Chapter 74
It ends (5)
Before the explosion.
Althea sat quietly in her office, the rhythmic clacking of keys beneath her fingers the only sound in the room. The light of her monitor cast a soft glow on her pale features as she typed, the data from her latest reports filtering line by line onto the screen. Her eyes flicked across the information, but her mind was elsewhere—drifting, distracted.
Outside the thick walls of the health ward, the Hold bustled faintly in its usual rhythm—voices moving past, distant footsteps, intercom pings. The atmosphere was peaceful. Unlike the main health ward where the smell of sterilisation lingered heavily, her private office smelled subtly different. It held a warm scent — not artificial, but a comforting one.
A strange mix of warm parchment, medicinal herbs, and faint cinnamon—the scent she kept deliberately. A fabricated sense of comfort. A lie she told through the air itself. A smell that made people feel like things would be okay.
Even in death.
A smell that, in another life, might've come from a home.
Her expression shifted, her lips pressing together in a thin line. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as a single thought made her pause.
Today was her brother's birthday.
She didn't even know how old he'd be now.
Althea closed her eyes, resting her chin on her knuckles. She missed him. More than she could express. Back home, they had noise, arguments, petty fights and laughter. And now? Now she lived in a world where the dead were carted out by the hour and her hands shook from overuse of her own path methods.
She could not celebrate. She couldn't even mourn properly for the dead.
She was here—in the wasteland of death—far, far away from everything that had once mattered. She had spent years on Deadline. Years building a life around corpses, trauma, and strained smiles.
Still, in the depths of that melancholy, a face flashed through her mind. One that brought a reluctant, if crooked, smile to her lips.
He was going to get himself hurt again, wasn't he?
IAM. That foolish, reckless boy with those big pleading eyes. She could already imagine it—him stumbling into the ward, half-dead, she would tell him off, he would be whining that she was being too harsh even as she stitched him together. He was such a brat sometimes.
He was so adorable.
Such a cute little br—
Her thoughts shattered.
A voice.
Warped. Cold. Layered and unnatural—almost inhuman—rang from the speakers scattered outside the ward. But the words pierced cleanly into her mind like a knife of ice.
"It ends… now."
Her eyes flew open, crimson irises flaring sharply. That voice—who was that? What had just used the internal speaker system?
She stood instantly.
And then—
BOOM.
A thunderous explosion shattered the serenity.
The health ward convulsed like a dying animal. Metal tore. Glass burst inward. Concrete split.
A shockwave of mana, heat, and fire obliterated the outer structure in an instant.
Althea was buried beneath rubble before she could even scream.
Darkness.
Then pain.
Sharp, deep pain cutting through her body like glass embedded beneath her skin. She pushed through it, forcing her limbs to move. She gritted her teeth, eyes squinting as she shoved off the layers of shattered wall and broken equipment.
She rose, slowly—staggering upright like a broken doll. Blood seeped from cuts along her arms, and one of her legs dragged uselessly behind her. Her normally pristine uniform was in tatters, and her glasses were gone.
She breathed. Once. Twice.
Her breath hitched.
She looked up—and saw hell.
The health ward was... gone. Entire sections of the medical complex had collapsed inward, now reduced to splintered ruin. The walls that had once echoed with pained groans and hopeful murmurs were now silent, save for the distant chorus of screams. Smoke and blood clouded the air. Fires danced hungrily over corpses.
But Althea did not flinch.
She had seen horror. She had lived in horror. What mattered now was understanding the why.
She felt the restriction on her path methods almost immediately — subtle, but unmistakable. It wrapped around her like invisible thread, pulling slightly at her mana flow, muting the freedom she was used to.
She narrowed her eyes.
A path formation.
Multiple formations, perhaps.
She didn't know how many. Or who could have pulled this off. But it didn't matter.
This wasn't random.
This was sabotage.
An inside job.
She didn't say a word. Her silence was more damning than any scream.
She moved, walking through the debris-strewn hallway toward the collapsed patient chamber. There were lives beneath that rubble—she could feel them. Weak pulses. Barely alive.
She dug. With her hands. Her bare hands. Nails splitting. Fingers bleeding.
She dug.
And then—
She found them.
Two men. Coincidentally the two who had first helped IAM when he had first arrived in deadline for mana exposure. Broken, battered—but alive.
She dragged them out, gently laying them on cracked tiles. Her fingers trembled as she touched their chests. She did not hesitate.
Her hands lit.
Her method flooded into them.
Their wounds closed with unnatural speed, bones resetting, blood staunching, bruises fading.
And then—she stopped.
Collapsed forward onto her knees, panting. Her body shook.
Her own injuries remained untouched.
Because she couldn't heal herself.
The reason for Althea healing methods of being so powerful for her level of experienced, was the basis of concept of her path.
That was her concept.
Her path — it was to give. To restore. To ease pain and suffering. But only for others.
If she tried to use her methods on herself, her path concept would crumble. Her understanding of it would collapse. Her abilities would severely weaken and in the worst cases…
She was a vessel of salvation, but not one to be saved.
But she didn't care.
So long as others lived.
So long as they smiled.
So long as they could say thank you.
That was enough for her.
For that, she would bear the price again and again.
One of the men groaned, eyes fluttering open. His gaze widened in shock at the sight of Althea — bloodied, injured, and still healing them.
"Y-you… what are you doing—"
The other man stirred beside him.
They looked at each other. Then at her.
Without speaking, they both activated their own healing methods.
Bright light flared over her wounds — theirs were minor now, but they wouldn't let her suffer alone.
Movement.
A voice.
"Found them! Quick—we were instructed to kill all the healers! Don't let her escape!"
Althea's head snapped up.
Five hooded figures.
Drenched in blood. Faces shadowed. Weapons drawn.
The two men stepped in front of her, shielding her with their bodies.
"Run!"
Althea hesitated.
She hated running. She hated leaving others behind.
But she was not a fool.
She would be no help in a fight.
"Go!" one of them roared. "Go help people that need it!"
Their voices trembled, but not from fear. From resolve.
They knew what they were choosing.
Tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes. She nodded, turned—and ran.
"Don't let her get away!" one of the cloaked figures snarled.
The two men turned to face them.
They knew what they had to do.
To delay them meant sacrifice.
They reached within, activating the final techniques buried deep in their souls.
Death methods.
There was no need for words. No final speeches.
Only resolve.
And light.
They bought her time.
And paid with their lives.
But was this not why they was here, they were well aware of the risks.
But..
They could not let a good person like althea die.
....
Across the battlefield, blood soaked the ground like rain. Smoke choked the air, and ash drifted down like snow. The air was filled with cries, with death, with choking fumes that clawed at the lungs.
There, amidst shattered walls and mangled bodies, lay a girl—face streaked with blood and tears. Her face on the chest of a slumped, broken boy.
His breaths were faint, shallow. His chest moved with great effort, each inhale a struggle.
His back rested against a ruined slab of concrete. His saber was shattered beside him. Her gauntlets were slick with blood.
Raj and Regina.
Alone in the aftermath.
Surrounded by corpses.
Alone—but together.
The world raged around them.
But for that one moment….
Nothing moved.
Nothing breathed.
Only silence.