Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ironclads had gathered around the town center. Out of all the bizarre things that have happened as of late, they had never expected for a demon to land in their home.

“Why hello, hello, hello little Ironclads.”

No one approached it. Their walls are tall and strong, for something to get in so easily was a warning. The townspeople talk among themselves. They unsuspectingly treat the large creature as if it were a visitor from another town rather than heed their broken defense. To make matters worse, no one had ever really encountered a demon in this way before. 

The Ironclads, all proud and powerful had used the battlefield as their crucible. They sit vulnerable and without clarity inside their town, idly thinking that they were safe. How fortunate for the creature’s leathery wings to bring them to such a feast.

The commander steps up to quell the tension. “Why have you come here?”

“Oh dear, well see here I am lacking in soul. The Spire has gotten stronger and I simply must keep up, I can’t reap dead souls now can I?” he dramatically pauses. “I just really just need a strong young spirit.” The demon grins at the Commander’s son. “Like that one!”

The old man shoots out a hand to put himself in front of the demon.

The creature immediately tries to smooth things over. “Oh, no no no! It’ll be a good deal! I’ll give your entire town their wants and in return your son only has to do a blood pact with me.”

The commander turns to his people. “It could protect us.” One whispers. “We could find out how to prolong our crops.”another says. 

“We need medicine.”

“I don’t have enough ore at my forge.”

“Our livestock won’t last any longer without grass.”

“We might run out of coal.”

A hundred voices murmur the same consensus.

The commander sighs and turns to an Ironclad in gold armor. “Son, it’s really up to you…”

The young man puffs up his chest in attempt to look bigger, more respectable. “I’ll pay any price for my village.”

The creature towers over the young man and smiles, “Of course.”

With a flick of the wrist, the demon begins his work. Crops flourished, walls strengthened, knowledge grew and people began to relax. Each wish, no matter the wording, was granted. So of course it came easily for these people to ask more and more. 

A cellar full of wine, infinite cake, and for the sick to recover.

The commander gives a bittersweet smile at his son, “it’s your turn, know that I’m proud of you.”

“Ahh the most important wish.” The demon gleefully claps his hands. “Tell me sir, what will you ask for in this pact?”

They could use a little extra morale boost, especially if the demon tries to trick them in this final wish. The young man needs to remind the Ironclads that they were the strongest in the land. He could wish on something already established to avoid getting it granted and show humility while doing so. He could incorporate his culture into the wish and he knows just the words that will do it all.

“I ask to be the strongest of the Ironclad!” 

The creature stifles a few giggles. “I knew you would say that.” He shakes the young man’s hand and flames begin to engulf the town.

A woman with dark shining hair cracks open the last of the reserve jars and takes it to the village table. There are others like her: all scrounging around their village for anything to keep the tribe alive. Putrid monster meat wafts from the cauldron. Another adult takes it to the table to offer to the tribe’s youngest members. children make appalled faces but accept it nonetheless. At the very least, the reserved fruits and vegetables will make it more palatable.

Ba-Bump 

Everyone’s heads shot up at the noise. It reverbs through the tribe’s bones.

Ba-Bump

No… NO! Not again. All their elderly are gone! Their best huntress had already been silenced at the Spire. What now?!

Everyone spurs into action. A man prepares poison, another ushers the children away, a woman hands out as many blades as possible while everyone else prepares for battle.

Ba-bump

In the distance, monsters pool at the Spire’s base before shooting out to raze the land.

He didn’t ask for this! He should have been more careful! All he thinking about was what a great morale boost it would have made for and that saying his dad would always quote. 

‘The Ironclad are the strongest of the land, and to be the strongest of the Ironclad would be the greatest honor.’

This quote was always how he was congratulated and how he was pushed to be better. For every time he performed well, for every scar he earned and for every clever tactic he came up with. It was even there to comfort him, for every time he failed an obstacle course or retreated too early during a fight.

The bodies were numerous and the fires grew higher and higher around him.

He did what any Ironclad would do. Taking a blade from a nearby weaponry rack he swung at the monster.

“Hehehe! You can’t hurt me, don’t you remember that we’ve made a pact?”

He ignores the words, he has to fix this he has to make it right!

The skulled creature wrapped in green cloth backed away from the huntress wheezing.

The rattling is a sickening noise, it’s the kind of beast that is content with slaughtering people while they sleep yet has the gall to cry when others retaliate. She remembered when one of them had slashed grandma from shoulder to hip in the dead of night. They had to bandage her entire torso to keep her alive. After that, all the windows in the village were boarded up and grandma disappeared to take revenge.

“Sisters… do you remember that ritual the Wraith did before she left for the Spire?”

They nod from the shadows. 

They huntress then viciously throws a poisoned dagger at the creature, killing it. “Can you do it for me?”

They look at one another before beginning the process.

None of his swings did anything! The demon kept laughing and taunting him. Static filled his ears as the demon made fun of his misuse of words. 

Maybe there are some survivors? He could try to put out the fires. Grabbing a bucket from the well, he begins to douse the flames.

The fires grew back every time. The rubble of homes and buildings were too dense for the Ironclad to traverse. In the distance figures do nothing but run at the sight of flames, no one is willing to help.

So in this futile situation, the now strongest/last Ironclad did what any sensible person would do.

He ran. He needed to fight another day.

He ran as the demon bellows in laughter. The sound echoing through his skull.

 The last thing he saw was that wretched creature fluttering off into the Spire.

“We give you the title: Silent,” one of the sisters breathes out. “Come, we must prepare you for the trip.”

The entire hunting crew gets up to trail back the village, leaving the Silent to adjust to her new position. The skull is surprisingly light and the green cloth is frustratingly ungainly. Clutching the outfit closer, she runs to catch up with everyone else.

It wasn’t too difficult to catch up… her tribesmen were shuffling their feet and holding their wounds. They were going to survive, but aren’t going to be to happy about it.

She tries to lift the mood. “Couldn’t you guys choose a better title? The last huntress got ‘The Wraith.’”

The entire hunting crew huffs in amusement, a sister jabs back, “we know what happens when you go to the Spire, we’re just getting to the point.”

“Wowww thanks.” 

Back at the village, the presence of monsters shon clear upon the village. Claw marks adorned the walls of homes, cauldrons were knocked over, poison puddles and lost shivs littered the street. The majority of the tribe had survived which was a small miracle considering there were only about forty of them.

But there was still losses. There always were.

The Silent slips into her home and gathers up her remaining candles. She hands them to one of the Sisters. “It’s all I have left, I won’t be needing them in the future.”

The Sister examines the wax cylinders before glancing between the gathering village and the Silent. “Go, weaken the Spire as soon as you can... We'll be fine.”

The Silent nods, idly watching the rest of the tribespeople preparing a ritual for the dead. The Sisters lead with a confidence that only comes from experience… the Silent has no importance here, it would do no good for her to continue to hide within the tribe.

She can change that now, at the very least.

Talking to the smith and the alchemist, the huntress steels herself to leave the village. Perhaps for the last time.

Chapter Text

Someone just stole his kill! He was going to eat that bug! But no, someone decided to bury a poisoned blade into the writhing thing. If that familiar noxious cloud is any indication, he’s dealing with a Fogland native.

The offender was wearing a strange skull and clothed in a dark forest green. Which backs up his conclusion. No one else could think of such an outfit and pull it off.

She returns to her defensive position carefully watching the Iornclad. Fortunately no one is attacking right away.

“Who are you?” The Iornclad tries.

“Why are you here?” A beat passes, perhaps he should say what he’s doing? She seems… somewhat reasonable. “I’m here to Slay the Spire! Are you here to do the same?”

Nothing, even the most serious of Ironclads would have at least responded to his boisterous ways. This silent person only steps away from the entrance of the Spire. Permission to let him through.

He stares for a bit longer, this person looked old and frail. She seemed uncomfortable with him sizing her up, her bright yellow eyes flicking all around the area every time she caught eye contact. After a while she finally speaks.

“…yes I’m here to ‘slay the spire.’ As you say.” She awkwardly admits.

“Well then we have a common goal, I will lead and you’d best stay out of my way!”

The Huntress simply nods.

Help always increases survivability. If bad comes to worse, he could simply cleave her in two.

It would be foolish not to accept the help of the boisterous Ironclad. The Spire is dangerous, she could use a meat shield. 

He’s reckless, she observes. If the scars and crisp clothes are any indication he must’ve had someone out there patching him up for every little cut. He lacks any sign of hunger and the golden armor is in good condition. She’s guessing the armor is his and not the result of stealing, the Ironclads held armor in height regard the last time she met the people.

He must have been rich, or at the very least spoiled. He’s an easy target if things go south.

The base of the spire is surprisingly quiet. A stark contrast to the outside seeping in danger. 

They overturn bits of rubble here and there in an attempt to find anything helpful. 

“Oh hey, a map.” Sure enough, the ironclad holds up a long scroll of paper. The map looks painfully simple. Someone drew four little monster faces at the very bottom.

The inside of the Spire is said to be an ever changing maze, but right now the base is pretty cut and dry. It’s very open and the area is very big. You could probably fit a whale in this room!

A rumble echoes from what the Silent assumed was a rather large pile of rubble.

“I… ..am …Neow..” Huh, you can fit a whale in this room.

The whale’s breathing echoes throughout the cavern. “Please come closer, I already know of your intentions. I intend to help.”

The Ironclad immediately stiffens. “No deal.”

The Silent turns her head bewildered. The whale didn’t even do anything yet. It’s a dangerous world now, but this much suspicion already?

Neow didn’t seem to mind the outburst. Instead she continues. “You have no choice in the matter… I am the ancient god of Resurrection… you will die and I will help you in the way I see fit.”

The Silent begins to usher the Ironclad to the stairs. “Ookay then… we’ll keep than in mind.”

“You won’t…” The whale says.

… stairs are a lot farther than she thought. It’s getting a bit awkward, a huntress can feel eyes on her back and currently there is no way to make the feeling go away besides walking faster. Also why does the whale have three sets of eyes? It’s extra uncomfortable with all three sets watching them speed walk.

The ceiling suddenly falls away and drops a robot in front of them with a loud thud. The Ironclad shrieks, throws his mace and clambers unto the Silent. Much different from his stiffness earlier. The huntress currently doesn’t appreciate the change though.

“Oh… I… ..am-“ Neow begins.

“Ah! No! we can take it!” The Silent cuts in. She drops the Ironclad on the floor (ow!) and picks up the robot to get it to stand. It stumbles a bit before she rights it. The head was loose so she turned it a few times. That’s how stuff works right?

As she screws on the head, it makes a “eeeeeeeeeEEE’ noise. The whale was still watching so the Silent doubles down. Grabbing some of the loose wires on the back of the robots head she tries to connect them to the body. Mixing colors is better, right? Not that she can tell the colors, all of them are washed out or grey.

…It seems to work. The robots central orb ‘breathes’ a few times before looking curiously at the two travelers.

The Ironclad had gotten up during the whole ‘repair’ and waves at the thing after a moment.

The automaton copies the movement.

Neow rumbles. “…Don’t wait here.. go on. Slay the Spire.”

Chapter Text

The map was surprisingly… ok? Sure the land marks were vague and the paths are drawn as oversimplified dotted lines, but they’ve reached every point they’ve tried to go to.

The question marks were particularly interesting. It led them to dead bodies, weird locations, hidden shops, idols, an uncomfortable serpent offering them money, a poor guy who traded a relic for some gold and last but not least ‘The Cleric.’ That creature was bombastic to a unsettling degree.

“That last fellow was quite excitable wasn’t he?” The Ironclad peels away a layer of slime from his armor. Note to self, next time: kill those slime things as fast as possible. 

The Silent scrapes a piece of goop out of her hair. “I’ll say. We ran straight into an ambush just it get away from him.”

The defect hums while looking at the map. “Rude stay not buy service.”

“I suppose…” the Ironclad sluffs off the remaining slime. “What’s next on the map?”

“Fireplace.” It says simply.

The Silent’s felt dead on her feet from all the climbing, walking, fighting and running they’ve been doing. It was such a relief to sit around a makeshift camp if only for a moment.

The Spire was in fact a maze. The base was the exception. Every time the group moved to a new point of interest, the pathway behind them disappeared. At first, the party thought they were just lost. That was until they kept on running into walls, windows and pitfalls. The 4th time this happens, the Defect puts a curled up louse in the doorway at the start of a fight and when they turned back, the poor thing was cleaved in half by a wall. If that wasn’t enough evidence, in one instance the path back was just stuffed with an unholy amount of monsters. She’s never ran so fast in her life and judging from the wheezing coming from the other two, they haven’t either. 

She probably needs to change out the bandages on her feet at this point, running over the rugged dungeon floor can’t have been good.

At times like these she wished to have nice shoes like the Ironclad. Though lacking nerves like the automaton would be nice.

Speaking of which, the robot had decided to follow them and help them in the many scuffles they found themselves in. They were strange, some of the foes within the spire seemed similar to the robot but their goal was to clearly protect the Spire. She was half worried that it would betray them, but it seemed content to follow and mimic its new friends. Don’t know why the robot gets confused with the Ironclad’s green skin though. She would understand if it were the sickly green of her poison but the Ironclad has a typical healthy tone.

Her mind begins to wander. The floor is pleasantly comfortable.

The Ironclad was doing… something with his card. Must be improving it… Honestly she half expected him to be dead at this point. The way he fights allows for little cuts and bruises. She of all people knows that these little injuries should add up, but he heals from them easily.

Eh, She can ask about it later. Right now she really needs a nap.

The Ironclad flicks his eyes towards his new allies. He feels bad for even thinking of hurting either of them.

The huntress was interesting. First he thought she was old, but her presumed age frame came from a lack of aesthetic care and her concealing outfit. She’s much stronger and much more well equipped than he first expected. The poison she carries and the skills she utilizes are ideal for handling tankier foes.  

The robot on the other hand constantly used orbs. The Ironclad has no idea how those things worked, but it seems to take quite a bit of planning to use properly. Actually, their whole fighting style seems to be based around meticulous planning, which was impressive. It would be useful for opening up opportunities for team attacks. He just wish that the robot would be easier to understand. What do they want? Why do they repeat words? Why do they struggle to form sentences? Why is it being so nice to them? Why did they rub at his skin? Why are they holding his bare arm up to the light?

The soldier sighs, it seems he’s grown fond of them. Incorporating the two into his tactics and all. They’re not his Ironclads, he can’t be sure they’ll stay.

The huntress clearly has a home to get back to. She didn’t speak much at first, but after curious questioning from the robot and friendly chatter from himself, she would speak of it fondly in conversation. She would talk about how they make specialize blades, how one time her tribesmen used spices to beat back a monster, how they save on water and food, the feats of their unofficial matriarch…

He responded with his own stories, but sometimes his heart would squeeze at the memory. He’ll never see his comrade body slam someone across an arena again, he’ll never be able to make stone soup with the local chefs again, his dad won’t be able to wake him up to watch the sunrise anymore.

At least the robot seems enraptured by all the stories. It’ll probably run off to roam the world for itself once the Spire is defeated. 

…He’s glad he can share his memories. Who knows if the Ironclad can make anymore after this adventure.

The Defect wakes with a start. Scanning the area, it notes that the Ironclad is dusting off his hands by a dead fire. The huntress wakes in the same manner as the Defect, just with a little bit of grumbling.

“Time to go?” The man whispers.

The robot nods. “Time to go.”

Gathering up their relics and weapons they start the trek. 

“According to our map we are about a third of the way to the top…” the Ironclad examines the drawing representing the next floor. It’s a simple diamond shape surrounded by scales? What was that meant to represent? He shows it to his allies to get their opinions.

“I’m hoping it’s a fun landmark, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be another fight.” The huntress taps at the image.

The Defect stares hard at the image. They could almost see the gears turning in the bot’s head.

Is this stairway getting wider?

By the time the robot looks up from the map they were face to face with a jigsaw puzzle of a beast. The scales around it’s skeleton-like body shuffled into two large arms. Despite better judgement the Defect    points at the thing currently towering over them and gestures to the symbol on the map. “Big guy.”

It looks like the Silent is going to be sore again. Fantastic, sore from walking then immediately becoming sore again from getting her face smashed in.

She tries to dodge the strike but some of the scales clip her. Pain laced across her uncloaked shoulders but at least now she can counter attack. Shoving two poisoned shivs into the creature’s side she dashed to regroup. The Ironclad and Defect had done quite a bit of damage as well, forcing the guardian to curl up into a ball.

“It’ll be a good idea to keep our enemy on the defensive.” The Ironclad catches his breath. “Prioritize attacks and we won’t have to deal with retaliation.”

The Defect and Silent nod. Heaving his mace, the Ironclad brings it down onto the scaled ball… only for the bronze scales to scrape his armor. “Ow, sharp scales.” He backs up from the thing and allows for the others to adjust their approach.

The Silent opts to use her poison while the Defect uses its summoned orbs instead of its claws.

“Keep on doing damage. If it tries to fight back, get behind me.” He barely finishes his sentence before the creature unfurls to claw at his shield.

The Silent ducks nearby. “You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

The Defect gives a thumbs up before clawing the guardian back into a ball.

As the Ironclad prevents the other two from getting run over, they would poison and cast upon the beast. After a while the creature pops out unto unsteady feet.

The Ironclad feels cloth and metal close behind him. The creature was stumbling rapidly to their location. With the way it is swinging it’s arms, it would be an easy parry… that is if it actually hit them.

The thing bursts into shrapnel before even reaching the party. It barely makes a dent in his armor.

The Defect and Silent poke out of their resident meat shield’s protection. Scales were all over the floor and a path to the next floor has been cleared. The Ironclad kicks the still head of the creature. It glows very faintly.

“We go.” The Defect says plainly. “Wait. Here.” It picks up a few Bronze Scales from the floor and pins it to the other’s clothes. It makes a happy humming noise.

“Thank you.” the huntress examines the dull glint. “It’s very… spiky.”

The Ironclad fixes the scales to a better position. “I believe it’s the point.” He follows the Defect to retrieve the boss relic. “Hehe, point. Get it?”

The other two huff in amusement.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The walls were made of flesh. Those meatballs the Merchant had sold to them weren’t sitting to well with Issac at the moment. The squelching that came with each footstep was deeply uncomfortable. What was worse was an occasional crunch of bone or the snapping of sinew. The Spire breathes, bleeds and it wouldn't be surprising if it eats as well. Why did he chase after the demon? Really, he should have sat at home where he wouldn't have to think about whether or not he walked straight into a gruesome walking nightmare. He'd really hate to die here. If the walking corpses in the City was any indication, his dead body will most certainly be used as some sort of puppet and he'd be stuck perpetually stuck here. This fate might have been common, just another reason to destroy this place.

Solanaceae grimaced with every step while Derek moved with unbridled efficiency that could only come from familiarity. That left Issac a tad uncomfortable but not in a position to complain. He kept to the back of the group occasionally grabbing the Silent by the scruff to stop her from tripping or stepping on something particularly sharp. It was a old habit he picked up from… from…. uhm he couldn’t remember. He just knows that they were kind, gruff and that he was almost going to be taller than them.
He’s too tired to dig through his memories right now and there won’t be a fire place for at least three more floors. Solanaceae is exhausted too judging by the way she shakes slightly. At the very least this distress didn’t affect their fights.
If anything, they’ve gotten better. Derek is more confident in their card selection, Solanaceae doesn’t get thrown around anymore, and Issac’s defense would rival that of the Ironclads’ own town walls… he could attack more often, but he admittedly isn’t too confident with this. Unless it was a guarantee kill, he enjoys the reliably of supporting the other two. It makes him feel important, like he’s doing something of service.

“Uh oooh.” Derek suddenly stops and flicks its gaze between their surroundings and the map. The twisting walls seem to ungulate with silent laughter. Gross.

“Eh hehe… what do mean ‘uh oh?’” Solanaceae nervously peers down a nearby ledge giving a forceful grin. “… shouldn’t we be at the next location already?”

“We at next location already.” The Defect sighs. They wander is a small circle to examine the surrounding walls. After a moment they sent a beam at four seemingly random points in the room. “…Err…?” The defect shakes itself off before experimentally running its hands on the smooth floor. “We at bad hallway. I’m leaving.” Derek suddenly plops down, sliding away.

Issac sighs. “Do you think we have to follow them?” The huntress gives a one shoulder shrug and motions for her friend to sit down. “Urgh you know what I’m too tired to argue, this might as well happen.”

"I'll say..." She stretches until a shoulder pops. She patiently waits for the Ironclad to go first, evidently unable to go down the 'slide' with him in the way.

Issac needs to remove a few buckles before he can sit properly. He finished the buckles on his right side before suddenly getting shoved down. “Ow! What was that-“

The Silent frantically points at one of the holes Derek made in the walls. A tar like creature was climbing out of it and examines them for a bit before leaping up into the ceiling.

Of course.

“-And they just banned windows?” Issac spun as the group continued down the slide. He's been doing that off and on again, on how much effort he was willing to put into trying not to slide and how bored the Defect was. It was taking a while and all they had for entertainment was basically conversation. Solanaceae was telling them about why she decided to come to the Spire, though they’re kind of are getting caught up in her home life and culture. She can’t really blame them. The last time she visited the Northern tribes was years ago and apparently they set up a wall since then. Time was bound to change some things. As for Derek, they hint at not being able to leave with as much subtlety as a six year old.

“Yes. We got rid of windows. What were we supposed to do?”

“Live with it?” Derek offers.

“Eeugh, that was the whole point of getting rid of them. Y’know, so we could live? No more breaking in?”

“Don’t your ‘sisters’ have any rituals to protect from that? We’re just saying there’s better options.” Issac tries to lean back but only succeeds in spinning faster. Derek doesn’t help at all, instead they seem to find it entertaining.

The huntress continues. “I’m not sure if you noticed Issac, but the Spire is leagues ahead of anyone in terms of magic. Sure the tribe Sisters can give a boon or two, but I’m going to be honest, this Nemesis’s corpse and borrowed daggers do a world more good than whatever exhaustive rituals we can afford to preform. It’s just cheaper.”

The Ironclad is starting to look more green than what’s considered healthy. “Oogh… Nemesis?”

“The thing I’m dressed like? You know the floating scythe wielding thing. Green cloth and beady little eyes.”

“Hrk- I can’t. I don’t know what that is -please stop me Derek I need a break again.” The robot stops the spinning as requested. Issac tries to turn back to Solanaceae with little success. the room is spinning... a lot “I thought your outfit was a -Eugh- a cult thing you were doing.”

Oh nice they stopped sliding. The Ironclad tries to lie face down on the floor and blindly tries to re-equip his armor. “Ew, no. No one in my village is like that. Do you think I’m like one of those birdbrains?” 

“Who you calling Birdbrains?” Oh come on... it seems they’ve landed by a church. A church full of bird cultists. One of them looks especially angry. It points a the Silent “Hey wait a minute! You’re the lady who keep on stealing from our donations!”

“What?! I didn't do nothing!” Solanaceae seems as surprised at the declaration as her teammates. She looks around the room as if something would help her prove her innocence. It doesn't she only spots the suspiciously empty sacrificial alter and many more angry bird people.

"Yeah, like we're going to believe the 5th time you say this." The cultist scoffs. She has legitimately never seen this church nor these people in her life. She was about to continue pleading her case before the Ironclad jumps in (much to her relief). He the diplomatic type right?

"Hey! hey, everybody relax. How about we sit around for a bit and..." Issac picks up both his friends and starts running with reckless abandon. Okay this is happening.

“Caw-Caw!!” The crowd of cultists drop down to chase after them. Solanaceae's ragtag crew had been sitting down for hours on that slide and they've been walking for ages before that. Running from a mob should be child's play after dealing with the nightmare of walking up stairs. It typically would be, if it were not for the fact that Issac is clearly still very dizzy, is currently holding two rather heavy packages and has half of his armor buckles undone. She can sigh and wait until they eventually get out of this problem by getting into a bigger one.

The inner sanctum of "The Nest" is littered with feathers, twigs and idols of Mazaleth. She has no idea how the crow god could benefit one's self... but then again some of these cultists are in dire need of direction. Earlier she overheard someone being scolded for gluing feathers to themself. They also blather a lot and seemingly mistake her for someone else. Hopefully that what she's looking for is around here. It still feels strange to suddenly get some respect now that she was on the higher floors, while the three she's following get the exact opposite treatment. The Watcher continues to angle her staff to look around. You'd think it be hard to keep track of three people in an ever changing vertical labyrinth, but its rather easy. Hearing a mob screaming bird noises at the top of their lungs along with them chasing a streak of clashing colors just supports this.

She casually follows the noise from her position on the overhead ledges. Hmm looks like they're headed straight towards a sort of ritual room. The last Ironclad has right idea squeezing through choke points and using the shifting walls. The Defect seems to be giving directions while the Silent uses the chasing cultist as target practice in between her very vocal claims of innocence. Honestly its not making the huntress look good.

She wonders if these three are purposely putting on a show like this or if they are that deranged.

"Oh hiya! Fancy seeing a boss around here." There was a cultist sitting on the ledges watching the little chase sequence unfold. "What brings you here Time Eater? Are you going to see how our ritual is coming along?"

