After battle (2).

Sorry for the delay. I had to rewrite a few things in this chapter, and that pushed things back a bit. It’s currently 5:57 AM; I pulled an all-nighter to finish writing and polishing everything properly.

Well, I won’t drag this out — wishing everyone a good night and an enjoyable read!

(P)(A)(T)/CalleumArtori.

[...]---[...]

POV: Devas Asura

Sand, blood, and salt.

The scent of sea breeze hit my nose the moment I arrived where Gilbert, Selina, and Robyn were. I looked down.

My vision blurred for a moment. I ignored it.

The ground was covered in wet sand—soaked in both water and blood. It reeked of fish and salt. It was like standing on a dirty beach, where fish had been rotting under the sun for days.

To the right, sitting and supported by Robyn, was Gilbert. The old merchant had clearly seen better days.

He was missing his left arm, severed almost cleanly just below the elbow. It wasn’t bleeding much—skin was already growing over the wound. His body was covered in thin cuts, like those made by wire.

Some of the cuts were shallow, others deep, some already healing. His armor barely held together on his body.

Robyn had a half-full potion in one hand, with two empty bottles tossed beside her.

His left eye was gone, and the entire structure of his face around it bore the mark of a massive bite that reached nearly to his nose. The eye socket bled slowly, half-healed, the wounds around it shaped like the sharp teeth of a beast.

Gilbert wasn’t the first to notice me—Robyn was. But he was the first to speak:

“And here I was thinking I was fucked… You look like shit,” he said, oddly good-humored, before coughing and doubling over. Drops of blood flew.

Robyn helped steady him, her gaze shifting anxiously between me and her father.

“I’m not the one missing an arm and an eye,” I pointed out, a faint smile on my lips.

I chose not to say that if I looked like shit, it was just how I felt.

“And yet, something tells me I still got the better deal,” he replied without hesitation. I snorted but said nothing. His single eye wandered, scanning my left arm and shoulder—then my "second right eye" and the rest of my body.

“…Are you okay?”

“No.” I didn’t bother lying. “But I will be.” As always.

My gaze shifted to Robyn next. She looked smaller than I remembered her at the beginning of the Blood Moon.

She was still transformed, but her muscles had shrunk. Her face looked more human—Terrarian—even though it still resembled a fox and was covered in dark orange fur.

Her right fox ear had been sliced in half. She bore many of the same thin cuts Gilbert had, though hers were much shallower. Impressive, considering she wore no armor.

Her shirt was shredded, exposing her left breast—not that she seemed to care. Below, her shorts were barely held at the waist by her tail, which had shrunk and now served as an improvised fur belt.

I didn’t mention the absence of her second 'tail'—I didn’t want to embarrass her.

As I approached, I pulled a black T-shirt from inside my VoidBag and tossed it to Robyn. Plain—no design. A shame. If I’d had time, I would’ve found one with a fox print.

The orange eye on her tiara stared at me as she put the shirt on. I ignored it and looked into Robyn’s eyes once she finished dressing.

She looked traumatized. Frightened by something beyond Gilbert’s condition. Her eyes were less slitted and beast-like—more like her usual self—but her pupils were tiny and trembling.

“It was all just an illusion,” I said, trying to sound as gentle and comforting as possible. I wasn’t sure it worked. Probably didn’t. “There’s no abyss so dark or deep that light can’t reach it.”

I had a vague image of what she saw. A deep ocean. Darkness. A monster. But it was all hazy and unclear. The only thing I knew for sure was that Robyn had broken free using something that belonged to me—but I didn’t know what or how.

Her eyes drifted to the sword in my hand. Stayed there for a moment, then rose to meet my right eye.

She seemed to be searching for something. I had no idea what. But after a few seconds of silence, she nodded to herself and slightly shook her head, as if agreeing with a thought, then let out a clearly relieved sigh.

“You didn’t say anything about the old man’s condition. Does that mean he’s out of danger?” she asked, after a moment, glancing at Gilbert.

“Pretty much,” I nodded. I “looked” at the merchant. I could see inside him—his muscles and organs.

“Gilbert lost a lot of blood, but the potions are stabilizing him. His internal injuries are almost completely healed. He looks worse than he actually is.”

