He braced as he jumped, but there was no resistance, his body going straight through.
Where he thought that he would see sky, clouds and perhaps birds, he saw nothing but darkness. An infinite void that spanned forever, surrounded him.
He was stuck in space.
His head was empty.
Where was this? Where had he found himself? How did he get there?
What kind of moronic thing had he done, that he didn't remember to arrive here? Getting involved with a Hero... Had he been blackmailed?
He felt the tight grip of the girl in his arms and glanced down.
Giving his dagger to a girl that looks less than eight as well. Where had he even gone and picked up such a thing? Had he gone mad?
Was it better for who he was to... not come back?
She pointed the dagger upwards, or, what he imagined to be upwards, in that darkness, he couldn't tell anymore, but he could feel his momentum reaching its apex.
There was a pair of eyes there.
A pair of very familiar eyes.
A memory resurged.
The thing that had been trailing them in the dark since they entered the roads closing the doors from behind.
It was the Lonely Flower.
Or an incarnate of it?
He didn't know, but, it knew of him.
And it was staring.
His eyes narrowed under the intense strain.
If he had his past self here now, he might have killed him. This nonsense... He gripped back his rationality with an iron fist.
To do any less, would shame the child he was, who had learned and been branded down to the marrow, with the etiquette for the unknown.
He shut and lowered his head.
"We've been terrible guests despite your graciousness..." He was starting his descent, his jump had reached its apex, he knew that well, and that there wasn't much time left, "...I will see to it, that, your home is not destroyed in a way that cannot be remade from our visit, as penance."
He was bargaining for their lives.
He hinged his bets on that it understood human language, and he had to hinge his bets on that it was extremely intelligent, and that there was a reason it hadn't made its move yet.
But his biggest bet, was that it was not a blood thirst Nightmare, that was simply seeking to drag them all deeper into it's illusion and devour them.
He touched ground suddenly, his legs weren't braced for it at all, since there was no way to gauge how far it had been since he had reached the apex.
Dropping to a knee, he felt around as his vision was returned to him like a snap, sending his brain sprawling as he was ripped from a place with no direction, to a place with far too much to process at once.
His face was pale as a sheet of paper, and he inhaled a scream, his jaw tight enough to break a rock into powder, as he felt something akin to a screw being turned in his head, the memories being flooded back in!
The eyes were gone.
His head felt it was now laden with glass, and though the memories had returned, they didn't feel like they were his, they felt inserted... they felt other.
He looked up.
The Hero... Constance, was standing there, acting as a wave breaker for the shockwaves that had grown more furious coming from the center of the battlefield.
He recalled the plan he had set in place.
To kill Murphy and face the trump card, using Awick as bait until Lunston arrived, and then, having a spirit be caught in the crossfire to anger them into attacking Murphy and whatever was his trump card, that being the Spider.
But if he did so, the whole area would be left in dust and shattered.
The spirits might survive, and they would have too, if not for the Lonely Flowers existence. That plan was now void.
His eyes went in and out of focus.
He could feel the glass of memories slowly becoming his, and it was not a kind process.
If he ever wondered why mind magic was forbidden in all capacities... he didn't anymore.
The feeling of not being who one is, and having memories that feel so far away, and like a falsity, was not an endearing thing. Feeling like two people, and questioning still, if he was being manipulated, was far from anything endearing at all.
He grit his teeth.
He saw it as his eyes refocused.
Vines. Red petal flowers. Eyes.
Every so often on the vines, were red lotus' the center of which had hundreds of tiny reflective eyes, but none of them were looking their way anymore.
They were all dually focused on the clash in the center.
He needed to get an understanding of the whole battlefield, and quickly jumped onto a rock.
"Moray?!"
Moray... It was the fake name Constance had given him back then. If she was calling him that, it meant someone could be around.
Argo noted it, but didn't pay it too much mind.
He could see very clearly, with the bioluminescence of the Lonely Flowers vines and roots now lighting up the cavernous ruins.
The boulders didn't look like boulders anymore, but pieces of fallen architecture, ruined homes broken apart, homes the size for humans, not giants.
Some thoughts rose, but he didn't focus on them.
Not now.
The Undead were being consumed from the inside by the vines, killed secretly while the Nightmares from the north descended like a flood.
But they were not alive in anyway that mattered anymore.
Those nightmares from the north, were covered in a pink mist, that controlled them. He recalled the pink mist around the insane headless man in the capital dungeon, and he couldn't ignore it any further.
His Mother had some sort of a hand in this place.
The Imperial Palace was involved with the Lonely Flower, and there was only one thing she could want from it, the same thing everyone else had wanted from it and it was very likely, she had already gotten it.
But... he had to shake that thought away. There wasn't much time.
The Moon Eyes was not controlled, he could guess that based off it's abilities being mind related, and the Defiled Tyrant as well, anything in this environment would either end up controlled, or evolve into a being capable of protecting themselves and controlling others.
For Nightmares that were shaped by their experiences and environment by extension, it only made sense.
The Undead would all be put to rest soon.
He had no doubt the controlled nightmares would rush the magical storm as soon as that was done, to break it and kill everything inside and if that failed... his eyes flickered.
Would the flower take action personally?
Could anyone stop that?
He turned his head.
Under the organized assault of the Nightmares from the First Gate, led by what he assumed was the Defiled Tyrant who had learned from it's previous battle, the Root Guards were struggling but not losing.
The individual power gap between someone who had found their Discipline, and a nightmare that had not, was like the floor to the ceiling of this giant expanse, but, that would not be enough even so.
Not when their were enough Nightmares flooding through to fill that gap, but for certain, the Root Guards would be able to hold out for some time longer, at least, until their power ran out.
The Lonely Flower was stealing control from the Defiled Tyrant using the barbs of it's vines on those flooding from the south, as well.
"...ray! Moray!"
He looked down.
The pink pollen from the flowers were stuck to Constance closely, and it was far thicker around her, than other places.
As a Hero, she must have taken up a great deal more power to keep from her Insight breaking the illusion by itself.
"What is it?" He jumped down from the ruined wall, though it looked like a meaty boulder to others, and landed on the remains of a street, which had flowing water carved into the bottom.
It was quite well made.
"What did you see? Are you back? What..." Constance's pupils shrank, "...Why are you looking at me like that?"
Argo expression didn't change, "I don't know what you mean. As for what I saw, this place is controlled by the Lonely Flower. If it breaks apart, we can't be sure that we won't all die. We'll have to prevent this places collapse."
Constance heard him, but could not get past that look.
It was as if he was looking at a pawn.
Like he was looking at cattle, to be made to do a purpose... he looked at her like everyone else did.
"...I understand." Constance's emotions withdrew like a deep breath. She felt extremely uncomfortable, as if she was standing beside a stranger.
She could not decipher the inside of his eyes anymore, either.
He was distant, locked away somewhere too far for her to reach, in a place too cold to touch.
Was this the real Argo?
Or was the one she had known, the real one?