Chapter Text

Prologue

Almost 800 Years Ago

Dust flies into his nose, tickling his sinuses. The little boy sneezes and the barrel shakes, giving the game away.

He's six this year, and he really should be playing in the fields like most boys his age do. But there aren't any fields anymore. The image of his burning homeland is one he will never forget.

"The captain would throw you into the sea if he saw you," a particularly kind man whispers to him. "But for Lan's sake, hide in a bigger barrel. You'll suffocate to death in there."

He gets some dried fish and fruit to eat, his delicate little nose scrunching up at the taste. "There's a stowaway," the boy hears them say in hushed voices. They're speaking in a different tongue, but some words are similar enough to his own dialect for him to make out. "Looks about six hundred years old. He's dressed in rags and has an awful lot of dirt on his face... I wonder where his parents are?"

He eats his rations silently, not daring to interrupt. But then his curiosity wins over — he's just a little boy, after all — before asking to the best of his ability: "Excuse me… where are we headed to?"

The language feels foreign on his lips, but he's smart. He'll make sure he avenges them all in this new destination, wherever it may be.

"Xianzhou Zhuming, holy land of artisanship. If you've got a skilled pair of hands and the passion to use them right, this place may just be your true calling, boy."

What would have happened if he hadn't gotten on that ship?

"What nonsense, Yingxing. Are you doubting me? I'll love you in any shape or form…

…no matter what you look like, wherever you are, or whatever you've become…

…I'll always find you, my star."

Lies.

"Leave me alone… Who even are you? No…

…what are you? Your slashes are so precise, so ruthless…

…yet so familiar. Please, stay away from me. I don't know who you are."

All lies.

What if he had never met him?

Maybe he would've escaped from that tragedy unscathed, or there wouldn't be such a tragedy in the first place. He could have died a peaceful man centuries ago, satisfied with all his achievements as a short-lived species. But he would not have truly understood the meaning of love. 

But does he still remember it, as Blade?

—  ☆ —

Interlude: Scars

Bounty: 2.14B

There are cracks all over his heart, scars deep within his soul. Like his sword, which is riddled with cracks, so is he wretched and broken all over. The ugly lines are all inside, ruining him, as if he isn't hideous enough on the outside already.

But what more can he do? He no longer shines like he used to. He's a burnt-out star, a waste of space. And as much as he wants to exterminate himself, he can't.

These thoughts plague his mind, sending jolts of pain around his body, and strike his conscience. Ah, right, he doesn't have that anymore; he's a soulless monster who loves them still no longer feels love.

Yet, if he does not have a conscience, why does he still lie awake at night, thinking of what could have been? He yearns for — no, grieves the past, grieves his beloved, his friends, even grieves who he was. But he won't get to mourn himself, as he will never die, despite the countless attempts to end his own life.

Poison? It rises back up his throat in the form of filthy bile. Fatal wounds? His immortal flesh simply rejects the blows. Drowning? He's basically a corpse, so he eventually floats back up anyway. But he never gives up.

This will be the last time, he thinks, over and over again to no avail.

One glance at him now and you'd think he did all these to others — well, technically, he also does — for his newest identity is Blade, an abominable killer with around two billion credits on his head. He's been recruited by an enigmatic group that follows the Finality or whatever, he doesn't know much about it yet, but he has served as a blade well enough for them to keep him, at least. To keep him, groom him, and tailor his clothes a little too tight. His altered tailcoat is ripped at the chest, a stark reminder of the core of his numerous deaths, but he doesn’t bother to cover it up.

He thinks it can also be a metaphor for how he still wears his heart on his sleeve, after all these centuries. It is an eternal reminder, as is the rest of his body, of what happens when you bare your heart to the world. 

He has scars, he thinks as he polishes his sword in the darkness of his new room, and he'll only get more. Aged cicatrices, fresh wounds, the like… It's not as if mere cuts on his immortal flesh, or anything else for that matter, will be killing him any time soon. He has more than enough space for them, and way too much time. 

