Chapter XXVI: Reich

Berlin, Germany – December 7th, 1941 | 02:53 P.M.

“Berlin Base to Colditz Base, do you copy? General Kazan, are you receiving this? Sergeant Becker? Do you read me?!” General Lennox barked into the radio, his voice edged with frustration.

Constantine approached, setting a freshly brewed cup of tea on his workstation. “It’s been three weeks since we lost contact with Colditz Base—and a full week since General Kazan was dispatched to investigate. Would you like me to go check in person?”

Lennox gave a curt nod. “Yes, but only after you revise Miss Weiss’s dance steps and finalise her dress.”

Constantine inclined her head in acknowledgement and left.

Downstairs, Victor was painstakingly rehearsing Eva’s choreography with her. But just as she tried to step in rhythm, a crack rang out. Victor winced and silently screamed, clutching his left foot while hopping away in agony.

Constantine sighed. “Come here. You need to adjust your footwork.”

They restarted the waltz. One minute in, another audible crack echoed through the room. Everyone—including Schrödinger—winced. This time, Constantine hopped away from Eva, holding her own foot.

“Her weakness is bringing the feet together!” Constantine exclaimed through gritted teeth.

Eva turned away in embarrassment. “What happened to the lieutenant who was supposed to be her partner?”

Constantine inquires painfully and collapsed into a nearby chair. “He was incapacitated. Eva stepped on his left foot… for the one hundred and twenty-sixth time,” Victor said flatly.

Just then, the front door burst open.

Pandora and Aristotle charged into the mansion, breathless as though they’d run a marathon. Eva instantly noticed their outfits—clean, stylish, and unmistakably new.

Constantine rushed to them, communicating silently through what could only be telepathy. Pandora looked noticeably healthier—her complexion brighter, her hair braided and pinned delicately. Constantine’s eyes lingered on the hairpin with a quiet yearning. She pulled both children into a warm embrace.

“You’ve been dancing?” Aristotle asked curiously.

Eva twisted her fingers nervously. “I’ve got a… major weakness. I need more practice—and a new dance partner.”

“Dance with me!” Schrödinger offered enthusiastically.

Eva tilted her head. “Schrödy, I appreciate it—but you’re a cat. How exactly do you plan to dance with me?”

The feline grinned mischievously. “I can transform int—”

Before he could finish, he was scooped up by the scruff of his neck.

The lieutenant stepped forward, silently offering his hand to Eva. She hesitated, then placed hers in his.

Constantine gave a subtle nod, then flicked her fingers toward the gramophone. The record began to spin, and music filled the room.

“Listen to the rhythm. Feel the music,” the lieutenant said gently.

They began their waltz.

Each time Eva came close to stepping on his foot, he adjusted subtly, avoiding her missteps by mere centimetres. Schrödinger weaved between their legs with feline grace, occasionally glaring up at the lieutenant with theatrical suspicion.

Pandora, unable to resist joining, took Aristotle’s hand. Their timing was clumsy at first—more stomps than steps—but laughter followed. Constantine and Victor soon swapped partners: Victor twirled Pandora, while Constantine led Aristotle.

The room gradually harmonised into a synchronised dance. As the final note played, a soft creak echoed from the front door.

An unfamiliar figure entered, holding a box.

The music died.

In seconds, the group shifted—waltz formation turning into defensive stances. Children ducked behind the furniture. Weapons were drawn.

General Lennox levelled his revolver at the intruder. “Kazan. We weren’t expecting you. Why didn’t you respond? What’s the status at Colditz?”

The man raised both hands placatingly. “Warm greetings,” Kazan said, weariness evident in his voice. “Apologies for the radio silence—the storm disabled communications. I had to send Rin back to Japan.”

Lennox’s grip didn’t ease. “You sent your wife back? Colditz is cut off from Berlin.”

Kazan exhaled. “A contact of mine secured me an invitation to Herr Hitler’s Berlin Gala. I used it to arrange Rin’s transport. Her father is gravely ill. If you don’t mind…”

He placed the box on the couch, clearly fatigued.

“Eva,” he called softly. “My wife wanted you to have this.”

He opened the box to reveal a pale pink kimono, delicately embroidered with crimson spider lilies.

Eva was struck silent by its beauty.

“Rin spent months crafting this for our daughter,” Kazan said quietly. “She never got the chance to wear it.”

