Chapter 25: Be Wary of Strangers

The more his hand ran along Gratt’s armor, the less fight Gratt put up. Like a malfunctioning robot, Gratt suddenly ceased his resistance and the voice bottled inside refused to come out. Sitting on top of the inanimate object, Morr began to wonder if this really was the right approach.

Morr pondered and withdrew his hand.

One command before death…

One command and they’re done.

Causally standing up, he walked over to the dagger and examined it. The top of the blade curved with a slight droplet of purple fluid concentrated at the tip. This dagger was the very same dagger that paralyzed both him and Gratt on the 7th floor. Hiding it from sight underneath his cape wasn’t a challenge, at all. Though the potency was strong before, could the same thing be said now? To test it out, Morr ran the knife along the palm of Gratt’s hand. It cut slightly, just enough so that the purple droplet could slip through the thick layer of Gratt’s skin, entering his bloodstream.

Alive, yet not living. Staring through the eyes of a non-subservient body, Gratt mentally chuckled at the fate of events from the past few months. Numbness spread throughout his body once more and helplessness was all he felt. The world came crashing down and he felt every ounce of it striking his heart. Gratt always thought that death was scary, that to live life was the same as progressing your goals. Now, living life was another means to waiting for the inevitable death.

Morr pulled Gratt’s head back like a doll with strings attached. There wasn’t any resistance; hardly any force was required to pull his head back to reveal his lifeless eyes. The soul within him dared not to peek through. Any ounce of fight remaining had been sucked dry, just like the traces of his tears. Hollow and devoid of meaning, Gratt didn’t look like someone who was on the verge of death -- he had already given up.

He stood up and lifted Gratt upwards. As his eyes stared at Gratt, he noticed his left forearm had swollen into an unsightly purple color. The straps on the leather bracer were tighter than they should be. Pain could barely be felt from it, but the color had him worry. This was the arm that had been grotesquely contorted to stop the dagger, and from the looks of it, it seemed that there was a problem after all. For once, Morr was glad that he didn’t naturally have full control his of body. Imagining the amount of pain striking his nerves made him winced.

“Cheer up.” Morr encouraged. “What are you so down for?”

Gratt stared at Morr with eyes ready to sign his name on Death’s contract.

“You… said…” Gratt mumbled with his head hanged loose. “You said…”

“I said…?” Morr leaned closer, his right ear an inch away from Gratt’s eyes. He was facing away, but the corner of his eyes were fully focused on Gratt’s lips. “I said what exactly?”

“You said… I thought...” Gratt zipped his mouth, daring to not incite further trouble. He was confused of the young man’s change of attitude. Perplexed at the sudden change, Gratt quickly decided to not poke further holes. “No… forget it.”

The scarce lighting in the room and the position of Morr made it seem like he was talking to a floating head separated from its floating hands. Morr’s cape hid his body well within the dark background. Staring at the misleading disembodied head was like a nightmare of him talking to a ghost -- he convinced himself so, and like all nightmares, this one will eventually end.

“This is all just some bad nightmare. It has to be…” Gratt muttered, wishing that he could just pinch himself so hard that his mind would snap himself out of this horrible lucid dream.

“Nightmare? Gratt!” Morr shockingly gasped. “This place must be tormenting your poor mind. Too much time down here is making you crazy! We have to get you out of here, fast!”

“Get… out?” An ounce of life sparked within Gratt’s eyes. “Get out… Yes… I have to get out!”

“Yes!” Morr happily exclaimed. “Don’t you want to see your brother and your guildmates?”

“My brother and guildmates… I do…” Gratt subtly nodded.

“Oh, but how cruel of your guildmates.” Morr shook his head. “Leaving you on your own to find a precious sword that you’ve been searching for months. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. How awful can they get?”

“No… my guildmates are good. They are good people…” Gratt half-heartedly insisted.

“See?” Morr sighed. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Huh? I am thinking straight.” Gratt had a stupefied expression.

“I’m saying you’re blinding yourself from seeing them for who they really are.” Morr explained. “You’ve been brainwashed.”

“That’s preposterous.” Gratt denied. “My brother and guildmates are the closest people I have.”

“Then why did they not help you search for your sword?” Morr inquired. “Don’t they know about it?”

“They do, but… they are busy people. I can’t expect them to clear their schedule just for me. …Right? That would be wrong.” Gratt hesitated. There’s no way his guildmates and brother would just ignore him. Impossible. Gratt believed that there had to be an underlying reason.