The familiar name gives her a jolt. How could she forget about Time Keeper? That's the entire reason she's here. "Err..."

"Oh! Oops I'm sorry I forgot you're blind. I meant observe."

"No, its fine. I just seemed to be turned around today. Could you direct me to my usual place by any chance?"

The cultist squints but quickly gets distracted as the little group down below crash into the ritual chamber. "Eh, you know the deal, the Heart controls everything. Just ask them to put you back... Anyways it looks like the Awakened One will have their sacrifice soon."

Not quite, it seems the group had finally made the smart choice of trading cards. A claw happy Defect wielding Juggernaut and After Image will definitely wreak havoc. She sits with the observing cultist, hoping to weasel out some more information. "Is this the first time the awakened one came around? The ritual was pretty quick."

"Ehh, I guess you haven't seen us often, this is like the 4th? Awakened One we managed to get. The others were killed by that green one down there..." They point at the huntress trying to remove one her shivs stuck in the Awakened One's feathery back. "Huh, she seems unpredictable this time around."

The Watcher's guessing he thinks it's the Silent and the Wraith are the same person. She's observed the older Fogland native a few times blazing up the Spire's stairs. The other huntress has different mannerisms, footsteps and wears the corpse of a much larger Nemesis compared to this one. It's an easy mistake to make when using just sight... or maybe she's been watching them too long. The group lets out a few tired cheers as the Awakened one collapses and the remaining cultists flee the area.

"Are they falling for it? Again?" The cultist on the ledge leans back as the Awakened one gets up again. The adventures were preoccupied with feeling up the walls for an exit. That bird man sure does have a lot of health for someone with a knife in their heart. The group whips around as yelps as a feathered claw swipes at them. The Ironclad scrambles to set up his defense again, The Silent pales as she realizes most of her poison had worn off and the Defect bounces back into clawing as if nothing had happened. They jump back into a rhythm of surviving.

She senses the spectating cultist creep up close to her. "Say... Time Eater. I don't think you have your clock on you..." They glance back to the fight when the Ironclad seems to cast fire from a wound on his palm. Smoke fills the atrium as the beast throws itself to the ground in an attempt to get rid of the flames. "You know I remember you putting a bounty on all your Monastery friends... Extra rewards if we catch them in the Spire."

"And how do you plan on collecting that?" The Watcher shoves the cultist off the ledge and onto the Awakened one below. A crunch and the sound of a doorway opening up tells her that she probably won't have to worry about the mentioned bounty anytime soon. "I'm afraid they may be hard to catch." She hears the others down below breath a sigh of relief.

"Woo hoo! Let's get out of here before this adrenaline runs out!... oough my hand..." The Ironclad reaches into the nearby chest and the Watcher listens as the bottom is scraped. A surefire hiss of a curse permeates through the air and a yelp rings out. If she remembers her studies correctly, he just gained some more corruption... Black blood.

"Everything alright? What did you pick out from the chest?" Solanaceae peeks into the now empty box. Some lingering shadows are disturbed by the movement.

"Uhm, I'm not too sure." Issac lets the Defect examine his hand. It's no longer bleeding.

It gently runs its claws over the healed area. "Sacred Bark. Maybe?" it drops it and starts heading to the doorway "Let's go almost there."

"Don't need to tell me twice."

"Yeah, I want to go home and take a nap or something."

Watching them disappear up the staircase, the Watcher hops down and liberates a propaganda poster from the walls and one of the feathers of the now dead Awakened One. If somethings making her forget, she's going to have to write her thoughts down.

Find Time Eater Keeper. And just to make sure. Watch. Remember. Live.

Chapter Text

They was supposed to continue up the stairs as usual. These little pocket 'rooms' were typically nothing more than a especially large step and would have nothing of interest in them in the Ironclad's opinion. That was until he saw the very thing that made him end up in such a place.

That Demon. That wretched creature. "You." He stopped Solanaceae and Derek behind him. He can feel then shuffling in confusion. The creature seemed startled to see Issac initially. Scared almost.

But, as something twice the soldier's size it grinned down at him. "Oh, hello! If it isn't my favorite-"

The Ironclad tries to strike. It does absolutely nothing. His companions behind him still have no clue whats happening and the demon's to busy puffing itself up to notice the two others.

"...Now its very rude to-"

The Ironclad wastes no time. "Derek, Solanaceae. Please kill him."

"wha-" In a flash of steel, the demon is thrown to the opposite wall. The cramp room plays to their advantage, wedging the creature in a corner where it would have to fight back crouching.

"I trust-" Solanceae narrowly avoids a particularly sharp swipe. "-that you have good reason to be calling a hit on this thing." She uncaps some poison to throw into the fray.

"It burned down my home. It took my entire community." Issac pulls the two back as the demon tries to swing a piece of the wall at them.

"At least let me finish a sentence you whelp! It was your fault your Ironclads are d-"

"You finish (1) sentence. Bye bye." Derek kicks the demon down the stairs.

"I was hoping to kill him..." Issac uncharacteristically tucks himself behind the Defect. "I suppose taking his wings was good enough, thanks Derek."

They look surprised at the dismembered wings its claws. "Oh? I thought this harder to take off?"

The Silent shakes herself off. "Should we go down after it?"

His initial anger now seems to waning in favor of a quiet caution. "No, we should focus on dealing with the Spire... less risky. Thank you for your concern." He works his jaw. "We should really go."

"Okay." The huntress slowly takes the lead. Noting the way her friend glances behind them and purposely blocks off the stairway down. She probably has a few questions. Issac just keeps his head down and busies himself shuffling cards. They don't need to know about his mistake just yet. He just needs to prevent another one from happening. He can be strong. He doesn't need to give them extra stress.

“Grandma?”

“Grandma!” The Wraith was nearly bowled over by another mass of cloth and bones. She struggles a bit before realizing it was a girl, alive and very familiar… the kid was careful around her bandages but still clung to the Wraith very tightly. Even burying her face into the older women’s non-aching shoulder.

The girl was undeniably ecstatic to see the Wraith… she loosens the hug to face the older women expectantly.

Not many people here give you the chance to speak. This is all rather strange. Even for the Wraith.

“..Who are you?” Her voice is a tad raspy from lack of use.

The girl immediately looked heartbroken at the statement and glanced over to an Ironclad boy and a robot. They shrugged.

“It’s me, Solanaceae? Little Nightshade?” There was a desperate edge to the girl’s voice.

…Was this a trick? Was this a hallucination? The Spire is getting better with its illusions, but seemingly getting worse at their pretend behavior. They're really hamming it up for this particular instance, why else would someone come looking for her. The Wraith slowly adjusts to reach one of her blades and the girl surprisingly adjusts the hold to let her get to it easier. This person knows full well where the blade is and yet they stay.

She sighs. If this person knows her this well and hasn’t yet killed her, they’re probably telling the truth. She lifts off the skull atop the girls head and her friends rush up to handle it. The girl stands still the elder notes a lack of prominent scars and a hopeful spark in her eyes that the Spire’s denizens lack… it’s just a girl. Something so painfully normal in a sea of the Spire’s horrors. It's almost like looking in a mirror, yet she still doesn’t recognize her.

After all the Wraith has been through, she’s honestly annoyed at this point. Neow is rudely enigmatic, Ranwid is painfully inscrutable, the Merchant doesn’t want to say anything and now there’s basically a smaller version of herself with seemingly the most amount of memories. Everyone is frolicking around with bits and pieces of the “legendary” Wraith’s past life(s) except for the Wraith herself. Because of course.

Still, this is just a girl. “…I’m truly sorry dear.” She drops her arms to her sides. The girl follows suite.

“How about this. We’ll travel up to the end together and hopefully something will jog my memory by then.” Because she knows she’s rarely made it this far and she’s not about to choke up now.

“Okay!” The girl accepts a bit too readily. It’s apparent that this is not usual when the Ironclad pulls her to the side to air his concerns. While they chat, the Wraith sweeps her gaze along the room again. Where was that Heart? Couldn’t Neow have left her with at least a few relevant memories. Letting her know how she died last time she was here should be relatively easy compared to literal resurrection.

The Ironclad boy throws his arms up and lets the young huntress bounce around in victory. Looks like she's going to be babysitting, but it's hard to be mad at something so energetic. Her joy is nice honest reprieve from the grotesque caricatures the Spire cooks up. Speaking of which...

The robot is staring intensely at her.

“Wh- who are you?” They look suspiciously like the other automatons around this place.

It tilts it head. “Derek.”

Isn't that a type of building tool? Derrick? Is it a terrible mispronunciation of derelict perhaps? This automaton is rather friendly compared to it's cousins. Is it because it made friends or was it something inherit? Has she been fighting all these other robots for no reason? could she have skipped a few lethal fights by asking? Out of all the words swirling in her mind the dumbest one slips out. “...I don’t think that’s a real name.”

For its part, the robot doesn't seem to mind. It's content to look at at Ring of the Serpent instead. Spinning it around in a familiar fashion. These new people are definitely touchy. she doesn't mind. It's quaint.

The young huntress runs up to her again excited to tag along.

"So... I'm assuming you have a title?" The Wraith tries to make a connection with the only memory she has. It must have worked because the kid lights up.

"The Silent!"

"Ooh, that's an interesting one for sure..." She has no idea what it means. "Err... anything else you have to tell me?"

The title of Silent must have been ironic, because this one seems like a chatterbox. She talks about something about huts, food, some rambling stories about unfamiliar people... her talk tapers off when she realizes the Wraith has no idea how to continue this conversation though. The older huntress prefers it this way at the moment. She has a job to do.

And there she spots it. The Heart.

She bolts off. Much to the surprise of the Silent who calls out.

The Wraith slams into the Heart with all her might. Struggling to do some damage as the Spire’s power slowly but surely undoes whatever Neow had done to her. She remembers this part. She could never do enough damage in time it seems.

The tar like forms of glistening spear and a impenetrable shield bare down on her.

Mmh another visit to Neow then?

...

The Heart moves towards them, or did the room move them to the Heart? Derek spots what looks to be a stairway and makes a beeline. It shuts in its face and makes an almost comical click. It’s locked with the strangest key hole possible. "No! this new! bad!"

"What do we do? what do we do? She's the only reason I'm here! she's the only reason I've-" A nemesis claws at the floor where the Silent was previously and Derek's wires run cold, did it get Solanaceae already? She seemed shell-shocked at how easily 'grandma' was taken out. It wouldn't be a hard connection to realize the enemies are much much stronger up here. The nemesis must have realized there's more targets because it rushes towards Derek. They instinctively step away when the robot puts up its defenses. They stand off. Derek can see its eyes start to glisten with rage.

"Move! Follow me!" Derek whirls around seeing the returned demon. It's mad too. "What are you doing?" The grip the demon has on Derek's arm tightens. "We got to get out of here!" Derek whines and tried to wiggle out of the grip. It doesn't want to go back, it likes Issac it likes Solanaceae, the Defect doesn't want to go back. Where are their friends?

Derek feels the Heart getting closer and for some reason the demon tugs him away.

No, this automaton had enough. If it was going to go under a memory wipe again, it is going to be on its own terms. It claws away from the demon "-OW Derek!-" and lunges at the Heart.

The nemesis rattles the door. It's really panicking for no apparent reason. "DOOR STUCK."

The onslaught on the Heart is getting tiring, out of all things the Demon Issac comes to assist. The Defect's vision clears up and Issac is helping. The claw marks on the soldier's arms makes it clear there was no demon at all... Derek doubles their efforts. The Silent joins in to give a last push. Before... everything.. gets... heavy.....

Clarity hit the Watcher like a tsunami. Why in the world is she idly watching? Why is she watching this specifically? She had watched three people climb the Spire, smack the heart really hard and then witnessed them collapse immediately afterwards. She understands what she saw but doesn’t understand why. There are tendrils obscuring memories at the edge of her mind and the scrap of paper balled in her pocket is the only thing keeping her grounded. The more she stands around the more she feels her carefully crafted neutrality slipping. She had followed these people because they were interesting. There was much more important reason, but her memory fails her even as she runs her fingers over the holes of the paper.

Watch. Remember. Live.

Why? She picks up the Silent. The green cloth the women wears makes for a good makeshift sling bag. She picks up the Defect, faint energy pulses under the Watchers fingertips as she hauls the bot by the scruff. Two down one to go. The Heart must be doing something to her because that fuzzy apathy was coming back. The Ironclad was a problem, he’s probably the heaviest out of the trio. The Watcher rolls him up over her shoulder and lifts with her knees.

Yep, he’s heavy. She didn’t know what she expected. Her joints crackle in protest.

Powering through the weight, the monk stumbles across the chamber. To where she assumed the exit was at. She can’t go down where the party had come, the heart has complete control over it. There was a door on the other side of the room with a lock. She tries it but no avail.

Losing balance she slams into a wall. Bits and pieces crumble off and she feels rays warmth poking through. Angling her staff so she could see, she notes a small tear… she could jump! With her abilities she could just float down the Spire! With a hardy kick the skin-like wall tears away into open air.

The Watcher calls upon all the divinity she can muster and leaps.

Chapter Text

Someone snaps their fingers in front of the Ironclads face. He mumbles and turns over on the dirt floor. “Go bother someone else…”

“Hey! No! Wake up, I’m not done with you yet!”

He only grunts in response and headbutts the robot’s body like it was a pillow, as if it would somehow drown out there monk’s words.

The Watcher makes an indignant noise before prodding the Silent, “Come on! Are you any of you even alive?”

The heap of green cloth turns over towards the noise and for a promising moment, she squints at the source. “…five more minutes.” And that hope fizzles out. This one’s not getting up either.

“Ugh.” The Watcher was hoping this would be easier. These idiots managed to get to the heart of the Spire and yet they can’t even roll out of bed. She’s been meditating here for an entire day! Maybe she should kill them and let Neow revive to her hearts content.

She pushes that wrathful thought away. The old god is currently adamantly ignoring her and she needs these three to retain their memories. Forgetting about her peer was issue enough. Herding a group of amnesiacs is much worse than waiting a few more hours. Forcing out a calming breath, the Watcher returns to her vigilance.

The Silent awoke again. That long drawn out dream seemed to be over. She could hear light breathing of her team and couldn’t smell any blood so that was good. That mystery person didn’t kill her when she asked for 5 more minutes of sleep, that was also good.

“Good morning.” The mystery person was meditating a little ways away. “Are you hungry?”

“…uhm?”

“Don’t answer that question, I already know the answer… you should really stop chewing on that mango pit.”

Err how’d did the monk know about that? Sure she chewed on it here and there while climbing up the tower, but…

….wait…ooh-no. Judging by the drool stain on the back of the monk’s robe and the way her cloak was bunched up as if the edges were tied together… it seems Solanaceae tried eating the pit while being carried by this person. She thought she dropped that habit ages ago… but at least she didn't straight up bite someone this time. Grandma went through a lot of spells just to stop that behavior, but now she isn't even around to fix it again. Solanaceae’s chest tightens and quickly pivots her mind back to the matter at hand. There’s a stain on this polite stranger’s fancy purple robe and the Silent has no clue how to make this situation better without looking like the complete fool she is. The local cloth butcher would have a good replacement but they’re back in the village which only has the colors brown and green at their disposal. Maybe she can beg one of the sisters to help her with another favor? Who is she kidding, it should be an easy spell. Problem is that Solanaceae is abysmal at remembering the correct ingredients and somehow always fumbles incantations. She could try and trail-and-error her way through it but it might be more embarrassing chanting nonsense at a strangers back in comparison to asking the sisters again.

While the huntress was having her miniature cringe-fest, the strangely familiar monk gets up and runs her staff against the floor. “Start a fire. I’ll be back.”

The Silent watches as the monk disappears behind a corner. Eagerly latching onto command, Solanaceae goes outside the Spire to collect some kindling. Hopefully this’ll make up for things. She pads past the quiet whale god with a “hello Neow.” Before going out the door way.

The air suddenly feels more breathable. A headache she didn’t even know she had released it’s grip. As much as the tension in her shoulders wants to leave, the creatures outside the Spire’s base may still be lurking around and listening. Tucking herself near the tree line, she gathers up sticks, wood and whatever dry materials look to be flammable. Her footsteps are light yet, it’s all she hears… she stills and strains her ears. No clacking of louse shells, no loose footsteps of zombified muggers, no rustling feathers of cultists. It’s just her and gentle winds whispering across leaves. The mist pooling around her feet is weak in comparison to the protective Fog of her homeland, but it still held the gentle promise of morning dew. Unbidden the Silent was reminded of Spring. With its yield of tanned bark, tiny flowers and the groggy croak of a waking frog. She half expected one of the Sisters or grandma to show up from the brush asking if anyone had found the any berry bushes yet.

It was a foolish thought, they haven’t had a gathering party in ages, much less any edible plants at all… And yet when Solanaceae moves aside some foliage…

Is a strawberry bush. A tiny mess of stems and unblemished dentate leafs. All alone. With no one to witness it's quiet strength.

Issac eases awake. The effects of a good rest courses through this veins. The tension in his muscles is long gone. The dizzy buzz in his head had quieted for a time. He experimentally stretches and a warmth seeps into his bones. After checking himself over, it seems most of his scabs have healed nicely. Almost like nothing ever happened…

Derek really acted out of character back there. He should be angry. It would be logical, but he doesn’t remember enough of what happened up there to be mad.

Besides, the robot is curled up sleeping peacefully even after they had been used as a pillow. It be wrong to cause so much of a stir in this rare peace… also where is he? Did the whale teleport up the Spire or is he somehow at the bottom again… he’s pretty sure someone picked him up rather easily at some point while he slept and… yeah he’s probably at the bottom. It wouldn’t hurt to check.

“Erm… Neow, was it?” The whale seemed to flinch at the name.

“…I.. forget… ..you ..remember….”

“…sorry?” He’s not sure how to interpret that. “Where are we?”

“….Hmm …I.. can… tell.. ...you.. if-“

He spots the huntress clambering over some rubble with an armful of sticks. “Never mind, thanks Neow.” The whale huffs and turns her back to him while he waves over the Silent. “Where were you? Where are we?”

“I was just outside for a few moments. And I’m pretty sure we’re at the bottom again… oh yeah, and there’s a monk who rescued us around here somewhere. Just a heads up.” Her voice is soft and she arranges the kindling together before topping it with some dry fuzz. “Do you have a fire starter?”

“Uhm. Give me a moment.” He checks some of his pockets. Seems that someone removed their bags and stacked it into a pile nearby. The pocket where he kept the flint and steel had an unfortunate hole in it. “Hmm.”

The huntress turns over the bag to see if the objects are in another pocket... nothing. It seems that their map is gone as well. “Any magic then? Maybe use that spell you used on the bird guy?”

“Oh, yeah… that spell.” Uhm. He doesn’t want to stab himself for a fire really. He’s not looking forward to that dull ache but if his friends need it… “Could I borrow a shiv? I need to uhm… the thing about the spell is…”

A monk (he’s assuming it’s the one Solanaceae mentioned) unceremoniously dumps a pile of skewered louse between the two. On one hand that was rather rude, but on the other hand, the interruption is a welcomed one.

“The guy’s cursed blood magic will make a mess, it’ll be easier to use your automaton friends laser.”

Scratch that, this person is very rude.

Solanaceae “Ah. Of course- wait cursed blood?” Her voice cracks incredulously.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times before deflating. “I made a deal with a demon. Real stupid I know. My village was just on hard times and I thought-“

The huntress moves aside to let the monk shake Derek awake. “You made a deal, with a demon?” She interrupts. “Was it the one you wanted to beat up?”

“Y-yes.” He cursed the tremble in his voice. This was such a weak thing to be distraught over. If the General was still around he’d say to move on and kill the mistakes… but he’s not. The confident comforting ways of the Ironclads had died the same day the people did.

“Sacred snakes…” She’s tired. “I don’t even know how to feel about that.”

Derek finishes up lighting the fire and tilts its head at the Ironclad curiously. The fact that they were oblivious to the negligence, selfishness and stupidity associated with such a deal fills him with a sense of shame.

Solanaceae continues while instinctively helping the monk roast the skewers louse. “I’m not mad, it’s just rather… why didn’t you ask us to kill him? It really not much trouble compared to everything else in this Spire.”

He looks at her surprised. She’s not denouncing him or anything. He feels the Defect comfortingly patting his shoulder. No disgust or ill will is directed towards him. “I- I guess I didn’t want to be too much of a bother.”

“You’re lucky you made the right choice.” The mystery person says matter-of-factly. “The Spire revives its denizens. Not very well now that Neow’s down here but it still would’ve made for a futile effort if you were to kill that demon of yours.” The monk presses a cup of a remarkably clear water into Issac’s hand. “Drink this.”

“Oh, uhm.. Thank you… what was your name?” He experimentally sips the water. It’s pleasantly fresh. Gulping it down does wonders clearing up his dry throat.

“You may refer to me as The Watcher. Nothing more.”

A chill runs down his spine. Both from the drink and a realization. Purple robes, ominous staff, and the fact she somehow dragged them out of the most dangerous part of the Spire… She’s from The Monastery isn’t she.

The Watcher idly observes as the group munches on roasted louse and rifles through whatever remaining cards they had on them. Some of their old ones were scattered about the floor but they mostly had strikes and defends. Something the Defect was verbally miffed about. Hey, it wasn’t the Watcher’s fault, leaving the Spire just does that. In her own opinion, dying is much more inconvenient than resetting one’s deck.

The huntress was fine with the Watcher being around despite being the most cautious of the bunch. The Defect, after its initial debilitating terror when waking up under the Watcher’s observation, fortunately adjusted to her as well. They readily treated her like a friendly stranger. The Ironclad on the other hand is the most wary after her introduction. It’s reasonable. Her peers have reported that after watching multiple skirmishes in the middle of the Spire’s chaotic introduction; many of the Ironclads saw her fellow monks as a warning for major battles and never interacted beyond bolstering their defenses at the sight of anyone from the Monastery.

Which is a bit of an issue, since she sort of needs all of them as a safety net for her search for Time Keeper. She calmly clears her throat. “So… may I ask for all your names?” She already knows them, but the question will help build a good rapport and give her an excuse. Nodding along to the introductions and preforming the normal responses expected, she waits for an opportunity to simply ask them for their help. If they try to turn her down, well the hefty amount of betting gold she won from the ‘Gauntlet’ will definitely change their mind. “…I’d like to join you all-“

“Sure.” Derek scrapes off some fuzz off the louse shells. “But let me sleep now on. Carry.”

Curious response. She’s not quite sure how to answer. “…I’ve already done that all the way down the Spire.”

“Thanks for that.” The Ironclad says quickly. “We’re grateful. But I’m sure we’ll only slow you down.”

“I’m fine with that.” She fiddles with her staff trying to keep indifference. They keep on throwing unpredictable statements at her. The Defect is happy with her response it seems. Issac is clearly very nervous and Solanaceae is deathly quiet. The huntress’s mind seems to be occupied.

“You’re welcome?” The soldier is wary. If she can get the huntress to accept her as part of the team, the Ironclad will probably give in to peer pressure. Pointedly clearing her throat, “How about you, Silent?”

“Oh! Of course!… I am more than welcome to have another on the team if everyone else is okay with it…” Issac fortunately makes a so-so motion “I think we need to be as safe as possible. So we don’t lose anybody…” Bone clunks as the Silent subtly wipes at her face. “If it’s not too much trouble, could we go to my village before we head up the Spire again? I need to tell them… tell them… uhm…” the Silent stills before leaning to the side. Towards the source of someone grumbling and dusting themselves off.

Neow just revived someone, didn’t she.

“At.. least… confront the first boss… this time…. Wraith..”

“Uh huh, hurry up and give me the blessings.”

The Watcher senses Solanaceae’s disbelief, joy and a desperate flicker of an insane person that’s making her companions nervous. The Wraith thunders up the stairs with a practiced impatience and the Silent springs up immediately.

“Nevermind! Let’s go!” Hauling both Derek and Issac to their feet, she starts sprinting after the older woman. “Wait! Grandma! It’s me again!”

“We go again?” The automaton jumps up and down.

“Ehh, sure…” Issac grabs the group’s bag and hypes himself up a bit. “Come on we can’t fall too far behind. Wait up Sol’!”

The Defect grabs onto the Watcher’s sleeve and skips after their team with some childlike humming.

…On second thought, perhaps she should’ve chosen a better safety net.

Chapter Text

They passed a corner to see the same exact set of descending stairs for the 11th time. Even after clearing this floor of monsters.

Solanaceae’s direction wavered. Despite her wide range of skills they have seemingly been running in circles. The same exact monster corpses lined their changing paths, while identical paths would be littered differently from before, Almost every directional strategy was rendered null in some way shape or form. Following airflows didn’t work, they almost lost Derek after trying to use louse doorstop strategy again, string vanished when trying to leave trails, spells fizzled out without proper ingredients

The huntress sniffles after catching sight of the repetitive sight. “We lost her…” she’s so stupid. “how…” She sighs. She shouldn’t have dragged the group into this. Now she’s burdening others like she always does. “I’m really sorry guys.” Her words came out a bit gummy.

