"Let’s move. Based on the direction the Cult Leader took, I’m betting he’s at the Central Chapel."
Kaya spoke as she looked askance at the carnage Junkhead had left in his wake.
The room where a grotesque mountain of flesh had been writhing just moments ago was now cored out, as if a giant cylinder had been driven through it by a single blast. The floor, walls, and ceiling bore a glassy luster where the surfaces had melted and then cooled into a solid mass. A foul stench—a cloying mix of burnt meat, chemicals, and hot metal—hung heavy in the air.
Kaya started walking, her eyes lingering on the destruction for only a moment.
"The Central... Chapel...?"
Lucia asked, her voice trembling. Her vision seemed to finally be stabilizing, but she was still unsteady on her feet. She was deathly pale. It was no surprise, considering she’d been left reeling from the aftereffects of Junkhead’s Romance Cannon until just a few minutes ago.
"Yeah. It’s a suspicious place where he gathers the Believers to perform his little rituals. I heard he renovated a vacant facility to build it."
As Kaya spoke, she shot a brief glance toward Junkhead.
The man who had originally constructed the facilities in this area was standing right in front of her; perhaps she had complicated feelings about that fact.
Then again, Junkhead was the type of guy who had likely discarded any sense of responsibility somewhere in the distant past. He didn't seem to care in the slightest.
"By the way, the location?"
Sure enough, Junkhead ignored her gaze and began cross-referencing their current position.
His mono-eye narrowed, and with a low, thrumming hum, a simple hologram flickered into existence in the air.
"Just ahead. It’s not that far. Somewhere near the center."
Junkhead gave a short, metallic grunt. "Hmm."
A single red dot appeared on the hologram, followed by a blinking green circle.
"We are here... so it is around this sector?"
Looking at the map floating in the air, I honestly couldn't make out the specific layout. However, the data seemed to be perfectly understood between Junkhead and Kaya.
"That's right. Around there."
"...Is there something useful there?" I asked.
Junkhead turned his mono-eye toward me.
"Ah, yes. This sector contains..."
Hearing his brief explanation, the corners of my mouth curled up.
I see.
That could definitely work.
A plan to give that so-called Cult Leader a spectacular greeting began to take shape in my mind.
Both Kaya and Lucia shot me suspicious looks at the same time. I suppose the specific expression I wear when I'm thinking of something nefarious had surfaced on my face.
I didn't care. I was used to those kinds of looks.
"Let’s go. I’ll show you something good."
"...That way of putting it gives me nothing but a bad feeling," Kaya muttered under her breath, but I chose to ignore her.
As we moved through the corridor, the quality of the air shifted.
At first, it was the smell of metal and dust typical of an old research facility. But the further we went, the more it was replaced by a strange, nauseating odor—a mixture of heavy fabric, incense, chemicals, and a raw, organic stench.
The control panels of the original research facility still lined the walls, but they had been covered with drapes and metal plates, and then adorned with religious iconography. Strings of characters that looked like intricate patterns were carved into the walls here and there. I couldn't read them, but they had an eerie, unsettling appearance—like prayers that had curdled into curses.
Along the way, we passed several small rooms with their doors left wide open.
Inside were small pods filled with cultivation fluid, and storage containers where what looked like brain tissue drifted in suspension. Some machines sat dormant, while others still emitted a faint, rhythmic hum.
Metallic tubes and cables glowing with a sickly light crawled across the walls and ceiling in every direction. It gave me the illusion that we had wandered into the gut of some giant beast. Instead of veins and nerves, the thing was filled with metal and light.
"How repulsive."
Junkhead muttered the observation without breaking his stride.
Lucia nodded silently and repeatedly in agreement. Only Kaya and I continued on without changing our expressions.
"...This path is the only way to the chapel. The Believers used to walk through here as if they were standing on holy ground."
Her voice was thick with contempt.
"...Did you walk it too, Kaya-san?" Lucia asked timidly.
She must have realized the moment the words left her mouth that it was a sensitive topic. She immediately added a small, "I'm sorry."
Kaya didn't look back.
"I wonder... how it actually was."
Her tone wasn't exactly evasive; it sounded more like she truly didn't know.
Was it her own memory? Was it a fabricated record? Or was it a "typical Kaya response" programmed into her by someone else? The boundary line between the three was likely a blur even to her.
We hurried through the eerie corridor for a while longer until a faint light appeared ahead.
Emerging from the narrow passage, we found ourselves in a vast, open space.
The ceiling was so high that my neck ached just looking up. It was a grand, semi-circular hall supported by massive pillars, each one thick enough to hide several men. Even with the pillars, the scale of the room was immense.
It must have been some kind of major experimental facility once. Observation booths and control panels were still visible high up on the walls, but they had been draped in religious finery. Technology and faith had been crudely fused together into a tasteless, grotesque chapel.
In the center of the hall sat a massive, cylindrical altar.
It was wide and stood just high enough to require looking up. However, its surface wasn't stone or metal; it was covered in a squelching, meat-like texture that throbbed with a rhythmic, fetal pulse. Thick strands that looked like a cross between blood vessels and roots stretched from the altar to the floor, eventually crawling up the walls.