—  ☆ —

Part One: Anecdotes of A Mundane Life

Bounty: 8.08B

The art of living quickly becomes obsolete when one has seen everything there is to see. Blade has seen the same sun rise and set, the same moon wax and wane, over and over, for hundreds of years. He has seen flowers bloom and wilt, seasons come and go. The last autumn leaf, the first snowflake; he watches as everything falls victim to the passage of time, except for himself. 

Life only feels meaningful when he sees new people and things, but he doesn't. Not even the thrill of a fight, or the mania that comes with his Mara, can make him feel alive: he has accepted that his fate is to merely wither away while he waits for his death, which has been promised to him.

With nothing new, it feels like a chore. Hence, every day is usually dull for Blade. 

The flowers on his desk were once so vibrant and colourful, but now they look depressing — Firefly had given them to him after an eventful walk in the nearby park two weeks ago, and they've naturally begun to droop. He catches sight of his own reflection as he enters the bathroom, noting the lack of wrinkles on the youthful face of his past. He'd once looked like that, many years ago, but his eyes were a soft periwinkle instead of the blazing red they are now. Isn't it funny, he thinks to himself, how mere flowers can grow wrinkles and die within two weeks, but he can't even after nearly a millennium? 

Winter is a harsh time for all of them. He carefully places his hand, bandaged and now gloved with a red mitten, against the frosty glass. The first month of the year announces its arrival with a bitter tempest, the wind shrill and angry against the window, demanding to be let in. 

It's seven in the morning, and none of his companions are up, so Blade retreats back to bed. But the moment he lies back down, he sees fragments of the dream he'd had the night before. 

It's him again, surrounded by elusive purple creatures, possibly from a foreign planet. He had horns, different from Yinyue, and seemed to have grown a few inches. But no matter, it's just a dream, he tells himself, taking a deep breath to try and calm his thoughts. He already feels another migraine coming. 

Blade won't deny it — he's absolutely miserable right now. And the weather is definitely not helping, he thinks sullenly as the storm rages on.

— — —

He eventually decides that it is just another day that will be insignificant after a few thousand more years, and descends the stairs to unwillingly make his first social interaction of the day. (That, and to have breakfast. Abominations get hungry too.)

"Bladie, would you be so kind as to go to the grocery store and pick up some ingredients?" a deceptively sweet voice calls as soon as he steps into the common room to look for a bite to eat.

The woman who holds the power to quell his Mara comes into view, and despite her rather eccentric mannerisms, he can't help but admit that he admires the way she carries herself; how she doesn't feel fear. She wouldn't know the terrors of his Mara, or the stabbing pain of his constant nightmares. But he knows he has her own troubles, and so he doesn't interfere. 

"Okay. Send the list," he deadpans, taking a bite of the ham-and-cheese sandwich he found. Half of it disappears in that one mouthful, and Kafka laughs.

"Aww, someone's hungry. Good job, Bladie, you'll need those carbs for your little adventure later."

He lets out a small scoff after he finishes eating. "...Send the list."

"I already have, please check your phone for once. And if you don't mind, can you stop putting it on silent? I tried calling you to pick up my face cream since you were at the mall yesterday, and all ten calls went to voicemail."

Oh, she doesn't sound too pleased. "Couldn't you have called Silver Wolf? Or anyone else?"

"She wasn't even there. Don't get mouthy with me, Blade."

Not Bladie, huh. He's cooked, as Silver Wolf always says. "...Yes, Kafka. Done."

He exits the common room and heads down, trying to ignore the searing pain in his right arm and Kafka's narrowed eyes on him. Yikes. 

Living with three women and a cat may seem like a trying experience to most, but it helps the never-ending time pass in several interesting ways.

His co-worker SAM- no, she's just Firefly today, is spending an extremely long time getting ready. Blade taps on his phone to check the time: 8:42 A.M. Well, the grocery store doesn't even open until nine, so he's fine with it. And he knows how important dressing up and feeling pretty is for Firefly, so he doesn't intervene.

