Chapter 52 - Nexus

CRACK

Ambrose yanked his cane free, leaving jagged gashes in the lustrous metal shards orbiting the light. The entity's makeshift body collapsed, its components tumbling into a heap on the ground.

"Great one, fledgling. Your support was well-orchestrated. Almost as if we engaged in a harmonious duet, wouldn't you agree?"

Just a performance, huh?

Vern still had his hand outstretched, the words synthesized by the entity running laps in his mind. Had they attacked someone innocent? But weren't all its abilities eerily similar to the happenings upstairs?

Cera strode towards him, ignoring that entity's crumbling form, "What were you doing, Vern?" she demanded. "That could've been extremely dangerous! You provoke it and then stand right in its way? Were you asking to be steamrolled?"

Umm.

That was true to an extent. But he wondered what flipped her switch. He hadn't seen her lashing out like this. Even if it was in good faith.

Yet, before Vern could formulate a response for either one of them, Ambrose continued with an even more cheerful voice, "Ah, my apologies. It was wrong of me to call this performance a duet. It was nothing less than a trio. You understood my intentions so quickly. If you weren't already a member of Von Industries, I'd have been happy to recommend you to the vigil."

Cera stopped in her tracks and raised her eyebrows before replying, "Thanks for the compliment. But—"

She paused, looked at Vern, and then back at Ambrose before her tone intensified, "But I don't like the way you're handling this situation. This is not a performance! We're not on a stage!"

Her words took an edge by the second and became sharper, "We're operating in the dark here. What do we even know about this orb? That it tried to contain us? It didn't even bother trapping me when it realized I wasn't fleeing. What does that tell us? Are we the aggressors here?"

Then she turned towards Vern, "And this goes for both of you. You forced my hand by pissing it off to such a degree. Did you really have to run in this direction and make it worse? It didn't even try to defend itself when it passed me—and I shot it. All because you were so eager to fight it."

Ambrose seemed stunned for a second before he replied, "I... I wasn't sure. It tried to entrap us and manipulated the surroundings—" but then he suddenly stopped.

The flickering sphere now only had those severely damaged chunks of metal as its moons, but that's where the deterioration stopped, and it began to stabilize itself. Soon, it even began to drift as if pulled by an invisible force. A force that multiplied by the second.

In a blink, it was hurling towards Vern. Not even thinking twice, he dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the streak of light that shot past him.

"See. Its danger exceeds your estimations," Vern felt another gust of wind as Ambrose bolted past him, his words lingering in the air, "Let's finish this, my fellow dancers. We can't not conclude our beautiful performance now, can we?"

Gone was the hint of doubt that had crept up in his voice.

"No. Wait—" she yelled after him…"Is he, maybe, not right in his head?" Cera asked, more than a little annoyed.

Vern clicked his tongue and remained silent.

"We'll discuss the recklessness of all this later," Cera sighed, her gaze now focused on the entity's remnants. "For now, let's just ensure we live long enough for that discussion to take place, and Ambrose doesn't take beef with something out of our capacity."

Cera had a point, too. The same point he had realized when he tried to conversate with it. Maybe a little too late.

It was frustrating to be forced into suboptimal decisions.

.

.

.

He moved in tow with Cera, following in Ambrose's footsteps.

The corridor they were trailing soon became wider as more paths converged into this one area. Tens of larger-than-life pipes complimented by complex machinery peeked through in the darkness lit only by his lamp.

These were the real deal. The Steamscript pipes could handle sound waves from many channels and transmit them unbothered by the surrounding noise. All kinds of machinery came together here from different paths, making it obvious where they were headed.

It was the nexus of the Steamscript relay station.

Soon, the corridor tapered off into a large hall, and in the middle of it was a room. It was enclosed with great care, and multiple soundproofing solutions were implemented for tubing, piping, and entrances.

It only made sense. Any kind of noise pollution could be detrimental to the proper encoding of the messages.

Unexpectedly, Ambrose was standing at the door of the room, looking focused. When they got close, he glanced back and said with a subtle smile, his hand stopping them from entering the room, "Please let me lead the concluding act. I want to try something special."

Peering cautiously into the room, Vern took in the peculiar setting—rows of tables topped with exquisite typewriters, each connected by a massive pipe that ran the length of the room. And at the end of the hall was a congregation of pipes that shot towards the ceiling, ending up in four paths.

