Even as the battle on the surface commenced, Castle Krios continued walking. The Tower Capital was hazy from the constant rain. Helicopters hovered in the sky like storm clouds. Prodotis paid none of this any mind from the engine room, but instead fixed his attention in the direction of the giant’s progress. Nue was made to sit nearby with her hands bound behind her back. The rope digging into her wrists glowed red and was faintly warm—a rope of flames, created by Prodotis’s Skill. The more effort she exerted in her struggle to free herself, the hotter the rope became. If she attempted to tear it apart, it would surely burn straight through her wrists.
She had never seen a Reincarnator who could use their Skill this precisely. This was surely the work of a genius. A man talented enough to be called a hero, given someone else’s tools, would surely exceed the original user. The strange science hidden beneath the sands of Krios had probably also been born of Prodotis’s genius.
“Hey. What are you trying to do?” This was Nue’s final act of resistance. To speak to Prodotis, distract him, and delay the hero from his objective for even a second.
Surprisingly, the hero answered. “That is very simple, O Princess. To bring an eternal spring upon the world of men. To free mankind from the fate of inevitable death.”
“...That’s impossible. It can’t be done.”
“No, it can. You Titans are older gods than the Ex Machina, but even you are not the race that created this world. In the primordial, chaotic age, people were born of chaos and possessed life eternal and undefined...” Prodotis spoke as far as that, then stopped. He looked at Nue suspiciously. “Princess. We seem to be speaking at cross purposes. Were you not the one who told me this in the first place? Chimera the indestructible, wise princess of the Titans...was it not thee who introduced my father, Geryon, to the princess of the Erinyes? I thought therefore that Krios would receive thy assistance in this century too...”
“Wait. That doesn’t make sense. I may be a Titan, but we don’t live that long. In fact the Kirisaki tribe has been short-lived for generations... Who are you talking about?”
“Was I not resurrected...by the hand of the goddess Chimera?”
Nue shivered. Her bright red eyes wandered across the room. Prodotis fell silent, deep in thought. She realized she would not receive an answer. Looking at his thoughtful expression, it was clear that this hero didn’t have the answer either. Prodotis had not abducted Nue—he had simply clung to a familiar ally upon being resurrected after hundreds of years.
“It matters not,” Prodotis said, having lost interest all too quickly. “In any case, the course I must take does not change. The Ichor I created long ago, mixed from the blood of the Ex Machina and the Titans, was nothing more than a prototype. This time, I will use the blood of Reincarnators. That is the reason I have traveled all this way.”
As Prodotis gazed at the image of the giant’s vision projected on the wall, a hazy blue light emanated from it. Within the vision stood a half-real pillar—the Capital Tower. The great lighthouse that wandered ceaselessly between reality and unreality. Beneath it were three tall towers, each around one thousand meters in height, bundled around its base. By reading the memories of the Reincarnator Hero, Prodotis had already learned that one of those three served as a plant, producing the blue blood that ran through the veins of the Reincarnators.
The giant supporting the castle approached the tower with a mechanical gait. Prodotis continued to direct it to do so. Its never-ending march—finally stopped.
“What?” Prodotis peered suspiciously at the screen, whose view of the tower had become dark. It was suffused by toxic-looking cyan smoke, as if the blue of the Capital Tower had seeped into it. The giant still stepped forward as though it wished to proceed. “The castle is being pushed back... Perhaps this will not be so simple after all.”
The wall of smoke displayed on the screen began to form a meaningful shape. “...No way. Why?” Nue gasped.
The smoke now had the shape of a human. Sleeves with decorative pleats, recalling a nostalgic style, adorned an otherwise plain dress with no other obvious embellishments. Meticulously groomed blonde hair flowed down her shoulders, closely resembling her father’s. Upon close examination, freckles could be seen dimly scattered on her deathly pale face. The girl looked down, devoid of life like a doll.
“Iris.” Nue knew the girl’s name, but she was not the one who had murmured it out loud. Dill, who stood at the entrance to the great room, was transfixed by the image of Iris Earhart on the wall. A Reincarnator accompanied him, standing next to him. Why? His companion was not unfamiliar to Nue. In one hand he held a gun, in the other a flaming hand axe. The Chief-class Reincarnator, Red Lotus, had been under Starlight’s command in the battle of Vulcan, and had been one of the enemies who had attacked the transformed Nue.
“So you have arrived, heroes of Terea. I told my son in no uncertain terms not to let anyone through, but given how outnumbered we are, I suppose this was unavoidable. The father will clear away the son’s mess.” Prodotis spoke indifferently, having no way of knowing Dill’s circumstances. Pulling a weapon toward him from a corner of the room with his psychokinesis, he spoke vacantly. “Why... You intend to come out?”
As Prodotis spoke these inexplicable words to himself, Dill recovered from the shock of seeing Iris. “Nue! I’ve come to rescue you! We’re going home together.” Dill started running, his heels kicking up the hem of his chain mail cloak, jangling with every step.
“Galatea, the statue that houses shadows.”