Chapter XV - What We Leave Behind
It was a tense atmosphere that filled the space just outside the prison camp's decrepit, forgotten morgue. Yselt was hunched over herself in a seated position against the wall, pensive in appearance as she thought to herself. She had exited the mortuary not long after defeating the Shadow within, and although her tears had since dried up, it was clear that she was still deeply unhappy, her emotional state in turmoil over the memory that had been shown to the team.
Standing not far from her but at enough of a distance to give her space, Wymare and Merliad stood beside each other, doing their best not to stare at their quiet teammate as they waited on her to process her feelings. Their recollections of what had happened in the room were muddled, having been put to sleep by the elusive Shadow and therefore missing out on what Yselt had gone through in vanquishing the monster alone. Merliad seemed to be going through some thoughts of their own as they tossed intermittent glances to and from Yselt, whereas Wymare was more concerned about her wellbeing, but kept his distance as he struggled with what to say.
Merliad looked in Wymare's direction as the red-haired Scadarah turned once more to look at his sullen bunkmate, noting the look on his face. "Let her be, Thiebaut," they said, lowering their voice to keep their words from reaching Yselt. "I doubt she's intentionally reflected on that moment in quite a while. Reliving it again in excruciating detail, seeing and hearing all the things one picks up on with the gift of hindsight... She will need time to work through it all."
"...By herself?" answered Wymare, looking at Merliad with a hint of irritation. "How many times do you think she's toiled over what that moment left her with in the years since it happened? All of the betrayal; the abandonment; the feeling of having no one there for you? And how many of those times has she had a shoulder to cry on; to help her unload the weight of that trauma?"
"You're making an assumption based on your own emotions." Merliad's eyes felt as though they were drilling into Wymare as they analyzed his reactions, both obvious and subtle. "It's possible she had friends among the street Scadarah that would offer her their support in the past - or at least, their sympathies. Though those connections may have lacked the depth of a sibling, true isolation is something only an unlucky few will ever suffer through."
As an instant response to their last point, Wymare's lower left eyelid twitched as the scowl that was forming on his face deepened for but a moment. It was a subtle reaction, though Merliad was sharp enough to perceive it. They lacked the context needed to understand the full meaning behind it, but it gave them the information they needed to solidify their own assumption: Wymare's desire to comfort Yselt was born from suffering he himself had endured.
"Listen to me, Wymare," Merliad whispered, leaning forward. "She will confide in us when she is prepared to do so. However, we are in the lion's den on a mission of critical importance. One needs a cool head when faced with danger, and I have concerns about her ability to retain her composure after what's just happened."
Wymare took a moment to choose his words, his gaze intense. "...I don't disagree with what you're saying. But what we're doing here is personal for her, more so than I or you can likely imagine. We don't have the right to decide whether or not she's capable of seeing it through, nor that she should leave because of that. I'm not going to do anything that would force her to that end."
"Nor shall I."
Merliad's quick, matter-of-fact reply confused Wymare, as it seemed to contradict what they had been building up to with their prior points. The caster then extended their hand, palm open and facing the ceiling.
"You have that small metal device with you, yes?" Merliad asked. "Give it to me."
Wymare observed Merliad's face at this request, trying to discern some ulterior motive of theirs. Failing to find it, he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and produced the metal oval that had been dropped on him in the prison's canteen, rubbing its hard, perforated surface in a moment of hesitation before he placed it in his teammate's waiting palm.
"Thank you," Merliad nodded, grateful for Wymare's expression of trust. With that, they turned and strode toward Yselt, who was sitting in the same position she had been maintaining since leaving the morgue. She seemed to have paid the conversation no mind, nor did she seem aware of Merliad's approach. Adjusting their robes as they lowered themselves to her level, Merliad sat on their knees next to the silent girl, looking at her as she stared into space.
"Yselt? How are you feeling?"
Yselt blinked as Merliad spoke her name, coming back to herself from wherever her mind had been wandering. She said nothing in reply.
"...Right," Merliad nodded, understanding her headspace despite her silence. "I can imagine reliving one of the worst moments of your life in front of others is a thing to be dreaded. I imagine this is the first you've recalled this pain in some time, though I have no way to know what it is you're feeling. So I'm not here to tell you how you should process those emotions. Instead, I'd like you to have this."
Merliad reached over and slipped the metal oval underneath her fingers before pulling back. Yselt's hand curled around it as they withdrew, and she glanced down at the object before looking to Merliad for an explanation.
"If you need to step away from our operation and recover, I want you to use that to leave this place by yourself. Neither of us will think any less of you for it. Personal though this may be, throwing yourself into further danger with a clouded mind will do our cause no good. Wymare and I will keep exploring until we feel the need to retreat for today."
Yselt thumbed the device back and forth in her hand as she considered Merliad's proposition. Now that they were sitting close to her, Merliad could pick up on smaller details about their ally's current appearance, noting her reddened, swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks.
"...Well? What do you say?"
At Merliad's probing, Yselt closed her eyes and sighed, her frame relaxing as she released some tension in the muscles of her shoulders. She could feel the stares of her teammates lingering on her, creating pressure that was only making it harder for her to commit to speech.
"I... appreciate the concern," she said, speaking in a soft, tired mumble. "But what's happening in my mind right now isn't important. I made a vow that I would see this through, and nothing this accursed place could reveal to me will break that."
