Out of all the things Emilia might have expected to happen when she stepped between Yuka and the other visitor, it wasn’t to be blindsided by fucking Jerrina!

⸂What have you done!?⸃ Kyren yelled, his words blurry in Emilia’s mind because the bitch had hit her with that gift of hers—the one that struck people dead on the spot.

Except she wasn’t dead—why wasn’t she dead?

⸂What was that thing!?⸃ Jerrina was screaming, and all the screaming seemed like a profoundly terrible idea, give there was a collection of houses not too far away. ⸂Nothing can stop my gift!⸃

Emilia’s mind flickered to the {Blood Ball}, still attached to her hips. It had protected her, blown outward and blocked the woman’s attack, although not completely. Blearily, Emilia almost wished it hadn’t protected her. Everything ached and burned, her mind floating in and out as the group talked.

Then the screams came.

Then the Ingogia family came.

⸂We didn't expect you to give away your positions so easily,⸃ someone said, a voice she didn’t recognize—an Enclave member, speaking as though they had known they were coming? Did Clarity have a spy within their ranks?

⸂Eh~ this is pretty helpful though!⸃ another voice cheered, one filled with youthful exuberance. ⸂I wasn’t looking forward to blowing up auntie’s house to get these guys.⸃

⸂We were not going to be blowing up anyone’s house,⸃ someone else sighed, their voice sounding humorously long-suffering.

Emilia’s mind splintered off as the group continued to argue. Where were the members of Clarity? Why were none of them speaking?

A cruel laugh rippled through the air, filled with malice that seemed displaced—over the top—until they spoke, voice teasing and poking. ⸂You don’t have a spy!⸃ they laughed, one of their companions telling them to stop with the theatrics. ⸂Oh, but it’s just too funny, that they don’t realize that they are sacrifices.⸃

“What?” Vermilion asked, the first familiar voice Emilia had heard in what felt like forever. “Sacrifices? Sacrifices for what?”

⸂Sacrifices for you, of course. A visitor needs to win a blessing for this world. Every previous blessing was won by someone with system access, and to get that, you need to sacrifice a soul to the universe.⸃

“⸂Sacrifice a soul? A ritual murder?⸃”

⸂In a way,⸃ someone responded because apparently Jerrina’s aethervoice control had abandoned her, blown away by her that defensive barrier, most likely. ⸂We sacrificed a Risen Guard for our harbinger’s system access, but they are so difficult to capture. When Ajarni told us he had acquired a huge group of visitors—⸃

“Ajarni? The leader of Clarity?” the woman who had argued with Yuka asked, her voice holding all the confusion that Emilia felt.

Out of all the suspicions she had had of the Clarity leader’s intentions, being involved with the Enclave hadn’t been one of them.

⸂He does an excellent job of hiding his allegiances, doesn’t he?⸃ someone said, responding to her leaking thoughts or the other visitor, Emilia wasn’t sure. ⸂Honestly, though, I’ve heard that man talk. I’m surprised anyone ever believes what he says. I suppose they can’t help trusting him, what with how destroyed their minds are.⸃

“⸂So he's what? Making sacrifices for you?⸃” Emilia breathed out, eyes squeezing closed as her voice and mind spoke as one. Everything ached, like she’d been blasted apart from the inside out, her muscles and tendons only holding her together out of spite.

⸂Oh, not exactly. He was making soldiers for us. We needed a place for members who betrayed us to go. Ajarni’s grandfather volunteered to leave us and found a group. It was more to keep them contained than anything, but once we realized how motivated they were to stop us? That they were willing to burn their personalities away seeking power?⸃

In the background, someone told whoever was talking to shut up, but the speaker’s cruel voice just laughed, telling them there was no point in not telling them the truth. ⸂It’s not like they have access to their messaging systems anymore. Why not give them a like reality check before we dump them into the universe?⸃

No messaging access—maybe that was why everyone was so quiet, some magic or gift interfering with their system access and ability to even speak.

“⸂But they hate you? Why would they act as soldiers for you?⸃” Even as she said it, Emilia knew the answer: because Ajarni would tell them to. His family had spent generations manipulating these people, warping their minds to accept everything he said, despite the contradictions.

