Berlin, Germany – November 11th, 1941 | 08:53 A.M.
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8NTe6B3S2P
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSag42m0ihX
Wooden bokutōs clashed with a crack of force. Eva pivoted hard, parrying General Kazan’s strike as their practice intensified in the courtyard. Kazan had hand-carved four sets of the wooden swords—one each for Eva, Victor, himself, and Constantine. Victor, however, lay groaning on the ground nearby, clearly not built for combat just yet.
Their current safehouse was a sprawling mansion, secured by Constantine. It had belonged to the boy she rescued from the SS. Inside, the air was warm, filled with the soft scent of bread and brewed tea.
From the parlour, a sudden cough caught Constantine’s attention.
She finished brewing a pot of black tea before carrying the tray to the large dining table, where two children—still in their pyjamas—sat crafting something quietly. The girl was sewing, delicate hands pulling thread with practised care, while the boy assisted, holding the fabric taut.
“Pandora. Aristotle. Apologies for the delay. Here’s your breakfast,” Constantine said gently.
She placed the tray at a safe distance from their work.
The scent of warm food drifted out into the hall, prompting the Lieutenant to help himself from the pot. Grabbing some of the bread Constantine had baked, he carried it to the windowsill and sat there, chewing thoughtfully as he stared out at the overcast Berlin morning.
Outside, Eva feigned a stumble mid-swing—then swept Kazan’s legs out from under him, knocking him to the ground.
“Get him!” Victor cheered, scrambling to his feet. He launched himself at Kazan, joining Eva in a double-team kick.
But Kazan wasn’t so easily bested. With a practiced twist, he used his bokutō to sweep both of their legs, sending them crashing to the gravel.
He shook his head with a rare smirk.
“You’ve improved. But you’ve still got a long way to go to understand the path of the samurai. Let’s head inside—breakfast should be ready.”
Inside, General Lennox was buried in a stack of documents. He reluctantly set them aside long enough to dig into the meal.
“God bless this kid for having a bloody mansion we can squat in,” Lennox muttered. “I’ve already contacted Colditz and informed Britain and the Americans about our extraterrestrial problem. I’ll be damned—they really did come from the sky to invade us.”
Schrödinger hopped onto the table with a loud yawn, curling up near the breadbasket.
Eva, Victor, and Kazan took their seats and began eating. Constantine, however, sat without touching her plate. Victor noticed.
“Hey... why don’t you eat?” he asked, concern edging his voice.
“I can’t eat or drink what you do,” Constantine replied evenly.
“Okay... so what do you do feed on?”
She paused a moment.
“Blood.”
The clink of cutlery halted. Everyone stared—except for the Lieutenant and Schrödinger, who continued eating, unfazed.
Kazan narrowed his eyes.
“So you are a Yokai.”
Constantine frowned.
“You’re not the first to call me that.”
Before the tension could build, General Lennox interjected.
“Not just any blood. Human blood isn’t strong enough to sustain her. Not even animal.”
Kazan arched an eyebrow.
“Then... what qualifies?”
Lennox cleared his throat.
“Well... blood that belongs to... gods, technically.”
A beat of stunned silence followed.
“Say what?” Victor blurted.
Constantine sighed.
“In 4,037 years of existence, across the countless worlds I’ve seen, most living things possess low Magnitude energy. I require something... more potent.”
Victor perked up.
“Why not feed on Spawns? Then they’ll be too scared to invade!”
“I’ve tried,” Constantine muttered. “Drained thousands of them. Still hungry.”
“Bummer.”
Eva leaned forward, brow furrowed.
“Wait... how do you kill them? My M.J.O.L.N.I.R. is useless against Spawn.”
Constantine tilted her head slightly, almost curious. Without a word, she flicked her wrist. A resonant shrrk echoed as she unsheathed her Vorpal.
The blade was as long as a nodachi, forged in a seamless, hiltless design. Its obsidian-black surface shimmered faintly with crystalline fractures—veins of light threading across it like frozen lightning. It didn’t reflect the light overhead—it absorbed it.
“My M.J.O.L.N.I.R. slices through Spawn like butter,” Constantine said calmly, no arrogance in her tone—just certainty. “Yours doesn’t work because you’re dull... and weak.”
Eva’s eyes dropped to her hands. Her shoulders sagged. Schrödinger hissed softly from her lap in protest, but Kazan nodded in quiet agreement.
Constantine leaned in, her voice sharp.
“If you hold a M.J.O.L.N.I.R., it means it chose you. It's not a tool—it’s an interface. A mirror. A blade shaped from your psyche. Try to treat it like a mere object... and it will betray you.”
