Yolanda was certainly better at finding her way through the spirit world than DeMain was. What he initially thought would be a straight-forward path to find a spirit became an impossibly fast transition from walking across a flat field, to climbing the cliff it dropped off into, to swimming the floating, watery river that flowed through it, then to squeezing through a tightly-packed bamboo forest. It was like climbing through the pages of a National Geographic book one after the other, and DeMain's hands were screaming at him for not wearing gloves for any of it. The worst part was he was pretty sure it'd only been five minutes, they never stayed in one biome for very long. It wasn't long enough for him to complain to Yolanda, at least.
"Where are we going, exactly?" DeMain asked, dodging his own burning desire to ask her to give him a breather.
"Here." Yolanda answered vaguely, gesturing to the large field they found themselves in. Mountains curled up and around it protectively, with small thatched roof cottages like those from the medieval era dotting the inside. Some had even been built on the walls, though with the strange gravity of the place DeMain doubted it was that bad of a design choice. In the center of the village rose a large, unfinished castle, with the stonework merely acting as skeletature for what would eventually be something to gawk at from size alone.
"What?! They've got a castle being set up? Why don't we live here?!" DeMain awed, taking in the sights of the iron-age town. They even had sprawling fields of wheat within folds of the field's hills, although they looked brown and unclean.
"We don't live here for a reason." Yolanda responded, pointing to the castle. "You said you wanted to train, so I'm putting you up against a decently powerful spirit. The Knight Spirit rules this place. Even if we could work out a deal to stay here, as soon as he dies the rest of the place gets swallowed up by the rest of the spirit plane."
"How does that work? It just… goes?"
"Yeah. The spirit plane isn't so much a natural arrangement of places as it is a puzzle with no marked pieces. There's probably a better analogy, but essentially each spirit makes up their own piece, with their level of strength determining its size. You see big mountain ranges and rivers from here, but they could just be a bunch of fish or rock spirits who clump together. It's bound to change too, spirits don't really understand 'getting along'."
"What about the forest the town is in? That seems pretty stable."
"It belongs to a Wolf Spirit, I forget its name. But it's a nicer one, and it acts as a sort of guardian."
"How come I never saw it while I was there? Shouldn't it be guarding around or something?" DeMain said, trudging closer to the castle as Yolanda did the same.
"Spirits aren't bound to their respective piece of the Reikai, so they can travel to other spots in an attempt to gain power or whatever it is they do. That, or the wolf spirit just wasn't around you the entire day. It's pretty big though, so I guess it'd be hard to miss."
"Reikai is the Japanese term for the spirit plane, right?" DeMain's insight backed him up on this. There was no way to express both how grateful and horrified he was of the knowledge that he lacked now floating into his brain the longer he lived. While helpful, all it really did was shine more of a light on how little he really knew during every waking second.
"Yep."
"What about Black Cat Spirit? I can't imagine he'd have a very big cut of the Reikai right now." DeMain said, taking a look into the cage he'd chained through the belt loops of his pants. The cat inside seemed happy to be acknowledged finally, standing up on its front paws and staring up at DeMain from within.
"Probably not, but I'm actually not sure. It's kind of a special case for that one, seeing as he just got weaker instead of, y'know, dying."
They both arrived at the gate of the castle, no portcullis present to bar anyone entry. Inside the stone walls was a rather large courtyard, with more of nothing present. All things considered, it was fairly empty. Even the stairs up to the towers of the wallsides hadn't been completed, and holes were present in the stone that suggested a few years of work needed to be done.
"This place is uh… kinda boring." DeMain started, looking around for a fancy throne or a painting. Something that wasn't just rocks.
"Spirits get spurred to do whatever people associate them with. Everyone associated knights with castles, but as for what's inside the castles there aren't many strong emotional ties to decorations. Spirits aren't the actual thing, just what people think and feel about it." Yolanda explained, taking a loose rock and tossing it as far as she could into the courtyard. It landed against the cobbled ground and skidded until it stopped, echoing against stone. She paused and waited, yet nothing came.
"…Weird. Guess he's not in yet. Anyway, spirits don't really become… sentient? Sapient? Until they reach a certain level of power. For the most part they're just following basic directives given to them, like bugs. A knife spirit would probably do things associated with a knife, a fire spirit would burn things because that's all it really knows."
"How do they get past that level then?"
"Same way you make a New Witch God. Maybe they get lucky and get a burst of power from the people who think about it, or they manage to consume another spirit during a fight and become the stronger parts of both. You get to a point where they're basically just like real people mentally, but spirits aren't as limited morally or conditionally. When they get to that point we usually have to cull them because they start getting smart enough to counter us."