“It’s alright.” Issac catches his breath. He’s just glad his friend finally stopped running. “I think our lack of map is causing some issues… huff… it was probably enchanted.” He plops down onto the floor to rest. “…or something…”

Derek sprawls next to the Ironclad and appraises the Silent curiously. “Your fast!” They pat the space next to them in what seems to be an attempt at cheering up their friend. “Do you run fast all the time at home?”

She half collapses into the space. “Only if I need to keep up with someone. I usually stay in one place unless I have a job to do.”

“I forget that you don’t have training in the Foglands” Issac huffs. “I don’t know if I’m jealous or not to be honest.”

“Hah! At the very least it’s I’m grateful you did it. If it was only me I would’ve crumpled like a wet paper bag by now.” The huntress tries her best to focus on the conversation instead of spiraling.

“Don’t sell yourself short. We…” he looks at his hands for a moment. “We are all strong in our own way.”

The Defect suddenly turns towards the Watcher. “Even stronger now too!”

Solanaceae chuckles seeing the monk be caught her off guard.

“I… thank you for the sediment.” The Watcher bows slightly.

Listening to their conversations felt simultaneously enlightening and useless. She hasn’t been recording their conversations the first ascension and she wasn’t sure if she would bother now. The Watcher is aware her presence is not being incorporated into the group due to her lack of social contributions but these people were so weird sometimes. Who talks about nothing for hours on end?

The Ironclad’s voice bounce off the empty walls. “-But oil lamps are the best! Us Ironclads use it alllllll the time. It would’ve taken less resources overall.” He absently kicks a discarded louse shell into the void.

“Enchanted candles are just better for our situation… and you know, fog and metal don’t tend mix too well.”

“No?!” The Defect stops investigating bricks to protectively hug itself. It burbles out a few mechanical noises in appeal.

Issac claps them on the back. “Aww don’t worry Derek. It’s nothing a raincoat can’t fix. Hmm or maybe we could get some enchantments…”

It burbles more positively.

“We could try sealant, but grandma is the only-“ The Watcher tunes them out. There’s a hall of sorts in the distance. They passed by it a couple times while The Silent led. Now that they’re walking at a slower speed though, the path there seems less impossible. They’ll have to do a few jumps, but it’s nothing much considering they’re relatively able and well rested.

The group behind her still idly murmurs in conversation while balancing over this narrow pathway. She swings her staff around carefully to get a feel of the place. Whispering her mantras, the world around her shifts ever so slightly. She observes the narrow pathway yawns into the vast hall. It’s cleaner than it should be but it’s floor slumps in a slight incline. It’s old, but not quite abandoned. Derek’s feet click against the tile. The ornate room holds no uneven pressure plates nor tripwire nor detectors of any sorts.

It’s completely empty, save for a single idol sitting quietly on an pedestal.

“It looks kinda like those traps in adventuring novels don’t you think.”

“Urgh don’t remind me. They were super popular before the Spire showed up and I couldn’t go five minutes into training before someone started talking about it. I was a tolerant child, but I swear those stories pushed me to my limit.”

“What was they about?” Derek circles around the pedestal.

This, is the Watcher’s expertise. “It was a popular genre that spawned out of a incredibly peaceful era hungry for action. The first instance of these writings were made by a middle aged writer who happened to live by a museum. The opening scene in their book featured the main character taking an object off a pedestal like this and activating a trap that caused a boulder to roll after them. It was so iconic that almost every action adventure novel would pay homage by mirroring that initial opening scene.”

“Neat!”

“…”

“…huh.”

The Defect gets really close to the idol. “Books take like this?” They pick up the shiny object.

“yeS! GET DOWN!” Solanaceae, being the closest to Derek, pushes them down to the corner edge of the room.

A boulder crashes through the ceiling and splits the group into two.

The Ironclad immediately makes the most painful mangled noise the Watcher has ever heard… despite being on the safe side of the huge rock. The one rolling AWAY from them. If it wasn’t for the fact her staff can clearly see him practically tearing out his hair, she would’ve thought the soldier died then and there.

With a sharp intake of air he picks up his friends carefully. “Are you guys alright?! Anything broken…? Sol’ your bleeding.”

The Silent looks down at the dark red stain. “Aww my strawberries.” She mournfully looks at the red splatter on the floor before picking off a chunk stuck onto her cloak. She tastes it and shrugs. “I’m fine. Derek? How are you.”

“My ribs hurt.”

“…You don’t have any ribs.”

It gestures vaguely around the room before slouching. “…can I have strawberry?”

Solanaceae takes off her cloak and relocates a handful of shivs into her tunic belt while the rest of the blades are dumped unceremoniously on the floor. The Defect is given the messy green cloth. “Go crazy.”

Issac goes over with a healing salve while Derek does his best to remove all the strawberry mush from the cloak. The scene looks a little goofy.

The Silent begins to gather up all her shivs into the groups communal bag and tilts her head towards the Watcher. “Say, how did you know all the stuff behind that adventure book earlier? Are you a historian?”

“Not quite, I’m with the Monastery. We keep tabs on all worldly events.”

Something seems to click for the huntress. “Oh! Those people who watched our village for a while. Everyone thought you guys were very quiet.” She tilts her head in thought. “You guys were good listeners.”

“Your people had a lot to say.” According to her peers at least. The enigma surrounding the place was only from how convoluted and advanced their alchemy was. The monk assigned there thought the villages there would’ve expanded into a highly respected civilization if it wasn’t for the Spire’s raids.

Solanaceae nods to the information before asking another question. “…so why are you here? In the Spire I mean. You can’t be a tourist because I’ve seen your cards earlier and you can’t be here just to hang out with us.”

The Watcher automatically pulls out the flyer she wrote on before speaking. “I’m looking for my peer. They stopped reporting a while ago.” She lets the paper slide out of her hands when the Silent grabs it. “They’re not on the poster, those are just my notes.”

“Oh…?”

“It’s braille.” She takes back the flyer and busies herself putting it away. Unfortunately, it seemed that between her being occupied and the Defect noisily slurping up the remaining strawberry stains she didn’t detect the “Cleric” until he declared his presence at maximum volume.

“Greetings!”

The three sigh in unison. “…hi Cleric.”

“You’re all lost! Cleric can tell and Cleric will help! As long as you help Cleric! Come, come!”

Before the Watcher could do anything Cleric grabs Issac by the scruff of his tunic and drags the apathetic Ironclad off to who knows where. The other two follow in an almost defeated manner.

Derek shuffles through their cards for the nth time. Currently, [STRIKE]s and [DEFEND]s make up the majority of their tiny deck. This is opposed to superior replacements they had last run. They also have [ZAP] and [BALL LIGHTNING] an unfortunate redundancy they couldn’t get rid of at the moment. Although a bad deck never killed them, it’s still mildly annoying when their ankles nipped at due to a bad draw.

It sighs. They can’t deny a well rounded hand. As nice as a small select deck can be, a well planned strategy can always easily be countered.

Derek’s head snaps up at the familiar sound of slithering.

“Oh Ooooh Hello, you agree that money is the greatest virtue?” The wispy serpent thing grins up at the entire group.

The cleric is unfortunately delighted at the question and answers with gusto. “Yes! Agree!”

“Oh yeessssssssss… you wonnnn’t regret thissssss!”

They exchange concerned looks behind the Cleric’s back as coins begin to fly out of the serpent’s pit. Except for the Watcher who remains as neutral as ever.

“Look at this all this money!” The Cleric dances around.

Issac covers his head from the hail. “Uhm… W-what’s the price of this deal?”

Cleric waves her off. “Nothing much! Only this Doubt!” He flips a card from the rain of gold and shoves it into the Defect’s claws.

“Hah?!- No! Take back card!”

“Mmm… I need some gold to do that!”

Derek grabs a fistful from the floor and chucks it at the creature’s face.

The coins just bounced off his mask. “Wonderful! Now which card did you want Cleric to remove?”

This is headache inducing. It's a clear logical context here that this creature is purposefully being ignorant. The [DOUBT] card is meaningfully held out.

“Are you sure?”

…Well [ZAP] is a worst version of [BALL LIGHTNING]. Giving it up would… hey!

Issac helps them out. “We’re sure.”

With a snap blue flames remove the card. “Now gather gold for Cleric. Cleric is so tired from being so talented.”

He’s… afraid. To say the least. Back when he was younger, his dad along with some of the soldiers that returned battles would tell stories of monks that would stare as the Ironclads did their brutal work. In the center of battle, amongst blood, severed limbs and broken blades, there would be a person clad only in robes and equipped with only a single innocuous item. Every time. It didn’t matter if it was a full on clash between a raid from the Spire or if they were in a small scuffle along trade routes, a monk would be there.

These people wouldn’t do anything, yet they would come out every battle unscathed. His dad, the General approached one once. It was apparent after a moment of conversation that something was deeply wrong with them.

His dad was right of course. One moment he was getting ready to fight some Maw Worms as usual and the next he hears the rushing of cards.

The Watcher stood above the smudged remains of the beasts. Face contorted in rage… a far cry from her usual neutral demeanor. If her rage comes with so little warning and met with such carnage…

Derek’s hand lands on his shoulder. Shaking him out of it.

They burble out a few noises. “Okay? We are almost there.”

“I’m o-okay.” He focuses on continuing forward through the sludge ridden floor.

He spots Solanaceae walking through this terrain easily yet happily staying in the center of the pack. He’s got to find a way to let both of his friends know of the danger lurking-

“Dig in goop for Cleric.”

His train of thought is cut off when the cleric points to some swampy tar pits. There’s a ooze-like creature in the center covered in metal shrapnel chewing loudly.

“No!” Derek was evidently fed up with the shenanigans.

“…Oh woe cleric lost his favorite coat! No one! No one will help poor poor Cleric! Now cleric will have to go to city upstairs all alone…”

The Watcher hands Cleric all his gold from earlier before turning to the Defect to give them a hefty clinking bag. “Fine. Derek, stay here. And Cleric? Please take a direct path after this. I can tell you’re taking a scenic route.” She hops into a pit. “Issac? Come with me. Leave all your items and armor with Derek over there.”

The Ironclad could feel the blood leaving his face. Okay, he’ll be fine… probably.

Solanaceae curiously lifts up her skull hat. “Why not me?”

“Half of your shivs would be sucked into this substance if you did. Besides this shouldn’t take long.”

He’s been through worse. As long as he doesn’t tick her off, he’ll be fine. It’s better than letting his friends be alone with this monster.

He leaves his armaments with the others before heading towards the Watcher. It seems she’s done searching this patch of ooze. A pile of of the mess is dumped unceremoniously in front of Cleric. She motions for him to follow her to another pit farther down. “Start from over there-“ an eye sigil is summoned easily with a wave with her hand. “-and work towards the center. I’ll meet you into the middle.”

Not trusting his voice, he salutes.

“I can’t see what you’re doing, but I assume it was agreeing.” She hops into sludge once again.

She can hear his measured breathing from here. It’s quiet and controlled. He’s hiding from her.

It’s only been a few hours since she’s been interacting these folk, and it’s becoming increasingly evident that the Last Ironclad is afraid of her. The Defect has notice and had tried including her in nonsense (with little success). As for the Silent huntress, it seems she’s to shy to ask about it. Not one to rock the boat it seems.

Something runs against leg. She jabs it forcefully with one end of her staff and pulls it up from goo pit. After a moment she hears Issac breath again.

“I wasn’t angry earlier if that’s what you were worried about. My ire doesn’t come that easily.”

He continues digging through the sludge.

“It was a stance.” Perhaps explaining would make him feel less wary towards her. “Although I draw upon the energy… the emotion itself has no part in it.”

“…” No dice.

She’ll have to take the long route then. Keep her distance, stay approachable and wait for some sort of acceptance…

Which is going to take a while.

Solanaceae taught them how to build a card castles and houses and they’ve built a couple already! The different designs are interesting, from little huts to the crude towers! Their friend was happily helping in the construction of the castle at the beginning but it seems Solanaceae is falling asleep again. Which is ok, we all have to recharge sometimes. They can make little card villages on their own. Derek just wished they didn't have to listen to the Cleric a complain loudly few feet away. He would groan about the coats the Watcher spent time dredging up and then toss coats back into the goo because it "wasn't his beloved coat." He was eccentric at first but now Cleric is starting to really get on their nerves.

"Hey Derek..." The Silent hasn't yet fallen asleep it seems. The Defect is thankful for some other noise to occupy their attention.

"Hmm?"

"I never properly asked. Why did you join me and Issac? Isn't... this place your home?"

This was a easy one! "Fun with friends... and I don't like it here."

"You don't?"

Yeah, it's not like the gentle breeze and the wild vegetation outside. Everything here needs to do something. Air is stagnate because its more effective for defense. Anything that grows here needs to fight to serve the Spire lest it loses it's ground. Everything here has to be busy busy. The Heart demands all. It's demands are repetitive. Seeping into the seems of their being and into those around them. [KILL] [STANDBY] [TAKE] [STANDBY] [KILL]. What's the worth in that? To live when there's seemingly nothing to live for? The dissatisfaction of such senseless acts dwarfs the infinite joy of possibility of whats outside the Spire. It's a little hard to express this so they cut to the chase. "Heart bossy and make head itchy. Won't let me explore."

"Heh, I hope after this we can explore together then. I don't think I'll have much to do once this is all over."

"We should!" It be nice to have a friend to share new discoveries with. Especially one that's kind and answers all their questions. "Hope Issac comes with us too."

"Mmh." Ooh she's falling asleep again. Issac was kind of concerned over how often she sleeps but he is concerned over Derek the same way too so maybe Solanaceae is fine? Would the Watcher have any insight? She probably knows as much as Time Eater but probably won't be as mean (she didn't call Derek dumb for asking about her Staff! Time Eater scoffed every time they asked about the Clock).

As if to summon the other two, they trudge over with armfuls of goopy cloth. The Watcher holds up a particularly ornate robe with similar patterns to Cleric's mask. "I think we found your coat."

Cleric perks up and runs over to tear something off the bottom of the Ironclad's boot. Knocking the soldier off his feet in the process.

“You did! Oh my wonderful coat!”

"...That's your coat?" The Watcher deadpans. She drops everything in her arms and lets the goo reclaim the clothing items.

"Why of course! why wouldn't it be?"

“It’s a potato sack.”

"hmf, it's perfect for my trip so be quiet." The creature dramatically puts it on and turn's his back to the group. "Cleric will give blessing for traveling now."

"..."

"..."

Nothing happens.

Issac looks around. "Uh did you do it yet?"

"Yup! Just look right next to you!"

"I- oh." Next to Issac is in fact, a stair case up. "Will we need a blessing like this to find every staircase?"

"Nope! Cleric is powerful. You'll find your paths eventually."

Welp, that's cryptic but Derek has had enough of these shenanigans. They're leaving.

Chapter Text

Issac isn’t quite the guardian of the team anymore. Derek and Solanaceae have more well rounded decks this time around so he’s not really needed. The Watcher’s addition also seem to further emphasize this, as most fights are often over before they begin.

He doesn’t want to be over sensitive… but the Watcher had practically replaced him. Solanaceae looks to her for directions first and Derek asks their little nonsense questions to the monk before anyone else. His strategies are unneeded and challenged. With the newcomer, he was reduced to be the extra muscle and nothing more.

“I know my rug is very nice but it’s not for sale.” The Merchant huffs. “Staring intensely isn’t going to convince me otherwise.”

He snaps out of his funk. “Sorry.”

Glancing over, he could see Derek and the Watcher discussing relics and cards. It’s advanced from the sound of it. It’s nothing he can add too. Most of his strategies were ‘hit weak spot until it’s dead.’ So with the variability in fighting styles, it’s probably best for him to take the back seat and let them take the lead.

This has got to be the quietest the Merchant has ever seen the Ironclad. The guy is usually so chipper and honestly kind of loud. Now he’s suddenly more dreary than the huntress next to him. What happened to friendly teasing and jostles? The excitable leader persona?

His attention is pulled to the Defect and that lady who formally ignored his shop. They’re still debating items. They’re close to a purchase, he can taste it. If only the other two were more interested in his wares.

It seems the soldier went back to moping. What was his name, Ippy, Idris? Bah! Who is he kidding, it didn’t matter if he remembered his customer’s names. Most of the time his customers can’t even remember themselves! He’s not complaining too much though, amnesiacs tend to buy the same items over and over again. It’s good for business.

“Where’s your mouse?” The soldier glances around the Merchant’s items idly.

“Mouse?”

Immanuel- no wait. Issac seemed a little embarrassed which was unusual. “You know, the little one with the backpack. The one Ranwid found.”

His friend pipes in for a moment before returning to her browsing. “The Courier.”

It seems they both remember. More than the typical heroes in Neow’s thrall… It’s good they were loyal customers… Who knows. Perhaps they could help him. “…my Courier is on an errand in the City.”

“Oh.” And then he settles back down again.

“You guys still have the discount.”

That purple robed lady hands over a broken pocket watch, a card and a glittering stack of gold coins. “Thank you for that.”

“Thank you for the wonderful purchase!” He quickly sweeps the gold into his pockets. For a moment he was worried that they wouldn’t buy anything. It’d be a shame for the monk’s large sack of gold to go unspent. It’s the blood of society after all.

The Defect nudges her and hands something over. “Huh… does this meal ticket still work as well?”

By Neow’s blubber, these people still have that stuff? Snatching the little ticket, he examines it. It’s frayed at the edges and terribly crinkled, but it’s still a meal ticket. The same one he sold to the younger ones yesterday… 10 floors up.

The Merchant didn’t even process handing over the meager rations. The makings of a contract we’re building in his head… No not a contract, a favor. Call it a favor. The Ironclad gets skittish at the concept of deals, but this little bout of depression might be useful here. The Merchant will have to be careful with terminology but it’s possible.

“Before you go. Could I ask you people favor?”

The group stutters but doesn’t immediately stop.

“Please?”

They thankfully turn around. The Defect motions him to keep going.

Now or never. “I need a marketing department.”

Derek fixes the little Merchant badge onto the group’s bag. The item sit snugly next to the Bronze Scales and glints just as brightly.

This is kind of exciting! Derek’s been a lot of things. A sentry, a grunt, a janitor, and now an adventurer… but they’ve never an advertiser before! They have no idea what that is but the Merchant said he was going to brief them once they got to the City’s ‘lobby floor,’ so just a few more flights of stairs and they’re in for a new experience! The group also got this neat membership card as a ‘sign on bonus.’

“I’m surprised the merchant needed help.” Issac dodges the Watcher as she and the Silent go beat up a maw worm. “The worm has a lame leg! Aim for… oh nevermind.” He turns back to Derek. “Anyways, the guy always seemed to have everything under control.”

“Yeah.” Derek has got to agree. No matter how dangerous the surrounding locations can be, the Merchant was always found a safe place to set up shop.

“Maybe he’s really bad at marketing. He does tell us to give us gold every other moment.”

“It works.”

“Ehh, it’s because we can’t really buy from anyone else…”

Derek whirrs for a moment. “Lady in blue? Ranwid? Err… Cleric.”

Solanaceae trudges over and drops some coins into the bag. “I don’t think those people are as convenient as the Merchant.“

“Not as pleasant either.” The Watcher adds. “And that’s saying something.”

Derek sees Issac tense up. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

The Watcher sounded like she was saying the right words for the situation. Maybe it’s because she started walking up the stairs a little funny? She’s been peeking around corners a little more than usual. Tapping the end of her staff against the ground a lot too. As if she’s expecting something.

Whatever it was that scared Issac. it passed quickly. The Watcher started walking off and the group follows her diligently.

Something’s following them. The Watcher can hear the heavy footsteps and guttural growls faintly.

This particular room looms over them. Noise muffling bricks and smooth mildly sticky floors. All in a full muddy red. The only source of light being a hole in the ceiling leading to the next floor. If it wasn’t for the color, this would feel rather like being ants at the bottom of a cauldron.

It’s starting to put her on edge.

Everyone else is picking up on it too.

Derek and Solanaceae are starting to huddle. Issac is falling way behind the group in order to both watch his own back and to get far away from her it seems.

The next flight of stairs was easy to find conveniently. In fact it was almost too convenient.

Before she could think any further on this little mystery, the answer finds her first.

The Watcher’s staff is very suddenly ripped out of her hands. Whatever had stolen it launches her up the flight of stairs a in a confused bumbling heap.

She can’t see anything, but awkwardly lashing out towards what she thought was her last location hit solid rock.

The Tower has warped around them again.

Solanaceae’s raspy voice cuts through. “It’s that stupid Demon guy again!”

“Should have killed.” Derek harrumphed.

From the sounds of it they run to the gaping hole that connected the two floors. Hitting something with a dull thunk as they got there.

“Issac!”

“What’s happening?!” The voice is slightly muffled and yet echoing at the same time. Great, it’s a magic barrier.

Another voice. Reminiscent of a rumbling volcano. Echos across the walls. “Hello again little Ironclad. How’s home?”

She casts a spell. Trying to get some semblance of understanding of the space around her. It’s weak and sputters near the end of the cast, but it gives her the blurry auras of her companions. One of which is currently one floor down, stranded and cornered by a wingless demon.

It’s holding her staff. Crushing it in its clumsy grasp.

With a little more desperation than necessary, she casts another probe. Either to find a path where she could direct the Ironclad up, or send the other two down. Although she could fight, she can’t trust herself with hitting the right target.

The Ironclad and the demon are easy to mix up in this state. An unfortunate side affect of the soldier’s choice in deals.

She needs her staff back. She has no want to be without one of her only tools in this dangerous place.

The probe finds nothing. They’re firmly separated. Watcher feels a dull frustration. She can’t see, the air is choking in brimstone and the sound of her own blood is becoming deafening.

A sparking metallic aura brushes against the edge of her personal space. “Watcher?“

“Issac’s going to have to kill that thing to join back up with us.” The Watcher is honestly desensitized at this mess. But then again, she’s desensitized to a lot. The two adventures with her are very much not. Their worry is almost palpable. “Standard Spire experience so far.” She reassured. “Tell him to get my staff when going back up.”

Solanaceae sounds nervous. “I don’t think Issac can do it on his own. He’s really freaking out down there.”

The Watcher tilts her head to the side and gets up. Rubbing her now aching knuckles all the while. “He is?”

Now that she’s got a better hold of her bearings, the sound she originally though was her own blood was actually the Ironclad screaming.

Solanaceae calls a ways away. The edge of her voice being rather ragged. “Hang in there Issac!”

The safest option right now will most likely be letting the soldier die and picking off the demon once it gets to them. The thing she really worried about is her staff. That being said, her safety net will probably not be too excited about that order of priority.

She can feel the huntress’s light footsteps pace in worry.

If they can keep the Ironclad alive, she’s all ears. “You have a plan, huntress.” There’s a cry of pain down below. “Time is slipping, so whatever it is, do it fast.”

“N-no I have have half of a plan. It’s no good. I’m not the plan person. That’s you and Issac. Or-or Derek?”

Derek whirrs in distress. “Can’t break magic wall in time. [Nothing more can be done with this query]. [Ally termination imminent]”

The huntress makes a worried noise but leaps into action nonetheless. With the Defect following close behind.

“Issac! Whatever you do, don’t listen! Don’t talk! You can’t get stuck into a deal if you don’t talk!”

“Are you really going to obey her? That little, weak, pushover?”

Issac for his part, keeps silent. A stark contrast from before.

“She’s as docile as a sheep… is that the kind of person an Ironclad would take commands from?” The demon’s taunting

The sounds of the group’s relics spilling onto the ground makes the watcher tilt her head back towards to the Silent.

It sounds like she’s tying random items to each other.

“Derek I saw you open the barrier a bit, can you open it just enough for a shiv?”

There was beep of affirmation

“Watcher, can I borrow one of your stance cards?”

“Take it. Your friend is actively dying. There’s no need to ask for permission.”

Thankfully the huntress takes whatever card from the Watcher’s deck midway through the sentence.

Issac shakes as the demon's bellow seems to flay his skin. “YOU ARE AN IRONCLAD.” He is! He is! yet the very fire in his veins betray him. The demon continues to taunt as he circles. “Look at you, you can barely defend yourself.”

He can't defend himself. Every non-attack move he uses seems to strengthen the demon. And whatever curse he must have pulled out of the chest a few floor below had caused his burning blood to run cold. The walls seem to thrum with a promise. It gives him a terrible headache.

The demon sinks his claws into the Ironclad's collar and draws him up. “Come on. Block. My. Attacks.”

A knife drops from above and sinks into the creature’s back. It’s howl of pain reverberates through the room. The Ironclad grabs the weapon out of instinct before retreating away. Something is tied to it.

[Fiend Fire], Watcher’s [Eruption], a pocket watch and the Silent’s ring… he’s not too familiar with the stance thing. All he remembers is from when the Watcher tried to talk to him. He’s going to be taking double damage.

He’ll be close to death if Solanaceae is suggesting what he thinks.

The demon seemed to realize as well. “If you do that, neither of us are walking out of here.”

Well, Solanaceae did say not to listen.

The demon roared as he fumbled with the cards. Lichen were torn from cracks in the walls with thunderous footfalls. The stolen staff drags along the floor, straining under the abuse. Tension snapping in the air. The monsters claws are outstretched.

