“Boy, do not fear, for I am now fully aware of your circumstances. Know that you are not alone in your struggles, for together, we will overcome them.”

The goldfinger’s words echoed in Edward’s mind. What could it have meant by ‘do not fear, for I am fully aware of your circumstances?’ Was it a taunt? Acting as if he was worried that it hadn’t noticed his remaining life, and that it then might not continue its torture? It could be trying to make up for the relief it had unintentionally brought him when it summoned forth the fragments of his consciousness.

That could be the only answer, as he refused to believe that it still thought they were friends, or, more aptly, reluctant companions, after what it had put him through. He would not fall for the allure of its words, nor for the connection he so desperately wished was a true one. Every ounce of trust he placed in the world paid him back in betrayal and he could not bring himself to suffer another round of pain.

There was, however, an upside to all the torment he had experienced, the connection no longer instilled a false sense of trust and acceptance in him towards Gerald. His mind would no longer be clouded by outside influences, and every word or phrase that left the goldfinger’s mouth could finally be viewed by him with the proper amount of scrutiny and caution.

Not that he’d be able to do so for long, death had accidentally run past him and would soon realize its mistake. It was best to not get too comfortable with his extremely uncomfortable circumstances.

He was starting to wonder what the goldfinger was planning though. It clearly knew that he was on his last legs, so what was the point in its taunts and claims that they would work together? Edward really did not care for the wordplay, why couldn’t it just say that it was going to brainwash him? Was it that difficult for enemies to be honest with one another? Not that he’d trust a single word that left its mouth.

“Now, let me guide you through the first step in your recovery, fixing the disharmony in your body-soul linkage. This is a critical step, as it will allow you to operate your body once more. Your mobility will not fully return in one go, but with enough sessions and practice, you will be able to achieve even greater harmony than you once possessed.”

“Now I know you cannot respond to me, so I need you to listen carefully to each step and commit them to memory. Our only option will be for me to repeat the steps of the technique until the issue is fixed, and you are able to tell me to stop.”

There was not a single reality in which Edward would listen to and follow the instructions of Gerald. It was obvious that this was some convoluted scheme to make Edward turn himself into a loyal minion of the goldfinger by his own hands. Becoming its servant was not an option, and even if it was, he was going to make sure that it had to put in the work itself.

And the fact that it was not doing it personally spoke volumes about the state that the goldfinger was truly in. This was all posturing, a false façade, an act to appear strong, when in fact, it was also struggling. Even though the energy did not finish Gerald off, it was likely in terrible condition, just as he was.

Maybe its soul was also damaged during the eruption. That could mean that this ‘procedure’ it wanted him to go through was not to make him into a loyal follower, but instead, to heal its soul by consuming parts of his. If only he knew anything at all about soul-related theories, he might know whether or not that was actually a feasible plan. Since he didn’t, he would have to assume the worst, that it not only was possible, but also the exact plan of the goldfinger.

“Since you likely have no experience in tampering with souls, you will have to make the adjustments using your soul’s reflection. To do this, enter into your mindscape and find the point where your will is most concentrated. Once there, take control of the will that surrounds you, and concentrate it into a flat pane of glass roughly your height and width. This process will form a mirror of will, which, quite obviously, allows you to view the reflection of your soul.”

“At this point, it is up to you to fix whatever issues you encounter. The appearance of your soul should be intuitively understood by yourself, so you will naturally come to know of the best way to fix the damage. Good luck, Edward.”

“This message will now repeat.”

There was no way the procedure would be as simple as the goldfinger made it out to be. Even if he did not know a single thing about soul-based magic and other weird stuff, he knew that it could not be so simple when dealing with souls. If it was, every cult and even official magicians of the kingdom would be doing it. The entire issue with necromancy, outside of the cruelty of forcing a dead person into eternal servitude, was that it was a difficult and precise magic, that often times could only be learned through experience.

Which, of course, meant that for a necromancer to advance their abilities, they would have to sacrifice thousands upon thousands of people in their experiments. And sometimes that effort would even prove useless, for they forgot that the magic they were attempting would only work on a Pyrfall, and they’d been taking every Pyrfall off for the past century or two. That wasn’t an exaggeration either, that was an actual example he had pulled from the history of the continent.