Victor, ever curious, reached out to touch her Vorpal.
The moment his fingers grazed it, his body convulsed with a distortion glitch. His hair exploded into a tangled afro. A beat of stunned silence—then he bobbed his head in a ridiculous chicken-neck dance.
Laughter erupted around the table. Pandora nearly spilled her drink. Aristotle wheezed, red-faced from across the room.
Victor just grinned.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO9tSYiUUy5
Unfazed.
Constantine remained expressionless.
“You still don’t know what M.J.O.L.N.I.R. is actually made of, do you?”
Eva hesitated.
“According to NIX Corp... the material was recovered from Void-heavy zones. Rich in anomalous activity. They called it a... unique compound. Limited supply. Unstable to harness. Only top operatives are given one. That’s all they told us.”
Constantine clicked her tongue in irritation.
“That’s the brochure version. Listen closely. Each M.J.O.L.N.I.R. is unique—not just in shape, but in essence. What you wield is a forged reflection of your internal structure. Your fears. Your damage. Your will.”
She tapped the flat of her blade. The glowing veins pulsed faintly.
“The core material doesn’t belong to this universe. Every M.J.O.L.N.I.R. is forged from the solid-state of Nexus Affinity—a primal force that, when condensed, becomes Aetherion. Harder than diamond, but shaped by intention, not heat or pressure. It obeys identity, not physics.”
Eva blinked.
“Aetherion...?”
“It responds to your mind,” Constantine said. “The stronger your sense of self, the more stable your weapon. Your M.J.O.L.N.I.R. will never resemble mine—because you’re not me.”
Kazan’s voice lowered.
“And the Nexus Affinity itself?”
“The Unattainable Absolute,” Constantine murmured. “Not an energy source. A foundational constant—older than time, form, or matter. It encodes the origin of all Affinities: Cosmos, Entropy, Anima, Thorne... everything. Touching it fully risks unraveling your very narrative thread. Most who try... slip into Fracture State.”
“Fracture?” Victor asked.
“Erasure. Total deletion. No body. No memory. No echo. Just... gone.”
Silence. Even Schrödinger stilled.
Constantine stood. Her Vorpal shimmered, then dematerialised back into her wrist.
“NIX doesn’t understand what they’re playing with,” she said. “They think M.J.O.L.N.I.R. is a weapon. But it isn’t. It’s a reflection. Yours fails you because you don’t know yourself well enough to wield it.”
Eva didn’t answer. But beneath the table, her hands slowly clenched into fists.
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDy7PJIt7zL
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3MaDGsXwAJ
***
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV07IljbFcI
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMBYjEsZPAG
Eva swung her bokutō with brute force, her muscles tightening with each motion. But it wasn’t efficient—her strikes hacked rather than sliced. Each swing drained more stamina than necessary, her form collapsing under frustration.
“Still upset about what Constantine said?”
The voice caught her off-guard. She turned, finding the Lieutenant seated on a tree stump—one Victor had previously chopped down.
Eva blinked.
“I’m more surprised you just formed a complete sentence.”
He gave no reaction. She turned back and resumed her kata—refining the moves Kazan had drilled into her since morning.
“Why’s that?” the Lieutenant asked, tone even.
“You’re usually silent. Always just ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘No, sir.’ Nothing more.”
He didn’t answer. A quiet two minutes passed. Wind rustled the trees. Eva’s breathing slowed as she completed her final motion and lowered the sword.
“She was right,” the Lieutenant said softly.
Eva let out a sigh—part defeat, part exhaustion.
“Yeah... I know.”
A pause.
“So... what are you going to do about it?”
Eva groaned in annoyance, turning toward him.
“Why do you care? You never asked me anything like this back in Colditz.”
Her voice came out sharper than intended, but it didn’t faze him. He stayed still, eyes steady.
“Back then... you were alive. Strong.”
She scowled, teeth clenching.
“Don’t give me that. I am stro—”
He reached out and took her hand in his. The motion was deliberate—gentle but grounding.
“You are strong. You are alive. But no one’s told you that lately, have they?”
Eva looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Not because she didn’t believe him—because she did. She didn’t want him to see the crack forming in her façade.
“No,” she whispered.
“Then take it to heart,” he said, voice low. “Wake up. Breathe. And remember what it means to be alive.”
A cold wind swept through the clearing, lifting the hat off his head. Golden hair, neat and parted, swayed in the breeze. His eyes met hers.
One blue. One green.
Her breath caught.
“He’s just like Schrödy...”
A laugh bubbled in her chest. Unexpected. Involuntary. Her lips curled into a genuine smile.
