I push Earl from the hug as tears drip from my eyes, staining my vision. The man stutters to reply as I shove the arm back to him.
"Thank you, Earl. I love it. The moment you are done, I want to see it. No, I want to see any progress you make with it! This is incredible! A mechanical arm! How? How does it even work!?"
For the first time in my life, I need to know. How did he make this? It might not be done yet for operational, but I know it will be. Earl has never failed to make anything he set his mind to.
But in reply, the man scratches the back of his head, almost falling from the heavy weight of the arm.
"Well... I took some inspiration from your Bulwark and the Bloody Palm. Plus, Marshall had engineering books about how the Steam Train was made here. After all, It stops at Bent once a month, which was the main reason it was made. Oh, and the Almanac has a bunch of mechanical stuff in it about wires, gears, pulleys, and pipes. I'm pretty sure if I find the right Sigil, probably a Priest and Scholar combo or maybe an Occultist, I could get the arm to work without external support. The former would likely work independently, while the latter would take from you to bolster itself. Which one would you prefer? I'd wager that the Occultist would make it a more powerful arm while the P and S would reduce its power for sustainability. If you have any other ideas, too, feel free to hit me with them."
A blur of babble leaves his mouth, and I only understand the last few parts. Strength at the cost of siphoning from me or sustainable force? Well... I'm not sure. I sit down with them and spark a few ideas out as Elizabeth merely smiles at our back and forth, Esther on her lap.
"Hmm... I'm leaning toward Occultist as I think it would synergize well with the Bloody Palm. And could you put a Comanche in it for the sense of touch? I feel like that might work."
Earl nods, tapping the arm as he replies.
"I was thinking the same, but it's your arm. So, I wanted to make sure. Now, I'm likely going to be limited to two or three Sigils for this, as I won't have much time to practice when I get my Craftsman. But, in the future, I promise to make you something that can keep up with you, possibly even handle your Explosions without breaking."
I waive his worries as I'm simply glad I will get a right arm at all.
"Don't worry if it's weak. I'd take it just for the limb, even without the usefulness in combat."
Elizabeth then chimes in as Earl goes to speak again, his neverending rants put to a stop.
"Well, I'm happy you two got something going, but Wyatt, there are more people here than us. Go talk to them and then come back. We'll still be here by the time you're done."
Smiling, I bob my head and stand before stepping over to Virgil's table, where his family sits. Dakota also hops and taps beside me. As I do so, I wave to the three I'm leaving.
"Be back, then! I want to hear more about how things are going when I return!"
I get a series of nods before I join Virgil and his siblings. Aron shouts at me to sit beside her, and so I do. The spot is perfect for watching Victor paint, the man barely older than me fussing as he creates a scene on a piece of canvas. Using scant few colors, he produces a single-story ranch house with a horse in front of it. The man then details in farmland and a woman with long brilliant dark hair on the porch, waving her hand.
As he does so, Aron runs her mouth to the whole table.
"Wyatt and I were supposed to go do something, but he's been so busy and ignored all my attempts to get his attention. What do I do, brother?"
I sputter, trying to defend myself as Aron rolls her head back in laughter, even a tiny giggle coming from the pale Nora.
"I-- I didn't ignore you!"
"I know! I was lying! Hahaaa. You shouldn't be so quick to believe things, Wyatt. We'll go on that date when we make it to Blackreach in a while or so. We have no hurry, y'know. Bent is an awful place to do a first date. Say, Nora, you want to join? I know you're lonely."
Aron's words from her smiling face make Nora and I's faces turn beet red as we glance at each other, the 'older twin' changing her mind.
"Ah, never mind. Nora's too embarrassed. Ah, what are you drawing, Victor? Is that a bear?"
Victor sighs as he flicks a bit of paint at Aron.
"No. It's a horse, you dunce."
Aron pouts as she lightly bangs her hands on the table, making it hard to notice if she's still joking. But Virgil quickly stops her.
"Enough, Air. You're torturing them."
Aron, called Air by her older brother, simply smiles as she flicks her hair back.
"I know."