In any case, soul-based anything was difficult, much less modifying one’s soul. Gerald had to realize how ridiculous its proposition was. There was no way it did not, unless the eruption had made its mind go out of kilter, and its grip on reality was leaving it.

Edward didn’t know which option would result in a more frightening end for him should he listen to the goldfinger. On the one hand, it was an intentional, well-thought-out plan with advanced soul-magic made simple, and in the end, he would lose himself eternally to servicing the goldfinger. On the other hand, it was a plan made by a crazy goldfinger that possessed a fractured soul and incomplete memories, that could do gods-know-what to his person.

Regardless of which it was, why would the goldfinger ever think he would trust the ‘technique’ it wanted him to use? The worst part of it all was through all of the hatred and distrust he held towards the goldfinger, there was a sliver of curiosity that was intensely burning. It was desperately begging for him to find out which option it was, was the goldfinger actually just crazy, or was it some grand plot that it had concocted? Or could it be some third, unseen option that he had not even thought of?

It didn’t help that he had no other options at the moment if he wanted to live. Sure, he could resign himself to a slow death that could possibly feel like months, and then he’d return as a vengeful ghost, ready to murder or maim Gerald after it took control of his body. Or he could go for the long-shot gamble and take the suspicious advice of a possibly insane goldfinger in an attempt to strike it big.

The factor that pushed Edward over the edge was his instincts. This was his one, highly risky shot at regaining his mobility, as well as the larger end goal of defeating the cult that had brought him this low, and maybe eventually confronting the goldfinger itself.

And besides, his instincts had never led him astray in the past. Even when they’d forced him to obey the goldfingers command earlier to escape the skinwolf, they’d technically been right to do so. It was only after that incident that it had attempted a surprise attack on his mind, so that particular moment could be considered as a good use of his instincts.

Mind made up, Edward resigned himself to whatever fate had in store for him, as he returned to his mindscape to begin his repairs.

The scene that he was met with, surprisingly, did not affect his mental state outside of inspiring anger in his person. It was dark, red and bleary, no structure where he entered was intact. It was as if he were in the deserted remains of a pillaged village, one that had been abandoned for decades, so that not even sadness remained at the sight of it. Plainly, it just existed plainly, stirring no real emotions.

Unlike how his desolate surroundings did not prompt any emotions, the mere fact that he was, once again, in his mindscape, did. For each of these two or three times he had entered recently, it always felt strange. To be honest, it was only after he noticed the connection with the goldfinger in his mind that he became able to enter it so deeply. Perhaps the sensation of the link had awoken a dormant sense in his person, and that sense gave him this new capability?

It was an interesting theory, and something that he was vaguely curious about, but it was not the time to focus on idle musings, it was the time for action. He had to find the point at which his will was most concentrated, whatever that meant, as he had no clue how he’d be able to tell what that point was. Since Gerald had not mentioned any specifics regarding that, he assumed that it must mean that the location would carry such a distinct presence that it would reveal itself to him as he neared it.

After all, what would ‘concentrated will’ look like? If it was akin to how souls looked like according to Gerald, being different for every person, it would explain why it was not more specific with its directions.

But just knowing what it might potentially feel like did not help him in actually finding it, as the laws that governed his mindscape were still in disarray, and he did not have a convenient path to follow like when he had tracked down the connection earlier.

Jumping up over an obstacle, Edward found himself suddenly shooting to the left, launched by the chaotic laws he had just mentioned. Then, before he had time to land on the ground and stop himself, he found himself falling from the sky. He gradually picked up speed as he fell, as he wondered whether or not he could be injured in his mindscape. If he could, what was about to happen to him would not be pretty.

But contrary to his worries, his impact with the ground did not hurt him in the least. In fact, not only did the landing not hurt, but his knees did not even buckle under his own weight. It was as if all the momentum in his body had disappeared. A lucky break for him in these trying times, although he should not make it a habit of relying on the whimsies of the laws of his mindscape.

While there were protections in this location that prevented harm from coming to him, outside of launching him around for a bit, other areas may not prove so harmless. The issue was, was that even if he knew this, how was he to perceive the change in the laws that occurred before they started to mess with him?

