The notion of their imminent departure had barely taken root in Jeanne's mind when the Doctor ca rushing over to find her, completely bypassing any need for the Saintess to go scouting for information herself.
Initially, Jeanne assud the cloaked figure was marching straight toward her with a deliberate purpose. She stood her ground, preparing a brief greeting, only to watch in sheer bewildernt as the Doctor, head completely lowered, brushed right past her shoulder without offering a single word or glance.
"???"
Jeanne spun around, staring in absolute confusion as the strategist continued marching blindly forward. Directly ahead lay a massive, solid wall, yet the Doctor showed zero signs of slowing down, advancing toward the tallic structure with chanical certainty.
Before Jeanne's brain could fully process the absurdity of the scene—let alone voice a warning to look out—the inevitable transpired. A sharp, echoing thud vibrated down the corridor, followed instantly by the Doctor collapsing flat onto the deck, completely motionless.
Both the Saintess and little Fafnir were thoroughly stunned by the spectacle. What on earth was happening here? Why was the leader of Babel suddenly playing dead on the floor? Had soone violently cut a segnt out of the fabric of ti while they weren't looking?
The duo stood perfectly still, watching the fallen strategist for a prolonged mont before the realization finally hit them: Should we perhaps step forward and haul her back onto her feet? Leaving the leader of their entire organization splayed out on the floor like a discarded rag wasn't exactly a stellar look.
Yet, just as Jeanne resolved to rescue the Doctor—whose everyday behavior was already highly questionable, but today seed entirely fractured—the cloaked figure suddenly bolted upright.
The motion was so incredibly abrupt and rigid that it mirrored an ancient, dust-covered corpse bursting forth from a sealed sarcophagus. Jeanne genuinely wondered if she ought to fish out a vial of holy water and cast a cleansing ritual right then and there to purge whatever dark entity had taken hold of her.
Then again, did her theological training even cover the exorcism of undead entities from foreign lands? Perhaps she needed to hunt down a traditional dried charm; she had heard rumors that those particular talismans were exceptionally potent against such reanimated horrors.
Shaking the ridiculous thoughts from her head, Jeanne focused on the imdiate crisis. The urgent priority was returning this deeply eccentric individual to a state of functional sanity.
Taking a asured step forward, the Saintess decided to investigate what had transpired over the brief window since their last conversation to reduce the brilliant strategist to such a state.
"What on earth is possessing you today? How do you manage to march down a hallway without looking at the path ahead? It is a massive stroke of luck that you rely collided with a structural partition. If you had blindly wandered into one of the heavy engineering bays, I would be genuinely terrified for your survival!"
Jeanne reached out, intending to unlatch the Doctor's heavy helt to inspect her condition, but she quickly recalled that the strategist's delicate constitution forbade her from exposing her face to the raw environnt. Instead, she resolved to escort her down to the dical wing for a proper evaluation.
"Ugh... why does my head throb so violently? Did you and I engage in a physical skirmish just now?" the Doctor muttered, rubbing her helt before nursing her lower back as the twin waves of residual pain finally registered in her consciousness.
Fantastic, Jeanne thought, a wave of profound sorrow washing over her. The impact has genuinely rattled her brain cells and rendered her completely foolish.
"Ah! That reminds . I originally marched down this corridor to notify you that our departure schedule is officially set for next week..." the Doctor mumbled, entirely lost in her own thoughts. "But what dark variable caused to violently collide with a structural wall midway through my journey? This is thoroughly baffling..."
Before Jeanne could offer a single word of critique, the strategist drifted into a low, rapid monologue, entirely tuning out her surroundings. The performance thoroughly convinced the Saintess that the leader of Babel was suffering from an advanced case of exhaustion—and a deeply concerning one at at that.
While Jeanne quietly lanted the sudden cognitive decline of their grand commander, the Doctor seed to touch upon a breakthrough. She began rapidly whispering a series of technical variables that remained entirely foreign to the Saintess's understanding.
She muttered frantically about fundantal errors in her direction, about a specific material's complete inability to store kinetic charges, and about the natural properties of inert, burnt-out Originium. It was glaringly obvious that the eccentric woman had been burning the midnight oil conducting private academic experints.
Suddenly, as if a powerful spring had been released beneath her cloak, the Doctor leaped into the air. In a single, fluid motion, she pivoted and sprinted down the corridor at a spectacular pace, tossing a parting shout back over her shoulder:
"A monuntal revelation has just manifested! I must return to my station imdiately! Rember, our departure is locked in for next week. If you require further logistical details, consult Theresa directly!"
Before the final syllable could even echo through the hall, the Doctor vanished around the corner like a trail of smoke.
Terrified that the frantic woman might collide with another structural column, Jeanne imdiately gave chase. She pursued the sprinting shadow until the Doctor hurled herself through the heavy tal blast doors of a restricted laboratory, safely sealing herself inside.
Realizing the strategist had likely been gripped by a sudden, volatile spark of scientific inspiration, Jeanne simply shrugged and turned away, entirely abandoning her anxiety regarding the woman's physical stability.
This specific tier of madness was far beyond the scope of Jeanne's limited dical knowledge. Such existential crises were best left to the professional care of their specialized staff; she might as well clear her mind and focus on her own preparations.
Still, refusing to leave the situation entirely to chance, Jeanne marched off to find the one individual across the entire length of the landship who possessed the absolute authority to discipline the Doctor—Kal'tsit.
Upon listening to the Saintess's harrowing tale, the high-ranking dical officer rely delivered a cool, indifferent nod. She calmly noted that she would allocate a brief window to investigate the matter during her next rounds, dismissing the entire crisis without a single trace of urgency.
