Blood drips down my face from my nose in two massive streams as the woman in front of me holds her jaw tightly with one hand, attempting to put it back into place. Behind her, I find Creil fighting for his life against Chris Tain and two other prisoners. But I don't have the focus to spare.
The Warden is strong, and with my help taking these figures down one by one, surely he'll be fine. Otherwise, he wouldn't be the Warden of such a place.
But as I raise my head to step forward, to finish the woman off after Shiver displayed itself, another bolt of lightning enters my mind. It feels like she is ripping open my skull, shredding the brain matter inside and eating it ruthlessly as I fall to my knees again with warmth running down my face from my eyes. I grasp for Painsforge, the Ether within shifting to bear my weight, but it's not enough.
I can barely see her through my squinted eyes and lowered head. She can't smile anymore with that broken jaw, and instead, she stands away from me, as far as she can, screaming words into my mind with hers.
"Why won't you just die! DIE, DIE, DIE! I WANT TO BE FREE!!! THEY ALL DIE SO MUCH FASTER THAN YOU!"
The crack of a tooth from my strained jaw reverberates throughout my skull as I slowly force my right arm to rise. The metallic limb moves with only a command of my mind, even under attack as it is. The woman's eyes are red, nearly bulging out of her skull as she tries to overwhelm me and blast my brain to bits.
Yet... once again, I must thank Aniwye. Mind manipulation is nothing new to me. Between Painsforge, Daydream, Ironheart, and some good old awful childhood memories, I hang on just barely.
Gradually, the barrel hidden within the palm of my right arm lifts to meet her chest. I can hardly see her reaction as the barrel slides open, revealing the gun within. The blood dripping from her nose and eyes as she tries to kill me via the mind is so deep crimson that it's all I can focus on as a silent bang resounds from the release of the gas in my hand.
The woman's chains begin to fade before she even hits the ground, and color returns to my world. A moment passes where I simply take in deep breaths before I hobble to my feet, holding my head with my still-smoking right hand. Creil is still fighting, yet his birds are lowering in number. Cursing in pain, I move forward, taking a second to look at the dead woman.
"Not the first time I've heard that."
I can't help but acknowledge the lost life in some way as I stumble past her body. My vision is still blurred and flickering, but I can still make out the battle, even as my first step leaves my world swiveling. Creil struggles against three men as much of his Ether was wasted earlier when he faced five at once. The blazing birds of the Warden now bolster cooler colors and less vibrancy.
Every step forward I take, however, leaves the world spinning and tumbling. Agony lances through my mind with each heartbeat, a ceaseless assault threatening to knock me on my ass and into the darkness. Every thought is a jagged shard of pain, every breath an effort to push through the mental torment. But I can't afford to succumb to this attack from the dead Mentalist. Creil needs my help, and while I owe this man nothing yet, I know he is doing a favor for Edward by allowing us here to get the Sigil in that man attacking him. He's even giving it to me uncontested. Things like this usually are gambled for multiple people to get at once, as there is a chance people can get more than one Sigil if they kill the creature together. There is also a chance, however, that only one gets it, and that one person could not be me. So, I have to thank him for that. Chris certainly has some unique abilities. Plus, if I don't do something, I will likely die and not advance at all.
So, as usual, I grunt in pain and take another stride forward as Creil fights for both his life and his prison.
The first assailant of Creil, Chris Tain, moves like a flickering specter, darting through the air and teleporting with disorienting speed. He reminds me of Virgil as I try to track him with my gaze. The blurred vision makes it hard, but not impossible. He's fast, but he has to take pauses, even if they're short, after each teleportation. In the blink of an eye, it's there, then gone, then there again. Creils's flames lash out at Chris, but they find no target as the teleporting foe taunts him from the shadows.
