Private Weapons Factory. Officially registered as Vármora-7 Complex, also known as Operational Facility PHX-03. Officially decommissioned. Owned by Powermagi, it maintains illegal practices and unethical experiments with Dark Arcana and cyborgs. Currently operating clandestinely, conducting unregistered 6xestas experiments. Monitored by its head of security and weapons researcher: the Executor, Powermagi's official mercenary, also known as Mazikin Yegrande.
"You feel an immense terror take over your body... you've never felt anything like this before... at least, not that you remember."
A BIZARRE LAUGHTER ECHOES THROUGH THAT PSYCHEDELIC HELL. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT???
— Look at that... the little aberration grew, hahahah! It used to be a small soul, right? How cute. And that beggar I blew up? You were dragging the top half around without even noticing, HAHAHAHA! IT'D BE FUNNY... IF IT WEREN'T TRAGIC.
The Executor spoke like a sick clown. It wasn't arrogance. It was simply a malformed being playing with corpses.
— SHUT UP, YOU BASTARD!
Mana screamed, trembling. She readied a shot from the EdelZerar. But... before she could blink, the Executor lunged — cutting the missile in midair with his saws and appearing behind them. In the blink of an eye the EdelZerar was in three pieces. Despair was palpable.
TERROR. Unbearable, suffocating; your legs won't stop shaking in front of the demon; like a satirical melody, your joints creak in your private hell. Your body of scrap.
— Ah... is this a copy? Hm... decent product even. We were working on 6xestas fusions before you showed up. The next step of evolution... you ruined everything.
The clown was working, after all...
Kicking Mana away, Yegrande inspected what remained of the weapon. IT WAS PATHETIC.
The clown measured each word — deliberate, unbearable, a show under red lights.
— Hahaha! You made a copy of the crap that beggar built? It sold some expensive psychedelics, you know? He would've used it for that too.
The clown lied... shallow entertainment, after all... That was Yegrande; not someone visibly complex, but an anti-natural aberration spreading his "show" with simple yet... so cruel lines.
Mana shouted, drawing her pistols. She fired. The Executor conjured a barrier of pulsing red runes that radiated pain. Igyris watched, paralyzed. This was not a common enemy. It was chaos incarnate.
What leads an adult man to hurt a small, pure soul?
— Hah... Old man Naxel, right? What a pity... I killed my best friend's father. He saved me from execution thinking I'd still be useful. HAHAHAHA! LITTLE DID HE KNOW... I BECAME THE WORST DEMON THIS FACTORY HAS EVER PRODUCED! AND IT'S YOUR FAULT, NAXEL! AND NOW? YOU THINK YOU'LL STOP ME BY SENDING A BEGGAR AND A WRETCH? I AM YOUR DAMN CREATION, NAXEL!
The adult man hurt the little soul simply for the sensation of being able to hurt something... the demon harmed the angel because it was his nature; spreading harm, blood, was the clown's nature.
Yegrande moved theatrically. He reached Igyris. Without warning, he drove his saws into the boy. The pain was absolute. Dismemberment into six parts, filthy, merciless cuts; his arm had been ripped off. Igyris screamed like a trapped animal — pure, instinctive, ancestral terror.
Besides being a clown, the Executor wore many faces: an artist, a comedian, an actor... and, above all, another Powermagi employee.
— You... sewer rat. Naxel shoved you into this? Change, revolution? I used to believe in that. Now? All that's left is to play... in this Powermagi playground.
An amusement park, built for children to entertain themselves. For a demon it meant something else. What else would the clown-demon's fun be if not to spread his infernal show?
Yegrande leaned toward Igyris's ear.
— The basement would've been fun, but the show already started up here. Hahahah! I hate when they ruin my games... it was so fun before.
Another lie coming from the demon's mouth; what pleasure is greater than torturing and torturing? Following his nature like a demonic course of study.
Paralyzed, Igyris watched the delirium take form.
