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Abraham 'Runt' Ulren
I dangle in the oppressive darkness of this wretched jail, the chains biting into my wrists as if they share the same sadistic pleasure as my captors. The place is a breeding ground for filth, and I can feel the grime seeping into my wounds, festering with some disease I can't name. I fight against the illnesses with my Ether, but they are not expected.
Most Sigileds are wholly immune to sickness, yet whatever is here in Hell has me coughing and bleeding from my blindfolded eyes. To make matters worse, I can't even sleep. The one time that I really fucking wish I could. Worst yet, my bare feet barely graze the cold, filthy floor, the elevation of my chains denying me even the comfort of solid ground. The weight along my arms and the constant search for balance deprive me of even the nightmare that would be slightly more comfortable than this.
Every inch of my battered body screams in protest, a cacophony of pain echoing from countless beatings. My jaw is shifted to the side from a strike, but it's almost set back into place with Force.
I've tried to escape once already, but it didn't go too well. I was found only a minute after leaving these bars. The warden of this 'jail,' a loathsome creature that reveled in mocking me, took my right ear as a grotesque trophy after recapturing me. And now, here I am, arrested, confined, and stripped of my most valuable tools, a mere day after sealing a deal with the Devil for strength.
A surge of rage tightens my jaw into place with a blast of Force as I curse the Arbiter of Chaos. The one to whom I, in a moment of desperate weakness, pledged my faith just as my mother did. The chains rattle with my futile struggles, but I wrestle with them anyway. I do so for no other reason than to have something to do, to occupy my mind.
Suddenly, the clink of keys disrupts the quiet agony, crashing against the cold metal of a far-off jail cell. I turn my head, senses heightened, and I can feel a mind approaching. A voice dripping with mockery and tainted with sulfur pierces the stale air.
"Ohohoho, Runt. We have quite the show for you to put on. Come. A Lord would like to see what morsel came to this epoch."
Blindfolded, I strain to focus on the source of the voice, my mind racing as I try to recall the path I attempted to memorize for an escape. I clench my fists within the chains, ready to strike.
But the warden moves faster than I can even expect. The chains around my wrists pull taut, and my body is yanked violently forward. Agony radiates from my skull, and I cry out in pain as I'm dragged through the decrepit corridors of the jail.
A massive force, undoubtedly the demon's grip on my head, propels me forward, my limbs scraping against the unforgiving ground. In return, the demon only boisterously laughs, rumbling the insides of the jail with his cackle. The sheer volume threatens to deafen me as I continue through the dark.
Still blind under the cloth, I endeavor to see through the darkness, but all I sense are the cruel minds of demons surrounding me. Their numbers seem to multiply with each painful step, the ground carving into my flesh and delivering fresh waves of suffering. From dozens to hundreds and then into the thousands, the cacophony of demonic thoughts fills my mind.
I quickly turn off the flow of Ether for Allude, one of my few remaining useful tools now that I've been stripped of my blooming Power and most vital skills. The relief of no longer sensing all those minds fills me, but I only notice the lack of sensations other than the pain now that I've lost my sixth sense.
Abruptly, the dragging comes to a halt, and I'm lifted effortlessly to my feet. I scramble for ground, finding it after a sour moment. Laughter reigns behind me as I'm thrown off balance by the demon. I stumble haphazardly as the stench of sulfur assaults my senses, and amidst a roaring crowd of demonic screams, my blindfold is ripped away. Blinking against the sudden onslaught of reddened light, I find myself in a colossal circular arena stretching nearly a thousand feet in every direction. Thousands of demonic eyes leer down at me from the shadowy seats.
Far above, having to be thousands of feet in the air, flow streams of lava embedded in the earth, blessing me with sights I don't want to see.
My hands tremble, and my eyes water not just from the glaring brightness but from the sheer noise that reverberates through the arena. Amidst the chaos, however, one mind pierces through the cacophony.
The mind is so overpowering that Allude reignites with pure instinct. My focus hones in on a solitary figure seated closest to the grounds of the arena. A demon, similar in height to me but completely black, with insect-like segments along its body, stares back with an inquisitive gaze.
Before I can fully comprehend the situation, a sharp slap against the side of my head sends shockwaves through my entire being. I stumble, disoriented, as my warden's voice curses me.
"Don't you dare look at her Majesty Woodworm. She won't even eat your flesh if you beg, Runt."
