Boundless Nails sat in her starship, sighing as she removed her gloves. Blackened nails sat at the end of each of her four arms, and they oozed death. Droplets of ichor fell to the steel floor beneath her, hissing with acid.
The dozens of Stigmata she had embedded into her body coalesced here at her fingers. She stretched the ligaments as she gazed at her own flesh with a pair of longing eyes.
“Maybe… with these MDs I can become beautiful again.”
* Boundless Nails on her way home after meeting Oswen.
Years flashed between the eyes of both men in seconds. Dante only tuned in after the first five passed, leaving him stunned as they sped onward. Such a sigh was impossible. Yet both saw it nonetheless.
Unable to grasp the strange reality that unfolded, Dante stood beside Eight inside the void between dimensions. If he were beside anyone else, the razors of space would have already torn him apart.
However, unlike the rest of the universe, the void cradled the young man and all those around him.
Each winding moment felt like an eternity compressed yet also instant. Memories flashed by in a current as the ticking of a clock began. Dante couldn’t comprehend it entirely, but every moment, every flicker of the images before him, told a story that felt both foreign and chillingly real.
Next to him, Eight’s face was rigid after his screaming, his eyes wide as the scenes played out. There, in a sterile petri dish, lay seven identical infants, their fragile bodies pulsing with an unnatural glow, trapped within transparent walls and watched by unseen eyes. A single, smiling old man watched from beyond the walls. On his chest sat a nametag that held two letters.
P. P.
Those two letters sank into Dante’s mind and burnt itself into Eight’s madness. As if to mock the younger one, time lurched forward faster than Dante or Eight could track.
The newborns grew, so someone removed them from the petri dish before placing them in a smoky room. Masked doctors carried them into the wheezing haze with the sound of dense machinery. Shadows cloaked the space of the toiling scalpels. Still, Dante could only glimpse metal arms, strange apparatuses that held each child, wiring them with needles and tubes. Eight, however, felt his heart crack and distort, unfelt agony returning.
The muffled cries of the seven rang through the smoke. They screamed and howled without words. Yet, no one came to save them. There was no mother, no calming voice, and no tall figure to scare away the shadows.
There were only the masks and the clocks.
Time whirled onward, and then came the lessons—lessons in violence. The children grew, their bodies scarred and bruised, eyes glinting with a hardened gleam far beyond their years. Beneath their flesh hid steel, empowering their every movement and elevating their brutality toward each other.
In every flash of memory, they moved with a fiend’s touch, fists connecting, limbs twisting, pain their constant companion. There were no teachers visible, no mentors offering guidance, only the relentless rhythm of the monotone voice to deliver commands shadowed by the pulsing clocks. Commands of blood. They were taught to fight, to kill, and above all, to survive. But as they battled, something was unsettlingly absent from Dante’s gaze.
There was no sign of Eight among them. Seven figures, identical to him, lived out these lessons, hardened by years of combat and discipline. Yet, he was nowhere to be found amidst them.
Dante’s gaze flickered to Eight, whose face was unreadable, his eyes locked onto the scenes yet contorting with unspoken pain. They both knew this was real—or had been real. Whatever place or time this was, it had left its mark on Eight’s existence, even if he had not physically been there.
The scenes grew darker, more inhumane as the sound of the timepieces intensified. As the children advanced in age, their bodies bore more than just scars. Metal plates, wires, and circuitry substituted the battered flesh, experiment after experiment merging machine and bone in an ever-deepening transformation.
With each violation, each drop of blood shed, and each new lesson, the masked old man watched from beyond glass walls. His eyes hid themselves from the children, but his presence only fueled the seven’s will.
Some children awakened strange powers, Psionic abilities that manifested in flickers of light or sudden telekinetic bursts. Another one’s gaze became vague and distant, the eyes of a Seer, seeing things beyond reality. But one child lost something else entirely. The spark in his eyes snuffed out as his mind had unraveled under the pressure, leaving him a hollow, broken shell that could only follow orders.
Still, Father Time was not yet done. The clocks continued to tick.