The second man is the most conspicuous. He hides behind nothing, seemingly protected by invisible shields that deflect the birds of flame sent at him. It stops every fiery assault, creating a barrier that seems impenetrable. Even worse, he's fast. Incredibly fast. He shifts around like a blur, using those Ironbound-like weaves of Ether that I can only see with Insight to try and kill Creil. Cracks and holes in the walls and floors exist from his attacks all over.
One of the cracks I step on and nearly trip as the floor falls out from under me, the once-crimson bricks falling to the level below.
And then there's the third, a man even shorter and scrawnier than Creil, with a voice that sends ripples through reality. A single word nearly pauses the entire room.
"Stop."
They command, and my friend's movements stutter as if time itself obeys the sinister decree. He's not the only one, however. We all do, excluding the one who uttered the command. It seems as though the voice has no difference between friend and foe, but that doesn't matter too much as Creil's adding wounds gradually bleed him out. Additionally, the speaker takes advantage and closes the gap between him and Creil. After several moments, the voice's command exits the air, allowing us all to move again.
I stagger forward, my vision a maelstrom of pain and disorientation. Each step is a battle against the agony that rages within my mind, threatening to consume me. But I can't let it break me, not now.
Every inch gained feels like an eternity. The world around me distorts and warps, a hallucinatory landscape where pain is the only thing to exist. Whatever that bitch did to me isn't going away quickly, even with Rapturous. It must be damage to my mind, not leftover Ether. A concussion is likely. Perhaps even a major one.
And finally, after what seems like an eternity, I move close enough to help in some way. My feet wobble as I'm only a few dozen feet from the four combatants. A fiery bird passes right by my shoulder as I stumble forward, the blaze hardly missing me.
The heat wakes me up partially, the outer pain fighting against the inner as I have a uniquely old-Wyatt idea. Groaning, I take a knife from my belt and slam it against my left shoulder, staying away from any major arteries. The pain is minor compared to that of what is in my mind, so I take it up a notch, twisting and stabbing deeper as the world sharpens. Warmth drips from my arm, but only in small quantities, as I didn't nick anything big.
Painsforge manages to take both injuries into my heart, and with my Ether, I compress it deeply, invoking power and endurance from the agony. Smiling a bloody grin of pain, I stride forward toward Chris as I juggle the blade in my left shoulder.
The escaped prisoner finally pays attention to me with a curious gaze, admitting something to Creil as he teleports beside him, striking out with a hand wrapped in revolving Ether.
"It appears you did not bring me a babe. You brought me a feral beast."
I take it as a compliment as Creil ducks under the strike, a fiery bird exiting his hand and flying toward Chris, who teleports away with a quick sidestep. He's the main threat.
My focus shifts entirely to Chris Tain as the other two press Creil, forcing him through a jail cell with the pure force of the one with the invisible shields of Ether. As I focus upon him, I reach deeply within my eyes for Insight, looking to see through his gaze.
I've learned from Virgil.
You can't catch someone like that if you don't know where they're going. You can't hit what you can't see. But... once you do. You can.
A harsh pressure meets my mind as I nearly buckle from the pain, but with trembling knees, I force my way through, opening his eyes within my mind. I can't garner a single aspect about the man, not a thought, not an emotion, not even a tick, but I can gaze with his pupils. That should be enough. So many people have protections against their minds, I shouldn't be too surprised that a 1st Sigil skill is this limited, even if Metamorphosized.
Hopefully. I'll wait a moment to observe and strike when I'm sure I know where he will go. Seconds pass as I watch the battle deteriorate faster and faster, with Creil on the losing end. Three versus one, when each is a notorious and potent fighter, is brutal. Not to mention when a bastard like Chris is there with his adaptability and foresight.
But something I quickly notice as they fight is that whenever Chris teleports somewhere, his eyes look to the location. It seems he has a restriction, just as Virgil does. Where Virgil has both a distance limit and has to take a step, Chris has to see where he is going. My friendly shadow doesn't have that problem due to the fact he can simply Flicker through any object he might end up in due to his movement. I doubt Chris holds a similar luxury.