Eva stepped back. “I can’t accept this…”

As Lennox exchanged hushed words with Constantine, his eyes flicked toward Kazan with veiled suspicion. Kazan met his gaze, expression unreadable.

“Please,” Kazan urged. “Don’t let Rin’s work go to waste. Besides—you’ll need it for the Gala. You’ll be posing as my daughter.”

He turned and made his way upstairs to change.

Eva stared at the kimono, guilt flickering across her face.

“Come on,” Constantine said softly, taking her hand. “I’ll help you.”

They headed upstairs together, shutting the door behind them—just before Schrödinger could sneak in.

***

3 Hours Later…

Eva stood before the mirror, hands smoothing the fabric of the kimono. Despite the gravity of the mission ahead—the Berlin Gala was meant to observe, infiltrate, and anticipate the Reich’s next moves and their disturbing alliance with the Spawns—she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of giddy excitement.

The kimono fit beautifully. She turned slightly, admiring the embroidered red spider lilies as they shimmered in the low light.

Behind her, Constantine had already changed into her customary attire: a long red ulster coat and a finely tailored three-piece suit, sharply reminiscent of the Victorian era.

“You clearly know how to make this kimono work on me,” Eva said, gesturing to her reflection, “but your sense of fashion is… unusual.”

Constantine offered a dry smile. “The coat belonged to my husband. Apologies.”

Eva blinked. “Wait—you have a husband?!”

She studied Constantine’s face for any hint of sarcasm or deception.

“We’ve been married for nearly four thousand years,” Constantine said matter-of-factly. “Though he had an unfortunate tendency to die at the worst possible moments. I lost count of how many times I’ve had to dig up his corpse, or chase his soul across timelines. I once threatened to annul our vows if he died before our wedding night again.”

Eva stared in disbelief as Constantine leaned in to apply a touch of makeup to her cheeks.

“Is he still alive?” Eva asked cautiously.

Constantine shook her head. “No.”

She finished the final brushstroke and straightened up. From the inside pocket of her coat, she retrieved a flask, unscrewed the cap, and took a measured sip.

“What happens,” Eva asked hesitantly, “if you get… hungry? And can’t find, you know, blood?”

Constantine lowered the flask, licking a drop from the corner of her mouth. “That’s never happened. I always find something. The only time I came close to true hunger—true madness—was after I ate that chocolate.”

She screwed the lid back on and tucked the flask away.

“I saw the same fjord we used to swim in—up north,” she added distantly. “Deep, dark, cold… but beautiful. My husband and I used to dive in at night.”

Eva wrinkled her nose. “Wouldn’t it be freezing?”

“I don’t feel cold,” Constantine replied, voice low. “We both forgot how to.”

She turned away and began lacing up her boots.

Eva hesitated, then asked softly, “Do you miss him?”

The question struck like a blade. Constantine paused, hands still.

“I do,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I wish I’d had another hundred years with him. Not this... awakening into war, only to find him gone.”

She looked down at her gloved hands.

Eva moved to sit beside her.

“I’ve travelled the world,” Constantine continued, voice distant. “I’ve battled gods, goddesses, heroes, monsters. Enough to stock an entire arsenal of Eidolons for Starling.”

Eva wanted to ask more, but held her tongue.

“When I first woke,” Constantine said, “I spent three years wandering the black-sand deserts while the Earth was still young. Another four thousand years later, and nothing could prepare me for the regret.”

She inhaled sharply.

“I believed I had all the time in the world. Immortality convinces you of that. But time… it doesn’t pause just because you stop noticing it. Nothing is infinite—except, it seems, for me.”

She pulled out a small silver pocket watch and flicked it open.

A gentle burst of light emerged—dust-like particles coalescing in mid-air. They formed an image: Constantine, smiling beside a tall man holding a freshly caught trout. Behind them stretched the midnight fjord, glistening under the stars.

Eva stared, entranced. The man’s face was kind. Familiar.

“What was his name?” she asked quietly, once the light faded and the watch clicked shut.

Constantine’s voice was steady.

“Felix Quantum.”

***

Berlin Gala, Germany – December 7th, 1941 | 06:53 P.M.

Eva stepped out of the car just as General Kazan and the Lieutenant followed behind. A valet took the vehicle without a word. The trio stood momentarily still, stunned—not by the winter chill, but by what Berlin had become.

People in lavish fur coats strolled the streets while SS patrols loomed nearby, but the real shock lay in the surreal transformation of the city itself. Holographic displays shimmered above the skyline. Airships and experimental planes soared overhead. The capital buzzed with an eerie kind of progress—one divorced from time and reason.

