Chapter 48: Betrayal
Renault re-materialized in front of Nergal's stone throne to see him sitting there, wearing an immensely satisfied smile on his face. "Fantastic, Renault! Utterly fantastic! Truly, it was a most wonderful stroke of luck for me to have come across such a talented assistant…"
On another day, Renault might have been flattered, but at the moment his eagerness and impatience to see his friend again far outweighed any other concern. He didn't even bother to say thanks—he simply held out the Luce tome expectantly. "I fetched your book for you. We should be ready for the next step, shouldn't we?"
"Yes, my friend, you are absolutely right," rasped Nergal, rising from his seat and then snatching the tome away. "I have everything we need…"
"Then get on with it. I remember the last time we talked, you said you had to perform one last experiment before we could bring Braddock back. What is it?"
Nergal didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned back to his assistant, gazing down on him with his single good eye. Renault shivered under that gaze. It wasn't as malignant or seemingly dangerous as some of the other expressions he'd seen in Nergal's face, but somehow it was the…coldest…he'd ever witnessed. There was a sense of foreboding in that icy visage, an impression of great portent, as if Nergal was thinking long and hard about what, exactly, to say next—because those words would set both of them on a path from which there was no turning back.
"Renault," he began, "Tell me. What do you know of the phylactery which hangs about your neck?"
If this was some sort of a test, Renault fully intended to pass it. "It's a vessel for storing quintessence, or the life-force of living beings. Quintessence comprises both the physical and mental power of an animal, human, or even dragon, from what you told me. At the moment of death, quintessence leaves the body and normally dissipates into the world around it, but this phylactery traps that power, allowing it to be kept in reserve or transferred as you see fit.
"Now, you also told me, right before I set off to find the Luce, that a vessel for containing such power could also preserve a person's mind or personality entirely. It would be much easier to link a phylactery to a morph's body than something that was once alive, like a preserved brain. At least, if what you said is true…you could implant Braddock's mind into a phylactery, craft a Morph body around it, and then connect the two, resurrecting him." He glared up at Nergal. "Did I miss anything?"
"Not at all, my assistant. But the connection….that is the difficult part.
"How does the mind relate to the body? For men like you, it's no great mystery—ever since the first sage dissected a fresh cadaver or sutured a terrible wound, the heart which pumps blood, the lungs which bellow air, and the brain which commands them all have been well understood. But it is a different matter for those created by….artificial means. How would a mind isolated in a phylactery interact with a body crafted from dust? No-one knows, not even I. Before we can bring back your friend, I must find the answer to that question."
"How?"
Nergal's lips curled downwards in a very slight frown. "For all my knowledge and power, I can only apply the most basic of strategies to this effort: trial and error.
"What I need, Renault, is a test subject, strong in both body and mind, whose life essence is still viable and intact within his physical form. Quintessence drained from corpses will not do.
"Using the power of Gespenst, I will separate his mind and spirit from his body, and ensconce it within his phylactery. Then, I will attempt every method I know of…and can think of…to re-unite the two. If…no, when, I am successful, we should be able to use the same method to bring Braddock back."
"Huh…alright, I think I understand." Renault put a hand to the grip of his Brave Sword. "So, you want me to fetch a test subject for you?"
"I don't believe that will be necessary, Renault. The ideal subject is right here."
"What do you mean?"
Nergal looked down, and it was as if his one-eyed glare was piercing right through Renault. "He is standing in front of me."
Renault's eyes widened, and he took a step back. "Nergal, what the hell are you talking about? You want me to be your training dummy? Are you insane?"
"Listen to me, Renault. You are the ideal subject. For the results of these tests to be applicable to Braddock, they need to be based on someone similar to him. You are as strong as he was, perhaps even stronger. If I can transfer your mind to a phylactery, I will know for certain I can do the same for him.
"More importantly, the nature of the container is important as well." He pointed towards the phylactery hanging in front of Renault's chest. "How long have you been wearing that necklace, Renault? Truly, it's been your most constant companion ever since you began working with me. All the fighting it has been through, all the death it has seen…and, of course, all the quintessence it has absorbed, all thanks to you. Over time, I believe that phylactery has been…how to put it…attuned to you. The true nature of this phenomenon would be too time-consuming and complicated to explain, but suffice it to say that storing your mind within that specific phylactery would almost certainly be safer and easier than any other alternative."
