Chapter 115 - 115: Scared
With that heavy topic on his mind, he didn't even have it in him to take out his anger on Despair. As who was he to judge anyone?
Like an ashy wisp from a fire that's long petered out, Ixion floated down the palace halls and back toward the throne room.
'At least I figured out what the jester did.'
Beyond just records, the jester had probably destroyed his research documents — his research papers were the only thing the deplorable man valued more than human life.
Ixion arrived just in time to watch the last of the thralls he'd sent to Despair shout:
"You are a fool, Despair."
Before the tall man was instantly expelled from the Memory Realm.
The real Despair scoffed.
"Finally."
Then his eyes glanced toward the door, where Ixion's soul was meandering about. For a moment Ixion feared that he'd underestimated Despair, but that didn't seem to be the case.
Despair turned to his memory clone, then said:
"I have some matters to attend to in Verse. While I'm gone, do try to get the documents back in order."
The real Despair left, leaving Ixion's soul and the tainted memory alone.
The memory Despair walked off into the halls and turned toward the chancery.
'I wonder what Verse is?'
It was nothing Ixion's ever heard of.
'Another Memory World?'
It would make sense. Despair's Memory Realm was vast; it probably got hard to track which World was which sometimes. Codenames for them made sense.
But as much as it made sense…
'It's wicked.'
Ixion inherently abhorred the idea of leisurely living in an agonizing memory of another. Then to go as far as naming the place? Separating it from even the idea of the person it was stolen from?
'Despicable.'
Before Ixion made his way to the prison, he explored a little more of the palace.
First…
His soul floated over and stared at the corpse of his memory self.
'Poor bastard.'
For a moment, his soul felt tethered in place looking upon his own corpse. His corpse, which had a flat expression carved on its face. It didn't look sad it was dead — nor happy.
Death was merely a happening to the memory Ixion.
Turning from himself, he then made his way to the other rooms. In one, he found a pile of warm corpses — the memory people. In the ballroom, a horde of thralls stood looking at the wall, awaiting an order.
'Wicked. Horrid. Nasty.'
Ixion failed to find the right word to describe the state of this World.
Finally, Ixion made his way down into the dungeon.
He checked the upper levels, only to find them barren, but not entirely out of use. A bit of blood stains lay on the floor as evidence someone had once been jailed there.
On the lower levels, there was much the same scene, but some of the cells were actually housed by prisoners. But, unlike those on the lowest level, these prisoners were all memory copies.
Ixion floated down the halls and spotted one which made his soul boil.
'Zabaniyah.'
She lay in the furthest cell, chained against the wall. Her amber eyes had lost their luster, and any fight to escape her torment had clearly been beaten out of her.
'Why?'
Why did Despair do this? What did he get out of this?
It was a memory recreation. It only knew what Drath thought it knew.
So, why even torture it?
'Tch…'
Ixion turned away after working out the contemptible answer.
'It wasn't just records he imparted onto Drath, was it?'
Not standing to look any longer, Ixion floated himself down to the lowest level of the prison.
There were less cells on this level, and Dia's was at the far end of the hall, but these cells contained the higher-profile individuals. The real individuals.
Ixion's soul looked left and right as he made his way down the hall, recognizing countless faces of warriors he thought to have died in battle. But, no, Despair had gotten to them.
'Damned "human lover."'
That's what the mad scientist likes to call himself. And that's what he was.
He loved the human mind and body — he cared not for an individual.
Ixion stopped his approach at the last cell before Dia.
'As I thought.'
Drath was chained to the wall, much like Zabaniyah's.
But, if Zabaniyah's eyes were dull and hollow, Drath's eyes contained within them a void. Who knows how many times he'd been tortured by Despair's insidious ability. All Ixion could tell was that the amount eclipsed Drath's knightly will.
The man didn't want to fight; he wanted to die. No, it would be a folly to assume Drath wanted anything.
Ixion almost wanted to enter his soul, but there'd be no point.
His mind was long dead.
Instead, Ixion made a promise to himself.
'I'll help you die, dear friend.'
Turning away from Drath, Ixion floated through a thick iron door — the door to Dia's cell.
Much like before, the ragged woman sat with her arms tied on loose chains behind her back and her ankles bound to the ground. Her forced position looked like a priest about to bow down and pray.
Dia's hair was evidently more disheveled than before, and a few new lash marks were etched deep into her side. Her rags were nearly slipping off, but still clung together.
Before her was a thrall dutifully keeping watch over her.
Ixion floated a little to the side, inspecting the scene.
No, he wasn't inspecting. There wasn't much to glean from watching this madness.
A daughter was being abused by her maniac of a father, what more was there to tell?
Instead, Ixion was finding in himself the courage to enter Dia's body — her vessel which housed that nasty soul surrounding a radiant pulp.
He wasn't exactly worried that Dia would freak out then give away his plot. But, more so, he was worried she'd shun him…
Ixion had no intent to hide himself as Pirithous, nor his true identity as King, but what would Dia's reaction be to that knowledge?
Even if he freed her…
How would they ever revive the initial dynamic from the day they visited the tavern?
That's what Ixion was terrified of.