*I low-key had a blast writing this one. Forgot writing can feel so fun at times. I'm still shaping things up a bit, but we're moving forward in full. I've done quite a lot of funky things in the time I was gone (which I think is like 2 weeks? still feels like a lot more) so anyway, have fun everyone and hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter too. Peace out and Deus Vult. Glory to Christ.*
The events of the Holy Grail War were rather unfathomable, for their simplicity gave room to more confusion. When complex characters perform simple actions, one can only wonder what the punchline is. Mark could only wonder the same thing as he enjoyed some wine with DJ and Gilgamesh. It was Meritas' own words that kept rippling through that burnt brain of his, dragging him back from an ocean filled with unanswered questions.
The moment had gone by faster than it could have started, taking along both the strange mark on his palm and the even stranger guests that had entertained him. Gilgamesh left rather peacefully, merely tossing the other two a look over his shoulder with the same arrogance tailored to the status of one above gods and men alike—at least in his own eyes.
"Don't get cocky, mongrels. Do not think even for a moment that we're something akin to equals just because I've indulged this meager thing."
Unlike the superficial tension Gilgamesh exuded, the atmosphere felt rather serene within the Party Car of the Express. Neither Mark nor DJ was bothered in the slightest, even if the latter bit back a teasing remark—more out of courtesy towards Mark, who'd probably call him out for ruining the moment.
"We'll see when we meet again, I guess... if we meet again, that is," replied Mark, giving a nod as Gil simply faded away, leaving nothing but a pile of golden bits behind. They just faded like a star's dying light.
"I guess that's also my cue to leave, Marky. Remember here, brochacho," began DJ, throwing an arm around the man's shoulders like it was the most casual thing in the world, which might as well have been given the easygoing look on his face. "Don't get TOO reckless. I know you won't listen, because you're Mark... but don't disregard yourself completely, ok? We're friends, brothers even, which means that I care about you."
Their eyes met, but for a moment, enough to grace one another with burning resolve hidden deep in the depths of their hearts. They were more alike than Mark could have ever guessed in that state. His mind knew that much, and if not the mind, then something that goes beyond it.
"I'll see you another time, DJ... and maybe I'll remember everything before the time comes."
With a loud smack over Mark's back, DJ let himself be engulfed by shadows, allowing himself to return to wherever. Wanderers tend to have multiple places they call home, and perhaps the same could be said about DJ.
Silence fell again, tangling the seductive idea of things to process, ideas to mull over in his mind like a broken machine reiterating the same few frames of a video over and over. He discarded that, instead motioning for Shush to pour him a drink. No joke, no comment, just the need for silence after a hectic little episode.
With one slow move, he grabbed hold of the glass, twirling it gently while staring through it rather than at it. He didn't take a seat at the bar, chosing instead to find the comfort of a quiet room—his own, for that matter. Simple, practical, but better than nothing. They had split it, sure, but it mattered little to him. No one else was around, at least for a while.
'I'm getting cold feet for some reason.'
It was what little could be said after trying to understand his own heart. Something about the mix of things felt unsettling in and of itself, yet trouble seemed to love company. The itch of the future was returning, this time like a warning carved in ice atop the expanse of his back. Whatever the hell awaited them at the next stop was going to be all but pleasant.
"Shit," he muttered, taking a sip of the whiskey. It's not that he was a huge fan of it, but the burn gave something else to focus on against all his unwillingness.
Soft knocks came at the makeshift door, the frame somehow holding up despite his shabby craftsmanship. It wasn't the best thing, and if his father saw it, he'd probably faint on the spot, but it held.
"Come on in. It's open."
Standing tall, the figure fixed the pair of glasses a nudge higher up his nose. The cane thudded halfheartedly against the floor, as if held back. For the abilities that weapon held, Mark could only imagine it reined back in like a bull forced to sit.
"I apologize if I'm intruding, Mark," said Welt, the firm gaze of his stating one thing clearly from the start. It was no time for games.
