"Kill me."
The adventurers are quite shocked. This seemed to be a legitimate plea from the creature that Cyrus had seemingly merged into. It wasn't quite his voice or appearance anymore... but something just seemed or felt... uncannily like him.
"Professor...?" Therese says with a note of fear, "What are you..."
"It... wants me … to destroy... all of... you..." Cyrus' voice is notably strained as he tries to keep his speech coherent, "I... won't... I can't... hold it... long... So, please..."
"That can't be... There has to be another way!" Ophilia says desperately.
"Professor, please stay strong! We'll find another way...!" Therese tries to near the giant and touch its hand.
"RR- RAAAHH!" The giant roars strains to flail at her, but veins pop up along its skin, showing something like restraint. The glowing in its chest pulsates. Therese falls back a little from the roar, looking with tearful eyes of fear.
"... Maybe..." Primrose narrows her eyes at the glowing, "Dear thief, weren't you aiming for that earlier...?"
"... Yeah..." Therion shifts his poncho a bit, "It looks conspicuous... And I saw the other guy... holding it before he became that thing."
"You're right, I do remember him holding that thing when he was blasting at us!" Tressa pipes up, "He said something about, uh, boosting his magic!"
"...In that case, we should try to remove it, mayhap?" Simeon rubs his chin, "Oh, but it looks quite... ingrained..."
"If it's surgery, I'll do it," Alfyn says confidently, "I can do it. I won't let Cy die."
"Are you sure, Alfyn? We're in the middle of the woods... it's... unsanitary..." Primrose looks around, "Isn't this dangerous?"
"Something about the body seems odd... The sheer amount of flesh... where could it have come from?" Olberic now wonders, "Perhaps it is not their actual body? In which case, it ought to mitigate the risk..."
"Please, you must help Professor Albright...!" Therese looks to Alfyn, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, "Whatever you can... please!"
"... Ya need anything, Alf?" Tressa rolls up her sleeves, "I got some stuff that'll help, maybe. I'm no good with blood but..."
"Rgh... Ngh..." The hulking body twitches erratically, like it's itching to move. They can see those horrible blank eyes rotating in their sockets grotesquely as the form grinds its teeth and twitches its fingers like a madman wanting a neck to wring.
"...Alright, I need some water and antiseptic..." Alfyn readies his axe in hand, "Ol'Berg, if my axe ain't big enough, I'll need ya to help out with yer sword..."
"Of course. I do not have medical prowess... but I will cut as you guide, Alfyn," Olberic steps forward.
"I as well..." Ophilia murmurs and the light from her staff illuminates their immediate area with greater intensity. The large giant form growls at the light, seemingly repulsed by it.
"...You were right, I think, Simeon... It is averse to radiant magic..." Primrose breathes.
"In that case, the cleric may be able to keep it under light for a bit to repress it... But we should hope it does not end up aggravated instead..." Simeon says thoughtfully.
"Hey, Therion, I'll also need yer smaller blades if we gotta cut any minor tissue, alright?" The apothecary carefully takes charge of the situation as they prepare to extract the glowing crystal, "My axe and Ol'Berg's blade might be too big fer everything..."
"Whatever," Therion just grunts. He definitely wasn't thrilled about this. He never signed up to be some surgeon's assistant. But he also wasn't going to be thrilled if this giant gorilla man mashed them all to pulp. And there's no way Alfyn is going to leave this alone.
"Alright, here we go... This'll only hurt for a minute, okay, Cy?" Alfyn swallows and grips his axe.
"...Fools..." Yvon's voice echoes through the internal crystal's space. The man had vanished into the bloody background now. Cyrus himself is on the verge of being swallowed like a man trapped in quicksand.
"..." Cyrus gives a wry sigh at his comrades' tenacity to save his life. He would prefer they not take this risk. But he also had faith in Alfyn's skill. So, he decides he will hold for as long as he can and buy them the time that they will need...
"Good luck, my friends..."
Alfyn's axe hacks into the flesh...
…
The blood crystal had actually spontaneously created a large amount of the flesh that subsumed Yvon and Cyrus, thus giving them the bodies of increased mass. While conjured by magic, it had solidified into true flesh, with vessels and fibers of tissue. However, it also luckily retained a humanoid anatomy, which Alfyn is familiar with.
Ophilia's light is welcome as Alfyn tries to figure out just how to do this extraction. The anatomy being supersized makes it a bit more complicated. He's grateful he no longer needs to keep referencing his book at least. However, this is still a very complex undertaking. He hadn't done a ton of surgeries before as it is.
"... Alright Ol'Berg, cut in at about here about yay deep..."
Alfyn tries to hold Olberic's blade edge lightly to guide it. Normally, he might have marked the skin to allow for stencil tracing. But they weren't going to make time doing that.
The warrior's broad blade cuts easily through the top skin, but it is hard to penetrate the thick layer of muscle underneath. Here, Therion uses his smaller knife to saw through the fibers. Primrose lends Alfyn a knife to help. Ophilia winces seeing beads of blood form at the edge of the flesh and skin. Everything seems somewhat purplish... like it's drained of blood or deoxygenated. The large body twitches here and there, and the veins pulsing make it seem like a bowstring drawn taut to fire.