Fear. Real. Fear for life like a simple animal — that's how a living being behaves; it comes even from someone with nothing: attachment to existence, the fear of a larger predator.
— I love playing with the forgotten. People like you.
Forgotten? How to identify one? Clothes? Mannerisms? Maybe by being one... after all, demons are forgotten by heaven, right?
Mana fired again.
Despair consumed the small pure soul; against the evil adult, nothing could be done except react instinctively... push the predator away.
— LOOK AT ME, YOU BASTARD! I'M THE ONE WHO'S GOING TO KILL YOU!
The small soul screamed... reflecting everything it feared most: its tragic past, its worst memories.
— Hahaha... what irony. The useless little soul causes me trouble.
Simple words, but wielded so sharply they cut like saws.
Yegrande approached Mana.
Cold feet. Bearing each impact; their lack of preparedness in dealing with the adult was killing the small pure soul's spirit; the predator hunted. It was natural.
— Fuck you, Yegrande... I'll kill you. For what you did to the Naxes. I'll kill you.
What good were words now? Affirmations mean nothing without results.
— Oh... you know my name? Was that the beggar's name? Hah... hard to remember. Reixys pay well, you know? I massacred a little favela. Kid exploded so beautifully... the guts stank worse than the place! HAHAHAHA! Now... the council will lose control. I'm the control now.
The clown seized the opportunity, sure? With no audience... he could laugh at whatever joke he pleased.
Mana hurled herself at him with a retractable blade. She landed blows, but it was like trying to cut titanium with plastic.
A body of steel, yet still an aberration without any shred of humanity. What could turn a man into such a repulsive demon?
Igyris, trembling, forced himself up. He heard "Reixys"? Was she a noble? It didn't matter. If she died, he would too. He tried to help with shots, but Yegrande raised barriers with ease and threw Mana to the ground, injuring her.
The clown showed no hurry.
Igyris leapt, but was grabbed by the Executor.
Violence and words meaningless to strangers. That was the clown's foundation. PURE TERROR, ABSOLUTE, UNNATURAL.
— HAHAHAHAHA! A FEAST! I SPLIT THE BEGGAR HORIZONTALLY... YOU? YOU'LL BE VERTICAL!
Nonsense. Nonsense. Indecipherable.
He pressed Mana's head into the floor.
It was simply the larger animal punishing the smaller. Not for any reason — merely because he could.
— How many days until you get his blood out of your clothes? Threw it away? Hah... it got in your face too, didn't it? HAHAHAHA! What a delicious image.
How heavy is the weight of violence on the life of a small soul?
Yegrande licked his teeth.
The clown knew the answer; that's why he kept his show going.
— You can even hear the screams... it wasn't my best time, but I have fondness. Lots of fondness.
And with the clown's laughter came his satisfaction and momentary pleasure. For simple, raw, senseless violence.
Mana cried.
The weight.
— No... no...
From the terror.
— Oh? Did I hear something?
In a small soul's life, it destroys their essence, heart, and core. The change is eternal. That was pure ABUSE.
The Executor kicked Igyris away. He grabbed Mana by the hair.
The clown was satisfied. His simplest, sincerest nature. The demon known as the Executor believed in revolution. But now his art made more sense.
— Satisfying. You're traumatized, aren't you? Splitting your daddy in half was horrible, huh? I covered you in his blood... you saw everything. And you thought you were going to kill me? Avenge your teacher? HA!
A man willing to abandon all humanity for sincere, absolute terror.
He hurled her hard against the wall.
But was there a motive beyond the horror?
— Let's raise the level of terror.
The little soul's spirit and heart no longer existed; its innocence, stolen; and the adult's motive ceased being the problem to solve.
And as the final piece of the show, the adult, the clown, the demon, measured each step, each act; what would shock that small soul the most? The clown saw the cruel humor.
Igyris had gotten to his feet. Silence fell. Mana saw everything... and cried soullessly.
