Forcefully putting down the complaints of the two souls within him, Mason had begun to go through more of the memory potions in hopes of getting a better understanding of both himself and these two new parts of him.

He felt dizzy with confusion, but he was beginning to understand why the staff would have given him the Demon glamour. He could walk around fine as Mason- that was the core of his identity, the history he could pull on at will. But his power came from more than that. Mowry had shaped his soul, enabling him to begin to harmonize with and utilize mana. Geralt had… some impact on him as well, though he suspected he had seen little of its potential yet.

So when he fought, he was not truly himself. The time may come when he could fight at full strength as Mason, but that would require fully integrating the parts of Mowry and Geralt that were stored inside of him. Of course, it was possible that doing so would change who he was into something more like Demon, but it was too soon to know.

Whatever his fate, his first few potions had been informative, showing him Geralt’s time training for the Trials, and Mowry’s time as some sort of police officer, but there was so much to a life that even after exploring several more visions of their lives, he felt like he barely understood them at all.

This room had seemed small when he had first appeared here in the cozy lantern light and the subtle warmth, but each time he pulled out of a potion haze, it seemed like there were more potions on the shelves. Worse, instinct told him that this room was not possibly enough to contain their whole memories. Beyond that sealed passage must be several more rooms like this.

He trembled as he glimpsed the gravity of the undertaking. Could he ever hope to understand the lives of the people he had captured?

If he sat there trying to process every memory, he knew he might be stuck here for ages, but what else could he do when he didn’t even know where reality was? Putting it so plainly unsettled him. Leornal was counting on him, and could be in trouble. He couldn’t just stall here forever.

He needed to find a way out of this inner world and back to his body.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and began to open himself back up to the voices and presence of Geralt and Mowrytal, who were both much more qualified to deal in magical and soul arts than he was.

His awareness shifted back to that white room, but he froze where he stood, staff held tightly in front of him. All around him were sharpened metal stakes positioned so that any motion grander than shifting his weight would injure him. The spikes were layered so that he could neither crawl through them or even climb above them, so he simply froze.

Geralt laughed as he saw the stricken look on Mason’s face, “Looks like we finally got your attention. We’re not without power, and I’d like to see you do much with that staff with your rather limited mobility.”

To the side stood Mowry, whose face was drawn but otherwise remained unreadable. Mason looked between them both, trying to gauge the situation.

“What’s your end-goal, Geralt? Couldn’t you draw these spikes a little further and rip me to shreds?” Demon spoke with a tinge of amusement in his voice, even as the fear from his Mason persona sped up his heart rate.

“I thought it would be wiser to teach you a little respect, and a great deal of fear. Mowry gave you power, built you this precious little chamber in your soul so that we could all pal around and have great fun, but you seem to forget that we stand where you are most vulnerable, and can tear you down from the inside,” Geralt gestured as he spoke, and several of the spikes seemed to come alive. They swayed and rippled, as if itching to shoot forward.

“Suicide, then?” Demon asked with a raised eyebrow. “That doesn’t seem much like the Maledite warrior who persevered through such harsh training. Power at all costs- isn’t that what your old teacher taught?”

Geralt visibly trembled, “You walk where you have no right. Do not tempt my anger, Demon!”

Demon ignored him and turned to Mowry, “Or you. Are you okay with allowing things to end like this? It seems simple and pathetic. You’d lose the ability to help your sister or your people. And who knows what will happen when the rest of the humans arrive. Sure, the Darkest Night can cast some spells and crush them, but how many lives might be lost in the battle? Do you want to risk that a few vengeful humans might stumble upon a power even greater than what I have and lay waste to your city? We are in the Trials, after all.”

“I have only ever tried to help you,” Mowry whispered.

“And I have only tried to do what’s best, and what will keep me alive!” Demon shouted in return. “Can you fault me for wanting to find strength in your memories? Would you do any different? Either of you?”

The metal spikes stilled, and the three stood still, each trying to gauge how best to move forward.

After several tense moments, Mowry waved his hand, “Enough.” The bars turned to dust and fell, and Geralt widened his stance to show his height and strength off to the dark man. Mowrytal simply shook his head, “This is pointless, Geralt, and you know it as well as I do.”

“We cannot allow this boy to bully and rule us! I serve only King Arlon!” Geralt screamed now, his face turning red and the muscles in his neck bulging. He stood still, but it seemed as if a great internal force held him there, and the way he clenched his fists made it look as if he wanted nothing more than he wanted to rip the others into tiny pieces.

“Would you rather war within him and allow us all to perish finally, or should we make our demands and work together?” Mowry inquired.

“What would you demand for your help, Mowry?” Mason asked, dropping his staff at his feet and putting his hands in the air.

Mowry considered him, and nodded his head respectfully, “Stay out of our memories. Do not make demands of our power or our history.”

