GraceFall [ONC 2024]

18

As the mental struggle continues ...

Phaross' hand continued to squeeze and Betty had started to lose hope, but the arrival of Madame Misstery gave her the added strength to keep fighting. Though Madame Misstery was not here. Not really and not in any way she could help remove the hand from Betty's throat. Only in Betty's mind, thoughts sent to her from far away.

Then she felt a shift. Something not of the real world, but in the realm of thoughts and dreams. The grip upon her throat loosened. Not much, but enough for her to force a little air into the throat of her real body. Then Betty saw what had happened. Both the projection of Psycona, and his true form of Zjahn Zjmit had grabbed a hold of Phaross' arm, pulling with all their might. Now her hands, her real hands, moved, clutching at the gloved fingers that threatened to take her life.

"I will not fall to the weak-willed!" Phaross roared in both the real world and in his thought projection. "I will not!"

A wave of psychic energy rolled out from Phaross, sending a rolling mass of dust and dirt and ash coiling away, blanketing the unmoving body of Principle as it passed. The grip intensified once again, Phaross understanding that she held the power to fight against him. Betty looked down at her body and Phaross, and felt herself waver, all but ready to succumb to the darkness of death. Whatever Madame Misstery had added to the battle, it wasn't enough.

"I can't win." Her voice croaked, even though it came from the psychic projection of her. "Madame! Help me!"

"I am, but you must help yourself. Think, girl! Think!" Madame Misstery's voice circled her, resonating within Betty's mind. "What has he lost? What has he abandoned? What is missing from the entirety of the man?"

Betty couldn't think. She saw through dimming eyes the effort both Psycona and Zjahn Zjmit put in to fighting their evil persona. The hero, had become disillusioned with his lot. Who had sought affection from those he saved on a daily basis. That thought himself unwanted. Unloved. Unappreciated. He looked desperate and Betty could sense the weight of all the deaths his dark side had caused upon him. Yet, he still thought of humans as something lesser.

The alien. He, too, fought with every ounce of strength against Phaross. He, too, had the weight of so many deaths on his conscience. But he knew he was once loved. He knew that, once, he had the adoration and appreciation that his efforts deserved. Yet, he, too, did not see the humans as anything but sapient animals. There was little humanity in either of them, and, for certain, none in the mind of Phaross.

Now, psychic, green flames erupted around them and, even in her projected body, her mental essence, Betty could feel the heat prickling at her skin. No humanity. What humanity Phaross, and Psycona, and Zjahn Zjmit had had become lost when Phaross had despatched the human persona of their shattered mind. Sean Smith had held that humanity. He was that humanity, but he was gone, lost. Torn from Phaross' mind and dissipated.

Or was he? Betty had seen him. She had looked through his eyes as she had forced Phaross to recall the moment he had first manifested. Some part of Sean still existed, if only in a memory. With the last vestiges of her strength, she bore her mind into that of Phaross, causing his body to jerk and convulse, but he did not relinquish his hold upon her throat. A last ditch effort to pull the broken mind of Phaross back from the brink. Betty's eyes flickered closed, her last breath gone.

The grip upon her throat loosened once again. Loosened and then flexed open. She had reentered her body, now, but she still saw the projections of Psycona and Zjahn Zjmit as they held on to Phaross' arm. And one other had joined them. A little man. A nondescript man. The kind of man that few would care to see if they passed him on a street, crowded or not.