Yoru was... happy.
His situation was arguably no better than it had been a few days ago.
He was still in the same death zone full of abominable monsters that could, and had, ripped him limb from limb. But now within that death zone, he had more than one other ally: A seer, a scout, and even a healer. He had lost his arm but it was restored. He even gained a weapon memory so now he was properly armed.
The only thing he truly lacked now was armour, which he would hopefully get soon.
And soon, he would receive instructing from none other than Changing Star herself… though he doubted she would ever show him her true battle style, not while she still regarded him with that careful distance.
'Huh, actually this is pretty bad. Sunny won't learn Nephis' battle style with me around.'
Yoru couldn't remember how essential the Broken Sword battle style was to Sunny's shadow dance but he hoped it wasn't of too much importance.
All in all, his circumstance was terrible but it was a much better terrible than previously.
One thing irked him however.
It was that in his fight earlier today, he had definitely heard his flaw speaking to him. It was the sound of his own voice after all, except it was devoid of emotion and all the things that made him... Him.
A voice that was his, and yet profoundly not.
'Nothing's happened yet... at least I don't think it has.'
This was the true cruelty of his flaw.
Anything could happen at any time, and Yoru would have no say in it whatsoever. He was little more than a puppet, dangling on invisible strings, waiting for fate to grow bored enough to yank them.
And considering his current mood, now would be a good time for a tragedy.
And yet... nothing happened.
Even once Nephis put the fire out, tragedy still had not fallen. It was unnerving.
As he closed his eyes, Yoru didn't completely ignore that feeling of trepidation but he turned his thoughts elsewhere.
'I fought much better today than I ever had before. But why? What was different?"
He had been asking himself that question ever since they left the clearing.
It wasn't training. He hadn't trained at all since losing his arm, nor since regaining it. His body was no stronger than it had been before.
At the time, when he moved he simply thought it was the bloodlust that had enhanced his combat prowess, allowing him to dodge attacks of even an awakened beast. But in hindsight, savagery could not take him as far as he went today. Merely abandoning caution wasn't enough to defeat such a foe like a Scavenger as a Sleeper.
So what was different about today, compared to the last time he had faced one?
Then, Yoru realised something. The change he had experienced was the lack of caution. His lack of fear, or more specifically... doubt.
As he fought with the scavenger, he never once doubted his actions, he was sure that he would emerge victorious no matter what.
That attribute had bent not only his own body, but the scavenger's as well, forcing reality in accordance to his will.
Back in the academy, Yoru once thought that he had no control over the attribute at all, that it was a subconscious ability. But now he realised that he was wrong.
He simply hadn't been meeting the conditions in order to use it.
The key to Tyranny was complete assurance in himself.
In other words... It was arrogance.
But that was absurd!
'To use Tyranny I need to believe that things will go my way no matter what... How the Spell am I supposed to maintain such a mindset?!'
Yoru was no expert but even he knew that fear was a necessary component in battle. It was a double-edged sword that could either cripple or empower you. To abandon fear entirely in favour of believing that victory was inevitable was simply not something Yoru could do.
At least... not the current Yoru.
He was well aware of how large his ego and pride were but this took narcissism to a new level.
His attempt to drown his fear beneath the bloodlust of the Marauder's Love had been a reckless gamble. In hindsight, it was horrifying how easily it could have gone wrong, if not for the Placate wish maintaining his rationale.
Tyranny was an extraordinarily powerful attribute, but to wield it consistently, he would essentially have to wear that damned glove at all times.
That meant he'd always be bloodthirsty…
The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
It was a grave price but perhaps a worthy one.
After all, the glove was not without its benefits. This was because of the memories' second passive enchantment.
The first was obviously bloodlust, he had known that since his days at the academy. But the second one he had only discovered after killing the scavenger.
It seemed as if the Marauders Love possessed some sort of leeching effect: healing him with each wound dealt to his opponent. That was why the gash in his side had vanished without Nephis' healing. It had been healed by sapping the crab of its own vitality.
'As expected of a tier Six memory.'
Yoru could feel his eyelids growing heavier now, so he closed them and began to drift off.
Soon, he was fast asleep.
In the early morning, he was awoken to a piercing wail that tore through the dawn.
***
There was an immense boundless darkness, so vast that it could not be perceived all at once. Its presence was inferred only by the way the darkness churned, like a deep ocean disturbed by a slow, titanic current. This churning existence was locked behind seven seals.
One after another, the seals broke and the darkness grew.
Once the seventh was broken, reality fractured too. It shattered like glass, breaking into countless shards. Each reflected a different horror. Some flashed too fast to comprehend, and the rest were either burned into memory or mercifully forgotten.
The silhouette of a lonely star burned faintly above a familiar castle.
The castle's stone walls stood tall and proud for only a heartbeat longer.
Then fire consumed it.
Flames poured through the corridors and halls, devouring everything in their path. Blood followed and a thick river of it coursed through the castle grounds, seeping into its foundations as if the structure itself was bleeding.
Within the throne room sat a corpse clad in golden armour, lifeless and extinguished.
On a battlefield of appalling scale, a lone woman stood gripping a bronze spear, drowning in a tide of unending beasts. Soon, neither she nor the spear could be seen.
Elsewhere, an archer stood beneath a collapsing sky, drawing his bow again and again, loosing arrows upwards in defiance. The heavens themselves were falling, cracking and breaking apart, yet he tired to pierce what was inevitable with sheer will.
And then above it all, towering over the atrocities was a crimson spire - impossibly tall. At its base lay seven severed heads, each placed before a massive lock.
At the very top of the spire...
A dying angel.
It was ravaged upon by a tide of formless, hungry shadows.
And yet -
Within the devastation, something else appeared... Or perhaps it had always been there.
A warped resplendent star shone with ever-changing light.
Its light was indeed beautiful, but the shape of the star itself was anything but. It shimmered, and its kaleidoscope light shifted endlessly... changing everything.
The shards reflected the crude star's light and shattered once more. Those fragments reflected and broke apart yet again. A chain of relentless reflection began, the shattering repeated without end.
Until eventually, Cassie's mind could take no more.
She screamed.