The archive was as it always was; stifling, dark, home to whispers and things that had long since fallen from the Sin of the Sloth's recollection. In fact, Amoroth was certain Peroth could barely remember when the archive hadn't been a pit of forgotten words and broken trinkets. She had trouble remembering as well.

A paltry downdraft of ash and brimstone preceded her appearance into the stuffy archive, breaking the monotonous stench of dust, mold, and stale magic. She parted the Realm and immediately misjudged her surroundings in the immiscible dark as she stepped on a teetering crate. Amoroth staggered into the nearest shelf, knocking items off as she tried to find a bit of clear floor to stand on. The pike of a Landsknecht fell and broke in two, the metal tip chiming as it struck something solid in the dark. 

"Bloody hell," Amoroth swore as she kicked a box and extracted her arm from the crowded shelf to adjust her borrowed shirt. She prayed the clothing she'd ordered would finally arrive this weekend. Getting mail out in the middle of the marsh was difficult, but it was better than waiting around for someone to brave a trip into the city. 

The shadows conspired behind her back, edging nearer between the stacks and valleys of long-forgotten refuse. Fighting the need to shiver, the Sin of Lust set off. 

Amoroth spent enough time listening to witches and mages to know magic never dies. Locked away in this timeless sepulcher, the grimoires and tossed enchantments would never lose their spark. They would only grow hungrier. Meaner. Like sentient beings, items carved with runes or slathered in the blood of an other desired the light of day. They'd do anything to be free of this place—even if it meant hitching a ride on a Sin. She walked with caution and avoided those pleading, needy things.

The click of her heels upon the stone floor should have resonated in the cavernous space, but the sound was caught by the shadows like a butterfly ensnared by a spider's web. She didn't linger in one place for long, using the Realm to pass through obstacles in her way. The Sin would only pause to listen and scan her surroundings, searching for a noise or a light that would show her the way.

After a time, Amoroth heard the faint murmur of an embodied voice speaking beyond the hissing shadows. More than ready to be done with this place, she quickened her pace and jumped through the Realm when appropriate. When she arrived at her destination, all warmth was replaced by an inexplicable, subzero chill. White frost clung to Amoroth lashes and nipped at her flesh. 

At the end of the tilted aisle waited an alcove walled with piles and piles of strewn tomes. A single candle wavered in the morass, sitting atop the melted remains of a dozen tapers that had come before. In the middle of the alcove was a flat table burdened with open texts and unfurled maps, each checked with slashes and annotations. 

The Sin of Pride stood with his hands upon the table's edge, his head hung over his amassed work. 

"Dammit, Peroth," Amoroth huffed as she spotted the Sin of Sloth standing just beyond the candle's light. The eerie reflection of the flame glittered in his unblinking eyes. "You could have shown me the bloody way!" 

Peroth was watching Darius, immobile. Pride gave no indication that he was aware of their presence. His hushed murmuring continued as he worked with fervent motions, etching and scratching and flipping through pages of the nearest books.

"Pride," Peroth said, his clear voice a startling contrast to the rasp of shadowy whispers and the repetitive tap of pages coming together.

Darius didn't acknowledge him. He didn't acknowledge anything until Sloth's hand came down on the page Pride was turning, tearing it in two. Darius tipped his head, and Amoroth swallowed when she saw the sightless black waiting beneath his lowered brows. 

"Move," Darius said, the word cut between his sharp teeth with cold, unfeeling clarity. He spoke in Gehen, the first language of the Sins, and the mere utterance of a single world in that fallen tongue called to their dark homeland. The things beyond their sight laughed. 

"You need to rest, brother," Peroth told him in the same tongue, leaving his hand where it lay. "You have worked through the day and the night. You must rest, Darius." 

He jerked the book out from under Peroth's hand, tearing the pages further. Amoroth saw the way Pride's arms trembled with exertion when he moved. "You promised to stay out of my way."

