One Mind of Three

𝐒ⱺꭑ𝖾ωɦ𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝐔𐓣𝗄𐓣ⱺω𐓣

Emerging from the clutches of unconsciousness, Malachi found himself ensnared within an impenetrable darkness. His mind, the sharpest arrow in his quiver, sprang into action.

In a desperate attempt to ground himself, Malachi inspected his own form, only to recoil at the sight that met his eyes. His hand, which once bore the sun-kissed warmth of the daylight, was now an eerie deep, stygian blackness. This insidious taint had coiled around his wrist and was snaking its way up his arm like a parasitic vine seeking nourishment.

Frustration soon gave way to calmness. Malachi was not one to bow easily to adversity, let alone be held captive by something he didn't understand. There was no point stressing about the situation. Sitting down he closed his eyes, organising his thoughts.

Gradually he rose to his feet, as he decided to explore the boundaries of the void. Time became an ambiguous phantom here, days and moments lost their distinction amidst the timeless abyss.

The ceaseless echo of his footsteps reverberated hauntingly through the void, each rhythmic thud a sobering strike against his tenuous sanity.

Then in the distance ahead a large dome of rock stood alone in the emptiness.

Every path he treaded seemed to lead him closer to the boulder. With every measured step, a momentous realisation dawned upon him - the only route of escape was, perhaps, through.

The silhouette perched atop the boulder materialised into a vaguely humanoid form, its features veiled in the shadows. An irresistible attraction, akin to a silent siren's call, compelled him to inch closer. Shadows formed around his hand pulling his hand towards the man in black.

"Hello?" Malachi spoke into the void.

The response was a chilling silence, leaving him to ponder whether he was hallucinating or simply being disregarded.

Shaking off the eerie silence, he muttered, "Well, what now?"

Bereft of any clear direction, Malachi walked closer to the rock, eyes scanning the murky expanse for any sign of life or a potential escape route.

His nature, typically rational and level-headed, strains against the unease that curls around him. The figure on the boulder radiates dominance, a sovereign in its shadowy realm.

Stationed just metres from the towering formation, Malachi absorbs the sight before him. It dawns on him that this isn't just a rock but something more - a throne, perhaps? His mind teems with questions, chief among them: what does this figure want from him?

"There is no point in being scared," he whispered to himself. "Very well then."

He scrutinised the figure, etching into memory each detail his gaze could discern. A hood concealed its features, yet Malachi felt the heavy weight of its attention. Two luminescent eyes, unnerving in their radiant glow, and a colossal scythe resting on the figure's shoulder. The figure itself radiated a potent, supernatural aura that dwarfed Malachi's existence.

"What is my name?"

Caught off guard, Malachi stalled beneath his mask of neutrality, uncertain of the apt response. Did his reply hold any significance?

"Answer me," the figure demanded, its voice resounding with a foreboding undertone.

The voice triggered a tremor down Malachi's spine, a chilling harbinger of mortality as if standing in the shadow of death.

"How could I know your name?" Malachi finally found his voice, a whisper lost amidst the overwhelming silence.

"What is my name?" the figure retorted, the echo bouncing off the void, seeming to originate from every direction at once.

Malachi's gaze swept across the infinite void encircling them, gathering his disarrayed thoughts. Despite the uncanny circumstances, an odd tranquillity envelops him.

"Enough," Malachi announces, his voice laced with newfound self-assuredness. "How am I supposed to know your name?"

"I'm getting tired of repeating myself boy." 

"Your sentences could benefit from a few more words," he fires back, tone sharper than intended, while he instinctively took a step back.

"No fruitful seed," the figure dismisses his comment, "A wasted mind."

Malachi's' temper kindles at the comment, and a fit of simmering anger ignites within him. Who was this entity to judge him?

As their gazes intertwine, the figure's otherworldly eyes bore into his, developing a lump in his throat. Malachi should be cowering, yet he finds himself engaging in a weirdly familiar conversation.

"It seems before I arrived that thing had been subconsciously restraining your potential." the figure reproaches, as it gazes past Malachi.

"What are you talking about?"

"For a mind like yours why are you struggling to keep up boy?"

Malachi's brain sprinted to connect the dots. The creature was referring to his exceptional memory. He has a photographic memory, an uncanny ability to recall minute details of every event he's ever experienced. His mind operated like a high-resolution camera, ceaselessly capturing and storing every image, sound, scent, and sensation.

