Halochassis

Several days later…

Croft stared at her bulletin board as the afternoon sun poured through the office windows, bathing the room in a warm orange glow. The fading sunlight stretched across the walls and turned the edges of the pinned papers golden, while the dust floating in the air became visible whenever it drifted through the narrow beams of light. 

Despite the peaceful atmosphere outside, Croft felt anything but calm. Her eyes remained fixed on the collection of photographs, reports, sketches, and handwritten notes covering the board, most of them connected to the mysterious Halochassis. Her attention lingered particularly on the image of Azazel, the black-and-gold armor that had become an increasingly frustrating mystery. The photograph was slightly worn from being handled so many times, but the strange silhouette of the Halochassis remained unmistakable. Croft folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at it, as if staring at the picture long enough might somehow force it to reveal its secrets.

Now that the leader of the Iron Bandits’ whereabouts were unknown, and the interrogation concerning him had been classified, Croft found herself trapped at a dead end. Every lead she had painstakingly gathered had either disappeared, been sealed away, or ended with another unanswered question. The people who might have known something were either dead, missing, or unwilling to speak, while the surviving members of the Iron Bandits had scattered like smoke after their organization finally collapsed. Croft had tried connecting every piece of information she possessed, but the more she examined the evidence, the more it felt as though someone had deliberately swept away the trail behind them. She could no longer determine where Samael or Azazel had disappeared to, and after everything that had happened, she doubted she would ever see either Halochassis again. The Iron Bandits had already dissolved completely, and as far as the public was concerned, they had lost. Whatever remained of them was nothing more than a fading memory buried beneath classified reports and battlefield ruins.

Croft finally released a tired breath and rubbed the space between her eyebrows. Her shoulders ached from hours of sitting at her desk, and the faint smell of old paper, ink, and cold coffee lingered around the office. She glanced once more at the photograph of Azazel before letting her hand fall to her side. “It’s been a month, and the trail has completely gone off.”

All of a sudden, three heavy knocks echoed through her office. The sound struck the wooden door with enough force to make the papers hanging nearby tremble slightly. Croft lifted her head and frowned. The knocks had been far too heavy and deliberate to belong to Lireina, whose usual knock was considerably gentler. Whoever stood outside was either unusually large, unusually impatient, or both. Croft stared at the door for several seconds, wondering which one of her many problems had decided to walk into her office this time. Despite her irritation, she decided there was little point in making the visitor wait. She leaned back in her chair and called out, “Come on in.”

The door slowly opened, and a two-meter-tall eastern warrior stepped into the office. His long, spiky green hair immediately caught Croft’s attention, the strands shifting slightly as he entered. His large frame made the doorway seem smaller than it actually was, and the floorboards gave a faint creak beneath his weight. Croft’s expression hardened the moment she recognized him. There was no mistaking that confident posture, that irritating smile, or those sharp green eyes. She had dealt with this man enough times to know that his arrival almost never meant anything good for her peace of mind.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“My, my, don’t be so cold on me, Croft. I thought we’re already friends.” Qinglong said as he smiled and waved his hand, his expression far too cheerful for someone who had caused her so many headaches. His casual attitude only made Croft’s irritation grow. He walked farther into the office as though he had been invited to stay for tea, completely ignoring the tension in the room and the suspicious look Croft was giving him. The faint rustle of his clothes accompanied every step, while the afternoon light caught against the edges of his warrior’s attire.

“What is it now? Are you going to make our lives chaotic again?” Croft lazily said as she reached across her desk and began gathering the files concerning the Halochassis reports. She stacked the documents one after another, trying to organize the scattered papers while also making it clear that she had no intention of entertaining Qinglong’s usual nonsense. Her fingers moved through the reports with practiced efficiency, although her eyes remained wary. She knew better than to relax around him. Every time Qinglong appeared, something complicated usually followed.

Qinglong briefly glanced toward the documents on her desk. His eyes immediately caught the photographs of Azazel and Samael lying among the reports. The moment he recognized them, the corners of his mouth twitched upward. He quickly turned his head and scoffed, apparently trying his hardest to suppress a laugh. His shoulders shook ever so slightly, and the effort to keep himself from laughing only made his expression more suspicious. Croft noticed the reaction immediately. She stopped sorting the files and slowly raised her eyes toward him.

“What’s so funny?” Croft stared.

“Nothing. It’s just that, we were looking for the same thing all along.” Qinglong’s voice carried an amused undertone, as though he had just discovered some ridiculous coincidence that Croft had somehow overlooked. He glanced back at the photographs, and his expression became more thoughtful for a brief moment before returning to its usual confidence. The sight of the Halochassis reports sitting openly on Croft’s desk seemed to confirm something he had already suspected.

