Chapter 12: Memento

"Beneath an apple tree."​

In one swift motion, Ofelia covers the dishes, gets to her feet, produces a dagger from (seemingly) thin air, and starts stalking behind Celegwen. Her voice drops to a hiss, while slicking her blade with an extremely foul looking substance. "What is it?"

"Something cold." The elf whispers to you, "I have a perimeter set, but it was trapped far later than usual. Something is wrong."

Dipping low to the ground, Ray growls and sticks his nose at a passage near the end of the room. One that leads deeper into the ruins.

"Stay down, boy."

Despite the roar of the fire, cold seeps into the room. Ofelia hides her dagger, and swiftly throws more kindling into the blaze. "Stay near the flame."

Your backpack, shield and mace are sitting on the opposite end of the room, where your robes were hanging to dry. Your holy symbol is still warm to the touch, and resting soundly around your neck. It's the only source of heat on your entire body. Celegwen seems unfazed by everyone's breath clouding into the air, but Ofelia begins to shiver.

Crystals of ice gather around the edges of the furthest passage.

Something is coming.

The entire stone corridor ahead is rapidly eclipsed by ice. Your body stiffens. It hurts to even blink, thanks to how intensely the cold has gathered. Celegwen remains utterly silent. Ofelia slips into the shadows.

As the doorway becomes frozen over, and plumes of moisture billow into the room, you shiver. Clutching onto your holy symbol grants no respite from the trembling in your hands, but its warmth radiates through more than your hold. You are far from alone. Mercy is listening.

There's no need for speech between you and your Goddess. Bowing your head, you say just one word.

"Mercy."

A flash of heat swells from Her symbol. The intensity of Her gift knocks you off your feet. You nearly stagger into the flame at your back, and take a knee. "Thank you."

Reeling with shock, you dare to part your hands. Ray has remained dutifully by your side. One palm is placed to the ice on his coat, and spreads the heat from your fingertips throughout all of his body. He offers you a grateful glance, while you try to look for Ofelia. She's even smaller than your dog, and will freeze far faster.

Panic seizes you. She's nowhere to be found, and icicles are forming from the perpetual dew on Celegwen's hair. The sorceress has remained deathly silent, but you catch that her lips are barely moving. An incantation.

Music At the furthest corner of the room, a collection of stars forms and shapes around the shadow. It must be a spell for heat, as a similar enchantment briefly falls over Celegwen as well. You don't dare to make a sound. They're too distracted to notice what's creeping along the nearest wall, but you catch it instantly.

It's as if the inscriptions embedded into the walls of the ruins are dripping off. Ice and crystallized paint flecks into the air. All light and heat that surrounds the space is steadily being pulled into the emerging shape of a man's painted face.

Through a Goddess, you speak as quietly as you can. "There." Celegwen whips her head over to the shadow. "Don't get too close."

You take a step backwards towards the flame. It goes completely out.

Darkness drenches the room. A voice creeps along the stone. Each syllable drips and gathers into the edges of your mind. It's worse than any poison. The major demon plies itself around Mercy's warmth, and siphons all that it can. "Aaaaah, sssssso, you've found yoursssself falsssse hope. A lie..."

Both hands clutch onto your holy symbol. On shaking legs, you command Celegwen and Ray— praying that Ofelia hasn't strayed off too far. "Stay close—"

"You've sssssurrounded yourself with heathenssss and thievessss, Fatherrr."

The absolute absence of light has you twist around in an attempt to determine the demon's location. At the same moment you move, Celegwen's voice rings out. Her speech is indecipherable, while a ball of heat and starlight bursts out from her position. For an instant, a flare of light illuminates the entire chamber. The blast nearly drops the elf backwards, as she braces, and fires the explosive buildup of energy straight at her enemy. She screams.

The blast slams into a dripping, floating, peeling monstrosity just a few feet away. The demon is more humanoid than any you have witnessed before. Rancid fog and gathering mist drifts up from an icy form in the shape of a man— who absorbs the entire spell that's fired his way.

​

The explosion disappears as quickly as it was produced, and the demon laughs insanely. "Generousss. Ssstupid." Darkness eclipses your sight once more. "Do you wisssssh to give me more of yoursssself, woman...?"

A horrific scream punctuates the night. Your heart leaps to your throat.

The gold and heat underhand radiates deeper than flesh and bone. Mercy pours into you, as you pour yourself into Her. She wants to work through you. You will protect your friends.

