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“Man,” the Necrobinder sighs, wiping sweat from her skull, “that was a hard fight. But we’re one step closer to beating the Architect now.”
The Ironclad says nothing and just pants, trying to come back to his senses. The Kaiser Crab that they had just fought had given him a rough beating, and the ridiculously strong hit from its rocket claw as well as the amount of blood he had lost trying to channel his inner demonic energy and boost his own strength had left him feeling dizzy. Though the burning blood flowing within him had patched up some of his worst wounds, he still feels very drained. He is more than ready to find the next Ancient and rest up before they start the final ascent to the top of the Spire, where the Architect is waiting for them.
The lich is in much better shape compared to him — her robe is only a little beaten up and dirtied, and her pet hand Osty is currently drumming his skeletal fingers rather excitedly, refreshed after his master had bathed him in a reinvigorating bone broth that repaired the cracks in his bones.
“Hey, check out these spoils,” the Necrobinder calls, waving at the soldier for attention as she uncovers and opens a partially buried chest containing various rewards. Inside the chest is a sizeable pile of gold; two packs of cards with useful information on obscure yet incredibly potent attacks, skills, and powers that the two slayers could learn about and integrate into their battle techniques for future combats; and a map of the Glory, the final area of the Spire they would be venturing into before they face the Architect.
Wordlessly, the Ironclad drags himself over to take a closer look at the rewards. He can only pick one card out of the three that are offered to him, so he considers his options carefully. An attack that would allow him to hit an additional time for every time he harmed himself or took damage from enemies, a way to rapidly heal some of his wounds in the middle of battle, or a skill that would give him a burst of energy, allowing him to utilize the next attack he used twice…
He decides to learn about the multi-hit attack. He figures he’s already using a lot of self-harm techniques while in battle — he had already learned how to harness his demonic energy to gain further strength from his own self-harm — so taking a powerful attack that enables him to hit more frequently and that benefits from strength gain would serve him well.
Collecting his share of the gold and pocketing the card, he then unrolls the scroll with the map of the next area and glances at the bottom to see what Ancient would be greeting him and the lich.
An image of a scroll with horns coming out from the sides is printed at the bottom of the map, giving him a vague sense of déjà vu that somehow makes him feel sick to his stomach.
Wait — where had he seen this before…? What did this remind him of…?
Regardless, the sight of the image gives the Ironclad a shudder that rattles his bones, a feeling that quickly turns into immense dread as he realizes who this might represent.
“Well, well,” a demonic voice speaks suddenly as he comes to the realization. “Looks like you will be meeting me next. I look forward to greeting you again, my puppet.”
The soldier’s body tenses and freezes at the very sound, and his eyes widen in fear upon recognizing the voice. Vakuu.
The reason for being who he is. The reason…he has lost almost everything, including most of his own humanity.
If only he could turn back time and undo everything…if only he never signed that contract in the first place…
“You can never escape me, you know,” the demon teases him menacingly, his laughter echoing in the dark depths of the soldier’s mind before gradually fading away.
“Hey, are you all right?” the Necrobinder asks, a look of concern gracing her skeletal features as she glances at the Ironclad. “You ready to head to the next area yet?”
The soldier shakes his head.
“You need a moment to breathe? Is there anything bothering you?”
“I…” the Ironclad trails off, trying to find the right words. “It’s…it’s nothing.”
“Are you nervous about fighting the Architect?” she presses on.
“Maybe,” he offers. It's a half-truth, at least.
“Don’t worry,” the lich reassures him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure this next Ancient will have something good to offer us. Something that can put an end to him once and for all.”
“Yeah,” the soldier sighs weakly.
He envies the girl. How…how does the Necrobinder have this much ambition and drive and energy to go on? How can she stand fearlessly in the face of death and feel so unafraid? How is she so optimistic about their future prospects of beating the Architect?
She has Osty to help block attacks for her, and she is powered by the dark magic of her Forbidden Grimoire that she is forever bound to, but unlike him, the Necrobinder is a much more fragile skeleton, one who doesn’t have the healing power of his own blood or the build to withstand direct attacks without the help of her trusty bodyguard hand. It’s pathetic how he — a battle-worn demonic soldier with several centuries of experience on various battlefields — somehow feels more scared of the Architect than she does.
Why is he so scared? What does he have to lose? What does he have to worry about when he has nothing left to call his own, including the privilege of having his own body and mind?