“Let’s head inside,” General Kazan said, striding toward the entrance without waiting. The Lieutenant offered his arm to Eva. She accepted, and they followed.

Inside, the gala hall was vast and baroque—opulence layered on opulence. Waiters glided through the crowd, trays of champagne in hand. The air was thick with perfume and conversations in clipped, continental tones. Then, a sharply dressed Japanese man approached.

“General Kazan! I’m so pleased you made it to the gala,” the man said brightly, shaking Kazan’s hand.

“A pleasure to see you too, Admiral Yoshida,” Kazan replied with polite reserve.

Yoshida turned his attention to Eva and smiled—too wide, too long.

“My, your daughter has grown into quite the striking young lady.”

Kazan’s face hardened. “Look at her like that again and I’ll gouge out your eyes.”

Yoshida’s expression didn’t falter; he simply chuckled like a viper. “Come now, old friend. Let the young ones enjoy the dance floor. Besides,” he said with a sly glance toward the Lieutenant, “her fiancé’s glare could melt steel.”

The two men disappeared into the crowd.

Around them, couples began to pair off as the waltz began. Eva glanced nervously at the Lieutenant. His expression was unreadable.

***

Colditz, Germany – December 7th, 1941 | 07:21 P.M.

Constantine and Victor phase-shifted into the grounds of Colditz. The air was razor-cold, the darkness unsettling. Something was off. The silence was absolute—no soldiers, no aircraft, not even the nuns who tended the wounded.

The field where British airships once stood was now empty. They exchanged uneasy glances.

“Maybe the old coot was right about Colditz,” Victor muttered.

“I never doubted Arthur’s instincts,” Constantine replied, scanning the vacant village. “He found me entombed beneath the Vatican by tracing Crusade records—things no one else would have caught.”

They moved cautiously through the empty square. Constantine paused, then unsheathed her blade from its wrist holster. Victor summoned M.J.O.L.N.I.R., the air humming with latent energy.

A figure emerged from behind a stack of crates.

“Constantine, you're back... and with company,” Commander Herondale said, surprised.

“Where are my troops? Where are the aircraft?” Constantine asked, lowering her weapon slightly but maintaining distance.

“Your Inselaffen returned to your precious island,” another voice interjected. Dr. Wagner stepped from the alley leading to Schloss Colditz.

“That contradicts what Kazan told us. There was no storm.” Constantine communicated silently to Victor.

“Play along,” Victor replied through their telepathic link.

“Ah yes! I nearly forgot—the NIX Corporation has heard wonderful things about you, Constantine,” Herondale said, approaching with a diplomatic smile.

“Good to know,” Constantine replied flatly.

“And... I truly regret making you eat that chocolate,” Herondale added, rubbing his neck.

“No means no, Commander,” she snapped, then turned to Victor. “Shall we?”

A wing unfurled from her back, curling around Victor. She prepared to phase-shift.

“Wait! Wait!” Herondale cried out.

They both stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“The founder of NIX Corp would like to meet you. Both of you. At Pearl Harbor.”

“NIX was founded in 2013,” Constantine sent to Victor.

“Yes, I remember clearly. I’m proof of that,” he responded, his mental tone sharp.

“Something’s not right here,” Constantine mused silently.

“Commander Herondale,” she said aloud, “I appreciate the invitation. But perhaps my companion should go in my place—to represent us at this meeting? I remember that I need to retrieve Ms. Weiss belongings which I can do it myself.”

Herondale frowned in confusion. “Why would I—”

“That would be wonderful,” Dr. Wagner cut in, smiling too warmly. Too calmly.

“Yes, I’d be honoured,” Victor said firmly, startling them both.

Herondale muttered something under his breath and threw a cold glance at Dr. Wagner. He began strapping a bulky piece of ‘antique’ SDN equipment onto Victor’s back. As he tightened the final strap a little too forcefully, Victor winced—but said nothing.

The message was clear: Herondale didn’t like him.

He pressed a button on his radio. “Pearl Harbor Base, this is Commander Herondale from Colditz. Prepare to initiate Spatial Jump+, over.”

“Received, Commander. Initiating Spatial Jump+ in 3… 2… 1…”

Victor and Herondale rose slowly off the ground. Electrical arcs danced around them in a growing sphere of energy. Then, with a thunderous implosion of space and sound, they vanished.

