1009. SUMMIT OF WORLD IMPURITIES

A body fell into a bottomless pit.

Their blood-curdling cry came to an abrupt stop just seconds into the descent.

Replacing it was an absolute silence that did not dare hint at the body’s fate.

Trembling, Insect-like beings wearing green coattails and carrying conducting wands were impaled along white rods. They were hung around the edge of the circular pit, and one was thrown into the gears of a winch which descended to pluck the body of the fallen Maestro.

“Eight hundred and thirty-nine Virtuosos, and only fifteen Maestros decided to show their faces.”

A figure in pale robes hurled another Maestro into the pit. Iscario took a moment to admire his handiwork; the many impaled Maestros and Virtuosos who grimaced to a soul-bound agony.

Few Maestros were aware of the existence of pain.

The discordant howls of anguish filled the air like the music of a broken record.

It had been weeks since the war in Grandis had ended, and it had taken until now for the Maestros to show their faces. Their failures were an excuse to punish them. But Iscario did not simply kill them.

Instead, he left them to hang on rods, and he savored their misery.

The faces they made were delightful, compared to what the stubborn defiance that the Amalgam showed him.

“The Aspirant Maestro slipped through the cracks. I’ve yet to hear back Mozheart. Beethoven, how many Virtuosos are under his command?”

“Bzzt. Little over twenty thousand. Bzzt. Only eight Maestros remain. Bzzt. None hold a force as formidable as mine. Bzzt.”

“I love good news. You know me well. As for these ones…”

The winch spun. A chain dangled into the pit. The metallic crane, which resembled a hastily crafted claw, groaned as the body of a fallen Maestro was brought up.

“Gaw… Kaw… Gkk…”

What race, what gender, and what type of creature it originally was – it was wiped clean. What became of the Maestro was a mass with many protruding bones.

It resembled a coral with skin stretched over its spines, and it carried a sole, quivering eye in the center. Congealed tears struggled to leave their eyes, and they clumped together until its lids tore.

Joining Iscario and Beethoven was a dark shade that materialized at the very edge of the gargantuan pit. A pair of white swirling eyes emerged, and they twinkled as it spokje.

“Aaah. Another abject failure. When unbound from a central Heart, they lose cohesion of what they are. The lack of brilliance makes them susceptible to a fundamental collapse of the self. But the psyche remains.”

It was Nilhim himself.

He was flanked by two entities who wore black and blue suits; with lowers halves seemingly floating in place.

Their faces were covered by a dark, reflective helm with just one exposing their bottom jaw.

“O’ Nilhim. Shall we use it as a source of trepidation?”

“An example for the unresponsive Maestros?”

His two Disciples asked.

“Neither. True terror is not derived from existential agony, but of all aspects of the self. The Curse of the Descent and Ascent do little to strengthen one to face the eternal night. There are no rays of brilliance in this one. A star should rise, not a husk that cannot bear the weight of itself. Not even the Green Composer was a star worth an ounce of recognition, but people will call anything a star as long as it evokes comfort.”

Nilhim’s form fluctuated. He was the closest thing to resemble the plumes of Qliphoth. As a being who capitalized on fear and the very dredges of cognition, it suited him.

The arms of the Disciples transformed into long needles, and they stabbed into where the brain of the corroded Maestro hid. A white fluid was drained from their mind in the milliliters.

“Aspirants of a Star in only name. The collapse does not seem to have been produced by the turbulence of trepidation. Only that they are weak in mind, body, soul. The flow of consciousness and the Thresholds left their soul to rot asunder. Hardly Aspirants as they are traitors.”

Nilhim monologued as a limb reached out from his form. It was [CENSORED] by an area-of-effect CognitO Filter that obscured his true form. This CognitO Filter functioned differently from those used by CogitO, as it afflicted the minds of those who perceived it to make it appear as everything that it was not at once.

An onlooker would mentally break down at a mere passing glance.

