I wake up gradually, my sleepiness fading as I rub my eyes. No threats, no hurry, no exhaustion. My dreams were simply a short discussion with Lily before darkness. It's...

Peaceful.

My hand hauls me up and off my cot as I prepare myself for the day, going through my routine. Fifteen minutes after waking up, I step out of the inner fortress, finding that I overslept through the whole night. It's morning, and the battle against the Pygmies has already begun.

I want to help, but Marshall would kick my ass. Instead, I walk to the Pit, thinking about Willful Strand as soldiers hurry around me. I notice that there are far fewer than there used to be. The hallways and corridors previously were nearly filled to the brim with people at all times, yet now, I don't have to push through anyone to get to my destination.

The lack of motion and people sends a sour taste in my mouth as I step down the steps toward the Pit. Either more and more soldiers are dying, or they are running. Whichever way, it's not good for us.

Sighing, I grab some bread and meat left in the prep room and eat before striding to the proper arena of the Pit. No one is present, and I really want to have that duel with Virgil soon. But I want to wait. I want to postpone until I can completely surprise him with my progress.

The distance I've come since arriving is already massive, but most of it has been regarding physical techniques or the Bloody Palm. Marshall hasn't coached me on Ether at all, nor has he been liberal with how I should best combine all three. I figure he will soon as my progress with close-quarters combat has nearly stagnated. The more you know, the harder it is to progress.

Maybe he's waiting for me? Perhaps... he's waiting for me to reach Willful Strand. But... isn't that above expectation for a 5th Sigiled? Aren't we only supposed to have Steam Strand?

Though... Marshall is one that expects that which is beyond expectation. He wants me to fight like a master brawler and cooperate with my artifact like a Hollow, and I suppose using Ether like a Forerunner would also join those two.

Shifting the sand until I stand in the center of the Pit, I plop down onto the ground. Then, I pivot my attention inward, concentrating on elevating my concept of Ether. Once more, I conjure Leash and focus my mind to keep it stable. Forcing the Ether to remain with every ounce of will I have, it lasts a bit longer each time. Not much, only a fraction of a second. Still, that is progress.

All manipulation types are spectrums, which one is not said to possess until one reaches a minimum level of mastery. For Willful Strand, it is to extend a skill five times what it should go without it, either distance or time. Meanwhile, for something like Steam, it is simply to use a skill with only gaseous Ether.

I'm a far cry from reaching Willful, but I will. It will just take a great deal of time and effort.

Better get to it, I suppose.

The faraway rumbles of cannon fire, gunfire, and war drift aimlessly in my eyes as I fall into focus, continuously endeavoring to mold my Ether with my mind. Hours fall away, leaving me only to practice.

It's... tranquil.

I like it.

***************************

A hand upon my shoulder breaks me out of my Ether training, Marshall's face welcoming me. I glance up at him as he speaks, crackling his knuckles. The man seems... more tired than usual. That's not good. My focus hangs on his slight wrinkles as he addresses me.

"Less time than usual. The Pygmies are slowly diverting more and more of their forces from their battlefields toward the outlying south and west, where they fight demons or the Graymen far south. Soon, an 8th Sigiled will appear, of that I am sure. But for now, we have time. So, let's start."

I nod to him and stand, shaking off the rust from my legs as I ready myself. Hopping from foot to foot to get the blood flowing, I watch Marshall stare at me with a raised eyebrow before softly chuckling.

"Feel free to use the Bloody Palm to fight. I simply don't want to see any of your own. Find a way to integrate it. You can do this. If I see you doing it wrong, I'll hit you extra hard, okay?"

"Uhh..."

Not sure if I'm ready, I give him a half-hearted agreement before we start. Are we prepared to fight together? Already? Maybe? I suppose this is why I'm not using my Ether. Marshall, indeed, likes his basics.

And the old man charges at me first, so I react with a backstep, asking for help from my artifact. A low groan comes, reminiscent of a complaint for no violence, and I sigh. Watching Marshall approach, I test out the Bloody Palm again, stepping to the side early and swinging my arm out, mentally asking for the artifact to strike with flesh or bone.

To my surprise, it does. Warm darkness juts from my hand as my flesh curdles and bone extends from my forearm, slashing a blade of bone at the General. The Bloody Palm made the edge extend two entire feet from my fingertips, allowing me a reach advantage. I can't help but beam as Marshall steps back to avoid the slash that grazes his uniform.

I grin even wider at his words.

"Nice trick. Be more creative. A blade is good, but that is expected. Few beings can control flesh and bone as it does. Use your strengths."

Nodding, I reel my arm back, the flesh and bone transmogrifying back to normal, the Bloody Palm sighing with discontentment. I promise it a reward if we do well.

