Chapter 71: Lean On Me

"There's something missing."

Music

"He's awake! Holy shit, YECH! YECH GET OVER HERE—! Richard? Richard, are you alright?! Richard, you idiot, say something, please—!"

Your eyes blearily drift open. It feels like your clothes have been cleaned, your face has been shaved, and your hair has even been unmussed. Your holy symbol is still fastened loosely around your neck. There is a soft, gentle weight near your side that you recognize as Ray even through the fog of sleep.

The melted Relic of Mercy is still grasped tightly in your hand.

There is a black canopy overhead. You are lying in a soft bed, in a spacious tent that's dark as night. The thick fabric nearly filters out the rapidly approaching torch light that peeks through the opening ahead.

You try to sit fully upright, but the pain piercing through every inch of your body keeps you laying down. You're too tired to try and stifle the groan elicited from your pain, but no one seems to mind.

The interior is illuminated. The light— surprisingly— isn't cause for any further discomfort. Ray sleeps soundly, despite the interruption. Ofelia has been sitting at the foot of the bed, looking with absolute disbelief to you and to the archdemon in the opening.

Yech is wearing a new and utterly ridiculous hat, which falls promptly off the moment he sees you're conscious. The finely dressed skeleton leaps across the tent to land on the bed, wakes Ray as he puffs up the mattress, and wraps his arms around you. The agony of being touched in any way is immediately made evident, but you aren't given a hard time about it. "It's about fucking time, you lunatic!"

Ofelia looks so much healthier than she did last night, but there's still a strange expression on her face.

Her pallor has worsened, but she looks so much more rested. It's almost as if...

"Richard. You've been asleep for six days. Do me a favor and eat somethin' while we talk, okay?"

Yech lets your arms loose, musses your hair, and sits more comfortably beside you. The demon lord— without prompting— starts to shift you so that you can sit upright. The pain is excruciating, but he makes the process go by as quickly as he can. "Easy. Easy. Easy. Come on. Don't make me get something for you to bite into. You've shown enough fucking restraint."

There's a plate of something vaguely resembling bread, and a water skin thrust at you the moment you're upright. Ofelia looks to you with tears in her eyes. "Please."

As the remnants of sleep parts from your frame, you're taken by a fit of compulsion. There's a pull, a clawing sensation, a twitch, and a strong desire to take in everything at once.

You settle on bowing your head first. The demon lord parts from your frame for a moment, not making any complaint as you obviously want to pray. It's clear that everyone around you understands. You sincerely thought you were going to die.

The constant, familiar weight of the holy symbol around your neck is reassuring enough to help still the rapid beat of your heart. All of the conviction, devotion and love that you are so familiar with is another small comfort.

Taking a few deep breaths, you focus on the Relic in your palm. The symbol has practically melted beyond recognition. Though the yellow-gold is still beautiful to behold, it no longer resembles what it once was.

You're more soft-spoken than a man of the Gods would be expected to sound when speaking to his patron— but you and Mercy share a bond deeper than any other. "From the furthest reaches of my soul, to the highest reaches of my heart— through the valley of the shadow of death, and out of the hands of a demon— I thank You for Your blessing. Thank You for Your guidance. Thank You for Your love. Thank You for Your protection. My gratitude is infinite. Your compassion is endless. In all ways, You are Merciful. May You always be praised."

There's warmth, and light, and flecks of gold.

You open your eyes. A hand is back on your shoulder within moments of you ending your prayer. There's warmth from the metal you hold in your grasp, and warmth in the friendship and compassion you're still surrounded by. Ofelia is looking to you with so much concern that it's hard to think straight. Ray's head is now on your lap, as he's shaking off his sleep and imploring you to lean on him for comfort.

Eyes wide, you look around the tent. Something is wrong. It's spacious enough to be befitting of a Lord. In the corner nearest the back wall is your mace, your shield, and your bag. Alongside it is a small pile of golden flowers that you assume Yech conjured. Around the vase is a black banner reading "CONGRATULATIONS" in black ink. The flowers are slightly wilted. Confetti litters the floor. A few myriad supplies are strewn about: old bandages, a basin of water, a few chairs. Stacks of blankets and pillows— all in black— blend into the forgiving darkness of the area.

Everything is forgiving. The bed you're lying upon is so soft, you almost get relief from the pain coursing through you. There's relief from doubt, and further relief from the sheer amount of trauma you're trying to remember and process.

