The battle raged furiously as the Garou and Incarna faced off against the Igohida-clad Chrysaor. As her father took a sickening blow to the arm, Zoe was reminded of the vision she saw when she first reassembled the spear Remembrance.
A Garou, his dark coat slick with the slime and filth of the river, stands with two others of his kind against a leering swarm of misshapen once-men, the Igohida. An eerily beautiful woman towers above the Garou, her body formed of granite that flashes in the moonlight, wearing a Corinthian helmet. She wields a great and fearful spear.
The Gaians are winning, slowly but surely, against their many enemies, until the wretched things amass into a great foul thing, a titanic monster that is Chrysaor the Unbidden in full gathered might. Injured and enraged, it knocks the weapon from Mnemosyne’s grasp and breaks it.
Tycheros leaps for the broken relic, sacrificing nearly all memory of himself to mend the damaged spear. Chrysaor reels, and Tycheros does not waste the opportunity: the werewolf dealt a deep wound to the beast’s back, the spear punching clean through the massive evil spirit. This gives Mnemosyne a reprieve, and she wrenches the weapon free and then she stabs Chrysaor again, over and over.
Chrysaor is damaged to the point of ruin, but even on the verge of slumbering death the fell spirit is nearly equal to the Incarna in strength; as it writhes in agony, creeping corruption seeps up the haft of the weapon and begins tainting the avatar before both spirits fall thrashing into the water and the spear fractures yet again.
Mnemosyne raises herself from the water, gurgling and laughing hysterically, and as Chrysaor’s corruption envelops her, she prepares to turn on her weary Garou allies.
“The battle is won, but your memories are forfeit, wolves of Luna. Do not worry, I will keep them safe, forever.”
Tycheros, in a deathly fit of rage, says nothing, but leaps at the Incarna, and tears off the weakened and corrupt avatar’s head, snatching up what is left of the spear before it falls. The head spills free of the helmet, bobbing on the black-stained tide like an obscene cork.
Her dying words are a curse: “You may never cross the Gauntlet again.”
Luna’s light dances capriciously over the water; the Igohida are gone, the other Garou have vanished, and what is left of the dead memory spirit has been lost to the river. Only Tycheros remained, grimly clutching the broken haft of a great ancient spear.
In this moment clarity strikes the young Theurge. She, too, must make a grave sacrifice in order to bring Chrysaor to its knees. In the blink of an eye, she considers all the people important to her: the Prodigals, the Camino Real sept, Connor...
Papa O'Toole
The man who had saved her from her life on the streets. The one who taught her everything she knew about technology. The one who gave her the very weapon that had felled a vampire just the night before. The one who ventured into the very realm of Akna because he feared she was in danger. The only Papa she had ever truly known.
She knows the sacrifice will be worthy. It is too dear to be ignored by such a powerful spirit of greed. Tears well in her eyes for a brief moment, but she blinks them back, knowing that in the next instant she would not even know those memories were gone.
Zoe O'Toole closes her eyes and wills the memories into Remembrance and out of her mind. She had not expected each memory to flash before her eyes. The pain is almost more than she can bear, but it is needed and necessary for the greater good.
The final memory to fade is that of her adopted father's red-haired, green-eyed, bespectacled face, gleaming proudly over the first trinket she had ever invented by his side.
As quickly as the memories come, they fade away, leaving an aching chasm in the young woman's heart, though she cannot explain why.
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