? 「 ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯… 」 She's whispering back and forth with some people at her side. It's too difficult to make out any inflexion in their voices. ...Hrm. Our Eldritch Serendipity spiking, very much implies that attack was real. The less certain part is... whether that attack was meant for us, or Paris. The fact that our death senses are intertwined means that if her life were in danger, we'd still feel our own rising, right? Not only that... but there was a second where our Eldritch Serendipity went completely haywire. Thankfully, we're past Eldritch Fear, or we definitely would've lost majority control over our bodies. ...Did that really go according to Paris's plan? Paris... is in a different situation, she does still have Eldritch Fear. She doesn't have the pain... shifting we do with Eldritch Serendipity, so there's no way... she could willingly have planned that jamming, is there? Fear of the pain should have discouraged her, and our running theory has been that jamming occurs when our death senses lack confidence in each other. Our idea being that -- the jamming stopped in the first place because they mutually calculated and solved that unsureness. Yet the timing of it here felt so specific... The exact moment we said one of her names... She has pushed herself against her death sense to kill us before though, so maybe... she really could have enough will power to have voluntarily endured the pain? Maybe she really could have planned for our death sense to jam -- at-will? ...That special ability would be so unfair though. A cheating technique. Hacker skill. Absolutely overpowered. It can't be fully at-will, she could have just jammed her own death sense to kill us if so. If it is an ability she has access to, it's conditional... maybe it has a certain trigger... The glassy ringing of magic at our heels stop. We notice the crowd has quieted down dramatically, and now, Paris, alongside a few others are standing back up. 「 ▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯… ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯。 」 Still laced with weariness and pain, but renewed with determination, Paris speaks louder to her allies, briefly silencing the remaining voices. 「 ▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ 「 ▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯？！」 「 ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ Maɍɨɇ？！ 「 ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯？！」 ...A fast-speaking, aggressive, gruff man, and a feisty rebellious woman, shout back. 「 Ɨŧ's nøŧ ɇnøᵾǥħ. Ƀɇ møɍɇ... 」 「 ▯▯▯？！」 「 ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯ ▯▯▯▯… 」 Paris suddenly... says something we can understand. The feisty woman immediately shouts a loud confused-sounding noise, but Paris answers her promptly, we imagine, to excuse her sudden lingual shift. ...Be more? Be more what? More threatening? More cordial? This is why we wanted to ask what she was going to do! What is she even expecting us to convince them of?! What's with this half-finished direction?! Aaah... Okay... hang on, let's think... The... attack that Paris was wounded by. Let's assume that the attack went all according to Paris's plan. She made a swinging sound and shouted, then that sing-songy person replied, and that's when the attack happened. She practically caused it, and at the very least, didn't prevent it given the chance. Now then, if Paris prompted that attack to be launched at us... That means she was probably trying to make us look more threatening. We said, "Fae'larias," and she body-blocked the attack heading for us. It would seem to the crowd like we commanded her to. If Paris prompted that attack to be launched at her though... Then she was probably trying to make us seem more empathetic. We said, "Fae'larias," her erratic breathing stopped... and she calmed down. It would seem to the crowd like we were snapping her out of whatever came over her. With those possibilities in mind, Paris is asking us to be more... something. 「 ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯、▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯… 「 ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ー▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯。 「 ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯… ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯。」 Emotion -- deeply woven into formality, that's the impression we're getting from Paris's way of speaking here. A gentle voice holding steady, pouring her heart out through the pain. 「 ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯。」 The reply is blunt and cold, even still. This is that serious guy's voice again... and he's having none of it. These words seem to be enough to trigger a cascade of pent up frustration, because the group gradually erupts into a storm of voices for a second time. That faintest of chills crawl back into our spines, just a bit stronger. Aggressive voices shout as if to spur the others to action, and two for each return with their own thoughts and doubts. It doesn't feel as though anything's been settled... If anything, it feels like matters are escalating... 「 ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯、▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ 「 ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯？ 「 ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯ 「 ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯。 」 「 ▯▯、▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯…

