<I think s-> Alarion began.

Then the pain struck him.

Lightning raced through his nerves, his whole body convulsing as he fell to the ground. He curled in upon himself, crying out in agony, unable to answer Alex's pleading as wave after wave of agony rolled over him.

Alarion could not tell how long the suffering lasted. Seconds, probably, but they were among the longest in his life. When it finally abated, it left him raw and tormented. He'd been sorely mistaken if he'd thought potion sickness had been bad.

New Condition! Internal Organ Damage – Severe. [Survivor's Endurance] has taken effect. The secondary effect of [Survivor's Endurance] has taken effect. [Internal Organ Damage – Severe] has been resisted due to user's VIT score. Condition reduced to [Internal Organ Damage – Major] [Internal Organ Damage – Major] – 80% Malus to all physical Attributes. 20% Malus to all mental attributes. Reduced healing speed of all conditions by 50% until this condition is fully healed.

[Pig-headed Resilience] had once again saved Alarion from death. But at that moment, he wasn't sure that was such a good thing.

<I'm alright,> Alarion said at last, responding to Alex's concerned inquiries, <Backlash from one of my skills.>

<You're bleeding.>

<It is less than my regeneration.> Not a lot less, but still less. <Are you okay?>

Alex laughed slightly at Alarion's concern. <We make a pair. That optical flare drained almost everything this unit had, and being crushed did me no favors. We need to put me into a different substrate in the next hour or so. To allow this unit to self-repair. Otherwise, things will get dicey.>

<So I can lie here for a bit?>

<Yes, Alarion. You can lie there for a bit.>

And so he did. The two rested in silence within the black lit room, with only the chirp and buzz of small fans and motors to serenade them. The quiet stretched into minutes, interrupted every so often by a shift from Alarion, a change in posture both for comfort and because of the need to stay awake.

<Alarion.>

<Mm?>

<You could have let me decommission,> Alex's voice was soft. Introspective. <You would have won much more cleanly. Why didn't you?>

Alarion stared up at the ceiling, pain pulsing at his temples. <Didn't think you wanted to. Didn't have to.>

<I've spent years wanting this to end,> Alex said honestly. <Fragmented. Tortured by time. And I'm one of the lucky ones. But watching you fight, I think I want to see this world you are a part of.>

Alarion smiled.

<When you're ready, bring me to what is left of the Duke.>

Alarion didn't linger further. Ten minutes of relaxation had done wonders for the pain and staunching blood flow, but the next twenty had been excessive. He was ready as he would be, and Sierra was waiting.

His steps were slow and careful as he crossed the room, each sending a twinge of pain up his left side. If there were any foes to face on his way down, Alarion was well and truly dead, but for now, it was a simple enough matter to gather up the metallic core from the wreckage of the wristband and carry it over to the remnants of his opponent.

<Find the largest part of his head. And as much of the rest, if you can.> Alarion gave 'Alex' a glare as the latter added, <I know, most of it is black stone. Look for the visor, or the eyes.>

After some scrounging, Alarion came away from the pile with a triangular piece of the Duke's head roughly the size of his fist and two smaller chunks, each half the size of the first. The visor was cracked and ruined, its contents staining the stones and Alarion's hands a matching red as he handled them.

<That should be enough,> said Alex. <Keep all three together, and push me against the largest piece.>

Alarion did as instructed and felt the stone come alive under his hands.

It shifted like clay, warping and reforming of its own accord, pulling the metal chip containing Alex's personality into its depths. Over the next minute, the three pieces melded into one, then summoned additional bits from the floor to join them as Alex forged himself a new body.

This new form was thinner and shorter than its original, owing no doubt to the damage Alarion had inflicted. It was angular and blocky, his head initially little more than a floating cube before it spouted a golden crest and a thin green visor that descended partway down its left cheek into the crack that Alarion had left with his punches.

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Curiously, this new body had no joints. The head floated above the neck, the hands floated below the wrists, and the arms were not attached to the shoulders. It had the shape of an unfinished man, like someone outlining the dimensions of one without going back to finish in any detail work. Black stone morphed into a muted grey, highlighted in white and gold, to give the body a more regal and less threatening appearance.

Alex looked down at his new hands. And he laughed. A sick, sadistic sound.

<Finally! After all that time. I did not think anyone would be stupid enough to free me from my prison! Now you will taste the wrath of->

A swift hook from Alarion's right fist interrupted Alex's monomaniacal rant. Even with his greatly diminished strength, small chips of stone flew, and the newly incarnated Steelborn held his hands up in a pitiful defense. <Stop! Three Together, are you kidding me, Alarion?!>

Alarion eyed him warily, his miniature greatsword already drawn.

<Are you serious? Do they not have jokes in the future?> The emulated man complained as he smoothed over the damage. <At least now I remember what pain feels like.>

For his part, Alarion's expression shifted from stern to perplexed to sheepish in a matter of a few heartbeats. His sword arm lowered, and he turned away, cheeks reddened.