"It's fine. Have a seat."
Slowly, Welt pulled out Mark's chair from the desk he'd sometimes work at. It was pretty comfortable, with the cushioning deflating as it molded to the old man's frame.
For a moment, silence... far from the comfortable kind. It was unsettling for both of them, one struggling to find the words as another awaited them like judgment.
"I assume that you remember our old conversation, a strange mention about what happened to my memories."
The memory was rather fresh despite the passage of time and everything that's happened in-between.
"I do, I remember. You mentioned something like a double set of memories, right? The old one you remember, and the new one with someone you couldn't recognize."
Welt gave a nod, resting his elbows on his knees as his fingers laced together in contemplation. Mark was the single point of his focus, something the youth reciprocated in kind. The topic was far from casual for both of them, the afflicted and the one who could theorize most on what the affliction implied.
"You see, I got more and more to come back to me with time. It was a strange experience, to put it simply. A lot of the things I have known took a slightly different turn..."
"A turn for what?"
The look on Mark's face was strange, a fearful kind of joy, the hope of a death row inmate catching a glimpse of salvation.
"A turn for the best wherever it was possible. I've no idea who that strange person in my memories is, and it seems my mind doesn't let up on keeping the fog thick around them. However, there is one thing I found somewhat confusing, even by the standards of what I know."
Mark kept listening, trying to recall as much as he could from Honkai Impact 3rd, the game around which his memories weren't restricted but neither were perfect.
"You know a lot of strange things, so I'll assume you're familiar with my arrival in this world. I'll take your silence as a yes. Well, the issue is that the stranger I kept mentioning encouraged me to come, with their final words to me being that I'm needed here."
Mark cursed Meritas' warning like someone cursing fate for handing them a lottery ticket with one single missplaced digit. It didn't show on his face, but the motion of his eyes darting across the floor betrayed him. He kept thinking, unwilling to embrace the clearest possibility.
"So... what you're saying is...?" began Mark, trying to see what idea Welt poked at. He wasn't as easy to handle as one would think, and Mark hadn't been subtle about his knowledge coming from odd sources.
"I'm not saying anything, Mark. Not yet. I fear I know too little to make assumptions, and the memories I have portray them as a good person. Still, I thought I'd tell you this much as someone who, for better or worse, used an unknown source of information to do similar things."
Welt was closer to the same line of reasoning as Mark without even knowing what he was dealing with. The simplest answer Mark could give was that someone else had been isekai'd to that world and sent Welt over to keep some semblance of continuity. Not only that, but Void Archives must have come in the same way.
'Could it be that Void Archives went through the same thing as Welt? Oh boy... I don't like the smell of this shit one bit.'
"Welp," sighed Mark, leaning back on his bed just a bit, feet still resting on the floor. "We'll deal with that hitch when we get to it. For now I think we have other things we need to focus on."
Mark kept to himself in some areas more than others, but unlike the past, Welt just offered a tiny smile. He stood up, patting Mark on the shoulder.
"Whatever the case, I trust you, Mark. I keep in mind the mistake I've made, however foolishly idiotic it may seem. Me telling you all of this... I'm glad there's someone I can discuss openly with—at least openly on my end."
There it was, that attitude that made Mark wish to spill the beans about everything—but then again, doing so might have worse consequences than he'd expect. Interact with an isolated system and you'll ruin the balance within. He was doing it already, slowly nudging events in certain directions without too many repercussions, but there are limits to that as well.
'If I tell these guys they're nothing more than some game back in my world, I might just give them an existential crisis. I don't need that happening. Not ONE bit. I'll just treat them as I have so far, like friends...family... I cared about them even as pixels on a screen.'
Mark returned the gesture with a somewhat stronger pat on Welt's back, downing the glass in one single motion—a drink he had almost forgotten about.
