Chapter 28: White Gold

"The fabric of the mind."​

The moment your hands part from your holy symbol, the strain on your body is made evident. It was impossible to realize how violently your hands were trembling, but now there is little doubt in your mind that your abuse of Flesh will cost you dearly.

"Mercy— ahhnnn— please—! Guide us, protect us—!" Though Mercy cannot grant you the location of your friends, She leans into your fear and hesitation. Your Goddess wraps around your panic, and mends your very soul. "We need the aid of another! Mercy, forgive us—! We implore you to permit this vessel one more failing for turning from Your immaculacy—!" It's a struggle to even get your shaking fingers to cooperate. You can scarcely bring yourself to utter another deity's name. Connected as you are to the Goddess, any motion is almost more than you can stand. "Our pursuit is dire— ahhh—!"

Mercy knows how much you're asking for, as you invoke the Goddess of the Immaterial. Another gasp escapes from your lips as you draw into yourself. Your moans and cries are surely an attempt by the Goddess to keep you connected to your mortal form.

"Though we do not know where to find them, grant us s-sight— impart unto us the wisdom of the incorporeal! Seek out those who— ahhh—" The sensation is still almost more than you can stand. "—would turn from you! From your transcendental vision, we ask for your gift! Blasphemers— heathens— we are blind before you! SPIRIT!"

Music

It happens in an instant. Mercy's blessing and Spirit's gifts intertwine through your veins in a liquid nightmare. White gold courses through your hands, arms, chest, and eyes.

You do not see the ruins or the caverns beyond. You do not see yourself kneeling at the bottom of the earth— consumed in light and knowledge— completely incapable of enduring the weight of two Goddesses on your soul.

You see your friends, and reach out to them. They are not terribly far from you. They must have sought shelter as soon as they could.

Celegwen's exhaustion has taken her to the border of death. She's fallen deeply into a trance— doing everything in her power to regain her strength. It seems as if Ofelia endured another attack. Though she's badly hurt, she's on high alert— refusing to rest— and holding something close to her. You suspect it's Ray, but the Goddesses care not. Spirit wants your full attention of the blasphemers you've asked to see.

Mercy tries to ease your mind— to soften the blow. They are heathens. Their thoughts are not befitting of your station.

Ice courses through your mind. You begged. The Goddesses of illumination grants you sight. You pleaded. She is cold. Unforgiving. You knew what you asked for. The Goddess shows you

The pain within Ofelia's spirit resonates deeply within you. You seek her through winding caverns— across the stone— and into darkness.

You knew what you asked for— and still, you plead. "P-please. I've seen enough—"

Fuck! This is so stupid.

Fuck, this hurts.

Richard...

What the fuck is wrong with him?

He had it a lot worse than me. There's no way he made it out of there alive.

"Stop. P-please— this isn't right!"

Lunatic looked like he was enjoyin' it, too. Scariest shit I've seen in all my life.

Shit, I know he was enjoyin' it. Gwen said as much.

"Please. Spirit, Mercy—!"

The Goddesses turn a deaf ear to your words.

Withdrawing into yourself, pleas fall from your lips like rain.

There's no turning from the sight and sound of Ofelia's thoughts. You've never had such an intense connection someone through Spirit before, and Mercy is leaning into Her blessing. Pulling. Digging deeper.

So he might be a pervert. But he kept us all together, even with the whole place comin' down like that. Took all those hits. Just threw himself into the fray like it was nothin'.

Does he think he's nothin'?

After everythin' we've said?

Why can't he realize how brave he is?

I'm the one that's barely scrapin' by. Maybe I'm losin' it. Can't even remember the last time I saw the sun. Was it three months ago? Or four?

Why does everythin' have to be so hard with other people?

Why is this place so violent?

Why is he so hurt? I know he's been through a lot, but I can't even imagine the half of it.

Can't even imagine what his ugly mug will look like when he gets back here.

Bet he'd clean up nice if he'd just put on a little weight. Scares me more than anythin' else. It just isn't right.

So maybe he's crazy. Maybe the stories are true. Maybe he's a God, or a demon, or somethin' else entirely.

Drawn into yourself, you're unable to do anything but mutter over and over again. "Stop. Please. Stop. Stop."

I don't care. I'm gonna make it up to him, no matter what he is.

Maybe he is a human. Maybe they're ALL crazy.

Maybe this will be another one of those stories.

Been nothin' but a nightmare since I left. Nothin' but trouble. Everyone was right to warn me. This is stupid. Probably suicide.

But I can't stop. Not now. I need to make it up to him, and we gotta get through this. I've always found a way before.

I gotta get back home somehow.

Celegwen's voice tears into and overlaps with Ofelia's last words.

"No more! Mercy—!" Your heart aches. Your chest is fit to burst. "Nnn— please—!"

The elf's spirit is a wasteland.

The fabric of her mind has been ripped, torn, and frayed beyond recognition. Obsession spans over decades— lifetimes— that you are utterly incapable of enduring. There is enough here that has been learned and lost to tear at your sanity.

Though your body is firmly on the ground, you stagger at the precipice of an ageless madness and reel. There are glimpses of immortal suffering— and you're dragged completely away from the brink.

Mercy takes you, caresses you, and pulls you away from the edge. She reminds you of mortality, and drowns you in Her blessing.

Spirit lends you sight.

This will all be worthwhile.

He never needs to know how much I have lost.

He never needs to know how much this means to me.

Though you're scarcely capable of speech, you still beg for relief. "P-please. Stop—"

Spirit sharpens your focus into one, painful point. You know her fears.

Does she even understand how much she has meant to me?

Can he even comprehend how much we are trusting in him?

Is he aware of how futile this journey is? How long his people have endured this cycle?

I hope it's real.

I hope he is not insane.

I can only hope. I'm like a child—trusting only in what I am told. But what choice do I have? That demon took everything from me. Everything. It will be lifetimes before I can relearn what I have lost.

"P-please..."

How could he have destroyed it? How can he be so reckless when so much is at stake? How can he play with lives— with his own life? It is fleeting. So fleeting. And yet he has been willing to throw it away at every opportunity.

He cannot fathom how much more his kind can endure.

He surely knows of the powers he invokes, and of the toll they are taking on him.

There is a sickness in their minds and no one will listen.

There is more to him than that, though— and not just in spite of it.

Perhaps it is because of it.

He is kind. He wants to protect us.

I know that he NEEDS to protect us.

How can he not see that I am willing to risk EVERYTHING to protect the people that I care for, too? I never would have learned anything if I had not sought after the IMPOSSIBLE.

Of course.

Conjuration.​

I will have to thank him properly once he finds us.

You curl into yourself. Begging. Pleading. Spirit finally leaves you. Her clarity seeps from your body, mind, and soul.

Mercy works into the residual emptiness. She fills you until you are overflowing with warmth and compassion.

Nerves aflame, fighting to stand, scarcely able to see— and taken completely with Mercy— you struggle to internalize everything that you've heard. Beyond any doubt, Ofelia and Celegwen are safe. You know where they are, and that you have to move.

You simply have no idea how to feel— how to cope— how to get yourself off of your knees, and out of your head for long enough to do anything other than think.