Even the water skin and plate being pushed towards you seems like a relief, as the archdemon lights a lantern in the corner. He illuminates the area in full, then snuffs out the torch in his hands.

Something is wrong. There's something missing. Someone.

"Where is Celegwen...?"

Ofelia sets down the food in your lap. You can't stop yourself, and tear into the water skin and bread the moment her hands part from the plate. You can't even taste it with how desperately you're trying to take it all in. Something feels horrifically wrong.

"She's gone, Richard. She left."

There's no restraining yourself. You don't understand the implications, and you don't want to speak or ask anything. You're crying again, and you're not sure why. You listen— sobbing through the pain lancing your throat, the seeds in your lungs, an emptiness, and a void that needs to be filled. You can't stop taking in what she's giving you.

Yech tightens his grip around your shoulder, sliding in a little closer as the blonde continues to speak. Her voice is wracked with apology, but she keeps herself level, and places a hand on your knee. "She stayed up 'til the day before yesterday, but she's gone. I couldn't stop her. She said she had her own mission. That she remembered somethin'. I couldn't get her to tell me what. I tried to stop her, Richard, but she's gone."

You're weeping too hard to reply. The pain in your throat and the sensation of glass is not soothed by the water you're forcing down, but you don't complain as Ofelia gives you another loaf of bread and refills your cup.

Her sympathy and regret is blurry. The tears in your eyes catch on the light of the lantern, on the green of your irises, and spill onto your gaunt face as you try to let your friends help you.

Ofelia's hand is so small, but she's still trying to hold on, to be reassuring. "She'll be okay. Yech's been busy, right? Right, you jerk? Go on—"

How much has happened since I last left?

Yech's blubbering again, and pulls you properly into a hug. You both knock the food and water aside, not caring for it spilling onto the floor. You spill your tears over his shoulder as he clutches onto you as tightly as he can. A flush blooms across your face from the surge of pain and relief, and you don't want to draw away. You lean in and hold the demon— allowing yourself to be embarrassed, to take in some modicum of pleasure— to accept that your friends know you and still want to help.

The demon lord obviously doesn't care. The ugliness of his sobs totally overtakes any awkward display you might be making in turn. "You're fucking incredible! I couldn't believe it, Richard. I couldn't fucking believe it. I went back, I had to see for myself. I talked to Beltoro. First time I've ever seen them even remotely sane. What you did— I— I still can't believe it. You probably had no idea what you were doing, but that's okay, you fucking lunatic— you don't need to—!"

You both hold onto each other harder still.

"I sent for Malimos' kids. They'll be waiting for us. My shit's packed. We've just been waiting for you to come around, big guy. It's gonna be rough getting there, but we'll be alright. Don't worry about the cunt. She split the second I got back from Beltoro and filled everyone I fucking could in on what a fucking hero you are." Yech pulls back, looking to you with so much respect that it has you crying all over again.

Ofelia gets off of the bed to clean up the mess you both made, while the demon lord sets to making more food and water. "I didn't know if you were going to wake up again. You were in a bad fucking way. I'm not taking "no" for an answer, you're going to rest for a while. You're getting out of here in one piece. We're getting you back, even if it kills me—"

You can't stop crying. It's driving you crazy, but you can't stop. You can't stop eating, drinking, listening, and taking in. Your stomach hurts, your throat is on fire, the seeds in your lungs have you coughing and wanting to retch, but you can't stop. Yech's sobbing subsides after awhile. Ofelia settles back on the bed.

The relative silence is only punctuated by your own weeping and the way that you're frenetically trying to accept your friend's efforts to help.

Ofelia and Yech haven't been talking at all for some time, now. They're both staring at you intently.

Ray's leaning hard against you, trying to support you as best as he can. The pressure from all of the food and water you've taken in has you shift away from him, slightly, but you can't stop yourself.

The blonde by your side looks to you with her brows knitted. Tears are still in her eyes as she pulls the help away from your hands.

You practically trail after her, and Yech gets between the two of you as she places everything out of your sight. There's no hunger, no desire for anything you've taken in— but the lack of restraint is all over you. You're not full, even though you feel fit to burst. There is an emptiness— like you've given everything you had— and you need to take in more.

The sobs shaking your frame, the Relic in your hand, and the friends by your side are all so overwhelming that you can scarcely think— but you are thinking.