So I wait a little longer, gradually stepping closer as I prepare my Arbalests in my feet. All the while, the dagger in my shoulder and the pain in my mind battle each other for sovereignty over my mind while I dance along the edge. Chris hasn't shown the capability to immediately teleport again after his first. There is usually a delay, and I will capitalize on that.
So, I wait. Until I spot the moment.
His eyes shift to a spot only twenty or so feet from me as a single bird of flame rages toward him. Anticipating the act, I move a needle of time afterward, Arbalesting myself toward his landing point.
And my scheme proves correct as I instantly tackle into Chris, not wasting a moment to move the dagger in my arm into his neck. As I do so, however, an invisible shied builds itself before me, but I do as I do with all constructs of Ether in the air.
I breathe them in.
Strugglers Gasp shatters the shield as I Explode the edge of my hand holding the dagger, shoving it into Chris' chest. Half of the man disappears from the force of my motion. Painsforge and Explosion are a dangerous combination.
But the instant after the dagger leaves my shoulder, the pain sinks to a dismal low compared to that of my mind. Chris lies dead beneath me as I fall to my side, hitting the floor warm from Creil's flames. Again, my vision shakes and tussles itself all over like the waves of Lawless Lake. For a second I wonder if he's truly deceased, but he must be. Not everyone is like Alexos or me. Some break easily.
As I endeavor to fight against the pain, a humming noise from my side calls out to me. Gradually flicking my eye over, I find an invisible yet existing call toward the back of Chris' skull.
His Philosopher.
The call moves my hand on its own, the Bloody Palm not acting but staying in hibernation as the damaged arm falls limply onto Chris' head and slides off. Then, the call touches me as I feel what resonance truly means.
At this point, with five Philosophers and two Absolutions, I'd wager my resonance with my Sigil is staggering, and it shows here. I don't even have to touch Chris as I simply long for the Sigil, and it responds to me in turn. I'm called so deeply that I can't even resist. My hand moves entirely on its own. The notion worries me for a second, but I don't have time to ponder.
What I do find odd is that his entire body slides slightly to meet my hand, as if my resonance is having a physical effect on the world. It has to be some concussion-induced hallucination, however. It has to be, and one moment, my vision is trembling, and the next, it is calm, organized, and within a dark cabin.
Once again, after several months, the longest stretch so far between visits, I have returned to The Cabin.
I take a moment to glance around, even as many have told me not to investigate The Cabin. It appears even more ramshackle than before, damaged and injured. Planks for splintered here and there while more violet light slips in than the last time I was here.
Indeed, we are running out of time.
Sighing, I step forward, and the book turns to the correct page before I even get close as if it already knows. A part of me wonders if it does know. My eyes cannot focus on anything else other than the shifting and luminous words that crest onto the page. They are indecipherable until they enter my soul.
The reader of this page now plants their feet steadily onto their sixth step of the stair, and for that, I congratulate you.
Your sixth Sigil towards Freedom and toward Limitlessness. One step remains until your Freedom.
The Departing, the Intrepid Strife
The departing of a prison without an exit. Able to run away from all burdens. Able to Release your soul to the utmost, extricating yourself from the limitations of mortality. Temporarily. The prison still exists, and it holds all down. Soon, Freedom is possible, yet the chains still extend, though it is much further than they once did in preparation for the jailbreak. You stand at a precipice, the walls broken, the field open, and the sky clear.
You have completed a twice-forth Acts of Absolution, as such, your Sigil will be shifted to fit and mold with your old.
Your eyes have grown furthermore. Three figments remain to be the peak; however, soon, three more shall bloom. In rehearsal, they have extended to become more solid.
An added boon exists for my dear Intrepid Strife. Your Absolution is upon the doorstep of the impossible. You near that which is undone. That which is unachieved. That which is unthought. A gasp of defiance needed to be from the lungs. Sometimes, a heart adequately defiant will suffice and accomplish more.