You will show Mercy.

Ray whines horribly, and backs further away despite your commands. Celegwen's screams are unbearable. You skirt around her precariously suspended form, through mist and fog. She's desperately trying to get a hold on her staff, but it has been cast far aside on the floor. The major demon is paying her no mind, despite exerting utter dominance over her form. You cannot feel her warmth. With each step, radiance melts the frost upon the floor. You cannot see her eyes. Golden light sears from your vision.

Mercy grants you illumination. Darkness cannot eclipse Her blessing. You clearly see Ofelia backed against a far wall, who is intentionally staying her hand. Celegwen's blessing will hold.

Your friends should not have to endure for long. You press forward fearlessly, and part your hands before a monster. Reaching out with divinity, you manifest a glow with the intensity of the sun. The entire chamber flares with light, with heat, and the voice of a Goddess. You speak everywhere. You are everywhere. She wills the blessing of restraint, and control, and the desire to save through the tension in your fingers, and all the will in your heart.

"Your cruelty and your malice is a blemish upon Her light. She sees your violence. She sees your sin. In Her infinite forgiveness, Mercy sees all— and in ultimate generosity— asks NOT for your death! Her vessel sees you, and wills you to stay your hand."

Your hands twist, and tense, with the gathering solar control underhand. "You will stand down." Complete devotion, and memories of your first sermon flit across your memory. You try to think back, and close your eyes. "You will not strike."

Abject worship of Her tenets. The desire to save. The desire to heal. The need to stop all carnage.

Encompassed in Her light, all the metal in your eyes opens wide. "You will find Mercy in your heart."

Music

The major demon reaches back. It's trying to take. The cold twists and writhes and seeps deeply, and deeper still, down into the depths of your soul. The two of you lock hearts, as he contends with Her blessing.

A discordant and nightmarish break rips your voice from the Goddess.

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HER—!" "You will find Mercy in your heart."

Hideous cackling escapes from the major demon, as he takes in as much light and heat as he can stand. Cracks and blisters of shadow splinter the ice of his body. Ofelia collapses in the corner of the room, in a desperate bid to stagger out, and strike the creature down where he stands. An unseen dagger remains suspended in mid-air. Tendrils of ice and paint had instantly streaked up to catch the item. It fractures under the intensity of the cold, and breaks into mist and frost.

Sparks of divine retribution flare from your sight. Tension and warmth is willed into the inert forms of your allies. They're so cold. Celegwen has yet to cease screaming. She's unbelievably resilient, but even seconds under this monster's hands may be too much time.

You raise your hands with open palms, towards an unseen sky. Beyond demons. Beyond the ruins. You grasp the heat coursing through all of your body, and raise Her higher still.

"You will stay your hand."

Laughter pulls at the innermost reaches of your mind, with a pull, and a tug. It's worse than blood behind your eyes. It's worse than having to remember.

This demon wants to make you forget.

Something small slips away. An old melody. Your favorite bookmark. The right pressure with which to hold your calligraphy pen.

Something more. The taste of your mother's cooking. The smell of barley. The sounds of the Morinburn river.

One by one, the strands of your history begin to unravel. You scream in absolute agony— and remain standing. Fighting. Willing yourself onto this monster.

One outstretched hand is clenched into a fist. Weakness and strength ebbs and flows into one another, from your speech, to your body, to your command. "You will show restraint. You will show Mercy."

A crack forms in the cold. It's so small, it's almost imperceptible. A light in his darkness. A command that gets through. It wrestles with the deepest fibers of your soul, as the major demon does show restraint.

He plucks and pulls away at your mind, yet has the grace and Mercy to leave something important behind.

The demon wants to leave something behind that will hurt you. Something that has haunted you for many years.

Father Edmund. His screams echo through your mind. Ice seeps into it. The demon toys with the surface of your predecessor's memory. He creeps and crawls— laughing hideously as Celegwen's screams grow ever weaker. You're losing her.

The demon's voice is as shrill and cold as its touch. Its chill pierces through your mind as he speaks. "Anotherrrrr faillllluurreeee, Fatheerrrrr?"

Strain and the void that is the heart of its creature threatens to slip from your hands. You contort your fingers, wresting its shadow away. Divinity flares from the effort from your eyes, the sweat that can drip freely from the heat on your brow, and the struggle that it is to speak.