“Oh, so even your brother wouldn’t clear his busy schedule for you?” Morr asked.

“No!” Gratt urged his body and released a weak shout. “I mean… everyone has different priorities they need to take care of.”

“Gratt…” Morr gently placed him down, and he naturally transitioned into a sitting position. “Poor, poor man. You deserved better than this. They shouldn’t be treating a fellow guildmate like this, let alone a friend.”

Gratt held his head up and looked at Morr. “What are you talking about? They didn’t do anything to me.”

“Doing something and not doing something are both choices one decides to make. You said it yourself with your own mouth. Oh, wait, of course you wouldn’t understand. Your head is still under their control. Hm… How do I explain it?” Morr pondered, thinking of a convincing message. “Let’s say there are 24 hours in a day; 8 hours presumably used for sleep, so what are the other 16 hours used for? Eat, work, and joy time?”

“What?” Gratt dejectedly said. “So…? Many people need to do that. What’s wrong with that?”

“In other words, how would you spend the remaining time of your day?” Morr asked. “Everyone has different priorities, and through that we naturally go from highest priority to lowest priority. For example, eating and entertainment would be a high priority; no one wants to be stressed out and starving all day, right? The same can be said for the other end of the line. We wouldn’t want to be doing any other activity unless it has an impact on our lives. How many times do you walk through the day, ignoring the things around you and only paying attention to what you think would impact your life?”

“I understand priorities, but ignoring the things around us?“ Gratt asked. “It’s not like I’m actively doing ignoring the things around me, I just have better stuff to do.”

“Exactly.” Morr smiled. “Do you get it now? Your importance to them couldn’t even be written on the same page as food or work. They would rather eat and enjoy their own entertainment, rather than helping you find your sword.”

The confidence exuded from Morr was none other than one of grandeur and absolute certainty. The delivery of his messages and the cadence within his voice oozed and spilled so much confidence that Gratt couldn’t help but feel everything he said was right. No -- it wasn’t that everything he said was right, but what he said wasn’t wrong. This was an important distinction that Gratt clearly felt.

“Wait… are you suggesting that my guildmates don’t care about me?” Gratt inquired. “No! They do care about me!”

“Suggesting?” Morr laughed. “I don’t even need to say anything; their lack of action -- which is an action in itself -- already says plenty. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“No!” Gratt rapidly denied. “They’re good people with good intentions! There’s no way they would just toss me aside!”

“Is that true?” Morr applauded. “Is that what you really believe? Amazing, they’ve brainwashed you incredibly well. Man-oh-man, they’ve done an impressive work on you.”

“Stop it!” Gratt slammed his fast onto the ground. “Stop saying that! They have good intentions. I just know it!”

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“Shh…” Morr hushed. “Listen… You’re so blinded by who you think they are that you refuse to look at the reality in front of you. Let me put it in another way: Our actions are an extension of our intentions -- do you agree with that? If I wanted to help you, I would go out of my way to find time to include you into my day-to-day agenda. It’s very much the same as you going through all this trouble just to find your sword. I know you care very much about this sword because you’ve spent all this time looking for it. You wouldn’t spend this much time if you didn’t care for it. Get it? We don’t need to try and guess what Person A or Person B intentions are -- or what we think they are; we can judge what their intentions are based on their actions.”

“You don’t know a thing about me, my brother, or my guildmates!” Gratt balled his hand into a raging fist. Not even the paralysis can inhibit the emotions that are driving him. Listening to someone speak as if they know it all, especially about his life, was incredibly vexing. But as much as he didn’t like it, he couldn’t deny it. Everything seemed so real and it flowed so naturally… Did his brother really not care about him? Does his guildmates only like him because of his brother? Perhaps…

“Yeah, true. I’ll give you that.” Morr nodded. “But what is it you’re hoping to hear? What is it you want to hear? Perhaps you’re hoping that if I knew more about your relationships, my view would align more with yours? That’s a bit naïve, don’t you think? Why do you like to live in an echo chamber of isolation? Hearing the same thoughts over and over helps reinforce your beliefs, right? Sorry, but I think viewpoints should be challenge, otherwise meaningful progression won’t happen.”

“No…” Gratt uttered. Gratt was scared, but not of the young man in front of him. He was scared of the reality that the young man spoke of. He was scared of the reality that he was in. If everything was true… then what is there left to believe in?

