The blade, covered in vibrating violet darkness, falls upon the back of Hura’s neck. Butterflies spin rapidly in my stomach at the sight despite the lightning about to stop my heart from Hura’s fingers around my neck. The thought of him dying outdoes the possibility of my death.
But that thought is not something to come to fruition. At least not right now. Virgil’s machete goes straight for the demon’s neck, but even with Virgil’s talent at stealth, his movement still parts the air to reach Hura. And Hura is the Demon Of Storms. His first territory is the air.
I see Hura’s eyes widen as he whips around and removes his hand from my neck. He throws this arm toward Virgil to defend himself, arcing with electricity meant for me. With the last bit of my energy, I reach up from my kneeled position and grab his hand, sending the voltage to its original destination.
Instantly, I smoke, and spasm as the demon throws me to the wayside with a grunt. Then, the blade of darkness finally reaches the demon. But the demon puts his other arm in the way, taking all the strength Virgil has accumulated into his left arm.
The sharp machete cuts straight through the demon’s arm, the cut too overwhelming even for such an inhuman body, and the blade sinks into Hura’s shoulder from his movement instead of his neck. The edge goes deep but not deep enough to reach the demon’s heart. Or where I assume his heart would be.
The demon retaliates against Virgil almost instantly, a deep growl leaving his throat as he bursts wind from his body, sending the Darkstalker flying with a machete in hand. Virgil rolls several times across the mud before catching himself and getting back up adeptly. Hura stares at Virgil briefly before guttural words leave his mouth.
“And to think, today I’d meet not only the young Graves but also a Damned. You Hunter dogs are just as bad, if only easier to kill.”
My eyes go wide, or at least they would if I were not paralyzed, at Hura’s words. What does he mean, Damned? Was Virgil some kind of unique Hunter? I wish to continue this train of thought or even ask the man, but I’m forced to deal with other matters.
The Bloody Palm has arrived to collect its dues. The artifact has its grasp fully throughout my body now that the Ether from Strugglers Gasp is gone. That and I decided to keep fighting instead of turning my attention inward.
Virgil spits out a hate-filled glob over the cloth that covers his face and promptly charges back at the demon, shifting and disappearing mid-run. I can barely pay attention to the man one-on-one with a demon. However, I see a glance of Johnny, Bonfire, and Vernon running toward Hura as my vision goes full black. The Bloody Palm has now devoured my sight by inundating my eyes with its corrosive and dark Ether.
The artifact has never felt so dangerous, so hateful, so… evil. It’s like we angered a bear by having it fuse with me from Fixation. The Bloody Palm did not like what Johnny did to us at all. Not one bit. And it’s taking it all out on me.
I have no Ether to use; any more will push me over the edge, so I can’t use Daydream to guard my mind or Strugglers Defiance to strengthen everything. That would only aid the Bloody Palm in taking me over as the mental fatigue would become so strong that it would weaken my defense further and likely outdo any good those skills may give. All I can do is press my Ironheart, which requires no Ether against the unending tide of the dark.
I still have a slight bit of control over my right arm, however. And as my senses fade and I feel the Bloody Palm send its tendrils into my mind, I scramble for the Concoction in my pocket. My only hope is to clear enough of my body from Ether to use Daydream. If I can create a fortress to block out the Bloody Palm, then I will be fine.
Once I can block out the Bloody Palm, the rest will come. Once the Concoction has cleared enough of my system for me to use my other skills, I will rejoin the fight. But until then, I am useless. So useless that Virgil has to struggle to defend my motionless body from the Demon of Storms.
Not that I can even pay attention to the battle in front of me with my eyes closed. I just know that he is defending me.
My fingers slowly move toward my pocket, one that has been so badly burnt and melted that I can only get a single finger inside of it. Worry builds as the thought of the fire breaking the syringe holding the nightmare-colored liquid touches my mind. That and the paper Alexos gave me is likely burnt up from the fire as well.
The index finger on my right-hand wiggles its way into my pocket, the hole not entirely melted to my skin, just big enough for my finger and a single knuckle. And while fighting a mental war that I’m drastically losing, I curl my finger around the syringe as a breath of relief leaves me. The glass is intact, and I feel the weight of the liquid inside. Not just that, but I feel the flap of dry paper as well.
Somehow Alexos’ note imbued with Ether was not burnt to ashes from the fire either. I guess whatever he did to it made it fireproof.
With a force of monumental effort nearly as tricky as catching Hura’s arm earlier, I pull the syringe out of my pocket. The needle is too big for the hole, so I have to rip it out, and it pulls off fabric melted to flesh with it.
I move the syringe into my hand so that I can inject it, but as I do, I lose the final sensation I had left.
Touch.
Now I’m lost in the dark. Completely. No sound. No sight. Those were taken by thunder and dark, respectively. No touch. No taste. No smell. The last two were hijacked by the Bloody Palm. Its tendrils now exist everywhere in my body, including all over my brain.
One thing remains, however. The Concoction. I still have it. Even if I can’t see it. Even if I can’t feel it. I know it’s in my hand. It has to be. I trust my instincts and move my hand without sense.