If he was really trying to claw back his life, Edward was not going to act stupidly by trying to move on without a solid answer to his question. This was supposed to be his world, even in its fragmented state it was a representation of himself. It was both his very being and what made him who he was as a person. Theoretically speaking, that meant he had dominion over the laws that governed this entire reality, but practically speaking, far too much of himself had been lost for him to exert that much influence.

Perhaps though, there was still an answer in those thoughts. Gerald’s plan involved him warping the most concentrated portions of his will into a mirror to view himself with. Applying a similar principle to the remains of his will in this location, could he not manifest some sort of tool to signal to him when the laws shifted?

The question he had to answer then was not how to notice the alterations before they could have any impact on him, but instead how he was to exert control over his will to manifest a tool to aid him.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Once again, he would have to rely on himself for answers, as the goldfinger had not given any advice in that regard, nor had it stopped talking about the steps to the plan. This would probably be a lot easier for him if he knew how to use magic, as the process would likely feel quite similar. Move and shape mana to fulfill your desires, and maybe include some chanting for extra power and control.

But alas, he had never used magic before, and he didn’t even know if he had an aptitude for it, so that plan was a bust. What had the goldfinger said for him to do exactly to create the mirror? Maybe there was a certain phrasing to it that would help him figure out what he had to do? It wasn’t like he had a better plan, and the goldfinger was repeating the instructions anyways, it’d only take a minute to listen in for the portion he wanted.

“Once there, take control of the will that surrounds you, and concentrate it into a flat pane of glass roughly your height and width.”

‘Take control of the will that surrounds you.’ What did that mean exactly? The theoretical implications did not help Edward at all in figuring out what to do. And he it wasn’t likely that he would figure it out anytime soon at the rate he was going. In times like these, what was his motto? Strike first, ask questions later.

Mages were said to focus their mind on their mana, and then they controlled it as if it were an extra limb. That was exactly what he needed right now, experience with actually do so be damned.

With those thoughts in mind, Edward focused on his surroundings, trying to feel for the traces of his will that remained. To his surprise, they were not difficult to sense.

It was as if he were in a cloud of dust, they completely surrounded and enveloped him, each strand providing him with the faintest glimpse of who he once was. The emotions were weak, but in their great numbers, overpowering. They flowed into him easily, as if he were dry soil in a rainstorm.

Each strand was distinct and nuanced, forming a part of their respective emotion. And for the first time since the eruption, he was forced to truly confront his emotions regarding the matter. There was relief that he’d survived, sadness at the state he was in and from the betrayal of his new ‘friend,’ along with countless other emotions that were mixing together too much to pick out any one in particular.

Then, as if they were never there to begin with, the emotions left him. Instinctively, he knew they were no longer his to have, and he was soon left with only hatred and distrust to accompany him. Hatred was definitely the stronger, however, as what he had lost had become all the more apparent to him in those fleeting moments.

He could not focus on his growing rage, however, as giving into the fire would prevent him from controlling the surrounding will. As it turns out, during the experience of having his emotions temporarily returned to him, he had noticed that the more focused a given emotion became, the more it would gather other strands of that emotion to itself. Once the process had condensed enough of the given emotion into one area, it seemed to become real and tangible.

He was not certain if it was so, as the emotions had left him and scattered the strands before he could find out. No that it mattered, as his current state was ideal for achieving the same manifestation of emotions.

Edward had an idea of what he had to do, but not how to accomplish it. That was becoming a regular thought of this entire endeavor, knowing that he had to do something but not knowing how. This one, he could at least attempt with his limited knowledge.

It was time to unleash the rage that had been building up inside of him. There was only one way he could picture doing so, physically.

There’d been times in the past that he’d gotten so angry that he just had to hit something, and if that wasn’t a manifestation of anger and rage, he didn’t know what was. That was too quick of a process for what he was trying to do, however, he needed to let it slowly build up, and attract the strands, before he could let it discharge.

He’d need a strong image in his mind then, one that he could remain angry at as his rage built ever higher until it eventually boiled over. And as luck would have it, there was the perfect candidate already floating in his mind.