DeMain sat on the vacant stone floor of the courtyard, bringing the spirit cage onto his lap as he thought. "So they get their first few steps in life and we have to kill them for that?"
"It sounds bad, but… yeah. They don't have the same feelings we do."
"Do you know what would happen if one got to that level and didn't die?"
"It'd be a niche situation for that to happen. A lot of 'good' things don't get intense enough feelings about them to even allow a spirit to reach that stage. It's different for all the worst things in life. People amplify fear, hate, anger, and sadness a lot more than anything else. The energies don't just disappear, spirits manifest that way in the first place. Intense emotions are better, easier for them to grow from."
"Do you think they'd ever even out if they lived long enough? Surely there's a spirit out there that understands consequences, at least."
"Hard to say. Heressa is over three hundred years old, and she's only gotten worse."
That mocking high school mean girl bitch was three hundred?! What the fuck. DeMain could have imagined maybe twenty or thirty at most, but she was way too immature for being a few hundred years older than him. It did raise a few concerns from him though.
"Wait, so the New Witch God of Suicide is only a few hundred years old? I'm pretty sure the concept has been around for a long time, and people have never liked it."
"It's not a new concept. I'm sure the suicide spirit before wasn't very well-regarded either, but when you start pairing them together with the additional energies from mentions in media, population booms, and any other spirits that took them in, it doesn't end well. She really should have been culled a long time ago…"
Yolanda said the last few words with a touch of desperation to them. DeMain could hear it in her voice, it wasn't just a throwaway comment asking other witches before to do better. It was a wistful wish that maybe if they had, things would be better. He thought back to his father, wondering if things would be different too if they'd culled the Police Spirit or the Murder Spirit. His awakened insight told him it didn't work that way though, and he fell silent while they both looked to the warped, starry sky. A calmness crept over him he hadn't had the time to enjoy in a long while. It was the same feeling of watching it snow at night, or of sleeping in your bed while you knew nothing of the world as a child. Yolanda felt it too, sitting down next to DeMain as they both laid back on the stone ground to watch the slowly shifting nebulas in the sky. His gaze wandered over to her as she rested, her eyes solemn and her expression not unlike Avery's apathetic demeanor.
Despite the cold exterior and the fiery looks, DeMain felt the want to truly help her, no matter what it was with. Maybe another guy would be doing it just to get his dick wet, but since his Awakening, DeMain hadn't really been concerned with that. He was definitely attracted to girls, but it never really consumed him like it had the other boys he went to school with. Yolanda had helped him in ways he wasn't even sure he fully understood, and he wanted to repay her.
"…You… Do you want to talk?"
Yolanda furrowed her brows in confusion. "Talk about what? We're already talking."
"You know what I mean, Yolanda." DeMain said, turning his eyes back to the turntable of sky, sea, and earth above them. He heard her let out a heavy sigh, pulling her hands over herself in comfort. Their souls weren't as deeply entwined as DeMain's had been during Ethel's ritual, but he could still feel an emotional weight on Yolanda's that it wished to cast off. No rituals required to talk.
"Fine, but I'll make it quick. I don't like to dwell on it very much. My soulform isn't uh… matured all that much."
"What uh… what does that mean?" DeMain asked, now confused. He wondered if her soulform was just a half-sized version of herself, or if it looked soft or something.
"I had my Awakening at the ripe age of 8. I… you'll just have to see."
Yolanda stood up and stretched, cracking her neck as she jumped in place to loosen herself up.
"And no judging! I was really young when I visualized this stuff. I liked to watch shows about magical girls and friendship, okay?"
"Uh… okay?" DeMain responded, unsure what that meant. Then Yolanda did the last thing he ever expected to see from a rebellious-looking teenage girl like herself.
Yolanda put up a peace sign, smiling as she recited something a high-pitched, girlish tone he did not know she was capable of. Then, she brought the peace sign to her face, winked, and extended her arm. A burst of spirit energy wove itself into her hand, solidifying as a bright pink, metallic wand with a red gem at the tip and golden butterfly decals all down the handle. DeMain was a little awestruck to say the least, it was a lot to take in. She bowed, the performance looking a little odd in her combat boots and punk attire.
"So uh… you can summon a stick?"
