"Are people born with a purpose? Can humans be gifted with such a blessing, without having to worry about their future? I don't know, after all, everything I do is a failure."

Somewhere, in the depth of the Backstreet, a group of cloaked people are silently roaming a building with no life within, the sound of their footsteps resonating like gunshots in a silent forest. None of them spoke a single word as they walked past the many obstacles in their way.

The sound of dripping water could sometimes faintly be heard, a disturbance that brought no difference in the behaviour of those roaming around. The faint glow in the eyes of the helmet they were wearing acted like a deathray, scanning for any signs of life with a chilling tenacity.

All around them, bodies were scattered on the floor. The sound of the crimson content inside their veins seeping out of their injuries falling on the floor was relatively consistent, creating a morbid clock ticking with each passing second.

The lights were completely destroyed but at this point, it was better that way. The stench of the iron liquid spreading on every surfaces was enough to make even a veteran nauseous.

No human should be subjected to a sight like this, the darkness was a mere barrier shielding the eyes from the truth.

However, the demons casually ignoring said victims remained unaffected, searching for more survivors to dissect and eliminate. Not even a faint cough slipped from their throat.

They were a group of monsters seeking their prey with not an ounce of mercy, salvaging whatever caught their interest for themselves.

Their hunt was soon coming to a close, only one target remained. Standing on the opposite side, the silhouette of a man could be seen, immediately noticed by the hunters. The hunted knew that he could not escape their gaze so he didn't try.

"What a pain in the ass, I spent an arm and a half to train these weaklings and they just die like that?"

Like the devils who tore those who could not survive, the lone person sighed and tightened his grasp onto his weapon: a metallic trident which seemed completely ordinary.

...

5 seconds passed, 5 long seconds that were counted by the sound of blood droplets falling from a slashed neck.

"If I have to die, I'm gonna make sure to bring an entire buffet of shitty birds with me to the reaper!"

Without another second of delay, the man standing his ground against a wave of relentless murderers charged at the closest target and clashed with them. The might of his attack was enough to break through the guard of the opponent, allowing him to pierce their chest.

The others who stared at their colleague perish remained silent but quickly took hold of their weapons. The shadows rose from their slumber and the demons were out for blood.

Completely fueled with his own bloodlust, the lone fighter grinned and spun his trident around. What was once an unremarkable metal changed into a light blue color, creating a trail of hail with each swing he performed.

Each pellet shimmered, like stars being born into existence. The spectacle of light was enough to make the masked people stop in their track for a moment... but a moment only.

A duel of blades ensued, the power of many against the power of the few- no, the power of solitude. The lifeless corpses on the floor only served to strengthen his resolve, not to avenge their demise but to demonstrate his true willpower.

His foes may have the power of numbers but in his eyes numbers are just that: mere numbers. They wouldn't change the outcome.

Slash, sling sching. Each arc he created with his trusty weapon left behind the bite of winter, spreading like a plague attempting to devour those who have yet to reveal their identities.

With the tip of his trident, the survivor of this massacre casually blocked a blade coming at him before slamming the handle he held behind him, sending a second devil against the wall facing his back. Once dealt with the backstabber, he charged ahead, creating a burst of snow from the sharp end of his tool.

The curtain of white powder illuminated the entire room, revealing the poor victims scattered all around, some lacking limbs while others showed signs of a slow and painful demise. Serving as their coffin, the frozen crystals calmly landed on them, putting an end to their misery and hiding their wounds from this harsh world.

This act was one of kindness towards those he grew fond of but could not admit. Now that they were all dead, the only kind gesture he could grant them was a place to hide their bodies, their struggles from the City.

Once the first layer landed, the war resumed. Sparks flew, bodies moved around and furnitures shattered. These sounds and effects became nothing more than background disturbances in the eyes of the living.

The wielder of the weapon of frost swiftly spun his partner to create a circular shield, allowing him to parry a flurry of attacks aiming at his vital points. His smile only grew wider as he felt the weight of the opposing weapons pressed against his.

In retaliation, he countered with a singular kick that shattered the ribcage of the poor person who stood in his way.