"Woah..." Alfyn comes upon those magenta-like veins of magic energy laced within the muscle of the chest. They spurt red blood when cut, and with a copious spurt, too.
"Ugh..." Therion growls at some of the spray that gets on his poncho as he hacks into a thicker vein. Slowly, like carving a ham, they were making their way closer to that glowing mass at the center of the chest.
"This muscle structure is... ungh, tough...!" Alfyn's hand cramps a bit from holding the dagger for so long, "O-Ol'Berg, couldja lend me a hand?"
Olberic steps forward and jams his blade in the crevice of flesh. With a push of his arm, like operating a lever, there is a geyser of blood that spurts forth. The heart gem's brilliance comes closer to the surface, pressed to a massive ribcage over it. Interestingly enough, Alfyn can observe that the muscle structure and tissue seem to be originating somehow from the stone that is embedded there. As he makes a small cut on a fiber, it tries to reconnect with the crystal before his very eyes. But this wasn't true of fibers that were further way from the crystal's location... Those simply remain limp and severed.
Another strange observation is that the stone pulses like a heart, despite being a seeming mineral. Alfyn purses his lips a bit as he tries to poke that crystal with Primrose's dagger. The stone incredibly seems to bleed.
"Egads..."
"Huh?" Therese, who had been sitting with a rather dazed expression and fatigue, perks up a bit.
"What is it?" Primrose looks up from where Tressa is passed out on her lap, tuckered from overuse of her magic.
"I-I think this thing is like some kinda heart... I dunno if... I can just cut it out..." Alfyn grunts as he tries to hack a bit more at the fibers, "Ack, and it regrows..."
"What if we just stab it?" Olberic suggests.
"But what if that kills..." Ophilia asks worriedly. She still holds her light up, but she has taken a seat with H'aanit resting beside her. The beasts are worriedly nursing their own wounds and curled about the unconscious huntress.
"Wait a sec..." Alfyn squints, "Uh, Lia, could you bring over the light more?"
Ophilia approaches with her staff tentatively. The light better illuminates into the deep cut they had made so far. As the light betters, Alfyn and Therion work on cutting a bit more. Alfyn gasps. Therion's eye widens.
"That's...!"
"What is it?" Olberic looks over as well.
Inside the chest, buried amid millions of muscle fibers, is the familiar face of the scholar behind the upper ribs. He appears to be unconscious, and almost invisible save for his eyelids and hair. Almost all the rest of his body seems connected to this fibrous tissue. And, in his chest area, is that large, glowing crystal. It is very difficult to make out his body, as it seems almost just a part of this giant organism. It looks almost like some macabre depiction of a person without skin.
"C-Cy?!" Alfyn calls out worriedly. It looked almost like the muscle was incorporating Cyrus into itself... The apothecary panics a little when the muscle twitches and starts to slowly subsume the unconscious scholar deeper into the meaty body with some squelching noises. He hurriedly makes a random grab for something, anything, that might be the scholar's body.
"G-Guys, cut, cut!" Alfyn feels the muscle pulling against him, "We gotta cut him out!"
"R-right...!" Olberic readies his blade, then hesitates, "But I cannot cut too deep lest I cut into Cyrus...!"
"Tsk..." Therion takes initiative by slashing wide gashes in the fibers away from where the face was last. He hoped it was where the arm was maybe.
The glowing gem seems to be trying to bury itself back within a blanket of flesh as well. Olberic growls, making a split-second decision, and stabbing directly around the glowing patch. With his swift and deep strikes, he draws a lot more blood and cuts a lot more muscle and tissue aside. With the bones, he shatters and crushes them with his blade so they can better access the chest cavity. He has to be careful with the feel on his blade, making sure to have a consistent grip. If he felt even the slightest change in resistance, he would pull out because it could be Cyrus' body.
Ophilia feels her stomach turn a bit watching such bloody work. It was nauseating to see them hacking away at that flesh as blood filled up the incision repeatedly and spilled out onto the floor in a copious stream. She doesn't even notice the bit of plant growth that wriggles to life where the blood pools.
"...Ah, look...!" Simeon says hopefully and he points.
The giant form seems to be... deflating, somewhat. It still has a grimace on its gruesome face, but its muscle mass around the shoulders and thighs looks to be diminishing from their initial shape.
"Is it working...?" Primrose breathes.
"Professor... Please come back..." Therese says, clasping her hands to her chest.
"C'mon Cy... just a bit more... pull... it … through...!" Alfyn grunts as sweat runs down his face, mixing with the flecks of blood that sprayed on him through this ordeal. He takes out his axe and begins hacking away, alongside Therion and Olberic. The three of them had created a virtual hollow within that huge torso, cutting past the rib cage now.
The pulsating gem is once again brought to light. Therion's astute eye notices its luster seems a bit weaker. The fibers they cut do not regenerate as quickly... Perhaps all the cutting had worn out whatever powers it had... Or maybe it's weaker in this cavity area? Either way, it's a welcome break.
