Sitting back down from this very foggy experience, Michael’s thoughts ran rampant as he tried to understand the ramifications of the actions that took place. Clenching his fist, he felt himself lose his identity, lose the Michael he used to be and the Ruthar the body had been before creating something completely different. And unlike the fairy tales told, it was not a beautiful merger making the perfect person, no it made his imperfections stand out, made the insanity that Ruthar had been subjected to visible to the still solid mindscape that belonged to Michael.

Sitting with a grunt of effort, he sat there for minutes before he felt a fatigue that plagued him invade all his limbs and eventually his mind. Slowly, his eyes closed and he fell asleep to a dream filled world that reminded him of events that happened a long time ago. It all felt more peaceful than anything else. A reprieve from the lunacy that had become his life.

“Young Master,” echoed an old voice in a foggy scape around Ruthar.

“Young Master, your father left me with certain… directions that I must follow,” said the voice with a hint of sadness.

Turning his head towards the echoing voice, he found an aged man with too many wrinkles to count and a beard that fell down his robes to the center of his chest. Looking him up and down, he looked like the stereotypical wizard one would imagine. But, Ruthar knew better, the man before him was not a mage. He was something far more rare and powerful. The old man was a Status Reaver, the only living one since the ages of miracles. They were hunted and killed off without remorse, given no chance to retaliate.

A Status reaver was someone capable of not only seeing the complete status of those he targets but even learn any twenty-five skill he so chooses; constantly exchanging them for those that are better. Wearing a robe, and growing his beard was only a cover of what he truly was. Ruthar’s father had acquired his absolute loyalty by not only saving him from the clutches of those that would kill him but also his child after the mother had been killed. Creating a fake scene, they found his dead ‘body’ desecrated and burned, the only thing linking him to it was the mana signature the body had left.

“Bialo, my father has been weaving this plan for decades now, hasn't he?” said Ruthar, this was but a memory and Michael’s conscious was only riding it through.

“Yes, Young Master. Your father is a genius like never before. Though you will experience harrowing days in the near future, persevere. Please, Young Master, persevere and survive. My daughter and I would not find meaning to life without serving your family. Especially considering Agata has just become Status Reaver,”

“Okay, Bialo. I will survive this somehow, that I promise you!” Still very impressionable, Ruthar sought to impress the man before him.

Bialo’s pleading voice shook Michael’s mind. The desperation the man felt to protect his only child made his heartache. Ruthar had not been able to survive and keep his promise. A feeling of guilt began to rise up his throat, a shaking failure to meet the expectations he had tried to keep. Yet, following it closely behind was relief. Though Ruthar would not be able to fulfill the promise, the amalgamation that was the two minds could continue on strong than either could have alone.

“How is Agata? I have not seen her since my engagement to Gwyneth. It's like she had been avoiding me as of late,”

Smiling, Bialo had little to say other than what seemed to be a vague proverb about younger people. He had a tendency to speak in rhymes and poetic narratives.

“Love is a magnificent rose, beautiful to witness and hold and indulge in. But, if one is not careful, then its thorns will dig deep into flesh,” Frowning a bit, Ruthar stared at Bialo for a while before shaking his head.

“What is that supposed to mean?” complained Ruthar not understand what his love for Gwyneth had to do with Agata, his closest friend, disappearing.

As sudden as the memory had come, it disappeared to the sound of a massive crash. Jumping in his position on the back wall, he swiveled his head to find the source of the sound. With the crashing sound came a loud commotion that made Michael a bit curious, but his limited emotions could not find anything more inside of him for what happened out there.

Screaming of anger, and cries of pain echoed into his hall. Some sounded even more terrible than others, such as a few he heard gurgling in ways that reminded him of drowning. Swords clashed against each other, and even a few explosions sounded out, shaking the entire prison. It continued for a while until finally, he heard nothing but men crying, begging for mercy, and a stench that had him curling his lips in disgust.

But, louder than the voices he heard a single one shook him to his core. Power reverberated from each word uttered and a cold indifference lined them all. The voice sounded distinguished, something a noble who felt entitled to the world would sound like. It felt familiar, like how he felt Ruthar had spoken in the dream he had just minutes ago.

“There will be no mercy today. For all of your crimes are too great to be forgiven or forgotten,”

With the final words spoken, a squealish of metal tearing through flesh reverberated multiple times in the hall. Hearing them, Michael stared into his hands. He felt shocked, not about how easily the man had killed the men, but by how little he felt remorse to the act. He did not feel any guilt or internal struggle about what had just happened. As he sat there, a quiet descended into the prison, the only noise was the clinking of metal shoes on the hard stone floor. Closer and closer it got until finally, it reached his cell.

In came a massive man that hulked anything Michael could remember meeting wearing black armor covered in red blotches from the battle they just had. On top of the mountain of muscle was a face that looked to be carved from stone staring at him with intensity. Cold black eyes watched his every movement, the only sign of emotion or thought was a nerve that twitched on the man’s forehead. For a while, neither said anything waiting for the other to begin the conversation. Find the wait unbearable, Michael broke the silence.

“Took you long enough, Jax. If you hadn’t shown up within a few days I would have thought you to have forgotten me,” smiling lightly, he could easily guess what the Jax was about to say. Though the man was almost unbeatable in battle, he was not the brightest tool in the shed.

I never forget my duty.

“I never forget my duty, My Liege,” boomed Jax, sounding even a bit insulted under the monotone voice he had. It would have been impossible to make out if Michael hadn’t been around him for such a long time. Jax was almost always around him considering he was one of his personal guards. A feat to be considered a great statement of the man’s skill when the only other person was a Status Reaver.

Stepping forward, Jax grabbed the black bars with his gauntlet covered hands. Bending them wide without even showing a hint of strain. Extending his massive hands towards Michael, he opened his palm and kept it open. Getting up with difficulty, making Jax’s nerve twitch like crazy, he walked towards the opened hand that could probably cover his entire emancipated chest. Placing his hand on it, Michael allowed himself to fall forward.

“Don’t make fun of my weight, Jax. It wouldn’t be becoming of one of my personal guards,” joked Michael, he enjoyed picking on Jax because he knew that no matter what he said unless it was something that was harmful to his ‘Liege’, he would never react. It was almost comically easy to guess what the hulking man was going to say.

I never insult my liege

“I never insult my liege,”

Laughing a bit, Michael coughed into his hands as Jax carried him out of the prison he was held in, passing by three others on the way out and down a winding set of stairs that seemed to lack an end, only doors every couple of floors. As his consciousness drifted away, he found himself muttering to himself.

“No, you wouldn’t. My loyal guard.”