The answer was simple and perfect: his target was only one, the small soul he himself had recognized. She came to him at the pathetic owner of the game's command; the forgotten one wasn't a problem or concern. He was merely a toy. And like an ice cream scoop that the malicious adult knocks from a small child's hands—
Igyris... was impaled.
Looking into eyes already dying and fading. On the adult man's body, known as Yegrande, a gigantic satisfaction flowed. In Yegrande's eyes ran the pure fascination of stepping on and destroying anything smaller. His gaze made it clear: he was so small, yet at the same time so large.
The tragic look of the forgotten... I had that same look before I became... perfect. How nostalgic.
Nostalgic... the look of a predator who was once prey, the one who felt pain and now causes it with pleasure. Little old dreamer, revolutionary, doing what he thought right next to his friend. But even then, with his brain clogged with drugs, cyber-psychedelics, and temporarily infected on purpose with numbing spells, he became that demon, and his laughter was the strangest thing those filthy eyes had ever seen.
The terror was consummated. The Executor hurled him like a rag. He walked toward Mana, now paralyzed, soul shattered.
Perfect. Maybe he could've chosen better words to completely destroy the poor small soul. But it didn't matter now; the show had begun, near the big act, and couldn't stop.
— Remember the flames? The buzzing? You hate your sweet family, don't you? I get it. Open wounds. We have so many... seeing that terror in your eyes... makes me itch... but you're so boring... you already accepted death.
The end of the spectacle, ultimate torture — to destroy a soul so deeply that a poor small soul gives up living — fed that cyborg's brain, his happy memories.
The saw roared.
Satisfaction, pure satisfaction: what could be more delicious after dismantling a soul? Dismantling the body.
But then... something burned.
Like the smell of sulfur in hell. It was disgustingly bothersome.
— What a horrible smell... what the hell is that?
Who would've thought the smell of hell itself could mean...
Yegrande turned.
Hope.
Igyris stood. Ablaze.
As if burning in a green, infernal fire. The real demon rose.
The wounds burned as if his very soul were fuel. The destroyed arm burned. The chest burned. Life ignited.
The clown felt something different; it wasn't satisfaction at performing his show, but rather being faced with something...
— HAHAHAHA! THIS FEELING IS BACK! HOW DELICIOUS! NAXEL! I HAVE TO THANK YOU!
Bizarrely like him.
He screamed as if possessed.
— A cursed one? Naxel went far to find you... HAHAHA, it doesn't matter... in the end, you'll be just another piece... an extension of the show.
The demon rejected the idea... the mere idea of not being the bizarre main creature on stage frightened him, even if only a little. But he wanted to believe it didn't matter.
The fight restarted. The blade forming on Igyris's arm was explosive. The Executor used barriers, but was thrown back. Just from the explosive shock, curse versus Cyber-Arcane, Yegrande took distance; he realized his barrier proficiency had been ignored.
The clown felt his sensors; every bit of matter in his fake body alerted him: danger, this is not the same, it's worse. But no... he wouldn't accept it again; he wouldn't accept being the lesser animal; he would not be the small, defenseless soul again. Never.
— HAHAHAHA! I'VE NEVER KILLED A CURSED ONE BEFORE! IT'LL BE TASTY!
Swallowing the truth, he vomited the greatest lie. The fear of being a victim again, confronted by a greater terror, frightened him. But, honestly, there was no time to dwell on that. He would destroy another revolutionary beside Naxel; this would be the second. The first had already been himself.
Yegrande summoned three demonic dogs. Metallic hybrids, saw-toothed, with spear tails. Living torture. Relentless hunt. It was four against one.
6xestas, profane prototypes of a SanctBlood. Arcane marks etched in the blood, unique, devastating, converted into genetic chaos. Yegrande didn't possess SanctBlood, but a 6xestas was far more terrifying.
— SEE THIS, CURSED ONE?! CERBERUS 066! MY MASTERPIECE!
His beautiful project, in action for the first time; here he would prove to be the principal terror Powermagi created, the main horror Naxel raised: the mad cyborg, the demon, Mazikin Yegrande.
