Set Theory (Limbus Company/Highschool DxD)

[Acht of Seven Tactics]

Obscurum​

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The world was a dark and quiet place.

Time did not pass here, in this space where infinitesimal moments stretched on into eternity. Seconds were not counted. Hours crawled without sound. Weeks or months could have passed without notice, for nothing in this world could indicate their course. The only thing that stood in this room was the long deadlock of silence, standing sentinel in the darkness; the beloved companion of those who were not witnessed, and therefore have not existed anywhere at all.

Yes, this world was a dark and quiet place.

But on rare occasions, this small world would welcome the shutter of a door, the promise of change, followed by the blinding agony of light.

"It'll be over soon."

Words that meant nothing filled the space during those moments, chasing the pain they wrought with their hands as though it could soothe the memories that would stay after. It never did, but the words repeated, spinning like a record through countless repetitions that made everything feel the same yet unreal.

Then the door would close. The lights would go out. And the familiar solitude would nurse the sun-scars better than any cure.

That was existence, staring back from the confines of a mirror, faithfully seated in the corner farthest from the blue. Asleep as it was on most occasions, it would sometimes rise and embrace life as a whole, bringing with it illusions of warmth and rhythms of time.

The world was a dark and quiet place.

But it was enough.

So said the tree that fell in the forest with no one to hear its sound.

---

"So you've chosen to walk down this path after all."

A man with long silver hair and heterochromatic eyes called out to the person seated at the desk, who did not turn to face him even after his intrusion. The sound of tapping filled the air, suffocating the otherwise plain office room in the monotone choir of corporate labor.

When they first started to furnish this office, the man questioned the owner's decorative sense, because no sane executive would face their desk to the wall instead of the door. Now he knew the reason, but he still maintained that 'not wanting to remember every single person who enters this room' was an unequivocally silly reason.

"Not going to preface that with a hello, Enoch?"

Enoch huffed as he approached the desk, his steps thundering with ill-controlled anger. "No, because basic civility is lost on you." He grabbed the back of the chair, spinning it around to face him. "You're making a mistake ████."

A beautiful woman with periwinkle hair and pink eyes met his claim stoically, refusing to bend to even a fraction of his rage. The light of the screens cast her in a cold, artificial halo, shadowing her features just as they shone a spotlight on Enoch's.

"You're using the wrong name again," she tutted mellifluously, "Call me Irene."

"Is 'Irene' going to listen to me?" Enoch challenged.

She placed a dainty hand on her cheek. "Not really, no."

Enoch snarled, baring his fangs in frustration. "Back out of this, Irene. Once you start down this road, there's no going back! We now have a whole host of options and resources at our disposal. We're not the people we were back then, miserable bastards clinging onto a star we never noticed was light-years away!"

He loomed over her, breathing heavily as his octave rose. Aggravation, desperation, and the smallest tinge of hope laced his words, granting them an almost palpable weight. His hands trembled with the urge to shake Irene free of her stubbornness, to pry her from the yoke she wore to steer their endless march forward.

"But this is what we've been striving for all this time," Irene said, leaning forward in her seat without breaking eye contact. "The sleepless nights, the constant doubts, the metamorphosis of me, and the hatching of you. We struggled on blindly, propped up by nothing, yet we selfishly reached out to that star for hope when we could barely see one step ahead. Chasing this dream… was what carried us away from our wretched beginnings. Do we not have an obligation to our past selves to fulfill the goal that kept us from festering into empty, blackened husks?"

"That's exactly the point, Irene!" Enoch could barely keep himself from yelling, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. He gulped for air, trying to steady his breathing before Irene's indifference could set in, else he fully lost his cool. "Our past… our past is history."

He got to his knees, cradling her hands in his like a worshipper pleading with his deity.

"The world may not have changed, but you and I have," he said, "Our world is no longer a place of unhappiness. Can't that be enough?"

Her face was unreadable, but Enoch had been with her long enough to know that she was processing his request with the respect she felt it deserved. As uncompromising as Irene was, a part of her heart still yielded to the promise they made in their early days, when she was a butterfly dead in her cocoon, and he was a mockingbird clipping his wings.

"...It is enough," she whispered gently, filling the space between them with confessions meant for him and him alone.

Despite that, Enoch's stomach sank.

"But Enoch." Her smooth hands grasped tightly onto his. "I want to die with no regrets."

Irene leaned forward, touching her forehead to his as Enoch squeezed his eyes shut, damming up the tears threatening to slide down his cheeks. He wanted to fight, to scream, to commit an act so violent that it would break down the gates of Heaven, dragging Irene down to the cold earth where his prayers could be heard once more. He could not see her pursuit of their dream as anything other than madness, a path of self-centered intentions headed straight for Hell.

Yet he couldn't deny… that he wanted to see how she'd bring it into fruition.

"I just wish I could do it for you," he muttered, disentangling one of his hands to cup her face. Her skin was cold, but the slight lean of her head into his palm gave him the will to choke down his sorrow.

"I know," Irene said, lips lifting into a small, sincere smile. "Thank you for thinking of me."

Enoch collapsed forward, his roiling agitation snuffed out like a flame. Burying his face into her lap, he hugged her waist, nails tearing lines into her open back in his fervor to embrace her. It must have stung terribly, but Irene simply combed her fingers through his hair, accepting the act of harm for what it was: an expression of love.

"Everything is already in place," she told him, soothing his soul until the frenzied voices crying out to him slowly ebbed away. "But I'd still like to tip the scales a bit more in our favor. Focus our resources on Singularity replication, and start separating the company into Asiyah, Briah, and Atziluth Layers. Maintain our covertness until the last possible second. Use memory-wipe procedures or information erasure protocols if you have to. Attention from that side is only acceptable after we've made it past the halfway point."

Enoch turned his head sideways so he could speak. "Is there anything you want expedited?"

