24. Cym

Chapter 24

Cym

: S tillbringer:

Cym thought he'd just heard someone whisper into his ear before the sounds of a baby's cries and loud, stressed-out voices surrounded him.

When the world solidified around him, he was looking through the window of an old-fashioned, wooden house. Inside he could see people dressed like they were in a Regency romance novel, but there was nothing romantic about the dying woman on the bed. Next to the bed, a man was clutching a red, screaming infant to his chest as he sobbed.

Cym's eyes burned in sympathy, and tears fell down his cheeks unchecked.

"That's me he's holding." The young man Cym had been trying to rescue stood at his side. His ageless eyes were a calm oasis amid the chaos, and when he reached out and squeezed Cym's hand, instinctively he squeezed back, comforted. "I was told that when I was born, it was like the life flowed right out of my mother as I was leaving her body. It happened too fast. Even with all the power he held, there was nothing my father could do to save her."

The scene changed as the light and noise ended abruptly. The wind whipped at Cym's hair, and for a moment, he thought he might be back at the compound in the growing snowstorm, but there was no fire and no buildings. A terrible roar assaulted him, and he tried to cover his ears, but the man held fast to his hand, so Cym only managed to cover one.

"What is that?" Cym whispered, not wanting to attract the thing's attention. He decided to let the man keep his hand for now. It was absurd, but he felt more comfortable knowing he wasn't here alone.

"That's the thing that killed my father. He got it in the end, but it took him with it." The stranger's gentle voice sounded detached, as though it was an event that had happened to someone he had only heard about. "I'm Marshall, by the way. I'm guessing you're Cymbeline?"

At least he found the right guy.

"Cym," he corrected. "I'd rather be called Cym, if you don't mind."

A large, dark shape rolled over the dark countryside, and a yellow flash flared against its side, eliciting another ear-splitting roar.

"That useless lump by the tree is me," Marshall stated blandly, like it had no effect on him. "I got taken out in the beginning of the fight. You should be able to make out a faint shimmer around my body. That's the shield my father put over me to keep me safe. He might have survived if I hadn't been there. He needed all of his magic to kill that demon, so throwing that shield around me is probably what finished him off." Marshall's eyes were unfocused as he spoke, and he played absently with a lock of his hair. "Thank you, by the way. If it wasn't for you, I'd be in the middle of that, trapped and helpless. Instead you've given me a buffer. It's a bit disorienting, but it's better than experiencing all the horrible highlights of my life at once."

Cym burned with embarrassment. He'd wanted to help Marshall, not roll him. Though on the plus side, at least Cym wasn't driving him insane. "I'm sorry. I can't really control how I affect people." He started to pull his hand away from Marshall's, hoping it might give him a chance to reorient himself.

Marshall squeezed Cym's hand tighter, keeping it trapped in his. "No, I don't think that would be a good idea right now," Marshall said. "I just need to adjust to it, and then we can figure a way out of here."

We.

Marshall included Cym in their escape without hesitation. Without even knowing him. Cym's chest swelled with heat, and he noticed once again the pink glow of his magic filling his body. He could sense it flowing down his arm and into Marshall's.

Cym's full attention was drawn to the magic flowing between them, and he saw his pink mingling with Marshall's cool blue. It reminded him of working with Adelle to heal himself. Except when his magic mixed with Adelle's, their colors didn't blend together; they stayed separate as they worked to fix his injuries. Right now, his pink bled right into Marshall's blue, creating a vibrant purple that ran rampant through Marshall's body.

He concentrated, trying to imagine the pink pulling back from the blue, but it felt like trying to push a dump truck up a hill.

It must have done something because Marshall's eyes lost some of the dreamy expression they held, and he said, "Keep going. If you can pull your magic back a little more, I should be able to take it from there."

Cym's teeth bit into his lip as he fought to pull his magic back, millimeter by millimeter. He swayed, but Marshall held him up. They were like two drunks, bracing themselves against one another for the long walk home from a bar.

Cym's mind began to fragment and lose focus, and he was certain he was about to pass out, when suddenly he was no longer in the driver's seat. It felt as though his magic was a ball of yarn and someone was carefully winding it back up.

"There we go, that's much better." Marshall's eyes had lost their dreamy quality and were now focused on Cym. "We don't know one another nearly well enough to accidentally blend our magic without serious confusion. Now we can figure out what went wrong."

