***************
Abraham Ulren
The half-dozen oversized shadows, hinged by the sharp threads in the air by the ghostly marionettist above Dakster, stampede toward me. I shuttle backward, pushing my heels into the dirt as I struggle to conjure Urbin.
My mind reaches into that deep recess and rips out a Nightmare for the world to see a moment using a scoop of Ether before one of the shadowed Nahullo cuts me in half with a sword forged of Dakster's Ether. Urbin phases into reality from my mind, a spear in the right hand and a net in the left.
His Nightmare takes the shadow's hit, the blade sinking deep into his phantasmal steel armor as Urbin heaves the spear forward, the point stabbing into the Nahullo's chest. I then command Urbin to yank the net to the side to catch a sprinting shadow, the figure nigh invisible, and he does so, the shadow tripping and tumbling from his unexpected speed. If only I could use their Powers...
All the while, I can see Dakster behind them, her string puppeteering the Nahullo soldiers like they are her toes to play with. This is her Absolution's skill, deemed Abyssal Marionettist by my father when he saw it for the first time.
My mind heaves with effort to keep Urbin as he finds her shadows. And even as he is fast overpowered, I go over her skill nearing a Power with Override, unwilling to miss a single detail.
Abyssal Marionettist lets her use her Ether to control and enhance the bodies of living creatures, both herself and others. The degree of enhancement is massive. Not only does it have to be consensual, but the soldiers under her control also cannot refuse an order, effectively making them Damned, the origin of the group she raised. Furthermore, the woman forced each high-level member to accept her order, making each become enslaved to her if needed.
That is why four of the half-dozen 6th Sigileds are human, not Nahullo, the men enslaved to her for eternity.
She usually keeps this move hidden, and I planned on telling Johnny about it once I learned she was an enemy we would have to deal with. But unfortunately, I only got the chance during this most recent break in battle.
Though, we did spend some time theorizing her weaknesses. And from what we brainstormed after many hours, there was only one conclusion.
She has none. Well, not anymore.
Abyssal Marionettist likely requires a consumption of Ether as equally as terrifying as its strength, but Dakster likely can compensate for that with her age. The woman is old, her age benefitting her a vast store of Ether as her body is highly resistant to the substance. Years ago, one could likely outlast her and exhaust her over time. But while she is old for humans, she is only middle-aged for a Nahullo, so she is not senile or weakened by that age. Plus, she is swift, for among all non-Angels, she is the quickest, said to move quickly enough to catch her shadow. Even the Diabolic is said to be slower in his minute of Niska. And as for physical strength, Abyssal Marionettist allows her to fight with tremendous muscle strength that goes beyond the threshold of safety for one's body.
Even the standard strategy for slaying noteworthy 6th Sigiled Forerunners, throwing enough people at them, doesn't work, for her plethora of Marionettes will fight in her stead. So what, then? Do I just hold her off until Johnny wins?
In the corner of my eye, I see Johnny up close fighting Ray, the two of them primarily unwounded despite the length they have been battling for. Ray counters Johnny's brand-new gun, and Johnny's eyes keep Ray from putting him down, effectively bringing them to a standstill.
I also see Virgil battling, but he looks banged up, blood seeping from wounds as the light from the sun burns into his skin. Thankfully, the other one he was fighting is now dead. Perhaps the two of us can stop Dakster?
Who am I kidding? She's still going to kick our asses. Dammit!
Why does it feel like someone set this up perfectly!? Each person is tied up with people who counter and hold them down. I don't see Wyatt among the group of unconscious people, either, so I can only assume he is in a similar situation.
I don't know who he's fighting, but I can speculate. And if I'm right, he probably isn't coming back.
At least, not anytime soon. I find it hard to believe that he would die. Yet... I know that if he were to, he's not going down alone. No man has ever walked away from a lethal battle with a Graves, old or young.
So, that means I'm alone here. A battle between me and Dakster, the golden spy. Should I run? No. I can't.
My mind flickers back to an old memory. An elderly man recalling his life as he harbors me for the night while I escaped my family. The old man never once glanced at me oddly, completely ignoring my paleness. It was a comfort, and he spoke of the peace when he awoke. All he had to do what take care of his crops and sit on his chair with his dogs. All because of Bent, the fortress guarding his ranch in Vallens. That life... if sounds nice. But... to reach it... I can't do it alone. To create another era of peace like the past seventy-five years from the Wastelander's invincible might... I can't do it alone.
Looking back now, I wish I told Johnny the truth sooner, but... shit happens. I can't blame myself for this, and he already forgave me. Nothing I can do will change what is happening, only what is about to happen.
Override ends, the skill giving me nothing but a more painful headache as I backstep further, trying to make any distance from Dakster and her shadows. My focus twists from my Nightmares to my main foe to keep my attention on her. But Urbin is overwhelmed as I do so, one shadow jumping onto his back, stabbing blades into his neck, and another slicing his throat. I force him to kneel and throw them over his shoulder, slamming them into the floor as he bursts out with a wave of Ether, but it's not enough. A dagger from Dakster lands in between his visor.