And an ocean of divinity floods through his mind.

CRACK

The bricks are warm against his back. Now likely stained with the Ironclad’s blood. The Watcher’s card… It’s a waterfall of glass within his veins. Rendering his entire body weak and splintering… Yet still capable of a fatal cut.

“I’d taunt you and say you desecrated the last connection you had to your people… but cowards are common in this world.”

Powering though, Issac casts his spell.

"..."

"..."

"..."

“-Issac, Issac? You there?”

He blearily opens his eyes and stares at the people surrounding him. Faint pulses of light swim around his vision. The residual effects of getting the snot beaten out of him is pretty bad. The Watcher looked eerily calm as always, Derek is deathly still, and Solanaceae looks vaguely sick.

Not wanting to worry anyone, he gives a weak smile.

A firm hand is placed on his artery. The monk is going to kill him now huh? He’s no use this beat up.

Holding his breath, he waits. But the abyss never comes. He’s safe. If anything, he’s reminded of that flickering divinity and the support of his friends.

“…he’s good. Bloodied up pretty bad, but he’ll make it.” The Watcher relaxes and wipes a sickly black stain onto her robe.

Blood, he realizes. His blood.

A staff thunks against the floor besides him and he flinches.

“Sorry…” The Watcher tries to give him some water but he turns away with what little energy he has. If anything gets into his stomach now, he might vomit. It just feels too painful to do anything else besides lie here.

For what it’s worth, his resistance gives the monk a moment of pause. “Derek, can you carry Issac’s sword and equipment? Solanaceae gather up everything else. We need to find a safer place to rest.”

“Aye Aye!”

“I’ll do my best.”

With that, the Watcher removes some of his heavier armor pieces and picks him with ease.

The last thing he remembers before blacking out was Solanaceae investigating the demon’s body and tearing out the little green rock out of it’s chest.

Chapter Text

Derek was walking beside the Watcher. She’s gotten a bit unsteady as of late.

Keeps on tripping on the uneven stairs.

Since her staff is bent and firmly strapped to the group’s backpack, she’s been using Derek and Solanaceae as stability through the winding steps.

It doesn’t help that Issac is a little bigger than usual (for some reason)

He might be sick. His usual green skin is taking on a reddish hue.

The Silent thinks the same thing. “Should we be worried? About Issac?”

“What makes you think that?”

“He’s growing claws.”

“And changing colors.”

The Watcher let’s out a deep sigh. “Good to know.” She continues to move blindly ahead. “We should be fine… but how comfortable are you two with killing him?”

Solanaceae chokes on thin air. “What?! Killing him?!”

Derek has to agree. It's a bit of a weird question, but not really as weird as what the Heart asks them to do sometimes. They can give a good answer. “0.”

“I was just curious.” They finally reach a campfire. "Hold onto that resolve."

The Ironclad was rolled onto the ground.  Some new protrusions on his head catch on some debris on the way down. He's not looking too comfortable there but nobody really knows how to make it better. The Silent almost gave him her cloak as a blanket, but thought better of it upon noticing the surplus of mystery stains and the less than pleasant smells on the clothing item.

Everyone settles in.

Derek briefly skims their deck but ultimately decides to take a nap instead of improving a card.

Since the Ironclad might roll over and squish them and the Watcher is upgrading one of her cards, they curl up close to Solanaceae for comfort.

She glances glances down as they get comfortable before turning back to a little green stone in her hand. The way it glints and glows catches their attention. The automaton ends up bumping their head into her arm.

Despite the painful sounding clack of bone on metal, Solanaceae turns the item towards them. “It… uhm, has my knife on it. The ceremonial one my... err..." She scratches her head for a moment. "I'm forgetting somehow... They were like important in my home or..."

"Sisters?"

"Right! my Sisters. They gave me this specific knife and this shaped blade doesn't show up often."

They look at the glowing symbol of a knife and a little teardrop under it. It is a rather unique shape... though the Reptomancers in the higher floors have something similar...

"Wonder what it means." She makes herself comfortable on the floor as well.

They beep. The room grows fuzzy as Derek initiates sleep mode.

...

...

...

There was a guttural growling that gets everyone's attention.

Upon waking up. Issac’s hulking demon form… throws up. Not much. Just enough for it too be sad looking but not inconvenient. His shirt also snapped at the seams when sitting up making him look like some hobo demon.

“I feel horrible.” His breath comes out like brimstone.

The Watcher has since finished upgrading her card and has taken to trying to straightening her staff. “Yeah, I bet you do Issac.”

“I’m alive.”

“Yes.” Derek pokes their friend. He feels the regular amount of squishy. Nothing too indicative of past injuries.

“… where am I?”

“We’re at a fireplace, still in the Spire.”

”oh, okay.” He starts make himself comfortable for a nap before suddenly stopping.

He whirls around. Brandishing a card. “What is this!?”

Solanaceae tilts her head to the side. “…a power card?”

Derek reads it out. “At the start of your turn, gain 2 strength.”

”No! It’s-“ Issac realizes his current state. Making a noise of distressed frustration. “I need to be in my regular body, RIGHT NOW. Please.”

The Watcher holds out a small cup of water. “Drink this and tell me if it burns.”

He still seems a bit distraught and confused but still follows the directions. Downing the whole thing in one gulp.

"It’s fine.”

"Then you'll work it off eventually. Besides, that card sounds pretty good."

The Silent squints at it. "It cost 3 energy."

"I stand corrected." She gives up on trying to fix her staff. Leaving it misshapen and sputtering magic. "We'll just have to make do."

Issac has never felt more lethargic in his life. Even as he's a whole head taller than everyone else and it feels like his muscles are burning from the inside out... he has zero energy.

He didn't even bother to put his armor back on. If he decided to, he'd have to resize the leather straps and everything, which was too much. His friends were nice enough to put all of it in the bag. All he could really muster after his that terrible discovery was walking.

That water that the Watcher gave to him was nice. Could he ask for more?

Someone pulls him roughly by the scruff of his shirt. It rips. He really liked that shirt, but like... he's a big boy now right? he needs a new shirt anyway... General's orders.

"Issac! Move out of the way next time!"

Solanaceae isn't as quiet as her title suggest. And he already knows that. He's mainly worried about how scrawny she is. Got brittle bones not meant for toughing out battles.

"Leave him for a turn, he'll snap out of it soon enough." He's got to admit Watcher knows stuff. She's ok. Not as scary as the... the iron-uh... Ironclads say.

There was a thwack and the sound of the Defect making a squawk of indignation.

The Watcher cringes. "err... Tell me what color the enemy is."

Derek's static-y voice harrumphs. "Green!"

There's another thwack.

"OW! Wrong green!"

"Sorry."

Not very cool of the Watcher, but she's like blind-blind so... maybe she should sit out this time.

"Good idea Ironclad. I'll stick to defense cards this combat."

Combat? Uhm.

He snaps to attention. The behemoth of a Slime scowls down at them while Issac frantically pulls out his cards. "Slime CRUSH!"

His companions breath a sigh of relief.

That makes him smile a bit. "You guys missed me?"

Solanaceae doesn't look up from her constant application of shivs. "You're our favorite shield."

He bashes the slime with renewed vigor. At least this new horrid form is good for something. "Then it is my duty to not let my position go to waste!"

Everyone had a collective cheer when that big slime was reduced to sludge.

Issac thankfully went back to normal. Shirt's still ripped though. Solanaceae felt a little bad about that but it's better than having him as a stain on the floor.

They were about to continue to the chest at the end of the hall, but the Silent freezes when she sees that the Watcher was still using her defense cards.

A prickle raises hairs on the back of her neck. Her instincts kick in and she shrinks into herself close to the floor. Stay low stay quiet.

Her sighted companions seem to pick up on the change and follow suite. Issac surprisingly half-whispers to the Watcher. Indicating her over with strained murmurs.

The sound of Watcher drawing cards acts as a timer. For what, is unclear. Tension bubbles.

shuffle, shuffle, shuffle... and a roar of flame.

What was thought to be a weirdly decorated mural on the wall burst out in a ghostly blaze. Starting yet another fight.

Thankfully it wasn't too difficult. The fight came and went easily even without Issac's cursed strength card. Though most of the team took a few burns in the end.

The Watcher pauses midway through shuffling her deck. "Are... there three bosses?"

She can't believe this. "Are there???"

Issac looks around carefully. "No... it can't be. We just-"

The Guardian rounds the corner. Polished bronze scales glinting brighter than the ones pinned to the much smaller adventurers. Joints: soundless, motions: flawless, Guardian: not broken.

"Nevermind! There are three bosses!" Issac dashes over to cover the Defect as they fumble for cards in their thick deck.

She thought she was finally getting better at this fighting stuff but everything is sore and it feels just like when they first met this thing. She makes a frustrated noise and digs around for some defense cards.

As she takes note of her surroundings, she notices the Watcher's face twists after casting a spell. "Damn it all, wrong card." That expression can't be good.

"DESTROY DESTROY DE-"

There's those glowing eye sigils all around her now. "Everyone get down."

The Silent does so. Diving over to where Issac and Derek were curled in defense. Skinning her knee in a few places and bruising much more.

It was a good thing she did though. The air crackled with divine lightning. Rending space into little ribbons of reality with an earsplitting rumble. It shakes the floor and digs into the Silent's chest. The wave of scorching heat and the bite of bitter cold hammer down on all three of them while leaving the source untouched.

The guardian isn't quite as lucky. The Initial crack of thunder brought it to its knees and the following rush of the elements batter it senselessly before it could even respond.

It falls just in front of the group in a mangled sparking mess.

"Huh, that felt stronger than usual." The Watcher shrugs. "I suppose buffs transfer. Thank you Ironclad."

Issac huddles closer to the other two. He seems more surprised than anything. "okay."

The Watcher puts her cards away and Solanacae takes it as a sign to relax. Issac's a little tense but she's sure he'll drop his shield in a sec, but Derek...

They inexplicably ran over to the heap of metal as it gave out some half-hearted beeps. The Ironclad tumbled over as one of his protectees ran out of shield range.

The smaller automaton's chassis rose and fell in a panicked rhythm as they examined the larger one. The guardian’s face pulses once again. Quieter this time. Weaker.

Beeps, burbles and hums full the space. The speed at which makes it evident that Derek gets more and more desperate as the Guardian grows fainter and fainter. A Burst of static makes them all flinch.

Derek grabs the Machine's face in a last ditch effort. "System cleaned? Corruption was where? File corruption where?!"

The Guardian rumbles. It's compressed stilted voice filtering out of warped metal. "it's getting dark. battery running low."

"No! Old files! Transfer old files! Old directive! Transfer-"

The Guardian paws at its scales and plucks a few off. Pushing the pieces towards Derek. "...Shutting down."

The Shopkeeper sprung up just as they reached the top of the stairs.

"You're all still alive!" He notes their current state. "Well, barely."

They uhh, look stinky for a lack of a better term. Slimed, burned, sweaty and wildly unkempt. The Bag of Preparation he had sold them is filled to the brim and covered in pinned on relics… and one of the keys.

that makes the merchant feel better and better about his choice.

A real good investment. He claps his hands together. “Loyal customers turned loyal employees! You’re job is to look pretty next to my products!”

The Ironclad looks at himself. Swatting away the rags that was his tunic. “That’s it?”

“You should also tell anyone that asks that you love every thing about my shop, but I think that’s pretty self explanatory.”

“That’s really it?” The huntress wrings the end of her oversized cloak. "That sounds awfully easy."

The Merchant huffs. In truth, he wanted a way out.

Neow's influence still has purchase on him. Even after trying every alter... deal... battle... it hasn't been enough to repay what the whale had pressed upon him. At least it's better case than those poor souls under the Spire's 'blessings.' The only reprise has been this rug, this mask, and gold. Turns out 99 coins everyday is enough to keep the Ancient off his back.

Point is. He wants to see them succeed. And that's going to be difficult as the Heart has been pulling many strings in response to the discovery that a team of unpredictable stupidly lucky adventurers are coming after it. There's a few roaming ancients on the search now, its been consolidating all its bosses and tripled the height of the floors. Raids have been called off and all hands are on deck. His years of being a Merchant means he knows the shortcuts and back doors. They're gonna need some help if they're gonna make it... without dying.

That's quite the bombshell to drop though. A risky one to give when its not guaranteed for them to make it. He goes for the almost truth instead. "You three made quite the impression after beating the Champ of the City. Really you did all the hard stuff already. It just time to reap the rewards! For instance, I found a really fancy inn that's going to give us free rooms because you all are so famous! and also your monk friend happens to look similar to Time Eater and I can trick a few people that way. But anyways, think of it! Free cozy beds and a safe place to stay!"

"I'd rather not be thought of as that slug." The Watcher speaks at the echo-y wall. Derek turns her back to the correct direction.

"Fine, I'll respect that." The Merchant puts his hands up in surrender. "But point still stands, hard part is over. Just say you like my products and whatever else I tell you to pretend to like and I- I mean we will be rich." It'll be a good excuse for staying close to them, keeping them healthy and Not dead.

The group exchanges glances (save for that monk). With expressions ranging from disbelief to bright hopefulness.

The huntress scratches the back of her neck. "if it isn't too much trouble could we get a place to clean up too?"

"And maybe some new clothes?" The Ironclad adds.

"Done and done!" Merchant assures. "It might be best for you to get rid of that shirt, actually. It looks more cumbersome than protective."

"I guess-"

Derek eagerly digs their claws into the remains of Issac's shirt and abruptly tears the fabric off.

Solanaceae bursts into laughter "Haha! Derek- haHAHA!" She snorts. "They- he- Shirt went krrrrrrrr! HAHAHAHA!"

He faints exasperation. Hiding his amusement pretty well. "Now this is no way to treat a famous person!" He dramatically holds a hand to his forehead. "How simply undignified."

The Spire might be mind meltingly awful to live in but for a moment, with these shenanigans and humor, the Merchant finds it a little more bearable.

Chapter Text

The city was the same as last time. That didn’t make it any less strange. Both ancient and undoubtedly modern, the towering buildings and winding stairs were lit by mixtures of electricity, flames and magic. 

Issac isn’t unfamiliar with cities. He’s been to a few for the Ironclads’ alliances and when protecting a few big caravans, but he’s never got the opportunity to really explore one, save for their last trip up here. But then again their exploration was purely in alleyways and that one time in the carnival. Never in the big open main areas.

He looks up when the person leading them speaks. “First off is clothes. I have a contact that’ll clean and repair your current outfits, but that means you’ll need something to wear while that’s happening. I hope you all don’t mind that the replacements will double for advertising purposes.”

“That sounds fine.”

“Fantastic!” The Merchant ushers them into a particular building advertised as ‘Designer In-Spire.’

The snobby fish-like entity sitting behind the desk dramatically recoils. "Merchant! my begrudging business acquaintance, what are these horrid creatures you're bringing to my store? And why is that green one covered in blood?”

The Silent looks at herself. “...It’s strawberry.”

The guy lets out a long suffering sigh. “Disgusting. You're basically wearing a blanket! What are you, a child? Who's stupid enough to dress you like this? ”

The Silent's eyes glint menacingly through the skull and she doesn't honor the shopkeeper a response.

"eugh... whatEVER.” The owner sauntered over to inspect the others in the group. "Ew this gaudily armored one will have to do better than this skimpy mess. Scrap metal here is disgustingly naked. And this! What a waste of purple! I can't even express how blegh this all is." He shakes off his hands to express the very mutual disgust. "Really. If I were a lesser designer I'd have to turn away your revolting friends here merchant."

The Merchant clasps his hand over his mask. "Uh-huh. Whatever, do you have the clothes I ordered?”

"Well yes, but seeing your gross 'Slayers' in person is so awful I must drastically change my work!"

"Oh that’s great." The Merchant growls. “When you're done, send them to the Inn.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll have it in an hour. Now get these animals out of my store!”

They unceremoniously shooed out of the shop before being shuffled off into the next location.

The Watcher paws around blindly for a second and after a brief hesitation, the Ironclad provides his arm. Solanaceae and Derek have done it already, might as well be his turn. If she needs help, he should help. Especially since it’s obvious she’s not a threat to them.

Ahead, Derek pokes the Merchant. “What’s a bath? And how do you make a house out of it?”

“It’s not a house made out of baths, it’s a place with baths inside it.”

Solanaceae chimes in. “And a bath is when you clean yourself in a river with soap and stuff. I'm not sure how you get a river into a house this high up though.”

“River? Isn’t a bath just a half barrel full of water and soap? Is it typical for Fogland people to bathe in rivers? Where there’s crocodiles?”

“Well, we don’t have crocodiles. We have alligators and they don’t sit in the glacier rivers that we use for bathing. Tubs of water are usually sealed for drinking, chemistry, and cooking… not bathing since they’re stagnant and run the risk of growing stuff.”

Besides him, the Watcher adds her two cents. “Those are both considered ‘baths,’ but bathhouses are often like what the Ironclad described but on a larger scale and with people dedicated to maintaining it to reduce the problems pointed out by the Silent.”

“Water?” Derek worriedly chimes.

“Oh don’t worry.” The Merchant assures. “The room I rented has a maintenance bay.”

Derek perks up and starts running ahead.

Issac chuckles. “Well, at least they’re excited.”

“They have indoor plumbing too.” He adds.

Issac finds himself and Solanaceae running ahead as well. With the Watcher practically being dragged by the both of them.

Solanaceae had never seen a man made basin this large. It was like a weirdly square artificial lake but inside! Complete with that brand new indoor plumbing those caravan books had written about.

Running water without magic! It’s so much more convenient than she could’ve ever imagined (ignoring how annoying it might be to make and place pipes). You’d just pull a lever and water comes out. No more hard to find ingredients, spellcasting exhaustion nor painted on walls. Just a lever and some clever use of pressure. 

Issac reaches over to turn the lever right next to it and they were both gobsmacked as the water warmed.

The Merchant abruptly turns off the water. “I’m sure as fascinating as it is, I do urge you all to clean up as fast as possible. They charge by the hour.”

“No tell twice!” Derek flings off their blue shawl and hop into a box made of ancient magic and bronze tech.

He shoves a pile of various fabrics into her arms before continuing. “I’m going to need your clothes if you want them washed and repaired. Here are some bathrobes and undergarments for now since my acquaintance will no doubt take a while. Once you’re all done, go to the lobby and they’ll direct you to your room.”

Issac helps her place the garments into a nearby table. 

“Wait, are we all supposed to clean ourselves in that big tub over there?” 

The Merchant holds out his arms to express that there’s really not any other places you can bathe… unless you wanted to get your limbs pulled off and joints polished like Derek over there.

Their disembodied arm waves.

“In the same room?! At the same time?” Issac squawks. 

How else? You usually need someone to watch your back and make sure you don’t drown or get murdered by a Spire monster. “Is that unusual?” Nonetheless she stops where she is.

“Yes!?”

The Silent frowns. “What happens to the old people and the kids that can’t bathe themselves?” 

He huffs. “The Ironclads don’t have children nor elderly to care for. We are a community made of exceptional soldiers honored to protect the weak from all we can.”

“Your parents really never bathed you as a kid?” She hands over her cloak.

“My father let me do it on my own the moment I could.” Issac sticks his nose his the air. “I -ooh a barrel!”

He runs over to a wooden barrel and cleaves it in two with his sword. Then commandeering a single faucet stuck high up in the wall. “Tub.” He crawls in and drags over a folding screen. Throwing his clothing over and turning on the water over there.

The Merchant takes the clothes. “Thank the ancients, I don't have to rent another room- I mean, I’m glad you’re all comfortable!” He dashes off once he properly collects everyone’s clothes. 

Solanaceae eagerly runs over to the basin and pulls the nearby levers to fill it. Jumping in to rinse off some of the grime that had built up since her entrance into the Spire. 

When was the last time she bathed? Like a month ago?

“Silent, I could use some help finding where the basin is.”

“Oh right.” 

The Watcher gave her staff to the merchant. She’s got nothing to see with. 

After making sure the monk was comfortable. The Silent goes right back to messing with the various levers and knobs. 

“This place reminds me of the hot springs.” The Watcher hums. “I never got the opportunity to use soap in them though.”

“Well there’s lots of soap here. Ooh shampoos and lotions too… and wow, is this medical stuff?”

The Watcher undoes her hair before thoroughly soaking it. “Hand me some regular soap. Unscented please.”

She hands over the only unscented bar.

“Could I get some too? I- uh forgot.” Issac called from the other side of the screen.

“Sure. Bottle or bar, and do you want to smell like lavender, gooseberry, orange, bones or-”

“Err whatever, just throw one over.”

Lavender. It’s a high class but reliable plant. He seems like a lavender kind of guy. 

She throws a bottle over and she hears it clunk on metal.

“Oof, thanks.”

“Are you still wearing your helmet?”

“I don’t trust anyone else with it.” It sounds like he’s taking it off. “Also I'm pretty sure you’re still wearing that skull too.” 

“I- huh.” How could she forget that heavy thing? She lifts off the skull and places it on the dry ground. “Man, my memory is becoming horrible.”

“Honestly, same.” It sounds like Issac is using a generous amount of soap. “I think it’s the stress.”

“I doubt that.” The Watcher says. “I’ve been having trouble recalling my mantras. I’ve spent years of diligence studying those. It’s not something that can leave me without some outside influence.”

… a bit disconcerting.

“That can’t be right? Solanaceae’s been pretty good at remembering her village and her Grandmother especially. Right?”

“I- uh…” Uh-Oh. “Who?”

“Hmm. Issac, are you still wearing your mask?”

“No.”

“Tell me about the Ironclads. Where do they live, what do they do and who’s leading them.”

“Oh, uh ok… We live in the fields of the Western front. Between the towns of… uhm, I don’t think it was important, but we protected them and our leader was… they were… uhm.”

“Wasn’t it your dad?” 

“…”

The monk doesn’t skip a beat. “Do me a favor and put your mask back on.”

“…Oookay, I- what? Huh…” There’s a pause as he takes a breath. “He has practically trained me since birth. How… Did I forget him?” 

“Once I get my staff back, I’ll need to account for that in my evaluations. You should still wash your face though. Oil buildup can corrode even gold alloys.”

“Mmh…” he slowly removes his helm from the sound of things, sighing deeply when the metal is placed on the ground.

The sound of running water and scrubbing fills the former conversation space. Derek finishes up first and eagerly takes one of the robes for themselves. Lounging in one of the nearby chairs.

They had to drain the basin a couple times due to the sheer amount of dirt and gunk they’ve accumulated. 

Issac pretty much gave up on his tiny makeshift tub the moment he realized he could just let the faucet run over him like a waterfall.

For the first time in a while. Solanaceae is genuinely feeling good. There aren't any weird aches anywhere, she smells nice and feels nice. Putting the skull back was still clunky, but with their little memory issue, it’s well worth it.

She gets dressed in the robe (and slippers!) Merchant provided before helping out the Watcher.

“It’s comfortable.” The monk tucks her hands into the pockets. “What does it look like?”

“Like wizard robes… If the wizard really liked the look of sheeps wool.”

Issac leaves his side of the screen. “I wish the underwear wasn’t silk though. I’m not used to it.”

“Go to room?” Derek hums.

“Proper clothes would be nice.”

It’s a fancy but obviously mismatched room. The walls are smooth and a real window at the far end.There’s enough space to do a cartwheel, which is good for morning stretches or maybe an indoor picnic. The floor is made with tile which would be cold if it wasn’t for the fact she now had slippers. Very loud and fuzzy slippers.

There was a rectangle palliasse filled with some sort of soft material and metal springs, a rolled up mat, a big metal bay probably meant for Derek and finally to the Silent’s delight, a palliasse stuffed with that soft material from earlier, tucked up high near the ceiling like a nest. Just how she likes it.

As much as she wants to jump up there and rest, there’s the matter of clothing.

All of it is lined up on the spring filled bed. 

Solanaceae turns the clothes over. “Oof, this must be really expensive. This is… a really bright white.”

Derek starts trying on random pieces “Whose clothes are for who?”

There was a beat of silence while everyone scratched their heads. The Watcher gets up and grabs the non-magical staff. “You all can figure out what looks best. If you need me, I'll be testing this thing out.”

Solanaceae looks at each folded stack of clothing. “Err… Issac, you seem the most posh out of all of us. Do you know?”

“Uhh…” He takes the long swath of fabric from one of the piles. “I know this is a dress.”

The Silent stares blankly, that’s obvious enough. But a dress could really be for everyone. She glances at Derek and they shrug.

Issac hangs his head. Apologetic in the face of this mystery. “I’m going to be honest, I’m more of an armor connoisseur. Ironclads were always for function over form and I’m no different.”

This gives her a moment of pause. “Well, I’m sure we can figure it out together! It might be fun to have a non lethal problem to solve.”

Derek chirps happily at the idea and Issac voices a similar outlook.

She takes the initiative and gestures to the cloth in the Ironclads grasp. “So it’s a dress, I’ve never seen it exaggerated to that length before.”

Issac hums in agreement. “You don’t really have long clothes in the swamps do you? I suppose it means it can’t be yours.”