However, when it's nine-ten and Firefly is still inside mulling over which dress to pick, he knocks softly on the door, careful not to startle her too much.

"Who is it?" she calls, but it's barely audible above the pop songs she's blasting. 

"Me," he replies simply. "If we go late, the queue will be longer. And the good items will be sold out."

"Sorry, Blade!" Firefly shouts back as the music gets louder. "Five more minutes!"

Seven minutes later, she exits her room, panting. "Ugh... my foundation doesn't match my neck at all, and my blush is a mess. Don't even get me started on my lipstick! My lips look so pale no matter how much of it I apply," Firefly wails, her dress swishing as she heads towards the main door. Blade follows behind her, keys already in his hand.

"You look fine," he replies with a low sigh, helping her adjust the bow in her hair. "...Nice outfit."

"You're just saying that," she grumbles as he locks the front door behind them, before stepping into the red car. "The girls at the grocery store are going to make fun of me."

"If they laugh, I'll make sure they never laugh again," he says solemnly as the engine starts up. Firefly stares at him in alarm, almost forgetting to buckle her seatbelt.

"Blade, no! This is why the arcade barred you, remember?"

"..."

— — —

Firefly pushes the shopping cart happily, making car engine noises as she does. Today, she's in charge of picking items, while he reads from the shopping list. He had taught her how to choose the ones at the back, and how to properly knock on a watermelon to hear if it's juicy enough. She's also noticeably better at selecting good vegetables, and he can't help but feel a strange sense of pride. 

"Blade, look, this is such a good mango!" she exclaims happily, and he nods in approval. Moments like these make him briefly forget that they are, at the end of the day, still two wanted criminals. He checks 'Mango' off the list on his phone. 

"Canned fish... I wonder if this is for us or Elio," Firefly comments, before getting some canned tuna, choosing the ones at the back again. He tries to hide a smile at that.

"Let's just go with this- ah!"

Just then, someone knocks into Firefly, the can of tuna nearly flying out of her hands. That shatters his composure, and he immediately puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her before directing a withering glare to the stunned shopper, who scurries off immediately.

"Blade, it's okay! It was an accident," she exclaims, waving her hands frantically to console him. It works, and he's further mollified when he sees the grateful smile on her face, an unspoken 'thank you' lingering in the air which he acknowledges with a nod.

"...Be more careful next time."

She didn't need to thank him, he thinks, getting a little embarrassed just thinking about it (though he would never show it). In fact, he should've thanked her for pushing the cart and choosing everything. He had seen the way she looked at his trembling hands as he drove, the subtle winces when he had to make a turn. As she pushes back the trolley to its original spot after unloading the groceries in the boot, she shoots him a knowing look; after all, she is no stranger to chronic pain.

But his 'love language' — as Kafka so cheesily put it — doesn't seem to lie in affectionate words and praises. The words he wants to say remain locked deep within, decaying and rotting with no means of escape. So, he tries to love her in one of the few ways he can still find in himself to express.

When they're back on the road, he doesn't take their usual turn. Instead, he drives straight ahead.

"Hey, Blade, you missed the turn," she notices, pointing to the signboard they'd just passed. "We're supposed to- Wait, where are you going?"

He doesn't respond. Instead, he drives a little faster.

“Blade…?” she asks warily, wondering if his Mara made a silent appearance (again) and Aeons, she knows her coworker wants to die, but she can't die now, there's still so much to do and- Oh, good, he's slowing down. But... where are they?

Their car stops outside an elegant boutique: pretty, dainty, and overly frilly dresses are showcased in the glass window. Oh, he's going to have to max his credit card out today, isn't he. Whatever, Elio will get him a new one.  

Deep down, he feels a warm tingly sensation in the place where his heart should be, and doesn't say anything when they enter; he knows if he opens his mouth, a traitorous smile will be there. 

