Ostrava wasn't fully aware that he was on his knees in front of a gigantic, demonic spider. He didn't even consider the fact that he had been screaming so loud that he had torn his throat. The forefront of his focus was her, Alvira, whose lifeless body was sliding slowly down the Armor Spider's foreleg, leaving a generous coating of blood and viscera behind. He felt numb. He felt just as hollow and empty as she now was. He had failed her. She had died because of his ineptitude. He was next, but it no longer mattered. Everything was futile without her by his side.
His screaming didn't cease. His ears began to bleed. He clutched the sides of his head and roared his despair and hopelessness to the heavens. Alvira's body sagged to the ground in a heap as it separated from the Armor Spider's leg. The demon chittered and purred to itself contently as it brought its head low and chelicerae forward. Its jaws opened wide and were about to clamp down on its fallen prey when a vortex of radiant light surrounded her. Her body disintegrated before his eyes, momentarily leaving an empty suit of armor behind. Then the light began to pour into the armor's crevices. The Armor Spider was temporarily indisposed as the light blinded it, thrashing about uselessly above the eerily glowing figure as it slowly rose to stand. Ostrava had finally stopped screaming and could only stare through teary eyes as it leisurely approached Alvira's discarded halberd and took it in hand.
The Armor Spider was screeching and flailing its legs violently and all eight of its eyes were rolled askew in agony. The apparition now haunting Alvira's armor – for that was all Ostrava could think it to be - turned to the demon, took the halberd, and brought the blade down viciously on the beast's head. It bounced off the demon's reinforced plating, but it still let out a wail and withdrew slightly. The ghost rose and twirled the halberd above its head before bearing down again at a slightly different angle and got the same result. It repeated the process several more times and the demon's throes became increasingly frantic with each strike. It spat a few fireballs at the luminescent figure, albeit uselessly as the spider's erratic movement threw its aim wide off the mark and only managed to singe some of its own defensive webbing. When this failed, the demon reared forward suddenly and brought its front legs down upon the ghost; it rose its halberd defensively and whirled the weapon adroitly, deflecting the beast's strikes away from it and causing the demon to recoil with a screech that sounded almost frightened. The cornered beast made another desperate attempt to dispel its attacker, and with lightning speed struck its legs outwards, using them like pikes. The ghost wasn't fully prepared for the sudden onslaught, only managing an awkward defensive stance that saw it being pushed backwards away from the demon, though with fierce contention.
When the beast pulled its legs back, the apparition rushed forward, holding its halberd as one might an executioner's axe with a victim on the block, and brought the honed blade down once more. It caught its halberd in an open slit of the spider's armor and hooked the weapon behind the demon's head. It squealed the loudest Ostrava had heard yet as it instinctively tried to twist itself away. Yet, its resistance only served to be of its own detriment, the opposing force assisting the ghost as it pulled the halberd back vigorously. The spider howled and burbled as its head was slowly separated from its body. It dug its front legs into the ground and pulled back harder, feebly attempting but miserably failing to dislodge the weapon from its exoskeleton. The ghost stood resolute, digging its armored heels into the ground to root itself firmly in place. Pale blue blood began to flow from the Armor Spider's wound to the ground, creating a deep, sticky puddle around the ghost's armored feet.
The gruesome tug-of-war went on for several minutes until the ghost gave one last, potent yank and the Armor Spider's pain-filled cries were brought to a precipitous end. Its head came loose from its body and fell into its own pool of blood with a gut-churning squelch. Its body immediately followed, plunging to the ground in an entangled mass of legs and webbing.
Ostrava blinked slowly as he gazed upon the ghostly form, now standing forebodingly over the corpse of the demon. A white light, though darker than the one from before, swirled around its body before dissolving slowly into the shining augite on its belt, making its light shine all the brighter. After a few tense moments, the ghost turned to him and stared wordlessly.
"A-Alvira…?" he managed to stutter out weakly. His voice came out rickety and unsteady from his mangled throat.
The incandescent being walked towards him and smoothly placed the halberd on its back as it did so. Fear temporarily ignited within him, and he took a couple of steps back before he realized what he was doing. He stopped himself and let the ominously glowing figure approach. It regarded him for a short time before reaching up and pulling the helmet from its head.
Ostrava blanched. It was her. Only now she was without flesh. He was staring into the face of Alvira's bodiless soul. Her once warm and inviting eyes seemed bitterly cold as they bored, unblinking, into his. He recalled the soul from the Nexus and the words he'd spoken. He hadn't truly believed anything he'd said, but now one of his statements was undeniable.
