CHAPTER 115: KARASU ANTHROPHOCENE: THE 296TH NEST UPDATE OF THE RECENT OCCURANCE

"The 296th Nest now commences its 39,429th recorded session," began the silhouette with a voice like polished steel, its form rigid and angular, radiating unyielding seriousness. "Director Cayame of the Monochara Chapter has betrayed the Karasu Association. Reports confirm she abandoned her bastion without notice and has been sighted among the Nightsilk Order as one of them."

The realm was a kaleidoscope of monochrome chaos. Black skies churned with script-shaped stars, their jagged forms twisting like forgotten equations.

White rivers snaked upward, defying gravity, their surfaces rippling with fragmented logic. Fractal monoliths loomed on the horizon, shifting in patterns that hurt the mind to trace.

Above, an eternal eclipse pulsed, neither casting light nor shadow, but radiating a pressure that pressed against the soul.

The air vibrated with a low hum, laced with whispers of ancient data, as if the realm itself were alive, listening.

At the center, a hexagonal platform of mirrored obsidian floated over a void of silent wind.

Around it sat six silhouettes, their forms shrouded in static, their anonymity preserved by the Nest’s protocols. Each was a blur of intent—some leaned forward, others slouched, their outlines flickering with distinct energies.

One burned with silent flames, another pulsed with erratic sparks, a third seemed to fold inward like a collapsing star.

Their voices, unbound by physical form, echoed across the platform, weaving a tapestry of debate, jest, and dread.

"To think that we start this session with the betrayal of one of fellows..."

A ripple of tension coursed through the platform.

The silhouette with erratic sparks, its voice bubbling with a joker’s glee, leaned forward, its static form jittering. "Betrayed? Oh, that’s rich! Cayame, the ice-cold pragmatist, ditching Monochara for the Nightsilk’s spooky cloaks. I bet she’s just chasing a better wardrobe!"

The silhouette with a deep, resonant tone, its form cloaked in harmonic script, straightened with a deliberate slowness, the straight man of the group. "Your jests are tiresome. Cayame’s defection is no trivial matter. She was Monochara’s anchor—calm, efficient, unshakable in her judgment. Her departure destabilizes the entire Chapter, and possibly the safety and stability of the bastion that housed the main production of our general technology."

The joker’s sparks flared, its voice dripping with mock offense. "Fine, fine, bore me to death. The report says she vanished after Vervendi Monarcha’s death. You know, the noble who owned Monochara’s bastion?

"Rumor has it Cayame proposed to her in public—got rejected, but they got closer anyway. Romantic, right?"

"Until that noble got killed."

A fourth silhouette, its form twitching like a glitched hologram, spoke in a high, erratic cadence, the weirdo of the group. "Oh, yes, yes, like threads tangled in a loom! Cayame’s heart, all pragmatic and cold, but burning for Vervendi! Her death—snap, crack, boom! Broke something in Cayame. Maybe she joined Nightsilk to hunt the killer. Revenge is a tasty motive, no?"

The serious silhouette’s angular form pulsed faintly, its voice cutting through the chatter. "Speculation is useless without evidence. The killer’s identity remains unreported—no leads, no whispers, not even to the Upper Nests. If Cayame seeks vengeance, why conceal it from us? The Karasu Association is one of the most prominent faction when it comes to information gathering. With the addition of the Endless One from the New Vaingall Consortium, we’re even more proficient at finding those leaks and secrets."

"Hmm, the Nightsilk Order’s involvement raises questions. They always approach first, sniffing out vulnerabilities. So it is unlikely that it is Cayame who was the one coming up to them. They may know more about Vervendi’s death than we do."

The fifth silhouette, its form rippling like liquid shadow, spoke with a lazy drawl, its tone laced with cynicism. "Oh, they definitely know something. Nightsilk’s got a knack for poaching talent—spot a crack in someone’s soul, and they’re knocking with a contract. Cayame’s too smart to just stumble into their web. She’s probably playing a game with them."

"And we’re the ones scrambling to catch up."

The sixth silhouette, its outline shimmering with silent flames, leaned back, its voice smooth and contemplative, the philosopher of the group. "Vervendi’s death as the trigger makes sense. If Nightsilk offered her a path to the killer, or power to exact justice, she might’ve seen it as a pragmatic choice. But betrayal? That word feels too crude for her, especially when she might weigh her purpose to be much heavier than Karasu Association."

The joker’s sparks crackled with laughter. "Ha! She’s probably sipping wine with Nightsilk’s leaders, plotting to steal our secrets and look fabulous doing it!"

The straight man’s harmonic script flared, its voice sharp. "Enough. Her motives are secondary. The fact is, Cayame’s defection is a strategic loss. Monochara’s bastion is weakened, and Nightsilk’s influence grows by a default after acquiring such a powerful figure. This demands an A-grade investigation priority—full resources, no delays."