The Nightmare fades with a backlash, my vision reeling as I try to summon another. Fuck. I need to micromanage their movements since subconscious fighting isn't suitable for Darkstep. Can't use Urbin until I sleep again and enter it again... Whatever! I'll go for two this time if one isn't enough!
So, trying to breach my typical limit in this time of need, I go for gold. Six shadows stride at me, each moving in a spiraling and unpredictable pattern as I dig my fingers deep into my mind, once more entering that room in the High Table.
But this time, instead of standing and pulling only one Councilmember, I try to grab two, Mislo and Cirn, bow and sword. Mislo stares at me reproachfully, the hate evident in her eyes. At the same time, Cirn merely has his eyes closed with solemn respect. I much prefer Cirns stoicism as opposed to her brutishness. Too bad he's dead.
The two resist my skill and mind, refusing to leave my mental scape and enter the real world. Then, finally, the shadows get close, all six surrounding me as Dakster weaves them in a dangerous play. I grit my teeth as I pull once more, activating Override as I do so with torrents of Ether entering my mind.
With the speed of Override, the Nightmares react unhurriedly to my pull, each succumbing for a moment as blood falls from my nose in a drip. And not a moment too soon, for as the shadows strike toward me, blades raised, guns aimed, and Ether primed, Cirn appears on my right and Mislo on my left.
Cirn deflects one shadow and sinks his blade into another's chest, reaving them in twain from the shoulder to the hip. I command him to deflect an incoming dagger as my attention shifts to the other Nightmare. Mislo gets hit with a stream of bullets as she quickly nocks an arrow and shoots toward the shadow. Sadly, her bow is far weaker from my mind than reality, and the shadow dodges in time. The lady of archery, not known for her physical prowess, stumbles back from the lead slamming against her steel armor. Grunting, I have her catch the other dagger, flicking it with her bow.
That leaves me with only the shadow in front and the one in back, for the shadow that Urbin stabbed just stood right back up. The worst part about Dakster's Absolution skill is that no matter how injured the marionette is, she can keep them fighting at full strength, even herself. They don't heal, but they don't feel any pain.
I dash forward, swinging at the shadow with the blade in my right as I raise my left, grasping for its arm with Force. My mind meets its flesh, and after a short contest, its flesh bends, the shadow's arm moving out of the way as I cut into its neck. Tendrils of shade come from its eyes, seeking mine just as another dozen or so come from its body. But to not get stabbed by endless spikes, I rip my blade and kick the thing away, the head of it coming off almost instantly with the departing edge.
But I earn nails of pain up my boot and shin as a half dozen pitch-black tendrils stab my flesh when I pull back. The tendrils are slight, not affecting my movement, but they hurt like hell. And as I hear footsteps behind me, I twist, cutting off the tendrils with my blade as I dig deeper into my mind for strength I do not possess, Force coming at full power as I throw it backward with all I have.
My eyes meet the stumbling form of a human, one lined with black strings, as it heaves with an effort against my mind's push. But this time, against a whole body and not just a limb, I succumb first, my mind warping under its energy. But I held it long enough for Cirn to turn around with a whistling Claymore to remove its head, leaving me to fall to the ground, air barely leaving my tired body as Ether eats at my brain. I'm running out of saturation left to spare. And Dakster is moving toward me.
Fuck...
Cirn and Mislo begin to fade, but I grit my teeth and push myself to my feet, Override once more blooming. Blood surges from my nose as I go deeper, pulling out yet another Nightmare. If two isn't enough, then three will have to do. Yet, I have never taken a trio at once before.
However, this time, the halls of the High Table are far more unlit, with shade in every corner as I walk, the presence of Dakster looming over me even in this Nightmare. In this entry, I seek Malew, the hard-to-kill bastard perfect for this scenario. I need someone to hold off the marionettes while I endeavor to kill Dakster. Or, at the least, hold her off from antagonizing Johnny.
Shifting feet eventually bring me to the door of the ceremony room, a crooked wooden thing polished far beyond any right it has to be, a commonality within the High Table's corridors due to its old age. Gritting my teeth as pain digs into my mind, threatening to leave me a dull husk, I push the door open again, meeting the gazes of the Council.
Even Mislo, Cirn, and Urbin are here, but I'm not here for copies. So instead, I'm here for the wretched fellow in the back. Looking away from my mother and the unborn sibling, I stride for Malew, my arm touching his shoulder.
But as I do, his gaze tightens. His pupils center directly on mine as he speaks, his visored face's metal shifting into a toothy malevolent grin.
"Ah, the coward finally reaches for his due. Tell me, half-breed. Do you fear me?"
I pause, his jaws opening further as all the light vanishes in the room, leaving only the sight of the Councilmen. But this is my mind. This is not the real him. It can't be.
Taking a deep breath, I look at him and try to face my fear for the first time in my life. Usually, I look away, the mere attempt of taking two Nightmares too much for me to handle. But not this time. If I relent, I die. My father sent Dakster, and that man likely wants me dead for what transpired and how I revealed his plot to the Warmaster.
