The bleeding from the bullet wound finally stops just as the panic and distress of the city fall beyond the edge of my hearing. My feet slam and splash into the mud beneath me as I limp through the knee-high waters of Sinscreak, doing my best to stay out of sight from above and any passing boatsmen. And once the adrenaline fades, I realize how close I came to dying.
Harper Flores is a powerful man. He is a 6th Sigil like me that also uses firearms primarily, but there is one key difference. I focus on straight marksmanship and skill while it is merely a means to an end for him. I don’t know the name of the skill or even if he made it himself, but he has one that allows him to perform short-range transposition with an object or person that he can see.
That makes him highly dangerous. You never know where a bullet will come from or where he will come from. I can’t believe Kai was able to hire the man to be a simple guard for his wife. Had I not learned Glitch, I would certainly be dead, and had Aniwye not saved me last second, I would be blind and possibly doomed.
“You’re welcome.”
A rough voice inundates my mind as I try to push through the oddity of it. I attempt to focus on finding the group I left behind, but I don’t know what to do without a meetup point other than Carnal Hiern. I try to come up with a solution that doesn’t involve me going back to Carnal Hiern, but I can’t think of one off the top of my head.
Aniwye, however, does, and she makes me know it.
“Just walk back the way you came. I’ll be able to sense if there are any minds within a mile or so.”
Nodding, I continue trudging forward, hoping Blake, Silas, Lennox, and Wyatt are nearby.
***************
Wyatt Graves
I am trapped in the endless dark with an enemy that wants my very being, and there’s no escaping the infinite void surrounding me. The whispers never stop, driving me to the brink of madness. It’s as if the Bloody Palm is right beside me, murmuring sweet nothings that sound like knives digging into my scalp.
But that’s not all. The incessant whispers also call out to me, promising power and control. The pain is simply the stick, and the strength is the carrot. I can feel my mind slipping away, lost in the madness of it all.
The only thing that keeps me tethered to reality is the flicker of the fire in front of me, a flame that represents my dwindling life. It dances before me, mocking my sanity as I try to cling to it for dear life. The color finally begins to shift toward red. This color immediately makes me feel violent and irascible at just the thought.
But even that flame seems to be conspiring against me. It twists and turns, forming grotesque shapes that laugh at me with malevolent intent. The whispers grow louder and more demanding as if they can smell my impending madness.
I can’t help but feel a twisted sense of joy at the thought of finally succumbing to the madness. It’s like a warm blanket, comforting me in the cold embrace of the void. I’ve been alone in this dark for so long, without anything but the fire and murmurs.
I stay seated in the dark, hugging my knees close to my body as I try to do as I’m told by the voices of those who love me in my memories. But they are short. Only a few voices come to my saving; they are all brief, small, and insignificant portions of my life that they have been with me. I struggle. But it all seems futile to the symphony of madness that drills deeper and more thoroughly every second.
A point of pride has always been the strength of my mind, but that pride has been ripped open and barred to the void of nothingness. Pride doesn’t exist after death. Not this kind of death, at least. Deep down, I can feel it. If the Bloody Palm takes me, nothing will be left to join Death’s Army. It will just be it. And a little bit of me that’s been mashed up purely for power.
The shifting flame in my eyes flickers with reddish light that borders on the pigment of blood. It sends a shiver down my spine as I can’t stop shaking. Every murmur that touches me just forces a part of my body to move without my persimmon. A jerk and a twitch here or there, but the constant shake never leaves.
I’ve tried it all, from Daydream to Ironheart. Nothing works. The usual aspects that protect my mind have left me. No. That’s not true. They just aren’t strong enough. The Bloody Palm found the perfect time to strike; once it is deep in my mind, it is impossible for me to remove it.
All that is left for me to do is to wait and die. I haven’t given up on fighting, but it is pointless. The pointless battle against inevitability. It sums up humanity, doesn’t it? If these are the things we fight constantly, what point is there? None. Dangers surround us from every direction, and yet we still fight within. For meager scraps of power or longevity. If only someone like the First were alive.
Someone capable of fixing all the wrongs or, at the very least, resetting the stage and giving humanity another chance.
The moment I think that final thought, a voice comes to me, unlike all the other murmurs within the dark. This one is clear and rough with a slight twinge of care.
“There is someone.”
I turn my head toward the noise, thinking I’m hallucinating again. Still, there is no way I’d hallucinate Aniwye, my false mother. She steps toward me, illuminated by the red light of the flame, as she sits beside me, full of dumbfoundedness.
“Damn, little one. He’s got you good, huh?”
I can only look at her, confused, not understanding what she says. My brain struggles to make even simple connections at this point. But then, Aniwye’s voice comes to me again, and I can’t even recognize her words past the first sentence. The rest come to me but don’t make sense, almost like they are in a different language.
