Twilight zone, dim light zone, darkness zone...
The feeling of plunging into the abyss slowly fades as the light recedes, your senses smothered by the thick, encroaching void.
You fight to keep your eyes open, catching a glimpse of a faint light just as your thoughts are about to be consumed by the River Acheron.
Bzzzt—
A glass bottle comes flying straight at your head. With a tremendous crash, excruciating pain explodes across your skull.
Warm blood immediately streams down your forehead. As you collapse in a dizzying haze, you realize your surroundings have morphed into a small tavern.
The pain in your head just throbs, setting every nerve in your body on fire. You can feel yourself jerking uncontrollably, your limbs going haywire as your mind slips away. This pain shatters you far more than the bottle hitting you ever did.
Someone's leaning over you, it seems, frantically yelling your name.
...Fi...
Fidel! Hah! He got what was coming to him, his head smashed to bits!
Then, another voice cuts right through you—it's commanding, like a ringing bell, brooking no argument.
Fidel Martinez!
The Ferryman's here, so what's the point of fighting it? You're dead as a doornail. Now, chop chop, come with me.
The red-haired Ferryman hauls the dazed new ghost<//human>, onto the train, literally flinging them into the third-class carriage.
It's only when the new ghost<//human>'s head slams against the train seat that they seem to even faintly grasp what kind of situation they're in.
Just like clockwork, in the very next moment, the human's thoughts are yanked away again.
—Mike Draven!
Another name down the drain of the Acheron River.
The man, Mike, fills your vision as he bolts toward the dust-choked battlefield, shaking as he throws both hands up and screams.
Crane's gone down in battle! Death of Iron's taken out Gyrfalcon! The Steel Army was supposed to protect the Ash Lands—how in the world did we mess up this badly?
The revolution hasn't even gotten off the ground—our iron cavalry hasn't even hit the Sanctuary yet—and we're already stabbing the brothers and sisters who once fought alongside us right in the back!
Pathetic!
He<//Human> is crying out in bitter rage, but then he sees Death of Iron's forces have already turned their guns on their own comrades.
...No.
His<//Human's> perspective suddenly lurches forward, and then, with several deafening gunshots, everything goes quiet.
A gunshot wound to the abdomen sends a jolt of agony through him<//human>, who writhes on the ground, guts ripping with pain.
Again, killing pain rips through your mind.
Just as you expect, the Ferryman arrives, ready to collect this fresh soul and usher it onto the Hell Train.
As the Hell Train passes over the Acheron River, the Witch Haida infiltrates without warning, drawing hordes of angels in her wake. The ensuing chaos destroys the train, sending half of it plunging into the river below.
Finally, all perspectives converge back to the river's depths.
You sink deeper, having just witnessed the "stones" meet their end in the Acheron River.
Time ceases to exist in these waters. Countless deaths overlap like turning pages, all splayed open before you at once. The agony of innumerable souls bites into your flesh, pain screaming from every part of your body, hell-bent on grinding you down into just another stone in the collection.
This kind of death surely is the most excruciating death imaginable, yet not a single scream can escape.
You struggle in the river water, nearly retching out the true soul. The vision blurs once more as another round of spiritual torment is about to kick off.
But then, a red figure looms over you, swallowing everything.
When your eyes flutter open again, you steel yourself for another wave of agony, but all you find is amber-red sunlight dusting your eyelashes.
Fiery red hair, caught by the warm evening breeze, dances across your vision, tickling the tip of your nose.
Nearby, people bustle about, tightening saddles and polishing swords, gearing up for the looming battle.
Back in the day, the Dawn Laws still ruled, and people could still soak up those cool autumn nights, blissfully unaware that even this future was on the brink of collapse.
...
The 17-year-old flag bearer sighs and kicks the banner next to her, its surface covered in sacred symbols.
Why are these two masters suddenly squabbling over a ridiculous patch of alkali land, and why does it have to be under the banner of the divine?
They say divine miracles once happened on that alkali land, that this whole campaign is to win the gods' favor, and that the divine will watch over tomorrow's battle.
The female healer beside her hands over a corn flatbread.
Here, have some more, Vera. This is good stuff.
"To win the gods' favor"? Gwynneth, you don't actually buy that, do you?
If they'd just own up to their greed and hypocrisy—that they only want to expand their territories like puzzle pieces—then I might actually have a sliver of respect for them.
