"Perfect. Perfect."
A whoosh stings my fading hearing as Dominus, the Manipulator, leans down to both Alexos and me, his coat moving in the air. Yet, strangely, I can acutely hear every little bit of his movement, his breathing, and even his heartbeat. His boots dig into the ground, twisting the dirt and grass as his face comes over mine, his knees hovering over my body from his crouch.
"I know I said neither of you would be obliged to be adopted by Mother, but miracles happen. And they happen most upon that old bitch's grasp. So, what do you say, Graves? Phantom? Either of you wants to live?"
My vision darkens, the light fading from the sky to the point that the only object in my sight is Dominus, his beak, his teeth, and the shimmering glow within his irises. I can barely stay conscious, but even with this flickering fire in my mind, I force myself to speak, blood leaking out of dozens of wounds.
The lungs in my chest refuse to act, but I refuse to let that weakness exist. Ironheart, combined with the taut chains of my dying body from my Merit, constrict my punctured lungs and utter an unmarried word carried by blood and viscera.
"No."
I can see Dominus frown, the skin behind his beak shifting negatively, but he quickly turns from me to Alexos, the man I thought dead.
"And what about you, Phantom? I know you yet live. It'd be a waste to raise your corpse for the Mother. Your mind is so irregular, after all."
He's alive? No way. I listen for his response, hoping he doesn't have one. And a short moment passes, the Manipulator's eyes crazily stretching over Alexos' form, but no reply ever comes. The man stays entirely still, not even breathing, let alone speaking, and this forces Dominus into action.
"Very well. It appears as though we will do this the hard way. No one is truly immune to her call without a Dominion of their own. None can eternally resist Mother's benevolence. Some simply last long enough for us to be done with them. Yet... you two are far too special for failure. And one day, if not today, you two will merrily join her."
Dominus leans forward, his claws opening as one is placed around my head, the nails lightly sinking into the flesh of my skull. I can only assume the same is being done for Alexos, as a brief surge of silver is all I see before my vision reaches that same radiant darkness.
And along that radiant darkness in my eyes, it flows into my body, the Darklight attempting to consume and change me.
Typically, I am unafraid of this, Rapturous capable of cleansing my body of any malediction. But Rapturous does not answer my call. It cannot answer my call, for the Darklight is infiltrating my skull and has already wrapped around my core, keeping my Ether from creating any skills. Not that I had the Ether to spare, anyway.
As the silvery-black essence of the Mother Below infiltrates my mind, I feel its presence pulsating within me. It is a paradox of radiance and darkness, an enigmatic force that captivates and petrifies. Its essence swirls and dances like the eternal night sky of shimmering stars. But far away, within each of those stars, within each of the tendrils rotating in my mind, is a presence unfathomable.
The dominion creeps through the corridors of my thoughts, intertwining with my consciousness. Its radiant tendrils weave into the core of my Sigil, altering my perceptions and distorting my reality. Visions of interminable abysses and celestial phenomena flood my mind, merging in a mesmerizing display.
I struggle against the invasion, fighting to retain control over my own thoughts and emotions. But the power is relentless, its grip tightening with each passing moment. It whispers ancient secrets and forbidden knowledge, seducing me with promises of boundless energy and unimaginable depths of understanding. I'm offered endless mysteries, incomprehensible power, and knowledge of the unknowable. All I have to do is join.
As the silvery-black power consumes me, I become both a vessel and conduit. Its radiant energy courses through my veins, illuminating my being from within yet casting a shadow over my existence. I am caught in a perpetual dance between light and darkness, a fragile balance that teeters on the edge of oblivion. My resistance is faltering already, the damage to my body and the weakening of my mind sapping my defense of energy.
With each surge of the power, I feel its weight and magnitude pressing against the boundaries of my being. It is a force beyond comprehension, an enigma that defies explanation. I am both in awe and overwhelmed, caught in the embrace of something that is both beautiful and terrifying. This is entirely different from when I've been infested with Darklight. Is it because Dominus is a Manipulator, one with a loose connection to the Mother? Is he a conduit for her Dominion? I do not know.
