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Memoirs 357 - Bloody aftermaths
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 20:21:33 +0000 UTCRinging.
That was the first thing Scarlett registered. A sharp, hollow tone that filled her ears like a cracked bell held too close to the skull. It pulsed with each heartbeat, echoing through her blood, vibrating against her eardrums. Rising and falling. Drowning out everything else.
Her vision swam as she pushed herself upright. Dust hung thick in the air, drifting in pale, lazy spirals through an unnatural silence. The terrace—what remained of it—was a shattered mess.
Gouges split the stone floor in wild, branching patterns, spiderwebbing outward from the centre like the aftermath of some catastrophic impact. Chunks of the platform were simply missing, either collapsed into the void or sheared clean off. In places, only jagged edges remained, revealing the darkness below.
Corpses lay scattered amid the debris.
At least five of the Cabal Ascendants were visible, their golden masks cracked or crushed, bodies twisted at grotesque angles. Some were missing limbs. The sharp, metallic scent of blood lingered faintly in the air.
Scarlett’s eyes narrowed.
Thin streaks of red glistened in the cracks between stones. They pulsed faintly, unnervingly organic, before fading. Like light bleeding from a dream. By the time she blinked again, most of it was gone.
She looked around, a low swell of worry building in her chest. Then, among a collapsed mound of rubble and broken stone that might once have been a crude shelter, she spotted Kat. The Shielder was coughing, bracing herself on her claymore as she struggled to rise. An uneven cut traced across her dirt-smeared cheek, but she looked otherwise intact.
Just behind her, half-buried in the debris, Scarlett glimpsed a tangle of familiar brown curls sprawled motionless.
She tried to move — only to stumble forward and catch herself as her left leg buckled. It wasn’t responding properly.
She looked down. A clean tear split the fabric of her leggings at the calf. Dark red seeped through, clinging thickly to the fibres.
She blinked.
It didn’t hurt.
That, somehow, was worse.
As if her realisation triggered it, sensation began to return to the limb. Slow at first, then quickly escalating. The pain bloomed, hot and deep, like fire spreading through her nerves.
She clenched her teeth.
Her [Ashenwraith Elegance (Epic)]—along with every other defensive artifact she carried—had failed her. She’d been confident she could take at least a few direct hits from someone like Fynn or Leon by now. And she was fairly certain she’d only been grazed this time. Yet this was the result.
She’d never had much tolerance for pain. She avoided it where possible, and since arriving in this world, she’d rarely been seriously injured. Strain and fatigue, she could handle. Mental exhaustion, too. But the raw immediacy of physical trauma—the helpless, burning weight of it—felt like something else entirely for some reason.
How deep had the cut gone? Had it reached the bone? Would she even be able to walk again? She had to disinfect it, didn’t she?
She clenched her teeth harder, shaking the thoughts away.
The shock of the moment and the adrenaline were scrambling her focus. Making her forget.
This was a world of magic and monsters.
She was Scarlett Hartford.
She’d already blocked most of the blast using her pyrokinesis and hydrokinesis. Compared to the full force of that attack, this was easily manageable.
Her gaze landed on the [Eternal Flameweaver’s Athame] nearby, its edge glowing faintly. She reached out, fingers curling around the now-familiar weight. Drawing on her mana, she conjured a spiralling vortex of flame in the air beside her. Tendrils of heat stretched towards the [Crown of Flame’s Benediction] resting atop her head.
Energy surged through her. It was warm, potent, and stabilising. Soon, it began to push back against the pain, like a tide resisting rot.
She reached for the [Pouch of Holding] at her waist and retrieved two healing potions. She downed them quickly, grimacing as the thick liquid coated her throat.
Warmth prickled through her leg as muscle and skin began knitting together.
She didn’t know how bad the damage truly was—or if this would restore full function—but it was enough for now. She could power through the rest. And if worse came to worst, Rosa would mend whatever remained. The bard had healed Fynn through far worse.
Scarlett just had to stay alive long enough for that to matter. So did the rest of the party.
Bolstered by the crown’s strength, she pushed herself upright again. Her gaze turned to Kat.
The Shielder was kneeling now, one hand gently pressed to the body beside her.
Scarlett limped forward and stopped just behind her. There—dust-covered and still—lay Rosa. Her klert clutched loosely in one hand, brown curls spilling across her face. A soft, pulsing glow radiated from Kat’s palm, washing over Rosa in waves.
“Is she all right?” Scarlett asked, eyes fixed on Rosa. She didn’t see any obvious injuries. The two had been protected by both Kat’s stone barriers and Scarlett’s magic. It seemed to have worked to an extent, at least. She just wasn’t sure if it had been enough.
“I’m not sure,” Kat murmured. Her hand continued to glow faintly as she pulled it back. “I can’t find any wounds, so I think she’ll be fine. Might’ve just hit her head, but Earth Pulse should be enough to take care of that. Just give her a bit.”