Yselt paused to stand, rising to her feet in a stiff motion. She thumbed the device in her palm one more time before tossing the smoke-producing tool back to Wymare, who caught it out of the air without looking away from her.
"Very well. I respect your conviction," replied Merliad. They followed Yselt's lead in standing up, dusting off their robes before meeting her gaze. "We'll push onward, then. I recommend you hold up the rear and use your Persona to heal us, should the need arise."
"Hold on a moment," Wymare interjected, stepping forward to address his allies more closely. "We're not going to embark on another aimless search for the final memory room, are we? Even with your support, Yselt, I think we've already stretched our stamina rather thin getting here."
"We don't need to wander any further," Yselt replied, manifesting her flail in a flash of blue fire. "I took some time to think because, for as much as he's changed, I still know my brother better than anyone. I knew the look on his face when he was leaving in that memory, and now I have an idea of where we can find the last one."
Merliad arched an eyebrow, impressed. "Is that so? Then tell us, where do your suspicions lie?"
Yselt took a moment to breathe in and out, reaffirming her confidence in what she'd deduced. Indeed, she had recognized the look on young Clerebold's face, for it was laden with the same sentiments she had carried with her for years.
It was the look of someone who was alone. Alone, without a confidant in the world.
"...Solitary confinement. We have to find solitary confinement."
. . .
Patrolling up and down the stretch of hallway that led away from the top of the prison's primary cell block was a lone Shadow, the human-like figure shambling up and down the corridor in a strict marching pattern. With no visible intruder to pounce on, every move it made was instinctive and rigid, bound by the will of its domain's master to do as the prison's structure demanded. It hobbled forward on spindly legs, its movements somewhat hindered by the frail form it took to match its surroundings.
Its route took it from one end of the hall to the other, walking from the elevated cell block floor to the sealed vault at the far end. As it drew close to the entryway, guarding a room built into one of the camp's highest floors, the Shadow felt the presence of a taboo force on the other side of the wall, its inky black hide bristling in response. Whatever was contained in the office beyond, it was something far above its stature in power and importance, and it felt a pull on its rudimentary consciousness that urged it to protect that something.
With a human-adjacent groan, the Shadow turned to begin pacing away from the door. However, its autonomic gait was interrupted by a flourish of black and white, and it felt a sharp point pierce its neck before it could assess the encroaching threat. Its cry of pain was caught in its throat as the attacker's weapon sliced through its vocal cords, dealing a mortal wound in the blink of an eye. Shaking as its strength began to ebb away, the Shadow reached out to grab at its assailant, which it perceived to be a figure dressed in a heavy coat with an enormous glass sphere at its back, a long pole tipped with a razor-sharp steel hook grasped in its gloved hands.
"Good. Now, Estraven: seal them away."
A calm voice echoed from the other end of the corridor, and Estraven kept one hand on its fishhook polearm while lifting the other to grasp the side of the pinned Shadow's head. The spawn of the collective unconscious writhed as its body attempted to disincorporate and morph into its true form, but the ice that came spilling from Estraven's hand was faster, engulfing the Shadow in a layer of ice that froze the monster solid. Its pained expression, warped in the throes of its halted transformation, was captured for all to see as the hallway fell silent.
"Shadow dispatched. I believe the way is clear now."
Strolling into the corridor with their staff held like a walking stick, Merliad looked upon their Persona's handiwork, with Wymare and Yselt following behind them. An unpleasant musk lingered in the air as they came closer to the vault door at the other end, and they could hear faint whispers emanating from the other side of it, though they were too muffled to comprehend.
"Well, that door certainly seems fitting for solitary confinement," Wymare noted. "That wheel crank looks fit for a giant."
True to his observation, the massive iron door that loomed over them had a three-spoked wheel embedded in its center, the appearance of which conjured images in Merliad's thoughts of similar mechanisms used to steer nautical vessels in Stézar. This device seemed much too large to fit in the helm of any ship, though, standing several times taller than any of the three Persona-users.
"Indeed. I imagine it responds to the presence of the warden, the only one meant to access this place," mused Merliad. "Which raises the question: how are we to bypass it?"
"Between the three of us, we could muster enough firepower to break it down by force," said Yselt. "But I doubt the Shadows out there in the cell block would take kindly to the commotion that would make."
"I agree, though I believe we'll still need to rely on our Personas," Wymare replied, walking up to the vault door and reaching up to brush the bottom of the wheel with his fingertips. "This lock is too large to be operated by us alone."
"Very well. In that case, would you care to start us off, Estraven?"
Merliad looked over their shoulder to glance at their Persona, which had moved to hover at their side once its fishhook had been extracted from the frozen-over Shadow. Following the request, Estraven flew up to the wheel and placed one of its spokes within the hook of its polearm, proceeding to push down with all its might as it attempted to rotate the wheel to the left. A sound of strained metal could be heard coming from within the door, but no signs of movement could be seen from Estraven's efforts.
"Here, I'll aid you," said Wymare, stepping away from the door and holding his axe out in front of him. In a blue flash, Gawain appeared and joined Estraven at the wheel, storing its blade at its back before gripping another spoke with both of its armored hands and pushing.
The added strength of Wymare's Persona, which was more physically inclined than Merliad's, produced a low grumble from the door's lock as the configurations within began to grind and move. However, the weight of the mechanism was considerable, and even with two Personas concentrating their efforts on it, the wheel was slow and reluctant to turn.