I move it over where my heart should be. I use the sixth sense, kinesthesia, which tells me where my body is. This is the most internal and vital sense to any human. Without it, our hearts wouldn’t even know where to send blood. We wouldn’t be able to move, breathe, or live.
It’s more of our first sense than our last.
And I trust in it. Wholly. Without any proof other than my belief in my instincts and myself, I slam the syringe into my chest. Then, I trust that my thumb is still where I placed it and squeeze.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
A few moments of nothing occur after I inject it all. Or after I think I do. No mind-melting heat. Nothing enters me. Only the ever-encroaching tendrils of darkness from the Bloody Palm. Tendrils that slowly take everything I am from me.
Despair begins to rise as I realize that it must not have worked. That my instincts failed me. But just as I turn to the Bloody Palm to bear the rest of my soul against its endless wave of corrosive might, I feel the warmth. A warmth that seems to cover my whole body in a matter of a single second as I realize something.
I couldn’t feel it because the artifact took my senses. Only when they return to me will I feel again. And my sensations do return, with lightning swiftness as the paralysis also is expunged at the same time.
In a single moment, all the tendrils of darkness are cleared from my mind and sent back to the palm they originated from. Every single ounce of Ether, both foreign and internal, is expunged and sublimated out of me. I only regain my senses toward the end of the process, so for the first time ever, I am spared of most of the suffering in the process.
Quickly my vision returns, and I come to coughing constantly as I gasp for air. The paralysis from the lightning apparently kept me from even breathing. It even stopped my heart, but that was restarted by the Bloody Palm. All these vital organ injuries can’t be good for me. The rapid stopping and starting of my heart, combined with the hundred other ways I get mortally wounded, have got to leave some lasting damage.
Not that I can worry about it, though. Right in front of me is Virgil, constantly dodging around the Demon Of Storms. The man covered in dark clothes who burns in the light constantly Flickers, darting in and out of deadly situations as if they are nothing.
It also seems as though Hura’s storm has lessened. The three of Johnny, Vernon, and Bonfire are now visible as they constantly attack, and Hura has to overpower each attack individually. He is slowly being overwhelmed now that he only has one arm and is severely injured. But something doesn’t feel quite right.
He has three artifacts, no? Well, one artifact, one Colt, and one Heirloom. Why isn’t he using them? The artifact left by Edmund is sure to be powerful, mainly if the demon raises its Sigil. That’s not even to mention the Blooming Spider Lily that he or the Death’s Lantern. Either one of those can quickly turn the tides. One could be an instant kill, and the other forcefully brings another fighter to the field.
The demon must be waiting for the right moment.
I try to stand, but the Concoction still runs through me, so I stumble and fall back to the ground. I used it before I went past the limit this time, so it is still trying to clear me out of Ether. It didn’t run out of juice like usual. The heat and concussive state from the Concoction sends me reeling. I fall onto all fours and cough out bits of black liquid, the leftover Concoction coming out.
I quickly try to flow Ether into my pupils to start up a Daydream against the Bloody Palm, but I fail to. The hallucinations of the Concociton come straight for me as the liquid finishes its run through my body.
The entire world around me spins sporadically as sounds and whispers enter my mind. It’s hard for me to even tell what’s happening around me as voices from Virgil and Earl appear in my ears. I shake them away as I grit my teeth and try to stand. I try to push out the hallucinations from the Concoction, but these things only get worse every time I use them. I mean, I didn’t even hallucinate the first time I took one.
But as I stand, the world becomes wavy, the entire landscape shifting and bouncing like a river as a cacophony of madness touches me. The Bloody Palm also returns with a vengeance as I only manage to buy myself a few seconds of silence from it.
Its dark murmurs leak into the hallucinations and leave my vision tainted black. I take a step toward the shifting figures in front of me that more resemble saltine crackers than actual people. They’re all wide and square-shaped with odd colors that slowly just turn black.
Amidst the illusions, I seek to find something to ground me. I’ve done it before, but a lot has changed since last time. And as I reach for my Ether to defend me, the only thing that comes to mind is the First’s words. However, unlike the other times I’ve sought for anchors, the First does not give me comfort. He does not provide me with strength. He does not offer me some sense of false hope. No, he presents me with a path forward, and I see why Alexos seemed to care for the book so much.
Ether is YOU. YOU are Ether. Chase the pinnacle with rapturous intent. Every act should be with defiance and heresy in your mind. Gods are false and deceitful. Alchemy and machinations are only a means. Artifacts and Heirlooms are merely distractions. Ether is the goal. It is the end. It is the all.
Within his words lies wisdom, the wisdom built from a man who lived a long life filled with only death and war. My mind focuses on a particular phrase of his as I take another faltering step and try to gather my Ether despite all that keeps it from me.
“Chase the pinnacle with rapturous intent.”