“Right, he’s got to your cerebrum. I’m going to give you a bit of a nudge, okay? Don’t freak out on me. Stay calm, okay, kid?”
She reaches toward me just as it comes to my awareness that Aniwye isn’t Aniwye. She looks just like Ma. How did I not notice? Huh, that’s odd. When did that happen?
Then, she touches my head with a finger, and I feel a weight come off my head, a veil being lifted from my eyes. My mind roars at full speed as I realize that she is here. The false mother that faked my whole childhood for some unknown goal.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I instantly stand and jump backward, pointing a finger at Aniwye.
“What the hell are you doing here!? Are you here to kill me!? Stop using that form! Change it now!”
Ma—no, Aniwye puts her hands up as she tries to calm me, but I’m not having any of it.
“Calm down, Wyatt. I’m using a huge quantity of Ether to enhance what’s left of your mind and suppress your emotions. If I push any harder, you might just crack. You need to deal with this turmoil in your mind. The whirlwind that the deaths and revelations have left. Otherwise, you will certainly be devoured by the palm attached to you. Artifacts, Sigils, and Ether thrive most on negative emotions, which are the components of what is trying to devour you.”
Boiling emotions and hate toward this… this creature in front of me burst out immediately.
“Calm down?! What the fuck do you mean, calm down!? So I’m dying, and the fucking demon that led me down all the bullshittery to this point is telling me to calm down?! How about you fuck off and just let me die! I’d rather turn into a Wendigo than listen to you for another second!”
I try to walk away after my outburst, but I am held frozen, still mid-step by some force. Finally, unknowing of what’s happening to me, I turn my head to face Aniwye in Ma’s body which is reaching out toward me with an open palm.
“There is nowhere you can run. Nowhere you can hide. I am the only one who can help you. If you truly wish to die, then I can do nothing to stop that. To survive against an artifact, you must fight it with all your mind. These bits and pieces of you that are breaking apart are holding you back. I left a Persona in your mind for this exact purpose. I’m limited to very few, but it was a part of the goal. This Persona was meant to slowly tell you about your childhood and guide you once your mind stabilized from your mother’s death. Yet, this artifact ruined everything by obscuring it from you until Ewaki broke it.”
The fact that she still calls that thing my mother reduces all her words to nothing. To null. I don’t care. I can’t bother to care. As I yell at her, my rage compresses and reduces, but it doesn’t disappear.
“My mother!? Go fuck yourself! Leave me here to die. Let this fucking palm wake up and kill you.”
I can see Aniwye grimace and grind her teeth as she looks at me. The demon finally gets a bit angry with me as well. But, ultimately, her anger brings me joy.
“I am reaching my limit here, Wyatt. I am struggling to keep you together. You need to calm down before your mind shatters. You are only still alive because of your unique constitution. Anyone else at your Sigil would be a puddle with the amount of Ether coursing through your veins between me, the Bloody Palm, and your constant attempts to save yourself.”
Her struggle only makes me smile. Seeing the inhuman creature in even a little bit of pain is fantastic. Fortunately, she seems to notice my happiness and finds it infuriating.
“You need to stop. This isn’t you, child. The palm has its roots deep in your mind, even the part I’m speaking to right now. Think of happy thoughts, of a safe place. Build a sanctuary to defend your mind. Think of that childhood I gave you of joy, the rock against the waves.”
My hands go to my head as a burst of memories I don’t want to see come to mind. The fleeting happy ones of food, love, and care from a false mother enter my mind as it feels like my eyes are being forced open to watch.
“Stop! I don’t want to! You ruined it all! How could you! Why! Just go away! Go away!”
I fall into a crumple on my mind’s endless plain of darkness. At the same time, I am forced to relive every “happy” memory that this demon has ever given me. She doesn’t understand. This isn’t joy. This is just pure torture. The mother that raised me wasn’t mine. She wasn’t even real. And neither was any of that childhood except for the painful ones. Those are the only ones I can feel at this point.
Despite my agony, a calm voice that is identical to Ma—no, the Persona of Aniwye, whispers softly to me. Her voice is a murmur compared to all the others things going on, but I hear her more clearly than anything else in my whole life.
“Do not direct all your anger at me, little one. I was not the one to come up with the idea to raise you like that. It was your father. I was just the one to put it into action. The mental nudges here are there, and the absolute safety provided by his renown allowed me to follow it through with perfection. But all plans break upon contact with the real world. I did not anticipate that Edmund Dudley would die so quickly nor that you would have an artifact forced upon you.”
My eyes rise from the pitch-black ground to look at her. My father? He came up with that? He put her into all this? Why? That question croaks out of my wretched throat.
“Why? Why did he do that?”
Aniwye moves closer, and I don’t try to move away this time.
“He had high hopes for you, little one. That you would surpass him, a man of legends himself. But for that to come true, hardship is needed. And for hardship to be overcome, one must have experience, a will of steel, and a spark of greatness. The twin childhoods were posited by him to achieve that.”
