Explosive flames completely swallowed the altar.
Beyond the chemical-colored blaze that burned pale blue, occasionally streaked with green and purple, the shattered machinery threw off spark after spark. The pungent stench of chemical fluid mingled with the smell of burning flesh, drifting through the air and clinging to the back of our throats.
Surely, after a barrage like that, he couldn't have walked away unscathed.
Of course, I didn't think I'd killed him, either.
Taking my hands off the floor, I slowly stood up. Several pieces of the repaired equipment had already fallen silent from overloading, and the surviving turrets exhaled white smoke from their overheated barrels.
"...How is it, THEN?"
Beside me, Junkhead narrowed his Mono-eye.
"Can't see a damn thing."
"Me NEITHER. There are too many heat SOURCES."
Without letting down my guard, I strained my eyes toward the flames.
Now then, what's your next move?
Before long, the ventilation system whirred to life, sucking black smoke up into the ceiling through the exhaust ducts. The silhouette of the ruined altar gradually emerged, and in its center, what looked like a human figure took shape.
"...No way."
Lucia's faint voice came from behind.
The Cult Leader was standing.
Or rather, could that even be called standing?
His right arm was charred and gone from the shoulder down, and nearly half of his torso had been gouged away, its mushy internal organs spilling blood onto the floor. The left side of his face was burnt off with the eyeball evaporated, exposing bone and raw pink flesh beneath white hair. The fabric of his robe had melted into his skin, turned into a single, blackened mass. He no longer retained the shape of a human, looking like nothing more than the pathetic remnants of raw organic matter.
And yet, the Cult Leader still hadn't fallen.
"Dear me... you certainly made me use quite a lot."
Along with a raspy voice, what was left of his mouth curved into a smile. Perhaps his throat was crushed as well, because a gurgle of something indistinguishable between blood and bodily fluids spilled from his lips.
Immediately after, the altar beneath his feet rippled with a sickening squelch.
Roots of flesh crawled out from the floor, twining around the Cult Leader's legs, his waist, and his mangled torso. Reddish-black liquid was sucked out of the cracked cultivation vessels along the wall, surging into the fleshy roots through thin tubes.
The Cult Leader's shoulder swelled.
Bones extended, sinews knit together, and flesh bulged upward. The lost right arm slowly regained its shape.
The wounds on his face closed up as well, muscle fibers and nerves weaving together to reform an eyeball.
However—it was slow.
Naturally, this was the paranormal power of Regeneration, but its speed wasn't rapid. With every bit of flesh that returned, the Cult Leader's breathing grew slightly more ragged.
...I see.
The Cult Leader opened and closed his half-regenerated hand, testing the sensation.
"Truly magnificent. I could never use it that way."
"Flattery won't get you anywhere."
"No, it is merely my honest impression. Not only fixing equipment, but altering its purpose, overdriving it, and running it into the ground. Your 'Repair' is remarkably versatile."
With his newly regenerated right hand, the Cult Leader stroked his chest.
"My power is much simpler, you see. Returning a broken thing to what it was before it broke. That is all."
"WHAT. That power is plenty troublesome, TOO."
Beside me, Junkhead gave an exasperated shrug.
It sounded like mockery, but he was probably saying it in all seriousness.
"Not quite. Being able only to restore things to their original state is unexpectedly restrictive, you know."
Paying no mind to Junkhead's remark, the smile on his face was strangely serene.
Well, for now, he showed no signs of panic, but he had to know he'd be slowly ground down at this rate...
"By the way—"
The Cult Leader's softly narrowed gaze shifted away from me.
Already, his body had almost completely returned to normal.
"Kaya. You've certainly spoken quite freely, haven't you?"
The girl called raised her eyebrows slightly.
"Did you figure it out?"
She spoke nonchalantly, without a shred of shame.
"Well, after coming this far, there's no point in hiding it, right? It looks like you're fully intent on discarding us anyway, Cult Leader."
"How scandalous. You have your own role to play."
"That's just a polite way of saying 'discarding.'"
Kaya shrugged.
It was her usual tone. At least, in words alone.
Without getting angry, the Cult Leader merely let out a soft breath.
"Come back."
"Not a chance."
The refusal was instant.
Kaya looked straight at the Cult Leader. There wasn't a trace of hesitation in her eyes.
—As if mocking her resolve, the Cult Leader sneered and gave the fingers of his outstretched right hand a slight twitch.
"Ngh...!?"
Suddenly, Kaya's body jerked violently.
Her spine snapped straight as if she were being hoisted by a noose, and she collapsed to her knees. Even the arms she threw out to brace herself trembled awkwardly, refusing to obey her will.
"WHAT IS IT?!"
Leaving Junkhead's astonished shout behind, I lunged forward, only to freeze on my very first step.
I saw them.
Above Kaya's head, numerous Speech Bubbles were floating.
<<Move>>
<<Get away from Rei>>
<<No>>
<<Return>>
<<I am Kaya>>
<<Kill him>>
<<I absolutely refuse>>
Disjointed words surfaced and vanished, violently shoving one another aside.
...So that was it.
The incongruous behavior Kaya had been showing wasn't internal conflict or a wavering heart.
Something foreign was mixed inside her.
"You are the 'Repairman's' Former Partner, after all. I had no intention of leaving you completely free."
The Cult Leader's voice was as gentle as a parent admonishing a child.
"...Ngh, you're the worst... your taste... is sickening..."
Gritting her teeth, Kaya forced her head up.
"Both that body and the Vessel that holds those memories were prepared by my hand. Naturally, I would take out insurance."
"Then... you should have just... made me a puppet from the start..."