The Lieutenant smiled back—not warmly, but slyly. A fox’s grin.
“General Lennox says to get ready. The Third Reich Gala is next month. We need to practice dancing.”
He turned, hands in his pockets. “I’m your date.”
Eva stood frozen, her brain catching up.
Then—
“Wait, what?”
Face flushed, she sprinted after him.
The bushes rustled.
“Hmmm. Romantic as it may be, those two are cringier than the Grinch receiving his first Christmas present,” Victor remarked in a theatrical, vaguely English accent. “At this point, they’ve known each other long enough. They should’ve kissed by now.”
His makeshift tree-branch hat shifted slightly as a small, duck-like firebird stirred atop his head—its feathers constantly flickering like living embers. The creature lounged across Victor’s scalp, its body radiating gentle heat.
“Don’t end up like them. When you meet the love of your life, you kiss them, A.Ri.Su!” Victor patted the firebird affectionately. It gave a soft quack, tail fluttering.
“I see now,” Constantine said, eyes narrowing as she analysed him. “No wonder your entire body radiates immense Zero residue. I nearly mistook you for a Void. You don’t realise how close I came to draining you.”
She glanced down at him with quiet contempt. “And you’re a creep.”
Victor jolted upright and tried to make a run for it, but Arisu held fast to his head, refusing to budge.
Constantine leapt in front of him, blocking his path. Her voice was grave.
“Shards cannot exist in the same Bundle, the same timeline, the same universe. By forcing Elizabeth to awaken early, you’ve risked everything. If she breaks containment, existence itself will collapse.”
She lunged, reaching for Arisu.
Victor reacted instantly. A shimmer ran down his arm as he materialised his longsword—M.J.O.L.N.I.R., named Lixian—and blocked her advance. With a practiced stance, he parried using techniques learned from Kazan.
Constantine responded by unsheathing her blade, Vorpal, from a hidden wrist sheath. Their duel erupted with brutal precision. Victor stayed focused, but his composure cracked as her blade came down, aiming to cleave him in half.
She failed.
Vorpal’s edge struck Arisu instead—who’d thrown herself between them. Her indestructible body stopped the blade cold. Victor stood frozen in disbelief as Constantine launched into the air, unleashing a flurry of strikes.
Arisu moved with uncanny speed, intercepting every blow. Each time Vorpal threatened to land a critical hit, Arisu appeared—her winged hands deflecting or absorbing the impact, even when the blade passed through her, lodging harmlessly on her head and she quack each time.
Seizing an opening, Victor countered. With the flat of his blade, he struck Constantine repeatedly—each blow delivered with a rhythmic, almost absurd cadence.
“Take some of this! And some of that! Hi-ya!”
But his victory was short-lived.
Constantine grinned and seized his face.
“I’m not going down that easy,” she whispered. “Not while you’re still alive to watch Pandora eat croissants.”
With a powerful heave, she hurled Victor skyward.
“I can explain—I’m not a creep!” he screamed, flailing as Arisu quacked in protest.
Victor crash-landed in the grass, groaning. Arisu fluttered down, landing softly on his chest.
Constantine seated herself calmly on a nearby tree stump, eyes fixed on him.
“Then explain this: how do you possess another Shard of Ænigma—in this world, no less?”
Victor sat up on a separate stump, rubbing his temple.
“Hmmm… where to begin…” he said in the same over-the-top accent. “At the origin.”
Constantine glared at him, but her posture softened when Arisu floated over and hugged her. She embraced the firebird quietly. Arisu quacked, pleased.
Victor exhaled slowly.
“I remember the original world. The time I came from—2023. I was a private investigator hired by a colleague of Elizabeth Starling: Dr. Bart Buchanan. I wasn’t a NIX Corp engineer. In my world, NIX was founded in 2013 by a group of teenagers—they called themselves the Four Horsemen. Alice-Elizabeth Starling, Paul Krendler, Bartholomew Buchanan, and Arachne Masters.”
He looked down at his boots.
“They were brilliant. They researched new sources of infinite, clean energy. That’s when Elizabeth discovered a pocket dimension—untamed and volatile. They called it the MAD.”
Victor’s tone darkened.
“Because of its instability and the risk of timeline paradoxes, they sealed it off. But in 2016, someone forced Elizabeth into the MAD… and left her there to rot. I still don’t know who. She won’t say. But I suspect… it was her closest friends—the ones who helped build everything. The ones who rose to power by her side.”
He slumped, eyes distant.
“How do you know this?” Constantine asked, doubtful.
Victor didn’t meet her gaze.
