Chapter VI - Silence
Clerebold's feather quill flashed across the parchment affixed to his clipboard as he evaluated the performance of the Scadarah laborers in their assignments from the preceding week. The quiet of his office and the comfort of his chair provided a sense of routine he had become well-acquainted with by then, allowing him to breeze through this recurring task with speed and efficiency on an ordinary night.
This was not one of those nights. New arrivals to the labor unit meant new rodents on his list, and though he had not come to the corresponding name yet, he was cognizant of one new addition whose presence lingered in the corner of his mind. No observer would have been able to tell that he was bothered by anything, as his stone-faced expression betrayed no conflicting emotions that were bubbling beneath the surface.
Yet even Clerebold himself had difficulty describing the stirring feeling in his core as a conflict. There was a lump in his throat that refused to subside as he proceeded down the list, coinciding with a nostalgic whisper of anger that made the hairs on his neck stand up. But was that whisper the same he had felt years prior, or was it nothing more than a ghost conjured up to realign his feelings back to their usual state? Indeed, he felt the same repulsed contempt for each Scadarah on the list that he had known even before he rose to the supervisor position six months ago. But the knowledge of the abnormal new entry to the list felt as though it undermined his faith in that hatred, the heat in his chest that he'd been clinging to for two years.
Clerebold pursed his lips, closed his eyes, and exhaled through his nostrils, turning his head to the side as he dismissed the unfamiliar emotional brew that was mixing within him. Vermin would still be vermin at the end of it all, regardless of how much flowery sentiment they came dressed in. He raised his free hand to the left side of his robe, placing the tips of his fingers there and exercising deep breathing to remind himself of that indisputable truth.
And then, just as he turned back from dismissing his inner conundrum, he saw it. Beneath the laborer report that he had just signed off on, he recognized the familiar arrangement of letters in his peripheral vision and paused, quill stayed in his stopped hand over the parchment.
'Yselt Imbertus'.
The act of simply reading the name made the lump in Clerebold's throat rise a bit higher. His eyes darted to the right of it, flitting over the row of the week's days where the tasks the corresponding labor unit member would have performed. Where others on the list had every day filled out with their assignment and the signature of the castle worker responsible for signing off on their myriad tasks, Yselt's row had only the last day for the week filled in: war stallion care, signed off on by Dämian commander Hartos.
Clerebold had expected her row to look like this. She had only arrived the day before last, after all. However, he found himself struggling to skim over the writing as briskly as he had with the reports before it. The war stallions of the Brilanian military were among its most famous assets, well-known for the military's dedicated history of breeding them to create steeds with speed, power, and stamina superior to those of neighboring nations. Had Yselt struggled to tend to those powerful beasts of burden? Had he been too harsh in assigning her to that task on her first day of labor?
Before images of her covered in hay and salt could creep into his mind, Clerebold shook his head more forcefully and growled aloud, pounding his free hand onto his desk out of frustration. Jostled by his strike, the inkwell on the desk rattled onto the upper right corner of the clipboard, a few flecks of black ink dripping onto the list.
Having stood up in a rush, Clerebold looked down at the few drops of spilled ink that now stained the parchment. As he stared, Clerebold gradually became further aware of the minute sensations of his own body. He heard his blood pump through the veins in his head, he saw his lower eyelid twitch a few times, and he felt his grip on the edge of his chair tighten. Despite the look of restraint he forced to remain on his face, Clerebold's agitation was becoming plain to see.
"Why?" Clerebold muttered. The illusion of preparation he had placed himself under when he'd sent out the recruitment specification had now been shattered by a simple glance. His present demeanor was nothing short of beyond the pale for a supervisor. All that time spent learning the assignments, refining them to perfection, and appeasing the previous supervisor to rise to that position himself, and the only thing it took to shake him after those two long years was her name.
In a panic, Clerebold removed his right hand from the chair, dropping his quill as he reached into an inner pocket of his robe beneath where his hand had been moments prior. From that pocket, he fished out an old, stained, folded-up piece of paper that he held in his hands like a treasured possession, stroking the wrinkled corners with the tip of his finger. The familiar sensation allowed Clerebold to pull his thoughts back together, and as he let go of the tension in his body and began to breathe normally again, his rationale returned to him.
Such concerns for the common trash were only detrimental in pursuit of his ultimate goal. His praise would come when he reclaimed what they had lost, and with that in mind, he would show no mercy; play no favorites. As long as the work was done, how it was done would go overlooked by Castle Gornemant's higher personnel.
"Yes..." Clerebold breathed, renewing his vows aloud for his own sake. "Equivalence is order. Order is prosperity."
And so he returned to his chair, leaning down to pick his quill up from the floor before dipping the tip in the inkwell. With coordinated finesse, he marked his signature on Yselt's report to certify its evaluation. Then, moving with purpose, he looked back to the other side of the parchment for Yselt's room number, planning to make a note of it so as to assign its occupants harsher jobs in the week ahead. However, when he laid eyes upon said room number, it gave him pause.
417. Why was that room number so fresh in his memory?
Right. Of course. He'd chosen it on a whim for that scruffy-looking rodent who arrived late and spoke out of turn. Clerebold flipped through the further pages of the alphabetized list to find his report and recall his name: Wymare Thiebaut.
The tip of his nose turned upward at this continued bout of happenstance. Not only had this disobedient mongrel disrespected his authority, but he had also fallen ill with absolutely no identifiable cause the evening prior. The nuns who fetched Clerebold to deliver the news also mentioned Yselt herself being in a state of injury, though by the time he had returned from conferring with the sisters of the medicinal wing of the Godhalls, she was already fast asleep in her quarters. None of the sisters had implied foul play, but Clerebold knew regardless of the explanation that such an inexplicable event would reflect poorly on his abilities as a supervisor.