With Ofelia's back to you, and Yech looking down at you with so much concern, you can't help but avert your gaze. It falls on the Relic in your hand. There's red and angry indentations around the formless metal, in your palms, and along all of your fingers from clutching onto it unconsciously for days. You had never attempted to open the locket, but its original form seems lost to you now.

There will be time for this, but not now. I have to rely on myself and my friends. I've been killing myself my entire life by being so reliant on the Gods and abusing Their gifts. I've destroyed my body, my mind, my soul— and all in Their name. I may not have any restraint right now, but this is the most important thing I could possibly learn to do.

With no small measure of agony, you relax your fingers, pry the Relic from your grasp, and set it gently beside you. The residual pain seems to redouble, and you have to bend over to even start coping.

Ray is right there, and Yech is quick to help you steady yourself. He actually does give you something to bite into to dull the out pour of Mercy, while Ofelia has her back turned to you both.

The pain doesn't subside, and you can't properly control yourself— but you manage to discard the moans and sighs to try and speak through it anyways. "What— nnn, what h-have you both been— oh, Mercy—" The sob is back in your throat.

Ray lays his head against your lap, offering you someone to pet and to hold onto. You clutch onto him, and fight through the discomfort as the rogue and skeleton sit back down beside you. They give you a little space, and some time to compose yourself.

It's absolutely a lost cause. You clutch onto your dog— murmuring to him for a time— before you can finally speak again coherently. "...I missed you too, boy. What have— what have you both been d-doing?"

They both move to speak simultaneously, obviously not respecting one another enough to wait.

"You wouldn't fucking believe—" "It's been—"

You settle your reddened gaze on Yech, and implore the demon lord to continue. Ofelia sheepishly quiets herself as he makes a rude gesture in her general direction. He's only teasing, and you're relieved to see them on civil terms (by their standards, at least).

"We've got a fucking problem on our hands, Richard. No one's got the balls to come and take me on directly, but there's a few other demons in the ruins that think they can do a better job than even I can. Idiots! The lot of 'em! I sent out the word to Malimos, and got my shit from the cave the first day you came back— but I wasn't about to pick up and run off like a goddamn woman—"

"Hey!"

"Present company excluded, of course— the second shit went south. Ostedholm's up in flames. Not literally, but it's a fucking mess up there. I've got my work cut out for me. I didn't want to leave your holy ass alone for a second with everything going on, so Mal's just been keeping me posted."

"Will Celegwen..." Even though you're uncertain of how to feel about anything, your concern for the safety of the sorceress— your former companion— can't be contained.

Yech's disgust is immediate and intense. "She'll be fine. She seems to have gotten back whatever the fuck happened to her before."

Ofelia interjects. "She did wait, you know. She was out of it for days, and stayed here, trying to help out— until Yech came back, from Beltoro—"

"And then the bitch went running for the fucking hills. Didn't say so much as—" The demon changes his pitch an octave, in the stupidest impersonation of an elf you've ever heard. "Thank you Yech, you handsome and wonderful man—" He makes a retching sound, resuming his usual voice. "When I let her go." The archdemon's frown intensifies. "It's pretty hard to keep anyone wrangled all the way down here, if they aren't already down here, you know. It's no fucking wonder Idonea let things get so bad. Takes a fucking day just to get any news, at least. I'm gonna be making some changes. Rem's been helping. Beltoro's alright."

The grimace eases up as his hand goes back to your shoulder. "More than alright, even. You're a fucking miracle worker, Richard."

You sniff, still clutching onto Ray, and nod your head in reply. You can't properly acknowledge his gratitude, but your appreciation is written all over what little of your face is peeking out from your mastiff's fur.

"I had to check up on them, to see what the fuck got you in such bad shape. I couldn't believe it. I still can't fucking believe it. No amount of fucking Magic or—"

"T-Time—"

"Yeah— could have done what you did for them. They needed the break. I think they'll be okay. You're going to be okay."

Ofelia can't help but interject again. "I've been doin' my best to look after you, Richard. I believed it. We've all been through this shit together. After everythin' I've seen you do, I believed it. But you've been really bad off. Really bad. I don't know if you wanna hear it."

The vague taste of bread you've choked down intermingles with copper and white-gold. You nod again, unable to stop yourself from sobbing into Ray's fur. Your dog doesn't mind in the slightest and leans against you, giving everything he can to reassure you that you aren't alone.