May your journey, while certainly filled with manipulations, be glorious, long, and worthy of my aid.
I finish the text on the left half of the page and take a short break to think it over. As usual, the skills gifted to me by my Sigil are incoherent and hardly understandable. I don't know what this new 'Release' does until I try it. The first, the physical, was about strength, speed, or flexibility. The second, the mental, was about thought and planning. This third, however, is a bit odd. Free from burdens? What does that even mean?
Shaking my head, I focus on the other parts. My chains are looser than ever before. I assume that refers to both my Ether saturation and my general fitness. Finally, my Sigil will innately give me some kind of physical power. So far, it's all been from my Absolutions, training, or skills. Even if I'm not a Soldier, it's still a bit worrying to know a well-placed bullet could end me at any time. Hopefully, not so much anymore.
The enhancement to my figments will likely make Ballista that much more powerful... and that much more difficult to draw. There goes my hope of using Painsforge to do it while the Bloody Palm is in hibernation. I'm sure the Arca-version of the Bloody Palm will still possess the force to pull the bolt back, though.
And finally, the part about my Strugglers Gasp is a relief, even If I'm not entirely sure what it means. Replacing a breath with my heart is curious, and I can only imagine it means that my heart somehow supplements that Ether. I wonder how it will do that. Maybe it's like what I did with Edward, only more powerful, siphoning Ether through my flesh. Or maybe it's something entirely different.
Shaking my head, I turn to the other side of the page, finding the new aspect of my Sigil. The shape burns its many chains and sextuplet of glaring pupils into my mind. Each pupil doesn't gaze at me, but instead through me, as if seeing the deepest recesses of my identity. Shaking my head, I follow it down the page to the final section of The Cabin's guidance.
A Departing leaves no one behind even as they exit the stage of the world's suffering, remembering the bonds and losses underneath the curtain of iron. But for a Departing to entirely rid themselves of the prison they exist under, they must Free themselves. And to be Free, the Departing must prove themselves.
But this Proof is unlike the others. You must not prove a previous Metaphor.
You must depict to the world, yourself, or a God as Worthy. Yet, he, born twice, once of which as a Philosopher, holds themselves under no lens other than their own. You are the only metier that can decide yourself as Worthy. The most difficult challenge comes from within, not without. So find what makes you Worthy within the depths of you.
To continue, my Intrepid Strife, place your mind within the Sigil and return to whence you came.
The terms of reaching the next Sigil are strict, far harsher than any other. Yet, mine are different. However, I suppose proving myself to anything other than myself is odd as I am a Philosopher, as it says.
So, I have to find what makes me worthy? Worthy in what way? I'll have to ask Edward and Johnny about this whole thing. Their Proofs were the most challenging parts of their ascensions, while Tomas' was simply finding the right foe to push him to the brink, which was, ironically, an Angel.
My focus falls back to the tome as I find the silence of The Cabin odd. Never before have I as it usually creaks and groans, yet, this time, it is wholly silent. My hand falls onto the tome as I leave The Cabin and return to the burning pain of my mind.
The crippling agony floors me, and I can't even blink. The only thing I can do is reach for the newest Sigil of mine. Indeed, removing my burdens will help me with this, right? The instinctive tug of a Sigil skill hauls my Ether toward the space in between my eyebrows as reality turns white for a moment.
All I see is a pale canvas until the world returns. Yet the pain still exists, eating its way through my mind while Creil battles the two remaining prisoners. I can hardly pay attention, but it looks like he's recovering now that Chris is dead.
What I do notice, or notice the lack thereof, is the pain of my Ether saturation. It's all gone—all of it. As if releasing my soul removed all the Ether within my body. It must be some trick of the mind, though, allowing me to push past my burdens. I sense deeper into my body, expecting to feel Ether burrowed deep into my flesh or bones, but I find nothing except a white fog covering my entire form like the mist from the Crossroads.
Wait.
It actually did it.
