It was every bit as dire as you thought it would be, and without Kafka’s assistance that would help remove her memories or sensory deprivation, it would be much harder.

Blade suddenly cried out, her face contorted with relentless pain, and your heart skipped a beat in shock. Her legs trembled a split second before they gave way, and as though protective instinct took absolute control of your reflexes, you surged forward and grasped her forearms - the abrupt shift in position causing you to drop to your knees along with her. Blade clawed at your right shoulder with her left hand, groaning and mewling into the crook of your neck and left collarbone.

Her mind panicked. Memories from her time in the High-Cloud Quintent, her smithy and the weapons she forged filled her mind. Blood-red eyes would look at her, radiating infuriate yet hiding helplessness. A spear broken in half. Iron on her tongue, and the feeling of death folding into her a thousand times - she has died like this countless times, yet lives on.

“Kill me.” Blade pleaded. “Death is far much greater than this.”

That was spine-chilling - it was definitely not the first time where she begged for purgatory, but to actually ask for death from you?

Maybe she was still delirious in pain. No kidding.

Blade’s hand lashed out with blinding speed and grasped your left fingers with such a vice-like grip, it felt like she was crushing them in half. You couldn't help but feel an immense surge of pity and sympathy for the suffering woman, moaning and whimpering in pain; undergoing a marastrike was tough enough, with some considering it worse than childbirth, but one that had been building for years through countless resistance? It was something you had never seen. For a few precious seconds, the glazed look in Blade’s eyes seemed to sharpen, and she looked at you with an indefinable expression. Whether she was being granted a reprieve from the torment or not, you didn’t know, but she needed you.

Maybe your presence can help.

“Can... can you... hold me?”