Chapter 65: Making History

"I'm not expecting peace in an instant!"​

Several more moments pass.

This is too much to ask without knowing everything.

"I don't think I understand, Yech—"

"Do you want to help me? Do you want to keep helping us? I don't care if it's just Beltoro, or if you want to stay down here another age. I want you on our side. I know things have probably gone to shit up there. I'm not asking you to give up everything, but I want to know what you can do. I don't—" There's a sniff, and Yech looks more intensely at you still. "I don't want to lose anyone else. Not again. Not so fucking soon."

Every moment I've been in the ruins until now has been a struggle for life and death.

Every demon I've faced until I met Idonea has tried to kill me, to break me, to hide, and to stop me from completing my mission at every turn.

Even here, I've been tortured, lied to, manipulated and pushed far beyond any normal human limits.

I have a home to go back to. I don't know how bad things have become in my absence. I don't know if delegating my responsibility throughout the Church of Mercy was the right call, or if I will even be able to resume my position when I do return.

I have been blessed by visions of the Gods. The heads of their churches and the King have every right to know.

I have the Relic of Mercy.

I am the leader of the Church of Mercy.

"Yes. Yes— absolutely, Yech. There's so much I still need to do, but—"

"You'll take care of Beltoro first. I get it. It's fine. I've got my fucking work cut out with them, anyways."

"Please don't misunderstand. I— I want you to travel with me, to the— to the surface. We can work together, consolidate our power— I— I want to help you."

"More than I could fucking hope for. You were pretty happy to kill before."

You try not to show your distaste. "No. No more. I'm striving to show my kindness first, Yech. I don't want to— I mean, I don't mean to be cruel— but there have been more than enough demons that have tried to kill me first." The champagne on your tongue suddenly reminds you of copper. "You and Remigius said yourselves that Tsilorm deserved to die."

"You're not wrong. I mean, it's fucked, but it's true. But don't think I'm going to stand by and watch you slaughter—"

"Yech. I want to help. Truly. Honestly. I'll show Mercy. I know that death does not have to be the only cure."

"Is that what they're fucking teaching you?"

"It's wrong. Everyone deserves a second chance. I know we can deescalate this. I know it's possible for demons— like you, like Malimos, like Beltoro— to show compassion. Mercy— She— I serve to protect those who need—"

"I get it, Richard. Shit, they've done a number on you."

"Please, Yech, I'll— I will do everything in my power to shield you, all of my companions— any demon who wishes to bring no harm. There has to be a way to make it easier for you all."

"It's pretty fucking simple, Richard. Don't egg 'em on. We can't really control ourselves like you do. I mean, you're having enough of a hard time as it is, and you're still fucking human." You're aware that you've emptied your fourth glass of champagne, and force yourself to set the glass down. Yech offers you a grimace before continuing. "You've gotten close to the Catalyst, but try and imagine it. Try and think of how much baser these lunatics are. The best I can hope for it to start helping the best of us. Most of these fuckers are way beyond saving."

You're wracking your brain, scrambling to come up with something. Anything. For all of your study, you still know so little. "Do you have any suggestions? I don't want murder to be my first resort. I don't want it to be the last, either. There— there has to be a way— to reason with them, to do something— suppress it, or isolate it—"

"I'm going to do my fucking best, Richard, but I can't make any promises. There's no earning some shithead's respect."

"I understand completely. Not every demon— not every demon is like you, Yech."

"Good fucking thing, too. The world couldn't handle more than one of me!"

"I doubt it could handle even one of you, Yech."

"Fuck off."

"You know I'm right."

"...you're probably right."

"I really do want to help, Yech. If you can keep the lower hierarchy under control, I will do everything— everything in my power to help." Your jaw is tight, your shoulders are tense, and your conviction is unwavering.

Yech takes his hands off of your shoulders, and looks to you with a fair amount of hostility. "Is that a fucking threat?"

You soften your expression, doing your best to explain. "I won't stand by and watch my friends die. I've been through a lot, Yech. I won't sit here and lie to you— I've nearly died so many times in these ruins that I can't fathom not being overran. I can't conceive of my life not being threatened again. I will not hesitate to protect myself or my friends. Not now. I want to make you this promise, but it's only— it's only possible if your demons can do the same for me, in turn." Your voice drops to a murmur. Your very Goddess has told you that there is only one cure. "I won't shy away from showing Mercy in a more tangible form."

Though your friend tenses a fist as if he wants to punch you, he strikes the table next to you instead. A few cards kick up into the air. "What the fuck do you expect me to do? Call off an entire city before they even know I'm running the place? They're demons, Richard, not a fucking welcoming party—"

"There has to be a way. There has to be something we can do for them."

"No shit, but that's the whole fucking problem, isn't it?!"

"You— you have a strong will, Yech—"

"Bullshit—"

"You have empathy—!"

"Fuck OFF, Richard—"

"I'm not expecting peace in an instant!"

Reflexively, you bring a hand to your mouth to try and take back the outburst.

The raise in your voice hangs in the air for a long moment. It carries over an immediate prayer to your Goddess for forgiveness.

Yech gently pulls your hands down and puts your glass of champagne in between your fingers instead. "I don't want to hear that shit."

"Mercy— Yech, I—"

He puts a hand back on your shoulder, raising his own bottle to you. You take a long pull at the glass in your hands, trying to wind down, to moderate your emotions, to focus on your vessel, to slow your pulse, to come away from the outburst.

The bottle is knocked completely back as you finish your glass.

Yech seems to keep his eyes on you for several minutes as you do everything in your power to regain your composure. He doesn't push, he doesn't pry, and he doesn't stop you again as you fidget with your holy symbol. Your friend is still looking out for you.

The edge in his voice winds down, though he's still clearly bothered by the situation you're both faced with. "Don't get the wrong idea, Richard. I just want to hear what else you have to say. You're right. We're not fixing shit in a day. Not in a week. Maybe not in our lives— but this is a pretty big deal, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's unprecedented. You are remarkable, Yech. In all the years I've contended with demons, I had never faced a single one with the intelligence and compassion that you exhibit— not even Malimos—"

"He's a psychopath. Don't fucking insult me."

"You understand what I'm saying, though, don't you? You realize— this— all of this? A priest— the Father of the Church of Mercy— and— and an archdemon—!" A small spill of nervous laughter leaves you. Compulsively averting your eyes, you stare down at the bubbles in your glass. The scars adorning your hands peeks through the transparent liquid.

Scars from a lifetime of fighting creatures just like the one sitting before you.

The hand on your shoulder tightens. "You don't have to do this. I get it. You got what you wanted. You can fucking go. I'll be here. I'll be alright. We all will be. I'll figure something out. You've already done more than—"

You put a hand to the bones on your shoulder, set down your glass, and extend your compassion. Your Mercy. "I'll come back. The world might not be ready for this, Yech— for you— but I will not forget everything you have done for me. I will return." The words of a demon older than the ruins comes back to you. "I will suffer— for you to live."

Where the skeleton's brows once were, there's a furrow of disbelief and of so much respect that it makes you tense your grasp on his hands even further. The haze of liquor on him is eclipsed with reverence for what you're implying. "You can't."

"I will."

"You've probably already fucked everything up just by meeting me."

"I don't care. I'll find a way to make this all right. All of it."

Yech sets down the bottle of champagne to clasp his other hand over yours. You both share your fists, your mutual respect and so much desire for change that the air around you both crackles with determination.

You're making history.