Virgil can only sigh as he slides back into his chair, his hood now covering his face from the sun. I miss being able to see his facial expressions all the time. They weren't too detailed, but it's still something.
I can't help but wonder where Vernon would fit into this family. I never got to see him with all his siblings. My heart stings seeing the empty seat beside Virgil, the Colt of his brother already placed there. Vernon will always have a place at their table even if he's gone.
Victor quickly wraps up his art before handing it to me, saying a few words.
"Virgil described to me your old home from what you told him. I hope it's accurate, or at least close enough to fill some part of your heart. Here you go, your gift from us."
I take it with joy, taking in the careful strokes of paint and the kind face detailed on Ma's face. She might not indeed be what's depicted here, but I'll take it. Aniwye spoke the truth when she said I was given a solid childhood, one to look back to and anchor onto. Even months after I learned the honest reality of what happened, I still smile when I see Ma.
I can't help it.
"I know it's nothing like what Earl's got in the works for you, but I still hope you love it, Wyatt. And, if you want more, just know Victor charges ten dollars per piece."
Virgil cuts into my staring at the painting, but I don't fault him. I turn and hug him as well, the older man patting me on the back. Then, he pushes me with a whisper.
"I might not have raised you like the others, but you are welcome to any Boone family gathering, okay? Now, go say hi to the monsters that came. And I'm not talking about Primrose and Autumn."
Chuckling softly, I step away and place the painting of the table with Earl, Esther, and Elizabeth before moving toward Johnny and the Rougarou. Though, they don't speak much, Johnny does most of it for them.
"It takes a while to get much information from these two, but I brought them because I have to watch over them. Happy birthday, Wyatt. I hope you're doing well. I'll have to slip out soon as Marshall has a meeting about the Motherbound hidden in our ranks. It's just him, Millie, Tomas, and me, or else I'd have you and Primrose come too. I'm pretty sure something is up with either Heath or Bonfire. Probably Heath, as we can't find him anymore."
I nod to him as the shorter Rougarou beside him growls out a word.
"Wytt!"
Grinning, I raise a hand to Ka, replying to her.
"Nice to see you too, Ka. And you as well, Rou."
Rou only grumbles back to me with a low pitch before Johnny takes it over for him.
"They are here for food and recovery. I doubt they will go with us any further than Bent, as forests are rare in Vallens and do not exist at all in Blackreach. But they are good guards while I sleep, so I can't complain. Anyway, have a nice two-days-late-birthday, Wyatt. I'll see you later."
Johnny turns and, with wave, leaves, the two Rougarou following him out as he departs shortly after arriving. After he leaves, I move over and join the poker table for a round, lamenting inwardly about the missing Bonfire and the others.
It isn't enjoyable, even with Silas as the dealer, offering real money for winning, so I leave after a bit and rejoin the table Earl heads. I spend minutes talking to them, learning how Elizabeth is leading soldiers, Earl is crafting things, and Esther is being taught by some wounded soldiers how to fight. I ensure they are going easy on her, but I don't tell her to stop. She needs to learn it eventually. Better sooner than later.
Yet, after an hour, people start leaving, and after two, only the four of us, oh, and Dakota, are remaining. Then, Marshall bursts into the Pit when the time nears two-and-a-half hours.
"Alright, get out of here, runts. You've had your fun with him. Now, it's my turn."
I give Earl and Elizabeth the go-ahead to leave as Earl promises to work on the arm as much as possible. And once he goes, I offer a proposition to Marshall.
"Earl is making me a mechanical arm to substitute my missing one, but he needs to have that Craftsman Sigil. Could you spare a Concoction so he can skip some of the time to gain Ether?"
Marshall shakes his head in the negative, throwing out a warning as he raises his palms.
"No. That is highly dangerous, and while it might work sometimes, there is a reason it is not widespread. The chance to become a Motherbound from that is non-zero. In fact, it's probably close to fifty percent of the time."
Damn. Well, I guess I'll just have to wait. I suppose that's why the skip isn't so well-known. In the meantime, I should try and land a hit on Marshall. I can do that, right?