Edward pictured the goldfinger’s posture, the way it would stand if it had a body. It would radiate arrogance, its very aura gloating at his misery. Pointing at him, taunting him, reminding him of how it had led a skinwolf to eat him.

He was already beginning to breathe heavily, as his anger filled his mind, and made his blood pulse. However, the phenomenon that he had witnessed was not yet recreated, he had to dig deeper to make the image more potent and bring out an even more violent rage within himself.

The image in his mind continued with its taunts. Despite leading the skinwolf to him, he had let himself be convinced that it was friendly, that it was actually there to help him. And then, just as that trust he had was starting to grow, it had betrayed him.

It was still not enough. The betrayal of an enemy was never going to be a strong enough image, it was not anywhere near as potent as the strands of emotions he’d experienced were.

Edward had no choice but to give up ever forgiving his uncle for having betrayed him, as he began to overlap the image, he had created of the goldfinger with that of his uncle. Now, instead of being a vague, shadowy figure, the goldfinger had a clear body and face with which to mock him with. There was also new material for it to use.

It was a betrayal that had cut far deeper than that of Gerald. The goldfinger was still a pseudo-enemy in his mind when it had betrayed him, but his uncle, his only remaining family member, was more akin to a father to him. That’s why he was so careful to avoid thinking about him, he did not want to confront the fact that the bond they shared could never be restored. It was like losing his father for the second time, only it had happened in a way that instilled rage rather than sadness.

The image had finally become potent enough, as Edward’s rage manifested around him, looking as if he had donned a cloak made of flames. Torrents of hatred began to coalesce, flooding towards him, fueling the image he had created in his mind, making it grow ever stronger and more abhorrent. Unconsciously, as if hypnotized by this hatred, Edward marched forward unfettered through his mindscape.

Interim

Edward hated losing control, whether it was through being knocked unconscious, or through a bout of psychosis, it felt awful. He didn’t know whether he’d always been that way, or if it had started when he’d been brought to the prison city. Regardless of which it was, it did not change the fact that it was an experience that he did not enjoy.

At least this time, his memories of what had happened were not missing from his mind. He remembered his entire march, from the moment the rage had taken him and controlled his actions, to the moment he finally arrived at his current location. It did not take a refining of his senses to understand where he now was, this was where his will was most concentrated.

He idly wondered whether his rage had intentionally led him to where his will was most concentrated, or if it merely sought out further sources of anger. It was a question that could not be answered in his current state, as those two locations were one in the same for his present self.

There was also the question of where all his rage had gone. He’d initially thought that the cloak was a representation of his rage’s presence, and when his body donned the cloak, his mind was that of rage and anger. This theory did not entirely make sense, however, as the cloak was still present, wrapped around his shoulders, and yet his mind was clear.

And it wasn’t as if he’d run out of fuel, that was not feasible, especially when he was surrounded by the countless strands of anger that made up this portion of his mindscape. Even now, they poured towards him, only instead of forcibly entering his mind and stealing him of his wits, they flowed into the cloak, seemingly strengthening it.

The only answer Edward could think of to his questions was that the rage had guided him to the location he sought out, and when its mission was complete, it simply returned to its home in the cloak. Which was a weird answer, as that meant that both the cloak and his current location in his mindscape were both the home and the source of his anger. Intuitively, however, Edward knew that while they were separate, the cloak and this portion of his mindscape were the same entity, only materialized differently.

His curiosity was not abated by these thoughts and questions and answers, but it was not something that could ever be satiated. As reluctant as he was, he had to continue, as his soul was not yet realigned.

Grabbing the edge of his cloak, Edward ripped it off his back and tossed it before him. And as if it knew his intentions, it transformed into a mirror, as it continually absorbed the surrounding hatred. He now knew why his instincts had told him there was nothing to fear in what he’d be doing, there was simply no way for the goldfinger to twist his hatred and distrust into a form that would make him subservient to it. His only risk would be death itself, but even that would only serve to further his own, personal goals.

In any case, it was time for him to confront his real self. The him who could not hide, the truthful form of his being, his soul.