Shifting to the side, Clerebold ripped a square of parchment free from spare sheets on his desk and tacked it to the wall before writing the two's room number on it. Then, with a look as cold as snow, he leaned back in his chair and put his hands together in front of his chin to ponder at the room number, its fresh black ink sluggishly dripping down the page in a few places. Disorder was present within his unit, and he would correct it - correct them - without delay.
"Very well then... How shall I deal with you?"
. . .
The following day, Wymare and Yselt hurried through their evening meal before venturing into the Guild wing of the castle. With the allure of their promised joint venture into the door waiting for them at the end of the day, both had anxiously waited out their classes and morning assignments with bated breath. Now that the time had come, a combined feeling of nervousness and excitement set in between them as they hustled through the castle halls, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
"S-So, if I may," Yselt began as they walked, "What's your plan for when we enter?"
"Well, that parallel castle seems to wholly resemble the real one for the most part," noted Wymare. "If we want to learn more about that world, it would make sense to strike at the heart of the abnormality first."
"You mean... that prison? B-But what if... he's there again?"
Wymare nodded and placed a hand to his chin, catching the meaning behind her question. "Well, given his demeanor, I don't think he would spend all his time in one cell block. Remember how he called himself a warden and went on about prisoners?"
"Yes, of course. It's formed by how the laborers view that space... A-At least, that's the working theory."
"Right. But there may be more to their 'prison' than one room of cells. If we can get further inside, we might discover it's more of a full prison camp than a single holding pen." As they neared the hallway holding the door, Wymare rolled his head from side to side and cracked his knuckles, limbering up for the battles that were likely to meet them once they crossed through. "That's my primary objective tonight."
"I see... T-Then I'll do my best to keep pace!"
With their plan of attack formulated, the two stepped into the hall of interest. Sure enough, affixed to the otherwise barren back wall was the door with the gold plaque, the words 'Prison Camp' still etched into the metal.
"Well... This is it. Are you ready, Yselt?"
Despite her comrade's question, Yselt did not answer straight away. A fresh wave of nerves had settled in over her as she stared at the door, remembering all too well the monstrous lookalike of her brother and what had happened the last time they encountered him. Sure, Wymare's newfound Persona abilities would help combat danger if it arose, but what if he tired himself out to the point of whiting out? What if she was seized by monsters and tortured again? The rain of blows unleashed upon her by Clerebold's doppelganger was still fresh in her memory, to the point that the thought of living through that trauma a second time almost gave her cold feet.
But even still, the sentiment behind her emotional request in the cafeteria the day before lingered in her mind. She would find the answers she sought, no matter the danger of the mission and the liability her presence carried.
"...Yes. Let's waste no time."
Wymare nodded at her answer, and the both of them proceeded down the hall until they came up to the door. Slowed by hesitancy that nothing would happen now that they were entering for a second time, Wymare reached out with an unsure hand, grasped the golden handle, and pulled.
To both of their combined reliefs, the door swung open just as it had before, revealing the same sight as before: the hallway behind them, inverted to be a reflection of its layout. Hurrying to avoid some passersby happening upon them mid-entrance, Wymare and Yselt stepped into the other world's castle and shut the door behind them, and a pair of curious events happened as they did so: Wymare's large green axe manifested itself in the hand he was not holding the door handle with, and the unsightly gash in his right shin returned as well.
"Ah!" Yselt gasped at the sight. "Your axe is back! And... your leg is still..."
"You're right... Although, it doesn't hurt at all now," Wymare commented in response, twisting his body to look down at the familiar open wound.
"So, then... I s-suppose this means your Persona is-"
Before Yselt had the chance to finish her observation, a Shadow lumbered into view from the end of the hall, hearing their conversation and turning to look toward them. Groaning as it recognized the intruders to its domain, the Shadow twisted its body and broke in half, another pair of pumpkin-headed monstrosities appearing from its spewing mass.
"Oh no...! W-We've been caught already!?" Yselt stammered, recoiling a few paces back in fear of the demon. Wymare, meanwhile, readied his axe as he prepared to fight.
"Stay behind me, Yselt," Wymare ordered as he stepped forth. "I can handle them. PERSONA!"
Wymare flourished his axe as he invoked his power, and just as it had happened two nights ago, the armored figure of Gawain appeared in a burst of blue fire from Wymare's weapon, hovering at its user's side. From behind the knight, Yselt gazed slack-jawed at the sight that, although not new to her, still stunned her to silence.
"I am thou... Thou art I... So, my other self, thou hath returned to brave the depths."
"Yes," Wymare nodded, not looking away from the Shadows facing him down. "You know the path I've chosen."
"Well met. I am Gawain, chivalrous knight of the Round, and I lend thee my full strength!"
With his Persona at the ready, Wymare ran toward the enemies and engaged them in battle, axe resting upon his shoulder as he sprinted. Seeing the Persona-user's approach, the Shadows imbued their lanterns with pyrokinetic power and launched a volley of fireballs to keep Wymare out of reach. However, Wymare did not flinch, instead channeling Gawain to blow the flames back with a well-timed Garu skill. With his approach unobstructed, Wymare reared back his axe before throwing it at the Shadow on his right with a shout of effort, the weapon spinning in an arc through the air before lodging its bit deep in the pumpkin demon's forehead.