“Face it head on, like any warrior would.” Morr provoked. “No, like any real man would. You enjoy running away from reality so much that it keeps your body thin, but your mind is already at the point of thinning out.”

“Shut up… Utterly… ridiculous…” Gratt mumbled. His brain was fried from the mental gymnastics. Thinking who is right or who is wrong; who he should believe or what he should believe; everything he thought that was true came crumbling down, shattering into little pieces. Doubt planted in his heart began to grow, giving way to an open mind. Is he right? Are my guildmates and my brother not the people I think they are? …Am I just being used until I’m not needed anymore?

“Gratt!” Morr exclaimed. “Why can’t you see that I’m trying to help you here!”

“Help… me?” Gratt uttered with disbelief.

“Yes!” Morr balled his right fist and rammed it into his left palm. “Why can’t you see that they’ve twisted your mind! Why can’t you understand that this is wrong? You have to fight against it! How much longer will you let people control you? Take control, instead!”

“Why…?” Gratt uttered again. “I don’t know why. I don’t understand everything too well… but… Why should I believe you?”

“You don’t have to believe me.” Morr said. “But you cannot, no matter what, believe the people who turned you into such a mess.”

“The people who turned me into a mess…” Any other day, Gratt would’ve written this entire thing off. It all sounded so preposterous that he would never believe it. But this day was different. After hearing everything Morr had to say, he was more receptive than he had ever been. The absolute tone instilled with so much confidence made everything so believable. There was substance behind what he said. Rather than discarding the entire idea, he began to edge towards the reality that Morr spoke of.

“I can’t let a friend walk away like this.” Morr insisted. “Who was it that told you your sword would be on the 8th floor?”

“Friend…” That single word ushered a new fire within the ordeal. It was true that Morr was the one that ended up helping him. Morr was kind enough to let him into his party in search for his sword. Gratt knew that they’ve only been this close for a short time, but somehow, this feeling was much closer than most of his guildmates. If he were to follow Morr’s logic, then he’d find himself at a standpoint between his guildmates and his new friend. One’s lack of action versus one’s kindness to help him search for his sword… The life within him sparked once more into a fiery flame.

“It wasn’t just one person; I’ve been grasping for any clue I could find these past few months.” Gratt said. “But this one… was from within my guild.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Friends help each other out, no questions asked.” Morr said those sweet, sweet words so succulently that Gratt couldn’t deny the feeling of having his heart tugged.

“Come on, we haven’t search the entire floor yet.” Morr encouraged. “Maybe your sword is still here. Or should we leave and get you to a doctor?”

“No, it’s fine.” Gratt sighed. “I don’t know why there aren’t any monsters on this floor, but let’s not risk it. I’ve put us in enough danger already, so let’s just leave. I’m also worried about that nasty color on your forearm.”

“Sure.” Morr gave a thumbs-up.

Gratt sighed a huge relief and led the way out of the open room.

Morr stared at his back, smiling mischievously at thought of the future.

“Naughty, naughty boy.” A feminine voice came out of nowhere, sparking Morr and Gratt to be vigilant.

“Who’s there!” Gratt unsheathed his sword, directing it all around him. It was too dark to see anyone else, and the direction of the voice wasn’t clear.

“Be careful!” Morr alerted, turning left and right to discern the speaker if possible.

“I was wondering what two Aislings were doing this deep in Lord Sgrios’ home.” The same voice flew out from the dark. “But then I didn’t want to intrude… especially when it got so interesting.”

“Gratt!” Morr beckoned. “Come on! We’re leaving!”

Gratt wanted to run, but the numbness in his legs were still present. He could move now, but running was still out of the question. He inched backwards, guarding one side of the room while entrusting his flank to Morr.

Morr saw Gratt’s awkward motion and silently regretted his decision to use the poisonous dagger. Running away was an option, and seemed even more needed when the enemy is unknown and held the advantage. Nevertheless, he stood by Gratt and paced himself so that both of them are covering different directions.

“[Pramh]” The unknown enemy invoked a spell that befell the two of them. A glittering dust sprinkled from above Morr and Gratt. It floated in the air and drizzled down to their face.

Gratt instantly fell face flat onto the floor, snoozing away with a smile on his face.

Consciousness began to flee with light footsteps, and Morr’s eyelid became dangerously heavy. It threatened to close, but Morr fought and struggled to keep them open. With both hands in front of him, he swiftly slapped both sides of his cheeks in hopes of staying awake. But the foreignness of his body inhibited his intentions. The ability to feel pain was drastically reduced ever since the rehabilitation of his body, and when the feeling of pain goes numb, so does the shock of emergency.

