Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To see the evils of the world.

To hear the sorrows of the people.

To speak the wrath of the soul.

Wax hands coated his eyes, to shield him from the horrors that came with life. Palms plugged his ears, to protect him from the woes of others, and fingers filled his throat so he would never be loathed and feel the stabbing of despair that came with betrayal. So that love could never again grip into a fist to tear away that which he cherished.

Yet, there was nothing but tears. Tears for the words that foolishly spilled from unprepared lips and eyes that could never accept an answer. Promises that were sworn by a coward covering his selfish actions with only the most despicable lies of selflessness. Tears that cemented his eyes closed, so that he would never again witness.

The scalding, eroding tears of melted candle-wax slipped down Philip’s face— if he could even be called that. Red beams that encapsulated the sorrow he’d endured, the pain he’d wrought, and the nothingness that filled him.

The scorched floor of History was a statement to just how much he had to share; for those that took it all from him. He wasn’t sure how to feel when he met her again, the hazel haired girl who’d stripped away his office —and fellow fixers— twice now.

Blazing fires, roaring and wailing as he screeched and fought for all he never had. To squash his own flame under the relentless emptiness that this shell of wax had been crafted into.

Yet their relentless flames burned brighter– hotter than he could manage. They melted the wax that protected him from the cruel world, they boiled his very skin and burned to the depth of his being. Bubbles of blood and wax would pour out from its shell, its wings leaking the mixed substance.

Another ear piercing scream assailed the air, crimson rays stripped down the wooden floors of History, the hazel haired woman and her assistant deftly dodging and weaving past to get to it, stabbing Oscar’s lanced headed spear through its side, tiny green erroneous creatures gulping down the bloodied wax with fervour. The librarians seemed annoyed at his unstoppable wailing, the horrific sound of shell scraping against numbness before the Patron herself lept in with a scream of her own, Salvador’s sword scraping into its neck, leaving her hands as one last wailing scream escaped its filling lungs.

The one that would never curse another melted from his body, quickly fleeing to the refuge of the man who promised everything.

[-]

That was… about the last thing Philip could remember before waking up in wherever he was.

It was dark, not for a lack of light– he couldn’t tell– but because of a soft fabric pressing against his eyes. His wrists and ankles were bound in a similar manner, just tight enough to cause discomfort.

He couldn’t remember a thing, other than a scalding hot sensation that still lingered. No, that wasn’t a memory. The left half of his body felt like it was submerged in acid, corroding away at his body.

“You, have awoken.” A grisly voice stopped his struggling, pulling the blindfold harshly and snapping it off his face and eyes. He looked like his voice had sounded; as if he had a throatful of gravel and could hardly breath. He had piercing crimson eyes like Philip had never seen, and an aura he’d never… never experienced before. Not much of a statement considering the state of his memories, but nevertheless Philip found ‘intimidating’ to be an understatement.

“Wondering where you are.” What would have been a question was posed merely as fact. When Philip opened his mouth to speak, the man with Red eyes kicked a leg off the chair Philip had been restrained to with such force it broke the leg behind it too, causing him to fall onto a scaldingly hot wax wing. He bit into his gag to avoid screaming. “I will not be the one to answer your queries.”

Philip wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Nor of what, or whom he was exactly, but he moved to attack. He felt endangered, and his wax gave him confidence. It was clear that whatever survival instinct he had was doing its damndest at making him run away. Yet the ashen-haired fixer opposed that feeling, opting to follow the voice that said to relent the scathing wax unto this man. He snapped the bindings with ease. Wax fell down his arm with his intention, searing the skin and yet soothing it as it fell into a sword around his arm. He rose to strike at the man—

Philip found himself on the floor, a blistering pain as he looked to where his weapon was, only to find his weapon had been dismembered at the hilt, and the arm it’d formed on was bent in tens of different ways with bone fragments splintering out from every side. He held back a look of grotesque horror as he looked back at the man.

“You have purpose in your being here. Beyond death.” Philip felt himself getting kicked over, a pair of glasses dropped onto his face. “I will be back. Charon.” The man stepped off the bus-like interior only a second after crushing Philip’s arm, leaving him little time to even ponder what the hell had just happened. His eyes were drawn to the small pale haired girl that followed behind him.

“Waxy looks grumpy.”

The Red eyed man gave a grunt of acknowledgement on his way out.

Philip stood shakily, hearing the clashes and screams outside as his wax began to bend his bones under his flesh under a stiff concrete force. His vision finally fixed itself once he put the spectacles on his nose, feeling the alien sensation on his ears as he settled them on.

That man… that grimey old bastard. Philip didn’t like him. Being broken so easily left a mark on his pride— strangely enough a part of him seemed surprised at that notion, but he trodded onward, his wing folding up behind his back as he stood atop the steps that lead out to a forest of bodies, the man with Red eyes glaring down a lanky looking fellow with a hollowed war axe.

It was almost dead quiet, bar the weapon in the man’s hand that sizzled the air with its white hot steel. “Don’t glare at me like that. This is nothing compared to what you did. With wounds like those, your boss will recognize that you did your part. Consider them a medal of honour.”

Philip felt a rush of envy atop his confusion. Why was he being left in the dark like this? Nothing made sense– The girl by the Red eyed man, maybe she could tell him. Philip reached out—

“Unless… You want this to be the end of your life?” Philip froze as he spoke; the phrase was meant for the both of them, glowing Red eyes seeped into Philip’s soul as his foot touched grass.

Philip heard the ticking of a clock, as the lanky man took the two dismembered and cauterised bodies in his arms, his weapon hooked onto his back. and fled through the forest with haste and never turning to see if they would pursue.

“No one is too late, Dante. All we need, is a little time to rewind.”

It was only then his view turned to the red coated thing, a clock where one’s head should be. The ticking seemed to speed up, causing an infuriating noise. Philip went forth again to stop that infernal noise, yet the man caught his wrist with a sharp pain and forced him to his knees.

“You’re rather slow.”

“Sh-shut the hell up, you red eyed jackass! I’m going to beat your ass!” Philip’s response led the man to take a sigh as he broke his wrist with a flick of his hands. “Gah–! You’ll pay..!”

“I was not told you’d be so troublesome. Ask one of them .” He lifted Philip up by the wrist, a hand clamping onto the back of his neck. The fixer saw the same unenthused expression as his face was turned around to rising corpses, blood flowing back into wounds with shock dishevelling their faces.

“Oh… Blimey— we’re actually…” A dark, scarred skinned and rather brutish looking man.

“The apple remains untouched…” A man of black and white, whose eyes flicked with envy.

“I… Don’t think I ever want to do that again.” A young man with golden hair.

“Wondrous!! We hast trotted back to the land of the living!” An energetic half-pint galloping in place.

“Haha~ I can still feel my heart still thumping in my chest.” Flowing dark hair, tied into an abundant ponytail. The man spotted monochromatic eyes.

“Hey… That… guy woke up.” A woman with excessively long and ginger hair motioned to him, still cushioning her head.

“A.T. Now he can keep that S.H.W to himself.” A black-haired, red eyed woman whose coat rested on her shoulders.

“Everybody! The… Manager is clearly injured.” An older lady with bronze eyes picked up the clock-headed body by the shoulders. “Introductions can wait. We have to evacuate to the bus and ensure our manager does not pass so quickly. You! Assist me!”

“Ri-right!” The blonde wet-wipe of a man grabbed the clock's legs, even if it didn't look like she needed any assistance. “Oi.” A brown haired man with a rather disgusting pincer for an arm that wouldn’t look out of place on a cockroach. Hairs that looked as if they wilted and twitched covered the appendage as Philip turned his nose up in disgust. The man seemed a bit put off by his obvious distaste for the thing before continuing, shaking his head a little. “Name’s Gregor. Erh… Listen, Bud, you were inside with cranky over there right? Sorry if he gave you a bad impression. He’s… Well, he treats the rest of us like shit too. I'd say it's nothing personal, but chances are he hates each one of us, eh? I'm glad to see you’re awake.”

Philip clicked his tongue, looking at the extended hand. He felt a bit conflicted. He seemed pretty nice, but… Philip felt like he was just gaining favour. Just a selfish reason in the end. “I’m Philip.”

“Save the introductions for later. Charon. Start the bus.”

“Memphi wants to Vroom-vroom.”

The vehicle was dead quiet when Philip got inside alongside the Bug-armed man. The man with Red eyes seemed to be watching them with a frightful look. “Do not introduce yourselves quite yet. Await until your manager awakens. I do not wish to hear your bothersome introductions twice.” 

