Hangman Chapter 67

Chapter 67-

Sonsee planted her foot firmly on the ground and brought herself up.

“There’s something down that hall…” She pointed ahead and to the right.

Dazey quivered. “That’s…” she struggled to speak.

Gruse pushed her face close. “What? Who is it?”

“Lord Bach…”

Quiet settled in the darkened hall, not a word escaped any of their lips, and they listened intently for any kind of sound. Sonsee’s legs felt cold, not from the air, but her body’s constriction of blood vessels in sheer terror.

And then, a noise.

Step.

Step.

Step.

“What can we do-?!” Sonsee’s heart was going to beat out of her ribcage. Her hand was gripped around her spear, folded at her waist, but her arms felt like stone; she doubted whether she’d even be able to run away.

Gruse’s eyes sharpened like knives, her killer’s intent rising. Her Join Hands was on a hairpin trigger, ready to annihilate anything that stepped in front of her.

From down the hall and to the right, in the distance and under cover of shadow, not one, but two figures emerged from the arched open doorway. The only evidence to confirm the second person’s existence was that they could see them, other than that, there was no noise, and absolutely no distinct scent.

“It’s as if his presence is blotting out everything around him,” Sonsee thought. The two were walking from right to left across the four-way intersection, and hadn’t yet seen them; in her anticipation, she breathed as if it were her last time.

It was only a few steps from one archway to the next, but the adrenaline seemed to slow down time until it was excruciating. Eventually, they made the four steps across the hall and Sonsee’s stomach topped doing flips.

Bach halted and stared straight ahead. Then, without warning, cast his gaze in their direction. His eyes drilled into her, it was almost enough to make her cry. A strange expression grew on his face, a sort of smile that said “Oh, it’s you.”

An intense shiver ran down Gruse’s spine. She remembered the first time she met Mello, the way his gaze made her heart well up with respect. “This is a leader,” she’d thought. “This is someone I would follow to the end of the Earth.” This was different, though; never before had she been so utterly intimidated by someone’s sheer presence from over a dozen feet away. Something emanated from him that was deep and primordial, like he’d been with her in the womb.

“Father?” Ky had to tilt his head up just a few degrees to see Bach’s face head-on, he was easily over six feet. Bach turned back in the direction they were moving and continued on wordlessly.

The three of them waited out for a solid minute before the mood depressurized.

“That was…” Gruse whispered. “That was the Chief Magistrate?”

Dazey looked shell-shocked. “I’ve never even seen him do that…”

“Come on,” Sonsee cut through their apprehensions. “Gallow’s that way.”

The hall leading to Gallow’s cell stretched on for longer than any of the others. It became increasingly clear that this was a section of the prison meant to keep whoever was held there as far as possible from the exit.

At the end of the passage, a tall, iron door blocked their way.

“Gruse,” Sonsee prompted. Any other day, Gruse would have simply left them and retraced her steps to get to Queen’s chamber, but the thought of being alone with Bach so close was enough to make her cooperate.

“[JOIN HANDS]”

The absolute force of her onslaught whipped up the stale air of the hall into a frenzy. The door was torn to shreds as seemingly thousands of arms rushed out from the nothingness around her, so fast that they appeared as nothing more than red blurs.

Gallow sat up in his bed; Gestalt could detect a change in the energy of the room right before the sound of metal ripping and shredding to bits could be heard even from the other side of their door.

A wry smile crossed Gallow’s lips.

“You made it…” he whispered to himself.

---

Myst’s focus was keen, he tore down the hall making all the noise of a field mouse. This passage was long and didn’t curve at all; up ahead, a wall was visible with a dark rectangle at its center. It soon became clear that it was not just a wall, but seemingly a separate room with large, double doors.

“If this isn’t it…” Myst shook his head and kept going, casting off his doubt. “It doesn’t matter if it is or not, I need to keep going!”

When he was no more than twenty feet away, the doors were thrown open. There was a bright, orange light within the room, casting shadows on things he couldn’t make out. A shape was in the door, but what made him stop was the noise it made.

“UrrrrrrrruuaaAAAAAAHH!!!”

A heart-rending, piercing screech, the kind of gurgling, hellish noise that sounded like it could only be accompanied by a violent coughing of blood.

