Chapter 417 - In The Face Of Hope

Bringing his own hands in front of him, they trembled naturally; his wrists had turned to a deep purple, bloodied and swollen as he winced from a single, light touch. 

Returning his attention to his companion, his tears continued to slide from his left eye. 

"Macheo…?" He called with worry. 

Crawling over to his companion that sat on the threshold of death, he helped him stand, though he had trouble getting up himself after being knelt down for such a prolonged amount of time. 

Macheo's warmth was faint, he felt, nearing on a more distant, harrowing cold as his skin that was undyed by crimson was as pale as a ghost's own. 

"Ren...get out...of here," Macheo whispered through his dried, bloodied lips. 

He looked at the Lucrauvian, keeping his arm slung over his shoulder as he supported him, "...I'm bringing you with me." 

Macheo was unable to reject his insistent will; together, they traversed the dark, deathly corridor slowly with weakened steps. Hanging lip at his side, Macheo's flesh-bound right arm was twisted and broken; with the fabric being torn from his sleeve, the purple-and-black complexion of his arm made its condition stand out all the much worse. 

Waiting in the hall was a pack that by some fortune contained his belongings; though his tunic was full of holes, he attached his sheathed blade and dagger to the belt of his trousers before sliding his boots back on. 

I have to cover this eye...he thought. 

Ripping a portion of the black fabric from his skewered tunic, he formed a makeshift eye patch that covered the right side of his face. 

Comforting his injured, feeble companion, he shrouded Macheo in his silver cloak, continuing their dreary march. Seeing the state of his once proud, powerful friend, now reduced to such a mutilated, broken state with a trembling body and sparsity of words, his anger flourished further. 

"...I'll kill him for what he did. For everyone," he resolved. 

A tear strolled down Macheo's crimson-stained cheek as they walked, "...I couldn't protect her. It...it happened so fast. Aiko...that last smile she gave me...dammit, I...I'm sorry, Aiko." 

"We'll get him,' he assured him. 

The hall seemed to stretch for an extensive length, passing by rows of dank cells that mostly contained decaying corpses, or entire skeletons. 

Macheo brought his gaze to the sight of his friend, looking at the scars that embedded his body, and the bloodied, deeply bruised area of his transplanted right eye. 

"...They did all of this to you?...I'm sorry...I wanted to help...sooner," Macheo spoke faintly before coughing, hacking up spurts of blood. 

He shook his head softly, making sure he supported Macheo's weight properly over his shoulder, "Don't worry about that. Let's worry about getting out of here. I just don't know how to do that much…"

Turning down multiple corridors that led to rows of chambers of torture and other malicious, unsavory rooms, they were getting nowhere. 

"Is it even possible to escape…? If this Hell's Hell is like the other, then…" He muttered. 

Macheo coughed up before responding, "...It might have a special name, but it's a territorial spell, still...if it's this large and staying materialized for this long, then it has to inhabit a weakness…"

"I see...you're saying there has to be an exit with a spell this powerful?" He asked. 

Only a slight nod came from the barely conscious prince as they then continued their slow search down the endless, dreary halls. 

...I hate to admit it, but I can't risk any fighting right now...Macheo is barely here as it is, and so am I...I can't let him go now, not again, he thought. 

Down a flight of chipped, stygian stone stairs they stepped, leading into a dim, hardly lit chamber that reeked of spoiled meat. It was difficult to make out, but it seemed to be yet another room for torture by the contraptions that laid in weight; stretching tables, saws hung by contraptions, and beds of spikes. 

"How're you feeling right now?" He asked, keeping his guard raised, at least to the best of his ability. 

"...Shit. You?" Macheo replied. 

"Yeah...same," he nodded his head with his quiet answer. 

Just being able to move around was a freedom he didn't realize he missed so dearly—especially alongside a companion. Even in the abundant emptiness in his heart, swallowed by anguish, just a single friend made it somehow bearable. 

It may only be enough strength to walk, but it was enough. 

Feeling the coldness of the prince's body against his, he hastened his steps as they searched through the mostly vacant realm. 

"Ren…I'm slowing you down," Macheo said faintly.

"Don't. I won't even consider it, you hear me? So…save your breath for the march ahead," he replied.

He halted for a moment, checking either side of the upcoming corridor for potential enemies before passing through the threshold alongside Macheo.