"I did," Sloth agreed as he discreetly shut another book and set it aside. "I'm here to help you, not get in your way."

"I do not need your help," Pride spat as he leaned upon the table again, staring at the incomprehensible mess. "I am close...so close...." 

"Close to madness, perhaps," Amoroth argued as she threw a hand toward the accumulated mess of ancient knowledge. "Just look at this absurdity."

Darius glared at her.

"She means well, brother," Peroth urged as he gave Amoroth a look of warning. Sloth went to touch Darius's arm but thought better of it. "We all mean well. We only wish to...to...."

"Make him see reason?" Amoroth snorted as she chose a shelf to lean against. Darius had gone very still, his face expressionless. "To make him see that his weapon is a myth?" 

"I am close," Darius repeated, hands splayed on the map. Amoroth couldn't tell what territory he was obsessing over nor did she care. "I only need more time—." 

"But you have none!" Peroth slapped the table to exemplify his statement and catch Darius's inconsistent attention. "You have none! We must—you must—come to accept the reality of your situation. You are starving. Your mortal is dying. You must begin to conceptualize different...options." 

Darius traced a line upon the map, intent upon the meandering motion. He knew exactly what Peroth meant by "options." 

"No."

Aggravated, Amoroth exhaled, having expected the Sin to say as much. She addressed Peroth in English, tiring of this charade. It had been a stupid idea to try to sway Pride when they already knew his reluctance on the matter. "I can kill her if he's too big of a coward to do it. I'll throw her off a building. It'll be poetic justice."

The words had barely left her mouth before Amoroth found herself several yards away on the floor, her jaw dislocated and her lip split open. Stunned, she rolled to her back—miraculously avoiding a second blow from Darius that would have crushed her chest. His fist hit the floor and pulverized the stone pavers.

"You bloody idiot, I was being sarcas—!"

Pride had his hands at her throat, squeezing. Looking up at him, Amoroth saw no recognition in his ancient face. The high plains of his cheek bones were lengthened, the steep drop of his brow exaggerated by the rapid devolution of his features into the countenance of a starving Absolian. He gave no indication of knowing who lay beneath his punishing grip. 

His eyes were so hollow and empty, Amoroth feared they may be too late. Pride may already be beyond their reach.

Peroth struck Darius, once with his fist, then again with a sweeping kick to the chest. The force of his blow tore the Sin of Pride from Amoroth and flung him into a shelf with a bang.

Lust sucked in air as her crushed windpipe reformed. Peroth grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her upright, not being gentle in the slightest.

"You've helped enough," he snarled, keeping his eyes on Darius as the other Sin threw the broken items from the shelf off his body. "Leave!"

Pride growled like a wounded beast as he heaved aside an oxidized cannon. It crashed somewhere in the dark. Looking at him, then at Peroth, Amoroth quietly swore and vanished.

Darius lunged at her, managing to catch Sloth around the middle. Sloth's back collided with another shelf unit and something sharp gouged his shoulder. Grunting, Peroth slammed his elbow in Darius's side. Bones snapped to little effect.

Pride had his hands upon Peroth's throat now, his sharpening nails slicing flesh and muscle as Sloth struggled to keep himself from being eviscerated. Darius' state was degrading. His reason was beset by hunger and he was losing his mind to the base, primal needs of the Absolian. A Sin's mind couldn't bear the stress of an Absolian's need. Darius had been starving too long.

"Blasted fool—," Sloth grated through clench teeth as Pride continued to strangle him. Peroth managed to cinch his hands into the collar of Darius's shirt, but instead of flinging the other Sin away, he jerked him forward. Peroth rammed his head into Pride's face. 

The satisfying crack of bone was followed by a high yip of sound Darius would have never made if he were in his right mind. The cry was sharp, rising above typical hearing ranges as it approached the bird-like shriek of an Absolian. Glass cracked and shattered in the dark before the sound died.