"I told you, no judging. And like I said, it's pretty immature right now. Your Awakening makes you grow up a lot all at once but I haven't had the chance to—"
Yolanda froze, then relaxed. When DeMain looked at her inquisitively she only pointed behind him. Standing in the gate was a heavily armored figure in full plate, the trim of cloth detailing the armor a royal blue. A lion's crest in gold was stamped onto the chestplate, with the knightly helm emblazoned with fangs and a long, blue mane trailing behind it. It seemed a little mismatched to DeMain, but he didn't dare question the Knight Spirit about it. The spirit was fairly large, much larger than him, maybe 7 feet. As fear-inducing as the figure was, it wasn't attacking them. It just stood there, watching.
"When uh, did you get here?" DeMain stood. It was all he could muster. He had expected something a lot less imposing from the Knight Spirit, honestly. Maybe a charming man with a chiseled jawline and sparkling blue eyes.
"I have been here whole time. Rude to interrupt." The spirit responded in an unexpectedly thick German accent. European? He couldn't place it, but it was definitely from around there. His awoken insight told him it was probably all of them.
"Why dost thou intrudeth uponeth mineth abodeth?" The spirit beseeched with much too inaccurate Olde English, even DeMain knew that without extra knowledge. DeMain tried to speak, but Yolanda spoke, only to immediately be cut off by the spirit when he saw her wand.
"We're—"
"Ah! A royal scepter! Truly then, you must be the princess of this fair landeth. I have long awaitedeth your returneth!"
"Uh… yeah. That's me. Anyway, we're here to officiate a duel between yourself and Sir…" She looked to DeMain before smirking to herself. He silently mouthed a 'don't', but she continued anyway.
"…Sir Assblasteth, of Castle… uh… Cumfartown." Yolanda snickered. She was definitely right about something being immature. Regardless, the Knight Spirit followed along as if it were part of a pre-planned script.
"Ah! A nobleth nameth. You must be powerful to blast mules, they are quite the unruly creature, as you know. And Cumfartown! Well, the name does quite bring to mind 'comfort', aha!"
DeMain would have laughed, but he had noticed the sword on the spirit's hips. It was impossibly large, even for the tall Knight to use.
"Your sword is kinda big. Are you sure that's fair…?"
"Fair?! Haha! My boy, it is the way in which you use the blade, not merely the size or girth. One must bring finesse to the battle, else they be lefteth a sad and defeated mess by the end!"
It took everything DeMain had not to bust a gut, but Yolanda could cackle like a hyena in the background while she unsubtly covered her mouth with her free hand. The Knight Spirit continued, leaning in close to DeMain's face.
"And a duel! My princess, it would bring me utmost satisfaction to end this poor commoner's life for your hand."
"Uh—no no, it's okay. He's my…" Yolanda interjected, desperately thinking of a food excuse on DeMain's behalf. "He's my… sign language interpreter."
"Aha! I see. I had supposed road signs would be quite easy to read but I do say, the sunlight can glare and make it difficult! Very well then, a duel of non-lethality. Three strikes signals your defeat, yes?"
"…Yeah?" DeMain agreed, not really thinking about the duel's terms. Sign language interpreter? God, Yolanda was horrible with this stuff. Even her intentionally awful picks felt half-baked. Whatever, she seemed to be having fun, and at least she'd gotten him to a position of safety for a fight. "I agree to this duel… Sir Knight?"
"Yes! Take up arms, and we shall step twenty paces away, slowly approaching until we are within blade's reach to begin our strikeseth!" The spirit remarked giddily. DeMain swore he saw a glint of malevolence within the manifestation's eyeholes. He was actually pretty sure those were closer to the rules of a duel with guns, but he didn't fight it.
Only when DeMain summoned his signature armblade did he realize his lethal error. The Knight Spirit drew a sword from his sheath, wooden and clearly meant for training. Even so, it was as big as it had been before, and gave him an advantage of nearly five feet over DeMain. DeMain trusted his own blades, but he wasn't sure if their strength would matter against something with such reach. His question was answered, as with one step the Knight Spirit had cleared enough distance to strike him from the side. The wooden blade cleared air so quickly it whistled in the wind from the drag.
DeMain broke concentration and reactively raised his armblade to halt it, but the Knight Spirit's wooden blade stopped mere inches from contact.
"No no no! You do not blocketh the strikes. We strike each other in succession, moving a footstep's pace forward each time."
"But then you'd always win, since you started first, and it's a lot easier to reach me than for me to reach you!" DeMain voiced his complaints.
"So? You asked for a duel. This is a duel. If I win, you are simply outmatchedeth." The Knight Spirit said, his helmet cocking to the side with a creak.
"But I came here to train, not to get hit by a stick."
"I fail to see how those are differenteth in practice."
"Can we just fight normally?"
