*FWOOSH*
As the fleet of dragons flies through the conjured [Realm Gate], the howling wind returned, filling the once-empty void with movement and sound. Instinctively, I turned toward the sealed cargo hold window, watching as the endless black was torn away, peeling back like a false layer of reality. In its place, the sky reappeared—vast, blue, and boundless.
This was the 4th time we popped out of the void during this trip but still, every time it happens I can't help but get this refreshing feeling of bliss.
""Phew~"
I blinked, letting out a sigh.
((Finally...))
The void was timeless, a place where thought stretched endlessly, unmoored from sensation or consequence. No hunger. No fatigue. No aging. No air or the need for it. No sound except the ones we make. A prison with no walls, where existence itself felt weightless and unchanging.
In other words, it was UTTERLY BORING, I'd much prefer the vibrant skies and landscapes of the real world over the inky vacuum where only scattered asteroids existed, even the colors of Limbo's conjured tunnel got boring after a while.
A necessary sacrifice for long-range, untraceable travel, but still—
""I was beginning to grow tired of that place...""
I muttered, my voice cutting through the hum of the cargo hold.
"I agree. Eternal darkness gets unbearably stale after a while, the mess of colors and lights created by the tunnel isn't much better"
Across from me, Limbo inclined his head slightly, acknowledging my words without breaking his usual composure. The void hadn't affected him in the slightest. But then again, he was Callsign: Limbo. That featureless abyss was as much his home as the physical world ever was.
""Where are we right now?""
I shifted my gaze back outside. The landscape below was coming into focus—vast, rugged, and strangely familiar.
"Phew~ we're near. We've just entered Irkallan airspace. One last jump into the void in a few minutes, and we'll arrive at hotel Nowhere"
Limbo answered, exhaling slightly as he wiped the sweat from his brow. This trip had taken its toll on his Mana supply as he looked like a man who just sprinted the entire length of a region. With a quiet sigh, he sat down, taking a brief moment of rest.
""Hmm...""
I hummed in acknowledgment, watching as the jagged expanse of the Irkallan region stretched beneath us. Mountains and rolling plains, the earth marred in places with the touch of industry—a land where the law was little more than an illusion, and only the iron grip of the Irkallan Syndicate held true power.
We were home, or at least near...
((The Irkallan Syndicate…they'll be having some trouble with the Rivalin Guild soon. It'll be a bloodbath for the ages…))
The thought settled in my mind, a quiet reminder of the chain of events I had set in motion. Two dead Rivalin guild representatives. A single, heat-of the moment decision during my mission to eliminate Hanuman Orland. That was all it had taken to start a war.
The two factions will likely throw their respective proxies at each other first.
((Well, I suppose this would've happened eventually, even without me...))
I leaned back slightly, my expression as unreadable as ever, but my mind piecing things together with cold clarity.
((That irritating man didn't authorize using the "Hog" just to deal with a few traitors—he was making a statement. You don't use such a weapon of mass destruction for mere execution. It was a message. He probably already knew that things would escalate into full blown war long before sending me on this mission and took this opportunity to gain the initiative...))
The thought rang true yet hollow, inevitable yet strangely distant. The Maestro's decision to deploy the "Hog" meant one thing—war between the Scarlet Chorus and the Mekhanites wasn't just a possibility anymore. It was an inevitability. A slow-burning conflict that had been waiting for the right spark was about to turn into a blazing pyre that will consume all.
I just hadn't realized, until now...and I certainly didn't expect that I would be the one to strike the match.
((Or perhaps me being the one to spark the war was ALWAYS his actual intentions for assigning me this operation?))
""Haaaa~""
I exhaled, gaze lingering on the vast, lawless land below. I had too many questions and so little avenues for answers, what went on in the Maestro's head was always a mystery to me.
((My actions may have only accelerated the inevitable. But that doesn't change the fact that I had a hand in it...))
I thought, as for the first time I was ACTUALLY worried about what the future might hold.
And that...
...That was odd...