He came face-to-face with a faded, injured version of himself. Everything was wrong about the image he was seeing of himself. There was no color to his visage, and not in the metaphorical sense. His soul was wholly composed of greys and blacks, which for his hair, was fine, but not for his skin and his lips and his eyes as well. And most devastatingly, it lacked any spark of life in its eyes. It was as if he were looking at a colorless, lifeless corpse that just so happened to bear a resemblance to him.

Only he knew that he was looking at himself. Just as Gerald had said, it was an intuitive experience, not to mention, he could see the flames of fury burning deep in his eyes. That was what he was now, not so much a living man as he was a revenant, returned to life and fueled by hatred.

The reality of his situation was one that he would have to face one day, but this day was not that day. Instead, he would finish the goal he had originally set out to complete, by fixing the disharmony between his body and soul. It would not be a difficult task, once again, the process was as simple as the goldfinger had made it out to be.

After all, how could the task be a difficult one, when it had already been accomplished. The disharmony he’d been experiencing was not due to the damage his soul had received, but instead due to his change in personality. He’d lost almost all of what had made him who he was and hadn’t reconciled the differences with himself. It was no wonder that his body had been rejecting him, as how could it not when he was rejecting himself unconsciously.

A feeling passed over his body, as if his very bones had been disjointed and were suddenly clicking into place. The experience would likely have been extremely painful if it had actually happened to his physical body, but in his spiritual form, it only brought comfort and relief. Edward’s body and soul had regained their harmony.

The mirror, as if sensing the change that it had brought on was complete, began to shift, as its reflective properties disappeared. Its texture was changing, as well as its shape. It was becoming something new, and in just a couple of moments, the transformation it was undergoing was complete.

His time in his mindscape was up, the once-mirror had become a door, it was time for Edward to return to reality. As he came to the door, he took a long breath, enjoying the last moments of serenity and peace that he would feel for the foreseeable future. Then, with his intent sharpened, he opened the door and stepped through.

On the other side, he opened his eyes. There was a chill to the air, his limbs felt stiff and his body heavy. All the sensations were negative, but at least they were there.

Edward then tested whether his body had truly recovered by willing his hands to rise before him, so that he could gaze upon their form. The arc they took lacked fluidity and grace, and as he brought them to a stop, he noticed that they shook, as if he were cold. He was cold, but not nearly enough to cause this type of shaking.

No, this was a reminder of what he’d been through. It was a different type of scarring, one that could not easily be seen, but it effects on him were readily apparent. He sighed to himself, another wall that blocked his path had been laid before him, before he’d even arrived to the base of the first one.

There was not an ounce of concern in his mind regarding this revelation, he’d adapt to the change in time, and eventually, he would overcome it. Some things were inevitable, and he’d ensure that his rise was one of those inevitabilities.

For now, though, he had to understand the new limitations of his body and stretch it out. It’d be an interesting development if he died not while he was paralyzed, or while he was in his mindscape, or even right as he returned to his body, but instead, several minutes after, due to forgetting to work the stiffness out of his joints so that he could run away properly.

Edward wobblily rose to his feet, not content with the stupid death he saw coming for himself, and as he did so, he noticed that the goldfinger did not seem aware of the state he was in. It was still endlessly repeating the instructions, despite the fact that he had risen to his feet in a clear display of his realignment.

If it wasn’t paying enough attention to catch sight of this new development, that was a personal problem that Edward did not plan on helping it with. Maybe it would eventually realize that he was fine now, or maybe it wouldn’t, either way, it deserved a bit of punishment for its actions.

At the same time though, it was the one who was aware of how much time he had left in the dungeon. Between running away from a skinwolf, almost dying, and then reviving himself, he had unfortunately, lost track of time.

Weighing his options, Edward decided that keeping Gerald in the dark was worth more than knowing when he’d finally be released. Plus, some alone time to sort out more of his thoughts, especially those regarding his future treatment of said goldfinger, would do him a lot of good.

The first item on the agenda in that regard was how much trust he should instill in it. Probably, somewhere between zero and zero percent. Or maybe he could just go with none at all? But he had trusted it with its advice regarding his soul, so was claiming to not trust it in the least still possible? He could, of course, always say that he trusted in his instincts, not in the goldfinger itself, and use that loophole to work around the issue.

Decisions, decisions. Plenty of decisions to make, conclusions to come to, and time to do it all in.