"I couldn't wake you up for anythin'. We had plenty of time to clean you up, get you some rest, but there's been a lot of blood. Twitchin'. I was really scared for ya'." The pile of used bandages opposite the bed glare at you. Ofelia looks so much more rested, but there's that expression again on her face, as she lowers her voice. "You kept screamin', Richard."

The blonde is looking at you with so much concern and sympathy that you manage to stop crying. She seems to feel so sorry for you that you have to take it all in. "What you did is amazin', but I don't want yer help with my Pa, okay?" She sounds terribly strained, but there's strength behind her months of searching, of hiding, and of doing whatever was needed to survive. "I can live with whatever happens to him. He brought it on himself. I don't want no one else to hurt because of him. I've been hurt because of him. Because of all this. I just want to get home. You promised you'd help, right?"

"Y-yes."

"It was real fucked of me to lay into you like that before. I'm sorry, Richard. I wasn't all that right in the head, either. You didn't need all that. Not then, not now. Not ever. No one does. Gettin' some proper sleep helped a lot. I've been tryin' to take better care of myself, too. Even Yech is okay after a good meal and a decent bed—"

"Yeah, you're fucking welcome, you miserable cunt."

"Drunkard!"

"Slut!"

"Demon!"

"WHORE!"

It's pained, but they're both smiling at each other.

Ofelia turns back to you. She's not looking at the Relic in your hand, the symbol around your neck, the redness of your eyes or the way that you're trembling. You know that she's looking at who you really are.

"Will you still let me keep my eyes out for ya'?"

"A-absolutely, Ofelia—"

The halfling practically launches herself across the bed to hug you.

"Mercy—!"

"Not so fast, half-pint—!" Yech manages to wrangle her mid-air. His skeletal arms scoop the halfling out of harms way with ease, and gently saves you from any more physical discomfort for a blessed moment.

You're so tense you want to vomit and die. The sudden motion coming towards you has every hair on your body standing on end, but you're given a moment. A rest. A reprieve.

The two argue for a few moments beside you, before relative silence settles across the tent. You wind down, your pulse slows, and you struggle to say everything that you want to. It's punctuated only by the occasional sniff or sob. "I'm sorry, Ofelia— I'm so sorry. Again. For— for everything y-you've been through."

You all settle closer to one another, while your friends give you just enough space and the respect that you so badly need.

"It's okay, Richard. Seriously. I know you're gonna make it up to me. I appreciate it, though."

"You just d-do everything you can to get home s-safe. Just— just think of yours-self. No matter what, your life comes f-first."

"Well, yeah—"

"No m-matter wh-what I've promised to Y-Yech—"

"What're you talkin' about, Richard?"

"No m-matter what deal I've made—"

"Richard, what the fuck are you goin' on about? Yech, so help me—"

The archdemon shrugs. "It's no difference to me. You look out for Dick over here and we aren't going to have any fucking problems."

"Y-Yech I won't— she can't, I won't— no one else is throwing th-their life away—"

"What are you both talkin' about? Actually, no, Yech, you're drunk. Richard, what's he talkin' about?"

You do your best to straighten upright, and try and put on a calmer demeanor. This is such a monumental alliance that it deserves your full attention, the utmost respect, full command of your faculties, and all of the status that comes with your title and blessing.

You throw yourself over Yech's shoulders, sobbing hysterically and barely able to speak. "Of-felia, I— we— it won't h-happen in a day, but w-we want peace—! I don't want you t-to have to fight anything, but— oh, Mercy—!"

There's a skeletal hand on your back to gently pat and try to reassure you. Yech drawls to the woman beside you with what you imagine is the full extent of his patience. "Your main man here is going to do his best to help us. I'm not asking for any more fucking miracles, but he's got a non-aggression policy, you get me? We're not killing anyone who we can help. I've got my work cut out for me without going out of my way to murder and burn everything I come across." There's a sneer, and so much disgust projected over your shoulder by the demon that you almost pull away. He's practically growling at the halfling. "Not that I'd expect you to fucking understand. I'm doing everyone a favor and suffering you to live until you get out of my hair."

You try to deescalate things as best as you're able. "Y-you don't h-have any, Y-Yech—"

There's a slight smile against you, as the demon lord continues to let you hold him. "Fuck off, Richard. It'd have all fallen out from this shit by now anyways."