((Wait...why am I so hung up over this? This isn't like me at all...since when did I start fretting over the future this much? What's wrong with me today?!))
The realization finally hit, for the FIRST TIME in my entire existence I was concerned about something OTHER than just my function as an Executerii assassin.
And the most frustrating thing of all...
(("My strings are cut...but yours are tighter than ever..."))
...is the fact that I knew EXACTLY what the cause of this is, whether I admitted it to myself or not didn't matter.
At that moment Limbo's voice woke me from my swirling thoughts.
"Ok, we're deep enough into Irkalla now...prepare for the last jump"
Limbo, began to charge up his mana once again preparing to open the next [Realm Gate].
""Oh...right...""
I replied half heartedly.
"Hmm?"
Limbo gave me a weird look for a brief moment, one that I noticed but ignored since I was preoccupied with my thoughts.
Like the Scarlet Chorus, every faction in the Executerii had their own proxies—public faces that allowed them to operate from the shadows without direct implication.
For the Mekhanites, that proxy was the Irkallan Syndicate—also known as "Cartel Irkalla", or simply "the Cartel". A quasi-legitimate narco-state based in their home region of Irkalla as well as a criminal empire that has entrenched itself deep into the fabric of the global underworld, its reach extending far beyond the lawless borders of Irkalla.
Limbo chanted the words for the [Realm Gate] spell again opening the portal into the void in front of the dragon fleet.
*RRRRRRRR*
The fleet of dragons surged forward, slipping seamlessly through the [Realm Gate].
In an instant, the vibrant scenery of the real world was stripped away, replaced by the swirling, multicolored currents of mana that guided us through the endless void.
"Ahhhh~ we should be arriving in a few moments...phew~ finally, my job is done"
Limbo exhaled, practically collapsing into the seat across from me. His form flickered slightly, his already hazy and indistinct presence looking even more faded than usual—a clear sign of his dwindling Mana reserves. The strain of constantly opening [Realm Gates] throughout this trip was catching up to him.
""Good work...""
My voice was flat, more out of reflex than actual engagement. In truth, I wasn't paying much attention. My thoughts were elsewhere.
Limbo sat there for a moment, silent. Then—
"...Okay. What's wrong?"
""Huh?""
I blinked, looking up to find his gaze locked onto me, studying me intently.
"You've been absentminded for a while now...and sighing even more than usual somehow. I've never seen you this bothered over anything before. So—what's wrong?"
He repeated the question, his tone serious.
""...""
I stayed silent for a long moment, the hum of the void filling the space between us.
Then, finally—
""You ever get the feeling that something's happening behind the scenes?""
My voice was quiet, measured. I wasn't sure why I was saying this out loud. Maybe I just wanted to hear the words outside of my own head.
""Something just out of sight, waiting. About to turn everything around you upside down. And the worst part?""
I met his gaze, my expression as unreadable as ever.
""You set it in motion yourself—without even realizing what it really meant""
I let the question hang in the air, waiting for his answer.
"You're gonna have to be more specific..."
Limbo said, tilting his head slightly.
"You just described, like...90% of the stuff they have us GEN-7s do on a daily basis"
He made a good point.
""Haa!~""
I exhaled sharply—not quite a sigh, but close.
""Exactly. Normally, I'd just write it off, same as you. But this time...I don't know""
I leaned back, my gaze drifting toward the swirling mana of the tunnel.
""I can't shake the feeling that this one's different. That what we did back there—no, what I did—is going to change things. Even for us""
Limbo scratched at his scalp, his expression thoughtful. It was rare that he wasn't immediately dismissing my concerns, I'm pretty sure I would've done so myself in his shoes.
"Hmm..."
A beat of silence passed before he finally spoke again.
"Maybe you're right"
He admitted.
"It was pretty weird that the Maestro brought the "Hog" online for this..."
Limbo muttered, tapping his fingers idly against his knee.
