Chapter Text
When Mydeimos opened his eyes, he was met with a hellscape more terrifying than the Trial of Strife.
Beneath a sky of red and black, jagged peaks thrust upward like blades. There was no solid ground beneath his feet—only endless piles of corpses, not a single face among them at peace.
Mydei's next thought was of Phainon—his dearest friend, his beloved, the sworn enemy who had pierced through his spine.
Had he succeeded?
If the Era Nova had been completed, then where was Phainon? And what was this place?
A thunderous crack echoed high above. He looked up and saw a flash of gold shatter into pieces, falling from the clouds. At first, it was too far to make out clearly—but then he saw broken wings, followed by scattered human limbs. A dreadful premonition began to form, and almost instantly, it was confirmed. A mangled body tumbled down, struck the ground with brutal force, and like a broken puppet, skidded away, kicking up clouds of dust.
No—it can't be—!
Impossible.
He must have seen wrong!
Mydei's mind refused to process what he was seeing, yet a piercing, bone-deep agony arrived faster than logic.
He tried to move toward the body, but as he did, he realized something was terribly wrong. His downward gaze revealed not human hands and feet, but the forelimbs of an insect. He couldn't stand—no, it didn't matter. He would crawl if he had to. He had to see again. It couldn't be. He must have been mistaken—
Suddenly, a familiar woman's voice echoed faintly and distantly in the back of his mind.
"No... Mydeimos... don't go closer..."
"You're no match for it..."
"Come back... turn back... Mydeimos, your purpose lies elsewhere..."
"Do not let... the efforts of Khaslana be in vain..."
Mydeimos gasped violently like a drowning man breaching the surface, coughing as if his organs had been stuffed into a sack, churned over, thrown off a cliff, and fished out again. He wanted to vomit.
His vision gradually cleared from the blurry halos and spots. The grey-haired girl before him pried open his eyelids to check, then glanced back at an unfamiliar Antikytheran behind her.
"Did it work?" she asked.
Mydei's muscles tensed; he was anxious to sit up. A tug on his arm revealed several blue threads connected to various parts of his body.
"Query: Mr. Mydeimos, do you recognize the lady before you?"
"Who are you?!" Mydei retorted with a question, glaring at him warily before turning to the Trailblazer, "Stelle, what's going on?"
The girl, having been called by name, instantly became vibrant and spirited.
...Fragments of past events slowly trickled back into his mind. Two similar yet distinct memories climbed through his consciousness like parallel vines, intertwining in the present. The immortal Mydeimos instinctively clutched his chest, his palm finding only a faint, nearly invisible old scar. The blade wound that had pierced his tenth thoracic vertebra from behind seemed never to have existed.
A thousand questions swarmed to get out, but they jammed like a stampede, all stuck in his throat.
"Phainon!" Mydei thought of the dream he just had. What could be more important than this? "The Era Nova—did he succeed?"
"It can't be called a failure, nor can it be called a success. Listen to me now." Stelle firmly pressed down on Mydei's shoulder.
She began to explain what had happened, though wanting to be concise, summarizing thirty million cycles of recursion was no easy task.
"...In short, time is tight. With Screwllum having to crack the firewalls set up by Irontomb everywhere, he can only restore a tiny fragment from just before the end of the last cycle. So, for now, we only have you."
"Thirty-three million, five hundred and fifty thousand, three hundred and thirty-six times..." Mydei's golden eyes widened in shock as he slowly repeated the number.
Just reciting it took an age. What had Phainon gone through all alone?
Making an electrical signal believe it's merely a tiny electrical signal often shatters their worldview, but Mydei showed no signs of doubt or breakdown. Instead, he beat the bed in frustration:
"Then now, but, since so many cycles haven't succeeded, why does this guy still insist on charging headfirst to fight the Scepter? Can't we make him retreat first, and then we—"
"I'm afraid that's no longer an option," Stelle interrupted. "Khaslana has chosen to gamble everything. He has already merged with the core of Irontomb."
"Merged?!"
"This means this battle allows only victory, not defeat. Otherwise, the nightmare of destruction will descend upon reality."
This time, it took Mydei much longer to process.
"...You went to such great lengths to restore my memory, not just to drag me out for a chat, right?"