Blood drips down my face from my nose in two massive streams as the woman in front of me holds her jaw tightly with one hand, attempting to put it back into place. Behind her, I find Creil fighting for his life against Chris Tain and two other prisoners. But I don't have the focus to spare.
The Warden is strong, and with my help taking these figures down one by one, surely he'll be fine. Otherwise, he wouldn't be the Warden of such a place.
But as I raise my head to step forward, to finish the woman off after Shiver displayed itself, another bolt of lightning enters my mind. It feels like she is ripping open my skull, shredding the brain matter inside and eating it ruthlessly as I fall to my knees again with warmth running down my face from my eyes. I grasp for Painsforge, the Ether within shifting to bear my weight, but it's not enough.
I can barely see her through my squinted eyes and lowered head. She can't smile anymore with that broken jaw, and instead, she stands away from me, as far as she can, screaming words into my mind with hers.
"Why won't you just die! DIE, DIE, DIE! I WANT TO BE FREE!!! THEY ALL DIE SO MUCH FASTER THAN YOU!"
The crack of a tooth from my strained jaw reverberates throughout my skull as I slowly force my right arm to rise. The metallic limb moves with only a command of my mind, even under attack as it is. The woman's eyes are red, nearly bulging out of her skull as she tries to overwhelm me and blast my brain to bits.
Yet... once again, I must thank Aniwye. Mind manipulation is nothing new to me. Between Painsforge, Daydream, Ironheart, and some good old awful childhood memories, I hang on just barely.
Gradually, the barrel hidden within the palm of my right arm lifts to meet her chest. I can hardly see her reaction as the barrel slides open, revealing the gun within. The blood dripping from her nose and eyes as she tries to kill me via the mind is so deep crimson that it's all I can focus on as a silent bang resounds from the release of the gas in my hand.
The woman's chains begin to fade before she even hits the ground, and color returns to my world. A moment passes where I simply take in deep breaths before I hobble to my feet, holding my head with my still-smoking right hand. Creil is still fighting, yet his birds are lowering in number. Cursing in pain, I move forward, taking a second to look at the dead woman.
"Not the first time I've heard that."
I can't help but acknowledge the lost life in some way as I stumble past her body. My vision is still blurred and flickering, but I can still make out the battle, even as my first step leaves my world swiveling. Creil struggles against three men as much of his Ether was wasted earlier when he faced five at once. The blazing birds of the Warden now bolster cooler colors and less vibrancy.
Every step forward I take, however, leaves the world spinning and tumbling. Agony lances through my mind with each heartbeat, a ceaseless assault threatening to knock me on my ass and into the darkness. Every thought is a jagged shard of pain, every breath an effort to push through the mental torment. But I can't afford to succumb to this attack from the dead Mentalist. Creil needs my help, and while I owe this man nothing yet, I know he is doing a favor for Edward by allowing us here to get the Sigil in that man attacking him. He's even giving it to me uncontested. Things like this usually are gambled for multiple people to get at once, as there is a chance people can get more than one Sigil if they kill the creature together. There is also a chance, however, that only one gets it, and that one person could not be me. So, I have to thank him for that. Chris certainly has some unique abilities. Plus, if I don't do something, I will likely die and not advance at all.
So, as usual, I grunt in pain and take another stride forward as Creil fights for both his life and his prison.
The first assailant of Creil, Chris Tain, moves like a flickering specter, darting through the air and teleporting with disorienting speed. He reminds me of Virgil as I try to track him with my gaze. The blurred vision makes it hard, but not impossible. He's fast, but he has to take pauses, even if they're short, after each teleportation. In the blink of an eye, it's there, then gone, then there again. Creils's flames lash out at Chris, but they find no target as the teleporting foe taunts him from the shadows.