Before their patience could be tested by the arduous pace of their task, a long streak of black darted forward between Wymare and Merliad. The sudden movement caught them unawares, but when they turned in anticipation of a Shadow ambush, they were instead relieved to see that Yselt was now standing alongside Nikanj, the unearthly Persona having extended one of its thick legs to aid in the opening of the door. It wrapped the many tentacles on the base of its appendage around the metal rod and pulled against it, mimicking the counterclockwise motion Estraven and Gawain had established.
With the three working in tandem, the wheel's rotations quickened, even as the high-pitched whine of metal grinding against itself grew no more pleasant for the Persona-users. Soon enough, the wheel caught as the deadbolt within the door was retracted as far as its construction allowed, shaking the hall as the door to solitary confinement was unsealed at last.
"There go Dalia and Engerel's children. Oh, my heart breaks for them..."
A sourceless whisper emerged from the door as it creaked ajar, carried on a stale-smelling wind that blew into the hall. The group recognized it as a symptom of another of Clerebold's memories, though Yselt recognized it for more than that alone, her body shaking as a cold chill ran up her spine. Where Merliad kept their gaze fixed on the door, Wymare picked up on Yselt's frightened reaction, looking to her as she held her flail close to her chest.
"Are you okay?"
Yselt didn't reply to his question, though her countenance spoke her answer without words.
"I... I'm sorry. I know what I said, but... I'm not ready."
"There's no shame in admitting such," Merliad said. "I'd rather you say that now than amid a battle."
"B-But I'm still not leaving," Yselt insisted. "I'll... guard the exit. Ensure you have a path in case you need to retreat."
Wymare pursed his lips. "Will you be safe by yourself?"
"Nikanj is with me always. I won't be alone."
Wymare and Merliad shared a look. The prospect of facing a strong Shadow with their ranks down from three to two was a daunting one, but if Yselt didn't feel prepared to face another aspect of her brother's past, then no remedy could be reached. Their objective could not be left incomplete, and so they had to try, no matter how fraught with danger the path was.
"...Okay," Wymare nodded. "Keep the hall open. If this goes badly, we'll want an escape free from ambushes."
Yselt nodded in kind, appreciative that her companions were willing to recognize her strengths despite her moments of weakness. With her task given, she turned away to assume a protective position in the corridor, Nikanj shifting its weight from one leg to the next as it followed behind her.
"We'd best not keep her waiting," said Merliad, looking to Wymare as they spoke before making for the opened door. The unsealed vault partition had swung open just enough for the two Persona-users to slip inside, their Personas returning to their weapons as they did so.
"It's a shame. None will take them in now, what with that stain upon their family honor."
A second dissonant whisper brushed past their ears as Wymare and Merliad's eyes adjusted to the low-lit interior. The two stuck close together, neither straying far from the other's side as they made their way to the center of the octagonal enclave. Shimmering lamps hung from every other wall, but where the torches of the rest of the prison camp flickered and danced, these dull beacons were unnaturally still, the light produced remaining constant and motionless.
"This... is solitary confinement?" Wymare whispered, unsure of why he felt compelled to speak in such a hushed tone. "I... don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this."
"A holding area like this is only meant for two sorts of prisoners," said Merliad. "Either the ones adept at escaping... or the ones so despicable that they can never be afforded the chance to."
"Is that so? I wonder who Clerebold sees as the prisoner of this place."
"It seems to be vacant, so... Actually, hold that thought." Merliad glanced at one of the lamp-bearing walls, taking note of how reflective its smooth surface seemed to be. "The walls of this chamber don't seem to be metallic."
"They don't?" Wymare broke away from Merliad as he walked toward the wall they had been eyeing, reaching out with his free hand as he drew close. As he gazed into his reflection, cast within the glossy material by the dim light, his fingertips made contact, and he was quick to identify what was lining the sealed-off room.
"It's... glass," he said, tapping his knuckles against the wall to confirm it.
"Glass?" Merliad echoed, puzzled. "So it's a mirror, then? Why would a prison architect line a room with-"
"Don't meet their gazes! We mustn't be seen abetting them."
Wymare and Merliad recoiled in shock as the disembodied voice, recalled from the past in a forceful whisper, spoke as though its source was a hair's breadth away from the both of them. As he stepped away from his reflection in the wall, Wymare focused his senses, straining to hear the sounds of an enemy or a distorting memory. However, he instead caught the low creakings of aging wood, echoing down from overhead like something was suspended from the rafters. Seeing nothing around him that could be making the noise, he turned his attention skyward, only for his eyes to widen and his breath to catch in his throat.
Dangling several dozen feet above the floor was the limp body of what seemed to be a Shadow, though it was difficult to discern its exact nature in the low light. Its extremities were slack at its sides and its head was lolled off to the side, its neck bent at an angle that would have been considered broken for any ordinary humanoid. Where Wymare expected to see the glowing orbs that made up a Shadow's eyes, there was instead a total lack thereof, only adding to the haunting sense of lifelessness that the spectacle gave off.
"What's wrong?" asked Merliad, confused by the sheer horror that had suddenly swept over Wymare's expression. They followed his gaze, continuing, "What are you- Oh. Oh, dear."
"...Brother? Where have mother and father gone?"
The familiar voice of a young Yselt echoed throughout the chamber. Wymare and Merliad were at a loss for words, silenced by a growing feeling of dread that sat in their stomachs like heavy stones. Any hopes of a more straightforward memory room than the last had been dashed, for where the morgue instilled feelings of fear, solitary confinement was proving to be a torturous trial of hopelessness.