"What do you mean? What went wrong was that Sekt and my aunt are trying to eat you, and we need to figure out how to stop them." Cym could stand on his own now, so he pulled back but made sure to keep his hand in Marshall's.

"You know its name? That's helpful. I wasn't able to get that far." Marshall looked impressed. "What are you doing here anyway? You should be long gone by now. What happened?"

"I don't know what your plan was, but things have gone sideways out there. Nightmares are using my family as puppets and are letting demons and nightmares through portals as fast as they can. Our friends aren't going to be able to hold them off much longer." Cym couldn't understand why Marshall was wasting time quizzing him when they should be doing something, anything, to get out of this place.

The scene around them switched to a street lined with houses. In the distance, he could make out a group of people battling strange, flying creatures in front of a house that had been torn in two.

Rather than responding to the urgency in Cym's voice, Marshall frowned and said, "That doesn't explain why you are here. The job was to get you out and then come back for me." Irritation laced his words.

"Adelle mentioned that I might be able to help you?" What Cym intended to present as a confident statement of fact ended up sounding more like a meek question.

Marshall's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "There is no way she told you to come here; you're an untrained civilian. I don't care what you're packing in there, you don't belong here." He tapped Cym's chest lightly, belying his angry tone.

"She may have been distracted and mentioned that I would be an asset under different conditions," Cym admitted grudgingly. "Listen, we don't have time to stand around chatting about who sent who where. We're being attacked right now. For all I know we could be dying!"

"We probably are dying," Marshall agreed mildly, like dying was a simple, everyday occurrence for him. "But we have time to figure this out. Time works differently in here. Outside of this trap, you've only just gotten between the demon and me, and it's only been a few seconds since I grabbed your hand. You're right though. We should work on finding a way out of here."

Instead of doing anything, Marshall stood and stared dispiritedly at the fighting figures down the street and then shook his head. The scene switched to a cemetery, where a man holding a baby stood with a young girl with honey-colored hair next to a headstone.

Cym was all but vibrating out of his skin when Marshall sighed and said, "To defeat this thing, I need to find out what I did wrong the first time. In order to defeat a demon, a dreamwalker has to unmake it. This demon is incredibly old, but it shouldn't have taken me out without so much as a whimper. I don't want to brag?—"

Cym was unable to suppress a snort of disbelief. "That's exactly how a bragger begins his sentences."

Ignoring him, Marshall continued, "But I am fairly powerful as dreamwalkers go. Once I've identified how a demon or nightmare came to be, I can unmake them. This guy surprised me. It took no effort at all to see that he was born from xenophobia. He all but slapped me in the face with it, but when I went to unmake him, I landed here."

Cym's memory poked at him. "Can a demon have more than one origin?" He had no idea if it was a stupid question or not, but now wasn't the time to be getting squeamish about sounding ignorant. The extreme isolation of his formative years left him feeling constantly out of the loop, and the only way to learn more was to ask questions.

"Why do you ask?" Rather than being irritated by his question, Marshall's eyebrows drew together as he pondered Cym's words.

"Well, earlier I accidentally went into one of Hester's memories—Sekt's original host—and I learned a lot of things, one being that he and my great-great-whatever-grandmother have been possessing Blaikes for generations."

Marshall raised his eyebrows at this but motioned for Cym to continue.

"The other thing they talked about was that his favorite thing to feed off was guilt. It sounded like he found survivor guilt to be especially desirable. Does that mean anything to you?" Cym cringed internally, preparing to be told—probably kindly if he was any judge of character—that he was completely off base.

Marshall's hand went back to his hair, tidying his already-perfect mop of curls as a myriad of expressions crossed his face. Confusion warred with suspicion as he ruffled his hair and then smoothed it back down again.

On impulse, Cym grabbed his hand. "You're going to make yourself go bald if you keep that up."

Marshall grinned. "Habit. I've been doing it for more than a century, so I think my hair will survive. Okay, from what you said, it sounds to me like Sekt might have learned a new trick. Instead of hiding his origin like most demons and nightmares, he threw his out into the open. Like an idiot, I grabbed it and tried to unmake him, no questions asked. If I had just slowed down for a minute…" He caught himself, waving away his self-recrimination. "It doesn't matter."

Cym found himself being dragged along behind Marshall as he began to pace. It looked as though Marshall wasn't planning on letting him go any time soon, so Cym forced his short legs to work double time to keep up with Marshall.

