On one side, Andoain struggled to evade the explosive bolts, his mind racing to find a way to neutralize Mostima's influence. Eventually, he arrived at a single solution: he had to prevent Mostima from locking onto him. If he could break her line of sight, her area-of-effect temporal interference would be at least slightly more manageable than it was now.
"You still have the nerve to hide?"
Fiammetta was incensed as she watched Andoain dodge her attacks. Just as she was about to reload another explosive bolt, Mostima reached out and stopped her.
"If you keep blasting like this, it'll go beyond what the Apostolic Knights can sweep under the rug! No matter how angry you are, think of your grandfather!"
Mostima pointed to the alleyway, which had been reduced to near-ruin. This "angry bird" had managed to turn a single-lane passage into a circular crater the size of a six-lane highway. If she continued, even with her grandfather's backing, such destruction would be impossible to hide. For a non-Apostolic Knight to open fire near the Basilica was already a violation of the Law; her grandfather might even face disciplinary action for her sake.
Though, in all likelihood, everyone would just pretend not to see anything.
"Cough... It seems your rage toward me has reached a terrifying level. You're truly aiming to kill. And... I didn't expect you to join in, too."
Andoain no longer possessed his usual elegance. His long robes had been shredded into something resembling a short-sleeved vest by the blasts. Fine cuts traced across his face; had he not been using his Originium Arts to dampen the concussive force, he would be in a state no better than Lemuen was years ago. Even if he survived, he would be paralyzed for life.
"Everyone here except you has the right to say that! But at least you look a lot more awake now than that pathetic, soulless shell from a moment ago."
Though Fiammetta had stopped firing, she still held her two uniquely shaped crossbows. If Andoain so much as twitched, she'd blow this [Laterano Slang] to pieces. Her reason for stopping wasn't sentimentality for an old friend; it was because there were things he had to do first. And he had to be conscious to do them.
"Now, you're going to say you're sorry. You're many years late with those words."
Fiammetta's eyes were fixed on Andoain. She wanted him to apologize for his actions that night. Even if those three words could never compensate for his betrayal, he had to speak them.
"Now, get on your knees. Facing Mostima and Lemuen—say you're sorry!"
Where they stood, they happened to be facing the sanatorium where Lemuen had been staying—and, by extension, facing the high ground where Lemuen was currently positioned as a sniper.
Andoain looked at Mostima, then toward the distant sanatorium. He fell into a heavy silence, not speaking for a long time.
"Don't tell me that even now, you haven't realized your mistake? Do you still think you were right?" Fiammetta interrogated him.
As for Mostima, one of the primary victims? she showed little reaction to Andoain's silence. In her heart, Andoain was already a stranger—less than a stranger, even. His apology held no value for anyone. The only reason she was here helping to intercept him was for Fiammetta's sake; she didn't want him to shoot her friend. He'd already ruined two teammates; she wouldn't let him take a third.
"Mistakes? Over these years, the mistakes I've made are too numerous for even me to count."
Andoain shook his head. Which of the things he had done over the years wasn't a mistake when looked at now? Even giving hope to those who followed him... wasn't that a mistake too? After all, it was a delusion that could never be realized.
"Listen to that tone... you [Laterano Slang] sound quite proud of yourself, don't you? Should I go ask the Pope to give you an award this year?" Fiammetta was so angry her feathers looked like they were about to catch fire.
"I am not. Even if I kneel here, it won't undo what happened. But I am truly sorry, Fiammetta. If I were to do it all over again... my choice would not change."
Andoain knew saying this now was inappropriate, but he had no intention of lying. Falsehoods had no power here.
"Seriously? I finally managed to talk her down, and you say that? Are you for real?" Mostima sighed, listening to his blatant provocation. This was why she no longer cared about him; both she and he had long since relegated their friendship to the past. They were strangers, or if necessary, enemies to be killed. She only stayed Fiammetta's hand because she didn't want Fiammetta's own life to be tainted further by someone like him.
Having Fiammetta's hands stained with the blood of such a person simply wasn't worth it—even if Fiammetta was no stranger to taking lives.
"Huff... Huff... Fine. In that case, draw your firearm!"
Fiammetta decided that no matter what, this scum had to pay. Even if she didn't kill him, she would make sure his life was a living hell from here on out.
"It won't lead to a conclusion. You know that."
Andoain clearly had no will to fight. Had he not met the Pope, he might have engaged. But now, there was no meaning in drawing his weapon. Yet, he wondered—why was he still dodging her attacks? Was there even a point in evading?
Yes, there was one: he had to see his followers one last time.
"I [Laterano Slang] waited for you for three days for a [Laterano Slang] conclusion? You think I'm looking for an outcome that makes everything go back to the way it was?" Fiammetta glared at him. "I'm here to settle the score! I don't care who forgives you—as far as I'm concerned, you're never getting a pass!"
She had actually come to terms with much of it, or rather, the knot in her heart had loosened since Lemuen regained her health. Perhaps knowing Lemuen was okay had lessened her own self-blame. But understanding was one thing; forgiveness was another. Her revenge wasn't some grand crusade for justice for her friends; Fiammetta admitted it now—this was for herself!
"Is that so? Then I'm sorry, but I cannot stay here."
He had to give an account to those who truly followed him, even if it meant failing his former friends once again. With that thought, Andoain drew his Patron Firearm, looking for a chance to escape.
But the plan was immediately aborted. A sharp whistle cut through the air, and his Patron Firearm was sent flying from his hand. It clattered into the darkness of the night, leaving Andoain with no chance to retrieve it.
Maybe it's for the best. At least my firearm stays here.
Andoain didn't mourn the loss of his weapon. On the contrary, he felt it was fitting for it to remain in Laterano, to see the city in his stead. For after this, he likely wouldn't have the chance to return. Regardless of whether Laterano forgave him, he could never set foot here again.
"What a remarkable shot. It reminds me of our old teammate. If not for the circumstances, I'd like to meet that person."
Andoain spoke to them while secretly prepping his Originium Arts. He planned to use the arts to flee the moment an opportunity arose.
"What nonsense are you talking..." Fiammetta was still trying to figure out what game he was playing. Did he really not know Lemuen had recovered? Was he faking it? Or had something happened during his break-in?
Despite her confusion, Fiammetta prepared to move. Both were waiting for a single opening—one to escape, the other to incapacitate. They were like crossbowmen in a blockbuster movie, waiting for the single strike to end the fight.
But then, the unexpected happened. An explosion rocked the area, and a tall section of a nearby wall began to collapse toward them. Mostima acted instantly, warping the local flow of time before scooping Fiammetta up and leaping clear of the falling debris.
The collapse didn't hit Andoain. The problem was that Mostima had used a wide-area temporal deceleration. Combined with the sniper's bullets pinning down his retreat paths, Andoain was forced to remain exactly where he was.
Then, the sound of urgent footsteps approached. It wasn't the Apostolic Knights or the Notarial Hall agents who arrived. Instead, it was a group of people Andoain knew all too well.