"Normally, we'd just take the "undesirables" for a walk through the Gardens. Put some lead into the back of their heads and let the soil do the rest. By the time the next harvest rolls around, there's nothing left of them but roots and good fertilizer"
His voice was casual, almost detached, like he was talking about routine maintenance rather than execution. But that was just the way things were. The Mekhanites wasted nothing—not product, not resources, not even the bodies of traitors. But despite that it was clear he was starting to see it too.
The "Gardens" he was referring to are secret plantations owned and managed by the syndicate. On the surface, they were the Irkallan Syndicate's sprawling greenhouses, the heart of their narcotics production. But beneath that, they also served a few other purposes—a place for cultivating any rare alchemical ingredients the Mekhanites might require at any given time, and a burial ground for those deemed "undesirables" to the organization. A very multi-purposed facility.
""That's exactly my point""
My voice remained as blank as ever, but my thoughts were anything but.
""The marionette whoreson can be erratic, sure. Even impossible to read most of the time. But if there's one thing we know about our "leader" it's that he doesn't waste resources. He wouldn't bring a goddamn orbital weapon online just to execute a handful of traitors. He was making a statement""
I put my thoughts on full display to Limbo, perhaps it was because he was also a GEN-7 but there was a quiet understanding between us that it was ok to share these things with each other.
"That makes sense, but that would mean..."
Limbo nodded slowly, the gears in his mind turning.
""He was either using Orland's unexpected deal with the Rivalin Guild to take the lead in declaring war on the Scarlet Chorus...""
I trailed off, giving him a moment to process before finishing my thought.
""Or...""
Limbo exhaled through his nose, his expression tightening.
"Fuuu~...he already knew about Orland's involvement with the Chorus. And he used both you and the "Hog" to send a message—"Our strongest weapons are ready for you. Come anytime", is that it?"
He rubbed his chin, his usual air of calm professionalism slightly frayed. Even in his hazy, fading, depleted state, I could see the mild tinge of concern creeping into his expression.
""Yeah...""
"..."
Silence settled between us, thick and unmoving, stretched even thinner by the unnatural stillness of the void. Out here, in this place where time itself has no power, the weight of the conversation pressed down even harder.
"Well, regardless, what's done is done"
Limbo finally spoke, his voice level, pragmatic. He leaned back slightly, his usual composure returning.
"It's impossible to undo what's already transpired. And we don't even have definitive proof of anything—just speculation"
He reasoned.
""True...""
I sighed, nodding slightly.
That was what I had been trying to tell myself, too.
But Limbo wasn't done. He kept his eyes on me.
"However, that still doesn't explain why you're so unsettled"
He was studying my face with uncharacteristic scrutiny.
""Hmm?""
I blinked.
"So what if war's just been declared? Sure, it might shake things up, maybe even change our daily lives on a fundamental level. But we were built for this—designed to adapt, to deal with whatever comes next. It's what we do. And yet, here you are, acting like this is some kind of omen of the end. You'd normally just file this away in the back of your mind and move on. So what's changed?"
His confusion was understandable, he knew me well having worked with me for as long as he can remember. The problem was, I didn't fully understand it myself.
""...""
I sat with the silence for a little longer, trying to piece together an answer that made sense.
""You're right...I've been wondering about that too. It's just that ever since...""
I stopped mid-sentence, biting back the words from coming out.
"Ever since? Ever since what exactly?"
Limbo's gaze sharpened, his interest piqued.
""...Ever since—nothing""
I shook my head, dismissing it with a weak excuse.
""Maybe I'm just changing as I get older?""
The words felt hollow even as I said them. And for some reason, I felt an instinctive resistance to sharing the real answer with him. Despite the unspoken understanding between us GEN-7s, this…this was something I couldn't put into words. Something I couldn't share.
((It's been like this ever since that night...the night I met that girl, Sophia? That's her name right?))
The thought crept in, unwelcomed yet undeniable.
((Ever since then, I've been acting differently—doing things I don't fully understand. Asking questions I would've never asked before. Thinking in ways that had never even occurred to me before, and then there're those "dreams" too...))
