Skill Forge: Broken Extra Character

[[Throne of Destiny is reacting to a fragment]]

[[A memory has been unlocked]]

Jett's surroundings warped, the shadows of the scene pulling him deeper into a forgotten past. The air grew thick, almost suffocating, as his vision sharpened on a single figure kneeling before him. The man, battered and bloodied, was on one knee, his body pierced by multiple weapons: swords, spears, and daggers, all buried deep within his flesh.

Each weapon seemed to hum with power, almost as if they were feeding off the man's life force.

Jett's eyes flickered with recognition. This was the same moment he had seen before: the man's agony, the weight of betrayal crushing him. Yet now, the scene was clearer. The figure knelt in silent torment, his head bowed, surrounded by 13 imposing figures.

Unlike the previous memory, where all the figures were mere shadows, three of them now stood visible before Jett. One man was adorned in gold, his regal presence almost blinding. Golden armor shimmered with an otherworldly glow, and a crown rested on his head as if he were royalty. His face was stern, but his eyes held a deep sorrow, as though the act unfolding before him weighed heavily on his soul.

Another figure stood to his left, his clothes emanating flames. The fire danced along the fabric, never burning it, yet casting a fiery aura around him. His expression was harsh, his gaze filled with a fierce determination as he watched the kneeling man struggle with the weapons lodged in his body. The flames surrounding him flickered wildly, mirroring the inner turmoil he concealed.

And then, there was the woman. Her clothes were woven from threads of ice and darkness, a chilling beauty that sent a shiver down Jett's spine. Her pale skin glowed softly beneath the frost that clung to her garments, and her eyes were cold, emotionless. Darkness seemed to swirl around her, blending into the ice as if the two were one.

She stood still, her gaze locked on the man, her expression unreadable.

The rest of the figures remained as they had before: shadows, shapeless and indistinct. They loomed in the background, watching in silence, their faces hidden from view.

Jett's heart raced as he took it all in. This was no ordinary memory. It was a moment etched into the fabric of the divine weapon itself. The betrayal, the torment, the witnesses, each piece was tied to the weapon's origin and power.

But why was he seeing this? And why now?

The familiar conversation replayed in Jett's right in front of him, haunting him with its intensity. He had heard these words before, seen this moment unfold in fragments, but now everything felt clearer, more vivid.

"You gave us no choice," the first figure spoke again, his voice heavy with regret and authority. The man kneeling before them scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips, his body trembling under the weight of the weapons driven through him.

"You're afraid of me, quit beating around the bush," the man sneered, blood dripping from his mouth. "I know just how threatening my status can be."

Another figure stepped forward, his voice filled with sorrow. "I'm sorry, brother, but you must die: for our sake, for the world's sake."

The man, despite his dire state, laughed again: this time harsher, more defiant. But the collective resolve of the figures surrounding him didn't falter. With cold precision, they raised their weapons, piercing through him from all angles, the sound of metal cutting through flesh filling the air. His body jerked with every strike, but he didn't fall.

His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as blood gushed from his wounds, staining the ground beneath him.

Then came the scream, a primal, agonized scream that seemed to shake the very earth. "Damn it all! Why? Why? Why? Why?

Why? Why? Why?!" His voice echoed across the battlefield, laced with pain, fury, and betrayal.

"He's still alive after that?" one of the figures remarked, surprise evident in their voice, as if they couldn't fathom the strength it took for him to endure such torment.

Through the pain, the man glared at his betrayers, his eyes burning with hatred and defiance. "I won't go down so easily," he snarled, his voice hoarse but unwavering. "One day, I'll come for you… I curse these weapons with my soul to live on until then." His words were a vow, a dark promise sealed in blood, as the weapons embedded in him began to glow faintly, resonating with his curse.

The figures stood still, their resolve unshaken, but their faces betraying a mixture of regret and unease. One of them, likely the leader, spoke again, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. "You brought this upon yourself when you decided to act on your own."

Just like before, Jett was powerless to do anything but watch the memory unfold, the pain in his head growing unbearable. "Ack… It feels like my head's about to explode," he groaned, clutching his temples in agony. "What does this vision mean? I guess technically it's a memory, but still…" His mind swirled with confusion and frustration.

Suddenly, new notifications flashed before his eyes, interrupting his thoughts.

[[Memory has ended]]

[[Throne of Destiny is reacting to a fragment]]

[[Not enough. Find more fragments]]

Jett scowled, his irritation bubbling over. "What the hell are the fragments? Can't you even tell me that much?" he yelled in frustration, his voice echoing into the void.

Then, faintly at first, he heard someone calling his name. "Jett… Jett… Jett…" The voice sounded distant, almost like a whisper. But when he looked around, there was no one there.

*****

"Jett… Jett… Jett…" The voice grew stronger, more urgent, repeating his name over and over. "Wake up already, you're scaring us."

With a sharp inhale, Jett's eyes fluttered open, the memory from earlier slipping away. His vision was blurry, but slowly cleared to reveal Freya kneeling beside him, her face tight with worry, and Ella clinging to his side, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"What's going on?" Jett croaked, his voice weak and hoarse.

Freya let out a relieved sigh, her brows still furrowed. "You were out cold for a while, you were even talking in your sleep. We couldn't wake you up… Ella's been crying this whole time."

Ella sniffled, burying her face into his arm. "I-I thought you weren't going to wake up," Freya whimpered, her small hands gripping him tightly.

Jett blinked, trying to shake the fog from his mind, piecing together what had just happened. "I'm fine," he mumbled, his hand gently patting Ella's head in an attempt to comfort her. "Just… a weird dream."

Freya shot him a skeptical look. "That was more than just a dream, Jett. You were out cold for nearly an hour."

He grimaced, feeling the lingering weight of the vision pressing down on him. But he couldn't explain it: not yet. Not until he had more answers. "I'm alright," he assured them, though his voice lacked conviction. "Just need some rest."

Freya didn't seem convinced, but she held her tongue, glancing at Ella, who refused to let go of Jett's arm. "We were really worried, Jett," Freya murmured. "You've got to stop keeping this stuff from us."

Jett sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah… I know." But even as he said it, his thoughts wandered back to the memory, the fragments, and the curse. Whatever this was, it was far from over.

*

*

*

I guess he didn't see this part in the book