It was then that Wymare noticed something that hadn't been present moments prior in the periphery of his vision. His eyes shot downward to focus on a figure standing within the mirrors on the wall, which he saw to be Clerebold dressed in his Claudas Academy uniform. However, he noticed yet more visions of Clerebold standing in the mirrors that lined the chamber walls, all having appeared without a sound. Each seemed to be dressed in different sets of clothes, from well-stitched children's robes to the recognizable sackcloth of a Scadarah laborer.
Questioning his sanity for a split second, Wymare slapped the back of his hand against Merliad's arm twice, grabbing the caster's attention. They turned to glance at Wymare with an inquisitive look, but stopped short as they, too, took notice of the mirror-bound Clerebolds, rotating to look at each of them as they stared at the Persona-users with blank expressions.
"By the Gods..." Merliad mumbled. "What is this place...?"
"For a prosperous future, you must kill your past."
The voice of Clerebold, repeating over itself as though spoken in unison by a group, spoke to the two intruders, the mirror images' mouths never moving once. The visions of the labor unit supervisor began to distort in color, and Wymare and Merliad took notice of a low fog that had started spreading across the floor and around their feet. As the fog crawled up the walls and began to obscure the figures in the mirrors, the numerous Clerebolds began to lean their heads to the side, the looks on their faces unchanged as their necks bent at increasingly disturbing lengths to accommodate the synchronized movements.
The two observers were overcome with the urge to look away, compelled as the Clerebold visions strained their necks to the point of breaking. Just then, the fog shot up and filled the room, blocking their views as a sickening snap resonated through the space. With the thick mist engulfing everything around them, Merliad reached out and grasped Wymare's shoulder, not willing to risk losing track of their ally in the low visibility. However, Wymare's gaze was transfixed, and Merliad began to see what it was he was staring at.
Another memory had appeared, floating in the fog like a ghostly vision. However, unlike before, the fog began to pull back, receding into the mirrors on the walls and displaying the memory through each like a macabre theatre. Within the memory, Wymare and Merliad could see what appeared to be a bedroom, with a furnished wooden bedframe on the left wall and a double-door closet on the right. It was middle-class, if a bit simple, in its appearance, and though it was empty of occupants at the moment, the rapid footfalls of someone's approach could be heard from the other side of the door.
The steps stopped and the doorknob turned. The entrance swung open to reveal a young Clerebold, seemingly identical to how he had appeared in the cafeteria vision. However, where he had seemed docile in that memory, he was distraught in this one, eyes wide with panic and skin pale with fear. He took a few uneasy steps into what seemed to be his quarters before collapsing to his knees, blinking rapidly as he looked around the room.
"What... What am I to do...?"
The young Clerebold's voice was shaking, sounding as though he were on the verge of breaking down. He glanced down at his lower body, looking upon the Claudas Academy vest and pants that he was still wearing. His fearful expression shifted to one of rage in the blink of an eye, and he growled as he grabbed the vest and began to tear it off himself, tugging on it with no concern for the condition of the clothing. A few ripped-off buttons later, he was free of the coat, and he flung the ruined article across the room, watching it smack against the far corner before coming to rest.
Having fed the momentary hunger for destruction, Clerebold's countenance returned to that of a broken young man. He clutched the sides of his head as he hunched over on the floor, his breaths alternating between hyperventilation and broken sobs.
"Mom... Dad... Help me..."
Clerebold's anxious crying continued without interruption. To Wymare and Merliad, it felt as though the sorrowful sight would never end. Seeing him lying there, crying the tears of a child in an impossible situation, evoked a sadness in them that bordered on sympathy, an inclination that was contrasted by the feelings of anger sowed in them by the Clerebold they knew in the present. It was an uncomfortable dichotomy, and one they did not care to linger on in that moment.
After what felt like an eternity of watching the young Clerebold cry into the floorboards of his childhood home, the boy's weeping faded as his tears went dry. Exhausted by his turbulent emotions and the day's happenings, he pushed himself up off the floor and went to stand, his eyes betraying his broken heart as the reality of his situation sank in. Clerebold began walking toward his closet, reaching out to grab however many changes of clothes he could carry with him.
Before he could open it, however, something on his bed caught his eye. The young Clerebold turned and instead walked to his bedside, reaching down and picking up something small and flat which had hitherto been unnoticed by Wymare and Merliad. It was an envelope, and Clerebold regarded the small piece of stationery with confusion before breaking the seal and pulling out its contents.
The two Persona-users watched as Clerebold unfolded a piece of parchment from the envelope, dropping the latter back on his bed as he began reading over the words written on the former. He was silent as he did so, taking in the message with his eyes alone, and from their side view of the memory, Wymare and Merliad were clueless as to what the letter said.
As he finished scanning it, Clerebold's eyes welled up with tears once again. He stared at the parchment with a slack jaw, visibly stunned by what it said. Where he had been panting and gasping moments prior, however, the young Clerebold now made an effort to gather himself, tensing his face as he drew breath in through his nose and out through his mouth.
"...Yselt!" he called out. "Gather your things."
Clerebold folded the note back up, still staring at it as he did so. Whatever its contents were, it had clearly impacted him on a profound level, for he was no longer facing his situation with the despair of a youth abandoned. Now, he seemed determined, a sorrowful resolve flashing across his face as he wiped his tear-stained cheeks with his sleeve.
