Chapter Text
Night falls over the Overworld like a light fog, just enough to diminish the sounds of the city as it hypnotizes the loud buses and cars into slumber.
The rumors, though, have slipped past the night’s embrace, and one walking on the empty streets, wide grey roads dimly illuminated by the lights coming from windows, can almost hear the hushed gossip.
And the current hottest gossip, that no one dares to utter beyond locked doors?
Destruction has descended.
Somewhere, in the middle of the night, on the outskirts of the Overworld, a place just out of the reach of a Silvermane Guard’s vision, a fight is currently happening in the snow fields. To call it a “fight” is a bit incorrect, though, when anyone can agree that the sole standing Fragmentum monster is getting the worse and final beating of its life.
The other two are already half-buried in the snow, dead, their bodies beginning to crumble to blackened flakes. It swirls against the howling air, colliding against the moving figure without any notice.
The figure – a male one – is tall and clad in an amour almost identical to a Silvermane Captain’s but with an overall theme of black rather than the usual white. The tall figure is currently busy punching the life out of the monster with his steel-gloved fists with vicious precision, only the sound of wind accompanying each hit. The roars of the monster echo across the field, but only deathly silence returns, as well as the crunch of snow as the black not-Guard digs his boot into the ground to deliver the fatal punch with his right arm, with a special gauntlet that was slightly larger than his left, with blue light faintly emitting between each plate.
It brightens up a bit right before it strikes the monster, a faint hum coming from the gauntlet, and something cracks within the monster upon impact.
The monster releases its last howl of pain before falling down like its friends, crumbling into dust before it hits the snow, not even tainting the whiteness.
The black figure stops, then stands straight, the armor plates sliding against each other silently. He almost seems to meld with his shadow, a stark darkness in the middle of the barren snow plains. There are light breathing sounds coming through from the male’s helmet, though inaudible to anyone else – if there is anyone else – under the howling winds.
Gloved hands move up to their helmet, and with a light click, a hidden clasp unlocks. A visible white mist of frozen breath rushes out from the opening as the helmet lifts, and the man exhales silently before it finally completely comes off. Golden hair ruffles in the wind, free from the tight space it was constrained in a moment ago.
Gepard Landau’s face appears in the dark night.
“You’re back late tonight.” Serval’s voice appears in the room the moment Gepard silently enters Neverwinter Consulting from the hidden backdoor. Even though it was already 3 am, they didn’t turn on the lights. They’re both used to working in low-light conditions, Gepard with his sneaking outs and Serval with her own job. Gepard can barely see the outline of his sister’s figure, just barely illuminated by the small light bulbs on machines in the room.
“There was more to find tonight,” Gepard replies, parts of his suit already detached and held under his arm, “There’s more coming every day.”
“I know, I’ve been summoned to the front lines more too,” Serval sighs, coming up to him, helping him out of the black armor. It’s coming down a lot faster with Serval’s addition – after all, she designed this adapted Silvermane suit herself, considering that Gepard certainly couldn’t wear his old Silvermane costume after leaving the organization. “You’d think that being Head Engineer means making and fixing stuff, but noooo, I just had to help with the fighting part too.”
Gepard’s head lifts at that, “You were attacked?”
Serval takes the black helmet from his hands and walks to the right side of their store, “Relax, I’m not that weak. Besides, you’re busy with your vigilante stuff, and I can’t distract you from that.”
Gepard scowls slightly, “Thanks, now I’ll rest in peace knowing that.”
“Ha, pot meets kettle, but do I say anything?” Serval lets out a light huff.
Even though Gepard can barely see anything, he can imagine how she leans down to grab a small gear, completely inconspicuous amongst the many other parts, turns it counterclockwise, clockwise, counterclockwise, and a hidden compartment in the wall silently slides open.
Serval unceremoniously dumps Gepard’s items in there, the sound loud enough to make Gepard wince, “Watch the noise, sis.”
“Shush, I made it, I will do whatever I want with it,” Serval’s figure turns around, “Give me the geomarrow glove, I want to make sure it’s fine.”
Gepard silently takes off the gauntlet and passes it to her, and Serval somehow manages a rough but complete inspection of her creation in total darkness.
“Looks fine.” Gepard doesn’t really understand how his sister sees anything, but he holds his tongue. Serval puts the gauntlet into the compartment too, just a lot more careful, then moves to another gear on the wall that Gepard can’t see right now, and after another round of clockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise, the compartment disappears just as silently as it came.
It was until then that they both seem to finally let out the breath they were holding in, the secret between them finally out of sight. The room seems a bit brighter now: Perhaps Gepard has just fully adjusted to the darkness, and he can now blurrily see the face of his sister.
“So, what’s happening with our Supreme Guardian?” Gepard asks, resisting a yawn. He’s only been doing his new “job” for a month, and he’s still struggling to keep up the sleep scarcity.