"Fairies, since that Singularity has already reached the working prototype stage. Restorative Bullets and Ampules are also necessary for the journey ahead." Irene tapped her chin, pondering over her priorities. "Oh, and please ask the magician teams to collaborate with the Talisman workshop full-time. We need to produce as many Grimoires as possible, starting with teleportation magic."

"I'll draw some researchers out of the Moonlight Stone and Nuovo Fabric workshops to help accelerate the Singularities' development. Their technology has already reached commercial standards, so we can merge what's left of their workshops and set them on augmented clothing design."

"The Extraction Department will be happy to hear that," Irene mused.

"I can imagine. Managing the Metamorphosed is no joke." Enoch conjured a dark brown feather between his fingers, sweeping its vanes over Irene's wound to heal it in a silent apology. "I suppose that's another reason you're moving forward with this plan."

Irene nodded. "Despite our knowledge of the Metamorphosed and how to contain them, the situation is hardly ideal. We have to take action before we completely lose our advantage."

Enoch rose to his feet, succumbing to the urge to pace around the room. "I'll have to go over the Investigation Department's sighting reports one more time. Do you have an estimation on how the plan might affect the Distortion Phenomenon?"

"I predict a gradual 47% uptick in cases around the world across a six-month period once the first milestone is reached. Less than half that time within an eight-mile radius of every hotspot."

"Shit," he cursed plainly.

The numbers weren't good. Awful even. Just the thought of that many Distortion cases happening one after another made Enoch tug at his ponytail, tying the length into knots so he wouldn't start yelling about how horrible this plan was.

"And who's going to deal with those cases?" he asked, sounding more strained than he intended.

"The new department, of course."

Enoch paused mid-step.

"We have a new department?"

When was that approved?!

Sensing his distress, Irene spun her chair around, inviting him closer to the desk with a flick of her wrist. He approached and leaned over her shoulder, watching her minimize several windows before arriving at a PDF. Schematics, timetables, resource allocation forms, and other detailed documents unfolded on screen, prompting Enoch to take Irene's mouse and start scrolling through the pages one by one.

"This is the centerpiece of our plan," Irene said, eyes glimmering with a hint of excitement. "The Mirror technology, the Enkephalin extractions, and the Singularity replications… Everything we've worked for all these years has culminated in this department. They will travel across the world, solving Distortion cases and plucking the branches from their beds, so that we may finally transplant a 'tree'."

"You'll be watching over them?"

"Every step of the way. Though it will be a different version of myself."

Enoch sighed into his hand before smoothing back his bangs. "I suppose that leaves me to run the company then."

"You're my treasured Vice-President for a reason." Irene patted his cheek.

He tried not to look too fond of the woman sitting below him, but that was a futile effort in and of itself. Though he had come in here to chew her out, Irene's earnest wish unraveled him as easily as a fraying sweater. Her words had hit him where it hurt, cleaving through his defenses because whatever she dreamt, he dreamt, and anything she yearned for, he sought after as well. They were two sides of the same coin, and acknowledging that meant accepting this course of action, along with all the shame, anguish, and anticipation it carried.

She knew that, and he knew that too. For their hands had never come loose from each other since the day their paths intersected, when they disregarded the crossroad before them to chase after the same star.

Enoch hadn't stopped dreaming. But somewhere along their journey, her hand had become his entire world, anchoring him to the ground when he once flew on wax-feather wings. Now his great thought in living was to become one with that world, to love and cherish this girl for however long his body could handle, until he was pulverized to dust.

But similar to how the gravity of the Earth kept birds from flying into the sun, so too did Irene carry an irresistible pull. Wherever she went, he was bound to follow.

Which was why…

"If you ever lose your way, can I beat you back to your senses?"

Irene snorted, taken aback by the blatant petition. It was no joking matter, as Enoch fully intended to give any attempt his all, but the abruptness of his question wrenched a laugh out of the CEO, something he proudly took as a win.

"Do you think I'll lose my way?" she asked coyly, dropping her stoic act for a moment.

"You're an all-or-nothing girl at heart."

"That makes me sound like a gambler."

"Aren't you?" He gestured at the page he was reading, a team roster listing positions without a single name to fill them. "You're cutting it close on recruitment, considering the department's intended schedule."

Irene just smiled mysteriously, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. She was planning something outrageous again, he knew it.

"Everything will fall into place, Enoch." She took his hand, whirling out of her chair before dragging him out the office door. "Come on, let's go grab some lunch. We can discuss the rest of the plan at the conference."

The man stumbled a little as he flew after her, warm exasperation dyeing his cheeks a cherry pink. "The Department Heads are going to flip."

"They will," Irene confirmed, "But this is what they signed up for. We'll have to emphasize our need for their support—"

The metallic door slid shut behind them, cutting them off from the plain and windowless office. Remnants of their presence lingered in the now silent room, from a scuff left by Enoch's pacing to the well-worn depression in Irene's seat.

The most eye-catching of these remnants was the monitor they left on, its CPU whirring softly as the computer's tabs processed in the background. On that glowing screen, a modest roster listed twelve vacant positions, formatted below the bolded Georgia header that marked every page of the document.

Tikkun Company Sefirot Department
​

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A/N: Many hellos from Spacebattles~ I'm Acht of Seven Tactics, and this is my first time posting a thread on QQ. Hope you're ready for a ball, because writing this has been great.

 

[Acht of Seven Tactics]

Altare​

---

"For my part, I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream."

— Vincent Van Gogh, to his brother, Theo

The sanctum was bathed in iridescent light, shining through the tall prismatic windows from a source that didn't exist beyond the blue, pink, and white. The room was built as a gigantic oval, encircling eleven round altars inscribed with ancient texts and mystical symbols, which were connected by paths painted in bright, alternating colors. Atop each of those altars, eleven people slept on in silence, curled up on their platforms like sacrificial offerings to a hungry god.

It was a haunting, yet peaceful scene.