I clench my jaw against the pain, hoping that it isn't broken again. As I do so, I cast a sidelong glance at the enigmatic figure on the throne. Fear knots in my stomach as the realization sinks in—I'm nothing more than entertainment here.
The Devil sent me here to be entertainment. Is he truly as evil as all say he is?
He must be.
Mother... your faith was so misplaced. But you believed so much that I could only join you.
Fucking bas—
A voice rings out, one so deafening that I fall to my knees in pain and strike away all thoughts. It echoes throughout the colosseum and dives into my bones. The words are foreign, but they make sense nonetheless, somehow traversing language barriers.
"We have something genuinely exceptional here, folks! It is a being from the surface! Something not seen for over millennia! It is a creature like that of Him."
Shudders run throughout the stands from the words as the announcer takes a pause, providing me a brief respite. Yet, the demon continues speaking after only a moment, with even more fervor than before.
"Yet! This creature has none of the same qualities. It is as simple as they come. It is a human! And this human shall satiate all of our appetites today, whether for food or fun... perhaps even the third one if you're quick!"
Cheering roars fill the entirety of this place, shaking even the ground with the volume. I gradually grow used to the noise and slowly stand. Slowly, I shamble to my feet as the rumbling grows louder.
"And today..... This human will be fighting against Maskwa! Let's all pray that he can survive long enough for the meat to still be warm!"
The moment the announcer falls silent, I notice the gates on the other side of the arena. They are rusted steel, just like the ones behind me. Glancing around, I find that the warden is already gone, leaving me here all alone.
Then, the rumble grows even louder as the gates haul up with an audible racket. The sound of the whole colosseum falls to nothing as I can feel thousands hold their breath. The tremble in the earth beneath me heightens to a scream from the depths before I see the creature.
I watch with bated breath as, from the opposite gate, a creature emerges, Maskwa, the demons call it. Its sheer size dwarfs any bear I've ever seen—five times the magnitude. Chitinous segments cover its massive form, a natural armor that makes it look like a monstrous insect. The Maskwa moves with an unsettling sluggishness, its every step echoing through the arena.
As the creature enters the spotlight of the rivers of lava above, a din of demonic roars erupts like cannon fire, assaulting my ears further. The Maskwa, affected by the sudden onslaught of sound, yowls into the air, rearing back on its hind legs. The noise and the beast's reaction create a disorienting scream, reverberating through the entire colosseum.
My heart races as I comprehend the danger. The Maskwa, now standing at a towering twenty feet, crashes down on all fours and charges with a horrific momentum. The crowd of demons roars in approval, relishing the imminent clash of the colossal creature against a mere mortal—me.
I stumble backward, the enormity of the situation settling over me like a suffocating shroud. The Maskwa's thunderous charge fills the arena, and I can feel the ground quivering beneath its massive paws. Panic claws at the edges of my mind, but there's no escape.
The colossal creature hurtles toward me, a living nightmare made real. It's not like any of the Nightmares I could conjure. It's a real, breathing figment of the worst possible reality.
I look around for anything that I could use to fight it, but I discover nothing. There are no weapons for me. They want me to fight this thing without anything to defend myself with.
No guns, no swords, not even a stick.
The rumbling movement of the creatures falls upon me as I take my time. The arena is large. I need to think. Maybe if I kill it, they'll—
Not the time.
No weapons and no Nightmares.
What else do I have?
I'm not too skilled at illusions, and even if I were, I have nothing to hurt it through the scales that are cracking the stone ground underneath.
I'm not all that talented at mental damage with Allude, either. I can do it, but a beast like this would only grow more enraged and kill me before dying.
Do I even have any options?
I can coat my hand with Ether to cut, but again, the Maskwa's chitin must be too tough. This thing... it has to at least be a 6th Sigiled based on its size. Maybe more...
Shit. I've been thinking too long!
I sprint with desperate agility, narrowly evading the Maskwa's thunderous charge. Every stride sends shivers through my battered body as it turns back at me. I seize every fraction of a second to strike at its mind, a futile attempt to disrupt its focus with Allude, practically shouting into its brain. The Maskwa, however, seems resistant to my feeble assaults.
My frequent Alludes and Adrenaline Font only buy me the precious moments needed as I dance on the precipice of death. It does not, however, prevent injuries or spilled blood. The collision of the Maskwa with the stone-laden ground sends shards of rock stabbing into my flesh. The lacerations aren't deep but they still exist.
Sliding away from the impact, I groan but quickly recover to my feet. Blood oozes from the wounds, but there's no time for pain as I continue to evade, running and dodging with a desperate determination.
