60. Her Brother''s Bearer


    “It doesn’t end here!” Meetra uttered in the thin, cracking voice of a soul who’d been stripped of all her powers. “Not like this… I won’t let it!”


    The sundering skeleton had shrank back to its original shape and proportions—back inside a skinny Rakshasa woman who was not much sturdier in build than a Serac Edin. What was more, her clothes and her skin were still torn up where her own bones had penetrated, leaving her a bloody mess who looked Ksanas away from completely falling apart.


    With all that and more, it was a miracle she was standing at all.


    Serac attuned to Pathsight, ringing with one and only one question: what the hell is going on? The only answers she got came by way of missing elements.


    Meetra’s HP hadn’t gone to zero; instead, she no longer had an HP bar at all. The label that had designated her as an [Avatar of the Bone Lord] was also missing. As far as Pathsight was concerned, this feeble collection of crumbling tissue was no longer Aberrant.


    To Serac’s eyes, however, the woman and the fact of her still being alive couldn’t be further from normalcy. I’ve never killed—let alone fought—anyone or anything Pathsight didn’t explicitly tell me was an enemy. Plans and instincts alike failed her then, and she defaulted to what she did best whenever she was lost: ask her friends for help.


    “What do we do?”


    She turned to Zacko, and saw right away that he was in no state to give an answer. For the man was already half-encased in Bone, with [Ossify] developing rapidly in the absence of a Trinket’s protective effect. One of his legs was already rooted to the floor, and half of a wry smile had set in stone, rendering him incapable of much more than staring back at his partner with one wide eye.


    Whatever Serac were to do, she needed to be the one to decide, and she needed to do it now.


    “What are you waiting for?” That was when Trippy cut in with a noticeably harsh rebuke. Gone was his usual polite monotone, revealing the impatient taskmaster underneath. “Finish her. Finish the fight!”


    Trippy was right, of course. Aberrant, Anchored, Wayfarer—none of it mattered now. Before Serac’s disbelieving eyes stood a soul who meant her harm. A soul who was deserving of punishment. If Serac were to smite Meetra now, she could confidently call it the most appropriate use of that word she’d ever known. So, what possible reason did she have to hesitate?


    Across from her, Meetra took one lurching step forward. At the same time, her sword fell from her hand and clattered onto the floor. Serac could easily see why, for this ‘hand’ was more a split end of torn muscles and broken bones than anything that resembled functional anatomy. The sight of it, incredibly enough, hit her with a pang of sympathy, which she quickly forced herself to ignore.


    Serac raised REVOLVER and fired in a rush, marksmanship be damned. It took her two more confused tries at flicking a weightless trigger before she realized she’d forgotten to reload.


    “Shit, shit, shit!”


    Just one. One bullet should be all she needed to end this miserable creature before her, but even that one bullet took a seeming eternity to secure in its chamber. And by the time she managed to arm her weapon again, the creature had already lurched all the way into point blank range.


    Serac fired—once more into Meetra’s face. Along with REVOLVER’s report, Meetra’s head sprang backwards with tremendous force. But the Maiden stopped short of falling down altogether. Somehow, she’d held on… by wrapping her torn and broken mess of a hand around Serac’s neck.


    No, not exactly her neck, but rather the object that hung from it. A shapeless clump of Meetra’s flesh, blood, and bone had found purchase upon the bloodstone cameo that was [His Sister’s Keeper]. And she used that leverage to pull herself up—one last time—to leave Serac with an image that could only arise from the true depths of hell.


    Searing red eyes whose whites had blackened. Streaming tears of pure blood, like tributaries to the Sanzu River of yore. All framed by a wrathful sneer—cracked teeth and burning throat that even now squeezed out a final pledge.


    “I’ll not let any of this go to waste.” Meetra’s voice grated and snapped, like a mangled skeleton being crushed to powder. “Carry on and defy our Lord if you must, Wayfarer. But now, you’ll do so while knowing and bearing the weight of my sacrifice. My brother’s and my people’s sacrifice. All that I fought for and more that I left behind—I leave it all here, as memories encased in Flesh, Blood, and Bone. My Bone, my brother’s Blood… and your Flesh!”


    With that, Meetra went up in flames.


    Hers weren’t the black flames of Penitence, nor the red-hot fire of a more traditional persuasion. Rather, her flames gave off an oddly icy warmth and bore a subtle, pale-gray sheen—the color of Bone.


    Serac felt the heat of it all the same, as minute rays of energy that bore into the depth of her sternum. And as Meetra’s self-combusted form burnt itself out and joined the Interstitium, it left behind something solid and immutable.


    [GREATER ABERRANT SMITED]


    [Waystation Privilege awarded. Current charge: 1]


    [12,000 ?], [1,970 ?] -> [13,970 ?]


    Too much was happening all at once, and this latest (and chunky) influx of Karma happened to be the least of Serac’s concern.


    She first spun to check on Zacko, and was dismayed to see him all but entirely covered in a Huskbound layer. Don’t tell me we went through all this trouble just for Zacko to lose out on his Karma again!The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    But Meetra’s death also coincided with a change to the whole dust/mud situation. The cloud of Bone magic that filled the room now ceased its swirling, only for a disembodied voice to sing out again from its midst.


    “I’ve seen enough.” The voice bubbled with barely contained excitement. “Consider your Pledges heard and your valor proven. The final door has been opened to you, my friends, and you’ll find me upon my throne, waiting eagerly for our meeting. Be sure to present yourselves at your best and finest—rid of all this… extraneous baggage!”