Even with his gift, for reasons he couldn't fully comprehend, Malachi had held back. Was it the fear of failure, or of standing out too starkly from the crowd? His life had been an unending monochrome, a drab existence.

That was the stark truth. However, he felt a stirring, a shift in the drabness, as if the colour was slowly seeping into his grayscale world. Perhaps that was why he found a perverse enjoyment in this surreal encounter.

This otherworldly creature was clearly evaluating him, for a purpose yet to be revealed.

"Who am I?" the figure asked again.

Malachi focused his thoughts, rallying his memory to gather every possible piece of information. It seemed the creature desired answers, not more questions.

"Hmmm," he vocalised noncommittally, attempting to buy time.

Malachi's gaze drifted towards the scythe clasped in the figure's grip, his eyes drawn to the latin inscriptions etched onto the blade. He recognized the lettering, and the shapes, yet the translation eluded him. His mind sprinted back, rifling through the day's events, seeking any unusual occurrence that could shed light on his current predicament.

A memory flashed across his mind-the face of the girl he'd encountered earlier. There was a weird air about her, something that now tugged insistently at the edges of his consciousness. He honed in on that memory, attempting to sift out any relevant details.

A frigid jolt in his pocket startled him, forcing his eyes open. Reaching into the confines of his pocket, his fingers brushed against a familiar object - his father's watch.

12:23. The time on the watch.

A spark of realisation ignited within him-the numbers on the watch must correlate to words.

The time on the watch was a clear hint, a coded message he needed to decode. His gaze sought the figure's, probing the depths of those eerie eyes for any hint of affirmation or denial. Then, like a lighthouse piercing through the fog of his confusion, the meaning of the numbers became clear - they correlated to a passage from the Book of Exodus. The numbers where a verse.

"For the Lord will pass through to smite the Egyptians; and when he seeth the blood upon the lintel, and on the two side posts, the Lord will pass over the door, and will not suffer the Destroyer to come in unto your houses to smite you."

A wave of certainty surged within him, providing an odd sense of comfort amid the bewildering encounter. Suddenly, the figure's identity no longer remained a mystery.

"You are Azrael," he announced, his voice resounding with newfound confidence.

"The bible refers to you as the Destroyer, the quran names you as the Wings of Punishment, the reader of the leaf from the fallen tree."

Then in an even lower tone wide-eyed seeing the figure anew, "But how can that be possible... There are no such things as angels."

His rationality and the evidence before fought with each other, an eternal debate that even he couldn't mask, the lines of his forehead deepened in confusion at the shattering of the very reality he had come to accept. How could a human like him accept what was before him? A heartbeat rang out, so loud Malachi was sure the angel in front of him could hear too.

Malachi watched as a spark of intrigue ignited in Azrael's eyes, the celestial figure seemingly fascinated by the mortal's knowledge.

His acknowledgement came in the form of a solemn nod, his voice resonating through Malachi, "Yes, I am Azrael."

A storm of questions swirled within Malachi's mind, each begging for answers. Yet before he could voice them, Azrael's voice filled the silence.

"A rare gift is yours, boy. It's a blessing that could have hoisted you to unparalleled heights, yet you elected to shroud it in obscurity. Why?"

Azrael's poignant query reverberates in his consciousness, jabbing at his buried guilt. The celestial entity's assertions ring true. He'd wasted his potential, concealing it beneath a mantle of fear and reticence. However, now, ensnared in Azrael's commanding presence, retreat was no longer an option.

"I... I don't know," he admitted, feeling vulnerable under the entity's penetrating scrutiny.

"Your purpose must be sought," Azrael delivered solemnly, his voice echoing with an unsettling certitude. "You are a favoured soul, and while it's not within my authority to prescribe the path you tread, it is imperative that you find one."

An unseen curse had seemingly shackled his ambition, stifling his innate capabilities. The arrival of Azrael appeared to shatter these invisible chains.

Suddenly, the vestiges of his past choices seemed ludicrous-how had he allowed himself to drift aimlessly, refusing to seize his full potential? Fear and uncertainty, his perpetual companions, had reduced him to a mere spectre of his possible self.

The celestial being's presence was an ignition, sparking a fire of determination that had long laid dormant within him.

"Now, you are truly awakened boy," Azrael voiced, his tone rich with anticipation.

"You said that 'thing'."