As its companion withered into dust with a dying "Heee-hooo...?", the one remaining Shadow pirouetted while moving back to regain distance, desperate to stay away from the axe that had claimed its brother. However, Gawain was the faster combatant, flying forth in pursuit while flourishing its impressive blade. In one swift movement, the Persona's sword punctured the Shadow's throat, an attack that Gawain followed up on by performing a midair spin of its own to cleave the Shadow's body in half before it, too, broke apart and perished.
With both Shadows dispatched, Wymare hoisted his axe from the first victim's remains, taking notice of another orb of light that was drawn from the deceased Shadow and into his weapon. At this occurrence, the words of Igor and Phoebe from his previous visit to the Velvet Room echoed in his head.
"Fascinating... It would seem as though the power of your new Persona has been added to that of your initial Persona."
"Indeed. Your Wild Card abilities will allow you to freely augment the abilities of Gawain, granting you an advantage when you battle against Shadows."
From what they had explained to him about the Wild Card, it sounded as though what had happened with the electric wolf during their first excursion beyond the door had now repeated itself with the pumpkin demon. Resolving to keep these new combat abilities in mind, Wymare let out a relaxed breath as the danger passed with the defeated enemies, Gawain disappearing into thin air in turn now that it was no longer needed.
With her back still to the door, Yselt marveled at how quickly Wymare had disposed of the enemies. Although she still felt the cold grip of anxiety over what they would find as they continued further in, she felt markedly less afraid for their combined well-being now that she had once again borne witness to the remarkable power of Persona.
"It'll be best for us to proceed stealthily," Wymare pointed out as he turned back to Yselt. "I should be able to manage well enough, but the more fights we can avoid, the better off we'll be."
"R-Right," Yselt nodded, proceeding down the hall now that the way was unobstructed. "I'll do my best."
Wymare nodded, flashing a reassuring smile as he noted Yselt's persisting nerves. With that, he took to the point position, leading the way for Yselt as they maneuvered through the halls of the other world's Castle Gornemant. As they attempted to retrace their steps from their earlier trip into the door, they peered around corners and snuck from room to room, evading patrolling Shadows as they came and went along their desired route.
Eventually, the two arrived at the top of the banister leading to the main floor of the castle, where there were only a handful of Shadows on the prowl. Looking out over the hall, Wymare weighed their options for proceeding. The stairwell that led down to the prison was on the right of the room from where they were, meaning they could take their chances and stick to the wall to make it there undetected. However, with the multitude of Shadows occupying separate sects of the room, he doubted the likelihood of them making it there without at least one of the enemies spotting them and alerting the others.
Combat wasn't off the table either as far as numbers went. He'd managed to hold off much more than what the present foes were likely to spawn during their escape last time. The issue was that now they were proceeding further in rather than making for the exit, meaning if their battle drew more of the Shadows they'd skirted around on their way to the main hall, they ran the risk of being cornered and overwhelmed before they could make it to their destination.
"Hmm..." Conflicted, Wymare put his free hand up to his mouth as a fist, trying to think his way through the current predicament. "How do we get their attention away from the stairwell...?"
Next to him, Yselt watched her ally struggle to come up with a plan. Wanting to help, she made her own survey of the hall, the Shadows, and their immediate surroundings, looking for something they could use to their advantage. Then her gaze landed on a ball carved into the top of the banister's wooden railing, and after looking back and forth between the ball and the Shadows, she was struck by an idea.
"Hey... What if we used this?" Yselt proposed in a hushed tone, stepping over to gesture at the spherical carving. "Cut it free with your axe, and we'll throw it into the far corner to draw them there."
Wymare's eyes widened at Yselt's idea, followed by a series of comprehensive nods from him. "Good thinking," he praised, joining her by the railing and lowering his axe to a horizontal angle parallel with the base of the railing that the carving emerged from. With a single quick push, he forced the bit through the bottom of the carving, popping it free as Yselt had suggested, and she quickly took it in her hands so it wouldn't fall and make noise.
With the wooden ball held firm, Yselt turned toward the rest of the main hall before taking a step back, bringing her arm back behind her shoulder, and throwing the sphere with as much force as she could muster. It sailed over the Shadows' heads before landing on the floor by the wall opposite their target stairwell with a loud clatter, and every Shadow in the room instantly turned toward the source of the noise and began shuffling in its direction, searching for hostile entities. Seeing their chance, Wymare and Yselt made their way down the stairs with careful haste, successfully managing to slip into the stairwell without issue.
"Hahh... Well done, Yselt," Wymare remarked, taking a few breaths after running as they proceeded into the castle's lower floors. "Perhaps I should leave the planning to you, eh?"
"T-Thank you, but t-that was just lucky..." Yselt returned, bashfully looking off to the side.
"Some impressive luck you've got about you then. Let's keep it up."
Yselt smiled and nodded at Wymare's encouraging drive. She may not have been of much use in battle, but helping at least in her own way made her feel a bit better about tagging along.
When the two reached the floor for the labor unit's quarters, they were once again greeted by the sight of the same grimy cell block they'd stumbled upon two days ago. This time, however, something was different: where the cells had previously been occupied by Shadows, now they were all empty, their doors hanging open as a sign of their having been vacated. As a result, an ominous silence hung in the room as wymare and Yselt trepidly walked inside, looking around for signs of enemies.
"Strange... Where did all of the Shadows go?" Wymare asked. "Why weren't they returned after we escaped?"
"Wait... S-Shadows?" Yselt repeated.
"Oh, r-right. Those monsters that populate this world... It seems a fitting name for them, I think," Wymare answered, tripping over his words a bit. Of course Yselt wouldn't know of the name for these creatures; after all, it was only explained to him by Igor and his attendants. And where it would have been too much to explain the Velvet Room to her before, now was definitely not a suitable time. Someday, Wymare figured, he could explain it when he needed to, but for as long as Yselt was better off not knowing about it, he'd hold off on it.