"No. Father Edmund died so that others may live. He refused for me to save him. That one... last... time..."

The field of battle. The last major demon that you fought— together. He sacrificed himself, but not before ensuring that you were respected. He gave you his title. It remains beyond your comprehension.

"Foooliissshhhh."

"Wise. He saw to it that I would go on to lead the Church of Mercy after his passing. I have mourned the loss of my mentor— but I would never wish to forget him. His death has brought us together, demon. I will see to it that his wishes are respected. I will see to it that our meeting today is NOT in vain."

Ice threatens to creep across your skin. Steam rises, as it instantly evaporates from the sun stirring beneath your skin. The monster digs deeper, and deeper still. He's looking for anything to threaten you with. To twist the knife.

Though you may have nearly forgotten of the good in humanity, you will NOT forget. Not of being pushed into the dirt. Not of words whispered behind your back. Not of other people trying to make you leave.

You remember all of the people who wanted you to stay.

The demon recoils. Every attempt is made at domination.

You show it a destitute little girl, who would break what little bread she had to feed the neighborhood strays.

The chill of the season of Worship. Ice creeping onto the windows of the Church of Mercy, and all the warmth that melted through the frost. Old blankets by the fire. A single beam of light cutting through the blue, first thing in the morning.

Not the smell of your mother's cooking, but all the love that went into it. Her arms around you. Reassuring you. Always loving you.

The woman who found you in the streets of Anson, who dragged you out from the rain. She kept you safe, until you could be taken home.

The things that have kept all-too-familiar pain away. Not just the reasons you swore yourself to Mercy— but all that She represents.

The demon writhes in agony. You smile slightly at it. You can't help yourself.

"I'll killl yourrrr frienddssssss! I'll ttaaaaake everythiiiiiing you hooold deaaarrrr—!"

Ofelia. Celegwen.

The degree of warmth pouring from your hands and soul cannot be contained. Exerting domination over frost and chill permits you to hold the demon in place with one hand. With the other, you instill more light into both of your allies. Ofelia's form stirs— and Celegwen's screams mercifully stop.

Tenderness wraps around your speech, and dissolves the echo of the major demon's shrieks. "I will never forget their kindness."

The major demon's screams redouble. He plunges into your mind, trying to take anything that he can.

You show it a day before you became a priest. Before you knew Mercy's light. When all you had were the scars upon your hands, and the desire to help. You show the demon the first person you felt you ever truly saved: a young boy, trapped and afraid. He called for help where no one listened. You saved him from a collapsed barn, out on the fringes of Eadric's countryside. You listened to the runaway's story. You showed him Mercy without ever needing to invoke Her name— and he worshiped you. Not the Goddess. Though you never saw him again, you will never forget the look on his face when he saw you were there to rescue him.

The demon tries to pull away. To run. Celegwen collapses to the floor, as its hold on her melts away. She slips from his grasp, as he tries to slip from your mind.

You pull him in close, with a firm embrace. You take the demon into one, final blessing.

You take the demon to a quiet hill, overlooking the Morinburn river. The trickle of water, and the sound of a lazy bend floods back into your senses. The demon completely loses its hold on you— and you keep it there. There, with the scent of barley, and apples, drifting over the bend in a broad stream. No one was there with you, save for a few fishermen far down the river— and your neighbors, tending to the orchards beyond your sight.

You did not need the Gods. You did not need Mercy. You didn't need to remember, or forget.

You simply rested, and quietly enjoyed the afternoon beneath an apple tree.

​

Soft dripping registers on the borders of your mind. You come back to the present— and witness the major demon melting into a collection of ice water and paint before you. It does not slip away. A stalemate is reached. The demon has shown you Mercy, and you have done the same unto it.

Celegwen's screams have stopped. She's no longer in the demon's grasp. It's alive— and its attention is bent on you. All of its malice. All of its cruelty. All of the power that remains in it to indefinitely keep a hold on you, and only you.

With the demon's focus so firmly fixed on you, you dare to risk reaching out to your companions. You haven't forgotten about Ray, or Ofelia— and you know that their corporeal forms will have enormous difficulty affecting such a spectral demon. Its body is almost entirely liquid. As the creature drips in and out of existence, frost undulates on the floor in and around it. Every lance of frost is met with your heat. Every cloying, icy pull is held at bay. You must protect them.