It was like…something foreign had taken root inside me. A presence I couldn't define, couldn't trace back to anything logical. A shift in my mind, my instincts, my very nature.
((It's like there's someone else living inside me, steering me in ways I don't understand at critical moments))
The realization unsettled me more than anything else. Because if there was one thing I had always relied on, it was control over the deepest recesses of my consciousness. It was the ONE place no amount of mental alteration or conditioning could touch, whether it be magical or mundane. And now, for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure if I still had it.
"You don't say…?"
Limbo shot me a look—one that wordlessly conveyed: "Not buying it, but I won't pry".
""...""
I acknowledged his considerateness with a barely perceptible nod, appreciating the unspoken understanding between us.
"Well… try not to dwell on it too much, alright?"
He said after a moment, his voice steady, measured.
"Anything that doesn't help our survival or the mission should always take a back seat. That's what the instructors drilled into us back at the "Sink". I figure…the answers will come when they're meant to"
((Is he trying to reassure me?))
I asked myself, surprised. With us GEN-7s, emotions were rarely clear-cut—if we even had what normal people would call "emotions" at all.
""Right...""
I muttered the word more out of habit than conviction, then let silence take hold once more....The silence stretched on, unbroken for a good forty minutes until Limbo finally spoke.
"Ah. We've arrived at the hotel"
He said, nodding toward the window.
"Hmm…"
I turned my gaze toward the sealed window at the front of the cargo hold, watching as the swirling tunnel of multicolored light gradually receded. Beyond it, a structure emerged from the void—luxurious yet utterly alien.
Hotel Nowhere.
It stood motionless amid the drifting debris of the void, a fixed point in a sea of shifting landmasses and fragmented asteroids. Unlike everything else around it, it did not drift, did not sway. It simply existed, an anchor of absolute stillness in an otherwise chaotic abyss.
And unlike the other things floating around in the void which could be seen as pieces of the real world or other dimensions pulled into this place or alternatively some kind of void-born recreations of landmasses in realspace (some even having unknown flora and fauna on them), the hotel was the only structure that looked man-made that existed in this realm (provided you stretch the definition of "man-made" to it's absolute limit).
The hotel itself was a bizarre, almost incomprehensible arrangement of towering skyscrapers fused together, forming a structure that defied conventional architecture. Six immense towers jutted out in six distinct directions—upward, downward, left, right, forward, and backward—like the drawn shape of a star or a hexagonal emblem suspended in space. Its design made it difficult to determine where its true center lay, as if every direction could be the "top" depending on one's perspective.
Dark, crystalline spires lined its exteriors, pulsating faintly with arcane energy, while semi-transparent walkways bridged the towers, defying gravity as they crisscrossed through empty space. Its windows, tinted and seamless, reflected the void like an endless mirror, giving the unsettling impression that the structure was gazing outward rather than merely standing within it.
A reference point in the vacuum. A sanctuary for those who wanted an escape from the real world.
((Can't believe I'm actually glad to be back here…))
The thought settled in my mind, half-hearted yet irrevocable, as I stared at the looming structure before me.
Now that Limbo's tunnel had faded, hotel Nowhere was the only source of illumination in the void, its form bathed in an eerie, almost unnatural glow. The light wasn't warm, nor was it cold—it simply was, radiating an ominous presence that stood in stark contrast to the featureless abyss surrounding it.
"GRAAAAH!"
*Slam!*
The fleet of dragons touched down, their massive forms settling onto one of the semi-transparent walkways that branched from the hotel's central mass. The material beneath us barely looked solid—thin, glasslike, and shimmering faintly—yet it held firm under the immense weight of the creatures now perched upon it. The cargo doors of the transports hissed open, metal grating against metal as the seals released.
I stepped down from my place in the hold, the momentary rush of relative gravity settling in as my boots made contact with the surface, "gravity" in this hotel was like a magnet under my feet I could probably step off this bridge right now and be able to walk on the "bottom" of it just as well as the "top".
"Haaa~"
Limbo remained behind, still slouched in his seat, his hazy form flickering slightly at the edges.