Now, they can more clearly see Cyrus tethered by the fibers attached to his own skin, along with that large gem in his chest. The scholar's form is truly obscured by the fleshy surroundings. Blood is not absent, either, giving it all a rather grotesque and morbid depiction.
"...Okay, first we get Cy out... and then we'll figure out what to do with the crystal, okay?" Alfyn looks to Olberic and Therion. All of them were exhausted from the fight already, but they hadn't given up yet. Their stomachs are holding strong despite the stench of blood and flesh permeating through from the procedure.
"D-do you need to take a break...?" Ophilia asks timidly. Now, they all can see the state of Cyrus in the light. Therese nearly faints. Luckily, Simeon catches her on the way down. Primrose looks with wide eyes. It had been a while since she had been so ...nauseated.
"W-we got this! Just a bit longer... A bit more...!" Alfyn amazingly grins, "I can keep going. Ol'Berg and Therion can rest a bit. My pack has some energy balls-"
"Idiot, let's just get this over with," Therion growls stubbornly.
"Aye. We cannot waste any more time," Olberic nods.
Alfyn nods gratefully, "Alright, roll up your sleeves then, fellas... let's do this..."
...
Into the wee hours of night, the innkeeper of Stonegard yawns tiredly. He is practically shaken awake when a ragtag band of travelers stumbles in. He recognizes the spunky merchant girl who came earlier among them. Without much explanation, they seemed to be carrying several people or something into the rooms bought. Trailing them is the intense odor of blood, rising to a bit of a stink. The innkeeper blinks blearily once, twice. Perhaps he should get some sleep, with his mind laying such tricks on his sleepy eyes.
Within the solace of their inn rooms, Alfyn takes lead point in laying down the injured and dressing any lingering injuries. Therese tries to insist that he focus on Cyrus instead of her, but the apothecary is adamant. Ophilia helpfully heals the scrapes and injuries the others sustained from their battles, freeing up some of Alfyn's attention to focus.
She gingerly washes H'aanit's wounds. In general, they all need a bath after running around and fighting. Olberic, Alfyn, and Therion need it the most since they were doing such bloody work. But the baths are closed by now, and they didn't have a convenient decanter like Mattias did. Their room has the intense odor of blood, but they can't really be bothered about it at this point with the fatigue setting in and excitement dying down.
"Mhn..." The huntress feels a little heated. She is still unconscious. Ophilia can feel she has broken bones... She sighs and tries to keep her comfortable as she heals them slowly.
"Oh boy... Ugh..." Tressa lies on the floor, dead to the world for all she cared, "N-never doing that again..."
Olberic sighs and tends to his own heavy bruises. He was lucky none of his bones broke despite the beating he took. His hands, usually steady, shake a little for the first time in a while.
Therion leans back against the wall, his bruises and heaviest injuries taken care of. He glances to his arm with the bangle on it. His hand doesn't even shake. He thought he would be collapsing from fatigue at this point... but he felt fine. Why was that? Was it that weird thorn that pricked him?
"..." Primrose tiredly rests her head on Simeon's shoulder as they both are sitting on the floor. The beds were being allocated to the injured. The playwright's hair is almost entirely loose from his ponytail, but he pays more attention to pushing stray hairs from the dancer's face.
"... It's fine, Simeon..."
"Professor..." Therese mumbles, trying to fight off the sleep weighing down her eyes. Her gaze is fixated on that pale figure on the bed next to her own.
Most of Alfyn's attention has to be diverted to Cyrus in the end. Luckily, the wounds sustained by the scholar whilst in his monstrous giant form did not carry over to his actual body. However, a host of other problems plague him still.
Large portions of the skin on his arms and legs are straight up gone. The muscle fibers trying to assimilate him are partially fused into his own flesh, past the skin. When they cut him loose, there was a significant loss of blood. It's still unclear if it was Cyrus' blood or whatever that thing was. His body feels heated, yet he is completely unresponsive. His arms and legs are limp and void of vigor. His face is wan, pale with sunken eyes and discolored lips. His eyes show no movement under their lids.
Even more worrisome is that the gem in his chest is still there. They couldn't quite remove it since it was embedded in his actual body, and rather deeply so as well. Alfyn is sure he might kill Cyrus trying to cut it out. Just from looking alone, it seems to be positioned rather close to his vitals, like the lungs and heart. The apothecary isn't sure how it even got there and he isn't too worried about finding out. For now, he focuses on monitoring the scholar's breathing and temperature. While his body is heated, his breathing is very weak. It whistles through the room a little with a haunting, raspy pitch.
"Cy..." Alfyn sighs as he gingerly pokes the blood crystal protruding from the scholar's chest. He could finally feel the fatigue getting to him, telling him to relax.
"... Will he be... alright...?" Therese asks just barely above a whisper.
"...He's too... stubborn to die..." Therion grumbles, rubbing his face. He would be sleeping well tonight, for sure. Even without the crushing fatigue, he'd just spent what felt like several hours hacking away at some mountain of meat after all.
