Chapter 11: Waking

In a place of eternal dusk, where the sky is no longer blue, stygian walls of sable forts keep the night at bay.

A former bastion of knowledge, where weeping angels dance, lifeless in its depths.

A dormant stronghold, where forlorn ravens sing, dim-lit by the midnight hues, yet no stars stood.

An endless night, locked in twilight, and bound by the unseen moon.

Within the castle’s wretched halls, beneath the keep’s rooftops, a lone figure slept. Seated to the broken throne, it slumbered, enclosed by enneadic ebony steles. It neither moved nor stirred, remaining still against the silence.

Until it roused.

With a strange black box as its head, the creature quivered as it gradually stood up. Two vertical slits, pigmented green, displayed on the strange box, appearing on its visor-like section.

These slits slid around the visor, scrutinizing its surroundings. After a few seconds had passed, they halted, disappearing from view.

Its surroundings were bleak. No light came from the windows, a hazy substance covering them, giving the place a morose atmosphere.

The furniture breached in form, splinters of wood scattered to the ground. Curtains that once hung over the broken aperture now lay on the floor, their appearance tattered like rags.

Everything the creature saw felt familiar, that it had seen this place before.

[Hm.] The voice of a child came out of the bizarre figure, and its tone was rather calm. [I’ve found myself in a throne room, again.]

Just like his previous experiences, the boy found himself placed in the seat of royalty once more. A regal position that saw itself inhabited by him. Another bizarre situation he could add to the strangeness of the world he walked.

[And just like before, I woke up from my beauty sleep.]

It was the first time he’d experienced an undisturbed rest, and being roused from it annoyed him to no end. [Way to go, you stupid prick!]

In the space of a few seconds, he finally calmed down, with a clear head to mind his thoughts. He would no longer be consumed by unanticipated bouts of anger, though he wasn't necessarily sure of that.

If his previous fits were a sign, then he would suffer from another spell of irritability that he previously surmised from his chaotic mind.

[I’ll just check for anything useful.] With a grumble, he brought himself to walk around the area. He wanted to search for anything of use to him. [There must be something important here.]

The boy strayed from where he previously slumbered, and he moved to check his surrounding world. Nearly everything, he found, had either crumbled with the passing of time or had been torn to pieces by deliberate action.

And with the latter details, he immediately grew wary of his surroundings.

[This isn’t the same place.] As he resumed his search around the room, he noticed the difference between his current emplacement and the room where he first woke up.

[And something was definitely here before...]

The boy found traces of former inhabitants that may have lived within the decrepit room, as such destruction couldn't be achieved without conscious interaction.

Something struck the furniture from inside, and it led him to believe that the creature responsible might come back and assail him.

He probed his figure to find his silver knife, though it didn't seem to be with him.

[Wait, where’s my knife?] He frantically searched his cloaked body, as his weapon seemingly vanished from his ownership. [Where’s my bloody knife?!]

His trusty knife, the blade that had served him during his battle with the automaton, had left his side. It simply vanished from his grasp, with no trace of it left.

Even if it was only for a few moments, the weapon he once wielded helped him during his troubles, allowing him to fend for himself.

And now that it was gone, he felt naked without a weapon.

[Goddammit...]

With his mood already sour, he left the broken throne, only to find a barricade of strange black pillars. An opaque pillar with the exit visible beyond it. Monoliths which seemed to block the exit, his only way out.

[Really?] He exclaimed, his frame of mind already soured from before. [Don’t tell me this is another puzzle.]

He approached the strange objects, resolved to get them out of the way.

[9 steles, all black...] He continued to inspect the monoliths, before noticing a strange aspect from their appearance. It reminded him of a certain crystal. [They’re like quartz?]

9 ebony steles, arranged in a line to form a barrier between the throne and avenue. It barred him from passing through the remaining half of the room.

Each stele had a crystalline structure attached to the ground in a natural geode state, with cluster-like protrusions sticking out from its base like a sore thumb.

It towered over him, being a few feet over his size.

They were like normal quartz found in rock formations, albeit their inherent color made them seem suspicious. From its placement, the crystals did not seem out of place, perfectly blending with the morbid atmosphere.

Which, by the confines of his location, meant it was suspicious. If it looked perfectly normal, it was bound to be dangerous.

[...] He thought back to a certain, mundane mahogany entrance, which implicated no such dangers. By all accounts, it was a perfectly normal door. [Except that door, perhaps.]