'Don't worry, there are many, many deaths awaiting you.'
This was all his fault. She had sacrificed herself to protect him, and even after death, she had risen again and spared him a similar fate. He reached for her slowly and his chest tightened as he was overwhelmed by the gravity of what he had done. He had to apologize for his cowardice; had to make this right somehow. He simply would not be able to abide by himself if he did not.
He fell to his knees before her, and without thinking, yanked his own helmet from his head and tossed it aside. Up to this point he had been trying to remain discreet, but right now none of that mattered to him. He needed for her to be able to look upon him just as he looked upon her. He bowed his head, took her hand, and squeezed his eyes shut as tears cascaded down his cheeks. He clenched her palm tightly in his and he pulled on her arm, asking her without words to kneel with him.
She could barely see him. Dark hair hung over his face, obstructing it from view but for one lonely eye. A tear peaked from it, rolling down to mix with a drop of blood dangling from his lip.
She gingerly reached forward and caressed his cheek with her cold, armored palm. Ostrava started and opened his eyes. As Alvira investigated their deep, blue depths, she felt as if she was being slowly drowned in an ocean of apathy. Another tear escaped, which she caught with her thumb and gently wiped away.
"It's okay, Ostrava," she repeated quietly, her voice reverberating softly around them. He averted his gaze, and his eyes fell upon the hole in her chest, still seeping with fresh blood. He shook his head in defiance of the words she spoke.
"No…" he rasped, struggling to force the words from his throat. "No. You died because of me."
She smiled at him. The expression did little to change the coldness of her barren, lifeless eyes. "Ostrava, this isn't the first time I've experienced death, and it likely won't be the last."
His eyes widened and he stared at her, but amidst his puzzlement, he could find nothing to say. She continued.
"As a demon slayer, I was never expected to be able to face the hardships that I do without encountering death. Demons wield immeasurable power; it would be foolish to task a lone human to hunt them without some sort of protective measures in place."
"I… I do not understand, Alvira," he croaked.
Without another word, Alvira released her hold on him and removed her left boot. She set it to the side and showed him her ankle. Encircling her ghostly form was an iron binding, much like a shackle, engraved with unfamiliar symbols that glowed dimly in the surrounding darkness. Again, his mind flashed briefly to the man in the Nexus. He had worn one of these as well.
"This is a Nexial binding," she explained as she slid her boot back onto her foot. "It ties my soul to the Nexus and prevents it from being taken when I'm inevitably killed."
"So… you are immortal?" he asked, though doubt was present in his tone.
At this, she shook her head. "No, there is no such thing. This blessing is extended to me so long as I serve the Monumental."
Ostrava remained silent for a moment, feebly attempting to maintain eye contact, but ultimately succumbing to his shame and looking away. Alvira swept a wayward strand of hair from his face, earning her a brief sidelong glance from the self-loathing knight.
Suddenly, he felt her pulling on his wrist, urging him to rise. He did so lethargically, letting the weight of his guilt bear down freely upon his shoulders. They stood in silence for a moment, and Ostrava could feel Alvira watching him. Eventually, he could stand it no longer, and their gazes clashed again. Alvira ran her palm up to his shoulder and grasped it reassuringly.
"Do not despair for me, Ostrava," Alvira began. "This is the path I have chosen, and I willingly accept its conditions. By my hand, these demons will fall, and should my body fail, by my blessings I will return anew until my task is complete."
Though the words were not borne from his own mouth, Ostrava nearly choked on them. They warmed him; made him evidently sure that Boletaria would be spared, and the evildoings of the demons could be undone. Hope filled his heart, replacing the heady misery that had been plaguing him. A smile crossed his lips as her words threatened all his ills, effectively keeping them at bay.
He knew with utmost certainty that she would uphold her promise.
"Thank you, Alvira," he whispered to her. "Truly."
When they returned to the Nexus, Alvira went to visit the resident blacksmith to inquire about the damage done to her breastplate. Ostrava decided to stay behind for a much-needed moment of respite. He took a seat at the base of the Archstone of the Small King, leaned against it, and closed his eyes. He was physically and mentally exhausted, and his muscles hurt from tension. He rolled his shoulders, stretched out his legs, and sat in silence for a while. It was only when he heard a quiet rustling that he cracked one of his tired eyes open.