Then suddenly…

SNAP!

A sharp crack echoed through the chamber, lifting the veil of slumber. Near a dozen pairs of eyes flew open, followed by a chorus of groans, and the ensuing wave of chaos and suspicion.

"What the hell?!" cried a boy with dark brown hair and grey eyes, dressed to the nines in a black tailored suit fitted with two long yellow tassels. He rolled off the altar farthest from everyone else's, his body tense and ready for a fight. "What happened? What is this place?"

"You tell me," said an androgynous teen with downy black hair and amethyst eyes. They wore an elegant black and blue twin-tailed coat, complemented by the cerulean feather accessory hanging from the side of their head. Despite the troubling nature of their surroundings, they seemed more indifferent than cautious, though a hint of annoyance tinged the edges of their tone. "We're laid out on altars in the middle of a chamber with no idea where we are or how we got here. Logic dictates that we should have been sacrificed like lambs in our sleep. Seeing as that hasn't happened yet…"

Blood drained from the brown-haired boy's face. "Oh fuck."

The androgynous teen dismissed him with a sigh, completely losing interest in him as he sank into the beginnings of a panic attack. They turned their attention elsewhere, amusedly watching the utter anomaly flitting around the room in a gold-white chiton.

"620, 73, 67, 474, 72, 216, 1081, 148, 15, 80…" A blue-haired girl's eyes sparkled like sapphires as she rattled off a series of nonsensical numbers. "496! A perfect number! Everything in this room has been designed to embody the gematria values of the Kabbalistic Tree of Life. How wonderful!"

On the altar at the lower east end of the room, a girl with pink hair and green eyes lay face down and sobbed, either vehemently disagreeing with the other girl's claim or just physically sick of having to listen to math of all things while abducted.

Things at the center of the chamber weren't much better, though it was a lot less loud. The only one causing a ruckus was an albino boy dressed in exorcist clothes. He reached his arm out, calling for the armaments that had accompanied him for the longest time, only to be left disappointed when they refused to heed his summons.

"Gram, Balmung, Nothung… None of them are responding." He gritted his teeth, pacing around his altar as he flexed his back repeatedly. "Twice Critical isn't working either… and my strength is nowhere near the level it should be."

He slammed his fist into his altar, growling when the surface didn't so much as crack. His body tensed with the urge to vent his frustrations, an itch that did not go unnoticed by those around him.

"I understand that you're angry, but please don't lash out so much," a golden-eyed boy quietly pleaded. He was swaddled in monk robes and had a teardrop-shaped tilak painted on his forehead, which was creased with worry and fear. "I'm not sure she can take any more stress."

The 'she' he was referring to was a girl who had yet to rise from her altar, her slitted red eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. Her pale blonde hair spilled messily over the edges, making her look like a zombie frozen in disbelief.

For a moment, it seemed like the white-haired teen was getting ready to argue, but a second glance at the girl's helpless expression pushed his belligerence into a corner. He rubbed at his face, leaving the monk and the girl to their own devices as he started investigating the room, searching for an exit that didn't involve crashing through the nebula-depicting windows.

"Well, this is quite the clusterfuck— I mean, mess," stuttered a brown-haired girl dressed in a traditional kimono. She glanced furtively at the silver-haired child sitting opposite her, quietly hoping he hadn't picked up on the expletive.

The gods bestowed mercy on her by curling the monkey's paw. The child, a boy who barely looked older than ten, was clutching his arm while on the verge of tears. He mumbled under his breath, begging something to show itself, and huddling into a ball when it refused to respond.

Disconcerted at the sight, the girl went to kneel before the youth, trying her best to comfort him with clumsy words. "Hey– Hey! Kid, it's okay. We're gonna–"

"NO!" he screamed, shuffling away from her as she flinched. "They're gone, they're gone, they're gone someone took them away from meeeeeee!!!"

His screams popped the bubble of trepidation smothering the room, sending everyone into a desperate frenzy. The brown-haired boy drove his heel into a nearby window, trying to shatter it as the albino boy interrogated the blue-haired girl behind him. The pink-haired girl crawled to the edge of her altar and vomited, digging her nails into her temple while the androgynous teen stared at her in silence. The monk panicked when he realized how weak the red-eyed girl's pulse was, and began yelling for help as the child's wailing heightened. Their frantic souls crashed into each other like the waves, sucking them into a whirlpool that screamed for freedom, for aid, for answers, or for all of it to just be over.

Amidst the chaos, a blonde teen with bleached tips stared unfalteringly at the altar opposite to his. The last of the abductees, a girl in a black gothic lolita dress, lay flat on its surface, remaining asleep even after the shouting rose into a cacophonous storm. That peculiarity drew the boy's interest, and after a few moments of contemplation, he approached her with slow, deliberate steps.

His shadow stretched across her form, enveloping her as his gaze sharpened in intensity. To onlookers, he seemed deaf and blind to anything but her; barely aware of anything beyond the space she occupied.

Haltingly, gingerly, he touched her frighteningly cold forehead.

"Please, wake up."

And her cloudy blue eyes opened to reflect his own.

[Testing, testing. Can you kids hear me?]

A jovial yet distorted voice reverberated from the windows, causing those close to them to back away. The first to recover was the albino boy, clenching his fists in defiance. "Who are you?!" he roared gutturally, reminiscent of an angry dragon. "What have you done to us?"

[There's no need to be rude. We didn't do anything you kids didn't agree to.]

"Agreed to?" the brown-haired boy echoed, his expression souring. "I don't remember agreeing to anything. Do you guys?"

"I have no recollection of such a thing," the blue-haired girl confirmed.

Everyone else muttered their own denials, banding together now that they had eyes on a possible perpetrator. Several of them had started gearing up for a fight, while others cradled the most vulnerable of the group, as if shielding them with their bodies.

[Mass short-term amnesia, huh? I was told the ritual would come with a few side effects, but this certainly makes things a little harder.]

