Corvis Eralith
The heavy, iron-bound door groaned shut behind us, sealing away the sounds echoing through the Castle's upper levels.
Down here, in the bedrock heart of the flying fortress, the air was different.
Thick. Stale. Laced with the damp chill of ancient stone and the faint, metallic tang of old blood and despair. This was the underbelly of triumph, the place where consequences were caged.
Beside me, Grey was a statue carved from tension. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, his knuckles white where his fists clenched at his sides.
The usual grounded presence he'd cultivated since shedding King Grey's shell was gone, replaced by a brittle anticipation that vibrated in the cold air. Seeing Nico, knowing the poisoned history that festered between them, knowing the puppet strings Agrona had pulled… it was a wound ripped raw.
My own heart felt like a cold stone in my chest. Nico wasn't just an enemy Scythe; he was the shattered mirror reflecting Grey's deepest failures, a ghost from a past life neither of them could escape.
"Corvis!" Albold's greeting was unnaturally loud in the oppressive quiet, a jarring note. He stood guard at the reinforced entrance to the high-security block, his elven features tense but respectful. His gaze flickered to Grey, a flicker of unease in his eyes.
"And Grey. I guess you're here to see the… secret prisoner?" The pause before 'secret' was heavy with unspoken questions.
Grey didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the heavy door Albold guarded. His jaw worked silently. I could almost feel the storm of emotions churning within him—guilt, hope, dread, a desperate yearning for reconciliation warring with the knowledge of Nico's ingrained hatred.
Agrona's manipulations were profound, but the raw material, the deep-seated resentment Nico held for Grey, predated the mind control. It was a tangled knot, almost impossible to unpick.
"I wouldn't get my hopes too high if I were you, Corvis." Romulos's voice was a dry rasp in my mind, devoid of his usual sardonic amusement. Just cold, clinical realism. He didn't need to elaborate. The potential for disaster hung thick in the dungeon air.
I want to remind you of something, I thought back, the mental words firm against the encroaching dread. Something you reminded me the first time we met, when you were still deciding whether I was a fascinating anomaly or just another pawn.
I will try to save everyone. It wasn't just a declaration to Romulos; it was a reaffirmation to myself, a shield against the cynicism this place bred.
Albold awaited my order. "Yes, Albold," I said, my voice steady despite the cold knot in my stomach. "Please open the door."
The heavy mechanisms clanked and groaned, releasing a gust of colder, damper air as the reinforced portal swung inward. We stepped into the deeper gloom of the high-security block.
The silence here was absolute, broken only by our footsteps and the rhythmic drip-drip-drip from unseen cracks. The air tasted of mildew and something sharper, like death and old fear.
"Grey," I said quietly, the sound unnaturally loud in the confined corridor. "Are you absolutely sure about this?"
"Y-yes," he managed, his voice rough, stripped of its usual confidence. A tremor ran through the single syllable. "Have you… have you found a way? To free him?" The hope in his voice was fragile, heartbreaking.
"Yes," I confirmed, stopping just outside a heavily warded cell door. "But Grey… that's not going to chan—"
"I know!" The shout tore from him, raw and sudden, echoing off the stone walls. A nearby guard flinched. Grey flinched too, as if startled by his own outburst. He dragged a hand down his face.
"I know what I've done wrong," he continued, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper. "I just… I want to make things right, Corvis. Or at least try." The weight of regret pressed down on him, visible in the slump of his shoulders, the shadows beneath his eyes.
I placed a hand on his arm. The tension there was like coiled steel. "I'm here with you, Grey," I said, the words simple but carrying the importance of unwavering loyalty. "I will always be."
He met my gaze, a flicker of profound gratitude momentarily displacing the anguish in his eyes. "You are a good friend, Corvis," he murmured, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Thank you. Everything I do… you're always there. Always supporting me."
It was a testament, a recognition of the bond that had become my anchor in this chaotic world.
I nodded, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in my own throat. We moved the final steps to Nico's cell. Unlike the grim pits reserved for common prisoners, this was a chamber reserved for nobility or high-value captives—larger, cleaner, with a narrow window slit high up allowing a sliver of light. It was still a cage.