"Yes. I fear you, Malew."
Sir Malew, one of the vilest of the Council, an already horrid group, beams even vaster, the steel shifting for the teethed grin to go from ear to ear of the metallic helm.
"Yes. Yes, you do. Now, let me take over. I could do so much with that skill of yours. You hold yourself back to the extreme with your fear, Ahbram. Don't you want to see a master at work?"
His mouth opens broader, the steel somehow opening like an endless maw as it bites toward me, and despite the shaking in my limbs and the sweat running down my back, I refuse to let him take over. It's one thing to die. It's one thing to be scared. Another to be possessed by a Nightmare.
And so, as he goes to bite me, I raise an arm and pull, ignoring his actions as I yearn only for his strength, not his mastery.
Resistance quickly breaks my stride, but I push forward, the momentum of the moment carrying me along as I feel my knees in reality buckle. My nose gushes with blood as my eyes almost pop out of their sockets from the strain, but I continue to drag. The mental fear strikes me like a hammer, each yank slamming into my brain like a strike from Niyte's unbreakable fist. Each impact almost knocks me out, the fear supplementing my consciousness as shadows lick at my periphery, but I endure and pull.
But with that hauling after a sudden jerk, another Nightmare forms in reality, Malew leaving my mind and joining the real world.
I did it.
I finally did it!
One Nightmare is harrowing but not a big deal after many years. Two used to be impossible. Yet I slowly overcame that hurdle as the danger of the time pushes the fear aside when I'm highly pressured. Three? I never thought it so, the fear of all three Councilmembers at once more than capable of shattering my spirit.
But I did it!
Override ends as time once more meets my mind's speed, so much blood leaving my nose that the world wobbles dangerously. I lean onto Malew's Nightmare for a second before he silently shifts his metal as he turns toward two shadows, leaving me to face Dakster. The woman laughs as I wipe the blood from my nose.
"You are a treat, Ahbram. It's like watching a dog get beat repeatedly yet always standing back up, wagging its tail for more. It's pathetic. I am ashamed to be half-Nahullo, just as you are. You share little of our traits besides that hair of yours. Not our skills, not our drive, not our physical might, and absolutely not our courage. Given the greatest bestowment of skills by the Viceroy, the perfect combination of SIgils, and yet, you squander them."
Dakster steps forward, her hands no longer moving, yet the marionettes still find my Nightmares behind us. She never needed to use her hands... she's just been watching to gauge my skills.
And the woman proves my thinking as she draws a serrated dagger from her belt, flipping it into her right hand from her left.
"But don't worry. Once I become an Angel, I'll put that body and Sigil of yours to good use."
I gasp for air as she moves toward me, her speed so blistering that I barely even raise my Claymore, Palt, in time to meet her swing. And I'm quickly pushed back as her dagger cuts my Claymore in half, the blade shattering against her force and the sharpness of whatever skill is placed on her edge. My eyes widen as her blade barely misses my flesh. I stumble backward and try to draw my Colt. Still, the woman just kicks my hand away before throwing a projectile of night into my hand, nailing it into the ground.
"Ah!"
"Shut up."
The woman looks down at me, another dagger forming as I command my Nightmares save me. But as they move toward me, the remaining shadows jump on their back. In the moment of opportunity, Dakster throws her projectiles into each of their visors. I attempt to make them evade, simply buying time, but between the puppets and Dakster's pinpoint accuracy, I quickly fail.
Mislo falls after just one volley, and I endeavor to fight back during the second with the backlash of her death, but a boot slams into my face. I hit the ground with a sickening thud as another lash of pain strikes me, and then another, each threatening to turn my mind to mush.
"A disgrace. You conjure our Council, yet they have not but a fraction of their strength. Your father wanted you to be a walking calamity, one capable of summoning the whole Council at a moment. Instead, that responsibility will fall to your sister. But you need not worry. I will not kill you. I will let my strings become your heart, my many puppets turning into one. Your father was right. If you merely listened, you would be a perfect pawn."
My mind reels with the backlash from the deaths of my Nightmares, but her words shine a light in my mind. True strength... an option still remains even as she lines up her dagger to stab my heart. She must leave my mind, or her skill won't work to steal my greatest assets, regardless if it becomes a Power. Some things are strict, like you can't use a skill if its origin is gone, and the origin of my father's and my talents are widely known.
She reels back her arm, preparing to end my life as I know it with the dagger as her shadows hold me down, but as she does so, Override once more blooms. A torrent of Ether enters my mind as I feel the real threat of Ether saturation. I'm tip-toeing the edge with my action right now, and I must make it fast. Only because of my Sigil can I move this precariously on the edge without falling unconscious, my will bolstered by many Mentalists. I'm not unyielding or stalwart of heart compared to some others, but Mentalists can bridge that gap with skill alone, using all of our potentials.
Wyatt spoke of using my Absolution to pull people other than those from the Council, those from the nightmare. And if I'm going to do so, then there is no better time than right now. The pressure of the darkness of death has no better motivator.
