Reminisce

Before Michael stands the stalker he fought the other day. As he appeared, mist starts to flood the entire room, and dead trees from the spooky forest sprouted from the brass floor. Not only that, but the feeling of paranoia lingers once more, and it's not just him. The observers, Ozwald included, felt afraid. "I... think we should skip this-" Before he could even turn the pages, Michael dove headfirst into the haunting beast, firing his rifle with extreme precision. It managed to hit its shoulders, but it wasn't enough to bring him down. The monster lunged itself towards him and tries to claw, his movement swifter than before. He manages to dodge the attack, but the monster followed it with one more attack from its other claw.

It hit him, though it barely classifies as a very lethal attack. It all seems too different from the one he encountered in the spooky forest. "Oz, what the fuck?" He sidesteps before he is caught unaware by the impending attack from the monster. Using the same strategy, he kept his distance from the monster. As it got close to him, affording him little to no room to move around, he phases out and teleports at the back of the monster. He uses this opportunity to fire another round from his rifle.

Meanwhile, Oz is dumbfounded at the strength his opponent faced. Judging by Michael's disapproving statement, the monster should not be stronger than it should be. "Just keep fighting. I'll figure something out." He says as he starts flipping the pages, looking for an answer.

After dodging every attack, and firing every shot, he managed to successfully defeat the daft stalker. He took a moment to collect himself, and not a moment too soon, the gears stir to life once more. The trees all disappear into nothingness and the mist disperses, replaced by stone walls and floors similar to that of the tomb of the Brass Seraphs.

"Skip Memoriam." Ozwald says while reading his book, prompting the gears to whir once more. "I daresay I will not let you fight off against a horde of clockwork sentries. Not again." What was previously ruined stone flooring and aged walls was now replaced by ornaments that are similar to that he encountered in Desierto. The walls are painted with blood and cult paraphernalia lay scattered all around the room. At the center of it all lay a ritual circle made of blood, and as the gears stop whirring, the circle glows a dark red. A being of unbridled rage emerges from it, one that looks like a demonic djinn. This is the selfsame demon that he buried in rubble.

The demon unleashes a swift bolt of dark magic against him, and misses as Michael phased out once more, teleporting away from him. Keeping his distance from him, he fires off another round from his rifle, knowing that no rubble can kill it now.

The demon clasps its hands and the floor beneath Michael starts to shift as it suddenly transforms into a quicksand. As the demon lunges in for the kill, he blinks away from the quicksand and fires off another shot from him. It definitely isn't as strong as it should be, and compared to the one he fought before, the demon standing before him is even more dangerous than ever.

Firing off shots from his rifle, the demon conjures a wall of sand, protecting him from the incoming shots, and counter attacks by unleashing another swift bolt of dark magic. Caught unaware, Michael takes the full brunt of the spell, knocking him back to the far wall. It hurt alot. He starts writhing in pain as the demon goes all out against him, lunging in once more for the kill. Thinking fast, he erects a barrier from his magic, the same barrier that protected the slaves back in Desierto. The claws bounce off and the demon steps away from him.

He starts to gather magic around him, and has collected enough copious amounts of magic power to unleash a very powerful spell. As the demon unleashes its devastating magic, Michael swiftly phases away from the barrier, knowing it can't stand against its attack. The barrier shatters.

The demon starts to chuckle in glee, confident that his victory is nigh.

Olaf grows concerned for his brother, and wanted Oz to halt this magic. Before he could even speak, Giselle held his hand and gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. He's stronger than you think." And with that, Olaf fixes his eyes back at the battle.

Frustrated and angry, Michael ditches the rifle and pulls out his pistol. With added mobility, he is able to run around and attack effortlessly without the added weight of the rifle. Like the trick he used before, he used the explosive round of the pistol to create a thick layer of smoke that makes it impossible for the demon to see through. With the use of his HeXcry, he is able to pin the location of the fiend without needing to see it. The demon tries to disperse the smoke, but to no avail, and Michael picks up his rifle once more, aiming for the head.

He has one chance, probably. When he knew his aim was true, he pulled the trigger, but not before boosting the weapon's power with his magic. As a magic bullet fire off from the rifle, it thrusts through the fiend's head, killing it immediately. And with that, the show is over and Michael won against all odds. The observers cheered in unison at his victory. Now, the show is over.

Or at least, it should be.