The golden-haired prince chuckled quietly, "…In Lucrauv, it's expected of a wounded soldier to be left behind. "Only the strong have the right to move ahead"…or something like that."

"This isn't Lucrauv, luckily for both of us," he replied quietly. 

At this point, the extensive, blind tour through the dreary, death-filled realm filled only with prison cells and torture chambers was taking its toll. 

Supporting Macheo with his shoulder, he wasn't far off himself from being unable to walk; his knees were bruised and bleeding, his body deprived of nutrients, and a lack of sleep induced by immense stress had weakened his body. 

"...Any idea what type of exit we're looking for?" He asked in a whisper. 

Macheo shook his head, "It can be anything: a normal door, a trapdoor, a window...something. In a territorial spell like this, the exit has to be obvious, though." 

After curving through hallways and managing to sneak by the quiet, haunting followers of Belmon, they found themselves in a spacious, well-lit room with a singular, metallic door sitting at the end of it. 

"You said the exit should be obvious, right?...That looks like a shining beacon of hope to me," he said, looking at the door as he gulped. 

"Yeah, that's probably it," Macheo responded faintly. 

Just as they stepped into the empty room formed of stone slabs, a chill ran over his body as in the next moment, the black-robed, enigmatic cultists appeared through the floor like intangible spirits. 

"...Shit," he muttered under his breath. 

"It's to be expected...of course they'd be guarding the only exit…" Macheo coughed as he spoke. 

All he could do was stand there with his barely conscious, injured comrade at his side; the idea of fighting was something he rationally knew would spell his own death, but even so--he had to try. 

"Ren…" Macheo spoke his name. 

--His name being called halted his fingers before they grazed the handle of his tucked-away sword, bringing his eyes to look at his half-conscious companion. 

Pulling away from his side, Macheo stumbled a bit before correcting his slumped-over stance, standing up straight as he looked as if he just crawled out of a grave. 

"Macheo?..." He looked at the prince. 

Macheo coughed as droplets of blood spilled from his lips, "Get the hell out of here." 

"What're you talking about?" He asked. 

It wasn't even an option in his mind to leave his friend behind, so much so that he couldn't even believe what the prince was implying. 

Macheo wiped the blood from his lips before glancing back with his crimson irises that seemed to return some of their natural shine. 

"This is...the rational choice. Even if we escaped from here, I'd probably kick it before a day's passing. There's no point...if we both die…" Macheo spoke between heavy breaths, stumbling a bit as he was barely tugging onto consciousness. 

The enigmatic, dark-robed men stayed stationary, only seeming to act as sentinels that would make their move if they did. 

He shook his head, almost coming over with anger at the thought of abandoning him; he couldn't accept it. 

"...Hell no! Do you really think I'd abandon a friend?! After everything that's happened?! I'd rather fight here and die alongside you than leave you behind, Macheo!" He shouted. 

Before he could stand by the Lucrauvian prince's side and draw his blade, the golden-haired prince yelled out with strength mustered from his frail, half-dead body. 

"Think for a moment, you dense bastard!" Macheo shouted from the top of his lungs. 

He stopped dead in his tracks with wide eyes from the abrasive yell, "...Huh?" 

Macheo glanced back at him, "Do you really think I'm just throwing my life away for no reason?! Ren...they can be saved!" 

Those words were like light; a flash so bright that it momentarily suspended him from his abyssal anguish for just a moment--a moment long enough to make him enthralled for further light. 

"What're you talking about?..." He asked. 

"Do I have to spell it out for you?...The wish! Defeat Purgatory and use the wish to bring everyone back!" Macheo answered, still yelling as he strained his throat. 

It suddenly all clicked for him. 

In the haze that inhabited his fractured mind from the absolute grief he experienced, he wasn't able to think back to that simple piece of information he knew all along. 

"The wish…" He repeated in a whisper, caught in a trance for a moment. 

"You're our best bet now, Ren! For Iris, for...Aiko--for everyone! You hear me?! I'm dying because I have faith I'll be back, you got that?! I'm not going down for along--because I trust that you'll surmount this hell! This is a temporary death, you hear me?" Macheo assured him abrasively. 

"My life is my wager that Ren Nakamura will defeat Purgatory!" Macheo proclaimed further.

It was something he didn't know he needed to hear so badly; the complete, immutable belief in his own strength.. For once, despite his failures, someone still trusted in him enough to accomplish something so outlandish.