Take Up the Cross – Chapter 12: Flesh Stairs

Adris lays on the ground bleeding out, watching Serras, the only person who has ever cared about him, leave. His blood is already cooling, though the warm stains on his hands are from the blood of the bodies around him.

 

The fog closes in all about him, a loud drone starting to sap his mind.

 

Almost content to die…

 

 

 

… His body is now being dragged.

 

Opening his eyes, he sees still forms to his sides moving by.

 

With ears and tails, strange uniforms and weapons, and golden blood painting them and the floor…

 

 

 

Adris realizes that he is responsible for these bodies, but was neither touched by their blood, nor is he their reaper.

Looking above him, a stalking figure pulls his arm as it moves ever forward.

 

 

 

Pale, gaunt, and stained in gleaming red and gold, it…

 

 

 

… picks him up, and pulls him around to behold its face.

 

 

 

The golden eyes are filled with affection, malice, and dark humor.

A womanly outfit designed to express sexuality covers a proud nightmare.

 

The creature doesn’t lay blame for their murders upon him. If anything, it seems quite happy to have carved them up.

As if it only lacked a proper reason before Adris appeared.

 

 

 

Adris’ body is reflected in its shining eyes.

 

The sins of this creature, and his, are likely very similar.

Just, one is more fortunate and efficient than the other.

 

 

 

Licking its red lips, the long, blood-stained tongue then enters his mouth…

 

… whispers worm into his mind the longer they touch, the droning violently rejecting them as it vies for Adris’…

 

… as it kisses him lovingly.

 

 

 

It then pulls him away,…

 

 

 

“See you soon, LiTtLe BrO…”

 

 

 

… cackles, rears him back, and flings him to…

 

 

---

 

 

Adris finds himself floating face down in a stony pool, the shining surface of the bottom reflecting a dim blue glow from overhead.

He can hear rushing water around him, the movement of it slowly spinning him as he floats. Even face down in the pool, he can breath by inhaling.

The feeling is unusual, but not painful.

 

(What was that battle?)

 

Adris is perplexed by the atypical carnage of the fight: combatants signaling their attacks; strange aura techniques that summon fantastical doors to fell planes and call forth the spirits of the damned; transformations from human-like into chaotic fiend.

The cat woman Miria had used numerous aura tools, though no aura reaction had been felt, only the fake aura of these “spells.”

The bunny Hoime had used power like a master aura user would draw out of nature, yet its form was far more perverting of reality.

 

(A burst of pure intimidation that can cow committed attackers, form doors to block escape, and lock everyone into a dance of death?)

 

Lycia’s actions alone produce the most disconnect between this battle and one from his homeland.

 

(Lycia, when transformed, exuded an unassailable presence, as though any number of attackers might meet as equal a threat as one would. Xin was a place where even the mighty, save for truly ascended beings, could be brought down by the attrition of massed attacks.)

 

A power that grows with the threat facing it is illogical, but has a mysterious flavor to Adris.

The deeper Lycia descended into madness, the more she owned the room of rushing waters.

 

(Is this what she was referring to with the description of “one’s Odds”? The more one places on the line, the stronger the fight you may bring? The more you risk to lose…?)

 

It’s a tantalizing feature, though he cannot fully grasp how combat even works, yet.

 

Surviving a mortal blow is rare, even for aura users. A wound will weigh one down, regardless of where it is given.

But, not so on Zennia. Lycia had gotten stronger after taking several and a comparatively normal fighter like Miria had not slowed down after receiving mortal ones.

 

(Their tactics matched this, too. More daring. Less conservative in offense. Favoring the bold and impressive.)

 

Adris marked their dynamic leaps, dodges, and weaving, a style of combat Adris cultivated by necessity of his offensive weaknesses. In their hands…

 

Miria was a lunging, spinning dervish of death, while Lycia was a beast with sapience that could shift with jerking, inhuman movements at will. One flashed a weapon of black steel with beautiful precision, while the other whipped sharp claws at the perfect distance to deny counterattacks.

