Raging Phoenix: Part One

Raging Phoenix: Part One

”I don’t want to be morally correct—I want to be happy!”

The infamous quote from chapter 37.

In Search of Morality, Uluç Mustafa Pasha, 1833.

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Through the crystal walls of the 21st floor of the Miraval Pyramid—also known as the Infinitesimal Asylum—the bluish sunlight of an unusually bright autumn was gifting the dawn of a brand new day to the only place where hope wasn’t the last thing to die, but the first to be forgotten. However, thick cloth curtains on the windows of a large office rejected Adam’s love, allowing in only enough rays to admire the pride immortalized in hundreds of framed magazine covers hanging on the wall.

Standing before them, a madame sporting a lascivious nightgown beneath a sterile lab coat reminisced about her glorious youth, now immortalized in those lustrous portraits. And despite some being over a decade old, it was hard to distinguish the face on the covers from the one she wore now—for Essentias, aging had a very different meaning.

Born on the rainy island of Tristesse, nestled in the vast Auxark Lake, DD-Class ’Mindhunter’ Dr. Madeleine Elizabeth De La Tristesse-Moyens had once been the Scion of the prestigious Moyens family, a dynasty proud of its heritage best remembered for betraying Emperor Maximillian I—decapitated after being welcomed with the highest honors at their Château following a hasty retreat from a failed ambush on Emperor Mandrake. Despite living the life most girls her age could only dream of, Madeleine quickly grew weary of dressing and acting like a doll to please her parents, yearning for a life worth remembering, and one fateful day, that chance arrived. After seducing a young servant, the ’Mindhunter’ escaped from her Auxerine castle, leaving behind her prestigious family, everlasting wealth, and shining future for a new life at Beauté de Cristal—the City of Sin.

For seven years, the ’Mindhunter’ lived in a dilapidated apartment on La Rue Rouge, expanding her understanding of the meaning of life by violating its darkest taboos. Madeleine immersed herself in carnal pleasures by volunteering at a house of love, explored the most forbidden corners of the Spiritual World through the use of illicit substances, and connected to her primordial urges by bathing in the blood of the unlucky warriors of La Arène. That being said, these impure acts were not a product of boredom, rebellion, or any other youthful naïveté, but sacrifices made for the sake of mankind. Armed with the superior education her parents had granted her, she turned herself into her own guinea pig in an effort to unravel the riddle of the human mind. She meticulously cataloged every sin she committed and their effects on the human body, compiling thousands of pages of data into a book that would change mainstream academia like nothing before—Seven Years Drowning in the City of Sin.

Unsurprisingly, Madeleine’s scandal was directly proportional to her book’s success, becoming the most talked-about subject across all social circles and achieving a level of fame so immense it could eclipse a star. And while her family promptly disinherited their once-beloved daughter, the scientific community saw her in a different light—as a heroine who had sacrificed everything to advance human knowledge. The Miraval Family secured her courtship, offering her one of the most prestigious positions a Class D could aspire of—the head of the Psychiatry Ward at the Hôtel-Dieu de Saint Miraval.

More than a decade had passed since the publication of that book, but her fame had never truly faded. Her colleagues still hailed her as the cornerstone upon which modern psychiatry, psychology, and sociology were built, her studies continued to spark groundbreaking discoveries, and her magazine—Seductive Lobotomy—never failed to reach the top of the bestseller charts. And yet, a bitter aftertaste still lingered on her tongue. One last chapter and my legend will be written in the firmament.

*Tok* *Tok* *Tok* A sudden successions of knocks interrupted her self-veneration ritual. ”Excuse me. Is this the office of Dr. Moyens?” Asked a shy voice, followed by the soft creak of the door opening. Madeleine nodded as she moved to meet the two teenagers stepping into her office.

