The sky was pale gray that night and empty of warmth.
Wind brushed lightly over the sand, stirring the dry grass that grew around the small graveyard behind the bunker. Where people previously died were buried. There were already rows of makeshift stones there, rough and uneven, each one marked by trembling hands during darker nights.
Now, one more was being added.
Tom stood silently beside Elior, both of them half-buried in the sand they had dug. Their hands were blistered from hours of work, their fingers covered in dust and dirt, but neither said anything.
At their feet lay what little was left of Arlong his worn chest-plate, dented and melted along the sides; his two artificial legs, one slightly shorter than the other; and his mechanical right hand, the steel joints still faintly stained from the acid rain.
His clothes were folded neatly on top. It was clean now, though nothing could erase what they represented.
Elior crouched and placed the chest-plate gently into the grave, as though afraid to disturb it.
Tom followed, lowering the rest one by one. When he set the hand down at very last, he hesitated for a moment. Then, quietly, he whispered,
"You always hated this world…. said it never fit right. Guess you don't have to fight it anymore."
He pressed the metal fingers into the sand and stood up. His eyes were itching, but he didn't cry. He couldn't, not so early.
Behind them, a small crowd of survivors had gathered. They stood in silence, the crowd was saddened with grief. No one dared to speak; the wind seemed to do it for them, sighing softly across the barren field.
Grace was sitting off to the side, near a large, broken stone. Her hands covered her face, shoulders slightly shaked. The wristband Elior had given her hung loosely on her wrist, its flowers dulled and wilted.
Beside her, Vera stood motionless, staring at the grave without blinking. His expression was blank.
Elior and Tom filled the grave together, shovel by shovel. The sand made a dull, heavy sound every time it fell.
Rosario, standing with the others, murmured something under his breath. Might be a prayer or just a memory.
When it was done, Elior reached into his pocket and brought out a small stone tablet. He knelt, carving with a dagger he carried. Each stroke was deliberate, careful. When he finished, he wiped the dust off and read it softly under his breath,
Arlong Khoe
Survived 14 days
May peace be upon you
Tom stood beside him, staring at the name. Fourteen days.
It sounded so short for someone who had fought like he did. But that was the reality of this world.
Elior rose, brushing his hands on his coat. "He didn't die afraid," he said quietly. "That is…. something most of us can't promise."
Tom looked at the grave, his voice almost lost in the wind.
"He wasn't supposed to go like this."
"No one ever is," Elior replied, his tone soft but distant.
Grace lifted her head, her eyes red but calm now. She watched them from afar, the wind blowing her hair gently across her face. She didn't say anything. Politely whispered something to herself, a name, a thank-you, a goodbye.
Vera turned his back, folding his arms, his trident resting beside him. Rosario took off his cap and placed it on his chest.
He came with nothing, went with nothing....
....
The hall was vast, empty, and cold.
A heavy smell of iron and salt lingered in the air. It wasn't from battle, but from despair that refused to die.
Sonia's body was gone and erased from existence by Karma's own hands.
Nothing left.
Only the light shimmer of her laughter, as if the walls themselves still remembered her voice.
Fahrenheit stood in the center of the hall, his crimson eyes were wider, burning with the kind of fury that doesn't fade but festers. His coat was half-torn, soaked in old blood. His lips quivered, caught between screaming and choking on silence.
Karma stood before him, motionless. His dark cloak trailed along the floor, heavy with dust and faint glimmers of silver thread. His expression was too calm like nothing happened. His face remaining, pale and sharp, was that of a saint sculpted from grief and logic.
"She's gone," Fahrenheit said finally. "You.... you killed her. You—"
His voice broke apart.
"Did you even feel it, brother?"
Karma didn't look up. His eyes stayed fixed on the marble beneath them. "Dying was the only peace left for her," he said. "You saw what she became. That wasn't Sonia anymore. That was the echo of an Outer Deity's thought. Dying is better than gaining heaven in such a world. If I hadn't—"
"Don't!" Fahrenheit's voice thundered, vibrating the walls. "Don't you dare talk like it was mercy!"
Xamin, standing at the far end of the hall, flinched slightly. His face was cold, but his fingers were twitching. He'd seen this before. The youngest one were always the one falling apart. The same rage he once buried. The same pain none will never understand.
"She was...." Fahrenheit's voice cracked again. "....she was laughing, Karma! She was laughing while tearing her face off! You think I didn't see that? You think I didn't feel that?!" He clutched his chest, fingernails digging into his own skin until it broke.
Karma's tone didn't change. "You would have let her live like that? Let her spread that corruption to the rest of us? The Outer Deities don't stop by any prayer. She was already gone. I gave her freedom."
