56. The Third Pledge


    [192!]


    This latest hit of self-damage brought Serac’s HP down to its last measly chunk. Yet, by then, she was confident she didn’t need any more of it.


    For her trouble, her own magic provided the spark to ignite a hurricane. The Pishacha chariot’s twisting frame, along with its maelstrom of churning bone dust went up in black flames. The Infernal bonfire grew larger and roared fiercer with each tick of [Catharsis], burning away every last particle of the Pishacha’s defenses.


    At no point did Serac give her chauffeur the instruction to stop. To Zacko’s credit, he held course and kept accelerating as he’d been tasked. And the Wayfarer’s chariot crashed into the Pishacha’s side-on, just as the black flames of [Catharsis] expired.


    KSSHHH—crunch!


    Both chariots shattered into their component parts: carriage and wheels into individual bones. And all three combatants got to know each other intimately, as they were squashed together atop a graveyard of their erstwhile vehicles.


    Reeling from the crash, Serac nevertheless knew there was no time to waste. Absolute chaos, just as she’d dreamed up. It’d left a pair of Wayfarers within melee range of their enemy: a chariot-less Charioteer bereft of any means to activate its magic.


    “Now, Zacko!” Serac yelled, even as she pointed REVOLVER into the Pishacha’s face. “Give it everything you got!”


    For the next several Ksanas, the Proving Grounds played host to a dense cacophony of violence. The booming reports of a six-shooter. The bassy thuds of fist against armor. And the coarse crackles of splintering bones.


    [136!], [136!], [136!] -> [408!]


    Serac did her part of the one-sided pummeling, but Zacko was the real star of the show. Indeed, it was a NINEFOLD [Cestus] to a helpless and Poise-broken Charioteer that dealt the smiting blow.


    [1,200 ?]


    Even at a reduced rate, Serac’s share of the Karma reward wasn’t too shabby at all, which renewed her hope for Zacko’s road to Karmic independence. The thought was nice and comforting, and it, along with the relief of hard-fought victory, nearly distracted her from the time-sensitive nature of her mission.


    “The third key!” she yelled again, already scanning about the place in a panic. “Where is it? Did you happen to see any side rooms along the track?”


    “No,” Zacko replied, somehow still perfectly calm about his own impending death from blood loss. “But uh… I think this might be it?”


    The this referred to something quite odd that was happening with the Pishacha’s ‘corpse’. Normally, Aberrants and Anchored souls alike simply faded into the Interstitium after they died. Indeed, the fact that the Wayfarers had received Karma for their smite indicated that the same should’ve happened to the Charioteer.


    Instead, some physical trace of the Huskbound statue still remained. A thin veil of dust particles hovered and fluttered in the air where the Charioteer had stood a moment ago. The phenomenon was strange and certainly noteworthy, but it contained no key-like object for the Wayfarers to latch onto.


    “Okay, but what do we do with this? Do I just… touch it? Walk into it?”


    To this, Zacko only gave a noncommittal shrug, which annoyed Serac enough to spur her into action.


    “I’m going in,” she announced simply, then made to reach for the unidentified dust-borne entity.


    “A moment, Wayfarer,” Trippy cut in then, sounding just agitated enough to distort his usual monotone. “You currently have only 42 HP. Each of the previous [Pledges] had inflicted a small amount of damage—small, but certainly in excess of 42 points. Are you sure this is wise?”


    “No, I’m not sure!” Serac snapped, though more out of surprise than irritation. In her race against the clock, she’d forgotten all about the ‘payment’ exacted by these [Pledges]. Now, even though it’d been out of necessity, she regretted her gung-ho approach to destroying the Charioteer. “What about you, Zacko? You got enough HP left to tank a bony trap thing?”


    “Being perfectly honest, not really,” he said, looking visibly paler even than his usual complexion, “but look, I’m also perfectly willing to take one for the team.”


    “No! That’s out of the question. Between the two of us, I’m the one who can afford to lose out on some Karma. I’m doing this.”


    “Serac Edin, stop!”


    Trippy’s rare show of emotion coincided with another flash of pain across Serac’s temple. But by then, she’d already stepped into the mystery cloud, and her focus had shifted wholly to what new rewards/punishments awaited her.


    Would the cloud morph into a third key? Solidify into sharpened rib bones to drive stakes into a Rakshasa’s heart? Whatever it was, she was ready. Had to be ready.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    But no. As it turned out, she wasn’t ready for this.


    The mystery cloud first expanded as Serac stepped into it. Then its particles shifted in place, thickening in parts and thinning out in others to form a distinct shape. The shape of a Rakshasa child.


    Not just any child. It was a perfectly accurate projection of Dashi, the so-called ‘vessel’ of the Bone Lord. A ‘hologram’ made up of bone dust.


    Before either Wayfarer could react, the hovering image of Dashi looked down at Serac and smiled. Dashi’s innocent, soothing, perfect smile. Then the image moved its ‘mouth’ as if to speak. Its words sounded like whistling wind, yet were somehow readily intelligible.


    “You’ve made the right choice, Wayfarer, and you’re one step closer to fulfilling your purpose. Here, allow me to guide you the rest of the way, just as I did once before.”


    With that, the entity lost its shape once more, this time swirling and condensing into a single stream. This stream then twisted in the air before flying straight towards Serac’s gaping mouth.