"Ah, I see. You're right, it does fit them well," Yselt agreed. "But still... Where have they all gone if not back here?"
In response, Wymare looked toward the door across the room that Clerebold's Shadow had fled through when Gawain first appeared. "Let's keep heading deeper in," he said, walking over to the door and putting a hand on the handle. "If they were transferred, then we'll be right in thinking that-"
Thunk. As Wymare tried to turn the handle and open the door, he was met with nothing as the handle stuck fast. It had been locked since it was last used.
"Hmm... This is an issue," Yselt noted as Wymare tried the handle a few more times. "Perhaps there's a spare key somewhere around here? Keep trying; I'll look for-"
"No need," Wymare said, shrugging it off as he stepped back from the door. Staring straight ahead as if looking through the door itself, he pointed his axe ahead and Gawain appeared once more, slashing the door into perfect quarters with two broad strokes of its blade. Three parts of the door fell to the floor without anything to support them, and the triangular quarter that was attached to the hinges feebly swung about. Wymare lowered his weapon with the job done, dismissing Gawain again before turning to gesture through the now-open passage with something of a humorous smirk.
"Oh... R-Right. I suppose there's not much need for puzzling when you have that," Yselt said, offering a slight laugh as she followed Wymare's lead to step over the broken door and further into the complex.
As Wymare followed behind Yselt, the two emerged from a short hallway leading upward beyond the shattered door to find something even more unbelievable than the prison block: an entire prison camp was erected where the Scadarah laborers' quarters should have been, the foundation erected level with the rest of Rìo Ghaile and Castle Gornemant. A massive brick wall system was erected around the perimeter of the premises, topped with wooden spikes that were lined along the edges to keep any potential climbers from summiting them. Erected in the far corners were two watchtowers that overlooked the shorter buildings below, and between those two towers was another tower, this one far more intimidating and taller than its counterparts.
"What... is all of this?" Wymare wondered aloud. He and Yselt had exited the hallway and were now standing on a large field, which itself was surrounded by a fence of thin metal strips that only opened at the other end, a gap that led to the rest of the camp.
"It seems like you were correct," Yselt answered, just as awestruck as Wymare. "This place is far more than a single cell block... It's an entire prison, through and through. And the warden that oversees it all is-"
Before Yselt could finish speaking, a bell toll began to ring out from the buildings ahead, startling the two. They didn't have long to wonder what the sudden chiming meant, as the answer came rushing at them in the form of a large crowd of Shadows that poured from the lower buildings. They appeared similar to the ones from the previous cell block, implying this was where they went when not kept locked away in their confines.
As the Shadows moved from the buildings and toward the prison yard, Yselt ran back again to take cover some distance behind Wymare. In tandem, Wymare readied his axe, seeing no other alternative now that they were this far in. Seconds later, the Shadows in the front of the crowd noticed the two intruders, and they stampeded forth onto the grassy field with savage vigor.
"Come!" Wymare commanded, and at his behest, Gawain reappeared before him, sword already extended to blow the enemies back with Garu. This succeeded in staggering the oncoming crowd, and as the malnourished-looking Shadows collected themselves, they began to collapse into one another and fuse their masses, coalescing into a group of four elegant-looking foes. The Shadows had taken the forms of women clad in white and black cloths whose abdomens were absent, instead being occupied by wooden wheels that the Shadows would spin with one hand as they hovered in place.
"New ones, huh?" Wymare noted dryly. "Come on, then!"
In response to the Persona-user's beckoning, the four Shadows all flew forward, and Wymare prepared to intercept their movements with another Garu skill from Gawain. But when his Persona took aim and let the winds loose, Wymare was alarmed to see that the attack seemed to be having very little of its desired effect. The Shadows were flying straight through the wind skill with only minimal signs of the attack hurting them, and so Wymare and Gawain were forced to leap back as the team of enemies came down with wind skills of their own, the combined power of their attacks blowing a small hole in the ground where Wymare had been standing.
Yselt's eyes went wide with worry at this sight. Without the ability for Gawain to reposition the enemies via its wind attacks, it and its user would be relegated to close-ranged combat against these enemies. Wymare came to the same conclusion, and as such he readied his weapon again and charged, his Persona flying alongside him.
The two engaged the enemy Shadows with combined swings of their weapons, which the Shadows avoided with relative ease. Deciding to try his luck at splitting them up, Wymare had Gawain fly up between the four Shadows and slash in a circular motion, breaking the enemy lines up into two pairs. As Gawain went to deal with the two that had been sent to the left by its attack, Wymare moved to engage the two on the right, leaping up with a rising swing of his axe and managing to strike one of them.
However, even with the success of his maneuver, Wymare had left himself open now that his attack had finished, and the other Shadow of the two blasted him back into the ground with a burst of wind. Despite the harsh landing he was made to endure, Wymare rebounded and managed to slide to a stop, pushing himself back onto his feet as his foes came at him. He counterattacked one of them with his axe and swiftly turned on his feet to deliver a punch to the other's chest. The second attack was far weaker than the first, so the Shadow was able to fight back as its partner picked itself up, but Wymare could at least keep pace with one of them.
Then, just as he was getting ready to dodge another of the Shadow's assaults, he felt a sharp pain like a kick to his head impact him, and he only managed to get away with being grazed by the attack rather than dodging it altogether. Wondering what had happened, Wymare looked to his left to see that Gawain had just been hit in the head by one of the Shadows it was fighting, and despite the Persona's best efforts, it was starting to be overwhelmed by the agility of the enemies.
