#physi's studio

Tharaêl flicked his sword, flinging droplets of viscera and tiny chunks of flesh from the grooves. He grimaced as he observed his weapon, which wasn't any cleaner for the effort, and Io watched passively from a distance as he reluctantly sheathed both shortswords. Her own weapon was clean enough as she'd stuck to her spells, but her palms burned from overuse. They felt blistered and raw, a sore and uncomfortable feeling that made her grimace each time her hands clenched.

The pair had exited the… sacrificial room to find that the once empty main cavern had been suddenly populated with a mob of Perversions- including another massive, towering beast. Thankfully that one wore no face, and was only half the size of the last mutated monster. It wasn't as easy a fight as they expected however— Io and Tharaêl could not find their rhythm again, and it showed. While Io had come away unscathed, one of the smaller Perversions had slipped between the two when they hadn't been paying attention, ending with Tharaêl receiving a nasty scratch on his upper arm. On top of that, when the large mutated Perversion was downed and erupted like the rest, the two were wholly unprepared for the few remaining small ones to explode as well. The half-Aeterna had to shove Io onto her ass in a panic when she'd approached to heal him.

They stood above the main cavern now, within that rectangular archway that was finally free of any barriers, and were facing down three matching stone doors. Io glanced over at Tharaêl again, eyeing the wound on his left arm. The air between them was still awkward, but—"Tharaêl," She called, stepping around to his left side. His ear closest to her twitched, and he tilted his head to follow her movement. "Hold still for a moment…" She urged him quietly, golden light wisping at her extended fingertips as she reached for his wound.

"It's fine," He muttered, turning his face away- even as he stood stock still as asked. Io remained silent as she hovered her glowing hand over the long gash in his arm, the warm and gentle hum of the Light Magic spell being the only sound between the two as the skin of his arm slowly knit itself back together. When she was satisfied, Io pulled her hand away and let the spell fizzle out. Tharaêl nodded his thanks tersely, before the pair both turned and eyed the three doors before them.

"…Which one should we take?" Io hesitantly asked, trailing just behind Tharaêl as he considered their options. "I would not be surprised if one or more of them were trapped."

"Let's hope that isn't the case. I'm going to open the middle door," He responded, setting his jaw. Io nodded wordlessly. She kept a healing spell waiting in hand just in case.

The half-Aeterna reached forward, his shoulders tense as he grabbed the handle. Would that strange scream ring out again? After a beat of uncomfortable silence, Io and Tharaêl's eyes met in muted relief. Taking a steadying breath, Tharaêl turned the handle, and the sound of the stone door grinding against the ground broke the bubble of quiet as he cracked it open. When nothing happened in response, Tharaêl swung the door open further, and the pair both tentatively stepped through the doorway.

They found themselves in a long, dark hallway that sloped down quite a ways. The ceiling above them seemed to curve unnaturally around the descending path, choked with more sweeping swathes of unnerving vein-like vines. The faintly glowing pustules lit the hall in an eerie red glow that did more to make her hair stand on end than shed any usable light. The first thought Io had was that it somehow made her think of the inside of a throat— as if they were walking directly into the belly of some beast. 'In some way,' she couldn't help but think, 'we likely are. I feel we do not have much farther til we face the Father.'

"This 'Room' must be near," Io muttered under her breath, narrowing her eyes in suspicion as she stared down the dim hall.

“Yes… We’re getting close. I can feel it.” Tharaêl confirmed. Without another word, they both began making their way down, walking side by side. Unnerved by the strange feeling in the air, Io stuck close to her partner's side- and Tharaêl seemed to be doing much the same, the pair walking close enough together that their arms brushed occasionally.

Eventually the path flattened out and the mage's breath caught as the dark hall opened up, allowing her a glimpse into the room before them. A short few steps led into a cavernous space so large that the shadows hid the farthest wall from view. In the centre of the room, the floor dipped down in what almost resembled a large rectangular arena. In each of its four corners, a flat platform over-hanged into the arena and held one of those cast-iron braziers lit with purple flames aloft, while towering pillars encircled the space— creating an imposing archway that guided one in. But what really sent shivers skittering down her spine was what waited for them in the centre of the arena-like recess.

A grotesque, writhing, pulsing mass of fleshy something took up a major portion of the floor. A gooey and wet liquid shined in the low light of the red pustules that covered its revolting, skin-like surface, the light glinting off of it with each stomach-churning movement. Just looking at it made Io feel nauseous, but the bubbling, creaking noises emanating from within the disgusting pile of tumours would have been enough to make her puke if she hadn't already emptied her stomach. The sheer size of it was also made clear when Io finally noticed the figure kneeling in the shadow of the deformed mass, head bowed and shoulders trembling.