"...wE HavE TO LeAVe."
The Shadow that was hanging in the air suddenly fell to the floor as the vision began to distort, its limp body shattering upon impact with the floor and decomposing into a pool of black ichor. Wymare and Merliad both whirled around at the sudden noise, but their gazes didn't remain on the gruesome sight for long. The images of Clerebold reflected in the walls of the room melted and solidified into formless masses of living matter that slithered down to the floor, leaving a trail of grime in their wake as they cracked and squelched with every motion.
"Tak... ke... li..."
"Gawain!"
"Estraven!"
The Personas swang their weapons as soon as their users called them forth, spurred on by Wymare and Merliad's shared panic. Gawain's sword and Estraven's hook carved through the slug-like forms that crawled toward the center of the chamber, but the entities' bodies reformed themselves at such a rate that it seemed as though the slashes and stabbings hadn't happened at all. Seeing the futility in their attacks, Wymare and Merliad recalled their Personas to them as they shared a look, bracing themselves.
The melted mounds of writhing flesh coalesced in the pool of melted Shadow at the room's midpoint, coming together and fusing their masses into a single form that grew larger and larger. Although the familiar transformation from memory into Shadow was visibly underway, Wymare and Merliad were unnerved by the fact that the Shadow had yet to take a form that was even remotely humanoid, instead growing into a larger and larger mound of shapeless flesh.
"Tak... ke... li...!"
As the transformation came to its apex, a shower of bile exploded from the fusing pile, revealing the Shadow's true form to the horrified pair of Persona-users. A hideous mass of blackened skin glowered at them, though it was hard to tell if it was indeed focused on them. Demented eyes with green sclera and red irises dotted its hide like spots on a leopard, with multitudinous arms, tendrils, and fanged maws protruding from its body between the countless orbs that observed the room from every conceivable angle. From the side of its body that faced Wymare and Merliad, its eyes shifted to stare at the two appalled humans, sizing up its prey before screeching and lunging at them with its many limbs.
"Magaru!" Wymare shouted, stepping forward to get between Merliad and the horrifying Shadow. Gawain swooped in from the side and slashed at the air in front of it with its blade, creating a wide burst of wind energy that blew the Shadow back and slashed into its frame with sharp gusts. With their new enemy pushed away, Wymare regarded Merliad for a brief moment, noting the terrified expression on their paler-than-usual features.
"That was a lot. We'll talk later," Wymare said. "For now, we fight."
"...Y-Yes, of course," Merliad agreed hastily. They took a quick breath to steady themselves before slamming the butt of their staff against the floor, bringing Estraven to their side as they prepared to invoke their magic.
Recovering from Gawain's Magaru attack, the Shadow snarled and gnashed its many sets of teeth, lunging forward with surprising speed. It slid along the floor like a monstrous slug, parts of its amorphous frame twisting and growing as it approached. Tendrilesque growths burst out of it, lined with yet more eyes and fanged maws that opened wide as the creature attacked Wymare. In response, he hefted his axe over his head and swung it down, jamming the head of his weapon into the front-facing mouth of the appendage and wedging it open.
"Tarukaja!"
As a surge of additional strength poured into Wymare's body, he pushed once more with his axe, ripping the bladed edge free and carving through the lower jaw of the tendril's mouth. Green fluids sprayed onto the floor as the Shadow seemed to quiver in pain, but the expression of injury didn't last long. The wound left by Wymare's axe closed within seconds, the flayed flesh pulling itself back together with a revolting sucking noise. The maw, now repaired, snapped at Wymare once more, and with his weapon now below the creature, he was powerless to stop its jagged teeth from sinking into his shoulder.
Wymare cried out and tried to pull back, but with the Shadow's fangs stuck in his flesh, he found himself unable to. Before the Shadow could inflict any further harm, however, a blinding flash of light consumed his vision as a ray of electricity struck the Shadow, searing its flesh as a deafening roll of thunder shook the solitary confinement chamber. With a chunk of its flesh seared and blasted away by the lightning, the creature recoiled and screeched, releasing Wymare from its death grip in the process.
As he nursed his shoulder, Wymare looked to Merliad, the caster holding their staff out with yellow runic circles hovering above its tip. Amber sparks flew from the elemental enchantment, and Merliad, eyes squeezed shut to combat the flash that accompanied their lightning magic, opened them to aim their sights on the Shadow once more. In doing so, they saw Wymare glancing at them, and they noted the nasty injury he had sustained.
"Sukukaja."
Upon Merliad's command, Estraven waved a hand in Wymare's direction, imbuing him with a green flash of energy that trailed from his chest to his legs. The red-haired Persona-user felt as though he were half as heavy as he remembered being moments prior, and when he lifted his axe from the floor to assume a defensive posture, the movement was so fast and snappy that it surprised even him. His mind flashed back to his sparring match with Archibald and the power of his Persona, Quetzalcoatl, realizing that the Velvet Room attendant had channeled a similar verdant energy before moving at speeds that were impossible to keep up with.
Wymare smirked. And then he was gone.
The amorphous Shadow, struggling to regenerate from Merliad's lightning, had no time to react before Wymare appeared at its side, his axe flashing out and carving through its inky hide in a fraction of a second. His foe growled as its insides came spilling out again, and Wymare laughed softly, the rush of moving at such impossible speeds flooding his mind. He watched as the Shadow tried to lash out in retaliation, but it was as though the monster was moving in slow motion through his eyes, and he leaped out of harm's way with time to spare.