Inside, slumped on a cot, laid Nico.
"He's still down…" I murmured, observing his unnaturally still form. The potent cocktail of lightning mana and neuro-inhibiting agents delivered by the Barbarossa's integrated taser had proven remarkably effective, if brutal.
"Corvis," Grey asked, his voice low with a mixture of concern and morbid curiosity, "what exactly did you do to capture him?"
"I might have subjected him to a concentrated electromagnetic attack combined with a tailored neurotoxin," I explained clinically.
"Essentially… I tasered him. Quite thoroughly." A flicker of dark humor was necessary armor against the gravity of the situation.
Grey rolled his eyes, a brief, strained echo of his usual self. "Whatever deep knowledge of Earth you possess… it's genuinely terrifying. Effective, but terrifying. And honestly, a bit archaic."
He paused, studying my face. He knew I held secrets about his past world, though the nature of my own origin—reincarnation, Fate's construct or something else entirely—remained a tangled mystery even to me, especially with Romulos's unsettling theories.
"Sylvie," I called softly, shifting focus. The miniature fox-creature, perched like a silver sentinel on Grey's head, had been watching Nico with unnerving stillness, her golden eyes narrowed. "I need your help with Nico."
"I don't like this," she stated plainly, her voice sharp with apprehension. "He feels… poisoned. Wrong." But her loyalty to Grey was absolute. "But if Grey cares this much… I will do it." She leaped gracefully into my waiting arms, a warm, comforting weight against the dungeon's chill.
"What do I need to do?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the unconscious Scythe.
"Use your aether arts," I instructed, crouching beside the cot. "Focus on stabilizing his physical form, shielding his core and pathways. I need him intact while I dismantle Agrona's bindings."
The violet light of aether blossomed around her, ethereal and potent, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. "Using aether in this form is tricky," she commented, a hint of strain in her voice, "but I suppose transforming into a dragon might cause… structural issues down here." The attempt at levity was gallant.
I placed my hands lightly on Nico's chest, near his mana core. The intricate latticework of the Against the Tragedy tattoo beneath my skin hummed subtly. While its purpose was vastly different now, the fundamental understanding of core mechanics, like I did with Lilia and Alea, remained. This wasn't healing; it was delicate, dangerous sabotage.
"Breaking Agrona's spell…" Grey muttered, watching us work, his voice tight with disbelief. "Just saying that sentence should shock me senseless. But I suppose it's just another Tuesday for you, Corvis."
Well, I do have Agrona 2.0 providing live commentary, I thought wryly, focusing my will.
"Oh, I'll take that as a compliment," Romulos purred in my mind, a detached observer to the delicate operation.
Agrona's handiwork was insidious. It wasn't crude mind control, overwriting thoughts. It was a masterpiece of psychological warfare—a decay-based mana art designed to inhibit.
It smothered Nico's capacity for reason, empathy, and doubt, while simultaneously amplifying his existing reservoir of anger, betrayal, and grief to volcanic levels.
It fed the darkness already within him, turning it into a raging inferno directed solely at Grey. The complexity was staggering, the cruelty breathtaking.
Yet, my own hard-won insights into Anti-Matter, the unraveling of decay and mana at its most fundamental level, provided a unique key.
I traced the malignant threads of mana, not with brute force, but with the precision of a surgeon excising a tumor, dissolving the decay-laced bindings without triggering the catastrophic failsafes woven into Nico's Alacryan spellforms.
Breaking the artifact sealing Alea's core had been challenging; this was operating on a live bomb wired into the subject's soul.
"Corvis?" Grey's voice cut through my intense focus, thick with anxiety. "Is everything… going alright?" The air itself seemed to vibrate with his worry.
"I would progress significantly faster," I replied, my voice tight with concentration, sweat beading on my brow despite the chill, "if I weren't being subjected to continuous performance reviews." It wasn't entirely fair, but the pressure was immense.