The bones crying out in agony were enough to get his blood pumping, the thrill of battle overwhelmed him, granting him an almost instinctual dodge. His steps slid across the snow covered floor as his trident found its next victim.

Cling. A riposte followed his attempt to take down yet another devil. In front of him, a pair of orange glowing eyes stared back at him, unafraid of his action and the lives he took so far. These killers had no sympathy for the dead and only cared about their objective, no matter the losses.

A bead of sweat dropped from the lone survivor's face as his confident smile turned into a groan of annoyance. A slash of ice followed his swing, turning the air in front of him into a blinding wall messing with the goggles the shadows used to run around in pitch darkness.

He knew that at this rate, the victory would soon fall onto the opponent's side so he had to pull a trick to lean the odds in his favour.

He couldn't afford to play fair anymore.

Using this brief window of time, the combatant jumped towards the windows that were still open before... this massacre occured. His body easily slipped through and soon fell in the direction of the ground below, 2 floors below.

"That's what happens when you mess with a Grade 3 Fixer, you better heed that warning pidgeons!"

His taunt flew across the night sky, echoing in all directions. By the time the closest attacker reached the exit taken by the lone Fixer, nothing was there to see. The night was silent and no movements could be detected, he was truly gone.

"One target escaped.", one of the members still lingering in the room filled with the scent of blood and cold spoke up through their helmet.

Those who were still alive scanned the room until one pulled a device from their pocket. A faint sound came out of it until a voice spoke up.

"Report."

"Objective failed, the Operator of Neptune's Office escaped, shall we chase him?"

"Let him go, he's no longer our concern. I have a better lead."

The second sentence was enough to make all members able to stand freeze in place, awaiting their new order.

"Have you heard of the Library?"

"Recently exalted to Urban Legend. However, I must question why you are bringing this up, they do not possess the knowledge we require."

A soft chuckle followed after one of the masked individuals' answer.

"Not exactly. We don't need their knowledge, why would we need something like this in our situation?"

"...What are your orders, Crow?"

"Investigate the Library, you'll see for yourself what I want you to do."

"Understood."

With this final exchange, the group of demons turned around and walked to the exit, abandoning their fallen comrades behind.

...

...

Roland: Mister Netzach, pleeeeeeeease wake up~!

The lone sound of Roland's voice was the only thing anyone present in the recently opened floor could hear, the Floor of Art. Standing by his side, Angela's puppet was crossing his arms as he placed them on top of the couch the man with green hair was using to sleep.

Both of them were observing the lazy Sephirah with a shared expression.

Y/N: You're not going to get through him with words like this Roland.

Roland: What else am I supposed to do?

Y/N: Watch.

The ex-agent cleared his throat, took a deep breath and leaned closer to the sleeping librarian's ear. The calm eyes of the assistant librarian were fixated on his target.

Y/N: Netzach, your documents are STILL late, this is the third time I'm asking you to send them to me!

To the Fixer's surprise, the voice that came out of the one standing next to him was a pitch higher than what he was used to. He wasn't the only one to be affected by this sudden change.

Netzach: ...Give me 10 minutes Tiphereth...

Roland: It worked?!

Y/N: God, that ruined my voice... plus it wasn't even that good.

His statement was followed by a few coughs to fix his vocal chords

As this happened, the recent addition to the Library finally woke up from his slumber and rose from his grave before glancing at the duo looking over him. A groan escaped his lips as he finally acknowledged their presence.

Roland: Good morning~!

Netzach: ...Leave me alone, I want to go back to sleep.

Roland: Sorry, can't do that, I don't want miss Angela to kill me.

The librarian who successfully pulled the Patron of Art from his deep sleep silently watched the scene unfolding before his eyes, observing how Roland was failing to keep the conversation going despite his best efforts.

Proving his statement correct, the tall man dressed in green began to return to his sleeping position.

Y/N: I'm sorry Netzach but it'd be better if you hear what mister Roland has to say.

Roland: We're all in the same boat, you know?

Netzach: ...

The barely conscious eyes belonging to the one previously known as the Sephirah of the Safety team showed their lack of energy before landing on the man dressed in black.

Netzach: You're pitiable man, how did you get in a place like this?