"You were 'told'? Are you acting on behalf of a group or organization?" asked the androgynous teen, their tone unreadable.

[Technically, we're all acting on behalf of an organization. You, me, and the rest of the kiddos scattered across the room are gonna be colleagues starting from today!]

"What? Hell no!" the brown-haired boy objected, "I'm not getting indoctrinated into some goddamn cult or supernaturalist cell!"

"The Nanyue xianren will never allow this to pass!" the pink-haired girl spat, her first words since rising from her altar. "If you don't return me to their temple at once, the consequences will be dire!"

[Unfortunately, you missed your chance to back out of this ages ago. When you kids were first invited here, you signed a contract with a very upfront non-resignation clause. As long as that contract holds, you're all bound by its terms and obligations until our department's primary mission has been completed. Don't believe me? Try saying your names. One of the clauses states that you'll be working under aliases for the duration of your employment, with your real names being censored from this point onward.]

The brown-haired girl wrapped her furisode-sleeved haori around the trembling child, doing her best to hide him from sight before clicking her tongue at the disembodied voice. "What, are text blocks going to replace our names when we say them? Life isn't an anime! I can say ███████—" Everyone's gaze snapped towards her as she grasped her throat, stunned by the static that spilled from her lips. "███████. ███████!" she shouted incoherently.

"██████…" The monk whispered, an eclectic range of emotions overtaking his features. Other attempts soon followed, all resulting in the same incomprehensible garble.

[Your levels of strength have also been raised or lowered to be equal to the dhampir's physicality.] The voice continued, unbothered by the teens' renewed efforts to escape. [The sole exception to that clause is the Executive Manager, the holder of your contracts, and the Assistant Director of the Sefirot Department.]

The androgynous teen glanced up from half the room's collective bid to shatter a window. "And who is this Executive Manager?" they asked.

[Why, it's that girl in the middle of the tree, of course! Sefirot No. 0, Executive Manager Da'at!]

"Huh…?" muttered the girl in black, barely cognizant of anything that was happening. She was supported into a sitting position by the boy with the bleached tips, who hadn't looked away from her for even a second.

"I see." The androgynous teen gazed at her neutrally, then stepped closer to the windows where several people had turned to stare at the girl. "That makes things a lot simpler."

[Wait, what are you–]

In one swift motion, they plucked the golden hairstick from the pink-haired girl's bun and charged at Da'at, aiming the pointed end at her throat.

The boy with bleached tips snapped to attention. "Stop!"

He hoisted her into his arms, trying to lift her out of the way of the attack. But he was too late. The teen's arm blitzed with startling speed, shifting the stab into a dart throw at the last second. The hairstick whistled through the air, sailing straight for Da'at's still exposed eye.

Everything went into slow motion. From the boy hurrying to shield her with his own body, to the sound of her assailant hitting the floor, tackled from behind by someone she couldn't see. Her mind whirred frantically, searching for a means of survival, but came up short.

The hairstick moved like inevitability.

And as it grazed the boy's brachium and neared her unblinking eye, something… primordial flickered in Da'at's chest.

[Oh no.]

A shockwave rippled out from her, deflecting the hairstick and suffusing everyone in a warm, golden light. At first, it seemed as though nothing had happened. The murder attempt had been averted. Everything was alright.

Then a horrific squelching sound pierced Da'at's ears, followed by a coppery wetness splashing across her face. She fell into a heap, no longer carried by the arms of a protective stranger.

For he had collapsed, torn apart by golden symbols into an unidentifiable pile of gore.

Lying on her back, Da'at grabbed weakly at his remains, mind far and away but all too present for the tragedy at hand. She pulled chunks of lung and pulverized intestine out of the heap, not knowing what to do, yet dissociatively trying to confirm that this was real, this was real, this was real.

And the boy who once held her was dead.

"Ah–" she whimpered, tears stinging her eyes as his flesh slipped from her grasp. With bloodied hands, she reached for her altar, smearing it in red as she shakily pushed herself onto her feet. Her keening tore into the unbearably silent chamber, pleading for help from someone—anyone.

That's when the stench of death hit her tenfold.

The three fighting to break through the window had become a small mountain of bodies, falling atop one another in a mound of bleeding carnage. The girl in a kimono melded with the child she swaddled in her haori, their carcasses indistinguishable from each other. Stained monk robes lay over a skeleton like a burial shroud. A black suit and a conductor's outfit wrestled themselves into a shared grave.

Blood seeped under Da'at's shoes.

"D-Did I… do this?" she asked, before realizing its fruitlessness. "It- It was me. I… I-"

Pain shot through her hip, and when she blinked, she found herself lying sideways on her altar. She wanted to comb the blood out of her hair, clean the brain matter off her face, but the knowledge that those stains were once a person—once a boy her age with hair her color—inundated her with nausea. She couldn't bring herself to touch it, but leaving it where it was made her itch, as though a scuttling brand of sin had marked her.

She killed everyone.

[-cutive Mana-]

Someone tried to kill her, and she killed everyone in turn.

[Execu- Manag-!]

She was a monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster!

[EXECUTIVE MANAGER DA'AT!]

The shout tore Da'at free from her dissociative state, punching life back into her with the delicacy of a freight train. Most of her still felt numb, but a not too small part of her screamed with blind animal hatred for the voice, fettered only by her fear of further consequences.

Some of that fear must have shown on her face, because the voice let out a distorted, pitying sigh.

[Jeez, this is a mess. Listen, what happened wasn't your fault, Da'at.]

Her fear quickly switched to disbelief. Was the voice spouting platitudes to make her feel better?

[One of the stipulations of the Sephirah's' contracts is that they cannot harm the Executive Manager with the intent to kill. Doing so will automatically activate one of the safety protocols we have installed for you, blocking the attack and destroying all nearby Sephirah.]