The second man is the most conspicuous. He hides behind nothing, seemingly protected by invisible shields that deflect the birds of flame sent at him. It stops every fiery assault, creating a barrier that seems impenetrable. Even worse, he's fast. Incredibly fast. He shifts around like a blur, using those Ironbound-like weaves of Ether that I can only see with Insight to try and kill Creil. Cracks and holes in the walls and floors exist from his attacks all over.
One of the cracks I step on and nearly trip as the floor falls out from under me, the once-crimson bricks falling to the level below.
And then there's the third, a man even shorter and scrawnier than Creil, with a voice that sends ripples through reality. A single word nearly pauses the entire room.
"Stop."
They command, and my friend's movements stutter as if time itself obeys the sinister decree. He's not the only one, however. We all do, excluding the one who uttered the command. It seems as though the voice has no difference between friend and foe, but that doesn't matter too much as Creil's adding wounds gradually bleed him out. Additionally, the speaker takes advantage and closes the gap between him and Creil. After several moments, the voice's command exits the air, allowing us all to move again.
I stagger forward, my vision a maelstrom of pain and disorientation. Each step is a battle against the agony that rages within my mind, threatening to consume me. But I can't let it break me, not now.
Every inch gained feels like an eternity. The world around me distorts and warps, a hallucinatory landscape where pain is the only thing to exist. Whatever that bitch did to me isn't going away quickly, even with Rapturous. It must be damage to my mind, not leftover Ether. A concussion is likely. Perhaps even a major one.
And finally, after what seems like an eternity, I move close enough to help in some way. My feet wobble as I'm only a few dozen feet from the four combatants. A fiery bird passes right by my shoulder as I stumble forward, the blaze hardly missing me.
The heat wakes me up partially, the outer pain fighting against the inner as I have a uniquely old-Wyatt idea. Groaning, I take a knife from my belt and slam it against my left shoulder, staying away from any major arteries. The pain is minor compared to that of what is in my mind, so I take it up a notch, twisting and stabbing deeper as the world sharpens. Warmth drips from my arm, but only in small quantities, as I didn't nick anything big.
Painsforge manages to take both injuries into my heart, and with my Ether, I compress it deeply, invoking power and endurance from the agony. Smiling a bloody grin of pain, I stride forward toward Chris as I juggle the blade in my left shoulder.
The escaped prisoner finally pays attention to me with a curious gaze, admitting something to Creil as he teleports beside him, striking out with a hand wrapped in revolving Ether.
"It appears you did not bring me a babe. You brought me a feral beast."
I take it as a compliment as Creil ducks under the strike, a fiery bird exiting his hand and flying toward Chris, who teleports away with a quick sidestep. He's the main threat.
My focus shifts entirely to Chris Tain as the other two press Creil, forcing him through a jail cell with the pure force of the one with the invisible shields of Ether. As I focus upon him, I reach deeply within my eyes for Insight, looking to see through his gaze.
I've learned from Virgil.
You can't catch someone like that if you don't know where they're going. You can't hit what you can't see. But... once you do. You can.
A harsh pressure meets my mind as I nearly buckle from the pain, but with trembling knees, I force my way through, opening his eyes within my mind. I can't garner a single aspect about the man, not a thought, not an emotion, not even a tick, but I can gaze with his pupils. That should be enough. So many people have protections against their minds, I shouldn't be too surprised that a 1st Sigil skill is this limited, even if Metamorphosized.
Hopefully. I'll wait a moment to observe and strike when I'm sure I know where he will go. Seconds pass as I watch the battle deteriorate faster and faster, with Creil on the losing end. Three versus one, when each is a notorious and potent fighter, is brutal. Not to mention when a bastard like Chris is there with his adaptability and foresight.
But something I quickly notice as they fight is that whenever Chris teleports somewhere, his eyes look to the location. It seems he has a restriction, just as Virgil does. Where Virgil has both a distance limit and has to take a step, Chris has to see where he is going. My friendly shadow doesn't have that problem due to the fact he can simply Flicker through any object he might end up in due to his movement. I doubt Chris holds a similar luxury.
