The day passed uneventfully. A couple flying abominations had swooped down to devour the festering corpses, unaware of the predator stalking them. Shaman took his preferred host without trouble. The rest died shortly after. Their bodies were piled up high. Then, a few land stragglers caught scent of the bodies and went to check out the area.
More carcasses topped the mound.
As the hours passed, Nico's morbid offering went unnoticed by his true target. The Cursed Heralds prowled the skies above the Dark City much more often than the labyrinth, but eventually one would wander far enough east to find him.
Or so he wished.
Dismissing the notion, his attention shifted. Sitting calmly against the cliff face — still bruised, still battered — not wondering what his eerie reflection had meant became difficult.
'It showed me my First Trial...'
Remembering the endless glacial desert and the dreadful cold, the Spell's description of the Memory escaped his lips in a low whisper:
"A herald of justice was shattered and broken. This locket, his beacon of truth and virtue, now only tells twisted lies."
He glanced down at his broken leg before speaking uncertainly:
"Does that mean everything in the reflection is a lie? That wouldn't make sense. Both of those scenes had happened. The first was when I killed Jubei, and the second was from my First Trial."
Yet, Nico recalled nothing of the sun staying in twilight forever or his shadow having eyes like Shaman's; nor was his face sorrowed — or revealed, even — at the execution.
Those were definitely illusions spawned from its enchantment.
Sighing, he stared blankly into the clouds above, brows furrowed in confusion. The ever-present veil rolled by without concern, and his voice echoed internally:
'What's the point of it, then? If the enchantment was to just show warped, wicked images of scenes that had happened, why was it a Memory? Is it really a useless memento? The Spell rarely gives purposeless items. No, there has to be something.'
Well, actually, there were two things. First, using the Memory his irritated the spirit wound once more. Something about viewing the horrible mirror made emotions flare, and when they did, so did the pain.
Second, Shaman's influence somehow halted when viewing the Memory as well.
Those were, while helpful clues, irregularities that brought more harm than benefit. As such, he was disinclined to tempt the locket again, but also curious at the same time.
But there were much more pressing things to consider. He couldn't forget he was still a cripple stranded in the middle of a death maze. Imagining what might happen should another storm roll around, only this time without a dependable Fallen Beast, made him wince.
Perhaps it was time to admit it: he had grown arrogant of his new power. The infallibility of Shaman had proved too easy to rely on. The strength gained from his second core and soul roots were just as intoxicating. Yet, the Dream Realm was never a fair opponent, and when it comes to slaughter, an unmatched one.
Just the fact Sleepers were being sent to such a place at all was proof enough of that.
Catastrophes roll around every corner. Not so much physical ones, but rather nightmarish hordes, inescapable abilities, and an incessant doubt of whether or not he might stumble upon something no mortal should.
What would happen now if a swarm of flying abominations migrated through here at this very moment? Death — that's what.
Nobody lived in the labyrinth despite it hosting creatures of a lesser rank than the majority of the Dark City for that very reason.
In order to guarantee survival, he had to be more cautious. Plans, contingencies, and progress — the last most of all.
And the first of those things to deal with would be his leg.
Nico glanced down at the mangled limb.
Thankfully he'd already set it.
There were not any materials usable as a splint at the moment, but it would still heal right given time and a stable posture.
He focused on his status to distract from the pain and saw runes appear before him.
Memories: [Silver Wraith], [Mourning Star], [Song of Steel], [Wrathful Crescent], [Winter's Vase], [Glass Torch]. [Severed Vertebrae], [Herald's Locket], [Infectious Root], [Sacrificial Sight], [Voracious Sword].
Echoes: —
Specters: [Barrow Wraith Shaman].
'Three Memories,' he absently remarked, focusing on the first new one.
Memory: [Infectious Root].
Memory Rank: Awakened.
Memory Tier: II.
Memory Type: Weapon.
Memory Description: [Blood spilled on the canvas. Piled high, bodies were left to rot. A single seed spawned from the carnage, and from it, a root. Even in death, their shed shells rose again.]
Nico eyed the Spell's words for a moment, no particular expression twisting his features, then summoned the Memory into existence.
Assembled in one hand from pure essence was a dark, rotten arrow. A single root made up its entirety, the tip widened and twisted into a sharp point. Slick black feathers composed its fletching.
As Nico studied the weapon, he recognized a faint sense of... familiarity? The arrow was deadly, but not in the way that it was obscenely powerful or sharp. No, rather, its enchantment appeared invasive. The Gravestone Revenants had been infected by a network of branch-like roots spread through them. Would this arrow grow into its victim?
He suspected that to be the case.
Dismissing the valuable Memory and subtly eager to receive a bow to use it with, he moved onto the next.
Memory: [Sacrificial Sight].
Memory Rank: Awakened.
Memory Tier: I.
Memory Type: Tool.
Memory Description: [The carrion were led not by vision, but by hunger.]
'Oddly succinct,' Nico mumbled, then manifested the Memory.
Before he could look around to figure out where the charm would appear, his vision was blinded by a whirlwind of sparks. When the light faded, a damp, unpleasant shroud covered his eyes. He rose a hand to remove it, but in the next moment suddenly felt everything around himself in sharp clarity. The sound of the wind scattering dust, the unpleasant odor of desiccated flesh, and the trickle of some substance rolling down his cheek was stark.
And even more defined, his soul sense. It was as if it had been amplified. With it, he could easily access the technique that allowed him to peer into the dormant, thin layer of soul that spread out along a target's body.
'Sensory amplification...'
Immediately, he tugged down on the knot tying the blindfold to him. The sensation vanished. Light filtered through his fluttering lids clearly. Holding out the garment, he realized it was a strip of gray cloth soaked in viscous, black blood.
Raising a brow at the repulsive substance, the Memory was quickly dismissed. It was quite honestly one of the better ones he had received. With his enhanced soul sense, it acted as three-hundred-and-sixty-degree vision, although not an absolute one. Any real projectiles or weapons wouldn't have souls, after all.
'Everyone in the Dream Realm uses Memories, and Nightmare Creatures don't have the intelligence or desire to make tools, so it could be a sufficient substitute given the circumstances.'
Either way, in certain circumstances, be it darkness or sensory deprivation, it would help drastically. And one certainty was that adaptability was a must in the Dream Realm. No one lived without it.
After a couple more minutes of quiet contemplation, Nico discarded the tool and moved to the next and final one.
It proved to be nothing more than an unwieldly, stony claymore crafted from the strider's back. Nothing much useful to him. Its enchantment seemed to make its swings entirely silent.
And with that, the passive hunt for a Messenger started in earnest. A different, active one for new entertainment begun in the meantime.