Vera gazes at the setting sun, biting fiercely into the corn flatbread with the exact same ferocity she shows when tearing into enemies on the battlefield.
A war like this—not against those damned demons, not even for people's survival—I just can't stomach it.
The boss should have sent me to go tend these wheat fields or grind corn in the barn. Anything beats lugging around this ridiculous flag.
Vera, you've got to have more faith. The devout always get their reward down the line. When you carry that flag tomorrow and fight for the divine, you'll definitely get...
A corn flatbread for my two meals every day.
She stands up, not wanting to hear another word from Gwynneth, and walks off, blade in hand.
Whatever. First things first, I need to fill my stomach.
Where's Aurora? I've got to track her down. She's stuck with some hand-me-down weapon, and it's nothing to write home about. I should really fix it up for her—can't have her walking into a disaster on her first battlefield tomorrow.
How come?
Whoosh—
The last words Vera catches from Gwynneth are, "How could that happen?"
An arrow slices through the air, a sound she'll never forget, ripping her thoughts away.
Hey! Gwynneth, we're under attack—
!!!
...Argh... Cough!
Gwynneth barely holds onto the arrow that's almost gone through her neck. Blood pours like a faucet as she tries to talk, but only red streams endlessly from her torn throat.
What gives?
The ridiculous war over useless alkali land takes place a day early.
What happens next is a blur—even Vera herself can barely recall the specifics. She just remembers dropping the flag and charging ahead, her sword swinging wildly.
Aurora also gets caught in the crossfire.
Having lost everything in this fight, she roars across the chaotic battlefield, taking heads one after another under the warm, setting sun.
In the end, in a wheat field churned into muddy gore, a chest gets impaled.
At that moment, the crimson sun sinks below the horizon, forever imprinted in her eyes, which refuse to close.
She thought—
(I've never been very religious, but I've always fought on behalf of the Sanctuary and the Sovereign.)
(Will the Supreme Heaven still have me?)
A blinding light sears her lifeless eyes, and she truly seems to catch a glimpse of something divine.
(Could this be... the great beyond?)
But past the light, all there is is the rumble of a train. A blonde woman looks coolly at the messy battlefield before telling her guards to load the dead souls aboard.
She hears a booming voice.
Well, lookie here, more dead folks. You're my new colleagues?
What'd you all do to wind up here?
The strange shards melt into the abyss, and your vision, tied to Vera, goes dark again.
Hey, wake up!
Another one. And another. And another.
Hammer-like blows slam into your chest, each one strong enough to shatter your ribs.
This is an order—giving up now would be crazy.
WAKE—UP—NOW!
A burning feeling shoots up from your throat as you gasp and cough hard.
A bright, flickering flame dances before your eyes, slowly lighting up the silhouette across from you.
—It's "Death".
Under the cave's curved ceiling, her face is the only thing you can clearly see.
You're finally awake.
Of course not. Did you think you'd come back as someone new? Ended up in the Sanctuary? Turned into an angel?
The seasoned knight sits lopsided beside you, hands still on your chest, uttering words as sharp as ever.
Want to see for yourself?
To see if you've... gotten the urge to bite people, like those angels did.
Go on, bite my neck if you dare.
She smiles, tilting her chin up, baring her neck completely to you.
Heh, got quite the sharp tongue, don't you? Playing the fanged monster, are we?
Still got the energy for clever comebacks, I see. Guess your mind's still in one piece after all.
Alright, enough. On your feet.
You stand and check your gear—thankfully, everything's still there, not swept away by the river.
It was a mess underwater. Good thing we held onto each other the whole time, or I wouldn't have been able to drag you to shore.
Your body still aches a bit. Even though you only spent a fleeting moment in the river, you got a taste of someone else's death.
That feeling was anything but pleasant, yet that final perspective sticks with you in a haunting way.
"Death" smoothly brushes her fallen strands of hair behind her crown, raising an eyebrow, barely surprised.
That's just how it is. Ever since the Acheron River turned into dead water, any "stones" that fall into it can't move on to rebirth—they just get stuck inside.
The river soaks up all the suffering of those "stones," dissolving it right into the water where it stays trapped. When you went in, you were forced to relive it all, over and over.
...
Realizing you also witnessed her past, Vera pauses for a beat.
My death was nothing out of the ordinary. Just like countless others. Nothing special about it. So you saw it—no big deal.