Jeering laughs from the spectators reverberate in the air, a dissonant chorus mocking my every move. My teeth grit with anger, frustration building as my mental strikes continue to prove ineffectual against the monstrous beast. Still, I persist, weaving through the chaos and evading the relentless onslaught.
A crash beside me sends me tumbling again, but an idea blooms as I approach the walls of the arena. Sprinting, it follows me and my fallen blood.
With calculated desperation, I bait the Maskwa into charging toward a crumbling wall. It roars at me with anger, and I strike into its mind with the most potent Allude I can manage, transferring all my hate and pain at once. With a slight stutter in its movement, I leap out of the way.
As the colossal creature crashes into the stone, a piece of chitin explodes from its form like a bullet. It feels like a small victory for a moment, but the triumph is short-lived as the chitin moves, directed by Ether.
Another wound enters my body, this one a shard straight into its gut. The explosion of pain tosses me to my knees. Fatigue sets in, my body protesting with each labored breath. The Maskwa, undeterred, pivots and faces me once more.
Despite this, I don't give up. I've been a coward long enough in my life. If I am to do so, I will do so standing.
Grunting, I force myself to reach the soles of my shoeless feet, feeling the sharp sand between my toes. I strike at the creature's mind again, hoping against hope for a weakness to exploit. Still, I find nothing to latch onto. My feeble hallucinations won't even work against it.
As I stand here, bleeding out, the Maskwa transforms, its massive form gradually shifting into a chitin-like demon, mirroring the one watching from the stands.
My gut clenches as I realize the true nature of the spectacle. It is not a Maskwa. It is Maskwa. Maskwa is a name. The demon flings its hand to the side as the chitin embedded in my flesh rips itself out and flies to its hand. This explains why its mind was so tough. If it was only a beast, even an Angelic one, it'd be far easier to strike mentally. Doubling over, I comprehend the true threat I was faced with all along.
The being laughs as it saunters over to me while I struggle to keep my balance.
"So pitiful. Is that all you know at the 6th Chair? Why are you so much weaker than Him? Why? Are you broken? Is it you? Are you the problem?"
Maskwa speaks to me with such derision that I can't help but take his words to heart. I compare myself to the man who gave his life for me—the one... who has always been stronger.
Even at a lower Sigil, back then, our scores were so often tied. No... he won way more than I ever did. He was just so silly that he caused so many losses than were needed in our fights or competitions.
Bonfire...
Emmet Knox. You were always better. I'll admit that. I should have died, not you. I should have stayed behind. You still need to find your sister, remember?
Why? Why did you do something so fucking stupid!
How? How could you?
You have so much more to live for than I do.
I have always been broken.
"Scum. This is all they are, fellows! Scum! All humans are nothing but the dirt beneath our feet! He cannot be seen in any of them! He is but an anomaly that will end once the Allmother awakens! Humans can do nothing but squirm beneath us! Their lives mean nothing! They should all simply die for us to reign on the surface as the Allmother desires!"
I don't move as he speaks until he insults humans. I can agree with most of the negatives about them. But... their lives do not mean nothing. Each one... they are beautiful flames. They simply must be stoked to reach their pinnacle. They don't understand. They never could. Emmet's death hits home as I imagine them mocking me with him in my place. He'd kill them all. I know he would. For all our fights and arguments, he always had my back. Always.
I shouldn't have left him behind. If I was to die anyway, it'd be better if I died with a friend than alone, a feast to some demons.
A surge of rage, fueled by the depths of my pain, resentment, and dreams unfulfilled, erupts from within. Every ounce of pent-up emotion coalesces into a torrent of mental energy. A tempest of phantom-like projections swirls around me. For an instant, I can see hints of my Nightmares. All of them, from Cirn to even the remnants of my father, stare at me with mocking gazes, but they all surge back into me, filling me with a fervor laced with such despair all I can do is scream. My Nightmares were taken, but echoes remain, the injuries they left upon me. Those can never be lost.
What is the Dzil Wyatt mastered? Painsforge? Turning physical pain into strength? That gives me an idea...
Without any hint of resolve, only a pit of accepted despair, I take a deliberate step forward as the chitin-like demon charges at me. Raising my hand, I yowl into the air, bleeding from the tears in my throat as I move my Ether. Torrents of the substance flow out of my hands from my mind, halting the demon in its tracks. The arena falls silent, a brief pause before the storm as Force becomes something more than it ever was.
