11:20 AM

“Aiden was a complete dork, Snowglobe,” reminiscenced Sage, having both elbows on her desk. The video call highlighted her awful ergometry. Papers everywhere, in stacks, and coffee cups on top, and not to mention what unholy hell was behind her. Looked more like a hoarder’s den than a workshop.

Alexander sighed; he had met Firebrand a couple of times when visiting the Angels Guild Headquarters. Firebrand was just as explosive as social media made him out to be, always controversial, always saying the wildest, stupidest things. No wonder Angels decided to adopt him; only they could keep track of a guy like him. His actual position in the guild was, well, no one knew. He was their pet, basically. A dog.

Firebrand was gone though, in the end. Gone like Vesper and the others that'd been assigned there.

Sage could've given Alexander the numbers, had he asked, but the answer would depress him. Too much. So he was here, alone, in this torn-up, messy classroom in Blade Hall where shouting was heard below the floors underneath him. He had a classroom to himself, his students being the dirt-covered textbooks and blue screens. Seven of them. One was the [Map] of Dawns, where Alexander made physical changes, naming streets and avenues and key buildings, and marking which roads would be blocked off. One was a [Channel] to keep tabs on the clean-up process (he had access to that information); thousands of troops were hauling bodies onto trucks, all thanks to the Tormented Flesh.

This one, he cross-referenced their updates with the [Map]. The Army prioritized certain streets than others, obviously, so it was better to know which they were leaving for tomorrow.

If Ordo made it to tomorrow.

And the five screens were updates. In the Slayer System, the [Chat] feature was an in-depth communication tool. It wasn't strictly limited to your [Party] or [Expedition] but with virtually any Slayer. That was the [World Chat], and inside the [World Chat] was smaller [Channels], similarly to threads in a forum, which were often divided based on region, topic, whatever. Some were [Private Channels], usually reserved for guilds or any groups like that.

Since the disaster, speaking to anyone outside Ordo's borders were functionally impossible due to a combination of the Ordo Outbreak Barrier and the Comets themselves. Technically, yes; Sage had said that she managed to send a message to Kosmos but it took a lot of time and in-house programming.

Alexander sighed, eyeing the five [Channels], that were based in Ordo. Slayers were talking about all sorts of things, mainly the current state of things. The Army was preparing to move units from various divisions to Dawns; guilds were notifying Slayer Teams with the same orders. Someone was writing down the information and trying to calculate the numbers. Currently at least ten thousand troops, both rifles and swords, were moving.

Another [Channel] talked about a rumored superweapon that was being made in Dawns. One Slayer commented that it was a secret project in the underground labs in Ordo University, while other suggested it'd be in Pillar Dawns itself. Others theorized what it could be, whether the engineers were reconstructing Gigantomachia's [Godslayer Claymore] or making a conceptual, god-killing weapon using Archknell's [Honor].

Both were great ideas. Unfortunately neither could be achieved within the day. Hell, not within a month or a year, even when a disaster wasn't happening.

The floor thumped.

He sighed.

"Something wrong?" Sage asked.

"No, just keeping track of the chatter." Alexander looked at the [Channel] talking about the clean-up. He marked Gilded Street as red. “I know you had a long history with him. Firebrand."

Sage shrugged. “Yeah, kinda. He gave Nathan and Sera lots of trouble. He was an unregistered Slayer y’know, always sneaking into portal sites and sweet-talking his way inside. That guy was nothing but a walking disaster. If it wasn't for Angels, he'd been in prison long ago. He got lucky that Sera didn’t wanna imprison him; I mean, he was only a kid back then! Like seventeen?”

“You’re just as old as him,” commented Alexander. "You're both twenty-one."

“Older by four months! That means Sage is a wise lady.” They both had a laugh about that. “Anyway, Nathan took him on as a student. Which meant I had to teach him too! Worst time of Sage’s life. And that's saying a lot.”

“Ended up being a prodigy though, eh? Aside from Duskfire, Firebrand was one of the strongest flamemancers on Earth. What magick systems did he use again?”

“Nothing special. Just fire channeling and conjuration, maybe some other stuff but Sage forgot. That man was nothing but flames though, Sage tells ya.” Sage mumbled something to herself; she was like Alexander in that regard. Always bad-mouthing Firebrand, but she couldn't hide the grief she shed for him.

This was no time for tears, though.

Alexander hesitated, then blacked out an entire block. It was destroyed when something caused a major explosion. He'd rather not find out the perpetrator. “Tell me more about him. He preferred being a solo Slayer, right? Must’ve thought he could take a crack at things alone.”