    “Oh shi—”


    By the time Serac snapped her mouth shut and clapped a hand over it, much of the dust had already sucked itself into her throat. Then the rest of it simply found the next path of least resistance, sliding into her nostrils and filling her airways until she felt like gagging.


    The discomfort, while intense, was also mercifully brief. One moment, the foreign presence inside her body was all she could think about. The next, it all settled into a dull sort of warmth that sat in the center of her chest.


    If anything, it felt soothing—almost pleasant. Despite her naturally defensive reaction, she was reminded once more that she’d done this willingly. The illusion of constraint was still in full effect, and it was up to her to make the best of her circumstances.


    Then, this ‘circumstance’ made itself known in Pathsighted terms:


    [Trinket acquired: THE THIRD PLEDGE]


    [Realm of Origin: NARAKA]


    [Trinket Description: And sacrifice is a privilege of the worthy. While the Trinket is equipped, the wearer merits herself the Bone Lord’s utmost trust, thereby gaining access to the Ossuary’s Inner Sanctum and a place by his side in the battles to come.]


    [Burden: 22/31 (Heavy) -> 29/31 (Heavy)]


    Zacko, who’d been so nonchalant about his own dire straits, now peered at Serac with an obviously worried expression.


    “You… you good?” he asked uncertainly.


    Serac considered the question for only a Ksana. The answer seemed so obvious… and also so right.


    “Never been better,” she said with a smile that felt a little out of step with her face. “Now, come on, we still need to hurry!”


    She broke into a brisk jog before Zacko could respond. The Manusya joined her soon enough, now silent but still throwing her the occasional sidelong glance.


    As soon as the Wayfarers returned to the foyer, they saw that the fourth and final door upon the mezzanine had swung open. They hurried up the stairs, two steps at a time. Just as they reached the door, however, Zacko put a hand on Serac’s shoulder to get her attention.


    “I dunno about you,” he said, “but my [Lesser Bleed] hasn’t let up one bit. Whatever’s in this next room, it better be a Waystation or something we can smite within seconds, otherwise I’m probably done for.”


    “Only one way to find out!” Serac said cheerily, completing the role reversal from anxious pessimist to annoying optimist.


    She bounded into the new room without hesitation… and saw right away that Zacko’s hopes had been misplaced on both counts.


    The room itself was smaller than she might’ve expected, a far cry from the racecourse she’d just left behind. It was roughly rectangular in shape, with a notably ‘cleaner’ look than anywhere else in the Ossuary. The walls and floors here were packed with bones, but with an organization and patterning that suggested design and artistry.


    A series of skeletal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lit by candles rather than blue lantern light. The center of the room was taken up by a large Huskbound table, one that could easily seat a dozen or more souls—a dozen or more of the Bone Lord’s most trusted servants.


    Indeed, the table was presently occupied by two such souls.


    Sundara sat primly at a far corner, with Meetra across from her, resting against the table itself. The older woman looked up and gave a faint smile as the Wayfarers barged in. The younger remained motionless, arms crossed and sullen face glaring at the floor at her feet.


    “Oh wonderful,” Zacko remarked as soon as he’d walked in. He then helped himself to a seat on the far side of the Bone Maidens. “Shouldn’t have expected anything less, I guess. I won’t lie to you, girls. I’m in pretty rough shape, and I think this rematch is going to look a lot like our first fight.”


    “Come on, Zacko, don’t give up so easily!” Serac remained standing. Somehow, the sight of the Maidens hadn’t dampened her newfound cheer one bit. “We’ve both ‘skilled up’ since our last go at it, so who knows what might happen! Besides, maybe we don’t have to fight at all? Maybe these girls are just here to—”


    “Oh, we’re most definitely here to fight you,” Sundara cut in mildly, with nary a flicker in her smile. “Normally, this would be where we receive and honor the latest of souls to have proved themselves worthy of our Lord’s highest favor. But you must understand that your situation is different.”


    “That’s right.” Meetra finally stirred, training her unfriendly gaze upon Zacko in particular. She then spat out her next words, as if their presence upon her tongue sickened her, “But our Lord is nothing if not generous with his subjects—and often more than they deserve. I can’t begin to imagine what it is, but he’s seen something of redeemable value about the two of you, and he’s willing to give you another chance. Prove yourselves anew here—against us—and you may yet find your way into the Inner Sanctum unbarred.”


    “Just wonderful,” Zacko said again, dripping with the venom Meetra had expelled. “I’m so grateful for your Lord’s generosity. So much so that I’ve just got to thank him in person.”


    Meetra met this with an audible hmph, though a corner of her lips curled into the hint of a smile.


    “We’ll see how long your feelings of gratitude last,” she said as she hopped onto the table with a lithe motion. She’d yet to draw her weapon, however. “But first, your pathetic displays with the Three Pledges have left you in a severely weakened state. Not that it would make a difference, but our Lord has charged me with the task of bringing you back to full strength, to ensure the rigor of this final trial.”


    With those admittedly rather generous words, Meetra promptly sat back down again, this time upon the center of the table, cross-legged and head tilted down. Serac would’ve thought the whole thing was rather ill-mannered of the young Maiden, if she didn’t look so graceful doing it. Even here in hell, good-looking people could get away with all sorts of mischief!


    Serac’s inane thoughts were rudely interrupted, however, by the unbelievable scene that unfolded before her.


    A lotus bud suddenly materialized on the table, right in front of a meditating Meetra. It then bloomed into a full flower, as a wayward Wayfarer finally cashed in on her long-unclaimed [Privilege].