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What's good? New chapter up. Story about to get intersting from here on.
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Michael's First-Person POV
I turned, floating in the endless, silent dark, toward the source of the voice.
There, suspended in the middle of this beautiful, terrifying void, was a bed. It wasn't ethereal or made of light; it looked like a simple, cozy, four-poster bed with a thick, quilted comforter. And in it, propped up on his elbows, was a man.
He had long, messy brown hair that fell across his face, with almost painfully aristocratic features that belonged on a king. His eyes, a piercing, inhuman gold that glowed faintly in the darkness, were fixed on me with a look of pure, child-like annoyance. The sheer majesty of his presence, the ancient power that I could feel rolling off him, was a ridiculous contrast to what he was wearing. A clumsy, one-piece teddy bear night suit, complete with little round ears on the hood.
We just stared at each other. Time, which had already lost all meaning here, seemed to stretch into an impossible, silent, awkward eternity.
My mind was racing. What the heck? Where am I? Did I die? Is this a dream? Is this one of the ancient beings the keeper talked about? And why is he in a teddy bear night-suit?
Then, as if my very presence was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, the man just sighed and flopped back onto his pillow and went back to sleep.
I was alone again. Just floating.
"Okay," I whispered to myself, the sound feeling loud and alien in the void. "Not a dream. Or at least, a very, very weird one."
I had to get back. I could feel a faint, distant echo of panic, a thread of terror that I knew belonged to Acier and Ignara. They thought I was gone, or dead.
I focused, pushing past the awe and the sheer absurdity of the situation. I reached for my mana. It was still there, buzzing under my skin. Okay, Good. I tried to pull on it, not to attack, but to see if I could escape this place, to see if my power even worked here. I focused, and my Radiance Magic answered, flaring to life around me. The golden-white light erupted from my skin, creating a warm, protective aura against the absolute, soul-deep cold of the void.
The moment my mana flared, the man in the bed shot upright. It was as if I'd set off an alarm. His bored, sleepy eyes were gone, replaced by a serious, intense glow that was almost blinding. He was wide awake now, and the lazy annoyance had been replaced by a sharp, dangerous energy.
"NO NO NO, FUCK! SHIT!!" he suddenly started yelling, his voice booming through the nothingness. He thrashed in his bed, throwing the covers off in a tantrum. "NO WAY IT'S ALREADY TIME!!! IT'S BEEN JUST…. I DON'T KNOW? LIKE A 1000 YEARS? NO WAY I ALREADY GOT TO START WORKING AGAIN. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
The 'GUY'(Pic)
He screamed the last word at the non-existent ceiling, his entire body rigid with dramatic, over-the-top despair. As he was having his mental breakdown, I just floated there and watched, completely stunned.
He got one nasty mouth. I thought.
"FUCK YOU M...ch-zzk...LO!" The name was garbled, like a word I wasn't allowed to hear, the sound itself censored by the void. "YOU DAMN CHICKEN WINGS!!! EVEN AFTER YOUR DRAMATIC, SELF-SACRIFICING DEATH, YOU LEFT ME THIS TASK!!! YOUR GRAND, FINAL PLAN! AND NOW I HAVE TO START EARLY! WHY?? WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE ME!!!!!!"
He ended his rant by throwing himself out of the bed. He landed face-first on a solid, dark-stone floor that had just... appeared out of nowhere. And then he just lay there, unmoving, like a child who had been denied a toy.
He was finally quiet. This was my chance.
"Ahem, hello there," I said, trying to keep my voice as steady and formal as I could. It was difficult, given the circumstances. "My name is Michael Kira, nice to meet you. I know you are in an... interesting state of mind, but would you mind explaining what in the Clover Kingdom's name is going on? I was in the grimoire tower, and then I was teleported here."
I heard a muffled sigh from the floor. "Of course you have the same goddamned names," he muttered into the stone, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If not for that seal on you, I would really believe you just reincarnated or something. But no, that damned chicken had to be poetic."
He slowly pushed himself up. As he stood, the ridiculous teddy bear night suit dissolved in a flicker of golden light. In its place, ornate brown and golden robes that looked more like light armor formed around him. His messy hair settled, and a complex golden sun symbol appeared on his forehead. The lazy, complaining man was gone. The being standing before me now was radiating a power so immense it made my own vast reserves feel like a candle next to a star. It was an amazing, terrifying change.
"Okay, now listen carefully, kid," he said, his voice sharp and all business. The floor beneath his feet had expanded, and the cozy bed had vanished. We were now standing on a circular stone platform, floating in the same endless void. "I will only explain this once. Once I am done, you will be sent back. You will have a spear in your hand, which is my weapon form."
My mind snagged on that. His weapon form? Not a grimoire? I opened my mouth to ask.
"STOP!" he snapped, holding up a hand. His golden eyes narrowed. "No questions. We don't have time, and frankly, I don't have the patience. Let me explain everything quickly before the connection fades."
Then you should have gotten up earlier. I thought, annoyed.
He shot me a look, as if he'd heard me. "This weapon, me, I am your grimoire," he stated.