The halfling sitting across from you and your friend, your ally, the archdemon, seems stunned beyond words.

You bury your face in Yech's shoulder, so happy to have someone to hold onto that doesn't want to pull away, lie to you or hurt you. You take in the comfort.

Clutching onto him desperately for support, he obliges, and pays no mind to your sobs as he continues. "I fucking mean it. You look after this legend and I'll do my best to help you too, alright? I need this lunatic even more than he needs me right now. You don't fucking get it, and that's fine, you got your house and your kitchen and your kids or whatever the fuck— but we've got some fucking business to see to. Are you going to be a fucking problem? Am I going to have to make myself understood?"

Ofelia straightens upright. Her voice completely levels as she replies. There's an undercurrent of a threat, but she seems to know how to handle herself well enough. "I getcha'. We're not gonna have any problems, Yech. Not so long as I get outta here safe, too, okay?"

"Fucking typical. Wouldn't expect to trust you further than I could throw you— oh, you know what that's actually pretty fucking far, isn't it—"

"Maybe we can test it out sometime! You think you can get me back to Spira from here? Richard never did let me hop on Ray, but that would be so much faster—"

"B-both of you, p-please, stop—"

"Relax, Richard, seriously. It's alright. I get it. It's fine." There's a hardness to the demon's words. It's something that you've scarcely heard from him, but you're sure he's likely had to convey it many times before. "I could probably do with culling some of these bastards myself." The archdemon's voice swings back around to such a soft tone you scarcely recognize his voice. He's still patting your back, and practically encourages your crying into him. "If anyone gives us any trouble, we're just going to take this shit as it comes, alright? Don't worry about a thing. You've got enough shit to worry about. You need anything, big guy? We got you."

You are struggling to get your sobs under control, to withhold your emotion, and to keep in your outbursts with so much difficulty that no one looking at you would believe you've been repressing yourself your entire life. Your lack of restraint not only has you clutching onto the demon before you as tightly as you can, but you're barely able to speak through your distress. "I j-just need some reah- ahh, Mercy..."

Your shoulders are shaking horribly. They're broader than your friend, yet nearly as thin as his corpse. It's rapidly becoming apparent just how much pain the Relic was holding at bay now that its warmth has completely left your hands. Your stomach is aching from how much you've eaten and drank, but it pales in comparison to the agony in your skull, the sensation of something stuck in your chest, the dull pounding in your hands, and the exhaustion that takes hold of your frame.

The skeleton in your embrace— your friend and ally— is without any heat or flesh thanks to the Catalyst. You don't care. His comfort is all you really want. "Some reassurance, Yech. P-please, tell me what's going on. I need to know. I want to know. You must be hurting t-too."

Though you can't see Ofelia through your tears, you know she is staring into you with so much disbelief that she doesn't even recognize you. Her voice picks up over your sobs. She digs her gaze into the archdemon instead. "What did you all do to him?"

There's a snap and a jerk of a number of bones in the demon's hand. He's making an unquestionably rude gesture to the halfling across from you. "Shut it. Show the man a little fucking respect. It's none of your fucking business, anyways—"

"It i-is her business. Ofelia, you didn't— you never— this is all so much bigger than anything I had ever exp-pected. I appreciate y-your tolerance of— of our alliance— of all of this. But I n-need to know."

"See? He wants to hear it, he can fucking hear it." Yech murmurs, "you do actually want to hear this, right, Richard? I know you're not okay, but this is pretty fucking important."

The fact that even a demon of generosity is hesitating to give you this information has you questioning just how badly you seem off. He obviously wants to give you respite more than anything, but you need to know. "N-no. I mean, y-yes. I w-want to know what w-we're getting into. No more— no more secrets."

There's a pull back from Ofelia as she physically cringes at your comment. She stops interjecting, giving Yech ample opportunity to drawl.

You realize this is the longest period of time you've ever seen him without him imbibing some form of alcohol, and it sounds like he needs a drink.

Though he doesn't have lungs, there's a constant sigh and a groan at the back of each word that drips with disgust. "They're fucking idiots, Richard. The lot of 'em. Demons really, really don't like being told what they can't do. The Catalyst is a real fucking cunt, you know how it is— anyways! Apparently, Idonea was more than happy to give 'em what they wanted! ISN'T THAT GREAT?! Word getting out of a new bad bitch— I mean, you know how great I am, but that's besides the point— the rest of 'em are losing their fucking minds. Thinking I'm going to go ruining the RUINS of all fucking things!"