DeMain saw Yolanda waving for him to stop talking, but the Knight Spirit seemed to leap at the opportunity as he stepped heavily in front of her.
"Of course! What will be your weapon of choice?" The Knight Spirit asked with a gleeful tone. DeMain raised an eyebrow as he presented both of his spirit blades.
"I see! A simple but effective fighting style against an unguarded opponent. I, unfortunately for you, am never left unguarded!"
The Knight Spirit placed his empty hand to his hip, producing a tower shield nearly the length of a van from thin air. He slammed it down into the stone, the thick, curved metal leaving cracks in the stone.
"We shall see if you can still read the signs in Hell, boy."
DeMain was intimidated to say the least, and he swore he could see the knight's faceplate shift into a cruel smile. With a wrenching of motion, the Knight Spirit brought his blade up with one hand and down like a butcher cutting meat.
DeMain jumped to the side, his slow speed still enough to stop the cleaving greatblade from bisecting him as the Knight Spirit brought it down with immense force. Inside the armor, he could hear the spirit humming some foreign tune to itself as it went about slashing and striking at DeMain. Each strike left behind a great crack if it were to be halted at any point.
Even with the strength of his spirit blades surprisingly able to stop the sword from cutting through his body entirely, the momentum of the swings still sent DeMain flying backwards. Gravity was duller here too, so it didn't help him trying to stay on the ground. Quietly, he wondered why his blades weren't cutting through the spirit's weapons. Were they like regular blades against spirit things, or were objects in the regular world just a lot weaker?
He attempted to get close a few times, but each time his blades either struck the spirit's shield bluntly or the spirit nearly caught him with its blade. Every initiated plan of action caused DeMain to be blown away by the force of the spirit's strength, hitting the wall with a blunt impact that knocked the wind from his lungs. By the first few times he'd learned to dig into the walls with his blades so he didn't fall and hit the ground.
Even with the spacious courtyard, the Knight Spirit could reach him perfectly from almost anywhere in just a few steps. It didn't matter either if he clung to the walls, the spirit's blade seemed to always be the perfect length to strike him. DeMain knew then that the castle had been left in an unfilled state for a reason, and that the lack of obstacles was to keep any opponents from staying out of his line of attack. Come to think of it, the entire area was similar in that regard. Besides the houses, it was all enclosed by the dome of mountains and completely flat otherwise. He doubted too that the houses outside the castle had anything in them, this entire place was a deathtrap.
DeMain really wished he could ask why a Knight Spirit would be so vindictive, but his invasive insight answered it for him. He briefly remembered the boys from his school who became obsessed with medieval things. Sure, it wasn't bad to like armor and swords—they were pretty cool. The sliver of knowledge sank deeper though, showing him the power fantasies of monsters who wished only to use the visage of honor as a means to kill and plunder what they thought they were rightfully owed. A small, small minority, but still one of the most powerful sources of rage, envy, hatred, and vitriol for a spirit to be born from. A vision of a steel-clad monster, unstoppable in its crusades and conquests. That was really all it took?
No, there was more, but the story stopped long enough for DeMain to focus on parrying away the Knight Spirit's next swing. He found that it was easier to angle the heavy blade away than try to redirect it entirely, and getting closer to the spirit made it a hell of a lot easier without the end of its blade at full momentum.
DeMain struck away another one of its blows, only to find the bottom of an armored boot to his gut. He felt himself spew something and erupt in pain from the brunt of the collision to his torso, his body rolling against the ground. The coarse stone ground scraped his skin, only adding to the pain. He could barely breathe, and when he looked up he saw a flash of steel land itself on his forearm. The Knight Spirit had him pinned, the strength behind his foot so much that DeMain couldn't even feel his hand anymore. The limp, useless piece of flesh was trapped beneath the spirit's greaves, its faceplate contorting into an awful grin. DeMain looked up as it prepared to skewer its sword through him, images and memories that were not his own flowing to his mind in time with his heartbeat.
Pouches of coin, orders from the crown, and swords to the non-conforming. DeMain could see it now, the fear crescendoed by these nigh-impenetrable paragons of honor and duty who merely served the whims of corrupt lords as easily as benevolent kings. The mistrust, the paranoid worries, and the threat of a sword through your back if you acted against them. This spirit wasn't new, it was ancient. Its birth had been centuries ago, when the concept was as newborn as he was. The connotations felt a little close to home for DeMain's comfort, though.
A strange pink glow in the area brought DeMain back to his senses. Even in his aching state, he was able to force his arm into position against his chest to summon a blade. He couldn't stop the spirit for long, but his blade was solid enough that it could act as a layer of protection from being impaled. Sure enough, the Knight Spirit's blade slammed and ground against his own blade's side.