His memory of the wooden entrance was not pleasant, to say in the least. He saw his aggression against the painting in a mad pursuit to destroy what gazed at him, and the door saw itself as the receiving end of his anger.

In the end, nothing remained of the entrance, and it was no anomaly unlike what he assumed of it.

[Good god, I don't need to remember that.] He slapped himself awake, though his hands ended up striking his visor, which made a dull thud in response. [Oh right, I have a weird face.]

He ignored the strange antics that his body employed, and he moved to study the crystals once more. Eyeing the quartz steles, he found nothing that could ascertained from its pitch-black appearance.

The boy debated various ways of interacting with the crystal quartz, and he chose one of the safest proposition that he could make; via locomotion of one's arm to grasp an object and launch it with force.

He would throw something at the ebony steles.

[This seems safe enough.] He considered doing so, as it would be perfectly safe if done from a distance. If his actions backfired, he would be far away at least. [Hmm...]

While it seemed to be nothing more than a foreboding, yet-normal mineral deposit, that they were barring him from exiting the place made him think otherwise.

And throwing something at the strange rocks wouldn’t take much effort from him, despite his apparent laziness.

[What about this?]

He picked up a piece of splintered wood, as large as his palm, and gripped it. Even in its decay, the wood seemed to be firm enough, as it did not crack under his grip. It was perfect for testing the stone.

He faced the black monolith, a few meters away from it.

[Here goes nothing!]

And, with one swift motion, he threw it at the nearest stele, gaining the velocity that equaled a sniper round. In less than a nanosecond, it shot through the air, hitting its mark.

Because of the wood’s already deteriorated state, it shattered at impact, leaving splinters to fly off. A hail of wooden splinters rained around the room, with some of them hitting the boy, who, while protected by his apparel, remained dumbfounded at what happened.

He only wanted to see whether the quartz would react to physical trauma, though it exceeded his expectations.

The wood he threw had fractured itself, perhaps because of its already weak structure, as it was a piece of decaying furniture he picked up. He also blamed it on the strength he exerted, which was far too much for an object in such a state to survive through.

[Did I throw it too hard?] He asked, a bit peeved about his throw that somehow broke the sound barrier. Though as he took another look, he found the quartz to unscathed. [Wait a second...]

The ebony stele which received the impact remained unharmed, not a scratch left on its smooth surface. Wooden fragments scattered on the ground, the remains of what he threw at the stone.

Even if the wooden fragment was in a state of decay, the amount of force he put into throwing it should have damaged the quartz, if only by a little. Though the strangeness that it, by all practical means, remained scratchless, confirmed his doubts.

That in this place, nothing was ordinary. It made him regard the object with suspicion.

He contemplated on how to proceed further. There was nothing of value inside the throne room. Windows remained useless, the hazy substance carried hardness identical to stone.

The walls, far too thick for him to leave a scratch. The throne was just as damaged as its surroundings.

And the only way out of this place was through the steles, which unfortunately remained intact.

[Should I poke it?] He asked himself, before quickly answering his own question. He would proceed with it, regardless of what he might stand to gain or lose. [I’m going to poke it.]

He considered the possibility that it might react under his touch. It posed a problem, and it was a stupid idea, through all things considered.

He already saw the reputation of anything he found to be strange and peculiar, as most of their reactions became what he would call to be 'nightmarish', with regards to the statue that grinned as he fell.

If it were to react in a harmful way, his life may find itself endangered. He wanted to continue living, despite his recklessness. But unfortunately, his interest got the better of him.

With no regard to safety, he approached the nearest stele.

[If I had my knife, I could cut you in half, I think.] He faced the crystal, only to have second thoughts about prodding the gemstone. [I'm dragging myself into danger, woops.]

He pondered for a few moments, weighing the chances of him getting the short end of the stick. As he had no information to go through, his mental advances fell short, getting nothing but empty ideas.

Every single possibility in his mind referred to him getting hurt.

[Ugh, I yield.] Depressed over his situation, he held no hope for himself. He chose the dangerous path, as his indecision led him around circles. [I’m going to poke it now.]

He reached for the ebony stele, intending to make contact.

With arms outstretched, his hands soon felt the touch of stone. It was a polished surface, lacking any sort of bumps and jagged edges. It felt similar to his blade’s edge.

[And there’s no reaction!] Joyous at the obvious mundanity, he removed his palm. [At least I got that going for... me?]