"Well, this is where we part ways. I've got to oversee the unloading process and. You? You're off the clock. Once again, good work today and try not to brood so hard alright?"
He said, lifting a hand in a lazy wave.
""...""
I gave him a blank look.
"Haaaa~...right. Never mind"
He sighed, shaking his head.
"Go on then. Take a break"
He said, shooing me away.
""...""
I didn't bother responding. With one last glance at the cargo hold as the Stygian couriers began their work—methodically unloading the retrieved assets, their armored forms moving with unsettling precision—I turned and made my way forward.
Walking along the translucent bridge toward the main mass of Hotel Nowhere, I occasionally cast my gaze outward. The void stretched infinitely in all directions, an endless abyss without horizon or depth, where even distance itself seemed meaningless. I had seen this view countless times before, and yet, staring into that vast nothingness, I found myself wondering—((does this place have an end?)).
Not that it mattered. The hotel was the only fixed point in this realm, an unmoving monolith in a sea of drifting asteroids and fragmented landmasses that defied Euclidean space in their shapes and sizes. A paradoxical anchor in a place where nothing else remained still.
Before long, I arrived at the "top" structure of the main mass—a term that barely held meaning in a place with no clear up or down. The looming architecture, with its six-pointed, star-like formation, seemed to hum in silent acknowledgment of my presence. Then, as if responding to an unspoken command, the smooth, featureless wall before me shifted.
*RRRR* *EEEE*
Lines traced themselves into existence, forming the shape of a door, its edges crackling faintly before solidifying. A quiet invitation.
I didn't hesitate. Reaching forward...
""A true pathfinder looks for no path, and no path leads to Nowhere"
Reciting the access words, I gripped the handle and pulled it open, stepping inside.
The contrast was immediate. Gone was the vast, alien void. Instead, I was met with the familiar sight of an extravagant hotel reception.
*EEE* *Click*
The moment the door closed behind me it disappeared as if it was never there in the first place.
Polished marble floors reflected the warm, ambient lighting. Ornate chandeliers hung from a ceiling so high it felt almost unreal, their crystal fixtures casting soft, prismatic glows across the walls. Plush seating areas lined the sides of the lobby, their velvet upholstery untouched, as if no guest had ever truly sat there. A long, sleek kiosk stood at the back, the reception desk pristine.
Despite the opulence, there was an uncanny stillness to it all. The kind of perfection that felt...staged. As if this place had been designed to resemble a luxury hotel rather than be one.
Well, there are days where the hotel is packed with "guests", mainly other operatives and personel that were allowed access into the hotel but those days are few and far between.
((A place meant to accommodate, yet never quite welcoming...but then again who would welcome me?))
*Step* *Step*
I stepped forward, my boots echoing lightly against the polished floor as I approached the desk.
"Welcome to Hotel Nowher—ah, you're back, 001. The Maestro isn't calling for you right now, but he did ask me to hand you this"
Enice, the receptionist, greeted me with her usual mix of fear, cold detachment, and crassness, sliding a white envelope into my hand.
"He said this mission isn't urgent, so you can take your time. Then again, time doesn't pass here in the hotel, you'll arrive at the exact moment you want anyway. So, who cares?"
Enice said with a huff, she was right. The timeless nature of the hotel and the void in general is one of the reasons why I'm such an effective assassin for the order.
Time does not exist in this dimension, whenever you travel into this place time outside basically freezes and when you come out you'll arrive at exactly the moment you came in.
The exception to this are the various doors that lead into hotel Nowhere which does impose a limited amount of time flow on as well as between the two dimensions, it ALWAYS dropped me at the EXACT time and place where I was needed.
This is the reason why I achieved a kill count nearing the quadruple digits despite being so young, as long as it's within Mekhanite territory where there are thousands of doors hidden every where I can travel anywhere instantly and complete missions at a rapid pace.
As a result of this some of our enemies have developed theories of the "White Jackal" and "callsign: Oblivion" being multiple people with the same name, or that I have some kind of ability to be at many places at once. Which I guess wasn't too far off the mark considering how I utilize this hotel.