"If we impress him three more times, I'll find you an artifact to eat. Promise."

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A content and expecting whine greets my mind as Marshall once more charges at me. Another idea arises as he does so. Stepping back, I swing my arm at him again, this time, asking for the flesh to elongate significantly, and it does. Despite how bizarre it looks, my arm extends out almost five feet toward Marshall.

The General wraps his knuckles around my hand, chuckling as he yanks me in.

"This was a stupid one. Come here."

Yet, he's never seen just how flexible the Bloody Palm is.

"Detach that part of the arm."

"KILL."

"You can certainly try."

The Bloody Palm secedes my entire hand, leaving the artifact as only my forearm as it pulls itself back to me, regenerating at a visible speed. It should only take ten seconds at most for the flesh and bone of my palm to be back and maybe another five for the fingers.

Yet, Marshall holds the palm oddly, gazing at me as if I'm a dumbass.

"What is the point of---"

Then, he senses it.

Before, a long time ago, the Bloody Palm detached a portion of its body that burrowed into an Amikuk and killed it from within. As Marshall speaks, the flesh creates a sharpened tip and stabs into his flesh, drawing a few rivulets of blood.

But the attack is fast shattered as Marshall wraps his other hand around the meat and throws it against the wall, exploding it as if it were a bomb. My attempt might have been ruined quickly, but I'm not disappointed. No, I'm ecstatic. I finally drew blood!

The Unyielding Wall shares some of my excitement as he brings his head up to look at me, a broad smile creeping toward his ears. This time he doesn't laugh or distort my attack in any way; he simply grins stoically as he encourages me.

"Good. Good. Very good. I want more of that. You may be a brawler, but that doesn't mean you must be superficial. Spice it up. Make some sucker punches that people won't expect. Create some that, even if they do, they have no way out. A haymaker or two can end a fight entirely are smart as well. Just think about the combinations with your Ether as we fight."

Marshall steps forward, taking his time to let my hand heal as I feel all the food I ate this morning going right into my hand. Worth it. Totally worth it. At least the Palm doesn't devour my muscle anymore without reconstituting it.

"That's the power of a Hollow... and a Wendigo. The only difference is that those from the Nocturne tribe, those we call Hollows, use their connections with wisdom. Meanwhile, Wendigos fight like brutes, relying solely on that relationship. Once you get your Willful Strand, we'll move up to full fights where you combine everything. But for now, rely only on your artifact."

Nodding, I realize my ideas from the past were correct. Then, I raise my hand as my fingers finish recovering, the nails even adorning my fingertips. Though, I wonder for a moment about the artifact upon my arm.

Why does it want to eat other ones? I used to think it was merely some odd thing regarding them, but that can't be it. The Bloody Palm desires them. Reckless seemed to give it Ether to use, or something of the like. But what does it actually do?

I ask the man most likely to know.

"Why does my artifact want to devour other ones? It doesn't take their Sigils."

Marshall pivots his step at that, stopping his burgeoning assault, to answer my question. The old man taps the trimmed beard on his face as he considers it.

"Hmm... To be truthful, I've never seen an artifact devour another for anything other than a Sigil. And I did find it odd how the Bloody Palm broke the Claymore. Perhaps it can consume the remnant emotions in the Sigil? Occultist has some authority over emotions, after all. I'd reckon it probably wants sensations, just as we like entertainment."

I ponder his thoughts as I spark another idea.

"So, you mean it's entertainment for it? That, in the same way we would rather not be bored, it wants to eat other artifacts?"

Marshall bobs in agreement, finishing the discussion as he waves me to fight.

"Probably. It is a 6th Sigil one, after all. For the most part, they are close to sentient with quirks and whatnot that appear at the 4th Sigil. Those below are primarily free of bizarre traits compared to Wonderous ones. Though, Arca are chock-full of peculiar effects. Some even have to be treated like sacred objects. Now, that's enough. Time to fight. We only have an hour left."

He ends his words as he rushes at me, the sand lifting underneath each of his steps. The Unyielding Wall moves with such swiftness I cannot dodge. Instead, I raise my arm, letting his incoming fist impact my forearm.

The strike sends me spinning, grasping for balance as another barrage of blows follows. Cursing, I force myself to remember that the Bloody Palm virtually grants me all the skills of a 6th Sigiled's many trips to The Cabin.

And so, as I get hit with impact after impact, my bones rattling from the strikes as Marshal dances around me, I ask for help. I call for a shield to block a punch coming for my face, and the Bloody Palm obliges, the bone bulging from my forearm.

Pivoting my frame, I let his fist slam against my forearm as the bone leaves my skin and muscle, elongating like a shield to cover the weighty assault. The force of the impact is brutal and compels a backstep from me as Marshall follows up with an uppercut, seeking to knock me out. Gritting my teeth, I twist to the side, moving my forearm to deflect his hand instead of hitting the flank of my head.