“Elizabeth told me herself. Inside the MAD. Before the Interstice… before the Spawn took me.”
His voice dropped to a murmur, lost in the memory of the moment that shattered his existence.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9P9IVoYSXT
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtdBclnYKIT
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZsWRMXdPay
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXaMdgUITGh
***
Victor braced for the final explosion—but something shattered beneath him.
Then, the sensation of falling.
He crashed onto a surface that pulsed beneath him—like blood flowing through a network of giant, exposed veins. Disoriented, he opened his eyes and realised: he was inside the MAD.
Screams echoed in the distance. The landscape convulsed violently, then settled. He pushed himself to his feet, scanning the chaotic terrain until his gaze caught a molten pit. In its centre, amidst magma-like fluid, a lone figure lay unmoving.
She was crying.
“Excuse me, miss! I’ll get you out of there!” Victor shouted, scrambling to find anything that might help him cross the volatile chasm.
A broken ladder lay nearby, partially embedded in the cliff. He dragged it over and laid it across the gap like a makeshift bridge. Balancing carefully, he crossed, the warped heat threatening to buckle the ladder beneath his weight.
He reached the figure.
It was Elizabeth.
He checked her for injuries—there was no mortal wound, but her head had sustained trauma, and her right eye was damaged. Hoisting her onto his back, Victor took a deep breath and stepped back onto the ladder. Their combined weight caused it to bow dangerously low, nearly brushing the lava-like surface.
He held his breath.
With a final pivot, he made it safely across.
Laying Elizabeth down gently, Victor treated her head wound with a Medibot Regeneration Bandage. Then he scoured the area for anything that might help stabilise her.
“This has to be the worst place in all of existence,” he muttered. “How did a brilliant scientist end up here?”
Elizabeth didn’t respond. Her gaze was unfocused. And then Victor noticed—her outline was beginning to fade.
“Hey, stay with me!” he urged, shaking her lightly.
She blinked, returning to herself.
“No living thing can survive here for long,” she whispered. “You slowly disintegrate into Nothingness.”
She drifted again, her mind retreating.
Victor leaned in. “Tell me the truth.”
Elizabeth looked at him, then nodded—sharing a dream. A memory. A secret only Victor would know. Only he could understand.
“You’re a good man,” she said softly. “You don’t deserve to be erased here. But I do.”
She reached out, and he helped her stand. Despite her fragility, she led him. They walked together for what felt like hours.
Eventually, they arrived at a thin rupture in the air—barely wide enough for one person.
“I don’t know where or when this leads,” Elizabeth said, “but it’s an exit. For one.”
Victor stared at her, baffled. “Then we leave together!”
She shook her head.
“I can’t. It’s too late. I’ve been here too long—I’m already decaying.”
She handed him something.
A smooth, lustrous object—egg-shaped, the size of a ping-pong ball.
“What is this?”
Elizabeth met his gaze.
“Afterlife.”62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYjaQhloMz6
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQyZWNccQDF
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXT8xNzVHQL
***
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfJCihLaBN2
62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfPgialIK0p
“Oh, I see now,” Constantine muttered, studying Victor. “This little one must’ve been protecting you from the Spawns’ experiments. Eva told me you were from 2073, but you claim you’re from 2023. Care to explain?”
She stroked Arisu, now fast asleep in her arms.
Victor sighed, shaking his head.
“In my timeline, NIX started abducting people off the streets. I was one of the first—after Elizabeth’s ‘Patient Zero.’ My mind was broken... playing out a role like some NPC. Until I met—Pandora.”
He looked directly at Constantine.
“Pandora?” she repeated, stunned. “My daughter, Pandora?”
Victor raised his hands. “Woah, woah—since when were you her mother?”
Constantine’s reply was simple. “Since always. I’ve been taking care of her for days now, trying to keep her from succumbing to leukaemia. I’ve grown quite fond of those two.”
Uneasy, Victor opened his Gizmo, projecting several holographic images: photos of an older Pandora and himself, celebrating their birthdays aboard the NIX Space Station.
Constantine studied them silently. A faint smile curved her lips.
“How bad is it?” Victor asked.
Constantine lowered her gaze. “Weeks, maybe. The Berlin smog’s worsening her condition. The medicine... it’s not enough.”
Victor’s panic crept in. “There has to be something we can do!”
She sat stiffly, then answered—grim and matter-of-fact. “No. Not in this lifetime.”
“Then send her to another time,” Victor said, desperate. “She might still have a chance.”
Constantine didn’t reply.
He rubbed his face, frustration building.
Finally, she said quietly, “Then we don’t tell the others.”
ns216.73.216.238da2