“Then… why was he never there? Why was there only a projection of you there for me?”
My heartfelt question makes Aniwye pause for a moment, the words being caught in her mouth before speaking.
“I—. Your father is an important man. I don’t even know where he is or what he is doing. Frankly, he may even be dead. Your human Prime sent him on a mission about… twelve or so years ago. Since then, he has been gone. There has been no news of him, and the Prime covered up that he was gone. Rumors emerged after years, but no one was willing to press them on the off chance they were false. Your father can go toe to toe with the best, after all.”
Aniwye glances at the fire beside me for a second before turning back to me with an indecipherable look.
“My love is only for your father, little one. I harbor none toward you. You are only a deal between him and me. And I fulfilled mine with a Persona while I went about my life.”
A grumble comes from me as I realize what she just admitted to.
“So it was all fake, then? Truly?”
The demon nods, using my mother’s face before it shifts to match her ugly countenance of the oily and wart-filled face of the Ogre she is. Her stature remains the same as mine, however.
“Ah… It was, yes. I tried to be genuine, but it was not there. The love my Persona gave was misplaced, and from what I’ve seen, it grew resentful over time. Eventually, it could no longer do it anymore. My Personas are me; they just are disconnected and can think, decide, and act independently with small rules I place. The rules for Margarete Anne Graves were to raise you faithfully one week and then cruel the next. There were some others, but just like I would, she eventually found a way out of it as she hated every moment.”
I start to see where her story is going, even if it hurts to know it. Ma killed herself because she hated raising me. She wanted to be away from me so bad that she would die to escape me. I think that hurts more than anything else.
“She, the Persona, simply stopped eating. It didn’t go against any rules I had placed, and eventually, she could not take care of you. She had to raise you as directed whenever she could, but when she couldn’t, she didn’t. Personas with physical bodies are similar to how Wendigos are made, only they are missing the Sigil of a Wendigo. They just have my Ether and will that takes over the mind of a creature to control them. Only Sigils can produce Ether, and only souls can control it, so I had to show up to replenish her stores of Ether and my will. But I only did so when I sensed I had to. I never sensed I had to until she died as she stopped using the Ether I gave her long ago.”
My eyes stare into the dark unmoving for minutes after she finishes talking. Aniwye joins me in the silence. My mind is simply without thoughts. At this point, it doesn’t matter. I will die to the Bloody Palm. I will only die in my own way, without the help of a demon, without Aniwye’s help.
But eventually, Aniwye’s voice breaks the silence once more. Her voice actually has a twinge of… regret?
“I am sorry. I failed your father, and I failed you. I thought all was good until I entered your mind and read your recent memories. Only now do I see that I failed. My inattention to the psyche of my own Persona, whom I have always thought infallible, was the downfall of Killian’s request. And now, even if you leave this alive, remnants will stay in your mind. The instincts of aggression, survival, and hunger will grow like swarming reeds within your subconscious. Perhaps ascension will remove them, but otherwise, you are stuck with them.”
I ignore her words even as they enter my mind. I don’t want to hear an apology from her. It doesn’t matter. She still only sees this as my father’s damn request. Out of nowhere, however, a small hand touches my shoulder and makes me jump.
“But that doesn’t mean you are a failure. Perhaps… perhaps the secret to greatness is a little madness, Wyatt. I have focused so much on perfection that I have ignored the possibilities of chaos. Humanity would never have discovered gunpowder had one man not delved too far into alchemy on accident. A single accident changed the world once upon a time. Perhaps… this accident changed your destiny for the better.”
A pair of hands grab my cheeks and pull me to face the ugly skin of Aniwye. But… I don’t resist. Her lips move with care as she kisses me on the forehead. Does she actually care for me? What is happening? I thought she only cared for my father?
“In your father’s words, your gift, your Tomb, as your family calls it, is unique. Something utterly foreign to anything we know. And it is not your immunity to fear. I instilled that into you at a young age. Your Tomb is something that only your father knows and something he believes wholeheartedly in. And as he does, so do I. Only a few more moments remain until your body breaks down from the Ether I’m using to keep you together. I was wrong the whole time. The best anchor is one placed by one's self. You need to put yourself together. Find an anchor. One that cannot be broken by any amount of chaos. Then, fight the artifact, enter the flame, and meet it directly. Show it the power of the Unbroken Patchwork’s son.”
The Angel begins to fade from my unconsciousness, turning into sparkles of light like the last time she left my mind. Only this one is more gradual and controlled, allowing her to finish her final words to me. Again, I listen to every syllable.
“Do not let your friends’ efforts to find me go to waste. Do not let your struggles fade without ever knowing the results. You are a Captive of your own limits, your own insecurities, and your own hate. Limits keep you alive, insecurities keep you safe, and hate keeps you moving. But you do not need those things. Release yourself.”