Chronal Disassociation Ch. 46

With what happened to the abandoned town being heard from a fair distance away, the Polish government couldn’t exactly keep it all a secret. Within an hour of the short battle, there was a convoy of police, ambulances, and reporters all travelling to the remote area.

Thankfully, Overwatch’s presence was taken more of a response to terrorist threats, rather than them capturing a former member of Blackwatch.

There were some interviews given, sure, but all of them had more pressing matters to take care of. Angela was hard at work checking the hostages for any injuries. Cassidy had slinked back into the shadows in case someone connected him to Blackwatch. Genji was making sure that nobody went into the ruined bunker, helping the local police to do their job.

Captain Amari was just in the other room, giving out a sitrep to Commander Morrison. 

As for Lena and Archer? They were tasked in making sure that O’Deorain was secured.

Now, it may sound like she had the easiest job of them all. How would the mad scientist even manage to get out of her cell? Turns out, very easily when one could turn into bloody smoke.

Indeed, they had initially made the mistake of just placing her in cuffs inside of a standard cell on the dropship. With any luck, she would have stayed unconscious for the entire ride back to London. Sadly, that was not to be the case.

Within minutes of Archer capturing her, she had somehow regained consciousness and attempted to escape. According to Angela’s analysis later on, it was due to the experiments she had run on herself, essentially healing the cause of her unconsciousness soon after she experienced it. 

She faded straight through her cuffs, her cell, and had made it to the door of the dropship in one fell swoop. The only reason they caught her is that she apparently couldn’t keep up the smoke-transformation for long periods of time, and it was during that moment of transition that Archer had quickly cut off her second escape attempt.

By knocking her out, of course. However, Lena had to wonder if the indent on the wall of the dropship would have to be paid by the Spirit, or if they were just going to count that as ‘acceptable losses’.

Regardless, once O’Deorain was back in custody, Archer had unceremoniously thrown her back into her cell. While she was mid-air, he had created a glass cube right out of thin air. From what Lena could see, there were no cracks on the corners. Archer had created a fully seamless glass cube just to hold O’Deorain in.

Said woman slammed into the walls of her new cell from Archer’s throw.

Even though Lena knew she shouldn’t feel bad about it, she had to admit that she was floored by Archer’s callousness.

Was he really that pissed off?

Well, considering he wasn’t talking through their link, the answer was ‘definitely’.

“Hey Archer, you alright?”

 Lena's voice was gentle, cautious even, as she watched the Spirit's back. His posture was rigid, shoulders tense beneath the dark fabric of his longcoat.

"I’m fine."

The words were clipped, his tone flat. Lena wasn’t fooled.

Even he seemed to have realized that, sighing to himself immediately after.

“Oxton, I’ll be honest here: O’Deorain is a fucking monster.”

"Yeah, no arguments here." She admitted, rubbing the back of her neck, "But we’ve got her now. She’s not going anywhere."

Archer’s gaze flicked back to the glass prison. Inside, O'Deorain stirred slightly, her fingers twitching as consciousness slowly returned. His jaw tightened, “I’m not just talking about things figuratively. I mean, that on a fundamental, spiritual level, she has already become a monster.”

It wasn’t like Archer to speak out loud like this, especially with the possibility of people listening in. The fact that he was doing so only highlighted how out of it he must’ve been. Gently, and not without a small amount of worry, she spoke, “Hey, we can talk about this later, yeah? Let’s just-”

“Oh?”

Lena started as O’Deorain suddenly spoke up. Already sitting upright and with no visible signs of her injuries, her voice was muffled by the glass. Oddly enough, or perhaps not, she was staring straight at Archer, paying no mind to the pilot.

Her lips curled into a sharp, knowing smirk.

"How fascinating." O'Deorain mused, her voice carrying an eerie clarity despite the barrier, "You can see it, can't you? The truth of what I've become."

Archer's grip on his bow tightened, his expression darkening further, "You're not human anymore." He stated flatly. "Not entirely."

Lena's eyes darted between them, unease prickling at the back of her neck. No, to put it bluntly, it was as if a pin had jammed into her skull, her very existence threatening to unwind so that she could just avoid this conversation, "Archer, what are you-?"

Moira chuckled, low and deliberate, "Oh, this is rich. A ghost calling me a monster." She tilted her head, her crimson eye glinting with something predatory, "Tell me, Spirit - what exactly do you see when you look at me?"

For a moment, Archer was silent. Then-

"Oxton, do you remember what it felt like when you entered that hallway?" Archer suddenly spoke to her instead of O'Deorain. Lena blinked, the whiplash between him glaring at the scientist and the question being addressed. Still, she answered, if cautiously.

"Yeah?"

Lena swallowed, the memory of that hallway crawling back into her mind like something alive - the wet, pulsing walls, the voices that shouldn’t have been able to speak. The way the air itself had felt wrong, like the world was folding in on itself.

"Yeah." She repeated, quieter this time. "I remember."

Archer didn’t take his eyes off Moira. "What you felt there?" His voice was low, deliberate, "That was her."

O'Deorain’s smirk didn’t waver, in fact, it seemed that she relished in Archer's cold fury.

"I have seen such experiments before. I've seen men and women transformed into masses of flesh more often than I can count." He continued with a bitter note, "But one thing they had in common was that they were all done through the use of magecraft."

The white-haired man stepped closer to the glass separating them, his lips in a scowl, "That back there? There wasn't a hint of magecraft whatsoever."

With slow, deliberate steps, Archer circled around the cell, “There are two options I can guess. The first, O’Deorain had done what she did through the use of conventional science. Maybe something to do with cancer cells and exploiting their propensity to rapidly propagate. It would certainly explain why those people looked like that.”