Wymare could not observe his Persona's welfare for long, as he was forced to tuck and roll out of the line of fire as the Shadows he was engaged with combined their efforts for another dual wind attack. He recognized that he couldn't hope to keep up with all four Shadows at once, even with Gawain's power, and so he changed his strategy as he picked himself up.
"Cleave!" he shouted, and Gawain turned at the command to fly in and catch one of the Shadows that had been focused on Wymare by surprise, embedding the tip of its blade in the Shadow's skull. With that Shadow destroyed, Gawain turned mid-strike and delivered a stern kick to the other Shadow's jaw, sending it reeling back as its partner collapsed into shadowy dust.
Recalling the earlier wisdom he'd taken to heart about his Wild Card abilities, Wymare looked to the head of his axe and regarded the empty glass orbs on the side. He wasn't sure how he knew, but just as he had done when undergoing his initial awakening, he knew what he needed to do. Once again following his gut instinct, Wymare stepped out to the side, broke his stance, and thrust his weapon into the air, enacting his ambitious new battle plan.
"PERSONA CHANGE: RAIJUU!"
Upon Wymare's call, the top orb on the bit of his axe flared to life with a brilliant yellow light. The glow surrounded Gawain as well, and as the power of a new Persona coursed through its being, the floating knight raised its blade high as it began to spark with electricity. The bright crackling of Gawain's aura made the Shadows visibly frightened as they backed away from the Persona-user and his Persona not to avoid an incoming attack, but instead out of pure fear.
"Let's see how you handle this!" Wymare challenged before shouting, "ZIO!"
Gawain thrust its sword skyward at Wymare's call, and the electricity built up in its blade shot into the clouds before raining back down and vaporizing the frontmost Shadow in an instant. With their weak point revealed, the other Shadows flew in for a chance at a desperate wind blast, but another series of Zio skills crashed down upon them and fried them until nothing was left.
Yselt, only now having realized she was holding her breath over the course of the tense battle, let out a large sigh of relief from the side of the field. However, she was quick to realize that Wymare had been scuffed quite noticeably from the exchange, and so she ran to him as he relaxed his posture and tried to catch his breath.
"Wymare!" Yselt cried, crouching down and putting a hand on his shoulder to assess his injuries. "Are you alright? T-That was amazing...!"
"Th... Thanks..." Wymare responded, winded. "And I'll... I'll be fine. We need to-"
"And what is the cause of all this commotion in my prison yard?" boomed a recognizable voice from the entrance the Shadows had come from. Snapping their attention toward the source of the question, Wymare and Yselt were dismayed to see the familiar figure of Clerebold's Shadow come striding in from the further recesses of the camp, accompanied by Shadows that marched in behind him like a trained strike force. Yselt, recognizing her brother's other self, leaped back with a look of abject horror, while Wymare forced himself to stand and stare down the warden of the prison, who looked upon the two with renewed disdain.
"Oh, Bahamut, spare me... YOU worms again?" Shadow Clerebold lamented, shaking his head and striking a pose by putting one hand on his head and the other on his hip. "Were you not shown the dangers of defying my orders when last you intruded? I suppose I didn't prove your inferiority quite convincingly enough."
Moving the hand on his forehead out a few inches, Shadow Clerebold snapped his fingers, triggering the Shadows behind him to collapse and transform into their true forms. The monsters moved into position shortly thereafter, and Shadow Clerebold was now flanked on both sides by a squadron of six small goblins dressed in suits and bowties, each sporting a top hat equal to them in size atop their green heads.
"Yselt... Stay back," Wymare ordered, holding his axe in front of him despite the lingering pain of the last battle. Gawain also floated above him, though the Persona's form seemed to flicker here and there, implying that its user's stamina had begun to wane.
"W-What!? But Wymare, you're hurt! A-And there's so many of them...!"
"I would do as your feeble friend suggests, wench," Shadow Clerebold interjected with a tone of mocking comfort. "After all, it would be a shame for my men here to, ah... polish you off before your knight in shining armor here."
With his threat issued, Shadow Clerebold waved dismissively in Wymare's direction and stepped off to the side, the six goblin Shadows all stepping forward and baring their fangs menacingly. Not dissuaded, Wymare held his ground, preparing himself for his enemies to make the first move.
However, he did not expect said first move to be the Shadows removing their top hats, holding them by the brims with both hands, and aiming their bottoms in his direction.
"What...?" Wymare wondered, blinking in confusion.
His confusion was cut off as a blur of red flew from one of the middle Shadows' hats, rocketing across the distance between the two opposing sides with shocking speed. Wymare had scarcely any time to react before the blur, which turned out to be a long purple arm topped with a red boxing glove, decked him in the face with surprising strength. Dazed, Wymare staggered several paces back before he caught himself, doing his best to shake off the pain as the Shadows began cackling. More arms began to fly from their hats, and Wymare was forced to scramble away as he dodged their punches, frantically looking for some kind of opening to capitalize on.
Once again back by the hall that led away from the cell block, Yselt clutched her hands together as she watched Wymare struggle to deal with the Shadows' onslaught. Their punches came so fast and from so many angles that even she was having trouble keeping up with them from a distance, so what chance did the tiring Wymare have of lasting long enough to take them all out?
"Hmph. If there is any amount of praise I can offer scum like the two of you, it is that you are aggravatingly persistent."
Yselt whirled around to see Shadow Clerebold standing before her, hands behind his back and a confident smirk on his face.
"B-Brother... Please, stop...!" Yselt stammered, pleading with the Shadow of her brother as the sounds of Wymare's battle against the hat-bearing Shadows raged on. "Y-You don't have to do this..."