The first looked too young for her age, a feeling amplified by her twin pigtails and the long and pinkish dress—the kind little girls use to dress their dolls for tea parties. She was pushing a wheelchair, helping a young man in a white hospital gown navigate the corridors. Despite his dyed-blue eyes radiating the determination of a seasoned warrior, he resembled a skeleton, as if there were no muscle between his skin and bones. His frail appearance was worsened by a thin tube attached to his nose, running to the [Inventory] at the back of the chair, feeding his body the vital substances it needed to avoid a kiss from the ’Grim Reaper.’

”You must be the Marquis Rougedior and the Archeodux Rustaveli. It’s a pleasure to meet the bright future of our Empire.” The ’Mindhunter’ leaned forward until her face was just millimeters from the boy’s. ”Little Steve must’ve outdone himself. Not even a day has passed, and you’re already conscious…outstanding.” She traced her index finger along his cheek, beaming with curiosity and delight, while Kafka stared at her like she was the only thing he had ever desired. ”Either that, or you’re some kind of tough guy, aren’t you?”

“I…just have a good…regener—” Thankfully, Ælgifu elbow snapped him back to reality.

“Ahem…we’re here to ask permission to visit our classmate, Shadow Eye,” Ælgifu explained, using her petite body to shield her tanned prince from the evil witch’s gaze. “From what Dr. Miraval had told us, he’s been hospitalized on this floor.”

“You’re lucky,” Madeleine said, snapping her fingers. “I was just about to check in on my VIP patient. Care to accompany me?” The two eagerly nodded, and after retrieving Shadow Eye’s medical file from her desk, the trio exited the office. “Miss Rougedior, you must be exhausted from pushing that wheelchair for so long. Shall I give you a hand?”

“NO!” The ’Dust Symphonist’ snapped as the ’Mindhunter’ chuckled, and then she led them down a long hallway to a room at its far end.

Once inside, the two students admired the spacious recreational area, filled with libraries, tables overflowing with board games, and in one corner stood a Hydro broadcasting the most popular soap opera in the ’HRE’—The Secret Life of Princess Cassandra. Ælgifu, a die-hard fan of the show, religiously followed the Hydro drama through more than five hundred episodes in just three years of broadcasting, but since Hydros only broadcasted locally, hearing her beloved characters speak with such different voices was still challenging for the Marquis to accept.

“Watch out,” Dr. Moyens warned, gesturing toward the dozens of people wearing oversized hospital gowns. “All of our patients perceive reality differently from the so-called accepted standard. Thus, even the smallest action can be misinterpreted as hostile.

”The ones in green gowns might very well be called children trapped in adult bodies. They are plagued by a lack of self-control over their emotions, marked by sudden and intense mood swings.” Kafka observed that all of them had gathered around the Hydro, worshiping the technological device as devoutly as the faithful at their sacred altar.

“The red gowns belong to…let’s just call them artists. Their creativity knows no bounds, though this mindset often leads to self-destructive behavior.” Ælgifu’s amethyst eyes got caught by the eccentric presence of a girl whose arms were covered in cuts, proudly displaying to an uncomfortable guard her newest masterpiece—painted onto her naked skin.

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“And lastly, the Blues.” Madeleine’s tone steeled. “These are the most dangerous. For your own safety, do not listen to a single word they utter.” Despite the warning, the two students observed them calmly reading, writing, and playing games together, finding them surprisingly composed—all except for one.

“He’s coming! The ’World’s End Messiah’ is coming!” Shouted a young man in a blue gown, sitting in front of a wall plastered with newspaper pages—all rigorously written in FULL CAPS. Red circles marked nearly every page, while thumbtacks and string connected the highlighted articles to key photographs—each depicting the most famous and infamous public figures of the ’HRE’—and scrawled across the entire collage, written in his own blood, were a sentence—’The End is Nigh’—and beneath it, a number—’373737.’

“Carlos, what’s nigh? Our marriage?” Eagerly asked the girl with the scarred arms, just before launching herself at him and wrapping the Sardinian boy in a suffocating embrace, their cheeks mashed tightly together.

“No, Jessica! We can’t.” Carlos squirmed, failing to break from her grip.

“W-why n-not?” Jessica began to sob. “If you l-love someone—you should never leave his side!”