The creature approached him, lurching down the hallway on what could have been its knees. Obscured in silhouette, it finally came into the light. Myst’s stomach dropped as he lay eyes upon it.

It was about the size of a cow, but with a bulkier, lumpier body. Flesh and muscle seemed to bubble up and melt together like tapioca pudding into a gut-churning, near formless shape. The soupy skin was a warm, pinkish color, though there were points along it where the flesh of the larger bubbly growths stretched and strained to look not unlike the film that rests at the top of a glass of milk left out, and appropriately pale and discolored. It walked on four unevenly-proportioned limbs which bulged at odd points; small, sausage-like digits stuck out from the ends of the front limbs, but several seemed to be melted together so that the skin was draped between the muscle and bone. At its front, a single, small eye with freakishly long lashes blinked and watered as if in pain, tears intermittently running down the soggy wrinkles of the “head.” Whatever may have resembled a face had morphed into a drooping, sluggish wall of meat with no visible mouth, yet the jaw appeared to remain beneath the layers of congealed tissue, opening, closing, and trembling a chunk of flesh against what could be generously called its upper lip. All over its body were scattered small white protrusions like beads, which soon became apparent as human teeth, sticking out and pointing at odd angles. Small crop of thick, black body hair sprouted in small patches across its form. It was enough to make one lose their mind.

Myst’s body was frozen in disgust and terror. As it lumbered down the hall, he could make out a runny, black liquid that dripped from below it and onto the floor. Bone-chilling, husky breathing escaped from some orifice on its body, or perhaps several.

His heart leapt as the creature’s most forward-facing eye snapped its attention on him. Its motions became even more labored and frantic as it lurched his way, the breathing growing heavier.

“What in hell…” Myst felt his mind slowing down. Of everything he’d seen in his life, nothing could have prepared him for this; it was repulsive, it threw into flux anything he knew about reality. In his stone-frozen panic, all he had the will to do was bring his hand to the salamander necklace across his chest. In times of distress, he had looked to Mello for an answer; Mello, who always knew what to do, who was never shaken or rattled by anything. But he wasn’t here anymore, and all Myst could look to was the faith he was raised in.

“Monster…” he said beneath his breath. A fire rose under his stomach, slowly boiling away the blackened terror. “You’re an offense to God…”

The creature lifted itself up and arched back on its hind legs.

“It’s going to leap!” Myst had no clue how fast or how far this thing could travel in a single bound, but he raised his hand, finger burning with white flame.

Its legs kicked off the ground.

“Come at me!” Myst raged before shouting his Vocation at the top of his lungs.

“[LULLABY]!”

“Huh?”

A jetstream of acid pierced directly through the creature’s body as Myst doubled back. It hit the ground with a thud, having arced a few feet through the air. It struggled to regain its footing as the hole, only the size of a pencil, sealed up with amorphous flesh.

Eroh joined Myst’s side with a satisfied smile.

“You killed him back there?” Myst asked.

“Almost,” Eroh replied. “He should be dead in a little while. What’s this?”

Myst was almost taken aback; he’d said it with the causal tone you might use when looking at a foreign dish. “I don’t know,” his own voice shook a little. “I don’t know…”

“You sound scared.”

“Just shaken up,” Myst deflected, though it was true. “The target is behind it in that room, that’s also where it came from.”

“Hm…” Eroh pondered for a moment as the creature regained its footing. “Mind if I take this thing on? It looks fun.”

Myst was already eyeing behind the monster to the double doors. “Be my guest.”

“Great.”

Myst took off running at an incredible speed down the hall, grabbing the attention of the creature before a liquifying shot of acid burned through its body yet again, boring a hole all the way through to its end. Eroh waved his finger up and carelessly made a cut from the point of impact to the ceiling.

The creature shook and cried, a bizarre, muffled screech leaving it as it slammed itself into the nearby walls, smashing craters into them and kicking up concrete dust. Eroh approached, hips swaying, and flicked his hand, spraying poison and acid onto its body. He gazed relaxedly at the wound, which was now sealing again.

“You don’t seem too smart,” he scoffed. “You’re just hard to kill. I don’t mind that kind of a challenge.”

---

“Father, why did you bring me here?”