(She doesn't need to know this, but he has been making note of the fashion magazines she'd been poring over the past few days. It's interesting how much fashion evolves...)

He watches as Firefly picks out her favourite garments: light-coloured dresses with lacy edges, puffy sleeves, and checkered patterns. He has to admit they're cute, and there is no doubt she'd look good in them. However, he's somewhat worried about the fact that everything she's picking out are flimsy dresses made for spring when winter has just begun, but he figures it's not his place to interfere and lets her continue picking.

"Do you... want to buy a coat as well?" he suggests quietly when she picks out yet another short dress. Firefly laughs and shakes her head.

"Oh, no, these are all for spring and summer. That's the boutique's specialty," she explains, and shows him her shopping basket happily, telling him all about their fabrics and cloth cuts. He listens intently, bending down to hear her better, and nearly flinches when she suddenly hugs him. 

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Blade! This has got to be one of the best days of my life. I'll remember this forever, I promise!"

Blade lets himself reveal the smallest of smiles upon hearing that — who wouldn't? — and gingerly wraps an arm around her. He notices that she's still careful not to put pressure on his arm despite her excitement. 

…Silly girl.

— — —

He lets Firefly play her favourite songs on the way back, and one of them ends up stuck in his head even when they reach home. He makes a mental note to look into the popular songs of this Amber Era. 

♪ Heads up! The wheels are spinning... Across the plains, in valleys deep... ♫

"My two cuties are back," Kafka swoons, which earns her disgusted glances from both Firefly and Blade. "Oh, don't be that way. Well, at least you two didn't genuinely gag like Wolfie did."

"I'm close to doing that," Blade mutters under his breath, carrying the grocery bags to the kitchen. Firefly gleefully skips towards her room to check out her new dresses.

"Hey now, Bladie, I heard that," she chides softly, to which he doesn't respond, continuing to unpack their provisions. When Firefly comes back out of her room, she's back inside Molten Knight Samuel-IV, her mechanical armour.

Now, they're just waiting for Silver Wolf to get back from a simple mission of investigating a shady organisation who'd recently rented a shop lot nearby, which seems like a barely-disguised cult. Sure enough, three minutes later, the young hacker pushes the door open.

"Okay, nothing much, just a really annoying-looking dude handing out flyers for them. He said I looked like a little punk, huh, I wonder if he knew I came from Punklorde, ha-ha. Oh yeah, he gave me their website link when I asked for it, which was pretty freaking dumb. Also, Kafka, there's a newspaper for you. I found it on the doorway, it's got your name on it," Silver Wolf announces in a quick burst of words as soon as she steps in. "And #they are on the cover."

Blade thinks he only caught the first part, and blinks slowly at her. She blinks back and does a thumbs-up. "Nice to see you too, old man."

"Who's hashtag-they, darling?" Kafka replies, sounding bemused. That catches Firefly's attention, too: "The IPC?" she asks, her voice coming out as a robotic growl thanks to the SAM suit.

"Close. The Jepella Brotherhood," Silver Wolf clarifies with a grimace. "And they're holding up your wanted poster, Kafka. You totally mogged them."

"Burn it," Kafka says simply, her usual smile still intact. "SAM, you know what to do. Make a soft copy of it before burning."

"...At least it isn't to roast meat this time," Firefly grumbles, but her mecha makes quick work of the newspaper. "There you go," SAM says in the same robotic voice. "The scanned document is sent to your phone, Kafka."

"Nice, thanks Sammie. Posing with my wanted poster, huh... They have some nerve," Kafka hums as she picks up her violin. "Bladie, how about we pay them a surprise visit tomorrow?"

"No. It cannot be tomorrow," he says, shaking his head. "Too soon. They would anticipate it, since the issue was just published this morning. It's likely a bait for us. We can go after our next destination."

Kafka pauses to think at that, her brows furrowing slightly. "You have a point. Good eye, Bladie. Was it really published just today? Strange."