“I’ve already told you—I’m fighting the good fight!” Carlos proudly declared. “If they find out about us…they’ll hurt you to hit me. I’m ready to endure every torture they’ve prepared for me, but if anything happened to you…I won’t be able to forgive mys—” His speech was interrupted by his own cry as Jessica pushed him to the floor, bombarding the young man with frantic kisses.

“Ahem…” The tender moment was abruptly interrupted by a towering figure, his face utterly devoid of emotion. “Due to your scream,” the golden-haired man said calmly, adjusting his red-round glasses. “I couldn’t hear the ending. Now I’ll never know if Princess Cassandra activated the Hyperborean Hyperportal to obtain the Hypercomplex Hypercalculator from the 37th Hyperdimension in order to win the Third Lemurian-Spurdian Hyperwar against Yakub.” He couldn’t stop blinking as he spoke, his hands twitching open and closed repeatedly.

“S-sorry, Hubert. I’m sure tomorrow there’ll be a repli—” Before Carlos could finish, Hubert’s oversized hands closed around his small throat, tightening their grip—all while wearing the same expressionless face.

”Leave my boyfriend alone!” Jessica shrieked, as she dug her sharp nails into Hubert’s eyes, but he didn’t even blink, continuing the assault until the room’s guards stepped in.

At first, they tried to tackle the golem but couldn’t move him even a millimeter, so they drew their Power Batons and struck in unison. A column of energy engulfed Hubert, whose heart momentarily stopped due to the sudden influx of Crude Mana, collapsing to the ground. In the aftermath, both Jessica and Hubert were dragged back to their rooms and sentenced to the harshest punishment the ward had to offer—no cake for three days.

After the bluish dust settled, Dr. Moyens approached the man lying on the floor. However, as soon as Carlos regained his senses and caught sight of the doctor’s alluring expression, he gulped—completely terrified. “Carlos, did you take your meds this morning?” Dr. Moyens whispered sweetly in his ear, gently caressing his cheek.

“No…Dr. Moyens.” His eyes twitched as they dropped to the floor. “But you have to understand! I had to do it!” He mumbled incoherently without daring to meet her rose-quartz eyes. “The ’World’s End Messiah,’ the bringer of the apocalypse, is coming here—to this room!”

“And may I ask why Mr. Apocalypse is coming here instead of…I don’t know…paying a visit to our politicians first?” She asked, pressing a slender finger to her plump lips. “Mmh…perhaps it’s because of you, isn’t it? You’re the chosen one, the only man who can stop him and save us all—you’re the hero of this story, aren’t you?”

“No, you’re wrong!” Madeleine grimaced, his words has caught her off guard. “He’s coming here—to cleanse this room of its germs!”

She snickered, finally understanding what he meant. “Oh, I almost forgot, it’s 4 m.m. Do you know what time that is?”

“The hour…of my daily…Hydroshock.” With a snap of her fingers, a hood was swiftly placed over Carlos’s head, and then four guards tied his arms and legs, dragging him out of the room.

“Apologies for the inconvenience. I know it’s hard to watch such harsh treatments,” Dr. Moyens sighed. “But we’ve evolved from animals, and sometimes, remnants of evolution—or the quirks of genetic mutation—might awaken our worst primal instincts. In such cases, a little brute force becomes necessary—the key is knowing how to regulate ourselves,” the ’Mindhunter’ concluded, gesturing toward a lone patient in a green gown, who was sitting in a wheelchair and silently staring at the sun beyond the window.

”Shadow Eye…it’s good to finally see you.” The ’World’s End Architect’ placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but the ’Martial Critique’ remained motionless, completely unresponsive. Kafka shook that shoulder again and again, until Ælfgifu stepped forward to face their classmate herself.

“Oh, ’Imperfect Eclipser’…it can’t be…” The nightmarish vision shocked her. The native student’s mouth hung open—its upper half twisted to the right, the lower to the left—his tongue fully out, twisting like a snake, and even when a fly landed on it, he didn’t react. The Archeodux relentlessly asked Ælfgifu to move his wheelchair so he could see his friend too, but she silently shook her head, and after a quiet nod from Dr. Moyens, he understood the harsh truth as well.