So I wait a little longer, gradually stepping closer as I prepare my Arbalests in my feet. All the while, the dagger in my shoulder and the pain in my mind battle each other for sovereignty over my mind while I dance along the edge. Chris hasn't shown the capability to immediately teleport again after his first. There is usually a delay, and I will capitalize on that.
So, I wait. Until I spot the moment.
His eyes shift to a spot only twenty or so feet from me as a single bird of flame rages toward him. Anticipating the act, I move a needle of time afterward, Arbalesting myself toward his landing point.
And my scheme proves correct as I instantly tackle into Chris, not wasting a moment to move the dagger in my arm into his neck. As I do so, however, an invisible shied builds itself before me, but I do as I do with all constructs of Ether in the air.
I breathe them in.
Strugglers Gasp shatters the shield as I Explode the edge of my hand holding the dagger, shoving it into Chris' chest. Half of the man disappears from the force of my motion. Painsforge and Explosion are a dangerous combination.
But the instant after the dagger leaves my shoulder, the pain sinks to a dismal low compared to that of my mind. Chris lies dead beneath me as I fall to my side, hitting the floor warm from Creil's flames. Again, my vision shakes and tussles itself all over like the waves of Lawless Lake. For a second I wonder if he's truly deceased, but he must be. Not everyone is like Alexos or me. Some break easily.
As I endeavor to fight against the pain, a humming noise from my side calls out to me. Gradually flicking my eye over, I find an invisible yet existing call toward the back of Chris' skull.
His Philosopher.
The call moves my hand on its own, the Bloody Palm not acting but staying in hibernation as the damaged arm falls limply onto Chris' head and slides off. Then, the call touches me as I feel what resonance truly means.
At this point, with five Philosophers and two Absolutions, I'd wager my resonance with my Sigil is staggering, and it shows here. I don't even have to touch Chris as I simply long for the Sigil, and it responds to me in turn. I'm called so deeply that I can't even resist. My hand moves entirely on its own. The notion worries me for a second, but I don't have time to ponder.
What I do find odd is that his entire body slides slightly to meet my hand, as if my resonance is having a physical effect on the world. It has to be some concussion-induced hallucination, however. It has to be, and one moment, my vision is trembling, and the next, it is calm, organized, and within a dark cabin.
Once again, after several months, the longest stretch so far between visits, I have returned to The Cabin.
I take a moment to glance around, even as many have told me not to investigate The Cabin. It appears even more ramshackle than before, damaged and injured. Planks for splintered here and there while more violet light slips in than the last time I was here.
Indeed, we are running out of time.
Sighing, I step forward, and the book turns to the correct page before I even get close as if it already knows. A part of me wonders if it does know. My eyes cannot focus on anything else other than the shifting and luminous words that crest onto the page. They are indecipherable until they enter my soul.
The reader of this page now plants their feet steadily onto their sixth step of the stair, and for that, I congratulate you.
Your sixth Sigil towards Freedom and toward Limitlessness. One step remains until your Freedom.
The Departing, the Intrepid Strife
The departing of a prison without an exit. Able to run away from all burdens. Able to Release your soul to the utmost, extricating yourself from the limitations of mortality. Temporarily. The prison still exists, and it holds all down. Soon, Freedom is possible, yet the chains still extend, though it is much further than they once did in preparation for the jailbreak. You stand at a precipice, the walls broken, the field open, and the sky clear.
You have completed a twice-forth Acts of Absolution, as such, your Sigil will be shifted to fit and mold with your old.
Your eyes have grown furthermore. Three figments remain to be the peak; however, soon, three more shall bloom. In rehearsal, they have extended to become more solid.
An added boon exists for my dear Intrepid Strife. Your Absolution is upon the doorstep of the impossible. You near that which is undone. That which is unachieved. That which is unthought. A gasp of defiance needed to be from the lungs. Sometimes, a heart adequately defiant will suffice and accomplish more.