Ky stood just before the balcony of the Gladial’s tower, on the precipice of the afternoon sun’s reach; Bach’s silhouette was turned away from him.

“Ky…” he began. “You’ve come a long way from the boy I once knew.”

Ky’s eyes widened. “It’s only thanks to you, father.” His official title had become a term of endearment and respect after so many years of support and affirment.

Bach breathed a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping downward. “Yes… There is a reason that you have grown as you have, and why you cannot fight Jericho.” Ky stepped next to him on the balcony, the day’s breeze blowing through his hair.

“I don’t understand…”

“Ky, you understand your own power, but not the nature of power.” Bach’s grey eyes grew weary as he gazed across the city rooftops.

---

The closer Myst got to the doors, the less the glare obscured the room. From outside, he could see within the chamber, to the center, where an older-looking, gray haired man was seated on a stone chair, surrounded by various mannequin pieces and chains hung from the ceiling. Queen’s gaze was fixed on him, and Myst made it known through the singular focus of his eyes that he was coming with intent.

The second his feet were over the threshold, the doors slammed shut.

Myst ground to a halt. It was distressingly silent, Queen didn’t say a word, but kept staring. Myst’s killer instincts ran on high alert, waiting for even the slightest change in the air, the most obscure shadow lurking in the corner, the subtlest wave of a chain.

“Hey, I’m looking for something, and I figured you could help me out.”

Queen tilted his head, but kept his lips sealed. Myst watched him for any movements while scanning his periphery. “Did that chain move-?” His pace jumped. “No, but…”

“I need an antique black orb,” he continued, keeping a poker face. “You know where that is, don’t you?”

Queen was silent for a few seconds before a small smile found itself at the edges of his mouth, growing and morphing into a toothy grin. He let out a breathy chuckle, his head dropping forward before breaking out into a guffaw.

“You’re late, intruder,” Queen wheeled with glee. Myst’s visible interest and confusion drew him to explain. “You saw my experiment outside, didn’t you? You looked so scared, you looked so scared…”

The more intimidation Myst felt, the stronger his soul’s energy began to flare inside of him. With each of Queen’s words, the frequency of his spirit body ramped up with anger.

“That thing,” Queen continued. “Was once a person like you or I… well, like something between both of us. He was once human. That orb, you called it antique? That’s hilarious, that object has existed for millenia, created by my Lord and sculptor, Jesua Saibit Bach.”

Myst stopped. “What?”

---

Ky grasped the stone rail. “I was born with my ability, and you took me in because you had the same kind of power,” his voice wavered. “That’s what you told me.”

“I’ve never told you what my ability was,” Bach cast him into view and raised his hand. Sparks of purple flame ran from his fingertips to his wrist, growing in number and size over the next few seconds.

“[RACH I].”

The tower was enveloped in a sphere of darkness; Ky’s head turned wildly as scraps of black leaves flew about in a storm. They formed an orbit around the two of them, and Bach brought his hands together in front of him. The leaves passed through his fingertips like formless shreds of black light, and a blinding white light began to spin between his hands. Their hair whipped in the wind, and Ky’s shoulder cape blew up and over his back.

Bach rotated his hands and seemed to sculpt the light into a shape which he stretched out until it had contracted in width.

As suddenly as it had come on, the darkness dissipated, and the daylight returned like nothing had happened. A flock of birds flew past a scant cloud in the distance, calling each other. Bach stared into Ky’s face, holding a small, thin black rod not unlike a shaft of graphite in a pencil.

“This is my power, Ky, the power to create spirit life.”

---

Queen laughed again. “And now you’re confused! You’re so stupid-looking! Did you know that? You wear that silly salamander, you don’t even know that’s a myth!”

“Shut up!” Myst needed him to stop talking.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been alive?” Queen snickered. “I watched the story being written! By who? Who do you think?” He broke into hysterics, his hands fidgeting and trembling.

“You-”

“Don’t even try,” Queen cut him off. “There’s nothing you could say, because you know I’m right. Look at me, how old do you think I am? How young are you? Listen…” his voice got very quiet and deep. “This is the big secret… The Church, the Saviour, all of that was made up by my creator. Lord Bach is the one true originator and savior of the world.”