“What do you mean?” Croft asked, her irritation giving way to suspicion. She placed the last file on top of the stack but did not put it away. Instead, she rested one hand against the edge of the desk and watched Qinglong carefully. The room suddenly felt quieter, with only the faint sounds of activity outside filtering through the closed windows. Croft had learned that Qinglong rarely said something without having some reason behind it, even when his reasoning was often questionable.

“We both want to know where the Halochassis were. Especially Azazel.”

“Everybody in Empyrea wants to get to the Halochassis.” Croft said, her voice carrying a tired edge. She had spent weeks chasing information about them, and she was painfully aware that she was far from the only person interested in their whereabouts. The Halochassis were too powerful, too mysterious, and too dangerous to simply disappear without attracting attention. Governments wanted them, military forces wanted them, investigators wanted them, and countless people had their own reasons for either finding them or destroying them. Croft’s gaze drifted back toward Azazel’s photograph, the armor’s dark silhouette standing out against the faded background.

“Well, we have the same reason. You and I.” Qinglong’s playful expression faded as he looked directly at her. His green eyes became noticeably colder, the amusement disappearing beneath something much more serious. “You wanted revenge on that bastard who killed your father back in the incident in Stonehill District. And I want to exact vengeance on the bastard who killed my girlfriend. You see, the enemy of my enemy is also my friend. I just hope that you think of it that way too.”

Croft’s jaw tightened. The mention of her father immediately brought back memories she had spent years trying to bury beneath work, investigations, and duty. She did not appreciate Qinglong dragging those memories into the conversation, especially when she knew he was attempting to establish some kind of alliance with her. Her fingers tightened against the edge of the desk, and she stared at him with an increasingly impatient expression. She had no interest in listening to another one of Qinglong’s dramatic speeches.

“Cut to the bullshit. Why are you here?” Croft irritatingly answered. Her voice was flat, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable. She leaned back slightly in her chair and crossed her arms, silently challenging him to stop wasting her time. If Qinglong had genuinely come bearing useful information, she wanted him to say it. If he had come simply to provoke her, she was prepared to throw him out herself.

Qinglong’s smile returned, although this time it was considerably more restrained. He slipped his hands into his pockets and looked at Croft with an expression that suggested he had been waiting for her to ask that exact question. “I just wanted to tell you a lead that I confirmed. About Azazel’s true name.”

Croft’s eyes immediately narrowed. For a moment, the irritation on her face was replaced by something sharper. Interest. Her gaze instinctively shifted toward the photograph of Azazel on the desk, then returned to Qinglong. There had been countless theories about the identity of the person behind the black-and-gold Halochassis, but none of them had ever been confirmed. If Qinglong truly possessed information about Azazel’s identity, then this could be the first meaningful lead she had received in weeks.

“I swear to the Goddess, if you say Shin’s name on your bullshit again-”

“It’s because it’s true.” Qinglong made a straight face, and for once, there was no trace of his usual teasing smile or careless laughter. His voice had become quiet and firm, carrying a seriousness that immediately changed the atmosphere inside Croft’s office. “And I can prove it to you.”

“What?” Croft muttered. She stared at him for several seconds, studying his face carefully. The sudden change in Qinglong’s demeanor made her take him more seriously than before. She had grown accustomed to his arrogance, his jokes, and his habit of acting as though everything around him were merely a game, but this time his expression was different. There was no amusement in his green eyes, only cold certainty. Croft slowly straightened in her chair, her attention completely focused on him.

“You see, I have been observing him from afar,” Qinglong explained, folding his arms across his chest. “And I captured Mastema, who is actually Risha Han.” He spoke the revelation with an almost casual tone, as though he were discussing an ordinary prisoner rather than someone whose identity had supposedly been lost during one of the bloodiest operations against the Iron Bandits. For a moment, the only sound inside the office was the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Croft’s expression became increasingly skeptical as she tried to process what he had just said.

“Bullshit. Mastema died during the raid in the slums.” Croft said, her voice becoming sharper as she leaned forward. She remembered the reports. She remembered the chaos surrounding the raid, the destruction left behind, and the information she had been given afterward. Mastema had been listed among the casualties. There had been no indication that Risha Han had survived, and certainly nothing suggesting that the woman had somehow escaped death itself. Croft’s eyes narrowed, refusing to accept Qinglong’s claim without evidence.