It looked less like an altar and more like a giant organ.
Along the walls, old-type defense equipment lay in a state of neglect.
Laser irradiation systems. Articulated arms for dismantling. Tanks still holding chemical residues. Transport rails designed for moving heavy loads. Every piece was caked in dust, broken, and silent.
And atop the altar, a single, lavishly ornate chair sat in isolation.
There, the Cult Leader was waiting.
"You have come. As I suspected, those things were not enough to delay you."
His voice echoed through the vast space. We were still at a distance, yet his voice crawled into my inner ear with unnatural clarity. It carried a bone-deep resonance that made my skin crawl.
I didn't bother answering.
As I walked, I drew my gun and squeezed off a shot.
It was a quick-draw that most would have failed to even see. My aim was perfect; the bullet was sucked straight into the Cult Leader’s torso.
The Cult Leader’s body gave a slight jerk.
But that was all.
A hole appeared in his robe, but no blood followed. Behind the torn fabric, there was only a dark, hollow void.
"Hehehe."
A dry chuckle echoed.
"There is no need to be in such a hurry. This is the place of the end."
"Yours, maybe."
I gave a short retort, dropped to one knee, and slammed my hand against the floor.
<Target: Old Central Chapel Defense Equipment Group> <Damage Rate: 89%> <Repair?: Materials are sufficient.>
Good.
I gave the mental command to proceed.
The next moment, the entire facility groaned with a low, heavy tremor. Somewhere deep in the guts of the room, gears clacked into place. Electric current surged through the depths of the long-dormant machines.
A pale blue light crawled across the floor, walls, and ceiling, spreading until it enveloped the entire chapel.
Defense batteries from a bygone era emerged from the walls, scattering clouds of dust. Panels in the ceiling slid open, and several dismantling laser cutters descended. Medical restraint arms crawled out from beneath the floor, their mechanical joints groaning as they reached upward.
The transport rails roared back to life with a shower of sparks, and ultra-heavy containers began to hum as they moved. Pressure returned to the chemical tanks, making the liquid inside foam; the swollen vessels creaked as if they were on the verge of bursting.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! To restore such a vast area all at once!"
Junkhead shouted. He sounded shocked, but his voice was tinged with an unconcealable pleasure.
Lucia’s eyes were wide as she tried to track the chaos of the facility springing to life. Kaya merely wore a wry smile, one that held a faint trace of nostalgia.
"Go."
I issued the command while keeping both hands pressed to the floor.
During the Repair, I had overwritten the management authority to myself. Following my will, the lines of light running through the floor shifted direction in an instant.
First, the medical restraint arms lunged at the Cult Leader from all directions.
He didn't move. Whether out of arrogance, curiosity, or the belief that it was unnecessary, he simply sat there.
Either way, it worked for me.
The arms entangled his limbs, pinning the Cult Leader to his chair.
"Hmm."
He merely let out an intrigued grunt at being captured.
I wasn't done yet.
On the transport rails, the heavy containers released their locks. The massive weights accelerated like cannonballs, launched directly at the altar.
A thunderous roar followed. The air itself shook as the containers slammed into the altar, threatening to crush the Cult Leader into paste. The flesh altar crumpled and the old floorboards shattered, sending clouds of smoke and pulverized stone billowing into the air.
Tearing through the smoke, the dismantling lasers descending from the ceiling traced glowing red lines through the space. These weren't weak beams that would be scattered by dust. They were originally medical grade, but I had stripped the output limiters and was performing a constant stream of Repairs as they overheated.
The red lines carved into the altar, and the stench of scorched meat caught the wind.
Still not done.
The defense batteries mounted on the walls all locked onto their target. Energy rounds, solid slugs, and old-model buckshot—a rain of disparate firepower from across the decades—poured down on a single point.
The impact zone erupted in a thermal reaction, sending sparks of blue-white plasma dancing through the air. The floor was gouged, the walls of flesh burst, and the charred smell grew even thicker.
To finish it off, a container arm grabbed one of the fully pressurized chemical tanks. It was a volatile cocktail of corrosive chemicals and oxygen catalysts—essentially a crude, devastating bomb.
The arm flexed and hurled the tank. With a dull whistle, the tank cut through the air and plunged into the heart of the altar.
A beat of silence.
Then, a massive rupture.
The multi-colored chemicals exploded, mixing with the catalyst to create a strange, swirling inferno of pale blue, green, and violet flame that swallowed the Cult Leader and the altar whole.
A shockwave ripped through the chapel. New cracks snaked across the walls and ceiling, and the religious drapes were incinerated instantly.
Kaya and Lucia dropped to the floor, shielding their faces with their arms to keep from being blown back. Junkhead narrowed his mono-eye, his sensors straining to peer into the heart of the firestorm.
I squinted against the blast of the gale, standing my ground.
I didn't think this would be enough to kill him. If things were that easy, I wouldn't be in this mess.
But, at the very least...
"...That should serve as a proper greeting," I muttered with a cold smirk, staring into the burning heart of the Central Chapel.