“I don’t…” Myst sputtered. “I don’t understand…”

“All of that was fabricated to direct society towards the path he needed them to be on… To give them hope, that’s what you don’t understand, that’s the key. What do you think the purpose of Vocations is?”

Myst paused, breathing heavily. “Purpose? I don’t think they have any purpose besides the individual-”

“The purpose of a Vocation is the power to overcome despair.”

“W-what?”

“Inside of every human being, there’s a seed of despair. The only immutable aspect of life is suffering, that’s what Lord Bach seeks to end. I was borne from the full immersion of that seed, while humans like you have only the shred of it; it grows and twists you until you destroy your own world. Within every human is Bach, and his will calls you to do one thing: overcome that despair! That’s the origin of Vocation!”

---

“When you fought Jericho, did you see the back of his hand?”

Ky recalled back to less than an hour prior. “The back of his…?” Something flashed in his memory, an image he’d only caught a brief glimpse of in the low light. “I don’t know, some kind of symbol?”

“The diamond,” Bach proclaimed. “The birthmark on your lower back, you know it?”

Ky took a step back. “What?” His face was crossed with worry and confusion. Indeed, just to the right of the small of his back was a dark marking, a straight line that curved and curled around at the bottom to resemble a letter “J.”

“What does that have to do with him?” A tension was beginning to roll under his voice, accompanied by hints of hostility.

Bach took on an expression of rare empathy and compassion, as if he didn’t want to be saying this now. “Jericho received his marking when I created him.”

Ky’s eyes widened again, not in admiration but in creeping horror, his pupils shrinking to pebbles. His heart began to pound harder and harder each second as he digested Bach’s words, what he’d said without saying, and what he might still say.

“You cannot fight him,” Bach’s face was colorless, thousands of years in every small wrinkle. “Because you are the same as him.”

---

Myst’s lip quivered. “I don’t know… what you’re talking about…”

“Figures,” Queen sighed. “I don’t get to speak to humans very often, I just wanted to ruin your life. Oh, you can’t move right now, can you?”

Try as he might, Myst’s arms refused to move, his legs to walk. What he’d thought was fear was actually something else, some force unlike the presence he’d felt from Bach, but similar in its grip.

“Where my Lord Bach is the great creator,” Queen mused. “My own Vocation, Love Market, makes me the great manipulator. Getting you all upset has made your spirit body very overactive, hasn’t it? The stronger you try to be, the easier it is to analyze and exploit you. Even now, I have you all figured out and I didn’t even need to use my special tool. I just love seeing someone angry, it’s been so long…”

Myst could barely clench his fist.

“No… This is all b@#!%&*$... He’s messing with me… No!”

“Still in disbelief, hm?” Queen retorted. “Stupid, I’ll kill you myself.”

He stood up from his chair and descended the steps to the path that cleared the chains. The instant his foot hit the ground, however, he stopped.

“Huh?”

Myst wasn’t struggling anymore. His breathing was deep, and his soul was light.

“The first time I met Mello, he had this thing I just couldn’t wrap my head around. Whenever I freaked out or couldn’t make a decision, he took over and made it faster than I ever could, and he did it better than I ever could. I still don’t know how he did it, but that’s what I admired about him.”

“You…” Queen muttered with detestment.

“I really hate you, and I haven’t known you very long,” Myst continued. “He hated the world, but he was never angry; that always interested me, how you could hate something without being angry. It’s like if you were trapped under a sheet of ice, but you had a flame that kept underwater.”

Myst took a step forward. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”

---

“T-that’s impossible-” Ky staggered back, his breathing labored. “That’s- What the hell are you talking about?!”

A heavy sigh left Bach’s lungs, but he said nothing.

“I-” Ky sputtered, stumbling over his words. “What do you mean you made me? What does that mean?”

“I formed you from nothingness, Ky, as I did the others so many years ago,” Bach stretched his hands out and spoke warmly. “That’s why you were gifted with this power, because you’re my creation-”

“Am I even a man?!” Ky’s lips trembled as a monster welled up in his throat.

Bach moved closer. “You’re beyond humanity, you’re a new-”

“Get away from me!” Ky hugged the edge of the rail, backing away from him step by step. “You told me that I rose up from the muck; what did that mean?!” he cried.