Dr. Wagner turned toward Constantine.

“Come. I’ll lead the way to Ms. Weiss’s room,” he said with a beckoning gesture.

Without hesitation, she followed him toward Schloss Colditz.

***

Pearl Harbour, Hawaii, USA – December 7th, 1941 | 07:40 A.M.

Victor and Commander Herondale landed on a helipad encircled by hovering light beams. An Air Marshal gave the signal: the Spatial Jump+ had been successful.

Victor groaned, staggering slightly as military personnel rushed to assist both men. Herondale brushed off his uniform and gave a curt nod toward the interior of the aircraft carrier, silently instructing Victor to follow.

Navigating through the narrow corridors, Victor dodged passing personnel in a hurry, their boots echoing along the metal passageways. They passed the ship’s mess, where dozens of troops still gathered over breakfast trays and steaming mugs of coffee.

Soon, they arrived at the main hangar—a massive space bustling with activity. Technicians and engineers clustered around a colossal piece of machinery being moved across the floor. Victor froze.

“That... that’s the Cosmos Flux Regulator,” he murmured, pulse spiking. The sheer presence of the machine sent a mental shockwave through him. Arisu, still cloaked in invisibility, tousled his hair gently—an intimate gesture to ground him. He patted her unseen head in reassurance. She responded by hugging him tightly.

Across the hangar, a voice bellowed.

“Careful with that! I’ve poured my life into this masterpiece!”

Commander Herondale waved him over. “Dr. Kinclaid, this is someone you’ll want to meet.”

The scientist turned—goggles perched lopsidedly over his brow, a smudge of grease on one cheek. “Forget the formalities,” he said. “Call me Nigel.”

He extended a hand, shaking Victor’s while subtly scanning the space around them.

“Where’s Constantine?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at Herondale. “You promised I’d meet her after assisting the U.S. Army.”

Herondale gave a forced laugh, scratching the back of his head. “She couldn’t make it. Royal mission—highly classified. She sent this gentleman in her place.”

Nigel adjusted his goggles, clearly unimpressed. “It’s urgent. Only she would understand.”

“She’s practically a global icon these days. Headline after headline—Stonehenge, the Templar tomb,” Herondale said, brushing off the concern. “Anyway, just tell him what you were going to tell her. Unless it’s a love letter?”

He flashed an exaggerated wink. Nigel’s face twisted in embarrassment. “God, no!”

“Excellent. I’ve got other business to attend to. Carry on, boys.” With that, Herondale disappeared into the crowd.

***

Left alone, Victor sat down uneasily in a steel chair within Rupert’s cluttered quarters. Tools, prototypes, and stacks of handwritten notes littered every surface. On the workbench lay a disassembled SDN device—older, more rudimentary.

Victor broke the silence. “So... you’re the founder of NIX Corporation? I’m impressed you introduced such revolutionary tech to the military.”

Rupert didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he carefully slotted a circuit into place. Only after a long pause did he mutter, “Tesla’s work was visionary. A shame no one took it seriously until after his death. Grateful that I can obtain his work after.”

Victor frowned. “Yeah?”

“Humanity makes the wrong decisions,” Nigel continued. “Guided by belief, ideology, politics... they build shields of excuses to justify their sins.”

Victor stiffened. Arisu stirred.

“What are you getting at?” he asked, tone flat, though his body shifted subtly into a defensive posture.

“I didn’t create NIX Corp out of innovation. Your government reached out. They wanted to become the most powerful force on Earth. We... obliged.” Nigel turned to face Victor directly. “But I doubt humanity would react kindly if they knew the true nature of our arrangement.”

Victor said nothing.

“Your leaders wanted power. Domination. Surveillance. Control. They invited us in willingly. In return, we asked for one simple thing—residency. We are already here. We’ve integrated, outnumbered you, converted many of you. And soon... we will erase the rest.”

He smiled—far too calmly.

“Our Mother is waking. This world will be hers. We are her children. The Nexuscape expands.”

Victor stood slowly.

Nigels voice dropped to a whisper. “Now, you understand what NIX truly is. And this won’t be the only timeline where you’ll see us. But it *will* be the last thing you witness… Private Investigator Victor Marcus Neumann.”

Suddenly, Nigel’s body began to contort. His skin tore away in ragged strips, revealing the grotesque, glistening form of a Spawn beneath.

Before he could lunge—

Something slammed into the aircraft carrier.