The world around me shifts with hallucinogenic turmoil, and as my own body begins to rebel against me, trying to send me into an unconscious state, I grab onto my Ether. Deep in the core at the back of my skull, I grasp onto threads within my mind with rapturous intent. I hold onto my Ether as if it is the last thing I ever do. As if it were the final act ever accomplished before death. I remove any focus I had placed on moving, seeing, or even feeling. Every part of me is centered within these beautiful coils of thread.
Then, I take the threads Ether and funnel it through my whole body haphazardly, just trying to fuel myself with energy. I can barely focus right now, let alone take complicated actions. All I can do is try and emulate the skill closest to me, Adrenaline Surge. The Ether flows through my body as I notice something; my Sigil’s signature is within each ounce of Ether. The unexplainable uniqueness of every Sigil roars through my body alongside my Ether.
Only as I do, do I understand the meaning within his words and how making Steel Thread Ether works. Which is the only way to transform your skills to fit your Sigil. You must fall in tune with your Sigil, and he found the best way to do so. Throw the weight of your entire self behind every action.
The Ether that flows through me leaves behind an odd sensation as my vision rapidly clears and allows me to see the truth before me.
I feel clean.
Like I just took a bath. But not just any bath. An hour-long bath filled with soap and flowing water. Every part of me feels untainted as I look down at myself. Nothing visible has happened to me, though. Whatever is happening is internal, so I search inside. And I notice that the Bloody Palm has fallen back to my left arm, now taking refuge in the whole limb.
It takes me almost a full second to realize what I just did. I accidentally transformed Adrenaline Surge with my Sigil. Every single tiny aspect of foreign Ether has been expunged from my system, as even the leftover Concoction is secreted from my pores with my new skill.
Extremely tight rainbow Ether flows through my entire body, inundating it with a unique effect. Other than clearing out my body, I’m sure of what it does, though. But I don’t hang on to the what-ifs. The second I recover enough to fight, I rip off a strand of burnt cloth and wrap it around the point where my left arm meets my shoulder, and I place a Daydream against it. Just to make sure that the Bloody Palm won’t try anything.
Only then do I rejoin the fight.
With a stomp on the ground, I sprint toward Hura. Strugglers Defiance and Chainlink Boots join my newly created skill within my body as I feel my chains slightly loosen and strengthen me in every way. Sprinkles of strain eat at me from my rough use of Ether earlier, but I ignore it in favor of action. I rapidly reach the demon as he twists away from a conjoined strike from Virgil and Johnny. A machete followed closely by a bullet would be death for all but this demon.
It pushes the machete to the side with a burst of wind as a small glob of ice takes the hit of the bullet, breaking into pieces everywhere. After Hura twists away from the strikes, he sees me standing again.
“Still alive? I should have expected that. Not for long, though. You’ve all bothered me long enough.”
Hura steps back with a burst of air as he rises into the air. Johnny and Bonfire try to bring him down with a cascade of lead and fire, but clouds rapidly swirl around the demon. I quickly reach where he jumped away from and nod to Virgil, who reaches behind him and passes me something.
I scramble to catch it, but once I do, I become ecstatic. It’s Intervention. Virgil gave me my shotgun back. Now, it might have almost killed me, but that’s my fault for nearly being beaten by two Outlaws.
Right after Virgil gives me my gun, though, he yells to me.
“Stop him! He’s about to drink something!”
I immediately raise the barrel of intervention toward the demon as he brings something to his lips. He is too high up for me to attack any other way. It looks like a vial filled with red. My brain jumps to the conclusion that what he might have is Edmund’s artifact as I pull the trigger.
Only to hear a click. Out of ammo.
Fuck.
I frantically pop open the cylinder and reload shells into the revolving shotgun, but by the time I’m done, Hura has finished whatever he’s doing. The clouds that arc around the demon leave with a burst of air as his lightning returns, but this time it’s not blue.
It’s red. Red like the blood in the vial.
The demon slowly starts to fall toward the ground, and Virgil charges to meet him, Flickering in and out of sight constantly while using it to dodge swipes of red wind. I ran after him to join him. I slide, jump, and leap over dangerous bursts of wind to get close enough to put the demon down with my shotgun.
But as we approach him, I see something I never would have expected. The demon’s missing arm regrows in a split second, ten times faster than how the Bloody Palm restored my arm. And as it regenerates, blood-red lightning arcs around both of his arms.
With a shout, as we get just within twenty feet or so, the Demon Of Storms throws his arms out at us. Virgil curses as he tries to get low to the ground, and I join him, but the demon’s attack is so fast and thunderous that we are blinded by red.
Crimson lightning strikes us both with supreme heat as it seems to literally boil the blood within the body. But before I’m even taken to the ground or paralyzed by it, the multi-colored Ether within my body strikes and expunges the lightning before it can damage me too significantly. Only a little spasm and shocking pain are all that remain after a second.
And so, despite the attack being the demon’s most significant, I don’t even fall to my knees. Instead, I remain standing. But I’m the only one. When the color of pure red clears, I turn and see Virgil’s clothes emitting crimson smoke several feet behind me.
The man is unmoving and unnaturally still.