In the depths of this mind-altering invasion, I grapple with my identity, questioning who I am and what I have become.
I am Wyatt Graves, son of Mother. No, I am the son of Killian. No, I am Edmund's son.
No! I--!
I--! I don't know.
The silvery-black authority shapes and molds me, molding my thoughts and desires to align with its inscrutable agenda.
The radiance has to be spread. The world's darkness has no bounds, and it must be corralled. Only in balance is there peace. Only in eternity is there happiness.
Yet, even as its influence ensnares me, a flicker of defiance appears, though it is not from me. A wave of red, one so demanding that it turns the white and black crimson for a single moment, invades my thoughts, the defiance of an unliving thing battling that of a God.
"MINE!"
The Bloody Palm surges with force as it fights the one thing it HATES. Flickers of red and white and black and red and white and black and red and white and black endlessly twist as a sole frame of a memory interjects into my mind.
A human man, covered in blood and surrounded by the bodies of his kind, kneels beneath a figure. The figure, stained with so much gore they might as well be made of blood, smiles as they point a gun to the human's head, an unsaid word on their lips.
"Obey."
And without understanding anything else, I know what I am seeing. A fragment from who the Bloody Palm used to be. Ether moves with the most extraordinary momentum when its user has the most emotional or willful response. And the artifact is pulling out no stops as reality becomes red for an entire second, giving my mind a lapse of peace.
War,th fills my flesh wholly, muscles contorting back into shape as bones graft themselves together and organs reconstitute. The progress is diminutive but not negligible. And just as that short lapse of peace ends, the red washing away to shining malediction, I feel a weight beside my hand. Something just landed in the dirt.
I don't know what it is, but as the Darklight returns to my mind, attempting to eat away my sanity, I force my hand to move. But, unfortunately, my arm is lacerated to no end, with cuts, stabs, and broken bones everywhere from Alexos' final crazed assault. So, I can't just move my arm. Instead, I use the fingers of the Bloody Palm to pull my hand toward the object.
But after merely a second of progress, the light becomes all I know, my hand disappearing from my senses. I don't know what fell beside me, but any gamble is worth taking if my Ether won't respond to me. I simply need to push the Darklight back again.
The presence of the Mother Below seeps into every corner of my consciousness, like tendrils of gloaming entwining my thoughts. It wraps around my mind, coiling tighter and tighter, suffocating my sense of self. Murmurs constantly attempt to shift my allegiance from me to a God. It's entirely unlike the Bloody Palm's attempts on my sanity. The artifact tried its best to infiltrate my mind and take it, making some changes here or there, but it never did something like this.
The once familiar landscape of the region behind my closed eyes, the peaceful serenity of shade, is now shrouded in a surreal haze, as if I am trapped in a twisted dreamscape. Thousands, possibly millions, of figures move within this haze, a thin string of something I can't quite discern that tethers them to a point beyond the mist above.
Each of these figures shambles toward me, the endless legions of those controlled by the Mother Below gathering to assault my mind. But, unlike the Bloody Palm, Dominus has innumerable allies to help siege my mind. Not to mention a God, should she see fit to ruin my resistance. But she doesn't; the God leaves all to her servant.
The legions in the fog rush at me, and I cannot move. I am hoisted upon an imaginary cross, each limb stretched out and nailed to the structure. All of this might only be taking place behind my eyelids, but from how the whispers only grow louder as the horde nears, it's safe to say it's not all faux. I can feel each sensation as if it were real. The pain, the sweat, the blood, the anger, the hate, the devotion, it's all so lifelike.
The myriad of corrupted minds approaches me. Dominus is somehow a conduit for their consciousness as I'm instantly overwhelmed by a bellow from the masses. Everything trembles as I feel Darklight entering my Sigil, the deepest part of me being infiltrated by the vile authority of the Mother Below. My heart quakes for a moment with the idea that she'll somehow affect by Sigil, and the masses taken advantage of that.
They get even closer, the fog expelling figures increasingly into the vicinity as the endless never stops. Each step of the innumerable strikes my faltering mind, shaking the tumultuous cross, even as I do all I can to hold on. But as they near, it gets harder and harder to resist. Soon, I will crack. It is only a matter of seconds.