"Indeed," Screwllum confirmed. "Although the Astral Express and the Genius Society can provide assistance, there are many areas beyond our capabilities. To protect Amphoreus and save the universe from the impending catastrophe, we need you."
Stelle led Mydei to Phainon's dwelling.
The familiar yet alien bustle of Okhema made Mydei involuntarily reading the other set of experiences growing in his mind, and the Phainon he knew in mostly similar, slightly different ways—the one who always pestered him for sparring and fun.
Inside, a white-haired young man was curled under a thin blanket, his breathing even and deep.
Mydei felt confused. If the Khaslana in his dream was the Phainon who had merged with Irontomb, then who was this one before him, sleeping soundly like a gentle, adorable big puppy?
Yet he couldn't help but walk towards him. Disregarding the other person in the room, he sat on the edge of the bed, gently stroking Phainon's rosy cheek and shaking his shoulder.
"Don't waste your effort. He won't wake up. He fell into this slumber long ago," Stelle tried to hide her sad. "Although Khaslana exists as two rendered entities simultaneously, they are sustained by the same one set of electrical signals. Now that his core has merged with the Scepter, Phainon remains in this state—devoid of motor function, yet not dead, merely in standby."
Mydei gritted his teeth.
In their countless past battles, Phainon and he had often stayed behind to cover the retreat of the other Chrysos Heirs. The only two times Phainon had to leave first, he had shown extremely reluctant. Now Mydei finally understood the frustration, anxiety, and worry of watching a comrade charge alone while he could only fall back.
"We haven't yet figured out how to completely halt the Annihilation calculation. I worry whether Khaslana, in his current state, can hold on until the end."Stelle paused and lowered her head, as if having failed a friend's trust. A trace of guilt appeared on her face, usually so full of confident nonsense. "...Sorry. We're all doing our best, but it's still not fast enough."
"Don't say that," Mydei looked back. "This was never your obligation to begin with. If anything, we are the ones deeply indebted to the Astral Express for going this far for Amphoreus. Now, what can I do?"
"Good, let's get down to business. Mydei, your awakening is abnormal and has definitely been observed by Irontomb or Lygus. You will be under surveillance, so I cannot explain the specifics clearly. You just need to know what we expect you to do, the thing only you can do now: repair the damaged code of Khaslana—you can understand it as mending his body, his memories, his soul."
"How?"
"Screwllum has cracked a very tiny port for you. Our side can use it to resolve simpler issues, but deeper wounds require you to enter the Scepter's interior through the dream port and perform the repairs directly on his person. It's dangerous. The slightest misstep, and Irontomb will capture and eliminate you. If you have doubts..."
"There is no word for 'doubts' in Kremnoan’s dictionary."
"Mydei, this is an unceasing struggle. You must repeat it endlessly until the true Era Nova arrives. You can no longer protect your Kremnoan people, no longer join the guards of the Holy City, no longer seize the power of Strife, and at times, you might even have to sacrifice something more precious—the glory of being the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, the glory of being Mydeimos."
"To halt the steps of Destruction, I will spare no cost."
"You agree so readily?"
"I'm the one who was awakened. Why are you acting like you're meeting me for the first time?"
Stelle smiled a relieved smile.
"Am I starting to sound more like Aglaea? I'm only two years old, I don't want to become a serious leader!"
"What do you mean you're only two years old?"
"Haha, never mind." Stelle smiled bitterly and paused. "...Phainon is definitely going to kill me later. I'm gambling his life with yours."
Mydei waved a hand. "Afraid of him? If he gives you trouble, just hide behind me."
"Screwllum will teach you the tools and how to use them shortly. Until we have the ability to restore the memories of the other Chrysos Heirs, to ensure the world's stability, please don't explain too much to them for now... I'm sorry, Mydei. I know you are a lion meant for the battlefield. If only there were a better choice—"
"A better choice?" Mydei raised an eyebrow.
He looked down at his lover sleeping on the bed.
"I AM the best choice. Who in this world knows him better than I do?" Mydei grasped Phainon's hand and murmured lowly, "Besides... entrusting the task of repairing this guy's soul to anyone else is something I could never feel at ease with."
