The wonderful thing about the human subconscious was that it made decisions at the slightest prompting.
Tristessa had more than enough when it ca to what dominated her fragnted web of mories, and by the ti the Mystical Tattooist had said that controversial na of her Divinity out loud, the decision had already been made.
She felt as if she were being enveloped in mist, damp as the hours before dawn. Everything was pitch black, until, in front of her, the misty darkness took the form of a hallway, enclosing her within. Wooden walls, a red carpet covered the floor, and instead of candles, there were small lamps with power crystals that emitted a very faint blue light.
At the end of this hallway was the black door that Tristessa had seen so many tis in her shattered mories. But it wasn't the [Dark Room] that tornted her, as she felt no fear, no uncertainty, no sense that sothing horrible was about to happen.
It was a feeling of familiarity, of comfort. Of knowing that this was all hers.
“It feels like…ho. The safest place in the world.”
Recognizing its owner, the door opened, and there was nothing to stop Tristessa from walking forward. As she crossed the threshold, she realized that her own mind had taken the na given by Master Caius in the most literal sense of the word.
It was a room with a complete absence of white light, with several lamps emitting a very weak red illumination, and it was filled with specialized equipnt for developing photographs. To na a few items, there were tanks of developer fluid, rollers, thermoters, air ducts for proper ventilation, and a large worktable in the middle of the place. There were also five black plastic curtains, two on the left wall and three on the right, dividing the main dark room from the adjacent ones.
“Impressive! Everything feels so real.”
Her inner voice sounded clearly, dominant in that place, above the music pouring from speakers in the upper corners of the room; the sa music she heard when she visited the domain of the Servants of Vel’Moran, the In-Between.
“Ah, welco, mistress,” soone said with a silky, seductive voice from across the room, entering through the black curtains. That person walked around the table and stood in front of Tristessa, firm and with both hands behind her back. “It’s a pleasure to see you (here/there/nowhere).”
“…Likewise.”
Tristessa was surprised by herself because of how calm and serene she felt around a complete stranger like this woman.
She wore a white lab coat, open to reveal a low-cut black shirt, with no bra underneath. A black skirt so short that it made her legs look longer and sexier than they were, complented by strappy black platform heels.
“…”
No, it was more than surprising how calm Tristessa was when she saw her head, displaying a beautiful smile, short black hair… And deford scars running across her cheeks, starting from her incinerated eyes, black as coal.
“Who are you?” the gray-eyed girl asked, staring into those charred eyeballs, filled with incandescent reddish lines. They were hypnotic… Disturbingly hypnotic.
“I am you, and at the sa ti, I am not. I am what you decided to be. Please call Lenore. Just Lenore. You created to be your (assistant/employer/slave),” she replied, thrilled to serve Tristessa however she wished. “Shall we begin the tour, mistress?”
Mistress. It sounded nice to hear her say that word.
“Yes, please.”
Guided by the imaginary woman, they began walk around her mind palace, starting on the left side. Parting the curtains, Lenore invited her into the dim interior.
“This is your [Room of Knowledge],” she explained, showing her the shelves filled with photo albums that covered every available inch of wall space, except for the one occupied by a wooden desk with a lamp, on the side opposite to the curtains. “Here you can see the (photographs/images/dead ti) of people, flora, fauna, geography, and so on. Of course, there are only photographs of (information/knowledge/data) that you rember. There are many empty albums now, and it will be up to you to fill them in. You bring knowledge, I develop it into a photo.”
“I see… Very well. Show information about my family, please,” Tristessa asked, beginning to tremble when she saw Lenore imdiately go to the third row of the shelf on the right and pull out an album that, to her dismay, was almost empty.
There was only a copy of that destroyed photograph she had lost in the Sea of Trees when she died the first ti, and the image of her mother hidden in the shadows, smiling with vanity at her. She could almost hear her detestable voice…
“Would you like to see sothing else, mistress?”
“Yes, what do you have on Daiana rcer-Archeos?”
The album dedicated to that dangerous psychopath contained a wealth of information she had acquired through sweat, tears, and blood. Her skill with thaumaturgy, her Divinity, her leadership ability… And yet, Tristessa thought it wasn't enough. She needed to know more, to be sure that this Priestess of the Black Eye wasn't going to pull another trick up her sleeve that would squander all her days of effort in the blink of an eye.
Then Tristessa looked through several albums on her own, reviewing what she had learned since arriving on Nekrom, while Lenore observed her with absolute patience reflected on her cute smile.
“There are so many empty photos, but with nas… Nas and concepts I’ve heard, but still without enough information to solidify an idea. They’re hidden by an [unnatural darkness] …” she said, reviewing so of the nas of the blacked-out photos within their respective plastic sheets, such as Imperial Guardians, New Crywolf, Abyss Soul-Gem, Empyrean of Dead Gods… So many things to discover and strip away that darkness. “Let’s continue, Lenore.”
“Right away, (mistress/governess/chief).”