Two sighs of relief this time—one from father, one from daughter. I continued:

“Alalia might be able to do something about the arm.” The cut was clean, and nothing vital had been damaged. The dryad could probably regrow it. “But forget about the eye. The damage wasn’t just physical.”

I could see it. Gilbert’s soul had lost the eye too. Whatever bit that side of him had partially devoured the concept of “left eye” from his very being.

It wasn’t like Ísis’s eye. She had still been in the early stages of transformation, and I’d acted quickly. I was able to absorb the corruption in her. It hadn’t even been difficult—it was as if the corruption in her left eye had thrown itself at me the moment it realized I carried a larger, more refined version of the “disease.”

The void devours all things. That much was true. The void in my left eye had grown after I absorbed Ísis’s corruption, but it was still under control...

Robyn had some internal injuries too. A recently healed rib, still cracked. Minor muscle damage and small bruises in her eardrums. But Gilbert had clearly gotten the worst of it between the two.

I turned my head to the side once I finished speaking. To the right, Selina was approaching, panting and limping toward us.

She was drenched in blood from head to toe, like she’d fallen into a pool of it. Her arms and fists were the worst—dripping blood and leaving a trail behind her, along with bloody footprints.

Her left leg was fractured near the ankle. Her throat and lungs were mildly burned, likely from inhaling hot air.

Her calf muscles were slightly torn. Her left shoulder was dislocated, and she had a large gash running from her brow to just past her hairline. It was nasty, but mostly superficial.

I tossed her a potion. Selina blinked, confused, barely reacting and almost dropping it. Without hesitation, she drank half and poured the rest over the cut on her head.

“I still had the potion you gave me, but thanks anyway,” she replied, her voice slightly hoarse. “Sorry I didn’t welcome you when you showed up, Big Leader. I was just making sure that weird squid thing was dead.”

Selina pointed her thumb over her shoulder, where what looked like a fusion of a squid, dozens of Demon Eyes—all blind and starting to melt—flesh, and congealed blood lay still.

One of the Dreadnautilus’s summons, if memory serves. I looked around. I spotted another one farther off, surrounded by wounded soldiers and corpses.

When I looked back at Selina, I noticed she seemed uneasy and embarrassed. She wouldn’t meet my gaze and kept her eyes on the ground.

“Th-the Humvee fell off the wall,” she said after nearly three seconds of silence, her head lowered. “One of those squids I thought I’d killed came back and caught us off guard. I rammed it with the Humvee, but I couldn’t stop in time and—”

“Are you insane?” I asked, cutting her off. Selina blinked, confused, lifting her head.

“No?—”

“Did using the Humvee that way help in the fight and keep you, Robyn, or Gilbert from getting hurt worse?”

“Yes, but it was still reckle—”

I cut her off a third time.

“Then it doesn’t matter.” I sighed. My headache still hadn’t gone away. I went on:“Selina, it’s just a vehicle. I know you love machines, and you probably think losing the Humvee is a tragedy—but I don’t.”

“To me, if the Humvee explodes while saving one of you, that’s a small price to pay. A tool is a tool. A life is a life. And a life is worth more than a tool.”

Well… depending on the tool—and whose life.

That is, if the Humvee had actually been destroyed in the fall. I built that thing myself. It may not have been made from the best materials, but a fall from that height shouldn’t have wrecked it completely.

Dented? Probably—especially with the defense matrices likely offline—but nothing unfixable. And if it was unfixable? Well, tough luck.

From the corner of my “second right eye,” I saw Gilbert snort through his nose. Blood flew out, which he wiped with the back of his one hand. Robyn, beside him, muttered under her breath, staring at the ground—but I heard it loud and clear: “Soft-talking idiot…”

Selina, on the other hand, looked me in the eyes for a moment before shaking her head, a faint smile crossing her face. Her nervousness and hesitation vanished. Even through the blood, I could see her cheeks flush.

I didn’t say anything about Robyn’s comment—or the extra color in the Steampunker’s cheeks.

Static flickered in my vision for a second. I ignored it.

“Right… sorry. Just… a lot’s happened and my head’s a bit scrambled,” Selina said after a brief pause. Her eyes moved to the sword in my hand. “So… you killed that thing with this sword?”

