Peering over the roof's safety railing, I notice that the four coaches parked at the Grand Boulevard have begun rocking about with ferocious energy. Its almost as if there is a sex orgy going on in each of the coaches. A loud banging noise comes from each of the coaches coupled with the occasional muffled animalistic scream.

I raise an eyebrow and confront the nudist in front of me again, "I hope you don't plan on unleashing your freak show. The last I checked, those cut-rate duplicates of the precursors were all deformed and crippled."

Naiberg smiles, "Wonderful! So you know what the Perfecta are. Then I can go straight into why your presence is required."

He continues, "By forcing a union between the souls of each of the separate three species, it results in the destruction of the original three components and a new, pure soul is birthed within the Perfecta. Michael claims this is the soul of our ancestors. I have no idea whether or not that's true, but whatever the case, the newly born soul is an extraordinarily powerful one."

That's true. I recall the spirit cores of the freaks I saw at the hospital. Their spirit cores were exceptionally clean, exerting almost zero pressure.

"A crucible." I guess, "That's what the Perfecta are. By combining the three souls together you trigger a reaction where all the impurities within the separate souls are purged, leaving behind the newly born pure soul."

Naiberg affirms my guess with his trademark smirk, "Not bad. You might have had a future as my assistant. Anyway, the problem afflicting the Perfecta is that as the soul begins to purify, the body degrades. The Perfecta is forced to assume a wholly nonviable physical form comprising of the base traits of the three races. Many of the early Perfecta died in this way, as their bodies collapsed from the strain the transformation subjected them to."

A light bulb goes off in my head and I remark, "That's why you sedate the Perfecta. As long as they are not conscious, the transformation is slowed." No wonder nobody at the hospital gave a shit about the freaks. All of them were effectively dead men walking. Or sleeping. However you want to look at it. The place was no different from death row.

"Michael and I hoped to find a cure for the Perfecta." Naiberg rambles on, "They need to be complete in both body and soul before they can be deployed for their intended purpose."

"Couldn't your Perfecta just reinforce their bodies with magic in order to survive?" I quiz, "With the strength of their cores, it shouldn't be impossible. Then you can surgically remove the extra, uh, parts."

Instead of answering, Naiberg turns back to looking over the roof at the Grand Boulevard below. Taking his hint, I shut my mouth and turn my attention back to the four coaches rocking frantically about. One of the coaches abruptly blazes with pure spirit energy and a giant distorted limb punches its way out of the coach's roof. Like a cocoon, the coach tears open revealing a pulsing mass of flesh, bearing itself up using a twisted forest of arms and legs. Innumerable heads from multiple different people hang off the mass of flesh, snapping and cursing at each other while their dead eyes scan the area. Animal body parts are sprinkled haphazardly across the misshapen form, with claws, horns, fur and beaks jostling for space.

A pair of giant angel's wings unfurl from the monstrosity's back and flap powerfully, radiating a broken halo. But before the beast can achieve flight, one of the wings snaps off with a spray of blood, causing the monster to unceremoniously belly flop out of its metal womb and it squirms about in the dirt snarling.

The beast's core blazes in response and as the broken wing quickly regenerates. But I realize that even as the beast is thrashing about, its living on borrowed time. The beast's core, while impressively strong, is funneling most of its energy in keeping its body from falling apart. Small cuts and tears appear across the monster's body every time it moves. These minor injuries are healed almost instantaneously, but cause the monster's core to dim ever so slightly. Its as if the beast is at war with itself.

The fire that burns twice as bright only lasts half as long. Its only a matter of time before the monster's core is exhausted and its body breaks apart completely. So that's why surgeries were not the solution. A Perfecta's body is always on the verge of failure.

The beast turns, slavering, at the remaining three coaches, and its twisted limbs extend outwards, tearing away at the other metal cocoons. From the coaches, the beast pulls out three massive writhing pupae which it splits open with the assortment of horns and claws on its body. A combination of sludge and flesh spill out of the broken pupae and the multifarious heads of the monster dig into the disgusting slurry, downing it with relish.

As the beast devours its meal, it also absorbs the spirit cores of its former comrades, topping up its own fading nimbus in the process. Sin eating. The Perfecta were born through this process, and they are trying to survive by going back to the tried and true. That was probably how the beast was created in the first place. The freaks were revived, locked in the coach and allowed to go at each other. In order to survive, they resorted to cannibalism, giving birth to that monstrosity.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Its not going to work." I comment to Naiberg, "Your monster's body is just going to fail again after the fresh spirit energy is exhausted."

Naiberg turns back to me as the beast's body begins to expand from eating all that disgusting meat. New faces and limbs begin to form across the beast's bulk, adding to the horror of the entire scene. Does each set of face and limbs represent a soul that had been eaten? Not that it really matters. Looking at the tourists and locals of the district fleeing for their lives, I doubt anyone is really interested in the answer.

The nudist's breathing begins to quicken as he says, "Power. The Perfecta need a power source that can support their body indefinitely. I saw your fight against Master Chance, the amount of damage your body could receive. You could restore my Perfecta to balance. You could become perfect with them."