”As his friends, I know this must be difficult to accept,” Madeleine said, her tone soft and compassionate. ”However, thanks to my [Skills], Shadow Eye is showing the first signs of improvement—minimal signs, but signs nonetheless. We just have to be patient and wait— that’s all.”

”Why?” Kafka struggled to find more words.

”It’s like when a machine overheats, you have to turn it off and let it cool down before powering it back on. Shadow Eye’s brain has suffered a deep wound, caused by the pain of burning alive 3,737 times. Every time his mind tries to turn back on, this memory overheats it, forcing another shutdown.”

Ælfgifu wrapped her arms around him as Kafka held Shadow Eye’s hand for what felt like an eternity. ”Thank you, Dr. Moyens, for your time. Please call us if there’s any improvement.” With that, the two students said their final goodbyes and quietly left the room.

Hours later, the recreation room was empty with the exception of two people—the ’Mindhunter’ and the ’Martial Critique.’ They were alone, submerged in the darkness of a moonless night, and as the woman was about to finish with her reports, 373,736 Antimagic Particles made a miracle happen—their Radiation interfered with the hexes embedded in the young man’s brain, and, suddenly, his right index finger flicked.

“K…af…ka…he…lp,” he begged, unaware that hours had passed since his friend left him alone.

“You’re much stronger than I thought,” Dr. Moyens whispered softly. “However, it’s useless…” She enveloped his neck in her warm arms. “No fish has ever escaped my net.” From her embrace, a wave of violet energy swept over Shadow Eye, pacifying the rebellious salmon that had dared to swim against the current.

Madeleine traced her lips with glowing-violet lipstick, untied her flowing hair, and slipped off her lab coat before sitting on Shadow Eye’s lap to face him. Slowly, she unfastened his green gown and rested her hands on his bare chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Then the ’Mindhunter’ leaned in, her lips brushing against his neck, leaving her iconic signature. ”Soon, you’ll be reborn, Shadow Eye—my greatest achievement. From whore to pillar of the Rolandish civilization, and why not—your Queen?” She concluded her speech with a passionate Auxerine kiss, her tongue claiming his undefended mouth.

*THWACK-zzzznnn!* Just before the preliminaries could escalate into real action, the room’s Magicbulbs flickered on, illuminating the crime scene just as the door swung open.

”Finally! This is the last room to clean before going to the Blue Bird Experience to humiliate Nerdserk in front of Saf—” FFF-Class ’Javelinist’ Jacques Dreux froze mid-sentence, witnessing a scene he hadn’t expected to find in a hospital.

His flickering eyes met the petrified gaze of the ’Mindhunter,’ and after a brief moment of awkward silence, he gave her an uncomfortable smile and stepped back, gently closing the door. ”Ehhh…I knew therapy was a scam,” he muttered as he pulled out a pen and paper from his [Inventory].

“It’s impossible…my [Skills]…should have…warned me…” It took a few seconds for Madeleine to process what had just happened. Then, without wasting more precious seconds, she rushed into the hallway only to find it completely empty—no janitor, no mop, and no bucket.

There are no other doors, and this hallway is perfectly straight—how did he disappear without leaving a trace? Her doubt grew quickly into full paranoia, but then she stepped into something weird on the floor—a javelin.

It was an old model carved from rotting wood, featuring a dirty stone at the tip. As she crouched to pick it up, something else caught her eye—a handwritten message beneath the weapon.

You’ve nothing to worry about. My organization considers privacy one of its founding principles. But should someone uncover your little secret—or if any other ’embarrassing’ trouble arises—don’t hesitate to contact us. We’d be happy to take care of it.”

“What horrible handwriting,” As she murmured the words, the ’Mindhunter’ was interrupted by a strange sound—almost as if the javelin had twitched on its own. However, soon, her attention shifted to the thing tucked behind the note.

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