""Understood...""
I accepted the envelope without emotion, holding it up for a moment to examine it.
((A red envelope means a critical mission. A white one…it's a set of assignments meant to keep me busy for the next few weeks))
As I tucked it away, Enice pushed another item toward me.
"Here's the key to your room. Now get out of my sight!"
I took the key, but instead of leaving with my usual snide remark, I lingered.
"W-what? Y-you need something else?!"
Her tone was irritable, but beneath it, I could hear the fear. She was always afraid of us GEN-7s—one of the reasons she took the job as hotel Nowhere's receptionist. In this place, she was unkillable. Even if someone sliced off her head or reduced her to a red smear on the floor, she'd still be here the next moment (provided that someone put her back together and maybe a quick memory wipe to deal with the trauma of still being conscious and alive despite the fatal injury), death didn't exist in this space between spaces.
""I need access to the archives. Specifically, records on all past and present personnel""
I said calmly, asking for access to the archives.
"Huh? That's…rare. Why would you—"
Her eyes widened.
""None of your business. I need to see the archives""
My voice was cold, leaving no room for argument.
"F-fine! Here! Take a long look—I don't care!"
She hastily tossed me an orbment—a small, mirror-like object encased in a palm-sized locket. I caught it without a word.
""Thank you...""
With everything in hand, I turned and headed toward my room.
Room number 001—just up the stairs on the third floor down the hall, exactly as I left it.
The corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit by flickering sconces, their glow casting long, shifting shadows on the walls. The air smelled of aged wood and something metallic—an iron tang that never quite faded. The Hotel existed outside of time, untouched by decay, yet it carried the weight of things long forgotten.
""Home sweet home...""
I reached my door and pressed a gloved hand against it. The number "001" was etched in tarnished brass, a designation, a reminder. I twisted the knob and entered.
Inside, everything was as I had left it. Sparse. Efficient. The bed was neatly made, though I'd never been the one to make it. A desk, a chair, a lamp, all arranged with sterile precision. The walls were bare, a bath, my closet, a chest under the bed, no windows, no paintings, nothing but empty space and the faint hum of the void pressing in beyond the threshold.
*EEEEEEE...* *Click!*
I shut the door behind me, locking it out of habit, though I knew it wasn't necessary. No one entered this room but me.
Stepping to the bed, I brought the white envelope into my line of sight, turning it over in my hands. The Maestro's orders, encoded as always. My fingers traced the seal before tearing it open, revealing what I already expected—a Vigenère cipher. The keyword being my callsign: "Oblivion."
""Haaaa~""
I sighed tiredly and tossed the letter onto the bed. Not now...
Instead, I reached into my coat and pulled out the orbment, its mirror-like surface catching the dim light. It felt cold, heavier than it should be.
""...""
I sat there silently for a moment considering whether I should even pursue this line of thought.
But after a while, I decided to go with my gut feeling and go for it.
""Let's see here...personel files...section H...ah here it is""
Scrolling and navigating through the glass screen with my fingers I finally found what I was looking for.
""Hanuman Orland..."
I muttered the name that had been lingering in my mind since my last mission.
The orbment pulsed in response. Its glass shimmered, rippling like disturbed water before resolving into lines of text and flickering images. The man's face appeared—though it was a bit younger than he was before I killed him.
((This must be an old picture...))
I thought. A former Mekhanite agent turned rogue, defecting and attempting to sell valuable assets to our rival faction. A target. Now dead, killed by my hands.
""...""
I looked up from the glass screen for a moment, once again hesitant to read this.
((This is dumb...why do I even care? Why SHOULD I care? He's dead))
I thought, attempting to give myself once last chance to back out.
""...""
But after another moment of silence, I found my eyes drawn back to the screen, to Orland's file.
*Pip* *pip*
I browsed through the file, noting the important details.
I would learn his story...
And through that hopefully gain some insight into the bigger picture at play here...