As he stood, the pool lying before him, the truth was, he didn’t know what he would do.
He watched the corpses with sad eyes, maybe because a part of him was certain it wasn’t true. And honestly, this mory display didn’t affect him so much.
How many tis had he used Eye to replay those events? Almost every day when he felt like he was relenting, he replayed it.
Showing him now didn’t make him angrier. This vision only showed him a more vivid mory than what Eye showed him.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was back on the first floor. The spirits, ghosts, and mummies were still there, their assault relentless.
A sharp pain lanced through him, and he dropped to one knee, gasping.
"Gurgh..." The spiritual attacks from the ghosts were unlike anything he’d faced before. Their ethereal claws tore at his essence, not his flesh, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. He could see their souls now, glowing faintly in his heightened perception, their outlines sharp against the dimness of the room. "Are those their souls?" he wondered aloud, his voice strained.
He cursed under his breath. "Shit, I left the chains with Wick." The slave chain would have been perfect for this. But he wasn’t defenseless. Among the techniques he had learned, there was one that could attack both the physical and astral bodies.
"Astral Fang," he growled, twisting his body and channeling his aura into an ethereal wave. He swung both swords, the blades humming as they cut through the air. The ghosts and spirits shrieked, their forms recoiling from the attack, giving him a mont to breathe.
"So, the spirits show past images, and the ghosts attack the spirit," he muttered, piecing together the rules of this trial. His gaze shifted to the mummies, their crimson bandages glowing faintly in the dim light.
There were ten of them, standing motionless but radiating an aura of quiet nace. They hadn’t moved till now. What was their role in this?
Baines didn’t hesitate. He charged forward, dodging the renewed assaults from the ghosts and spirits with practiced agility.
His sword trembled slightly as it moved across the air. Among his gains from reaching the second sword resonance was that, with a thought, he could apply any of the techniques he had learnt from any direction.
With a thought, he could infuse his attacks with any of the techniques he’d mastered.
"Bleeding Horizon!" He swung his sword in a wide, horizontal arc, the blade leaving a trail of shimring energy in its wake. The technique, a lesser version of the devastating "Cleave," was designed to scar the battlefield, cutting through anything in its path.
But the mummies didn’t react. They stood unmoving, and to Baines’s horror, the energy of his attack rebounded, slamming into him with excruciating force.
"Arghhhhh!" he scread, collapsing to his knees as pain flooded his body. It was as if his own attack had turned against him, the force amplified tenfold. The mummies hadn’t lifted a finger; they simply were, and that was enough to reflect his assault.
The ghosts and spirits seized the opportunity, their attacks intensifying. The pain was overwhelming, a relentless tide that threatened to drown him. Desperate, Baines called out. "Eye, dull the pain receptors!"
Silence.
There was no response.
"EYE!" he roared, his voice raw with frustration. But there was no response. For the first ti in years, Eye was silent. His pupils wavered, a flicker of panic breaking through his stoic facade. Its absence left him feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in a long ti.
"Shit," he spat, but before he could gather his thoughts, the house pulled him back into the mories. The cycle repeated, visions of his family, the blood, the loss, followed by the relentless spiritual attacks. Each ti he erged, the ghosts were waiting, their assaults chipping away at his resolve.
Unable to take it, he collapsed. That was going to be the last ti.
...
"How many tis has it been now?" he muttered with familiarity, his voice hoarse as he endured another wave of attacks. He hadn’t even had ti to counterattack after that first ti, but after nurous attacks, he got used to it and used the fleeting monts between the mories and attacks to think.
The loss of the Eye was a huge blow.
It had been a very close part of him. After telling it to speak like a person, it turned into sothing more than an insanity check on him during his stay in Ashenfall.
How many years had he spent alone? It had affected him so much that he didn’t know.
But now, it forced him to confront his reliance on it. For years, it had been his guide, his confidant, even his friend in a way. Its silence now was a stark reminder of how alone he truly was.
Since it was in his body, he hadn’t expected it to ever go out. Now, he was alone and had to figure out the situation himself. That made him realize, this place, this house, was a test, a crucible designed to break him or forge him into sothing stronger.
He identified three key elents of this test, and the first commonality among them was the pain, whether physical, spiritual, or emotional, the spirits’ visions, the ghosts’ attacks, and the mummies’ reflection of his own power.
The second was the commonality in that they all affected the will. Each attack targeted his resolve, testing his ability to endure, to push forward despite the weight of his past and the agony of the present.
To survive, he needed to adapt and find a way to disrupt their rhythm, and that was what he used this ti to do.
Baines took a deep breath, steadying himself. The pain was still there, but he could endure it. He had endured worse. His swords felt heavy in his hands, but they were an extension of his defiance.
Now, it was ti to counterattack.
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