Ariandel was in pain, stunned by the trauma he had endured in his First Nightmare. An irrational fear haunted him—the fear of having his perception of reality manipulated by some mental horror.
Driven to madness by the sorrow of being deceived. Afraid of being alone and abandoned once more.
The cold was killing him. And in a very literal sense...
'I get it… the [Lyric Soul Manifestation] is hurting me…
Ahh…
I must have developed Takotsubo Syndrome…'
In a way, a broken heart can very well kill the one it's meant to sustain in mundane circumstances. All the more so his heart—capable of shaping itself into tangible metaphors—wouldn't it be even more likely to kill him if left untended?
'Either way, I overestimated my own resilience.'
In truth, he had even wanted to seek help when it was offered to him by Master Jet, but [Immaculate Prism] forced him to endure the suffering alone... After all, bearing everything in silence so as not to trouble his loved ones was a fundamental part of who he was.
All he could do now was try not to fall into despair—to believe that the life he had shared with the people he met in a story was real, and that they were still with him...
'I swear to God... if at the end of this fanfiction, in some grimdark reality... I wake up in a hospital bed... after a long coma, induced by being hit by a truck... I will... I will…'
Ariandel held on a little longer.
... Then endured a bit more.
And then... he persevered.
At some point, after long seconds or torturous minutes, the dissociation suddenly broke.
He could feel his companions again.
Soon, Ariandel was guided out of the world's silence by their urgent, trembling breaths, drawing a quiet sigh of relief from his lips.
It was over...
A few seconds later—it felt a little distant, retreating, but still—Ariandel heard a fluent voice drift from the fog:
"It doesn't matter… it doesn't matter…"
And with that, the rustling leaves returned, as did the sound of the waves.
And also...
Somewhere below them, the Carapace Demon roared and clashed its scythes together. The piercing ring of steel echoed beneath the great tree, sending a near-tangible shockwave in all directions. That wave seemed to expel the unnatural mist, forming a vast sphere of clear air.
In the next instant, the whole island trembled as the demon collided with the unknown horror hidden in the fog. Something shattered with a deafening thunderclap, and the ground shook again, making the great tree's branches sway.
Ariandel, still keeping his eyes closed, turned his face in the direction of the clash.
'Would the Nothing in the mist grow stronger with one more person here, conscious of its "existence"?'
He smiled at the thought.
'A reasonable development… I'd say.'
Still tormented by the wretched feeling of ice daggers piercing his chest, the Artisan of Fantasy forced his languid arms to move, clinging to his companions, pulling them closer.
He yearned for warmth.
And so, holding onto each other, they listened to the sounds of the furious battle and awaited its outcome...
...
A long time later, the battle between the Carapace Demon and the guest from the depths had ended.
Silence returned once more to the Ashen Barrow.
Nephis had long lost track of time and had become desensitized to the tremors that shook the great tree with each clash of the two monsters.
The sudden stillness left her uneasy, alert—ready to act.
Even so, she flinched when she felt Ariandel carefully pull away from them. She turned her head toward him, listening, trying to discern what was happening.
Beside her, Sunless and Cassia also stirred. The delicate girl fearfully parted her pale lips, and after a moment's hesitation, asked in anxious urgency:
"Aria, what happened?"
A pleasant voice answered serenely:
"The mimic is gone… though you'll have to decide for yourselves whether or not to believe those words."
Nephis hesitated a bit before choosing once again to trust the voice of the Artisan of Fantasy. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times, her vision slowly coming back into focus.
The faint, pale light of dawn was creeping in from the east, wrapping the island in a dim twilight. Below them, the island's surface was torn and upheaved, nearly unrecognizable. It looked as though the Ashen Barrow had been hit by several volleys of heavy artillery.
Standing amidst the scene was Ariandel, longbow in hand, shrouded in the white-gray aura of his cutting frost.
Flakes of iridescent crystal drifted from his figure on the wind, shimmering softly in the light piercing through the vast, crimson canopy of the great tree.
He adjusted his stance and readied a shot, a chilling arrow beginning to condense in response. A calming melody played through the tension of the enhanced Memory.
In the direction Ariandel aimed…
'It's alive.'
The Carapace Demon was slowly dragging itself back from the island's edge, leaving a trail of blue blood in its wake. It was in terrible shape, with multiple limbs missing and a web of cracks covering its once-immaculate carapace.
Two of its terrifying arms were gone, leaving it only with its two scythes, worn and battered. One of its forelegs and four of its hind legs were broken or severed, forcing the giant to walk in a strange, unstable gait.
It was gravely wounded. And yet, even in that state, it stubbornly clung to life. More than that, none of the armor plates covering its vital organs were seriously damaged—its metallic carapace still seemed strong and impenetrable.
Sunless clenched his fists and looked at Ariandel with a grim, resolute expression. He asked darkly:
"Do we need to face it?"
The Artisan of Fantasy drew the longbow string tighter. The demon's wounded form was reflected in the golden hue of his mystical, tranquil, and melancholic eyes.
"No."
Burgundy-red blood trickled from his nostrils, only to be subdued by his frigid aura—frozen and shattered.
"I already see it dead…"
...
The ancient behemoth was broken and weary. Yet despite the grievous wounds, its gaze still burned with malicious intelligence.
It still radiated madness and bloodlust.
As it forced its way back toward the miraculous tree, one of its heavy legs faltered on the ruined ground, causing its massive body to tilt more than the remaining limbs could support.
It had to drive both its scythes into the sandy soil to keep itself upright. The corrupted knight lifted its gaze—its single remaining eye locking onto the grand and magnificent figure of the ebony tree and its enchanting, blood-red crown.
It was in that moment that the demon noticed something glinting softly, reflecting the light of dawn. Without even attempting to understand what it was, the creature tried to react—but the brilliance soaring through the air was inexplicably swift.
Like an arrow loosed from a powerful bow, imbued with a force that could rend at distance, that could subdue even the logic meant to separate the archer's intent from his target.
The terrifying giant moved its bloodied stumps in vain, unable to stop the graceful icy comet as it struck its adamantine carapace.
The creature opened its jaws in a silent scream. The projectile had pierced it precisely where its armor was secretly weakest... over its heart. Suddenly, a numbing sensation sliced through the monster's chest, spreading through its veins, permeating even its profane soul.
The proud guardian of the Ashen Barrow staggered.
The scarlet light in its single eye burned dimly.
Its body fell slowly.
... Lifting its head one final time, it cast a last look at the great tree.
Then, its gaze fell on one of the branches—upon the elegant figure holding a shattered longbow in his hands.
There was no rage left in that gaze. No madness.
In the end, what overtook it was a strange, quiet, inexplicable emotion.
It was almost... relief.
The demon's heart, in that moment, broke... The echo of its final emotions preserved in the frozen, diamond-like crystals.