Ever since he discovered that the secret war was an utter and complete sham, Nesanel had stopped eting with The Many.
Until today.
Nesanel looked worse than ever before; no longer dressed well, he appeared disheveled and much older.
A desolate feeling lingered in his heart; every ti he thought of matters related to the secret war, he felt a strange sense of betrayal. But when it ca to making an act of revenge, he didn’t know where he should strike.
Confused and bewildered, like a wandering ghost.
"The Many have repeated it several tis, Deputy Director Nesanel."
A booming voice echoed from the darkness, The Many did not use any virtual images to face Nesanel, revealing their true and hideous appearance from the shadows.
"After the vote of successive directors, The Many has decided to hand over Xilin’s body to the King’s Secret Sword."
Like a voice of judgnt, Nesanel involuntarily clenched his fists.
The Many resembled a giant mound of flesh, looking from afar like a mountainous nightmare. The flesh twisted grotesquely, seemingly pieced together from scraps of various animals and human bodies.
Embedded on the surface of the flesh mound are innurable masks, each bearing a different expression, from gentle smiles to ruthless glares, and so with terrifying grimaces. These masks seem to continually change, seriously displaying their shocking magic power.
It seemingly lacked a true head and limbs, its surface covered with pitch-black chanical cables that stretch inward and pierce through the creature’s biological flesh, synchronizing with its heartbeat and blood flow, entwining every part of the monstrous form, squirming continuously.
"No..."
Nesanel refused to accept this reality; he felt betrayed not just by others, but everything he sacrificed had beco a joke under The Many’s decisions.
"How could you do this!"
Nesanel shouted, Xilin’s corpse was their spoil of war, a painful spoil, and if he wanted to prevent The Many’s decision, he could only do it here, at this mont.
Since its inception, The Many has been under absolute protection, never having been hard.
Nesanel glared at The Many, this monstrosity, seemingly a nightmare birthed by the creator, nurtured in darkness, consuming everything around it and absorbing it into itself.
"Deputy Director Nesanel, you are sowhat out of control; The Many suggests you remain rational."
"Rational?"
Nesanel reacted as if hearing a joke, "In the secret war, so much death was only for this inexplicable cause..."
"Any action that attacks The Many will be considered a betrayal."
The Many maintained its cold tone, "According to the guidelines established by the first director, The Many is granted the power to retaliate."
A booming sound erupted within The Many, and Nesanel felt a surge in temperature as if a volcanic furnace was igniting within its body.
Darkness scattered, revealing more massive figures before Nesanel’s eyes.
Suddenly, Nesanel had a peculiar thought; perhaps he cannot defeat The Many.
His anger intensified.
"You call a traitor, then what are you?" Nesanel couldn’t comprehend, "The secret war and what is happening now, is this the optimal solution deduced from so absurd exhaustive thod?"
"You are the traitor! The Many!"
The Many fell silent for a mont, its internal roar subsided, and the rising temperature halted.
"The Many wants to tell a story, a very brief story."
The Many spoke as it retreated back into the darkness, completely obscured from Nesanel’s view. But then he heard clear footsteps, a familiar yet strange figure erged from the darkness.
It was a taciturn man, appearing slightly lean but with taut muscles and an elusive strength, shallow wrinkles locking his brow, marked by the passage of ti.
His attire was simple, not flamboyant but sharp, a casually donned black robe draped over him, nearly blending into the shadows. The only ornant was a delicate ruby brooch, casting a crystalline glow and shining with its unique brilliance.
Nesanel rembered this man; it was the second ti he saw him in his lifeti, the last being at his inauguration ceremony as Deputy Director.
Their encounters were very few, yet Nesanel was not unfamiliar with this man, whose na was etched deep within Nesanel’s soul, the current Order Bureau built on the foundation he laid.
"Director Albert."
Nesanel knew full well it was a phantasmal image conjured by The Many, yet he slightly bowed his head to this legendary existence in acknowledgnt.
"It’s been a long ti, Nesanel."
Albert smiled, a profound contemplation spilling from his tightly knit brow, and even as just a shadow, he stood indomitable as an ancient fortress before Nesanel.
"I want to know why..."
Nesanel was in anguish, "My friends, the ones I love, they believed they died for honor, but now it seems it was just a series of laughable lies."
Albert’s expression remained unchanged, his aura deep and intriguing, as if an unknown power lurked within, inspiring involuntary awe.
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