********************************
Sand enters my mouth as I'm slammed into the ground, Marshall's balled fist throwing me to the ground. Every muscle, tendon, and bone in my body aches for rest, yet I order them to move, to stand.
They refuse. Two weeks into training, and I can't move anymore. It's just too brutal. I only get to rest when I'm practicing Ether during the sieges. And even that slowly wears me out. I... just can't. Day in, day out, I am constantly doing something that either tears apart my mind, body, or both.
My arms push, but no force comes out.
My legs kick, but no momentum comes.
I try to roll onto my chest, but zero effect ensues.
The whole world is blurring, and sleep has been escaping me for several days. I think I got to fall asleep a week ago during a particularly successful defense. Marshall is doing this on purpose. He has to be. I just don't know why.
Yet as I lay here, a solid boot taps against my head, Marshall speaking to me. His voice is firm yet unhurried despite the time running out. I've made much less improvement than the first few days, and even then, he ignores it.
"Get up. Another round."
Sputtering, I finally tell him the words I've wanted to say for the past few days.
"I-I can't. You're just too strong. I can't keep up."
The Unyielding Wall scoffs as he lifts his boot off my skull and places it back on the Pit's sand.
"I get it. You're afraid. You're afraid that you aren't good enough. That I'm too powerful, and so are the foes that matter, that you will simply get smashed into the sands of time, forgotten and unimportant."
I instantly refuse, knowing it is not fear but, instead, hopelessness that holds me back. But Marshall does not care.
"I'm not---"
"You need to put something in that thick skull of yours, kid. The strongest are not to be feared. "
Marshal bends down, his knee pressing into the dirt of the training ground as he looks me in the eyes, his brown meeting mine.
"It's those who stand back up. Those are the ones you fear. I've never met an Angel unwilling to get back up. Each possesses forces of will equalling that of our stature."
He stands again, offering his impossibly marred hand to me.
"What is it we say here, boy?"
I take the hand, lifted into the air like a ragdoll before stabilizing my feet. Then, I reply, spouting the words from memory as my breath leaves me ragged and tired.
"Into the long dusk, we always rage, rage against the inevitable end, the long darkness that never ceases. Until the very last man, we fight.
No candle may be snuffed without a sound. Even as the dark takes us, we burn with rage as unending as the dark.
And as the very last man falls, he, too, shall spread the fire."
Marshall nods deeply, his head sinking low, but he corrects me.
"You are missing a part. The one I have only told two others. A phrase that keeps me going even when I can't see the light. The words I said to myself before that crowd days ago."
Marshall admitting weakness to me widens my eyes, and I step back in surprise. But the man doesn't care. The Wall speaks only truths.
"=The dark fears, not the man, but the light he can spread."
Marshall strides forward, his boot crunching upon the dirt as he taps a weighty finger into my chest. I nearly fall backward simply from the light pressure he applies.
"I do not care who you are, where you are from, or how you got here, Wyatt. I care not even for the methods you use. I can only for the light you can spread. That is the only thing that matters. We stand at a precipice, boy. And while you aren't our only hope, you are among short company."
The Unyielding Wall then pushes harder, his fleshy finger more steel than meat as it digs into my body a quarter-inch. The pain makes me want to step back, but the man's eyes keep me still.
"So, you need to stop with the bullshit if you want to be consequential. That hand you have there? That is the only hand you'll ever get. And you need to use it. Honestly, use it. I've watched you fight the past two weeks, refusing its aid. Maybe not consciously, but subconsciously. Next, remove your caution over your Colt. If the time ever comes that you need to fire it, do so. Tell me the words I want to hear."
My head sags as my body teeters on the brink of collapsing, yet I answer him. He's been beating this phrase into my head countless times in the past while. What is it with him and mottos?
"Hesitation is death."
He nods, ambling several feet in reverse before waving his hands outward, the scars shining under the moonlight.
"Indeed. Now, kill me. And don't do it alone. I want to see you do it together with your Artifiction. I've been building you to this. Old texts from the attack on the Hollows I dug into recently spoke of Twilight being a stage only reachable when both artifact and man are on the brink. So, come. I don't believe the Bloody Palm is tired yet. Let's make it that way. Lose control if you have to. I know you've gained it back before. Fall, Wyatt. And show me you can stand back up."
