Mae could not win against a Clockwork Prophet. The Sect of Gears were never known for their strength outside of the Clockwork Spindleworm. Indeed, the Clockwork Prophet was not as powerful as the aforementioned monstrosity and barely compared to its equals in the other Impuritas Group.

But where it lacked in strength, they made up for it in overwhelming combat prowess. There were no wasted movements. Everything down to the movement of Mae’s individual strands of hair were pre-calculated prior to the Clockwork Prophet’s arrival.

Any additional deviations were calculated instantaneously through the churning of his Gears.

“Teleportation. It did not occur to us that a Seed could grant a power eerily similar to the Warp Ability of an Angel.” He conversed with the air as Mae was continuously skewered in the exact same spot no matter how many times she teleported. “Seeds are the first gateway to absolute power. But they do come with adverse effects, as do the Apples that fall from the same tree of light.”

Satiation, sustenance, human-like mortality – these were considered drawbacks of the Seed when consumed by an Impuritas, whereas those with human-like compositions forfeited it. Maestros, despite how they appeared, did not contain the same organs as humans.

This was why Mae was so distraught when she felt her innards churn.

“Cease your futile struggle. The Brightest Star will forgive you, no matter what you claim. It has already been set into motion.”

“He… Betrayed us! The brightest Star… BETRAYED US!” Mae countered, coughing blood as she clasped onto the lance that impaled her high into the air. “He’s planning… to BETRAY THE MAESTROS! US! WHY UUUUUUS!?”

Deiman could only watch in horror as her blood trickled down onto his face. Mae violently thrashed, fighting the pain with clenched teeth as she tried to reason with the Clockwork Prophet – to tell her side of the story.

But she received an answer that caused her hands to lose their grip.

“So it would seem.” He spoke like it had always been known. “The Maestros of Flesh are not like us. Far from the compositions that make us connected to our Hearts.”

“What… do you mean!? Not like you…? We… We lost a city because of the Amalgam! We had to hold onto the Big Red Heart! How many of us did you send to fight for the Piece of the Fallen Star!? How can you say that we’re different!?”

“The Hearts. Maestros of Flesh have no true collective Heart of their own. They’re seekers of other hearts. The proof was your sole defiance in the face of the Brightest Star. Not so different from the Artists, or the Artisans who came before.”

Of all the Impuritas Groups, the Maestros of Flesh strangely did not possess a Heart like the other Impuritas. Instead, the beings that gave birth to the Maestros of Flesh were bouncing balls of desires called by the same name – Hearts, which infected people and transformed them into beings like the Maestros of Flesh; Impuritas, but without a Heart.

Sometimes, those Hearts could give birth to a being.

Mae came from one such tiny, red Heart.

“Seekers of hearts of others. That is who you once were. Now that you have a heart of your own, you should rejoice that the Brightest Star seeks to guide you back into our ranks. You can aspire to become a Star, unlike the false light that are the Aspiring Stars and the Maestros.”

He drew Mae close. She struggled to meet the blue light within his Geared head.

“Do you not wish to be granted an Apple?”

“… after… what it’s done to me… what makes you think… I’ll trust you and abandon the Maestros…”

“Then, I’ll speak more clearly. Do you want to become a Star?”

A Star was ultimately what the Maestros of Flesh aspired to become. But it was different from what the other Impuritas Groups had in mind. A Star for them, was someone like the Green Composer.

Someone that was in the spotlight seen by many.

Something that could simply be seen or heard.

And they did this through torturing the flesh to create music. They sought to gain unimaginable acknowledgement through their Instruments, for they needed to embed themselves into the hearts of others, for they had no Hearts of their own.

Mae would have fallen for the pitfall if she had not experienced the agony of mortality.

She recalled Ara’s words.

Music comes from the soul. The latter is just violence. You’re not tapping into anyone’s hearts.

Mae had no answer for him.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The music of a Maestro of Flesh had no effect on something that had no flesh to begin with.

So she asked him with weary eyes:

“First it’ll be us… then it’ll be another, and another… until you’re the one he’ll betray…”

“Chance? Zero percent.”

The Gears spat out red steam as it processed left over biomass. It also gushed from the lance, cauterizing her wound with its immense heat.

“Prediction correction? One hundred percent. The Astrolabe have already reserved our positions in the skies. Come forth the 10th Act to see its fruition. The finale of this 8th will see us with the key needed to unlock the possibility in the 9th.”

He flung Mae down beside Deiman. She had no strength left to fight off the pain. Deiman stared at her, unflinching in the shadow of the Clockwork Prophet.