Their fight was far too beautiful and injurious. Acrobatic movements were turned into an offensive duel.

 

(All of the odd movements and the battle’s flow… I am missing terribly important information hidden in plain sight. Why did the bat girl go down in one hit, while others endured longer? Of nearly equal size, Lycia’s attacks were more destructive than Miria’s, though the mass should be similar. I felt no discernible power difference in martial prowess, and without aura…)

 

Despite what was witnessed murdering Adris’ sense of logic, he is…

 

Fascinated.

 

 

 

But, also still breathing unknown water.

 

(A personality more terrible than first glance would give away, she at least wasn’t totally insane.)

 

The medicine she forced on him leaves his lungs feeling full, the strength in his muscles sapped by the cold water.

Dizzy, he paddles his arms to find the edge of the pool he’s in, hitting a hard side and pulling himself out lethargically.

 

The air is even colder on his soaked body, the clinging water an added burden.

 

He begins to choke as he tries to exhale. The water in his lungs is forced out as he gags, fear rising as he chokes.

 

Falling out due to his rush, he retches helplessly while lying on the floor, feeling a slimy substance coming from his lungs along with the exiting water.

It spatters out in thick globs to his side.

 

(That bitch… didn’t say it would hurt.)

 

A lasting soreness spreads through his chest. This discomfort might simply have fueled her satisfaction if she would’ve witnessed it.

Still, he is no longer thirsty.

 

(What I need is someone that can help me put the pieces together for everything I’ve seen since I first woke up. I need to know what I can do to have… equal strength and survive.)

 

Adris possesses disparate parts:

 

Oaths that bear consequences.

Contests designed to force what he can only call “interesting fights”.

A cross from another world that still functions.

 

(And, if I guess right…)

 

The darkness of the ceremony had pierced into the cross; yet, Adris feels no more powerful himself, excepting the “gifts” it has imparted.

 

(A reservoir of power with a jealous, yet enticing, defender is still a reservoir that can be tapped…)

 

Of the powers of this world, Lycia had told him that even hers are achievable through efforts made.

 

(“Gaining power by challenging this world and others”. That sounds far too appe-)

 

 

 

As he opens his eyes while thinking, figures loom before him.

Adris jumps up, adrenaline racing, as he readies to attack the…

 

 

 

(What?)

 

… statue before him.

 

A statue of a woman wearing real, thin cloth over her privates is leading a man, similarly clothed.

They are carved to appear to be moving toward the pool Adris fell out of, a lifelike moment to them as if they were captured by a real person being replaced by stone.

 

Several pools of differing heights and floor strata are around him in this oval room, lit by a large, blue-fired crystal dome overhead. The polished surfaces of the room reflect blue glow all around, a sort of mystic, dreamy atmosphere inviting his rapture.

Everything smells like flowers, with the water itself seemingly infused with a perfume.

 

Numerous figures can be found all around: some in states of repose, bathing; others chatting with each other, silent conversations that will never end; a few couples are even in what appear to be amorous embraces.

Rushing water is the only sound, blue waterfalls descending into the pools which spill over in places into floor drains.

 

The largest wall’s art is a diver’s nightmare.

 

In an underwater scene, strange crustacean organisms of ponderous size swim about between kelp and coral.

The central wall behind the highest pool depicts a girl with golden hair dressed in a white dress, a bonnet low over her head, pouring a dark, purple fluid into the water. The crustaceans are fleeing the liquid as it mixes with their home, polluting it.

The underwater life caught in the purple cloud dies.

 

 

Adris can feel the timeless emptiness of this room. The living are replaced by perfect stone, frozen in a moment, while life is depicted as succumbing.

(This Alchemaster abhors living creatures?)

 

Shivering, Adris spots towels on a large stone shelf near a wall opposite the girl’s mural.

