Worthy had never gotten into a fight with such high stakes before, not like this.
He'd battle the mindless flesh abominations since the day he arrived on the First Floor. Previously, before entering the Tower, he'd even had to fight for his life more than once against the other slum-dwellers. It was always a fight, and he was always willing to do what it took to survive one.
This time, surviving was not enough.
He had no choice but to win, or else he'd suffer a fate worse than death. He would not die, instead, his mind would be broken into pieces and he'd spend the rest of his life as a thoughtless thrall for Furfur, who'd take humanity… wherever the demon was planning on taking them.
With Furfur—Edwin Redglaive—occupied, anybody he had enthralled should've been freed from his control. Worthy didn't know how much energy the demon used to enrapture everyone, and didn't want to bet on him having a limited amount of it either. Instead of risking leaving the entity at its full strength within the hole in his mind, he was going to weaken it as much as he could.
He had no idea that Furfur was sustaining harsh damage just from being exposed to his memories. Perhaps Alice, who played a crucial role in the child's survival during the fight, knew about it though. As Worthy fought, she made sure to keep the most distressing and tormenting of the memories on full display.
Letting the duration of the fight drag on was not in Furfur's plan. If he had it his way, the boy would be crushed beneath his hands in seconds.
Each injury he took was insignificant, healed by the fog which did not just mend physical damage, but also injuries to the mind and soul. Few men could ever hope to damage Furfur enough to leave him incapacitated.
Yet, somehow, despite the impossibility of it happening, the young man was ruthlessly carving away at Furfur's mental body.
"This is pointless, boy." Furfur spoke, evading a swing from the child's dagger, only to be dragged back into the attack by an invisible force.
Impaled, the Demon of the Mind sent his knee crashing into the boy's mental avatar, and the world around them trembled as his body rocketed through the vast expanse of the mindscape. If Worthy truly needed air, he would've been coughing. His ribs were cracked… mentally, of course.
"You have no hope of defeating me. Your tricks will only delay the inevitable. Release me, and I will ensure you remain in one piece once I regain control over my followers. As might be expected, that includes you." Furfur's demeanor remained calm during the confrontation.
The initial shock of the battle was slowly receding, and he quickly came to terms with the fact that the child was a threat to him.
It wasn't the child solely that was the problem, it was the nature of the realm they battled in. Each second that passed, Furfur felt the laws of the world chipping away at him in a way that should not have been possible.
His vessel, Edwin Redglaive, had been a perfect candidate to house him.
The man had not only appeared on the far reaches of the world, where nobody should ever dare go unless they were prepared to die, but his Reward from the Tower was especially promising. It strengthened Furfur's own unique ability once they were fully assimilated together, in body, mind, and spirit.
Furfur could feel his faint connection to his vessel, and became aware that his vessel was breaking apart too.
Still, his enemy was nothing more than a stubborn runt. He had no other option but to remain composed until he adequately battered the child's mind, or outright eradicated it to regain his freedom. Nothing could stop him. Everything, one way or another, would fall into his hands.
His lies of climbing the Tower were for his own amusement, truthfully. Furfur did not want to climb the Tower, why would he ever have any intention of doing that? He was an abomination born from the body of Blood Marauder, and so his directive was to revive his progenitor; the same as all the other abominations.
They each had their own unique way to go about it, Enlighted or Mindless alike. Nevertheless, the goal was always the same: revive the Blood Deity.
[If he hits you like that again, you'll lose a chunk of your memories.]
Alice cautioned the child while manipulating the world to the best of her ability. Controlling Furfur was easy, but doing so in a way that did not interfere with the child's movements was a totally different story. Alice had battled a deity on her own, so she did not have any experience cooperating with others. The golems she made to fight for her were subservient, obeying her every command.
Worthy, on the other hand, was a child that acted in a fashion that seemed all too reckless.
However, that recklessness was practiced. Amateurish, certainly, but nevertheless calculated.
[Yep. Figured. Thanks.]
Even while thinking, his thoughts were strained. The battle was looking less than ideal.
Alice was restricting Furfur's movements, which gave openings for the child to cut the entity apart dozens of times before moving away to evade being struck. However, compared to Furfur, the boy's mind was far more vulnerable.
