“Isn’t this one a handful. The Scripts have been lenient as of recent. ‘The crude woman with the grey hair and smells of paper belongs to you.’ Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that the Script could act as a peaceful matchmaker. Usually, its commandments of love are far more violent.”

She placed a translucent, ocean-blue egg just on the tip of her mouth, causing the woman’s eyes to widen in terror. Just when it seemed like it would slip down her throat, the Missionary retreated it into her robes.

“As such, I will refrain from violence as per the intentions of the Script. You should talk more, Expositionist. An ability of yours allows you to recite things you don’t understand. Your role of providing exposition is written in your Script. Failure will result in…”

The Missionary snipped the air again as she hollowly smiled.

“… Monsters. You’re no different from the Anids…” The Expositionist’s voice trembled.

“It’s because their Atelier is run by an Anid.” The Train Conductor cracked his neck and emitted a sound like pummeled steel. “The weather’s clearing down here. It’s been so long since I last voyaged through these depths.”

“You voyaged through the Subcut…?” A Moon asked with sudden vitriol. “Don’t bullshit us just cause we’re docile. Lie and I’ll take that fucking eye out of its socket.”

“Close.” He was unfazed by the threat and returned the stare. “Aye. The Timeless Ruins. A river that gradually begins from the Shallows, and into the ocean Depths.”

“What? This is the first time I’m hearing that water can be found in there.” Another Moon pointed out, right before the Missionary answered with:

“The Ruins can be anything and everything. It is where Kingdoms send fools to fetch them treasures. There’s a reason why so many kingdoms thrive in Emvita. Those artefacts they fish come from a place lost to time.”

“The Depths is the furthest anyone has ever been.” The Expositionist slowly explained out of a sudden compulsion. “The last notable descent was by the Colorless Incandescent.”

“Aye, she was the one that plucked this eye of mine. ‘An eye for an eye’ was what she stalwartly believed in.” The Train Conductor said as the vibrations ceased.

They had returned to the Epiderma, which was confirmed by the glancing looks the Moons gave each other.

The man then continued:

“To think there was a Color that hunted other Colors. That reminds me, the Blue Dalhia was one of the few that were spared. I wonder if the elders of this day and age still remember the history that were buried alongside us. Oh well. Relics like us should remain asleep. The fault lies with your Hearts.”

“All of it is archived by us. Down to every breath and every word that has ever been spoken. We only exist because of what your people have done during the rise of the First Advent. None of it was their fault!”

The Train Conductor approached the woman. The shadow that hid his face disappeared, revealing a human head that was half-flesh and half-metal. Shards of obsidian riddled his bare skin, and it seemed to writhe as if having a mind of its own.

His grey beard was tangled like the brambles of a rose. Upon closer inspection, they more closely resembled a long bundle of barbed wire.

“Care to enlighten us then?” He wearily urged. “Oh? Is this the first time you’re seeing the Curse of the Descent? Blimey. Didn’t think your kind to be so ignorant to us marooned souls. But it makes sense since your Hearts are only in the Derma Layer. Not sure if it affects your kind either.”

Disgust. Revolt. Nausea. Repulsion. Fear. None of these could begin to describe how she felt at the sight of his blemished flesh. A blight of some kind ate at him, and she instinctively tried to distance herself in fear of catching whatever had caused it as she uttered:

“It’s nothing like the ‘Impuritas’.”

“That a new namesake for your kin? Anyway, if I were that then I’d be unfit for a scuttle like this. A squiffy Conductor will lead to mutiny. Both on this scale – and in the bigger picture. We’re all caught up in this big sea of anguish. Ain’t no place for the faint of heart. For all we know we are just small fry.”

His knowledge encompassed things that the even the Expositionist was unaware of. The Missionary only smiled as the attitude of the Vermillion Moons slowly but surely changed towards this man.

“But it is precisely this kind of condition that can bring out a good heart. Weather the storm and getting robbed by your kind is a thing of the past.” He finished, retreating to the front. “Man-O-Wars will be back, and Old Salts like us won’t thank your kin for disturbing our long sleep. You ran a shot across our bow. We’ll generously pay your kind back by thousandfold.”

Lightning struck from outside. A storm swept through the City of Clubs, foreshadowing the full might of the reawakened Ateliers. The train followed a strip of conductive steel towards a station. But rather than stopping, the train unexpectedly sped up.

“Interesting.” The Missionary hummed, noticing something peculiar. “No one from Inflow Direct has attempted to stop us. Forgive my insolence, but my curiosity yearns to be snipped. Are you really working for Caldera Industries?”

“Yes currently. Formerly I was part of Inflow Direct.”

“That explains the prosthetics.” A Moon caught her hand before she could poke it. “Did you try playing both sides back then?”

“My heart is my own.” He assured them before the train took a sudden plunge. “I therefore choose whose siren call I respond to.”

“It sounds contrived.” The Missionary smugly dismissed, unable to comprehend such a thing.

He initiated a controlled Spatial Distortion. It sent them straight to a place that could not be reached by ordinary means, for it was sealed off by the foundations that held Inflow Direct’s infrastructure.

To uncover it meant to destroy what they had built. To breathe life into the carcass of an ancient monster that went against the ethics that Beholder E. had upheld for more than a century.

Only could a powerful casus belli revive the twisting machines that once produced forbidden Serums…