"I can help keep watch, Alfyn. You must be exhausted..." Ophilia lightly touches Alfyn with a soothing sliver of her magic.
"I... I wanna watch and... make sure..." Alfyn sighs heavily as he sits down. A voracious growl sounds from his stomach suddenly. Joining in chorus are Tressa's and Olberic's stomachs.
"... Ugh... Shoot..." Tressa groans and rolls over, "I guess it's rations again..."
"Aye... But we should be thankful we all are still... alive..." Olberic sighs. He stands with the slightest wobble to retrieve some dried food from his satchel.
"Right..." Primrose gazes over their room, "Though... I still can't really... wrap my mind around what exactly transpired tonight... between both our groups..."
Hägen seems to grunt in agreement, breathing softly as he seems to be tired. Linde has passed out next to H'aanit, who is still thoroughly asleep. Ophilia nods and grazes her fingers on H'aanit's.
"Y-yeah, I still don't get it... Who were those guys?" Tressa manages to pull herself up to a sitting position on the floor as she drinks from her waterskin, "What did they want with the professor? What did they even do to him? And now he's like this..."
"They looked like they were up to no good..." Alfyn mumbles, arms folded in thought.
"No shit. Who meets up under moonlight in the middle of a creepy dungeon dressed in cultish robes..." Therion rubs his hand on his face.
"I might have been mistaken but I doubt it... those people were wearing scholar robes like what Cyrus wears," Primrose points out. She probably has the closest idea to what might have transpired... but there were several details still missing in the grand scheme of things.
"Maybe the scholar will be able to shed some light … once he wakes..." Simeon says hopefully, "Assuming he knows what was occurring in that strange place."
"They said he followed some lady in there. He probably knew her," Therion grumbles, "He'll talk your ear off about it when he wakes..."
"Therion, you alright?" Alfyn looks over as he rips off a hunk of bread, "You hungry at all?"
Olberic passes about some rations of dried fruits, nuts, hardtack, and dried cheese. Tressa has some dried meat for the beasts, though they were pretty much too tired to really care to eat. They drink thirstily from their waterskins.
"Oh my..." Ophilia yawns and stretches a bit, "We must be exhausted..."
"... Well, good night..." Primrose sighs softly as she rests on Simeon.
"Night, Prim..." Alfyn suppresses a small yawn and stretches as he gets ready for a long night of watching to come...
…
Cyrus heard the voices outside diminish into a low hum outside as he sank into the quicksand of the blood crystal's assimilation. In this darkened redness, all he felt was a sickly warmth enveloping him, like a drowning man is enveloped by the waves of the ocean. How strange. Even Yvon's intrusive commentary has all but faded. He could only surmise that the headmaster had finally been entirely subsumed by the crystal's destructive will. At this point, cut off from all senses, Cyrus can only pray that he is not harming anyone outside.
"... Cyrus?"
The scholar stiffens at that familiar voice. He turns to strangely see Franklin of all people here in this darkness.
"F-Fra... Headmaster Franklin?" Cyrus balks but doesn't forget his manners, "Wait... how... no... You can't be real. Aha! This is but a figment of my mind... the blood crystal must have conjured you to trick me...!"
The former headmaster chuckles good-naturedly and then harshly pats Cyrus on the head. Cyrus is about half a head taller than he, but his strength seems to make the scholar shorter. It is a very familiar motion.
"Ack..." Cyrus winces.
"I don't know whatever bloody crystal you're talking about, but you need to get on to class!" Franklin says gruffly through his scruffy mustache.
That voice, this demeanor, everything about him... it's like he never died. He's just as Cyrus remembered... and they were suddenly back in the halls of Atlasdam Academy. It's not the academy he grew up in, but the one where he currently teaches...
"Wait... w-where is Yvon then... Y-you aren't headmaster anymore..." Cyrus fumbles a bit before calling him, "Former... headmaster Franklin."
"What is with you, Cyrus? Didn't you used to call me Franklin simply? Why so formal?" The man frowns, his bushy brows knitting together, "And Yvon is away on a business trip! Surely you recall from the staff meeting!"
He didn't recall any meeting, but he did used to call him that... Franklin preferred little obstacles in the way of teaching, and he saw that students would be more comfortable calling him simply by his first name. With all the titles, it can get a bit stuffy. These were those small details he cared about that somehow made all the difference for his students. Most other professors wouldn't think of atmosphere needing to be open or students and teachers having an exchange rather than a top-down relationship of hierarchy. It was something extremely admirable to Cyrus.
"... But you... are... He..." Cyrus looks at a loss for words for once. He should tell this false image that it was dead, right? Would that break the illusion? What sort of illusion was this, even? Was the crystal still trying to take over his mind and body?
So many unknown variables made a difficult series of choices even more difficult. He needed to know...
"... So? How long will you be lollygagging, eh?" Franklin winks, "You've got a class waiting."
"... Right..." Cyrus nods obediently and goes to find the classroom. Somehow, his feet traveled without him thinking towards the correct room. It should be history... with the princess and Therese... And yet, neither of the usual girls are in this class.
It definitely had to be false...!
"Oh, professor!"
