Chapter 67: Oversight

"You really had no idea what you were doing."​

As the night wears on— though you're certainly inebriated— your speech doesn't slur. Your tremor seems to have substantially improved. The spasm in your back and limbs is almost entirely absent.

The gentle radiance of the Relic beside you is a constant reminder of the near immediate relief you've had from your pain. You do eventually break the silence, as you're acutely aware that there is someone in the ruins who is still suffering a great deal. "Yech, about Beltoro—"

"I win again!"

"You're too good, Yech—"

"You want some help?"

"It's a terrible idea, but—"

"This is all a terrible idea. Of course I'll help you."

Your relief is immediate. The skeleton tosses another candle at you, seeming to take enormous pleasure in how easily you dodge them. There's only a handful left on the untouched cake, having been moved from the table to the floor to make room for more cards and dice.

"Good thing you're the only one that has to show any restraint, right?"

"I don't have to, Yech, I want to—"

"It was a joke, Richard. You can laugh. I promise it won't kill you."

"Oh, that reminds me—" You start to go for your bag, recalling a place that absolutely tried to kill you. A groan from the skeleton across the table almost stays your hand, but you're altogether too at ease to care.

You fish out your journal as Yech loudly complains. He places a hand over his eyes. "Put it away, Richard, I'm not looking—"

"It's safe, Yech. I promise. There were a few things in the ruins that I've been curious about, and haven't really— well— I'm not quite sure what it is...?" Pulling out the glyphs, etchings and copies you've made from the walls of the ruins only takes a moment. You've been so distracted— fighting almost constantly for your very life— that you've only assembled a few loose sheets of paper. It doesn't look like much for all your weeks below ground, but you know you've had more important things on your mind.

The archdemon makes a show of putting back on a pair of gloves before skeptically poking at one of the slips of paper. It's the runes you transcribed in the catacombs.

"It's not going to kill you, Yech."

"It's a fucking glyph, Richard. Did you even know what you were doing when you copied this down?"

"N-not necessarily." You back up, seeing the extreme caution that the demon lord is using.

He lifts up the scrap of paper between the tips of only two fingers to read it in full. His form immediately relaxes. "You really had no idea what you were doing. It's fine, sit back down. Look here— this shit's harmless without any intent." Yech makes a show of flicking the paper, waving it around, rubs it over a few parts of his body that you don't particularly care to see, and finally lays it back on the table.

"M-Mercy, Yech—"

"Look, it's fucking warranted! How did you get this?"

Shifting, anticipating his disappointment, you can't help but to be honest with your friend. "It was on the corpses of a number of imps I had killed."

Silence.

You feel forced to continue explaining. "...in the catacombs. I assumed they belonged to— to—"

"Tsilorm? Nah. This says 'Property of Cyrus.' Pretty tacky, honestly—"

"Cyrus?"

"Enchanter. Works under Rem, normally. Probably got distracted by all the trouble you've been causing. How many were there?"

"Twelve, by my best estimates."

"Shit, Richard. You're a fucking beast."

"Ray— Ray helped. I had Mercy—"

"You know what, I don't want to hear it. I'd say I'm shocked it didn't kill you, but this is like fucking child's play for you. Let me see the other shit."

There's no hesitation as you piece together the rest of the paper. There's roughly five sheets that loosely lay over one another of etchings, transcriptions and the best representation you could make of all the murals adorning the upper levels of the ruins.

"Where was this?"

"A waterway— relatively close to the surface. The passages that I found— that I had fought Offala in were close by."

Yech takes a very, very long pull at one of the bottles of champagne. "Anything else?"

"What— what does it read?"

"I don't recognize the last script—" He points to the flowing letters furthest to the right of your etchings. "—but these two seem to be 'Anaximander' and 'Salphos.' I'd heard Idonea use the names before. They're archdemons, Richard."

"Mercy."

"What else was nearby?"

"A very sharp descent, with a— with a golden light. Near a set of crumbled stairs. Where—" A dawn of realization hits you so hard and fast that you have to take another drink. Your skin crawls as a phantom— of hands crawling over your body, wracked as it was with pain— registers once again. "...where I first encountered Beltoro. There was also straighter path across the stairs, though I dared not explore them at the time. Malimos strongly cautioned me before going there that— that he had never seen anyone return."