“Wake up!” Morr kicked Gratt’s body armor, giving off a loud blunted sound. “Damn it! Don’t sleep on me yet!”

The sounds of his loud and peaceful snores only made Morr more disturbed.

Unable to feel the strength within his legs anymore, Morr crashed onto his knees with eyelids half opened. He threw a punch directed at Gratt’s armor, but it was futile indeed. The resulted thud proved fruitless as louder snores laughed at him.

Soft footsteps came from behind, growing louder and louder by the steps. Morr turned around, hanging on to his last bit of consciousness. A figure came into view, cladded in a black robe and black hood. The clothes seemingly belonged to a person of faith, for they had a religious symbol engraved on the robe. The closer that person got, the more Morr felt a sudden choke. It wasn’t as if it was hard to breath; the cold air was serviceable and there was nothing blocking his lungs. However, the air around that person instilled the will of death -- a contagious will that enacts people to seek ways to cease function.

A smooth, pale hand reached out from within the black robe and gripped onto Morr’s chin. She slowly brought his struggling face closer for examination. It was all too blurry to identify her face, but these smooth hands were hard to forget.

Unable to do anything against the priestess’ sudden spell, Morr reluctantly laid on the ground with waning consciousness.

She released her grip and inspected his left arm. The ominous purple spelled impending doom. The longer his arm goes untreated, the more susceptible he was to losing it. After careful observations, she touched the ground with her hands and incanted a spell.

Breaching from the ground were four bony hands that clung onto Morr’s wrists and ankles. It tugged him to the ground, locking itself and restraining his movements. She snapped her finger next to his ear, curing his sudden drowsiness. Morr’s eyes shot wide open, surprised at her action. Gratt was still happily snoozing away, seemingly making the situation less dangerous than it seem to be.

The grip of a reluctant hand held him tight and steady; breaking free was harder than it looked. The chakra within Morr swirled frivolously; he calmed himself as he thought of a sudden proposition.

He was not dead… yet.

The moment he fell asleep was the moment his life would’ve been thrown into the enemy’s hand. Right now, he was awake. Right now, the enemy didn’t want him dead.

“What do you want?” Morr asked. His posture was that of a servant kneeling in front of its master, but his tone was informal without a single trace of servitude.

“Oh, you catch on quick.” The priestess commented. “I heard your conversation and thought of how amazing it would be to have someone like you on my side.”

Morr tugged his hands and feet one more time, but the bony hands wouldn’t budge.

“Sure, let me agree to something that I know nothing about.” Morr quit the subtlety and put his back into pulling his arms out. But the bony hands were extremely resilient; the ground would’ve gave way before the hands released their grip.

“I’ll admit that I’m not very good at recruiting people.” The priestess ignored his action to break free. “But you’ll need help immediately, and I’m the only one here who can do it.”

“Help?” Morr inquired.

“Your left forearm is in disarray and will completely rot if not treated immediately.” The priestess advised. “I don’t know what happened, but this level of fragmentation will result in a complete destruction of your arm. I can fix that now, and in turn, you will help me with my problem.”

Morr knew he messed his left arm really badly, but to this degree was a possibility he shoved to the back of his mind. He believed that everything would’ve been fine if he asked Pontiff to fix his arm, but if what the Priestess said was true then he needed help, immediately. Morr contemplated between the choices of accepting her aid, or to wait for Pontiff’s help.

“What will it be? Any seconds longer and even I may not be able to do anything.” The priestess pressured. “At that point, your best bet would be to discard your arm so the rest of your body won’t be contaminated.”

The choices bounced back and forth in his head. Was she telling the truth? Was she lying? If he were to say no, then what would stop her from killing him? It seemed like the priestess only kept him awake because she thought he had some value left within him. But to say yes would go against one of the most important rule a mother teaches her child: say no to strangers. These two choices led to a complicated amount of paths that he didn’t had time to think about. The slight tingly feeling in his left arm continuously reminded him of the danger he brought upon himself.

“So, what will it be?” The priestess asked once more.

Hearing those words was like watching every grain of sand falling from within an hourglass.

“Fine.” Morr reluctantly agreed. “I’ll do it. But I want this guy alive and awake, now. All of my hard work would be for nothing if he somehow convinced himself that all of that was a dream.”