"Yeah, and that's not saying much. What if something goes wrong, Nergal?"
"You might die, Renault." There was absolutely no change in Nergal's cold, piercing gaze. "Just as you might have died at Par Massino, or in Sacae, or in Gosterro's cathedral. You are no stranger to risk. Why stop now?"
"I'm not fond of stupid risks. Why can't we find someone else to—"
"Well, what alternative do you suggest? You would have to subdue—not kill—a warrior of equal skill and bring him back here somehow. He will not be as attuned to the phylactery as you are, making it much more likely our experiments would fail. You are already growing impatient, are you not? We would progress much, much faster if we simply used you as a subject."
Renault grit his teeth, but he couldn't really argue with Nergal on that point. "Still—"
"Surely you are not so unwilling to risk your life? You are a courageous man, and your friend was just as courageous, was he not? He gave his life for you, Renault. Can't you do the same for him?"
That was something Renault couldn't get away from. He fell silent for a few moments as he remembered how Braddock had met his end. Traveling all the way to Bern, just for him. Fighting Yurt all alone, just for him. And dying, with a smile on his face, just for him.
Helping Nergal with his experiments was nothing compared to that sort of sacrifice.
"Fine…fine. You've made your point, Nergal." Renault looked up, straight into the sorcerer's eye. "I'll do it. I'll be your test subject."
"Your bravery is commendable, Renault. But there's one more thing I must tell you…"
"What is it?"
"I must warn you, my friend. None of this will serve a purpose if you're not fully aware of what you are doing. I must tell you that even if everything goes well, even if the experiment succeeds…I can say for certain that you will be forever…changed. Your body, and your mind as well…they will no longer be like those of ordinary men. You will become something…not quite human. No…even less than human. These experiments will require great sacrifices from you. No-one on Elibe has ever even attempted this before. You will have to give up much of what you take for granted as a living being. The body you will inhabit will not be the one you're in now. It will be…the mere fact of existence…once all meaning has been stripped away.
"Are you still willing to help me?"
"Less than human? No meaning?" Renault hesitated, pondering Nergal's words for a long moment…
And then nodded.
"I'm already…already less than human. Braddock…I'm not complete without him. Meaning…my life doesn't have meaning without him by my side. I'll help you, Nergal. I'll sacrifice my humanity…I'll sacrifice anything to bring him back to me."
Nergal smiled.
"Then let us begin."
-x-
Renault followed Nergal into the summoning chamber, taking off his clothes before he entered. The sorcerer's very first request as their experiment started had been for him to strip himself, leaving only his necklace. Renault had no idea why he had to be naked for the experiment, and a small, silly part of him wondered if Nergal had been getting unfathomably lonely and wanted to play some kind of perverted game.
Of course, it was a ludicrous idea, and Renault had to make an effort to keep from laughing at himself for entertaining it. The moment he stepped into the summoning room he realized that Nergal's intentions were anything but prurient.
As it turned out, however, that made them no less malevolent.
The room looked more or less the same as it did the last time he'd been here, with one exception. In the middle of the runic circle there now rose from the ground an altar, similar to the one on which Braddock lay. It was empty, though—as if it was waiting for an offering.
Renault figured out what he needed to do without Nergal telling him. He laid himself down on the altar, and was surprised to feel the stone beneath his naked skin was not at all uncomfortably cold, as he'd expected—it was warm.
"Renault," Nergal rasped, sliding up to him, "This is important. Above all, as I conduct the ritual, you must remain silent and still!"
"O…okay."
"This is no joke, Renault. The slightest mistake could send your soul into oblivion. Therefore, do not give me the slightest distraction. And I do not know what will happen to either your body or your mind if you move and interrupt the ceremony. Do not speak even a whisper, do not shift even one muscle. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Very well."
Nergal waved his hands in the air, creating small, steadily-rotating circles. He began chanting in the language Renault knew was Shadetongue. The runic circle below him began to glow, the four stone torchstands alit with bright blue flame, and the stone altar he was lying on began to grow slightly warmer.
He felt beads of sweat forming all over his body. Indeed, he began to feel distinctly uneasy about the whole thing. With every ounce of his mercenary's discipline, however, he kept it under control, his body remaining stock-still and his mouth clamped firmly shut.