The children grew more adept, more deadly. At last, they reached the age of sixteen, their bodies nearly unrecognizable, forged into weapons that seemed less human than mechanical. Each of them bore scars, not just of flesh and metal. Their wounds went past the heart.
Then, the scene changed.
They stood in a stainless arena, an enormous chamber with steel walls looming high above them, lined with unerring machines that buzzed and hummed, watching the young warriors. The teens looked at each other, their gazes filled with grim insight. They knew what was coming. They had fought each other countless times before and had pushed their bodies to the limit in endless tests of strength and skill. But this time, they sensed something different in the air: a finality.
The brothers and sisters almost couldn’t bear to face each other.
The distant wall ascended, a pair of boots appeared under the rising sheet. Then before their owner could be revealed, a disembodied presence echoed through the chamber, cold and unfeeling,
“Boys. Girls. This is your last test. Kill—”
The unchanging voice cut off abruptly, and a piercing scream shattered the silence in its place, a raw, guttural sound which frayed space.
Dante’s head whipped to the side, and he saw Eight clawing at his neck. The boy’s face twisted in agony as he collapsed amidst a snowy forest floor. Blood smeared his hands, a smear of red against his inhuman, metallic scaffolding as he scraped desperately at his own skin, trying to peel away the blood and metal.
“Get out of me! Get out! STOP! LEAVE! I DON’T WANT YOU!”
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Beneath the fallen night, Dante staggered back, his mind reeling as the vision of the past dissolved. He found it difficult to extricate himself from the memories for a moment, as so much time had passed.
After a moment, however, he shook his head, the weight of those memories lingering like a dark cloud. But to him, it was just that. An invisible weight, a memory. The Anomaly below him was a different story.
Eight crumpled into the fetal position, his hands trembling, breath coming in short, broken gasps as he continued clawing at his own body.
“Eight…” Dante whispered, taking a hesitant step forward, unsure of what to do. This was beyond anything he anticipated. The horrors of Eight’s past had laid themselves bare in a way that words could never describe. He knew the kid had problems. With the way he joked and killed without a single qualm, he would have to be messed up in the head.
The fallen boy’s gaze flicked up, eyes wide and wild, filled with a pain so deep he was almost unrecognizable. He shook his head to no one, his voice a hoarse whisper as he mumbled, “They… they made me into… this.”
His hands trembled as he touched a metal vein in his neck, his fingers curling around the sharp edges as though he could somehow tear it away.
Dante knelt beside him, his hand hovering, uncertain whether to touch Eight or keep his distance. The Anomaly had almost lost his mind. Regardless, Dante wouldn’t give up on him that easily.
“Hey. Eight. Breathe. It’s okay. I know what it’s like. The augments. Mine aren’t as... extensive as yours, but I have them, too. You don’t need to relax. You shouldn’t. But you do need to breathe,” Dante spoke with a softness he held only for Archimedes.
The rare gesture left Eight’s madness paused.
The boy’s breathing slowed, his gaze falling back to the blood-streaked snow beneath him. He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Dante said nothing, merely listening to the forest as Eight teetered between despair and insanity.
Distant howls, some unknown beast or monster, echoed into Dante’s enhanced ears. He remained quiet as Eight sat amongst the crimson snow. The Anomaly’s entire body was ruined. Every inch of his skin was torn, with several fatal wounds intertwined.
But where the flesh failed, the steel succeeded. The machines within Eight breathed life into his dying form. He didn’t heal, not like Lucius or Dante’s old Stigmata.
He survived.
On the other side, Dante stood with two broken arms still dripping blood. Joan’s recovery serum had done wonders by sealing the worst wounds, but bones were not so effortlessly reknitted. Nevertheless, he bore the pain and forced his arms to work. Fires raced through the nerves in his arms while he tore apart a nearby tree with a jet of water from his palm.
A lackluster splint, built from his shirt and several sturdy branches, nestled onto his chest in mere moments. Dante’s left arm healed less than his right, so it fell into the cushion while the right would fight on.
With the splint, he sat beside Eight, crashing his back onto a tree bark. The snow bit into his flesh. And failed. His mastery of Surewinter had only grown further.