He turns at the voices behind him to see the two girls right behind him. Something seems to be slightly different with their clothes and hair, but that is negligible. He hurriedly steps aside to let them enter before walking up to the front of the class. As usual, there is the speaker's podium, the elevated area before the chalkboard, a pull-down...
He hears people whispering a bit about "Princess Therese" and her cousin Mary...
"Professor, I was wondering if you had any spare office hours after this class," Therese raises her hand eagerly. That'd not very normal...
What in the world? He almost turns so quick that he knocks over all the books on the desk nearby.
"Professor, are you alright?" Some students ask.
"Uhh... y-yes..." Cyrus looks through his books. There had to be some logical answer, right? What was happening? What is this world he is envisioning... It is all in his head, right?
He pauses the lesson and flips furiously through the history book for what feels like minutes, finding pages upon pages of jargon that was gibberish even to him. The words seem to melt right off the page and leave a smooth, blank page.
"Oi, Cyrus!"
Cyrus looks up in shock to see Russell and Mercedes. All of a sudden, he's sitting in the faculty mess hall, at a table with these two. The book in his hand is lain blank before him.
"I was just talking about the magiocratic political theory!" Russell says, "You know, the one described in the annals of Saloman? You're on my side, right, Cyrus?"
"M-Magiocracy...?" Cyrus blinks. The idea that only magic users could rule... it was something of a fringe theory that could easily get you in trouble... and incite violence on both magic and non-magic users alike. He had never heard Russell espouse those ideas.
"Preposterous! Leading the masses is a fool's errand," Mercedes waves a hand airily with an unnaturally haughty attitude, "I will have you know that my father will know about this!"
She's never one to use her father's name like that as weight. Cyrus felt like he was going insane as he listens to these two people argue over political systems between magic and non-magic. They certainly looked the part... but they are not Mercedes and Russell...
He plunks his head down on the book with a weary sigh in this delusion he is seemingly trapped in. The noise around him dies down. He feels it warms up around him. He wants to turn to look... but he was suddenly incredibly tired.
A soft touch caresses his hair. He nuzzles against it. Such a nostalgic touch... Who...
He turns his head to the side a little and opens one peeper to see that familiar face... of his mother. She has that same salt and pepper hair, those grey-blue eyes, a green apron... The same as he remembered as a child. His eyes show his shock and he sits up suddenly as if someone poured ice down his robe.
"Did you study too late again, Cyrus?" She smiles softly.
He found his throat strangely constricted. This woman is... why is she here? What is this illusion trying to show him? Allowing such a discrepancy to appear is just sloppy. If she were alive, she would appear much older... she was already quite decrepit when she died...
And yet, he doesn't say any of his usual smart blathering. He is rendered speechless once more as his eyes merely rove about his mother, taking in every detail.
As he stares, she chuckles and pats his chest. She's about a head shorter than him now, "You've grown so big, Cyrus...!"
Ah, yes... despite some nights screaming with fits of nigh insanity... he believed she was a woman who tried her best with the means that fate dealt. His father leaving had crushed her... but she kept them alive, working hard nights despite her deteriorating health. The signs were minor, at first... and he was too engrossed in his scholarly pursuits to notice. But she still had these moments of clarity where she was sweet towards him...
"... Mother, you..." He manages to croak out with an awkwardly crooked smile, "You haven't... changed..."
His hands are stiff, as if he didn't know what to do with them. She guides one of them gently towards her face and he can feel her warm cheek on his fingertips. It was a strange warmth... it should be alien, but it felt so familiar. He had never touched her like that... did he ever even hug her?
"You work too hard, professor..." She chuckles, "Ah, but just listen to me! My son is a professor! At the esteemed Atlasdam Academy! No one works harder than you, Cyrus!"
She died never knowing he had achieved this position. He never told her; never looked in as he passed that room where she slept within the dark house... But she seems so happy. Was this a possibility?
"Yes... I am... a professor now, mother..." He says uneasily, "We won't have to worry for money. The Academy is quite generous with its stipends for family of faculty..."
"I'm just so proud of you, Cyrus," She grins.
He can't quite describe this flood of strange and alien emotions that are filling his mind. Firstly, whatever happened with the crystal, and now these strange and inaccurate visions. But he cannot deny that these feelings were somehow also … rightly placed. They felt like something alien only because they were kept away, perhaps...
… ah, is that it...
He slowly moves to wrap his arms about his mother's shoulders. His arms are stiff, robotic. This motion is very unfamiliar. He had never really hugged anyone...
He couldn't save Franklin.
He couldn't be a good professor to Therese or Mary.
He wasn't sure about the vision with Mercedes and Russell.
But he knew from seeing his mother...
This was all guilt.
For whatever reason, as a result of his exposure to the crystal... these buried secrets of his guilt are unearthed in such a strange and surreal dream.
Or, perhaps his friends had granted his plea and killed him... and now he is living some sort of limbo or afterlife. He wasn't and isn't a religious man by any means. He preferred studying religion than practicing. However, at this point, he has the liberty to think on exactly where he would go from this seeming deathly dream.