I can feel something within the depths of my skull splinter. It isn't physical, however. It feels... emotional. Perhaps even memory-based. With how intricately meticulous I am with my own mind, I sense it immediately. It is a dam bursting, something brought out from the profundity. I... writhe with it, the raw sensation guiding my Ether in way that can only be described as instinctive, going against all that I know.
Clenching both fists, I gather the force of my unleashed emotions. My Ether is contorted by pure emotions, not even an ounce of my usual focus upon it. The Ether explodes from my body, exiting from every pore at once and hauling the demon into the air. It flails, it screams, and it even fights back with its own Ether, but it's not enough. A guttural roar echoes a sound that mirrors the demonic cheers from the crowd.
I hold the demon for several moments, gathering myself for another surge of power. Warmth liquids drip from my eyes, nose, and eyes, falling onto the ground around me as my vision reddens. More. I need more. It is not enough. It never will be.
Tightening my jaw, I rip my hands apart. The motion mirrors my emotions, unleashing the full force of the mental energy onto the demon's frame. Every beating I ever received. Every time I watched my mother cry. Every time I watched her pray, begging for salvation, for peace. Every damned time I got my ass handed to me by my half-siblings. They coalesce into a single, all-powerful emotion, once that I haven't let myself feel in a very, very long time. I never thought myself good enough for it.
Because... despite it all... despite all the shit I dealt with... all the beatings... the contempt... the... denial...
I stand. And my family does not.
Pride. A small blooming positive emotion, one not stemming from another but from myself, helms the rage, the fury, the indignance, and even the self-hate. No emotion is mutually exclusive. They can all be felt. And in that maelstrom, time slows from Overdrive, my brain speeding up to a thousand times the pace it has any right to move at. My vision reddens further as veins appear in my eyes, visible and squirming in pain.
Amongst it all, the hallucinations reemerge right beside me. But unlike usual, it is a solemn, lone figure. It isn't the many shadows or the laughing Councilmen. It is but one man. He doesn't face me. He doesn't even face the crowd. He stands like a spear of retribution, balancing upon his feet with such steadiness that I would bet the world would fall before him.
His head slowly turns despite my altered perception of time. Still, he doesn't face me. The long, billowing duster coat around him waves in the windless air, just as the man stares downward, forcing his attention onto nothing at all but rock. I try to speak, to call to him, but nothing comes from my mouth or mind. All I can do is continue to shift my Ether, forging the deadliest storm of Ether possible upon the demon.
His right eye, swirling with golden sand, meets mine through the corner of his lashes. Seeing him, my brain trembles, and I feel myself forget something. But what was it? His words break me from my lack of understanding. It doesn't help that he only speaks the moment before I release Overdrive.
"Ah... you found me. Curious. Indeed. Emotions can indeed pierce the veil. I wonder... should I have chosen Mentalist instead of Copycat? No. That was the only path. May you continue yours."
Even to the very last word, he never truly pays attention to me, and I'm forced to momentarily forget about him as golden flakes waft off the hallucination before he vanishes, seemingly into a trail of water-like sand. Groaning in pain and confusion, I press all my might against Maskwa. The creature convulses as shadowy creatures surround it, hints of the trauma left in my mind. These creatures grab Maskwa together, cutting into him and grasping it tightly. Its chitin-like form splinters under intense pressure in less than a second. A bloody explosion engulfs the demon as blood and gore fill the air like ashes in the wind. The cheers of the demonic crowd turn even more rapturous as I fall to my knees, confused and lost. The energy I had within me, the denial, the rage, the anguish, the depression, it's all gone now, leaving only a bottomless pit of apathy.
My eyes shift to my hands as I see Ether swirl on its own within my hands before falling back into my flesh. My vision darkens as I focus on the dead demon before me. I don't even have time to consider that other man as every thing swivels like a spinning chair.
A duo of voices fill my mind as I enter the abyss, simultaneous yet opposite, one from within, one from without. The one within, however, is not the man from a second ago. It is not even a man at all. It is something, far, far more.
"There it is! This human has obliterated Maskwa! How unexpected! Dine in! Devour the failure! Tomorrow, the human will battle again for us!"
"The nightmares hold back your dreams. You have now accepted the worst possible ending. Despair, the ugliest emotion, can no longer hurt one who has given up all but simple, raw resistance for the end. All along, you held this power, but you could never bring it to bear. You have always been your own worst enemy. We are alike in that way, you and I. Good luck, young man. Tomorrow, show me what you can really do."