Or at least, he attempted to. His extremity remained stuck to the gemstone, now housing a slight glow within its center.

[I think I jinxed myself.] He felt neither pain nor grief, only frustration at himself. His words may have brought him bad luck, and only then was it manifesting. [Yep, I really did so.]

He continued to tug his arms, only to feel a strange force that kept repelling his efforts. The more he pulled, the stronger the mysterious force became. He continued this tug-of-war until the force had grown strong enough to overpower him.

His hand remained plastered.

[Hah...]

After a few minutes of trying, he gave up. Fatigue overwhelmed his meager form as he collapsed to the ground, uttering brief gasps of weakness.

He tried and failed. It was the most he could do without endangering his aching arm.

[This annoying thing...] With his back against the crystal face, he voiced out his annoyance. He couldn't get his hand free, and he with his situation, neither could he move.

[Give me back my fucking hand!]

With his patience stretching thin, he redoubled his efforts to free his hand that still lay cemented to the ebony stele.

Taking on drastic measures, he pulled with all his strength, harrowing pain made palpable by his actions.

As the pain grew more intense, he felt his hand diverge from the stone, a slight gap present between them.

‘It’s working!’ Focusing his efforts on freeing his hand, he could not speak. The throbbing pain he felt also crippled his thoughts, silencing him completely.

Propelled by the tortuous activity, the pain he felt worsened. He felt the tearing of his pale skin, being driven apart at their seams like patchwork.

The aching arm robbed the boy of his thoughts, remaining speechless at his suffering. Though no matter how much it hurt, he persevered through the hellish drag, seeking to free himself from the black quartz.

[Ack...]

Through the agonizing reality, he wanted to cry out. His skin stretched itself as he pulled against the crystal stele.

[It hurts, goddamit!]

The divide between his hand and the accursed crystal grew bigger, earning his delight. He was but a few seconds away from freeing itself.

He only needed his arm to survive the painful ordeal.

‘I’m so close!’ Excited, he pulled harder, hoping to quicken the process

Before he could attempt to do so, the sound of broken bones made itself audible to him. The force which held him in place became too strong, ripping his arm apart.

At first, he thought of success, having freed himself from the stone. And with elation, he focused his thoughts, turning to the crystal quartz.

As he looked over his arm, a grisly sight greeted him. His expectations crumbled.

[My... arm?]

A grotesque, mangled stretch of flesh identified as his limb. Bones jutted out of the extremity, a sticky green liquid flowing between the torn pieces of skin he saw.

And the worse part was the fact that it remained affixed to the ebony stele, now painted with his blood.

[Is that mine?]

To the boy, the grotesque image of flesh and blood didn’t belong to him. He remembered his arm being in a better state than what lay before his eyes.

Yet he knew that this amalgamation was his.

Confusion set in, his inner turmoil made worse by the disorientation his body felt. With a missing arm, he realized what his body lacked, and that it was unnatural for one to be missing a limb.

He fell to his knees.

An arm’s length of blood and sinew adhered to the smoky quartz, the flesh amalgamate attached to his right shoulder.

He perceived a dull pain coming from the strange span of flesh, gradually growing in severity. Then, as he grasped the state he was in, he screamed.

An anguished, blood-curdling shriek of pain came from the youth.

The pain he felt changed from a dull, throbbing numbness to a hot, searing reaction: one that threatened to wrench his mind from him.

His arm felt like it was burning. A sharp, caustic sensation that turned to blinding agony, causing the boy to writhe in pain as he broke into a sob, his mind crippled by the grotesquerie.

[a-ah...] Broken words left his mouth, accompanied by brief gasps. He stumbled with his words, a consequence of the boy's awareness with his situation. [i-its gone...]

He was missing an arm.

He could not vent his suffering, his mind altered by the experience. Affected by the trauma, he only appeared as a black figure, with his back against the ebony stele, his arm still bound to it.

A few minutes had passed, as he lay motionless, blood still seeping from his wounded arm.

Uttering mindless sounds, the boy continued to speak out his mad ramblings, appearing to be nothing more than a deranged individual.

His mind hung in a balance, languishing upon what’s left of his rational self, pleading for it to end. Then, as his thoughts surfaced, everything went blank. Ultimately, he broke down. He fell asleep.

The crystal stood guard, a sentinel his slumbering form, its glow now brighter than ever.