"... Someday, you simply must introduce me to all your friends!" His mother hugs back and pats his back.
He nods and feels himself finally relax in the hug, "Yes... I will..."
That day, at that dreary funeral he paid for... there was no one else who showed up but him. He should have told someone...
"Oh, here they come now!" His mother points.
Cyrus glances now and hears a voice calling his name. Against the bright light that shines into his eyes, he sees silhouettes lined against it. One of them waves to him, calling his name. He knew that voice... it was so optimistic and belonged to a certain apothecary... yes, Alfyn...
"Cyrus... Cy... Cyrus...!"
"Don't keep them waiting, silly bookworm!" His mother pulls away from the hug and gives a small wave with her smile.
"... Y-yes, I won't..." He looks to her with a start and realizes she appears to be getting smaller, fading away, "M-Mother?"
"Don't worry about me... Go out and learn like you always wanted."
Her voice is distant and growing further away. His arms are still a bit stiff, seemingly frozen now in an empty embrace. He stares with incomprehension, then looks back towards the seven silhouettes. They are gone. He stands alone in this strange limbo of white space with no paths to or from wherever this place is in his head. It wasn't quite fear he felt, but just overall confusion. It was a strange encounter with his past after all. Was that what the crystal conjured? Of course, he could still be dead...
"... I suppose... I must be going..." He says to no one in particular as he begins walking slowly through the emptiness, not knowing what lies ahead.
…
Morning comes rather quickly, almost too quick given the harrowing night the party had gone through. Primrose stirs and murmurs softly. Her head is resting on Simeon's shoulder rather comfortably... even if the rest of her body ached a bit from a night on the hard floor. She lazily glances over the others in the room.
Simeon had sat next to her the whole night and fallen asleep similarly. She couldn't imagine his clothes were very comfortable to sleep in such a position. He's too considerate to complain though. He's still asleep. The dancer softly smiles and brushes aside a few strands of hair from his face. He mumbles something about an encore.
Alfyn, bless his heart, fell asleep in a slouched-sitting position. Drool drips from his lip as he mumbles something about Zeph.
Therion is quietly leaned against the wall where he sat all night, not having moved at all. He seems to actually be asleep and not faking it. Primrose can't blame him for being exhausted for once. She would have been shocked if he weren't.
Ophilia is still sitting at H'aanit's side. She amazingly seems to still be somewhat conscious, though on the verge of passing out. Her blonde head dips haphazardly and reels back in intervals that it's almost amusing to watch. The huntress herself is still asleep. Primrose scoffs quietly to herself.
The two beasts are asleep as they were since last night. Linde might have changed position, now lying on her back across H'aanit's legs. Hägen is laying down at the bedside, with his paws crossed under his sleeping head.
Their female guest, Therese, is quietly dozing. She should be fine. Alfyn mentioned she was drugged... but it would wear off.
Olberic is leaned against the wall opposite of Therion, also similarly asleep. His sword is in its sheath, and he holds it in his arms whilst he sleeps. It's no doubt a habit he picked up from his time in the army. Despite that fierce appearance, Primrose found him rather endearing in that sleeping form. It's like a child sleeping with a weapon out of fear.
Tressa is passed out in her sleeping bag, her hair all messy and her arms sprawled out. She had definitely overextended her powers last night. Primrose could only guess what the effects could be. Some sleep for days. Others wake up with intense aches and pains that render them entirely bedridden anyway. Such is the danger of overusing magic.
Cyrus is sleeping quietly as he was last night. Alfyn had treated him as best he could, and he appears more peaceful... though that isn't necessarily a good thing. Primrose glimpses the quiet movement of his chest to remind herself that he is in fact breathing. She sighs a little in relief. Now her eyes focus on the thing in his chest.
Quiet as a thief in the night, she pulls off Simeon without waking the other. She steps over to Cyrus' bedside, watching her steps. She doesn't make a noise, save for the light tinkling of the jewelry on her garments. Her eyes glow a little reddish as she looks at the crystal embedded in Cyrus' torso. Its hue would be similar, if she looked in the mirror. A magenta color when lit, and a blood color when dull. The crystal seems to still pulsate. It wasn't turning Cyrus into a monster again, nor was it creating crazy waves of energy like when she first saw him in that holding room.
At that time, she had taken a gamble to try and calm him down. The daring move she did... now, she looks back at it wryly.
"This dance might sting a bit"
That was meant for her.
She had readied her peacock dance and drawn her daggers. If the blood magic of the crystal is indeed of the same nature as her shadow magic, perhaps the synergy would allow it to be tamed... There was only one way to find out.
Cyrus lets out another piercing scream. She sees the crystal seem to leak forth magical essence that solidifies before her very eyes. It appears like flesh, almost...
"... Here I go..." She breathes to herself softly as assurance.
Using the peacock dance to enhance her own magical power, she charges a powerful allure and moves to approach. Her dark powers provide some buffer against the waves of chaotic magic bursting from Cyrus, but she has to be careful.
The strings of the soul appear, but they are frazzled and unwieldy. This will be a difficult allure to dance to. Likely, his mind is highly affected by the pain and whatever else the crystal is doing to him. The dancer takes a breath and steels herself before leaping into a dance of allure...