"There would be no point in that. I needed you to remain 'Kaya Nor.'"
At the Cult Leader's words, Kaya's eyes widened slightly.
I felt something catch in my chest too, but thinking about it could wait.
I bolted toward Kaya.
At that exact instant, a flesh-colored root sprang up from the wreckage of the altar.
"Tch!"
I threw myself sideways.
The root grazed my shoulder and smashed into the floor, shattering the tiles. A second and a third whipped through the air in rapid succession, tearing through the surroundings to keep me from closing the distance.
In the meantime, another thin tube snaked around behind Kaya.
"Miss Kaya, behind you!"
Before Lucia's warning could reach her, the tip drove into Kaya's back.
Even Junkhead's lunging arm couldn't make it in time.
"—Ah, guh!"
Kaya's body arched backward violently.
As if something were being pumped into her slender frame, the flesh beneath her skin flashed a sudden crimson along her neck and down her spine.
"AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!"
Her eyes bloodshot, foam bubbling from the corner of her mouth.
The veins across her entire body bulged, and just as her whole frame shuddered violently, she collapsed limply to the floor.
Before she hit the ground, I caught her in my arms.
Her convulsing body was cold, and her wide-open eyes stared blankly into empty space as tears of blood streamed down her cheeks.
"There is no need to worry."
In an affectionate, almost tender tone, the Cult Leader spoke.
"I have not broken her. I still need her, after all."
"...I'm thrilled to hear it."
My voice dropped to a register so low it surprised even me.
Grabbing the root of flesh jammed into her back, I activated Repair.
I pretended to restore it to a normal state—only to reassemble the internal connection in reverse. In the next instant, the liquid surging through the root slammed backward, swelling the tube until it burst apart.
The severed tube tore free from Kaya's back.
Though the violent tremors had stopped, her breathing remained ragged, and her eyes stayed painfully shut.
"Kaya."
"...I can hear you. But... my body... won't move."
Only her lips barely managed to part.
"Fine. Just lie there and rest."
"Yeah..."
Once I confirmed her faint smile, I stood up.
Watching us, the Cult Leader tilted his head slightly.
"You treasure it quite dearly, don't you? That Vessel."
"None of your damn business."
"Is that so."
The Cult Leader backed off without pressing the matter.
And then, his gaze shifted past me.
Behind me, Lucia let out a sharp gasp.
"Now then. Rainburg's daughter, you have done well to come."
"...Me?"
Lucia took a step back.
"Though not to the extent of your younger sister, you too have touched 'his' power. You make a sufficiently fine Material."
"WHOA there, I'd appreciate it if you didn't forget ME."
Saying so, Junkhead stepped between them.
The Cult Leader merely smiled.
In the next fraction of a second, the roots of flesh sprawling across the floor erupted upward.
There were too many of them!
Spreading both arms wide, Junkhead intercepted two incoming roots. With a heavy, metallic crash, the floor beneath his feet caved in.
"Get BACK!"
At that shout, Lucia tried to retreat—however.
A single root.
A sharply tapered spear of flesh slipped past Junkhead's flank.
Too fast.
Before I could even raise my gun, its tip drove clean through Lucia's abdomen.
"—Lucia!"
From the back of her white dress, the wet, crimson tip of the spear burst through.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze.
Lucia's body lifted slightly, her feet dangling off the floor.
The Cult Leader narrowed his eyes in satisfaction.
"Perhaps I damaged her too much. Oh well. I can simply—"
"...Ow, that hurts like hell, you bastard."
From Lucia, who was run through the stomach, came an unfamiliar, grating voice.
No.
The voice itself belonged to Lucia.
However, the way she spoke was entirely different.
Lucia, who had been slumping downward, slowly raised her head.
All trace of emotion had vanished from her terrified eyes, replaced by a pale blue light flickering deep within her irises.
What spread across her lips was a ferocious grin that no refined lady would ever wear.
Gripping the spear of flesh with both hands, she snapped it in two with brute force while it was still impaling her gut.
For the first time, the smile vanished from the Cult Leader's face.
"...What?"
"You're late, Doctor."
When I said that, "Lucia" gave an airy shrug.
"Can't be helped, right? I had a rough time calibrating the connection depth. Though damn, even with all that, the input latency is only point-two seconds, y'know? Pretty damn good for an experimental rig, wouldn't you say?"
"...Doctor?"
The Cult Leader repeated the name as if trying to make sense of it.
Blood was pouring from the hole in her stomach. Yet silver particles squirmed around the edges of the wound, stitching the torn flesh back together before our eyes.
The Cult Leader's eyes narrowed into slits.
"Remote control...? Absurd. At this depth? There is no way a signal from the surface could reach here. There are no relay points either—"
"There IS one."
From the side, Junkhead chimed in with obvious amusement.
The armor plates on his back shifted, splitting open to the left and right.
Mismatched against his ancient mechanical body, several compact communication units slid upward, their slender antennas fanning out into a wide array.
"It's ME."
Slowly, the Cult Leader turned his gaze to Junkhead.
Looking at his stunned expression, I felt a grim satisfaction welling up inside me.
Finally, something had gone off this bastard's script.
That was right.
The Lucia we had brought all the way down here hadn't been the real thing from the start.
Back when Sebas brought her to that cafe, I knew the moment I "examined" her.
She was an exceptionally well-crafted fake.
Though I hadn't been told she was loaded with a gimmick this tasteless, either.
"Lucia"—no, Doctor—clenched her fist while watching the stomach wound completely seal over.
"Now then, Cult Leader."
Wearing the delicate face of a highborn lady, she grinned like a street delinquent.
"How about you keep me company for a field test of our newest product?"