Philip counted the seats on the bus… One for the driver… One for the man with Red eyes… fourteen other chairs. One lay broken on the ground. Philip scanned the area, quickly spotting the small sheepish blonde one that looked down from their eye contact. The bus roared to life. 

“Hey.”

“M-Mhh..?” His eyes darted upward with a little hesitation.

“Move.” 

“Bu-but… I…”

Philip's unrelenting look under his spectacles left the equally young man with little else but to sheepishly agree, moving and allowing Philip a little relief in due cause of not having to support the searing wax that still bit into his sides. 

“Somebody got out of the wrong side this morning? Or did Vergie just kick your butt a little too hard?” The woman behind him teased. She had long hair, almost as long as the ginger's. She carried an axe on her hip. She continued in a more hushed tone. “He was the one that hauled you on here a few days ago… He either likes ya or owes ya. I'm just wondering what kind of blackmail you've got on him for him to go so out of the way though...”

“Vergie..? The man with Red eyes?”

“The very same. Well, I guess his name is Vergilius, but it's a bit of a mouthful. As long as you don't say it to his face I think he's fine with it.” 

Philip noticed a tiny twitch in the man's ear as he brooded by the front of the bus, keeping a vigilant look through the rear view mirror that was far above their little driver's head. He didn't question it. 

He scoffed as he spotted the blondie at the back of the ‘room’ conversing quietly with the ginger haired girl. “So, what the hell is going on here..? I can't remember a damn thing and this damn wax won't stop burning.”

“Aw, shucks. That stuff hurts you? Mh, sorry honey. Vergie said we can't disclose anything we know about your past unless you find it yourself. Didn't say anything about the present though~ We're working for Limbus Company, I'm not so sure if you're in the same boat as us. Vergilius seemed pretty hesitant when he dragged you on.” He couldn't help but notice how close she leaned. 

The way her hands almost touched his scalding wax confused him. “At least I have the best seat on the bus~!” she chimed. What did she mean by that? 

“Your seat doesn't look particularly special.” The same hard wood as the rest of them.

“She's having a jab, mate. Your wings’ a damn radiator, I can feel it from here.“ the man beside her cut in. The woman had a hearty chuckle, thinking of an appropriate response. 

“Quiet.” Vergilius ordered. The silence only enhanced the ticking a few moments later. 

“They're being itchy-twitchy. Did you know they'd wake up so soon?” The clock began to tick evermore as the body stirred awake.

“Awake at last. I would've been a tad disappointed if you had croaked on us so soon.” The man— Vergilius’ sword finally cooled down enough for him to slide it down onto a steady hold on his back. 

“Fresh morning. This is Charon the bus driver.”

“It's not morning, but the sentiment stands. I suppose it's refreshing. How do you feel, Dante?”

Philip watched as Vergilius stared blankly at the ticking clock. He made an off handed comment about the language barrier before introducing himself.

Watching the man converse with the tick-tockings of a clock was growing old quickly. It was the woman Vergilius motioned to that caught his eye.

“Faust will kindly turn down the offer. I doubt we'll have that much freedom over our own bodies most of the time.” Her silver hair that seemed to sparkle in his spectacles, along with her calm and pleasing voice made her all the more alluring. 

Philip heard her explain why the clock— Dante, Philip assumed— appeared to be able to speak to them. Sinners, she said, “The twelve that have taken seats behind you… excluding the one who has just awoken. The sinners shall fight in your stead.” She, Faust, motioned to the rest of the ‘Sinners’, prompting them to speak.

“Thanks for putting my spine back together… Were you a surgeon in the nest or something—?”

“I apologise for my earlier rudeness, manager! I am Outis—”

“Ha~ That head of yours is quite interesting, Dante. I suppose it's not the latest trend after all?”

“Quiet, all of you. Nothing is more displeasing than a choir of noise.” The voices quickly died down again. Philip could only wonder why they were so obedient. “I'll give you some time to make yourselves known, starting with the closest. Go on.”

The man with the bug arm from earlier groaned and introduced himself. “I'm Gregor. Nice to meet you, manager Bud.”

“Greg!” The woman in front of Philip called out at the man's dismay. “You can't be calling them ‘Bud or ‘Pal’, not when they're the one's who'll make us filthy rich by the end of this.” She smiled mischievously. 

“Greg…” He repeated, woefully.

“Anyway, I'll be calling you Dante. Not much for titles and such, but call me Rodya. I think you're our manager for a good reason. You were some big shot at the nest right? Then all we have to do is wait for your old habits to come back and we'll be rolling in dough, fufu…”

She shook her head after a brief moment before turning to Philip. “Ah, look at me keeping on and stealing your spotlight. You’re next, kid—”

“Faust believes it would be best to introduce the sinners first, as to avoid potential confusion. Sinclair. You held that seat originally.”

“O-Oh— me–? Uhm, good day… I'm Sinclair.” A silence fell around him. “Is-is there anything else I have to say…? This is my first time working in a company.” Rodya rushed to give him a little support to ping off, when Philip heard a voice from the top of the bus.

“Waxy. Charon thinks Verg wants to speak with you.”

Verg. Vergilius.

Philip got off his ass and made his way over, hearing the low dull of the ‘sinners’ slow introductions as the bus hummed along a path.

“Philip. I’ve decided to take a brief moment from these introductions, in order for you to understand the scope of the situation you are in.” The Man’s voice was even softer, not a hint of empathy but rather not to be overheard.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t explain anything to me just ten minutes ago…?”

“If you wish to stumble around in the darkness of the bottom of the flow, without a light or guide in sight, feel free to wander your way through these imminent little ‘misadventures’” He spoke with sarcasm, his low tone and raw voice made him sigh in frustration. “Perhaps scaring off some rodents has me in a good mood.”

“Ah— well… Fine.” Philip didn’t want to turn down his first chance to understand what the hell was happening out of stubbornness. This man seemed to be the most knowledgeable out of the bunch too.

“Firstly; the boiling, yet ever hardening wax on your body. It is something called an E.G.O. Almost every person on this bus is in possession of one, yet you are able to use yours for a far longer period than ever observed. That is one of two reasons why I am allowing your presence on this bus. Secondly; the sinners have no cost to their lives. If you so wish, you may scald them, burn them, but as long as the clock of Dante remains untouched, a simple turn of the clock will render them good as new. Despite this, killing them will result in a punishment worse than death for you.” Philip nodded, teeth grit.

They were immortal then, as long as that clock-headed person was able to rewind. He voiced his thoughts on the matter.

“Correct. I’m glad to see there’s something in there. I thought it might have been full of wax.” Philip ‘tsked’ again, and not exactly wanting to get floored infront of so many others, decided against attacking as his mind wanted. “Thirdly; you are not affiliated with the sinners. Do not interfere with their personal business, or I, and the company, will seek to remove you. Forcefully. You are my charge, as is Charon, but do not mistake such a thing with companionship. I loathe you as much as I do the others.”

“And fourthly, your life is the most expendable on this bus. And there will be times in which Dante will be unable to rewind the clock.”

“Y-You just said their lives were worthless—”

“I did. But they serve a purpose more than yours. If one of them is in a dire situation, with no way out other than the Waxed Wings to shelter them, if you fail to guide them, your wings shall be clipped, and your past lost.”

“You just said you hated them all though…”

“I do. It’s just the flow I have decided to take, even if they displease me, they are required for the engravement. I am a guide, I will not hold my feelings against them.” He paused. “If they were to interrupt the journey however…”

He trailed off, leaving it to his imagination. He’d kill them, no doubt. Best to avoid getting on his bad side— more so than he already has.

“By the way, Charon, why is the bus not moving?”

The introductions seemed to have ended at the back of the bus. Philip shrugged, and simply resigned himself to having to pick up on the names of each sinner over time. “Weirdos were hanging out infront of Memphi.”

“Charon, if anything happens to the bus, you’ve got to let me know immediately.”

Philip returned to his seat, close enough to eavesdrop on that rather pretty lady next to the Clock-head. “Mephistopheles.” She answered the ticking. “The name of this bus, and the engine that runs it… And Faust’s magnum opus cordis.”

She made this thing, huh? A vehicle like this seems like it’d take a while to make, and even if Philip didn’t know of anything that could help create and mould a machine like this, he imagined she put a lot of effort into it.