"He must have created a fake origin to trick me into attacking prematurely—and once I went for the bait, I was no longer as focused on defense, which left him free to swoop in and feed on me. And what a bounty he found…" he murmured the last part to himself.

He stopped abruptly, and Cym smacked awkwardly into his back. Marshall looked at Cym as if he'd forgotten he was there.

"So what do we do?" Cym may not know much about his world, but he did know guardians were supposed to be a tenacious group of people. He was willing to bet Marshall already had a plan.

Marshall let out a short bark of a laugh. "So much confidence in me after such a short acquaintance, Stillbringer? I hope your faith in me is warranted, but it's going to take both of us to get us out of here."

Stillbringer. Cym heard that word when he'd fallen into his nightmare. It sounded like a title, but he'd never heard of it.

"What do you need me to do? Whatever you need, I'll give it. Just…" Cym paused, embarrassed at exposing his feelings for other people to a stranger, but he pushed on, needing for it to be said. "Just promise me you'll get my brother and Fourteen out of here alive."

Marshall's hazel eyes met his, and he cradled both of Cym's hands gently, dwarfing them inside his. "I promise I will get you back to your soldier, and together, we'll save what's left of your family."

Marshall's gaze promised Cym a level of safety he'd only felt with Fourteen—which made sense if he thought about it. Both men were warriors, and both of them were clearly hardwired to protect.

"First things first, let's get out of here." Marshall blew out a deep breath and shook himself like a boxer readying himself for a fight. "This is going to suck."

At Cym's quizzical look, he clarified, "For me, not for you. I'm going to have to go back in there"—he pointed to the scene ahead of them. It had cycled back around to the monster on the moor—"and face my own demons. All you have to do is stay with me. Don't let go of my hand, and focus on your magic. Imagine it flowing to me, but not into me. I'll take it from there. Adelle was right to want you here. If you hadn't dropped into my lap, I don't think I could have done this."

"You are planning on explaining these cryptic statements at some point, right?"

"The moment your soldier boy lets you up for air, you come find me, and I'll explain it all," Marshall said, with laughter in his eyes.

Cym felt his cheeks go red, but he didn't protest. He already knew what he wanted. He just hoped it was what Fourteen wanted too.

Gripping Cym's hand tightly, Marshall asked, "Ready?"

At his affirmative, Marshall squared his shoulders and strode toward the battling figures on the moor. The wind picked up the moment they stepped forward, and soon Cym was holding on to Marshall, not just to support him magically, but to keep from getting blown away. Marshall pulled Cym close to his side and arranged it so he had one arm around Cym's small form while holding tight to him with his other hand.

Cym burrowed into his warmth and focused all his attention on keeping his magic from invading Marshall's. It was only slightly less exhausting than pulling it back, so it wasn't long before Marshall was supporting most of his weight. Marshall was just as big as Fourteen and didn't seem to notice the added weight.

In fact, he didn't seem to notice Cym at all. Instead, Marshall's attention was completely focused on the tall, gangly man throwing fistfuls of raw magic at a creature that appeared to be made up entirely of rock. Random flashes from the battle illuminated Marshall's now-expressionless face. Cym felt a pull at his center, and he fought hard to keep his magic from mixing with Marshall's.

They were right at the base of the tree now, standing next to the memory image of Marshall lying prone on the ground. Marshall's father was only yards away chipping away at the demon, piece by piece.

Marshall bent down to touch the yellow shield covering his memory self, keeping Cym tucked up against his body. Cym felt his body shake and saw tears falling down Marshall's face.

"Just take it off," Marshall whispered. Then he stood, dragging Cym with him, and turned toward the battle that was nearly on top of them. "Dad, take it off!" he shouted brokenly.

A massive shard from the monster cracked off and crashed through the area they were standing, leaving them unscathed, but taking out the tree above memory-Marshall. The shield protecting him flared as it absorbed the impact.

A massive pull on his magic had Cym disoriented. After a moment, he felt like the scene had shifted, but he couldn't place how. Then Cym shouted, "Take it off!" with a voice that was not his own.

An internal check showed him that, not only was his magic bleeding into Marshall's, but the two were so entwined there was almost no pink or blue anymore, just a swirling purple that seemed endless.