“Stupidly so. Sage remembers when he did guild applications. Ruined his chances. When he went on expeditions, he had to wear a device to prevent him from running off and abandoning his expedition team. Before then, yeah, he would. About forty-three percent of the time, he always ended up calling in for help ‘cause of something stupid, like getting stuck in a hole or eating something he wasn’t supposed to or finding himself deep in a mana concentrated zone…”

“Forty-three percent sounds awfully specific,” said Alexander.

“That’s ‘cuz Sage was counting.” Sage looked around her desk for something but gave up after a second. “Somewhere ‘round here, she has a notebook of every time he got himself into trouble. That’s where she made the calculations. But d’ya know what made him famous?”

“When he got his [Honor], right?” Alexander recalled the story: three years ago, not too long after he first met Leona. Firebrand, who was an A-Rank Slayer at the time, eighteen, undergoing an S-Rank expedition with a team from Ordoian Knights, an affiliate guild of Angels.

As Sage fondly described earlier, Firebrand, of course, ran off to everyone’s discontent. His reckless action proved to be a fortunate decision, because not a day after, his team was heavily injured when encountering the Fallen Nemesis of that world: a great fire elemental that had consumed a phoenix. Firebrand returned, and for six hours he alone struggled against the flames before finally killing it. As a reward for his efforts, he absorbed the elemental into his body and gained its powers. That was how he received the [Avatar of Phoenix-Ifrit].

“That idiot got too lucky,” Sage said with a straight frown as though she was reliving the memory. “When he came back, he had a super, super wide grin on his face. And do you know what Sage said? She said, ‘Why are you smiling like that when you got heavy burns all over your body?!’ According to him, they didn’t hurt, but Sage knew: he was in a lot of pain and he just wanted to look cool.”

“Pretty sure he didn’t look cool after listening to that…”

“Oh hush!” Sage pouted. Not all of his jokes could land. “He thought he did, up until he collapsed flat on his face. He was out for two weeks. Two weeks! And first thing he did after waking up was to jump out of a window. It took the entire day to find him.”

This guy honestly sounds clinically insane but high-rankers were never normal people anyway. “Sounds like he was a thorn in your side. If I didn’t know you so well, then I’d think you were glad that Firebrand was gone.”

“No, never… Don’t say something like that, Snowglobe.” Sage rubbed her nose, and a gentle shimmer glossed in her eyes. “Aiden, despite being an idiot, was a good guy. He liked hanging around with kids and showing off, and didn't curse a single time. Maybe ‘cuz he was a child-at-heart, maybe not, but he was dependable. Sage remembered one time, when she went on an expedition with him, it was one of the few expeditions where he didn’t think about running off.

"He..." Sage hesitated, breathless. "He'd stay to watch over me."

Alexander paused his marking, allowing a second of silence to rattle out, then spoke, “We’re going to get Pereyra and Tewfik.” He zoomed in on Gallery Street, on the intersection where the Tormented Flesh was. A photo was attached to the location: bodies were organized into rows and neat piles, and a layer of blood coated the ground. “I promise. After all, you’re here. With your smarts, we could figure out the answer to life itself and whether or not God exists.”

“Mhm.” Sage reached off-camera and touched one of her monitors, swiping something, frowning. Not even flattery could make her smile. “It’s nerve-wracking, Snowglobe. Sage wishes we'd have more powerhouses. Then things’ll be so much easier, but nope. Nope. This is our court. They have theirs.”

“But we’re enough. Do you think we can’t handle a couple of jackasses with one of the best Slayers in Ordo?” Alexander said with a confident smile, but inside, he was just as nervous as she was.

“Sage hopes so. Otherwise, she’s gonna haunt ya in the afterlife,” she replied with the same smile. Alexander knew that their smiles were masks for their worries, but no matter the trepidations in their heart, the fact of the matter was simple. They weren’t alone. That, he thought, was enough.

“Good.” Alexander zoomed out from Gallery Street.

“Anyway, Sage’s gotta take care of other stuff for Scorcher. Text Sage if ya need something, Snowglobe.”

“Same with you,” he replied before Sage ended the call, leaving him with his blue screens and textbooks. Alexander whistled to fill the silence, tapping his foot to the rhythm of a song inside his head.

He marked another street as red. “So what do you think?” he asked to particularly no one. “I know that you’re a bit of a philosopher: do you think God exists? Or are we just idiots?”

“Che,” clicked a voice, stepping out from behind the doorway. Deon Griffiths. His dark hair parted and slid to his left, and on his back was his [Talonstrider]. “Since when did you notice me?”

“Ever since I felt the floor rumbling. You’re not exactly discreet in that armor,” answered Alexander. “I got a question for you, Deon: why were you eavesdropping on me?” Unlike personal screens, where other people couldn't view it unless you allowed them access, video calls acted the same way as phones did: other people could listen in if you weren't careful.

“What are you?” Deon asked in return, stepping inside the classroom with a weighted thud of his heavy, armored sabatons. Every step felt like tremors. Heavy bastard.