Nergal's chanting grew louder. And as it did, Renault felt his body…change, somehow.
He couldn't describe it. It wasn't pain, certainly, though he might have liked it better if it was. It wasn't nausea or anything like that, though it was just as disquieting. The best word Renault could think of was 'numbness.' He wasn't moving, but it was as if his body was slipping away from him. It reminded him of the way body and mind seemed to disassociate when being Warped, but while that sensation lasted only a few moments, this one was considerably more drawn out.
He wanted to scream, but again heeded Nergal's advice and kept his mouth as still as possible. Even if he didn't have such self-control, however, he was certain it wouldn't have made a difference. He couldn't feel his mouth, or any other part of his body. But his eyes were still working, and he could see what happened next.
The phylactery on his chest began glowing, and then rose in the air. The chanting reached a crescendo, and the phylactery's gold glow grew brighter and brighter, brighter than the sun, impossibly bright, so bright that Renault wanted to look away—but of course, he couldn't. The light seared into his eyes, enveloping everything else, blotting out all the world, so radiant that Renault felt as if it was burning away his mind itself…
And then it winked out of existence entirely, leaving Renault in a field of nothing but black.
-x-
"Renault…"
There was something on his chest. Was there? Did he feel something on his chest? He wasn't entirely certain. Feeling…what was feeling? This sensation was "feeling," wasn't it?
"Renault."
That voice. That was Nergal's voice. He was…hearing it. Hearing? This sensation was hearing?
"Can you open your eyes?"
Who was Renault, anyways? That was…him, wasn't it?
"Open your eyes!"
How could he do that?
"Damnation…the ritual should have worked. My theories shouldn't have been wrong."
He felt that sensation on his chest again, moving upwards, and then felt another sensation. Something…what was the word for it…cold? Cold, not-flesh, pressing against his skin for a moment, then being lifted away.
He felt as if he was being lifted with it.
"AGH!" His eyes shot wide open, and he had no way of processing what he was seeing. His body jerked and his arms flailed, knocking away those of the other man. He gasped and grasped, somehow remembering how to do both, and his hand clamped down upon that cold thing on his chest—he didn't know much else, but he knew it was the center of his world, now.
"Renault! You can move! Damn it, stay still! Stay still!" He felt a force slamming him back down below, into the…altar, yes, that was the word for it. It was invisible, irresistible. He knew he'd seen it before…it was…dark magic, yes. Like that used by Paptimus. Paptimus, the enemy of Braddock…
Braddock…
Everything came back to Renault, now. He knew why he was here. He knew what had happened to him. And he knew why it had all happened.
"Uh…uh…" He also knew that something was wrong. His throat was constricted. He needed air! There seemed to be many things he didn't know about this body…everything seemed so new…but he was absolutely certain it still required air to survive. "N-Nergal…"
"Ah! So you can speak!"
"C-can't breathe…"
"Yes, of course…foolish of me to forget."
Renault felt the force lift from his neck, and subsequently his entire body. He let out a loud, whooping cough, his lungs expelling stale air.
"Gah! Ahh…"
"Renault, how are you feeling? Look." He saw two blurry fingers floating in front of his face. "How many are there?"
"Two."
"And who do they belong to?"
"N…Nergal."
"Yes, yes, perfect! Perfect!" The sorcerer's voice was pregnant with exultation and anticipation. "Can you sit up?"
"Y…yeah." Renault did so, and brought a hand—steady now, as steady as his movements had always been—to his face to wipe at his eyes. He then looked around. He saw Nergal, single eye almost glowing with eagerness, the stone altar below him, and the four torchstands, their blue flames glowing softly. He then looked at himself. He was still naked, but his body seemed to be exactly the same. No wounds, no marks, absolutely no outward changes.
But it didn't feel the same. Somehow, his own flesh felt emptier. It felt almost as if he was looking at…resided in…someone else's body. And when he clasped the green vial hanging from his neck, he felt as if he was touching a part of himself…the most important part of himself. Perhaps even his whole self. He couldn't describe that sensation—it wasn't anything like vertigo, thankfully—but it was like nothing he'd ever felt, or even imagined before.
"How are you feeling, Renault?"
"A..alright. Just…different."