With the Shadow's focus diverted toward his teammate, Merliad had ample time to prepare and unleash a second round of lightning magic. They lacked experience with the element and it was more taxing on their stamina than their other magics, but it was undeniably effective, blowing another hole in the Shadow's body that it struggled to repair. The Shadow let out an angry wail, but just as its countless eyes focused on Merliad, Wymare threw his axe into one of the larger ones, the weapon puncturing the organ before returning to its wielder's hand in a flourish of blue fire.
Wymare, bouncing with every step thanks to how energized Merliad's Sukukaja had made him, noticed how effective overwhelming this Shadow was proving to be. Thus, he decided to double down on that stratagem, swinging his axe toward the middle of the room before taking off in a full sprint around the perimeter of the enclosed space. Gawain manifested in the center, flourishing its sword before plunging the tip of the blade into the floor. The air began to swirl and shimmer with green power as Gawain exerted its influence on it, and soon the solitary confinement chamber was engulfed in a centralized twister, blowing a tailwind at Wymare's back that further increased his speed.
With their robes flapping in the forceful breeze, Merliad opted to lend their support to their ally's display. They tapped their staff on the floor, cueing Estraven to take in a deep, ragged breath before exhaling a frigid mist from beneath the hood of its parka. Gawain's whirlwind picked up the ice-attuned Persona's mist, and soon Wymare's frame was lost within the swirling fog. The visibility within the room plummeted as the Personas' combined efforts created a wintery storm, the effects of which were localized entirely within the solitary confinement cell.
Unable to track its assailant as Wymare leaped in and out of his tailwind to strike it from several angles, the enraged Shadow decided to focus its attention on the knight that had appeared in the middle of the chamber. It slithered up to Gawain, powering through Wymare's myriad axe blows during its approach, and body-slammed the Persona, its teeth scraping across its armor. Visibly unbothered, Gawain pushed back as it withdrew its blade from the floor, engaging the Shadow at close range.
As the duel between Gawain and the amorphous Shadow began, a fireball flew from the inner edge of the raging tempest, striking the Shadow on its side and singing a few eyes. Diverting its attention between its chivalrous foe and the new annoyance, the Shadow looked in the direction the fireball came from with some of its many eyes, seeing Merliad skirting along the edge of the battlefield without getting swept up in Wymare's winds. The caster's staff was aglow with red runes, and as they fired off a few more orbs of flaming magic, Estraven hovered close behind them, continuing to supply the mist that clouded the mirror-lined cell.
His ruddy hair at the mercy of the winds around him, Wymare kept up his agile offensive, darting in and out of combat to lay into the Shadow with his axe while Gawain occupied it with its blade. The wounds he left were quick to heal, but so long as he bought Merliad the time to use their magic, he was confident the two of them would be able to wear down the Shadow and secure a victory in time. He readied his weapon once more before jumping up and vaulting off one of the walls, flying in for an overhead strike.
"Wielders of Shadow. You are nimble."
Wymare's cocky look faltered as a guttural voice rang out in his head. As he looked down on his target mid-descent, he saw one of the Shadow's larger eyes suddenly shoot upward, meeting his gaze and staring at him with all the rage a single eyeball could express. It was then that Wymare realized the effects of Merliad's Sukukaja had worn off, and he suddenly felt sluggish compared to how fast he had been moving.
"And yet you do not escape my sight."
A growth expanded from the Shadow's body and engulfed Wymare mid-swing. With a muffled shout, he attempted to struggle, but with his arms pinned against his body, he couldn't muster the strength, and so he was powerless to resist as the formless beast swung him down to the ground. Wymare groaned as his back ached from the slam, but he had no time to recover before the Shadow picked him up and swung him once more, this time into the side of his own Persona. Gawain was sent teetering back from the impact, and the Shadow used the momentum of its swing to hurl Wymare at Merliad, who was still off to the side.
Seeing their teammate flying at them, Merliad extended a hand outward, and Estraven appeared to catch Wymare before he could crash into the hooded Persona's user. The caster looked down at Wymare, who groaned and rubbed the side of his head as he recovered.
"Wymare!" Merliad called, trying to snap him back into focus. "Are you well? Get ahold of yourself!"
Before Wymare could reply, the Shadow let out an ear-piercing screech. Merliad looked up in time to see the monster's body convulse and shudder before unleashing a wave of shadowy energy that burst out of it like a cloud of spores. The spray settled over the room, and within seconds the fearsome winds whipped up by Gawain died down, the air in the chamber becoming stagnant and humid. As Estraven's mists faded in turn, the Shadow once more turned its focus to the two intruding humans, its once-eviscerated body looking untouched from when their struggle had started.
"It's like its body can just negate our attacks," said Wymare, still somewhat dazed as he slipped out of Estraven's arms. "How are we to beat this thing?"
"It seems more capable of recovering from physical damage than my magic or our Persona skills," replied Merliad. The caster wrapped both hands around their staff as another yellow circle of runes sparked into being at its head, continuing, "If we can overtax its ability to heal with those methods, we should be-"
Merliad's words caught in their throat before they could be spoken as one of the Shadow's larger eyes locked gazes with theirs. As they looked deeper and deeper into its black pupil, Merliad felt the room around them shrink, their vision being pulled into the Shadow's gruesome features. Massive unblinking eyes stared at them from seemingly every direction, and mouths filled with row after row of gnashing fangs spilled with drool, waiting for prey to stumble within reach.
