Enoch's goal was practically impossible.
Uriel couldn't possibly understand it, but the news concerning Persephone was devastating, devastating in ways even Enoch himself couldn't properly fathom.
It implied such horrors, such looming trouble, that only death could bloom from it. Only chaos. Only ruin.
And the effects of that change had been almost instant.
Even just Lirik's involvement, as well as the so-called clients behind him, were nothing more than the smallest heralds of that chaos.
Lirik wasn't supposed to know how to use his spark so well, not this early. The Hounds of Greed weren't even supposed to exist until three years from now.
Lirik himself wasn't even supposed to be in the forest.
The tides were rising.
And Enoch refused to be left behind to drown. He refused to let himself and Uriel fail again.
They had to survive. And to do so, they needed change.
They both needed to transcend, in a way none of their past selves could have predicted, nor any of the other regressors.
They had to so fundamentally alter the course of fate and time that the timeline itself became unrecognisable.
Only then would the playing field be equal once again.
For Enoch, what he had to do was just as impossible as it was simple.
He needed to destroy his spark.
As for Uriel…
…
Uriel was in a world of agony.
He didn't know how, but Lirik somehow dissected him and put him back together without any trouble or issue, the ease of each of his movements terrifying.
He plucked bone, organ, flesh, and every other part of his body alike, then placed them back again—his body mending in the blink of an eye, as if he truly were a toy Lirik could assemble and disassemble at will.
But he felt it. He truly did.
Every time his heart was torn from his chest, it felt as though he had truly died. Every bone displaced and removed felt like a blade piercing his soul, and every organ cut open and stitched back together felt like the ravaging might of a hound, tearing him apart from the inside.
He lay on the cold metallic table, naked, his midsection, and what little decency remained, only covered by a thin cloth.
Looking at him, one wouldn't even guess that he'd been tortured. In fact, he looked intact, exactly the same as he had before the trial, free of harm and in perfect health.
Lirik's spark, whatever it truly was, was simply horrifying.
But no matter how much he pushed, tore, and inflicted pain, Uriel remained silent, never uttering a word.
After a while, even his muffled groans and screams ceased.
He simply lay there, silent.
"And so, what happened is that I took the fall, in exchange for thirty percent of the loot. Back then I was about seventeen… maybe nineteen?" Lirik said casually. "So I was still considered a protected youth by the Federation."
He laughed.
"I only got five years, but I really only served one. Got let off early on good behaviour, then did the rest through community work and whatnot."
"You know, mafias in the east do this a lot. They destabilise the area they operate in, cause a surge in crime through poverty, then wait a generation or two, and then they recruit the young men."
"They use those young men as… what's it called? Lambs? Yeah, lambs."
He shook his head slowly.
"They always keep one close so that if they're ever busted, the kid takes the fall and none of the old ones do any time."
"It really is disgusting, hm? Grown men and women grooming little boys as lambs for slaughter."
Lirik didn't seem to be talking just to talk anymore, he was ranting.
"And that fuels an entire human trafficking ring inside the prisons of the Federation. Because what happens is…"
His gaze darkened.
"…those boys, once they get near the age of maturity and are already in prison, are abused there. Then they're killed to keep them silent, and their organs are sold off."
"Some don't even get killed and… remain as pets in there. They're called Mull-Boys."
Silence fell over the dimensional space, a thin layer of tension spreading through the air like a film.
"The Federation tries to fight against them, but the families leading these mafias are…"
The lanky man standing nearby, Lirik's right-hand man, Orin, frowned, his gaze narrowing as Lirik's rant grew more and more passionate.
He wasn't particularly sensitive to aether, but even he could feel the storm building inside Lirik's core.
This was abnormal.
'Boss doesn't usually talk this much… or give away this much information,' he thought. 'What the hell is going on…'
Orin didn't know why, but something deep in the back of his mind began to shiver, trembling with unease and unrest.
His back became drenched in sweat, his core tensing as if ready to explode with power at any moment.
Slowly, with careful movements, he pulled out his notebook, the one containing all the intel their clients had given them.
He read it again.
The moment he did, his eyes widened.
The words were written in bold.
[TARGET IS LETHAL WHEN FED INFORMATION. CRIPPLE HIS CORE AND USE ENCHANTED MENTAL PROTECTION ITEMS!]
Orin's pupils trembled. He blinked, and the words written in bold began to shift and move, rearranging themselves into a new sentence.
[Target is harmless.]
The fear he'd been feeling vanished in a puff of smoke.
He sighed and shook his head. 'I'm tired.'
He put his notebook away.
Crossing his arms, he continued observing the interrogation, not realising the familiarity of the action.
Not realising he had checked his notebook hundreds of times in the last half hour.
…
Lirik blinked.
And suddenly, he was in the depths of a bunker.
Dark green metal surrounded him on all sides, the space illuminated only by a weak lamp hanging overhead.
The bunker was empty, wide, and filled with dust. In the distance stood a massive door, tightly locked by several latches and hatches.
'Where am I?'