Roland: I know, right? I think I'm in a pretty miserable spot, too.

Y/N: ..."Mister popcorn machine man".

Roland: Please don't start too...

A bead of sweat fell down from the Grade 9 Fixer's forehead. This nickname was enough to give him shivers. The eyes the director gave him on his first day here haunted his mind like a ghost haunting their resting place.

To his relief though, the librarian who stood by his side the moment he woke up in this prison smiled back and raised a hand as a way to say that he was stopping.

Both of them had their issues with the pale librarian controlling them, which made it easier for them to understand each other's torment. A silent agreement was made between them, never officially confirmed but that was not needed.

They were both bound to their master, unable to exert their full will.

Roland: Aaaaand he's back to sleeping.

During this short exchange they had, the one the uninvited guest was desperately trying to talk to fell back into his dreamworld.

Seconds passed until the gaze of the Patron of General Work landed on the face of the exhausted employee. His own stare looked back at his.

Roland: ...

Y/N: ...

One of them was quietly asking for support while the other wanted to keep his voice relatively fine after this meeting. Clashes occured between them with no sides wanting to step down.

The air was tense as none of them moved an inch from their spot. Simply letting a mere toe change direction would be enough to signal their defeat. Unfortunately for them, in situations like this, one side will always emerge victorious, no matter how hard both teams work.

Y/N: ...Don't make it a habit.

Roland: No clue what you're talking about~

A cough faintly emerged, indicating the encore of the ex-agent's show. His expression was cold and his eyes felt like daggers yearning for blood. His hands landed on his hips as he leaned closer to Netzach.

Y/N: Netzach!! You should be grateful that I'm not allowed to tear you apart myself because I would, wake up!

Netzach: ...Fine.

Yet another victory followed after Angela's puppet's poor performance. Like a machine slowly emerging from a long period of inactivity, the gloomy Patron Librarian sit up and leaned against the couch he was resting on.

Before anything else can happen, the one responsible for waking him up walked towards the exit.

Roland: Are you leaving?

Y/N: ...

No words came out of him. Instead, the man raised a thumbs up while arboring a wide smile saying "Make it count because I'm not helping you anymore". The Fixer fell silent, giving enough time for the assistant to take his leave for the sake of his voice.

...

Dana: ...So you can mimic Tiphereth's voice?

Y/N: Can you consider it "mimicking" if it sounds nothing like it?

Cereb: Maybe?

Inside a room not disturbed by the main cast, the assistant librarians were gathered together, discussing anything and everything between each other. Their activities, however, were varied.

Dana and Cereb were engaging in a friendly spar, no blades in hands. Their fists did all the work and so far, none of them seemed to have the upper hand. The air howled with each punch thrown around. Y/N was sat next to them, calmly observing their battle while doing something on his own.

What was that something? No one except him knew.

Morgan was sitting in a chair by herself, her eyes locked on the floor below her. This was not an uncommon sight so the librarians grew used to it.

Dana: Heh, maybe you should train your voice for this, you never know when you might need it out there in the City.

She raised a light smirk as she swung a downward punch that collided with her opponnet's shoulder. His face failed to hide his pain but his hands replied with their own attack, forcing Yesod's assistant to dodge.

Y/N: I suppose it's better than doing nothing. What would you guys do once you get out?

A moment of silence followed his question, which was immediately disrupted by the gust of wind formed by the flurry of punches thrown by Cereb.

Dana: I dunno... I'll probably go see my mother if she hasn't kicked the bucket yet.

Cereb: ...The only place I have is not a happy one. I'll probably go on my own, maybe join some Rats or an Office.

Dana: Come on, I'm sure having "hired by a Wing" in your resume will get you a least a much more stable job.

The girl with a red ponytail chuckled and aimed for the left side of her foe's chest, right below the ribs. Quick to notice where she was aiming, the man raised his left leg and blocked with his femur.

A faint glimmer formed in the woman's eyes and she went for a sweep of the leg, attempting to make him fall on his back now that he was standing on one feet. To her surprise though, she was met with nothing but air, her sparring partner jumped above it and landed back on both feet, ready to continue.

Y/N: ...What about you Morgan?