She almost radiates a sense of innocence too. The Ironclad knows the girl has her own set of trauma to deal with — she had shared with him before her own grief over the deaths of her parents, her friend that was the benevolent Giant, and her old life at the hands of the Architect before becoming a lich — but she doesn't know what it is like to be endlessly fighting against her will in a body and brain that don't entirely belong to her. She doesn't know what it is like to have no name or identity outside of being someone else’s pawn. She doesn't know what it is like to be controlled by an outside force that cannot be resisted, to be always causing and witnessing constant bloodshed but never having the choice to walk away from it.
At least she still remembers her old life. At least her choice to climb the Spire and fight the Architect was a conscious one — one that she had made willingly without outside pressure or coercion.
Meanwhile, the Ironclad only remembers fragments of what he used to be. They come back to him gradually from time to time, but the fragments stick out like sharp glass shards in his brain, piercing into his soul and cutting him open with the painful feelings of self-hatred and immense guilt for his past mistakes.
If only he had known then what he knows now.
Looking at her reminds him painfully of himself, that young, clueless soldier who was passionate and driven to find any way to break the stalemate in the endless war raging between the Ironclads and the Valleyguard — any way to avenge the painful loss of his family, including his two beloved younger sisters, at the Valleyguard’s hands.
“Hey, are you ready to go or what?” the lich yells in his ear, flicking a skeletal finger at his temple and interrupting his train of thought. “You looked like you were dozing off over there. Come on, let’s get ourselves to that Ancient so we can recover. You’ll feel better, I promise.”
The soldier wordlessly nods and reluctantly follows the lich as they proceed to the next floor of the Spire.
“Greetings,” Vakuu says, glancing down at the Ironclad and the Necrobinder as the two adventurers cross the threshold into his domain. “It is so nice to have some visitors again. Looking to kill the Architect, are you?”
The lich nods vigorously. “Yes. Give me what you have. Anything.”
“I can see that we both seek vengeance,” the demon cackles. “I can grant you various gifts — feel free to take your pick — but beware, they will have a cost to pay.”
“I don’t care,” the lich spits out. “I accept any cost. Every cost for his death.”
Every cost for his death. Her words echo like a battle drum in the Ironclad’s mind, bringing him back to the past.
He vaguely recalls having once said very similar words to Vakuu long ago, desperate to put an end to the misery and countless bloodshed that plagued his home region. Desperate to end the reign of terror of the Valleyguard, who were responsible for the heartless slaughter of his own family.
All of that was why he had enlisted himself and had signed up to be a part of the army of Ironclads in the first place. All of that was why he had gone out of his way to cross the forbidden boundary and seek out Vakuu, eager to put an end to the perpetual conflict.
Thanks to Vakuu, he had achieved his goal in the end — he had managed to mercilessly kill every Valleyguard soldier that had come his way with little effort — but at what cost?
At what cost?
His memories of what happened next after signing the first contract are few, far between, and rather hazy. The next thing he remembers clearly other than the deaths of the Valleyguard was standing in the midst of an endless fire, surrounded by corpses clad in armor like his own.
Corpses that were once his colleagues. Corpses that he had once laughed with, shared stories with, and played games with at training camp when they were not fighting. Corpses he had once called his best buddies.
He had fallen to his knees in shock upon the realization that his whole army was dead. The realization he was the only one standing — the very last of his kind — and that he was the one who had murdered them all.
In the end, though he had wanted to end the bloodshed caused by the Valleyguard, he had instead caused more than they ever had.
What had he done?
“Very well,” the demon smiles wickedly, handing the Necrobinder some scrolls to peruse over. “Here are the contracts I have available for you.” He then turns to the Ironclad. “And you? Would you like to sign a contract?”
The soldier does not immediately respond; his gaze is focused on the lich, whose blue flames gracing the top of her skull are burning with the same fervor he had once burned with when he had signed his first contract long ago. Her eye sockets are lit up with small flames of excitement, dancing eagerly in her skull as she quickly reads the terms of the various contracts offered to her.
He wants to say something — he wants to tell her that dealing with Vakuu is unwise, that they shouldn’t do this — but he knows the lich will not change her mind no matter what he says.
Like his younger self so much longer ago, the Necrobinder is too stubborn and dead-set on avenging her own family and on killing the Architect, the source of all her misery and pain.
She still has the power to leave. She can still reclaim herself before being forever bound to Vakuu in some way.
Even though she is undead, she still has her humanity and her mind intact, at least…
Or…had.
A sinking feeling settles in the Ironclad’s stomach as he watches the skeleton sign the contract and accept a pair of dazzling red earrings from the demon, somehow managing to attach them to the sides of her head where her earlobes used to be.
Now, Vakuu would have access to her too.