"Uh... Merliad? What were you about to say?"
Wymare's words fell on deaf ears. In Merliad's mind, their companion was lost in the growing shade of the room, only magnifying how large the Shadow across from them appeared to be. The caster's breathing quickened as they began to sweat, their body becoming seized by visible signs of pure, unfiltered terror.
"Merliad! What happened? Snap out of it!"
Merliad felt something grab their shoulder and shake them gently. They looked to their left, only to find themselves staring into yet another of the Shadow's eyes, the abyssal form poised to strike.
After giving Merliad a shake to try and grab their attention, Wymare was surprised when their caster ally looked in his direction and let out a ghastly shriek, their green eyes wide with fear. They shrugged off his hand as they stumbled back, held their staff out in front of them, and unleashed their lightning magic at point-blank range. Wymare was rocketed across the solitary confinement room, the back of his head bashing against a mirror as electricity agonizingly coursed through his body. His vision was white, his ears were ringing, and his body felt weak after his Persona's weak point had been struck so severely.
The enemy Shadow was on him before he could get his bearings. Forced into combat before he had recovered from being sucker-punched by his teammate, Wymare swung his axe with reckless abandon, scrambling to his feet to avoid being crunched by the Shadow's fangs. His weapon sliced through the monster as he ran, but it left little more than a flesh wound that closed itself without issue, leaving the amorphous creature with little resistance as it pursued the axe-wielding Persona-user.
As he tried to flee, Wymare saw Merliad looking around the room with the same wide-eyed stare. Before long, the caster's gaze fell on him, and they raised their staff again, runes flaring to life as they channeled their magic through the weapon.
"N-No! Get away... Get away from me!"
Merliad's voice, shaking with deep-seated fear, was swiftly followed by the sound of crackling flames as a shower of fireballs flew from the caster and toward Wymare. Grunting, Wymare forced Gawain to reappear next to him with his fading strength, the armored Persona slashing through the fireballs with its blade as its user continued running away from the amorphous Shadow. Merliad's onslaught was relentless, spurred on by the haunting visuals that were playing out in their mind, and so Gawain began flying closer to cut off the flaming barrage at its source.
With adrenaline pumping through his veins once again, Wymare turned on his heel and slashed at the Shadow in a surprising maneuver, catching one of its eyes with the blade of his axe. The Shadow growled at the wound, though it seemed undeterred, pressing on in its pursuit as Wymare opted to make a stand. He swung his weapon with every advance his foe made, swatting away the mouths that snapped in his direction while trying to avoid staring into its haunting gaze. Despite the futility of his attacks in the face of the Shadow's oppressive regeneration, Wymare refused to back down, desperate to find some kind of opening.
As he fought off the Shadow, Wymare felt a sudden pain burst forth within his chest. As he tensed up in response to his flaring nerves, he saw Gawain fly into a mirror-lined wall behind the Shadow, a small fixture of ice stuck in the breastplate of its armor. Wymare knew what that was likely to mean, and he turned to the side after parrying another of the Shadow's attacks in time to see Estraven flying toward him, its fishhook polearm ready at its side.
Estraven brought up its hook before swinging down with all its might, an attack that Wymare was barely able to counter in time. The metal hook scraped against the head of his axe for a moment, but Wymare was forced to shove Estraven's polearm away in order to counter the nightmarish Shadow's incoming bite attack. His axe whirled around as he spun on his feet, swatting the creature's extending maw away from his body, only to be forced back to the side from whence it came as Estraven came down on Wymare yet again.
Now it was Wymare's turn to feel overwhelmed by the attacks coming his way. He fought his hardest to dodge, parry, and strike where he could, but with Gawain struggling to overcome the ice in its chest, he could only do so much to defend himself against a two-pronged force. Estraven's hook and the Shadow's fangs ripped into him with increasing frequency, with Wymare's stamina, already drained from exploring the prison earlier that same day, becoming even further diminished.
Across the chamber, Merliad continued to command their Persona against what they saw as countless monsters that emerged from the darkness around them. The abyssal Shadow seemed as though it was manipulating the room itself, and in their mind, Merliad was fending off the two largest instances of the beast by engaging them with Estraven from a distance. However, the darkness continued to intrude on their vision, and with glowing green eyes staring at them just outside of their peripheral vision, they began charging up a final, last-ditch lightning attack, hoping to dispel every trace of the Shadow in one shot.
"I... Y-You won't take me!" shouted Merliad, their voice shaking and panicked. "I won't allow you!"
Merliad's cries reached Wymare across the chamber, and with a quick glance in the caster's direction, he saw yellow energy coalescing around the head of their staff. Realizing what was about to come his way, he racked his brain for a plan of action. He could attempt to break away from the Shadow with a big enough attack, but with his low energy, he'd likely be seriously wounded by Estraven in the interim. On the other hand, he could try to disrupt Estraven and put some distance between himself and the Shadow, but there was no telling what the Shadow would try when left to its own devices with a swayed Merliad at its mercy. And even then, attacking Estraven to make such an opening would hurt Merliad at the same time.
In that instant, something occurred to Wymare. Merliad had reacted poorly to the flames of the giant Shadow they had fought in the prison canteen, as had Estraven. It was a risk, to be sure, but a kernel of a plan had been sowed in his mind, and it was up to him to bring it together. He stepped back, lowering his axe for a moment, and waited for the moment when Estraven and the Shadow both moved to capitalize at the same time.