That did not make her feel better. If anything, it made her feel violated, because 'install' implied that this power—the power that so casually ended the lives of ten others—had been given to her by these people.

"Why…?" she mumbled, wresting the word out from the hollow of her chest.

[Because you are the Executive Manager, the one who follows the star.]

The one… who follows the star.

Like a pebble dropped into a well, those words stirred the waters of her heart, shaking her awake as they sank and dissolved into a profound sense of certainty. She didn't know where it came from, or why it weighed on her soul so heavily, but the moment those words were uttered, an intrinsic part of her clicked into place.

Vaguely, she began to hear the sound of her own heartbeat, thumping evenly against her ribs despite her previous mortal terror.

Then another heartbeat joined it.

And another.

And another.

She closed her eyes.

In the darkness behind her lids, the heartbeats began to harmonize, converging into a single thread of light. It was warm, warmer than anything she'd ever known, yet not so warm as to be unsettling.

Subsumed by her instincts, she followed it.

Further, and further.

Until she ended up alone on a horizontal ladder leading to the center of a massive tree.

It was a great and terrible sight, that tree. Its bark was the color of the sun, a radiant gold, and its size was so colossal that its branches reached toward the infinite Heavens, and its roots burrowed into the farthest reaches of Hell.

But what drew her attention wasn't those dwarfing strands, but the vast worlds trapped behind them.

Suffocating heat and agonized cries seeped through the gap between the roots, while endless laments and wailings spilled from the branches above. Thousands upon thousands of hands stretched outward, howling desperately for what millions of humans have begged for in their final moments, whether they be bound for paradise or damnation.

A second chance.

Listening to their weeping for even a second made Da'at feel faint. How could anyone witness this and withstand it? How had she done exactly that, awestruck and afraid as she was?

Unheeding of her questions, her body moved forward, automatically stepping across the ladder even as she teetered over a black, bottomless abyss. Despite the seemingly vast distance between them, one of her hands reached into the branches of the tree, while the other dug into the roots.

Billions of spectral fingers clawed at her skin, but she ignored their prayers in search of the few whose heartbeats resonated with her own. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten hands found hers amidst the ceaseless wailing, the weight of their sins and virtues branding her arms with fire-forged histories.

Art thou prepared to share the pain?

Could that have been a question? Or rather, pressure to comply?

Regardless, Da'at knew her answer.

"Please…" She grasped their hands tightly. "Come back."

She pulled them out with all her strength.

Da'at fell into the abyss, dragging the souls with her back into the world of the living. The instant they crossed over, a terrible pain spread throughout her body, crushing and flaying her with sensations so excruciating that it made her wish she were dead.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"

Her screams reverberated through the chamber as she writhed on her altar, her chest bursting open in a splay of golden twigs. The tendrils shot toward the mutilated bodies, entangling with them as gore and blood began rising off the ground. Even the ichor bathing her red began to peel off her skin, flying towards the corpse resting on the floor beside her.

Engulfed in a deluge of torment, Da'at didn't see how the remains began to coalesce, reforming the pulverized bodies into perfect restorations of their old selves. The wounds that healed first flashed across her body in blinding agony, striking at her intestines, her lungs, her brain, and every other organ she could name. She sobbed in helplessness, wishing that the pain would end already.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, it did.

Da'at curled in on herself, trembling in shock as ten people rose from their supposed graves. Many of them staggered or fell to their knees, horrified at the memory of dying. But it was swiftly coated by a jumble of emotions, ranging from trepidation to dread to suspicion to disbelief.

"We're… alive?" the golden-eyed boy muttered sickly.

"Our numbers haven't changed… Are we still human?" mumbled the blue-haired girl in awe.

"Never mind if we're human! What the fuck was that?!"

"Holy crap, did I just die?"

Their sudden resurrection hadn't hampered their rowdiness whatsoever. The blue-haired and pink-haired girls argued theories. The brown-haired boy restrained the instigator of this mess with a pair of handcuffs he pulled out of his jacket. The red-eyed girl had finally risen from her altar, patting her chest absently while the monk tried to collapse into a pool of formless jhāna. As their octaves continued to rise, the voice at the fault of everything held its unusual silence, leaving the newly revived kids deteriorate mentally.

One of them, however, shoved past the chaos. The albino boy observed the still curled up Da'at, who had blacked out from pain not too long ago. The boy with bleached tips huddled over her defensively, glaring at the encroacher like he might rip him to shreds at any second.

Said encroacher was unimpressed. "Move aside."

"And let us all die again?" the boy shot back, "I'm not letting you lay a finger on her."

The albino boy scoffed.

"Don't mistake me. I have no interest in killing someone so weak." He rounded the altar, looming over the two in an unwitting show of intimidation. "I just need to confirm something."

"Confirm what?"

"You know what. There's no way you didn't see it."

Their confrontation drew eyes from every corner of the room. No one wanted to get close, but all of them were listening intently.

"...Don't you dare touch her."

The boy with bleached tips reluctantly freed Da'at from his hold, turning her onto her back as gently as possible. The albino boy stared pointedly at her chest, at the abnormally untorn fabric and, most importantly, the gaping cavity hollowing out her entire mediastinum. Nestled in that cavity was a strange device made of calcified wood and golden veins, the latter acting as amber lenses to the multitude of gears running the device through its motions. At the center of the mass, a miniature clock ticked, its rhythmic sound alternating between clinking chains and fervent beats.

"That's it," the albino boy said neutrally, "That's the source of our problems."

A young girl's eldritch, artificial heart.

 

[Acht of Seven Tactics]

Etz Hayim​

---

The sun shone, for there was no alternative, and Da'at woke up on a seat warmed by its touch.

"Oh, she's waking up!"

She flinched when someone cried out beside her head, which was soon followed by a brief scuffle and a weary scolding.

"Lower your voice. There may be nothing wrong with her physically, but enduring ten deaths must have taken a toll on her psyche. Don't overwhelm her by crowding around her."