The clock turned to face the window when Vergilius mentioned the trip across hell, whatever that meant. “A pack of dirty rats living in the back street. Perfect timing. They should make perfect targets for practising your command.” There was a hum of agreement, some seemed a little hesitant at first.

“Save the chatter for later. Sinners, off the bus.”

That left them alone, Vergilius standing by the door, red eyes flaring as he looked less approachable than ever.

“While Dante is learning his own abilities… It’s only fair if you grasp your own in turn.”

Chapter Text

“And to think, You were the wax that burned a Nest.” Vergilius Drawled. “Perhaps we’ve lit the wrong candle.”

The colour’s leather shoe planted Philip’s face firmly to the bloodied, melting concrete of the sidewalk. The gladius remained sheathed on his back; clean and seemly as before the beating. The wax slowly crept on Philip’s neck, trying to rise and pry Vergilius’ shoe from his skull with his hands searing from the feeling of hot wax pushing against the softening concrete.

The wax pushed into spikes as soon as Vergilius’ foot was lifted, stomping his chest hard enough to break a rib and crack the weakening concrete. Philip’s sword went to slash, shoulder far too exposed to cleave nothing but air.

Vergilius was above him now, grabbing his hair. “To think you killed thousands.” He muttered quietly. Vergilius’ hand plucked his glasses off his face and neatly placed them into his own pocket.

What was he talking about?

Philip felt a few hairs wrenched out as he was sent flying above the nearby buildings, his wing instinctively sprouting out to slow his fall. An unseen object faster than he could possibly register gutted his extension, causing his descent to hasten and crash past the corner of a rooftop. Before he could brace himself he felt a rough hand grab the back of his chestpiece, tearing it with ease as he meteored into the pavement.

He shook the dust and debris from his face, scorching his skin with pain to quickly re-adjust himself. Everything was blurry. A ball that fit almost perfectly into the dead surroundings crashed into him— sending him flying down the road, breaking a streetlight on the scapula his wing was welded to. He stopped after breaking through a car, head caved into brick wall, resting on the shattered car door.

Vergilius pulled him out by the collar, expression unreadable. “You think you’re in hell.” When Philip tried to re-orient himself, a boot up his chin almost snapped his head clean off. “Close.”

He leapt out of the small crater, swinging his weapon with more force he didn’t know he had, a boom of speed and strength blasting the air around them with shards of molten wax. Vergilius was unphased, at the other end of the street. At the slightest movement, Philip’s half-grown wing flicked infront of him to shield the attack.

He was being toyed with— the blow never came and Vergilius mused to himself of what a good job he was doing. The waxen shield came down, sword lashing out immediately to spray the molten substance on him. It felt harder than hitting a brick wall, Vergilius’ hand caught his own, and with a slight push broke his stance and caused him to tumble to the side, and with a swift kick to his exposed stomach sent him barreling down, through one car and into the side of a truck that caught his speed at the cost of its stability, crashing onto its side with the destructive force and sliding down the street at a worrying speed, stopping at a barrier, the inertia carrying Philip over the ledge to the 30 yard fall onto soft grass, truck crashing on top of him and covering him in fresh produce.

He grabbed the top part of the truck and ripped it open, jumping up to the main street. And was interrupted by having his body crushed into the parallel wall, thrown half-buried by the impossible strength Vergilius possessed, bouncing out after a rougher patch rebounded his arm. He was caught mid-air by the scruff of his neck, hard fingers dug into him like a chill as Vergilius jumped back onto hard asphalt, slamming Philip face first— which he covered with his searingly hot hands. After a second of landing, he lifted Philip and smashed his face back into the ground before taking a few steps back.

He grabbed a handful of rocks, melting them down with a greater heat and throwing an improvised net of magma at him. The small trick might’ve worked on a far lesser foe, but not this man. With a mere dip of his foot into the ground, a manhole cover flew up from the sudden disjointment, grappling the liquid asphalt and taking off into the night air. In the small blinding cloud of dust, he dashed to strike, the fixer narrowly but easily weaving under the blade. A hand reached out and struck his neck with a chop, a pain like never before rung his body, an unbearable freeze to his ever-lasting burning.

He took a few stunned steps back, Vergilius closed the gap with a horrifyingly casual walk and Philip staggered back onto his ass. The man grabbed him by his collar, pulling him into a punch across his face that knocked out a tooth. Hand still attached, it drew back for a perfect hit to the liver, blocked by both wing and weapon. It didn’t matter. The force of his hit blasted through and soon he was soaring down the intersection. A loud beep disoriented him, as well as the lights. A car tried to turn but it hit him dead-on regardless, sending it spiraling out, and him into a sturdy tree that caught him flat against the trunk.

He could feel his lungs burn for air, his blood boiling harder as he got back up, shaky and using his sword as a crutch.

“This is not hell. It is the inferno .”

Now in close, a well placed sweep of his legs threw Philip over, yet he was grabbed by his shoulders and slammed back into the tree, two fists rained on his weakening body as fast as droplets of rain, each one hitting with the force of a truck as the light pole snapped in half a second and flung him through a store’s windows into the next street, where the combo continued with disgustingly powerful kick to the thigh, pummeling him into a wall. Each punch sounded like a gunshot, each kick felt like one, and his wing finally sprouted to a usable defense shot in front of him to protect himself.

Pale fingers wrapped onto its stem and threw it out of the way, revealing a drawn back, choreographed hook.

‘ Not again… I can’t take another punch!!! ’

Philip grit his teeth and used his entire body to slam his forehead into his eyes, actually dazing him for a second to make a breathable amount of distance.

Now sufficiently fucked up, heart beating at a dizzying speed and his body failing, he pushed his wing to lop-sidedly ascend himself atop a roof, panting in exertion. Blood drizzled from his gums, nose, ears and eyes. His whole body felt like it’d been thrown into a grinder and pulverised by a train, and his leg wouldn’t stop shaking with the searing pain that hurt more than the wax on his arms and chest.

Vergilius was there not even a full second later, casually sitting on a small elevation. He couldn’t make it out properly. His body tensed for more, falling to a knee and losing his stance completely. “Twenty-three seconds.” He flipped his phone close. “You lasted twenty-three seconds against a coloured fixer. Congrats. You’d make a good professional punching bag.”

Philip crawled back, eyes red with his own blood, ears ringing like a bomb had gone off. The gaze that tore him apart was not any more gentle despite his pitiable state. Vergilius continued; “You do not have permission to leave the bus without my permission until that time rises to one minute.”

His mouth opened for a snarky reply, but his heart froze when met with that blood-red gaze, and the only thing Philip could do was whimper and nod meekly at his orders.