Creeping over, he sees that there is a door behind the imposing furniture, wary of it as he hides by the shelf.

He takes towels without reservation, wondering at the fate of someone as he dries himself.

 

(She wouldn’t lose.)

 

Having interacted with Lycia for even that short time, he sensed a personality that wouldn’t buckle to such opposition; though, he’s a little surprised that she didn’t choose to escape with him.

 

(Is it that she didn’t have a choice?)

 

An air had come upon them all that felt both ominous and final, as if those who chose to engage in violence had no exit other than to resolve it.

Lycia herself seemed to be the focal point of the binding struggle that gripped everyone but him.

 

(Is this what an “oath” means? Was her howl a promise to defeat them? No, an oath is something between two people, isn’t it?)

The Modi that guide the actions of this world’s residents lack concrete form for Adris, forced as he is to rely on descriptions and use inference.

 

(”Beast of Conquest,” was it? Having such a title, she felt like the enemy of everything that wasn’t her. Even I was almost… pulled in, towards the end. She held such a secret-)

 

While drying himself in his melancholy, Adris suddenly becomes agitated, a thought clicking in his mind.

 

“My pack!”

 

His previous thoughts cease, replaced by urgency.

Putting the pack on the shelf where he has emptied a space, he examines the contents.

 

Exposed to water, but not damaged, all of his possessions from Xin were already preserved in protective, water-resistant oiled cloth; but, the parchment and materials he stole are…

 

“No.”

 

Gently rolling out Symphonia’s parchment, he checks the small portion that he exposes to see that it’s…

 

 

 

Blurry.

 

 

 

The woman’s ink was of poor quality and the water has ruined the text.

Adris slams his fist on the parchment, staining the underside of his hand.

 

(How the fuck am I supposed to reverse it now!)

 

Adris’ anger at the pig woman resurfaces, as the only reason he’d kept her chilling and cringe-inducing notes was that they might help him fix his accursed body.

 

Now they are completely illegible, leaving him without hope of remembering even half of the inane things she’d written down.

Only the plundered chemical reagents and powders that were sealed in containers escaped the water.

 

(And I still don’t have a single source of strength or leverage! No aura, no weapons, and now no Lycia!)

 

Calming himself after time passes, Adris resumes checking his inventory.

 

Aside from some rations and his permanent traveling gear, his only extraneous possessions are the four cups from the Way of Four sect he kept for drinking and the last small bottle of his honey wine. Mercifully, both items listed are intact.

Adris dries everything using the slightly dusty towels around him.

 

 

 

A small ticking sound begins to round the shelf on his left, causing him to freeze.

 

(I felt nothing!)

 

Adris is caught off guard yet again, a constant occurrence since arriving in this hellish place.

 

 

 

{Adris holds the cross before him. A creature rounds the corner, its eyesight taken from it as it pledges-}

 

(Fuck off!)

 

Adris’ splitting headache returns, the cross attempting to entice him in his distraction.

 

 

 

From around the corner, a bluish-orange beak pops out.

 

A strange, alien bird with two beaks and black feathers, a large beak in the front and a smaller one in the back angled diagonally up, sways out fully into view.

Oddly, the creature has no eyes.

Three-feet tall and wearing a gold-and-blue tie around its yellow bird neck, its comically thin body holds rolled towels to the front and back of it.

 

Its wings…

 

(Come from the wrong directions. How does it fly.)

 

The stork-like, vestigial black bird’s wings come out roughly from the front and back of its body, strong enough to hold four towels each.  Its four legs grant the creature a strange swaying motion as it moves, the back ones never fully leaving the ground as it shuffles forward.

Nearing Adris, its beak turns toward him.

 

Its front beak clatters for a moment, before opening.

Instead of a mouth, a large, yellow, blood-shot eye peers out, the saliva of the bird’s toothed beak actually the tears that moisturize it.