"Yes, that is to be expected. It seems the experiment was indeed successful, Renault!"
"The experiment?"
"Of course."
"Nergal…what did you do?"
The sorcerer grinned slightly, then began his explanation.
"I have made you…a morph, Renault."
"W…what?"
"The last thing you saw was the phylactery floating in the air, glowing brightly, yes?"
"Yeah, exactly. After that, I think I blacked out."
"Indeed. That was the process of transferring your spirit—your quintessence, which contains your mind and personality—to the phylactery. As I thought, it stored you perfectly. You're not suffering any memory loss or anything similar, yes? However, obviously, living things cannot survive without their animating essence. A body without quintessence will turn into dust; that is the principle by which most offensive Dark spells operate. The same thing was just about to happen to yours…but then I reinforced your physical shell with some of my own quintessence, preserving it just long enough for me to re-unite it with your spirit and mind, within this." He tapped the phylactery contentedly.
"So…you mean…that phylactery…my soul…no, mind, is trapped in there? Like what happened to the man from that story we read?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes…but also no, Renault. You have your body, don't you? You don't feel trapped, do you?"
"N…no."
"Your mind is contained within that phylactery, yes, but I have connected it to this body of yours. I could have inserted it within your skull, and I will probably do so for the morphs I create in the future, but for you, that was unnecessary. I have cast a spell which binds the spirit in that container to the body you inhabit now. This bond transcends time…perhaps even space."
"So I'm…in this…phylactery, then? But it…well, it feels different, but it still feels like I'm…operating from my body, is the best way to put it. Nothing at all like the guy from the story. So what's this thing to me, then? Do I have to wear this necklace all the time for the rest of my life? If it's destroyed, will I die too?"
"The rest of your life may be very long indeed," chuckled Nergal under his breath. Then, more directly, he said, "Good questions. I…am not entirely certain, Renault. I am fairly sure, however, that you do not need to keep this with you at all times. Look!"
Before Renault could react, Nergal reached out with invisible tendrils of dark energy and plucked the phylactery off of his neck and into the air. Renault grabbed at it, but it floated out of his reach. As he did so, he again got the feeling that something…a part of him…had been taken away, but that was all. No vertigo, not even a shift in perception. Just a sense of loss.
"Yes, Renault, I'll give it back to you now." The phylactery floated back around Renault's neck. "You don't have to keep it with you at all times…as I said, the connection between it and your body transcends time and space. You've nothing to worry about if you lose it, although you must keep it safe. These phylacteries are not easy to destroy, whether by means physical or magical. If someone does manage to destroy it, though, you will die as well. Needless to say you should also take care of this body…it is as sturdy as yours originally was, but it is not indestructible. The phylactery's power will fade along with the body it is connected to, taking you with it."
"Got it," replied Renault. He attempted to sit up, was struck by a bout of dizziness, waited a few moments, and then tried again and succeeded. "Urgh…" He coughed one more time. "I blacked out, I remember…Nergal, what day is it?"
"The thirtieth Archer, I believe."
"Eh? I've been out for three days?"
"Yes. I spent every single one of those hours ministering to you, attempting all sorts of methods to connect your phylactery to a new body, before I finally succeeded."
"O…oh. Thanks, Nergal."
He grinned. 'Tis not such a great sacrifice for one such as myself. Remember, I have little need for sleep or sustenance."
"Oh. Right."
This elicited another cold chuckle from the dark magician. "Now, Renault, come with me for a moment. I want to make sure your physical abilities haven't deteriorated. Come dress yourself, and put on your armor as well."
Renault slid off the altar, wincing slightly as his feet landed on the cold floor. He exited the summoning chamber, his steps hesitant at first, but growing ever more confident. This 'new' body might take a little getting used to, but not too much. He saw his clothing and armor waiting for him, laid out in front of Braddock's altar, and equipped himself, feeling a little jolt of satisfaction as he clasped his helmet over his head and felt the enchantment of its magical visor activate.
"Can you still fight? Does the armor respond to you as it used to?"