:::

[Passive Skill - Black Box]

+ [Active Skill - Regression]

:::

He woke up a few hours later, with no trace of any injury left on his arm. The blood which once flowed to the ground remained there, now a glossy green under the faint amount of light that pierced the room.

The presence of dried blood meant that it wasn’t a dream. That he went through his very special hell.

[The world... keeps throwing me... in these ridiculous... situations...] In every word he said, he took a quick breath.

He had been trying to keep himself sane by cracking jokes now and then.

The loneliness, the places he’d found himself in, the excruciating pain he felt, it challenged his weary mind. As much of a fairytale as those events were, the nightmares they induced pushed him to madness.

He neared insanity.

His efforts to keep his rationality in check worked for a little while, when he found someone to talk with. But alas, his brief respite ended, making him alone once more.

[I’ve grown tired of your games whoever you are...] The root of his troubles were unknown to him. To him, his efforts must have been in vain. [And I'm really tired now...]

With no name to remember, and no memory to speak of, he felt scared. Alienated, frightened by what he was.

The only clue he had regarding his identity was about the remnants of a fallen king.

The automaton had confirmed for him that. It had no reason to lie, that he was the one. The fallen king who, inexplicably, had forgotten his past.

He felt afraid.

[8 days, 22 hours, and 37 minutes...] Hushed by his dwindling sanity, the words he spoke grew quieter. Even as he suffered, his mind kept count. [I’ve been aware for that long...]

His uncanny ability to process information proved useful, yes. His herculean form, which exhibited superhuman strength, beneficial to him.

But, when you looked at it from a different angle, he was different from those who would be deemed normal.

While he couldn’t remember anything, he had the faintest sense of intuition. An inkling of what he was. No human should possess the capability to do such miraculous deeds.

His theory about himself being human fell short, once he realized that his capabilities were far beyond the spectrum of normalcy.

What was he, then?

[And yet...] His voice took on a lethargic tone, as if the light had gone out of his very eyes. In his anger, he only grieved for himself. [Why is there no joy?]

He had a ridiculous thought. What if, as a proof of his existence, he went on a rampage? He lost his knife, sure, but he still had his fists, didn’t he? If he could just destroy everything around him, would that calm him down?

It might, or it might not.

Perhaps it may not be the best choice. But now, he didn’t care. If he could just break the gemstone before him, he could start his spree.

[If... I’ve been... locked here... then...] Disillusionment, afterthought, or whatever it called itself, he couldn’t decide on his fate. [Do I... really... need to... leave?]

There came the possibility he feared the most. If he was a monster clothed in human skin, wouldn’t he pose a danger to people? If there were people outside, then he might come to hurt them.

He didn’t want that.

Though his hatred for the world ran deep, he bore no ill will against the innocents. The simple thought burdened him, even though he wanted to get out.

[I... don’t... know...] He bared his emotions, self-piteous words to go. [I-I... d-don’t... k-know...] As for what had to be done, he did not know.

As he continued to voice his sorrows to the world, his visor lit up. A faint hum coming from the glassy shade.

The boy was unaware of the changes happening to him, his lamenting form close to the ground, being brought close to tears.

[what... am... I... even... supposed... to... do?..]

The visor he wore flickered, scan lines emerging from the obsidian screen. As his visor continued its uncanny behavior, the boy simply sat, his hand still annexed to the crystal face.

He remained still, his thoughts turned to disarray because of his conflicting emotions.

Soon, the emergence of glowing characters became visible from his visor, the scan lines gently fading away.

These were the same foreign words as before. From when he first felt genuine dread, as he neared death during the battle he fought.

As for what the words were, their origins remained unfathomable. Unlike the previous iteration, however, the current ones had minor differences with what they implied.

:::

+ Black Box [Skill] can be activated.

:::

He remained undeterred by the anomalous properties his visor exhibited. Unusual characters, oh so many, as they appeared on the glassy box.

He took no heed of them, wallowing in his resentment, surrendering himself to anguish.

He wanted to scream, but what use will it bring? He wanted to flee, but he remained trapped in the room. He wanted to cry, but no tears came.

The boy had so many things he wished to accomplish, but he couldn’t do any of them at all.

As if the world was opposing his very will. It seemed unfair to him. What were his sins that led him to suffer like so?

[yeah... what... did... I... even... do?]

He questioned his reality, broken sobs in between the words he spoke, and sadness was all that came with them.