Yech actually does pull away from you for a moment. He fishes out a flask from one of his many fine pockets. Your sobs have entirely stopped, thanks to a welcome distraction from your pain. There's a few moments of absolute silence as he undoubtedly consumes the entire contents of the item, before resuming his explanation. "They're trying to restructure shit. They know we're coming. I tried to wake you up sooner— we, I guess, tried to—" There's a cursory glance to Ofelia.

They've been looking after me together, haven't they? For nearly a week?

"Don't worry about it. What matters is I've gotten in touch with everyone I could. Rem's got her men on the ground, and Malimos is waiting for us up top. Beltoro needed the break, but we'll be alright. It's been enough to keep the place from literally burning to the ground, but... we just have to make it through the city proper, I'm sure of it."

You're finding a remnant of yourself somewhere in the promise of demons and battle. "What exactly— what's the situation, Yech—?"

"Not to burst your bubble, Richard— especially after what you've been through— but not a whole lot of demons want your help. Pretty sure they've collectively wanted to kill you since you got here. You left a pretty big mess up there. We probably can't clean it up with you like this, but we're going to get your ass out, even if it kills me."

Your conviction is unwavering, and the demon's reluctance is driving you mad. "T-tell me."

"They're all waiting for us, Richard. I need you to be ready. We're going to have to run when we get out of here. I can hold my own, but I don't know how much I can do to protect both of you bastards."

"I'm not helpless." Ofelia tries, "I—"

Yech snaps at her so hard and fast that you tense— fully expecting an attack, a javelin in your side, a demon at your throat—

"You have no idea how to help this man. Save your fucking lies and stop pretending like you even know how to help yourself. Hold your fucking tongue. Sorry, Richard—"

Your pulse is going a mile a minute. It didn't occur to you that you took hold of Ray the moment that Yech parted from your arms, but you're holding onto your mastiff as tightly as you're able. Wide-eyed. Staring between the two figures before you.

Ofelia is cringing into herself. She's obviously furious, but it's written all over her face that she's legitimately terrified of the archdemon. She remains silent as he continues.

"Richard, we gotta do something about you. You're not going to make it like this. This is too important to fuck up. We can take a few days, regroup— but I'm pretty fucking concerned about them getting more organized. I don't want to sugar-coat it. You wanted the truth." There is an insidiousness that creeps into the demon's voice that sets every nerve in your body on fire. "They're waiting for us. I've had to kill my men before. I'll kill every demon in the ruins if it means making this work. They're not laying a fucking hand on you."

A business-like tone creeps back into the liquor, the bone, and the hand back on your shoulder. You know he's trying to steady your shaking. "The imps will be the worst of it, and they know you now, from what I understand. There's a lot. There's a whole lot. There's a whole city. We need a plan. I can't rule over ashes, and I don't want to take anyone that I don't have to, but we gotta do something. You fuckers need to get home. Let me clean up this mess when you're gone."

Clasping onto Yech's hand as firmly as you're able, you steady your own trembling, and pocket the Relic. Its relief passes, surges, and fades. It's just on the side of your trousers, but with the contact against your skin and your clothes, there's the security of it only being adjacent to your vessel.

You are going to learn.

You are going to grow.

You are not afraid.

"I trust you t-to plan, Yech. To lead—" It takes every ounce of strength in you to move, let alone to get up. The Goddess of Mercy, the gift of Flesh, and the insurance from your patrons guarantees that you can withstand the pain. There's a blossom of gold and smoke behind your eyes as you groan, and manage to pull yourself out of bed.

Ray leans against you— your silent protector— and helps you with no complaint to your feet.

He's such a good boy.

"Not so fast, hotshot!" Ofelia immediately moves to stop you, and to get you to sit back down. "You're gonna be the death of me, Richard."

Yech is right beside her, gingerly moving his hands if only to make sure that you don't immediately fall over. "Easy there, you fucking lunatic—"

Your mastiff eagerly sticks himself in between them, giving you the strength to stand. He will never question you.

Pulling away from your allies' attempts to keep you seated is an ordeal. Every movement produces more relief. The soil underfoot is so reassuring, but you almost immediately collapse into it. Your legs are so devastated with exhaustion and pain that it's sufferable to remain upright. Teeth gritted. Trembling.