“Basically,” I nodded, answering. But before I could continue, a fourth voice cut in:

“Excalibur Asura… I heard… the name… what a beautiful… stained… light…”

Robyn, Gilbert, and Selina all froze at the voice. The three of them turned at the same time toward its source: a corpse riddled with arrows, half-burned, torn by claw wounds, missing its right arm, left leg, and with its chest split open, ribs exposed, eyes gone, and an arrow lodged dead-center in the forehead.

Simon, The Angler.

“Done playing dead?” I asked, turning toward him.

I’d noticed he was “alive” the moment I arrived. Well—alive might be too generous a word…

“You were the one… who killed The Eye of the Moon… weren’t you?…” Simon ignored my question.

His voice was tired. Worn beyond reason. Hoarse and dry, like his vocal cords hadn’t seen water in years.

His clothes were in tatters. His skin pale, bloodless. The only hand he had left was missing its pinky and ring fingers. Still, he clutched a broken fishing rod with what remained.

To his left, a dead Demon Eye was half-sunken into the sand, its body slashed by what looked like claws. Its pupil was cracked open like a mouth—just like the transformed version of 'The Eye'.

Something told me that one had eaten Gilbert’s left eye.

I stared at Simon. The man was looking straight at me—or rather, at the sword in my hand—even without any eyes in his face. He leaned back in a half-sitting, half-lying posture, a small mound of sand propping him up.

“I remember… you…” he continued, his voice caught somewhere between dragging and steady, somewhere between madness and clarity. “You were in Blueharbor… You’re…”

Simon lifted his head. The empty holes where his eyes should’ve been were pointed directly at me. I felt like he was staring into my soul.

“…Sorry, I can’t recall your name…” he said after a pause.

“Devas,” I introduced myself with a small nod.

“Simon… I think?…” he replied. Then his voice sharpened with certainty: “The Angler from the last generation…”

The next five, maybe ten seconds passed in silence. Gilbert, Selina, and Robyn remained tense but didn’t move to attack. Simon just sat there quietly, unmoving.

The first to speak was Gilbert.

“You came back, old friend?” The question was hesitant, caught somewhere between hope and fear.

“Yes… but… not fully…” Simon replied, still not taking his ‘gaze’ off me. His voice grew clearer. “With The Eye of the Moon dead, I regained partial control of my little boat… But the hull already has too many holes…”

I felt Gilbert’s one eye focus on me.

“Devas, can you…” His voice faded before finishing the question. But I knew the rest.

'Can you save him?'

I didn’t need to think before answering.

“No.”

“Simon is already dead,” I said, staring at the corpse before me. “Both his body and his soul. What stands before us is just a personality—shaped by faint echoes of distant memories.”

I could see it. Simon’s soul had been nearly completely devoured by the Void. Consumed at the core—so deeply there wouldn’t even be an afterlife. I couldn’t use Shadowflame to send him to Hell, to pull him back—nothing.

Simon was dead. What remained was a vague imprint of a man who once held the title The Angler. It was the only thing anchoring him here, preventing him from being fully swallowed by the Void.

That, and also—

“A desperate will to survive…” I said aloud, to no one in particular. Just an observation.

The sword in my hand felt heavier…

“Heh… it is what it is, old friend… Life was always rough, unpredictable… like the sea,” Simon muttered—and for a single instant, he seemed like nothing more than an old angler. Not a bloodless corpse.

“The waves turned stormy in an instant…” he began, his voice gaining clarity. He spoke with no pauses, like he was talking to himself, to Gilbert, to me, to all of us, and to no one:

“The sky turned dark. Through layer upon layer of thick gray clouds, I saw the moon… only the moon…”

“No lighthouse to guide me. Adrift at sea, I lost control of my little boat. With no choice, I followed the soft red glow of the full moon above…”

“By the time I realized it, my sky had nearly no stars left.” He turned his ‘gaze’ away from my face and toward the sword in my hand.

“Only one remains…”

“A beautiful light. A stained light. An eternal light…”

Simon smiled—a smile filled with sorrow and regret. Brimming with fear of the end.

“But I’m going blind, old friend… The light is fading—not in the sky, but in my eyes…”

“I regret many things… My sky is almost starless…”

The old Aagler turned his ‘gaze’ back to my face. I felt his ‘eyes’ on my right eye. I stared right back.

Neither of us blinked.

My vision blurred for an instant. I ignored it.

