142. The Stray

In Serac's heat-addled mind, confusion overrode any real sense of relief.

The status sheet wouldn't lie, but where's Renate herself? Hidden inside this pile of leaves? Why? And… what's with Pathsight deciding to call her 'Finless'?

Despite her mission objective being so close, Serac found herself slowing her steps, approaching the leaf pile with caution and even some suspicion.

There was nothing strange about the leaves themselves—an all-too natural mosaic of yellow and brown, with smatterings of fresh green. Serac had seen the exact same thing plenty of times, during the late autumn days in Rotgard. But those leaves had signified the turning of the seasons. Whereas these…

"Renate?"

No response. Not a flutter from the leaves. Was something tying down the tree-frog Yaksha? But there were no chains, no bars, not even a guard to keep an eye on the prisoner. Then what—?

"Renate!"

A little louder, a little more insistent now. It made no difference. Serac's impatience overrode her caution then. She stepped closer and swept aside the top of the leaf pile, all in one decisive motion.

There she was. A pink frog woman with wide-set eyes. Except her eyes were downcast, unable or unwilling to meet those of her rescuer's. And even her pink skin appeared to have lost its usual sheen, reflecting instead the dim green of the Realm-cave.

"Renate," Serac said again as she knelt beside her friend, sweaty brow furrowed in concern, "how're you holding up? Are you hurt at all? Give me a second and I'll get you out of here. Let's see… did Loha put you in some kind of restraints, or…?"

Serac went ahead and brushed apart some more of the leaves, half-expecting some manner of magical resistance. But they fell away easily, behaving exactly how leaves should. As they did, they exposed more of Renate's person, including her posture (sitting cross-legged, like she might be meditating), her hands (clasped together at her waist and, more importantly, restraint-free), and her Instrument (OYSTER's distinctive bandolier, hanging around Renate's neck like it normally would).

Well, not quite normal. For OYSTER's shell-like containers were half-open, revealing the [Pearls] inside. Several of them were empty, but all the rest were filled with a milky-white liquid Serac had never seen.

Are these the same one Petey saw during his snooping? Was her first thought, followed quickly by: hang on, if Renate's still got her Instrument with her, and she's been brewing fresh [Pearls] with it, does that mean…?

"Renate," Serac said a fourth time, starting to find her own repetition a little grating, "what's actually going on here? I only ask because… to me, it doesn't look like you're being confined at all. Are you able to walk on your own? Follow me and Petey out of this hellhole?"

No response. Not even a blink of the eye. Now, Serac's impatience boiled over into anger. The overwhelming heat certainly hadn't helped, but it was the sight of her friend's inertness that finally pushed her over the top.

"Gods, don't make me slap you too!" she snapped, as she shook Renate bodily by the shoulders. More leaves fell away, and even Renate's trusted hood fell off, thus revealing the patch of shark denticles atop her head. Serac felt a flash of embarrassment on behalf of the half-frog woman, but her anger couldn't be so easily quelled.

"Am I missing something?" she went on, genuinely at a loss. "Is there some invisible chain holding you down? Or another reason you can't move? If there is, at least talk to me, so we can figure this out together! Do you trust me so little that you can't even do that?"

And still, Renate refused to answer. But she did finally move.

She pushed Serac's hands away and pulled her hood back up, before sinking lower into her 'meditative' pose. After a beat, she seemed to remember something, as she hastily grabbed some of the scattered leaves and threw them back on herself. Then… back to silence and stillness.

It was this last action that cut through Serac's anger. For she finally understood what the leaves were for—that it'd been Renate herself, and not her captor, who'd gathered the leaves as a feeble attempt at camouflage.

"Oh, Renate…" Serac said in a much softer voice. For a while, she sat with the frog woman in silence, searching desperately for the right combination of words to unlock the Renate she knew and loved—a seasoned Wayfarer, a competent fighter, a dependable companion, a caring and loyal friend.

