“Where is my daughter!? She…!”

A sweeping tsunami of snow burst outward from a middle-aged man bearing a wealth of scars, striking his hand against his weighty desk. Before the wintry Tide could reach his underling, it paused in the air, shivering.

The man’s fist trembled, and a singular tear dropped, melting into the snow below.

* The heartbreak of a father whose child didn’t return from her mission.

While Dante and Lucius fought on, a body arced through the air like a ragdoll, flung by the immense force of Astraeus’ fist cradled by the Lightsea. Eight feebly registered the world around him as he slammed into the side of a metal walkway, the impact rattling steel beams.

The young man held no snarky remark or derision for the steel that crunched his bones as he was only vaguely aware of his frame creaking under pressure. He was long past getting back up. His consciousness slipped into the darkness as he tumbled into the frigid water below.

The shock of the cold was like that of his knives, biting and brutal, slicing through the remnants of his awareness. Icy tendrils gripped him, dragging him down into the abyss with a relentless pull that he could not match. Motes of winter crawled up his flesh, altering his focus so the Lightsea wouldn’t heed his call.

Eight’s body screamed in pain, every nerve alight with agony as the freezing water seeped into the broken lacerations upon his back. Each droplet of the water must have contained the malice of a thousand needles stabbing into his flesh. His limbs twitched uncontrollably, the movement more mechanical than biological, as if some hidden machinery within him was malfunctioning.

Deeper, he sank, the light from above dimming from that of a star to mere moonlight as the water pressed in around him. From below, he could no longer see the battle above. His ears heard nothing but the rushing waves around him.

The ice was absolute. He learned that from someone. At least, he thought so.

Where... am I?

His vision blurred, the edges dimming to the depths of an ocean as he plunged further into dreamland, but something within him fought to stay awake. There was an odd rhythm to his pain. It was the strange consistency in the way his body registered with each pang that told him something was off, more than just his imminent drowning. Each chill felt as though he was more of a machine enduring damage than a man in torment.

Slowly, his eyes winked tight, open in a squint, the water rushing past them like shards of glass. His thoughts were sluggish and disjointed, his mind struggling to reboot from the sudden trauma. He tried to focus, to remember where he was and why he had fought with so much anguish, but the cold was making it impossible.

Despite all the inconsistencies in Eight’s mind, he still held one truth in his mind.

That thing... I’ve... seen... it before. Where?

Fear crawled up his spine, ancient and primal. It tore into his organs and tendons, wrestling those eyes of his open all the way, for his soul refused to dissolve.

An obsidian egg, cradled with flowing veins of blood, floated in the now still water before him, its ebony surface marred by the jagged cracks that pulsed with a life of their own. His heart—or whatever facsimile of one he had, as it felt too mechanical—stuttered in his chest.

Just as Eight wondered what he was, his mind shattered.

A torrent of memories, vivid and horrifying, slammed into him with the force of a tidal wave. No. It was far worse than that. The boy glimpsed reality itself, the hidden fabrics beneath.

The limitless and inexplicable crimson sent him head over heels in his own mind, losing control of his body and resigning himself to the blood.

Eight witnessed untold battlefields drenched in blood and countless wars stretching across the stars. He was in each drop of blood shed, beaten with wounds that should have killed him a hundred times over. He felt the pain of each cut, of each stab, of each bullet. The young man felt his body torn apart and remade, over and over again. However, it seemed time always passed onward with each death.

Within the memories, there was one static. An older man who fast grew elderly, his face blurred and impossible to be glimpsed by Eight. Beside the aging figure, however, for the twilight of his life, there was a bird perched upon his shoulder. It then grew into a great being, featherless yet leathery as it flew to guard the elder. The young man was incapable of anything but experiencing the bloodbath, unable to act.

And, as if it always belonged in the memory, there was the egg—cracked, wobbling atop a sea of corpses. The planet around the bleeding shell was left torn and upended, not a single city or village across the horizon. Only destruction.

As Eight watched, the cracks in the egg spread, growing more expansive with each passing second, to signal more of the same. It was as if he was there.

It was as if he had been there. As if he was the only one there. Alone.

The young man’s teeth bit into his lips beneath the water as his fists closed tightly, but it did nothing to stop the egg.

Once, twice, thrice, the shell split apart, and from within, a pale, unblemished arm reached out, clawing at the air as if trying to pull itself free. The sight overlaid with his current reality, and his heartbeat doubled beneath the pressure. Eight had practically come to terms with his ending in but a moment.

Ah fuck... I’m dead. That’s something way worse than an Juncture. I see why he left them alone at that bank, why the city was unscathed. All that mattered was his ‘Master’ woke up. They never wanted to summon more Dirge. Astraeus merely wanted to wake up the one already here.

Despite his thoughts, a moment later, the vision was gone, leaving him isolated in the bleak water, his lungs burning as they filled with icy liquid. His body convulsed as he began to drown, but some deep, instinctual part of him refused to give in. With a gasp, choking on the water while also not, he swam to the surface in a panic.