    The cloud—as well as the Bone Lord’s ‘presence’—dissipated at once. At the same time, Serac felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her person. Sure enough, one look and one flex of a free-moving arm confirmed that the Huskbound effect was gone from her left arm—along with that knobby ‘key’ in her fist.


    [Burden: 46/31 (Overburdened) -> 32/31 (Overburdened)]


    [TRIBULATION active (x3): current buff at 15%]


    She lost one stack of [Tribulation], just as the [Ossify] bar disappeared from her overlay. Off to the side, Zacko too had come unstuck, now throwing out a few air punches as if to test his mobility.


    Relief flooded Serac. Then and only then could she finally turn her attention back onto the other change to her body. Which was just as well, as it seemed even Pathsight had needed the extra time to make sense of it all.


    For Meetra’s immolation had left a permanent imprint. [His Sister’s Keeper] had embedded itself into Serac’s body, with its chains nested deep in her neck and the cameo itself now fused with the skin and muscles of her chest—encased in Flesh, as it were. The Trinket had also lost its blue glow, painted over by a flat, pale-gray hue.


    [Trinket altered: HIS SISTER’S KEEPER -> HER BROTHER’S BEARER]


    [Realm of Origin: NARAKA]


    [Trinket Description: And if even memories fail, I’ll be right here waiting—waiting for the world to catch up to our dreams. When the Trinket is equipped, the wearer [ANCHORS] herself to her current station, rendering her incapable of ingraining Karma. This Trinket cannot be removed at will.]


    [Burden (readjusted due to Trinket alteration): 32/31 (Overburdened) -> 65/31 (Overburdened)]


    [Wayfarer Status Effect: ANCHORED]


    [TRIBULATION active (x4): current buff at 20%]


    Serac stood there—as still as a Bone Husk statue—‘staring’ at the words that now branded themselves into her consciousness.


    [Anchored]? Cannot be removed? Incapable of ingraining Karma? No way. This can’t possibly mean what it—


    “This is an unmitigated disaster, Wayfarer!” Trippy suddenly cried out, giving voice to Serac’s own anguish. “I’ve knowledge of [Anchored] as a previously observed status effect, but never in Trinket form. And to think that you were so close to your ascension!”


    Wait, why is Trippy saying it like my journey’s over? Like I can’t climb any higher—like I’m not a Wayfarer anymore? It can’t end here. Not like this. I can’t—


    “Serac! Can you not hear me?”


    Zacko’s uncharacteristically anxious voice cut through the haze of Serac’s panic. She turned to him again, and saw that his eyes too gleamed with Pathsight.


    “You’re still [Bleeding]!” the Manusya exclaimed. “Hurry and get yourself reconstituted before you lose the rest of your HP!”


    “Right,” Serac murmured dully, not quite hearing her own words, “of course.”


    She sat down amidst the upturned rubble that used to be a fancy table. The Waystation itself was still intact, with the lotus flower now hovering a few inches above the floor. And only with the greatest effort and a total shutdown of her current emotions did Serac manage to start her meditation.


    With body healed and resources replenished, Serac turned a restless mind onto her list of persistent status effects:


    [Wayfarer Status Effect: ENLISTED]


    [Wayfarer Status Effect: ANCHORED]


    [Wayfarer Status Effect: OVERBURDENED]


    [TRIBULATION active (x3): current buff at 15%]


    First came the unhappy confirmation that ridding herself of [Ossify] hadn’t released her from [Enlistment]. Then, her mind lingered on the word [Anchored], filling with all sorts of questions and theories—none of which helped ease her worries one bit.


    The only thing that could give her any semblance of hope was an innocuous phrase found within the Trinket’s description: ‘cannot be removed at will’. At will. Did that mean there was a way to remove it? Just not by something straightforward—like cutting it out of her flesh?


    Next, she switched into leveling mode, and her heart sank anew at what awaited her there.


    [Karmic Level 25 -> ]


    [Liminal Karma: 18,421 ?]


    [Requisite Karma: INVALID]


    All that Karma, and no way to spend it! The thought of it caused her physical pain, like she’d just been made to swallow hot coal by a Damnatorium Jailer. She quickly shut off her connection to that part of Pathsight and tried to distract herself with more questions.


    Oh yeah, what the hell is up with this new Burden? From 46 down to 32, then back up to 65?? That first subtraction, I can put it down to losing the two Pledges, but then this ridiculous jump at the end…


    “It’s all to do with [Her Brother’s Bearer],” Trippy offered an explanation. “Upon its alteration from [His Sister’s Keeper], it received a new Burden value of 50. Ironic, given that it’s caused you nothing but immense harm. Normally, a Trinket’s Burden value should be roughly proportional to the benefit it confers.”


    Serac took in this new information with a stoicism that ill suited the occasion. What Trippy said made sense, but she also had her own view on this so-called ‘irony’.


    “I think it might be a matter of perspective,” she said, channeling the occasional philosopher in her. “Maybe, for some Wayfarers out there, it is a massive benefit to be [Anchored] again.”


    She, of course, had considered one Wayfarer in particular. A soul that had tasted freedom and all the possibilities it offered. A soul whose tumultuous journey had led her to turn her back on her dearest family and perhaps even her own humanity.


    Yet, in the bitter end, that same soul had decided that the best use of her accursed freedom was to stay right here—right here amidst the roiling depths of hell that she called home.