 

(How is it going to eat me, then?)

 

 

 

Adris stares at the bird, as it stares at him.

It makes no motion to attack and seems largely passive.

 

Taking a chance, Adris collects his gear back into his pack, putting it back around him and stepping away.

 

The bird stops looking at him, peering down at Adris’ feet.

 

(What?)

 

Looking down, Adris sees the towels he used to dry himself.

Sensing an impropriety, he picks them up off the floor, which prompts the bird to look first to him, then behind him.

Adris turns to see a brass basket, tall and open.

 

The bird, again, stares.

 

Adris walks over slowly, staring back at the bird as he does so and drops the used towels within.

 

The bird inclines its head, giving a short nod, before walking up to the spot where the towels were taken from.

Depositing fresher ones there while slowly whirling, allowing its back wing to drop off, it finally sways back the direction it came from.

 

There’s silence as it leaves.

 

 

 

(Am I cowed by storks, now!?)

 

Adris cannot reclaim his concentration, nor stem his irritation. He’s unsure whether the demonic house servant bears him ill will or not.

 

(It could be going to get help.)

 

Adris traces its path, coming out into a grand hall, fashioned in the same way as the one at the Works’ exit.

Peering out from the marbled room he’s in, he looks right to see the bird trooping slowly down the dark and foreboding hall.

 

(Two paths, as Lycia said. The right path is the “correct” path, but only with Lycia.)

 

The voice from earlier had been quite thorough, very intimidating.

Her voice had tried to scare him.

 

(And the…)

 

Random images assault him as he falls to his knees with vertigo.

 

 

 

{An entire city bows to worship a man, soldiers like the Xin’Reh marching before him. Crazed people slit their bellies open, singing his praises. The man shifts like shadows weaving with shaking branches to become Adris, seated before legions of blue-coated or oddly uniformed creatures, who chant their supplications-}

 

 

 

(Fuck!)

 

Adris is too tired to properly resist, having no chance to rest since waking up on the table. He picks the cross up out of his bandoleer and slams it against the carpeted floor, a dim ring as he hits.

 

(Shut the fuck up! I’ll melt you down, the first chance I get, and buy grilled skewers with you!)

 

His anger only momentarily brings a pause to its attack, leading to Adris attempting to circulate aura to constrict it off.

The mutated aura finally circulates a bit after he intensely wills it, both easing his tiredness and calming him.

 

 

 

The foremost priority for Adris is permanently dealing with this cursed object.

 

Kneeling on the ground, Adris looks left.

(She implied I should not go this way.)

 

Pausing briefly, he considers his relationship with her after resuming standing.

 

(Lycia is dangerous. No matter how much she may… redeem herself by saving me, I can’t help but wonder if it was done only because she wants me for herself.)

The woman has aided him, but has also…

 

(Tried to steal my mind. Dug into my heart with false kindnesses. Proved how helpless I am against her.)

 

No matter how Adris feels about her, he cannot turn away from one, singular point of contention.

 

(Being fought over is not the same as being protected. If she truly cares about me, then that’s even worse, because she only prefers me for the reason that I’m… “perfect” for her tastes.)

Lycia believes Adris is a boy, one who has both amnesia and little ambition. Something to be coveted and protected.

 

(As a guardian for a moment she was excellent; but, as a long term companion? I can never make that woman mine. She succinctly implied that she will never be owned.)

 

Even if he puts up with her and pretends to be subservient for a while, she’ll see through it.

And she isn’t some naive, blushing virgin. She is a powerful, sexual creature. Adris will be, at best, a well-kept toy.

 

(She’ll find out one day that I’m much more than a lost child. On that day she will decide to mold me to fit her tastes, no matter the difficulty or my resistance. Her attitude was of a woman who has raped others often and with great skill, taken what she wanted without care and only tasted pleasure doing it. No matter how… exciting it was…?)

Adris recoils at his own admission, feeling that something has changed about his sexual tastes.