Did you honestly think I'd end up in the Supreme Heaven? I'm no divinely-favored noble. I was young, but I had countless lives on my hands—always charging to the front lines, killing in every battle.
I was covered with so much grime. Is it any wonder they stuck me in a third-class carriage and dumped me in the Valley of Ash?
Honestly, though, the Valley of Ash isn't half bad in my book. At least it has Atlantis.
The demons of Atlantis never make me go back to the human realm and deal with that tedious everyday grind again... You know the rest—I already spilled it on the way here.
The bitterness in her words quietly dissolves, replaced by something gentler.
Yeah, trudging through the Acheron River really gets to me.
Just like you, I'm forced to experience it firsthand in the river, constantly gnawing on their suffering.
The Sanctuary condemns them to extreme punishment, trapping them there. Their rage has no heir but me.
Witch Haida is making a huge blunder. Whatever backroom deal she's cooked up with the Sanctuary, I'll dig it up and burn it to ashes.
A familiar blazing fire dances in the knight's eyes—proof of her unwavering conviction.
She tightens her grip on her weapon, ready to continue the fight.
First, we take in our surroundings—the river's "stones" are like breadcrumbs, leading us right to this spot; otherwise, we'd have been completely lost.
Vera lifts her lance, and the flame, which was just casting shadows on their faces moments ago, now flares to life, illuminating everything around you, even the dome ceiling that was swallowed by darkness.
There are no unsettling whispers from angels here. This place feels long abandoned.
Crimson moss carpets the arched ceiling. Stone bricks, laid one by one, form this hidden chamber, with mud slowly oozing through the cracks between the tiles.
Close enough. The Acheron River acts as a conduit, but I never imagined it was so interconnected. Even I didn't know about this place—we're directly beneath Atlantis.
The Death Lord grants provinces and demon fortresses to each Demon Lord. Historically, the Sovereigns of Atlantis are known as "Ferrymen"—supposedly the most powerful Demon Lords in hell, but in reality, they're just bridges between two worlds.
When it was my turn to step into the Ferryman role, things were super urgent, so I didn't get to dig deep into Atlantis's secrets. I had no clue there was such a massive space down there.
But Witch Haida grew up here, so I figure she's in the loop more than I am.
She seized control of the Chaos Gate Emissary and ripped open an arcane gate to summon angels. Now she flaunts her power in front of me, with those white vermin guarding her fortress.
She definitely doesn't want us finding the Emissary now, so she'll have hidden it away somewhere.
So you think... it could be hidden right here?
Oh? Getting cold feet?
You eye your weapon like a hawk, first making sure the belt is secure, then double-checking your hefty supply of blood bullets will see you through a drawn-out fight.
With Witch Haida's paltry skills and those Sanctuary beasts? They're hardly worth a second thought.
My demons don't even flinch at your human Iron Army, let alone now that I've got you by my side—a meddlesome Bloodsworn.
She steals a glance over her shoulder, the corridor's dim firelight playing across her cheeks.
Her face holds an intrigued smile, the corners of her mouth curving into a bloodthirsty arc that's always itching for a fight.
Listen. No sooner do I speak than some filthy creatures come rushing to their deaths.
The high-frequency whistle of spikes tearing through the air screams past my ears, drowning out the mocking voice beside me.
Suddenly, a ghastly pale, knuckly hand shoots out from behind the wall, lunging right where "Death" stands.
You're dead!
"Death" raises her lance, delivering a clean, decisive slash.
The angel's severed limb drops to the ground like a withered branch, only to be flicked away by "Death's" lance.
Hmph, just like I thought. Haida's still terrible at hiding. Since we're running into angels, the Emissary must be close.
As if on cue, beyond the corridor's bend, only darkness stretches, yet the rising and falling growls indicate an army of angels has already occupied the path ahead.
Don't let this story fizzle out, Bloodsworn.
Her words always border on provocation, but you detect an undercurrent of trust within them.
"Death" braces her Dual-Bladed Lance against her knee, locks eyes with you, then charges headfirst into the tide of angels.
In the coming bloodbath, she willingly entrusts her back to her companion.
Out of Atlantis, you unwanted scum!
—Ouch!
The angels lurking in the shadows stir restlessly, their piercing shrieks answering Vera's declaration of war.
Plunder! Conquer!