Igyris screamed:
But there stood a different demon; unlike anything Yegrande had ever faced. He had formed because of his actions, or actions that weighed upon him. That cursed demon, Igyris, possessed darkness so deep he didn't even understand it himself.
— IT'S NOT ENOUGH, DAMN IT!
The clash happened; the demons faced each other, a black aura spreading. The perverse creatures advanced like demons, fast as sound through the air. Igyris was dragged by the collision but kept his footing. Yegrande, with quick moves, appeared at his back, striking a fatal blow with his saws, top to bottom; the strike had been delivered, but... no: when the saws hit the cursed one, his blight poured out even more — an explosion of flames shaped like a whirlwind formed and dissipated at the same speed. When Yegrande realized, his saws were simply decomposing; his visual sensors flickered. Pestilential terror: the demonic dogs were also severely affected; their metallic flesh seemed to melt. And when Yegrande's perception returned to normal, he found he and his beasts were roughly 37 meters away from Igyris — a distance he didn't remember covering, because Igyris hadn't moved an inch. His instincts warned him...
But no. He could not accept it. In the zombified Igyris, Yegrande and his beasts charged; he screamed with all his insanity.
— SANGRE. CLOWN OF LA MUERTE. FOOL OF THE COURT.
Stage 6xestas Number 2.
His destroyed saws began to glow with a blood-colored sheen; his entire left arm transformed: dozens, perhaps hundreds of saws of various sizes, from 2 cm to 40 cm — a diabolic sight. The beasts tore at their own skin; demonic blood spilled; what took over his body was armor more immense than their bodies: hellish demons. And so, with his explosion of blood, the whole place was covered: hundreds of saws erupted from the floor, made of that boiling, acidic, demonic blood — a fully hazardous territory. From the bestial armors born of Yegrande's summons came missile-spears loaded with that explosive blood. The saws rising from the ground, Yegrande's demonic arm, and his utterly destructive beasts with the missile-spears had a single target, and in a fraction of a second, that whole show of horrors completely ignored Mana and slammed into Igyris; the explosions and brutal strikes didn't stop; hell had formed. The zombified Igyris was hit with everything.
Mana's vision was consumed by the great red impact — a deep darkness the color of blood. Igyris was swallowed by the inferno. Yegrande seemed to revel in destroying Naxel's newest dog. But then.
BOOM.
A following green tornado tore through that ravenous darkness; Yegrande and Igyris were hurled in opposite directions, crashing into the walls. Igyris's flames spread, consuming all the black blood; the saws decomposed into thousandths; and, even impaled in the wall, in the rotten blade formed from the flames of his destroyed arm, one of Yegrande's beasts was utterly finished. The cursed demon showed growing terror. Igyris opened his eyes; an eternal void echoed from his pupils; he stared at Yegrande with murderous intent; and even stuck in the wall, the cyborg felt this could get much worse. There was fear, dread. The filthy memories of his childhood rushed to mind: he remembered Naxel when they were children; he remembered the feeling of always being stepped on; he remembered how good it felt to start stepping on others too; he remembered the memory of killing Naxel's biological father, Naxes — he felt satisfaction; the idea of killing "his brother who abandoned him" (abandoned because he was a monster, or because Naxel prioritized his great life cause) didn't matter: he would not accept becoming that again, never.
Both had torn flesh. Igyris's flesh stank; the green flames flickered across his skin, dancing in chaos. Yegrande no longer had flesh or skin, but his cybernetic body had been damaged; those impacts, few though they were, reminded him of his weakness. Bleeding? No... those things had no blood. They fought; now Yegrande no longer sought to perform his theater of horror, but simply to remain at the top of the food chain, to fight his own despair. Igyris, now, no longer held the irrational, abyssal fear but an irrational will to show the true bizarre demon present there — a senseless, instinctive desire, something repressed and hidden deep in his essence: violence. And so they decided, charging at each other; aiming their final, fatal blows. The two leaped from the walls; Igyris's flames had already completely consumed Yegrande's blood; he counted only on the aid of his two remaining beasts and his demonic arm. Igyris advanced irrationally, directing a cutting, destructive attack with devouring flames consuming his arms. Yegrande took the advantage: a triple attack, no chance to dodge, aimed to kill. But they didn't expect.