"Even as we speak, or as I speak and you listen, Zacko will have retrieved Inge and Munkfred from their guesthouse. Getting out would be a lot harder than getting in, but I trust Zacko—I'm sure he'll have found a way. I also have Ash summoned and parked just outside the palace, ready and waiting to be our getaway castle. It's… down to you, Renate. We're all ready for you to join us, but you have to take the next step!"

Serac had given it her best, but her pep talk fell on deaf ears. The frog woman remained in her meditative pose, hooded head buried in her chest. She did speak, however—deep, raspy voice brought low by the flattest of flat moods.

"Do what you will, Rakshasa, but I want no part of it. The Queen will get to you eventually, as she always does. And in the meantime, Inge's likely to be better off with you and the Manusya than she ever was with me."

Gods, what is with these Yakshas and their self-defeating attitudes? A flash of the old anger, and Serac's voice rose accordingly:

"Jeez, you really don't give me and Zacko any credit, huh? What makes you think we can't take on the Realm, when you've been doing it for a whole decade? Besides, you realize you're not even making sense, right? Inge needs her 'medicine', and you're the best 'doctor' around. You're not planning on abandoning your patient, are you? Somehow… that might be even shittier than giving up on your friend!"

At this, Renate moved again, but only to withdraw even further into herself. The frog woman gave up her meditation altogether, instead bringing her knees close and hugging them tight—like a child who couldn't bear the sight and touch of the outside world.

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"Just… leave me alone!" Renate screamed, voice muffled by her own knees. "Alone and unseen. That's the way I came into this world, and that's way I ought to remain. I should never have dared to stray from my Path. It's all because of my indiscretion, my naivety, my selfishness that Inge has had to endure ten years of exile. That my mother—"

"That's a lie and you know it!" Serac shouted, lid completely off. "Blame yourself all you want, Renate, but don't you let the souls who did this to you off the hook! Don't let Loha off the hook! I'm trying to tell you that you're not alone. You've got me, Zacko, and now even Petey in your corner. Let us fight with you! Against your 'chains', against this rotten Realm, and especially against—"

"Your persistence is to be commended, but surely, there must be a better use of your time and energy."

The newcomer's voice was mild and regal, with a soft warmth to it that reminded Serac of fluffy pastry.

She spun to face Loha, unholstering and aiming REVOLVER at the same time. Her first thought was for Petter's safety, but the mackerel man stood off to the side, obviously fearful but very much unharmed.

As for the Rakshasa queen, she strode past Petter and towards the six-shooter pointed at her own face, calm as a clam. She was dressed in a gossamer nightgown, effortlessly flattering even for her aging figure. In fact, Loha herself looked quite a good deal more graceful and younger than the last time Serac had seen her.

A mere ten days separated this version of Loha from the haggard-looking thing at the Realmhunt. Ten days that had seen her most hated enemy reduced to a moping pile of leaves, while she herself had apparently rediscovered the fountain of youth. What had happened in these intervening days? Standing at the base of a glistening tree, Serac figured she didn't need to look far for an answer.

"I appreciate your concern for my wayward daughter," Loha spoke again as she drew nearer, her lips curling slightly in amusement, "but worry not, Serac. Right here in my Greenhouse is where she'll feel the most welcome and needed. She's already helped me achieve great things, and it's only the tip of a Netherpool iceberg. It'd taken some meandering on her part, but you could say the Finless has finally accepted and embraced the Path she was always meant to follow."

With a gasp of dismay, Serac understood the significance of Renate's 'updated' status sheet. That, after a decade of being an elusive fugitive, the frog woman had finally settled on an identity. The Finless—a villain in everyone else's story… and a mere shadow in her own.

For a moment, Serac reeled under the weight of her realization—of her sorrow for her wayward friend. Yet, at the same time, a second friend found his courage.

Before Serac could react—before she could warn him against it—Petter Svensen threw down the first gauntlet. MATCHSTICK came to life, a bright-green blaze in a skinny mackerel's hand. And he too squared up to his Rakshasa queen, face taut with both fear and determination.