Darius dropped with his hands on his face, violently jarred from his staved haze—at least, for the moment.

Panting, Peroth sat next to Pride in the wreckage as the other Sin hunched over his knees on floor and groaned. Sloth lifted his hand to his throat and winced at the deep gouges in his neck.

Damn, I'd forgotten how vicious he could be.

Darius was breathing heavily, fighting a private battle for dominance in his own mind as heat returned to the archive in trickling degrees. Grim-faced, Peroth waited as the Sin struggled. He waited, knowing exactly what must be done if Darius couldn't set himself right. He would have to kill Pride, for his own good.

The girl would have to follow. Bloodthirsty harridan she was, Sara Gaspard wouldn't rest until she had Peroth's head if Sloth was forced to end a maddened Darius.

"How did we come to the place?" Peroth mocked as Darius silently gnashed his teeth in an attempt to quell his mounting savagery. "Fighting each other just to keep from going mad. Watching the years come for us as we steal time from the souls of others. How did we come to this place? This place where I am a prisoner in my own home and you throw yourself into certain doom without a shred of remorse?"

Darius couldn't answer. His struggle and Peroth's vigil continued.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eon, Pride slumped onto his side with a ragged exhalation. By the weak glow of the candle, the crooked set of his busted nose was visible, but the weary, familiar expression on Darius's face was a welcomed sight.

"By the Pit, Darius," Peroth exclaimed as he chucked a bit of splintered wood at his wounded comrade. "You'll be the death of us both!"

Darius was too exhausted to exchange barbs with Peroth. He clawed at something under his shirt, forming a fist against his chest. "I'm so close," I muttered to no one in particular, gaze set upon the table that had miraculously survived their brief tussle. "So close. I'll find it...."

Peroth sighed and kneaded his temples. He was inclined to believe Amoroth—though they'd be discussing the rashness of her petulant words later. The siren of madness had begun its enticing soliloquy for the Sin of Pride. The contract he shared with his mortal had stretched the immortal creature too thin. The strain would break him—break them both.

Darius managed to sit up, though he was listing heavily to one side. He raised his eyes to Peroth's and focused. "You will not kill her. I will not lose. I won't let him take what I have left. I have lost too much and will give nothing else!" The fist against his chest tightened, bunching the bloody shirt in his grip. Peroth wondered what he was holding. So sort of pendant. "I won't let him win!"

Darius had never been so desperate, so hopeless, and yet so determined before.

Sloth simpered, because he wasn't sure if anything they did could salvage this fight—but the fervent light in Darius's eyes wouldn't be denied. Logic demanded the Sin of Pride be denied. That this unwinnable quest be cut short to save was could be saved--but Peroth wouldn't say it. He couldn't tell Darius no after looking into his eyes and seeing how desperately he needed to see this fight through.

Peroth reached out to Pride and gripped his shivering, slouched shoulder. "Okay. We won't give up, then. We won't let him win. Either foe or friend, ally or enemy, no matter where we stand, I stand with you, my friend. If this is what you demand of me, we will see it through. Until the end."

Darius's fingers encircled Peroth's wrist and squeezed. Peroth knew that silent show of gratitude was all he'd get from Darius.

The susurrating mouths in the forgotten mess had been silenced, for now. The manor waited above, needing its master's attention. Standing, Peroth sighed and returned to the encompassing darkness and left Pride alone where he sat.

Nothing he said or did would sway the Sin of Pride from this choice. Darius had found something—someone—to cling to, a purpose that neither Peroth nor Amoroth would ever understand. If Darius decided that purpose was worth madness or death, then nothing would change his mind.

It all culminated to a philosophical debacle Peroth simply couldn't answer: was life worth living without a purpose? Would Darius want to continue existing if the reason he fought so hard and lived so brightly for was taken away? Would the self-righteous Sin balanced upon the precipice of madness be able to survive the death of his mortal girl and fight Balthier again?

Sloth didn't know.