Grief and guilt swelled in Cym's heart with an intensity that overwhelmed him. He wanted to curl up in a ball and die. There was no point to them being there. What use were they to anyone? What good was magic if it couldn't protect the ones they loved? The world would be a better place if they weren't in it. Surely their loved ones would be safer if they weren't constantly needing to sacrifice themselves for them.

Cym was lost. He couldn't tell which thoughts and emotions were his and which were Marshall's. All he… they could feel was pain. And around the edges of the pain was… joy?

Cym had to fight through pain, anguish, and the unbearable weight of existence to separate from Marshall enough to reach the joy, but once he did, he inspected it and found it was laced with white, cancerous evil. Camped right on the edge of the field was a familiar, monstrous presence.

Sekt.

The demon was feeding off Marshall's pain with the joy of a child at Christmas time.

Grief-guilt-self-loathing.

Marshall's emotions reeled Cym back in, but now he knew what he was facing, and he fought his way free faster. Cym couldn't allow this to happen to Marshall. He'd been marinating in the man's soul, and the core of it was filled with such kindness and gentleness that what was happening to him made Cym want to cry. There was nothing this man had done to deserve being literally eaten alive by guilt.

What could Cym do? All he had was himself, and that wasn't worth much in a fight like this. Maybe Marshall had something more offensive at his disposal, but he was trapped in despair and didn't seem likely to come to the rescue right now… Did Cym dare use Marshall's power? He was connected so closely with Marshall that he should be able to. But would it be like the cemetery all over again?

Cym shoved the thought away ruthlessly. Overthinking right now was going to get people killed. He would do it because he had no other option. Cym just prayed it would turn out better than it had at the cemetery.

Cym searched for the endless wellspring of purple he shared with Marshall, and—inspired by Marshall's father—grabbed a handful, and threw it at the demon.

The demon's joy turned to a rage that quickly ate through the power Cym had thrown. Left with no other option, Cym grabbed another handful of the shimmering purple magic and threw it. Sekt roared angrily, and the purple melted away like a snowball in a fire.

Cym was only irritating Sekt with his actions, and that wasn't going to get them out of Marshall's nightmare world. Angrily, he switched tactics. Reaching inside once more, he pulled on their magic, but instead of breaking off a chunk, he pulled on it and kept pulling, treating it like taffy. Once he thought he had enough, he threw it at the demon like a lasso.

Rather than tying it up, once the rope reached Sekt, the magic shimmered and flowed out like a purple blanket and covered the demon, surrounding it and trapping it while continuing to pump what seemed like an endless supply of magic at the demon.

"That's one way to do it," a voice said, and Cym realized it was Marshall. The realization sent Cym tumbling back inside his own body, but he could still feel Marshall's grief like it was his own. "But unless I can get him out of me, he'll keep feeding until we both die."

A wave of guilt nearly sucked Cym back into Marshall's body, but he managed to hold onto himself. "No more of that, mister," Cym snapped. "You didn't do this. None of what I've seen here has been your fault.

The scene switched to the gutted house in suburbia, and Marshall said, "This was my fault. If I'd been stronger…"

"Stop it," Cym said impatiently as guilt tried to suck Marshall in again. Then, feeling like he kicked a puppy, he tried again more gently. "Did you tell whatever those things are to come attack you?"

"There's more to it than that."

"It doesn't matter. I can already tell from our connection that you didn't cause any of this."

Cym looked for any part of his own soul that still had pink in it. Even a scrap would do.

At first it seemed fruitless, but eventually he saw a small bit around the edges of the hopelessly tangled conglomeration of Marshall's and Cym's magic. This gave him hope he might also find a small bit of Marshall's magic that was still free, and he was right. A short distance from Cym's small scrap of pink, he found a bit of azure blue flickering fiercely as it struggled to remain itself. He had no reason to think this could work, but his gut told him to try it.

Feeding a small line of his pink toward the spot of blue, Cym imagined his magic with a protective shield around it, much like what Marshall's father had put over him. Only with this shield, Cym imagined it to be slightly porous. Carefully, he wrapped his shielded magic around Marshall's.

"You're a protector, Marshall. You help. You don't hurt." Then Cym willed Marshall to see the truth. "Don't let the bad guys convince you otherwise. That's not you. This is."

Cym pushed an image of Marshall's magic shining blue and bright at him, and he saw the scrap he cradled so carefully respond. It brightened and expanded, becoming blindingly incandescent.