“I believe the sinners will need a briefing soon. Let us return to the bus.”

~~~

He stayed silent on the bus. He sat on the floor in the middle, near the back so as not to disturb Vergilius. Even after Rodya had thrown him some bandages he felt like utter shit. Were regrowing teeth supposed to hurt this much? His mouth felt like it was being ripped apart.

He let the young one— Sinclair— sit where he wished. Even if it meant letting this strange lady light a cigarette on his wing. “Hm.” She hummed. “It seems you’ve been T.A.T.T.L with our guide.”

“Come again?” He weakly sputtered out. She sighed, her eyes a similar red to Vergilius’. It made his hand shake and squeeze tight on reaction. She brought her cigarette to her lips.

“Thoroughly-acquainted-to-the-least. Dimwit.”

Philip couldn’t muster the strength to snark back, so he kept to himself and his back against the wall. His wax seemed to have grown back from the injuries, as blisteringly hot as ever. When would he ever become acquainted with this feeling…?

He kept still, now wanting to reopen his wounds. The bandages were made from shoddy material and having to put them on alone made it a pain to keep pressure on the worst of the wounds. 

Vergilius had finished a rundown to Dante and the sinners, something about the foes that escaped. Vergilius dismissed the worry, and the bus began moving, and a few seconds later, Vergilius dashed off in front of them, gone in a blink. It was surprisingly gentle considering they must have been travelling along damaged roads like the ones he’d seen before. The bus’ atmosphere was infected by two people, mostly; Rodion, and young energetic woman with blonde hair and amber eyes,

Her Limbus Company uniform adorned with fixer embellishments and a rough and grimy pair of dawn-coloured runners. She held a lance twice her size that almost reached the roof. The words ‘SUEÑO IMPOSIBLE “How dost thou fair? I am the noble Don-Quixote!” Loud. It hurt his head. “Thou hast just duelled the Red Gaze yes??! I beg of thee; regale me such an epic! Mine knowledge of the Sir Vergilius reach not so far as to measure of his strength in full!! For thee to stand 'gainst such a valiant fixer, thou must needs be a warrior of most prodigious renown!"

Philip stayed silent, a second to process her words and another to brood on them. “Shut up…”

Don-Quixote, without missing a beat, leaned in close and whispered; “Hath Sir Vergilius bid thee hold thy tongue? I do swear, not a whisper of it shall he hear from mine own lips!”

“Look at him. Look at me. That wasn’t a ‘fight’ .”

“Ha! What’d you expect, mate? He’s a coloured fixer.” A darker man around his own age piped up, scars covering his body from every visible part— so only his rolled up sleeves and face. Dark brown hair and strangely powerful purple eyes. The bat in his hand had the word ‘ REVENGE ’ crudely etched into it, the thing was gigantic. Longer than his own leg. “I caught a glimpse of yous, though. You ‘eren’t half bad.” After a moment’s hesitation, he looked ou the window before back at him. “Name’s Heathcliff.” He turned his head away after Philip returned the look, resting his head on the pommel of his bat.

Upon hearing a phrase from Charon, Don-Quixote’s attention instantly shifted. She beamed and her voice radiated and echoed from the small interior of the bus. “Whaaat ho?!! Did District 4 fall upon my ears? That place is known to be the home of the Grass Maiden!” She quickly rattled off at the same overwhelming volume. “ ‘Tis the origin of the heroine’s journey. And ‘twas the—”

“Bloody hell, you’re rattling on and on and on… Can’t you just shut up and let the trip go in peace?” Heathcliff murmured, knuckles turning white as he gripped the pommel of his bat in frustration. He looked angry— a fierce, almost scary scowl on his face.

“But mine only wish was to—”

“I said to shut up!” He snapped, slamming the bat against the inside of the bus. It didn’t even scratch the interior.

“…Sorry, did you happen to realize you’re being louder here?” The remark came from the ginger— long and flowing hair, auburn eyes, a mace in one hand and a circular shield in the other, the word ‘ HEARSE ’ painted on between iron reinforcements. She was right. He was being loud.

“…Even if you can’t die, you sure as hell can suffer, no? So say that again.” Heathcliff stood, swinging his bat across his shoulder.

“I say the right thing and your first response is violence? Shows how refined you are.” She rolled her eyes. Heathcliff growled in response.

Philip pulled his leg in to prepare to stand and get them both to just shut up, when a streak of artistic death slashed their throats open. It was almost too fast for him to see. They both fell to the floor, grasping for air for only a few seconds before inevitably dying.

“T.R.A.N.C.H.E.S.” Cigarette-lady spoke. With a sheathed weapon covered in blood, she withdrew the cigarette from her lips to speak her mind. “To-right-against-noisy-crying-hogs-entails-scragging.”

A lance thrust through the back of her skull, skewering her face on its tip. “Senseless violence shan’t be forgiven! I will bring about justice!” Don-Quixote declared, radiating pride at the corpse strung to her lance.

“Aw~” Rodya sighed, pulling her white collar to examine the damage— the blood that had stained her outfit. “I knew this would happen—it left a spot on my clothes. Look, do you guys really have to fight next to me?” 

“Can’t take a small break without anticipating trouble, can I.” Vergilius stepped back into the bus, Charon closed the door behind him. His piercing red eyes travelled to the bloodstains and bodies on the ground, looking at the prideful Don-Quixote, and then to him. “You were supposed to stop incidents like this, Philip.”

All eyes turned to him.

“Those rudimentary wounds wouldn’t have mattered.” Vergilius stated. “You five, cleaning duty for the next month.”

“Such unfairness!” Don-Quixote called out. “I merely sought the hand of justice! Sir Philip did naught a thing—”

“Oh! And tell them to do my laundry, too. Blood doesn’t wash off as easily as wine stains. Sheesh, dry cleaning is costly…” Her eyes flicked to Philip. He was too defeated to return the look.

Their blood spilled down the bus, the inertia of Mephistopheles' movement, where it brushed on and soaked into his shoe.

“Dante, I’d like you to turn the clock back.” Vergilius spoke to them. It was strange, despite their facelessness, their shock and horror were easily evident. After a moment, Dante shook that feeling off and tick-toked back to him. Vergilius sighed. “That must mean there’s a puzzled look where your face should be. I’ll keep that in mind. Miss Faust.” He motioned to her, who looked quite bothered by the call.

She delivered a few quiet words to Dante, who, after a moment, fell to the ground in abstract agony. As if by magic, waves and bubbles of blood rose from the crimson streams, ripping itself from him and back into the sinners.

Heathcliff and the ginger had to blink and regain their bearings. The other looked ecstatic. “Keh… How does it feel to have your head back after it was severed? Was it exciting?” She smiled— so earnestly it betrayed her act of violence entirely. She quickly reached into a packet for another cigarette, turning her back to light it on Philip’s wing.

Heathcliff rubbed his neck, ensuring he was in one piece before striding back to the cigarette lady, cursing under his breath. Dante started ticking again, hand outstretched but didn’t take any action to stop them. Heathcliff’s eyebrow raised, and said “Isn’t it your job to bring us back? If your job’s done, then step aside before I knock your dumb clock off.”

After a moment of silence, he went to attack the woman. It was clear she saw it coming, poised to strike his arm off— which she surely would have, had Philip not mustered the strength to catch her hand from behind and make her hiss painfully at the molten wax pushing into her skin, his weapon changed hands and parried Heathcliff’s bat away with ridiculous ease. If he didn’t have the instinct to tighten down on his grip it would’ve flown into Vergilius.

“Oi, mate. This isn’t your problem to beat, is it?”

The ginger looked about ready to beat Heathcliff over the head, arm raised with mace in hand. Both she, Heathcliff, and the other froze as Vergilius finally took action. “It seems this team’s in serious need of discipline.” As he walked forward, they quickly scampered back to their seats. Even Philip took a few weary steps back before hitting the wall. “Rule number one. Do not let me hear weapons clashing inside the bus. If any of you break this rule as of now… You’re going to be begging for me to let you die. I’m sure you know I’m capable of that and more, right?”

Heathcliff glowered but didn’t dare speak.

Nobody did.

~~~

The bus remained empty until the tension from Heathcliff and the ginger finally died down. It was Don-Quixote who broke the silence. “Pardon me! I have a question!” She hurriedly raised her hand.

“Shoot.” Vergilius responded.

“Verily, I understood the first rule well! What is the second rule, then?”

‘ Ah, he wasn’t being serious about the rules, was he ?’

“Hah, really… Why are you so eager to learn that?” Gregor drawled, taking another puff from his cigarette.

Vergilius gave a cold stare to both Gregor and the cigarette lady, humming in thought. She returned a peculiar look. “Rule number two; No littering inside the bus. I’d leave it at cigarette burns, however…” That Red Gaze turned to him; the markings of his wax, uncontrolled and unbearably hot.
He paused a moment before looking outside, and then to Charon “Now wait a second, the bus shouldn’t be this quiet. Where’s the engine’s roar? Charon, why aren’t you speeding up?”

“No food. Mephi is hungry.” She responded, pressing the pedal as far as her leg could. Mephistopheles did not act.

“Good. We could use something to lift the mood.” He turned to the sinners again. “A car needs fuel to run.” He explained. “Charon, try flashing the headlights a bit. Like stage lights.”

“Mhm, it’s dance timey.” she flicked some switch by the steering wheel rapidly.

The ginger looked outside warily. “Wait, if we do that, we’re effectively asking to be attacked.” Her eyes went to the band of people crawling up to the windows.

“That appears to be the intent.” A tall, sturdy man said, with a complete lack of emotion that matched both his appearance and face. He was bland bland.

“…Sorry?” She responded, a little taken aback.

“Oi!” Somebody slammed the bus from outside. “Leave all ya stuff behind and get off! Y’got 30 seconds! Ten! Ni–”

“Ey, you skipped twenty of ‘em.” Another voice butted in.

“Er… Uhh…” The first voice stammered. “Well, say your prayers for the other 20!”

Philip sighed, shakily standing from the ground to make his way outside. There would be no contest if these were regular people— if he remembered correctly.

“Eager, but no.” Vergilius stopped him, a hand in his way. It was gentle— in that it didn’t push or throw him. “Rest. We want them near death, not dead.” He turned to the sinners, “Got it?”

They grumbled, but everybody followed Don-Quixote, the first and most eager to put these knaves in their place.