At her words, Shadow Clerebold scoffed and folded his arms over his chest, offering a purely dismissive glance. "Is that so? For a member of the rank-and-file minutia who cries so insistently that she is my sister, I would believe you'd have more awareness of my ambitions than the rest."
"Y-Your... ambitions...?" Yselt was still filled with fear, yet faced with Clerebold's Shadow in a situation where he seemed to be lacking the same aggression as before, she decided to venture forth by questioning him.
"Do you remember, 'sister'?" Shadow Clerebold continued. "The day we discovered our parents' cowardice... The day we lost everything that mattered to us?"
"C-Cowardice?" Yselt recoiled at the word. "You d-don't mean..."
"What else could I mean? When we discovered what mother and father had done, its effects took hold instantaneously. Friends of theirs shut us out without looking twice. Our home and our every property were stripped from beneath us. Our every family member turned us away. And do you understand why?"
Yselt said nothing. She was trembling at the mere mention of the events that followed their parents' disappearance and dishonorable discharge. Shadow Clerebold, however, did not relent, continuing on without care.
"The reason, dear sister... is because of what we became. The second our parents pursued their justice, they robbed us of what gave our lives the privileges we were promised from birth! We were cast from the echelons of the worthy Dämian to the rancid pits of the voiceless Scadarah. And where were children such as us to go? Rot in an orphanage and wait for the fates to grace us? Scamper through the garbage pits for our meals every day, feasting on waste as the rulers laugh from their carriages?"
Shadow Clerebold's tone was beginning to grow in aggression. He unfolded his arms as he paused his monologue, stepping toward Yselt, who backed away in equal measure.
"No. I knew we had been thieved of what we deserved. So I joined the labor unit and slaved away, day in and day out, until I impressed the filth that propagates within the castle walls. I refined the labor assignments until I could do them in half the time it took others. I worked through the worthless bilge spewed in the classroom, regurgitating it all until my scores were higher than anyone else's. And finally, I was given my chance... when they made me warden."
"B-Brother, please..." Yselt begged as she continued to back away from the advancing Shadow Clerebold. But her words only fell on deaf ears, for her brother's Shadow continued on.
"Do you know what happened when I became the warden? Allow me to enlighten you: I won. I went from Scadarah to Agelasta with the press of a wax stamp. I had trounced the system that stole our lives from us both. And I intend to do it again. And again, and again, until I am the one with the authority to cast others down!"
Yselt was only a few feet from having her back pressed against the fence before Shadow Clerebold stopped approaching. A twisted grin grew to cover his face, and madness shone from his eyes like reflections in a diamond.
"THAT, dear Yselt, is my ambition! I will crush this prison under my iron rule, squeezing the juices of its inmates until I can drink from the chalice of gain once again. I will climb the mountain of bodies upon which our world is built and sit at the peak, no matter how many miles of worthless vermin I have to step across to get there!"
"Then why did you leave me!?"
Shadow Clerebold stopped at Yselt's frantic interruption. Her eyes were clouded with tears from listening to his ranting, though whether they were tears of despair or frustration, it was impossible to tell.
"Why... I waited for you... for so, s-so long..." Yselt choked out through her tears. "Y-You promised me... that you would b-be back... T-That you would always keep me safe, n-no matter what happened to our family...! S-So why, Clerebold...? Why did you change...!?"
A sob broke through Yselt's frenzied plea to her brother's Shadow, forcing her to pause.
"Why... did you stop being the brother I used to know...?"
At that moment, Yselt saw something flash in Shadow Clerebold's eyes. Through the madness and obsession that had filled them moments prior, and through the tears that filled her own eyes, she saw grief for a single fleeting moment.
"...Base, paltry sentimentality..." Shadow Clerebold commented in an uncharacteristically placid tone. "Have I not made it apparent, the answer you beg for?"
Cutting off his own words, Shadow Clerebold turned to the side and waved his Shadow underlings along with great force. At his signal, all six turned with their hats outstretched and fired a single massive barrage of strikes in sync with each other. Wymare, having hesitated a second too long during Shadow Clerebold's interruption of their fight, was blasted by a punch so powerful that it carried him off the ground and sent him crashing into the metal fence. A dent the size of his body was left in the steel as he collapsed to the ground, barely able to move due to how exhausted he had become. His axe, dropped upon impact with the fence, fell upon the grass of the prison yard.
"NO!" Yselt screamed, reaching across the yard for her downed ally. However, Shadow Clerebold flourished his cape as he turned his attention back to her, forcing her to look in his direction as he continued.
"I abandoned you because you would only get in my way!" boomed the Shadow of Yselt's brother angrily. "I never could have scaled the decrepit slog that was the labor unit if I had a girl unfit to be a laborer clinging to my coattails! Nor would the scum seated atop the castle have ever considered promoting me had I been saddled with a Scadarah blood relative!"
The reality of what Clerebold's Shadow was saying hit Yselt like the kick of a horse. The only reason she was alone, penniless and dirty on the streets of the Brilanian capital for two years was that she would have been too much of a burden to the only person left in her life who could have cared for her. The tension in her muscles from crying began to fade away alongside sorrow brought on by the tears, and her defeated gaze slowly drifted toward the ground.
"But now, you see, you're here. I am your overseer," Shadow Clerebold continued. "Soon enough, I shall carry you to the peaks of this world with me! I shall reclaim the place in this world that was taken from our family, and return you to the life that you long for! That is what I, Supreme Warden Clerebold, shall-"
"Stop."