I use the impact's energy to back up further, creating distance as I wave my arm, reigniting that reach advantage. Our battle quickly devolves as I struggle to find more and more things to throw him off with, constantly resorting to a Boneshield or Fleshbullet to keep him off me.

An hour quickly ends as I fall to my knees, exhausted without using even an ounce of Ether. Marshall pats me on the back of my neck as he walks out, the Bloody Palm groaning in tiredness as he does so.

"Good work."

*********************

Later, I stumble upon Blake, walking alongside Silas and Lennox, her trio partners, as she is moving toward her quarters, likely seeking rest. She doesn't seem to notice me, so I call out to her.

"Hey, Blake! You alright?"

She glances at me as if I just kicked a puppy, but she doesn't walk away. My concern shoots through the roof.

"Blake?"

Her face distorts before Silas sighs and pushes her toward me.

"Finally. Deal with her, will you, Wyatt?"

I glance toward Lennox as he bashes on Blake, too, even with her standing right here.

"Yeah! She's been so down lately! She won't answer anything! She's like a stone wall! Oh, haha!"

Shaking my head at Lennox for his peculiar as always behavior, I keep my focus on Blake.

"Hey, c'mon, what's up?"

Blake peeks up at me, then glances at Silas, and the undead man sighs before flicking up a coin.

"Here you go. Hold one side, and you can only hear each other."

Thanking him, I catch the coin and offer it to Blake, the woman taking it inside the noisy fortress. I can imagine there is very little privacy with being forced to be in trios to stay safe. I can't imagine what it's like for Esther or Virgil's family. Though, I suppose the Boones are a trio without Virgil anyway.

But once I feel Silas' Ether run through us, his Sigil multipurpose as always, Blake finally speaks.

"I'm... sorry."

I shake my head, not understanding.

"For what?"

Her eyes tear up as she wipes them with her other hand.

"I--... I got Skychaser killed, then, even with an Absolution, I didn't help with the fight in Tornridge. And even here, I didn't do much. All I do is shoot from atop the walls, too scared to use my Absolution. I don't want to see Skychaser. He... he scared me the last time. I don't want to disappoint you guys, though."

Where is this all coming from? Why is she? Why--

"Skyswain, despite being a Bado, is doing so much more than me, even with her grief, killing a hundred a day. If I hadn't gotten her mate killed... if..."

I tap her forehead with mine, unable to let go of the coin without my voice being hurt.

"Hey. Hey. Hey! Stop that. None of that is your fault, okay? Skychaser died for you! He took that hit for you. And... Bonfire survived, so you don't have to worry about him. He's fine even right now. As for your Absolution skill... well, they take some time to get used to. After I used mine for the first time, I think it was a whole month before I did it again."

She tilts her head up, showing the vulnerable side that's rare for her.

"Really?"

I nod profusely as it is the truth.

"No one is ever ready for their Absolutions. The Cabin itself tells us that, y'know? Don't blame yourself for any of this. And so what if you aren't doing as much as Skyswain for the sieges? I'd rather you be safe than risk your life like I'm confident she's doing. That woman... she's gone off the deep end in grief. Take your time, Blake. How about you guys come and practice some Ether with me? Marshall was teaching me about Willful Strand."

Blake's face lightens up, even if there is a bit of jealousy hidden. She quickly hides it, however, and agrees.

"Of course! I haven't slept in a while, but that can wait. I wish I could be taught by Marshall Travis, but just seeing him fight is enough for me. He's like a walking God of war."

I smile at her as I extend the offer to Silas and Lennox, the two that have to come with her. The rules by Marshall are strict, and only Colonels, Johnny, and I are exempt. Not even Virgil is, as the man is forced to join a team with Abraham and Skyswain. I can't even imagine Earl's life right now. He finally escaped Primrose, only to be ordered to stay near her and Elizabeth for a month...

But Silas and Lennox quickly agree, the two having their own, similar reasons. The former whispers the middle part of his answer.

"Of course. I don't sleep anyway. Oh, don't let Lennox know that."

"Sounds like fun! I get you to ask you questions, right? They don't answer me when they sleep!"

Shaking my head, I lead them to my quarters, where it is silent since they are off duty right now. Ether practice is always enjoyable, and I'm surprised that Lennox doesn't know that for Silas, sleep is optional. I assume the man didn't tell any Colonel or Marshall that fact either, as if he did, he'd be fighting non-stop like Virgil and his two hours of sleep a day.

But, the Stoneclad's inane questions start before we even make it to the barracks.

"Wyatt? What's the name of your Colt? What's it do? Can you show me?"

Fuck. Should've said no.