The chairs were free, and Vergilius seemed more focused on Dante and the sinners. Philip took a seat, kicked his head up and closed his eyes.
The pain from his wax didn’t stop. Maybe it never would. Regardless, his body needed rest more than it needed to complain, so it came easy.

He awoke with a startle. The sinners and Vergilius were back on the bus— two spare chairs in hand— with another this time. She was young, about his age, pure red hair that fell to her waist tied up in a black bow. Her right eye was covered by a bandage, and she wore some baggy black and white clothing with some red accents on the edges. She looked at him, mouth completely agape.

“You okay, Miss Yuri?” Gregor looked between him and her, as did a few of the others.

“Th-that’s…” She stared at him for at least ten seconds, uninterrupted disbelief until…

“The manager would like to ask where you will be guiding us.” Faust said, snapping her out of this stupor.

“...” It took Yuri a second to regain her thoughts and formulate them into a reply. ”Yes.” She nodded. “I was a former employee at Lobotomy corporation.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t have taken part in this.” Ishmael commented. “Being a fallen Wing and everything, I doubt your employment ended on pleasant terms.”
“What’re you on about?” Rodya shrugged. “Any point in your life can be pleasant as long as you’ve money to spend.”

“Hrm,” Gregor shifted. “I heard those places are still teeming with monsters to this day…”

“Not ‘monsters’, Abnormalities.” Faust corrected. “The rumors are true, either way. But there are more important matters. In the deepest reaches of these branches are neoplastic plantlike growths holding the essence of L Corp’s technology.”

Faust and Vergilius quietly discussed with Dante. About what, Philip couldn’t overhear. Sinclair spoke up after a moment; “Oh, does that mean we won’t have to… feed people into our vehicle?”

‘ What? ’

“So, Miss Yuri, what’ve you been up to since the layoff?” Gregor nudged her, trying to get her mind off that last comment.

“It appears to me that thou art an honorable Fixer! Sir Philip shares thy valiant title!” Don-Quixote saluted. “It is said that all Fixers exude the noble scent of heroes!”

“For now… I’m just a contract worker.” Yuri responded.

“Aha. That explains why you decided to crawl on back there.” The ginger rolled her eyes. “Did they promise to promote you to team leader or something if you struck gold in your former workplace?”

“…My contracts might get extended if I return with results.” She responded. Her voice seemed strangely empty now.

“R—Right. A good result is something to risk your life for if you want to earn a permanent spot.” Gregor nodded. He tried to shift his bug-arm out of view.

“Ha, and what a futile life that is.” This woman with ginger hair seemed oddly aggressive. Gregor leaned over and whispered something, giving Yuri a bit of side-eye. “…I dunno, I have a problem with every single thing I’m hearing right now.”

The bus began driving again. Wildly. A hard turn left that almost sent Heathcliff tumbling into his wing. “Bloody hell!” He cursed, “Can’t you tuck that thing away anymore, bloke?!”

“Does it look like I can?” He replied. In response the wing shrivelled up before spurting out, spewing droplets of molten wax out.

Yuri looked back to them, and then stood and went to Charon’s side. “Umm, sorry to ask… But if I have the map, how do you know what roads to take?” Her eyes flickered to the wild driving of the road and the map in her hands.

“We do have something to lead us.” Charon said. Her eyes remained plastered on the road. Despite the high speed she was doing incredibly good. “Intuition. Charon’s intuition.” Yuri gasped, struggling to get Charon to look at the map– even just a glance. “Pinky-hair, explain why you keep rubbing that odd paper in Charon’s face.”

“Because you keep going in weird directions! Take a look at this map. Our destination is to the southeast of here…” Yuri used her finger. Without anywhere else to really look, Charon took a glance at the map. She then looked away.

“Follow the heart. That’s where the true path lies.”

“…You’re just admitting that you can’t read a map.” Yuri grimaced, admitting defeat and retracting her hand. Both she and the ginger put a palm over their faces.

“Ooh!” Rodya cooed. “Did our driver make a new friend?”

“Pinky keeps on blabbing. I know the way.” Quick enough they were completely surrounded. By at least 20 hooligans, similar worn and torn outfits to the last few that tried to assault the bus. Philip took no action to stand, letting the sinners take care of it. Yuri came over to him.

“Sir…” She was looking at his chest. His armour. Her eyes went to his pauldron, the melting and growing wax that seemed to endlessly cascade, evaporate, and form again.

“Philip.”

“Mister Philip… I-... what L-Corp branch did you work at…? How do you still have—” She was breathless, panicked almost. Tears almost pricked at her eyes.

“I don’t know.” He didn’t want to say anything else, but… he didn’t want to see her cry. “I can’t remember anything from before I woke up on this bus. Maybe there wasn’t anything from before this bus.” Yuri’s hand came close to his arm, his bracer. It paused when it felt the searing heat sweltering off it. “I can’t take it off, if you’re wondering.”

“I… see.” She blinked. “Does it feel uncomfortable…?”

“No. It hurts. I think it does, anyway. But it feels perfect. Like my own skin, as much as I loathe it.”

“Your ego suit hurts?” She raised her eyebrow. “I know they can be too much for one if they don’t meet the physical and mental requirements but… Sometimes they can be hard to get off, but if you can’t remove it at all… I–I’ve never seen something like it.”

“Vergilius said the same thing; Ego. I thought he was just insulting me, but…”

“Uhm.” She paused for a second. “It’s what L-corp used in their facilities. We got them from abnormalities. Abnormalities are what L-corp is centered around. They were kept secret and made some kind of energy— we worked with them to harvest that energy. Miss Faust would know more about it than I do.”

“I see.” He looked at her sword, which glowed the same hue as her hair. It lights up the dark under the seats of Mephistopheles. “They’re useful, right? How come you don’t have one with you?”

“A few years ago, all the L-corp facilities suddenly began shutting down. Outside of the facility, ego was useless. It was linked to the abnormality that made it, I think…? Besides, you started to go crazy if you kept them on too long.” She looked back to his weapon and slightly leaned back.

“I’m not about to go crazy if you’re wondering.” He clasped his hand. This stuff was from Lobotomy Corporation huh? “The only thing driving me mad is the heat. Wish I had something to cool it down, even a little.”

“I heard the North is colder than anywhere else.” Yuri replied, still a little fidgety. “I’ve never been though… Lived in this district all my life. It’s just what I’ve seen online.”

“Huh?”

“Oh— you don’t remember what the internet is, do you?” She grimaced, before shaking her head. “I guess that’s a better thing to forget…” She tried to explain, but was cut off as the sinners re-entered the bus and returned to her seat. After a few minutes, Yuri was up at the front of the bus, on Charon’s left, with Sinclair on her right. They were trying to help her navigate, despite her resistance.

“Pft… Chiquita~ Aren’t you gonna join them too?” Rodya pushed her finger into Don-Quixote’s cheek.

She sat straight as an arrow, fist raised sky-high at Rodya. “I beg your pardon! I am no child! And most certainly not little!”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She was only up to his shoulders. With her demeanour and size he had guessed she’d be on the younger side. “If you’re no kid, how old are you then?”

“It’s rude to ask a lady her age, y'know~” Rodya smiled. “Tip for the future.”

“Prithee, tell me thou own age, sir Philip!” Don-Quixote pointed to him. He blinked.

“You know I can’t—”

“And the same goes for me! Mine own age hath been lost upon countless days engorged in Fixer comics and literature! Tis why I’ve come so far in such short time.” She beamed proudly.

“No, you should’ve turned right at that intersection!” Yuri groaned, turning back as they sped down the road.

“Ahh… The woes of a driver.” Charon said. Gregor cackled with cigarette smoke still in his mouth. He was talking to the manager about something just a minute ago.

The sinners get off the bus again, more rats outside. This time, Yuri didn’t come to continue their conversation.

He took the time to doze off and maybe lick his wounds some more.

“Mister Philip.” He heard the ginger speak. He’d gotten a bit more rest than he thought he would. His wounds were looking better too– whatever this ego was it was healing him. “We’re at our destination. I think… Vergilius is giving you permission to step off. Call me Ishmael.”

Wordlessly, he stood. He didn’t expect a hand up— what would be the point?— and didn’t receive one either. “Ishmael. You’re the competent one, right?” She seemed proud to be recognized, and a little disappointed she was the only one he’d deem competent. Well, who else was there? Maybe that straight and orderly man from earlier but he seemed too passive. Heathcliff was too violent, as was cigarette lady. Sinclair was too sheepish and Rodya was too playful.