"It was. I saw it at the top left corner before it was burnt," SAM confirms, still smelling a little like a campfire. 

"Looks like they successfully ragebaited you," Silver Wolf teases as she looks at Kafka's thoughtful expression. 

"Enough, Wolfie. Bladie, make me a coffee," she sighs, massaging her temples. "Black, no sugar."

He knows better than to argue when she's ruffled; not that he usually does, anyway. Kafka is second-in-command to Elio for various reasons, and he respects that.

Aside from the Jepella Brotherhood's plan, today has been pretty peaceful so far. And even so, knowing how well the four of them can work as a team when the time is right, he has no qualms about their victory.

But as fun as today had been, it was also incredibly draining. Time for a long nap.

— — —

He showers quickly and collapses onto the bed once he's done, freshly bandaged and wearing a new set of pyjamas. Sleep quickly claims him, and he sees grocery bags in his dreams.

The scene gradually shifts into a Xianzhou-esque setting, and he recognises the place as Aurum Alley from several eras ago, when it wasn't as developed. His barely-conscious self realises in dread that it's another one of those stupid flashbacks.

Finally found you, brat! Stop eating those Berrypheasant Skewers and tell me why my newest model is covered in paw prints, huh?

Sorry, Yingxing-ge… Snowmoon was just curious! I'll get you a skewer to say sorry…

I don't want sweets, I want a clean model- Hey! Get off of me, you oversized cat!

It's just a dream, right? Or at least it's supposed to be…

If that is the case, then why does he feel a ticklish sensation under his nose that feels oddly like that mischievous lion's fur?

Blade wakes up with a loud sneeze and wrinkles his nose, wondering what could have irritated his sinuses this badly. He blinks sleepily and looks down in surprise at what seems like a bunch of brown feathers below his nose.

"You're finally up," a bored voice drawls. "Took you long enough, I was about to get a spray bottle next. It's Candy Crush day, remember? Hop on."

Ah, yes. It is just like Silver Wolf to wake him up with a feather duster and get him to play some stupid Match-3 game from a different planet. 

"I'm up, I'm up," he grumbles, though he makes no move to get up. This displeases the girl, and she flips the covers inside-out, eliciting an annoyed grunt.

"You said you'd play games with me when your hands are healed up, but it's been ages," the young hacker complains to him. "So naturally, I was happy as a clam when I found out you could handle some simpler games. Thanks for letting me install everything on your phone, though. Mine's out of storage."

She's slouching on the couch, and Blade internally winces after picturing himself in that position, knowing that his back is in no way as flexible as hers. Neither are his hands — he'd told Silver Wolf he injured his hands in a particularly bad fight, and she knows of his condition, but after seeing how the young hacker's face lit up with hope and excitement when he promised he'd pick up that damn console and play those mind-rotting games with her…

Silver Wolf is waiting in vain, he knows, for a day that will never arrive. But he'll try his best.

And that's how the swordsman finds himself playing Candy Crush; a few finger swipes doesn't hurt that much on good days. The girl watches with giggles as he blasts the candies on the screen, laughing particularly loudly whenever he scowls upon hearing the Candy Crush man's voice.

Tasty! Divine! Sugar Crush!

He's about to lose it. 

"What's that face for? He low-key sounds like you," Silver Wolf chimes in. 

"...What? I do not sound like that."

"Yes you do, dawg. You go like this: 'Silver Wolf, get off the game and take a shower. You stink!' Like that," she finishes with a smirk after doing a way-too-growly impression of his voice. 

He crosses his arms, the phone still lit up with images of colourful candies — he's sure they'll appear in his next dream. "Again, I do not-"

"Mm-hmm. Sure you don't. Yo, nice move!"

But after they were both lying on the couch, she turned to him, her eyes uncharacteristically droopy and sad. It's rather unnerving to see her like this.

"Hey. Will your hands… ever recover?"

