#viofex

About a day had passed since you were allowed to go outside and relish in real fresh air for the first time in what felt like eternity. Painting worlds were nice, but different, somehow, from the real great outdoors. And as nice as these places were… one of these areas was rather grim, wasn’t it?

The graveyard stood as a rather unfortunate reminder to the situation you all found yourselves in. Dying off, one by one, even if that had been avoided for now. Any time you went there, you might’ve felt as though you were being watched. Seen a figure out of the corner of your eye, only for them to vanish as you tried to get a closer look. Perhaps it was your mind playing tricks on you… 

But perhaps not.

The morning after the adventure in the abstract painting, you find a note had been slipped under your bedroom door. Written out in an unappealing handwriting, you discover a calling card of sorts had reached your hands.

“The Legendary Phantom Thief Cracker Jack issues an official invitation to view the theft of Hibiki Katagiri’s heart! Tonight at 8 PM, in the music hall, Cracker Jack will win over her rival. Spectators are encouraged to come.”

The note slipped under your door is signed with a purple kissy mark, a completely unnecessary addition to an unnecessary note. What was she thinking with a stunt like this? Would Hibiki even show up when called out in such a direct manner? You set down the note and weigh the options on whether attending would be worth it. After all, there’s nothing saying this is a mandatory watch, and Jack had gotten on a significant amount of peoples’ nerves.

Whether you choose to go or not, come the time noted on the card, the music hall’s lighting slowly dims, bar a handful of spotlights in designated areas on the floor, likely for dramatic effect. Just as one such as Jack would do. However, rather than seeking out the lights in order to turn everything back on, one Hibiki Katagiri simply stands in the center of one of the lights, clearly having shown up on time. He gives all of you coming in a small wave before speaking.

A head. That of a serpent, except far larger, with horns and curved, pointed fangs bared at the room. Yellow eyes peer in, behind a familiar pair of glasses - was that where they’d gone?

Two more heads, identical to the first, round the corner as well, scanning the room, making sure none escape their gaze. It lumbers in, its massive body now blocking off one of the exits. It does not move, it does not speak. For a moment, it stood still in the entrance, like a statue.

And then it leapt forward.

Its now-shattered marble depiction really didn’t do the hydra justice. It was far bigger, lacking in the refined elegance of the statue, but making up for it in brutality. 

Victim - Calvin Amity

Approximate time of death - 12:34 AM

Proposed cause of death - Hypovolemic shock

There were many questions, and few answers. Eleven bodies were found in the mausoleum (ten of the visiting students, plus a staff member), with no clear sign of what had inflicted their injuries. No clear link to any crimes that could be detected in this world. No matter what stories you told them, they could never definitively prove anything. The truth of the case faded into mere speculation, vastly overshadowed by the displays of memorial for those who had died in the Lotan Castle Case.

Sympathies poured in, for them and for you. You were offered extensive therapy, with Hope’s Peak footing the bill. Lotan Castle was also forced to apologize extensively for the tragedy that had occurred under their watch; it seemed that the long-standing cultural exchange deal between the school and the museum went up in smoke, but where one door closes, another opens.

No one particularly liked that dead tour guide, but an investigation of the museum revealed a will, hidden in an excessively verbose manuscript in Calvin Amity’s office. Apparently, it had been his final wish that Hartmann’s works be made more accessible, and that the castle lift many of its restrictions on visitors so that more people could appreciate them. This art was for the world, after all, and ought to be remembered. The museum’s doors should be open to all. The administration figured. Well, they at least owed him something. A new audience arose around Hartmann’s work, entrancing countless visitors to Lotan Castle. 

Many of them would never know the truth of these works, never be able to explore them as thoroughly as you did, never understand the depth of the worlds within. Worlds of magic and fantasy, of friends who welcomed you back with open arms should you choose to return. Worlds that, despite their nature, were no less complete than your own.

The six came to their senses outside the mausoleum, under a crisp night sky - one you had not seen since you first arrived in Baltaigne. An owl hooted in a tree, before flying off. The flow of time had resumed once more; the spell that had been cast over the castle was lifted. 

Back in the main painting hall, those you’d met in your journeys awaited you, smiling. The magic was fading, but remained strong enough that they could at least say goodbye. Indy, Lynae, Calvin, the hydra, Mira, Nona, Hartmann… they all awaited you.

Indy seemed to be in a conversation with Lynae, which you could hear the end of. “It’s just a small vacation. I’ll be back in time for next poker night, or my name isn’t Indianya Jowones.” She waved the group over enthusiastically.

“I always knew you guys could do it!” Her words before you left implied otherwise. “I’m gonna take advantage of this opportunity to visit my folks. My home’s in those paintings, but. It’s been awhile, want ‘em to know I’m okay, nyaha. Gonna skidaddle quick, though. Don’t wanna be here come morning.”

She offered a wry smile. “This ain’t a goodbye, I think. I’m sure you guys are gonna find a way to make it back across the boundary, if you really want it. And any of us would be happy to have ya. I could always use some exploring buddies.” She offered a half-hearted wave as she turned and headed for the door. “See you again, have a nice day.”

Lynae waved her off, and addressed the group. “If you do return, feel free to swing by. I might be able to offer a 1% discount.” It appeared she didn’t have much to say, as she returned to the painting behind her. 

Hartmann stood by an installation that was not there before… ten figures, together in a field. Happy. Your fallen friends.

“I did not create this one. I believe… well, this is a sign. And even if it may not be here come morning, your friends’ souls are at peace, at last. They are no longer being used for those peoples’ machinations.” The artist sighed.

“... Even if they will not return as ‘themselves’, for the lives lost so young… I feel nothing short of obligated to give them a second chance at some sort of life, to the extent that my abilities will allow. They won’t be able to leave this world, and… they will quite likely take on new identities, much as Lynae did. But they will have the choice to do so. It will take me… quite some time to accomplish this. My power is not what it once was when I was a living man, but it should still be within my capabilities. One day, eventually, they will get their second chances.”

A bittersweet promise. Perhaps they would never revive in the truest sense of the word, but at least this way they would get another chance to live out fulfilling lives, of some kind.

As you returned to the sculpture hall, the spirit of Calvin sat where he had once died, with the hydra standing over him. Calvin sighed. “So it would appear I have no more place in this world. I know not what will happen to me come morning, but luckily I managed to complete my memoir in case of my untimely demise.”

The hydra’s three heads frowned in unison. “Sorry, again, about that. And sorry to all of you. If we’d only been more careful, none of this would’ve happened. We were fools… and it cost most of you your lives. Nothing will ever make up for that.” They frowned. “I expect this is not the last we will see of each other. Do you intend to return to our world, I wonder? You are always welcome… though we believe you will have duties to attend to in your own world first.”

Working as one, with all your efforts combined, you delivered the final blow.

Kouri staggered, letting her scythe clatter to the ground. How could this be? After all they had done, to be bested in the challenge they had laid down? The sheer humiliation was almost enough to distract from the fact that they had failed, that their time with these vessels was nearly spent. 

They, who had saved worlds, who not even death could stop, had been defeated after centuries of imprisonment… by mere high schoolers? Gone was Kouri’s cool exterior; the shock of defeat was on her face, clear as day. She looked around at her fallen comrades, and understood right away. To continue this would be folly. It was truly the end: their strength was spent, they would not be able to hold on after this, not even as spirits as they had the last time they fell. This all felt so familiar. 

“So be it. Return to your sun, and bask in it.” Though resigned, there was a bitterness in her words. “End us, and live with the memory of this world, of what happened here. Your world will never know of your heroics, nor will they believe in them. And we shall live on, in myth and legend.”