“I’m hoping that’s going to change.” She responded. When Philip took a step outside, Vergilius was already there. Two people wearing a similar uniform to Yuri, except with blue accents instead of red, stood before the sinners. One of them was completely jaw-dropped at the sight of Vergilius. The other seemed much more laid back.

“I didn’t think we’d have more than 13?” The man wiped his awe away to turn to him.

“Think of it as insurance.” Vergilius drawled. “Philip. Your guide will be Hopkins. Stay with him. You know the punishment if you fail.”

“But he looks really strong.” The woman blinked. “This ruined site can still be pretty dangerous inside… I can tell that’s good gear just from the get-go~ Wouldn’t it be better to stay as a group?”

“That would be just a bit too free of challenge, wouldn’t it? The golden bough could be anywhere, afterall.” Deciding not to argue, she nodded and stared back to her larger group. “See the shabby warehouse there? That’s where the stairs leading down to the branch facility are. From there, Yuri here will be your guide.” Said woman gave a weak ‘ Yeah’ , “These Fixers have been around a bit. Count on them to handle complications. That should be enough, yeah? This is as far as I can accompany you. I’ll be waiting back at the bus.” Dante probably said something in reply. “You’re sorely mistaken if you expect me to babysit you forever, Dante.”

“So you’ll take a back seat and idle away all alone?” Heathcliff rolled his eyes.

“Philip will be more than enough for this short excursion. Beaten as he is.”

Philip clicked his tongue. His body was still significantly injured, even if it had been regenerating at an unnatural speed.

“…In other words, you want us to come back red, black, and blue.” Gregor mumbled, snuffing out his cigarette.

“Think whatever you want.” He kept an ominous look to his ever fed up face. “I’ve gotten you guides and everything, so do your best down there.”