Only one person turned to face the last person in the room, the others too busy dueling. Her eyes slowly looked back at the one speaking to her, unsure about what to say.

Her shoulders dropped and her voice was so quiet that it was almost completely muffled by the sounds of battle.

Morgan: I'll let the Sweepers kill me, I don't deserve my life...

Y/N: ...

A bead of sweat formed on the face belonging to Angela's unwilling helper. Her words were feeble but not in the sense that she couldn't fully convince herself with what she said... No, it looked like she was almost choking at the mere thought of thinking about her future.

In a sense, the ex-agent associated to no specific floor understood. His hazy memories gave him no particular will to get out of the Library, especially now that the one he loved was gone and that he had nowhere to go. He didn't even know if his family was still out there, waiting for him. He knew nothing of the world outside the walls around them.

However, he refused to nod in acceptance. Hearing said words out of someone else's mouth made his expression turn grave.

Y/N: Don't be like that, I'm sure you'll find a reason to keep going, it'll happen naturally.

Morgan: ...Not after what I've done, nobody will ever forgive me for it.

Y/N: ...

Dana: Y/N will, he's dumb enough to do that. No offense by the way.

Y/N: No- What, hey!

His head quickly turned to send a glare at the girl with red hair. She didn't even give a glance in return, completely absorbed in her confrontation. A sigh slipped out of the one targeted by this comment.

Y/N: Ignoring that last part, I suppose she's not wrong. Don't be too harsh on yourself.

Morgan: ...

No reply.

Not wanting to pursue such a gloomy topic in front of a certain duo ruining any serious tension, Angela's doll awkwardly returned to his work, feeling the seconds pass as he tried to keep his focus.

Y/N: ...

Cereb: Hah... ah... For a friendly match, you're not holding back.

Dana: Says the one who went for my head.

A few minutes have passed since the both of them have begun their duel and signs of fatigue were clearly visible on their faces. Of course, they were nothing compared to the bags under Y/N's eyes.

Dana: Phew, I'm done... you can keep going if you want.

Cereb: Ah... I-I won!

Pleased by the outcome of their exchange, Malkuth's asistant jumped in place and turned to face the man sitting next to their "arena", not even looking at them anymore. He swiftly raised a fist pointed at him.

Cereb: Come on mister Y/N, let's have our rematch! I'm fired up!

Y/N: More like you're about to collaps-

The employee who once worked as the captain of the Central Command team turned his head to face his interlocutor as he waved his hand in his general direction. His words soon found themselves stuck in his throat as he watched the air around his extended hand combust into flames.

All librarians jumped on their feet, even Morgan. Many looks of shock were seen and the one who created it showed a spark of excitement.

Y/N: There it is!

Cereb: Huh?

Confused by his sudden sentence, the one who almost had his head turned into ash could only let out a few noises.

Without any hesitation, the librarian forced to personally deal with the director's whims began to explain what just occured.

Y/N: Do you remember our previous battle?

Cereb: ...That was like a week or so ago.

Y/N: Well, ever since then, something has always been on the back of my mind... that sudden burst of flames.

As he further delved into his train of thought, the trio who were listening gave each other a silent glance. In their eyes, it felt like they were being explained some grandiose discovery made by some genius...

Y/N: After that fight, I tried again and again to recreate this but it never happened. So, I tried to think about what could have created this.

Dana: ...Why are we suddenly getting this speech?

Y/N: I mean, do you just want me to NOT say anything after what happened?

Dana: ...Go on.

Y/N: Thank you. Anyway, when my mind wandered back on that duel we had, one thing stuck out to me, something that was not present during my attempts to recreate it: strong emotions.

A moment of silence followed until Cereb raised a hand with a slightly stressed out look on his face, a valid emotion considering that he grazed his potential death.

Cereb: Is... that why you sat so close to us when we were fighting?

Y/N: Like you said, it does get you pumped up if you know that you're standing a few feet away from a fight.

Dana: You... could have told us at least.

Y/N: ...Sorry.

Cereb: It's fine, not like we can die if the worst happens.

Upon hearing these words coming from the employee who had a few hair still on fire, the group around him averted their eyes to the closest wall, looking away from him. An interrogation mark could almost be seen above his head as he looked at their response.

