There were three of you in the party - Karin, Abella and yourself. You were decently competent in combat, Karin’s firing ability and Abella’s wrench worked well with you. That was, until, a tall figure climbs out of a casket.

By the skin of your teeth, you claw through the fight. Although you may as well have died.

Three people, yet only 3 arms and five legs between you. Karin was okay, Abella was missing her arm and you only had a leg to hop on. All hope was lost.

…The three of you sat in the PRHVL Bop, idly waiting until your deaths. Things were bleak-

“I GOT IT!” Abella’s voice defeats the silent misery, slamming a Skin Bible onto the table. “The ritual circle, in the old orphanage! Chalk up Sylvian’s sigil, and start touching ourselves!”

The mechanic couldn’t care less if she sounded mad, her plan was solid. And all you had. So you were carried by Karin to the orphanage, while Abella carefully chalked down Sylvian’s sigil into the ritual circle.

“I’ll go first,” Abella starts, mentally she doesn’t want to acknowledge that all you’d have to perform the ritual is a damn foot. “Give me a while.”

About 20 minutes pass, and a slightly flushed Abella leaves the room - sporting a new, normal arm. She looks at you, then at Karin, then back to you.

“No, nuh-uh, no chance. I’m not doing that, you can figure it out with your damn foot for all I care.”

Karin’s words were resolute and firm, she left no room for arguments. Abella was more reasonable, deciding that it’d be easier on her conscience if she just didn’t think and started touching.

…Abella lay beside you, panting. She grabs your new set of arms, as if to check their validity. “Worth it, I’d say.” Her voice was tired and content, she couldn’t give a damn about anything but the fact that the chance of surviving this festival was tangible again.