Staring down at him was a woman wrapped in a strange black cloth, wielding a long staff with a candle on the end. A scratchy cry of surprise escaped him, and he involuntarily threw himself against the archstone in an attempt to back away. The woman remained still as a statue. Upon further inspection, Ostrava realized that this was the same woman who had appeared to him when he first entered the Nexus.
"God, you scared me," he breathed harshly. The woman said nothing and only tilted her head curiously at him.
"Who are you?" he asked after a few more seconds of silence. No response was given. He was beginning to feel quite awkward and uncomfortable under the apparent scrutiny of the woman. Thankfully, Alvira chose that moment to return, and the woman's focus shifted to her. She had left her breastplate with the blacksmith and was now only adorned by the rich blue and silver gambeson she wore beneath her armor.
"Greetings, Slayer of Demons," the woman said to Alvira in a delicate, oddly accented voice. Ostrava sighed to himself. If she could speak, why had she not talked to him?
"Greetings," Alvira reciprocated. "I see you've met Ostrava."
At the mention of Ostrava, the woman fell silent again. Ostrava's shoulders slouched. First, the Monumental had ignored him, and now this one was, too. The feeling of insignificance was quickly growing on him.
The woman broke through his brooding thoughts when she spoke to Alvira again. "Dost thou seek soul power?"
Alvira nodded and knelt before the woman. She placed her hand on Alvira's head and began a slow chant. Ostrava was too enraptured with the scene before him to hear the words she spoke. He watched in utter amazement as Alvira's form returned to flesh and the souls she had collected thus far flowed forth from her augite, swirling around her before stretching against her skin and seeping into her pores.
The woman's chanting was mesmerizing to Ostrava in an otherworldly way, but it ceased soon enough, and she carefully slid her slender palm from Alvira's head. Alvira rose to her feet, now human once again, and bowed to the woman. She did not return the gesture, but rather asked her, "Dost thou require further assistance?"
"No," Alvira replied. "Thank you."
The woman said nothing more and turned away from her to make her way up the stairs, relighting candles along the wall that had recently blown out. Once she was out of earshot, Ostrava looked to Alvira. Feeling rather perplexed, he asked "Who was that woman, and… what did she do to you?"
Alvira took a seat next to him, then said, "I don't know her name, but to everyone here, she's known simply as the Maiden in Black. She has the power to manipulate souls, and thus uses the souls I bring her to make me stronger."
Ostrava's mouth fell open, and for a moment all that left him were incoherent babbles. Finally, he managed to say, "I see… so she must be quite powerful."
Alvira nodded. "She is indeed."
"Why are her eyes covered with wax?"
To this, Alvira shrugged. "I'm not sure. I do not know much about her. She is an enigma even to the Monumental."
"Have you tried asking her?"
"I think you've experienced firsthand the answer she gives when asked personal questions." Ostrava frowned. "But I don't sense antipathy or ill-will from her. In fact, I find her to be quite benevolent and empathetic, even if she doesn't show it very well. But enough of that. How are you faring?"
Ostrava winced as he remembered the aches and pains that he was still feeling. "Not terribly, though I could use some rest."
"Very well. I'll fetch you my bedroll and you may rest here. I will be with Sabrathan should you need me."
Ostrava nodded as he relaxed against the archstone. He folded his hands in his lap and shut his eyes, and soon he was wading in and out of slumber. After some minutes, Alvira returned with her promised bedroll and laid it out for him. He tucked into it and attempted to get comfortable. However, there was something at the back of his mind keeping him from succumbing to sleep. The awful image of Alvira's moment of death, the emptiness in her eyes when he had faced her soulless form – these things trickled uncomfortably into the darkness behind his eyelids. He tried to ignore the intrusive images, pushing them off into a far corner of his mind as his desperation for sleep grew, but each time he was on the edge, they would return. Flustered that sleep would elude him for now, he sought to answer some of the questions burning in his mind.
He eyed the discorporate man from afar, now sitting on a perch above the sealed chasm in the Nexus' center. Ostrava sighed to himself before forcing his tired and battered body to stand. He stretched and glanced at the man again, realizing his focus was now directed towards him. It was as good an invitation as any, he supposed.
Ostrava approached the man, his gaze never leaving him as he did. The man's eyes were just as dead as Alvira's had been, he noted, but his form glimmered more faintly than hers had – a murky off-white, whereas hers had been bright to the point of being blinding. Ostrava briefly wondered at that until the man addressed him.