⸂Exactly,⸃ someone said. There were too many someones, but Emilia’s brain was overwhelmed with pain and facts. She couldn’t have identified more than a vague familiarity in each voice if she tried. ⸂Every Clarity member does as they are told. They even went along with this ridiculous plan, which was clearly a death sentence. Of course, they didn't realize that was how it was designed, but from what I heard, a few of you visitors actually pointed out the problems with his plan. Heard you got in trouble, too, for daring to question the great and powerful Ajarni.⸃

“Why not just tell them the truth them? Tell them they’re sacrifices? If they’re as mindless as you believe, they would have gone along with that, too!” Vermilion yelled, something having seemingly snapped her and the other visitors in their group out of their own mind manipulations. Maybe just the stress of the situation? Not that it really mattered.

Emilia didn’t think their awareness of the world would last.

⸂No idea. Ajarni might be associated with us, but that guy does what he likes. You’d have to ask him why he chose to use his pawns this way.⸃

⸂You’re lying!⸃

Emilia tried to force her eyes open—tried to watch Kyren launch himself at one of the Enclave members who had surrounded them. He was in a different spot than before, his face looking pale and sweaty, and she could only guess that he’d used his teleportation gift to shake off whatever gift the Ingogia family was using to keep everyone from moving, speaking and accessing their system,

The members of the Ingogia family scattered, looking unconcerned with the attack. There were so many of them, it was unlikely the Clarity groups would be able to escape, even if every one of them broke free. Not so much an issue for her—she didn’t want to sacrifice anyone, but she doubted they’d kill her in case they could convince her, if her consent was even required to begin with. For the Clarity members, though? Would being sacrificed hurt? Maybe death in battle was better.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Whatever had been holding the Clarity members still seemed to snap, and the world exploded to life. Magic shuddered through the universe, angry and desperate. Well, this was what the group got for willingly killing children, although the fact that the Ingogia family had sacrificed those children…

⸂They weren’t real,⸃ one of them told her, something like amusement sliding through their voice. Why? Because they’d tricked their group? Made them think teenagers had died for no reason? ⸂Ah… that is unfortunate.⸃

Emilia tried to push herself up, her energy and body slowly settling after Jerrina’s attack—which, who would have known that would have led to this? The Enclave would have attacked them no matter what, at some point or another, but the fact that she couldn’t help the group because that woman was a bitch—because she’d poked at her and Fran a few too many times…

Well, it really sucked, and as she watched Jerrina, Kyren and several members of the other group give up fighting the Enclave members and instead turn their attacks onto the visitors, Emilia couldn’t help but feel it was her fault, just a little. Hopefully, the visitor’s minds would return to normal, once they were free of this world.

Hopefully, they wouldn't carry those scars and manipulations back into the real world.

Jerrina turned on her, eyes sparking with magical hatred. ⸂This is your fault!⸃ she hissed, and Emilia wondered if she’d been listening to what the Enclave members had been saying at all. She was just a single piece in what had led the Enclave to them so soon. If anyone should be blamed, it should be Jerrina. Her stupid ass attack had been the final piece!

Had Emilia literally just be blaming herself for this situation? Yes, but that didn’t mean she was going to let Jerrina apply undeserved blame on her! She alone could blame herself for things that clearly weren’t her fault, no one else!

A face flashed through her mind, cold and snarling, before Jerrina hit her with another instant death attack. Much like the first time, her {Blood Ball} exploded outwards, and the attack only partially connected with her.

It still hurt more than nearly anything Emilia had ever experienced. The pain of burning her leg in the labyrinth had been worse, but contained. This was a pain that rattled and roared through her body, seemingly seeking out things to destroy. It couldn’t destroy—that part of it was locked out by the {Blood Ball}—but just the search was an exercise in keeping herself from ripping her {Blood Dagger} out of its sheath and slitting her throat.

Boundary had told her visitors were unable to kill themselves, but that shouldn’t keep her from trying!

The {Blood Ball} contracted, and the world faded away again. Vaguely, she was aware of Jerrina trying again, again, the pain surging and mounting and climaxing inside her until Emilia was sure she couldn’t possibly feel more pain.

She did, somehow. Every attempt added to the pain that already existed. Thankfully, she was increasingly unconscious. Being unconscious was good.

Jerrina was skilled, when she wasn’t going up against defence coded blood items, anyways, and in between her attempts to kill Emilia she did manage to kill several Enclave members. Then they subdued her—subdued everyone.

Emilia’s world faded in and out of existence, the time she was awake marred with pain and confusion. Words filtered through her ears—through her mind? She’d never had the chance to ask anyone how hearing in this world worked.