Renault responded by snapping his hands down, and with the whirring of gears and a clinking of chains, daggers descended from his right and left pauldrons to slide easily into his hands. He cut them through the air, stabbing, thrusting, and parrying, then deftly hopped back and snapped his arms up this time, sending the twin blades flying at Nergal. The sorcerer didn't so much as twitch, of course. He simply remained still (except for that grin) as both daggers whizzed right next to his head, both missing him by inches. They embedded themselves within cracks in the stone wall behind him, with Nergal's head remaining sandwiched between the chains trailing them. Renault drew his arms back, and those chains grew taut as the gears in his pauldron whirred into motion again. They withdrew, taking their daggers zipping past Nergal's head as they returned to Renault's hands.
"Good as ever," said Renault.
"Excellent, most excellent indeed. I am now sure we are ready to proceed."
"Proceed?"
Nergal nodded. "It is time, Renault."
"Time for Braddock's resurrection."
-x-
Once again, Renault stood beside Nergal in front of the summoning room's magic circle. The altar he'd been lying on just a few minutes before had disappeared entirely, leaving no evidence it had been there in the first place. He was still in his armor, too eager to watch his friend come back to him to take it off. Nergal didn't mind, apparently, so all was well as far as he was concerned.
The blue flame of the torches glowed brightly as the sorcerer raised his hands in the air, beginning his incantation. Though Renault recognized the language as Shadetongue, the words were different from those he had heard in previous summoning rituals.
He soon found out why.
As Nergal chanted, a glowing gold cloud formed around his body, which floated into the air above the summoning circle. It coalesced into a much smaller but incredibly dense single point, glowing brightly, and then emanated a strong burst of light that forced Renault to shut his eyes. When it was gone, Renault opened them to see something most surprising.
A tiny green jewel was now floating in front of him, exactly the same color as his phylactery and about the same size, except in the shape of a diamond rather than a small vial.
Nergal began chanting again, and another golden cloud floated out of his body towards the newly-created phylactery, this time seeming to funnel into it in a spiral rather than simply float and coalesce.
A third time Nergal began his chanting, and now the words were very familiar to Renault. A black cloud in the shape of Braddock formed within the circle, the green of the phylactery set into what would become his head, and one more cloud of quintessence merged with the black mass, producing another flash of white light.
When that light dissipated, Renault looked up to see…Braddock.
Well, a morph who looked almost exactly like Braddock, meaning exactly like most of the morphs Nergal created recently. Entirely naked, with the exact same shape and features as the Ostian, except with black hair and golden eyes.
There seemed to be something in those eyes, though. Something which had never been there before.
"B…Braddock?" Renault asked hesitantly, uncertain if his quest was truly over or if this was another failed experiment.
The morph nodded. "Renault."
He could say Renault's name! The Mercenary Lord's heart leapt at hearing his friend's voice again, but it was tempered by the knowledge that one word might be all he could say. "B…Braddock, you know who I am. Who are you?"
The morph paused for a moment, then replied:
"My name is Braddock."
His voice was cold and monotone, and his speaking formal and unaffectionate. That should have been the first sign for Renault that something was wrong. But at the moment, it was good enough for Renault, enough to convince him that he might have actually succeeded. Behind him, Nergal was equally pleased.
"Good, very good," he smirked. "This morph should have all of Braddock's memories, as well as his voice and speech. His fighting skills, too…this is exactly the sort of creature I need to fulfill my plans. Now that I know how to make morphs which can talk, which possess memories and intelligence, everything will proceed much more smoothly…"
Renault wasn't paying attention, and he didn't care. "Braddock…" he whispered, with a year's worth of longing in his voice. "Braddock…is…is it really you?" He took off his helmet, wanting to look at his friend with his own eyes.
"Yes, Renault. I'm Braddock."
"W…what do you remember, Braddock?"
The morph paused again. "We fought together in the Civil War in Etruria. I died in battle at Par Massino. Nergal brought me back."
"Th…that's right. Wh-what else do you remember?"
"I wielded the magic axe, Basilikos. You are an expert with the sword and dagger. Our companions were Khyron, Roberto, Apolli, Keith, Kelitha, Kasha, Harvery, and Rosamia. Khyron was the Mage General's brother. Roberto—"
Braddock said all this in an emotionless monotone. That should have been the second clue something was amiss. But Renault couldn't—or didn't want to—see that at the moment.
"Braddock…" Tears of joy welled up in Renault's eyes. "Braddock, it's…it's really you…you're back…"
"Yes, Renault. I am Braddock."