The scene around them broke, and they were back outside in their actual bodies, both lying on the snow-covered field with Cym sprawled across Marshall's chest.

Marshall sat up, tucking Cym's body against his as he looked at Stella.

Sekt's eyes glared out of Stella's face, and he snarled. "I hope that pathetic display doesn't mean you think you've won. I have more than enough demons and nightmares to pin you down while I eat you, dreamwalker. You can't unmake us all, and feasting on you will be enough to get me the power I need to cross over." Spittle flew from Stella's once-beautiful mouth, spraying Marshall and Cym. "I'll save the boy for Hester. She'll enjoy killing Cymbeline after what he's done."

Cym wiped his arm clean and crinkled his nose in disgust. "Then I'll be around for a while. Hester pulled a runner a little while back. It didn't seem like she felt welcome around you anymore."

"Please." Sekt sneered, causing Stella's face to become painfully distorted. "She knows this body is nothing more than a tool. Stella and I had a disagreement on who was in charge when I first stepped inside her. She wanted her sister dead, and I didn't, so I had to destroy her. Some of her orders might have made things messy for Hester, but most of the Blaikes are dead now, so it shouldn't be a problem anymore."

"That's all I needed, love." A bedraggled Hester emerged from the shadow of a nearby truck. "I was just waiting for you to get the troops back in line."

Sekt reached out an arm in invitation, and Hester limped over to where Sekt stood in Stella's body and kissed him. Cym fought the urge to vomit.

"Oh gods," he moaned into Marshall's chest. "I never needed to see that."

Marshall's large frame shuddered, and he squeezed Cym's shoulder sympathetically. "I think they're done now."

"Sorry I haven't been more help, love. That nasty little boy tied up my magic and is using it against us. Kill him for me?" She touched her tongue to Stella/Sekt's cheek flirtatiously.

"Apparently I was wrong, sorry." Marshall's voice sounded choked, and Cym couldn't tell if he was trying not to laugh or gag.

Cym knew which one he was trying not to do and just hoped he could manage to keep his clothes clean if he failed.

"Anything for you, dear one. Let me just wrap things up here first." Sekt squeezed Hester's ass and then let her go. "Why haven't we tried this before? The possibilities are delightful."

"Focus, dear."

"Work, work, work. Okay, where was I?" Sekt returned his gaze to Cym and Marshall, still huddled together on the ground.

"I'm going to need the reins for this." Marshall whispered in Cym's ear.

Cym realized he still had full control of their shared power and relaxed his hold, willing it over to Marshall.

White fire rimmed with blood-orange lightning formed around Sekt's hands. It expanded outward into a circle, multiplying in size until a large dog, or small human, could fit inside. This didn't bode well for Cym.

"Why don't you save us the fight and just climb inside, kid? And dreamwalker, I promise we'll eat you quickly if you give him up."

Cym looked around and saw monsters of every size, shape, and color ringing the field. There was nowhere to run. How could Sekt possibly have this many demons under his control? And what was he waiting for? Sekt obviously had the power he needed to enter the Demon Realm in style. Adding him and Marshall to his magic was unnecessary gluttony.

Marshall wrapped his arms around Cym, pulling him tight against his hard chest protectively. Then he said to Sekt, "Fuck off."

Then he pulled .

In a flash, Cym was back inside Marshall's mind. He cast around for his own pink magic, preparing for another onslaught of grief and pain, but instead, he felt like he was floating on an ocean of calm confidence. Marshall had gotten his shit together in an insanely short amount of time, and Cym couldn't help but be impressed.

:That was you, Stillbringer. Marshall is impressive, but without you, he'd be screwed right now.:

Great. More cryptic statements from a mysterious voice in the middle of a life-or-death situation was exactly what Cym needed.

He was pretty sure the voice was full of shit because compared to the calm Marshall was now radiating, Cym felt like a hot mess.

It would be nice if he could be half as resilient. Marshall had control over his magic in a way Cym never had, and from what Cym had seen, Marshall had been loved by his parents.

I wish I was more like Marshall, Cym thought.

In an instant, Cym could see out of Marshall's eyes. Time had once again ground to a stop.

Nearly.

A monster with the head of a lizard and the body of a cat was a foot away, and Cym could see a colossal paw filled with razor sharp claws moving, ever so slightly, toward their bodies. Right behind it was a mass of rats grouped together in the shape of a rat the size of a motorcycle.