"We might be the first. Anything else?"

"It was a labyrinth. I kept to the straightest course that I could— to avoid becoming too lost— but there were a number of hidden entrances that I kept away from. I—" Even through the haze of liquor and relief, you tense. "I was pressed for time..."

The rise of water. The promise of death.

The might of Storm.

Convulsions in the dark.

Collapsing stone, in the glow of hundreds of leeches. Drowning, alone—

"Hey." A candle gets flicked at your forehead. The black icing sticks it to your skin, and Yech can't help but snort at the sight.

You peel off the wax and sugar, wipe away the archdemon's teasing, and offer him a frown in return.

"Richard. Relax. It's okay. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. We'll cut as straight as we can. This is good shit, but you don't have to dig any deeper. We're getting you out of here as fast as we can, alright?"

"Thank you. Thank you."

"Shame Idonea cleared out the field, or I'd ask Malimos to put out the word. We'll be alright, though. Getting out of the city will probably be the worst of it, but we can cut through his tunnels after that. Should be fast enough. I'll check all this out on my own time." Intently looking over the runes before you, tilting his head sideways thanks to his bottle of champagne, he's radiating confidence while obviously mentally planning a short route for you to take.

The sudden lack of swearing and Yech's entirely business-like attitude is acutely reminding you of the demon lord's title. You do relax a good deal thanks to all of his reassurance. "I trust your judgement completely, Yech."

"You'd fucking better. You're getting out of here in better shape than you entered if it fucking kills me. I know you don't got a girl at home—" The look you give to the demon must be so off-putting that he actually puts his hands up. "Not that you need one— but I'm fucking wondering what could be greater than me up there, that's all— for fuck's sake, Richard!"

The demon pelts a few more candles at you until you can't help but laugh. "Alright! Alright, Yech. Alright, stop—!"

The two of you clear off your journal entries, stash away your bag, and clear off the games.

"I'll confess, if you promise to stop bullying me—"

"No fucking way. You're telling me anyways. Let me see that." Yech takes a drag on your flask out of curiosity, and gives you his seal of approval as you look up to the moon, reminiscing.

You can actually enjoy a few memories of the world outside. "Nothing as great as you, of course—"

"I fucking knew it."

Your smile is barely there, but utterly genuine as you continue. "Eadric is beautiful this time of year, Yech. This is the third year since I've prayed to Agriculture. There are harvest festivals everywhere— it feels like they haven't stopped since they started. The whole countryside smells of barley, of apples, the fresh air..."

You realize you've closed your eyes trying to imagine the sun, the fresh water and the breeze of a real wind. "I want to go fishing again."

"You any good at it?"

"I mean—"

"Don't be so fucking modest, go on."

"I suppose. I grew up at the base of the Eventide River, and Eadric is beside the river Morinburn. The streams are so clear, it's fairly easy—"

"Is there anything you can't fucking do?"

"I'm banned from a few bars, and the— and the Church of Agriculture doesn't particularly appreciate my company. And the Church of Mercy—"

"Forget I asked! What else? Come on."

Though you're not sure if it's appropriate given the demon's recent loss, you want to be honest. "I don't mean to be insensitive—"

"No, stop! Stop being so sensitive, for fuck's sake. You could stand to give me a little shit."

"It would be nice to go home. Not to the Church of Mercy, but I haven't— I haven't seen my own mother or father in years. It would be nice to have a home-cooked meal again. See the farm. Just— even just to say hello."

The demon lord's voice softens almost imperceptibly. "Yeah. Sounds nice."

A few more long moments pass between you both.

"There's more than a few excellent taverns on the surface, too, Yech. I'm not banned from all of them—"

"Shocking!"

You both exchange a broad grin.

"I know. There's the holy city, as well— I'm not sure if Calunoth was around when you were a human, but it's phenomenal— and the church really isn't all that bad, Yech. The hymns in the morning, my books..."

The night wears thin. Though you could likely benefit from a rest, it feels like staying up and talking with your friend has granted you more reprieve than most sleep you've ever had.