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The moment he broke the tension of the water, he gagged for air, but the cold water still filled his lungs, heavy and unforgiving. Still, relief filled him before he heard gunfire resound above.

The young man felt his connection to the Lightsea, and without waiting for an instant, he Dived, creating a mental map of the battleground in his mind.

I need to be up there. Those six will die in seconds without me if they haven’t already lost their edge. Fuck. Where is Claudius? No. He’s waiting for the countdown. I said I’d hold him for a minute. That’s about how long it’d take to get rid of the suspicion of backup.

In order to make Astraeus lower his guard, they had to convince him their fates were sealed. He had to believe he would kill them if only given time.

Eight internally cursed his own decision-making and lack of ability as he landed back atop the metal walkways, standing right behind his new nemesis. His entire body sprawled with pain. The bones of his body didn’t sit right. His own lungs refused to function properly. Everything inside him struggled to function from the single impact.

He didn’t know why he was here. He didn’t know how. Nevertheless, those memories he felt were his, and by all the Gods in the universe, he had wished they stayed sealed.

Dante ducked a strike he saw coming while Lucius reeled from getting hit, only to receive another backhand from Astraeus. Between their conflict, the Cryo drew attention in the only way he knew how. Insults.

Water sputtered from Eight’s mouth as his words nearly failed him, “Hey—snowman! Who’s your daddy downstairs? That’s why you’re here, right? Who is he? I bet he’ll—”

As Lucius bounced across the metal catwalk, halting only at Rejo’s feet, Astraeus’ attention returned solely to the only threat to his life. The ants made it difficult for him to kill the teen.

A wave of snow rose and then collapsed toward Eight with a crash.

The others were simply a pain, taking him time to deal with, but this Cryo was a genuine threat, not to him, but to his master beneath. They weren’t ready to be awakened yet, and an Anomaly as dangerous as Eight might injure the figure beneath. As such, he pulled out all the stops, seeing the boy survive one sure-kill strike.

While ignoring Dante beside him, Astraeus stomped toward the boy as Eight pushed himself to his feet. The human glanced back at Lucius, pulled to his feet by Rejo. Dante couldn’t help but worry whether Claudius was in position, yet an idea still came to his mind, only possible with Rejo’s truthfulness to the man. He had told Dante everything he knew about his ‘Mojo’ so far.

Dante pointed at his hand, shouting to Rejo, “Use it on Lucius!”

The Araki stared down at his palm, confused for a second before figuring out the message. He slapped the Martian with an intelligible wish of good luck, “G’d ‘uck!” Rejo then turned back toward the approaching Anarchy, shooting at it with all the bullets he had remaining.

Beside him, though, a petite girl found her courage while her world collapsed. It took great resolve, but she forced herself to move, and once she stood on her tip-toes and peeked around Rejo, she locked eyes with the ape-like Anarchy.

A streak of lightning passed between the two of them as she said something simple under her breath, “Step left.”

The creature did precisely as ordered, spiking horrendous pain into her skull while waters rushed through her mind. Rejo’s heart raced with alarm as the Anarchy casually stepped over the broken railing and plunged into the abyss below. The movement left him shocked, and his head shifting to Sonna in awe as she used her Stigmata for the first time.

Lucius cared little for those fighting behind him, knowing that the Anathema mattered most. It was only a matter of time until an Anachronism showed up and killed them all, anyway. One at that level would tip the scales irreparably.

After fate set its dial, he rushed to the Dirge, with Dante following shortly after. The Martian only glanced at his ally before stepping past him. The blade of a hatchet sunk into Astraeus’ back for the eighth time as Eight winked into space, reappearing between Dante and Lucius to save his own hide.

There, the teen’s lungs wheezed with the noise of unnatural pressure, and he warned the two beside him with a flutter of words that erupted, “A monster worse than this one is below in an egg. It’s an undetectable means of transportation, but it takes time and energy to awaken from after. And that one below... It will end this world. We need to evacuate. Now. But that is impossible. We need—”

Eight only made it halfway through his hurried explanation before Astraeus was upon them. Snow built at their feet, slowing their movements and nearly costing Eight his life as he plunged backward, spreading his arms like an angel while a spatial rift devoured the air atop his nose.

Of course, his back never touched the snow as he reappeared on the ceiling above Astraeus with a screaming howl, “Now! Dante!”

Alongside his command, Eight’s foot kicked the ceiling and propelled him away from the danger before he tumbled to the walkway. The human’s brows flipped into his forehead while the Anathema twisted backward, past experience teaching him not to ignore the human. But it was not Dante whom the call was meant for.

Just as danger befell Dante and Lucius, the ceiling collapsed from the empowered kick, and behind the rubble, a long spear of harnessed water pierced straight toward the Anathema’s throat. A lone palm reached to catch the tip, but the projectile impaled the flesh and caught itself inches from the abyssal eyes staring into the spear.

Then, the water reformed as Claudius kept up the heat, swinging the back of the spear at his opponent while a tendril crept toward Astraeus’ left foot. The Anathema pivoted his palms to do what he had done in their last battle, blast away all the water because it took time to conjure more, but an icy dagger sank into his back before he could.