Yech grabs hold of your shoulders, trying to keep you steady. You stand your ground. "Ofelia, do you trust m-me?"

"Richard—" Her exasperation is immediate.

Yech is happy to interject. "Save it, whore."

With a glare— sticking her tongue out to the demon in an entirely inappropriate fashion— the blonde actually answers your question. "I'd be lyin' to you if I said I haven't had my doubts, but what about?"

Quiet falls over the tent, as you grimace and fight through the sustained agony. The skeletal hands on your shoulders give you just enough support to ease the effort.

"M-Mercy—" Though the motion is exquisite and your suffering is to know relief, you halt the procession of your weakness for a single moment. Conviction steels your voice and steadies the tremor. "I have to do this myself. I have to stop abusing the Gods. I will not keep repeating the same mistakes. Will you trust me to endure?"

The grip on your shoulder tightens as if Yech were afraid of letting you go.

A woman standing before you— who you feel you still scarcely know— looks up to you with absolute respect. "Yeah."

There is a reason why she's stayed by your side, even here at the bottom of the world.

"Will you permit me to trust in you, to— to see?"

Pride and so much fear crosses over her face that she can scarcely speak. She settles on sniffing. "I thought you'd never ask."

It hurts far too much to not make your intentions clear. To not look to your friend— your ally— and to implore Yech to be honest with you, too. "Every second I've spent resting has strengthened the enemy. We need to move as soon as we can. I can do this. I will endure. I cannot— will not— lay idly by while your city burns."

Yech shrugs. "Okay. So, it might actually, literally be on fire. I hope that's not a problem—"

"I won't hesitate to call upon the Gods if either of your lives come into danger."

Ofelia's expression is impossibly spearheaded by even more concern.

The demon in your midst is more than happy to express his thoughts. "That might be a lot sooner than you'd think, Richard. I can't picture this shit getting any better, though. Not unless we do something about it. Let's get moving."

Wrapping an arm under your shoulder, Yech helps you across the canopy with many a groan and mutual complaint. Ofelia swipes your equipment from the opposite side of the tent. She's scarcely able to carry your shield as it's nearly as large as her entire body. Yech happily teases her while you all make your way out, back into the pseudo-moonlight.

The moon overhead remains dark. Its black surface is encompassed with immature, luminescent vines. Their faint green glow casts over a field of meticulously groomed and golden flowers. You can now see the sheer number of doors in the abyss with absolute clarity. The vast majority of them have a singular bottle, goblet or flask placed in front of them. Each one is adorned with a flower and a note. Each scroll and flower appears to be sealed.

Though you cannot read them from a distance, you can guess their meaning. Over the stone, the field, and the likely offerings of peace are webs. There are spiderwebs everywhere. Nausea stirs in the pit of your stomach, at the back of your throat, and along an ocean of sin. There are so many black specks traveling across the network of information that you can scarcely see their nuance, motion, or flow.

Many of the spiders are unassuming, but two headed straight for you all are freakishly large. They are nearly as tall as Ofelia and are twice as wide. A bell encompasses the bulk of their dexterous frame. Their softly twinkling cuts against the otherwise complete silence of the archdemon's domain.

He must have sent out Idonea's daughters.

The demon of generosity doesn't stoop down to greet the spiders. He conjures a platform, raising them to your eye-level. Ofelia awkwardly stands on her toes, trying to look up. A message is smeared in blood while they write in the soil before you both.

You do not understand the message or script conveyed, but there's an impression of currents of water, of leeches in the dark, of countless murals, and of so many runes that you could not hope to translate them all in an age.

There's an impression of laughter.

Yech grimaces, waves his hand with a fair amount of anger, and leaves the spiders to hop down from the platform he has conjured. The pillar remains. So do they.

Without another word to the minor demons, you all begin slowly walking towards the edge of the field. As you move forward, Ofelia cuts away from the two of you. She's clearly going to fetch something.

The demon lord saves his physical efforts for aiding you, but begins barking commands to a number of the spiders. He's talking about mobilization, about keeping the route ahead clear, fortifications, corridors by number, and how many ways he'll kill them all if they don't move as quickly as they're able.