Yet, what caught his eye was the flickering light to his left—now transformed. No longer orbiting freely, the light's metallic facets had coalesced into a sort of shield. It obscured their view of a chair positioned before one of the typewriters.

What, or who, was it shielding?

Though Vern guessed it wouldn't last for long because it looked like Ambrose was just waiting for both of them to catch up before he took matters into his own hands. Casting a final warning glance at Cera, he stepped into the room.

TAP

TAP

TAP

Tapping his cane on the floor with every step, he moseyed with a gentle gait. He seemed to become lithe, avoiding all the obstacles in the room with finesse. He circled around the shield with all these odd movements instead of heading toward it directly.

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But it reacted accordingly. The metal sheets expanded spherically, barricading whatever was behind it from both Ambrose and Vern.

TAP

TAP

As he spiraled closer to the shielded area, a subtle grin broke on his face, while the metallic sheets had now turned into a whole sphere, dim light shining out from its crevices.

"He's infuriating," she muttered under her breath, "He's playing with that thing like it's some kind of stage prop. Is this what Observers do? He first forced me to shoot the entity, and now this…?"

Frustration oozed out of her every word, and she moved forward, ready to barge into the room.

Vern understood her perspective, but what she was doing wouldn't fly. So he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook his head, "We are no match for him, Cera."

"But don't you see this? What is the point of this? Does he really need to disrespect a fallen foe like that? Just what is he playing at right now?"

"I see it, too. But now's not the time. We're not his match. Also, keep in mind that we might have ended up doing the same thing one way or the other. This entity or whatever it's protecting has got to be the source of the anomaly of the station."

"It's just—I don't know. When he swooped in, I thought he was different. He looked and acted like a proper gentleman. One skirmish, and there he is, showing off how he enjoys perverse pleasures," Cera said, clutching at the door frame in resignation as she watched the ongoing 'performance.'

One gentle move after another, Ambrose tapped his cane on the ground, and it was as if the air itself in the room was buzzing with uncharacteristic intensity.

But the effect on the shield was quite evident. The sheets—stretched thin into a sphere were wobbling after every strike to the floor as their cohesion worsened. It was about to come to an end.

TAP

TAP

Ambrose glided in a graceful circle, each step melding into the next as he inched closer. He seemed to be humming a tune to himself, wholly lost in a world of his own.

TAP

TAP

The shivering of metal plates grew worse by the second, and more cracks appeared on them—the distance between their crevices growing wider.

TAP

TAP

By the time Ambrose reached within the arm's length of the shield, the plates had lost all their luster while the light shining from within flickered dangerously low.

Vern suppressed his urges and held himself back from doing what Cera was going to do just a few seconds ago. He knew it would be a rash decision. Even if a little cruel in hindsight, Ambrose wasn't wrong. This was about survival, and it would be delusional optimism on Vern's end to want to change their plans for the sake of being nice to mechanical entities.

And that was assuming he could actually stop Ambrose. Vern wouldn't bet even a single crown on his odds of besting him.

After a brief pause, Ambrose lightly tapped his cane against the metallic shell.

TAP

And then, as if the whole shield was made of glass, it shattered.

Piece by piece, they clattered to the floor, unveiling the once radiant light that now dimmed rapidly. The true form emerged—a simple glass bead exposed in its dullness.

A bead that didn't stop its erratic movements and gravitated towards what seemed like an exquisite headpiece adorned with many a cogs and gears—slotting itself in its front.

It was a headpiece.

Worn by a person.

Rose locks were interspersed through the sections of the headpiece, which fell beyond the bounds of the table, rustled by the metallic chunks that fell all around the person.

Vern’s mind quickly shifted gears as he took in the sight. His breath turned rapid, unable to take his eyes away from the sight. He didn't know if it was because of her beauty or the intricate machinery on display.

It was a woman with striking rose hair slumped on the chair. Her head rested on the typewriter while her hand still clutched the pipe that ran across the tables.

Not heeding Ambrose's warnings anymore, Vern reflexively started walking towards her, drawn by the fascinating craftsmanship of her armor and gear. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before, an intricate blend of functionality and artistry that teetered on the line between mechanical innovation and mystic ritualism.

Her torso and arms were encased in multi-faceted, angular panels that suggested an exotic aesthetic. Each piece was inlaid with elaborate etchings and geometric designs, shining faintly, responding to all light that shone on it.