The angel cocked his head watching the boy. Whatever the thing that had chained Malachi to a life of futility had been broken by Azrael. However, the angel had not expected the young man to catch on so quickly.

"You are a fool, yet wise enough. Exercise caution in the world you area about to enter. Above all, do not succumb to the creature inside you"

"How do you know about it?" Malachi asks, his voice deathly calm.

The angel's eyes flashed in curiosity at the sudden change in demeanour.

"Where do you think we are boy?"

At that moment it became plainly obvious. Swivelling around Malachi took in the void around with new interest. He was within himself.

"Is it here?" Malachi asks, looking over his shoulder.

The angel takes a moment before answering, looking ahead as if staring at something hiding in the dark.

"Yes. It is hiding from me"

Peeking into the darkness once more, Malachi squints hoping to catch a glimpse.

"The creature was very close to breaking through when you woke up this morning. My stigmata on you was not to its liking."

"Your stigmata?"

"Irrelevant. This conversation has gone on long enough."

Malachi did not reply, feeling there was nothing to say. What has happened has happened, curling his fingers into a fist he understood things were changing.

"Wait one more thing, why me?"

The angel did not respond. Or rather was not allowed to respond. Before Malachi could probe the question again the ethereal voice penetrated and reverberated through his very soul.

"Where you journey, I shall accompany. From this day forth, I declare you as you have declared me. My Vessel and I, your Keeper."

The words that sounded like an oath, rang out and before Malachi could voice his confusion, a blinding light erupted behind Azrael, forcing him to shield his eyes with his arm.

Caw caw! Caw caw!

The noises of birds overhead roused from his slumber, Malachi found himself ensnared in the heart of a woodland. Rubbing his temples as his head throbbed causing him to wince.

The firmament overhead was a canvas of obsidian branches, punctuated by a multitude of radiant stars. He propped himself up on trembling elbows, drinking in the alien landscape that unfolded before him. The trees here were monstrous, their towering forms dwarfing any he had encountered before. The stars lent their distant light to the scene, but the moon was suspiciously absent. Something was askew.

As he scrutinised his surroundings, anxiety began to bubble within him. He wrestled with his memories, trying to make sense of the sequence of events that had led him here. His last clear memory was the threshold of his apartment, and now he found himself marooned in this eerie place. The encounter with Azrael flickered into his mind. But that had been a dream, hadn't it?

With a shaky breath, he stood, brushing leaves and dirt from his clothes. Panic would serve no purpose here. He needed to remain composed, to discern his location, to find a way back. But as he took a few tentative steps, the gravity of his situation dawned on him. He was a castaway in an alien, otherworldly forest, bereft of any sense of direction.

Suddenly, a voice echoed within his mind, jolting him.

"Run."

A rustle from the undergrowth behind him sent adrenaline running through his veins, his instincts taking over. Without waiting to see what it was Malachi took off.

The chase was on. He was being pursued by the unseen. His heart pounded in his chest as Malachi wove a way through the trees, twigs snapping under his frantic footfalls.

The ominous rustling growing louder, closer. The creature was gaining on him, its body casting a shadow over Malachi's frantic escape. The chase was a terrifying dance, a desperate bid for survival that pushed him to his limits.

"Jesus what the fuck is going on!?" Malachi shouted in annoyance.

"Blasphemy." A nonchalant voice rang out in his head causing Malachis' eyes to widen in surprise.

His feet still pounding he was unsure whether the madness had taken over. The sound of heavy paws thudding against the earth echoed ominously in his ears, accompanied by a low, menacing growl.

The disembodied voice resonated once more in his mind.

"Left."

His instinct screamed at him to obey the voice, yet the closing proximity of the pursuing footsteps compelled him to act. Against his better judgement, Malachi veered sharply to the right.

Abruptly, he skidded to a halt as a monstrous figure pounced out of the bushes ahead. Resembling a wolf, yet horrifically different, it boasted four luminescent eyes that pierced the darkness, and a pair of large tusks curving menacingly from its maw. Fear coursed through his veins, the creature's alien appearance a stark reminder that he was far from home.

"Fool. Turn back."

With terror and confusion swirling within him, Malachi complied, turning to face the direction from which he'd come.

The other monstrous wolf-creature had closed the distance, its growls and snarls a cacophonous symphony of impending doom.

"Don't stop. Run towards it!"