“Oh, but she is alive. In fact, she is more of an immortal, just like me.” Qinglong said. He raised one hand and gestured casually, his expression almost proud of the information he possessed. “She is from the Phoenix Clan, who can resurrect every time she’s killed. That made my torture to her much, much harder, but it’s quite worth it in the end.” The words came out so casually that Croft almost felt the temperature in the room drop. There was something deeply unsettling about the way he described torture as nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle to obtaining information. His smile returned slightly, but instead of making him seem friendly, it only made him more disturbing.

“You twisted sick fuck.” Croft said with disdain. Her upper lip curled slightly as disgust settled across her face. She had already known that Qinglong was dangerous, but hearing him speak so casually about repeatedly torturing someone who could resurrect made her stomach turn. The image of Risha being subjected to such treatment flashed through her mind, and Croft’s fingers curled against the edge of her desk.

“I will accept that as a compliment.” Qinglong said with an amused shrug. His expression quickly became serious again as he looked directly into Croft’s eyes. “But I am serious. Shin Rebellium is Azazel.” 

The statement hung heavily between them. Croft did not immediately respond, and even the faint sounds coming from the hallway seemed to disappear into the background. For the first time, Qinglong was not presenting the theory as a suspicion or a wild guess. He was stating it as a fact.

“Then why are you telling me this, and not Lena?” Croft asked. She watched him carefully, searching for the trap hidden behind his words. If Qinglong genuinely believed that Shin was Azazel, then revealing that information to Lireina would have enormous consequences. Lireina was not merely Shin’s ally. She was emotionally attached to him, and Croft knew that the revelation could potentially shatter that relationship. It was difficult to imagine her accepting such information calmly.

Qinglong scratched the back of his head, his earlier confidence briefly replaced by an awkward expression. “Big Sis Lena is an idiot. Who do you think she will side with if I revealed that Shin is Azazel, huh? You know how she defeated me with her nature bullets, and I don’t plan on getting my ass kicked once again.” He gave a nervous little laugh before his expression became more cautious. “I have learned to fight carefully, and tactically. I am telling you this first because I know I can trust you.” He lowered his hand and stared directly at Croft. “You are different from her. You will look at the evidence first instead of charging at me and turning me into target practice.”

Croft crossed her arms, silently evaluating Qinglong’s reasoning. She hated admitting it, but there was a certain logic behind what he had said. Qinglong was reckless, arrogant, and thoroughly unpleasant, yet he had demonstrated that he was not completely stupid. He understood that Lireina’s feelings for Shin could cloud her judgment, especially if someone suddenly accused the man she loved of secretly being Azazel, the leader of the Iron Bandits. Even Croft did not know exactly how Lireina would react if she learned the truth. She glanced toward the photographs of Azazel still lying on her desk and remembered the countless unanswered questions surrounding his identity. The possibility that Shin was actually inside that armor had always existed, no matter how absurd it initially sounded.

On the other hand, there was still a non-zero chance that Qinglong was simply manipulating her. Croft had dealt with enough criminals and schemers to know that confidence did not equal truth. Qinglong could be lying for any number of reasons, including another attempt to kill her. She could not afford to blindly trust him, especially after everything he had already done. She wanted to confirm his claim with her own eyes, even if doing so meant walking directly into danger. Her hand instinctively touched the pouch at her side, where the Tracking Crystal linked to Lireina rested beneath the fabric. The smooth crystal was cool against her fingers, and knowing that it could transmit her location gave her at least a small measure of reassurance. If Qinglong attempted to attack her again, Lireina would be able to track her down. Croft released a slow breath and finally made her decision.

“Okay then.” Croft said. “So, what is this plan of yours?” She kept her voice calm, but her eyes remained suspicious. She was not agreeing because she trusted Qinglong. She was agreeing because this might be her only opportunity to finally confirm the truth about Azazel.

“I am going to lure Shin out using my hostage. And you will just watch.” Qinglong said as he reached into his clothing and pulled out a folded map of the Luminous City Outskirts. The paper made a dry rustling sound as he unfolded it across the desk, revealing streets, abandoned buildings, and winding roads that stretched toward the edge of the city. Qinglong pointed toward a marked location near the outskirts, where a large X had been drawn in dark ink. “Just go to the X in this map. This is an abandoned mansion, and I have cleared it from occasional monsters. Make sure to go here on midnight. Feel free to bring Big Sis Lena if you want. In fact, that will be better for both of us.” His finger remained pressed against the location for a moment before he stepped away from the desk. “You will see everything yourself.”

Qinglong then gave her a casual wave, as though he had merely stopped by to deliver an ordinary message, before turning around and walking toward the door. His footsteps echoed against the wooden floor, and Croft watched him leave without saying anything. The door opened with a faint creak, followed by the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway. A moment later, the door shut behind him, leaving Croft alone with the map and the questions it had created.