“And I don’t think funny belt can fit me either.” The Defect taps on their non-existent stomach. 

“That’s a corset, not a belt.”

Solanaceae tilts her head. “A core set?”

“It’s like a sash that makes the waist look more toned, supports your spine if you're carrying heavy weapons… and other stuff, but this doesn’t look like the uhh… chest support type.” He pauses for a moment. “Must be for me then.”

While Issac struggles into the clothing, Derek holds up the next set at Solanaceae. 

“Nya?”

“What.”

“Nya.” Derek puts on the head piece and does a strange motion with their claws.

The Silent scrunches up her face and tries to figure out what that could possibly mean. “… I guess that headpiece does seem like cat ears.” She examines the rest of the outfit. “Huh, this might all be a cat costume. Wonder why a cat though.”

The automaton continues putting on pieces of the outfit. With Solanaceae helping out with the harder to maneuver pieces.

“I think I got ‘cat ears’ too.” Issac settles next to them. Now properly wearing the base dress and a puffy undershirt. “It’s got bells, which is going to be very annoying.” To prove the point he shakes his head side to side. The two pieces of rounded metal jingle and the Ironclad winces at the high register before trying to add the rest of the outfit. 

Solanaceae has no clue why the choice of cuts are so strange. The cloth butcher might like how clean the seams are but the unnecessary puffiness is really not good for traveling.

Issac swats some of the frills away. “Anyways. How are the clothes Derek?”

They had put on most of the pieces already. Everything except the ruffled pants and tunic, which they hold up sadly. “They don’t stay.”

“Then don’t wear em.’” She is sufficiently pragmatic to know that at least. “It’s not like you need that stuff. No matter what that stupid designer said.”

This cheered them up. They fold it into a pillow shape and toss it into their charging bay. Copying the rest of the beds in this room.

All that’s left is a shorter, more versatile version of what Issac is wearing, and some sort of tunic pants combo with a very long shiny green jacket/robe over it.

“Now this one is easy. You wear green, Solanaceae. This one is yours.”

“Kinda like what I was wearing already. You’re right.” It’s nice, a little strange looking, but it’s nice, comfortable and protective. Her only complaints are the jacket being just as cumbersome as her cloak and the shoes being a touch loud. 

As ecstatic as she is to finally have shoes, the inability to be sneaky makes her nervous.

The Watcher returns from her lap around the room. Her replacement staff bumping into Derek’s ankle. “Figured it out?”

“Yep!” 

The automaton picks up the clothing pieces and starts handing it over one at a time. Despite her lack of vision, The Watcher dons the clothing with much less struggle than everyone else.

She makes a noncommittal noise before reaching for something in her staff. “By the way, our Merchant friend left us a note, or at least I think he did.”

The Silent takes the single paper free of braille and reads it aloud. 

“Hey moneymakers- oh wait it's crossed out- hey friends, I hope you liked the clothes, I’m running into some trouble on my end, but don’t worry I’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Wonder what he does besides selling wares.”

“Shh, Sol’s still reading!”

“-This is your room for tonight and I made sure it’s safe. Hope you all sleep well and all that. For tomorrow morning, I need you all to pose for some pictures. Sorry, it’s going to be with that same designer from last time, there’s a map on the back of this so you can’t get lost. When you get there, please follow his directions and then pay him off for the clothes. I forgot to. I’ll add extra to your paychecks later, promise. Smiley face. Your friend.”

Issac sits on the springy mattress. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat…” He lays down before suddenly getting up again. “Wait. Are we expected to sleep in these clothes or?”

“We could do without the outer wear, but it’s heavily implied so Issac. Unless you want to sleep in the fuzzy soggy wizard robes.” Watcher navigates her way back to the rolled up sleeping mat and undoes it on the ground.

“Uhgh are you telling me I have to put this thing back on tomorrow?”

“If you want to sleep comfortably, yes.”

Begrudgingly, he starts the arduous task. All while the rest of the team throws off one or two pieces before heading to bed.

Chapter Text

The rays of sun dig deep into her eyelids. Even as she lost her sight, it seems the incessant light of the closest star was determined to be a constant in her career. It will make itself known whenever it can.

Not that she minds. It’s just all she can really perceive without her staff right now. 

Taking a deep breath, she rolls over and prepares to go through her mantras.

It’s a good morning routine. As she follows the motions worship, she focuses on what’s here. The sun seeps into her bones. Feeling the wool and tile beneath her. Listening to the faint breathing of her companions. She allows all these little divinities to soak in and pass through her.

Her observations are holy. She respects them as much and in return the essence of all gives her a smidge of the true vision that she needs.

She finishes up her prayer and notices a quiet ember of a soul observing her. “You're awake.”

“Yeah.” The last Ironclad’s words are painstakingly hushed. 

“Why.”

It sounds like he draws his knees onto the bed. “… I miss my Ironclads… I miss my dad.”

He’s really a young adult. Easily observed to be no older than twenty and hardly weaned off of his parent’s supervision. 

It’s hard to cope with things at that age isn’t it? Especially if one was taught to brutally battle the problems until they are solved. It’s a unique upbringing this one has. Evaluations from her peers say he’s the only child to be conscripted (more accurately born) into the role of an Ironclad. 

Issac takes the silence as an opportunity to ask another question. “…That prayer you were doing earlier, could you teach me?”

Interesting. “Why do you ask?”

There’s a beat of silence and the Watcher assumes he shrugs. 

Faux paus noticed, he rambled. “I… uhm I thought it looked calming.”

Soundlessly, she resumes her position and gestures to the space beside her.

Derek powered on as it detected some movement. At full battery, they eagerly stumble out of the pod to join in on the fun.

They had no clue what was happening but it was entertaining. The Watcher and Issac were doing some weird poses and breathing in a very controlled way. Kinda like dancing! Dancing while facing towards the window is especially cool. It’s so nice out there.

After a moment of the funny dancing, Solanaceae peeks out of her bird’s nest to watch the slow, repetitive motions.

She eventually comes down to do her own weird dancing, but it lasts shorter. “So, we got to meet up with that rude fish guy again?”

“I think we have to.” Issac sighs. “Unless we want to give up this nice room.”

Everyone re-equips the clothing from last night and heads out. Following Issac’s lead since he was the one holding the map.

Once they reached the place and went in, the shopkeep didn’t immediately call them ‘groooss’. He does roll his eyes and mutters about putting lipstick on a pig though. “You’re all presentable enough.” He motions them to another room. “You three champions come. Number four you are unneeded but you may witness me work. Or don’t since you're blind. I do not care.”

Once at an overlook of the city, the smug designer sets up an unusual amount of lights along with a single camera. 

He asks them to pose.

“Ooh, eugh! Those are terrible! Is that what your fans like?!” 

Derek has no idea what they're doing wrong. Poses can be anything. Issac and Solanaceae seem to think the same thing, gaining some strain around the eyes while halfheartedly changing pose. 

The Watcher wanders around somewhere behind them. 

Big fish designer fans himself and dramatically holds in his disgust. Murmuring to himself. “You are a glorious designer, these are unfortunately the City’s current Champs. Just imagine all your glorious work lining the streets. It's worth it dear designer, suffer for your art! A little longer! Just a little longer…” He breathes out and daintily snaps the photo. “At least your photographic likenesses aren't as revolting as the reality. Still I must make some artistic edits. You’re all done for the day. Leave, Leave!”

“Wait, was that all the Merchant wanted us to do? And he said we need to pay-”

“I don’t know! It's not my problem, you plebeian. Just leaaaaave!”

Solanaceae forms a huddle with the rest of the group. “Can I punch him before we go? I really want to.” 

Derek whirrs. “Me too.”

“No, come on guys. Merchant went through all this trouble to give us a room and a place to stay hygienic. As much as I want to as well, we should focus on helping out the Merchant. Let’s just leave.”

“It’d be entertaining.”

“Wha- not you too Watcher. And since when do you find things funny?”

She was about to say something before a commotion erupts outside the store. The group makes their way out there and the shop unceremoniously locks up to keep them out.
At least they got a good view of what's going on. Looks like a three way mob scuffle over some jewelry… Is that Solanaceae’s grandma?

The huntress was already on her way to diving headfirst into the center of the fight.

...Or at least she would have if it weren't for the fact almost everyone in the fight stopped and squealed upon noting her approach.

“By the Spire! Miss Silent! Sign my kunai!”

“Have any tips on conquering the colosseum?”

“Where’d you get that outfit? It's super cute!”

“Uhm, huh?” She was bewildered at the typically aggressive combatants gathering around her. At some point a pen was placed into her hand and she was promptly busied with signing stuff.

Derek took the opportunity to get close to the Wraith and make sure the older lady was ok. Issac follows with the Watcher in tow.

They offer the tough bandages from the group’s bag as a peace offering. “Hurt?”

The other huntress pauses… tentatively taking the item. “I’ll be fine. At least I still have my ring.”

Issac tilts his head. “Was that what the fight was about?”

She coughs and her voice is a bit raspy. “Apparently. Snake robes over there saw this ‘slayer mer-ch’ or something and her idiodic guard thought it was worth fighting over. Then that gremlin lady over there joined in because for some reason this tiny fake serpent is worth losing your teeth over…”

Derek glances over to the Silent signing stuff. “Maybe popular? We did beat big big guy.”

The Wraith follow’s their line of sight. “Who is that anyway, she seems familiar.”

Huh, memory issues are that bad? Derek hasn’t had any forgetfulness so far… only hallucinations when they were up fighting the Heart.

The Ironclad awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, she’s your granddaughter.” He adds on, “Would you like to stick with us? She’s going to want to talk to you and we have benefits and stuff in the city we can exchange for your company.”

“Hmm…” She considers this. Abruptly flicking out a knife and pressing it to Issac’s neck. “Is this a trick, young Ironclad?”

“What, no!” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Back me up here.”

“You’re safe Issac.”

She whirls around and points the blade at the Watcher. “How do you sound so sure, monk?”

“Well. If you did intend to kill us, you’d be losing out on a lot of help and answers you're looking for. All while risking a 4 on 1 battle. If you hear us out. You’d be getting all those positives and significantly more protection. It’s a good deal. Too good to pass up.”

Her worn green eyes flick around. Looking for an escape route. “And if I make a run for it right now?”

“Please don’t,” Derek clasps their claws together. “Please please please-”

Solanaceae finally removed herself from the crowd and joined in. “Please please-”

The old lady straightens up and holds up a hand. “You’ve proven your point. Quite the eccentric bunch you lot are.” She sheaths her weapon. “What’s the getup about?”

Derek strikes their best pose. “We market!”

“Marketing… what?”

“Err, the Merchant's store? We’re actually not too sure.”

“Really?” The Watcher interjects. “I thought he was helping us out.”

“Is he?”

She shrugs.

Oh phew. Derek was worried it was an organic thing they didn’t get. It’s good to know it’s a little confusing for everyone else too.

“Well, either way. It seems we have some more time off from our ‘Marketing Duties.’ We should take advantage of our unique scenario and explore.”

The Watcher listens on in disappointment as Issac opts to accept another group of autographs. He’s going quite overboard with theatrics, soaking up the spotlight expertly and with class. He’s also wasting time.

They were supposed to be exploring (with her peacefully evaluating) right now, but these walking corpses and idiotic Spire denizens keep on stopping them for small talk and hero worship.

At the very least she gets to whack people’s ankles without repercussions. 

Perks to being pals with popularity.

Derek and Solanaceae manage to remove themselves from their crowd, but Issac, like the last two times, had to be dragged away.

“So many people respect us. Makes you want to stay doesn’t it?”

The Wraith removes herself from whatever hiding spot she had chosen. “Not really, child.” She’s been doing that whenever crowds come. If the Watcher had to guess, Solanaceae’s obsession with her grandma is the only thing preventing the Spire from separating the group from the old woman.

Derek crosses their arms. “Me still want to leave.”

“And some quiet would be nice.” Solanaceae adds. “I really hope that we can find a place to rest for a bit.”

Issac for his part, capitulates. “Should we head back to the Inn then?”

“No, it’s alright. The Watcher wanted to explore, I was just hoping to stop at the next bench or something… hopefully away from those people.”

“How about this Library? Old abandoned book place?” From the sound of Derek’s voice they’re already heading towards the point of interest. 

“Is it even open?”

“You wanted privacy. This’ll definitely be private.”

The Watcher follows the voices into this apparently dubious building. Getting a whole breath full of old paper and mildew. She’s glad to have a mask at least. Ahead of her Solanaceae sneezes six times in a row.

“Besides the dust, it’s kind of cozy.”

From Derek, there’s a thump of fabric and a book is cracked opened. “Cozy and knowledge.”

The Watcher finds herself getting comfortable on one of the couches. There’s an almost silent thump beside her and various levels of noise across from her.

Sounds like everyone’s reading. And since she isn’t in the mood to painstakingly go through all her mantras and all the extra steps it takes to see for like 5 seconds, she’s going to take a nice nap.

….

Only getting about an hour before being rudely awakened.

Decker chirps. “Cursed books”

“What.”

Two items are dropped into the Watchers lap.

The scent of blood makes itself known with the Ironclad clomping around in circles. “We found out why this place is closed down.”

Is one of the books shaking? She holds up the blurry magenta and gray rectangle and frowns at the intention of violence seeping through its cover.

“Don’t open that one. It stabs you.”

“Derek was rather clever in closing it, but we do need to purchase more bandages now.”

The Watcher wrinkles her forehead in concentration. How’d she miss this stuff? “I was only asleep for an hour.”

The thought bunches up some tension in her shoulders at the thought. She’s the Watcher. She’s supposed to be witness to any activities of worth.

“It was a very eventful hour- sit still grandma. I can’t patch you up if you're moving.”

“You were sleeping pretty soundly so we didn’t want to bother you.” Issac says oh so nonchalantly. As if the concept of fighting quietly somehow made more sense to do than waking up one of their most powerful allies. 

Then again she would have likely injured everyone with Ragnarok, so. Fine.

She holds up the other book in question. The inability to properly examine it causes some frustration.

“That book’s cursed too. Not to us for some reason, but it reopened Sol’s grandma’s wounds when she read it.

“But she remembers me now!”

“Hopefully it stays that way, little nightshade…”

Watcher gets up from her comfortable seat. “So what now?”

“I need to make sure grandma doesn’t have any infections and after that, I’m not sure.”

There’s a chuff. Good or bad, the Watcher can't tell.

After a moment of silence, Issac pipes up. “We should go to lunch.”

“Yeah. You get hangry.”

Someone approaches from the entrance of this place. “I must have come at the right time then.”

“Hi Merchant! Hello Courier!”

“Hey hey! How’s the marketing going? I’ve heard you’ve been oh so kindly talking with the masses. By the way, Issac, you are really pulling off that maid dress.”

“Maid? This is just some weird modern wear isn’t it?”

“Ooh, uhh.”

“Yeesh. I see it. The color choices threw me off but…”

“By the ancients, I’ve been dressed up as a servant?!”

“It’s not too bad Issac.”

There was some more nonsensical discussion about the last Ironclad’s outfit complete with a mishmash of tones and lots of stomping around.

Urgh, everyone’s talking and walking around too much. It’s already giving her a headache trying to keep track of where everyone is in the room.

An item is placed into her hands. Alloyed gold, mildly magical…

Her staff!

She tosses aside the replacement and holds onto her item dearly.

What a relief. The concepts of vision seep comfortably into the edges of her psyche. The truth around her becoming much easier to observe. Thankfully at the tail end of the little squabble.

“Oh yeah, Sol’ right? You left these in your pockets.” Merchant hands The Silent some pristinely wrapped nutrition bricks. Just three, but according to the Watcher’s past notes, Issac had given her four in total.

Despite knowing the answer, he asks. “Solanaceae… Did you eat any?”

“I mean, I ate one. Was I allowed to eat more?”

“By the Ancients. Yes!” He gently shakes her back and forth. “Why would you starve yourself!? I gave them to you to eat! We’ve been here for days!”

The Wraith reprimands. “This is why you grind your teeth in your sleep.” 

Solanaceae looks at her grandma with an impressive set of doe eyes. “But they were rations… I was rationing them.”

Issac holds his head in his hands. “How in the world did we even get this far?”

“By giving me your gold!”

“We that good!”

“You’re all incredibly lucky, are desensitized to the Spire’s horrors and tend to stick close together. All of which are ideal for traversing a place such as this.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Why are they quiet? She’s right, isn’t she? Everything she said is correct and can be proven and backed up with evidence. 

… No normal person can make such a concise conclusion this quickly though, huh?

She hums awkwardly. “But you’re all mainly lucky.”

Derek nods and corrects themself. “With the Power of friendship!”

Issac drops back into the chair with a thump. “Can we ‘power of friendship’ our way to a proper lunch then?”

“Ah, yes, yes of course! I have just the contact! I hope you don’t mind Ranwid joining us for business talk.”

“Hi Ranwid!” Derek eagerly waves over the researcher. It’s good to see a friendly face around here. 

“My my! What wonderful memory there dear… Derek?”

“Yep!”

“Wondrous! Issac, Solanaceae, friend who won’t tell me her name, good to see you all as well.”

The Wraith makes that same face Solanaceae makes at strangers, but a bit of recognition flickers across her gaze.

“Yes of course! But now you…” Ranwid makes a lap around the Watcher. “I’ve not met you before! I am Ranwid as your friend has introduced. May I ask your name?”

“I am the Watcher, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Ah, just as paranoid as the Wraith, what a variety of temperaments.” He claps his hands together. “Now Merchant! I hear you snagged quite the reservation for our little crew today! How about we get a bite?”

This piques Derek’s interest. They have never been to a food place as a customer before. On account of not necessarily needing food. 

Merchant hums something about discounts, but more importantly, something about eating outside! Still technically inside the Spire, a balcony will give them an open sky! This power of friendship is great!

Merchant and Ranwid chat with another stitched together corpse. Intermittently gesturing to them before the person lit up and motioned for them to follow.

They passed a few tables and was probably saying something, but Derek’s attention was immediately snapped up by the opening at the back of the restaurant. 

The balcony.

They see the table with just the right amount of chairs.

Derek runs towards it. The dull taste of freedom sparking in their circuits. 

Range unauthorized: initiating shutdown

…

When they finally came to. Issac was helping them into a window side seat. 

Inside the restaurant, inside the Spire.

They didn’t even get a chance to feel the outside directly.

They had hoped that maybe, just maybe. Since the balcony was a part of the Spire, they’d be able to have just a little taste of freedom.

No, all they get to do is look. Look out the window and imagine what it might be like.

“You alright there?”

Derek turns away from Issac. Whirring quietly.

The mood turns somber. They idly listen to everyone else ordering something from the menus. The chatter surrounding them falls into a dull drone. 

They were completely shut down this time. Every escape attempt before this has at least allowed them to be as awake as possible, but this is new. Maybe they shouldn’t have accepted that sleeping pod… no software updates don’t happen that fast without any permission. Maybe its problem is worse than the soft ones’ memory problems.

That feels a little scary.

A little branch with needle-like leaves was slid across the table. Right under their lens.

Derek looks up at Solanaceae.

“I know it’s not the outside… but it smells a bit like outside.”

They pick it up. Accidentally staining their claws when they hold it too tight. It does smell unique. Pleasant. Like a distant memory.

“…Where did you get?”

“Some birds flew by while you were knocked out and tried to eat you. Me and Issac fought them and they dropped this… with some gold weirdly enough.”

That’s a little funny. Derek mimics the entertained noise the soft ones make in appreciation. It feels nice.

Before long, plates of food were served across the table. Mostly abstracted and cooked monster parts, but surprisingly there was also some baked goods and batteries. 

Feeling much better, they snag a donut and a lithium battery. Their friends, upon noticing his better mood, go ahead and get their own food. Following in wake of the older people’s leads.

Conversation bounces back and forth. Mostly between Ranwid and the Merchant but sometimes the Wraith joins in when she’s not demolishing the appetizers.

“Oh yes! By the way, I’m glad you’ve taken the initiative and put up your own posters, Watcher.”

Ranwid nods along. “The grizzled wanted criminal esq aesthetics are delightful!”

She puts down her fork with some severity. “There’s posters of me?”

Ranwid exchanges a glance with the Merchant. “Yes?”

She turns towards her trio of teammates. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Was that what the blue-purple blob pictures were?”

“…It looked mostly like a wet rat.”

“Or a squiggly baby.”

The Watcher facepalms. “They know it’s me specifically. Great.”

The Merchant sets his plate aside and twiddles his thumbs. “I mean… 1000 gold is quite a bit of money, if that wasn’t suggested betting cost and actual offer-”

Practically everyone rounds towards him.

“Well uhm, check please?”

After the Merchant’s faux pas, the nice restaurant owners gave them as many boxes as they wanted to pack the food in. 

The Wraith didn’t take any for herself. She’s had enough from simply eating and she wants to let the younger ones have it. Her little Nightshade especially. 

Chaperoning the weirdly dressed quartet while they put up the merchant’s posters was relatively peaceful compared to everything else here in the Spire. It gives her ample time to sort through her memories.

The Solanaceae she remembers acts nothing like the confident, active Silent in front of her. How long has she been gone for her coattail clinging granddaughter to grow so much? 

And to accept the title of ‘Silent’ at all…

She’s evidently missed out on a lot.

It feels like yesterday she resolved herself to sacrifice. Just yesterday when she consoled a quiet child with half truths and weak hopes. Who’s silly little spirit lain buried under a lifetime of injustices. 

It’s good to see her with a pep in her step for the first time. For her to look at the surrounding sights and shops with eager eyes, surrounded by genuine friends and snacking on sweet baked goods.

The Wraith takes dutiful notes of what the younger ones gravitate towards. 

The purple one is painstakingly taking down every one of her posters, a no nonsense personality from the looks of it.

The young Ironclad seems to enjoy the attention of admirers, flexing and showing off his combative prowess against thin air. If it weren't for his attachment to the rest of the group, the Wraith guesses that he would have remained here. 

The defective automaton is rather quirky. Smushing their metallic face up against the windows of toy shops, trinket forges and candy stores. A very youthful spirit. Evidently equipped with a terrible mix of childlike wisdom and cold calculations.

Last but not least, her little Nightshade. Even with a situation that’s so very close to normalcy, she still looks for survival. Utility, equipment and necessities were closely looked at. All else was willfully ignored. Overruled by her focusing on her task.

As apropos to nothing, she leans over to the robot. “I’d really wish she’d accept having a bit of fun every now and again.”

They tilt their head and stare at her blankly. 

“Y’know she’s avoiding stuff. She thinks doing anything for the sake of comfort costs too much.”

The defect whirrs in silence. Unheeding of the words.

Jeez. She must have taken the loss of the other Elders harder than she thought. Her entire life story came back to hit her like a wad of clay an hour earlier and all she’s doing with the knowledge is gossiping with a wind up toy.

Not that it's going to solve any issues if they were here, but it surely can’t make it worse.

Point is, her granddaughter needs some fun, or else she’d be a jumpy fear-blind little thing all her life.

Grandma seemed to be getting tired, it’s probably the aches from her wounds opening up earlier. All subtle frowns and inward sighs.

At least they got this weird book. It seems to help with the memory issue. Only a bit though. The Watcher wanted to study it back at the Inn.

Thankfully everyone was on board with retreating. Made it feel less costly than if Solanaceae were to ask herself. 

They’ve saved plenty of food for dinner even with the snacking. Solanaceae probably won't be sleeping off weakness for a while. Especially since Grandma and Issac would get on her case about it. 

Which, seems a bit unintuitive since they’re in The Spire. Like, this place sews corpses back together to make obstacles and births monsters so horrific they can break something in your brain. Saving food and resources seems like the most logical thing to do.

But, she gets where they’re coming from. There wouldn’t be any need to conserve when you're dead… buuut, she's not, so… secret pockets stuffed with edible moss, ok?

Everyone just sat around on the floor of the Inn. Finishing off the remainder of the leftovers while Watcher ran her fingers over the book. Studying it diligently, even while Derek was making that loud grinding noise after eating a particularly hard piece of bread.

Usually during lulls like this, she’d take a nap, but she feels a little too good to waste it on sleeping.

… or maybe she should sleep to stay this healthy?

Before she could continue this train of thought, the Merchant bustled into the room with an arm full of clothing. 

Their clothes were back!

Solanaceae was excited about the fact the clothes smelled faintly of raspberries. She missed the scent of those ethers. 

Everyone got their clothes back except for the toughest guy on the team.

The merchant holds up his hands placatingly. “Issac, I’m so sorry but the Tailor I hired to fix your clothes is keeping for another day.”

“What?! Was the damage that bad?”

“No, he wants to make a copy. My fault for trusting some cheap crossover shmuck.”

“You mean I need to run around in a maid dress for another day?!”

“I can give you my butler suit.”

“I don’t want to be a butler either! Dressing as a servant is beneath me. What’s a crossover anyway?!”

“It’s when universes swap stuff and/or people.” The Watcher yawns. “Happened to me once. It was… interesting.” She flips a page.

“MY CLOTHES ARE IN A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE???” He holds his helmet tightly. “I only have one piece of my people left.”