The skeleton around your shoulders isn't pushing you to move any more quickly than you can stand. Each step is another flower of pain, prolonged tremor, the desire to pull into yourself, the urge to retch, and the need to go lay back down.

You push back against the desire for sleep, picking up the pace, and find your strength. "You've been lying to me, Yech. You have been very busy."

"Shut the fuck up, Richard. There's a fucking problem."

"Tell me. Please."

"Word's reached the upper levels. They're restructuring, too."

"Can you— please, will you explain? I still have no idea what any of this means."

"The waterway has been in disorder since Mondost died. Offala flooded the passages again. She's trying to grab up everyone she can. Every imp, every straggler, every dissenter. Lucky for us, she's stopping up anyone from getting out of the ruins. FUCKING tough SHIT for us, she's stopping anyone from getting out of the ruins. Sounds like Malimos thinks the whole thing is too fucking funny to bother with sorting it out. I'm going to kill him."

"What— what does this mean for us?"

"We can worry about it if we get there, I just wanted you to know the second I found out. You deserve to know what the fuck is going on. No fucking secrets, right?"

You offer an extremely pained smile to the demon lord. The both of you are rapidly approaching the edge of the abyss.

Snaking upwards from the stone face are so many spider webs you can scarcely tell where the rock ends and their work begins. There is absolutely no indication of how you are leaving, but Ofelia is running back towards you both with a new backpack. Strapped to it and every inch of her body that isn't concealed by her cloak are daggers and poison. She's wearing a gambeson, a mask over her face, and is still managing to bring the rest of your things to you.

This has been no Dream.

This was a nightmare of my own making.

I've always had the choice, to do the right thing.

But I am only human.

All of this work will have been for nothing if I don't make it out of these ruins alive.

Your vision is swimming from the strain of pushing yourself so hard, so soon, but you manage to keep moving forward. You arrive with Yech, Ray and Ofelia at the edge of the abyss.

Looking up is a mistake. It feels like the ground gives way from you. Dealing with vertigo, the weight in your stomach, exhaustion, and all of your tremor is an ongoing struggle. Thinking clearly is rapidly becoming impossible.

Where are we going?

Why are they armed to the teeth?

I thought we were trying to use stealth? Isn't that what Ofelia has always done?

You pull your eyes away from the moon, the cliffs, and the edge of the world to look down. To ground yourself.

There has to be a way for me to hold my own. To persevere.

You start to pull away from Yech, and rapidly realize that you simply do not have the strength to hold yourself upright. The tears are gone. Your face is dry, and your expression is as hard as it's ever been.

You resolve to stand on your own. "There's still something I need to do, Yech. I have to be able to move— to walk on my own two feet. Can you — please— would you—"

The demon lord keeps an arm on your shoulder, having to use a fair amount of strength to keep you from collapsing. "Spit it out, Richard. What do you need?"

You look to Ofelia. "My shield. My mace. And, Yech—" The halfling's disbelief and worry fades from your sight in an instant, as you bore your gaze into the demon lord. Wanting to take. Unable to show any form of restraint whatsoever. "Give me something to walk with. Something as black as the void that I've ventured to. I need a crutch. Not a weapon, but a cane, Yech. Please."

Ofelia is hesitating to even move towards the two of you, but Yech glares at her so firmly that she immediately complies with his demands. "You heard the man! Give him his shit. Let's fucking do this. Give me a moment."

You're eased to the floor and given a moment's reprieve from the agony of standing on your feet. The sorcerer pulls his hands away. Before Ofelia can even lend you your supplies, the archdemon kneels, and presses his palms deep into the soil before you. In one swift motion, he pulls forth a symbol of support.

The cane is adorned with a golden sigil from another age. The emblem is nestled between skeletal fingers. Its exact symbolism is hidden from sight, and is entirely befitting of your station. From the ivory handle, a single finger extends outwards as something to hold, and as a reminder of a friend to lean on. They point with accusation, with judgement, with disgust, and with the promise of Vengeance at whatever may stand in your way.

The black, polished, wooden base is extended towards you. Its matte surface takes in all light around it, soaking in the luminescence, the green, the glow.

You grasp onto it. Trembling, you rise to your feet, and produce the Relic of Mercy once more.

The moment the symbol of divinity enters your palms, your pain begins to fade.

Ofelia silently lends you your shield, helping you strap your mace and equipment to your back.

You do not need the Gods.

You need only trust in yourself, and in your mission.