Marshall so effortlessly tells me to lose control, to let the Bloody Palm take over so that we may become closer. I hesitate shortly, staring at the artifact that is my left dforearm and hand before breaking out of it.
Hesitation is death.
Glancing at Marshall, I return my focus to the Bloody Palm.
It's time, isn't it?
Sighing, I release the figment of Madness in my arm, the physical and mental block within my flesh fading away. Yet as it does, no attack comes, only a curious tendril of dark energy.
But that is just what it is, dark. The Bloody Palm cannot help its nature any more than I can change mine.
Broken. Shattered. Beaten. Yet... we both get up again.
Me, from endless wounds and losses, and the artifact from actual death. I wonder... who did you come from? What failures, injuries, and triumphs have you gone through?
Who are you?
So many thoughts I never was willing to ponder rush me as once as I fall to my knees, my legs giving out. And as I do so, the darkness of the Bloody Palm's Ether welcomes me in a precarious embrace.
And I don't push it back.
For once, I accept it, allowing it to dig deep and burrow itself around me as I stare at Marshall, the man encouraging me.
"Twilight can only be reached by blending night and day, of man and monster. Only when both break down can the two marry. You need not worry about your artifact breaking. I will do it myself. You must only crawl out, Wyatt, and form a deal. No matter how tenuous, you must make one. Otherwise... you will never reach the Angelic Realm, for no Hollow has ever done it before."
Marshall pauses a moment as he reveals some hidden information before the darkness takes me.
"And... to be an Angel requires you to be pure of mind. In truth, one can be an Angel without ever fighting a day in their life, technically. Yet, few, so very few, are pure of mind in any other time than the moments where they glide against death."
A sigh escapes his lips as he lets out a declaration worse than a death sentence to my fading ears, the shadows creeping in as the Bloody Palm slowly takes me, its instincts doing as they should.
"Unless you reach Dawn and can separate yourself from your artifact at will and merge seamlessly together, you will never become an Angel. It's as simple as that."
I push Earl from the hug as tears drip from my eyes, staining my vision. The man stutters to reply as I shove the arm back to him.
"Thank you, Earl. I love it. The moment you are done, I want to see it. No, I want to see any progress you make with it! This is incredible! A mechanical arm! How? How does it even work!?"
For the first time in my life, I need to know. How did he make this? It might not be done yet for operational, but I know it will be. Earl has never failed to make anything he set his mind to.
But in reply, the man scratches the back of his head, almost falling from the heavy weight of the arm.
"Well... I took some inspiration from your Bulwark and the Bloody Palm. Plus, Marshall had engineering books about how the Steam Train was made here. After all, It stops at Bent once a month, which was the main reason it was made. Oh, and the Almanac has a bunch of mechanical stuff in it about wires, gears, pulleys, and pipes. I'm pretty sure if I find the right Sigil, probably a Priest and Scholar combo or maybe an Occultist, I could get the arm to work without external support. The former would likely work independently, while the latter would take from you to bolster itself. Which one would you prefer? I'd wager that the Occultist would make it a more powerful arm while the P and S would reduce its power for sustainability. If you have any other ideas, too, feel free to hit me with them."
A blur of babble leaves his mouth, and I only understand the last few parts. Strength at the cost of siphoning from me or sustainable force? Well... I'm not sure. I sit down with them and spark a few ideas out as Elizabeth merely smiles at our back and forth, Esther on her lap.
"Hmm... I'm leaning toward Occultist as I think it would synergize well with the Bloody Palm. And could you put a Comanche in it for the sense of touch? I feel like that might work."
Earl nods, tapping the arm as he replies.
"I was thinking the same, but it's your arm. So, I wanted to make sure. Now, I'm likely going to be limited to two or three Sigils for this, as I won't have much time to practice when I get my Craftsman. But, in the future, I promise to make you something that can keep up with you, possibly even handle your Explosions without breaking."
I waive his worries as I'm simply glad I will get a right arm at all.
"Don't worry if it's weak. I'd take it just for the limb, even without the usefulness in combat."