But who? Who do I summon? Wyatt, of course. The tough bastard will make this fight trivial as long as he can hold long enough for me to conjure some more Nightmares. Taking him from whatever fight he's in will only be a good thing, for he'll have some time to recover if he's hurt. And no one heals faster than that bastard.
And so, I reach deeply, the Ether twirling within my form into my mind for the skill, Daymare. And I reappear within that same corridor, the High Table omnipresent within my mind.
The lightless halls call for me to walk through them, eerie sounds beckoning me onward. And I do. I'm left with little choice at this point.
I tread cautiously through the abyssal corridor, an oppressive dusk enveloping me. Each step forward feels like traversing a void, my senses straining to make sense of the impenetrable blackness. Whispers, faint and indistinct, slither through the air, tugging at the edges of my consciousness.
The murmur of voices, like ethereal echoes, echoes resonates in the emptiness. They call out to me, their words a siren's song, urging me onward, deeper into the unknown, each asking me to take them. Their mysterious allure fascinates and unsettles me as if they hold secrets too profound to ignore. But I neglect them. The shadows of my mind are not worth exploring. Not yet, at least. Maybe when I'm a bit stronger, a bit more... willing. One step at a time.
With each deliberate stride, the anticipation builds, a mixture of trepidation and curiosity coursing through my veins as I hope that behind the door is Wyatt, the person I am desiring to call. Shadows dance and flicker at the periphery of my vision, hinting at untold horrors lurking in the depths. Yet, I continue to dismiss them and concentrate on the solitary door at the end of the corridor. As I move toward it, a tiny hint of light peaks out, and a voice comes too. But I just can't discern who it is. It must be Wyatt, though.
My feet bring me to the door, and I reach for it, pulling the lonely object open, mind full of hope, only to meet despair, the entirety of the Council staring at me with derision and hate. It feels as though they are really looking at me, and from what happened in Starkbluffs, I think they are.
Only the Warmaster doesn't give me such a stare. Instead, his gaze is anticipating, as if he is waiting for me to do something or for something to happen.
But nothing does. All that happens is that the dark grows darker. Then, the light, the burning pile of embers that was my mother and unborn sister, fades into ashes. And in that eternal dusk, I hear footsteps, breathing, and threats.
"We got you now, Ahbram. Can't wait to see how your body works. Ah! The taste of youth!"
"Hmm. I'm interested in how this works. How can he reach us from there, and we do not know where he is? I can't wait to dissect him."
"Disappointed. You had so many opportunities, and you have failed them all. Today, you die, child, and I take back what I gave you. Your burgeoning Power is... special. Exactly what I wanted, yet its vessel is found wanting by the Council."
"Damn, you suck. If I had a spoon like that, I'd be the Warmaster by now!"
"Shut up, Yulen! You'd be useless, you blockhead. I'd be the Warmaster."
"Quiet. We can each take part. A mind such as this will forevermore bolster ours."
The final voice is the Viceray, my father's equal in the Council, and the Warmaster's left hand. She is all about order and discipline, but how she speaks of order in my death is appalling. Footsteps grow closer as a firm hand grabs my arm and keeps it still despite my struggle.
I can't die here! Not to them! Not... not to them... anyone but them... please...
More arms join and hold me down in the darkness, keeping me entirely still.
"NO! STOP! PLEASE!"
A chuckle from Malew rings beside my ear as he murmurs to me in the dark.
"No."
Shivers run down my spine as pain abruptly spikes in my shin, the feeling of teeth on my skin making me cringe.
Nononono! No! NO! NOT LIKE THIS!
Tears fall from my face as more and more sets of teeth embrace me, heaving me toward my final destination; I am to be the sustenance for the very Council I hate with all my being.
I refuse. If there is one thing I will be, it is not their food.
With desperation, I reach out, my Ether calling for anyone, anything, that will answer. I tug for the Warmaster, the old Nahullo merely watching the scene, but he ignores me and brushes off the call. Instead, my grasp falls to nothing, and no one answers my yells.
No one can hear you scream inside your head.
The dark grows darker as the pain becomes all I am. Teeth gouge out my flesh, each chomp making my mind flicker, a part of me lost forever.
But as the dark reaches the impossible shade of Hell, a light appears, a diminutive flickering flame that answers my call.
The room ignites with a dull light as a man stumbles into the room. The only man I've ever honestly opened up to. The only man who cared not for who I was. When Malew revealed I was part Nahullo, he didn't even question me. He didn't even blink.
Burned flesh adorns his body even in the nightmare as he looks at me, surrounded by gnawing Nahullo. Though, I suppose Bonfire has always had many burns, some from his childhood, some not. However, these ones are widespread and cover every inch of him except his damn face. A soft laugh comes from his throat as he lifts his arms, fires igniting along his limbs from his fingers to his shoulders, the fires surprisingly tinged with a core of sable. The color of Combustion, the very same skill that nearly killed the man.
"Couldn't you let me sleep just one more hour? I was with a smoking hot lass. Now I got to deal with this bull."