"Well, I care about you lot as well. No need to dwell on those topics. Let tomorrow worry about itself, for today has enough trouble as is. Not my words, but they're wisdom."
Welt, for his part, merely shook his head and fixed his glasses again, heading for the exit.
"Make sure to come eat with everyone later, alright? I have a feeling the others will have something interesting to discuss."
"Heh, I will. I'm sure I have a clue what it's about already."
Welt let out a little sigh, amused.
"You always seem to have a 'clue' about these things, Mark."
Both true and false, that was the only thing Mark himself could say. Either way, he returned to what little bit of normalcy was left in the hourglass. Time kept moving forward, pressing the weight of the future more and more into his spine.
The days went by with him training, struggling against the tides of his own emotions. The feeling that something was bound to happen called him to action in an inhuman way, the kind that bordered on lunacy. He was a lunatic, but even there he had limits.
Limits, however, weren't his strongest suit... not when they were about keeping him normal.
The final leap came: the moment the Astral Expressed used what little fuel they had left to make the jump for Amphoreus. Mark was amped beyond capacity, close to jittering through the compartment. The sight of the strange ribbon shifting colors with each move wasn't alleviating much either.
Black Swan told the others what she knew about the planet and about the Paths mingled in the whole ordeal. Mark couldn't care less about it. He kept staring at the glowing point in space like his glare could somehow make it unravel and speak its truths.
It was Welt who broke him out of his trance, the remark simple.
"...Wait, I think we might be missing someone."
Mark's eyes danced around and noticed it finally. March wasn't there.
The cold pressure on his back suddenly made sense. Without a word, he marched off towards her room.
"Mark, is something wrong?" asked Himeko, wasting no time following him—and so did the others.
The distance shrunk at once, their rapid steps carrying them in one singular pack right at the girl's door. Himeko knocked, a bit more gently despite the urgency Mark ignited.
"March, are you alright?"
"Yeah..."
But the weak answer coming from within was all but convincing. They slid the door open and walked inside, only to find a sickly-looking March sitting on the edge of her bed, a shell of her former self.
"Sorry, guys. I don't know what's wrong. I just feel really weak after the warp..."
"Motion sickness, maybe?" asked Stelle, but the answer sounded weak to her ears as well.
Everyone's gaze flew to Mark, awaiting an answer, but his eyes were glued to the ground, feet tapping impatiently against the floor.
"Call Sunday, if you'd like," he finally said, looking at March with a hint of worry. "I think he could explain it a bit better and have a proper look just in case I'm missing something."
The something Mark could be missing was nothing but his own worries that somehow his actions might've caused a disturbance in March's condition besides what he had known.
To his relief, that wasn't the case. The thing to worry about did remain Amphoreus—even if he had to try and ignore the throbbing headache at the mention of Paths and Aeons being to blame for the girl's condition.
'Was this what Meritas meant by telling me to stop questioning things? Just what is that guy playing at?'
Seeing herself unable to go explore, March took out her camera, looking at everyone as she handed it to Stelle.
"Take my camera along. I'd have given it to Mark, but he's probably going to get lost wandering who knows where like he usually does. I wanted to take photos when we got there, but looks like you'll have to help me with that now..."
That got Mark to chuckle as well, but he walked out of the room as they kept talking, staring out the window trying to avoid any question. The headache loomed over him, waiting with who knows what varying degree of sickness should he delve too deep in the throes of his own repressed knowledge.
Himeko followed out next, glancing at Mark as the others followed her out. They all walked just a bit away from the girl's door, speaking in a lower tone.
"Do you think March 7th's past could be connected to Amphoreus?" asked Welt, a valid concern given the sudden nature of her illness.
Himeko was about to speak, to call it a coincidence, but instead looked to Mark once more.
"Mark, what do you think?" she asked, gentle and worried. It wasn't the type of situation where he'd keep things hidden, but trying to think too much about it only led to bigger headaches starting to form.