“I don’t have much time, nor much to say to you, Scourge of the Moon… but two things, I think you should know…” Simon’s voice was weaker now, more sluggish.

He continued without me saying a word:

“This night is just the beginning of something worse… and…”

“…Beware of the Guide.”

Then, his head slumped to the side, and his voice fell silent.

“…Like hell it is!”

My arm blurred. I hurled Excalibur Asura like a spear, driving it straight into Simon’s chest—right where the heart would be—knocking his body backward and pinning him to the ground.

The sword glowed purple, wrapped in Shadowflame.

I didn’t just pierce his physical body, but also the echo of his personality and memories that lingered inside it—and the tiny shard of soul that still remained.

I ignored the reactions of the three behind me—and the (CHAT) box that had reappeared in the corner of my vision, even though no messages popped up while the CCC was in “Combat Mode”—and walked toward Simon.

With my right hand, I grabbed the hilt of Excalibur Asura. I leaned forward, kneeling beside him. With my left, I scooped up a handful of sand from the ground.

I took a deep breath, letting the world around me become “mine” again. My headache was killing me, and I felt like I could pass out at any moment—but I pushed through.

Once I felt the surroundings were more “mine” than Terraria’s, I poured the sand into Simon’s right eye socket.

I couldn’t heal Simon. I couldn’t undo what had happened to him, nor bring him back or stop death. But forcefully anchoring a part of a soul and its memories?...

I’d done it before—with Tyrian, when I pulled his mind into the Spiritual Realm. The environment was more my Spiritual Realm now than it was Terraria.

I had done it before—so I could do it again.

As the sand began to pour into the empty socket of the angler’s right eye, I superheated the grains with Shadowflame.

At the same time, I channeled my spiritual energy, pressing the echo of those memories—the remnants of Simon’s personality, the fragile sliver of soul left behind—toward his right eye from all sides.

Finally, I used my nightmare energy to fuse the immaterial with the material, just like I did when creating Nightmares.

The sand turned to glass under the heat, then became opaque as it cooled rapidly, and finally turned milky white as I imbued it with what was left of Simon.

Even though, to the stream, it probably just looked like another enchantment.

[Enchanted Pearl]

I pinched the item between two fingers, pulling it from Simon’s right eye socket as I stood and retrieved the sword from his chest.

It wasn’t exactly what I wanted—but it would do.

My vision went dark for a second. I ignored it.

“What is that?” Gilbert asked, leaning on Robyn with his one arm, the two of them slowly making their way toward me. “You said there was no way to save him.”

“There isn’t,” I replied, beginning to explain. “Simon is dead—he has been for weeks, long before tonight. All I did was pull and anchor what was left of his personality and memories into a temporary vessel so they’d be preserved, for me to look at later.”

I wouldn’t have even been able to do that if I hadn’t figured out how to pull part of my Spiritual Realm into the outside world after the birth of the Shadow Puppet.

In fact, I still wouldn’t have managed it, even with that, if it weren’t for the tiny piece of Simon’s soul that still existed and was clinging to life. Without it, I’d have only managed to grab scattered fragments of random memories.

I held the pearl up for everyone to see. It had a milky white color—almost, no, identical to the eyes of my Nightmares—and was about the size of a human eye.

Gilbert looked between the pearl and my face a few times before saying:

“I think I get it… sort of.” He looked confused, half-relieved and half-exhausted. “More of my blood’s outside my body than in it. Can you dumb it down?”

“It’s like a drawing in the sand on a beach.”

I could practically see the “ah, now I get it!” spark in Gilbert’s one remaining eye.

With the explanation done, I slipped the pearl into the pocket of my shirt—the one where Millia usually stayed… I missed her.

I didn’t put it in the VoidBag because I was almost certain it would shatter the moment it left the ‘inside’ of the ‘world’ around me.

And I wasn’t sure I could send it to my Spiritual Realm either. It was more physical than spiritual, and even though the birth of the Shadow Puppet and the forging of Excalibur Asura had massively strengthened the link between “fantasy” and reality, transferring objects between the two was still a long way off.

The pearl was fragile, too, so I wasn’t going to risk it. I wasn’t even thinking of touching those memories today.

I pulled Simon’s body into the VoidBag. Gilbert didn’t say anything—just gave me a slow nod. We could do a funeral or whatever later.

My vision wavered for a moment. I ignored it.