The gears stir once more. Ozwald and Michael stand confused on what is currently happening. This should be the end, right? Francois, on the other hand, feels something dreadful is about to happen. "Ozwald. Shut it down." He says frantically. Ozwald obliges and chants the closing chant. "Memoriam Close!" However, the chant didn't work. What's disturbing is he isn't even controlling the spell anymore. "What's going on? Ozwald, shut it down!"

"I can't!" He exclaims, frantically flipping the pages for an answer. Try as he might, he couldn't find the answer he was looking for.

As the daemonic decorated walls disappear and blood stained floor rescinded, pristine ivory walls and white blood soaked tiled floor starts to appear in its stead. The walls are decorated with red banners that bears the insignia of the Arch Vorbrundt Order, and the floors are littered with dead bodies, all wearing their uniforms. Giselle is shocked at the scene, tears almost flowing from her eyes at the memory of the tragic fate that befell the order. Olaf felt nauseous at the sight of the dead bodies and excused himself from the room. Francois lent Ozwald a helping hand in stopping the spell.

Around the same time, Michael felt a painful ringing in his mind, and a sudden flood of memories from that fateful day welled up within his mind. His dead comrades, the heretics, and the chaos that followed. He felt rage well up against him, and as he raised his head, he saw them. The heretics, the ones who killed his comrades in arms.

The book, meanwhile, flipped its pages towards one of the blank ones. In it words are etched in dark purple letters. "We are Sepulchre. We are vengeance." Michael feels himself burning up, and once his well of rage peaked, he screamed at the top of his lungs against the enemies. His eyes glowed red and lunged himself towards them, unaware of what was happening. It felt like a different person was taking over him, but he let his emotions take hold of him anyway.

Unknowingly, he dropped his rifle and lashed out against the heretics, his arm turning into that of a demon with sharp claws. With one fell swoop of his sharp claws, the heretics lie down dead. The other heretics retaliated with their chaotic magics, only to find themselves chopped in half by his hands. Giselle looked shocked at the sight of his demonic arm. "He... what is he..."

The room was filled with anguished screams of the thrashed heretics and the floors are painted with their blood. One by one, they all fell. Some of them was decapitated, while others had their limbs torn in half. It was a most grueling scene, one that could not be stomached by the likes of Giselle. "What is happening..." His unbridled rage left no room for mercy against his enemies.

"I have no choice. This better work."

Dedicated, he flipped the pages of the book the one with the spell he cast before. With that, he starts to chant. This time, he decides to alter the words of the chant to his liking, paying that the spell will work as he intended.

"O Needle of Time, mend the mind of tyranny that the unquelled fountain of rage may be put to a still calm river. O Brass Cogs, unwind the gears that the passage of time moves backwards. O Swift Seconds, move up thy momentum that the passage of time be swift. O Ancient Hourglass, weave thy fates, as eon's bulwark against the bleak memories of the past!" While the spell was chanted, Michael continues to thrash against the endless horde of heretics, all unleashing their chaotic magics against him to no avail.

"Chronicle Script!" As he proceeds to close the chant, the gears of the rooms stirs to life once more, this time their movements in reverse. "Flow Reversal!"

The gears in the room moved rapidly as the chant was finished. Like what happened before, time seemed to move in reverse inside the room. As the hordes of dead heretics sprung back to life and turned to ashes, Michael felt like he's about to lose himself. In the middle of the spell, he finally collapses.

Michael wakes up feeling weak from the previous ordeal, though had no memory of what happened before he went berserk. He finds himself confined in what looks to be a hospital room. From all the wires he could see, as well as the obvious insignia of the alumni on one of the walls, he deduced he is still in Sanctum Isles. "So, how was your sleep?" A whispers beside him. He turns his head a bit and saw Ozwald's face, looking relieved to see him alive and well.


"How long was I out?" Michael asks his brother. He looked hesitant at first, and finally responded. "Aweek. I'm relieved to see you up and alive, brother. I daresay I could have heard the music of the coffin men." The two siblings chuckled.

"So... what happened to me?" Michael asks.

"It's a... long story. The good news is you don't have to worry going berserk. Well, at least, not now anyways." Ozwald hesitantly responded, expecting Michael express his disdain to him for not being able to control the spell. "And the bad news?" He asks once more, this time Ozwald seemed even more hesitant to respond to his question, even more so on how to explain it. "Oz?" He reaches out to his silent brother. It was until Ozwald sighs and finally explains his situation. "Michael."

"You have demons inside you. Literally."

[ Word Count - 2885 / 1000 ]