"And what do you want of me this time?" he groused. "All I desire is to be left alone. Is such a simple request to be denied me?"
"I was hoping to ask you some questions," Ostrava started, ignoring the man's bemoaning, and taking a seat next to him.
"As I recall, you had little interest in what I had to say," the man scowled.
Ostrava looked at him directly then, eyes piercing. "Perhaps I merely misunderstood you before. Please, I no longer wish to be kept in the dark."
The ghostly man sneered and dropped his head. "Oh, so be it…"
"What is your name?" Ostrava asked.
This question threw the soul off-guard, and he frowned. "Why does that matter?"
"Because I would like to know the title of whom I speak to, and maybe, be your friend should you allow it. Will you not tell me?"
The man looked away from Ostrava then, sadness sneaking into his otherwise featureless face. "No," he stated flatly. "I will not."
"Why is that?"
"… Because I don't remember."
Ostrava furrowed his brow in confusion. "How do you not remember your own name?"
The man scoffed, irritation flaring within him. "I don't remember anything of my life before this. Over time my memories have fled me."
"How can that be?"
"I've remained in this state for far too long," he said, gesturing at his ethereal form. "Each day that passes, I find more of myself withering away."
"… Oh," was all Ostrava could think to say. "I am sorry."
"I'm not. I do not wish to remember all that I've lost. This is all there is now." The man swept his hand around the Nexus for emphasis. "The world won't survive the demons' transgressions a second time."
"But how can you believe that?" Ostrava asked, slightly appalled by the man's faithlessness. "How can you just give up?"
At this, the man seemingly bristled, and a fire ignited in his eyes. "Have you come only to torment me, or do you have real questions?" he spat. "If not, begone!"
"I-" Ostrava began. "I apologize. Can you tell me something?"
The man only offered him a disinterested grunt.
"What is it like… to die?"
The man looked at Ostrava out of the corner of his eye before answering, "That depends on how you die."
"How did you die?"
"A demon killed me, of course," he said matter-of-factly. "I was lured here by that accursed Monumental and my fate was quickly sealed by a big, fanged, ferocious beast."
"Was it… painful…?" Ostrava asked hesitantly.
The man passed him a scornful glare. "You tell me if having your skull crushed like an overripe fruit is painful." Ostrava flinched and felt his stomach lurch at that description. "Then I woke up here, like this. Bodiless, dead. The Monumental tried to manipulate me, telling me that humans awoke the Old One again and that I was required to put it back to sleep. But that's not possible; knowledge of Soul Arts was wiped from the earth by them ages ago. They were the only ones that knew; they started dabbling and they awoke the damned thing, not us humans."
The man went quiet for a moment and seemed to heave a great sigh, though no air escaped him. "After dying like that, they expected me to just go out there and do it again and again. Meanwhile, they can't even tell me the God damned truth." At that, he faced Ostrava fully, dead eyes pinning him to the spot. "Take this to heart, lest you be damned like us – we are pawns. That is all we will ever be to the Maiden and the Monumental, and whether we succeed or fail, it matters not so long as they are our masters."
Ostrava's mouth formed into a thin line as he took in the dead man's words. "Surely, we, as men, have something to gain in the destruction of these demons. Why do you believe the Monumental and the Maiden to be insincere? They have taken on the task of cleansing our world so that we may thrive once more; is that not noble?"
"'Noble?' Pah! We are only cleaning up the mess that they have caused," the man said through gritted teeth. "And it will happen again so long as they remain."
"Enough of this; I have not come to debate," Ostrava retorted irately.
"Then leave me! Your presence has grown wearisome."
Ostrava rolled his eyes and rose to leave. He said nothing more to the cynical man as he walked away. He felt thoroughly frustrated as the closed-off man had failed to answer any of the questions that ailed him and had only exasperated him with his rhetoric.
The poor fellow is quite mad, indeed; perhaps that is another side effect of his condition, Ostrava thought to himself as he turned carefully on his heels and strode away. Though in the back of his mind, the sympathetic side of him hoped that by defeating the demons, the wretched soul could be freed from his troubles at last.
More exhausted than he had been before, Ostrava returned to Alvira's bedroll and laid himself down gently. He tossed and turned for a while, images of Alvira's death haunting his mind until eventually he drifted into a restless sleep.
When Alvira spotted Brother Sabrathan, he was predictably in his corner skimming through one of his various tomes. He eyed her approaching over the rim of his book, smiling broadly as she drew near.