「 ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ 「 ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯。 」 Isolated from the crowd's unruliness, the serious guy and Paris continue to exchange words. He certainly seems to have taken up the mantle of opposition... 「 ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ 「 ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯！〜 」 In the background, we suddenly catch that masculine sing-songy voice again. Their long melodious proclamation... is instantly capped off with the clashing of steel. A loud clang -- just behind us. Another gust of sonic wind blows past carrying a strange bell-like ringing sound. ...But our death sense doesn't flicker this time. 「 ▯▯▯▯！▯ー▯▯▯！」 It's the stuttering lady... her voice is projecting away from us -- did she block an attack? We hear their clashing steel unlock, and a body pulling away. As this happens, the glassy escalation of magic casts can be heard throughout the group. It's along with them that the faint chill in our spines grow, warning us to brace. Air is being pulled in all directions... making it harder to isolate sounds. ...We need to decide what we're doing -- now. The first question to address is... what does Paris want us to do? We can figure that out by answering... who was that first attack meant for? Well, before the first attack... we heard that sing-songy person on our far-right... we heard Paris shuffle to our left, and we know they collided in the middle near Sing. That doesn't explicitly say who the attack was meant for, but we know now... that sing-songy person has a steel-like weapon. We know that since they definitely clashed with the stuttering lady just now. And yet... when they and Paris collided, there was no clash of steel. Paris just got hit, and the assailant walked away. Having assurance there was no silent or situationally unblockable weapon involved narrows down the possibilities; no hand-to-hand or bow to reasonably consider. ...So why would Paris prompt an attack on herself, intentionally meet the assailant, and not have used her weapon to defend herself? Was she trying to look helpless? If so... why bother meeting in the middle? Why not helplessly wait for the attack? If she wanted to instead make it look like we snapped her out of a murderous craze, then it would have been more convincing if she successfully blocked with her weapon; getting hit just makes it look like she lost the joust rather than us having done anything, or at the very least, she should have dodged away. We know The Demon King... wasn't incompetent. He was a great public speaker and a better melee combatant. So instead... we should assume Paris was prompting a clear attack against us. She body blocked it when we called her by Fae'larias to then make it look like we commanded her to. Knowing this -- her saying: 「 Ɨŧ's nøŧ ɇnøᵾǥħ. Ƀɇ møɍɇ... 」 Must have meant that we weren't threatening enough. She wanted us to be more... threatening. But now the second question -- is Paris trying to kill us right now? There's a non-zero chance that our death sense is going to jam again on this next attack. Paris, if she is trying to kill us... most likely can't execute us directly, but we definitely can't discount the possibility there's some chain-reaction loophole that will result in our indirect deaths at someone else's hand... Even without jamming... our death senses have proven fallible before. Can we outsmart her here instead...? We hear that big burly helmet-filtered voice, shouting, and running at us. When the running stops, we hear the sound of metal skidding on the stone ground, his voice turning to project away from us, accompanied by a loud diffusing clang. Our death sense doesn't spike, but it's slowly risen to the tens. ...As much as we hate to admit it -- probably not. If she's really been conscious in this world since the age of one, then she has way more death sense experience and knowledge than us. The only thing we're surely more knowledgable about is Eldritch Serendipity, but the only outmanoeuvre potential we have with that is... defying our death sense, and there's no way she isn't already accounting for that. After all, we've seen her fight her own Eldritch Fear. We can, of course, gamble with whatever response seems safest... but knowing that she's probably already thought of it, makes it... a lot more of a toss-up than we'd like... Alright then, here's the final question. Knowing all of this -- what answer is Paris expecting Streya to pick? 