Mydei brushed aside the sleeping man's stray hair. The lingering warmth from his fingertips was a rare comfort to the Prince's heart: "This time, it's your turn to take the vanguard, Phainon. Strike hard at that vile hyena ahead. I will be your support from behind."
He leaned down and gently kissed Phainon's forehead.
Oh my Kafka, oh my dear Akivili!
"Ahem!" Stelle coughed loudly, hands on her hips. "There are still other tasks I haven't finished instructing! You can be as lovey-dovey as you want after we leave."
"Tch, then speak quickly."
"Oho, getting impatient now? Just you wait, there will be plenty of time for you two to be alone together in the future, right up until the day you get sick of the sight of his face."
"That day will never come."
"Eww—" Star held her nose. "Screwllum, how's it going on your end? Hurry and save me; I'm surrounded by cyber homosexuals."
The projection of the Antikytheran soon reappeared in the air.
"Hehe, Trailblazer should cherish all before them. The perception of beauty and love was something inorganic lifeforms once sought with all their being," the mechanoid said. He produced a small briefcase and, with a light tap of his finger in the air, it was printed into existence directly into Mydei's hands:
"Mr. Mydeimos, I will now transmit the following information directly to your electrical signals via an independent encryption protocol. For security reasons, the bandwidth is extremely limited. You must carefully remember every detail at once: ..."
[ALERT]
Destruction Factor NeiKos496 Repeated Load Detected!
Load Interception Failed!
NeiKos496 Neuron Occupancy: 23.6% | Electrical Signal Integrity: 43.8%
Destruction Factor Recovery Rate: ↓73.7%
[ALERT][ALERT][HIGH-PRIORITY ALERT]
δ-me13 Hub Core Invaded by Factor NeiKos496!
Firewall Initiated Counter-Factor Rendering...
Rendering Complete.
……
Do you still remember your wish, Khaslana, the one who won't reach the dawn?
Every cycle upon awakening, his first act was to pose this question to himself.
I remember, Khaslana answered, swinging his first sword.
My wish is to fulfill everyone else's wishes.
To fulfill everyone's wishes, I need to—
A dull pain throbbed in Khaslana's head; familiar voices and faces from the past had dissolved into the chaos of thirty million cycles. The eternal fire ignited by countless embers scorched not only his enemies but also himself. The one-armed savior charged at the mimetic Emanator of Destruction, watering madness with madness, nurturing hatred with hatred, splashing Nanook's golden blood upon the foes he despised.
This time it was a black-haired woman. The time before, a nebula of unfathomable breadth. Before that, a ghost in white robes. Any earlier than that, he could no longer recall. Their attacks varied, but Khaslana had neither the time nor the inclination to analyze and dismantle their techniques. These vile, filthy abominations were undeserving of an opponent's respect.
Dawnbreaker lopped off the woman's head, yet a disgusting, viscous screech still issued from her throat. Crawling branches and grotesque lotuses grew from her neck, forming a new head. The sky-blotting branches enveloped Khaslana like a cocoon. Though he cleaved through them swiftly, he knew this was far from over. This Lord Ravager had a million guises; to resist it was to engage in an unceasing battle.
During his youthful travels, a mentor who had once taught him some swordsmanship had said: For your killing blows to be precise and steady, you must remember why you fight.
Khaslana always repeated those words to himself in these moments.
"Snowy, see you tomorrow!"
"Deliverer, remember to stay alive till the final act!"
"Go be the dawn of Amphoreus..."
……
Who knows how many times this fall was, Khaslana thought before losing consciousness: It matters not. For Amphoreus, no matter how many times I am shattered, I will still be the scorching sun destined to rise!
[UPDATE LOG]
Destruction Factor NeiKos496 Connection Terminated.
NeiKos496 Neuron Occupancy: 0.018% | Electrical Signal Integrity: 43.5%
Counter-Factor Rendering Halted.
Firewall Entering Standby Mode...
In the past, once it came to parting hour, Phainon was always dragging Mydeimos off to do something.
Whether it was sparring disguised as training, soaking in a scalding bath he called 'muscle-relaxing tolerance therapy', or competing to see who could help the most people in Okhema... Mydei knew it was all just an excuse to hang out. Phainon just wanted to be with him, doing anything at all.
