Sier threw Lawrence’s demands across the breakroom table, rubbed her temple with two fingers, and said, “He doesn’t know what he’s asking for.”

Prototype Lifeline was the title plastered over every title page and header. I caught the fluttering pages with my Stigmata and reorganized them into the three neat bundles we had initially received, flipping through them to make sure the page order wasn’t disturbed.

“Is this copyright infringement?” Wiz asked, pulling at his hair. “The diagrams and theories match up with the patents. If his Stigmata doesn’t kill him, the bloody entire enforcement branch of the Oracles will. Gods, I hope this blows up in his face.”

He was the first one to begin research on how to meet Lawrence’s demands, and he, out of all of us, had made the least amount of success.

It started with an impromptu lecture on Replicant Theory, using whatever teaching implements Wiz could find in the breakroom allocated to us by the hospital staff. When nobody understood what he was rambling on about, he took out an opera mask from his bag.

“This, as most of you should know, is a Replica made from the Relic harvested from the Arlequins. A Replica is simply a copy of an original Relic: less powerful, but infinitely replicable. Us Hunters—” He gestured to himself and Owl. “—sell the originals to the Oracles for a lump fee and allow distribution of said Replicas to fellow hunters. Even if we have access to the formulas learned from Relics, we can only make Replicas. But you have to buy those formulae. How did this bastard even—”

While Wiz droned on about the technicalities, we took turns looking over what Project Lifeline entailed. Perhaps Sier was the only one to fully grasp the extent of the project, but we all understood what was required from us from the summary on the last page.

Prototype Lifeline required a fuel source that, in theory, didn’t exist.

On the rooftop of the Saint Beekes, Lawrence held a baby rabbit in his arms and showed us the framework of his work. Against our expectations, Project Lifeline was already a prototype; a writhing mass of copper wires connected to glass compartments surrounding a tri-pronged antenna.

“Nobody knows what’s up here,” Lawrence said, stroking the fuzzy ball in his arms. “There’s enough perception-blocking wards to throw off the best of Mankarian technology.”

Our group, now missing Elias and Grimm, who were out on a break and had little input in the matter, stopped short of the machine, where our guide was typing in commands.

“Are you really sure this is going to work?” Sier inquired. “I have no doubt in your spellcraft abilities, but your Vacuum Gestalt Theory is... quite dubious. How did you even come up with that?”

The angelic Hunter looked over his shoulder and smiled at Sier, “I recognize you — you’re the daughter of the Grey Scholar, right? I have no doubts that her successor would be just as good, if not better, at spellcraft.”

She only scoffed at the compliment. “You can charm a country girl, but I’m not interested.”

“Hardly. I’m only interested in mature, soft women — you’re a little lacking, here and there.” While Sier flushed with rage and her hand drifted towards her blade, Lawrence continued, “I speak of the idea of Qi and its usage. By traditional theories, the result of any spell, no matter the school or sorcery used, should never result in the increase of the total spirit base. It’s an impossibility — like somehow getting more fuel in a car when you drive it. My very existence contradicts that very axiom.”

Transferring the rabbit into his left arm, he conjured a green flame in his open palm. Sier took a step back, her jaw dropping low.

“I-Impossible…! How can that — no, that would mean… A return to the age of cultivation?”

Owl and I looked at each other, then at Wiz. He shrugged and made a gesture that said, go along with it.

“The source of this discrepancy, of course, is the existence of the Stigmata.” He pointed at the halo hanging over his head. “As soon as I awakened, I noticed that the potency of my spells nearly doubled with the same amount of Qi. After some practice, I could cast spells without using Qi at all — in fact, I was gaining Qi as I used Qi-less spellcraft. I was confused for the longest time, spent countless hours thinking of it, until, one day, me and my fellow collaborators made a breakthrough. I was using some variable X that was not only replacing Qi, but opened up my Qi channels further as it flowed through me. Observe.”

Dread closed around my neck like a cold noose.

If he was talking about what I think he was talking about, this — the project and Lawrence’s entire ambition for a better future — could only end in tragedy.

“Billy was born without proper motor control in his limbs and suffers from severe neural degeneration, no doubt the result of the contaminants in the air. He won’t make it to the end of this month, but… his life, however short, can mean something.”

A single brush from his fingers put the animal to sleep. Tenderly, he placed it inside a room contained in Project Lifeline and closed the door, then hit the switch.

There was no spectacle, only a soft hum and gathering of gentle blue glow along the machine’s many coils. The glow turned to beads at the tips of each of the antenna, then rocketed skyward into as rays that pierced the clouds and rained down on the city; parts of the sky cleared and the red miasma that blanked the city and nearly all of Mankaria faded slightly near the hospital. Lawrence held up a contamination detector and showed us the numbers.

“See? Livable radiation and complete eradication of all contaminants. So, fellow Hunters, help me get to the bottom of this mystery. We might even be able to save the whole world this way.”

Wiz and Sier merely nodded with interest, scribbling away on their respective notepads. And if I had been blessed by the Gods and Heavens, so would’ve I.

If only I was so lucky to have the gift of ignorance.

Though I tried to ignore it, I saw what happened through a different lens. Inside the machine, there was a violent spasm that was hidden from view by the steel door, a frantic twitching as tendrils of what I assumed to be Ether grabbed hold of the baby rabbit’s existence and pulled. Through my unhearing ears and unseeing eyes, I heard and saw a cry for help, a desperate wish to live in the form of the tiny orb that was the rabbit's existence being torn apart — it was simply stretched until it snapped, and all that remained was absorbed and burned by the machine and released as a massive gush of red static.