Somehow, she had done it... Somewhat. She managed to grasp his mind even as he was becoming a monster. It wasn't a total allure, but she managed to find his anger against the man who did that to him... some figure named Yvon. Utilizing that impetus, she managed to get him to chase after the other giant. And that was how they all ended up in that clearing... Such an adventure so far.
She isn't sure how her gamble will ultimately play out, however. If... when he wakes, will he be enthralled by her still? She had been rather forceful to ensure he would not harm her. With the maddening rage gone, it might have been overkill...
There is the sudden braying of an ass outside and she turns to look out, shaken from her thoughts. It seems it is not even early morning anymore.
…
As the others wake up later either stiff or aching, or even both, they slowly get to finish cleaning up and just getting ready to relax a bit more after an exhausting night. The busybodies are few.
Therion slings on his still-wet poncho after having had it cleaned, along with all his clothes. They were streaked with dirt from the tussle last night. Olberic paid for the cleaning at the local laundry shop for all of them.
"You going out already, Therion?" Alfyn looks up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes still, "Ain't ya tired at all?"
"Can't sleep that long," Therion says gruffly. He is surprised, too, that he doesn't feel nearly as much fatigue as he should after all that running and being thrown around. He thought maybe last night was a fluke and he would wake up with pains. But he felt mostly fine, save for some bruising on his back.
"…" H'aanit sighs softly in bed. Ophilia looks to her knowingly. She and Alfyn had dressed the huntress' wounds. While her life was not in danger, she had many injuries that nearly broke bone due to impact. As such, it is difficult for her to move. But that doesn't really stop a stubborn huntress, and the cleric knew it.
Ophilia sighs. She knew that look of discontentment in H'aanit's eye, "… You want to go out again already?"
H'aanit sighs again, "… I needen see again… where the forest's Lord is… and still yet…"
She pulls out the fletching she found last night from her belt pouch. Due to the chaos, she hadn't been able to really investigate for Z'aanta's whereabouts. However, having seen those signs of a fierce battle taken place was a sure sign. They likely sparred with their quarry here. The ghisarma's memories also showed Redeye to have been here, so she was surer than ever that her master had to have come this way.
"… Well, it is daytime, I suppose," Ophilia huffs a bit and stands, "Of course, I will be coming with you… And if we run afoul of any difficulty, we must turn back, understood?"
"Goodness, you aren't lecturing a toddler, dear sister," Primrose rolls her eyes, "I'll come along as well. It should save some time and I do want to see the results as we had left them…"
"Ah, Primrose, are you certain?" Simeon scratches his head, "You're not fatigued in the least either?"
Primrose had used an awful lot of magic yesterday… but perhaps it was becoming something she was getting used to. She had been too tired to even have nightmares last night. She didn't look at the mark on her chest at all though…
"I'm fine, Simeon. In fact, could you be a dear and stay with Alfyn to help tend to the professor and the girl?"
"Uh? I-I suppose…" Simeon shrugs, "I can only do as directed, as I have no medical training…"
"Oh, it's no biggie," Alfyn chuckles tiredly, "I'll handle it!"
"Alf, you're a dum-dum…" Tressa groans, still tucked in her bedroll like a cute pill bug, "Too … hard… work smarter, not harder, don't ya know?"
Olberic enters, having changed into a spare tunic and simple pants. He still carries his blade at his belt in scabbard. He sees the ladies getting ready to leave, "Oh? Already on your feet?"
"Yes, quite," Primrose smiles smugly and then looks to Therion, "Ah, right, do you want to come with us as well? Or are you… doing rounds in the city?"
Therion grumbles something under his breath irritably. It was in the afternoon and it's still too early for this shit. But, maybe… he was curious about that prick he felt that lent him reinvigoration. He wordlessly pushes past them all out of the room.
"… I'm going on ahead then," The thief scoffs, "You're all too slow."
H'aanit sighs and stands. She staggers a bit and Ophilia helps her don her usual coat. Due to her injuries, she can only take her bow and quiver with her. Hägen and Linde both rise with her, having had their injuries treated as well. Primrose lets them leave first before poking Olberic on the chest.
"You and Alfyn hold the fort here, alright?" She winks, "Counting on you."
Olberic side-eyes the other company. Alfyn is still yawning a little. Simeon waves to Primrose. Tressa is recuperating, as are Cyrus and the guest, Therese. He nods, "Do be careful out there."
"We're in good hands," The dancer daintily steps out past him.
…
The party that left the inn first has to figure out how to best get back to the clearing. They had two options: either go through the secret passage ruin under the manor again, or through the traditional road to the wood, which would require some rappelling due to the rockslide blockage.
Given H'aanit's injury, Ophilia opted for the manor route. But that was also a longer way through. They eventually agree to take the traditional route and simply exercise more care and caution when descending down the rocks.
H'aanit frowns irritably at her gait as they walk. She felt much too slow. Ophilia keeps a hand on her arm to steady her.