Then, the man closed his eyes to rest. Sobbing traced the snow, landing in his ears, but he had heard worse. Dante slipped into a dreamless slumber in mere seconds.
************************
A ripple of unnatural energy stirred in the air as a hand drifted toward Sonna’s unmoving neck. In the instant before the hand twisted into a clawed monstrosity, a rock replaced the woman’s body. Where blood might have sprayed into the night, the slashing nail met only stone, splitting it with a sharp crack. Mojo had saved her life once more.
The dust scattered over the gravel street while Rejo wrapped a hand around Sonna’s shoulder. With her in his grasp, the Araki bolted for the diner, kicking up rocks with each step.
As he ran, the inhuman creatures turned to face him, their eyes hollow, dark voids that seemed to pierce through his flesh, burrowing into the very marrow of his bones. Astraeus eyed the monsters, his confidence and fascination warring with a deeper, animal instinct to flee.
The creatures moved with an unnatural stillness, each step slow and deliberate, like predators sure of their prey. It was as if running held no purpose and that, in time, their hands would find them. Where, after all, could they run?
The road, the sky, the surrounding shadows—they all belonged to the creatures now. Hiding inside would only grant them temporary safety.
Astraeus’ fascination curved to horror, his muscles locking until Claudius’s sharp voice broke through the stillness, shouting from the diner, “Rejo! Faster! Get away from Astraeus and the monsters!”
At the command, Astraeus pushed through his confidence. Deep down, he knew these ‘humans’ were not to be trifled with. A single glance at the diner told him all he needed to know. Before meeting Dante, he might have ignored such feelings.
He had learned caution from the madman.
The Frigo ran after Rejo, whose grip on Sonna tightened as he neared the diner’s entrance. He reached down, scooping a rock into his hand and raising it, preparing to hurl it through the diner’s window in a desperate bid for safety.
But Claudius shouted again, this time sharper, filled with a note of dread. “No! Break nothing! Come in through the door!”
Rejo swore, pulling Sonna forward with him as Astraeus followed, the pounding of their footsteps a frantic counterpoint to the monsters’ slow, deliberate march. Astraeus felt a prickling at the back of his neck as if the gaze of every creature was fixed on him alone.
His pulse thundered in her ears as he detonated the first chapter of Surewinter in his flesh. The stored power sent his body into overdrive, slipping just past the encircling mob. Astraeus’ usual calm vanished as he barely reached the door while the unhurried bodies inched closer.
The door swung open as Rejo and Sonna reached it, Claudius’s eyes flashing with alarm as he let them in. But behind them was the Anathema. Claudius and Astraeus shared a single look.
A million emotions, considerations, and thoughts flew past before the Judge bit his lip and let the man in. Astraeus entered for less than a second before Claudius slammed the door shut with a heavy clatter, fumbling with the locks. His breaths came fast and shallow as he retreated, a thin trickle of blood slipping down from his nose as he steadied himself.
His mind pulsed with the vision he had felt while his vow empowered his unnatural gifts by sacrificing his potential. And those gifts did not come without a price, proved by the crimson on his lips. With shaky hands, Claudius fought to regain his calm after the non-stop danger.
Then, outside the glass, she appeared.
A woman stood there, unmoving, staring into the diner. Her face was pale and thin, almost delicate in its starkness. That was until her smile grew, stretching impossibly wide, each corner reaching further and further until her lips kissed the lobes of her ears. Her mouth held row after row of packed, pointed teeth, tiered like the seats in an amphitheater.
“Hi there, hun,” she whispered, though the sound was as clear as if she were speaking beside them, as if nothing was abnormal. “Would you mind letting me in? I could go for an evening meal.”
The words lingered in the air, yet no one dared to answer. Twelve eyes fixated on the glass, unable to tear themselves away from the growing mass. The woman’s voice came again, softer, yet somehow sharper, laced with an amused patience.