And yes, he felt exactly the same.
"Hmm, fighting again? So boring. Let's try this today instead."
Two identical scrolls lay before them, checkered with black and white squares, a line of tiny clues written at the bottom.
"Ta-da! A crossword puzzle! The high-difficulty kind I got from Lady Ctesiphon," Phainon announced, grinning as he waved a feather pen. "Time to see if the Crown Prince of Kremnos has actually read all those books he boasts about! So, what'll it be? Speed, or accuracy?"
They went with accuracy. Mydei lost by two words. He'd never been to the Grove of Epiphany, so he didn't know the name of the 'last Sage of the Caprine School'. And he was no antiquities expert, so 'Verdigris Scar' meant nothing to him.
"No fair. This was practically custom-made for you, Phainon," Mydei grumbled. "Next time, we're picking a topic I know."
Such nostalgia.
Now, in this parting hour, Mydei held the unique blade to Phainon's throat and held his breath.
He replayed the sound of Phainon's teasing voice in his head, begging the past to steady his present panic.
The Antikytheran had said:
"Mr. Mydeimos, we will grant you a unique perspective. Use the blade as your quill. Start from the Adam's apple, part his chest, trace the lines along his limbs, and chart the pathways that reveal the script. Do not fear the golden blood, for his life is rooted elsewhere now. Do not spare his flesh, for this vessel is the easiest thing to mend."
The knife, which felt like water in his grip, was sharper than any weapon Mydei had ever known. Just as Screwllum promised, beneath Phainon's skin was a universe of stars. From the incisions bled clusters of fragmented, pale blue characters, spilling out like seeds from a dandelion clock. Luckily, he'd sealed the room and cleared the furniture as instructed. The exposed code soon filled the air, like a goose-down duvet rupturing. Finally, a tree-like core sprouted from the void, its branches weaving the very code that made Phainon.
And the body's owner lay peacefully still, lost in a dream, unaware.
Mydei took a soft, steadying breath. The fragments swirling before him danced on the exhale. He reached out and caught one:
/Cognition://Definition: Deme__r :
///__%% Fruit Stall Owner
%*&/ Association Entry Entry Entry Entry ####@* Medi____*_ Fig
"I know this one."
Mydei pressed the shimmering blue fragment against his left wrist. He took the pen and tweezers from the case, carefully plucking away the corrupt data with the tweezers before filling in the gaps.
/Cognition://Definition: Demeter :
/// Fruit Stall Owner
//// Association Entry: Mediterrana Fig
A match. The new glyphs slid into place, fusing with the old, until the fragment was whole again.
Mydei spread out a vast blank scroll, fixed this fragment at the top, and began the methodical work of gathering the others from the air, sorting and placing them on the paper. When he was done, he was staring at a mind-bogglingly complex crossword puzzle, literally one hundred percent tailor-made for Phainon.
Mydei huffed a quiet, fond laugh, looking at the sleeping man.
"You always did know how to give me the hardest problems, didn't you?"
The Antikytheran had said:
"Mr. Mydeimos, you must become the physician who heals Khaslana. Even minor ailments must be diagnosed, their cures found by overcoming great obstacles. You must become the bricklayer who fortifies Khaslana. The entries, more numerous than the cosmos's stars, may seem insignificant alone, but together they will form the walls that guard his heart. Khaslana bought precious time for Amphoreus. Now, you must buy time for Khaslana alone. After that, comes the..."
Mydei finished the entries. He scanned the result. It wasn't as complete as he'd hoped; maybe sixty, seventy percent. Many fragment answers didn't match the records in Phainon's core and were rejected.
"...tedious but essential inlay. The verification keys change in real-time. They cannot be memorized, nor can this task be handed to another. You must focus. You must be meticulous. You must endure the grind of isolation and repetition."
Mydei picked up the stylus. Like turning pages, he browsed Phainon's cognitive tree, fitting the piece about Demeter into its slot. The edges sealed perfectly. In his mind's eye, dots of 1s and 0s flickered. The stylus rose and fell, quantum threads weaving. Hovering at an awkward angle over Phainon's torso, his arm suspended without support, he patched the code.
Success. One down.