The question catches him off guard, and her serious tone more so. "One day," he reassures her, though it lacks conviction. 

"It must suck, being in pain like that. I can only imagine," she says with a small sigh. "I wish I could restore your HP."

"You see life as merely a game, while my life is set on cruelly playing with me. But I'm used to it," he quickly intervenes, not wanting her to worry. They all worry too much, and it keeps him up at night: how can one sleep easy knowing that they are a burden?

Silver Wolf exhales heavily. "Has it ever occurred to you that no one should be used to pain?"

But he isn't just anyone, is he? He isn't a person, he's only a weapon. But he doesn't tell her that directly.

"We tread the same path to fulfil our wishes. We are colleagues, amicable companions, perhaps even friends. As such, you should know of my obligations, the sole purpose I am here — to live up to my alias."

The girl looks surprised at that, and frowns. "Huh. You called us your friends?" she beams, eyes sparkling. "Shoot, I should've recorded that!"

He does not comment on that: his lack of dissent practically amounts to a yes, we're friends.

"Well, since your endgame is pretty far away, may as well have fun with us, right? Don't you think we're a great party comp, anyway? Though if you're a DPS and so is SAM… Hold on, math isn't mathing."

"Whatever that means."

"It's hard to explain. Cheer up, Bladie, I believe you'll get better one day, and then you'll be able to play games with me. Like, the real stuff on the consoles," she offers with another cheeky grin, but it's genuine.

"...You really think so, huh." He wants to tell her she's too naive, but the words don't make it past his throat. Instead, he follows up with an impassive nod, not daring to confirm or deny anything.

"For now, though…" she continues, "I hope we can still hang out like this whenever you're free. Because you're the funnest person ever, with and without video games and arcades."

Blade exhales from his nose, and there's a painful twang in his heart at the confession. He once had such hopeful eyes directed at him and his creations, but he no longer deserves any of that.

"I'm not 'fun'. I got banned from the arcade," he mutters, remembering the incident clearly. They had to flee the scene immediately, but at least they got burgers after.

"Yeah, 'cause you beat up the gang of guys who trash-talked me," Silver Wolf replies instantly, her eyes shining. "So. Freaking. Awesome. I'd go back and replay that cutscene again and again if I had a time machine. No regrets there, none at all. And isn't it crazy they banned our disguised forms, not realising we're Stellaron Hunters?"

"...Yes. At least the arcade we go to now has better prices than the first," he says quietly, and she nods. It's a little quiet after that as the pair take turns swiping at the screen.

"You really think I'm cool?" he repeats after a while, when the current level has been successfully cleared. "Even when I'm like… this?"

She grins up at him, then reaches for his uninjured arm and hugs it tightly. 

"Are you kidding? Especially because you're like this. Thanks for playing this 'game' with me."

In Silver Wolf speak, that's… Ah. Is she thanking him for spending time with her, as this 'game' is her life? 

It is rare that he lets himself indulge in such a domestic scene, but this time, he puts aside all thoughts of the next mission or next kill, and listens to the cheerful girl talk about all sorts of video games for the next hour until they're called for dinner.

Perhaps there is meaning in these mundane little tasks, just because he is doing them with the people he has grown to care for. 

He doesn't particularly enjoy video games, but the sight of Silver Wolf beaming is enough incentive for him to switch on his phone and try a round or two. He barely knows anything about the latest fashion trends, but he'd learn to witness Firefly's excitement. He hates impromptu trips to planets he knows nothing about, but it's what makes Kafka's smile less sad.

Does this mean he can love, after all? Maybe he is capable of caring for the other three Hunters like family, but can he give the same love his past self had?

…Guess he'll know when the time comes. After all, the Astral Express group is in Belobog now, aren't they? That's an extremely short warp jump from where they are headed to next, almost as if Elio had planned it.

Will they meet again there? The last fight had ended badly, and he hadn't looked for him since. But if Destiny wills it, they will meet again.

He can't run away forever.