Voom... Blooom... VASH VAHS.
Mana showed she was still there; she had not died. Her soul had given up, but witnessing all this, even amid terror, filled her with determination to end it once and for all. From afar, carrying a plasma bazooka charged with concentrated electric discharges — explosive and of high temperature, the most common factory model — she fired two shots, and then collapsed, spent, but it was enough: one concentrated shot hit one of the beasts dead-on, collapsing its flesh and kill-programming; the other shot eradicated Yegrande's mortal attack; he was hit squarely and lost the form of his assault, severing his connection to the remaining beast. It was torn in half by Igyris, who then, with the same attack, nearly ripped Yegrande's body in two, damaging him almost fatally, tearing open the cyborg's chest. The two once again slammed into walls opposite the ones they'd been on due to the impulse of the attack. And again, that terror consumed Yegrande's rotten soul.
The cyborg, now nearly defeated, tasted his past once more; he saw himself again: he was not the clown who told jokes, he was the clown who was the joke. But looking at that boy, in such a demonic form, it was so... invigorating, exciting; it was his exact mirror, right in front of him — his abyss looking back.
Yegrande smiled. Not with the torturer's malice, but like the child, the child figure he so hated: a child who found a child identical to him, someone who could be a friend. He saw the mirror of his insanity, someone forgotten whose evil heart could be exploited; that was his essence; his essence overflowed from that boy.
— You're too good, kid. You're special. Why run with these worms?
He tried to sound casual, even so close to death.
— I'M GONNA MELT YOU WHOLE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!
His theory confirmed: that boy was his perfect copy; that boy was...
— PERFECT, THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! HAHAHAHAHA!
And then, now fueled by a different pleasure and the beautiful idea in his mind — his ideal, the same he'd shared with Naxel in the past — the idea of sharing his stage with a clown as insane as himself.
He leapt and shouted:
— Tear. 6xestas, third circle act... final test phase.
An arcane tear swallowed the battlefield; a bizarre blood pulsed from the ground, like a beating heart. Igyris's flames vanished, swallowed by that senseless, black inferno. He fell, engulfed by a sea of viscous magical destruction. It was over; the ground that had pulsed like a heart calmed; the sea of blood subsided. It was Yegrande's signature trump card: the Hell Tear. A devastating attack that expanded like a wave of red destruction and then imploded, only damaging a target.
— It's your lucky day. You... are like me. You're rare. You deserve the top, you're special...
Mana listened, desperate. It was an invitation. A trap.
— You were born above. Rules of nature, boy... the hunger to be more, inside your heart the devouring monster, to trample... hah... like me. My scanners saw it — the chip on your neck. They control you. But now... now you're free... like me... I used to be like you... we're... the same...
An explosion of green flames. The control was gone. Igyris was free. Completely. Yegrande destroyed the object that kept him under control, using the residual energy left in Igyris's body from the Tear.
The pleasure equaled to an orgasm to him: a perfect demon, something he wasn't yet.
— HAHAHAHAHA! THIS IS YOUR TRUE FORM!
Igyris emerged: a demon, with exposed bone and a deformed skull. A profane god.
Mana stepped back.
— No... no...
Igyris walked. He shattered barriers with a simple gesture. He said nothing; he advanced like a beast, grabbed Yegrande by the head with no chance of defense; he crushed him across the factory, with no reaction. Yegrande didn't counterattack; he simply accepted it, shock in his look, silent. Igyris vanished and, like apparitions, struck from all directions; his cybernetic flesh smashed; the life-support alarm went active; with a devastating punch he crushed Yegrande to the floor. He grabbed Yegrande and tore his arms off.
No words, no excitement, not even resistance. In a single motion, the Executor was defeated.
The Executor fell.