Grey immediately stepped back, murmuring an apology. The silence that followed was punctuated only by Sylvie's soft hum of aether and the frantic hammering of my own heart. Minutes stretched into agonizing hours within the confines of that cell. The violet light from Sylvie bathed Nico's face, making him look unnervingly young, vulnerable beneath the Scythe's harsh reputation.
Finally, with a sensation like cutting the last taut wire of a complex trap, I felt the final, insidious strand of Agrona's control dissolve. The oppressive, decay-tainted aura clinging to Nico vanished, leaving only the raw, unstable energy of the man himself.
"...done," I breathed, the word scraping raw from my throat. I swayed slightly, the mental and mana exertion leaving me drained. Sylvie immediately ceased her aether flow, her small form sagging with fatigue before she hopped down beside me, eyeing Nico warily. We both retreated, giving Grey space as Nico stirred.
"Ni—" Grey's choked attempt at his friend's name died instantly.
Nico's eyes snapped open. Not groggy, not confused, but burning with a feral, immediate hatred that locked onto Grey with terrifying precision. With a guttural snarl that was more animal than man, he launched himself from the cot.
He moved with unnatural speed, fueled by pure, undiluted rage. Before Grey could react, Nico's hands were locked around his throat, fingers digging in like talons, his weight slamming Grey back against the cold stone wall.
"You killed her!" The scream tore from Nico's throat, raw and ragged, echoing like a damned soul's wail in the confined space. Spittle flew from his lips.
"YOU KILLED HER! And when you had the chance… the chance… to make things right… you RAN! YOU COWARD!" Rage radiated from him in palpable waves, a physical force that made the air crackle.
Sylvie erupted in a furious snarl, her form blurring as she prepared to lunge, primal protectiveness overriding her exhaustion.
"Sylvie, no!" I commanded sharply, grabbing her scruff. "Stand down!"
She whined, trembling with suppressed fury, her golden eyes fixed on Nico's hands around Grey's throat. Her trauma from Alacrya, the conditioning, flared violently.
I heard the guards outside the cell door shift, weapons readying. Grey's eyes, wide and panicked but still holding onto that desperate hope, met mine over Nico's heaving shoulder. He gave a minute, frantic shake of his head.
Don't interfere. Swallowing hard, I raised a hand towards the door, signaling the guards to hold. This was Grey's crucible. He had to face it.
"Nico…" Grey gasped, his voice strangled but amplified by a whisper of mana to bypass the crushing grip. He didn't fight back physically; his hands hung limply at his sides. The mana-suppressing cuffs on Nico's wrists ensured brute force wasn't an option for either of them. "Please… listen…"
"SHUT UP!" Nico roared, shaking Grey like a ragdoll. Tears of pure fury streamed down his face now, mingling with the sweat and spittle. "I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR VOICE! YOUR PATHETIC EXCUSES, KING GREY!"
The title was hurled like a poisoned dagger, and I saw Grey flinch as if physically stabbed. "Cecilia loved you once, you know that?! SHE LOVED YOU! AND YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED HER RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY EYES!"
The accusation hung, monstrous and suffocating. Grey's composure finally shattered. "I NEVER KILLED CECILIA!" he shouted back, his own voice breaking with anguish and frustration. He grabbed Nico's forearms, not to pry him off, but to hold his gaze.
"She asked me to! She threw herself onto my sword, Nico! She killed herself so the government of Etahria couldn't use her to break you! To control you! AGRONA IS MANIPULATING YOUR MEMORIES!"
"DON'T SAY HER NAME!" Nico screamed, his voice cracking into a sob. The raw pain beneath the rage was terrifying. "Don't you dare speak it! After everything… everything I suffered… everything we lost… YOU DON'T GET THE RIGHT! You don't get to tell me what happened! You don't get to live this… this happy life!"
"After what you did to me! To US!"
Grey's grip tightened on Nico's arms. "Nico…" His voice dropped, thick with a grief as deep as Nico's own. "I wronged you. I know that. I was obsessed… blinded by revenge for Headmaster Wilbeck… I pushed you both away. I failed you."