Alexander gave him no attention, instead to the [Map]. “Why were you eavesdropping on me, Deon?”

“I did some asking around,” Deon began. There was a strange conviction in his voice, as if he was confronting the main villain at the end of the story. “You've met a lot with Archknell and Problem. You had one with Sage now."

“Mhm."

Deon glared at him. "Thousands of troops are coming to Dawns."

"Some [Channels] say it'd be double that."

"Yeah, and we have a superweapon in the works too."

Alexander chuckled. "I always wanted to wield [Godslayer Claymore] for myself."

"Twenty-three," stated Deon, each syllable enunciated and crisp. “Twenty-three of Ordo University's finest engineers, including professors, went missing. I spoke with Archknell; he brushed me off. Same with Problem. Now I'm here asking the same question to you."

Alexander smiled and nodded, tapping his blue screens, letting his fingers slip through and contact the whiteboard on the other side, knuckles rapping against the cold surface. “You know, I’m not that religious myself but I think there's a greater force out there. Maybe not in this universe but beyond it. A guy has to hope—”

“Don’t fuck with me, Alex. Do you know what they said?" Deon paused for emphasis. "Archknell ordered them to Pillar Dawns and communications were forbidden."

“What?” He turned to the taller man, strong and so intimidating, him in his scratched armor that reeked foul of blood and sweat and other nasty things he'd came across. The night in that man's eyes pretended to be callous. “You want me to correct you? ‘No, Archknell didn’t give that order. Seraph did.’ You’re not as clever as you think, Deon—”

An iron fist smashed against the wall. Everything shook. “What the fuck is going on here? Why are you at the center of it?”

Alexander stared blankly at him; admittedly his heart jumped but he played it cool. “Let’s say I was: why should I tell you that?”

Deon gritted his teeth. “Everyone’s lives depends on whatever bullshit you’re hiding—!”

“And now you care about everyone’s lives,” said Alexander sarcastically. “Only when it benefits you and you can show up and become the big fucking hero everyone wants, eh?”

“That’s not—”

“Oh, what is it then? Ichiken already benched you for abandoning your team; as far as I’m concerned, you’re just some lousy bastard who’s poking his head where it doesn’t belong—”

“You’ll get people killed—!”

“It’ll be after you get us killed first—” Alexander's breath was taken from him. Something had gripped his throat, pushed him against the whiteboard, feet partially lifted off the floor. A groaning chuckle squeezed out.

“What are you doing here, Alex? Why is a Pseudo like you suddenly calling the shots?!” Deon roared, indignant. Insulted. Maybe rightfully so. “What gives you the right to toy with our lives?!”

“Ha—!” Alexander gripped onto Deon’s arm with both his hands, far from the strength needed to pry him off. “What are you gonna do now? You gonna punch me like how you tried with Chunhua?”

Deon’s expression darkened, his grip loosening.

“Yeah.” Alexander moved his face closer. “Heard it from Leo, who found out from Chunhua herself. You’re so quick to assault your own people, huh? Where was this energy yesterday—?”

Deon slammed Alexander against the wall, knocking the air out of him. “Stop fucking with me, dammit! Nobody told me the truth! Tell me what’s going on or I’ll—!”

“You’ll what…?” croaked Alexander. “You think hurting me will make you any more trustworthy? After fucking what? Beating up faceless sacks in Field Beta? Pissing off Victor? Pushing away your own classmates? Abandoning them?! Great fucking job! We’re not friends, Deon; I hardly know you! This is our first real talk! What gives you the right to demand anything from me when you proved you’re fucking useless!”

Deon tightened his grip around Alexander’s neck, ripping tears from his eyes. But the man’s expression shivered. It wavered, cracked with uncertainty. Suddenly Deon dropped him, spun around and shouted, “FUCK—!”

A powerful punch knocked the whiteboard off the wall, slid down flat against the floor. Alexander shambled to the side as another "Fuck!" was shouted, and textbooks clattered off the table. Deon gripped the edge, ready to flip it over, but he didn't. His skin had gotten pale, and despite wearing that armor, he must've felt very cold. "Fuck..." he muttered. "Fuck..."

Alexander instinctively held a hand over his throat, taking deep breaths. “Fucking Christ… You’re a real piece of work, aren’t ya?”

“Shut the fuck up…” Deon whispered pitifully. “Just shut the fuck up…”

An awkward minute passed. A clock ticked.

Deon wore a painful expression split between frustration and self-hatred. Only men could look this pathetic, because it was the expression of mistakes. Of broken promises. It was the face you had when everything went wrong and you knew, you absolutely knew you could've done better. Then you begin to doubt yourself. You spent years honing yourself, your craft, and all amounted to this? A pile of fucking ashes? Maybe you were never good enough at all, that everything you accomplished was a series of lucky accidents, that you deserved this catastrophe.