The next room was short in width and long in length, designed to be used for photography sessions: two flood lamps were lit, pointing their incandescent light at a blank screen, ters ahead and close to the wall.
“This is the [Room of Phantom Rembrances]. Here you store all the echoes, fragnts, and pieces you collect through your [Divinity of Whispers in the Dark], of those who have definitively t Death,” Lenore explained, inviting her to stand between the two lamps. Tristessa did so and saw, levitating in front of her, a small sphere of shadows, which contrasted perfectly with all that light. “You can hear their voices again and go even deeper. See their mories, that which is written in the past and cannot be (erased/modified/circumvented with your [Divinity-that-must-not-be-said-aloud]).”
That was a very interesting detail: it let Tristessa know that she could only find the echoes of those who had passed away, and that their fates could not be avoided by her forbidden Divinity.
Such was the case of Viktor Enma, who had died many days before her arrival in Nekrom.
As she interacted with that small, dark sphere and thought of that rcenary, his shadow was projected onto that screen, with such quality and an impossible three-dinsional perfection that she could better perceive the details of the clothing he had been wearing, the curves of his face, and his superb skill with the dagger.
“I look forward to hearing more from you, Viktor.”
Then, Lenore led her to the large table in the center of the dark room, which had minimal relief around the outer periter to serve as a sort of containnt basin. What it contained was a thin layer of transparent chemical liquid, so static and immutable that it seed frozen, covering hundreds...no, thousands of negative photographs, their images so chaotically altered that they were impossible to decipher.
That was another way to hide information through unnatural darkness.
“The [Negative Altar] stores all your (lost/censored/repressed) mories. Every ti a mory resurfaces in your mind, I will develop their photograph and store it in the corresponding album,” her assistant instructed, quickly stopping Tristessa from touching the liquid when she tried to take one of the photographs underneath.
The girl t Lenore's nightmarish, scorched gaze, smiling at her as she held her wrist between her fingers.
“The mind is a very fragile place, my dear mistress. Any turbulence can turn calm waters into tidal waves… You don't want to dive into such hostile waters when you don't even know how to swim in them, do you?”
“N-no… Of course not.” At that confirmation, Tristessa's arm was released. “Let's continue.”
“At your service, mistress.”
Lenore led her to the room across the table, bypassing the room closest to the entrance.
“Wait… Why is that room blocked like that?” Tristessa asked, pointing to the large tal plate welded against the wall, making any attempt to enter impossible.
“It’s not the right ti. No other reason than that, mistress.” Lenore, standing in front of the entrance to the middle room, invited her inside. “After you.”
The black-haired girl frowned and silently agreed, her prevailing tranquility slightly disturbed.
The room Lenore had insisted on entering contained an antique, red armchair and a projector with which to watch films on the screen that took up almost the entire wall.
“The [Projector Room]. Here you will be able to see events representative of your (experiences/suffering/torture), mistress. Like, for example, your Deaths.” Lenore activated the projector, and Tristessa was forced to watch in high definition how she lost her life to a heart attack while staring into the eyes of the Dullahan, vowing to pursue her through all the loops necessary to defeat her. “There’s no better way to overco obstacles than by analyzing what happened, finding the causes that led to failure, and (overcoming/prevailing/growing), don’t you think?”
“You say it as if it were simple. If so, how can I defeat the Dullahan?” she asked, pointing at the frozen image on the screen. At those eyes, surrounded by the miasma of Discord that the phantom knightess contained within her helt.
“Rember, I am you, mistress. From your perspective, I see it as (impossible/absurd/insurmountable).”
With that ear-to-ear smile contrasting perfectly with Tristessa’s dark grimace, Lenore led her outside to complete the tour.
“Finally, this last room is the [Assistant's Office]. Whenever you need , you can find there.” With that, the woman with the burning eyes bowed to Tristessa. “I eagerly await your orders, my (dear/beloved/erotic) mistress. But first, please take the ti to use that mirror.”
Lenore pointed to a large, dark-surfaced mirror, located exactly opposite the entrance, on the other side of the Negative Altar.
“Aren't you coming with ?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at her stillness against the curtains of her room.
“That is (irrelevant/unnecessary/a waste of ti). I am you, thus the [Black Mirror] has already defined what I am.”
Then, silence. Peaceful but disturbing, sothing Tristessa would have felt instantly if it had happened in real life. But in that place, her little kingdom, she found nothing strange except the tal barrier of the only room she couldn't enter.
She went to that mirror and stood in front of it, seeing her full-body reflection staring back at her, the exact sa outfit she'd been wearing since leaving the rcer-Archeos house, that tired face that had lost the ability to feel lasting peace many days ago, and her black hair that she longed to comb at that instant.
“Let yourself be guided by the mirror to know yourself better, my mistress,” she heard Lenore say in the distance.
Those words —thinking about them— made Tristessa's reflection be surrounded with small auras of various colors, more inclined toward vermillion, like the color of a bloody sunset. There were also currents of energy running through her arms, legs and head, all converging in her chest, connected to each other by that common point like ridians.