Whatever had been done to pull his mind back together when he lost it did not apply now. Unlike Furfur and his mist, Worthy couldn't heal the damage done to his mind. Not meaningfully in the midst of battle, at the very least. It was inequitable, but none of that deterred him from the fight.
Even if his opponent could regenerate a thousand times, the boy had no choice but to win.
Hope was waiting for him back home. His father was waiting for him too.
How would the boy be able to sleep in peace knowing that he failed his father?
Most of all, though… How would his father be able to sleep at night knowing he sent his son to his potential death?
All things considered, his father was probably losing sleep right now, but that was besides the point!
'You're talkin' all posh, like a damn noble. You don't know how much I hate that.'
Readying his dagger for another blow, the child studied his opponent, recalling the training he'd undergone with Cross, as well as his multiple sessions of sparring with Walkyr. Furfur was a deadly opponent, no doubt. However, even with his collection of knowledge, he did not know how to properly use all that battle prowess.
He wasn't inferior to a novice child by any means. However, in this space where the boy had the advantage, and his opponent's movements were not moving according to his will, it made a great difference to know how to anticipate unexpected variables.
Dashing ahead with speed the boy could only achieve in the mental space, he covered the distance with Furfur and lifted his dagger, cutting the avatar's hand before it could reach his head.
Anticipating what his opponent would do was the only way that he could survive.
Spotting a pause in another movement, Worthy recognized Alice's interference in the demon's counterattack, and plunged his weapon into the chest of the foe several times. The avatar was being shredded, with the boy dancing away from all of the attacks Furfur managed to get through Alice's control.
The fight didn't look good, no. It was by no means one-sided, however. Conversely, the tide of the battle was slowly starting to shift into the boy's favor.
He already had the homefield advantage, but now, there was a noticeable decline in the sheer size of the pink mist that surrounded and fueled Furfur.
'Every word that comes out of your mouth is a calculated lie, isn't it? You're trying to wear me down, break my mind. Yeah, I got the memo with the last hit.'
Furfur's avatar froze and studied the boy for a moment as he shifted the grip of his weapon. He was anticipating another attack with the dagger. Only, the dagger is not what came next. Instead, it was the avatar's foot flying into Furfur's head and delivering him high into the sky of the mindscape.
Worthy was grateful that Furfur had a vessel. Because of that, the entity whose true form was no doubt the mist surrounding the avatar, was still humanoid in the landscape, and was susceptible to damage, or at least easier to fight than a formless horror.
The demon recovered quickly, and countered with an attack of his own that slipped around Alice's control.
The child was rapidly approaching to deliver another strike to the core of his enemy. Sadly, such a thing was not possible, as Furfur reached a hand out and grabbed hold of the boy's wrist that held the dagger.
Expecting a devastating blow, the child tried to brace himself. However, he could not brace himself nearly enough for the impact of the punch that slammed into his gut. Neither was he able to brace for the elbow that sent his avatar rocketing down to the ground—the ground that did not exist.
The child simply kept falling, agony coursing through his mind.
It felt like he'd just had a chunk of his brain pulled from his skull… or at least he assumed that was what it felt like. The only pain that compared was the mind-shattering agony he endured the day his mind was splintered into innumerable pieces.
[You've just lost two of your memories. I don't know what they were, or how important to you. I detected their loss, though.]
Worthy didn't know what those memories were either, and he frankly didn't care. If they were forgotten, then they were lost. Trying to jog his mind for something that didn't exist anymore would only cause him more suffering than it was worth.
[...However, I have begun to notice that Furfur is rapidly deteriorating. The mist around him is not nearly as expansive as it once was. Even now, as he is standing there, the mist's size is shrinking subtly. Delay him a little longer, and…]
[Delay him?]
The child sounded angered, as though Alice had personally insulted him by suggesting that he should try and stall.
[No. No. I'm not delaying anything.]
For once in life, he was in a position to overcome impossible odds. In this Tower, where winners take all, how could a loser possibly play the role of a guide? How would he guide himself to the Tenth Floor if he couldn't even win a battle taking place in his own mind, where he held multiple advantages.