Yech easily conjures a harness for your shield and mace so you can easily don or doff the equipment without need of your bag. The two of you stagger back to camp with an arm wrapped around each other's shoulders, and before long, you're looking upon your other companions again.

Celegwen and Ofelia are curled up next to each other in the same bed. The two women were likely talking in your absence, but you don't mind. Ray is nestled at the foot of the bed, soundly resting as well.

Even Yech doesn't seem to want to wake them.

In hushed voices, you and Yech pull away from the sight of your sleeping companions. He can't resist immediately ribbing them. The innuendo is so extreme that you're compelled to say a minor prayer, and implore him to stop. "M-Mercy, Yech—"

"You were thinking it, too, don't fucking lie to me now."

"Mercy, n-no— they're— it's obvious that they were exhausted from everything they've been through—"

"You're too fucking good for this world, Richard."

Wordlessly, you already have proceeded further away from the camp, heading towards the entrance to Beltoro's domain.

"You still heading out?"

Adjusting your new gear, Relic in hand, you nod. "Yes. I mean no offense, but I would rather go it alone. This is between Beltoro and myself."

"Are you sure?" There isn't skepticism in Yech's voice as he questions you. You can tell that he's legitimately scared for your safety.

"Absolutely."

"Do you even know what you're doing?"

"Absolutely not. Do you— do you have any advice you can give?"

The archdemon looks to you earnestly. You've both been walking with your arms around each other's shoulders, but he pulls back, and stares at the golden locket in your hands. "You haven't even looked at it properly, have you?"

You stop walking.

The constant reassurance you're clutching in your own palm casts a soft light over the grain while you properly inspect it. "I've been more than a little overwhelmed, with everything that's happened, Yech..."

You trail off, completely enamored by how beautiful the item is. Though you could scarcely look upon it with mortal eyes at first, you can now glance at the highly reflective surface with some difficulty. It's as immaculate as a Goddess. The yellow gold's self-contained radiance reminds you of staring directly into a flame. Squinting into the light, you catch a small square space. There's a gap for a chain to be fitted through, though the object has obviously never been worn. It's not the item's divinity or obvious ability that truly strikes your attention, though.

There is a clasp nestled deeply between the palms of both hands. Precaution stays your hand from opening it physically.

You close your eyes, reach out, and feel.

You've been acutely aware of the absence of your usual physical frailty since obtaining the Relic. Your tremor has seen immediate relief. You've had scarcely a spasm in your muscles while drinking. The pain inflicted on you while having visited Beltoro left almost immediately. You're carrying your new weapon and shield with far greater ease than you should, too— but something has felt amiss ever since obtaining the item.

You're not drained. There isn't even any of the usual exhaustion in your form. It's not like the reassurance you're granted through prayer, and is distinctly different from the power of the Gods being channeled through you.

"It's as if the Relic is a vessel of it's own."

"Fuck."

"Mercy, Yech."

"Shut up, Richard. Do you have any idea how you're going to help Beltoro with it?"

A creeping dread crawls across the back of your mind. A white flash. A vision. Prickles of truth and words unspoken, a dawn of realization, a Goddess of the Immaterial.

Spirit strikes you as the only possible answer to your cause.

After all of the allies I've spurned, the damage I've done, the neglect I've done unto myself— would She even work through me?

"This is Her domain."

"...you okay there, tough guy? We might've gone too hard on the champagne—"

"They've lost their sense of self, haven't they? Their identity?"

"Oh. Yeah, to say the fucking least."

"I know this must sound insane—"

"You know I'm not fucking judging you, Richard."

It might be the liquor lowering your inhibitions, but you look to the white door ahead with so much conviction and verve that you can't help but preach. The expression is one of passion. "I think I can use the Relic to help him regain sight of the material. To feel peace in his mind, and meaning in his wisdom. What he was before. What he wanted before his will to fight. A will to live. A goal outside of the misery inflicted on his Spirit. A life of his own making. Mercy."

Yech puts a hand on your shoulder. "You got this. I'll be right here. Don't let him get to you, okay?"

With a nod, you silently pull away from Yech. The mace and shield are stowed away.

The Relic of Mercy in hand, loathe to call upon the Gods, living up to your name and upholding everything you hold dear...

You step through the door.