But that was merely the prelude. Jutting out from the back of her armor was a shaft intricately crafted to blend with the rest of the ensemble. From it unfurled a pair of mechanized wings, a captivating blend of machinery and natural elegance.

Yet, these weren't just any wings—they mimicked the delicate design of butterfly wings yet were structured with a lattice of metallic veins and gears, adding a sense of power and grandeur to their ethereal beauty. They were studded with micro-cogs and miniature pistons, each one a tiny masterpiece of engineering.

But something was wrong with them. They seemed…damaged, for the lack of a better word. He wasn't savvy enough to find flaws in such a masterful work, but some of that chipping and breaking couldn't be designed. It had to be actual damage.

But he quickly lost himself again. Just what kind of Mechanical art could achieve this?

Did the wings actually work? As in, would she be able to fly in the air with them? His common sense said no, but the sheer ingenuity of the engineering at display made him doubt his understanding of Fundamentals.

"AHH!"

Vern’s fascinated ramblings came to an end as Ambrose suddenly lost his footing, clutched at his eyes, and screamed out of nowhere. Yet, before Vern could react, a fervent sense of drowsiness overwhelmed him, and everything went dark.

"FUCK!"

But in what felt like the next instant, he let out a curse and rested against the wall as a feeling of being drained washed over him. Yet, the pain was gone as soon as it had arrived.

When he looked up, he noticed that Cera was rushing towards him, and Ambrose was holding his head—looking at both of them with perplexity in his eyes.

"Did you also feel like—?" However, Ambrose suddenly stopped midsentence and closed his eyes, which were scrunched up. But Vern had to ignore him. For something far more bizarre was going on with Cera.

She had been running towards him when she abruptly stopped. Her eyes drooped, and she swayed side to side. Another second and the hobble led her towards the woman on the chair instead. Vern rushed towards her, hoping to shake her out of it.

"Something's wrong with her rhythm! There's another…another rhythm around her. It was around you, too. It’s gone now. But it was there."

A sinking feeling appeared in Vern's mind. But even if he wasn't sure what Ambrose meant or where that feeling came from, he knew it was nothing good. So he grabbed Cera's arm and pulled her back before shaking her vigorously, "Cera. Get a hold of yourself! Cera! Cera!"

"AHHH!!"

Then, out of nowhere, she screamed and lost all strength, falling on him. Holding her upright, he looked around for any more changes.

Was something going to jump out of the corner and annihilate them? Were the women suddenly going to get up and ambush them? What was going on? First Ambrose, then him, and now Cera.

All three of them experienced something bizarre. But he couldn't put his finger on it.

What was the cause? The purpose? Was it the woman? All three of them had this episode because they looked at that woman?

"Vern, what—what happened to me just now?"

He decided to give it to her straight, "You began walking towards the woman with a lifeless gaze. It was as if you weren't in control."

"I—I wasn't?"

Ambrose hurried towards them, his eyes still closed, "It's gone. It's as if it was never there. I…I only feel like this when I pray to the goddess during a ritual."

What was that supposed to signify about the gravity of their situation?

Vern let Cera go, and his mind began to whirl. Something had gone very wrong, and the trigger was this woman. Turning around, he walked towards her and crouched next to her table.

The glass bead, now studded in her headpiece, had screamed at them to leave her alone. And its shield form just now seemed to act more like a visual barrier than a protective one. Also, the order in which they lost control was quite peculiar.

He was done waiting for Ambrose to play his games. Something deeply unsettling had just graced their mind, and he had to figure it out before its repercussions reared their ugly head.

So he started with some preliminary questions, "Ambrose, can you describe the feeling to me? Also, what was the pattern of change in the rhythm—"

"Pl..e.a…s... Le…ve."

That’s when he heard it—a faint murmuring and his head jerked to the women. She just said something, and it was too low for him to hear it clearly.

Ambrose and Cera also turned silent, glancing at her with an apprehensive gaze.

Vern threw caution to the wind and leaned closer, putting his ear right next to her lips. She seemed seriously injured from the looks of it anyway, so there was little chance she could hurt him.

After all, the magnificent armor had more cracks running down its torso than a fractured piece of porcelain.

"esc…ap…e"

"he's... aw…are!"

"it's ov…er"