But you hated it too. You hated it and wanted it, and it was the most irrational feeling in the world but it wouldn't go away. So more bad things keep happening, because you were one of the worst people in the history of mankind. You had committed the most sinful crime: of failing, and living.

What could you do, than be stuck doing the same thing? These years had to be worth something.

There'd be too much anger for a man to handle alone. Anger he didn't know what to do with.

Alexander dryly laughed, rubbing his knuckles. "Hey Deon, you know how I scarred my hands?"

He didn’t respond.

“It’s a long story, but in a nutshell: I was a demon child after what'd happened in Hangzhou. Before then, fuck, I was just your ordinary high schooler: dorky, weird, awkward, I liked wearing ripped jeans for a little while and Althea hated it—Leo, ha, Leo loved it, that I digress. After Hangzhou, everything sort of just...went out the window. I was different. Traumatized.

"My uncle took me and Thea in, and we moved to High Home. I transferred to Lightwater High School. As you expected, nothing went right. I yelled at my teachers. The school counselors gave up on me. I even heard the principle whispering that I should be lobotomized. But since I was this strong and inspirational survivor of the worst outbreak in human history, I got treated like a fucking zoo exhibit. You get attention like that: being so 'selfless' to take in special kids.

"So the only man I had left was my uncle, who had the most patience anyone could have. And I deserved fucking none of it. I cursed him out. I told him off. I hated his cooking, I hated that he kept talking to me. And whenever I got myself into a fight, he'd wait for me to come home, even after midnight, and patch me up. I hated that too. I pushed him once. I told him to go kill himself.

"I hated everyone. But there's no hate more powerful than a hate directed at yourself.

“I can't tell you how many ridiculous fights I got myself into. I just wanted to hurt people. Hurt myself really. I..." Alexander swallowed, remembering what had happened with Reynold and his gang. "Until one fight did me in. I got ambushed. They had bats and pipes. I would've died, and I'd be happier for it. But thankfully I got an ambulance and spent a month in the hospital, recovering. God, if it wasn't for the doctors, I would've had permanent damage. I was... I was that lucky. More than I deserved.

"For the entire month, my uncle visited everyday so I wouldn't be alone. We talked. A lot. It was a wake-up call, Deon, to get my shit together. Because I've hurt so many people. I've hurt myself, ignoring everyone who loves me. Who cares for me. Who wants to see me smile again, who wants me to be happy."

Deon didn’t respond.

“Trust me, Deon, I get it. I fucking lived it once already. I can count a thousand things I could’ve done differently, in Hangzhou. Maybe Mom and Dad might be alive today if I was smarter. Stronger If I wasn't so stubborn, High Home wouldn’t be such a bad fucking time for me. Today even! I regret getting Leo stabbed and not doing more to save people. Like Mai or Mattis or everyone in System Articles. But I already obsessed over the past once. I still have my moments but they don't control me.

“I’ll never stop regretting, but the world will never stop spinning. At some point, I learned that you just need to start spinning too. Definitely not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. If you don’t, if you continue to stay in one place, you'll be left alone, tormented forever by the past. You won't have anyone, and everything you hate about yourself will come true."

For over a minute, for an eternity it felt, the two stood there in the hollow classroom, listening to the clock tick and the distant gunfire rattling the room’s stillness. It was only then, when Deon audibly sighed, sunk his head, and finally responded: “I’m a fuck-up.”

"I am too.”

“Yeah. I doubt they’d want to see me again.”

“I thought the same thing, but you’ll surprise them when you see them first.” Alexander looked out the window. “Then they’d want to see you as many times as you want.”

Deon said, “Will it work? Will everyone come home?”

“I can’t guarantee that, but I’ll do my best.”

“And the engineers, and Sage, and Archknell?”

Alexander glanced at his [Map] which was still up. “Same with them. We’re all trying our best to put those Comets in bodybags.”

Deon rubbed his face, muttering something to himself as though in disbelief. “Okay. I still don’t trust you, but I do trust Archknell and the others. I want to make sure that everyone makes it through Scorcher.”

“You think I don’t want the same thing?” Alexander laughed to lighten the mood. “My sister’s participating, and I’d love for her to stay but I can hardly control that brat. And…” His expression softened. “…And, well, I got Leo with me. There was a time where I couldn't stop thinking about her, every minute of every hour. That’s as good of a motivation as any, I think.”

Deon nodded. “Alright. I’m going… I’m going to talk to Ichiken after this.”

“Good. You’d better talk to your class too.”

“I know.”

Later, Deon did exactly that. He did not ask for everyone’s forgiveness, but another chance to prove himself. Everyone granted his wish.