“I meant that you have incredible powers-”

“Everything I did,” Ky cut him off, his face twisting into anger. “It wasn’t because I earned it, I was handed it?!”

“That’s not-”

“Shut up!” he growled. “Don’t tell me that!”

Bach took one step nearer, his face flowing with compassion, and finished Ky’s patience. He grabbed the rail and flung himself over it.

“KY!!!” Bach’s howl resounded through the sky like a stroke of lightning as he watched his creation hurl through the air.

---

Myst’s palm thrust forward like a piston. Queen weaved away from the blow; even in his older body, he moved with the elegance of a dancer.

“I have you figured out,” he thought, observing Myst’s stone-cold focus with glee. “Every move you make has been calculated.”

Myst’s own mind was as flat and singular as a sheet of slate. His eyes burned with the same white fire that graced his finger. This kind of mental state, being angry and calm, was wholly new to him; whenever he lined up a shot, there was no emotion in his heart, it was his belief that purging any humanity from his heart in those moments would make it invulnerable, as cold as ice.

Queen dodged and ducked a slew of swift, powerful strikes, allowing himself to be pushed further and further back with no concern.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Myst thought. Queen tilted his head to graze a punch before lunging in for a jab at Myst’s solar plexus.

“But it’s funny, for some reason, it doesn’t really matter very much to me right now.” With all of the wind knocked out of him, Myst grabbed Queen’s throat, prompting visible shock from him.

Holding him at arm’s length, Myst pulled back his other arm and drew in a breath. His blood was replenished with oxygen which now flooded his muscles. With one motion, he discharged all of it into a punch that landed squarely on Queen’s cheek, who was powerless to break his grip.

“Sorry, I needa’ line it up carefully on account of the whole depth perception thing.”

Queen picked himself up off the ground, grinding his teeth together. “[LOVE MARKET]...”

With terrifying force, Queen took two steps forward and was suddenly right before him.

“Huh-?”

Myst had no time to react before a strike landed in an odd spot on his chest, followed by another, then three, all of which he was powerless to stop. Queen’s elbow blasted him in the gut, knocking him flat on his back.

“There are points of tension and weakness all over your spirit body,” he mused. “You aren’t well guarded. That’s how I know you’re still weak, because the first goal is to gain strength, and the second is to hide that from others.” A toothy, crooked grin spread across his face. “If you wanted to kill me, you would have used that Vocation already.”

Myst’s body sprang to action, kicking Queen’s legs out from under him.

“That’s what he wants,” he thought. “To make me lose my temper and use Dome C, but at that moment, he’ll have the greatest control over me!”

As Queen toppled, his self-assured expression did not fade. Before Myst could realize it, Queen’s fingers were already hovering above his heart; having somehow managed to fall in an advantageous position, his face was only a few inches away so that Myst could see his lack of pores and the texture of porcelain.

“Every move has already been calculated, boy,” hot breath spewed from Queen’s lips. “I can solve any possible outcome as it happens, that’s what makes me supreme over an undeveloped Vocation like yours.” His eyes, a sickening yellow color, drifted from Myst’s own eyes to the fingers positioned above his chest.

“There’s a weak point right around your heart,” he said with a teasing rasp. “It would take just over a second to rip it right out. It would be quick, efficient, painless, you would only be conscious for about three seconds after that, and dead within five minutes. If you show me your Vocation, I’d be happy to do that for you. If not…” his hand floated a few inches down to Myst’s stomach. “I could take an intestine, or your liver, or your kidney, and I won’t make it so painless.”

A sensation of calmness passed over Myst’s body. Many questions coincided with this feeling. Was he accepting death? Was he checking out? Or, was something else happening?

“It’s a luxury to decide your death,” Queen rasped. “Don’t disrespect me for giving you this opportunity.”

Myst’s face remained untroubled. “Sure.”

For a moment, Queen waited with rapt attention for another word, or perhaps a surge of spiritual energy, but none came. “Sure?” he repeated. “Sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I gave you-” Queen nearly stuttered. “I gave you two options, what do you mean ‘sure’?”

“Give it to me.”

Queen’s anger spiked. “You-!” His hand rose up higher than necessary to pierce the body, but he needed to make a point.

The hand sped towards Myst’s guts to tear them apart instantly.