"Braddock…BRADDOCK!" He couldn't restrain himself. His tears flowing freely, Renault leapt at his now black-haired friend and wrapped him up in the tightest hug he could muster, shouting his name over and over again.
Braddock didn't return the embrace, smile, or do anything at all. The third clue.
Renault was still oblivious, however. He held on to his friend for more than a few minutes, and in other circumstances (considering Braddock's nudity) he would have been very embarrassed. Right now, though, he just didn't care.
"Braddock…Braddock…I'm so glad to see you again," he said, sniffling. "It's been so long…so long…I wanted to see you so much…"
Braddock said nothing in response.
"There…there's so much I have to tell you, man. S…so much has happened since you…since you went. I…I was busy, Braddock. But everything I did…I did for you, man! Sometimes it…it was hard," he shook his head and thought of Dougran, "but it was all for you. Every last thing. A-and I avenged you! I made everybody responsible for your death pay. Believe me! Now…now…there's nothing to keep us from enjoying our life together, just like we used to…"
Braddock replied with a simple, "Yes, Renault."
It was a response, but not the response it should have been. And now, finally, Renault began to realize something was not right.
"B…Braddock?" Renault looked up at his friend's face with teary eyes, noting its complete lack of expression. He thought at first it might have been just shock from being resurrected, at this point still believing he had brought back his friend. "C'mon, bud! I spent a whole year tryin' to bring you back! The least you could do is give me a smile, right?"
"Yes, Renault," came the monotone reply. And as ordered, Braddock smiled.
And at this, Renault finally started to suspect that something was really not right. He stepped back in shock and a little horror, mumbling, "Braddock…Braddock?"
It was a perfectly normal smile, yes. Braddock's teeth were white and healthy, and they looked just like they used to—no fangs, mandibles, or anything like that.
The horrifying thing was how insincere that smile was. No, maybe "insincere" was still too strong of a word. Mechanical would be more accurate. There wasn't the slightest emotion in that smile—it was simply carried out perfunctorily, as if Braddock was simply following orders rather than genuinely happy to see him. The morph's gold eyes were flat and dead, with absolutely none of the warmth Renault had so loved in his friend.
"What is it?" asked Nergal in a smooth, cloying tone. "Your friend has returned to you. Aren't you happy?"
Renault took another step back, gazing in horror at the morph and its dead smile. "This…this isn't Braddock. Nergal…THIS ISN'T BRADDOCK!" He whirled to face the sorcerer with an angry snarl, his joy giving way to rage.
"What do you mean? Nothing is wrong with him, Renault," replied Nergal with cool satisfaction. "His memory is intact, as you have seen, as is his voice. You told him to smile, and he did. He follows your orders perfectly, Renault. Surely this pleases you."
"Please me? Nergal, are you stupid? This…this is just a puppet with Braddock's voice and memory! No emotions, no will of his own…hell, not even a puppet! This is just an empty vessel!"
"Yes, Renault. An empty vessel…just as you wanted." Neither Nergal's expression nor his voice were at all comforting. They were cold, cruel, and remorseless, creating a ripple of fear in Renault he had only felt in a few isolated instances beforehand. Now, however, he was beginning to realize that this malevolent presence was the true face of Nergal, and was always hiding behind the pleasant, helpful mask the sorcerer usually presented.
Renault blinked away the tears in his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about? This morph is just another failed experiment, like all the other ones! Did you lie to me? You're not capable of bringing back the dead, are you? All you can do is make puppets!"
Now, Nergal frowned, and that was enough to mix a bit of fear with the anger in Renault's heart. "No, Renault. With the knowledge you helped me acquire and the power you have given me, I could easily create a morph with emotions. To call me a mere puppet-maker proves only your own ignorance…"
"So then, why have you given me a puppet? Come on, Nergal, stop playing around! Make another morph, and this time, give it Braddock's personality too!"
"Why should I? Would that truly make you happy?"
"Of course it would, you fool! Now, come on! Do it!"
"You really believe that, don't you?" Nergal began to laugh, a low, sinister keen filled with malevolence rather than mirth. "Think about it, Renault. All the blood on your hands, all the crimes you've committed, and the sacrifices you've made, not the least of which is your own humanity…would your friend be at all happy to see you now? Indeed, did you even stop to think for a moment of what your friend actually wanted? No, not at all. It was all about you, Renault. What you wanted, what you desired…not a thought given to what Braddock would have intended. For a man like you, restoring Braddock's emotions and personality would only cause both of you pain.