Elizabeth then chimes in as Earl goes to speak again, his neverending rants put to a stop.
"Well, I'm happy you two got something going, but Wyatt, there are more people here than us. Go talk to them and then come back. We'll still be here by the time you're done."
Smiling, I bob my head and stand before stepping over to Virgil's table, where his family sits. Dakota also hops and taps beside me. As I do so, I wave to the three I'm leaving.
"Be back, then! I want to hear more about how things are going when I return!"
I get a series of nods before I join Virgil and his siblings. Aron shouts at me to sit beside her, and so I do. The spot is perfect for watching Victor paint, the man barely older than me fussing as he creates a scene on a piece of canvas. Using scant few colors, he produces a single-story ranch house with a horse in front of it. The man then details in farmland and a woman with long brilliant dark hair on the porch, waving her hand.
As he does so, Aron runs her mouth to the whole table.
"Wyatt and I were supposed to go do something, but he's been so busy and ignored all my attempts to get his attention. What do I do, brother?"
I sputter, trying to defend myself as Aron rolls her head back in laughter, even a tiny giggle coming from the pale Nora.
"I-- I didn't ignore you!"
"I know! I was lying! Hahaaa. You shouldn't be so quick to believe things, Wyatt. We'll go on that date when we make it to Blackreach in a while or so. We have no hurry, y'know. Bent is an awful place to do a first date. Say, Nora, you want to join? I know you're lonely."
Aron's words from her smiling face make Nora and I's faces turn beet red as we glance at each other, the 'older twin' changing her mind.
"Ah, never mind. Nora's too embarrassed. Ah, what are you drawing, Victor? Is that a bear?"
Victor sighs as he flicks a bit of paint at Aron.
"No. It's a horse, you dunce."
Aron pouts as she lightly bangs her hands on the table, making it hard to notice if she's still joking. But Virgil quickly stops her.
"Enough, Air. You're torturing them."
Aron, called Air by her older brother, simply smiles as she flicks her hair back.
"I know."
Virgil can only sigh as he slides back into his chair, his hood now covering his face from the sun. I miss being able to see his facial expressions all the time. They weren't too detailed, but it's still something.
I can't help but wonder where Vernon would fit into this family. I never got to see him with all his siblings. My heart stings seeing the empty seat beside Virgil, the Colt of his brother already placed there. Vernon will always have a place at their table even if he's gone.
Victor quickly wraps up his art before handing it to me, saying a few words.
"Virgil described to me your old home from what you told him. I hope it's accurate, or at least close enough to fill some part of your heart. Here you go, your gift from us."
I take it with joy, taking in the careful strokes of paint and the kind face detailed on Ma's face. She might not indeed be what's depicted here, but I'll take it. Aniwye spoke the truth when she said I was given a solid childhood, one to look back to and anchor onto. Even months after I learned the honest reality of what happened, I still smile when I see Ma.
I can't help it.
"I know it's nothing like what Earl's got in the works for you, but I still hope you love it, Wyatt. And, if you want more, just know Victor charges ten dollars per piece."
Virgil cuts into my staring at the painting, but I don't fault him. I turn and hug him as well, the older man patting me on the back. Then, he pushes me with a whisper.
"I might not have raised you like the others, but you are welcome to any Boone family gathering, okay? Now, go say hi to the monsters that came. And I'm not talking about Primrose and Autumn."
Chuckling softly, I step away and place the painting of the table with Earl, Esther, and Elizabeth before moving toward Johnny and the Rougarou. Though, they don't speak much, Johnny does most of it for them.
"It takes a while to get much information from these two, but I brought them because I have to watch over them. Happy birthday, Wyatt. I hope you're doing well. I'll have to slip out soon as Marshall has a meeting about the Motherbound hidden in our ranks. It's just him, Millie, Tomas, and me, or else I'd have you and Primrose come too. I'm pretty sure something is up with either Heath or Bonfire. Probably Heath, as we can't find him anymore."
I nod to him as the shorter Rougarou beside him growls out a word.
"Wytt!"
Grinning, I raise a hand to Ka, replying to her.