"I don't know," he said, as honest as he could. The slight discomfort was barely visible, but they did catch a hint of it. No one pressured for more, instead going about things normally.
"We'll wait to see if there are any Six-Phased Ice related symptoms," continued Himeko, steering her worries away. "It's more likely that some kind of energy on Amphoreus affected her before any of us."
Her eyes fell on Mark, then Stelle, and concluded the quick sweep with Dan Heng.
"I want the three of you to take the lead in this trailblazing expedition. Are you up for it?"
Mark didn't even need to be asked. He returned a nod doubled with an intense conviction to get it done.
"Sure, we work well together," said Stelle, feeling a bit more casual about things. Dan Heng just looked at them both, seeing the difference as plain as one could see the stars in space.
"We should manage if it's the three of us," added Dan Heng, pretty confident in what they could all achieve.
Welt, however, looked a touch deflated.
"So we're staying behind...to take care of... grown-up stuff..."
Himeko just gave him an amused look.
"Chin up, Welt. You'll get your chance out in the field."
Black Swan offered to look after March, while Sunday didn't seem to have any issue with doing whatever was needed of him. Thus, Himeko motioned for the trio to follow her to the Parlor Car. Mark felt a touch weird being with Stelle and Dan Heng without March around. It felt like the main dish was missing.
Still, he knew what was coming. Their plan to send them out with one of the Express' cars. Most probably it was the one used for storage when the need came to it, but that alone did raise a question in Mark's head.
'Did I ever bother to see how many total cars this Express has? Last I checked, Aha did break it... well, explode it... but still. I didn't bother to count. Is this another shenanigan tied to Meritas or outsiders being involved in everything?'
Questions again, no answers coming. Himeko and Pom-Pom went over things, with Stelle tossing a joke here and there. Mark, however, stayed quiet, following the conversation with his eyes only.
"Mark. Mark! Are you ready?"
It was Pom-Pom, nudging him towards the car.
"Ah, yeah, I am. Sorry, Conductor. Let's just board this and see how it goes."
He looked back to Himeko, offering a tiny smile. Conflicted emotions—that was more of his composition than blood and flesh ever could be. He wished to say something, maybe throw a hint just in case. The grip fate had on his spine didn't yield one bit, but even so... he hesitated.
"I'll catch you later, Himeko."
With a deep breath, he signed himself with the cross and stepped inside the Express car. It detached in a controlled manner, prepared for the push. At the press of a button, the whole thing accelerated towards the glowing center of the mobius strip.
Stelle and Dan Heng held on best they could, with Mark fixing all of them in place with some ice—enough to make sure they're comfortable without freezing off.
.................................................................
Stelle woke up in the middle of the crash, clutching her head. She looked around the ruined building, a ringing sound echoing faintly in her ears. Everything felt heavy from head to toe, but she got up. She was in surprisingly good shape, hopping to her feet at once. The Express' car was a broken mess, and Dan Heng lie slumped against a corner of the wreckage.
She rushed to his side, worried—until she saw his chest move with each breath. With little hesitation, her palm went up in the air.
"Sorry, Dan Heng," she said quietly, about to slap him.
"Sorry for what?" he replied, awake.
Her palm went down instantly, a quick "...nothing" muttered in passing.
He got up as well, checking himself quickly before looking around.
"How long was I out for?" asked Stelle, still checking around for any major wound.
"You passed out when our car got hit. I blacked out too, but not before dragging you out. It's a good thing we were in the car; otherwise, we would've been crushed to pieces."
One breath, two breathes... they both bolted for the car, checking inside through the broken windows.
"Where's Mark?" they asked in unison, exchanging glances upon the realization that he was who knew where.
"He probably went off ahead like he usually does, right?" she asked, sheepish. For all it's worth, he wouldn't have left their side. The madman would have dragged them along one way or another.
"Let's hope he did. There's no blood, no weird stench that could come from him... and he's not going to die that easily, not anymore."