Mason shook his head, and was about to protest when Geralt spoke up, “We can show you what you need to see, boy. There are memories you need, skills of ours that we can teach you.”

“But you must respect our privacy,” finished Mowry.

Mason sighed, and then acknowledged them, “That seems a simple enough request. The Tree of Memory is too mixed up. I can hardly make sense of all of my own memories now though, let alone tell them from each of yours. How do you plan to solve that?”

“Let me take care of that. In the meantime, I believe you have a more pressing concern,” Mowry reminded him.

Sighing again, “Yeah, why the hell can’t I get back to my body?”

Geralt grunted, “Because you’re weak.”

Mowry shot Geralt a look and then explained, “Your soul is twisted and confused with our presence here. It left you very vulnerable, and it seems someone has taken that opportunity to force you inwards. The only way out is to take control of your own soul and guide yourself out.”

“So… how do I do that?”

“Draw out that rune. Geralt and I will also focus on it, and its effects in the real world should give us an anchor to pull you toward.”

“Alright, I’ll give it a shot.” Mason picked his staff back up and began focusing all of his energy on shaping the rune. He gripped tightly with his mind onto that seed of mana within him, and tried to will it along the lines of the rune. Several seconds later, he felt another force grab onto it, guiding it down the same line, and seconds after that, a third force.

When the third joined, it seemed as if the whole process was going to fall apart. Rather than moving smoothly along the lines, the mana jerked and jumped, as the three unevenly exerted their wills upon it. Mason resisted the urge to swear, and then he felt the shift as Demon took over. With Demon’s will, the other two fell into line more naturally, though the progress through the rune was still stuttery at best.

After they had made several rotations through the rune, the mana seemed inclined to almost pull itself down the proper paths. Demon felt a charge of energy building into the rune, and a slight eagerness from Mowry’s will helped him to know it was time to finish this. He pushed with his mana into the rune, and felt the whole thing collapse in on itself, replaced with a completely different energy.

Force exploded out, and a rush of sensations spread throughout Demon’s limbs.

“It seems he’s come to an accord,” Artorias intoned as he lifted a hand casually into the air to block the waves of force rolling off Demon’s suspended body.

When the outpouring of energy ceased, Demon fell from the sky and crashed unceremoniously to the ground, groaning but still holding tightly to his staff.

Leornal stood up from the cushioned bench he had been resting on, and walked over to make sure he wasn’t too badly hurt. He’d long since given up being worried; if Artorias were going to kill him, he could have done so with ease, he had no doubt.

Looking down, Leornal laughed at Mason’s twisted form. He hadn’t fallen gracefully, but nothing looked broken at least. “You survived your endeavor then?” He asked as he offered his hand.

Mason took it and pulled himself up, “Yeah, I guess. Care to explain what’s going on?”

Artorias walked up then, and held out a hand to Mason who shook it awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Artorias spoke for him, “I am Artorias, the keeper of this library. But you have been in a much greater repository of knowledge, haven’t you?”

Mason looked over at Leornal questioningly before asking Artorias, “Should I be thanking you or fighting you? I get the impression you were the one who stuck me in that place. Leornal definitely doesn’t have the skills for that.”

Leornal scowled even though it was obviously true, “It would be a waste of time to attack him. Artorias is some monstrosity of a mage. Pretty sure he could turn this whole place to dust with a wave of his hand.”

“Two waves, but it would cost me my life. No matter though, I take no offense to the threat. Demon, did you find peace with the souls within you?”

Mason shrugged, “Well, we agreed that killing each other would be bad, and that my enslaving them and stealing their memories would also be bad. Then they helped me use the rune I’ve been working on for days now.”

That made Artorias look a little closer at him, “You used a rune after only several days? Those two must have given you a great deal of help then.”

“Why did you do… whatever you did to me?”

“I am a soul bound to this library with some unsettled business with the outside world, and you are a mysterious person with a legendary staff and very unusual abilities. I was hoping that if I helped you, you would do me a good turn in exchange,” Artorias explained, smiling.

Mason looked at Leornal who just shrugged- that was as good an explanation as he had gotten. “What kind of good turn?”

“For now, growing stronger will be gift enough. I’ve seen your memories and discussed with Leornal. It seems there are a great many races that have been drawn to this plane. I will return you to them, and I merely ask that you help them survive for a little longer. When you feel like you are strong enough to leave the plane, bring the strongest allies you have to me.”

“I feel like you’re asking me to sell my firstborn in exchange for power,” Mason said skeptically.

“If you were a soul with unfinished business and you were completely trapped, wouldn’t you make a deal, any deal, that might help you settle that score, no matter the cost?” asked Artorias innocently.

Two voices within Mason assented, so he nodded as well.