“It will be of no loss to us, you whose purpose is lost. Every Gear turns with purpose. Every strike of your cords should do the same, but instead, you argue and bicker pitifully over what is right, what sounds better… how pitiful.”

He then focused on Deiman.

“Free will is a mistake amended only by purpose. Shell. Broken thorn. A withering flower. The Broken Thorn are interested in you.”

“The Broken Thorn?”

“There is not one sole broken thorn, but many make up the Broken Thorn. Imperfections and those cast out from gardens. Snipped from flowers.”

His body rattled with a heavy clank before he folded into himself, like a black hole was slowly devouring him from the inside out.

“I’m an imperfection?”

“Contrary, young man.”

He further collapsed into himself until all that remained was his head.

“You are an imperfect vessel, but certainly workable as a vessel. A tragedy, that the White Wing could not see eye to eye with the Red Wing. Even more tragic that the Amalgam could not be contained. Otherwise…”

His head disappeared, leaving behind his last whisper.

“… every broken thorn would have a rose of their own.”

He did not know why it left him alone, nor why it disappeared. Deiman felt like he had heard those words before but did not know from where.

The White Wing was a familiar name too.

Suddenly, a flash of white blinded him. The sound of breaking glass and ticking overwhelmed his mind as he collapsed by Mae’s side, panting like an exhausted dog.

“The White Wing…?”

Another term entered his mind.

“Midas Company…?”

And another.

“Luminal Synchrony.”

Pieces of his memories jabbed at him, but the ticking refused to allow it to invade his mind. He felt the warm light again but did not know what to do or how to ask it to ease the pain.

“Why is it that you want to remember?”

The voice asked.

“… I want to know who I am…”

Footsteps approached them. He ignored them, assuming they belonged to Autumn. That was until he realized they were far too heavy to be hers. They cracked stones and left soft imprints into the cave floor.

Slowly, he cocked his head towards the source.

“R… un… Deiman… plea… se… run…”

His heart dropped.

The moment the light had entered his chest, and the moment the ticking had become so profound that he could not hear his own heartbeat was when he felt the dull ache of despair impale his chest.

“There he is. Deiman, the Demi-Human. That’s the thing you wanted to protect?”

The man from earlier held a severely broken Autumn by the hair, dragging her up till her feet could no longer touch the ground. All four limbs were broken, and she hung there like an unstrung puppet.

“A Shell has nothing to draw from. But there is a light that desperately wants to make it so.”

“Shouldn’t he be the one trying to protect you? Demi-Human. This is the result of your cowardice. Go on.”

He then hurled Autumn in front of his feet.

“R… run… Leave me… go…”

And she still tried to protect him.

Deiman did not know where her face began, and where the wounds ended. He had seen the same sight countless times, so why was it different here? Was it the voice? The warmth? The sound of birds or the ticking?

He did not know.

All he knew was that he could not bear to see Autumn like this.

And neither could he possible challenge that man with the way he currently was.

With his memories suddenly returning in small snippets, and the noises within his head skewing his sense of reality –

– He was unable to avoid a strike to the face by the man.

“You can listen to my voice, Deiman. I can exalt the gnosis of your spark of Light.”

“A bird fights its way out of the Shell.”

“The Shell is the world.”

“Who would be born must first destroy a world.”

“Destroy the Shell, so that you can be anew.”

The man’s hand was repulsed by an invisible force, throwing him meters backwards.

“A barrier!? No… what was that?”

Deiman stood eerily still in contemplation, his eyes vacant as though he was staring at otherworldly spirits.

Another voice called out to him moments before he gave into the ticking call.

“Do you want to fight your way out of the Shell?”

It was a kinder voice. The chirps of morning birds accompanied it as the warmth in his heart enveloped the shadow of doubt cast by the ticking. It didn’t ask him why, or how.

It only asked if he wanted to.

“I want to save them… Autumn… was the only human after Frost to take care of me. I want to understand what I’m feeling right now!”

Deiman had entered a state where his desire to rescue Autumn had exceeded his wish to understand himself. The desire was like a blade that pierced his Shell as he felt something begin to fill his empty heart.

Unlike the ticking he had always heard, which suppressed his emotions and memories –

“Then I shall make it so.”

– This warmth enabled them to exist.

A pair of tiny wings appeared on his back. They were not larger than his hands. One was black and dripped with darkness, whereas the other was made of light. A mask appeared over his face, one half black and the other white as both voices then called out to him simultaneously.

“Take my hand and I shall show you the way.”

One representing shadows…

“Hold onto to mine, and we will find the way truest to you.”

And the other of the light.