The weirdo’s glitched form twitched violently, its voice rising to a fevered pitch. "A-grade! Yes, yes! Eyes everywhere, ears in the shadows! We’ll peel back Nightsilk’s veils, find Cayame, find the killer, find the truth! Oh, the threads will sing when we pull them!"

The serious silhouette’s angular form stilled, its voice cold. "Agreed. A-grade priority. All in favor?"

A chorus of affirmations echoed, the platform vibrating with their unified intent. The joker’s sparks dimmed slightly, its voice grumbling. "Fine, but I’m still betting she’s just in it for the cloaks."

"Do they even wear cloaks?"

"Last time I remember, they were wearing gothic armor."

"What are they? Some kind of medieval knight?"

"What is a medieval knight even..."

The serious silhouette’s voice sliced through the lingering tension. "Next topic: the Paradox War. Reports indicate all factions are clashing on every front. Its chaotic nature threatens to entangle human associations, including ours, as it spirals toward escalation."

The philosopher’s flaming outline flickered, its voice measured. "The Paradox War is a fracture in reality’s logic. Every clash distorts the timeline further, pulling in factions like moths to a flame.

"If it grows, Fathomi’s stability could unravel more to its surface. We’re already seeing ripples—and there will be nothing stopping it from involving the entire continents and its surrounding."

"Do you think that those factions even realized that their whole conflict revolved around an impossible occurrence and what is practically a misunderstanding?"

"Does it even matter? Let’s say that you thought that I used your Curio Item without your consent, even though I’m not, and it is the jackass beside me who did it—and you stole my Century Cake and threw it in a ditch." The silhouette shrugged. "Doesn’t matter that it starts with a misunderstanding, my cake is already in the ditch!"

"Come on, you’re still mad about that?"

"I traded a Legendary Curio Item for that! Legendary Tier!"

"I’m sorry for using your Spiritual Toxic Cleanser without your consent, by the way."

"I hate you for causing this charade that has been ongoing for years."

The straight man’s harmonic script pulsed, tone steady. "Focus. The Paradox War demands caution. All personnel near conflict borders must prioritize safety and intelligence-gathering. We can’t afford blind spots. Every report, every anomaly, must be analyzed. Agreed?"

The platform hummed with assent, though the joker’s voice muttered, "More paperwork. Great."

It took them a while to wrap up this topic before moving to another one, due to its confusing nature.

They also tackled a few topics here and there, all before finally reaching their final topic for the session.

The serious silhouette shifted, its angular form softening slightly. "Final topic: the successful erection of a Feather Library in Vaingall, led by Field Archivist Azulus."

The mood lightened, the platform’s hum softening as the joker’s sparks danced wildly. "Little Azulus! That mouse-eared Executioner, now strutting as a Field Archivist? I can’t believe she’s running a library! Bet she’s got Tengus fetching her tea while she organizes tomes like a boss."

The philosopher’s flames flickered with amusement, its voice warm. "She’s exceeded expectations. She also made an effort to establish a great foundation. Opening the library’s ground floor to Vaingall’s locals—non-redacted archives, maps, news—was a stroke of genius. It’s strengthened ties with the Consortium and elevated their knowledge base."

The cynic’s liquid shadow stirred, its drawl teasing. "Yeah, adorable Azulus turning Vaingall into a scholar’s paradise. I’m almost jealous. Her Tengus are probably more loyal than my last assistant."

"Man, if only I got my own Tengus, my rank is too low for that..."

The weirdo’s glitched form twitched, its voice a gleeful squeal. "Tengus! Shiny wings, clicky needles! They build, they guard, they glow! Azulus is a star, a tiny star, shining in Vaingall! We should visit, yes, yes, bring gifts, maybe a cake!"

"Her promotion was well-earned. The Feather Library’s success proves it. Vaingall’s integration of Darkness Essence from their reactor only deepens the alliance. We should support her efforts fully."

The serious silhouette nodded, its angular form steady. "Agreed. Azulus’s work is a rare success amid our current crises. We endorse her promotion and encourage further collaboration with Vaingall. All in favor?"

The platform vibrated with unified agreement, the joker’s voice piping up. "I’m in, but only if we get to crash her library opening. I want to see those hot and sexy Claturians too!"

The philosopher chuckled, its flames dancing. "I for one, haven’t seen the buzz about this so-called Claturians, what’s up with them?"

"Firstly, all of them are aesthetically hot. They are strong, kind, and draped with beautiful muscle structure!"

"Not to mention, they barely wear as many clothes, so their guns are bare for us to see."

"Why am I placed in a nest filled with perverts..."

The session closed, the monochrome realm fading as the silhouettes dissolved into static, their voices lingering like echoes in the void.