"No, I have given you exactly what you want, and exactly what you need. A puppet, an empty vessel, capable only of telling you what you want to hear in Braddock's voice, and obeying your orders with Braddock's memories. That is the gift most suitable for a man like you."
"Blood on my hands? Sacrifices? Nergal, I was following your advice! Helping you! And now…now you're telling me Braddock wouldn't have wanted this? That…that it was all for nothing?!"
"No, not at all, my friend. As I said, I gave you what you wanted. I never forced you to work for me. I never forced you to kill Dougram, or the monks at Par Massino, or to give your mind up to that phylactery which hangs about your neck. All of these things you did of your own free will, with no coercion from me at all. And now you have your puppet, your Braddock-shaped doll, which will never judge you, or doubt you, or tell you you're wrong. It wasn't all for nothing. It's your deepest, most genuine desire, whether you admit it or not!"
"Is that what you think I wanted? You deluded, mongrel idiot!" He unsheathed his Brave Sword and pointed it at Nergal. "This is the last time I'm gonna say it. Bring Braddock back! His mind, body, and personality! I'm not playing any more of your games, Nergal. Do as I say, or I'll tear you apart!"
Another chuckle from the dark magician. "Threatening me? Your erstwhile benefactor, who has given you everything you want? A rather foolish plan, I would say, but if that is what you wish…well, I can let you try."
There was nothing more to say—Renault, even if he wanted to, couldn't say anything, for he was mad with rage. His pupils shrunk until his eyes seemed as if they were masses of white struck through with streaks of red, his grip on his weapons tightened so much that the joints on his hands audibly creaked, and his cheeks shook as drool streamed from his mouth when he opened it to let out a single, bloodcurdling scream so loud it escaped the hidden sanctuary and seemed to echo across the entire mountain:
"NERGAAAALL!"
Brandishing his Brave Sword and chaindagger, Renault leapt at his former companion, intending to tear his frail, crippled body to many small pieces.
It shouldn't have been difficult for the rage-powered Mercenary Lord. Nergal hadn't even been able to stand when they first met, and even weeks later he could barely muster up enough dark power to fend off an attack from Dougram. Renault thought he'd go down as easily as any other Druid or frail, defenseless spellcaster.
That was why he was quite surprised when he suddenly found himself frozen in mid-air.
At first, he thought he'd been bound by those invisible chains of will Dark magicians seemed to be so fond of. He concentrated, and given his anger it would have been easy for him to break such bindings even if they were cast by Paptimus himself. But he couldn't, no matter how much he tried. And when he looked around him, he gasped in surprise.
His bonds were actually quite physical. Reaching out from the darkness of the summoning chamber were hands, dozens upon dozens of them. Pitch-black in color, seemingly constructed out of shadow, and attached to disembodied arms which were not connected to anything, they held Renault's body frozen in the air with cold fingers far stronger than anything any human being was capable of. No amount of willpower would take Renault from their grasp, and Renault found himself more frightened than he'd ever been in his entire life. Barbarossa, the Armor of the Berserk, even the ghosts of the Reaper's Labyrinth could not compare to the fear Nergal elicited now. The only thing that kept him from breaking was that his hate and anger matched his fear.
It was not those magic arms of shadow which really elicited that fear, though. Despite their hideous otherworldliness, Nergal himself appeared more horrifying than anything Renault had ever seen before.
Summoning that many shadow-hands at once had given off a small shockwave of magic energy, and that shockwave had actually done more damage to Nergal than Renault did. It managed to blow Nergal's turban off of his head.
And for the first time, Renault could see what it had previously concealed. He could see clearly the left side of Nergal's face.
And he screamed.
What lay beneath the folds of Nergal's turban was his left eye. His twisted, deformed, grotesque left eye.
It was wide, unstaring, and unblinking, for it had no eyelid. Bloodshot and pockmarked, it had swollen to twice the side of his right, apparently in order to occupy a socket which had been partially blasted away. 'Blasted away' made the most sense, for the left side of his head was covered in hideous burns and lacerations which indicated someone had tried to murder him—but failed.