He took a shuddering breath. "But Nico, listen! Agrona… he's going to use Cecilia again. Just like the government of Etharia did! He'll twist her, weaponize her Legacy! You can't listen to him!"
For a heartbeat, Nico's crushing grip loosened infinitesimally. The wildfire in his eyes flickered, replaced by a dawning, horrifying comprehension, swiftly followed by a tsunami of self-loathing and renewed fury—now directed as much inward as at Grey and Agrona.
"I know that…" he whispered, the fight seeming to drain out of him all at once. His hands fell away from Grey's throat, leaving livid marks. He stumbled back, collapsing onto the edge of the cot, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook.
"I know Agrona manipulated me… used me… played me like a fucking puppet." His voice was a broken rasp, muffled by his palms. "I knew… and I let him… because he promised… he promised…"
"Pathetic excuse for a person," Romulos spat in my mind, his disgust a corrosive acid. "Even the weakest, most cowardly lesser possesses more spine. He wallows in victimhood."
I didn't share Romulos's contempt, but a profound, weary pity settled over me. Separating the broken young man before me from the monstrous Scythe of the novel's future was agonizingly difficult. Yet, seeing him now—shattered, realizing the depth of his own manipulation—the pity won out.
He was right. Agrona had orchestrated his every move, his very presence here. This confrontation? Likely another calculated move in the High Sovereign's endless game, a test to see how I would react to Nico, a pawn sacrificed to gauge my limits. The realization ignited a cold fury within me. Agrona was still playing, still toying with us all from the shadows.
"Nico," Grey pressed, stepping closer but keeping his distance, his voice raw with urgency. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I don't deserve it. But… help me. Help me make Agrona pay for what he's done! To you! To Cecilia! To what he will do to her if he gets his hands on her! You can't just ignore that! You owe her that!"
Nico slowly lifted his head. The tears were still wet on his cheeks, but the raw, directionless rage had solidified into something colder, harder. He ignored Grey's plea. His dark grey eyes, still flecked with the unnatural red remnants of Agrona's influence but now clear of the inhibiting fog, locked onto me. The intensity was unnerving.
"You." His voice was low, hoarse, but carrying a desperate, focused energy. "You're Corvis Eralith." Sylvie immediately tensed again, positioning herself slightly in front of Grey, a low growl rumbling in her tiny chest.
"Agrona told me… he told me you can bring her back." He leaned forward, his gaze burning into mine. "You can bring my Cecilia back to me. That's why he wants you. Is it true?"
"Oh, here it comes," Romulos sneered, his voice dripping with venomous anticipation. "The groveling plea. The pathetic bargaining. He sees only Cecilia. In you, he sees only a tool. He doesn't care about this world, Corvis. He doesn't care about Dicathen, Alacrya, or you. He cares only about his delusion of returning to Earth with his prize. Leave this emotional wreckage behind. He's beneath your notice, let alone your power."
I looked at Nico. Truly looked. Past the Scythe's mantle, past the manipulated rage, past the broken boy from Grey's past. I saw the abyss of his grief, the terrifying singularity of his desire. Cecilia. Always Cecilia.
And for a moment, a terrifyingly long moment suspended in the dungeon's chill, I considered it. The knowledge Romulos referenced wasn't idle speculation.
In the depths of my coreless despair, fueled by Meta-awareness and a terrifying glimpse into the Legacy's mechanics, I had found a theoretical path. Months of obsessive, secret study. Reincarnating Cecilia, separating the Legacy from her soul to forge my own core… it wasn't just possible.
With the resources I now commanded, with the refined understanding Meta-awareness granted… it was achievable. Not easy, not without risk, but feasible. The raw, universe-bending potential of the Legacy wasn't merely infinite; it was transcendent if fused together with Meta-awareness. A power that could reshape reality itself.
"And you refused this?" Romulos's mental voice was sharp, not mocking, but genuinely incredulous. "Refused the key to power that could eclipse Asuras, command the world itself? Are you utterly mad, Corvis? Or just terminally righteous?"