It was like a beautiful piece of art in constant movent, but no matter how hard she tried to interpret the colors, their intensities, and their anings, Tristessa couldn't understand what she was seeing.
“Is this mirror supposed to show who I am? Isn't there an easier way, like…?"
With the words on the tip of her tongue, she saw the resurgence of a mory so mundane it filled her heart with nostalgia: she was in the company of soone —an unknown guest, hidden in shades of broken mories— holding a device with levers and push-buttons in her hands, which allowed her to control a group of virtual characters inside a television.
Those characters did what she wanted, and by pushing one of those buttons, she could view very useful information about them.
“What if I could see my information like character’s stats in a videoga?” Tristessa suggested, and as if the mind palace had heard her, the storm of colors inside the mirror vanished, giving way to phosphorescent text-sheets represented by the letters of the alphabet. “That's what I'm talking about! Let’s see…”
TRISTESSA IRANDELL
MAIN STATS
Strength: 1 out of 100Dexterity: 2( 3) out of 100Endurance: 3 out of 100Vitality: 3( 2) out of 100Intelligence: 6 out of 100Spirit: 8 out of 100Willpower: 0 out of 100Luck: 0 out of 100
SUBSTATS
Hit Points: 15( 5) out of 10000Magic Points: 1 out of 5000Spirit Points: 50 out of 5000Stamina: 35 out of 5000Poise: 5 out of 1000Immunities: 2 out of 500Physical Resistance: 10 out of 500Magic Resistance: 5 out of 500Instant Death Resistance: 0 out of 500Terror Resistance: 0 out of 500Madness Resistance: 5 out of 500Karma: -15 points between [-100 and 100]
PASSIVES
First Echo of Viktor Enma: 3 Dexterity points. Bonus on daggers and knives.Second Echo of Viktor Enma: 2 Vitality points. HP bonus.Unknown Curse of the Nesis (Dullahan): HIDDEN BY UNNATURAL DARKNESS
EQUIPNT
Casual Trench Coat: No damage negation bonusesCasual Trousers: No damage negation bonusesCasual Boots: No damage negation bonusesHunting Knife: D physical damage bonus from Dexterity scaling
DIVINITIES
Death and Resurrection (Dark Resurrection) – Divinity of Death, granted by the God of Chaos, Vel'Moran. Banished from Death, there is no end to the abyss on the horizon. Dying is a straight line. Resurrecting is a spiral.
Baptism in Ruins – HIDDEN BY UNNATURAL DARKNESSGradient of Madness – The forbidden truth emanates from the overlapping of multiple realities. No sentient being can endure it. The logical result is madness. (Grants 9999 points of Madness-status effect to friends and foes alike after consciously learning about the existence of the [Divinity of Death and Resurrection])Accursed Existence – Divinity of Life, granted by the Goddess of Order, Xiliarra. Life is a gift, rejoicing in it is an obligation. Even for those who reopen their eyes and beg for oblivion.
Arising Capacity: 1Soul Strain: 1 SP per second for a Fading Soul.Whispers in the Dark – Divinity of Power, granted by the God of Balance, Kantrus. It is said that the dead tell no tales. In truth, it is a matter of who is willing to listen.Harvested Echoes: 2Dark Room – Divinity of the Mind, granted by the God of Balance, Kantrus. The mind can always be a darker place than one believes. Its corridors can be endless; a labyrinth capable of swallowing its owner alive, and no one will hear their screams.Room of KnowledgeRoom of Phantom RembrancesNegative AltarRoom of the ProjectorAssistant's OfficeBlack MirrorHIDDEN BY UNNATURAL DARKNESS
TITLE – Scum
“You are weak. Fragile and unwanted. You are nothing. Your allies see you as a burden, they despise you. Your enemies mock you at your attempts at survival. You are destined to fail.”
The smile Tristessa had when she began reading her stats had already disappeared once she reached the end. Numbers close to zero, alarming descriptions of her Divinities, a pitiful title… The only positive thing about it was the passive benefits granted by Viktor's echoes, or at least that was the way she saw it.
Because none of that was real. Life wasn't a video ga. There was no all-powerful System capable of guiding a lucky soul to success.
No. Nekrom was real, as real as the four Deaths she suffered. That room and that mirror were rely a product of her imagination, amplified exponentially by her new Divinity. She was the System there, inside her head, and the [Divinity of the Dark Room] was rely a ans to visualize it.
Therefore, all those stats, all those descriptions… It was all her.
“So…that's how I see myself,” the girl whispered, releasing a breath she'd been holding inside, then chuckling softly. She looked to her right, to where Lenore stood as still as a statue. “And why are you crying?”
From her black eyes, boiling tears ran down those paths of scars that were beginning to fill with blisters and burned skin, covering the Dark Room with a necrotic odor. And yet, Lenore smiled at her, in her own and morbid way.
“I am you, mistress.”
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