[this... shouldn’t... be... happening... to... me... at... all...]

Sometimes, the simplest of inconveniences can destroy frailest of wills. Yet, his will was never weak at all, for he came close to death oh-so many times.

His first undertaking was to solve the golden cipher, which hindered him from leaving the throne room. He succeeded there.

His next trial was to flee a labyrinth whilst being chased by a wall of water.

With the task done, he then retrieved a single flower from the heart of a cursed lake, where all but petals sank.

And, as a last endeavor, he fought with a mechanical giant who bore him no ill-will. The automaton asked to be killed, so he did as it had asked.

In these scenarios, he finished the job, every time.

That never was the problem, though. Even if the automaton showed sentience, and, having killed it, weighed heavily on his mind... his worries were far from that.

It was the fact that someone watched him do it.

In nearly every waking moment of his life, someone’s gaze never left his back. And as of right now, it continued to watch over him, staring at his plight.

[What if I just don’t care at all?] Then he spoke, with words full of clarity. The world had already earned his ire, having thrown him to the brink of insanity. [Will everything stop?]

With the failure of his temperament, he broke his facade. Hoping to get some recompense from the world he found himself in, even if it meant chaos.

As he steeled his resolve, the black box: his visor whirred to life, a single sentence displayed.

:::

[Passive Skill - Black Box]

+ [Active Skill - Scarlet Devil]

:::

Scarlet haze rose from the boy, his figure bathed in red fog. The cryptic symbols had disappeared, instead replaced by a single streak of red, sinistral, to be his eye.

Beneath the streak, a curved figure projected, the ruby line bent like a crooked smile. It was analogous to the expression he showed to the automaton, save the red color.

Barring differences, it was the same face he made when he fought his first adversary.

[So....]

:::

+ Halcyon Droplet [Inheritance] summoned.

:::

A familiar blade emerged from his free hand, reflecting sanguine fog from him. Glinting steel, of scarlet haze and crimson fog.

[It doesn’t matter if I destroy this place...]

The boy held his reddish blade in a reverse-grip, the silver keen edge held out.

[...Right?]

He then raised his arm, the one that housed his weapon, as it shed a crimson haze, its shade darker than his. The ebony stele that imprisoned his arm being its lone target.

He yearned to be free, liberated from his indignant position. He wanted to escape. To bring about destruction to this room, dilapidated and in ruins.

If that was the sole requirement to being freed, then he didn’t mind doing so.

It was just a place, a location. It wasn’t like one of those sentient rooms you sometimes found in fiction. He had no reason to feel indebted to this hellhole.

The place hurt him, after all.

[Because...] A glint of steel, descending from above, aiming for the onyx gem [I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF IT!!!]

As his blade pierced the crystal, the room dyed itself red. Crimson lights erupted from the smoky quartz, drowning the room in scarlet darts.

From the first crystal, a chain reaction occurred. The rest of the crystal steles joined off in the outburst, a discharge of red just like the first. As the darts flew off, they hit every conceivable object within the confines of the chamber.

From the curtains, silverware, furniture, and even the throne; red rain spared none.

[Calm down...]

Without exception, the boy suffered through the hail, having set off the chain of events.

[You need to calm down...]

With his body covered in wounds, it was obvious how close he was to the epicenter. At the nexus of detonation, it remained a miracle that he survived.

That he could still speak properly, despite looking like a figure charred black by the red rain, was a cause for concern. His dark appearance also found blame on the clothes he wore, being black.

As for his surroundings, everything lay scorched. The smell of burnt iron lingered in the air, a product of singed steel that flew about, besieging the entire place.

The throne no longer stood, instead scattered on the ground, its pieces seared by the onslaught. Of the furniture and curtains, they bore the same fate.

Yet strangely enough, the silverware remained unharmed, merely scattered about, their color still a lustrous silver.

[You finally reached the exit...] The strange child, having witnessed the destruction he wreaked, begged himself to calm down. [There’s no need to get yourself so worked up anymore...]

[You'll be alright...] As he walked through the open passage, his mind became wracked with fear. [Everything will be alright...]

Though, if he were in his right state of mind, he would have noticed the strange color of his blood. It was not red, as one would expect.

Instead, it was a hue not belonging to humans, nor most creatures for that matter. The blood that spilled from him, the drops that fell to the ground, it was green.

He walked onward, unaware of that fact.

He was far too distracted to care.