“Cocolia told us to focus on repairing the machines in the frontlines,” Serval says, her lips tightly pressed together, “They’ve been malfunctioning more than usual. That doesn’t make sense – my creations aren’t that fragile.”
“Maybe something, or someone, has been interfering with them.” Gepard suggests, “There have been more monsters, or perhaps it’s somehow related to those betrayers.”
The “betrayers” is the name given by the rumors, people that betrayed the path of Preservation and turned towards Destruction.
It was also their appearance that sparked Gepard’s ultimate decision to leave the Silvermane Guards, even when he was about to get promoted to Captain.
Gepard can hear Serval’s light “tch,” clearly not pleased at the thought of her machines being touched, “If Cocolia’s really behind this—”
“—She is, we’ve established that.”
Gepard can feel the light-hearted glare thrown his way, “She’s just diverting my energy completely from the Stellaron. I’m sure that she’s still not fully trusting me, but she can’t have both Landaus out of Silvermane, I suppose.”
“I don’t think she’ll care when the moment comes.” Gepard lets out the breath of a scoff, “She’s already lost her mind.”
Serval lets out a mock gasp, “Don’t let them hear that, Geppie!”
“Haha, pot meets kettle, but do I say anything?”
Serval silences at her own words thrown back, stumbling to find a witty response, before promptly giving up and changing the topic.
“What do you plan on doing next? You can’t spend all your free time creeping around to fight Fragmentum monsters and petty crime, that’s just Silvermane work.”
Gepard leans against a counter. Of course he’s not going to waste his “forced resignation” from a proper and respectable position to be doing the exact same thing. He left to find the truth, and to do something about it.
“I need to get to the Underworld. That’s where the rumors of Destruction came out from, and if it can even come up here to the Overworld in the first place, then there must be a way to go back down.”
Serval's head nods, “I can’t really help with that. Cocolia’s officially banned all mentions of it here, saying that it’s affecting soldier morale, so I can’t really find much. I’ll still try something, though.”
Gepard nods, and the yawn finally escapes him.
Serval chuckles at the sound, “Go to sleep, you’ve still got the daytime Landau work in a few hours.”
Gepard grumbles at the reminder but begins to turn toward the room at the back, which they modified to become a spare bedroom when it’s too late to sneak into the Landau estate. Their parents are already unsatisfied with their questionable sleeping schedule enough, the least they can do is escape from it.
“Wait.”
Gepard turns around, the sleepiness making him irritated, “What?”
There’s a racket of something large being moved, and Serval plunks his wheelchair in front of him. At this distance, he can see the wicked smile on her face.
“You’re crippled, remember?”
Gepard rolls his eyes but grabs the handles, “I will be when I wake up, thank you. Go to sleep, you have Silvermane work to do in a few hours.”
Sampo breathes in the cold crisp air deeply. It’s been a while since he’s been up here, ok? As nice and homey as the Underworld feels, there’s a weight on everyone’s shoulders down there that just makes them so depressed and dull.
(Well, except for a certain few. The fire in them makes the place a slightly more interesting place, and it makes the entire “smuggling” part from him so much more exciting as well.)
Here, in the Overworld, at least the sky is blue, almost colorful enough to cover the traces of the invaders beyond Jarilo-VI.
“So, what do you mean, ‘Steel Fist?’ that almost sounds like a rip-off hero name,” Sampo asks the man in front of him cheerily. They’re standing in an alley (his top 3rd place to be at), at the outer circle of the administrative district, where poor people and crime exist.
“W…well, we just call it that because someone said they saw the man…thing, defeat a Fragmentum monster with one blow.” The man clearly has seen nothing with his own eyes, but he certainly seems to believe it, “It’s in all black, and has a fist infused with steel, iron, and vengeance.”
“Vengeance?” Sampo gives a surprised face, “How so?”
“Uh…” The man stutters, clearly trying to remember what the last person told him, “Oh, right! He—" Everyone views this fresh vigilante as a male, clearly, “—He not only appears whenever there are Fragmentum monsters breaking into Belobog, but he also sometimes appears to capture criminals. You know David, the guy who nearly blew up the tavern last week?”
Sampo nods, even though he doesn’t. He was busy running from Hook and her gang then, but then again, which was obviously a more pressing issue than some mere arson.
The man looks around, then leans in to whisper, “Steel Fist just swooped into the building, right before David was about to light the fire, and threw him out of the place!”
Sampo lets out an “Ah!” to show his attention.
“The Silvermane Guards were furious, too. I heard them talking about how they were planning to lure him out to capture him.”
“Is that so?” Sampo asks. Classic vigilantism, always a favorite of his, even more so when said vigilante is not with the police. Especially when it appears in a place like Belobog.
He smiles, green eyes forming a pleasant curve, “What an interesting character. I would love to meet him. Say, do you know anything more about this gentleman?”