It was sad that she’d never learn the answer, but she was rather hoping to die soon. Maybe she already was dead, although allowing dead heroes to feel so profoundly seemed like an obnoxiously sadistic choice on the part of the platform maintainer.

Just when she’d think she was finally dead, the world would flash before her eyes again. Forest. Vermilion’s dead body. More forest. A clone of the first teenager Jerrina had killed. Jerrina’s body—apparently the Enclave had decided her gift was too dangerous.

⸂I can’t believe Ajarni sent us this bitch and didn’t even warn us.⸃

Yeah, Emilia had to agree: that was a strange move on Ajarni’s part. Maybe the man had just wanted to get rid of her.

⸂She did seem like an unpleasant lady. Tried to kill you for no reason. Even if this hadn’t been a setup, she’d have fucked up your mission anyways. The fuck did you do to her?⸃

Images of V flashed through her head. The man, soft and sleepy that morning—had that really only been that morning? Laughing at her because she’d chased the children from the room with her inappropriate thoughts. That sweet, teasing smile. She missed that smile, even if the double dimples still upset her. When she overlaid the vision of the boy she had once known with V, however—

Emilia shook herself, gazing at the brick of wherever she had been put—when had she even been moved? That boy and V—whoever he was in the real world now—weren’t the same. They were, but the way they fit together was unclear and broken. The boy of her memories didn’t suit the person she had gotten to know over… over only a few days.

She wanted to laugh about that—about the brevity and fierceness of their friendship—but everything hurt too much, and her mind was wandering anyways, following the forgotten trail of a melody being hummed nearby. It floated through the air, winding around her like a long-lost friend. Not that she could place the song. Probably something from the Free Colonies—one of the other team’s visitors had had an accent, muted by what Emilia assumed was several decades living in Baalphoria, but an accent nonetheless.

Her muscles shook and rebelled as she tried to push herself up, as though if only she could move, she could get out of here. After so long searching for a way to access the system, it was ironic that she didn’t want it now—didn’t want to sacrifice someone she knew, even if none of those people were particularly nice, or had given a shit about her.

Why did she care about killing them, again?

Resting didn’t suit her, though. Movement did. Running and climbing and falling through the air suited her. Her mind racing through programs and systems suited her. Fucking and loving and even occasionally hating someone with all she was capable of suited her.

This—lying around, waiting for the Enclave to tell her it was time to sacrifice someone she felt all but nothing for, supposedly for the greater good? This didn’t suit her, but she couldn’t move. Everything was heavy, hurting—was this how Olivier had felt? Stuck in his hospital bed after the final battle? Half his body burned, while an induced coma kept him from the pain?

Olivier wasn’t suited for lying around anymore than she was.

How long had he been in the bed for?

How long had it hurt?

How long had he wondered if she would come visit him?

How long had he mourned her? Not dead, just absent, his messages to her going unopened because she couldn’t bear to see him blame her for what happened.

He hadn’t, and instead, when she’d finally worked up the courage to look through messages from the people missing her, years after she’d left and refused to look back, all she’d found was concern.

[Oliver: Emilia, please, let me know you are alright.]

[Oliver: Emilia, I hope you are safe.]

[Oliver: Emilia, if you ever need anything, do not hesitate to contact me. No matter what it is.]

[Oliver: Emilia, Rafe says you are okay. I am glad.]

[Oliver: Emilia, happy birthday.]

Why? Why had she left him there? She’d been breaking, her Balance Levels shattering with every move she made.

She still should have stayed—should have made sure he was okay, that he knew she was safe. He hadn’t deserved to not know, even if he might have figured out what—who—had caused her genes to knot themselves into terrible, traumatic monstrosities.

He’d have asked around. He’d have realized she rarely left his room, and he rarely got any visitors. A shortlist of people for him to find, question, and blame. At the time, she hadn’t thought that person deserved blame for the trauma his words had caused. Now, she wished she’d set Olivier on him. She still could, technically, but she wouldn’t. Ten years was a long time, and Emilia didn’t want to be the sort of person who kept grudges for an entire fucking decade.

The Emilia of that moment, breaking and shattering, wouldn’t have stayed—wouldn’t have assigned blame to anyone but herself. She still should have stayed, just like whoever was singing had stayed—not that they’d had any choice in that. What a silly thought. If this person could leave, they would.

They couldn’t—none of them could leave. Not unless the Enclave let them—unlikely—or someone came to save them.