How did Dominus think I'd resist this!? How can anyone resist this!? One versus an eternity of beings?! How!? There isn't any way for me to survive even for another minute. The numbers just don't add up. No matter how powerful my mind is or how vehemently I defy the dominion, even if I can resist ten, or a hundred, what about ten thousand? A million? A-A... billion?
It's not a matter of being unwilling. It's just the pointlessness.
To defy her is... pointless. I might as well just give up. Right?
No! That's what they want me to think. But, against sufficient will, anything is possible. The Wastelander exists, after all. If numbers stood practical against him, then he would have died long before he reached his centennial. Legions fall to the peak, as along the road, it narrows to a bitter edge.
I may not be the Prime, but neither are these figures Angels. The oldest man alive, his life lengthened by his power, cleaves through Angels as if they are nothing, only Dominions capable of even slowing his approach. Only two in existence other than Gods give him pause: Leviathan and Behemoth.
Those millennia-old demons have existed far longer than the written history of the First. And yet, they can only wait out the Wastelander, unwilling to face him, instead, buying time until his body wastes away to endless time.
I--I want to be like that.
So powerful that people would rather wait for me to die of old age than ever try me. To wash away masses of foes with a wave of my hand, just as the Prime is said to conjure unlivable wastes with a thought.
But to do that, I need to survive against this horde, the endless minds under the control of the Mother Below. I need to hold on long enough to escape this. The Bloody Palm will unquestionably aid me again, its hate for authority ingrained; I must only wait for it to do so.
And so, even as the boundless approach, I focus on that image, that dominating and indomitable image of power. Even as the rumble of the countless batter my soul, I concentrate on that future. Even as the ceaseless reach me, ripping me from that imaginary cross and biting into me, I keep my sight beyond them. And when the first set of teeth enter my flesh, blood seeps through into this imaginary dreamscape.
The blood is no ordinary blood, either. From one drop, it becomes two, then four, then eight, until it continually and instantly grows into a tsunami of crimson that washes everything red. Then, momentarily, peace enters my mind, the whispers stop, and the battering ceases.
Instead, all that remains is a comfortable red.
The feeling returns in my hand as I move it over and finally feel the object. It is a hand... and a gun. I recognize it effortlessly due to the missing fingers, the blood, and the unmistakable cool sensation that flows into my flesh from the steel of the Colt's barrel.
The Lily. Alexos dropped her next to me? Why? How? Wait... does he know? How?
I don't know; I don't care. But I know I can't shoot it without the bullet in my pocket. If I did, my vitality would be ripped out to sustain the shot, but I don't have any to spare. As such, I'd die before the rejuvenating river hit me.
So, in the most tremendous hurry of my life, I shamble my fingers toward my pocket, dashing the digits for the bullet. I can only hope Dominus is too distracted with the Bloody Palm to notice me, for I have no choice but this.
My fingers enter my pocket, the fabric soaked and soggy of blood, but I disregard that and push them inside, searching for the last bullet of the Lily. And I find it after less than a moment of searching, the steel casing near the entrance of the pocket.
I try to smile at finding it, but pain spikes at my lips just from the short movement as I hold onto the bullet with my thumb and push my hand toward the Colt with as much force as possible, desperately choosing this course of action.
But precisely when my hand touches the Colt, the red begins to fade, the Bloody Palm's flood of blood pushed back my the innumerable. And as the silvery darkness threatens to pull me back, I grit my wavering teeth and open the cylinder of the Lily. I use every minimality of my soul to hold on with a mental suction force so strong that my fingers are pulled toward my skull.
Even still, I continue shambling to put the casing into the cylinder. Then, finally, a bullet enters the chamber, and I slide it shut with one hand. Then, I pull the gun from Alexos' unmoving hand and angle the Colt at Dominus' leg. I can't raise it any further than this, but the Blooming Spider Lily doesn't require a critical target. All impacts are fatal, from what I've seen.