His every instinct screamed at Malachi to freeze, yet the voice urged him onwards. Trusting the guide was insanity, yet there was something oddly reassuring about it.

Suddenly, he felt a strange, liquid sensation seeped into his veins, a foreign yet exhilarating energy that made his body move in ways he'd never thought possible. Instinctively the body vaulted over the creature, landing on the other side.

However, as the surge of power began to wane, a sharp, searing pain lanced through his hand, eliciting a gritted-teeth grimace of agony.

"You are not able to use essence efficiently. Bear with the pain," the voice instructed him.

Overwhelmed and disoriented, he focused on the one thing he could do - keep running. Whatever was happening to him, he could only hope it wouldn't spell his demise.

As branches and bushes where torn apart in the wake of the chase between predator and prey, Malachi's eyes caught sight of a cave nestled in the cliffside above, a haven from his monstrous pursuers.

It seemed the voice in his mind was in agreement with his choice. Drawing a shaky breath, he braced himself for the inevitable surge of pain that was sure to accompany his next move. As the peculiar energy coursed through him again, he sprang upwards, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the abrasive rock.

Hauling himself upwards, his palms were shredded by the jagged cliff face. The pain in his hand amplified, becoming nearly unbearable. Teeth grounded together in an effort to suppress a scream, but as his grip slipped, a cry of pain and terror ricocheted off the silent trees.

"Hang on boy," the voice demanded.

Somehow, he found the will to obey, clawing his way through the waves of agony and into the relative safety of the cave. Below, the twin beasts paced restlessly, their spectral eyes glaring upwards in silent challenge.

Safe within the cave, Malachi allowed himself a moment of respite. The air was thick and damp but there was something else, an undercurrent of foreboding that prickled at his senses. An unnerving sensation that he wasn't alone.

"Well yes, I am with you," the voice affirmed.

"Who are you?" Malachi's voice echoed in the darkness.

"Do you not hear my voice, boy?"

Recognition dawned slowly. The same voice that had haunted his dreams. Azrael.

"Correct. Now rest."

Too drained to protest, Malachi sank against the rough cave wall. He glanced down at a mangled black hand, the urgent need for comprehension burning brighter than ever.

In the heart of the Veil, where the fabric of reality seemed to ripple and distort, lay the Deep Woods. A woodland realm, teeming with mysteries and inexplicable phenomena, where the very air was steeped in ancient secrets and the whispering of unseen beings. And it was here, where earthly logic held no sway, that Malachi Flavious found himself.

As he nestled against the rough stone of the cave, his breath creating wispy clouds in the frosty air, Malachi's senses were on high alert. The dark shapes of the Deep Woods were blurred against the black canvas of the night, punctuated only by the twinkling glow of starlight. The cries and hums of nocturnal creatures echoed in the distance, a spectral symphony of the Veil's inhabitants, each note prickling the skin on the back of his neck.

"Calm, Malachi," it murmured, the spectral timbre of Azrael filling his thoughts. "We have bigger things to worry about."

"It's the bigger things I'm worried about."

With that thought, Malachi surrendered to the call of slumber. His sleep was uneasy, filled with cryptic dreams of spectral wolves and glowing-eyed creatures. But through it all, the voice of Azrael remained a constant, a guiding beacon in the stormy sea of his subconscious.

As dawn broke, the first rays of sunlight filtered into the cave, casting long shadows that danced across the rough cave floor. As Malachi stirred from his troubled sleep, he was met with an unfamiliar silence.

The Deep Woods held their breath, as if waiting for him to make the first move. Emerging from the shelter of the cave, Malachi found himself squinting against the morning light that illuminated the woods. As the sun's rays infiltrated the woods, they gave the previously shadow-laden realm a golden, shimmering quality that almost made the trees appear friendly, their previously intimidating silhouettes now nothing more than a gentle assembly of ancient beings.

"Azrael," Malachi began, his voice bouncing off the towering trees, "what do I do now?"

Looking around to see if their would be a reply, Malachi half expected their to be silence, pursing his lips hoping their would be no response.

But to his dismay, Azrael's voice filled his mind.

"I cannot tell you which path, boy. The path you choose to follow is your own."

Malachi frowned at the reply, casting a sceptical glance into the heart of the forest.

"You're the one who led us here, aren't you? You must know the way."

Azrael's reply was cryptic.

"The journey you embark upon is not mine to direct. I am merely a passenger, the way forward is your responsibility."

"Great."