***************
Abraham Ulren
The half-dozen oversized shadows, hinged by the sharp threads in the air by the ghostly marionettist above Dakster, stampede toward me. I shuttle backward, pushing my heels into the dirt as I struggle to conjure Urbin.
My mind reaches into that deep recess and rips out a Nightmare for the world to see a moment using a scoop of Ether before one of the shadowed Nahullo cuts me in half with a sword forged of Dakster's Ether. Urbin phases into reality from my mind, a spear in the right hand and a net in the left.
His Nightmare takes the shadow's hit, the blade sinking deep into his phantasmal steel armor as Urbin heaves the spear forward, the point stabbing into the Nahullo's chest. I then command Urbin to yank the net to the side to catch a sprinting shadow, the figure nigh invisible, and he does so, the shadow tripping and tumbling from his unexpected speed. If only I could use their Powers...
All the while, I can see Dakster behind them, her string puppeteering the Nahullo soldiers like they are her toes to play with. This is her Absolution's skill, deemed Abyssal Marionettist by my father when he saw it for the first time.
My mind heaves with effort to keep Urbin as he finds her shadows. And even as he is fast overpowered, I go over her skill nearing a Power with Override, unwilling to miss a single detail.
Abyssal Marionettist lets her use her Ether to control and enhance the bodies of living creatures, both herself and others. The degree of enhancement is massive. Not only does it have to be consensual, but the soldiers under her control also cannot refuse an order, effectively making them Damned, the origin of the group she raised. Furthermore, the woman forced each high-level member to accept her order, making each become enslaved to her if needed.
That is why four of the half-dozen 6th Sigileds are human, not Nahullo, the men enslaved to her for eternity.
She usually keeps this move hidden, and I planned on telling Johnny about it once I learned she was an enemy we would have to deal with. But unfortunately, I only got the chance during this most recent break in battle.
Though, we did spend some time theorizing her weaknesses. And from what we brainstormed after many hours, there was only one conclusion.
She has none. Well, not anymore.
Abyssal Marionettist likely requires a consumption of Ether as equally as terrifying as its strength, but Dakster likely can compensate for that with her age. The woman is old, her age benefitting her a vast store of Ether as her body is highly resistant to the substance. Years ago, one could likely outlast her and exhaust her over time. But while she is old for humans, she is only middle-aged for a Nahullo, so she is not senile or weakened by that age. Plus, she is swift, for among all non-Angels, she is the quickest, said to move quickly enough to catch her shadow. Even the Diabolic is said to be slower in his minute of Niska. And as for physical strength, Abyssal Marionettist allows her to fight with tremendous muscle strength that goes beyond the threshold of safety for one's body.
Even the standard strategy for slaying noteworthy 6th Sigiled Forerunners, throwing enough people at them, doesn't work, for her plethora of Marionettes will fight in her stead. So what, then? Do I just hold her off until Johnny wins?
In the corner of my eye, I see Johnny up close fighting Ray, the two of them primarily unwounded despite the length they have been battling for. Ray counters Johnny's brand-new gun, and Johnny's eyes keep Ray from putting him down, effectively bringing them to a standstill.
I also see Virgil battling, but he looks banged up, blood seeping from wounds as the light from the sun burns into his skin. Thankfully, the other one he was fighting is now dead. Perhaps the two of us can stop Dakster?
Who am I kidding? She's still going to kick our asses. Dammit!
Why does it feel like someone set this up perfectly!? Each person is tied up with people who counter and hold them down. I don't see Wyatt among the group of unconscious people, either, so I can only assume he is in a similar situation.
I don't know who he's fighting, but I can speculate. And if I'm right, he probably isn't coming back.
At least, not anytime soon. I find it hard to believe that he would die. Yet... I know that if he were to, he's not going down alone. No man has ever walked away from a lethal battle with a Graves, old or young.
So, that means I'm alone here. A battle between me and Dakster, the golden spy. Should I run? No. I can't.
My mind flickers back to an old memory. An elderly man recalling his life as he harbors me for the night while I escaped my family. The old man never once glanced at me oddly, completely ignoring my paleness. It was a comfort, and he spoke of the peace when he awoke. All he had to do what take care of his crops and sit on his chair with his dogs. All because of Bent, the fortress guarding his ranch in Vallens. That life... if sounds nice. But... to reach it... I can't do it alone. To create another era of peace like the past seventy-five years from the Wastelander's invincible might... I can't do it alone.
Looking back now, I wish I told Johnny the truth sooner, but... shit happens. I can't blame myself for this, and he already forgave me. Nothing I can do will change what is happening, only what is about to happen.
Override ends, the skill giving me nothing but a more painful headache as I backstep further, trying to make any distance from Dakster and her shadows. My focus twists from my Nightmares to my main foe to keep my attention on her. But Urbin is overwhelmed as I do so, one shadow jumping onto his back, stabbing blades into his neck, and another slicing his throat. I force him to kneel and throw them over his shoulder, slamming them into the floor as he bursts out with a wave of Ether, but it's not enough. A dagger from Dakster lands in between his visor.
