Inside one of Rhodes Island's main offices.
"Kal'tsit! You damned traitor—die!"
"Lyudmila," Kal'tsit sighed, her voice calm yet carrying an edge. "It seems that your years living in Siracusa have not taught you much… Red, do not harm her."
"Don't act like you care! After all these years, why haven't you aged a day?"
"Time has left its mark on me," Kal'tsit replied evenly, "you simply lack the means to perceive it."
"Tch… That arrogant tone of yours—you sound just like that duke."
"Don't compare me to that being, Lyudmila. Your knowledge and perception limit your view—you see only fragments of the whole picture. And tell me, on what basis do you think you can kill me alone?"
"…"
"That Reunion officer—'Skullshatterer,' was it?—he doesn't seem to know about this, does he?"
"…This has nothing to do with him. He knows nothing of your true identity."
"I have no intention of harming anyone. Rhodes Island didn't take Misha in for the sake of a mere Reunion officer… you two are not that important."
"…"
"I don't want this ridiculous misunderstanding to continue. Clear communication is the foundation of trust. I'll overlook your little outburst for now—but I expect you to calm down and listen to what I have to say."
"What kind of trick are you trying to pull?"
"Hostile words can't hide your fear, Lyudmila… I am not a traitor. And Sergei—the one you and Skullshatterer killed—he was merely a pitiful man."
———
"It's fine, child. I'm quite satisfied with your answer."
Cape's tone was light, dismissive—he clearly didn't mean it. He was only trying to draw Mephisto further into his web when his communicator suddenly buzzed.
The shrill sound snapped through the tension like glass breaking.
Mephisto, who had been teetering between confusion and agitation under the Black Snake's influence, suddenly came back to his senses. The haze in his eyes cleared.
Inside him, the fragment of the Black Snake writhed in pain. It had borne more pressure than such a tiny fragment was ever meant to withstand—
—and it dissolved.
Cape's composure faltered.
That feeling—like being interrupted halfway through a very important task...
it infuriated him.
This was supposed to be the perfect moment. The timing, the tension, the vulnerability—it had all lined up beautifully.
But now? Wasted.
He forced a polite smile, despite the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"Excuse me a moment," he said, offering Mephisto a courteous nod before turning away to answer.
He knew the boy had regained awareness—and with that, suspicion.
To be fair, who wouldn't be suspicious?
A man you'd only met half a day ago suddenly starts offering food, shelter, and luxury—then declares you've been hired as an executive of an international conglomerate?
No matter how you looked at it, that screamed trap.
Of course, the Black Snake didn't particularly care about logical consistency. Its power alone could bend weaker minds into compliance.
Even if true "resonance" was difficult, it had overtaken many who'd resisted before.
All Cape needed was to push harder—press Mephisto while his mind was still overstimulated, guiding him down the path of false reason.
Willpower was hard to defend, but frighteningly easy to corrupt.
Unfortunately, the fragile binary state of Mephisto's mind—his hesitation, his fleeting openness—was shattered by something as banal as a ringing phone.
The intrusion destroyed the momentum.
Cape, still under the watchful stares of Ch'en, Alina, and the others, excused himself and stepped out, visibly irritated.
He glanced down at the communicator's screen. The name glowing back at him—Cronin.
Suppressing a sigh, he adjusted his tone, forcing warmth into his voice.
"Cronin! What is it this time?"
Then, through gritted teeth, his thoughts muttered beneath that polished tone—
You'd better have a damn good reason for calling me right now, Cronin.
———
(A sharp Originium insect shriek pierces the air.)
"At last… that thing's finally down."
A Phidia woman with messy green hair and a pristine white lab coat theatrically wiped nonexistent sweat from her brow, glancing nervously at the gigantic carcass sprawled before her.
The creature's massive carapace was veined with molten cracks, glowing faintly as the embers within began to fade.
"…Mobius, are you sure this mutated Originium slug is actually dead?"
The woman beside her — long flowing hair, pointed ears, and golden eyes — spoke with visible tension.
If a third person had been there, however, they would've noticed something curious: her wariness wasn't directed at the dead monster… but at Mobius herself.
"Why ask me, Muelsyse? You were the one who did the killing, weren't you?"
Mobius adjusted the monocle perched over her left eye, her lips curling into an amused smirk.
"Being so tense isn't good for your health, you know~ Miss Elf."
"…"
Muelsyse said nothing.
The battle had been brutal.
Not only because of the fiery breath unleashed by the so-called "Pompeii" — the mutated Originium creature before them — but also because of the high-energy variants that kept ambushing from the shadows.
This monstrosity was likely the broodmother of the region, capable of commanding swarms in coordinated attacks.
Thankfully, Muelsyse's mastery of hydrokinetic Originium Arts allowed her to suppress the creature long enough to turn the tide.
As for the high-energy ones…
Muelsyse frowned as she looked around — shattered limbs, scorched flesh, and the remains of a broken monocle scattered across the ground.
"I'd say… aside from Saria and a few other research lunatics, not many people would tolerate your methods."
"My, my~ you wound me, dear Muelsyse. After everything we just went through together, is that any way to talk to your partner?"
"…"
Muelsyse had always been the type to smile easily — cheerful, friendly, composed.
But around Mobius, she simply couldn't.
No, it wasn't just that she couldn't smile… she was on the verge of tears.
The scene from earlier would probably haunt her for years:
A swarm of Mobius clones, fearlessly — no, ecstatically — throwing themselves at high-energy Originium creatures that detonated like living bombs.
Only the gods knew what went through Muelsyse's mind when one of her "colleague's" remains nearly splattered across her face.
(Elvish profanity) — Why did I ever agree to team up with this lunatic?!
Sure, Muelsyse was the head of Rhine Lab's Ecological Department, but that didn't mean she had the psychological fortitude to stomach such carnage.
And what made her even more uneasy was how this deranged immortal scientist kept whispering the word " Miss Elf" every time they were alone together…
It was driving her insane.
"Miss Elf! What's with that attitude?" Mobius snapped, visibly offended.
"This is the first joint operation between the Ecology Department and the newly founded Philosophy Department! I expect you to show proper professional spirit! Now—"
She pointed at the smoldering corpse.
"Go and dispose of that Originium creature. Thanks to protecting you, the rest of my 'selves' are gone, and I'm the only Mobius left standing."
"…Fine, fine."
Muelsyse forced an awkward smile, her expression stiff.
She hated this.
She hated being anywhere near this deranged immortal whose mouth never stopped running.