:This does not make me feel better.:

:Try to relax if you can, I'm going to need everything you can give me for this.: Marshall's voice filled Cym's mind, much like the mysterious voice had, but with a different flavor.

:You can hear my thoughts?:

:If I want to, yes.:

:Wonderful. Who needs privacy anyway?: Cym hoped Marshall could feel sarcasm through mind speech. : And what are you doing out there? Have you done this before?:

Cym had never felt less relaxed in his entire life, so if Marshall wanted Cym to calm down he was going to need to start coughing up answers.

:If I say yes, will you feel better?:

:Probably not.:

:Then no, I haven't. But it should work.:

:Maybe it's better if I can't see.:

:Suit yourself.:

Marshall gave him a gentle mental push, and Cym was back to floating in the purple sea of their combined power.

At first, it seemed like nothing was happening, but it didn't take long for Cym to notice the sea growing smaller. A subtle tension filled the air as the edges of their power began receding at an alarming rate. The magic went from a seemingly endless sea to a large lake.

The tension continued to build in the air, and images formed overhead. Ghostly monsters came tumbling down toward the lake, and Cym floundered about, trying to swim out of the way. He had barely had enough time to build up to a proper freak-out before the first monster—the lizard cat—dove head first into the lake, inches from Cym's arm.

Rather than making a splash, it vanished upon contact with their magic. More demons followed close behind: the rat monster, a strange, colorful mist, a monster so disfigured that Cym couldn't begin to guess what it was, and countless more.

One after another, they all fell, succumbing to the stillness of the lake without leaving so much as a ripple.

Cym changed his mind. These things were too gross to deal with seeing alone, and the suspense of not knowing was driving him nuts. He had to know what was happening in the outside world.

This time he didn't even need to say anything. The desire was enough to allow him access to Marshall's eyes. Gone were the demons he'd seen vanish into the lake. In their place was the same shimmering smoke he'd seen come from the nightmares Adelle had destroyed earlier. Everything had taken on a purplish hue, and time had gone back to normal.

Several feet away, Sekt and Hester were giving them matching murderous glares.

A demon with the face of a goat raced toward Marshall and Cym, but shortly after running past its master, it burst into smoke. Behind it floated something dark and covered with spines, and it too met the same fate.

Cym looked closer and realized they were running into a barrier created by his and Marshall's magic.

:So that's what the lake was doing.:

Marshall didn't answer, but Cym felt a sensation in his head that felt like an affirmation.

Demons were rushing the barrier from all sides, but so far, nothing made it through. Cym was beginning to feel victorious when he felt a sharp pain in the center of his chest.

:What was that?!:

:A complication.: Marshall's mental voice was a touch grim, but it still sounded far more calm than Cym felt.

Cym looked for their combined magic and saw nothing more than a glorified puddle being choked with monsters. The stillness of the pool hadn't abated, but soon there would be nothing of it left.

:It's time for you to pull back, Cym. Find our friends and get out of here.: Marshall's confidence in his own authority was almost enough to get Cym to do it.

Almost.

:What will you do?:

:Hold them off until you all escape.:

:Yeah, no. That's not happening.:

It hadn't taken Cym long in Marshall's company to figure out his MO—protect everyone, even at the cost of his own life—and Cym wasn't going to put up with it. It would be no different than letting Sterling or Fourteen throw themselves away for his sake.

They'd just have to come up with another option.

Cym hesitated. What if there was no other option? Whatever kind of special snowflake Cym might be, he was completely untrained. Everything he'd done up to now had been due to extreme luck or intuition.

What if the best option was for Cym to run and save as many people as he could on the way out? As long as Cym stayed, Fourteen would never leave. If Cym couldn't figure out a way to help Marshall quickly, he would be condemning Fourteen to death right along with him.

But abandoning Marshall to save Fourteen wasn't something Cym could live with any more than he could deal with the idea of losing Fourteen. His mind ran in circles, and he began to feel a familiar void open inside his chest.

During Cym's years of isolation, he'd fallen into a stupor of despair many times. It rendered him insensate to the rest of the world around him until his mind was ready to come back to reality. Right now was the worst possible time for this to happen. He would be worse than useless if he went catatonic. He had to fight it.

:Don't resist.: