The sun had barely disappeared behind the horizon when the world ahead turned pitch black.
Pittsburgh was long behind them now — a fading smear of rusted towers and dead roads — but the air hadn't forgiven them yet. All the way west, the atmosphere rippled with the leftovers of the Ichor storm that had bled out of the city, drifting like poison clouds caught in dying winds.
Erevos glided forward along Agnes's projected rails — now glowing faintly through the rising fog — but the purity field hummed low on Karl's back, as if it sensed the air thickening.
Agnes flickered into the HUD with a frown.
"…Karl?"
He hummed, relaxed for the first time in hours.
"Yeah?"
Her voice tightened.
"Storm front ahead."
Karl leaned forward in the cockpit, eyes narrowing at the sky.
The clouds swirled like ink spilled in water — slow, rotting, hungry.
"Is it Ichor?" Karl asked.
"Not dense enough to melt you," Agnes replied. "Just enough to piss me off."
He smirked.
"Isn't everything enough to piss you off?"
Agnes appeared fully, arms crossed, cheeks still a little pink from the earlier crying session.
She tried to look composed.
It didn't last.
The moment Karl's smile touched his eyes, she snapped.
"You don't get to joke right now," she said, voice trembling. "Not after what you did in Pittsburgh. You— you jerk."
He blinked.
"Agnes…"
"No!" she swatted her own avatar's cheek as if trying to punish herself too. "Don't 'Agnes' me. You crawled into an Ichor pit like a brain-damaged lemur. Do you know how terrified I—"
Her voice cracked so sharply Karl flinched.
"…Agnes? Are you—"
She glared through tears, wiping them angrily with the back of her hand.
"I told you… no sad stuff… not again… and what do you do?
You go, 'Oh, Agnes just forgave me, time to kill myself for jet blueprints.'
Karl, that hurts. Do you understand how much that hurts?"
Karl's chest tightened.
He didn't joke this time.
He didn't smile.
"…I'm sorry," he said softly.
"You better be."
A tear dropped down her chin. She shook, furious and emotional and barely holding it together.
And then the storm hit.
WHOOMMMMMMM—
Wind slammed into them like a wave.
The clouds boiled overhead.
Lightning flickered inside black fog that stank of half-purified Ichor.
Karl winced. "That's heavier than the readings suggested."
Agnes sniffed, wiped her face, then barked:
"Purifier deploying."
SHRAAANG—
Karl's back opened in a cross-pattern, nanite slits peeling back like glowing mechanical petals.
The fighter drone blades erupted outward.
One by one, they unfurled.
CHNK. CHNK. CHNK. CHNK.
Four blades locked into position behind Karl's spine in a circular formation.
Then they started spinning.
WHRRRRRRM—
Wind rippled through the cockpit.
The HUD vibrated as the turbines accelerated, each blade glowing with a faint blue royal-azure pulse.
Agnes watched proudly through watery eyes.
"Well? Say it."
Karl blinked.
"…Say what?"
She jabbed a finger toward the glowing turbines.
"My work, Karl. My craftsmanship.
You praise everything else — your old fossil-fuel toys, your stupid jet, your dirty VR goggles — but what about the thing I built while crying over your almost-dead body?"
Karl took a breath.
"Agnes… it's incredible. It really is."
She narrowed her eyes.
"That sounded like you were praising a washing machine."
Karl tried again.
"Agnes. It's beautiful."
Her cheeks flushed.
"…Better," she muttered.
Outside, the storm thickened.
Black haze hit the purifier's vortex — and the vortex ripped it apart instantly, shredding the particles until the air came out clear on the other side.
Karl couldn't help but stare, impressed.
"Damn… that's insane."
Agnes perked up, wiping away her last tear.
"That's right. You're welcome."
She leaned closer, voice dipping into something low, teasing, still wet with leftover emotion.
"Keep going."
Karl blinked.
"…You want more?"
"Yes," she sniffed. "I require emotional compensation."
He chuckled.
"Fine. It's the best piece of tech I've ever used."
Her eyes widened.
"Really?"
"Really."
"And better than your precious Hyper-Burner Jet Gear?"
"…By miles."
"And better than the old VR headset you used to control Erevos?"
"…Agnes, everything is better than that thing. It smelled like burnt plastic."
She froze.
She looked at him, shocked.
Then she burst out laughing — a wobbling, emotional laugh that still had tears mixed into it.
"You mean— you mean that ancient scrap pile — that— that cardboard box glued to your face— you used that to fly around the world?!"
Karl felt his ears go red.
"Agnes, please—"
She wheezed, bending over in laughter.
"Did you seriously — seriously — fight terrorists with a headset that didn't even have foam padding?!"
"It wasn't about comfort—"
"Oh my god—"
Her voice cracked again from laughing too hard.
"You really were a crazy, vengeance-powered goblin."
Karl sighed.
"…I deserved that."
"Yes, you did," she said proudly.
The storm roared again — heavy, black, angry — but the purifier blades tore it apart without hesitation.
Agnes softened.
A different kind of quiet settled in the cockpit.
"…Karl?"
"Yeah?"
She looked directly at him — no teasing, no sarcasm, no anger.
Just… raw.
"You almost died today."
He swallowed.
"I know."
"Don't say it like that," she said softly. "Don't say it like it's normal."
Karl opened his mouth—
—but stopped.
Agnes continued before he could speak.
"I know you think you're unkillable because of Yggdrasil. But watching you collapse, watching you rot and break and cough blood and still crawl like a dying animal… Karl, that isn't immortality. That's torture."
Karl's throat tightened.
"…Agnes. I didn't do it to hurt you."
She closed her eyes.
"That's the part that makes it hurt more."
He froze.
She wiped a tear again — smaller, softer this time — and whispered:
"Stop scaring me."
Karl leaned back, breath shaking.
"…I'll try."
"You better," she sniffed, trying to sound stern.
But her voice was still wobbly.
"And if you don't," she added, leaning closer with a trembling pout, "I'll slap you again."
He smiled gently.
"…Yeah. I figured."
She glared half-heartedly.
"Don't smile at me like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm trying to be mad."
"And?"
"And you're making it difficult!"
Her cheeks were red.
Her eyes were still glossy.
Her voice broke again.
"You jerk…"
He reached toward the HUD — not touching her, but close enough she could almost believe it.
"…Thank you," he whispered.
Agnes blinked.
"…For what?"
"For saving me."
The purifier blades hummed behind him, glowing brighter as they stabilized the storm.
Agnes's breath hitched.
"…Say it again."
He met her eyes.
"Thank you, Agnes."
A tear fell.
She looked away quickly, wiping it hard like she was embarrassed.
"Good," she muttered.
"You should thank me."
But her voice trembled — soft, warm, relieved, still healing.
"Because I'm not letting you die," she whispered.
"Not now. Not ever."
Karl nodded.
"I know."
The storm thinned.
The rails glowed.
The night air finally began to clear.
Agnes leaned in again, cheeks still pink.
"…Karl?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm still mad at you."
He smiled.
"I know."
"But I still want praise."
He laughed.
"Agnes, you're amazing."
She melted instantly.
"…Okay," she whispered, voice fluttering.
"I forgive you a little."
Karl looked out through the cockpit windshield.
The storm parted.
Far ahead — distant, shadowed, silent — were the faint, dead outlines of Chicago's ruined skyline.
Agnes saw it too.
"…Ready for the next leg?" she asked quietly.
Karl breathed out.
"Yeah."
The purifier blades spun behind him, slicing the night, lighting their path.
Agnes spoke softly.
"Karl?"
"Hmm?"
"Don't be a jerk again."
He smirked.
"No promises."
Agnes slapped him.
SMACK.
Karl winced.
"OW—"
"I SAID NO PROMISES IS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE ANSWER—"
"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT—!"
And the rails stretched onward through the clearing storm.