I wondered why Lawrence’s designs looked so familiar when I looked over them. Now I had the answer.

Prototype Lifeline and Vacuum Gestalt Theory used an imaginary fuel that was assumed to accumulate around living creatures, a mysterious ingredient X that could create miracles. The only reason they were so hopeful, I soon realized, was because they couldn’t see the cost.

Somehow, Lawrence had gotten his hands on a copy of Project STAR, and was now using it without a single consideration for what it would do to this world.

The others came back to the deliberation room with a renewed passion, spitting suggestions that ranged from rabbit breeding farms to the revitalization of locusts to use as fuel. All the while, I watched helplessly from beside the sofa, biting on my own tongue.

For one, not even I fully understood the extent of Lifeline. It simply converted Qi to Ether and used the difference to rewrite the environment. There were spells and sorceries that could do the same. But I felt like I was missing something important — I had to have missed something. Why else would the mere notion of converting one form of energy to another have unsettled me so?

My other self watched me from the reflection of a nearby window, smirking mirthlessly at any questions I tried to ask. That smile contained the answers I was seeking, the answers I had seeked for countless years. It told no lies, the smile of a woman who already won.

Was there any long-term repercussions to my actions? Would any of us — would civilization itself live long enough to see what would become of today? A thousand questions ran through my worthless head, and I wasn’t brave enough to venture a single guess.

Was there another path available? I already saw what lay in wait; no matter where I turned, ruin was waiting with a smile.

She reaffirmed everything I already knew. Everything I spent so much time trying to prove wrong. Yet against her, there was no winning.

In this world, there was no salvation to be had. No future to gain. No hope to hold onto.

In this world, I was powerless. Against Hunters. Against Husks. Against the myriad of threads that I could not see. There was no strength I could gain, no way to cultivate myself, no path that I could follow. My abilities were predetermined, and my only way of growing would lead to the death of everything I had already built.

In this world, there was no person I hated more than myself.

My weakness. My incompetence. That woman, that damned woman — she was simply a delusion I had indulged in to give myself something to blame other than me.

But there was something I could do. I had the strength and the means to end my suffering. I always had that option. From the very beginning, it was the only salvation I could ever see, the only paradise I could ever reach.

But tell me. Somebody, tell me there’s another way. Tell me there’s something left to hope for. Tell me if I’m doing the right thing. Tell me if there’s anything I can do. If the answers exist in this realm or the next, please tell me that they do.

Anything.

Tell me—

“Shut the fuck up. Just, shut up. Selfish, retarded, brain-dead egoist cunt — you only care about yourself. My salvation this, my salvation this… don’t you fucking care about anything else?”

Pain exploded in my side. My world twisted and tumbled as I flew through the air, reeling from a kick to my ribs — the first familiar sensation I had felt in a very long time.

A claw pierced through my drone exterior and pinned me to the wall, clenching around my gem core that was me. And through my malfunctioning sensors and my clouded vision, I saw two rage-filled eyes staring not at my physical body, but at me — the me that existed only in my mind.

“You’ve never cared about anybody else. You’ve never had to care. You’ve never starved, never thirsted, never suffered because your body was only human. Do you have any idea what it’s like to sacrifice everything — your name, your identity, your hopes, your dreams — for people who won’t even acknowledge your existence? Do you, you fucking bitch?”

I couldn’t answer. Nor could I deny Owl’s wrathful words.

“You’ve had that privilege… you could run away from reality. Because somebody like you can survive without money or food. We can’t. Humans can’t. You could just run away and forget everything. Why didn’t you? If you want to run off and be a hermit, why did you come crawling back to civilization?”

Deep within, an unresolvable guilt that had no source and no identity. A mystery that had yet to be solved — one that I wasn’t ready to face.

Arms tried to pull Owl off me. She threw all of her two pursuers back with a single brush of an emerging clockwork wing.

“Back off,” she snarled. “This one’s mine.”

In that moment, as my life hung in the balance of another’s hands, I found myself… relaxing. Despite all the times I’ve been in mortal danger, this was the only time my instinct didn’t react — because consciously, I knew that this would not mean the end of my burden. My dreams, my hopes, my despair; they would find a new, more capable vessel to dwell within.

Is it better to die passing on a dream, or live without hope? For some reason, the situation was uncannily familiar. Like I had already done this one too many times — I had given hope and dreams that I could not fulfil or protect myself.

Five minutes passed. Owl pulled her arm back, allowing me to fall to the ground.

“You’re not getting the easy way out,” she said, throwing back her hood. “You forced me past my end. Now I’ll have to force you past yours. Frontier justice.”

At that moment, the door opened. Owl aimed a hold-out pistol at the door — directly at the confused faces of Grimm and Elias, who were carrying brown bags of takeout.

“Busy,” Grimm said, unperturbed. “Food for brain. Think hard.”

Me and Owl were both dragged from the recesses of our partial conversation back to reality, where we faced a ruined breakroom. Scattered papers and torn furniture were in full display, but all eyes were locked on the symptoms of our Stigmata that we desperately tried to keep hidden. Owl’s mutated appearance and the uncanny pale tendrils connected to my core; we simply stood stunned, unsure what to do next.

After what felt like an eternity, Sier worked up the courage to step beyond her impromptu barricade. She placed a hand on her hip, another on her sword, summoned a strange glyph over her eye, and simply laughed at our situation.

“I’ve solved it,” Sier said. “The theory. By the heavens, you were the secret to Lifeline — Why couldn’t you have revealed the truth sooner?”