Despite the tepid nature of Yselt's interjection, Shadow Clerebold could not help but listen and pause his speech when his sister spoke up. With her head still facing the ground and her eyes closed, Yselt absorbed the answers that she had wanted to find. If the warden standing before her was a true reflection of Clerebold's inner feelings, then she could not take these words as anything less than the whole truth, and although it was a truth that hurt to accept, she knew it was the only truth she was going to get.
And so she drew in a breath to finally respond to her brother's Shadow, readying a truth of her own.
"I... I'm sorry, Clerebold. I can't keep waiting for you to save me."
Yselt paused after speaking, closing her eyes and sighing as she let her arms go down to her sides. Despite the fear that clung to her heart and the chaotic sounds of Wymare and the Shadows clashing ringing out in the background, what few words she had already managed felt as though they had lifted a monumental weight from her shoulders. And with that burden eased, she found it possible to continue, opening her eyes to stare down Clerebold's Shadow as she went on.
"You may be correct when you speak on the place of Scadarah. When you say they have no voice. But you purport to know more about me than you should."
"...You would deny my knowledge, cretin?" Shadow Clerebold gnashed, shaking his head in disbelief. "How truly witless. You stand to benefit from the realization of my pursuits as well, yet you oppose me as though your input falls on anything but deaf ears? Do not tell me you would rather be back on the streets, scrounging for scraps without an ounce of hope!"
Shadow Clerebold raised his arms and grinned a fanged grin, his body rippling up and down with shadow energy. To the side of the Imbertus siblings, the hat-bearing Shadows became enveloped in the same energy, revitalizing them and increasing the speed of their attacks. As the gloved fists flew at him with ferocity, Wymare continued to fight defensively with both his reclaimed axe and Gawain, but if it wasn't clear before that he was fighting a losing battle, the impenetrable nature of the Shadows' offense only made that fact appear more certain.
"Do not mistake me: I will be more than glad to dispose of you if so," Shadow Clerebold continued, the yellow in his eyes glowing with a sinister shimmer. "You can rot in the dirt with your foolish friend, wishing in vain you had listened to he who knew best for you!"
"Perhaps you did know best once," Yselt answered, unflinching. "But I've changed now, brother. I'm not the same weak sister you left in that alleyway two years ago."
In spite of the dangerous power emanating from her brother's Shadow, Yselt stepped toward him, her eyes locked with his and full of determination. Surprised by her will, Shadow Clerebold's aura wavered, as did his look of self-assured might. Once she was but a few feet from him, Yselt stopped, balled her hands into fists, and continued to glare directly into his eyes as she summoned her words.
"I'll retake my own voice... and everything I lost that day... with my OWN power!"
"An adamant claim, indeed."
Yselt's focused expression caved as she heard a voice like her own speak to her from within her mind, its words accompanied by a deep and painful boom that brought on a terrible aching in her head. Yselt blinked on reaction, her eyes flashing to yellow in the instant they were closed, and her posture began to buckle under the increasingly intolerable sensation filling her brain.
"The ways of this world have stolen your place, and that which you loved..."
"Have you the conviction to reach for it back? To break down mankind's fragile norms?"
Clutching at the sides of her head as her skull felt ready to split, Yselt cried out in torturous pain, stumbling backward into a section of fencing and sliding down into a seated position against it. Her legs began to kick and her midsection squirmed and turned as she flailed about uncontrollably, seeming to be trying to fight back against that invisible force that was racking her head with such extreme discomfort.
Shadow Clerebold recognized the sight from the other day and stepped back a bit, wary of the transformation the wretch before he was undertaking. Off to his side, the Shadows fighting Wymare regarded the convulsing girl one by one in the midst of their duel, instinctually alerted to the blossoming of another power. Taking advantage of their distraction, Wymare channeled a reckless Garu attack with Gawain, blowing the enemies away with one fell swoop before looking over to the scene of Yselt's wild spasming. Her choked screams made him want to go to her, but he could tell what was happening and chose to keep his distance.
"The voice of your heart says yes. Yet being heard cannot be achieved without sacrifice."
Tears began to stream down Yselt's face as the throbbing only worsened. Tormented sobs now mixed with the sounds of her cries as Shadow Clerebold, the Shadows, and Wymare all watched her from varying distances: Shadow Clerebold attempting to look collected, the Shadows beginning to chitter with anticipation, and Wymare staring ahead with a fixed, alert gaze.
"To accept your indignation as your own and throw away your peace…"
"…In the name of this goal, let our exchange begin."
As these words from the mysterious voice in her head, Yselt's screams and weeping were cut off as she felt something tighten around her throat. Eyes and mouth wide as she gulped for air like a fish on dry land, Yselt clawed at the affected region as though something was choking her slowly, trying in vain to relieve the pressure on her windpipe. The illuminating glow of blue embers appeared behind her neck, and from this region, she felt a white-hot pain drill into the flesh midway between the base of her skull and where her spine met her ribcage.
Yselt could not see it, but a spiked ball had appeared from the flames, one of its many spikes embedded in the back of her neck. The blue embers trailed away from it, slithering around Yselt's neck like a serpent as a chain connected to the ball began appearing in the fire's wake. Both the ball and the chain appeared metallic in nature, but there was something about their makeup that appeared to belie that assumption. It had an almost organic shimmer to it, making the materializing weapon seem almost like a living creature in its own right.
"I am thou. Thou art I…"
"You know what must be done. Those who would shun and silence your voice…"
"…With my gift to you, SHATTER THEM ALL!"