"Welcome back, Lady Knight! I have been looking forward to your return!"
"Greetings, Brother Sabrathan," Alvira retaliated politely with a deep bow. She took a seat before him, placing her talisman in her lap.
Sabrathan's smile stretched impossibly wider. "Miracles, I presume?" It was more of a formality, but Alvira nodded anyway. "Let's begin with the basics, shall we?"
Curious eyes followed Sabrathan's every movement. He gathered an old leather tome, the spine barely bound to its back, and flipped to the first page before laying it out to her. She quickly skimmed the page, eyes widening in recognition of the prayer before her.
Natura sanat, medicus curat [The physician treats, nature cure]
Cessante causea, cessant effectus [Cease the cause, cease the effect]
Restitutio ad integrum [Return to the integral state]
Non sibi sed omnibus [Not for myself, but for all]
In nomine dei [In the name of God]
"I see familiarity in your eyes, Lady Knight."
"I know this prayer," Alvira murmured, more to herself than to the priest sitting opposite of her. "I once tried to use it in an attempt to-"
Sabrathan's heavy hand fell upon her shoulder, bringing her words and thoughts alike to a standstill. He gave her a serious look, his smile completely wiped from his face. Alvira's hand had loosened around her talisman, nearly dropping it upon the ground. Her fingers tightened around it as Sabrathan squeezed her shoulder, as if she was siphoning from his strength to fuel her own.
"The first lesson of miracles, Lady Knight, is to never let your faith waver." His expression turned grim, the shadows cast over his face slightly exaggerating his features. "I have seen many men and women of God lose their way, and when they do, God no longer heeds their call. It's His form of divine punishment. After all: if you don't believe in Him, why should He believe in you?" Alvira's eyes turned downcast, guilt eating at her heart. Her fingers began to ache around the wooden icon in her hand.
"I'm sorry, Father," Alvira said lamely to the ground, eyes clouding as they brimmed with tears. Sabrathan pulled her closer, deigning her to look in his eyes.
"Never abandon your faith, Alvira," he spoke lowly. A solemn, lonely tear drifted down her cheek that the priest thumbed away. His mouth upturned into a smile once more. "In a land ravaged by demons, God is our only light. Don't forget Him, even in your darkest hour, or you may lose your way as well."
Alvira blinked away her tears as he withdrew from her, rummaging around inside of his cloak. From it he revealed a brightly polished dagger with a plain black handle. He held the blade to his palm, and Alvira gasped as he poised it against his skin, subconsciously reaching for him before a stream of blood began to flow. He held the wounded appendage out to her, and she returned the gesture with a confused frown.
"I want you to heal this wound," he explained. "Show me your faith. Gather your will into that talisman, pray, and your will shall become our Father's, too, should your belief prove sufficient."
"Brother, this wound is serious, I…"
"Trust in our Lord."
Alvira studied the wound for a moment longer, watching blood pool in the center of Sabrathan's palm. He watched her expectantly, hopeful, smiling, even though Alvira knew that this self-sustained injury was painful and could be the end of him should infection fester there.
No, she was giving this threat entirely too much credence. God was on their side.
Alvira lifted her talisman and closed her eyes, touching her bare fingertips to the wound and staining her pale skin red. A dollop of blood descended her palm, streaking the skin to her wrist before falling away. She concentrated her will into the talisman as Sabrathan had instructed and began to pray.
"Natura sanat, medicus curat."
A strange warmth congealed around the core of the talisman.
"Cessante causea, cessant effectus."
That warmth radiated outwards, encompassing her entire hand before migrating to her fingertips, where their skin touched.
"Restitutio ad integrum."
The energy continued to gather but remained stagnant. Alvira imagined she was pushing it, forcing it away from herself and into Sabrathan. Her fingers turned cold as that energy left her.
"Non sibi sed omnibus."
A searing heat erupted into Sabrathan's palm, and Alvira was sure that it would burn them both, only no pain followed. She shook off the creeping doubt and finished her prayer.
"In nomine dei."
She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and…
Sabrathan chuckled, flexing his now stiff fingers. Alvira's jaw slackened in shock.
The wound, the blood: it was all gone.
"It appears your faith was not misplaced after all."
Alvira looked up to the older man in wonder. He beamed at her, and she nearly injured his healed hand in a crushing grip as her body trembled. New tears formed in her eyes, but they were created of overwhelming joy instead of sorrow.
Never again would she doubt their Lord, their Savior.
"Umbasa."