The Nightmare fades with a backlash, my vision reeling as I try to summon another. Fuck. I need to micromanage their movements since subconscious fighting isn't suitable for Darkstep. Can't use Urbin until I sleep again and enter it again... Whatever! I'll go for two this time if one isn't enough!
So, trying to breach my typical limit in this time of need, I go for gold. Six shadows stride at me, each moving in a spiraling and unpredictable pattern as I dig my fingers deep into my mind, once more entering that room in the High Table.
But this time, instead of standing and pulling only one Councilmember, I try to grab two, Mislo and Cirn, bow and sword. Mislo stares at me reproachfully, the hate evident in her eyes. At the same time, Cirn merely has his eyes closed with solemn respect. I much prefer Cirns stoicism as opposed to her brutishness. Too bad he's dead.
The two resist my skill and mind, refusing to leave my mental scape and enter the real world. Then, finally, the shadows get close, all six surrounding me as Dakster weaves them in a dangerous play. I grit my teeth as I pull once more, activating Override as I do so with torrents of Ether entering my mind.
With the speed of Override, the Nightmares react unhurriedly to my pull, each succumbing for a moment as blood falls from my nose in a drip. And not a moment too soon, for as the shadows strike toward me, blades raised, guns aimed, and Ether primed, Cirn appears on my right and Mislo on my left.
Cirn deflects one shadow and sinks his blade into another's chest, reaving them in twain from the shoulder to the hip. I command him to deflect an incoming dagger as my attention shifts to the other Nightmare. Mislo gets hit with a stream of bullets as she quickly nocks an arrow and shoots toward the shadow. Sadly, her bow is far weaker from my mind than reality, and the shadow dodges in time. The lady of archery, not known for her physical prowess, stumbles back from the lead slamming against her steel armor. Grunting, I have her catch the other dagger, flicking it with her bow.
That leaves me with only the shadow in front and the one in back, for the shadow that Urbin stabbed just stood right back up. The worst part about Dakster's Absolution skill is that no matter how injured the marionette is, she can keep them fighting at full strength, even herself. They don't heal, but they don't feel any pain.
I dash forward, swinging at the shadow with the blade in my right as I raise my left, grasping for its arm with Force. My mind meets its flesh, and after a short contest, its flesh bends, the shadow's arm moving out of the way as I cut into its neck. Tendrils of shade come from its eyes, seeking mine just as another dozen or so come from its body. But to not get stabbed by endless spikes, I rip my blade and kick the thing away, the head of it coming off almost instantly with the departing edge.
But I earn nails of pain up my boot and shin as a half dozen pitch-black tendrils stab my flesh when I pull back. The tendrils are slight, not affecting my movement, but they hurt like hell. And as I hear footsteps behind me, I twist, cutting off the tendrils with my blade as I dig deeper into my mind for strength I do not possess, Force coming at full power as I throw it backward with all I have.
My eyes meet the stumbling form of a human, one lined with black strings, as it heaves with an effort against my mind's push. But this time, against a whole body and not just a limb, I succumb first, my mind warping under its energy. But I held it long enough for Cirn to turn around with a whistling Claymore to remove its head, leaving me to fall to the ground, air barely leaving my tired body as Ether eats at my brain. I'm running out of saturation left to spare. And Dakster is moving toward me.
Fuck...
Cirn and Mislo begin to fade, but I grit my teeth and push myself to my feet, Override once more blooming. Blood surges from my nose as I go deeper, pulling out yet another Nightmare. If two isn't enough, then three will have to do. Yet, I have never taken a trio at once before.
However, this time, the halls of the High Table are far more unlit, with shade in every corner as I walk, the presence of Dakster looming over me even in this Nightmare. In this entry, I seek Malew, the hard-to-kill bastard perfect for this scenario. I need someone to hold off the marionettes while I endeavor to kill Dakster. Or, at the least, hold her off from antagonizing Johnny.
Shifting feet eventually bring me to the door of the ceremony room, a crooked wooden thing polished far beyond any right it has to be, a commonality within the High Table's corridors due to its old age. Gritting my teeth as pain digs into my mind, threatening to leave me a dull husk, I push the door open again, meeting the gazes of the Council.
Even Mislo, Cirn, and Urbin are here, but I'm not here for copies. So instead, I'm here for the wretched fellow in the back. Looking away from my mother and the unborn sibling, I stride for Malew, my arm touching his shoulder.
But as I do, his gaze tightens. His pupils center directly on mine as he speaks, his visored face's metal shifting into a toothy malevolent grin.
"Ah, the coward finally reaches for his due. Tell me, half-breed. Do you fear me?"
I pause, his jaws opening further as all the light vanishes in the room, leaving only the sight of the Councilmen. But this is my mind. This is not the real him. It can't be.
Taking a deep breath, I look at him and try to face my fear for the first time in my life. Usually, I look away, the mere attempt of taking two Nightmares too much for me to handle. But not this time. If I relent, I die. My father sent Dakster, and that man likely wants me dead for what transpired and how I revealed his plot to the Warmaster.