The flames continued to loop around Yselt's neck for a few laps, slowly and agonizingly wrapping the chain around her neck like a noose before ending with a bright burst above her left shoulder blade to form a traditional-looking wooden handle at the chain's other end, revealing the weapon's true nature to be an otherworldly flail. Up until that point, Yselt had been scratching and prying at the encircling chain to free herself from its chokehold, but with the handle now in her blurring vision, she did not hesitate to grab it with both hands as she forced herself onto her feet, her tearful eyes now filled with a righteous resolve.
"I... will...!" Yselt cried, her voice strangled by the flail's chain, before pulling with all of her might on the wooden handle. In one smooth motion, the spiked ball came free and the chains binding her throat came loose, the weapon swinging out at her side as a tower of blue fire erupted from the blood of her neck wound and engulfed her in its blazing light. The scream that followed echoed around the prison yard, Yselt's voice full of hurt yet brimming with her strength of will.
"Tch..." Shadow Clerebold scoffed, flourishing his already billowing cape as he faced down the awakening Yselt. "Repulsive trash...! You think this power shall grant you the right to stand equally with your warden!? Such a detestable folly! It cannot change the fact of what you are: a feeble, deplorable, pathetic Scadarah! Your natural, normal condition is subjugated beneath my heel, you-"
In the middle of his posturing, a blur of long, black motion flashed from the flames about Yselt, catching Shadow Clerebold in the stomach and sending him hurtling back-first into one of the iron stakes along the perimeter of the yard. Winded and dazed, the warden of the prison collapsed to the ground without another word, knocked unconscious by her surprise attack.
Invigorated by their commander having fallen, the Shadows that Wymare had been fighting raced back into action with a vengeful fervor, arms swinging from their hats to swarm Wymare by surprise. Having been engrossed in Yselt's awakening, he was caught unprepared for their resurgence into battle, and he braced his body for the surge of critical strikes that were coming too swiftly for him to guard against.
Before the Shadows could land their hits, however, a bright blue spark flew into the center of their horde, detonating with a blast of strange, crackling energy that blew them away. The hat-bearing enemies were scattered about the yard before Wymare, who, shocked by the intervention, looked in the direction the sphere had come from, and his eyes went wide with awe. The spiraling fire around Yselt had subsided, and she stood there with the synthetic flail out at her side before she began to spin the weapon by the handle, kicking up the smoldering embers around her feet with the subsequent gusts. Her eyes were no longer the bright yellow that accompanied an awakening, and her look of suffering was now replaced with a stoic glare.
More impressive, however, was the Persona that now hovered at Yselt's side. It was a creature unlike anything Wymare had ever seen: a blackish-gray entity with a smaller-than-average human-like upper body dangling by the top of its head from a centralized mass that three long, thick, strong-looking legs extended from. It appeared to be using those three appendages to support the body in the center, and though much of its entire body was covered in writhing tentacles that stood out with their purple color, Wymare could still see its face - or rather, for lack of a better term, its lack thereof.
In the place of its eyes, nose, mouth, or any usual facial features, there was a single large depression in the center of its 'head', a lump in the flesh forming a sort of plateau within that gave the illusion of a single unblinking eye. Waving above this haunting visage atop the point where its legs connected were two additional unconventional appendages, a smooth tentacle with a hole at the front on its left and an orifice that bore resemblance to a demonic flower on its right. It was from the appendage on the right, with petal-like flaps opening to reveal twin helix stems topped by glowing orbs, that the blue energy which had saved Wymare from a defenseless beating had originated from. It was a truly terrifying creature, and were he not observing it with his own two eyes, Wymare would hardly expect this to be the Persona of someone like Yselt.
As both Yselt and Wymare stood unmoving, one of the Shadows that had landed wide from the earlier blast got up and decided to make its move. It held its hat back out at its side and tottled toward Yselt, the red glove at the end of its magical arm flying forward, only for the elongated attack to be disrupted when Yselt's Persona stomped down on the glove, pinning the Shadow's attack to the ground as Yselt looked in its direction.
The Shadow barely had time to scream before Yselt leaped forward with impressive strength and agility, shouting as she swung her flail and bashed the Shadow's skull in with the spiked ball at the end of her weapon's chain. Dropping its hat, the Shadow careened off to the side, bouncing off the ground and sliding to a halt a short distance from the rest of its brethren. Weak and feeble, it attempted to crawl towards its allies, half of its face appearing to have been caved in, before Yselt sprang into the air again, whirled her flail above her head, and let out a battle cry as she smashed the Shadow's head into a fine paste.
Wymare was the one who appeared like a fish out of water now, his mouth agape and his eyes blinking with repeated amazement. The Shadows all looked horrified as Yselt calmly stood up, planted her foot on the deceased Shadow's back, and pulled on her weapon to dislodge it from her victim.
"I apologize for dragging you down," Yselt said, extracting the spikes of her flail's head from the dissipating Shadow corpse below her before spinning her weapon again. "Now, shall we continue this?"
Wymare could not help but continue to gawk as the girl he'd been so focused on shielding from danger was all of a sudden ready to fight as well. It was clear that she was prepared and determined, however, so he smirked and readied his axe again, preparing to back her up as the power of her Persona coursed through the atmosphere. "Sounds good to me," he nodded, Gawain appearing at his side once more.
With her ally at the ready, Yselt stared down the remaining Shadows. The majority of them had been taken aback by the sudden blast and the swift death of one of their own, but they now seemed more agitated than ever, holding their hats out at their sides as the gloved arms extending from them swung with wild abandon.
Yselt remembered the fear she had first felt when she saw such monstrous, otherworldly creatures. Now, however, with her flail spinning at dizzying speeds and her Persona writhing its tentacles in anticipation, Yselt could only grin as her fear was overcome by adrenaline-fueled excitement.
"Nikanj! Turn them to ash!"