 

(That thought alone means I cannot be around her.)

 

The boy starts walking down the “wrong” hall.

 

Always leading him by the nose and controlling everything he does.

Staying ahead of any opportunities to break free from her.

Removing all of his personal choice…

Turning all situations to her advantage, primarily…

 

Treating him like a pet.

 

 

 

This is his [Fate] if he waits for her.

 

 

 

(I refuse to go back!)

No matter how lovely she is, Adris cannot endure a life of that again.

 

Adris made an oath to himself a long time ago.

 

On the night Fatso popped due to Serras’ tortured, yet gracious, gift of murdering him, Adris felt relief from being “owned” for the first time since he’d been sold out to the Xin’reh. He resolved to never lose that feeling.

 

 

 

Adris runs as fast as he can, the danger he feels from Lycia’s existence driving him on.

 

 

 

(Thank you, Lycia. For being right in believing you, that I will owe you for.)

The fact that he feels like he’s abandoning her, after she risked everything to save him, stings.

 

 

 

And also confirms his choice, after that feeling subsides.

(If I don’t break free now, I never will. Most of all…)

 

Their relationship will never be one that he desires, anyway.

 

(You introduced yourself as a sister, not a partner. I have no idea what having an older sister truly entails, however. Not that it matters… It’s a relationship created by the fires of a single, fearsome event, thus it could never last.)

Of sisters, Serras would have been considered a younger one, so having an older one might produce an equally inauspicious end.

 

 

 

(Although it’s… a bit sad that I never got to properly fuck her…)

The mansion’s constant air of temptation brings to Adris’ mind a dish he will never have the chance to sample.

 

 

---

 

 

Standing before a golden archway, Adris peers out into a grand stairway.

 

This hall had been a straight journey, no doors or branches off from it.

The only thing of note had been a feeling as if he’d crossed over into a new space as he passed between two, spaced stone archways.

 

A large, finely tailored blue carpet cascades down the entirety of the wide stairs ahead, the middle path of the spiraling stairway containing an oxidized copper banister at average height.

The walls of the stairway are mirrored gold the entire distance, flat and reflecting the surfaces within.

Blue drapes travel along from the top, becoming low-hanging in certain areas before lifting back to the ceiling.

 

The space seems oddly octagonal, more like a tube than Adris feels comfortable imagining. The golden ceiling does not even appear to be the underside of the next level of stairs.

 

(A winding stairway like this seems like a gross waste of space.)

 

The light filling the space is from an unknown source, for Adris sees none of the common blue sconces and lanterns.

The radiance seems to come from the gold walls, themselves.

 

Carved into the archway along the top, written into the solid gold, Adris discovered a written declaration upon arriving:

 

 

 

“On spiraling flesh, you shall ascend. The summit of authority awaits: the [Decadence of Gold], eternal example of greed’s [form], guarding the Throne of the [Origin of Greed], proof of the [soul]’s immortality.”

 

 

 

A line placed underneath, separate from the first ones, reads:

 

“Seek eternity, yet become only sustenance.”

 

 

 

It can be said that Adris has honed a sense of danger over his life, especially from being forced to deal with traps set by capricious and often malevolent men of learning.

 

 

 

“Yeah, this is literally a death chamber, right?”

 

 

 

Adris feels zero subtlety to this threat.

 

The stairway seems safe enough, for he can’t make out any imperfection in it that indicates a hidden panel or trap.

Yet…

 

(It’s like it wants to point out how doomed you are.)

 

Unlike even the Emperor’s last trap, which was a deceptive contest of impish cruelty, this passage is an absolute challenge.

It makes neither an offer of possible safety, nor belies any existing danger.

 

 

 

It exists to be conquered, if you dare.

 

 

 

Another sign nearby does offer help, though.

 

“Mid-tier.” On this brass plaque, an embellished rose lies next to these words.