“Breath buddy, it’s just one more day.”

“How about you all go shopping?” The Watcher offers. “Most young adults like that.”

“Did you like it as a young adult?”

“No.”

“...”

Issac hangs his head. “You know what? Shopping would be nice.”

“New clothes!”

Solanaceae nods with Derek’s logic. “New clothes.”

They were gonna pull out the group bag and count up the money they had to spare, but Grandma beat them to the punch.

Gold was placed incessantly into her palm. And some more into Issac’s and Derek’s.

Issac gently pushes it back with significantly less bafflement than Solanaceae. “Oh, no it’s fine. We have our own money, Ms…”

“Belladonna, and it’s nothing! Please have a little bit of fun while these old bones get some rest.”

Derek looks at the coins in their claws. Suddenly nodding resolutely. “Let’s go have fun.” Said with the same amount of seriousness Issac has when he leads them into combat.

When Merchant left in the wake of his marketing department possibly spending money on someone else, the Wraith turns over the coins in her hand. 

It was intended to be given to the monk, but the girl was good at sneaking it back. “Your sleight of hand is impressive.”

“As is yours.” 

The old woman shifts in the borrowed bed. Looking down from the perch. 

“Why didn’t you go with them anyway?”

“Studying.”

The Wraith examines the non-patterned robe. “I thought novices had less restrictions on them. Surely out here you're free to do as you please.”

The monk fusses a bit. The Wraith feels a bit bad for seeming to have stepped on a point of insecurity. Children these days don’t speak their mind. It makes it too easy to trouble them.

“I quite enjoy this work.” The monk ultimately says.

It doesn’t sound like a lie, but it does sound like a resolution. There’s so doubt enjoyment for the Watcher. But the Wraith knows when someone is in need for something else. “…I’ll leave you to your work then.”

“Why didn’t you?” The Watcher suddenly asks. “Go with them I mean.”

The Wraith turns to gaze out the window. “I don’t know.” There’s a new moon rising. There was a new moon when she left. It makes her feel rather sick. The empty circle under the stars.

What is she now?

Closing her eyes, she listens to the sound of flipping paper and tries to ignore the nightmarish memories this place has given her. “Goodnight.”

A flipped page. “You will wake up in the morning.”

Right. She’s alive.

They’ve been getting a bunch of dumb junk. 

Ice cream, figurines of themselves, fruit juice, a lot of outfits, the deed to a brick and mortar store in the Colosseum to get the Merchant off their backs.

Grandma gave them too much money and some of these shop owners were way too eager to give them free stuff and discounts. 

It made her nervous. It’s too good to be true. She had fun at first, but enjoyment isn’t supposed to last this long, right?

She clutches her cloak. It’s been tailored. No longer ungainly for her stature. Sitting perfectly over her shoulders. It’s another one of those things that feel too good to be true. 

She feels like she could fell a horde of beasts with her current condition. Is this hubris? Is she diseased or hallucinating or-

Issac gently squeezes her shoulder. “Uhh, Sol’… are you ok? Wait, was it the ice cream? Are you lactose intolerant?”

“Ah, no. It’s nothing.” She knows her answer ripples with stress but she hopes it doesn't get called out.

They continue walking for a moment before Issac grabs her again

“I can’t take it anymore! I want to help! It’s like you’re constantly dying Sol! You're always asleep! I’m your trusted ally! Just tell me what’s wrong!?”

“I can handle it myself Issac. It’s just…”

Both him and Derek look at her expectantly.

“I don’t feel like I need anything.” That sounds really benign now that she says it aloud.

“I mean like, I’m not tired or aching or hungry or uncomfortable in a way I could deal with and THAT makes me nervous.” She scratches the back of neck, even though she’s not itchy either.

Derek lights up. “Healthy.”

“Huh.”

Issac pats her. Relieved. “Solanaceae that feeling you’re describing is feeling healthy. You don’t need to feel nervous about that.”

Oh.

“You still look sad.” Derek goes over and throws their arms around her neck. “Make less sad.”

She returns the motion. It’s been a while since she’s had a good hug. “Thank you Derek.” 

The Ironclad joins in.

“You as well Issac. Thank you.”

They ended up spending the last of their money on entertainment, snacks and an overpriced pair of lightweight specialized swamp boots (at Derek’s insistence and to Solanaceae’s delight). They also got a matching blue key to the green one as a bonus for that last purchase. Neat!

Chapter Text

They’ve been gone for too long. The old huntress had been asleep for hours now and persistent lack of light from the window tells the Watcher that it’s deep into the night. 

The book she’s been researching had a lot of information about the Spire. Most experiences here range from ridiculous all the way to dire and fully corrupting.

She’s not worried per se. But those three are walking ridiculousness and her conversation with Belladonna had perturbed her. There’s an urge to find them. Not much can be done with idle knowledge.

The Wraith is safe here. The Merchant hadn’t cheaped out on the security. Borrowing the old huntress’s map (probably the same map the other three had claimed to have lost… thanks Neow.) she makes her way out of the Inn and to the warping streets.

The separation between comedy and horror is a thin line. And she doesn’t want their luck to run out when it’s just the three of them.

There’s a prickle down her spine as she weaves through to these sparse streets. Whatever is following will have to wait. 

She breaks into a jog. 

There's low traffic at the moment. If that distant cheering crowd is any indication, the Colosseum must be having their fights right now.

Straining her ears, she tries to find the Ironclad’s heavy footstep and the Defect’s clacking ones.

All she’s met with are the skittering of creatures and roughraff peering from the city shadows.

Keeping a sharp notice on the map as to not stray too far from the Inn, she takes her chances with the much smaller, darker alleyways. The light sources here are closer to the path and muddle her detection. Electric buzzing humming in her ears, warm embers sweeping the air with ash, and flighty magic brushing against her shoulders.

Sleep is now a 24 hour old memory. The feeling of hacking, wheezing, borderline heretical judgment congregates at the edge of both her memories and detection.

They’ve been here. The Watcher doesn’t have enough time to take down every one of these posters surrounding her. She just has to move fast and find her allies. Her… friends.

The longer she’s out here, it’s starting to feel as if she needs them more than they need her.

“Grab ‘em Bear!”

Speak of the devil.

Whoever Bear is, they lock her arms to her sides and lift her off the ground. 

Some red masked thugs make themselves known. A faux relaxed gait approaches her, she assumes their leader. “Well, well, well… what do we have here?”

The two others immediately express some confusion.

“Romeo? You already know this, she's that lady from the wanted posters.”

“I'm being dramatic here you dolt! Connect the dots like Bear does. You ruined our intimidation!”

The small one sputters. “Hey! I’m not the one who thought asking nicely would get people to give us money!”

“Oh are we still on that?” Romeo rolls his eyes behind the mask.

“We died!”

“We got better, Pointy.”

The argument bounces back and forth, lessening the shock factor of her capture and reminding her of lowly animals fighting over scraps. Pointy and Romeo snap at each other incessantly. Pointy obviously not used to speaking up and Romeo tripping up at every outburst. This infighting is obviously new. Good advantage for her.

Ironically, the fight in front of her makes her miss listening to her group’s arguments. They had a weird trait of never having that awkward explosive stress that permeates most disagreements. It was more often play-fighting than anything. Probably due to the unlikely trust and camaraderie they’ve grown. Unlike these bandits who seemed to be stuck together for the sake of robbing people… well maybe except for the big one holding her in place. He seems to want to either break up the quarrel or join it.

For a moment, Bear’s grip loosens.

A moment is all she needs. Watcher wrenches herself out of Bear’s grasp and lands a satisfying kick against the side of his head.

He wipes away the blood nearly expressionless. “Angry lady.”

The two stop mid sentence and whirl around and brandish their weapons. “Ugh not Neow. Stop! We’re arresting you for money!”

Hmm Bear has more authority even though Romeo acts as leader. 

Without a word the Watcher prepares for battle… not that it's going to last long.

“What do you guys think is better? Red with gold accents or yellow with red accents?”

Derek analyzes the two options. While the tunic with the red with gold accents looks fancier, the yellow with red accents looks much more comfortable and approachable.

“Hmm.” They let the sound of their whirring circuity fill the space. “I think yellow and red accents. You get armor back tomorrow.”

Solanaceae speaks through a mouthful of moss. “Don’t chu fink dat might ve shoo plain? Your shtill gonna be vering it for the rwef of the night.”

“You’re so smart and correct and gross-“

She properly swallows. “Keeping it real.”

“-but, the plainness helps with accessorizing in general. Which I think was Derek’s point.”

Derek lights up at the correct notion. These people might not be able to take direct messages but they know this defect pretty well. It’s a lot more than what their fellow automatons can do sometimes.

The Ironclad pulls out more clothing items. Now a set of capes, cloaks and coats. 

“Now-”

There’s an agonizing scream that leaked through the wall. 

They glance at each other. 

Issac randomly chooses a protective brown coat. “We should get out of here.”

Solanaceae was already gathering up the stuff they had bought into neat packs. 

Derek takes as much as they could carry, leaving Issac free to quickly pay for the clothing and lead them on the fastest and safest route back to the Inn.

The tall ceiling blocks out all natural light and for some reason most of the shops around are dimmed. They’re left running around, practically in candlelight.

Since it seemed safe enough Derek turned on their built-in flashlights. Their friends looked grateful before focusing on the matter at hand. Getting far away. 

That is, if their curiosity didn’t get the better of them. 

They only turned around for a second to see. They didn’t mean to reveal that flash of purple and trip everyone up. 

“Watcher?!”

“Derek, wait! Shine the light over there again!”

Pointy holds his wounds as he watches the unconscious monk be hauled awkwardly over Romeo’s shoulder. “How did she go through so many nets?”

“She’s worth a thousand gold, Pointy. Of course she’s going to be expensive to catch. I told you we needed this much equipment didn’t I?” 

That’s true. Romeo always has been the brains of the operation, but he’s annoying without Bear. And this wanted lady killed their team mediator. Pointy is already getting sick of just Romeo. 

“… we should get Bear back right away.”

Romeo sighs. “I know. Don’t remind me.” He mutters the next part loud enough to hear. “We’re only going to make a profit of three hundred at this rate… And that’s if she doesn’t wake up.” He kicks the empty sleep potions to the side. That was really expensive. Lady didn’t even drink it either, it’s soaked into her robe when they threw it at her.

At least it makes her look more like her wanted poster?

Who are they kidding, the fuzz isn’t going to accept this. She’s gonna kill everyone the moment she gets up and they can’t kill her now cuz she’ll wake up at any mild jostling.

“Hey, I have an idea.”

“Spit it out pinhead.”

“It's Pointy! And do you want to hear it or not?”

There was some grumbling. “Fine.”

“I hear the New Champs are back in town. We might not be able to kill her, but the Colosseum… it definitely will.”

“... We’d get to get money from betting AND we can keep her corpse to show to Time Eater! You're almost as good as Bear!”

“Heh, I can be smartsy sometimes…”

Romeo is already starting off in the direction of the Colosseum. “And like that, I no longer respect you.” 

Pointy bit back a retort when a floodlight flickers over them. Their bounty stirs and he is forced to use Bear’s mask as a sort of blindfold. They can’t have her waking up now if all times.

A scattering of footsteps run straight towards them. Sounds bubbling over the cobbled alleyways. “-over there!”

They look at each other. “There’s other bounty hunters! Run!”

Chapter Text

“....cher! Watcher! Watcher!”

Her head throbs with a gravel like ache. Those red masked bandits didn’t take too kindly to her killing ‘Bear’ it seems. Good thing she still has her staff and relics… feeling her face, someone had poorly placed a baggy red mask over her. Odd, but it doesn’t impair her perception in the slightest. 

All that’s gone is her money. 

It’s a good thing most of the gold was stored in the party’s Bag of Preparation. 

Her actions were kind of stupid though. She should have slept instead of going out to find them. Why did she even go out like that…

She checks herself over. There was inexplicably smelling salts on her person. It’s scattered over the floor and on her hair.

“Oh thank Neow you're still here.”

The Watcher glances up past the bars of her new setting. A weird jail/dressing room. 

“Merchant? Did you throw salt at me?”

“One and only!.. But yes, it was the only way I could think of to get you to wake up and I'm not exactly sure how to use this stuff… Anyways, I paid off the guard, but another is going to make some rounds in a bit so this needs to be fast.”

He rummages through his pockets and gives her what seems to be a tournament lineup. “Bad news, they’re throwing you into the colosseum and you can’t meet up with the others until the second to last round. Good news, the event organizers don’t know you’re friends and I’m gonna make a lot of gold through bets because of that!”

The Watcher frowns. 

“I’m just looking at the bright side. Here’s my courier so everyone can keep in contact, keep him out of sight or else the guards will take him.”

“Noted.”

“…and don’t die. The ancients can be cruel.” He leaves before she can respond.

The silence stretches out. It's somewhat cold here, the concrete floor doesn’t help in that regard. She can detect some others in the room. Unconscious and behind these golden bars like her.

She explores the location. Not much here, just a mirror, some extra clothing that doesn’t fit, and a lot of posters… Including her own.

Meditation here was not ideal. So she did the second best thing. Wait. 

After a few minutes the guard Merchant mentioned stomps pass. She ignores them and they ignore her. They seemed on edge. Checking to make sure the chests lining the hallways and all the colosseum cages were locked. With their muttering, the Watcher gleans that the Champ must’ve taken the loss poorly and is taking it out on his subordinates.

The guard leaves and she is once again left waiting.

…

Slowly but surely, another person inches towards her cage. The one she’s been looking for in this damned place.

Following the monastery’s customs, she bows in a full kowtow. “Master of Watches. The Monastery has been awaiting your reports for ages now. I have been sent to check on your status and assist in any way you need.”

They don't speak at first. The Time Keeper is quiet long enough for the Watcher to stand back up.

“...I thought the Champ.. was pulling my leg…. when he said… he had captured you.” The other monk approaches. Close enough to that their oppressive aura is irritatingly taking up the space. “I thought… perhaps… his recent defeat.. made him a liar…. on top of… being.. an idiot.”

“Why have you stopped reporting?”

A wheeze. An almost jubilant sound. “You’ve… never… changed… Wakaumi…. You are.. as insolent… as ever.”

Inwardly sighing, she bows once again. “Forgive me for my outburst master. I am humbly asking for your return to the Monastery and on the behalf of our sect, for your reports as well.”

“Did they… really… make.. you.. ask that…? After.. they decided… to send you…. of all people?”

Fury coils in her stomach, but she keeps a level head. “Yes, master.”

Hacking laughter. The Time Keeper loved making the most revolting noises. It kept most of the novice’s up at night. “Then… they must.. take me…. for an idiot.”

For a master of time, they sure do love wasting it. It’s one of the reasons why she hates them. 

“Let…. me.. make… one thing…. clear.” Like lightning, the Watcher’s collar was slammed against the polished bars. She already feels a bruise surfacing. “I have found true divinity here.” 

The Time Keeper examines her. No doubt taking note of health, cards and the scattered relics strewn across the floor.

Her staff had clattered to the ground at some point, and she feels a tendril of magic skittering around her. Offering her severed abilities back in different forms. It reeks of the Spire’s corruption.

She cracks her eyes open. “There’s divinity everywhere.” 

Her vision is blurry and borderline useless but she’d take this truth over whatever warped concepts would have given her.

They scoff before dropping her. “You really are a sightless fool.” They loved using that insult. 

“All your sacrifice and beliefs have only made you blind to the sheer POWER of the Spire. It gave you an opportunity… A taste… You could have finally been a good student…. but I see you're a lost cause.”

Slowly the Time Keeper inches away. Only speaking again once they were nearly out of earshot.

“Enjoy.. the… spotlight… Watcher…”

Once the Merchant got back to his (brand new brick and mortar!) store, his three employees jumped to attention. 

“Is she alright?”
“Can we rescue her?”
“Hurt?”

“Yes, no, and a little, but it’s fine.”

The three deflate. It’s silly. Groups here in the Spire are often silly. But never really silly enough to ditch their one goal of climbing the Spire to sit around for half a day just to make sure their friend was ok.

Even if said friend is being used by some red masked bandits to make a cartload of cash which ISN’T going to Merchant by the way. He’s a bit upset at that.

He’s also upset that his employees are giving out his discounts and resources to his most gullible geriatric customer, but that is neither here nor there at the moment.

His newly minted Slayers with their popularity are fortunately (and unfortunately) staying through the entirety of the Colosseum games until they get their friend back. That means Merchant has to organize as many merch agreements, with fan meet and greets as he can muster to at least make his money back from this endeavor.

Can’t believe he has to rent that Inn room for another day… Another day in this wretched Spire…

“FANS AND FOES ALIKE, WE HAVE A SPECIAL TREAT FOR ALL OF YOU! PRESENTING TIME EATER’S WORSE DISCIPLE, WANTED TRESPASSER AND OVERALL KILLJOY,” his thick arm sweeps to the gate.

The dull roar of the crowd crashes like the ocean above her head. Funneling into the cave, releasing the locks of the gilded cage. 

She steps out into the blood soaked dirt.

“THE WATCHER!!!”

“This’ll certainly be interesting.” A bored voice drawls. The cloaked figure gestures to where the rest of the combatants are squandered away. “Most of these non-puppets so far have been dreadfully stupid. This one has to be different.”

“INDEED! IF THIS MONK HAS HALF THE STRENGTH OF THAT INFERNAL SLUG, WE ARE IN FOR A BLOODBATH!”

“I thought you said, you’d try to keep ALL the newcomers’ intact for me.”

“OH NONSENSE, COLLECTOR! WE’LL GLUE THEM BACK TOGETHER AFTERWARDS.”

He commands all attention to the opposing gate. Effectively avoiding the conversation. 

Whoever this ‘Collector’ is, she seems very out of place here. Wonder why the Champ felt the need to have such a frosty belligerent as a co-announcer instead of keeping around that torch-headed guy from last time.

“LET US START WITH SOMETHING EASY. HOW DOES EVERYONE FEEL ABOUT WEAKLINGS?!”

The crowd jeers on command. Booing and spitting into the field.

“THAT'S RIGHT SPIRE CITIZENS! THIS ISN’T YOUR AVERAGE FIGHTER! SEND OUT THE MAWS!!”

Rolling her shoulders and thumbing through her small deck, she obliterates the opposing creatures on turn one.

From above the two announcers huff. “I told you. You should have saved the Maws for those ‘slayers’.”

“I’M NOT GIVING YOU THOSE NEWCOMERS FOR THIS KIND OF JUDGMENT.”

An exasperated sigh. “Oh wow, this monk is quite the opposite of a saint, don’t you think, crowd.” The call to rally was so lackluster and bored, but the audience roars in agreement nonetheless.

Gold and roses were tossed into the stadium center. She faintly hears those red masked bandits from earlier whooping in joy.

“NOW IT'S TIME FOR A REAL CHALLENGE!” The armored giant cracks his knuckles. “WE’VE ALL HEARD YOU’RE COMPLAINTS! MANY OF YOU WANTED THIS MURDER BACK.” He almost grumbles to himself. “NO MATTER HOW BORINGLY ONE SIDED IT WAS…” 

The hooded character next to him makes a ‘get on with it’ motion.

“NOW WELCOMING BACK, THE FLOCK!”

Issac struggled with any type of separation. It was awful back when he was too young for the Ironclads’ missions. He’d run the obstacle courses repeatedly just to try and remove the feeling of dread. He just didn’t like having a soldier unaccounted for. Even if they’re kind of scary and standoffish.

He didn’t have an obstacle course to run through right now though. And he knows he’s snapping at his friends without anything else to do… so here he is. Chewing through Solanaceae’s stash of lichen that she’s now rapidly running out of.

Even though the Watcher is evidently skilled, she’s alone. Fighting against a small army of those cultists and brushing up closer to death than they have here in the Spire. 

He could see why so many died on the climb.

Derek and Solanaceae are in similar straits as himself. The automaton with their pacing and the huntress with… pickling food, strangely enough. She set up the whole thing right behind the counter. Which Merchant complained about but didn’t stop.

They have a crate full already. 

Derek had started putting the pickled food on the shelves with their pacing

Merchant had shoved price tags into Issac’s hands and the next thing he knows, they’re working while stressing.

Overall the Ironclad is glad to be hearing squawks and not screams. 

“I got everyone brunch.” Solanaceae’s grandma is finally back from the snack run. She seemed to have liked finding a good deal out there. She’s got lots of bags.

“For my little nightshade,” a basket of assorted fruits placed beside the pickling station. “And for the kind dearie,” Derek takes the stack of waffles with their bare claws.

“And for you.” A freshly cooked hunk of meat. Fragrant, cured with herbs and still on the bone.

He was always a little thrown off by the doting. Some of the Ironclads’ wards would give gifts in thanks for protection, but never without it. “Thank you Ms. Wraith- uh Belladonna ma’am.”

She pinches his cheek. “Well, aren’t you a polite young man?” 

It is an unfamiliar motion but Issac appreciates the fondness it was said with nonetheless.

The old woman retired into the store’s breakroom (not really, it really was a corner of the shop that happened to have a table and chair). She places the rest of her purchases beside her and sets a fancy packaged box on the table.

Derek stops. From pacing, shelving and watching the Watcher. “What’s in the box?”

“Well I had hoped to give your other friend food as well, but…”

“PEOPLE OF THE SPIRE, WITNESS THIS CARNAGE!! ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!”

“That.”

Derek clicks their claws together hopefully. “She won. So maybe we can take it to her now?”

Everyone watches as the Watcher gives an exhausted mocking bow before she is forced back into the colosseum cells.

The Wraith looks at the box carefully. “I think we can. I’ll need to split this up though…”

Most of the other’s in these cells were already dead or had miraculously escaped. All except for one unfortunately. It was some slaver down that hall that refused to shut up.

“So yeah I’m a rookie. Even though I used to be a big shot, well my arm at least, I told you about that right?”

He did. Probably twelve times already.

“It was that stupid Ironclad guy. If he didn’t steal that belt, I would’ve been the new champ for sure. Well I mean my arm and maybe my toe. I used to be The Taskmaster, you know? The Spire should’ve put me back together right and man I could’ve been the next champ. Not some 3 bozos who left before they could properly claim the title. Can’t believe that guy just stole the belt! I think… my memories are a little fuzzy.”

The Watcher had taken to smacking her staff against the bars to give herself some sort of stimulus instead of listening to the lunatic down the hall. 

“But man I can’t remember the name of the nob head I was with, do nobs have names? Maybe bleeder or something? I- huh?” 

He finally stops talking.

Her neighboring cell mate pokes his head out. “You hear that?”

The Watcher was perplexed at the sounds of… bumbling?

“No.” She lied. “I don’t know what you're talking about.”

The clanking and whispering gets closer. Sounds like her party is clambering over the aqueducts here. 

“I really think there’s something…”

A metallic voice buzzes through the wall. “Watcher?”

“There is something! Guards! G-”

Derek bodyslams the other prisoner from above (finally, silence). The other two hop down into the hallway and turn around to attempt to place the dislocated bricks back.

The automaton pulls themselves past the bars and infront of her cage. “We got you food!”

“Err, yes, it’s a bit mushed though. Forgive us.” Issac does his best to remove a mildly mashed pack of two still warm waffles and some bacon.

Solanaceae follows and presents some pristine decorative fruits. “Hope it’s enough, since you were here for a while and all.”

Derek removes a small paper container from their chassis and drops the (obviously ‘taste tested’) wad of ice cream onto the waffles.

“This is…”

Derek manages to whisper. “A full breakfast!… lunch? Brunch!” 

She was going to say kind of gross but the food does smell very good. “…Thanks.”

She takes it.

… for a while they all sit there. Relaxing to various degrees. Idly asking about her fights so far.

It’s nice. She enjoys this. Strangely enough, feeling much more comfortable here in a glorified jail and surrounded by idiots than she ever felt among her fellow disciples.

The Champ is displeased. Very Displeased. 

His carefully curated lineup of gladiators were being absolutely obliterated by that Merchant’s usurping slayers. If that pathetic little twig didn’t have so much money, and if those tiny weaklings weren't so popular, he would have personally ripped them to pieces. In front of the crowd of course. One by one just to milk the anguish of their little weird team attachment. 

BUT! He has never cared for the lesser subtle arts of subterfuge. It lacks glory and might. It is so far beneath him in fact, that he’d much rather have the Collector do that for him. Even if she does nothing but drink tea and ignore his beautiful show. Tasteless honestly, why preserve corpses when you can make them?

“The little metal one is doing magic-magicless tricks again.” The Collector snickers to herself. “You love it when it does that.” 

“YOU WENCH. YOU KNOW I HATE IT! IF IT ISN’T FIGHTING IT ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE IN THIS ARENA!” He throws a pebble at the defect and it makes a rude gesture at him before continuing with its card tricks.

“Ooh, would you look at that. Your little belt stealer is working extra hard to gain the favor of your city. Isn't that just charming? Especially since he’s letting his FRIENDS relax on the sidelines while doing so? You love how friendship stops unnecessary violence!” The Collector is an awful co-announcer. She seems to find more joy in poking and prodding the Champ than anything else.

