Ambrose wakes up with a gasp, her heart beating rapidly. The world feels disorientated for a moment as the memories rush into her, the pain from back then carved into her mind. Her breaths are rapid and panicked, before slowing to a steadier, even pace. Ambrose stares at the empty darkness above her, buried regret sticking to her like glue.
She shakes herself away from the dream, ignoring the protests of her body as she pushes herself back onto her feet. Her steps are surer after her rest, her body feeling much better. She walks to the stone stele and stares up at the timer.
18 : 35 : 23
She didn’t sleep for long. Her eyes drift from it, before moving up to read the message above.
You whose desire is insatiable. Whose desire gnaws, grips, and eats at you until your heart hollows. You who casts aside what is precious, what is present to clutch even a fragment of it. It is you that I welcome. Use that burning desire in your heart to fight. To survive. Do so long enough, and I will grant your desire.
It feels like a mockery in this moment. Her desire, her heart yearns for it so much. But what is the point when her heart is dead? She looks up at it for a long time, before her eyes grow firm. Anastasia. For now, if she can’t fight for her wish, she’ll fight to see Anastasia again. Let the questions sit for now.
Ambrose chuckles bitterly at the thought. Yes, let her run away for now. She turns her eyes away and looks at the other stone stele that popped up. Scouring its information, she starts to piece together what it means for her. As if on cue the ground begins to rumble again, Ambrose stumbling as she tries to secure her footing.
Another stone stele shoots out to the left of the giant one, forming a crescent shape between them. Ambrose staggers to the side as the rumbling continues, the ground in the middle of the stele’s giving way to a large platform shooting out from the ground.
It’s a square floor with steps carved into each side, leading up to a large sacrificial bowl in the middle. Their glossy, obsidian surface almost fades away into the darkness that surrounds her. As Ambrose looks up at it, more blood-inked words being to carve themselves into its surface.
Evolve
Enhance
Transmute
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She looks up at the words, her eyes passing over them. She gets a feeling for what each of them do much like the rest of what she’s seen, almost like an unconscious or psychic imprint. It’s a strange feeling. As if it’s something she always knew, just never had to recall.
Evolve is the same as its name; evolution. Of herself, her power, or something else. Enhance, on the other hand, strengthens what is already there. Evolve is taking it to the next step. Transmute is the strangest. As Ambrose stares at it, the words carved into the stele shift and suddenly a list of items appear in her view. A dazzling array of items fill her vision, from food and mundane things, to the arcane and the occult. The words overwhelm Ambrose until she forces her eyes closed and turns away for a moment.
When she turns back, those three words appear again. She observes them for a time, looking down at herself. Her clothes are barely held together, burnt and tattered and cut through in many places. Her weapon is a blunted butcher’s blade, fit for little besides breaking it against an enemy. Even the thin rope across her waist that once held her deck-holder is gone. After taking a moment to gather herself, Ambrose turns back to Transmute.
The list scrawls across her vision in waves. Ambrose focuses her mind and the list beings to narrow, conditions being applied over and over until a very small list of things present themselves to her. She looks over them before focusing her mind on one in particular.
Ambrose lets out a breathless gasp as something inside her is ripped out, a chunk of the colourless energy being taken from her. A tiny, thin amount of the essence, but to Ambrose it is like having a limb ripped from her body.
As she catches her breath, Ambrose watches it flow towards the sacrificial bowl above the pedestal. It gathers inside and swirls around, spinning in rapid but rhythmic cycles as it grows faster and faster. It melds into the shape of the object Ambrose requested, its energy condensing together with an almost sickening pressure, until the energy gives way and the item appears atop the bowl.
Ambrose takes the steps and stands before the bowl, her eyes peering at its glossy surface. In the middle is the simplest thing imaginable. Leather pants, leather shirt, leather belt, and leather shoes. Each splayed out like it’s a display model. Ambrose chuckles as she reaches over and picks up the clothing.
She feels its texture thoughtfully, before bringing her blade to its edge and attempting to cut it. It does little, holding itself firm without a scratch. Even for a blade as poor as hers, the material is strong. The item she’d chosen included resistant in the title, so it appears to stand up to its name. As she looks at her information, she confirms that the essence still says F-5.
Ambrose quickly changes clothes, feeling much better after having something solid on her figure. After looping the deck onto her belt, she turns back to the stele. It doesn’t take her long to decide this time, immediately focusing on Evolve. One single item takes its place. Cards of fate. Her deck. Ambrose looks at it and immediately chooses it.
The essence is mercilessly ripped out of her. It’s like a flood as Ambrose stagger, half-kneeling, half-leaning against the stele as a huge torrent of essence gushes from her and into the sacrificial bowl. The energy spins in rapid crescendo, intense energy gathering into the shape of a card. The maelstrom of energy grows stronger and stronger before suddenly condensing the card, a small shockwave emanating outward and rippling through Ambrose as it does.