"Nice to see you too, Ka. And you as well, Rou."
Rou only grumbles back to me with a low pitch before Johnny takes it over for him.
"They are here for food and recovery. I doubt they will go with us any further than Bent, as forests are rare in Vallens and do not exist at all in Blackreach. But they are good guards while I sleep, so I can't complain. Anyway, have a nice two-days-late-birthday, Wyatt. I'll see you later."
Johnny turns and, with wave, leaves, the two Rougarou following him out as he departs shortly after arriving. After he leaves, I move over and join the poker table for a round, lamenting inwardly about the missing Bonfire and the others.
It isn't enjoyable, even with Silas as the dealer, offering real money for winning, so I leave after a bit and rejoin the table Earl heads. I spend minutes talking to them, learning how Elizabeth is leading soldiers, Earl is crafting things, and Esther is being taught by some wounded soldiers how to fight. I ensure they are going easy on her, but I don't tell her to stop. She needs to learn it eventually. Better sooner than later.
Yet, after an hour, people start leaving, and after two, only the four of us, oh, and Dakota, are remaining. Then, Marshall bursts into the Pit when the time nears two-and-a-half hours.
"Alright, get out of here, runts. You've had your fun with him. Now, it's my turn."
I give Earl and Elizabeth the go-ahead to leave as Earl promises to work on the arm as much as possible. And once he goes, I offer a proposition to Marshall.
"Earl is making me a mechanical arm to substitute my missing one, but he needs to have that Craftsman Sigil. Could you spare a Concoction so he can skip some of the time to gain Ether?"
Marshall shakes his head in the negative, throwing out a warning as he raises his palms.
"No. That is highly dangerous, and while it might work sometimes, there is a reason it is not widespread. The chance to become a Motherbound from that is non-zero. In fact, it's probably close to fifty percent of the time."
Damn. Well, I guess I'll just have to wait. I suppose that's why the skip isn't so well-known. In the meantime, I should try and land a hit on Marshall. I can do that, right?
********************************
Sand enters my mouth as I'm slammed into the ground, Marshall's balled fist throwing me to the ground. Every muscle, tendon, and bone in my body aches for rest, yet I order them to move, to stand.
They refuse. Two weeks into training, and I can't move anymore. It's just too brutal. I only get to rest when I'm practicing Ether during the sieges. And even that slowly wears me out. I... just can't. Day in, day out, I am constantly doing something that either tears apart my mind, body, or both.
My arms push, but no force comes out.
My legs kick, but no momentum comes.
I try to roll onto my chest, but zero effect ensues.
The whole world is blurring, and sleep has been escaping me for several days. I think I got to fall asleep a week ago during a particularly successful defense. Marshall is doing this on purpose. He has to be. I just don't know why.
Yet as I lay here, a solid boot taps against my head, Marshall speaking to me. His voice is firm yet unhurried despite the time running out. I've made much less improvement than the first few days, and even then, he ignores it.
"Get up. Another round."
Sputtering, I finally tell him the words I've wanted to say for the past few days.
"I-I can't. You're just too strong. I can't keep up."
The Unyielding Wall scoffs as he lifts his boot off my skull and places it back on the Pit's sand.
"I get it. You're afraid. You're afraid that you aren't good enough. That I'm too powerful, and so are the foes that matter, that you will simply get smashed into the sands of time, forgotten and unimportant."
I instantly refuse, knowing it is not fear but, instead, hopelessness that holds me back. But Marshall does not care.
"I'm not---"
"You need to put something in that thick skull of yours, kid. The strongest are not to be feared. "
Marshal bends down, his knee pressing into the dirt of the training ground as he looks me in the eyes, his brown meeting mine.
"It's those who stand back up. Those are the ones you fear. I've never met an Angel unwilling to get back up. Each possesses forces of will equalling that of our stature."
He stands again, offering his impossibly marred hand to me.
"What is it we say here, boy?"
I take the hand, lifted into the air like a ragdoll before stabilizing my feet. Then, I reply, spouting the words from memory as my breath leaves me ragged and tired.
"Into the long dusk, we always rage, rage against the inevitable end, the long darkness that never ceases. Until the very last man, we fight.