"That's rich coming from you, Mr. You-Can't-Make-Me-Leave-Her-Side."

"Being so overprotective towards a stranger is quite creepy."

"How do you keep undoing your gag?!"

Slowly, she cracked her eyes open, raising her hand to block the alien glare of the sun shining through a window. Blinking away her remaining exhaustion, she turned in the direction of the squabbling.

And found ten pairs of eyes staring back at her.

"Hey yo!" greeted the brown-haired boy, his earlier seriousness nowhere to be seen. Instead, a bright and spunky look gleamed from every corner of his face, granting him a disarmingly easygoing air. "It's good to see you up, Da'at."

"What?" Da'at said dumbly.

She looked around, half-convinced that this was some elaborate dream conjured by her pain-driven mind to cope with the agony. But regrettably, everything in her surroundings was too detailed to be anything other than real. The upholstery in the seats, the metal that rumbled as if it were alive, and the near claustrophobic way everything was packed into a rectangular space weren't something her brain could imagine, even with all the abstract impressions in the world.

The sheer foreignness of the setting planted question upon question, but the most pressing one was…

"Where…" She closed her mouth and licked her teeth for a second, bothered by the distinct fuzz clinging to her molars. "Where are we?"

"I'm so glad you asked!"

The seat in front of her quickly bent backward, revealing a man– no, a woman with light green hair and a gold-patterned, black eyepatch. She bore a wide grin brimming with unconstrained mania, looking utterly enthused to see her. Yet Da'at couldn't pin down a reason as to why, nor could she figure out where the strange familiarity the woman sparked came from.

"I've taken the liberty of answering some of the others' questions first, but now that you're awake, Executive Manager Da'at–" The girl reeled back. She was the disembodied voice from earlier! "–I can start giving you guys access to the juicier stuff!"

The woman's shoulders shook like she was about to burst into laughter. Or more accurately, into raucous cackling that'd make the wartiest witches look like schoolgirls. There was a chorus of sighs behind Da'at, and after a brief round of murmuring, someone was shoved to the front of the row.

"Ms. Alexandria," the pink-haired girl said, her expression dead as a doornail. "Her original question still needs to be addressed."

"Right, right, the bus. Haven't I told you to call me Alex?" the woman lightly chided the girl before rising from her seat. She wasn't a tall person, but her unerring confidence and masculine flair made her seem towering. "Manager Da'at, you're riding a little vehicle known as the Etz Hayim, named after Kabbalah's tree of life, of course. This place will be your transport, mobile base of operations, and place of habitation in your mission to retrieve the Sefirot Department's main objective: the Golden Boughs."

There were a lot of terms she didn't recognize, but Da'at felt her heart throb at the last part. "The Golden Boughs?"

But Alex waggled her finger 'tut-tut. "That's a whole can of worms I can't open just yet. If I do, I'll start rambling. And we have something just as, if not more, important than the Golden Boughs that needs to get done first."

"Which is…?" the brown-haired boy nudged.

"Introductions, of course!" Alex gestured the group to Da'at. "Your Executive Manager knows nothing about you guys. For the sake of our department's professionalism, this must be rectified immediately."

Da'at gaped at her, mortified. What was she doing?!

"I'm not telling you anything more until you finish," Alex added, gaining a few glares on top of the groans echoing through the cabin. "From 10 to 1, kids. Hop to it!"

No one looked happy over being denied answers, but they seemed to understand that the woman wouldn't budge unless they did as she commanded.

Rubbing his nose bridge with a sigh, the brown-haired boy stepped forward, giving Da'at a smile that felt both sorry and genuine. "If we're going in reverse order, then I'm up first. Sefirot No. 10, Codename: Malkuth."

Despite his straightforward introduction, Da'at didn't quite know what to make of him. She'd seen him serious and angry one moment, then stunningly cheerful the next. He was like a dime constantly flipping on its head, switching facets at the drop of a hat or interweaving them if he felt the need to, a professional social chameleon.

Also, "Sefirot?"

"We're the Sephirah of the Sefirot Department, which I think makes us the main agents of this whole operation." He glanced at Alex for confirmation and got a thumbs-up in return. "Yeah. As you can tell, there's a bit of a naming scheme going on."

Da'at had no idea what he was talking about, but she didn't want to look stupid, so she nodded along. "I suppose that makes No. 9…"

"Yesod!" chirped the blue-haired girl, turning away from the windows she had been frowning at with unusual intensity. "It's fascinating to know that my designated integer hasn't changed, despite my essence being fundamentally recalculated to a semiperfect number. I do wish I had known all of you before we became tied by the contract. The comparative data would have provided several insights into how our destinies became aligned to the gematria values of our emanation names!"

If Alex and Malkuth had her treading water, then Yesod's raving threw her straight into the deep end. She was passionate, eloquent, and even charming due to her youthful exuberance. Yet her manner of address and the stars in her eyes made her seem… not quite there, like she was talking to a rubber duck instead of a fellow human.

"A reading from a Numerologist of your caliber would certainly be worth the time of day," spoke a voice that made Da'at freeze. She craned her head to her right, blanching when she saw the eyes of her attempted murderer staring back at her. Their hands were restrained, and a makeshift gag had fallen to their neck, but that didn't stop their impassive smile from striking cold fear into her soul. "Greetings, Manager Da'at. I am Hod, Sefirot No. 8. I apologize for my failed attempt on your life. Your death was too enticing a solution."

She wanted to flee. Far, far away from here. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to run right now if she wanted to survive. But the best she could do was huddle behind her seat, ducking her head to keep out of their line of sight.

Hod hummed in amusement. "I know better now, Miss Manager. Rest assured, I will not endeavor to kill you– Hmpf!"

"Shut up," said the pink-haired girl, striking as quick as a snake to re-tie the gag to Hod's mouth. "You're in time-out for the next hour."