And so, Malachi ventured deeper into the woods, the silence of the morning echoing his solitary journey. The nightmarish creatures of the dark had retreated into their shadowy dens, replaced by fluttering creatures and the occasional rustle of smaller beings.

The Veil's morning light lent a surreal beauty to the strange flora and fauna. As he ventured further, Malachi felt a gnawing question rise in him.

"Why me, Azrael? Why am I a part of this?"

"The mechanisms of divine intervention are not for you to know, boy," Azrael replied, his voice solemn. "The selection of vessels and Keepers... it's beyond human comprehension."

The curious young man fired question after question to the amusement to his Keeper, who was surprised the boy was coping this well with his new reality.

As Malachi continued to absorb this bizarre new reality from the companion in his head - humans on earth, harbouring spirits to combat unseen threats - Malachi felt a disorienting shift in his understanding of the world.

His place within this cosmos felt insignificant yet monumental, like a single star in the night sky that was part of an unimaginably vast constellation.

The journey through the woods brought him past clusters of strange, vibrantly coloured berries that adorned the bushes along the path. He eyed them warily, recalling stories of poisonous plants in unfamiliar territories. As his empty stomach growled in protest, the persistent, throbbing ache of his hand served as a painful reminder of his new reality.

"The pain will subside, once you learn to control the essence," Azrael intoned.

"Good to know." Malachi grimaced, a part of him wishing for an easier path. But it seemed like that was not his lot.

The distant melody of a running stream reached his ears, prompting a sigh of relief. He quickened his pace, the sound of water promising at least one familiar comfort in the midst of the Veil's alien environment.

As he neared the water's edge, Malachi lowered himself to his knees, his fingers brushed against the cool stream. In a reverent manner, he cupped his hands and scooped the crystalline water. The chill brought an immediate sense of renewal, washing away some of the uncertainty that clung to him like a shadow.

Malachi drank deeply from the stream, the pure, invigorating water soothed his parched throat and quenched the thirst brought on by his exertions. Amidst the respite this moment provided, he allowed himself a brief lapse into unawareness, momentarily forgetting the fantastical circumstances of his surroundings.

Thoughts inevitably drifted home, to his mother. She'd be worried sick by now, with no word or sign of him. An odd sense of timelessness seemed to permeate these woods, making him unsure of the passage of days.

But he shook the concern off. Worrying won't solve anything. It was more crucial for him to find a way out of this inexplicable predicament.

"You have an impressive mind, boy," Azrael's voice echoed in his thoughts. "In the midst of chaos, your ability to maintain rational thought is truly remarkable."

Malachi could only shrug at the compliment, the grim reality of their situation dulling any sense of pride he might have felt.

"Thanks, I guess," he replied. A thought flickered across his mind. "Earlier, you mentioned 'the anointed'. Are they here, in the Veil?"

It was still unusual for Malachi to talk with his thoughts, but it was necessary to learn to not attract any unwanted attention by making too much noise.

"Yes," Azrael confirmed. "They are here, and they will be able to assist you."

For the first time since this ordeal began, a small glimmer of hope sparked within Malachi. If these 'anointed' existed and could help him, perhaps he wasn't entirely lost. But he would make sure not to reveal too much when he met them. Right now no one could be trusted.

Another thought prodded at Malachi's consciousness, brows furrowed in worry. The entity within him, a volatile presence that had remained strangely silent since the arrival of Azrael. Its absence last night hadn't gone unnoticed. Malachi was intimately familiar with its manifestations, and he was certain it hadn't made an appearance.

"It always comes out at night...but it hasn't spoken to for a while now," Malachi said  cautiously, "You  haven't seen it, have you?"

"It has retreated to the shadowy recesses of your psyche, beyond my reach. The creature seems to be in hiding."

The absence of the entity was troubling. It had been an unpredictable, yet a constant part of his life. In that thing's absence, he felt an unfamiliar numbness creeping in, a certain sense of apathy that unnerved him more than the entity's outbursts in the past. It was an issue he would need to address, but not now.​​​​​​​

For the moment, survival was his primary concern. He cast a thoughtful glance downstream. Rivers had a habit of leading to civilization, or at least to signs of life. It was a thin thread of hope, but better than aimlessly wandering through the forest. With newfound resolve, he began his trek downstream, praying that the end of the Deep Woods and a chance of escape were waiting for Malachi somewhere along the winding path.