The tension in Scarlett’s brow eased slightly. “That is…relieving.”
It really was. For a moment, she’d feared the worst.
Kat looked up, then her gaze dropped to Scarlett’s leg. Her eyes widened. “Scarlett, you shouldn’t be stand—”
“I will be fine,” Scarlett said, cutting her off. She gestured towards the flaming spiral still hovering at her side, feeding fire into her crown. “I have my own means of recovery.”
She was running low on mana, yes — but she had plenty of mana potions remaining and wasn’t even close to suffering mana exhaustion. Really, her condition wasn’t that bad. She’d overreacted for a bit there, but now she was in control again.
Kat frowned, studying her. “…At least let me cast something on you,” she said, reaching out.
Scarlett gave a small nod.
A warm, rhythmic pulse of energy swept through her body as Kat’s magic settled over her, merging with the focused burn of her own regenerative magic.
“What about the others?” Kat asked as she rose, scanning the broken terrace. Worry creased her face. “They’re not…?”
“They are not dead,” Scarlett answered the unfinished question, gesturing towards a collapsed section of the terrace several dozen metres away. She hadn’t looked closely before, but there — a heap of broken stone had gathered in an oddly deliberate shape, as if moulded by the blast itself.
Within it was a glint of silver, barely visible under the rubble.
Her suspicions were confirmed moments later. Dozens of thin lines of silver sliced clean through the debris. Then the heap collapsed and scattered, revealing a translucent silver barrier.
Arnaud stepped out, leading Allyssa and supporting a halting Shin with one arm braced under his shoulder.
Scarlett hadn’t seen it happen, but she’d suspected Arnaud would have moved to protect the young Shielders. Maybe he’d even reacted faster than she herself had. That wouldn’t surprise her.
Arnaud and Allyssa looked mostly unscathed. Shin, however, bore a leg wound much like her own. What caught her attention was the clean gash through his greaves, though. Those were crafted from reinforced dragonhide and metal.
She was starting to wonder how her own magic had been enough to withstand that strike at all. Was there something about it that resisted the attack?
The trio approached at a steady pace. As they neared, Kat moved to cast healing magic on Shin. Allyssa shot a worried glance towards Rosa, but Kat was quick to reassure her.
“She’ll be fine. Just needs a moment.”
“I’m sorry, Kat,” Arnaud said, his gaze moving from the wound on her cheek to Rosa’s still form. “Had I been faster, I might have shielded all of you.”
“It’s fine, Arnaud,” Kat replied. “You made the right call. The kids come first. They can’t defend themselves like we can.”
Arnaud’s eyes then moved to Scarlett, lingering on her for a beat. “Indeed…they can’t.”
“Where’s Fynn?” Allyssa asked, scanning the area. “Don’t tell me he’s—”
“Your Grehaldrael friend is alive, sweetie,” her father cut in. He motioned with his still-drawn sword towards a cluster of broken boulders at the terrace’s edge. “I can hear him breathing. Doesn’t sound seriously wounded. I think he might be taking a moment.”
Scarlett frowned at his words, following the gesture. Of their group, excluding Arnaud himself, Fynn was probably the only one she imagined had a chance of taking that attack head-on and surviving. She’d covered him as best as she could, and judging by the others’ condition, he should have fared better.
If he was staying back, it was probably by choice.
“That’s…good, I guess,” Allyssa muttered, eyes scanning the carnage. “…Are all those Cabal people dead?”
“It would appear so,” Scarlett answered.
She saw no movement among their fallen.
“I can detect nine bodies,” Arnaud said with an expression that was hard to read. “Six died in that final strike.” He turned toward the area where he had fought Moor. Much of the platform was gone, collapsed into the gaping chasm.
“What about that old man you were fighting, Dad?” Allyssa asked.
“I’m not sure. But if he isn’t here now, I would assume he fell.”
“I’m just glad we all made it through this alive,” Kat said, exhaling. She looked at the terrace’s centre. “…What even was that? I’ve literally seen a dragon’s breath do less damage.”
Scarlett followed her gaze to the ruined heart of the platform. The figure she’d seen there—blood-soaked and shimmering in gold—was gone. But she didn’t need to see it again. She knew exactly what it had been.
Crimson Requiem.
In the game, it had been a unique skill belonging to only one companion. A character named Scaive. They weren’t someone she’d encountered in this world yet, nor someone she was certain she ever would. So, seeing the telltale charge-up from her gaming days had caught her off guard.
What unsettled her more was the timing. Crimson Requiem was a very late game skill — one of Scaive’s final unlocks. It wasn’t something you had while clearing Beld Thylelion. Scarlett had worried about the game’s companions appearing as ‘reflections’ in this world. But she hadn’t imagined this.