Archer stopped walking. Turning to fully face O’Deorain, he continued, “But that wouldn’t explain the links, would it? The one taking away that brute’s wounds and transferring them over to those bodies. No, even if I asked Ziegler, there would have been no scientific way in order to just transfer wounds like that, not now, not ever.”

His hand shot out, and a bright blue light shone as a Black Key made its way into Archer’s hand, “This was the final nail in the coffin. By its nature, a Black Key ties down the souls of individuals through their shadows. Even a Heroic Spirit would have been immobilized - even if just for a second - by this. Instead, your arm managed to freely move. Off the top of my head, very few creatures could do so without much trouble. And somehow, your arm - and only your arm - was able to do so?”

Letting the Black Key disappear, Archer continued to glare, “Or maybe I shouldn’t even call it your arm anymore?”

“Have you finally figured it out?” O’Deorain sounded incredibly amused, despite her still being stuck in a glass cell.

“It would be hard not to, considering it’s my job to prevent them from ever entering this plane.”=

Lena’s breath hitched. The air in the dropship suddenly felt heavier, as if they had suddenly lifted to flight altitude despite them remaining on the ground.

“Prevent what from entering?” Lena asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

Archer didn’t answer immediately. His steel gray eyes remained locked onto O’Deorain, his expression unreadable. The scientist, for her part, lounged against the glass as if she were reclining in a high-backed chair rather than imprisoned. Her smirk never wavered.

“Oh, don’t leave her in suspense, Spirit.” O’Deorain drawled, rolling the last word with mocking emphasis, “After all, if you’re so concerned about what I’ve done, shouldn’t your allies know the extent of the danger?”

Archer’s jaw tightened. He exhaled sharply through his nose before finally speaking, his voice low and measured.

“Outer Gods.”

Lena blinked. “...What?”

“Entities from beyond this reality.” Archer continued, his tone grim, “They exist outside the boundaries of human comprehension, in dimensions where the laws of physics - of existence itself - don’t apply.”

"Aha! A round of applause!" O'Deorain mockingly clapped, "You were beating around the bush so much that I doubted you actually knew what you were talking about."

"Oi, oi, there's no way that's true, right?" If it had been anyone else, Lena would have thought they were joking. But any amount of doubt had faded the moment Archer spoke the words 'Outer God'. In fact, the very room seemed to darken-

"Don't think about them too much." Suddenly, Archer pulled Lena backwards, "Not when we're so close to a possible conduit."

Lena stumbled as Archer yanked her away from the glass cell, her boots scuffing against the metal floor. The sudden movement snapped her out of the strange, creeping dread that had begun to coil in her chest.

When had she even gotten that close?

"Wha—?" She barely had time to protest before Archer cut her off, his voice sharp.

"Don’t focus on it. Don’t dwell on the concept. The more you think about them, the more they notice you." His grip on her arm was firm, his gaze intense, "And trust me, Oxton, you don’t want that."

Lena swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. She didn’t understand—not really—but the way Archer spoke, the way his usual dry sarcasm had been replaced by something darker, more urgent, told her this wasn’t a joke.

O’Deorain, however, seemed delighted.

"Oh, how precious." She mused, tilting her head, "The little ghost is afraid. Tell me, Spirit—have you seen them before? Or are you just repeating old warnings?"

Archer didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he released Lena’s arm and turned back to the scientist, his expression unreadable, "I don’t need to have seen them to know what happens when they take interest in a world. And you?" His voice dropped, cold and deliberate, "You invited one in."

O’Deorain’s smirk widened, her crimson eye gleaming with something that wasn’t quite sane, "Oh, I wouldn't say invited. Even I'm not that far gone to realize the consequences of such an act."

"Even that is reason enough to bury you." Archer placed a hand onto the glass cell, and the walls shrunk, pressing O'Deorain into a smaller box. Alarmed at this, Lena instinctively grabbed at Archer's wrist to stop him from doing something he'd regret, something they'd all regret.

After all, killing a prisoner like that would be tantamount to a war crime. A label that would follow the both of them for the rest of their lives - or at least, Lena herself.

She didn't need to bother, as Archer stopped the compression before it got too far anyway, "And I would have done so already if I didn't suspect that it was that Goat you're involved with."

Lena’s grip on Archer’s wrist loosened slightly as she processed his words. The Goat? She had no idea what he was talking about, but the way he said it, like the name itself was a curse, sent a chill down her spine.

O’Deorain, however, let out a low, amused hum from within her shrinking prison. The glass walls had pressed in just enough to force her into a crouch, but she didn’t seem bothered. If anything, her grin only sharpened.

"Oh? So you do know more than I expected." Her voice was muffled but still disturbingly clear, "Tell me, Archer - how does a Heroic Spirit recognize the Black Goat’s touch?"

Archer’s expression darkened further. He didn’t answer immediately, instead glancing at Lena, as if weighing how much to say. Finally, he spoke, his voice carefully controlled.

"A process of elimination, nothing more."

O’Deorain chuckled, the sound wet and unnatural, "Oh, this is delicious. You’re afraid to even speak its name, aren’t you?"

"Anyone in their right mind would be too." With that said, Archer created a seat and immediately sat down on it, "Oxton, go ahead and do whatever you want to do. I'll be the one that keeps an eye on this damned lunatic."

Archer's tone brokered no other option than to follow. Wisely, Lena decided to not put up any more resistance.

She didn't know why Archer was acting like this, nor did she want to ask him with O'Deorain in the room. And privately, from how the walls seemed to stare at her, she couldn't find it in herself to feel guilty in thinking that she'd rather find out that Archer had murdered the scientist outright than to stay there any longer.

Lena just hoped that the man would at least interrogate her about Amélie before he did so.

…