My vision returns to me for a split second as the red secedes entirely and the Darklight pauses. Almost as if Dominus had been warned of fatal danger by an unknowable being, his eyes open wide from his concentrating trance. A noiseless shout rings out as he clenches his talons around my skull, immediately going for the kill, giving up on converting me.
As his talons pierce into my flesh, crack my skull, and penetrate for my brain, my finger squeezes the trigger of the Blooming Spider Lily.
Silence is all that reigns as a red projectile, my eyes now advanced enough to see the Lily's movement, enters Dominus' leg. His eyes go wide as his beak opens entirely. An abyssal river stretches out between the two of us, one filled with a homely darkness compared to the Mother Below's commanding night.
And as the river stretches, a warmth enters my body as it leaves the Bado's withering form. I can hear my bones crack into position and the returning sound of a rhythmic heart as strength rapidly returns to me. The warmth even goes so far as to cleanse me of the darkness left by Dominus, just as Rapturous would. Finally, I sit up with a delicious gasp of air right as Dominus' body crumples to the ground, a desiccated corpse.
I'm never going to be able to pull that off again. The Mother Below will likely fully give up on converting me from now on. I don't know how I feel about that.
A child-like voice enters my mind when the river of darkness, born of the Cardinal, fades.
"Thank you! I knew you'd be back!"
A tiny grin stretches on my face as I look at the Lily. Finally, finally, I got her back. It's been over six long months of fighting, struggling, and training. But I finally did it. Though, I am out of bullets for her, and it will be years before she creates any more.
Yet I feel hollow as I sit here, looking at the gun. I started going for the Lily because of Ma... I didn't want to let her or my father down. But... now? I don't care. Edmund's killer is beside me, ripe for the killing, yet even though I still want him dead at this juncture, it feels like a shitty victory.
Sighing, I move over to Alexos, pulling one of his daggers from my chest as the wound closes in less than a second, Lily's assistance still running through my body. I kneel down to conclude the battle, but as I do, the man somehow sits up, his eye glazed over with shimmering dawn tinged with twilight.
Oh fuck. You have got to be kidding me.
I raise the dagger to stab into his face as fast as possible to end him before the Motherbound version of the Phantom Pain can attack me. But I pause as he speaks, the man's words opposite my expectations.
"Kill me."
I can't help but question him, my dagger trembling in a mix of rage and confusion.
"What?"
Alexo's body shakes, a tremor running through his whole body as he flinches, half his face distorting in pain and the other in a smile.
"Kill me now. If you wait any longer, you will have a greater foe, one that neither of us wishes to exist. No half-measures. No mercy. Do it."
He's only partially turned? Is that possibl--
"KILL ME NOW!"
The force of his shout stops my thinking and begins my action. Tendrils of light start to come out of his eye, and I follow his orders without hesitation, sinking the dagger into his brain. Then again, and again until there is nothing but opened skull and strewn brain.
Breathing heavily, I fall backward onto my ass; my gaze stuck on the deceased Alexos. I can't help but feel respect for the man, even after all we've been through.
Alone, he escaped the hands of Hunters into the Wilds.
Alone, he survived in the Wilds with countless enemies after him.
Alone, he held against the legion of the Mother. He didn't have the Bloody Palm to give him release, nor did he have hope of using the Lily to save himself. All he had was himself. All he ever had was himself.
Alexos might have been corrupted in the end, but even then, it was not fully. He did it all with a single purpose in mind, to revive his family. Had the Bloody Palm not been there for me, I don't know how long I could have held. A part of me tells me that it would be far less than he.
I close my eyes, and as I do, I realize something. He gave me the Lily just now, likely after he realized he would be corrupted as the Mother Below seemed to personally come after us. He probably could even have moved after I shot Dominus, but he didn't. He let me take the gun and shoot it without fighting for it back.
He'd rather me, his enemy, live than for him to become a monster. The thought makes it harder to hate him now and easier to see that alternate world he spoke of. His death wasn't too different from Edmund's, caught in the crossfire between an enemy and me.
Would I do that? Would I give up my life if it meant living a miserable existence? Is there a distance I wouldn't go to survive? I--
I don't know.