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Arcanism

The world of arcanic arts was a never ending race. Everybody competes here, maybe with ones enemy, rival, or oneself. But one always competes. Only the selected few have the opportunity to compete for the title of the strongest, however. And Albus was one of them. Gifted with the ability to cultivate, and having great resources, he always thought that his life would go smoothly. Maybe, and most likely, he would not become the strongest, but he would become a great man with immense power and wealth. A nightmare changed that, however. The goal of the strongest was not impossible now, but it was laden with difficulties and sacrifices he never imagined he would ever come across. What would he do now?

lonely_wrath · Ação
Classificações insuficientes
2 Chs

The Dream

A sudden headache assaulted Ethan.

He rolled in his chair, falling down. People around him started making noises, but he couldn't care. It was too painful. It felt like no other headache, if even headache it was. For a fleeting second, he wondered dreadfully if all the sleepless nights were was finally catching up to him? But the pain kept increasing, and his every thought disappeared.

He started screaming. He wailed. He cried. And he wondered why no was helping him.

Suddenly, and miraculously, the pain stopped. Gone. He felt free, and joyous.

But a strange smell wafted through his nostrils. He also felt weird. Like he was sitting on a puddle of mud.

What the fuck? Wasn't I in my office?

Groaning, he got up, and opened his eyes.

A detached bloody head was the first thing he saw.

He was too stunned to breathe. Or even think. He felt like he lost control over his body. Fear paralyzed him. But his eyes captured things he wished he never seen in his entire life.

He was in a chamber. A small and bloody chamber. Blood was everywhere, and bodies. Men, women, children, elderly, disabled. Everyone. They were all tied to the doom like room with a rope. Like they all had committed suicide in the same place.

Their eyes were all focused on him.

Surrounding him on the bloody ground were seven eyeless heads. By the looks, all seven were of men. But of different age. They were of different faces of life. From young to old. And a gut feeling in him told that they were all of the same man.

But how could any mortal man have seven heads? And of different ages?

His senses were slowly coming back to him. Lips quivering, eyes fluttering, the back of his shirt was totally wet, and so were his pants.

Abruptly, he heard a set of footsteps from the front. They were like of a giant, deep and heavy, echoing loudly in the bloody chamber. Like the footsteps of the doom.

He looked towards the direction of the sound. There, he spotted a large door. Large and dark, as if they were the gates of hell. Slowly, however, a figure materialized.

It was a giant in red, if he had words to describe it. From the red hat to red vest to red coat—lavished with golden jewelleries covered in blood—to the red beige pants to the long fiery red hair to the face which was covered in bloody red to the crimson eyes. And Ethan began to wonder if his clothes were of red colour or they were covered in blood.

Probably both.

The series of shocks of constantly seeing dead bodies had left Ethan's brain numb. So, when he saw the alive giant figure in blood approaching him, even though he felt fear and anxiety and restlessness, what he felt the most prominently was confusion and the urge to ask questions.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Is it you who bring me here?"

The figure stopped and stared at Ethan's eyes and Ethan stared back. And Ethan felt the gaze familiar. As if he had experienced this gaze before…

He is trying to gouge out my worth, he thought.

He knew this feeling and the look of the eyes from the number of interviews he had given in order to get a job. Or maybe from the life he had spent until now. In the society, everyone tries to get to know how much profit they will make from the other person. The profit can be power, wealth, or emotional support or all of them and many more. This is how relationships work after all.

"You are perfect." the red giant said with a calm and pleasant voice. Which was surprising, since Ethan expected the giant to sound more…crazy.

"Perfect? Perfect for what?" said Ethan, confused.

What's he talking about?

Instead of saying anything, the giant outstretched its hand. A jar of glass materialized in its hand. There was a red liquid was in the jar, and…something floating on its surface.

The giant's gaze had turned crazy, which unsettled Ethan.

"What are you planning to do!" he shouted, stepping back. But he stumbled and fell. Confused, he looked at the object which made him stumble, and for the first time, he noticed, and realized that he was sitting on top of a pile rotting bodies!

So that was the muddy feeling!

The giant's other hand had reached him. Before he could do anything, it grabbed him, and lifted him upwards. Ethan screamed, but nothing changed. No one helped, and he believed no one could.

The giants' crazy eyes stared at him. "You are perfect!" he shouted with a wide grin on his bloody face. "The perfect carrier! You will carry it! You will use it! You will treasure it! You will perfect it! And when the time comes...you will fulfill the true purpose of it!"

The jar came closer, and Ethan finally saw what the floating thing atop the red blood was.

They were bloody crimson eyes!

He is going to make me drink it!

"Ah! No! Please! I beg of you! Don't make me drink it! Please!"

But the red giant heeded none of his words.

Restraining Ethan with his three fingers, he placed his pointer finger on his chin and the thumb between his eyes, and stretched them, forcefully opening Ethan's mouth.

The blood, alongside the eyes, were poured into Ethan's mouth, and amidst the crazy laugher of the red giant, he forcefully swallowed them…

Albus opened his eyes, and silently, lifted his body.

It was morning, meaning it was silent, maybe for other people, but not him. For the sound of his heart ringing loudly in his chest echoed constantly in mind. His back was drenched in cold sweat, and the area near his crotch was also wet, but not with sweat most likely. It would have been embarrassing him if this happened any other day, but now? He couldn't care less.

"What in the heavens name was that dream?" he whispered to himself.