Rumors.
Whether grounded in truth or not, they are the fragments of information that ripple through a crowd.
In an era of advanced communication and social media networks, such rumors can sometimes be as accurate as official reports.
Yet, more often than not, they are merely conduits for baseless gossip, falsehoods, and distorted lies.
No matter how far technology advances, the nature of a "rumor" remains the same—prone to exaggeration and the addition of convenient fictions.
Especially when passed from person to person, the truth is easily eroded, leaving only a twisted version of the original story.
"......"
A cold silence hung in the air.
Across the barren wasteland of the surface, amidst the skeletal remains of a ruined city, and upon a water's surface as smooth and still as a mirror, a certain being stared at a shattered factory with a hardened expression.
"...How annoying."
Her voice was soft, yet the sheer weight behind those words sent a visceral chill through the air.
Her cold, expressionless face slowly twisted in irritation.
With a form that felt smooth and supple as jelly, yet possessed a hidden, piercing sharpness, she was a vision of beauty laced with cruelty.
"I just want to sleep. Why do they keep waking me up? Nihilister is around, and so is Indivilia... why is it that I'm the one who has to move?"
Bristling with complaints, she glanced around, spotting the remains of Raptures steadily corroding into dust.
"...Tch. The core damage is too severe. Extracting the records will be nearly impossible. This is seriously irritating."
A pulse radiated from her body, making the very atmosphere tremble.
It was an eerie vibration that, despite being on dry land, evoked the crushing pressure of the deep ocean.
Even in the open wasteland, the temperature began to plummet, the air growing frigid and stiff.
All of this was the result of the power exuded by the purple-haired girl.
"The Queen said it would be more efficient if I handled this personally... but does she really think there's anyone left on the surface who can fight me as an equal?"
Librelio could no longer suppress her irritation, her voice bordering on hysterical.
She had been slumbering peacefully in her "sea of silver and black" when the Queen's call echoed in her mind, summoning her to the surface to begin a hunt.
For someone who prided herself on her lethargy and believed nothing was more sacred than her sleep, she had been forced to abandon her sanctuary for the wretched surface.
Her presence was a source of dread not only for the humans and Pilgrims she opposed, but even for her own kind, the Heretics.
To her peers, she was a cause for caution.
To her enemies, she was a nightmare of fear and anxiety.
Anyone who had encountered her would describe her with a single word.
The Abyss.
Among the Raptures and Heretics rampaging across the land, and even the Pilgrims who still wandered the surface for the sake of humanity, that was the only word capable of capturing her strength.
Thus, Librelio existed in a state of arrogance, forever pursuing her own tranquility.
But how would she react if that tranquility were not merely interrupted, but shattered for the long term?
"When I catch them, I won't make their deaths quick. They'll pay for disturbing my sleep with every last drop of their pathetic lives."
Two years had passed since she answered the Queen's call.
For two long years, Librelio had been obsessively hunting the "trash" that dared to slaughter the Raptures.
But in stark contrast to the murderous rage of Librelio, the "culprits" she sought were—
"It's a spider."
"Yep, a spider."
They were on the verge of crushing a Tyrant-class Rapture—a Harvester—that had not only blocked their path but had the audacity to ambush them during their meal.
A woman, who had laid her coffin on its side and was quietly simmering soup from a scavenged can, let out a sigh and reached for her weapon.
"The target is a Tyrant-class. Specifically, a model where the core location varies by individual."
Her helmet was partially cracked, and her indifferent blue eyes, flickering with a crimson light, were locked onto the Harvester.
A faint red glow emanated from her back as wisps of smoke began to rise from her body.
"The core in the abdomen is a decoy. The real core is located in the eyes and face. How do you want to handle this, superhuman?"
Despite her flat delivery, her tone was respectful, genuinely deferring to his judgment.
Behind her, a man quietly stretched his neck with a grin, a targeting reticle glowing sharply on his forehead.
"Does it matter? You said we need a massive amount of energy to fix Cinderella, right? Even though her body and gear are already repaired?"
"That is the issue. Rapture cores—especially Tyrant-class ones—possess immense energy, but using them raw could lead to unpredictable complications."
"Aw, damn... so we're doing the surgical extraction again?"
"The Harvester utilizes a Calling Signal to execute heavy stomps or fire energy cannons. It's most efficient to destroy the leg joints first."
"Got it. So I just smash those chunky legs? I love the sound they make when they break."
"I'll take the left. You handle the right."
Green hair, and purple eyes swirling with a murderous aura.
Her white coat fluttered in the wind, and her hands were encased in black-and-red Appsolabs Knuckles.
Logically, the size difference between the colossal Harvester and the two of them—one NIKKE and one human—was absurd.
"Writer’s Eraser. Ready."
"Let's have some real fun!"
Two years since their paths first crossed.
On the surface and within the Ark, the duo who slaughtered Raptures with such ease had earned a new name.
"Disaster."
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