A surge of gratitude washed over Da'at, muffling the dread until it no longer rang shrilly in her head. While she didn't feel safe, knowing even one person was willing to keep Hod in line helped keep the pressure from crushing her completely.

"Thank you," she mumbled to her savior.

Her words were softer than a whisper, but the pink-haired girl seemed to catch them nonetheless. "It's no trouble. He irritates me as well." She cupped her hands and bowed slightly in a salute. "This one's name is Netzach, the Seventh Sefirot. I vow to follow your Way with piety, Manager Da'at."

The solemnness of her oath startled her greatly. People didn't normally swear utmost deference to someone else's decisions, especially if that person was hardly more than a new acquaintance. Was it a part of Netzach's culture? Did people usually expect strangers to swear fealty to them?

"That's… heartening to hear, Netzach," she said, feeling horrendously out of depth. Time to speed the introductions along so she could avoid thinking about it! "Um, who's next?"

The boy in monk robes stood up from the seat he'd taken to save walking space. He was a good bit taller than most of the group, so Da'at had no problem seeing the slightly unsure expression set on his face.

"I bow to you, Da'at." Much like Netzach, he pressed his palms together and bowed his head in greeting. "I'm called– you can call me Tiphereth. I'm Sefirot No. 6."

He was polite yet unmoored, trying to keep a sense of distance between them as he nervously went through the motions. Da'at couldn't tell if he was shy or if he held a grudge over… what happened before, but she decided to respect the boundaries he'd drawn regardless.

"It's nice to meet you." She attempted a smile.

An impatient scoff killed it in its cradle. "She is not our Manager," stressed the boy in exorcist clothes, visibly bristling at being forced to participate in this charade. "Why are any of you calling her Manager? Whatever this contract entails, it will be broken soon enough. You don't have to defer to her—"

"Geburah, chill," interrupted Malkuth, stopping the castigation before it could grow into a full-on tirade. "We talked about this, remember? Get answers first, lynch the appropriate target after."

Geburah—who no longer had to introduce himself—glared balefully at Malkuth, his hands balled up tightly near his sides. After a moment, he whipped his head to the right and crossed his arms, gripping his biceps until his nails left indents on his sleeves.

He held his silence.

Inexpressible awkwardness crept up Da'at's spine.

"...I'm Chesed," the girl with red eyes faintly muttered. The hush that descended onto the bus was the only reason she could be heard at all. "I'm the Fourth."

Her introduction was stiff and withdrawn, as if she were having an out-of-body experience. She sat slumped in a window seat next to Tiphereth, gazing listlessly at Da'at like a doll cut from its strings.

The emptiness of her stare unnerved Da'at a bit, but her decision to speak up shattered the tension building within the bus's confines. She couldn't ignore that act of kindness.

"I hope we get along, Chesed."

A flicker of sympathy flashed across Chesed's eyes before Tiphereth sat down again, his bulk hiding her from view.

Soon, the brown-haired girl in traditional clothes stepped forward, the wedges of her geta thumping against the bus's metal floor. "I'm up next," she remarked, sporting a tone so casual it bordered on sarcastic. "Hey there. Binah. Sefirot No. 3. We're pretty far up sh- mud creek without a paddle, huh?"

Humor polished her smile to a mirror shine, bringing a breath of fresh air to the otherwise pensive introduction circle. Unlike Yesod or Malkuth, Binah's demeanor had a pluckiness that lived for the moment, and she carried a hint of playfulness that seemed naturally provocative. In other words, she exuded a frivolous atmosphere, concerned over certain aspects and aloof in others.

One of those odd concerns was the constant censorship of her cussing habits. The source of this was an alarmingly young boy with dark skin and silver hair, who looked quite unimpressed with her near slip-ups.

"You don't have to switch your curse words, Binah," he declared bluntly, sounding downright sardonic compared to how he was in the chamber. "I know about all of them. Want me to demonstrate?"

"No! No, no, I believe you. I'm good." Binah waved her arms around wildly, desperate to keep the boy from resorting to such measures.

The boy huffed, folding his arms like Geburah before addressing Da'at. "Call me Hokma. You don't need me to state my number, do you?"

No, but she'd like to know what caused such a big shift in personality. Da'at was barely aware during the bedlam that occurred before… everything, but she remembered Hokma being distressed to the point of tears. Was this his true character beneath the throes of anxiety?

Actually, a more pressing question would be: "Aren't you a little young to be tied to a contract connected to a dubious company?"

Hokma narrowed his eyes at her in annoyance. "Yes. Yes, I am."

His death flashed through her mind. Guilt lodged tightly in her throat.

'He's alive again. It's okay. He's alive again.'

Monster.

Caught in a limbo of pain and regret, Da'at never noticed the person rounding the corner. A cold, weighty hand grasped her shoulder, which would have surprised her if not for the warm amity the touch carried with it. Lifting her head, she met the eyes of a boy who exuded worry, treating her with incredible tenderness.

"Don't do that," he implored quietly, adjusting the hat resting slant atop her head. "Don't make that face."

Da'at was confused. "I was making a face?"

"A real ugly one," he confirmed, "Contrition has never looked good on the innocent."

Was he trying to insult her or make her feel better?

"Uh… thanks. And who are you?" she asked.

"Keter." He gave her a gentle smile, then instantly switched gears when he turned to Alex, glaring at her with a heat to rival a thousand suns. "We're done with our introductions. Were they 'professional' enough for you?"

The air quotes were palpable even without the gesture.

"Absolutely!" Alex clapped her hands gleefully. "Miss Executive Manager must feel relieved to be able to put names to the faces!"

She was, but Da'at wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that.

"So, about the Golden Boughs…" urged Malkuth.