"Persona Change: Nisroc!"
Gawain appeared in a burst of blue fire between Wymare and his pursuers, one-handing its sword as its other hand clenched into a fist. However, as it flew up, its fist flew in the direction of Estraven rather than the Shadow, decking the Persona across the head with a sturdy haymaker. Across the cell, Wymare saw Merliad's head jerk back in response to their Persona's pain, and with that, he proceeded with his gamble.
"Now! Agi!"
After the punch connected and Estraven was knocked off-balance, the metal of Gawain's gauntlet glowed as an extreme heat came bursting forth, a torrent of flame blazing to life and swarming past both Estraven and the Shadow. The latter growled in protest as its skin burned and its eyes were clouded with smoke, but the former reacted much more violently, its form spasming and flickering in response to the flames. Just as Wymare had hoped, Merliad cried out at the same time, faltering both in their commanding of Estraven and in the preparation of their magic.
Wymare sprinted toward Merliad, seeing several yellow rune circles gathered around their staff that were pulsing with electric energy. At the same time, Gawain grabbed Estraven's arm and threw the hooded Persona aside before following its user, leaving the Shadow alone as it recovered from the unexpected fire attack.
"Change: Omoikane!"
As he closed the distance between himself and his friend, Wymare reached out for Merliad with one hand outstretched. The light in his axe's glass orb switched from red to white, and as soon as his fingers made contact with Merliad's right arm, Wymare poured his auxiliary Persona's power into the caster.
In the blink of an eye, the horrific visions that had filled Merliad's vision receded and vanished, giving them a start as the spell was lifted. They found themselves standing across the room from the enemy Shadow, a multitude of runic charges brimming at the tip of their staff, and the sound of exhausted panting alerted them to Wymare's presence next to them, the Scadarah boy collapsed on the floor and staring up at them.
"NOW!"
Realizing the position they were in and how much power they had amassed under the guise of the Shadow's illusory world, Merliad hardened their expression and nodded. They planted their feet on the floor, squeezed their eyes shut, and unleashed the magic power they had channeled. A colossal beam of electric energy erupted from the runes they'd created, shaking the room and filling it with the light of a dozen suns. The screams of the Shadow, caught in the beam's trajectory, could barely be heard over the cacophonous sparking of Merliad's magic, and after several seconds of sustained release, the magic dissipated.
Everything within Merliad's line of fire was smoldering and charred, from the floor to the metal wall behind the now-obliterated mirrors. Where the Shadow had loomed moments prior, naught but a small mound of flesh remained, a single green eye staring at the ceiling as the color drained from it. With its life extinguished, the Shadow remnants rose into the air, bulging and twitching, before exploding with the fog of Clerebold's memory. The solitary confinement cell was now filled with the lingering images of the eldest Imbertus sibling holding the letter he'd found close to him, a solemn look on his face.
Merliad stared blankly at the fog for a moment before falling over on their back, their Persona staff rolling out of their hand upon landing. Both they and Wymare panted and wheezed, the toll of battle catching up to them and hitting them with the force of a kick from an angry horse. Their Personas, still barely maintaining their forms, floated next to them before retreating into their respective weapons.
"Hahh... Nice shot," gasped Wymare between breaths.
"Gah... Thanks," came Merliad's weak reply. "I am in... so much pain..."
"Let's get... out of here."
Wymare used his axe to prop himself up, balancing his weight against the weapon until he could stand on his own. From there, he reached down and offered Merliad a hand, pulling the caster up and supporting them as they made their way past the vault door and out of solitary confinement. Upon their exit, they squinted their eyes to adjust to the brighter light outside of the chamber, and as they did so, a familiar voice called out to them.
"Wymare! Merliad! Are you two alright? I heard such a commotion in there, and I was worried when it all went quiet... B-But I've kept the exit open, just as we agreed!"
Wymare wheezed out a soft laugh, grateful to hear Yselt's voice after the brutal battle he had just survived. "Good work, Yselt."
"Now, you must tell me everything!" Yselt declared, getting on the other side of Merliad and placing a hand on their shoulder to heal them. "There was a memory in there, yes? What did it show? What sort of Shadow was there? Did it-"
"Please... Let's get out of here first," groaned Merliad, beginning to sound ill. "I think... I used too much magic... in there."
"Oh; of course! I'm so sorry," Yselt said, a bit embarrassed. Having healed Merliad to the point where they were no longer on the verge of passing out, she stepped back and took out her flail, summoning Nikanj to her side. The alien Persona wrapped one of its legs around both Wymare and Merliad's waists, picking both of them up and holding them aloft.
"I'll handle getting us out of here. You've both done enough for now."
Yselt smiled at her winded companions before turning to secure the way, Nikanj following behind her with Wymare and Merliad in tow. Gratitude brimmed from her expression, and although she wanted to properly show that gratitude to her two allies, getting them to a place where they could rest was more important. But stirring underneath those positive emotions was a sense of unease, and although she was loath to face it, she knew its cause.
After taking out a handful of wandering Shadows while descending down the main cell block, Yselt saw that the door they had investigated was now ajar, the carving spirited away and the entrance cracked open. She glanced into the darkness beyond it as she passed it by, fighting to quell the nervousness that was making her heart pound.
Sooner rather than later, the time would come to confront what her brother had become. And no matter what, she would need to be ready for that.