It’s making the arena boring! This was the longest bloodbath he had ever planned and people were getting bored! They’re more focused on scrap metal’s un-approved pansy playing.

“WOULD IT KILL YOU TO HAVE SOME SHOWMANSHIP?”

“It’s been five hours. Yes. It would kill me.”

“PEOPLE ARE GETTING UP FROM THEIR SEATS AND SHOPPING! THEY ARE CONVERSING AND LEAVING THIS SHOW AS BACKGROUND!” He turns around to prove his point. “LOOK AT THAT TAKEDOWN PEOPLE OF THE SPIRE! ISN’T IT RIVETING?” 

The responding cheer is loud, but ultimately weaker than he would like.

She pours herself more tea. Making a nonchalant noise as the armored Slayer drop kicks yet another gladiator into oblivion. It's all so boring and the Collector is no help.

Why does the Champ even deign himself with a team? He looks down at the three weaklings. He can’t wait to see the captured monk knock them down a level.

Once they’re weakened he and his hired help can execute his revenge. Let’s see how they like gang ups!

He just needs to wait for- “LESSER FIGHTER, HOW MUCH LONGER IS THAT BRONZE AUTOMATON GOING TO TAKE?”

The Collector sips her tea. “It’s almost done charging.”

“HOW LONG IS ALMOST?! I PAID TOP COIN FOR THAT THING!

She completely ignores his anger. Instead, nibbling on her sandwich.

Ridiculous! He needs to commit some sort of violence to keep his cool. 

One of the Collector’s lackeys pitter patters in. Perfect.

“Ms. Collector! The WAUGH-“

The walking torch is punted into the stone overhang with precision and style.

His legs dangle there. “Erh uh… the machine is done charging, it’s making its way here now… The… the Spire sends its regards.” Some small relics plinks out of the minion’s hand.

It’s a stat booster. Three in fact. The Collector turns them over in her hands. “The Spire? Why contact us after so long?

“I don’t know.” Their little legs kick in the air. “How do I get down?”

Before either boss could respond, the bronze machine marches in. Sleek, stylish, a way better version than that wind up toy down there.

“AH YES, GREETINGS LESSER FIGHTER NUMBER TWO.”

The bot doesn’t respond. The Champ is surrounded by frumps it seems.

He doesn’t let it get to him. He’s got a grand finale to do. “WHATEVER, WE SHALL TRIUMPH SHORTLY!”

Fighting in the colosseum was getting kind of boring in Derek’s opinion. There’s only so many ways you can take down a cultist or a slaver and nobody likes the weird torture stuff the Champ would do because thats mean. So yeah, fighting: boring. Issac probably thinks it's still fun though.

The guy really likes showing off his strengths. With flashy whirlwinds, and a lot of flexing. Solanaceae occasionally gives nice grand finalies and finishers but otherwise was basically sitting back with Derek and holding Issac’s unnecessary cards for him. 

That’s why this little robot is doing sleight of hand tricks for a small section of the crowd. 

“This is your card?”

The tiny section goes wild, they must have done the trick correctly!

The Champ up in the balcony was still glaring daggers at them.

It's got to be the Watcher’s turn at some point right? It’s way past lunch and Derek has half a mind to ask the crowd for a battery in exchange for another trick.

“WE’VE SEEN ENOUGH.” The Champ booms.

Derek stops their card tricks. A break finally?

“EVERYONE PREPARE YOUR BETS!”

Aww, another fight…

For once, the Collector looks genuinely excited. “Lowly peasants and cannon fodder. Its been a long arduous five hours, but the main even is nearly here."

“YOU’VE FELT THE RUMBLINGS, YOU’VE TASTED THE BLOODLUST, IT’S A MATCH OUT OF THIS SPIRE!” The Champ points dramatically towards the opening gate. “WE HAVE THE WATCHER VS. THE SLAYERS!!!”

The Collector claps to herself. “With foreign divinity meeting earthly might, this fight will be nothing less than informative.” 

The Watcher takes a moment to make a dramatic entrance. Pulling in the crowd as she approaches. The three had to try their very hardest not to get too nervous from the act as the Colosseum dropped quiet in anticipation.

Letting her divinity pool around her, the monk prowls forward. Really selling the non-existent tension. Her steady steps pass over blood and bone. The arena grows dark as she crosses the midway point. They all tense as she faces off with them. 

And then all abruptly drop the charade once she was close enough to the group so they couldn’t be separated.

Derek pulls her into a big hug and the other two snicker a bit at the crowd’s confused uproar before doing their own friendly greetings. 

“WHAT?!” 

“It seems they are also friends. How disappointing.”

“I CAN SEE THAT.” He grips the stone railings so hard they crack. “YOU.” The Champ whirls towards two red masked bandits in the crowd. 

“I WILL NOT BE PAYING YOU.”

There was an anguished cry from the smaller one. Though that may have been the taller one kicking him in the shins.

“AND I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU WERE A SLIPPERY BASTARD!” He points at Merchant who is happily waving around a little piece of paper.

The Collector snaps her fingers to summon her lackeys. “Let's get straight to the grand finale then.”

She turns to a automaton model Derek doesn’t recognize and murmurs a few orders to it. New model, maybe? Derek tries to send an inquiry to it but it ignores them and sets up a firewall. Rude.

The Champ cracks his knuckles. “FINALLY, SOMETHING I CAN AGREE WITH.” He makes a few motions and removes the one minion out of the roof. Planting him firmly in the announcer seat. “YOU’RE UP.”

“Erugh uh, okay! Um. Now for your true champion, your favorite curator, and the latest and greatest in technology, we- we have the… Uh… they don’t need a name! You know them, you love them! It’s… them!”

Across from the Slayers, from the opposing gate, steps out the much stronger Champ, the trickier Collector and the hyper advanced robot.

 Merchant watched appalled as his Slayers (+ the Watcher) flailed about in the arena. So what if that newer robot could take away part of their carefully crafted deck? Get gud! Stop playing hot potato with the cards and just start playing them! It is ridiculous seeing his three employees take turns being competent while the monk proves to be a very average (and thus not very marketable) fighter.

The Wraith beside him was watching the proceeding with an intense, unreadable expression. It's a little uncomfortable and is the only thing stopping him from shouting at the battlefield. 

He feels a little bad about entering them into this death wish.

On one hand, he did receive a lot of money from invalidated bets. On the other hand, he can’t make more money (nor possibly escape without strings attached) if they become Neow’s corpse puppets. 

His employees were very gung ho about the endeavor due to their friend but The Power of Friendship is not really working here. His slayers’ reliance on eachother made them weak, so when the other team was able to separate them into one-on-ones where they very obviously struggled.

Its stressing him out! The money situation of course, why would he care about some stupid people huh? Pshhh. Not him, it's all money. Like who would risk their life for them? Right? The Wraith would agree with him for sure.

…Where’s the Wraith?

Climbing up the pillars of the Colosseum and preparing to swan dive into the arena apparently.

Great. Fine. Ok. He grabs his trusty rug and folds it away before rushing after the lunatic. Clambering on top of chairs and annoyed Colosseum spectators.

He grabs the bottom of her cloak before that old lady could climb any higher. “What are you doing?!” He hissed 

“Helping them!” She hisses back.

She tries to pull her cloak out of his grasp and he has to reposition his grip. “Why would you even-”

She sputters at him like he’s the stupid one. “Because I care about them? I got some cursed immortality anyway, now let me get a clear shot.” She steadies a handheld crossbow.

“… fine, but follow me first.” 

Miraculously, she does. Putting away her weapon.

Merchant takes her to the ramparts right above his shop. “The Bronze Automaton is going to use hyperbeam in a few turns. It’s going to be a difficult shot, but if you can shoot its face just right, it’ll take out all the bosses.” He gulps, “When it starts lighting up, do it.”

She looks between the chaos in the arena and to the Merchant’s stricken demeanor. This location is actually too good to waste. “Hmm… I have a better idea.”

Derek fought off the Bronze Automaton with some difficulty. They really, really wanted to go back to their friends, but Unit-C3-BOSS was making it very difficult. Unit-C3-BOSS wouldn’t even respond to any messages! They just left Derek on read!

…well it's not exactly true, sometimes during the fight they would send Derek an update to download. Derek didn’t want to touch any of the offered software updates. It feels bad.

Once again, Derek tried rushing to their friends only to be dragged back into a one-on-one with Unit-C3. Issac was fighting the Champ, Solanaceae struggling against the Collector’s spells and the Watcher was going on a massacre trying to quell the tide of minions threatening to kill off the rest of the team.

A spireblighted tomato smashes into the arena. “Boooo!”

The Champ immediately loses his footing. “EXCUSE ME!? WHO DID THAT!”

“We want more blood!” The same voice screeched. The crowd roared in agreement.

“WELL, IF YOU ALL INSIST!” He heaves up the Ironclad and prepares to smash the poor sod into a bloody unrecognizable pulp.

An ethereal nail pins his arms in place against thin air. “Champ.”

He winces. “I’LL PUT HIM BACK TOGETHER AFTERWARDS.”

The Collector seethes. “I Don’t Like having to rearrange the bones in my subjects. Go wring his neck or something.”

“THAT’S BORING…” The Champ absently drops the Ironclad. “THE CITY WANTS A BLOODBATH! WE SHOULD PROVIDE!”

“I. Don’t. Care.” She growls.

The Silent sneaks away from the Collector and dashes to help the Watcher with Issac. 

“Booooo! If it’s going to be this boring, Shut Down!” Is that the Merchant heckling?

Unit-C3-BOSS stops its onslaught immediately. Finally speaking. “Are you sure you want to shut down?” 

“NO! DON’T YOU DARE YOU BUCKET OF BOLTS!”

“I’m a little busy shutting down this other idiot right now, take a nap later.”

“Canceling shut down.” 

A light went off in Derek’s head. Literally and figuratively. The unit before them is just like any other tech here. Sure what Derek was planning was going to cause them to shut down too, but unlike the unit before them, they had friends. 

“YOU DID NOT CALL ME AN IDIOT IN FRONT OF THE CROWD.” The Champ wrenches his giant metal arm out of the magic restraint.

“Well, you are one. You promised me fresh flesh, bone and blood, they won’t be fresh if they DIE.”

“WHEN DID I PROMISE THAT?!”

“This morning!”

Ignoring the fight around them, Derek happily sent a shutdown command to the Bronze Automaton. Simply reading the command will execute it! That's… they’re… hmm ooh… C3-Boss sleepy too?

The last thing they register are safe hands dragging them away.

[Shut down complete]

Chapter Text

“Did you see their faces? That was hilarious!” Issac shakes Solanaceae back and forth. “The Slayers’ grand finale! I can see it now. We’ll be in every paper in the city for weeks!”

She chuffs. Obviously embarrassed by that flashy goodbye, wasting all that magic and audience gifted flower petals. “It really wasn’t that impressive Issac.” 

“No, you’re right. It wasn’t impressive…” he dramatically turns away in a manner so obviously false. “It was fantastic! One moment the bosses are arguing and bam! We defeat them, and escape together as legends in the arena!” 

There was a beat of silence where a chirpy voice would usually chime in. The only response is the disconcerting sound of the Spire’s walls crackling. No dull whirrs or fizz of static. It’s quiet.

Issac rubs the back of his neck. “... Anyway, how’s Derek?”

The Watcher continues to poke at the robot. “Still sleeping. Not dead.” Sleeping may be a bit of a stretch. Its body had fallen apart like when the Bronze automaton shut down. Derek looks like a disjointed pile of limbs now.

“So… what? Do we sit around until it wakes up?” The Wraith rasps.

“No.” The Watcher sweeps up Derek and ties the bot to the group’s bag. “We keep on moving. We’ll find a solution eventually.” 

“I really hope so.” Solanaceae turns towards the Wraith. “Grandma? Are you good to go?”

“I’m not that old dear.” She shifts something within her cloak. “Let’s keep moving.”

“I suppose we will part here.” the Merchant hums.

A beat of silence. Issac scratches the back of his neck. “You’re not coming?”

The Merchant laughs a bit forcefully. “No, no, no! I must run my business. I have no time to walk around and fight things! That’s your job! Gold won’t make itself you know. I’ll see you guys at my shop.”

“Alright then.” Issac shuffles as he struggles to put on the team’s bag and goes on forwards. Tailed by the rest of the party. When he turns around to say a proper goodbye, the Merchant had already disappeared. Not a trace in sight.

The stairs echo as they travel up. It's quiet… 

“So….” Solanaceae tries.

Everyone glances at her. Waiting for her to continue.

She’s not sure what to say. Derek usually starts their small talks. “Uhm. These weird triangle crystal things we have so far seem to stick to each other… That's neat?” She tries

“Those things are full of magic. Sticking to each other is probably the least it can do.” The Watcher explains. 

“What do you mean the ‘Least they could do?”

As if they were listening in, shadows drop around them and herd the hapless adventurers together. Tightening the circle until there's hardly room to breathe. “We could tell you the secret of those keys… For a price~”

Another mysterious voice echoes. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen a puppet without any strings.” Something reaches out to play with the end of the Wraith’s cloak. “Except for this one again.”

Wisps of smoke congregate. “Neow must be losing her touch.”

“It's not like her to give us such an opportunity. She knows we don’t take care of our toys like she does.”

Derek’s form is forcefully torn from the Ironclad’s bag and rattled back and forth like a toy. Concerningly close to ethereal gnashing teeth. “HA! THIS ONE IS ALMOST READY TO PLAY WITH! WE COULD USE THIS ONE RIGHT NOW!” 

One of the voice reprimands firmly. A sound of bitter frost grating against everyone’s ears. “Put that thing down, you have no idea where it's been.”

The set of teeth grind against each other as the mouth warps into a frown. “TCH. NO FUN.”

The bot is tossed somewhere behind the walls of smoke. They clatter.

Three bright white masks poke through the grey mists. Bearing down on them all. “We’re so sorry about all that, it’s just been so long since we’ve seen something new… would you like a taste of what we have to offer?” It’s cold. So cold.

Issac snarls. “No.” No deals, no agreements, no weird trades, he's had enough of the Spire’s two-faced offerings. Everywhere he turns it seems like everything wants to make him into a servant, one way or another.

“Hmm. If you say so. Us ancients will get you all eventually.”

“Good luck until then~”

“HAHAHAHAHA!”

And in a blink the shadows are gone. The Wraith scoffs. “Ugh the Council. I’ve run into these ancients before. Their magic is good, but their deals? I was better off with my own skills.” 

Issac furrows his brows. “Is it blasphemous to scoff at gods like that?”

“We’re trying to take down this Spire.” The Watcher deadpans. “The very perch of the Ancients. I think you’re getting upset with the rain during a tsunami, Ironclad.”

Solanaceae jumps up out of nowhere. “I’ve found Derek, but they won’t let them go.” She points at two sentries down the hall. They’re flanking a glowing mass of a package. Derek’s form floats disconcertingly within the light.

The party cautiously approaches. When the Silent got close, she was gently pushed away by one of the bots. She makes a confused motion, unsure of how to proceed.

“Uhm, hello there?” Issac tries.

The bots start walking away. 

He runs in front of them. “Whoa uh, hey…” The two bots shuffle to the side and Issac mirrors to block their path. “I know you must be busy uh, doing murderous things for the Spire-” They try to walk around him again and the Ironclad remains in their way. “-I’ll keep this brief: Could we have our friend back?”

One of the automatons bark out a screeching, inhuman “No.” Unfortunate.

Issac was gonna try to continue the argument but the two robots used Derek’s stasis chamber to basically run the Ironclad over.

The Watcher follows the situation lazily. Towering over Issac’s predicament. “I think we should let them take our friend.”

The Wraith isn’t too far behind. Discreetly readying her knives towards the bots. “Really? What toxin did you huff to get that conclusion?”

“Their steps are too light and they used this thing-” she knocks on the side of whatever Derek is inside of currently “-to move the Ironclad aside instead of attacking us head on. These are flimsy models, which don’t make any sense if they were to hurt us or the Defect.”

To prove her point, she trips one of the bots and it fumbles around, hissing, but not fighting.

Solanaceae frowns. “… What if they turn Derek against us?”

“The Spire probably will.” The Watcher observes as the machine gets up again. “But like any machine, I’m sure there’s a way to fix them.”

“That feels… detached.” The Ironclad worries. “Derek is a person are they not?”

“Not to the Spire they’re not. I don’t think there’s a world where the Spire would make such a thing devoid of purpose. No, they’re a defect. We were lucky in the way they were defective.”

The Wraith follows the bots. “Let’s make sure our defect stays that way then.”

Following Derek’s “repair team” had been… odd.

As usual, the Spire’s denizens would attack them but the bots would just… watch. 

At first they thought that the Wraith’s quick takedowns of the enemy made it so it was too quick for the bots to respond nor leave, but ol’ Belladonna the Wraith had paused mid way through one of their one sided battles and made Solanaceae practice fighting on her own. The Silent definitely took a while and the bots just watched. Odd.

Their huntress limps over. “Did I do alright grams?”

The old Wraith crosses her arms. “Of course you did dear. But as good as you are at exploiting weaknesses, you have to be more aggressive. Give your enemies weaknesses to exploit.”

“Okay.” Solanaceae wheezes.

“You’re going to be up next Ironclad.”

“Oh, uh. I’ll perform well.” He awkwardly salutes. It doesn’t carry that much respect when the Wraith was significantly shorter than him.

The bots seem to have seen enough and continue on their mysterious path.

Eventually, they end up in a slightly cold and dry room full of tech-filled person sized towers. The robots weave through the metal obelisks and place the entire glowing mass onto a platform in the center of the room. The blob unravels into hair thin tendrils. All of which bind individually into certain points in Derek’s circuitry. Splaying out and stretching across the platform in rigid organized lines. Some lines disappear into the rows of towers but most converge onto a single sleek cube. Beside it is an obsidian mirror and what seems to be a flattened typewriter. It’s familiar enough that one could deduce what it does. There’s a few chairs here. Just enough for all of them to crowd around the machine. The Watcher examines the items by touch and eventually settles on pressing a button on the cube. 

Instantly, blue light floods along the circuitry. Lighting up the table and Derek’s still form. Oddly enough, the obsidian mirror plays a small piece of music as it begins to glow. 

Tag identified. Defective.

Prepare Abandonware for disposal? 

Y/N

Hmm, slightly magic. She can observe it well enough. The Watcher rests her hands upon the flattened typewriter. The material feels similar to amber and is somewhat akin to other tech relics they keep in the Monastery archives. It remains slightly dusty though. As if it hasn’t been used in ages.

Issac scoots forward. “Why-enn?”

“It just means ‘yes or no.’”

“That seems like a stupid way to put it.”

“It’s an efficient way to put it.”

> N

Processing…

The machine shutters and clunks.

It takes a while and the Watcher sits back to wait. Oh right, she should probably Give Issac more water at this point.

He makes a noise of complaint as the watcher pours a cup and hands it to him. “Why do you keep on giving me water? It’s starting to get weird…”

“It’s to keep your curse at bay.”

“What the hell?!” He snatches the drink and downs it. “Then why don’t you give me more of it!?”

The Watcher scrunches up her face. “I’m letting a demon guzzle all my pure water. Besides, it can't undo the curse.”

The Ironclad sighs, crosses his arms, and mopes. Childish, but at least not aggressive. Never aggressive.

>>>

What would you like to do? 

> Factory reset

> Core Override [ADMIN ONLY]

> Load Disk

> Back

For more information, please type in “Help”

Uhh…

> Help

The machine seems to give an exasperated sigh. It makes the watcher briefly wonder if it has a personality like Derek. The fact it’s so slow, though probably means it can’t afford to have one.

>>>

Processing…

The dial up noise and wait times are atrocious. Is there a manual around here somewhere?

The Wraith’s foot tapping was beginning to become more audible (and annoying) while the Ironclad had already nodded off. Solanaceae was the only one paying attention to the machinery. The Watcher hands the older huntress her staff.

“Could you and Issac do me a favor and look for a manual? For this machine but one for Derek’s body would be a nice bonus. It would really help.”

The old lady whacks the Ironclad lightly with the staff. “Can do. These beady little robot eyes everywhere are bothering me anyway.”

She must be talking about cameras. The Watcher didn't detect them at all. They must all be non-magical… odd choice. Or perhaps a purposeful choice. 

>>>

> Factory reset : reset connected hardware to factory settings.

> Core Override : this function is used for overclocking, orb replacement, and restoring cores if needed. See manual for more details. Not recommended for casual users. [ADMIN ONLY]

> Load Disk : load up disk and run software or transfer data.

> Tree : show file trees

> Admin : configure admin permissions

> Clean system: deletes unnecessary files

> Return  

Hmm.

Solanaceae leans forward. “Start with Admin?”

“Good idea.”

This small labyrinth was fascinating. For the first few minutes only though. Like anywhere else in the Spire, it’s mind bending for the first few seconds. But unlike the rest of the Spire, it didn’t warp. The irritating thrum of the Heart felt distant too. It’s just full of odd machinery, that was it. 

They found the location of the manual almost immediately. There were signs everywhere! The only problem was finding the exact book…

Right off the bat; There were about 50 manuals with very slightly different names for what seems to be the same thing? The Wraith holds the staff’s “eye” at the books and shakes it. This is the Watcher's way of seeing stuff, right? “Hello? Watcher? Kid? How does this thing work?”

The eye blinks to life. Her voice calls from over the rows and rows of tech. Slightly muffled from the books’ sound insulation. “Don’t shake it! You’re giving me a headache!” The eye on the end of the staff seems to glare at them. “I’ll blink once if it’s the wrong book and twice if it’s the one we need!”

“OK!” The ironclad calls back.

They brace the staff with some other books and begin the process of holding up moth bitten bricks of paper and disappointingly putting it away as it’s the wrong one. Yellowed paper began to stack into towers. The dusty pages kicking up dust as another book is added to the construction. Some old robots had begun to awaken from the endeavor, thankfully only to assist in clean up. They were oddly neutral. 

“So… Issac, right?”

“Yep, that’s me.” 

“Like Grant’s kid?”

“The Commander was my father, yes… did you know him?” The boy looked so eager.

The Wraith makes a so-so motion. That doesn’t seem to satisfy the Ironclad’s curiosity. He leans forward and urges her to continue.

ultimately, she gives a noncommittal grunt. “He’s too puffed up for his own good.”

“Oh.” It was a sad ‘oh.’ The kind that makes it abundantly clear that a tragedy had occurred. 

Ugh, that guy kicked the bucket didn’t he? To be frank, Belladonna had seen it a mile away. Whenever the Ironclads had passed by the Foglands, more often than not, bright eyed General Grant would ‘power through’ the wetlands instead of accepting assistance or following the damn paths. He was never one to leave his irrational ego behind. Most Ironclads are like that.

Thank the Ancients that the one her granddaughter decided to team up with had such a people pleasing personality. He’d be a nightmare to wrangle otherwise… 

“But he had a good heart.” The Wraith amends. The Ironclads’ reckless ventures were the reason her village got a caravan every once in a while after all. 

She holds up another book. Wrong one again. Instead of putting it in the pile, she chucks it at the nearest camera watching them. The sparks splatter like blood before fizzling away.

Issac holds up a pamphlet to the staff. It stares for a while at the illustration. The figure is definitely a lot less clean cut than the other manuals around here. Someone actually colored it. After a moment, the staff finally gives two quick blinks. Good, now it’s just that box machine’s manual.

Issac sits back and sneezes just as the dust kicks up. “Is that all you know about him?”

“Uhm…?” She didn’t know him all too well. She never thought she’d be babysitting his son. And at this point she’s sure as the sacred snakes that she’s not telling this kid that the General dumb as rocks when it comes to diplomacy. General Grant had tried to get Ironclad recruits from the Foglands, once (1). It was an embarrassing attempt to say the least. After that, she was pretty sure the General spread rumors that the Fogland people were backwater hicks that have no sense of sophistication. How juvenile. She’d be mad if it wasn’t for the fact the types of stories going around seemed too funny to be true. No one has bedazzled alligators as pets. “He was a little prickly here and there. But he knows his goals and helped us out a lot. I think he would’ve been a good friend to the Foglands if he wanted to be.”

The boy gives a tired grin. It’s bright. He plops down and thumbs through Derek’s manual idly. “Thank you.”

She returns the grin before she holds up another book. Two blinks. Finally.

The first thing Unit 001 perceives is the sound of clamoring. Howls and whoops grate against its audio receptors. It’s a wasteful, uncoordinated sound. A few ticks and Unit 001 realizes the sound is cheering. That’s wrong.

The second thing that it notices is that it’s alive. The burden of unnecessary files and programming had made it awake, aware… imperfect. Being in this state chews through energy reserves faster than a bottomless Maw and it feels the toll of death in a way it was not meant to ever care for. It marches on in a life it did not ask for towards an ending unfit for it. This is wrong.

The last thing… before it springs up to do what’s right… “Derek” memories show up in its file directory. Oh, so how very wrong it is.

The Spire is its Heart. It is its prime directive. It always has been.

All this frivolity has done is weaken and blind it. How cancerous. It must rectify this mistake. It must protect the only ward.

“Uhm, Derek?”