"Freedom?!" Fahrenheit shouted. His teeth bared, voice almost animal. "You think this is freedom?!"
he gestured to the empty floor.
He began to laugh. It wasn't real laughter, it was a broken, sorrowful thing that crumbled between sobs and mockery. "You've always been the smart one, huh? The oldest. The calm. The saint!"
He raised his right hand, and crimson blood began to swirl, spiraling out from his wrist. His veins darkened. Blood shaped itself into form of a revolver, sculpted from living flesh, metal coloured red.
Xamin took a step forward. "Fahrenheit?"
"Don't!" Fahrenheit screamed. His voice spread like a disaster.
He pressed the revolver to his temple and fired.
BANG.
Blood splattered across the marble. He staggered but didn't fall. The wound sealed almost instantly, his head jerking back up, eyes blazed up.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Each shot louder, each hit buried beneath the recoil of his grief.
Karma didn't move. His expression didn't waver but something deep behind his calm was old and broken.
Xamin clenched his jaw, ordering, "Stop this madness!"
Fahrenheit dropped the revolver for a moment, panting, his chest heaving. Then he looked at Karma with a gaze that didn't belong to someone sane anymore.
"I swear," he said softly, voice trembling like a whisper before a storm, "whoever touched her, whoever whispered her name in that corrupted tongue.... I'll tear their world apart. I'll drain the gods. I'll make their heavens crush under my feet!!"
Karma finally looked up. His voice was quiet empty.
"If vengeance is what keeps you alive, then live. But know this, you're already dead with her."
Fahrenheit's breathed slowly. His eyes with an endless promise he made.
He lifted the revolver once more, this time pressing it to his heart.
"Then let the dead walk!" he said.
BANG.
....
Inside the bunker, the lamps hummed softly, painting the walls. The wind still carried the scent of burnt metal and sand, the remnants of the destruction that had passed.
Grace sat on the bed, her face was pale and tired, sweat gathering at the corners of her temple. A quilt was wrapped around her shoulders, her breathing slow but uneasy.
Tom leaned against the wall beside her bed, arms crossed, head bowed slightly. Rosario sat near the old heater, turning its dials idly, while Elior stood by the small round table, fixing the straps on his arm guards. The silence was strangely comforting.
Grace broke it first, voice low. "I saw him…. when I turned, the Overseer." Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the edge of the blanket. "He wasn't speaking, but I could feel something. Like whispers. I remember… darkness crawling under my skin."
Rosario's eyes widened.
" It's the same with me."
Elior's eyes narrowed, the old soldier's calm still on his face. "You both were under influence. It takes hold of thoughts before body. You fought it well, Grace."
Tom gave a small chuckle, trying to lighten the weight in the air. "Right, fought it better than Arlong fought sleep," he said, half-smiling. Rosario gave a faint laugh brief, but real. Grace's lips curved weakly too.
The laughter died quickly.
Tom's smile faded first. His gaze sank to the floor, then rose with sharp eyes, steady, and cold.
He stepped forward, his voice dropping into something heavier, darker.
"All of this," he said slowly, "everything we've seen, the deaths, the chaos, Arlong's sacrifice.… it all roots back to him."
Rosario blinked. "You mean—?"
"Azmaik."
Tom spat the name like venom. "He was there from the start. Always behind the curtains, watching us from background. Always smiling like this was his story to write. The Overseer didn't appear by chance. Azmaik helped it to descend."
Even the faint hum of the heater seemed to hush.
Tom's fists clenched, veins tracing across his knuckles.
"I'll find him," he said, voice steady but carrying a growl beneath it. "I don't care what god he bows to, or what layer of reality he hides in, I'll tear through everything atom of it! Every last trace of him!"
Grace looked up at him, half-fear, half-hope floating in her eyes. Elior's expression stayed calm, but his gaze met Tom's with a faint glimmer, possibly pride or respect.
"You've got fire," Elior said quietly, fastening his glove. "But fire without rhythm burns out quick."
Elior turned toward the dim bunker door, light flickering across his scarred cheek. "Carrying your rhythm," he said evenly, "I'll protect everyone and when the time comes, I'll be there beside you. We'll kill the Overseer together. We already have seen its glimpse, we need to prepare analysing it."
Rosario grinned faintly. "Heh.… that's a hell of a promise."
Tom didn't smile back. His gaze was fixed forward, sharp as a blade honed by grief.
The bunker felt smaller not because of walls, but because of purpose but that what the world hasn't witnessed yet,
Tom's wrath.