Above it, “Upper-tier,” “Decadence of Gold,” and, finally, “Alchemaster’s Throne.”

 

(Yes, that seems like the safest direction.)

 

Below it?

 

“Bottom-tier,” and “Pillar.”

 

(“Bottom-tier”, prepare yourself, I’m coming.)

 

 

 

Adris leans against the wall, considering his plan as he looks into the open stairway.

 

(… Eventually, at least. While I can return to the intersection… I run the risk of encountering Lycia. Assuming she regained her sanity, she may lose it again after seeing I ignored her orders. She’s even more likely to do something “rash”…)

 

 

 

A sound comes to his ears, muffled, but approaching him from the dark hallway behind.

 

A pattering of tiny feet.

 

Turning to look as he flattens himself against the wall, Adris sees a familiar outline exiting the darkness.

 

With two beaks, the swaying black stork comes out into the light of the stairway.

 

(How does it appear like that!?)

 

Adris is confident in his hearing, able to pick out sounds at great distances, especially when there’s no competing noises.

Even in this new world, he can somewhat make out the “auras” of creatures nearby, so long as they are within a perceptible location to him.

 

 

 

But this stork possesses no feeling of life.

 

 

 

At a distance of some thirty feet, the bird had simply appeared from the dark.

Bearing a stained, silver chalice in one wing and similarly metallic, tall candle-holders in the back, the bird troops onward, its destination the archway in front of Adris leading to the stairwell.

 

(It moves like a ghost until it’s upon you? Not likely.)

 

Though this mansion is much firmer in its dimensions than the great Expanse he’d left, Adris is certain that the space of the mansion in its entirety is equally as twisted.

It’s laid out as if something actively controls the areas themselves.

 

Ever since he’d left the Wondrous Works through that great gate, there has been a… presence just at the range of his senses, giving every room the quality of being a living creature in its own right.

 

(A presence which seems conscious of me, but not focused? How can I describe a sentience that exists only in space?)

 

As the bird nears Adris, it gives him a cursory nod while passing by him. Adris notices that it doesn’t have the same beak color as the previous one, being yellowish-red like a splash of fruit in juice, instead.

 

(There are more than one of these creatures.)

 

As it crosses the thresh hold of the stairwell with no hesitation, it walks to the center, before it turns right with great fanfare and begins descending it.

 

(These things are allowed?)

 

Adris’ hand is to his head, rubbing as he thinks.

 

(The other way will be Lycia, at best, and more monsters, at worst. This cross’ effects are growing. My only chance would seem to be seeking help outside of this place with actual humans. A town called Petripolis…)

 

Adris thinks of the numerous prisoners in the Works.

 

(It’s likely that there’s many people there. Someone powerful must exist that can deal with this burden.)

 

Images try to rise to his mind, though Adris is focusing more, now.

They fail to come to his sight, sinking back.

 

Wasting no more time, he gambles everything on a single thread, noticed by Adris even in the uncertainty of his situation.

 

(Lycia said… I have no power.)

 

The bird seems to possess nothing about it, whereas Lycia had a definite presence.

The bunny sage’s atmosphere had been overwhelming, in comparison to both.

 

If Adris can ascertain this feeling of “power” when viewing something, then it must be similar to Lycia’s measurements of him.

 

(It could be a trap, but the “presence” isn’t near. While the trap may exclude servants of this great evil, it’s also possible that it’s not easy to be noticed without this power?)

 

 

 

Adris steps through the arch, coming into the stairwell.

 

Quiet as a mouse, he examines his surroundings.

Touching the golden wall panel, its smooth surface is…

 

(Cold, as it should be.)

 

Moving his foot over the rich, blue carpet, it remains plush and gives way to his boot tip.

 

Adris whistles, ready to dive back to the archway.

 

The sound simply echoes up and down the stairway.

The bird he can see in the distance doesn’t stop descending.

 

 

 

Adris hurries after it.

 

 

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