But Iscario, his Disciples, and Beethoven were not affected by this. Although, Beethoven kept his gaze elsewhere, knowing well of Nilhim’s psychological powers.

For comparison, it was enough to break even Tempered Level 5 Workers of ImpulseWorks who were already well versed in the nightmares of the Corrupted. Moons, depending on their susceptibility, would suffer a similar fate.

The limb grazed the white liquid. Suddenly, it bubbled violently until a manifested nightmare was born in the shape of a floating fetus.

“A rare fear. It shall make for a splendid addition to our regrowing enclave. Bring it into our Collection. Let us unbury what else the Maestros have been hiding.”

Virtuosos and another Maestro were thrown into the pit, only to be plucked back up at a frightening speed. Even if they had not transformed, their skin would have separated from muscle.

Punctuating their groans of suffering was the giggle of a young boy.

“The Subderma is truly a dangerous place. But the virtue of the Maestros is that they are, fundamentally, still very, very very… well, not like us.” A boy who held a toy ball stitched with the eyes of many tens of animals and people, joined the group of Impuritas by the pit.

He wore a red jester outfit with the shape of a heart stitched into his back, and his skin was whiter than snow, for he lacked an ounce of warm blood. Following him were the rustling of chains.

A dazzling woman dressed in brilliant gold, with illuminant chains wrapped around her arms appeared.

Of the Impuritas, she was the closest to looking like a human aside from Iscario. Her hair was silver like a certain Beholder, and her eyes radiated with orange contempt as she gazed upon the Maestros.

Her hair was combed to the side, revealing a scalp that was entombed with a plate of gold.

“Ringmaster Phalange.” The boy bowed.

“Oh. And here I thought we’d be using them along the dark side of the Nexus. Those walls require golden etchings to mark the upcoming day.” She spoke in a dignified manner that did not see the others as equals, but rather as subjects to do her bidding.

Indeed.

This was Ringmaster Phalange. Along her hands were precisely five rings pertaining to four of her most loyal servants. The use of the last ring, along her index finger, was unknown.

“The Maestros look awefuly rebellious. I told you, Brightest Star. It would have done us well to plant some of my Hired Arms into their ranks.”

“But it has not changed the trajectory of our goal.” Iscario hummed.

“No, not at all. If one minor faction that lacked a cohesive Heart were to be our undoing, then we would not have joined hands.”

Phalange tapped at the tattoos beneath her eyes. The right carried the suits of a standard deck of cards, and the other held the suits of the tarot deck. She reached into the air and retrieved a nicely wrapped object.

It was in the shape of an arm and was still bleeding.

“Heh. Would she laugh at such a joke, if I were to make it whilst holding this before her?” She murmured sinisterly. “Ahh, The Girl Far Away From Home~ A tale told so far and wide, that they even named a Corrupted after it.”

Following Phalange’s arrival was a mechanical worm that sprouted from the distant edge of the pit.

“There is no semblance of humanity here. A settlement would have sufficed.”

“You do not see these ones as ‘humans’? Not even me?” Phalange tilted her head with intrigue.

She found Kratt fascinating as something that was not human yet craved for it like how the Blood Festival did.

“Hardly.” Kratt answered with a single word, and did not speak again.

After Kratt came a figure with a black skull wearing a tight funeral suit. His body was completely pitch black, and his skin clung to his bones. But his presence was immense, and even the likes of Phalange could not help but wipe her smirk once he graced them.

“All things return to dust, be it machine or the living. Only memories may persist long after death. It’s a pity that the Maestros couldn’t fulfil their side of the bargain. To betray us so suddenly… The fault would lie in the Maestro who developed ‘Warp’ through the Seed. Keep these ones alive. We have much to extract.”

The next being to join them descended from the skies. A strand of string fell. Attached to the end was a disk reminiscent of a Sky Disk – the very first object to have ever depicted the cosmos. According to legends, in every conceivable world, a Sky Disk would form, and it would reveal the same basic depiction of the cosmos.