“Yes! I certainly won’t disappoint you, Mister Red Gaze!” Hopkins saluted.

~~~

Yuri, Hopkins, and the third girl, Aya, devised a plan to fully sweep the abandoned site. With a rough map made by Yuri, worn by age, he and Hopkins would clear the first two rooms on the right, with the sinners going left. Then, they’d meet up at the containment hall before splitting up once more and stopping at the employee lounge.

“What are these things?” Philip cut through these people(?) as weak as butter. They were scared, but that didn’t matter. A crossbow bolt flew past his face and into one in the corner of the room.

“Didn’t you see them outside?” Hopkins asked, loading up another shot. “They’re from old G-corp. Insect soldiers or something. All their senses were replaced by oversized bugs so they’re fodder at best.”

“Gotcha.” Even bugs could scream, right? Well he couldn’t remember any… Well, maybe Gregor? His arm definitely looked like it would fit on these things. They were twice as gross though, at least Gregor could try and hide his arm. “Next one’s down this hall isn’t it?” Hopkins nodded. “I’ll just go in alone.” He came out not thirty seconds after.

“What’s a fixer as strong as you doing in the slums? You’ve got to be a grade 4— maybe even a grade 3.” Hopkins kept eye contact as they walked into the first containment hall. The sinners were clashing against some small, ravenous plant-like monsters that seemed to be trying to eat them whole.

“You think I’m stupid enough to answer that?” He snapped back. Hopkins gulped and tried to laugh it off.

“No no, you’re right. I guess ahh… this is this and that is that. Let’s focus on the job.” That’s something he could agree with.

“I’ve never seen those before…” Yuri commented, looking at the fading corpses of what the sinners had just beaten to death.

“You don’t know?” Hopkin’s face almost twitched. It was a cold and angry frown. “Don’t you know why we bothered to let a fallen Wing’s feather into our Office? It was to efficiently guide us through requests within the L corp branch safely. You can’t do even that? Now look… What do you expect us to do with just ‘Oh nooo, I’ve never seen those before!’ Huh?”

"Gosh, Hopkins, feeling hangry? Take it easy~” Aya smiled loofly, nudging his shoulder.

“He’s not exactly wrong.” Philip murmured. What would the point of a guide be if not to give information? Even just an educated guess could’ve helped. Then again, he wasn’t fighting the things so what would he know?

“If they are in fact new to Ms. Yuri, then these might be another type of entity derived from Abnormalities… Perhaps a new species.” Faust butted in. She looked at the decaying corpses of the peculiar things with interest, slightly nudging the body with her sword.

“That Corporation might not have had every specimen in their confines, either. Yuri…” The sickly man looked as though he wished to speak further, but stopped. “Please do illuminate us on what you are aware of.”

“...I will.” She nodded.

“What’s there to argue about?” Heathcliff rang his bat against the wall in a huge clang. “All that matters is we beat ‘em to death, right?”

Dante tick-tocked his clock, and the sinners nodded and hummed along with it. Ishmael looked back at them as they began moving. “The manager believes we should reconvene what we know at the rest point instead of here.”

Philip and Hopkins followed, watching the group of… what, 15? turn right down the hall and out of sight. “How’d this place come down in the first place?” Philip jammed his weapon into the wall. It barely penetrated the thick material.

“Ask Yuri.” Hopkins responded, eyeing the hole as he walked past it. “More of those things from earlier. Let’s try and get some more intel on them.”

In a slash he’d executed two of the red ones. They broke as easy as kindling and exploded into a cold flame when they hit the ground. “There’s something. They’re weak to death.”

“Dammit— well, at least they’re not very strong.” One of Hopkins bolts rammed through a creature, pinning its main body to the floor. When he went to grab his projectile again he stomped it to death before adding it back to his quiver. “You’re lucky to be working under the Red Gaze… I bet being one of his minions has got to be pretty comfy.”

“Hardly.” Philip said under his breath. Hopkins didn’t respond so he assumed he didn’t hear.

“AYA!!!” They heard Yuri shriek. It made them both jump a little.

“Wait.” Hopkins tried to hold his arm out to stop Philip, but he walked through regardless. “Stop, err– Philip! We need more inform— Dammit!”

Philip came up, only half the sinners in the breakroom, the others running to the next. Yuri was looking down at Aya’s corpse. She looked up to the others in tears, moving her hand to her waist and then her sword. Aya had a gaping wound in her stomach, half her heart broken and pulled out from the large circular wound in her midsection. Maybe Hopkins was safer with him.

“Well? There’s not any point in delaying.” Hopkins jumped over the growing pool of Aya’s blood. He looked back to Philip, waiting for him.

Outis seemed ready to follow them and the few sinners that went ahead, but turned to Dante first. “Manager. Your command, please.” Dante responded in their usual form, and she nodded in reply. “A wise decision, Manager.”

“You can make sense of that?”

“I can’t.” Philip shook his head. “It’s magic o—”

“You are not at liberty to discuss further information with a fourth party about the ongoings of Limbus company, Philip.” Faust spoke. “If you are to explain anything further about the specifics of the sinners and Dante, you will be executed.”

He ‘tsked’, to help with the cold feeling of sweat dripping down his neck. Upon her incessant staring, he signed that he knew who’d be doing the executing. “Understood.”

Philip followed Dante into the Info Passage sector. Heathcliff, Don-Quixote, Rodya, and Gregor were already fighting. Losing, one may add. They seemed to work a lot better with Dante ordering them around. Philip would’ve helped— but didn’t Vergilius say not to get too involved? Hopkins was already moving down to information too. It seemed Aya’s death didn’t impact him much.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to help!” Ishmael called to them. Philip turned back to watch half of the sinner be enveloped by the roots, tangled to each of them. Despite that, the monster— abnormality, whatever— seems sluggish itself. None of them had died even after a few hits, so they’d be fine.

“So, how’s the clock work?” Hopkins asked, falling from rubble to platform as they made their way down the broken elevator the most efficient way possible.

“You know I can’t say. Faust will rat me out.”

“Don’t be such a bitch.” Hopkins scoffed. “You’re stronger than her. Who’s the Red Gaze going to believe; some grade 9 fodder or you? Besides, what’s the harm? Can’t exactly nick it off those guys.”

“Yeah, well.” Something moved in the shadows. Crawling under rubble and chittering. “On guard. We’re not alone.”

Hopkins drew his bow up to focus. He shot into some dark obscured hiding spot under some rubble and heard a bug-like chitter mixed with a woman’s howl, red blood ran out from it soon after. “Let’s keep moving. The others can take care of whatever this is— they’re way too weak anyway.” Another hiss echoed from the next room, the origin undefinable. They walked past unmindful of whatever made it, Hopkins tensed a little and held his breath.

“These are old bodies.” Hopkins motioned. Skeletons, skulls broken and ribs fractured. A hallway of them. It looked endless. “No, we’ve come too far.” He stepped back. “We need to wait for Yuri and the others.” He stepped back even more. “Let’s head up and—” Hopkins’ crossbow was pulled from his hands as if by wind, flying into the tough hands of a bug-person, similar to the ones seen above.

“I haven’t lost all my prowess.” It snarled, shooting a bolt straight at Hopkins. Philip was just fast enough to intercept it, digging an inch into his armour before lashing forward. The pest stepped back and held his hand forward, the waxen sword froze mid thrust and the pain of his still healing arm coursed through him. With a bit more force, he snatched it and pushed it past whatever invisible force had frozen him, slamming it into the bug’s guts with enough force to make the horribly misaligned edge jab into his stomach. His hands grabbed onto Philip’s head, and—

[-]

Ssanghwa-tang

Rehmannia root, peony root, angelica root, 5 grams each. A pinch of cnidium, a drop of licorice taste, cinnamon bark, 2 grams of milkvetch, 3 grams of a jujube, ground ginger, and an egg.

Add all the items into a pot, add two glasses of water, and stir until boiling. Reduce the heat and let it simmer for half an hour. It should have its brown flavourful colour by then. Sometimes he added in a few buoyant pine nuts for garnish, or an extra tea-spoon of sugar or tea if the day looked particularly poor outside.

It wasn’t much, but he hoped that his seniors could have an easier time if they drank it. Oh! He’d run out of sugar. Well, he’d just have to use the Honey.

S̷͙̲̊̓̌͘ȧ̶͖̫̌͘ḻ̷̰̭͛̌̑̄v̸͚̍ǎ̵̛̲̍̋d̸̳̪̈́̐ȏ̴͇͎r̵͎̜͑͝ didn’t seem to mind. He did seem a bit more stressed than usual. When Seonbae asked further, he explained.

The Library.

[-]

When Philip blinked from whatever he had been trapped in, his eyes shimmered. A bolt had pierced his neck, stuck halfway through and stuck in place from the new sheen of wax growing up to melt it down. The pest laid a charred corpse, nothing but mandibles on the ashes of what was a living thing.

He fell back and yanked the arrow from his neck, melting it in his hand much to Hopkin’s chagrin. “Hey!” HE scowled. “Those are expensive! I’ll have to contact– oh, the others are here. It’s about time they dealt with that thing.”

“Is that a traitor’s wound I see?” Outis’ eyes keenly narrowed in on the hole in Philip’s neck, slowly welding over with wax yet still visible and leaking porous amounts of blood. Hopkins held his hands up in surrender.

“It wasn’t him. Some bug crawled out and got the jump on us both.”

Ishmael clicked her tongue. Like she had been so much better in that last fight?

“There’s more pests around, but the main one’s dead.” One of Philip’s hands was holding onto the wound on his neck. It felt as if it should be fatal, yet…

“Pests, huh.” Gregor whispered. “Yeah, guess that’s not too far off.” He pulled out a box of cigarettes his old one ran dry. “Pests to be exterminated.”

“There’s a massive amount of bodies up ahead. Yuri, do you have an actual idea as to why that is?” Hopkins jutted a finger into her chest, and she stumbled back before looking up.

“I’ll go see.” She limped to the next containment checkpoint. “These are our… no, L Corp’s employees…” She stumbled to one of the bodies, almost tripping over a few legs on the way. “ A management report… This document contains instructions for keeping Abnormalities in check. Normally, employees tasked with catering to Abnormalities memorize the instructions to the point of reciting them flawlessly… They don’t usually carry notes like these.”

“I dare suspect that no remaining employees had the necessary information when an Abnormality breached…” The pale man spoke.

“If the eggs weren’t moved into containment yet… that could be the case.” Yuri pondered.

“What kind of Abnormality could have massacred all these employees―” Ishmael paused mid-sentence. “Wait… What’s this smell?” Her eyes flicked to Hopkins, who had quickly put on a gas mask.

“…You see, our Office purchased an expensive device the other day.” Hopkins started. The mask distorted his voice.

A trail of red flowed down Heathcliff’s face. “What’re you on about?”

“Sources suggested that toxin levels started to rise after a certain floor.” He tapped his gas mask.

Blood began to bubble in Philip’s ears. The sinners were violently coughing, falling over. “You slippery rat, you knew all this time?” Heathcliff grit his teeth, doing his damndest to stand. “You’re not getting away with… Ngh…”

“Hopkins…” Yuri coughed. “Why… Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Oh, I’ve got a question for you too, Yuri.” Hopkins got closer to her weakening form, crouching in front of her. He raised a finger, as if asking an intuitive one. “Why would I make our Office waste our precious funds on expensive gadgets for dead weight like you to use? If we’re being real, it’s a miracle that you qualified to join us in the first place. Maybe Aya took pity and gave you special treatment… but she’s gone now, so who cares? The only one who might actually deserve to be here is Philip, but he’s clearly nest-born. You can tell from how clueless he is.” He walked to Philip, who was etching a hole into the ground. He was melting it and moving the molten sludge out of the reddening hole.

“Sneaky blighter… Is that how you want to live…” Heathcliff cursed, bat dropped to his side.

“Don’t be silly, everything’s fair game for a Fixer. Hearing that the Red Gaze had company tickled my curiosity, but as it turns out…You were just a bunch of ragtag lunatics who thought it’d be a good idea to walk straight into these facilities with zero prep.”

The gas. It was meant to weaken the abnormalities in the facility. The large, monstrous things that were stuck in the halls for energy. He was far enough away from whatever was causing the effects for the pit to fill with breathable air instead of the poisonous gas.

He aimed his crossbow up at Philip. “It’s just business. Whatever gear you’ve got will earn me enough for at least a year. That’s some A-grade gear. Maybe I’ll keep a bit for myself. It’ll help when I drag the enkephalin out of here.”

With just enough strength for a desperate leap, Philip lunged and caught Hopkins under his molten wax. Panic set in before they hit the floor, a stray bolt flying into the ceiling, his shoulders burning as Philip worked to pin him down.

“Get the bastard…!” Heathcliff grunted through his teeth. “Mask!”

The wax moved to his face, pushing and breaking the glass into his eyes as he melted away the skin on his face. The noxious gas was making his own eyes bleed onto his face. The mask was stuck on tight, suctioned to Hopkins’ face. His face was turning redder and redder, the mask bulged slightly as Philip’s other hands tugged on it. The heat only grew more intense, Hopkins struggled harder, the mask was beginning to fuse to his skin , and finally came off with a horrific pop as the heated pressure almost blew off Hopkin’s chin. With only a few gasps of strength, Philip pressed the deathly-smelling mask to his face, taking in the first few breaths of air. He left no last words other than a few horrified gargles of him choking on his filling lungs.

Philip breathed a sigh of relief and let himself lie amongst the bodies. The air from the mask smelled like burnt, charred flesh. He could feel it, in his soul, that he’d remember this. It was a new sensation, even compared to whatever he had done before.

Yuri looked at him. She had a mask on herself. Did she know about it, too? Philip was thankful that his body gave out when he tried to stand, not knowing if that murderous intent wouldn’t earn him a beating from Vergilius. He’d already killed a third of their hired hands.

Yuri, who was carrying the sinners out one by one on her back for Dante to revive, wasn't with Hopkins’ sudden betrayal. She was as shocked as the rest of them. And despite the searing heat of his curse, despite him being almost unable to move, she dragged him out of the hallway too. Dante ticked something, and Yuri just nodded. “I know you can’t heal him…”

Yuri sat by him, and the sinners began to rise at the winding of the clock.

~~~

Yuri was still sitting by him when he woke. “Why didn’t you go with the others?” Her sword was resting between her legs, leaning against her shoulder.

“I did…” She kept an eye on the darkness in front of them. “I didn’t want to leave you alone, and I was becoming more useless the further we went.” She held Aya’s gas mask in her hands. His own had partially melted down his face, though it removed as easily as it came on. “I was a useless guide, wasn’t I? I didn’t even think about the Ebony Queen escaping and got Aya killed, and I didn’t remember the gas grenades I used to use when I worked here.”

‘ She’s looking for something, isn’t she? Something to reaffirm that she wasn’t useless? ’

Despite his assumption, she looked utterly devoid of any intention to receive assurement and a pat on the back. So, why was she asking? “I don’t know.” Philip shrugged. “I was with Hopkins, remember?... Still, you drew up that map we used.” Hopkins had it last, but… It was probably turned to ash now. “I guess… not?” He said, after a second of thinking. “It was more convenient to have you here than going in alone. Make of it what you will.” He grunted, still mustering up some strength. He managed to stand, albeit a bit shaky. “So, guide, can you lead me to the others?”