She frowned deeply.
What exactly were these reflections? Echoes of the game? Warped projections of in-game identities? Incarnations of Fate? Shards from alternate realities?
And had Scaive’s reflection been sent specifically to attack them? Or had they just witnessed a phantom version of Scaive who happened to be executing that skill?
She couldn’t say.
Her eyes rose to the looming ceiling. The runes still glowed in the dark, but the golden filaments of light that had begun descending before Scaive’s appearance were gone.
But she hadn’t imagined it. Those lights had come for them. Drawn by something.
Was it their fighting? Or just their presence? Mixed with the Cabal’s, perhaps?
Suddenly, she remembered something.
She dropped her gaze and scanned the terrace. Ignoring bodies and rubble, she searched for the object she’d seen at the start of the fight. What happened to it after?
Not finding it, she began moving. Each step jarred her still-healing leg.
“Scarlett, wait—” Kat called out after her.
She didn’t stop.
The holes and broken stones made movement awkward, and she couldn’t completely mask her limp, even if it frustrated her to look so frail. But she had to find it.
Eventually, she came upon a shallow crater — a rough basin ringed by fractured stone. At its centre lay a large, half-wrapped object, tipped onto its side. Tarnished gold and oxidised copper clung to its surface in torn, draping sheets.
Just looking at it made something in Scarlett recoil. But there was also a deep, involuntary pull in her chest.
It hadn’t escaped the blast. Gashes split part of the casing, revealing smooth, pitch-black stone beneath.
“That’s… what those people were carrying earlier, isn’t it?” Kat asked, coming up behind Scarlett, while the others stayed with Rosa.
“It is,” Scarlett replied, stepping closer. Up close, it looked just like an altar of some sort.
She stopped before it, silent. Then, slowly, she reached out.
“Scarlett—” Kat began.
A breeze stirred her hair.
A hand caught her wrist.
Fynn stood there, fading glimmers of light still flickering in his irises.
“It’s dangerous,” he said simply.
Scarlett met his gaze.
“Were you really about to touch that?” Kat stepped up beside him, giving her a look of open disbelief. “You didn’t hit your head earlier, right? This thing’s practically howling not to be touched. You feel that, don’t you? Something about it’s just…wrong.”
Scarlett looked to her. So they could feel it too. That same wrongness. That oppressive, unnatural presence.
If so, it made sense for them to be concerned.
But they probably couldn’t sense everything. Not like her. They didn’t recognise the seething aura of the Anomalous One leaking from this thing.
“…Trust in me,” she said in a low voice. “I will be fine.”
Fynn frowned at her words, but eventually released her wrist.
Kat shot them both a look now. “You can’t be serious. Even if you’re right, maybe just don’t—”
Scarlett grabbed the wrapping and pulled.
The coverings were heavy, reinforced with the tangled threads of copper and gold, but with her [Crown of Flame’s Benediction] still buffing her, she managed to strip them away.
Beneath was a seamless block of black stone, glass-smooth and unnaturally still. It reminded her of the Sanctumbrums the Tribe of Sin used, but it wasn’t quite the same. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she suspected this was somehow tied to how such a large group of the Cabal had made it this deep into Beld Thylelion.
She raised her left arm, watching how the [Orrery of Dissonant Convergence] responded. The artifact had been unreliable since she arrived, but now, both pointers froze.
She didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but that the Orrery even reacted at all just further confirmed it. This object was likely tied to the Cabal’s ability to defy Fate.
Was this perhaps what they used to sever themselves from it? If so, how many of these did they have? And how had they obtained them, especially while the Anomalous One remained sealed?
There were a lot of questions. But she was unlikely to get any of her answers here.
Still…
She reached out and placed a single fingertip against the stone.
The world changed.
Suddenly, she stood in a vast, colourless void — endless white and grey.
An indescribable, overwhelming pressure bore down, threatening to crush her breath.
Instinctively, she reached inward. Reached to the part of herself that resonated with this force. Far beyond this realm, nestled where Thainnith’s remnant once lay, the fragment of the Anomalous One’s power she had stolen stirred.
It answered her call.
And the pressure met resistance.
Two forces—fragments of the same source—stood opposed.
And hers was bigger.
The struggle lasted only a moment. Then, like a receding tide, the pressure vanished. Her borrowed power slipped back into place, and it felt distinctly more.
When Scarlett opened her eyes, the altar was still there. But now, it felt like nothing. Just a block of stone.
“…What did you just do?” Kat asked behind her, voice edged with incredulity.
Scarlett looked down at her hand. “…I wonder.”
Comments
Niya401
New Evil Companion Named. 🤩
Gratti
Interesting. Its power of a kind, but I wonder if it will change her or have repercussions later down the line.
Noralations
Thanks for the chapter!