Shock still lingered; he understood nothing: why deny the chance to become what you were born to be? Why deny your own nature?
— I gave you the chance... Naxel... he's a demon. He'll use you like he used me!
The infernal demon Igyris, in a distorted, demonic voice, spoke fully and consciously:
— I've already made my decision.
Yegrande smiled.
— You are the greatest evil... heh... HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Yegrande's mind collapsed, hopeless, sputtering; the raw end, crawling. He saw: that boy was a demon, and next to him, Yegrande saw himself as a small, ridiculous monster that had just been trodden.
Igyris burned him. Yegrande still lived.
Kneeling, charred, rotten, Igyris gave the command.
— Mana... do what you came to do.
She rose, trembling.
— For Naxes... for what we believed in... and for me.
She fired. Yegrande died. But without remorse — there the lord of chaos fell, but still held his posture, a hole in his forehead and a terrifying smile frozen on his face.
Igyris returned to normal.
— Okay... we're done.
Mana called Naxel.
— Tap three times on your chest and come.
— Huh?
— Three taps, dummy.
She obeyed. The capsule tube transports them.
They find Naxel, turned away, watching the city. The sun rises.
— Ohoho! You're back. I see you're free, Igyris. Welcome to the team. Prepare yourselves... for the spectacle.
Explosion. A force field engulfs NowaGen. The Powermagi building... disappears.
— HAHAHA! BEAUTIFUL AND SAFE!
Mana approached Igyris.
— Why?
— We're going to destroy the world.
She felt hope.
Naxel smiled.
— Okay, the show's over. We're enemies of the world now. How about... "Trash Wolves"? Sounds stupid?
Mana thought: "Yegrande was never the target. He was just a pawn. Right, Naxel? You wanted chaos. And you got it. And I... I don't even know what you really want from this world."
Mana and Igyris entered without hesitation.
But Naxel, before taking his last step, watching the explosion he had caused, reviewed his memories; in his mind the phrase: "it would be beautiful to watch this with you... Mazikin... but our paths diverged... since we met in that hell... we saw ourselves in each other, filthy rotten kids, lost in a space that denies our very existence. You had hatred for the system, you were older than me, you cared for me, always impulsive... violent, a true butcher. I was our head... our brain, I always guided us by the fastest path to success, but you... your violence, your desire to step on others the same way they stepped on us, that mattered more to you, right?... you were an idiot, weak and flawed... a real failure... when I turned you into that aberration you became... I felt like I'd gained a weapon, worthy of the nobles, but I only created a demon... no, since we were kids you were always a demon, I only strengthened you, the chaos in your heart grew... and I see that same chaos in Igyris, we only have to wait... until the same moment we'll have to eliminate him too... Hah, Mana... I have no idea how she's feeling... you killed my father, right, Naxes... Heh... he raised her... well, I never cared about that... that old man didn't raise me... you though... I feel... I feel sorry, Mazikin... when you became the Executor, did those massacres, became a faithful slave to this system just to keep your status, instead of being stepped on... I lost my brother. I miss you. Even being a monster... but now I only need to contain the demon that Igyris is. And Mana... I need to keep my pawns..."
For a moment the madman opened his heart.
The tube vanished. They vanished too.
— Hey kid, what's your name?
— Uh, it's...
— Hah, damn, you're weird, you look like those ants we step on.
— Ants? No, no... my name isn't that, it's Naxel...
— Hahhaha, what an ugly, pathetic name, do you have a father, Naxel?
— Y-yes... but he's not from here...
— HAHAHHAAH, how ridiculous, man, hahahah, what a displeasure, Naxel; my beautiful and phenomenal name is Mazikin, Mazikin Yegrande; you can also call me "The Executor" hahahah, the one who will rip this world apart.
— Heh... pleasure, Mazikin, hahahah, I bet no one ever called you that; it's almost ridiculous.
Amid lost laughs, a horrible promise and an unconventional introduction. Only a comic-sounding thud is heard amidst the madman's chaotic mind.