I unconsciously take several steps backwards, trying not to look at Naiberg's trembling, erect penis. I shake my head and dismiss his insane offer, "No, absolutely not. Anyway, didn't you see me bleeding everywhere during the fight with Chance? Your idea wouldn't work anyway."

Naiberg smiles and scratches his belly, "That's because you are not in balance either Mr Gallant. I can sense the weakness of your soul, juxtaposed with the massive stain on it from the power you wield. Or is that even your soul in the first place?"

I narrow my eyes dangerously, "What are you talking about?"

Naiberg grins, a lunatic expression, "Come off it. Since when has sin eating been part of our cultural heritage? You're not from around here aren't you? I'm betting that the person I've been speaking to is not even Mr Gallant in the first place."

I grimace at this taunt but stay silent. Naiberg takes this as his opportunity to keep selling his dubious offer to me, "Come now. Wouldn't my Perfecta be a far better host than the one you are currently inhabiting? Don't tell me you're not tempted."

I let my disgust show on my face and snap, "No. Stop talking. Now."

Naiberg claps his hands delightedly, "Well then, it looks like the experiment will have to proceed. You see Outsider, the goddess has decreed that the Perfecta are to be born, no matter what. You, the Tyrant's representative, resist bringing about the goddess's decree into reality. We have a clash of interests here."

"I want to know whether the goddess's decree is truly absolute. If it is, your resistance here means nothing and I am absolved of responsibility for all my deeds." Naiberg pauses for a moment, his voice heavy, "If not, well, we will just have to see."

I comment, "You want to test whether your deeds were determined by the route you were set on or whether or not you are just a crazy nut."

"How boorish," the nudist scoffs, "but yes, that is the aim of this experiment. I have brought about this conflict so that the wills of both the goddess and the Tyrant will directly clash. There is no clever subversion here. It only ends with the unequivocal defeat of one party, you or the Perfecta."

Naiberg's gut begins to quiver like a mound of jelly as his spirit core surges. A wet sucking sound comes from the nudist's body and his belly fat begins churning about hypnotically. I see a small piece of Naiberg's core break off and settle between the mounds of fat being stirred about. The core fragment draws the fat towards it and Naiberg's belly bloats in an obscene mockery of pregnancy. Naiberg's face is red as he huffs and puffs, sweating from the exertion of whatever in the world he is doing.

Naiberg arches backwards, letting out a groan as if he was in the middle of taking a really big shit. His belly vibrates, as if there is something pushing hard against it from the inside. As Naiberg's groaning reaches a crescendo, a third arm emerges from the churning vortex of fat, blazing with spiritual energy.

The arm has been crudely formed, with molten flesh still dripping off, beckons at me in hideous mockery. I am also sure from the size of the new third arm that it originally belonged to a woman. Naiberg's core fragment has been completely consumed by the process of creating this deranged appendage. No. Its more like this arm was unpacked from the core fragment that Naiberg had broken away.

"A gift from me to you, Outsider." Naiberg moans in the most skin crawling fashion possible, "To send you on your way."

The barrier that had been keeping the two of us apart abruptly vanishes and the arm shoots forward towards me, extending like a rubber band being pulled. Taken by surprise by this sudden turn of events, I am left standing completely stunned as slender, half formed fingers brush across my chest. I grab at the arm to fend it off but its already too late.

A rush of spiritual energy impacts against me, attempting to invade my core. It feels as if an oil slick had been spilled on to my core, with the greasy filth spreading everywhere, trying to suffocate me. While I struggle against this sensation, Naiberg's third arm dissolves into a formless mass in my hands, globules of fat running through my fingers, the spirit energy animating it gone.

I immediately blaze the core to fight off the invasion of the foreign spiritual energy. The warmth in my chest builds the metaphorical oil slick in my soul promptly catches fire. As the pollutants burn away, I brush my hands clean off the muck draw the baton from my coat.

"Nice try. That how you fed your wife to your daughter?" I ask.

Naiberg clicks his tongue, "The souls I absorb become a part of me you know. Even after I gift the spirit fragment to someone else. I was hoping to collect data on you this way, but you are so terribly uncooperative."

"So that means your daughter and Tensei..." I begin to ask, but the nudist cuts me off.

"Yes. I never realized my daughter could be so unrestrained. She took that from her mother." Naiberg says with a leer, his member trembling at the memory.

Gross. Time to end this.

I rush forward before Naiberg can redeploy his barrier and slam the baton with all my strength into his head. I feel the skull crack and Naiberg wobbles for a moment before grabbing my arm with one of his hands.

Naiberg's fractured skull rapidly regenerates as a piece of his spirit core breaks off and dissipates. The nudist's leer grows even wider as he regards me.

"Didn't I say its pointless?" Naiberg taunts, "I have an army at my back after all."

His entire body ripples and hands, more than I can count, burst from the folds of his skin and grapple me. Naiberg's core erupts and the clawing hands lift me clean over his head in a military press before I can even react.

And I am sent flying off the roof, towards the carnage below.