“Die!!”

Time stopped.

Or, at least, it seemed to stop, as Queen’s hand was not moving anymore. With righteous incredulity, his eyes directed burning anger to the sight of Myst’s own hand gripped around his wrist.

“When did you-?”

Myst twisted, and the only thing louder than the sound of porcelain cracking and snapping was Queen’s shriek of pain. With his other arm, Myst took hold of the hand around his throat and flipped their positions. He rose, carrying Queen over his shoulder. He didn’t need to say a word as Queen whimpered and trembled.

“You talk a lot about how much you admire that Bach guy. I admired someone too, and he taught me that I didn’t have to accept the choices everyone else gave me.”

Myst walked forward, striding through the chains to the stone chair at the center of the room. He ascended the steps leading to its seat, and Queen watched the brick floor get a few more inches away.

“And all those things you said don’t matter,

Who created man or where we’re going…

And all those things you said don’t matter,

I say they don’t matter to me…

And all those things you said don’t matter,

I’d rather not choose how I die.

And all those things you said don’t matter,

I thought your math spiel was stupid.

And all those things you said don’t matter,

I say they don’t matter to me…

Not anymore…”

Myst stood atop the stone throne from which the homunculus-man over his shoulder had tormented so many souls, and without looking, without speaking, bent his knees, jumped backwards, and reintroduced Queen to the floor.

---

Gallow’s spirit sense had been dampened by Queen’s seal, but he was able to hear the sound of a spirit he’d heard before; a chord nearly dissonant ringing from a harpsichord, and then the door to their room was obliterated.

Gestalt shrank back, not taking Gallow’s excited optimism to heart.

There was a tension shared between Gallow and Sonsee’s hearts which was relieved the moment they saw each other unharmed.

“Hey, it took you long enough,” Gallow snarked.

Sonsee didn’t hesitate. “It must be comfortable in there if you want to stay so badly.”

“H-hey,” Gallow felt an inch of fear in his stomach, like she might actually turn back. “I’m just joking, it’s a joke,” he insisted with a nervous chuckle. His demeanor changed when he saw who she was with. “Who’s this…?”

Gruse gave him a cold glare, and he finally recognized her.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on here?”

Sonsee was quick to step between them. “This is a temporary thing, don’t worry.” Her hands rose to broker peace, and she looked from one to the other. “Gruse, can you destroy the bars?”

“No.”

Sonsee perked up with an authoritative vigor. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t want to,” Gruse crossed her arms. “Not for him.”

Before she let anger spark up inside of her, Sonsee took a moment to study Gruse’s face. Her scowl ran deep into her heart, and suggested a lot more under the surface. Dazey glanced between them, trying to understand the emotional dynamic breaking out between the three of them.

“Look,” Sonsee got close and lowered her voice. “I know you’re still angry about what happened, but I’m asking you to see that he isn’t a bad person.” When Gruse finally turned her attention to her, Sonsee saw that her stubborn attitude wouldn’t subside so easily. “Please,” she pleaded. “I’m asking this as a favor for me.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Gruse replied. “I’m here so I don’t have to be alone.”

Sonsee’s heart fell, not from disappointment, but for the sorrow in her words, delivered so coldly.

---

The double doors of the chamber flew open and slammed against its walls, swinging back only for Eroh to step through, covered in bits of organ tissue and stained with runny black liquid which matted down his hair.

“Eroh,” Myst was dusting himself off.

“Lucky lucky!” He held up a black, glossy orb in his claw, and Myst broke out in an ear-to-ear grin.

“That thing’s still intact?”

“As can be.” Eroh tossed it to Myst, who caught it delicately. “A miracle for how messy that thing was.”

“You can thank him for that,” Myst glanced at Queen, lying motionlessly on the floor.

A devious smirk coiled at the edge of Eroh’s mouth. “I think I will.” He approached Queen and crouched over his body, poking his face a few times.

“Hey, hey… Hey!”

Queen’s face, cracked and broken in a spider web-like pattern, twitched to consciousness.

“Ah… Yeah, now you’re awake.” Eroh shook him by the shoulder and spoke with two-faced kindness. He didn’t allow Queen to say a word before continuing. “Now, you’re the one who made that thing out in the hall, right?”