[...You are too ambitious, child. I cannot stop you, but I must advise against continuing this battle. Receiving more blows from him, even while weakened, will kill you. Soon, you will slip up, and there will be nothing left of your mind.]
As Furfur grew weaker, Alice's control became stronger. Yet, so too did Furfur's ability to predict and circumvent Alice's control. Moreover, the entity was becoming subtly aware of the existence of an external factor controlling the space, rather than Worthy. Some actions did not line up with the interferences, and so Furfur concluded it must've been something or someone else binding his actions.
Eventually, Worthy's avatar stopped falling.
Ahead of him, he could see that Furfur's avatar was chasing him down during his descent, prepared to deliver a lethal blow to the child. He was trying to take him down in one fell swoop, and he was most likely going to succeed.
Alice could alter his movements, but the man was already too close for the outcome to be meaningfully altered.
[Shut up. Trust me.]
Furfur was approaching to deliver the final blow, and Worthy heard him speaking, "You talk a large game. I'll admit, you had me frightened, if only for a moment. Sadly, I am beyond strength. Your resilience is most impressive, but in the end, that's all it is. Impressive death throes."
Worthy could see what was descending upon him. Furfur's hands, extended like claws, were going to tear his avatar's head from his body. It was an effective method, if only flawed by the fact that it could be foiled by the swing of the child's dagger.
The Demon of the Mind was not fearful, unfortunately. This fearlessness was not unfounded. It was rather justified, actually.
Worthy had released his weapon, and it was fluttering through the vast expanse of the mind.
His body felt stiff. It was difficult for his avatar to move, as the pain flowing through him was incomprehensible. Nevertheless, the boy had experienced this before, and thus he had grown a slight tolerance. He could endure it, if only a little.
That little bit was meaningful.
"This is the end, child."
'The end? Like hell!'
Furfur's hand descended upon the child.
The child, with his sheer will, commanded his body to move.
In the next moment, two projections blossomed in the mindscape.
Whatever memories he'd lost from being struck by Furfur… they were insignificant. Because the Demon of the Mind had not removed his memory of the glorious, Enchanted Armor of the Holy Knight, War Reaver. Nor did it forget his magnificent Divine Sword.
"...What?!" It had been a lapse in judgement, truthfully. An honest mistake, one of the few the demon made.
His hand crashed into the armor, and immediately, he felt something give.
It was him. His hand, crashing into the weapon, broke upon contact with the projection of armor. Just like the blood-consuming knife, Worthy could manifest items from his memories into reality, even if he did not personally wield them.
He didn't know how War managed to produce the emissions of energy with the swing of his weapon, and he certainly wasn't going to find out by wielding a false replica in his mind. Nevertheless, he knew that the weapon could shoot out energy when swung, and that was enough.
Furfur was too close to do anything. Through the slits in the boy's visor, Furfur's eyes, wide in disbelief, locked onto the boy's.
There, he saw eyes which were burning with unquenchable wrath.
Furfur had toyed with the boy's mind, and enthralled thousands of people. Those thralls went on to kill many more people, or be killed themselves. The Demon of the Mind made them all pieces for a game they had no clue they were playing.
It was cruel, so unreasonably cruel. When they finally thought they'd made progress in escaping this purgatory…
'You snatched hope away from us, every single one of us.' Because, who could ever hold hope after experiencing such an ungodly event?
'Then, you need to pay for each, and every single damn speck of it that you tore away!' With all his mind, the child swung his weapon.
Energy poured through the space, and the child continued swinging his weapon, leaving no room for chatter or banter any longer. Instead, a sphere of destructive, mental energy surrounded the two as the weapon was repeatedly swung. It was how the boy envisioned War Reaver's weapon—a sword that defied laws.
It was no different from any other Divine Sword, but none of that mattered. The only thing of importance was the boy's imagination.
At some point, the fragment of Alice stopped her interference. It was both unnecessary, and something she hesitated to deliver.
Before her eyes, she was watching Furfur, an Enlightened, intelligent spawn of the Blood Marauder, be overpowered and eviscerated over-and-over again by the imagination of a 12-year-old boy.
The Demon of the Mind… was killed by a child's imagination.