Eight proved he was the most glaring threat, even through the ruptured innards.

In a fit of anger, Astraeus swung backward, hitting nothing but air as Lucius grappled the exposed limb. Then, as he applied all his strength, the Martian ripped the arm in his hands down. A figure of steam took advantage of the lowered arm.

Four long, thin blades pierced through Astraeus’ unguarded side, spewing snow-white ichor from the opened wound. Frigid air spilled outward as Astraeus’ head twitched down to stare at Qain. Driven by fear alone, the Harenlar leaped backward, leaving his weapons behind and forcing Lucius to face the counterattack.

Space warped, and fingers grasped right for the Martian to end his life, with hatred in the frosted air, “Die, mutt.”

A Judge and Anomaly dived to help, but they were too slow, too far to save him in time.

Yet the disaster within space met only a spinning revolver it obliterated into nothingness. Lucius inhaled fresh air, his shoulder clasped in Rejo’s hand.

Silence reigned for only a moment before Astraeus howled into the air, a thunderous sound coming from above, “Come, Sion! We will awaken Master, even if we shall die!”

Emotions split between combatants through their frenzied sclera, and they all agreed on one thing. They had to fight. Now.

Dante slinked backward while the others streamed ahead toward Astraeus before whatever was above arrived, and he held out a hand toward the Araki.

“Other hand. Split Lucius and me. I have a plan. Do it whenever you hear me clap,” Dante ordered plainly, trusting his fellow sailor to obey.

Rejo saw the seriousness in Dante’s eyes and nodded without complaint. The two shook hands before the human handed Rejo one of his revolvers, leaving the man weaponless after giving the other to Sonna previously. His stockpile of guns remained on the Starsinger, not carried off the ship.

None knew what he planned. None expected him to sway the battle’s results. Regardless, Dante continued.

The two friends shared a look, but Dante sprinted away before Rejo could reply. After a brief sigh, the Araki turned and continued shooting the coming Dirge. Bodies had piled up to the dozen while Joan panted beside Rejo, and Sonna bled from her eyes. The doctor held most of the catwalk with her Biotics, but the injuries were piling up.

Rejo knew they had little left in the tank, but he could only believe in Dante, even if the man wasn’t the true decider of victory. Rejo left that honor with the Judge and the asshole.

Those two were collapsing upon Astraeus with Lucius and Qain at their tails. Teleporting daggers of ice struck the Anathema repeatedly while whips of water stunned and beat him back, but their violence was still not enough to knock Astraeus’ control of his Domain.

For that, they needed something more, yet with much chagrin, they watched as a figure dropped from above toward them. In response to the new arrival, a command resounded throughout the basin, “Lucius!” Dante could only believe in Rejo’s Stigmata despite his few hours of possessing it.

Dante delved deep into himself as he moved. The darkness of his mind hovered on Claudius’ waving waters and powerful movements. While Lucius body-slammed the bulky Anachronism that fell from above, away from Astraeus, Dante hopped off the walkway.

He reached his arm out and pulled. Not with his body, but with his mind, as he refused to let something as small as this get the better of him.

Dante’s father had told his sons that they were capable of anything they set their sights on together. It was one of the few positive things he had ever said. Now that his brother was gone, Dante carried the burden alone.

He swore another oath as his mind crackled with static. Dante would not let him down. Judas, the young boy with endless joy, stood as the sole pillar of strength as Dante’s world fell apart.

A mocking voice resounded from the void in the room, only to the insides of Dante’s skull, “Don’t be an idiot! You can’t do it!” Judas didn’t believe in him. Dante didn’t have much faith in himself, either.

Nevertheless, Dante used Judas as an impetus, pushing through whatever film was blocking him from before out of pure spite. The resentment fueled him like nothing else. It was clear he had to deal with this hulking creature here and now if Claudius was ever going to get his chance.

Eight’s teleportation would suffer with such a gigantic monster blocking the walkways. Furthermore, the second target would overwhelm Lucius with ease. Such reason pushed him further, alongside the memories and hopes of the future.

A wet sensation inundated Dante’s insides, and a terrible pain burst through his skull. It trenched itself deep, beyond the consciousness, and burnt his memories. A flicker of his brother’s smile overlapped with the evil in his mind as he felt his teeth creak.

Then finally, something budged.

A thin strand of water, swelling in thickness, stretched from Dante’s arm and wrapped around the stumbling Anachronism’s neck. Sion, as it was called, brought its meaty arms up to rip away the water, but Dante had already reached the limit of his summoned Tide. It felt like a rope in his hands, malleable, adaptable, and, most importantly, taut.

His weight yanked Sion to the side, where Lucius saw the moment and took it, kicking the Anachronism in its knee. The monster budged a few inches from the force alone, but with the damage to the railing and the entire weight of Dante’s fall onto it, the creature fell again, just as quickly as it arrived, into the water below.

There, it sank into the freezing waters with a rumbling shriek, accompanying Dante in the frigid depths.