Jeanne stood there, thoroughly mystified. Was this frantic behavior a regular occurrence for the Doctor? Finding the internal culture of these leaders completely beyond her comprehension, she chose to seek out the Demon King to finalize their upcoming itinerary.
Why has everyone within this facility been acting so incredibly bizarre over the past few days? Jeanne wondered. Am I truly living aboard the sa vessel? It feels as though a massive gulf of ti has passed since our last aningful interaction, leaving completely disconnected from these sudden behavioral shifts.
Throughout the subsequent stretch of days, the Doctor's silhouette vanished entirely from the common sectors of the vessel. It was as if the individual had abruptly dissolved into thin air, leaving behind zero trace of her existence within the living quarters.
Jeanne found herself blessed with an abundance of leisure ti. Crucially, the current phase of the operation demanded absolutely nothing from her; her primary physical contribution would only be required once the landship breached the borders of Kazdel. That would be her true window of grueling labor.
The Saintess didn't lay eyes on the cloaked strategist again until the montous day arrived—the day the structural restorations of this phase were officially completed, and the command staff prepared to awaken the ancient, titanic beast that had slept in the dirt for ten thousand years.
"What a rare privilege," Jeanne remarked, turning her head as she approached the central dais. "I half-expected that by the ti you finally erged from that laboratory, our vanguard would have already crossed the threshold into Kazdel."
As a foundational ally of Babel, Jeanne had received a formal invitation to witness the relatively modest activation ceremony. Standing beside the control console, she noted that the Doctor looked thoroughly spent, sitting listlessly in her seat as if she had been severely bullied by her own equations.
The surrounding attendees comprised familiar faces—the dedicated elite operators of Babel. Aside from Jeanne herself, who maintained an independent status, there wasn't a single outsider present within the chamber.
"I had zero choice in the matter!" the Doctor complained bitterly, imdiately directing her frustration toward their chief engineer. "Closure went ahead and systematically severed the power grid to my entire research wing! Forget about running high-level simulations; the environnt was so pitch-black I couldn't even locate my own instrunts!"
Hearing her commander's grievances, Closure rely strolled past with a thoroughly unbothered expression, tossing back a casual counter-argunt: "It's simple math, Doctor. The landship's primary systems are operating on a razor-thin margin. To generate enough kinetic energy to launch this mountain into motion, we had to systematically sacrifice the luxury grids across the non-essential sectors!"
The Doctor puffed out her chest, clearly preparing to engage the vampire engineer in a fierce, structural debate. However, before she could utter a single word, Kal'tsit delivered a chilly, unblinking glare that instantly crushed the rebellion, reducing the grand strategist to a state of absolute compliance.
Right on cue, Theresa stepped forward, commanding the center of the room. Directly before her lay the primary activation switch. Once depressed, the ancient vessel—which had slumbered through a literal epoch—would be violently pulled back into the land of the living.
Yet, as the Demon King reached the pedestal, she paused. Turning away from the console, she glided directly toward the Saintess, a serene, radiant smile warming her features:
"Jeanne, would you honor by stepping forward to awaken this vessel by my side?"
The unexpected invitation left the Saintess thoroughly caught off guard. In that exact heartbeat, she felt the focused weight of every single elite operator in the room shift entirely toward her fra.
She had never anticipated that Theresa would share such a monuntal, symbolic milestone with a foreign guest. Feeling a touch self-conscious, she offered a soft counter-proposal: "Surely that honor belongs to another? Would it not be far more fitting for the Doctor to stand beside you for the activation?"
After all, this massive landship was a legendary treasure that Babel's crews had spent years excavating from the ancient earth. Even if the gathering lacked the grand pomp of a public state affair, it felt entirely inappropriate for an outside entity to claim the spotlight.
"How could it possibly be inappropriate?" Theresa countered with a gentle laugh, completely ignoring the ntion of the Doctor. She extended a slim, welcoming hand toward the Saintess:
"You have delivered countless miracles unto Babel, and your willingness to anchor our vanguard through the trials ahead is a debt we can scarcely repay. This is a simple mont of celebration; there is no soul alive who deserves to stand here more than you."
Theresa spoke from the absolute depth of her heart. She was genuinely struggling to formulate a sufficient tribute to balance the scales; Babel owed the Saintess an imnse ledger of gratitude.
From alleviating the raw suffering of their infected operators to securing their upcoming deploynt routes—and the looming reality of her personal blades joining their front line in the fires of the Kazdel civil war—the weight of her contributions was staggering.
While certain logistical tasks had been frad as equitable trades, the vast majority of Jeanne's benevolence remained completely uncompensated. Offering her a shared hand in this awakening ceremony was the least the leadership could do to honor her presence.
Seeing the absolute sincerity shining in the Demon King's eyes, Jeanne returned the smile and firmly clasped Theresa's hand. Hand in hand, the two won stepped before the primary control console and down synchronized pressure onto the central activation switch.
In that singular, breathless mont, every operator within the chamber—regardless of whether they had previously traded words with the black-cloaked warrior—had the image of this mysterious, ethereal woman permanently etched into their mories.
In the very next heartbeat, the ancient landship, buried in the dust of an forgotten era, violently roared back to life. Prompted by their synchronized touch, the vessel's primordial heart—the massive, buried power core—began to emit a deep, subterranean thrum that vibrated through the very soles of their feet.
Rhodes Island, a relic suspended in absolute stasis since the shattering of ancient humanity, had finally felt its chanical heart reawakened after ten millennia of silence. With a thunderous rumble, the iron titan prepared to carve its path across a world that had grown entirely foreign.
( Sorry for not updating the last two days. My Wifi went out and I wasn't able to access any websites, it keeps saying stuff like "Your Internet Is Not Private Or Secured." So, here I am a day later with a new Wifi provider.)
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