Beyond the Old Ones

Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is purely a fanfic for enjoyment.

Cross-over from various games, books, anime, manga, and movies.

The familiar characters you see here belong to their respected authors and owners.

"Speech"

Time*

Chapter 35: She Spoke

45 minutes later*

With the walls made of Spirituality now established, the atmosphere in the room feels dense and heavy, as though the air itself were infused with unseen energies. Alucard and Momoyo stand to the side, their watchful eyes fixed on me, while Aya, her head cradled in Momoyo's arms, remains eerily still. It's time for me to begin the ritual.

I stand at the center of the room, having cleared the floor of its luxurious rug to reveal the polished wooden boards beneath. A meticulously drawn circle of black chalk stretches across the floor, its edges marked with the sigils of the Pathways: Fool, Error, and Door, arranged in a triangular formation around the circle's perimeter. The faint light of flickering candles illuminates the symbols, their flames wavering unnaturally, as though responding to a breeze that no one can feel.

On a nearby table, the ritual's components lie in precise order. A tarnished silver-framed mirror, positioned just outside the circle, is angled to reflect its center. Beside it rests a black feather, plucked from the forbidden garden despite the concierge's cryptic warnings. It sits atop the hotel keycard for the notorious Room 13, its presence radiating an unsettling aura. Finally, a small vial of viscous red liquid glows faintly, its eerie luminescence casting faint shadows that shift as though alive.

Relying on the cryptic words gleaned through Computational Divination, I begin to chant. At first, the words felt alien, and their jagged syllables were awkward and rough on my tongue. Yet, as I continue, the chant begins to take on a rhythm of its own, the words weaving together into something more profound. Each utterance reverberates through the room, echoing off the walls made of Spirituality. The echoes transform into guttural whispers as if the room itself were joining the ritual, amplifying my voice in a language that transcends comprehension.

As the final syllable escapes my lips, the glow of the circle intensifies to an almost blinding brightness. Without warning, the mirror shatters, but no sound follows. The shards hang suspended in midair, each fragment reflecting the same haunting image: a faceless figure.

It emerges from the void, its form bleeding into reality like ink dissolving in water. One by one, the fragments of the shattered mirror collapse into its shape as though they were drawn to its presence. The figure steps forward, entering the center of the circle. Its arrival is a weight upon the room—a void of light and sound that bends the very fabric of reality around it.

The figure stands motionless. Its surface is black, glass-like, and unnaturally smooth, absorbing every flicker of candlelight. Though it lacks eyes, I feel its piercing attention fixed upon me, cutting through my being as if laying bare my very soul. Around it, the shadows writhe and pulse, their movements syncing with the frantic tempo of my heartbeat. The room itself seems to react to its presence, alive with an unnatural energy.

"I summoned you." I declare, my voice steady despite the oppressive weight pressing against me. "You are the core of this hotel, the one who watches from Room 13. What are you?" I demand, determined not to let fear seep into my words as I brace myself for what comes next.

The figure tilts its head in response—a gesture that borders on humans but carries a mechanical wrongness. The whispers that had lingered at the edges of my awareness grew louder, converging into an overwhelming cacophony. They emanate from everywhere and nowhere until they merge into a singular voice—not spoken aloud, but resounding directly within my mind.

"I am the rift, the anchor, the guardian." It intones, the voice both alien and uncomfortably familiar, as though it had always been present, waiting for this moment. "You seek answers, mortal, but answers demand a price."

The room tightens around me—the walls warp, bending inward like a living organism exhaling a slow, oppressive breath. The weight in the air grows unbearable, pressing down on my body as though I were carrying the entire room's gravity. My breaths come shallow, every movement an effort against the invisible force.

The figure steps closer, its form towering and all-consuming, as the circle's boundary flickers weakly. A tendril of shadow extends from where its arm should be, twisting and writhing unnaturally as it reaches toward me.

"Do you offer yourself to the truth?" The voice booms within my mind. "Or shall you face the consequences of your arrogance?"

Instead of answering verbally, I let my actions speak for themselves. The Cards of Blasphemy: Red Priest and Demoness materialize beside the faceless figure. They project the overwhelming presence of the City of Calamity. The figure remains at the center of this unfolding chaos, caught entirely off guard.

It doesn't have time to react. The transition is instantaneous—the figure is drawn into the City of Calamity, its dark, oppressive form vanishing into the nightmarish landscape. Though it will one day bend to my will, for now, it is merely trapped—a pawn caught in a game that I have only begun to play.

As the figure disappears, the entire building reacts violently. The walls shudder, and the floors tremble beneath our feet as though an earthquake has been unleashed. The air grows thick with tension, and an ominous groan echoes through the structure as if the hotel itself were alive and protesting the events that had just transpired.

Wasting no time, I seize the silver ritual knife and tear down the walls of Spirituality. The air ripples like water disturbed by a sudden force, and the spiritual energy dissipates in an instant.

"Move!" I bark, already rushing toward the door.

Alucard and Momoyo are right beside me. Momoyo still carries Aya, her expression tense but focused. Together, we burst out of the room, the tremors beneath us growing more violent with each passing second.