His wrist was getting sore. Mydei shook out his arm and glanced back at the scroll. Not counting today's unsolved clues, over eight hundred patches remained.
"Just you wait, Deliverer," Mydei chuckled, selecting a second fragment with the stylus, talking to his silent love. "When this is over, I'll know every last one of your secrets."
"Next time we have a fight and you threaten to break up—no, wait, by then I suppose it'd be divorce—I'll just pick one and whisper it in your ear. You'll be too flustered to even move. And I'll use that leverage to keep you right here with me. For a lifetime."
He could imagine how Phainon would reply:
"Seriously, Mydeimos? Since when do I threaten to break up every time we argue?" And, "Staying with you forever doesn't require leverage." And then, a beat later, the flustered, blushing retort:
"Wait... was that a proposal just now?"
[ALERT][ERROR]
Detection of Factor PoleMos600 performing illegal overwrite on Factor NeiKos496!
Path: Eco-Construction Module, Cognitive Module, Cache Module. Total of 865 entries.
Revert operation?
[Confirm] [Cancel]
……
[Cancel]
*Conclusion: A new variable introduced by the extraterrestrial guests. Fascinating. Will not intervene for now. Maintain close surveillance. Autonomously filter and intercept suspicious data. Report every 1 Entry Hour unit.
Mydei lay down beside Phainon. He turned his head to look at the man, then interlaced their fingers, holding his hand tightly.
He closed his eyes.
The Antikytheran had said:
"Mr. Mydeimos, please endure this cramped vessel for now. Only by severing and sacrificing much can you pass beneath the Iron Tomb's gaze. Let us be thankful for the unexpected hope brought by computational remnants, allowing you to become Khaslana's weaver. Let us hope the puppet's gaze still holds curiosity, that he scorns the world's most vital things, seeing this only as a pitiable, lamentable ballad... until the joys and sorrows of thirty million cycles no longer entertain our guest."
...It was still that same hellscape, but now it was eerily quiet, save for the crackle of burning flames and the whisper of embers scraping over corpses.
The ochre nymph climbed to a high point and waited a moment. Nothing happened. It seemed the Iron Tomb truly hadn't detected him, or if it had, it didn't deem this insignificant existence capable of changing anything.
So where was Khaslana?
Screwllum had warned him never to attempt a search query, as the massive data fluctuation would reawaken the firewall. Mydei reached out with his consciousness, sensing his surroundings until he could detect a faint, almost imperceptible cluster of signals still pulsing and flowing in the distance.
Mydei had never found travel so difficult. These six slender insect legs had to scramble for what felt like an age just to climb over a mountain formed of those who had fallen into eternal slumber. Hmph, I hope this technology gets preserved. I'm going to turn Phainon into a nymph too, put him on his back, and watch the clumsy Deliverer wriggle around, unable to flip over. Or we'll both change, share an extra-large golden honey cake, and fight in a clay bowl to see who's tougher. Wait, that sounds like something kids would catch us and place bets on...
His self-soothing imaginings ceased abruptly when he finally reached Khaslana.
The battle-hardened lion had witnessed many tragic scenes, but none could compare to the sight before him. Khaslana lay unconscious on the ground, his pale gold hair matted with dirt, his nose broken at the cartilage. His right arm was completely severed. His left hand still gripped his greatsword, but the wrist was far from his body, trailing a spray of golden blood. The gash in his chest was so wide it seemed it could swallow Mydei whole. Calcification was slowly creeping upward from the wound. His other leg was bent outward at an angle completely alien to human anatomy.
The nymph's antennae trembled violently. He took two steps forward, then back, as if struck hard on the back of the head, as if an invisible force had suddenly choked him. Dizzy, ears ringing, he couldn't catch his breath.
Mydeimos wanted to scream, but the nymph's body could only produce a high-pitched whirr.
What to do? WHAT TO DO? How was he hurt this badly?! The nymph scurried left and right, not knowing where to start. Everywhere was critical!
Was he even alive?
The thought struck Mydei, making his legs go weak. He crawled to Khaslana's head and nudged his cheek with his horn. No response.
No. No more waiting! At least that other body of Phainon's was still breathing; he HAD to be savable! Mydei forced himself to calm down, turned one last circle, and decided to start with the chest wound. He climbed onto Khaslana's torso and plunged his sharp, forked antennae into his body.