That shocked me to my core. "But... grimoires are books," I said, unable to stop myself.
He rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh. "Books are for mortals to learn and remember magic, kid. They're paper and ink and rules. You... you're built for something else. You don't need a book; you need a key. An extension to amplify your power. That's me. Or, more accurately, the spear form of myself."
"When you wake up," he continued, pacing the edge of the stone platform, "you will have a few basic spells imprinted in your mind. Basic, but they'll keep you alive. Learn them in the next two weeks. It should be enough work to keep you busy until I can properly recharge and sync with your mana. Waking up like this after a millennium, and THIS early no less, has drained me."
He looked up, past me, at nothing. "Annnnd the connection is fading. You should be gone righttttttttttttttttt now."
With that, he waved his hand impatiently. The void around me twisted, and I felt that same, violent pulling sensation as before. The last thing I heard as the world dissolved was his voice, already back to its lazy, complaining drawl.
"Fuck you, Mic..ch-zzk...lo. Even after death, making me work overtime..."
Third Person POV
Back in the tower, the air was unbreathable. Acier, Ignara, and Elara were huddled behind a hastily created wall of black obsidian rock, a shield summoned by the tower's guardian. The light from the pillar was so intense that it was burning their eyes even through the dark, translucent stone. The sound was a continuous, deafening roar that shook the ancient tower to its core.
"Michael!" Acier and Ignara were screaming, their voices tight with panic. "Is he okay?! Where did he go?!"
"We have to do something!" Ignara yelled, pounding her fist against the obsidian shield, her own red grimoire flaring uselessly. "Get him out of there!"
"He is in the heart of the tower's magic!" the guardian yelled over the roar, his arms braced as he fought to maintain the shield. His centuries of calm were shattered. "We must wait! To interfere now could kill him!"
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the earthquake stopped. The pillar of golden-white light, which had punched a hole straight through the tower's ancient, domed roof, vanished. The roar cut off, plunging the chamber into a ringing silence, broken only by the sound of crumbling stone and the three women's panicked gasps.
The guardian lowered his rock wall. The three of them stared, hearts pounding, into the center of the room.
The solid stone floor was gone, replaced by a smoking, twenty-foot-wide crater. In the middle of it, Michael was standing. He was breathing heavily, his eyes wide and unfocused as if he'd just woken from a thousand-year dream, but he was unharmed.
And in his right hand, he held a spear.
It was a beautiful and deadly-looking weapon. The long shaft was a dark, forest-green, like the heart of an ancient forest, and was capped with a sharp, golden base. The spearhead itself was an intricate work of art, a blade made up of blood-red steel that emerged from a complex, star-shaped guard of gleaming gold. A single, tattered red ribbon was tied just below the blade, fluttering in a breeze that didn't exist.
Acier, with her four-leaf grimoire, and Ignara, with her profound mana sensitivity, felt it instantly. The spear was radiating an ancient, immeasurable power, a presence that made their own brand-new, powerful grimoires feel like children's toys in comparison.
The Underworld
On the highest, darkest plateau of the underworld, in a vast, brutalist castle of black iron, Lucifero sat on his throne. A sky of permanent, bruised twilight hung above. He was watching a bloody, pointless fight between two lesser devils in a pit below, a bored expression on his face.
Just as the pillar of light erupted in the grimoire tower, far above in the human world, a faint, golden-white echo of it, imperceptible to all but him, pierced the darkness of his realm.
It wasn't a light. It was a feeling. A signature. A sudden, hated mana he had not felt in millennia.
Lucifero's head snapped up. His boredom didn't just vanish; it was incinerated, replaced by cold rage that was so potent it made the very air in the throne room crystallize.
He raised a single hand. A wave of his magic, a pure, suffocating pressure, washed over the room. The devils fighting in the pit stopped tearing each other apart and instantly bowed, trembling in absolute terror.
"Leave," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous.
The devils and every other attendant in the throne room scrambled to obey, vanishing into the shadows.
Once he was alone, Lucifero stood, his fists clenching so hard his claws dug into his palms, drawing dark blood. His eyes burned with pure, unadulterated rage.
"SO THIS WAS YOUR PLAN???" he roared, the sound shaking his castle to its foundations. "SEAL ME AND MY KIND, AND THEN HAND YOUR WEAPON TO A FILTHY HUMAN TO FIGHT US??"
He began to laugh, a cold, terrifying sound devoid of all humor. "YOU ARE NAIVE, MICHAELANGELO!! ALWAYS THE SENTIMENTAL FOOL! JUST YOU WAIT! THE MOMENT WE ARE FREE, I WILL PERSONALLY ERADICATE EVERY LAST TRACE OF THE LEGACY YOU LEFT BEHIND! I WILL ENJOY TEARING THAT HUMAN APART. I WILL SHATTER YOUR PRECIOUS SPEAR AND FEED HIS SOUL TO THE LOWEST OF MY HOUNDS!"
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(THE PIC WILL BE UPLOAD SOON)
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SOOO?! HOW WAS IT? BET YOU NEVER SAW THIS COMING!
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