Silence settled over us for a bit before Robyn asked:

“So… now what? Is it over?”

I turned to her.

“For you? Yeah. For me? Not yet,” I answered. “You can go back to the palace. I’ll send the others your way soon. I’m staying here.”

“You said ‘The Eye’ is dead. What about the goblins?” Selina’s voice this time.

I shook my head.

"The eastern army has already been defeated, and I’ve sent Proto-A west. You can go rest now."

After saying that, I turned around, walked to the outer edge of the wall, and sat down on the ledge. I stretched my right leg, letting it dangle off the side, while I bent my left and rested my elbow on the knee.

I stabbed Excalibur Asura into the stone beside me and wrapped my hand around its pommel. The sword glowed alongside my right eye, in the darkness.

Then I waited.

A second later, footsteps echoed behind me, followed by Robyn’s voice:

"Why are you staying here?..."

I took a moment before answering. I stared out at the horizon and said:

"Because people need to be able to sleep in peace, without fear of being attacked during the night..."

"Because the soldiers who fought need to know they can rest now, that the battle is over..."

"Because if there’s anything still out there, the first thing it’s going to find... is me."

"Because it’s still night."

My body was bursting with vitality, but tearing itself apart from the inside — dragging me from total exhaustion to complete readiness in the blink of an eye.

Everything hurt: skin, muscles, flesh, bones. My head throbbed. I could hear my blood pounding in my ears — it was hot, it was cold.

I was... exhausted...

I was hurt and tired and I just wanted to go home...

I wanted to sleep. I didn’t want to be here...

I had lost more than anyone else tonight, and I’d wondered — more than once — if I could just... let it all go...

I had already done my part. More than anyone...

Couldn’t I just let the rest be someone else’s problem? Just for a minute? Just so I could rest?...

No.

Not when I could feel the emotions of everyone behind me. The fear, the dread, the anger, the sorrow, the uncertainty, the hope.

Not when I could see my own back through the right eyes of those looking up.

Not when I knew the only light giving people a sense of safety was the one in my right hand.

Not when I could feel, dripping down my face, every tear shed from every right eye.

No... I couldn’t.

But I wished I could...

God, how I wished I could...

I must’ve disconnected from the world for a moment, because I didn’t even notice when Robyn sat to my left. Next to her was Gilbert. Beside him, Selina.

I just kept staring ahead, eyes half-lidded, unblinking.

My ‘second right eye’ had closed at some point — I didn’t even realize it.

I should’ve checked the (CHAT), answered the questions I knew they had, talked to the people who were worried, seen if there were new viewers — but I couldn’t.

I knew that if I let my focus slip — even for a second — I wouldn’t be able to bring it back.

I didn’t notice the exact moment Proto-A returned and began hovering overhead. Barely registered when Jinn sat to my right. Ozma, to her right. Someone sat behind me, back to back. Dylan, probably.

My vision dimmed. I ignored it.

I looked straight ahead, unblinking. I tightened my grip on the sword’s handle. It was still there.

It was still night...

I heard footsteps after a while. Melissa, maybe. Or Darnell. Maybe Helena and Hirael — or Charlotte... no. She shouldn’t be awake yet.

More footsteps followed. Ísis, Beldin, Maribel, Ahinadab. I wasn’t sure.

More footsteps. Some light. Some heavy. Some fast. Some firm. Some measured. Some random. Some angry. Some calm. Some small. Some commanding. Some childish. Some old. Some...

More footsteps... more and more footsteps...

I stared ahead. I waited...

I didn’t blink. It was dark... so dark...

More footsteps...

I tightened my grip on the sword.

Nothing... My hand was empty...

It was daytime.

It was dark…

[End of Book Two: Foreign Sin]

[...]---[...]

Well, it’s finally over. I really liked this arc and how everything unfolded. I also liked the ending of this chapter.

The next chapters will still take place in Terraria; Devas needs to check a few things in the world, recover, look through the stream updates, review his mission rewards, and see what changed in his status. After that, it’s off to another world!

Well, that’s all for now. Have a great night and enjoy the reading!

PS: Someone asked me how strong “The Moon” is. I answered that in a private message, but there’s no harm in saying it here too.

Look up “Eye of Cthulhu RGB keyboard” and see how ridiculous that thing is — that’s my answer.