“Go on,” she coaxed, one clawed finger tapping lightly against the glass. Each tap left Claudius’ heart leaping in his chest while his vision replayed in his mind. The blood. The murder. Still, the woman didn’t care in the slightest for his terror. “Don’t be rude now. Just open the door.”
She tilted her head as she stared at them, her eyes gleaming with a hunger that had no end.
“What are you?” Claudius demanded beyond his fear, hands tightening on his Executioner.
With a stretched grin, the woman replied, “Just an old lady. Please. It’s quite cold out here.”
Claudius cursed under his breath while Sonna, Yue, and Astraeus glared at him. The lattermost, with nightmarish skin, spoke first, “What are those things? They are... evil... I...”
“Evil. That’s funny,” Talander laughed with murder in his eyes, pointed toward the Anathema. Rejo slid to the side, standing between the swordsman and the Frigo. The Araki stood equally prepared for violence.
Before anyone could attack, Sonna and Claudius both moved. The former placed her hand on Rejo’s chest, and the latter held up a single finger.
The Judge spoke first, “Relax. We cannot fight here. All of us will die. Each of those things is unkillable. Hurt them, and they’ll just come back. One swipe and each of you is dead, except Astraeus and I. I don’t know what they are. But... we need to work together.”
Were it not for the foresight that told him of the total death of his crew, his new friends, he would have never allowed Astraeus inside. He would have fought to the end. After seeing both Yue and Talander disemboweled, however, things became different.
Sonna also opened her mouth to speak, but the woman outside pressed a hand against the glass. Attention shifted back to her with the plink of the door. Her fingers splayed wide, the flesh thin and gray, stretching taut over long, skeletal bones. Where her palm touched, a faint print remained, smudged and wet, like some substance darker than ink.
“Come on. Let me in,” the ‘woman’ whispered, her voice dripping with a strange, almost pleading sweetness. “Or… I can wait until you’re ready. Makes no difference to me.” Her smile dilated further, revealing another row of teeth, smaller, sharper, packed into the back of her throat as her lips reached behind her ears.
A silence fell over the room after her words, thick and cloying, as though the air itself had turned to oil. Past the windows, the shadows of the other figures grew darker, shapes flickering like candle flames from the diner’s light as they drew closer. They moved in sync with the woman’s voice until they all stood against the glass, whether door or window.
Sonna lost her courage to utter a single word, but a nudge from Rejo rekindled it. With a cough to bolster her voice, the woman brought a finger toward the door, “Can they get in, Claudius?”
The Judge shook his head, “No. They have to be let in. This is probably obvious, but for the psychos in the back,” Claudius stared dead-on at Rejo and Astraeus as he gave an order. “Do. Not. Open. It.”
His words, while ominous, provided relief to everyone in the diner. Muscles relaxed while bodies hit chairs, benches, and cushions. Claudius’ trustworthiness brought immediate comfort and allowed them to rest without worry.
Even Astraeus sighed, sinking into the velvet seat behind him, “Woah. This is... so comfortable.”
Talander maintained an eye on the Anathema from across the diner while Sonna and Claudius discussed their situation. Rejo wandered into the back rooms, having already reset his Mojo with the rock in his pocket. Yue stationed herself on the inside of the counter, positioning her weapons in case of an attack.
A loud snore came from the kitchen before Sonna and Claudius could even broach their differing entrances. The Arido slid a hand down her face and nodded to Astraeus, “If you’re as good friends as you say with Dante, go check on his idiot.”
With a sigh, Astraeus stood up and acknowledged her words. The old him would have utterly ignored such a weakling, but the Anathema had grown in recent months.
“Sure. I’ll see if I can find anything useful back there, too. Who knows what is here? This is an MD, after all,” Astraeus said before vanishing into the rear. Talander moved to follow him, but Claudius held him back.
Then the Judge worked to ease the swordsman’s fury, “Put aside your vendetta for a few hours. Please. Just rest. I know you and Yue have fought little since we arrived, but I foresee many more battles coming.”
An exaggerated huff came from Talander’s reptilian lungs before he joined Yue behind the counter. The two whispered while Sonna and Claudius finally caught each other up to speed.
Much had transpired since they last met up.