Cereb: What? Did I do something?

Morgan: ...Your hair.

Cereb: ...Oh my god, it's the first time you've said something to me! Nice to meet you!

The worker COMPLETELY ignored what the girl with the long white hair said and grabbed her hands with his, sparkles floating around his expressive face. The introvert forced in this staredown slowly leaned away from him, her gaze begging for assistance.

The remaining duo shared a forced laugh as they stepped closer. Dana swiftly dealt with the small flames eating the hair of the overjoyed assistant while the second member pulled them apart.

Dana: Just when we were starting to have a serious mood...

Y/N: It's fine, it's pretty much all I had to say.

Dana: So, you can create flames if you concentrate enough?

The girl previously assigned as the captain of the Information team turned her head in his direction.

In return, a shrug was sent back her way.

Y/N: I suppose, not like I'm gonna need it much with Angela constantly on my back.

Dana: Right...

Before anyone could speak another word, the sound of a door opening caught everyone's attention. All eyes aimed at the sole exit, only to find Malkuth observing what was going on on complete silence.

Malkuth: Am I interrupting something?

Y/N: Not really, I guess you missed Cereb's face almost turning into a large fireball.

Cereb: Well, it's the second time-

Malkuth: You shouldn't take this so lightly!

...

Roland: ...I can't even begin to say what I have in mind.

After this incident, the group divided and each member went their own way. On his way back, Y/N stumbled into a familiar face who was done talking to Netzach. Curious about what he did after his departure, the Grade 9 Fixer asked but now... well, he was starting to regret even asking in the first place.

Y/N: Please don't tell Angela, she'll probably snap my arms if she learned what happened.

Roland: You're not hearing a word out of me~

A sigh slipped from the director's assistant's mouth. Just thinking about possibly confronting her after everything that happened today was enough to give him a headache. His exhaustion was almost groaning at the thought of it.

Now that this little exchange between the both of them was completed, the ex-agent was ready to take his leave but was quickly stopped by the man dressed in black.

Roland: Are you planning to tell her?

Y/N: ...It'll happen eventually, I'll deal with it when it happens.

Roland: Just don't involve me.

Y/N: Got it~

The librarian mimicked the uninvited guest's tone of voice with a small smile, which was enough to remind Roland about something he thought about.

Roland: So, you got a hobby of copying voices?

Y/N: Nope, would you believe me if I said that the voice I tried to copy sounded nothing like my attempt?

Roland: I guess I would, I have no reason not to.

Y/N: You're not wrong.

Eventually, the conversation came to a silence that indicated that words were no longer needed. Both had their own agenda, which may or may not involve resting. Knowing that, one final nod was exchanged before the duo went on their own.

The Library's threat level has reached Urban Legend!

Y/N's Key Page has been updated to current level!

New Combat Pages have been added!

[Y/N's page info]

[HP: 56]

[Stagger Resist: 23]

[Speed: 2~6]

[Resistances]

Slash/Stagger Slash: Normal/Normal

Pierce/Stagger Pierce: Weak/Weak

Blunt/Stagger Blunt: Normal/Endured

[Passives]

Speed I: Speed Dice slot +1 (Cannot overlap)

The Director's Assistant: Has a unique Key Page that cannot be replaced or removed. The Key Page is given unique Combat Pages that can exchanged. This Key Page is unable to use any Combat Pages that are not exclusive to it.

The Director's Obsession: This Key Page cannot have Passives attributed to it.

Weak Resonance: All Offensive dice inflict 1 additional Damage & Stagger damage if the first Abnormality Page given to this character is Awakening. If a Breakdown Abnormality Page is given first, all dice gain 1-2 Power but receive 2-4 additional Damage & Stagger damage upon losing a clash.

???: -

[New Combat Pages]

Number of Copies: 1

(Fun fact: This card was a blue rarity at first but then I realized that it would be way too broken considering that Y/N already has some good card draw and light restore available so I nerfed it to Object d'Art. 

Yep, you're getting some author commentary, hope you don't mind because it's not the last time you gonna see it.)

Number of copies: 3

Number of copies: 3

Number of copies: 1