The light of Mercy, and your desire to shield your allies permits you to reach out in the all-consuming darkness.

Ray is cowering in the furthest reaches of the room, backed up against one of the frozen doors. He's terribly frightened, but dutifully refuses to run. You will not force your boy to fight something he could never keep down. He knows that you will keep your best friend safe.

Ofelia's form stalks ever closer— waiting for an opportune time to strike. She's terribly cold. You worry for her, and reach out— knowing that Celegwen is in an infinitely worse condition.

She's alive. Celegwen has managed to lay down, and has placed herself into a deep trance. Her mind has wandered somewhere that neither you nor Mercy can reach. You're a masterful healer of humans— but possess no experience with elves. Mercy grants you with enough warmth to fill her empty form, but it's impossible to gauge the full extent of her condition from where you stand.

Keeping the demon in its place consumes your thoughts, your mind, your body, and your soul. Each attempt to reach out to your allies is met with its frigid pull. Each attempt to return Celegwen's kindness is clutched onto, from the edges of your light, to the gold consuming your vision.

You have to take your eyes off from the sorceress' inert form, and bear down on the demon. Your heart is torn. You have lost so much, and have been hurt so many times. Killing this creature where it stands. Not losing the things that are dear to you. Showing it Mercy. Remembering the goodness in the world.

You will not forget.

The demon locks hands with you, as the distance between you completely closes. It cackles, and clutches its spirit within your own. Fury and a solar flare bursts from your eyes, as you war with its vice. Searching. Seeking.

You show it Celegwen's healing. Her sacrifice. Her kindness. Mercy cracks and fractures through palpable breaks in your body, and you keep yourself together. You are bound by memory, and keep yourself grounded for your friends.

A small form stalks ever closer. It's a marvel how a halfling could recover so quickly. Her small, terribly cold frame is poised for death. There is no fear in her heart. Ofelia is utterly devoid of Mercy. Eager, and willing to kill something so threatening.

Neither of you have to exchange a single word. She's ready to strike.

A choir of judgement and Mercy echoes through your voices. "We will not forget. Thank you for showing us what we needed to see."

In a desperate, final bid for control, the demon bends its will. Twisting crystals of ice and a toxic flurry of paint entangles around all of your body. A vortex of darkness swirls with paint, and splatters in streaks from the ceiling to the floor. Your light pierces it. You stay your hand. Both hands wrap around your holy symbol. You are Merciful.

Ofelia is not. In her terrible silence, the killer sneaks up behind her prey. An unseen darkness is shrouded beneath her cloak. The only thing in your possessions that would escape the light of a Goddess.

Your grip tightens, in prayer to the Mother for protection.

Tossing her cloak aside, Ofelia reveals the cinders of the occult. In a split second, the demon realizes her ploy. Spikes of paint and ice are launched at her form— and she has already thrown the bundle. The cloth protects the dark Magic from impact for only a moment.

Both vials shatter on impact. The major demon is instantly consumed into a warp of deep space. The entirety of its ethereal form is expanded, and shredded into a blue flame that rivals its own ice.

A nightmarish and unearthly scream drips and sticks to the inside of your mind. In its death throes, the demon reaches out one final time. Tendrils of darkness and sin wrap around the writhing mass, and lash out towards you. Wanting for something precious. Something pure.

You remind it of your friends, and step closer to the flame. Both hands reach forth, and offer Mercy.

Mercy in death. The only cure.

Screams echo all around. In its final moments, the major demon freezes the walls. It freezes the floor. It pulls and drains all the light and life out of the room that it can muster. The flames around its convulsing form continue to rise, and fear pierces your heart like a knife as you think to your friends.

Mercy is protecting you, but you are not alone. "Ray!"

He bounds over to your side, fearlessly slipping over ice and stone on his way to you. You envelop him in Mercy's blessing, and guide him to a stop. Though Ofelia is on the brink of collapse, and Celegwen remains unconscious on the floor, the demon continues to writhe in agony. His frost and flame thrashes against the entire room.

You reach both hands out, and will restraint into the creature with every fiber of your soul. There's a crack, and a tear, and a desperate cry threatens to spill from your lips from the sheer force of compacting the monstrosity back in onto itself.

Ofelia manages to scream at you through the chaos. "RICHARD!! We have to go! Leave it!"

You won't be able to keep it down for more than a few moments. Smoke is rising fast.