The hotel seems to resist our escape. The hallways twist and distort, the lighting flickering as though caught in a storm. Shadows dance unnaturally across the walls, and the air hums with a low, otherworldly frequency. Yet, we press forward, weaving through the chaos, determined to reach the exit before the building can collapse—or worse, trap us within its depths.

As the front doors come into view, a sense of urgency propels us forward. Behind us, the echoes of destruction grow louder, the building's very foundations seemingly unraveling. We don't look back.

Or, to be precise, I don't look back.

Being a Beyonder of Sequence 9: Monster in the Wheel of Fortune Pathway, I see and hear what others cannot. This heightened perception, amplified after switching out the Card of Fool to aid in the ritual, allows me to sense the hidden layers of reality, unlike where Alcuard, Aya, and Momoyo can't. The whispers, the shifting shadows, the faint echoes of laughter that seem to come from nowhere—they cling to me like a second skin as we rush toward the exit.

Momoyo's voice cuts through the tension. "Well, I'm glad we—wait, where'd she go?!"

She stops mid-step, her head whipping around as her gaze darts across the corridor in search of Alucard, who had been with us moments ago. The weight of concern flashes across her face, but her grip on Aya remains steady.

"Alucard tends to disappear whenever she feels like it." I reply, my tone calm, almost dismissive. I've learned to accept her unpredictable nature. "So don't be surprised if she vanishes and reappears out of the blue."

Momoyo narrows her eyes, clearly not satisfied with my explanation but lacking the energy to argue. "That's not exactly reassuring, you know."

"It's just how she is." I say with a shrug, my focus already shifting forward. Alucard's absences are as much a part of her as the crimson glint in her eyes or the playful sarcasm in her voice. She'll return when she decides to—or when the circumstances demand it.

The tremors in the building continue to grow stronger, the floor groaning beneath our feet as cracks begin to spread along the walls. There's no time to linger. I glance back at Momoyo, giving her a brief nod to keep moving, and together, we push forward away from the hotel.

By the time we make it far enough, we finally turn back—only to be met with a sight that sends a chill down my spine.

Where Hotel Le Cygne Noir once stood, a gaping abyss now exists. The surrounding structures have also been partially swallowed, their edges crumbling into the void. The hole is vast, stretching far beyond what should be possible, and when I peer down into its depths, I see nothing—no bottom, no debris, just an infinite blackness that seems to pull at my vision the longer I stare.

Momoyo, still carrying Aya, stands beside me, her breath steady but tense. The moment's weight settles over us as we remain silent, watching the unnatural chasm as if expecting anything to emerge from within.

Then, without a word, we start running.

Neither of us wants to be here when the authorities arrive to investigate the impossible. Or at least, that's the reason I tell myself for why Momoyo is running alongside me. Whether she shares my instinct for self-preservation or has her own reasons, I don't ask. The only thing that matters now is putting as much distance as possible between us and that massive hole in the middle of Paris.

The city lights blur as we move through the streets, shadows twisting unnaturally in the periphery of my vision.

On the bright side, I can deal with the faceless figure of Hotel Le Cygne once I reach a higher Sequence. Or maybe the City of Calamity's aura would influence the faceless figure somehow.

"So, Momoyo." I glance at her as we continue running, the night air cool against my skin. "What's your plan now besides looking for that ancient mountain painting you've been searching for?"

Momoyo adjusts Aya slightly in her arms, her tone casual despite the situation. "I figured I'd stick with you for a while—see how the world is before I head back to Japan."

"Uh-huh." I reply, raising an eyebrow. "And the real reason?"

Momoyo lets out a small laugh. "Fine. The truth is, I barely know any languages outside of Japanese. The only reason I've been able to get by at all is the on-call translator that my grandfather hired for me to use while traveling outside of Japan."

I feel a sweatdrop metaphorically forming. "So basically, you want me to be your personal translator." I say flatly, giving her a blank stare.

She flashes me a bright, toothy grin in response. "And I'll punch anything that gets in our way. Seems like a fair deal, don't you think?"

I sigh, shaking my head. "Yeah, great teamwork. I handle all the talking, and you handle all the punching. Totally balanced."

"Exactly!" Momoyo beams, her enthusiasm almost contagious despite the absurdity of her plan.

As we keep running, I can't help but wonder how Fates messed up in allowing Momoyo to wander free outside of Japan alone instead of sticking to her area.

"You are aware, aren't you?" Aya suddenly remarks, her voice carrying a note of bemusement. "The lot of you are truly peculiar."

Momoyo and I exchange glances before she shrugs. "Why would you say that?"

Aya speaks without hesitation, her tone matter-of-fact. "Because the two of you are moving at a speed no ordinary human could ever hope to match. And beyond that, you wield abilities so far beyond comprehension that most would struggle to even fathom them. If anyone were to witness you in action, they wouldn't see humans. They'd see monsters—creatures merely clad in human flesh."

Her words linger in the air for a moment, heavier than I expected.

Momoyo, however, doesn't seem the least bit bothered. She just grins. "Well, that's not exactly wrong."

I sigh. "Great, now you're just making it sound worse."

Momoyo laughs. "Hey, I'm just being honest! It's not like we're normal by any stretch of the imagination."