"… If you didn't see your master last night, I'm sure he was perhaps deeper in the forest, away from harm," Primrose suggests, "You needn't push yourself to such limits."
"Tis fine. I haven… endured greater injury…" H'aanit mutters.
"That's no reason to go about recklessly," Ophilia pouts.
Therion rolls his eyes at the women trailing behind him. To his surprise, Linde walks beside him as they trek up the rocky path. The snow leopard has bandages on parts of her body where she was slashed or bludgeoned, but she just has a small limp for now.
"… You're stubborn like she is," Therion says under his breath. The leopard gives him a scoff.
They can see workers from the locale working removing the rockslide debris from the road. Luckily, they had already cleared a small section, allowing them to pass without worrying about doing acrobatics again.
"Thank you so much!" Ophilia bows and thanks the workers profusely, "May the Flame guide you!"
"Ah, no problem, dear sister," The worker chuckles, "But you be careful with your work in there! Last night, there were unholy noises coming from the wood… Almost like some gigantic monster was throwing a fit!"
"Oh… Well, we will… be careful then…!" Ophilia manages not to tell the truth.
Therion smirks seeing the dancer roll her eyes.
The route into the Spectrewood through the rockslide arrives much closer to the clearing. They can see where the trees were flattened by the shockwave from Yvon, as well as the crater from the battle of the giants. Hägen immediately begins sniffing around.
H'aanit walks over first to a tree and looks up at its foliage intensely. She surveys the area's flora quietly for a few seconds before sighing.
"… The wood willen thrive… The Lord seemeth to have retreated in better spirits mayhap…"
"He got trashed pretty hard," Therion kicks a small pebble aside. Doing so, he reveals a small sprouting seedling, "… Whatever that was."
"I'm glad the forest seems healthy then…" Ophilia sighs, "I hope it can heal further from this…"
There is suddenly a small voice in H'aanit's, Ophilia's, and Therion's heads. It is simultaneous and seems to come from the same source. The huntress and cleric immediately recognize it to be the Lord of the Forest.
"YOU HAVE RETURNED, I SEE…"
"O-oh, your l-lordship!" Ophilia says aloud, "Hello!"
Therion begins looking around for the source, his senses alert. He didn't like voices in his head. Primrose glances to him curiously, "What are you looking for?"
"WHAT DO YOU WANT. THE FOREST MUST HEAL WITHOUT OUTSIDERS FOR A TIME…"
"… I hath tolde thee. I seeken mine master. I hath his fletching found in this woode. Knowest thou of him? He be'en a hunter," H'aanit says quietly.
Hägen looks up and gives a bark.
"A HUNTER… THAT WOLF SON HAS BEEN HERE BEFORE… ONLY WITH A HUMAN LAST… AND SOME OTHERS."
"T-that must be him! We're looking to find him…" Ophilia says politely.
"… Who are you talking to?" Primrose raises an eyebrow at the cleric and huntress. The thief isn't the only one acting weird, it seems.
There is a slight, subtle breeze that passes through the clearing briefly. Its direction blows towards a partition among the trees that wasn't there before. Hägen looks there and gives another bark, immediately running towards it.
"…! Hägen!" H'aanit goes to give chase, nearly falling over when she is too eager and trips on a root. Luckily, both Primrose and Ophilia act fast enough to help support her.
Therion looks about with suspicion still. He's not one to answer voices. That's a bad superstition. They all make for the partition now.
Following the revealed path and Hägen, the party moves into a more narrow and hidden area of the wood. It looks like a place not many might tread, like a place where beasts would rest in safety. However, strangely, there are broken bits of what look like unnaturally shaped stone here. It appears almost like something chipped off a statue. Looking closely, one could make out the fragment of a nose or finger, even some pieces that appeared to originate from animals.
"Statues? Out here?" Ophilia asks herself.
Therion keeps a hand on his dagger. Primrose does the same. Something about this air here felt tainted. There was something unpleasant and unnatural at work here… or maybe it had left its traces.
They hear Hägen give a loud and long howl ahead. Catching up to the wolf, they see what looks like a stone statue standing before several boughs of trees and some rocks nearby. This statue looks incredibly lifelike, with fine detail on the coarse fur cape the figure is wearing. The grizzled bear and hairs look like they were individually chiseled to accurate thinness somehow… it is a flawless work of expert stonework. It looks to be depicting an older man hunting, with a quiver and bow in hand.
Ophilia feels H'aanit tense up and shake violently at the sight of that statue of the hunter man. The huntress' voice comes out strangled.
"M-Master?!"
She pulls away from Ophilia and hobbles to the statue. She pauses just short of reaching him. At this distance, it is unmistakable. This is him. He has all the same wrinkles and hunting gear… But why was he stone?
"Rooooooo…" Hägen gives another howl. The non-hunters can now detect the sorrow in the wolf's tone. It is mourning.
"… Cripes, what the heck?" Therion swears under his breath. This guy… is a statue, plain as day. What was going on? What happened? The sheer possibilities that now lay before them from this revelation make his skin crawl.
"Oh dear…" Primrose says quietly. She had vaguely read on something like this… petrification.