"Pathetic knave. This shant stop me. For I—"
"KITTY KITTY PRETTY DECIMATOR!"
The Knight Spirit had no time to react to the rediculous war cry before his head was turned into a bonfire by bright, glittery pink flames. The metal of his helmet seared and warped, melting into the shape of a truly anguished warrior before it flowed into the interior of its own body. DeMain rolled to the side with a grunt as the figure slowly crumpled and fell, its metallic body clanging against the ground and separating as if no force were left to keep its parts together. Yolanda was standing nearby, aggressively pointing her wand and huffing as the pink glow left the area.
"Sorry I uh… it's hard to get into the mindset to use my spells."
"Pretty pretty kitty decimator…?"
"I made them when I was really young, like I said. I have to do this whole pose and dance for each one."
DeMain looked to the half-melted spirit, kicking its leg armor. "Seems pretty effective at least. Did it die from just that?"
"I don't know. I guess? I haven't killed any spirits this big before."
"What! If you've never killed them, why did you bring me out here to do it?!"
"You seemed strong, figured you could take 'em." Yolanda shrugged confidently.
DeMain turned to look away from her in disbelief, but as soon as he did he heard the nasty grinding of metal on stone. In a split second, the intact pieces of the armor suit had gotten up and begun charging towards him. Headless and barely whole, it seemed like the remnants of a feral animal more than the warrior it had been previously. Using his blades would be useless against the equivalent of a moving truck even if he did cut it, and Yolanda was only able to get the first footstep of whatever dance she needed to do for her magic. She wouldn't be done, and he couldn't move out of the way in time.
Without thinking, DeMain grabbed the loop of chain around his belt and pulled it free with a strong yank, prying it outwards and whipping the cage attached to it in front of him. A bright flash of yellow filled the cage for a moment, and all manner of unfortunate incidents broke loose for the Knight Spirit.
Its next step was misplaced, the foot catching in a groove on the pathing below. The spirit's leg twisted in place, forcing it prone on the courtyard. DeMain was about to begin stabbing and slashing, but a rumble from above made him back off. Rubble and stone crumbled down before an unfinished tower of the castle crushed the spirit, its armor dented and sheared completely in two.
"…What now? Shouldn't it turn to dust or something?" DeMain asked, poking the very clearly ruined-beyond-repair armor set. Pain hit him as suddenly as the blades had before, forcing him to his knees. He hadn't noticed with his body doing its job during the rush of battle, but with adrenaline wearing off and no threats to keep him on high alert…
Yolanda rushed over and let him lean against her, propping him up as they both stared towards the spiritual remains.
"You're pretty badly wounded, but I think this might be a good opportunity to teach you about rituals. Even if you fuck up you'd probably be okay…?"
DeMain didn't really believe her considering the ever-shortening of his breath and the sharp pain in his chest. He was pretty sure he'd punctured a lung. His breathing felt… tight, for lack of a better word. Even though the fight was over his heart still felt like it was going too fast. He was able to speak, though it felt more like he was forcing words out in short bursts.
"Ethel talked about rituals. I haven't really had to use any."
"Well for this you have a prime spirit offering. I'll draw some vague heal-y symbols and a circle, hopefully it attracts someone good."
DeMain was not having a good time, and his heart rate was becoming finicky. He was conscious, at least.
"So what do I do?" He asked, crawling a bit closer to the lines and symbols Yolanda had scrawled with… crayons? Why did she have those? —Nevermind. He knew exactly why.
Green leaves, crosses, and roots formed a waxy ritual circle around the knight's gauntlet, one of the only pieces which hadn't been crushed or demolished by the fallen castle pieces. Yolanda sat down in a cross-legged position, turning to DeMain.
"Just… reach out and think about asking for healing, health, or something along those lines in exchange for the Knight Spirit's energies. It's a pretty simple transaction but try to find a spirit you trust. Not all rituals require hours of prep time if you're basically just asking for help."
DeMain wasn't sure what any of it meant but he knew that, like all things here, he'd probably figure it out along the way. His only comfortable position was to lean forward with an arched back, it was the only arrangement in which his chest didn't hurt as badly. Once he could bring his racing mind to a semi-cleared state he visualized himself reaching out into the great expanse of the Reikai, offering up the armor-clad soul of the Knight Spirit to any willing to accept it with his conditions. The speed at which he seemed to extend his range of options felt way too fast, and DeMain realized that a much higher power was pulling him in.