I don't want to play god, Romulos, I thought back, the truth stark and cold. I am not righteous enough for that kind of power. The Legacy… it wouldn't make me a savior. It would make me something worse than Agrona. Worse than Kezess. A different kind of monster, perhaps, but a monster nonetheless.
The temptation was a dark, seductive whisper, promising solutions, dominance, an end to the struggle. But the cost… the cost was my very self, the principles I clung to in this second life. The cost was becoming the very thing I fought against.
I turned my gaze fully to Nico. Grey was watching me, his eyes wide with dawning horror, sensing the dangerous turn my thoughts had taken behind my eyes. He knew the depths of my capabilities, the terrifying paths my knowledge could forge. He saw the calculation in my eyes.
"Yes," I stated, my voice flat, devoid of inflection. It cut through the tense silence like a blade. "I won't deny it. The capability exists. I could bring the Legacy into this world." The admission felt like releasing a demon.
Nico's breath hitched. His eyes, already burning, ignited with desperate, fanatical hope. "Then!" he gasped, surging to his feet, his chains clanking. "Do it! Reincarnate Cecilia! What do you need?! Tell me! Anything! I'll give you anything!"
"He's trying to manipulate you, Corvis!" Romulos's warning was a lash. "See? Only Cecilia matters. Our world is just the stage for his pathetic drama. He offers nothing but demands. He sees you as a means to an end, a vending machine for his lost love. Crush this delusion."
Romulos was right about one thing: Nico's focus was absolute. Cecilia. Earth. Escape. Dicathen, Alacrya, the war, the Asuras… it was all noise. Background scenery to his personal tragedy. Reincarnating her wouldn't gain me a loyal ally in Nico; it would unleash a wildcard of unimaginable power, bound only by Nico's desperate, possessive love and her own agenda. The risk was catastrophic. The ethical abyss was bottomless.
"No." The single syllable fell like a guillotine blade. Final. Absolute. I turned towards the cell door.
"WHY?!" The scream was pure, unadulterated agony, tearing from Nico's soul. It wasn't just anger now; it was the sound of hope brutally extinguished. "WHY?!"
He lunged again, not at Grey this time, but at me. A blur of desperate fury. "Nico! STOP!" Grey moved instantly, intercepting him, grappling him back. Nico fought like a wild thing, fueled by despair.
"YOU CAN'T DECIDE! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT, GREY! LET ME GO!"
Grey met my eyes over Nico's thrashing form. His expression was a complex tapestry of relief, profound sadness, and grim understanding. He gave a single, curt nod. Go.
Respecting that silent plea, respecting the harrowing path Grey had chosen to walk with his broken friend, I stepped out of the cell. The heavy door began to swing shut behind me.
"YOU SUBSTITUTED ME!" Nico's voice, ragged and broken, chased me down the corridor. "YOU SUBSTITUTED EVERYONE YOU EVER CARED ABOUT! YOU DON'T GET TO STOP ME FROM HAVING HER BACK! YOU OWE HER THIS! YOU OWE ME THIS, GREY! YOU OWE US!"
The shouts grew fainter, muffled by the thick stone, dissolving into choked sobs and the sounds of a desperate struggle contained by Grey's weary strength. The accusations—about substitution, about debt—echoed in the cold corridor, carrying the weight of centuries of shared pain and betrayal.
I walked away, the sounds fading with each step. The cold stone walls seemed to press in, amplifying the silence that followed the storm. The victory upstairs felt hollow, meaningless. Down here, in the dungeon's heart, was the true cost of war, the poison of the past, and the agonizing choices of the present.
Romulos? I thought into the echoing quiet of my own mind as I ascended towards the marginally fresher air of the Castle proper. What's your opinion? The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
When his voice came, it was devoid of its usual venom, replaced by a chilling satisfaction. "It was a pitiful spectacle," he stated, the words crisp and final. "But you showed restraint. You showed… superiority. You showed them precisely how formidable Corvis Vritra truly is. How mere lessers are nothing in front of him, in front of us."