Croft stared at the map for several moments without moving. The X seemed strangely ominous despite being nothing more than an ink mark on paper. Her eyes traced the roads surrounding the abandoned mansion, mentally calculating possible escape routes, ambush positions, and the distance between the location and the city proper. She eventually decided that bringing Lireina would actually be beneficial. If Qinglong was telling the truth, Lireina would be directly involved in the revelation, and having her there would prevent Croft from carrying the burden of such a discovery alone. If Qinglong was lying, having Lireina nearby would give Croft a much greater chance of surviving whatever trap he had prepared. With that decision made, Croft gathered the remaining files into a neat pile, locked away the most sensitive documents, and finally called it a day.

By the time Croft exited the Empyrean Military Police headquarters, the afternoon sun had already begun its slow descent toward the horizon. The warmth of the day still clung to the streets, but the air had become cooler as shadows stretched between the buildings. The sounds of merchants closing stalls, pedestrians talking, and distant carriage wheels rolling over stone filled the streets around her. Croft walked toward the Cathedral at a steady pace, her thoughts returning again and again to Qinglong’s accusation. Shin was Azazel. The idea still seemed ridiculous, yet the more she considered it, the more certain details began to fit together in ways she had previously ignored. It took roughly five minutes before the familiar structure of the Cathedral came into view, its towering architecture catching the remaining sunlight.

“If my memory serves right, Lena must be in the Cathedral at this time of the afternoon.” Croft said quietly to herself. She continued walking toward the entrance, already thinking about how she would explain Qinglong’s information without causing Lireina to immediately explode in anger. Her hand briefly brushed against the pouch containing the Tracking Crystal, reassuring herself that the magical device was still safely there.

And then, all of a sudden, Croft felt a presence behind her.

The sensation came so suddenly that every muscle in her body tightened. A cold prickling crawled across the back of her neck, and the hairs on her skin rose as her instincts screamed that something was wrong. She stopped walking for only a fraction of a second before immediately reaching for her revolver. Her fingers closed around the familiar grip, and she began turning around, her boots scraping against the road as she twisted her body to face whoever was behind her.

However, before she could fully turn, something seized her arm.

A metallic hand closed around her wrist with crushing strength. The grip was cold, unnaturally cold, and the hard metal pressed painfully against her skin as Croft’s revolver was pulled away from its intended line. Her eyes opened wide in shock, and she instinctively tried to wrench herself free, but the mechanical grip did not move. Instead, it tightened. A sharp metallic creak sounded beneath the pressure, followed by a sudden burst of pain that shot through her arm.

Croft stared in horror at the figure standing behind her. It was a Halochassis, but not one she had ever seen before. Its armor was entirely unfamiliar, covered in smooth white and gray plating that reflected the fading afternoon light in dull, lifeless flashes. The machine stood roughly two meters tall, noticeably shorter than the three-meter Halochassis she had encountered in the past, yet its smaller size did nothing to diminish the sense of danger radiating from it. There was no emblem, no distinctive name, and no design feature that allowed Croft to identify its origin.

Then she saw them.

There were five of them.

Five identical Halochassis stood surrounding her in complete silence, their armored bodies positioned with mechanical precision so that every possible escape route was blocked. Their white and gray armor looked disturbingly uniform, lacking the individuality of Azazel, Samael, or the other known Halochassis. These were not legendary suits built around the remnants of powerful beings. They looked manufactured. Reproducible. Mass-produced.

“N-New Halochassis!? What are you—”

In an instant, one of the Halochassis twisted Croft’s arm.

A violent crack echoed through the street.

Pain exploded through her shoulder and down to her fingertips as the joint was violently forced beyond its natural limit. Croft’s mouth opened as she tried to scream, but before the sound could escape, another Halochassis stepped forward and clamped a cold metallic hand over her mouth. Its fingers covered nearly the entire lower half of her face, crushing her lips against her teeth and swallowing the scream before it could properly leave her throat. Croft desperately struggled against the grip, her boots scraping frantically against the stone beneath her, but the machines were far too strong.

Another pair of metallic hands suddenly covered her eyes.

Darkness swallowed her vision.

All Croft could see was blackness behind the cold metal pressing against her face. She could feel the rough movement of the armored fingers against her skin, hear the heavy mechanical sounds of the Halochassis shifting around her, and feel the throbbing pain in her broken arm with every desperate movement. The world she had known moments earlier—the streets, the Cathedral, the fading afternoon sunlight—was suddenly gone.

The five mass-produced Halochassis surrounded her in absolute silence as they dragged her away.