A suicidal idea.
And an idea that worked.
Still. That was a poor risk indeed. I very nearly got myself killed.
I spent most of the evening in the rafters of the throne room, thinking. It hurt my damaged brain to think so pointedly, but I did it anyway. I needed to concoct a way to save my friends.
Truth be told, I came up with a plan rather quickly. But I wanted an alternative so much that I continued to scheme for at least three hours. By the time early morning rolled around, I knew I didn't have much choice in the matter - I'd have to go with the obvious plan.
Grayson is possessed by someone. Something. I have a sneaking suspicion that if I skimmed through this diary, I would eventually figure out what.
Using the myriad cracks in the walls, I slowly made my way down the wall behind Grayson's throne. I waited for a moment of sleep, when he would, at least, be slightly less vigilant. I knew he would begin to rouse the moment I got too close, but every little bit of sleep helped.
Grayson has the power of a regulator. Of many regulators. Just look at his name and it's obvious who spawned him. My kind is very self-serving with their names, I've noticed.
Poised maybe ten feet over Grayson's head, clinging to an ancient, stone coat of arms, I waited for June and Julius to enter the throne room. Not to wake Grayson, just to enter.
The moment they did, I leaped. The vial of poison leaped with me.
To be a regulator is to share. Not just share power, but share a consciousness. We are linked intimately, a single being with a single purpose. The purpose of balance. We regulate. So when two regulators make contact, they, in a sense, become one.
When I landed on Grayson's head and shocked him into wakefulness, I shared in both his memories and his power. I also shared the minor jolt of poison as the vial smashed against the throne and coated his back in purple. I've since recovered, but tasting poison... even poison absorbed through the skin... is not pleasant.
I learned much from Grayson's mind.
Far too much. Most of it is gone already.
Though he knows he has a brother. And he hates his brother. He'd hoped Fynn would starve to death in the jungle.
Grayson, I assume, learned a few things from me. I have no idea what.
What we both learned is that the thing residing in Grayson is very, very tired of being contained. It is malignant, and it is foul, and its name is Philip.
The second I made contact with Grayson's immense power, I furrowed into it and snapped the chains binding Philip. The spirit awakened and went wild at once, seizing control of Grayson's body and hurling him from his throne. I went flying -
- and was saved by the quick hands of the newly-freed Plato. He plucked me out of the air and stared at me, blinking groggily, as though his body had reacted without input from his brain. I suspect that's pretty much true.
As Dragomir and his crew recovered, the room flew into a frenzy. Philip, whatever it is, seized partial control of Grayson's power and triggered a fantastic whirlwind. Bits of debris flew everywhere, crashing into the walls and destroying the throne, nearly decapitating a shocked June. Julius immediately hoisted the witch over his shoulder and ran, which is exactly what I'd hoped he'd do. Remove her from the game.
Though obviously confused beyond belief, Dragomir immediately ordered everyone to GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE. After a single parting glance at Grayson, who was writhing in agony, features split between human and phantasm, Dragomir followed the crowd. We dashed out of the palace at top speed as it slowly crumbled behind us, toppled by Grayson's wind magic.
Using the last of his strength still in me, I reached out and called this diary away from the palace. It's still running to catch up to the group, and I suspect it will when everyone stops to rest. (I'm writing remotely. It's kind of fun.) We've been on the move ever since the escape, and the lot of us are looking pretty haggard. These people have barely eaten in the last week.
We've gotten away. Somehow.
But Grayson is still alive. I can feel him, burning brightly somewhere behind us. Wounded, weak, but... still... so strong.
That is not a good thing.