"Yes. I fear you, Malew."
Sir Malew, one of the vilest of the Council, an already horrid group, beams even vaster, the steel shifting for the teethed grin to go from ear to ear of the metallic helm.
"Yes. Yes, you do. Now, let me take over. I could do so much with that skill of yours. You hold yourself back to the extreme with your fear, Ahbram. Don't you want to see a master at work?"
His mouth opens broader, the steel somehow opening like an endless maw as it bites toward me, and despite the shaking in my limbs and the sweat running down my back, I refuse to let him take over. It's one thing to die. It's one thing to be scared. Another to be possessed by a Nightmare.
And so, as he goes to bite me, I raise an arm and pull, ignoring his actions as I yearn only for his strength, not his mastery.
Resistance quickly breaks my stride, but I push forward, the momentum of the moment carrying me along as I feel my knees in reality buckle. My nose gushes with blood as my eyes almost pop out of their sockets from the strain, but I continue to drag. The mental fear strikes me like a hammer, each yank slamming into my brain like a strike from Niyte's unbreakable fist. Each impact almost knocks me out, the fear supplementing my consciousness as shadows lick at my periphery, but I endure and pull.
But with that hauling after a sudden jerk, another Nightmare forms in reality, Malew leaving my mind and joining the real world.
I did it.
I finally did it!
One Nightmare is harrowing but not a big deal after many years. Two used to be impossible. Yet I slowly overcame that hurdle as the danger of the time pushes the fear aside when I'm highly pressured. Three? I never thought it so, the fear of all three Councilmembers at once more than capable of shattering my spirit.
But I did it!
Override ends as time once more meets my mind's speed, so much blood leaving my nose that the world wobbles dangerously. I lean onto Malew's Nightmare for a second before he silently shifts his metal as he turns toward two shadows, leaving me to face Dakster. The woman laughs as I wipe the blood from my nose.
"You are a treat, Ahbram. It's like watching a dog get beat repeatedly yet always standing back up, wagging its tail for more. It's pathetic. I am ashamed to be half-Nahullo, just as you are. You share little of our traits besides that hair of yours. Not our skills, not our drive, not our physical might, and absolutely not our courage. Given the greatest bestowment of skills by the Viceroy, the perfect combination of SIgils, and yet, you squander them."
Dakster steps forward, her hands no longer moving, yet the marionettes still find my Nightmares behind us. She never needed to use her hands... she's just been watching to gauge my skills.
And the woman proves my thinking as she draws a serrated dagger from her belt, flipping it into her right hand from her left.
"But don't worry. Once I become an Angel, I'll put that body and Sigil of yours to good use."
I gasp for air as she moves toward me, her speed so blistering that I barely even raise my Claymore, Palt, in time to meet her swing. And I'm quickly pushed back as her dagger cuts my Claymore in half, the blade shattering against her force and the sharpness of whatever skill is placed on her edge. My eyes widen as her blade barely misses my flesh. I stumble backward and try to draw my Colt. Still, the woman just kicks my hand away before throwing a projectile of night into my hand, nailing it into the ground.
"Ah!"
"Shut up."
The woman looks down at me, another dagger forming as I command my Nightmares save me. But as they move toward me, the remaining shadows jump on their back. In the moment of opportunity, Dakster throws her projectiles into each of their visors. I attempt to make them evade, simply buying time, but between the puppets and Dakster's pinpoint accuracy, I quickly fail.
Mislo falls after just one volley, and I endeavor to fight back during the second with the backlash of her death, but a boot slams into my face. I hit the ground with a sickening thud as another lash of pain strikes me, and then another, each threatening to turn my mind to mush.
"A disgrace. You conjure our Council, yet they have not but a fraction of their strength. Your father wanted you to be a walking calamity, one capable of summoning the whole Council at a moment. Instead, that responsibility will fall to your sister. But you need not worry. I will not kill you. I will let my strings become your heart, my many puppets turning into one. Your father was right. If you merely listened, you would be a perfect pawn."
My mind reels with the backlash from the deaths of my Nightmares, but her words shine a light in my mind. True strength... an option still remains even as she lines up her dagger to stab my heart. She must leave my mind, or her skill won't work to steal my greatest assets, regardless if it becomes a Power. Some things are strict, like you can't use a skill if its origin is gone, and the origin of my father's and my talents are widely known.
She reels back her arm, preparing to end my life as I know it with the dagger as her shadows hold me down, but as she does so, Override once more blooms. A torrent of Ether enters my mind as I feel the real threat of Ether saturation. I'm tip-toeing the edge with my action right now, and I must make it fast. Only because of my Sigil can I move this precariously on the edge without falling unconscious, my will bolstered by many Mentalists. I'm not unyielding or stalwart of heart compared to some others, but Mentalists can bridge that gap with skill alone, using all of our potentials.
Wyatt spoke of using my Absolution to pull people other than those from the Council, those from the nightmare. And if I'm going to do so, then there is no better time than right now. The pressure of the darkness of death has no better motivator.