Queen blinked affirmatively, unable to speak.

“And, just lookin’ around here, you’re probably the one who put all those mannequin parts on those people you send out, am I right?”

Again, he blinked, but with a second’s hesitation.

Eroh’s eyebrows raised and his eyes opened intensely. “Good, great; well, while we’re all here, why don’t you do something for me…” He looked around and dug through a pile of miscellaneous pieces. “Ah, this is a good one,” he muttered.

Eroh pulled out an arm, examining it all over and bending the joints to make sure it was fully functional before holding it out in front of Queen’s face. “You’re going to put this on me.”

A look of alarm raised in Queen’s eyes, and his legs began to flail.

“Nah-ah,” Eroh chirped, raising his boot and smashing it down on Queen’s knees. A muffled sound broke out from his throat, and a few pieces of porcelain-like bits fell from below his eye.

“That’s the great thing about you doll-people,” Eroh nodded as he taunted him. “You’re really fun to smash. Now, you still have one working arm, so let’s get to it.”

Myst watched the scene unfold from afar, just glad to be on the winning side of things.

It took a little under ten minutes to fully suture every point of contact between the arm and the stump Eroh had cauterized shut with acid. Queen worked with impressive diligence, and with only one hand of his own. Eroh held it in place while he gently tapped several key spots to establish links between the physical and spiritual masses of the two. Small arcs of energy flickered and disappeared as he did this, until over a hundred were in place, and Queen laid his hand down.

For a moment, it was merely a limp prosthetic. “Hm?” Eroh waited, realizing that he had never thought about the function of just how his limbs knew to move. With a touch of crafty intuition, he fired up his soul, and the mannequin arm suddenly rose from his waist. He turned his wrist every which way, bending his new fingers; pins and needles flooded his arm as the sensation of moving through the air hit brushed against it. After a minute of toying with his new arm, he brought it level with his face and it surged with energy.

Eroh chuckled as he realized that it was conducting his spirit energy physically, and he clenched his hand into a fist, balling it up and striking the doors of the chamber.

A cannon-like cracking sound erupted, and the doors were blown clean down the hall in thousands of splinters as a rush of air seemed to vacuum from the room. He turned back and smiled at Myst.

“Not bad, huh? I think I like this thing.”

Myst gave a half-hearted grin. “Looks good.”

Eroh turned back and started in the other direction before realizing that Myst wasn’t following him. Myst tossed him the orb. “Go catch up with Gruse,” he called. “I’ve gotta take a second.”

Eroh shrugged and kept on walking.

When he was gone, Myst approached Queen’s weak body. He examined him, staring into his beady eyes. Queen could barely emote, and his look was all that he had to communicate his present state. There wasn’t hate in his eyes, it was like a balloon filled with air right before the point of breaking, all of the emotion wrapped tightly so as not to destroy him.

In those quiet moments, Myst debated whether or not to end his suffering or allow him to potentially heal again and return to his cruelty. For the first time, he was faced with a value judgement; better to take a life now and prevent future pain, or be merciful and risk many more?

Myst made his decision. Queen lay between him and the doorway; he began walking forward.

Myst made his decision, but it would never be known.

A chain shook, a shadow flickered across the room, only the sound of steel cutting the air could be heard, and Myst’s body was cleaved in two.

It took only a moment. He was bisected at the torso, his top half sliding off of his waist and hitting the floor, subsequently knocking over his knees in a spray of blood.

Queen’s eyes widened.

“You…” he thought. The blade shone in the warm lights of the chamber, and the shadow rose from the hunched position he’d landed in. “But if you’re here, where is Lord Bach…?”

Shade LaCarr stood up straight and flicked the blood from his sword.

---

“Gruse…” Sonsee’s voice grew more urgent.

Suddenly, Gruse’s heart was pierced by a thousand knives. She clutched her chest as her face contorted in agony.

“Gruse?” Sonsee and Dazey asked in unison. Gallow and Gestalt were taken aback, sharing their confusion.

Tears welled up in Gruse’s eyes as words got caught in her throat. Deep in her heart, she knew what had happened, deep in her heart, a connection was severed. It wasn’t a physical pain, it was another for the pile.

All she could do was keel over and scream.