Those earrings, he recalls, remembering them from his first contract, would allow Vakuu to take control of her mind and body at the start of every combat and would potentially make it more difficult for them to coordinate during battle.
This is not going to end well for them. According to the map, they will be facing the experimental Test Subject, an odd creature said to have the ability to grow new heads and shift between phases that grant it new abilities, just before they reach the Architect at the top of the Spire…
“Puppet,” Vakuu barks at the Ironclad, snapping him out of his trance. “Did you hear what I asked you earlier? Would you like to sign a contract?”
“No thank you,” the soldier huffs. “I’ve had enough. I want to leave.”
The soldier then swiftly turns and starts heading for the exit, but is met with an invisible barrier that almost knocks him off his feet.
“I healed you from near-death, dear puppet. I was courteous and kind enough to do that for you. It’s not every day that I am so generous. Therefore, you are not allowed to leave until you’ve signed a contract,” Vakuu commands, crossing his arms firmly over his bare chest.
“I don’t want to,” the Ironclad growls. “I’ve had enough of you. You’ve ruined my life enough.”
“It’s not like I forced you. You chose this life, puppet,” Vakuu reminds him.
“Well, I don’t want it anymore,” the soldier shouts. “I never wanted this.”
”…do you want to kill the Architect or not?” Vakuu asks, deflecting from the subject.
The soldier sighs. Is this what it really had to come down to?
“After I kill the Architect, I will kill you,” he snarls at Vakuu through gritted teeth.
The demon lets out another long, loud cackle, howling with raucous laughter.
“Very funny, puppet. I’d like to see you try!” Vakuu laughs. “So, are you going to pick something or not?”
The soldier wordlessly snatches the scrolls out of Vakuu’s hand. If he had to…
He skims over the messily scrawled text on the scrolls, glancing at the various relics offered before him. A distinguished cape that would grant temporary near invincibility at the cost of some of his own vitality…a blood-soaked rose that would grant energy at the cost of potentially causing his mind to enter a state of temporary enthrallment during combat…or a jeweled mask that would grant him the ability to automatically activate a random power that he had learned about at the start of each combat…
All of the options are enticing and would prove valuable in some way for the upcoming fights; he could not lie to himself about how valuable these relics were. Vakuu — damn him — always knew how to find a way to entice almost anyone into signing a contract with him...
In the end, the Ironclad ultimately chooses the mask, as it does not seem to have a real downside and he can more easily utilize it for gaining strength and harnessing the power of his demonic blood.
“Thank you,” the demon says as the Ironclad signs the contract for the mask and hands him the scroll. The soldier says nothing in response; he simply glares at him before leaving to meet the Necrobinder outside, who had already left some time ago and was patiently waiting for him along with Osty.
“That demon had some good relics on offer,” the lich remarks as they leave Vakuu’s chamber and begin heading to the next floor. “I feel more confident now about our chances of beating the Architect. Do you?”
The Ironclad simply shrugs, unsure of what to tell her. The earrings she had taken earlier from Vakuu glisten sinisterly from the sides of her head, as if taunting him.
“What? You don’t? Was there a problem with that guy?” the Necrobinder asks, her brow bone arched in confusion.
How can he tell her?
How can she know just how much that one contract he had made long ago with Vakuu had changed everything?
The Ironclad clears his throat before choosing to speak, thinking his words through carefully. “Well…now that you’ve signed the contract, do you worry that the cost of making a deal with that demon may come to bite you back later? Do you worry…that perhaps the cost may be greater than you imagined? That…because you made that deal with him, there may no longer be any rest in your life?”
“Why do you ask that?” she questions him. “I’ve already paid a large price. I’ve already paid the price of losing my parents, my friend — everyone I love. If it means I’ll come to regret this deal eventually, so be it. If it means I’ll have no more rest in my life forever, for the rest of my existence, so be it. I’ve been restless since he killed all that I love. What more do I have to lose? I’ve already lost everything.”
But you haven’t lost your mind like I have, he wants to reply back.
He wants nothing more than to tell her of the many regrets, the countless deaths, the immense guilt he lives with. He wants to tell her of how his own life was ripped away from him thanks to that demon.
But she will not understand. No — she will never understand.
Though their pain is similar — they had both lost their families in a heartless, unforgiving way and had their bodies utterly transformed in a way that permanently changed them — she will never understand what it’s like to lose herself, to lose her autonomy, forever being made to fulfill a destiny that is not her own. Forever someone’s puppet, a tool of bloodshed.
He will come back for Vakuu, Ancients willing. Once all is said and done and the Architect is dead, he will put an end to his own misery and kill the demon that stole his life.