Yuri sat, in thought, and nodded, standing herself. She attached Aya’s mask to the belt on her leg and began to walk into the site without a word. They passed the room of bodies, Hopkins thrown among the pile. Philip turned the only way they could; left down the hall. The sinners had already come through, judging from a few bloodstains. “Can you break this rubble?” Yuri motioned to the destroyed space. “It’ll be faster than going around…” Her voice seemed to leave out a detail.

“Stand back.” Philip warned. He was still weakened, but it would be easy enough to break down some rubble, provided more didn’t pour in from the ceiling. With one blazing strike that lit the room with the power of a few street lights, noise and dust subsided after a few seconds. The rubble was cleared, a circular hole burnt right through a larger boulder. They pressed onward.

“I turned back just before here.” Yuri stated. “There shouldn’t be too many enemies, so… I don’t think they’ll be too far.” The broken and run down architecture was much more perilous than the last floor. Bug soldiers lay dead on the concrete floor, and all they had to do was follow the trail of bodies. “This is the golden apple’s containment. I should’ve told the others it’d be down here…”

The walls, ceiling, and floor were covered in bumpy roots. They burnt away at his touch, revealing strange equipment and containers, half empty and rotting away behind thick glass windows with rusted and beaten locks. “What is this stuff?”

Yuri, who was already moving onward, had to come back and squint. “We put enkephalin in these… it’s addictive, so it was transported securely without our input so we couldn’t siphon and sell any.” Her hand wiped away some ash from the glass, looking inside at the luminous green liquid. “The walls and ceiling are missing the protective layer… Usually you can’t see these.” She shook her head and they ventured on.

“So many paths are blocked. Are we sure they couldn’t have gotten trapped inside?”

“Mmh…” She responded. “Most of these are supply closets and containment rooms. You’re looking for that golden bough…? We just—” They were able to hear an incredibly loud boom echoing down the halls. It made his ears ring. Yuri jumped and her eyes shot open. “T-that’s a gun,” Yuri said, panicked.

“A what?”

“It’s deadly!! This way!” She began running, almost tripping over the vines. Whatever she was worried about was clearly pretty serious. Philip took the lead, coming to a stop when he saw the sinners, and another group of three. A horrible aroma hit his nose, one that made his head spin. Gregor was dead on the ground next to some rotting pile of fleshy mass.

“Gubo… My old compatriot. Is this the path you chose?” The man, Gubo, had a stern look to him, red spectacles, short black hair and a uniform on him and three others, except he wore a brown waistcoat underneath. In his hand, he held a small weapon that seemed to fill the sinners with worry.

“Yi-Sang.” He nodded in recognition. “Indeed it is. Only few remain now.”

“An intruder— as it appears— has come to assist you.” The woman, who looked to be the eldest, green eyes and wavy brown hair. She wore a dress version of the uniform Gubo had on. “Jia Huan?”

A man who looked quite similar to the more curious sinner stepped forward. In his hand, a dark purple sword with flowery details etched onto the crossguard, same design at the ones on his uniformed jacket. He leapt forward, far faster than any of the sinners could have possibly reacted to, meeting Philip’s blade and sawing through the hard wax of his blade. Philip recoiled from the unexpected strength and received a hard kick in the gut that sent him careening across the ground. Philip managed to regain his balance half-way to the wall, extending his wing to increase drag before running back into combat distance.

Jia-Huan’s sword was slightly longer, and thinner, making it more versatile compared to his own blade. Philip did not truly know how to fight, the minor amount of exposure to combat either being too far below him to prove adequate in challenge or too far above to ever improve against. Philip’s blade smashed into the ground, Jia-Huan took advantage by cutting at his wrist, flicking back at his elbow, Philip twisted the armour enough to ricochet his blade— he was slower than Jia-Huan.

The larger blade blunted the smaller one out of the way, yet Jia-Huan gripped the blade with his free hand and batted his sword up, one of his legs flying upward to kick Philip’s chin equally as high. He once again half-sworded, and Philip instinctively covered his neck, preventing a lethal cut and retaliating with a thrust forward that slipped past Jia-Huan’s one-handed guard, yet was too slow as he stepped around his wing-side.

“S-such skill..!!!” Don-Quixote gushed.

Philip tried to act even faster than Jia-Huan’s assured counterattack. The wax blade moved in a flash, screeching the air, yet only caught the back of his pony-tail as he ducked underneath and rose back up. He used the pommel to take a hard crack at the wax on the inside of his arm and stepped back out of a grab, his arm coming across against and nicking Jia-Huan’s cheek. He looked a little surprised, wiping the smudges of wax off, revealing a small burn mark and a little cut.

Philip went for another grab, able to rip some of the uniform off his collar. Jia-Huan jumped back to his compatriots, a few looked rather intrigued. With a cool, yet silently frustrated smile, he clapped his hands, and every trace of light, from the faint warning sirens of the facility to even the fiery cracks in his molten armour. “I’d rather not get more gutter-rat on me.”

Like waking from a long dream, they were greeted by the morning sun.

Golden bough nowhere in sight.

~~~

Vergilius was pissed.

A blind man could’ve told you that, from the way his disappointment oppressively held the bus in pure silence. “And I thought this would be an easy enough mission for you. After allowing the Golden Bough to be taken before your very eyes, most of you had the gall to walk in with your faces up.” He looked down on each and every one of them, red eyes gleaming. “Have I overestimated you? Why don’t you give me an excuse, Ms. Faust."

Faust paused, looking at Philip. “I had put too much trust in your gentleness with Philip… had he not been so worn, there is a high likely-hood that we would have retrieved the bough safely.”

“Had I not been so gentle, he surely would’ve stabbed you from behind and made off with himself until I had stabbed him down.” Faust didn’t offer a retort. Vergilius turned to Dante. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“They’re asking about the other faction that sought the Golden Bough.” Faust translated.

“…Don’t tell me. Are you holding me responsible? Tell me then, Dante. Why would we bother sending twelve whole combatants to a place with no threats?” He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “After hiring Fixers to guide them, too.”

“Kch.” Philip ticked. “One of those guides almost got us all killed.” Vergilius offered no response, just a knowing, tired look. “He would’ve killed all of us and made off with Dante’s clock and my ego!”

“You were defeated by a grade 8 fixer?” Vergilius took one single step, and without a blink, almost without motion, Philip was laid flat against the floor again, foot stamped on the glassed orb in the centre of his chestpiece. “Worthless. You truly are little more than a bag to be beaten.”

“Oi…” Heathcliff stood, but from the ground Phlip noticed his leg trembling. “If he wasn’t there, the lass would’ve been killed and that manky arse would’ve gotten away.”

“Fascinating.” Vergilius responded, letting his foot off Philip’s chest. “Built a sense of camaraderie between you already. Well, I do suppose it’s not too bad to cover up for each other since you’re all in the same bus…Just know that sticking up for one another doesn’t make up for your incompetence.”

“…We got a call.” Faust said. “After Team’s Spec Ops Section 4 has just gone underground for their job.”

“That sounds about right. Someone has to salvage the E.G.O and Abnormalities left there.” Then, almost mockingly, he continued. “…A real shame that the essence was lost, though.”

“This is getting excessive.” Outis complained. “Failure is a common thing on the battlefield. If an objective wasn’t met, you devise another plan and redeploy. Are you sure it wasn’t your expectations that were too high for our first mission? Despite all odds, our manager’s performance was outstanding.”

Vergilius looked too fed up to argue back. “I suppose we’ll leave it at that.”

Everybody seemed pretty down after Vergilius’ lecture. Even Don-Quixote's endless ramblings had ceased.

Although…

“What about Yuri?” Gregor asked. He had kept to himself ever since Yuri left— though that was only a few minutes ago. “She’ll be the sole surviving member sent out by that office… and given the state the bodies are in I doubt she’ll get a permanent position.”

Vergilius looked at him, face as stone-clad as ever. “Limbus company will ensure she’s properly paid for her work… and then she’ll be going on her way.”

Gregor seemed to know what that meant, and if Hopkins was any example for the City’s citizens, he did too. Without a word, Gregor pulled the last cigarette from his pocket box and lit it with his own lighter, closing his eyes in acceptance.