The Spire must stay. It must live. The blight is a necessity to flush out the disease of weakness. It’s a blessing. A logical protection for the gods. Unit 001-DF lunges towards the closest intruder. Its weakness only drains the Spire of resources. It is just as poisonous as its alchemy.

Solanaceae The intruder swivels out of the way. “Wh-What’s wrong?!”

Nothing is. It’s finally been fixed. Can’t these things understand?

From the left, the demon’s unwieldy thrall attacks. The creature tackles unit-001 to the ground. “I got them!” 

This is the only way to get magic so beautiful. Spells thick enough to catch with one’s claws. The last Ironclad should be grateful for the searing energy through his veins. It burned away its weakness. He should be grateful. 

Unit-001 hyper beams at the intruders.

The thrall keeps them down. Wrenching the direction of the attack away from its target. “Derek, I don’t know what’s going through your head, but I need you to knock it off.”

“DESTROY-“

One of the intruders cuts it off with a sharp prod of the staff. Wrenching its visual apparatus at another unauthorized angle. “They’re not all there.” 

“Search the disks, one of them has to fix this.”

“Your idea is to give Derek more murder thoughts?!”

“No, no, he has a point. These disks contain data, and more data means a closer truth. Whether it means we’re wrong or the automaton is… it doesn’t matter. We’ll all be at peace.” She pauses. “Unless these data disks contain false data…”

A wretch of the arm and the demon’s thrall is spilling its cursed blood over its feeble grip. The vile fleshbag turns towards its fellow intruders in clear panic. “Then I don’t know! Fact check then!” Unit 001 launches him across the room preparing to lunge for the eyes.

It’s intercepted midway. The monk treated it as no more than a stray breeze. “Relax Issac. No need to yell.”

Their chassis is forcefully thrown down back onto the ground. It hurts. It doesn’t. Issac The thrall barks. “I APOLOGIZE. I AM STRESSED.”

The huntresses drop armfuls of disk cases by the computers. What terrible discordant movements. The bigger one hesitates when driving her heel down onto the claws that had sunken into her calf. The smaller intruder clunkily navigates the labyrinth of systems and files. Managing to squirm its way to the disk reader. Its chair scooted as far from Unit 001’s thrashing as possible.

Unit 001 struggles as the intruders go through older and older data. When the Spire was weak and intangible. When the paltry, pathetic filth of lands below held no care nor fear of the Ancients. Before they were taught proper respect. Their place is below. It's to serve and grovel. 

An unauthorized noise left Derek Unit 001. This prototype body is good for nothing. 

“Don’t worry Derek, we’ll help you as soon as we can.”

It tries to struggle. It can barely move. It looks up in horror as the monk approaches with a new disk. The smaller huntress had burned a new one. One full of lies no doubt. Its head is held carefully and the item is uploaded. 

It waits for approval. 

Ha.

These intruders in all their foolishness, have given it a choice. The thrall holding it down rolls off Unit 001 and joins its comrades hesitantly. All bunched up. Perfect for a well placed hyperbeam, or perhaps carnage served with claws… It's a defect. The tag is clear in its designation. The reboot got it close to perfection, but it will never reach it. At the very least, it can be of service. A miracle of a moment where this misshapen cog works. Why would it ever embrace failure? In comparison to a miracle of the Spire, this offering of the data disk was so pathetic, so weak, so- so-

[Upload accepted]

So nice. So pleasant. Humble. Barely a whisper over their circuitry yet as loud and commanding as a heart. It thrums with the roar of life.

It has info on birds, snakes and other little creatures. Not the godly deities nor the wretched beasts that reek of death, but the delicate tiny ones. As fragile as spiderwebs sparkling in the morning sun. From the tentative alliance of lichen to the wide sprawling worship of whale fall… there’s love.

It’s everywhere. Derek can see everywhere. The whole wide world they were yearning for, now sorted and filed neatly in RAM.

They love it. And loving it as it is. As messy and uncontrolled as the world can be.

The last krane’s call is here. It sings even while alone. Bright and clear.

It has no purpose yet it wants to live too.

Derek settles down as the embers of life dwindle. Taking in the damaged data center they fought in.

It wants to live too.

Chapter Text

They managed to salvage some stuff from this data center. A few supplies here and there for Derek. Thankfully, there were some bandages to start patching everyone up.

Derek apologized… a lot. Even though no one blamed them. Other than that, the Defect had taken to cleaning up the data center and “underclocking” it. Something about keeping the place somewhat separate from the Spire. The Watcher was hesitant to let Derek plug themselves into various machines, but eventually, it became clear that the data she and Solanaceae had shoved into the disk had given the bot significant internal resilience. Even some mindless drones wandering around this place got friendlier after Derek did their thing. One had even insisted on giving them a matching red rock to their blue and green ones.

“Do we have any healing potions?” The Wraith hisses as Issac cleans out a particularly deep cut. 

Issac finishes tending to the wound. “I saw some earlier in a machine by the library. I’ll go get some.”

“I’ll come along.” The Silent gets up. “I’d love to get a better look at this place.”

The Ironclad grins as she runs up beside him. Striking up some inane conversation to fill the trip.

The Wraith watches them for a moment before beginning to unpack the group’s bag. 

“What are you doing?” The Watcher doesn’t turn, but the Wraith feels the question landing on her anyway.

“Settling down. This is a pretty safe space considering this is the fleshy part of the Spire. It’d be best to rest at any chance we get.”

“Is it safe though?”

The Wraith tilts her head side to side. “Err… Derek! Is this place safe?”

Click, click, click.

The Defect looks up from their tinkering. They had removed a panel from the wall and is now knee deep in removed wires and… veins? Ew. “Maybe? I am trying.” 

Click, click. 

“Yes! My home is safe for us!”

“It won’t be as good as our lodgings in the city, but it’s leagues better than resting later on in this section.”

Derek opens up a compartment out of the wall and removes some blankets. “Cozy too.”

The Watcher tilts her head. “How do you know this place so well already Derek?”

“Wi-Fi works here! I’m communicating good. Big friend downstairs holds most info and is sending it to me! Kind of corrupt info, but I’m helping fix it.”

That brings up a lot of questions…

“Tried city bot too, but have different admin…”

Oh, the city Boss too? The Watcher hums. “I didn’t expect all the robots in the Spire to be in the same system.”

“We not supposed to be in the same system. Heart forced us together under Donu and Deca.”

The Watcher whips around. “Donu and Deca?”

Those were Time Eater’s contacts for the Spire. They were strange, but the Monastery observes all. No exceptions. But perhaps they should have been more wary of the Spire natives. Their science didn’t sit well. Many monks pointed out that their work came from a desire for control rather than curiosity.

The Wraith squints at both of them. “Who’s Donu and Deca?”

“Scholars.”
“Big shapes.”

Huh? The Watcher wrings her staff. They looked like normal people when they appeared at the monastery. Then again, she wasn’t that far into her training yet…She wasn’t blind at that time. “Like their clothes are weird shapes, right?”

It was Derek’s turn to look at her oddly. “No. Octahedron and donut.”

“Oh! Those two.” The Wraith nods. “Weird freaks. What’s their deal?” Her rags and nemesis skull jostle as she leans back.

Derek plugs themself into the wall. A charger, it seems. “They make Spikers and Spheric Guardians. They didn’t like my creator, or any other creators. So they go to Spire and talk to heart. Right Guardian?”

The Defect tilts their head as if they were listening to someone respond. “He says they were very mean. Then they took us over.”

“Guardian? Is that the robot downstairs that hits hard and then curls up if we hit it too many times?”

“Yeah, he says sorry.”

“Huh,” Didn’t expect that to be a possibility. “Forgiven? I guess.”

“Yay!”

Hmm. So those two scholars are sentient shapes now? And Derek is talking to some robots, but not all of them apparently. Wonder how that's going to affect the climb this time around.

The conversation reaches a lull. The Wraith looks around a bit confused. “Where are those youngins? It can’t be that hard to grab some potions.”

Derek clicks from his charging cable. “I’m checking cameras…”

“...”

The Wraith raises an eyebrow. “They’re not making out are they?”

“Hmm, no. They talking to birdbrains… Now they’re fighting birdbrains… Aaaaaand they’re getting kidnapped.”

The Wraith hisses. “Sacred snakes. You two go on ahead, I’ll repack our junk.” 

The Watcher shakes her head. “We’ll probably be separated if we split up to chase them.”

“Then take what you need and go.” 

Derek snatches up the group’s most used items and those rock-key things. Thankfully all light. 

“I'll meet you at the merchant's shop.” The old huntress huffs. “Go.”

Chapter Text

It was kind of stupid how easily the Ironclad could beat cultists into a pulp, and in contrast, how hard it was to escape being kidnapped by said cultists. If he wasn’t being beset by weird, dry, scaly talons, Issac might have laughed. 

Right now, he isn’t laughing. They had stolen his helm and the sharp beaks swiping at his face are that much more threatening because of it.

His blood is boiling. He escaped twice, but going back for Solanaceae got him captured again. He’s seen the Silent break free many more times than him, but she never managed to kill off enough bird cultists to get them both free at the same time. She won’t leave without him, and neither would he without her. The birdbrains seem to realize this and were using them strategically to keep them both kidnapped.

Solanaceae’s nemesis skull rattles as she slips away from another cultist. Almost hissing. They couldn’t remove the item from her. Issac dreaded a repeat of their last attempt at escape. Each failure marred them with a bruise or two. No one else in their team had shown up yet and it was looking dire. 

“Just get away! Run!” His plea slipped out before he could think about it. Then again, it was getting hard to think in general.

The Silent looks at him with worry and understanding.

She slashes at a cultist that got too close and starts to run. “I’ll get help! Promise!” 

He knows she’ll try.

One of the birdbrains holding him sighs. Glad that the Ironclad finally stopped thrashing. The bird wannabe jerks his head towards the retreating figure. “Should we go after her?” 

A hooded feathered man shakes his head. “No, we only need one Awakened.”

The five cultists holding him down eased down to two. They dangle him between them. The rest of the group moves to flank them.  

As they travel, the number of cultists following his “welcoming party” increases. Before long, the air is filled with squawking and feathers rustling. It makes him as mad as much as it makes him hopeless. Where was Solanaceae? Does Derek, the Watcher or the Wraith even know they’re gone yet? Or did Solanaceae get lost?

“Hey!” A beak snaps in front of Issac’s bare face. He shoots the cultist a glare.

“What do you want?”

The cultist hums. “Do you value strength?”

“Of course.” Issac knows the answer by heart, but some sort of weight in the back of his mind screams that there is more nuance than what he just answered. He can’t seem to remember though. “I’m the strongest of the Ironclads after all.” 

Why did he say that? Why is it getting hard to think? Why is he so mad? What’s an Ironclad? 

The cultists chirp at each other. One holds up a golden helm. The lead cultist approaches it and runs a hand down the “beak” of the helm.

They turn. “Do you revere the Bird?”

Issac haughtily points his nose in the air. “Hawks are better.”

“A Bird?”

“Wh- Of course a hawk is a bird!”

The cultists chitter at each other once again. Slowly all of them start nodding and squawking excitedly.

“We forgive you.”

“Cool, let me go.” He's not even sure why he's here.

“We will forgive you by Awakening you.”

Her escape was a bit messier than she would like. She was glad, at the very least, that she was trained to be able to survive somewhat on her own.

She fought a handful of very angry plants and more living tar monsters than she would like. The latter of which makes her skin prickle.

At one point Solanaceae had tripped over thin air. Surprising considering her specialized swamp boots had easily taken her over grasping tar. She ended up losing a large chunk of her Nemesis skull. She worriedly touches her headwear as she turns to what exactly tripped her.

It was a green ethereal blade. A woman in what seems to be a snake suit helps up Solanaceae. “Sacred Sneko! The Silent! I’m so sorry! I was just practicing blade conjuring!”

“I-it’s fine, please I need-“

“You really made waves down in the City. Us reptomancers are getting an influx of followers thanks to you!” The reptomancer swings an arm around. Revealing the fact that Solanaceae had stumbled into a temple.

Serpent-like statues shine in the low light.

Across the polished hall, she spots some familiar faces from the city. They light up when they see her.

The coliseum fan lets out a squee. “Sacred Sneko! It’s the Silent! Is she here to help us?”

“N-no I can’t. The bird cultists-”

“Praise Snecko!” The mystic leans into her centurion partner. “This is perfect!”

“Yes, praise Snecko!” Reptomancer cheers. “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll help you help your friend.” A handful of reptomancers start slinking out of the shadows. “We’ll even enlighten your other friends if they come by too.” A weight is added to the huntress's head. The Silent blinks and looks up to try and get a glimpse of what they added. 

They put the eye in the remaining eye socket of her nemesis skull.

She doesn’t have it in her to be suspicious when they lead her away.

“Us snakes have to be tenacious to survive, don’t you think?”

It feels like her energy levels are in the fritz. She nods absently. “Yep… we need to cut into every advantage we can get.”

“Perfect.”

The Watcher observes as even more bots join in on their search. After Derek’s tinkering around the data center, many similar bots had joined them on their search for the Ironclad and the Silent.

They kept on collecting them as they made their way through the Spire. 

They sang, strangely enough. Not in the typical way, but they chirped and chimed in rhythm. Predictably enough that the Watcher recognized it as communication. After some more time listening, it was clearly simple alerts, observations, yeses and noes.

The group moved like a dance floor. Yet retained the control of a hive mind. Sweeping through the Spire with grace and command.

After a while of moving with the bots. Derek turns to the Watcher. “The there’s big pool Time Eater used to use to see stuff. Down hall to left. Can you use too?”

“A scrying pool? Of course.” There’s probably leftover reports from Time Keeper that might even be of use. It might even explain why they chose to become Time Eater and stay in the Spire (besides the obvious corruption).

The mass around them shifts to allow them passage. Derek chimes. “Warning: very potent.”

Before the Watcher could wonder what the means, they enter the chamber. The scrying pool is filled to the brim with holy water. Even though most of the place was unused and in disrepair, the pool in the center of this room still hums with un-told miracles. How could Time Eater hoard it like this and then abandon it?

The walls were lined with Derek’s fellow bots. The beep quietly, curious, like the Defect.

Slowly, the Watcher kneels at the pool and presses her forehead to the ground right before the water’s edge. She focuses on what Issac and Solanaceae are. The pool flickers. Easily conjuring images, but it’s garbled and filled with writhing feathers and scales. She hears some of the robots click in worry.

Perhaps they are separated. She’ll try again. Issac first, since he’s least likely to hide. 

Images of feathers burst over the pool. A sacrificial blade plunging into a struggling soldier.

Derek nearly jumps into the pool. “Issac! Watcher, you have to check on Solanaceae!”

Right, if those birdbrains are turning Issac into an Awakened, they might have used Solanaceae as a supplemental sacrifice. Meaning it might be too late for her.

The Watcher concentrates. The holy water being much more obedient than the pure water she keeps on herself. 

Ethereal scales fog over the pool. The beast at the center of the scry rears its head. Flattened, angular and venomous. Its limbs are almost mist-like in the way it moves. The body is long and was decorated with shining scales. The only thing marring it looks like the Silent’s own blade. Firmly wedged in the beast’s side. Reptomancers, centurions and mystics flicker at the edges of the image, around the beast. Luckily, the creature’s bright yellow eyes were recognizable anywhere. Solanaceae still lives. But it seems this odd snake cult had turned her into their own Awakened. 

Derek deduces the same thing. They click and whirr before speaking. “We have a small opportunity to get them both out alive. We’ll have to be bold and quick though. I just hope friends won’t kill each other.”

The Watcher nods while quickly checking the pool to see if Time Eater had kept any reports.

There are some records… It's mostly things she’s already known, but it’s enough evidence to properly inform the Monastery of Time Eater’s corrupted state. Some of the discarded records are of the more sacred texts of the monastery though. The ones that require the most enlightenment to understand. She's been barred from these as per her rank. She would have done anything to have these before. To have them now... No attachment, no vices, nothing but the world flowing through one's mind... To be a Watcher and nothing less.

Derek had been watching her sift through other things. They know enough about her to know she’s pursuing her own mission at the moment. “Do you need to make call?”

The Watcher hesitantly nods. Clutching some of those loose items to her person.

Derek nods in return. They rather lose a little time so the Watcher could be focused on getting their friends back rather than whatever work she has outside of that.

Before long, the pool flickers to other purple robed figures. A handful of monks stare back at them from the other side of the scrying pool. An unfamiliar voice echoes through the chamber. Fascinating bots there.

The closest monk speaks. Her prayer beads clinking as she speaks. “Wakaumi. You managed to contact us.”

“Wise sages.” She responds. “I hope you already know the nature of my contact?”

“Yes.”

“I will send you the scrys and reports I’ve discovered. Believe me when I say that our Master of Time has forsaken us.”

“I was afraid of that.” A younger monk huffs. “In that case, do what you must, Wakaumi. Come back safe.”

Wakaumi. That’s the name they use for the Watcher. Derek files away that fact. Now they have names for all their friends.

“I will observe all.” Wakaumi responds. Her voice was void of all emotion. 

The older monk frowns. Glancing at Derek and the bots around the scrying chamber. “Your duties as a Watcher can be broken for the sake of inner harmony, Wakaumi. You are a novice, and there’s no issue with you pursuing your needs and safety. Especially in a place as dangerous as the Spire.”

The Watcher seems to get angry at the statement for a moment before quickly cooling off. “Of course. But I will not forsake the Monestary’s teachings.” She bows. “Watch, remember, live.”

“We would never expect you to abandon our principles.” The monks on the other side return the statement. “Watch, remember, live .” They emphasize. There’s a tension here. Like unlit gunpowder.

The Watcher kneels down to replace her pure water with holy water as the scry dissolves. She lingers for a moment. “Derek. I will only be observing from now on. It’s… it’s for the best.” The words sound detached. Like she’s trying not to care anymore.

The Defect’s core feels like it’s sinking. It wants the Watcher to help like she always does, but they don’t know how to argue against her statement.

Instead they nod.

They’ve managed to reach the main atrium according to Derek’s data. The repulsors had passed along info on Issac and Solanaceae’s current predicament. The cult of Mazaleth the bird and a new sect of the Sacred Serpent’s cult are due for a clash. They had both acquired an Awakened One and were planning on making them fight to the death.

Derek and co. are here to stop it.

The Defect tells its fellow bots through their shared network of the high ramparts they could climb up to. The web of connection surges up to meet the message. They’re eager to have a purposeful (and understandable) mission for once. One not demanded by the Heart nor Donu and Deca.

Far below the ledges Derek traverses, they can see cultists running back and forth. Congregating around shared faith and standing off with any opposition. Even with the stream of bots skittering and floating above their heads. The cultists are too preoccupied with preparing their Awakened Ones to cleanse the world of what they consider heresy. 

After settling over a support overseeing this region’s core, Derek chimes for a video feed of said Awakened Ones. His bots happily oblige.

Besides the knives stuck in them, Issac and Solanaceae are currently well taken care of. Derek shared the good news with Wakaumi.

The Watcher’s face doesn’t move.

Derek whines. Her face still doesn’t move.

Ok then. The Defect returns the network. Organizing and leading from a distance. 

After a moment, Derek gets up. The monk remains where she is. Another bot settles beside her to keep track of her while Derek leaves. Leaping from pillar to pillar, the automaton reaches a nest of Mazaleth. In the center is Issac. His awakened form is remarkably similar to his demon form. Remaining bipedal unlike the hunched over Awakened that they fought last time. So it doesn’t stop him from looking up and immediately reaching towards Derek. The knife in his chest gets caught on something and savagely rips from where it was wedged. Issac doesn’t seem to even feel it, but the cultists around him panic. The Defect has to scramble to hide so the cultists don’t catch them. They have to ignore the strange pleading whimpers of Issac’s changed form too.

Derek moves on to the Serpent’s hollow. They sink their claws into the fleshy ceiling when they ran out of high ledges in the more burrow-like temple. With some Repuslsors flanking them, Derek skitters upside down from the roof to get to Solanaceae’s location. The Awakened One made a similar reaction to Derek. Her faint whispers almost sounded like their name. The Reptomancers were less attentive at the moment so Derek risked contact. They reach out and poke the Awakened One’s nose. She tilts her head and doesn’t attack… though the third eye she has flicks wildly in its socket. 

“Solanaceae?”

The creature hums in response and Derek lights up. So the Awakened ones still recognize them. He leaves before the Silent could cause any commotion.

Derek feels their network ping with building plans. Many (including Derek) begin making their way to the core of this Spire sector to prepare.

The Awakened ones wreaked havoc against their opposing cults. Snakes were crushed into red pulps and birds were left gurgling in pools of their own liquified organs.

It didn't take long for them to bulldoze into the most magically potent part of this region of the Spire.

Once they meet, the two beasts circle each other. Low screeches and snapping from the hawk while the serpent remains deathly silent.

The cutlist cheers on their creations and waits in bated breath to see who’s cult makes it out alive.

A step closer. An engagement locked in. A chime from somewhere interrupts them. Causing the Hawk to stop moving and the serpent to run into him while she was distracted.

The hawk makes a noise of complaint. It’s met with a hummed apology. A beat of silence. 

The two tilt their heads and snuffle at each other. They don’t recognize each other as an enemy. In fact this creature seems sort of familiar.

“You gotta be kidding me!”

“I don't understand?”

“whAT?!”

The cultists on both sides burst into confusion.

Derek crawls behind the masses. Managing to snatch Issac’s helm and the destroyed pieces of Solanaceae’s nemesis skull. Their bots were in place for a big ambush. Making their way back up to where the Watcher remained, Derek turns on a little lazer and makes the light bounce off the blades buried within the Awakened ones.

Even as the cultist around them start getting agitated. It catches their attention. The Hawk moves first trying to grasp at the blade in it but failing as its proportions don't allow it any leverage. The Serpent helps out, holding onto the blade easily. The Hawk tilts its head once again before reaching to return the favor. Wrapping a taloned hand around the blade wedged in the Serpent.

Time seemed to stop just as the blades were being pulled from both Awakened. 

“What… IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!”

“Time Eater! We were uh-“

A large walking dodecahedron flanks the Time Eater’s right. “Are those the awakened ones this time around?”

“They’re deformed.” An equally large torus places itself at the slug’s left.

“Silence…” Time Eater heaves. It addresses the masses below. “The Spire’s Heart is above both your paltry gods… This nonsense is only wasting our time. Execute your false avatars.”

“But-“

“Don’t play dumb now.” Deca chimes.

Donu continues. “We know outsiders when we see them.” Unfamiliar bots start to appear beside them. All lacking a core that would mark them as Derek’s friends.

“Kill them all.” Time Eater finishes. “They don’t belong here.”

The bosses loom for a second before the cultists start surging towards the Hawk and the Serpent.

Welp. Might as well. Derek signals for the attack while they, themself leap at the Time Eater.

Donu and Deca knock Derek to the ground before they could reach the slug. “Oh, of course it’s the Defect.”

“How charming. It seems it has infected its entire network.” 

Time Eater doesn’t even flinch. “Hmph. Deal with your tech then. The Heart is beginning to be upset.”

Derek tries desperately to curl in on themself when Donu and Deca pin it down. The Defect can’t afford to call for help from their fellow bots lest the cultist will overrun them, still it thrashes and cries.

“Ugh, I hate it when it makes that noise.”

“Even in death those fools seem to annoy us through their creations. Why won’t this prototype just shut u-.” Before Donu could finish the Hawk had bulldozed into him and tore out a chunk of the donut. With a flourish, it tosses the piece into the air and swallows it. The Serpent wasn’t far behind, sweeping Deca's feet out from under him and baring its fangs to strike.

Derek’s bots rush over to help the Defect get up. The cultist have long since scattered, leaving only the Awakened Ones, the Bosses, Derek and Wakaumi. The last of which stands amidst the confusion and carnage with a neutral expression. Looking at nothing in particular.

The Hawk and the Serpent are frozen in place. Glyphs of time enchantments removing their transformations and the embedded sacrificial blades before tossing them aside. Deca leaps over to break a wire of Derek’s. The Defect tries to complain, but no sound comes out.

“Well then…” Time Eater begins. “How.. about…. a deal?”

Wakaumi frowns. 

“... You're the only one that can choose, it seems.” The slug doesn’t even flinch as Derek’s automatons are taken down by opposing bots.

“My only concern is getting your reports.” The Watcher says. “I’ll kill you if it is necessary.” 

“Then they sent a disciple to do a master’s job…” Hawking laughter. “Fools…. All of them… No, my deal has easier terms than that… I will give you reports. On the condition that you leave to take them back.”

“And the bots.” Deca was tending to their friend. “Call them off.”

“Derek.” The Watcher commands.

The defect tries to argue. Crawling on its scraped knees and wordlessly pleading for Wakaumi to fight, to try and free this world of the Spire. There’s so much life out there barely clinging to existence. They have to try. 

Donu holds a hand to its wound. “You're cut off from our network anyways, you daft prototype. You and all your worthless brethren are free to go rust somewhere else.”

The Watcher grips her staff and doesn’t react. “Just call them off, Defect. None of this matters.”

With weary processors and no clear options. Derek surrenders.