In Earth for example, the first depiction of the cosmos was the Nebra Sky Disk.

This Sky Disk was linked to Orloj, the Orbis Impuritas of the Sect of Gears.

“Ohoho~! As the Astrolabe makes his appearance, he scoffs with ridicule at how cliché the gathering of soon-to-be Stars is! He wonders why they don’t go ahead and call themselves a constellation.”

He deeply contrasted everything that the Sect of Gears were. They were beings who abided to every command of the Gears and the interpretations of the Fate Mechanism. Therefore, they used succinct language, and did not speak a decibel louder than required.

Yet their Orbis Impuritas spoke with showmanship, as though narrating every action that has and will be to an invisible audience. His third person narration was because he did not see himself as ‘Orloj’ whilst in the form of the Sky Disk.

Therefore, he had no reason to refer to himself in first person.

Despite his enthusiasm, he abided by the Sect of Gears philosophy of ‘purpose’.

“Here we are! Now then, what is the latest scoop, they wonder with suspense! Ah, the Brightest Star, all knowing and celestial in birth – as depicted in the Sky Disk – your glow has grown!”

“That is has.” Iscario murmured. “The Amalgam consumes all, but fails to integrate it in a meaningful way. She devours the Corrupted, but I…”

He held one of the malformed Virtuosos and fed it a golden Seed.

“… Tenderly integrate those who live. With love, and the promise of paradise beyond my fallen Kingdom of Puritas’ City; Pandemonium. Paradise was lost that night. But soon will come the day for us to reclaim it. As a Nephilim, is not my duty to guide lesser souls? As my namesake as a Star in the truest sense?”

He boasted, his eyes glowing with ineffable pride.

One last being joined them. It was a masked, white-suited woman whose head was shaped like a cube.

“Ah, Stir Cube. An Author of Existentia has decided to join us?” Phalange was surprised to see an Author grace them. “Another Masterpiece to share?”

“I’ve come for merely inspiration. As Authors who tiptoe around the Rivers for a stream of originality do. The Grimm Sisters have been keeping an eye on a White Wolf. As for myself, I simply hoped to find Angel Uriel. It seems that one of my Masterpieces has become a Repenter.”

Mori seemed to recognize who this was.

“That would be ‘Juliet’ to the ‘Romeo’ we had puppetted. Oboros Infinitas believes in repentance for a sinner steeped in misery? I hardly believe it. It may be possible to use her against them.”

“Take notes from my Hired Arms. The Golden Index is semi-compromised. But they’re getting good a detecting who’s on who’s side. We haven’t seen a case of a Golden Ticket being handed out in months.” Phalange complained. “Repenters. Whatever they wish to call them… in the end, it’s a futile effort, for those who are chained have nothing to call their own. Only those who chain may be graced with infinite riches.”

The meeting wasn’t scheduled. They merely converged by chance, as Orloj identified due to his connection to the Fate Mechanism.

But there was no such thing as chance in the mechanisms of fate. Every action was never a coincidence. They were all taken account of, no matter how minuscule their act was, or how many words they had to speak.

“What would a meeting of this nature mean, O’ Brightest Star~?”

His right eye turned to a deep shade of red.

“We make our preparations. The Nexus has learned to mobilize its forces. A war will break out wherever the Piece of the Fallen Star exists. We must find it before they do.”

Then, the Virtuoso he had been tenderly holding…

… had their flesh peeled from the bone, until all that remained was a skeleton resembling a cage.

“But that lies in whether we can find Mozheart. Suppress the Maestros and the Virtuosos present. Nilhim. Mori. Create puppets. If none are to return, then they will become suspicious. Direct conflict with the Nexus is to be avoided.”

He turned his gaze to an empty spot in the air.

He sensed Lilith’s presence.

But beyond that, he felt the throes, the yearning, of the Lower Half of the Nexus.

“Until we are ready, Scarlet Logic will do as they do best–

–Soften the opposition with an endless wave of red.”

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