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173 - The Daughters of Hope [Cherno]
🕑 Added 2023-12-09 02:28:15 +0000 UTC"Beef," the raven demanded in a large black man's voice.
"I'll give you some if you give me that quote."
"Beef, twelve ounces," he reiterated.
"We have tortoise. You liked it better than beef."
The whole time, Casus watched on, his stoic visage admirably masking his mild bewilderment at the scene. That thing really wasn't a normal eidolon; not only did it eat, it even made demands of its master.
Nonetheless, the offer of tortoise steak convinced the crow. It opened and closed its beak a few times, snippets of various sounds and voices coming out as if it was scrolling through radio stations. Eventually, after a solid two minutes, Barzai opened his beak one final time. A scratchy voice came out, like that of a man who yelled a lot, made even grainier by the hiss of a low-quality speaker.
"Hope has two equally glorious and terrible daughters, for they drive men to action like none other; their names are Anger and Courage. Anger at the world's wrongs, and Courage to see that these wrongs might be righted. Or something like that, I'm kinda stupid..."
At that point, Krahe recalled the raven.
"Alright, that's enough. You'll get your meat in a bit."
She couldn't help but notice that Casus had gotten a profound look on his face as he left, but she didn't give it much thought. It felt like the Banisher had a profound expression more often than not.
_______________________________________________________________
Underground, in the privacy of a Zaveshian indoor gymnasium, Casus Aristedes engaged in an ill-conceived exercise in self-abuse. His hair was draped in front of his face as he stood, leaning on a wall, the Silberblut Coupler clasped about his waist. He was emitting sounds of struggle utterly unbefitting of his image - be it as Silberblut, or as Casus Aristedes.
The belt's eye, vacant of its four-pronged star, whipped back and forth like the eye of a panicked animal. Bursts of golden flame issued from the coupler as it tried to transform its user into Silberblut, only to find itself rejected, only to find an unimpeachable will demanding its subjugation to ideals that clashed with what it was used to. The half-sentient artifact didn't understand. It had, up until this point, been fooled into thinking its user had never changed at all.
Casus, meanwhile, struggled to stand, even with support. He hadn't experienced struggle like this since his first attempts to use the Silberblut coupler. The sole, singular saving grace of this torturous power struggle was the fact he didn't need to worry about Isotope poisoning. Each exposure was so brief and minimal, even dozens of attempts didn't match to the full suit operating at combat output levels.
That didn't make this any less pleasant. His head and soul threatened to split open as he tried to assert himself over the belt's tendencies rather than letting the transformation go through. Casus was well aware that what he was trying to do was the labour or months and years, but he had never been the patient, slow-going type. Becoming a suitable user for the Silberblut Coupler was the work of decades, they had told him, and he had achieved it in less than two years.
[SHINING KNIGHT OF SILVER]
[Tags:]
Self-Adaptation
Mamon Coupler Compatibility
[Details:]
This boon forcibly maximizes the holder's compatibility with any Mamon Coupler. The nature and severity of side effects is variable. Severity of side effects can be mitigated in various ways depending on their nature.
That Boon. The pride and great achievement of Casus' hard work... Was now a shackle. He now understood that it was fundamentally flawed.
He continued his struggle with the belt until he lost consciousness from exhaustion. After the attendants from the shrine above helped him recover, he continued on without delay, prompting reactions of mixed respect and concern. They were familiar.
"He's doing it again, what could possibly lead one to such horrific training?” the shrine maidens thought. Nonetheless, he was a Banisher, and so they didn't question his choices.
They weren't wrong to fear for him. The more he pushed, the more a fear grew inside him, a fear he would cripple or kill himself.
In the end, he began to feel the coupler's confused panic. Through the pain and the constant immolation with sacred flame of transformation, the sacred relic eventually reached out to him, and he readily grasped its metaphorical hand.
It didn't communicate in words, or even clear thoughts, but vague sentiments. From what little Casus understood, it had finally realized that he wasn't Silberblut, but rather a successor... And now it wanted to know why he was doing this. In effect, it was asking him the same question he himself had sought an answer to: "Why refuse the transformation? Why would you want to be anything other than a shadow of Him?"
Casus, however, had a pure, burning determination in his chest, a flame born from his own ruminations, from the Masked Saint's guidance, and from his conversation with Lady Blackhand. She, in particular, had been the one to pour the accelerant onto the pile and set it alight, with her straightforwardness of expression.
The sentiment which he poured into the Silberblut Coupler in response was as pure and brilliant as the pain that scorched his being: "I am not Magnus Aristedes. I will never be Magnus Aristedes. To pretend is a dishonor upon his name. I am the next in line, the successor. Walk with me out of His shadow, or join me in the void."
At that moment, something broke. Casus wasn't sure if he had finally burst his Soul Furnace or given himself some other crippling astral injury in his bullheaded efforts, or if it was the belt's stubbornness that broke, but something undeniably did break.
The pain that came after would have sent any human into the bliss of shock-induced unconsciousness, but, grinding his teeth, Casus persevered. At that moment, as the man of faith he was, Casus prayed. He prayed with a fervor worthy of any saint, crumbling to his knees as he thoughtlessly repeated an advanced, seventy-seven lines long prayer to Zavesh.