Celegwen's inert form catches on the corner of your eye. Mercy is keeping you safe— but your Flesh is weary. It's unlikely that you could carry her.

The instant you motion to shield your friends, toxic smoke and fumes escape from the demon's charring body. Ray whines behind you, with complete trust that you will protect him.

A soft, and loving tone reaches out to your boy. You want to protect him so badly. "Ray. Go. Find safety."

A bork and a whine in protest. He hesitates, and only inches away from your side. The flurry of paint and cold is terrible.

With every ounce of strength remaining in you, you bring your arms together. You contain the paint, the ice, the flurry, destroy the ice blocking the exits, and bellow to your dog. "GO!"

He bounds out of sight, and tears across the ruins.

Ofelia is desperately trying to lift Celegwen. She's completely incapable of budging her. Sweat sticks to the back of your robes from the absolute limit you're pushed to, but you manage to whip your head around to her. "GO!"

No hesitation or protests reply. She staggers— stiff from the cold— and heads after Ray.

You can't wait for her to get to safety. Poison is consuming you. It leeches into your skin, burns your nose, sticks to the back of your mouth, and worms its way into your lungs. You don't have time to slide the demon's last breath out from its lips.

Tenderly whispering your gratitude to Mercy, you release Her from your form.

There is a deep need. A need for your tortured skin, your poisoned lungs, and your thin frame. You choke through the fumes, and the flames licking all around. Rapid, terrified, and weak speech is what you need, as in moments you will die from this smoke and ice.

"Flesh of my flesh, take this poison from my lungs!" You stumble to Celegwen's body, and drape her unconscious form over your shoulders. "This cold from my bones! This pain from my body!" Lifting with your legs, struggling with everything you have to get to your feet, you cry out. "Take my weakness, and grant me your strength!"

Smoke billows from your Flesh. A familiar burn takes a deep breath into the toxic fumes, and all of the ice seeping into you. There's the desire to work. To push yourself. Celegwen's form is as light as a feather, and you bolt with her for the passage that Ray exited from. You even take a moment to sweep Celegwen's staff, your robes, and the backpack, mace, and shield off from the floor. The equipment is effortlessly tossed over your shoulder— and you run.

Peels of flame and smoke burst from the corridor at your back. The woman that you carry clings onto the world, and finds a hold on her gnarled staff while you sprint.

Slick stone and ice flies past you in streaks of red and blue. Candlelight comes back into view, as flurries cling to the walls and your skin. You leave them behind, as narrow and branching pathways emerge one after the next.

The honeycombed walls— hollow as they are— offer blessed acoustics so far underground. Crackling cinders are at your back. The drip of a demon melts, and sinks into oblivion. Celegwen's ragged breathing beside your ear. Barking.

Good boy.

There must be trouble. You peel down one of the elevated paths nearby, as it picks up rapidly. It's a marvel how keen your dog's nose is— he picked up fairer air even through this labyrinth.

Something must be wrong, as Ray abruptly stops barking. You keep Celegwen clutched tighter still— and are all the more relieved for it.

At the top of the incline, you have to abruptly skid to a stop. "Ray! Ofelia!"

The halfling draws her cloak in tightly, and cries out as you narrowly skid past her. She spins around— dagger drawn, eyes wide, breathing hard— but immediately recognizes you. "Richard?! What the— how—?"

You'd like to respond, but your words are taken from your lips. You screech to a stop at the peak of a colossal network of corridors. They are covered in bloody, red spiderwebs. From the pitted, cavernous floor— to the monstrously high, cavernous ceiling— are the same strands you have seen once before. Spiders upon spiders crouch before you. There must be at least thirty of them. They have normal appendages and mandibles, but they are monstrously over sized— at least two feet across at the smallest. Their coloration is dark, dripping with blood, and partially hidden. Each one of their bodies is shaped like a bell, in a grotesque mockery of the church bells you're so fond of.

​

You recoil, and whisper to your dog. He's growling at the monsters with vicious abandon. "Good boy."

Out of breath, Ofelia does her best to whisper to you. "Richard— oh, fuck. You got Gwen. Good. Hey— hey. They haven't tried attackin' us."

Deep, resonant devotion drops even further as Flesh works through you. As severely as you want to work, the spiders make no motion to even antagonize you. "He— he kept his word."

"He?"

"Malimos. The Master of Webs."