May your journey, while certainly filled with manipulations, be glorious, long, and worthy of my aid.
I finish the text on the left half of the page and take a short break to think it over. As usual, the skills gifted to me by my Sigil are incoherent and hardly understandable. I don't know what this new 'Release' does until I try it. The first, the physical, was about strength, speed, or flexibility. The second, the mental, was about thought and planning. This third, however, is a bit odd. Free from burdens? What does that even mean?
Shaking my head, I focus on the other parts. My chains are looser than ever before. I assume that refers to both my Ether saturation and my general fitness. Finally, my Sigil will innately give me some kind of physical power. So far, it's all been from my Absolutions, training, or skills. Even if I'm not a Soldier, it's still a bit worrying to know a well-placed bullet could end me at any time. Hopefully, not so much anymore.
The enhancement to my figments will likely make Ballista that much more powerful... and that much more difficult to draw. There goes my hope of using Painsforge to do it while the Bloody Palm is in hibernation. I'm sure the Arca-version of the Bloody Palm will still possess the force to pull the bolt back, though.
And finally, the part about my Strugglers Gasp is a relief, even If I'm not entirely sure what it means. Replacing a breath with my heart is curious, and I can only imagine it means that my heart somehow supplements that Ether. I wonder how it will do that. Maybe it's like what I did with Edward, only more powerful, siphoning Ether through my flesh. Or maybe it's something entirely different.
Shaking my head, I turn to the other side of the page, finding the new aspect of my Sigil. The shape burns its many chains and sextuplet of glaring pupils into my mind. Each pupil doesn't gaze at me, but instead through me, as if seeing the deepest recesses of my identity. Shaking my head, I follow it down the page to the final section of The Cabin's guidance.
A Departing leaves no one behind even as they exit the stage of the world's suffering, remembering the bonds and losses underneath the curtain of iron. But for a Departing to entirely rid themselves of the prison they exist under, they must Free themselves. And to be Free, the Departing must prove themselves.
But this Proof is unlike the others. You must not prove a previous Metaphor.
You must depict to the world, yourself, or a God as Worthy. Yet, he, born twice, once of which as a Philosopher, holds themselves under no lens other than their own. You are the only metier that can decide yourself as Worthy. The most difficult challenge comes from within, not without. So find what makes you Worthy within the depths of you.
To continue, my Intrepid Strife, place your mind within the Sigil and return to whence you came.
The terms of reaching the next Sigil are strict, far harsher than any other. Yet, mine are different. However, I suppose proving myself to anything other than myself is odd as I am a Philosopher, as it says.
So, I have to find what makes me worthy? Worthy in what way? I'll have to ask Edward and Johnny about this whole thing. Their Proofs were the most challenging parts of their ascensions, while Tomas' was simply finding the right foe to push him to the brink, which was, ironically, an Angel.
My focus falls back to the tome as I find the silence of The Cabin odd. Never before have I as it usually creaks and groans, yet, this time, it is wholly silent. My hand falls onto the tome as I leave The Cabin and return to the burning pain of my mind.
The crippling agony floors me, and I can't even blink. The only thing I can do is reach for the newest Sigil of mine. Indeed, removing my burdens will help me with this, right? The instinctive tug of a Sigil skill hauls my Ether toward the space in between my eyebrows as reality turns white for a moment.
All I see is a pale canvas until the world returns. Yet the pain still exists, eating its way through my mind while Creil battles the two remaining prisoners. I can hardly pay attention, but it looks like he's recovering now that Chris is dead.
What I do notice, or notice the lack thereof, is the pain of my Ether saturation. It's all gone—all of it. As if releasing my soul removed all the Ether within my body. It must be some trick of the mind, though, allowing me to push past my burdens. I sense deeper into my body, expecting to feel Ether burrowed deep into my flesh or bones, but I find nothing except a white fog covering my entire form like the mist from the Crossroads.
Wait.
It actually did it.