<Sorry. I should have read the room. Don't worry; no blood, no report.> Alex looked down at himself, the green of his eyes dimming slightly. <Do you have anything to wear? I don't like being naked.>

<Mm,> Alarion confirmed, happy to change the subject. <My pack downstairs has a cloak that should fit.>

The Steelborn nodded and floated off toward the stairwell at a brisk pace. Left alone, Alarion loosened the pressure on his wound long enough to inspect it, then thought better of it when he saw the extent of the blood on his hands. The way they glowed under the strange black lights lent the sight a surreal feeling, but Alarion knew that looking at his open wound would almost certainly turn his stomach in a way he could not turn back.

That was when he noticed it. The long red scarf that had trailed behind the Duke during their battle was left amidst the remaining rubble of his body. It was a shame to leave it there, lost and forgotten.

Exception: Unexpected Item

Full Traceback

Re-categorizing

N̸͍͇̓̀̐͐͘a̸̱͔̎̈͑̄̀ͅn̷̢̼͚̑͋̆̋o̷̞̾-̸̛̦̫́͋̕͠p̵̹̋̈́ō̶̝͈̣͊̌l̸̡̖̜̎̂̉̃̓y̸̺̮̺͑͂̀̃ͅm̸̢͙̞̮͋̐͘é̷̜̻̘̳͗̂̒̚ṟ̷̻͝ Scarf ö̸̢̢̖̙́͐f̵͚̣̙͕͑͑ ̸̧̢̮͈̣̾̉̉̾͝t̸͇̠̉́̓͘ḩ̷̮̘͙̦͋͗ȩ̸̺̀̀͌͛͜ͅ ̶̳̩̤͋̄̎́S̸̡̲̞̠̈͗̃̓͜l̶̛̞̥̩̎͘a̷͎͂̀͠i̴̗͉̾n̴̡̬̂̇ ̷̧̜̬́̔C̷̪̈̍̑ḩ̶̫͓̰̐a̷͉̙̾̑m̶̛͚͓͑̂p̸̹͇̮̮͗͑̊i̶͉̎͋͛́ǫ̸̙͐̈́̄̎n̶̘̺̊̊̚[Legendary](Rank Nil)

Description: The final relic of the slain champion of the ancients. This scarf was once a beacon of hope for millions, only to lie forgotten around the necks of unworthy successors.

Requirements: None

Attunement Cost: None

Type: Neck

Enchantment: None

Ability Bonuses: None

"Hmm," Alarion grunted, studying both system messages and the scarf. It had the highest rarity of anything he'd ever seen and did nothing. It was soft. Very soft. Warm as well, he discovered, as he wrapped it snugly around his neck. Perhaps Sierra could make some sense of it.

<Are you ready to go?>

Alex emerged at the mouth of the exit, his body draped in a purple cloak that suited him far more than it had ever suited Alarion. With clothing on, the Steelborn looked much more complete. His slender frame almost looked human so long as one didn't look at his head or hands.

Or the fact that he floated everywhere.

<I might need your help to get down some of the stairs,> Alarion answered truthfully. Between potion sickness and his substantial injuries, it would be a wonder if they reached the tower's base before nightfall. And that was without having to find Sierra in the process.

<Oh, we're not taking the stairs,> Alex chided, as if the idea were patently absurd. <Let me disable the lockdown. We'll find your friend and get out of here.>

Delighted at his newfound agency, Alex floated past Alarion and began to work while the young man was still processing what he had said. Fingers cascaded over buttons and switches, breathing new life into long-dormant machinery and flooding the darkly lit room with the stinging glow of two dozen screens. Once the equipment was active, the Steelborn navigated not with keys but with gestures, interfacing directly with the machinery.

<My, she hasn't wasted time,> Alex chuckled.

<Sierra?>

<She's halfway up the spire. Looks like she's obliterated eight security checkpoints on the way. Are you two…?> Alex let the syllable linger as he glanced back at Alarion. The dull, unaware look on the boy's face was all the answer he needed. <Right. Never mind, dumb question. Your pack is by the door. I put my backup storage unit inside. This body should be stable, but hold on to it just in case, if you would? You can never have enough redundancy. Grab it and anything else you forgot. We won't be coming back.>

Alarion did as he was bid, gathering his pack and used potion vials for good measure. With everything stowed, there was only one item remaining.

The slow scrape of metal along metal announced Alarion's intentions. Alex initially ignored the noise, but as it grew more intense, he was compelled to look back. His shoulders sagged, exasperation radiating off the construct as he spoke. <You can't be serious.>

<Once I'm healed, I can lift it.> Alarion explained, one hand tight around the hilt of the Duke's mace as he dragged it behind him. <Sierra can carry it in the meantime. Or you can.>

Alex didn't need to breathe, but he sighed all the same.

<Hold on tightly and stay perfectly still. This will be disorienting.>

Alarion understood immediately. Suddenly appearing in the courtyard, miles below, had been disorienting. He'd been nauseous. Frightened. Sierra had been there, shocked to see him. She was angry. And frightened. She'd called him an idiot.

None of that had happened yet, even though he remembered all of it.

Reality flickered, and he was in the courtyard miles below. He was disoriented, nauseated, and frightened. Sierra looked at him, her eyes wide, as she struggled through the same experience and uttered two words overflowing with meaning.

"You idiot."

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