He would have loved to claim that the pain became easier to deal with, but it would be a lie. On the contrary, the more he was forcing his way through, the more needles seemed to launch their offensive on his brain. Or was it his mind? He doesn't really know, and sincerely, he doesn't want to. His thoughts were somewhere else.
Tilting his head, his consciousness stopped its fall into nothingness. Each second he hurt more and more; the pokes were replaced by some stabs, which themselves were replaced by something he couldn't even comprehend. Opening his eyes, the light was almost overwhelming. But it was not important. No, his priority had nothing to do with his Soul Core.
Name: ?
Rank: Ascended.
Attributes: [Ghost Blessing], [Boundless Soul], [Wrathful].
Aspect: [Soul Bender].
Aspect Rank: Transcendent
Aspect Abilities: [Puppeteer].
Aspect Ability Description: [You can infuse part of your soul into any object to manipulate them at your will.]
He was almost there; all his runes were slowly coming back. There was a lot to process and not much time. He needed to go back near the Gate to help. He didn't want to be a dead weight now after all those slurs he had spit at the face of some legacy.
After all this time sitting against the "ground" of his Soul Sea, Xavier was now standing up. Repeating a series of movements that were as natural for him as breathing. His muscles were easily sore when he didn't move much in a long period of time. His body was like that of a statue; his muscles were immaculate, screaming of the pain that he had endured to build his strength.
As he took a look at his Aspect and his Abilities, the memory of a younger him kept resurging. He was so proud of himself since he could do something similar to what Smile of Heaven was able to do. He didn't know much about her, only that she was the daughter of Immortal Flame, she had discovered her True Name during her First Nightmare, and she was able to move things with her mind.
But hey, he had at least one thing in common with her! He had even thought before that he might just have a weaker version of her Aspect. But since there is a lot of hidden information, even as a government agent, he never had the chance to confirm it.
He would have wanted to tell himself that he had no time for daydreaming, but he knew that he was not in danger with his colleague beside him. So he really wanted to know what happened with his soul.
Because, even now, he can't shake off this alien feeling that gives him chills. Now that his connection with the Nightmare Spell was partially restored, he wanted to take a look at his Soul Core. There was that…slimy black thing around it. Was that a side effect of staying too close to the Gate? Or one caused by that bastard of Valor Clan? Even if he truly wanted it to be true, just to have an excuse to throw a stone at a High Clan, he knew that it was something else.
Focusing his attention on the weird thread around his Soul Core, the unease grew only stronger. He could feel that he was close to finding out, so he pushed.
And pushed again.
To finally scream in horror.
A piece of a puzzle that was discarded a long time ago was finally being put together, a truth so big that even he couldn't ignore it. Something was wrong; everything was wrong! His mind, his body—where was the missing piece?! So much "why" with no answer, as if the question wasn't meant to exist. His mind was about to shatter; everything was in a state of semi-existence. What was clean and smooth before was now like trying to put oil and water together. He could feel his identity being cut in half as a sharp, slashing sensation shot throughout his body. But no, it was not over; even now, one part wanted to eat the other. Forcing himself to keep a slim part of what was left of him, the clean cut was now replaced by a bestial tearing sensation.
The Soul Core was not his. He was not an Ascended. Everything here was not his. Looking at himself, the dread on his face grew only stronger. It was not his body; his soul was slowly changed, taking the shape of the original host. He knew he had forgotten a lot of things, but he didn't know what.
-"I-I'm Xavier Rightwood! I'm not from this world! I have… I have...Gods...please help me."
Falling on his knee, all he could do was to feel hopeless. He wasn't dying; he was in something far worse. The visage of his parents, forgotten. His house, forgotten. His passion, his love, his hate—he didn't know what was his and what wasn't. He had nothing, absolutely nothing.
He was utterly lost; his identity was rewritten at a point where he wasn't sure if he would be able to stay sane. In this state, who would it be? Even if the world comes to die, if you know what you are, were, and will be, then finding a solution will be possible. For him… Right now, all his memory was withering away; what remained was barely usable to describe someone. He had nothing left.
…
No, he still possesses something. Hope tempered by his growing rage. In this situation, he needs to do something drastic. His eyes slowly rose to look at his target. A fire of hate and spite was burning as hard as it could be. He wants to survive as himself, and if it is his will, who will DARE stop him?!
His hands moved, pointing at the shining core. No, at what's left of the veil that was here before. He needs the veil to protect himself. The veil had a link with him, so he tried the only thing he could think of: taking control of it.