「 ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯。」 「 ▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯ー」 The serious guy and Paris are still arguing, despite everything... glassy magic spells triggering, rounds of shouting and steel... In the background of them all blending together, one spell cast emerges clearer and clearer. It grates on our ears with terror-inducing lucidity, spiking our death sense... with crushing pressure. ...We breathe in fully; opening ourselves to a flood of old memories. The old guilt, anxiety, faces and voices -- the clawing regrets... Everything... we had pushed down under Agehatate's care. Just for a moment, we force ourselves to sink back into that mud. If... if it were me... If I were... really Streya again... I'd take a moment to remember why... so long ago... I wanted to die. I'd then... silently take off my masks, I'd turn around gently, and I'd use that pain to -- give everyone genuine teary smiles... I'd make them believe myself, see for themselves -- I'm harmless. Why? Because there is no shot the Demon King wouldn't take if he felt like it. He's counting on me figuring out the meaning behind his vague message... to waste my time until I panic and build myself up to be overly threatening. I've never been good with crowds... and he would be willing to test that again. Little would he know -- I can do better than just a bit of panicked defiance. The last thing I did before I died... was practice with a classroom. ※¹ ...Yes, I would be betraying The Demon King again, but it was going to happen sooner or later ...we both already knew tha- We breathe out... hard. 『『 Fae... 』』 We squeeze our lungs dry. We let weakness overcome our legs, and clamp our palms over our ears as we wail away all the pain in our spines. 『『 ...LARIAȂ̵͉́S͖! 』』 Instantly, our death sense jams, but rather than hold it in, we scream louder. Bloodcurdling chants for the eldritch pain to stop. 『『 FAE'LA̷RIA͠S!̡ F̴AE'͏LA̛R͡I̢A̡S̶! ͠F̛A͡E̛'L̨A͘R͜I͘A̴S!! 』』 No resistance, no pride, no others, no thoughts. Only the pain as it is -- and our mouths to bellow it. ...Until we hear it. An alike and unalike scream. Our palms slowly lift from our ears. A foreign demonic sound, the dying shrieks of birds of prey. An amalgamated cry, utterly inhuman to the unaccustomed, and impossible to imagine as anything but random synthetic noise. How could a creature naturally come to design such a cacophony? It's unthinkable, there could be no rhyme or reason. For one who has forgotten death, nothing could justify it. ...But for us who haven't, one listen is enough to learn. It's... equal parts horror, and belonging. Faced with a black abyss, a pit of nothing so intense you couldn't see your own hands, you might find yourself screaming if the nothingness began to attack you, but -- not for very long. Nobody could hear you, and even if they could, they could never grasp the idea that nothing is hurting you. In that painful abyss... you would suffer, alone, and someday... your scream would stop. Imagine then, the elation and despair you would feel if suddenly... one day, the abyss screamed back; a scream so unnatural... that you know only one thing could have caused it. Would you remain silent? Would you let that scream fade away to nothing, as yours did when nobody answered your cries? Would you let yourself return to nothing? Do nothing? No. No, you wouldn't. You would yell to let them know you're there. You would scream to let them understand what you're going through. You would cry out to comfort and keep the other alive. In a visceral instant, we understood. This was that cry. 「 ...«A̪̖̦̠͖f̱͡ͅflexus- 」 The glassy crashing of a singular magic in the distance reaches its peak. All other sounds muffle and quiet as air rushes towards the caster. The wind rises in pitch... then pops with an electric crackle. A split second of absolute silence follows. ...Then a metallic stomp into the stone at our heels to break it. 「 -ALIBI»! 」

SING CRIER CH.36 - Howling Breeze The jamming stops. «Afflexus Alibi» -- After banging a singular piece of equipment against another surface, a limited volume of that equipment may be designated as impassable and intangible to magic spells for two seconds. The equipment will be dealt magic damage as if these effects were not active, and the duration will not expire while receiving magic damage in this way. ...Just behind us, a loud metal bang echoes, before the violent grinding of steel takes its place. Paris roars over the whirling wind and static, as every instrument rises to its boiling point. ...Ping! A loud metal note abruptly cuts it all off, seconds in. ...Two more seconds pass -- then the cavern quakes. An explosive delayed blast of sound and wind burst from our far-right. Rock, dust, soot and debris rumble and fall all around us, as coughing begins to sparsely pass through the crowd. Ash and flecks of stone land in our hair. The pain in our spines... slowly subside. Paris... intercepted the spell. 