But who? Who do I summon? Wyatt, of course. The tough bastard will make this fight trivial as long as he can hold long enough for me to conjure some more Nightmares. Taking him from whatever fight he's in will only be a good thing, for he'll have some time to recover if he's hurt. And no one heals faster than that bastard.
And so, I reach deeply, the Ether twirling within my form into my mind for the skill, Daymare. And I reappear within that same corridor, the High Table omnipresent within my mind.
The lightless halls call for me to walk through them, eerie sounds beckoning me onward. And I do. I'm left with little choice at this point.
I tread cautiously through the abyssal corridor, an oppressive dusk enveloping me. Each step forward feels like traversing a void, my senses straining to make sense of the impenetrable blackness. Whispers, faint and indistinct, slither through the air, tugging at the edges of my consciousness.
The murmur of voices, like ethereal echoes, echoes resonates in the emptiness. They call out to me, their words a siren's song, urging me onward, deeper into the unknown, each asking me to take them. Their mysterious allure fascinates and unsettles me as if they hold secrets too profound to ignore. But I neglect them. The shadows of my mind are not worth exploring. Not yet, at least. Maybe when I'm a bit stronger, a bit more... willing. One step at a time.
With each deliberate stride, the anticipation builds, a mixture of trepidation and curiosity coursing through my veins as I hope that behind the door is Wyatt, the person I am desiring to call. Shadows dance and flicker at the periphery of my vision, hinting at untold horrors lurking in the depths. Yet, I continue to dismiss them and concentrate on the solitary door at the end of the corridor. As I move toward it, a tiny hint of light peaks out, and a voice comes too. But I just can't discern who it is. It must be Wyatt, though.
My feet bring me to the door, and I reach for it, pulling the lonely object open, mind full of hope, only to meet despair, the entirety of the Council staring at me with derision and hate. It feels as though they are really looking at me, and from what happened in Starkbluffs, I think they are.
Only the Warmaster doesn't give me such a stare. Instead, his gaze is anticipating, as if he is waiting for me to do something or for something to happen.
But nothing does. All that happens is that the dark grows darker. Then, the light, the burning pile of embers that was my mother and unborn sister, fades into ashes. And in that eternal dusk, I hear footsteps, breathing, and threats.
"We got you now, Ahbram. Can't wait to see how your body works. Ah! The taste of youth!"
"Hmm. I'm interested in how this works. How can he reach us from there, and we do not know where he is? I can't wait to dissect him."
"Disappointed. You had so many opportunities, and you have failed them all. Today, you die, child, and I take back what I gave you. Your burgeoning Power is... special. Exactly what I wanted, yet its vessel is found wanting by the Council."
"Damn, you suck. If I had a spoon like that, I'd be the Warmaster by now!"
"Shut up, Yulen! You'd be useless, you blockhead. I'd be the Warmaster."
"Quiet. We can each take part. A mind such as this will forevermore bolster ours."
The final voice is the Viceray, my father's equal in the Council, and the Warmaster's left hand. She is all about order and discipline, but how she speaks of order in my death is appalling. Footsteps grow closer as a firm hand grabs my arm and keeps it still despite my struggle.
I can't die here! Not to them! Not... not to them... anyone but them... please...
More arms join and hold me down in the darkness, keeping me entirely still.
"NO! STOP! PLEASE!"
A chuckle from Malew rings beside my ear as he murmurs to me in the dark.
"No."
Shivers run down my spine as pain abruptly spikes in my shin, the feeling of teeth on my skin making me cringe.
Nononono! No! NO! NOT LIKE THIS!
Tears fall from my face as more and more sets of teeth embrace me, heaving me toward my final destination; I am to be the sustenance for the very Council I hate with all my being.
I refuse. If there is one thing I will be, it is not their food.
With desperation, I reach out, my Ether calling for anyone, anything, that will answer. I tug for the Warmaster, the old Nahullo merely watching the scene, but he ignores me and brushes off the call. Instead, my grasp falls to nothing, and no one answers my yells.
No one can hear you scream inside your head.
The dark grows darker as the pain becomes all I am. Teeth gouge out my flesh, each chomp making my mind flicker, a part of me lost forever.
But as the dark reaches the impossible shade of Hell, a light appears, a diminutive flickering flame that answers my call.
The room ignites with a dull light as a man stumbles into the room. The only man I've ever honestly opened up to. The only man who cared not for who I was. When Malew revealed I was part Nahullo, he didn't even question me. He didn't even blink.
Burned flesh adorns his body even in the nightmare as he looks at me, surrounded by gnawing Nahullo. Though, I suppose Bonfire has always had many burns, some from his childhood, some not. However, these ones are widespread and cover every inch of him except his damn face. A soft laugh comes from his throat as he lifts his arms, fires igniting along his limbs from his fingers to his shoulders, the fires surprisingly tinged with a core of sable. The color of Combustion, the very same skill that nearly killed the man.
"Couldn't you let me sleep just one more hour? I was with a smoking hot lass. Now I got to deal with this bull."