[DIAPHRAGM Spell: INHALE]

DIAPHRAGM? No physical Instrument in sight, but it was neverthelesss the KL-87 veteran who got the jump on her KL-1 junior. Despite a week of scouting the Kronvakt, Serac knew next to nothing about the royal couple's magic. Well, that was about to change—and in gruesome fashion.

Loha quite literally [Inhaled], sucking in a breath that appeared no more remarkable than a pause in the middle of speech. But the effect was far more dramatic. First, the green flames of MATCHSTICK went out, having lost its source of oxygen. Next, Petter himself dropped to his knees, face now contorted in abject terror, as he clutched and scratched at his own throat.

"…!! …!!!"

Petter's parched lips moved frantically, but no words came out. Serac realized with a horrified start that the man was choking—out of air, and therefore out of breath. She needed to help him, and the only way she knew how was to shoot the problem in the face.

[Chamber One: CATHARSIS]

[235!]

Serac clocked her painful mistake as soon as she squeezed the trigger, but far too late. She could only watch as even her black flames of Penitence went the way of MATCHSTICK, swallowed up and erased by Loha's vacuum. As for the queen herself, she was utterly unbothered by the proceedings, as her lips curled wider into a genuine smile.

All too soon, a landbound soul's fragile physiology caught up to a newly transmuted Wayfarer. Petter let out a final choked whimper, then faded into Souldust.

Serac's mind was momentarily caught between guilt (why did I have to give Petey that pep talk earlier?) and relief (well, at least he gets to 'escape' to the Hubstation). This then led to her next decision, remarkably level-headed in the circumstances.

It didn't take a genius to know that Serac was in real trouble. After that latest hit of self-damage, she was down to the last fifth of her HP. Practically speaking, there was about a 0% chance of her winning a duel against an opponent who had 37 Karmic Levels and almost 400 years on her—let alone one whose 'kit' largely remained a mystery. And if she were to give it an honest try, she'd leave herself at risk of capture or worse.

There was nothing for it. Her mission would have to be put on hold, and her pride would have to take a hit, so she may reconstitute to fight another day. To that end, she turned the barrel of REVOLVER onto herself, knowing she needed but two bullets to do the job.

"And here I thought we were just getting to know each other."

[DIAPHRAGM Spell: INHALE]

This time, Loha didn't even have to pause her speech. She'd taken one step closer to Serac, bringing her and her vacuum into 'range'.

[Wayfarer Status Effect: HYPOXIA]

Serac had happily assumed that nothing she'd experience in Pretjord could be worse than her near-drowning episode. She was wrong. For this—having the air forcibly and literally sucked out of her lungs—was much, much worse.

Forget firing two more bullets. REVOLVER fell out of Serac's hands entirely, as she instinctively grabbed her throat with both hands. Abject terror. Clutching and scratching until her onyx claws drew her own blood. It didn't matter if you were KL-1 or KL-50; asphyxiation was a horrible way to go…

If only! For Queen Loha hadn't prevented Serac's self-smite only to watch her suffocate to death. And what had been [Inhaled] must also be:

[DIAPHRAGM Spell: EXHALE]

A mighty gust of wind. Against all odds, the helpless sensation brought with it a note of nostalgia. For it brought Serac back to her very first boss fight as a Wayfarer—also against a irredeemable jackass, but a more literal one at that.

But unlike Bayu the Warden's conal AOE, Loha the Queen's rendition was much more focused—much more precise. The intent wasn't to knock Serac on her buttocks but to guide her—away from the tree and Renate, across the Greenhouse and its collection of strange objects, and back onto what was perhaps the strangest object of them all.

The metal plate, with its circle of seemingly useless holes. Well, the holes were no longer useless, and Serac was no longer uninformed as to their purpose. For as soon as she was back on the plate, bars of solid air shot up all around her, forming a vortex of howling wind.

Serac was trapped—hovering in midair with nothing to grab onto and no way to find her footing. And as a proud survivor of the Damnatorium, she instantly recognized the bizarre setup as the prison cell it was.

She couldn't believe it. After the prep, the struggles, and the close shaves, her search & rescue mission had come crashing down… all because the objective never wanted to be found.

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