「 …▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ？」 She offers a slow, blunt, and cold message, dolloped with a fragile melancholy. Passing moments of silence leave the crowd's expressions up to our imagination. Awe? Bewilderment? Terror? Shock? Confusion? Pain? Sadness? Anger? Are they just waiting... for what Paris has to say next? ...We hear a distant, harsh, womanly voice. It's from roughly the same direction as that caster. 「 ▯…▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯？！ 「 ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ー！」 「 ▯ー▯▯▯▯▯！ 」 That big, burly, helmet-filtered voice interrupts her, shouting away. He's not too far -- very near to Sing, on her left... and it's clear he's unhappy, furious even. 「 ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯ 「 ▯▯▯▯▯▯！▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯▯▯？！▯▯ ▯▯▯ 「 ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯ー」 「 ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯！▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯！〜」 That masculine sing-songy voice is next to abruptly chime in -- but, they begin by speaking the same words as the previous speaker, as if to finish their sentence for them. 「 ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯ 「 Maɍɨɇ ▯▯▯ ▯▯ ▯▯▯ ▯▯▯、▯▯▯？〜」 They turn to Paris mid-sentence, just after speaking her name. Their tone feels just slightly... calmer than it was before. ...We hear Paris deeply sigh in response, before stepping forward. She speaks again to the group, somewhat exhausted, but this time, uninterrupted. A few members of the crowd do manage to later squeeze in their inquiries, but Paris seems to effortlessly answer now without losing momentum. She talks... and talks... and talks... on and on... It mildly concerns us how elaborate her story is becoming. ...But at least they're listening. 『 ... 』『 ... 』 Maybe it's true that Paris was trying to kill us back there. Maybe that first attack was also... an attempt at our lives... 「 No matter how many campaigns we do... no matter how many friends we make... 「 Through the laughs, the smiles, the tears, and cries... when that day comes again... 「 ...all of it will mean nothing to you.」※² Maybe she's even right. Maybe a day will come where that really does happen... but that day isn't today. Today... we're just Sing and Crier, and it would be hypocritical to think Paris hasn't also become more than The Demon King of old. ...That's kind of wise-sounding, right? Agehatate would definitely say something like that. Mmhmm, definitely. We're growing already! Ah... what a relief! There's hope for us yet... Confidence stat up... ... The group is talking a lot more now. Discussion? Paris doesn't seem to be speaking at all... but the air seems... to have lifted somewhat. It doesn't feel nearly as tense as before. Are we done? Did she do it? Find out next-! Sorry, umm! Let's see here... Words we don't understand... More words we don't understand... Paris talking, others talking, Paris talking again... Talking, talking, talking, talking, talking, talking, talking... A scarred hand appears under Crier's mask. Her eyes widen. She flinches and steps back, but her heel gets caught on the ground's stone engraving. She falls backwards, causing the mask to lift, and for a split second... She meets demonic eyes gazing into hers. A young, warmly sculpted, androgynous face, patterned with white paint drawn to resemble a thousand scratch marks. From papercuts to gouges, all are painted across every inch of their visible skin which almost seems to glitter even in the shade. Their pout quickly morphs into a toothed grin. ...Cold metal gauntlets meet Crier's back, catching her. Her cloth mask falls back into place. 「 ▯▯▯▯▯。」 Risso. Paris says this word standing just behind Crier, it's very lightly touched with venom. Is this... a name or...? 「 ▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯！▯▯▯！〜」 That masculine sing-songy voice from before. It's followed by footsteps passing from Crier's front, to her right, then beyond. The stranger and Paris exchange brief words before the former trots off into the distance. More footsteps follow across the group, as various members depart either on their own or together. Like that first stranger, they all leave after brief conversations with Paris, to vanish behind the room's ambient breeze carrying distant roars. The last to leave is that stuttering lady. She includes our names with Paris's in a message overflowing with farewell energy. Paris of course, handles the goodbyes. And as those last footfalls fade away... we return to where we began. Us, standing alone with Paris. Legs a bit sorer than when we started, but manageable. Minutes pass in peaceful silence before Paris finally sighs: 「 And now... we set off -- to clear Black Star Brook. 」 Wait what- [END]