Parry squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing hitching as the memories poured into him. Fire and death. That was what followed the bearer of his sword, everywhere he went. The man (definitely a man, he'd picked up on that much) was an efficient and calculating warrior, not shirking from brutality if it was required. Not ancient like Nemsemet, but definitely old. 

As far as Parry could tell, the vision he'd thrown through the connection of the plagued city was either ignored or accepted as fact. One way or another, the bearer of his sword didn't care a whit about that sight. It was an everyday occurrence to him- a drop in the metaphysical bucket. Shit like that happened every day in the real world, so why would he care?

The thought, the memory, came clear as day at the end. Transmitted like a line of text over the internet. And then Parry had a name to put on the dark soul that kept laying hands on him. Charles Gordon.

And just like that, the dark presence in his core retreated and vanished, leaving Parry curled up on the toilet with Rikive's hands on his shoulders, his face wet with his own tears while he couldn't get enough air in his own lungs.

"They're playing with it," Parry said, gritting his teeth as he hugged himself harder. "Studying it. I don't- I don't know what he's going to do with it, but they know what they have. [i]Charles Gordon[/i] knows what he has."