Io swallowed nervously as Tharaêl crept forward, motioning for her to stay back. She stopped at the top of the steps leading into the pit as Tharael snuck up to the hunched figure, a gloved hand inching towards the hilt of his sword- until the figure flinched, glancing over their shoulder. Io's eyes widened when she recognised the all-too-familiar indigo mask of the Rhalata on their face. Tharaêl paused as well, clearly shocked, as his fingers twitched inches away from the handle of his weapon.

“B… Brother Wrath? Is that you?” The masculine Voice called, unsteadily shuffling to his feet. He cradled one of his arms, the limb hanging limply at his side as thick rivulets of blood dripped from a massive gash down the inside of his arm. Similar wounds littered the rest of his body, and a sizeable puddle of blood had formed where the Rhalaim had knelt. Io stepped down unconsciously, her healing spell still wisping in the palm of her hand- before she forced herself to still as Tharaêl's harsh words rang in her ear. 'Sometimes I get the feeling that you still haven’t understood what’s at stake here.' Clenching her jaw, Io dismissed her spell and gripped the handle of her mace.

“Brother Hatred…" Tharaêl responded, his voice thin. Io could just barely catch the hint of condescending annoyance in his tone. "You made it.” How ironic- the very man Tharaêl had used as an excuse to slip away and prepare his bow now faced them both. Io didn't find the cosmic irony very funny, unfortunately.

“Yes, I made it,” Brother Hatred almost whispered, his gaze haunted. He let out a heavy sigh, brows furrowing deeply as he staggered closer to Tharaêl. “By the Name of the Sun, this place, it’s… it’s unholy, wrong. How… I mean, how can this be our path to Transcendence?" He asked, his wobbly voice trailing off into a pained whimper.

“Are you doubting the Father?” Tharaêl asked, surprised- enough to drop his hand off the hilt of his sword. Io shared his surprise, the slightest bit of hope flickering to life in her chest.

“What?" Brother Hatred said sharply, his eyes widening as if he was only just realising what he'd said. "No, of course not, I-" He scrambled to explain, shaking his head vigorously, "Forgive me, Brother, I just don’t know what to think or feel anymore. But look…” He said with forced excitement, turning and pointing to the west side of the room. He trudged forward, and Io's brows furrowed at the hysteric gleam in his eyes as Tharaêl fell into step behind the wounded Voice. “That must be it, right? The Room of Paintings? We made it, Brother! We made the Father prou-”

Twin points burst through the Rhalaim's chest, blood splattering the floor in front of the Voice as Tharaêl literally stabbed his fellow Rhalaim in the back. Io turned her head away from the bloody scene, biting her bottom lip and squeezing her eyes shut. Even the smallest flash of guilt was making her feel nauseous all over again. A moment later, she heard Brother Hatred's body wordlessly fall to the cold, unfeeling floor. Io hesitantly glanced towards Tharaêl, his eyes bowed and gaze dark.

“Yeah… you made him proud,” He responded, voice laced with exhaustion, before spitting a harsh: “Piece of shit.”

Io swallowed thickly, frozen in place as Tharaêl approached her. She averted her eyes unconsciously, before catching herself and meeting her partner's gaze head on with a question on her lips.

“...Would you have let him live, had he said yes?”

“...” Tharaêl didn't even bother to answer, simply staring down at the mage coolly as he sheathed his shortswords. Io's head dipped, and she breathed in deeply to keep her despondency off her expression.

“So- you think that is the Room of Paintings over there?” She eventually gathered the will to ask, forcing her tone to be light.

“The portal, yes. It fits the description." He confirmed. "Come, let’s take a closer look.”

The two turned to face the western side of the massive room, trudging up the steps leading out of the recessed arena. Ahead of them, up another short flight of stairs, waited an entrance grand enough to fit a mystical 'Room of Paintings.'

The door itself was tall, double the height of a man and made of thick, elegantly carved stone. Either side was flanked by large stone statues depicting some warped stylised beast- a dog perhaps? Or something eerily similar to the broad shouldered and worm-like gaping maws of the cursed Perversions they'd been forced to face? Each statue was flanked by more pillars, these ones topped with more of that unusual purple fire. Above the door itself was more statuettes of those smooth, tilted heads reminiscent of the Temple's entrance. Two more were located slighter higher up the intricate design, and in the centre of the massive relief above the door was an artistically rendered statue of a kneeling figure, one hand reaching up towards the heavens as if begging for supplication. Something about it sent goosebumps down Io's arms, along with one thought: 'Unholy.' Brother Hatred was right- and whatever this strange, suffocating pressure that made her hair stand on end was, the air was thick with it here.