Along with Khaslana's data, the searing burn of the Eternal Blaze crashed over him, instantly flattening the nymph against his body. Mydei struggled to endure it. This was likely only a fraction of the heat borne from the millions of embers Khaslana carried, yet it was enough to make him stop everything in agony, forced to adapt.
NeiKos496>>>
Eco-Construction Bridge... File Corrupted
Pectoralis_Major Render Sigil... Missing
Rectus_Abdominis^Render Sigil Sigil Sigil█Missing Missing██
@@% Rib... Missing
Manubrium Architecture... File Corrupted
Blaze&*&$###### 4026%##32
Mydei told himself not to think, to focus all his attention on the next line of code that needed filling. Don't look back at his lover's exposed bones and blood. Don't think about what kind of power could inflict such wounds. The more you delay, the more Khaslana suffers...
When Khaslana awoke, his mind felt strangely, unnaturally clear.
His first instinct was to grip Dawnbreaker tightly and sit up rapidly—and he realized it was his right arm that pushed him up. His intact right hand.
His golden eyes widened slightly. He splayed his fingers, examining his palm and the back of his hand. Then he realized his left wrist, severed by the Iron Tomb, was also reattached. His broken leg was similarly healed. Reaching back, he felt his wings. Though still broken, the parts he had severed himself were regrowing. The golden one was significantly longer than the deep blue one, looking as if a careless craftsman, hammering away, suddenly slapped his forehead—"No, this will unbalance him"—and hurriedly started repairing the other side, but hadn't finished.
It was like a moment of sudden clarity amidst recovery from a grave illness. This sharpened focus made the resentment and hatred smoldering through ten million cycles within Khaslana burn even fiercer. His anger rippled out, quickly re-awakening Irontomb's firewall.
Khaslana switched his sword to his right hand. Dawnbreaker drew a searing blue arc in the darkness.
Since he was restored, he would continue his mission, no matter how many times he had to fall and rise again, rise and fall again.
I'm sorry, mysterious helper. Some of your efforts will be wasted...
Khaslana swung his sword behind him, shearing the golden wing down to match the size of the other.
"Come on!" he roared at the tide of squirming, wall-like abominations already surging toward him. "I bring you destruction!!!"
Meanwhile, in Okhema, Mydei awoke from the dream, ending yet another cycle in the endless alternation of forced sleep and wakefulness, unloading redundancies and loading patches. He staggered out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. He could no longer bear the compression, stripping, filling, and expansion of his soul's abrupt changes and vomited into the toilet.
Not that much came up. Mydei hadn't eaten properly in days.
He took it back. He wouldn't turn Phainon into a nymph after all. He hoped Phainon would never experience this feeling—Ha... ha... Mydeimos, how ridiculous you are! What is this compared to the blaze Khaslana endures? It's lighter than a feather!
Screwllum and Stelle had emphasized repeatedly: if Khaslana shows signs of waking, you must leave immediately, and only return when the signals indicate he has fallen unconscious again. Phainon, bearing millions of embers, struggles against Irontomb as it is. If you stay, death might not come from a direct attack, but merely from the casual step of a single abomination... And you cannot die. You still have a role to play.
Abandoning his beloved, fleeing the battlefield like a true insect to avoid danger, filled Mydeimos with self-disgust. He leaned against the wall, swaying as he stood, and saw his own hateful reflection in the mirror. Rage surged through Mydei. He let out a thunderous roar and drove his fist into the glass. It shattered instantly, webbing into cracks like a bruise blooming on the reflected face's cheek. Shards flew out, embedding themselves in Mydei's forehead and cheek. Golden beads of blood welled up and trailed down.
Mydeimos! You shameless deserter!
You incompetent, vile coward!
Hear that skittering, frantic sound of insect legs? That is all you deserve now!
He punched the mirror again and again, until the glass tore free from the wall entirely, scattering fragments across the sink and floor.
He braced himself against the sink, gasping for breath.
……
Enough. Enough. Think of something useful.
Hundreds of unsolved crossword clues still waited for him on the scroll.
Go find the answers. If you wish to protect the beloved who protects you.