"The Head described them as 'small, branch-shaped items emitting a warm glow'. They're a potent energy source and host a variety of great yet not-well-understood powers. Regrettably, that's all I'm able to disclose on the matter, as research into the Golden Boughs hasn't gone beyond the realm of conjecture. Just know that they exist and that it's the Sephirah's job to collect the Golden Boughs for the company."

Da'at clutched her suddenly dizzy head. What were any of these words, and why did Alex expect them to know what they meant?

"This 'company' you keep talking about. Who are they?" asked Geburah, after wrestling himself out of his brooding.

"Man, that partial amnesia has frazzled your brains something fierce." Alex shook her head mournfully. "Okay, um… How many of you know what a secret conglomerate is?"

"This already sounds illegal," deadpanned Binah from the back.

"Please don't tell me we sold ourselves to capitalism of all things," bemoaned Tiphereth, like he'd just been told he was fed babies for breakfast.

"Well, you're half-right, Tiph. You kids, are now employed under Tikkun Company, the secret parent company of some big names like Sang Yi Agroindustries and Xueqin Bioengineering Group." More than half the group stiffened in shock. "Think of it as a big research institute and science consortium. Anything they discover, they industrialize and commercialize through their subsidiaries. Their mission is to make the world a better place… while turning a tidy profit for themselves."

"An underground organization…" Malkuth muttered, all traces of gaiety gone in favor of seriousness. "That explains their refusal to patent their technology. It's always been a point of industrial contention, but since no one has been able to replicate or steal their secrets, their lack of patents hardly even matters. The mystery of their success has been a cold case for years now."

A few people glanced at him, silently wondering why he knew enough about industrial secrets to go, 'yeah, a secret scientific consortium explains everything.'

Alex was just delighted. "Oh, aren't you a smart cookie? Yes, Tikkun Company prides itself on its Singularities, and they're depending on our department to help them take the next leap! Isn't that exciting?"

Her proud exclamation invited nothing but scorn.

"You hired eleven minors, one of whom is an eleven-year-old, on non-resignation clause contracts with reality-altering properties that I'm still not sure were consensually signed." Malkuth laughed acerbically, sweeping his hand toward the rest of the bus. "We all died because of this."

Some were muted, some were blatant, but no one could hide the instinctive flinch that came with the reminder of their deaths. Yesod shuddered profusely in the corner. Geburah winced, then clenched his jaw at his show of weakness. Chesed bundled up her skirt. Hokma ducked his head to hide his face.

And Da'at? Da'at felt sick.

"But you're back, aren't you?" Alex refuted, spreading out her arms like she was grandstanding on a stage. "She brought you back. And she can do it again and again. No matter what injuries you take, what wounds you accumulate, or whatever death strikes you, so long as her heart keeps beating, you kids will always come back."

The woman's lone eye peered at Da'at, lighting up when she saw the girl hesitantly touch the groove digging into the center of her chest. When her fingers sank past her ribs and brushed against the organ throbbing deep within, she ripped away as if burnt, horror etched on every molecule of her face.

Alex got up into Malkuth's space, smiling so reassuringly that he stumbled two steps back. "In that case, it's just good policy to ensure the Executive Manager's life! If she survives, you survive, even if the gods themselves came down to smite you." She laughed uproariously, tickled by her blaspheming as she pulled eleven sheets of black paper out from the satchel attached to her hip. "I will admit, I wasn't expecting the Sephirah to be a bunch of kids either, but them's the breaks. The Golden Boughs are very selective about where they grow."

She held the sheets out to the Sephirah, showing off the signatures written at the bottom in golden ink. They snatched them up one after another, a look of remembrance flashing over their faces as pieces of the time they'd lost came back to them.

"You weren't lying…" Netzach mumbled, a visceral fear shadowing her face.

"Incomprehensible!" Yesod fumed. "No iteration of me, irrational number or not, would agree to these terms!"

"The proof's right here, though," Hokma pointed out. "We were invited here, and they gave us numerous chances to back out. I think my interviewer tried to pressure me into leaving."

"But why didn't we leave?" Binah eyed Alex with undisguised suspicion.

Alex shrugged. "How should I know? I was assigned to be your bus driver and general supervisor. The specifics of your contracts are between you and your interviewer."

"You are of no help. No help whatsoever," disparaged Geburah.

"God, we actually signed these, didn't we?"

"They could be faked!"

"Our day-to-day operations may involve combat or other associated conflict-related activities…"

"Is that why this contract doubles as a death waiver?!"

Like before, everyone's voices rose in defiance of their circumstances, trying to drown each other out with waves of emotion. Anger, disbelief, resignation, realization—they tossed and turned the boats of their hearts, plunging them into a roiling sea. Chaos reigned. Someone grabbed Alex by the collar. But the discord washed over Da'at like white noise, ringing deafeningly in her ears as she stared at her contract, signed with no name, just a golden thumbprint.

The Sephirah seemed to recall something when they saw their contracts. Something that verified Alex's statements that they were here of their own free will. She could see it settle in their minds, casting both clarity and doubt over their souls.

Yet she couldn't feel the same, because…

"I don't remember anything."

Her voice cut through the racket, pulling everyone's attention her way.

"And I'm not just talking about what happened when I signed the contract. My past, my goals, my precious ones, even my real name… I can't remember any of it."

The Sephirah were stunned into silence. It was clear that her experience wasn't shared amongst them. They knew who they were, what they used to do, and what their old names were. So, why was she different? Was it… was it because of this heart—

"Oh, so I'm not the only one who has complete amnesia?"

What.

Da'at looked up in shock, her thoughts blown to smithereens by the bomb Keter dropped like a hot potato. He seemed almost relieved, which she supposed was the appropriate reaction to learning you weren't the only outlier in a group, but what?

Alex freed herself from Geburah's stranglehold.

"Well," she said, speaking evenly for the first time since they met. "I need to make a call."

The ominous foreboding in that statement was not appreciated.

---

A/N: And that's it for the first batch of chapters! Welcome to the bus, kids. You're not getting off.