No candle may be snuffed without a sound. Even as the dark takes us, we burn with rage as unending as the dark.
And as the very last man falls, he, too, shall spread the fire."
Marshall nods deeply, his head sinking low, but he corrects me.
"You are missing a part. The one I have only told two others. A phrase that keeps me going even when I can't see the light. The words I said to myself before that crowd days ago."
Marshall admitting weakness to me widens my eyes, and I step back in surprise. But the man doesn't care. The Wall speaks only truths.
"=The dark fears, not the man, but the light he can spread."
Marshall strides forward, his boot crunching upon the dirt as he taps a weighty finger into my chest. I nearly fall backward simply from the light pressure he applies.
"I do not care who you are, where you are from, or how you got here, Wyatt. I care not even for the methods you use. I can only for the light you can spread. That is the only thing that matters. We stand at a precipice, boy. And while you aren't our only hope, you are among short company."
The Unyielding Wall then pushes harder, his fleshy finger more steel than meat as it digs into my body a quarter-inch. The pain makes me want to step back, but the man's eyes keep me still.
"So, you need to stop with the bullshit if you want to be consequential. That hand you have there? That is the only hand you'll ever get. And you need to use it. Honestly, use it. I've watched you fight the past two weeks, refusing its aid. Maybe not consciously, but subconsciously. Next, remove your caution over your Colt. If the time ever comes that you need to fire it, do so. Tell me the words I want to hear."
My head sags as my body teeters on the brink of collapsing, yet I answer him. He's been beating this phrase into my head countless times in the past while. What is it with him and mottos?
"Hesitation is death."
He nods, ambling several feet in reverse before waving his hands outward, the scars shining under the moonlight.
"Indeed. Now, kill me. And don't do it alone. I want to see you do it together with your Artifiction. I've been building you to this. Old texts from the attack on the Hollows I dug into recently spoke of Twilight being a stage only reachable when both artifact and man are on the brink. So, come. I don't believe the Bloody Palm is tired yet. Let's make it that way. Lose control if you have to. I know you've gained it back before. Fall, Wyatt. And show me you can stand back up."
Marshall so effortlessly tells me to lose control, to let the Bloody Palm take over so that we may become closer. I hesitate shortly, staring at the artifact that is my left dforearm and hand before breaking out of it.
Hesitation is death.
Glancing at Marshall, I return my focus to the Bloody Palm.
It's time, isn't it?
Sighing, I release the figment of Madness in my arm, the physical and mental block within my flesh fading away. Yet as it does, no attack comes, only a curious tendril of dark energy.
But that is just what it is, dark. The Bloody Palm cannot help its nature any more than I can change mine.
Broken. Shattered. Beaten. Yet... we both get up again.
Me, from endless wounds and losses, and the artifact from actual death. I wonder... who did you come from? What failures, injuries, and triumphs have you gone through?
Who are you?
So many thoughts I never was willing to ponder rush me as once as I fall to my knees, my legs giving out. And as I do so, the darkness of the Bloody Palm's Ether welcomes me in a precarious embrace.
And I don't push it back.
For once, I accept it, allowing it to dig deep and burrow itself around me as I stare at Marshall, the man encouraging me.
"Twilight can only be reached by blending night and day, of man and monster. Only when both break down can the two marry. You need not worry about your artifact breaking. I will do it myself. You must only crawl out, Wyatt, and form a deal. No matter how tenuous, you must make one. Otherwise... you will never reach the Angelic Realm, for no Hollow has ever done it before."
Marshall pauses a moment as he reveals some hidden information before the darkness takes me.
"And... to be an Angel requires you to be pure of mind. In truth, one can be an Angel without ever fighting a day in their life, technically. Yet, few, so very few, are pure of mind in any other time than the moments where they glide against death."
A sigh escapes his lips as he lets out a declaration worse than a death sentence to my fading ears, the shadows creeping in as the Bloody Palm slowly takes me, its instincts doing as they should.
"Unless you reach Dawn and can separate yourself from your artifact at will and merge seamlessly together, you will never become an Angel. It's as simple as that."