It was clear Tharaêl felt something similar when he faltered beside her, head tilted back to take in the grand carvings with wide eyes. Io repressed another fearful shiver, turning her face away and shuffling closer to the safety of Tharaêl's side.

“Do you feel that? This… this power, it’s-" He began in disbelief, before a strange noise behind them made both Io and Tharaêl jump. "Wait, did you hear that?” Io answered him with an uneasy hum, and the pair both turned in unison, eyes sweeping over the pit in the centre of the room.

The pile of roiling flesh was pulsating. The unnatural, slimy skin rolled and pitched as its rapid pulsing began to inflate it, the undulating mass stretching and pulling taunt. Slowly but steadily, the rhythmic pulse of a heartbeat grew in volume- and to match it, Io realised the room was beginning to shake as well. She stumbled, caught off guard by the vibrations, and just barely caught herself before she fell. Tharaêl crept forward, his face pale as he immediately reached for his shortswords. Spurts of nervous electricity fizzled and popped up Io's arms as she fell into line beside him despite her trembling.

The rapid pulsing of the fleshy mass kept ramping up and up, the malignant lumps quickly doubling in size until it looked seconds away from bursting at the seams— and then it did, splitting open like a pus-filled wound at the top as a steaming geyser of thick blood shot towards the ceiling. A dark shape rose from within the massive tumour, sending huge globs of blood spraying as it stood up… and up, and up, and up.

Io saw something bright spark, and suddenly flames erupted from the feet of the humongous being with a violent roar. The explosion of fire shot outwards, setting the vines and flesh in the vicinity aflame, and Io flinched back as it nearly reached her and Tharaêl— stopping just short of the confines of the arena as a blast of heat sent stands of her hair waving uncontrollably. She felt a dull ache in her forearm, and Io glanced over to find that Tharaêl had gripped her arm tightly, all colour drained from his face and jaw clenched. She turned back when the ball of fire roared again, whipping around wildly before suddenly swirling. The flames licked the air as they began to spin counter-clockwise, slowly furling in on itself, before convalescing and pulling back towards the towering figure waiting in the centre of the room.

Io's heart dropped when Daddy's face peeked out from between the flames— skin burnt and cracked as embers glowed in the blistering wounds. The sheer size of this Perversion was ridiculous compared to even the giant they'd faced earlier, standing tall enough that the features of its face was nearly buried in shadows. Even at a distance, Io was dwarfed by his towering, blackened frame, and she could already feel herself wilting under its sneer. The bubbling boils and half-melted skin sloughing off its body was painfully reminiscent of that night, when the temple priests strung her father's body to the stake and let the flames sear him away. Io's mind felt fragile under the weight of the memory, but the familiar warmth of Tharael's hand around her wrist held her together tightly in spite of it.

"We can do this," Io murmured, half for her own benefit and half for Tharaêl's sake. He gave her arm another tight squeeze in response before releasing her and drawing his shortswords. Io tensed, dropping into a battle-ready stance with lightning crackling in her palms as Tharaêl stepped forward, placing himself firmly between Io and the massive Perversion.

"Right. Right, this will be fine. This is fine." He muttered under his breath- although he didn't sound very confident. Io couldn't blame him, not when the towering giant took a single step that made the ground shake in response.

(interrupting your irregularly scheduled program for an appropriately ridiculous comic 🎉✨)

(Aaand, back to you mr. Burnt Daddy!)

The beast roared in anger, lifting its arms with clenched fists. The flames wisping around the face-stealing monster stirred in tandem as if its agitation fanned the flames, burning bright and hot as a new sound rang out— two hauntingly familiar voices.

"Are we beautiful?" The two feminine voices asked, one high and one low, and Io immediately recognised her mother and little sister's words. She's heard them before, after all- the same question had been repeated over and over again in some of her most mind-bending night terrors, the ones where reality and insanity seemed to blend into one. Io grit her teeth at the reminder, desperately fighting back the sickening images that wanted to surface.

With another rage-fuelled roar, the burnt Perversion hunched forward, muscles bunching, as the flames around it fluttered and pulsed and grew. A wave of heat rolled over the pair, and Io noted with increasing concern that the air suddenly felt very dry. The monster's head jerked up then, sending Io's partner a searing, hate-filled glare—

"Holy shit," Tharaêl whispered in a mixture of awe and terror, his long ears drooping.