"Yes indeed, fool," said Nergal, stepping up to him and smirking. He brought himself within inches of Renault's face, utterly secure in the knowledge that the Mercenary Lord was utterly harmless. This was humiliating enough on its own, but seeing the twitching, oversized, malformed orb that was Nergal's other eye within inches of his face was enough to make Renault's stomach turn. "Do not think I am some upjumped gladiator with delusions of grandeur, like this…Paptimus was. I have been practicing magic for a long, long time. I was a master before you were born…before Paptimus was born…even before the dragons were scoured from Elibe. Against my Darkness, Renault, you have no chance. The little toys you call a blade and dagger cannot so much as scratch me. In the face of my might, you…a man who considers himself to be a mighty warrior, a Mercenary Lord who has lived through a hundred battles…you are nothing more than a child!"
"I…it can't be," Renault screamed, "YOU'RE LYING!" Yet his rage was steadily giving way to despair—he knew Nergal was right. The dark energy he felt surging from the sorcerer far exceeded anything Paptimus had been able to produce, anything he had ever felt before, anything he had ever even thought possible.
Nergal knew this as well. He didn't even dignify Renault with a response.
"Th…then why?!" he sobbed. "How? Y…you could barely stand when I first met you! If you had all this power, why the hell did you need me? Why the hell did you need Braddock?!"
"Heh, heh, heh," Nergal grinned. "As I said, Renault, I gave you everything you wanted, but I never said I wouldn't take what I needed as well. When we first met, I was indeed a pathetic shell of my former self. You may be weak, but Athos was not. You could have killed me easily back then. But then you started bringing me quintessence…and that was the only thing I needed to recover. You don't think I used everything you brought me on those morphs, do you? Silly fool. I squandered maybe a tenth of our quintessence on those failed experiments. The rest went to me. I'm almost as powerful as I was before Athos drove me out! And it's all thanks to you, my devoted servant!"
"Nergal…you used me…" Renault mouthed in disbelief. The words Dougram had spoke before he died echoed through his head, and he couldn't stop his tears from streaming once again when he realized he had murdered a friend on behalf of a most devilish foe. His face contorted into a rictus of pain, caught somewhere between pure rage and unfathomable anguish. "Dougram was right! You used me! YOU USED ME!"
"I merely gave you what you truly wanted, Renault. But if you wish to think I "used" you…well, who am I to disagree?"
"grrrrrraaaaAAAAAAHHHH!" Renault let out one more ear-splitting scream as he struggled—fruitlessly—against his chains of shadow. "Nergal," he gasped, staring directly at his now-foe's twisted eye. His rage had once again overtaken his fear. "Nergal, I'll kill you. I swear I'll kill you. You won't get away with this!"
"More threats? Not a good idea from someone in your position."
Now it was Renault's turn to laugh. "You're the Dark Master here, right? If you wanted to kill me, you would've done so already. What's wrong? If you're gonna kill me, you better do it now. Because otherwise, I'll hunt you down to the ends of Elibe if I have to!"
Another laugh from Nergal. "How perceptive, Renault! You're correct. I actually don't plan on killing you. But," and both his eyes—his good one and his wounded one—seemed to glow—"I am not leaving you alive for the reasons you think.
"You see, Renault, you cannot harm me. You cannot possibly harm me, now or ever. No…there is no reason to kill you. I think it will be much more satisfying to leave you alive, and leave you to wander this world for all eternity. Yes, yes indeed…I will let you live, Renault, so that in a hundred years, or two hundred, or however long it takes, you will be the one to witness my conquest of this world! And you will look at me, sitting upon the throne of the gods, watching me cleanse their creation, fully aware that you were the one who helped me rise!
"Yes, Renault…a helpless, wretched witness to destruction you helped wreak. That is the perfect fate for you!"
More shadow-hands shot out of the darkness, covering every inch of his body. Inky-black fingers rapped themselves around his head, over his eyes, and then Renault knew no more.
::Linear Notes::
Much of the dialogue references Renault and Nergal's battle conversation, along with his supports with Canas. The hands are taken from the scene with Ninian and Nils escaping. One last note: If you like Wayward Son, pleeeeeeeeease check out my new fic, The Last Red Shoulder, which is a WS sidestory!