He could feel his strength leaving his body at a quick rate, but that was all he needed. If something was taking his essence or whatever they could call it, it can only mean that he needed to give more and more until he could reach his goal. Pushing himself like this could hurt his soul, or maybe break it, but he couldn't care less. He had only one option: it was go or die. A scream from the very depths of his being was leaving his lips, not that it changed anything, but he was doing everything he could do to gain even a percent of a chance to not disappear.
At first there was nothing, no change at all. But after a long, very long moment, the veil started to grow back. No better, it was eating at the Soul Core, taking its strength for itself. A treacherous laugh echoes in the Soul Sea. Second after second, he could feel his power deepening, his sense of self growing back some barrier. Blood was rolling from his nose, eyes, and ears. He was in pain, so much pain. His soul was trembling, exercising far more than it was supposed to.
'A little more! I will not die here! Never! FUCK YOU, WEAVER! FUCK YOU, CASSIA! AND FUCK YOU, SUNLESS!'
The light was dimming in the Soul Sea. The fight was almost over. Xavier was painting, trembling and crying from all this suffering. The veil had solidified, its color slowly changing to take the proper color of a Soul Core. But still, there was a little ember of light within it that he couldn't extinguish.
Then, as he slowly turned his head, a new rune was glowing. He needed only a second to understand what it meant. Trembling, he spun his face to look at the Soul Core. No sound was made, no scream nor cry. The ember suddenly burst to become a sun, absorbing everything. Only the Rune was still standing where the invader was a moment ago.
Aspect Abilities: [Persistent Soul].
Aspect Ability Description: [You can weaken your soul in exchange for stocking strength. The longer the weakening effect lasts, the stronger the surge of power will be.
The shining star was master of this realm once again; the calmness was restored. On it was still one last black thread, a single memory. A name, one from somewhere else. A vestige, a single thought, which was finally taken care of. Like a single drop of water against the sun, a soul was absorbed. Forced to be part of an existence that is not his own and without any will or whatsoever.
The being named Xavier Rightwood will never be remembered by anyone, just like all those who entered the world of the Forgotten God before him. In each generation was born a failsafe, no bloodline shared; one was chosen by fate. Taking care of those who came to disturb the tapestry of the Weaver. None knew about it, and none ever will.
…
....
In a tent, a man woke up.
His thought was clouded, and he felt exhausted. Standing next to him was his colleague, looking at him with a complex look in his eyes. First, there was a silence, but then a laugh so small that he couldn't even be heard thanks to a flaw. Reading on this colleague's lips, he didn't restrain a distasteful look.
-"If you have something to say about my True Name, you can take your complaint to the Nightmare Spell. Personally, I don't see any problem with "Graveyard of Souls." And you know very well why I kept falling like this. Not my fault if my Flaw is more bitch than yours."
Taking his time to slowly regain his strength, Edwyn summoned his Rune:
Name: Edwyn
True Name: Graveyard of Souls
Rank: Ascended.
Memories: [Primal Ring], [Liacr Last Breath].
Echoes:—
Attributes: [Ghost Blessing], [Boundless Soul], [Wrathful].
Aspect: [Soul Bender].
Aspect Rank: Transcendent
Aspect Abilities: [Puppeteer].
Aspect Ability Description: [You can infuse part of your soul into any object to manipulate them at your will.]
Aspect Abilities: [Soul Surge].
Aspect Ability Description: [You can weaken your soul in exchange for stocking strength. The longer the weakening effect lasts, the stronger the surge of power will be.
Flaw: [Empty Shell]
Flaw Description: [You have no link between your body and your soul.]
'Damnation… No Memory this time… But still, the timing was bad this time; I need to be more careful next time.'
Taking a long breath, Edwyn was cursing internally; his muscle was sore...again. Leaving the tent, he took a look at the Dream Gate. There were still people leaving the city. He didn't know how much time he was out; all that mattered was that he could keep doing his job.
-"Come, Basil, I don't want Saint Cor to know that we were not doing our job seriously."
With only a murmur as an answer, the duo started to walk in the direction of those pitiful souls.
Hope can only delay despair. It's his role to do what Hope can't do; everyone is worth fighting for, even if they don't come from a Great Clan or a Legacy. That was his vision. And the only thing he would die for.
Reading the question of Basil, he could only laugh.
-"The legend of the Devil of Antarctica? It's only something that was created to give people a little less despair during the campaign. But hey, if it helps to keep the civilians from going feral against each other, I take it with pleasure. No less talking and more...hum... I guess using "talking" with you was wron- AH STOP MAN ! I'M STILL RECOVERING, AND GWEN IS NOT HERE TO HEAL ME THIS TIME!"
Running from the sword clad in ruby, Edwyn's mood was now in a far better mood. It was in those moments that he allowed himself to hope for something. That he could continue living like this for as long as he can.