He survived.
Magic. Convenient huh.
That night, two days ago, on the cusp of death, back in his mother's fancy room, he finally triggered it.
Magic.
Guess all it took was getting stabbed in the heart.
Amazing.
At least healthcare should be good here, right? With magic and whatnot.
Apparently not.
He sat beside his mother now, who was still in primary stasis, paralyzed throughout the body as not to let her die. The several chest wounds had been sealed on her chest, but not completely, giant marrings looking an angry red and oozing white puss all over the four intersecting slashes.
He didn't feel particularly attached to this woman as a son-and-mother kind of relationship, but when this lady clutched his hand in her sleep with all the force of a mother, he couldn't help but feel like his heart was melting with some sort of pain, some agony that digged deep into him, revealing bare every inch of his true self's skin.
If only he could've visited his mother a last time...
Fuck.
He suddenly felt so guilty about stealing this woman's actual son he had to get out of that medieval-ass infirmary and get a breather.
If only he had his mevius.
Then life would be better. Too bad reincarnation don't let you bring cigs on board. Life is always better with smoke and booze. And women.
Wait a minute.
Whatever happened to Fumiko?
The goddess of Tokyo university literature department herself, had fallen along with him.
He could think of two possibilities, one that she'd somehow lived, perhaps using him as a cushion or something, or that she'd died and there'd be no reason why she shouldn't follow him into this world.
Hmm
Interesting. Perhaps he should look for her, after all, it was partially his fault that she fell too. But it's mainly her fault. Yeah definitely.
Anyways, without thinking he'd walked to the door leading to Alphonce's room.
Why didn't the goddamn guy answer the door?
He took out the master key that he'd stolen from his mother.
The door opened to reveal a small, damp, dungeon-like room with barely any furnishings -even the bed was half-assed with some logs and some pelts, which almost made him feel sorry for the guy, but the stench of rotting flesh wafting from the closet was pretty damning evidence.
Okay, guess he was wrong.
He now feels even sorrier for the guy -cuz the man's a corpse now, and pretty badly rotten.
Who could have done this?
The poignant smell grew worse here, so repulsive Osamu thought he could let loose his stomach right here and now, from both ends.
There were multiple cuts along the man's body, all an ugly purple and green -not very healthy, he'd say. His skin was white and dried as if a stone turned over by itself in the desert, and the flesh underneath was slightly bloated.
Yuck -he'd been trapped here for too long -the eyes looked ready to pop.
Osamu wanted to rifle the man for any useful belongings or clues, but the stench was so horrible he had to close the door.
Eh. He probably didn't have anything valuable anyways.
He paced around the tiny sorry excuse for a room a bit.
Nothing on a small desk.
Not particularly surprising -never took Alphonce for the literary type.
An armor stand with no armor.
Some copper coins, probably left over from buying groceries or some shit. He left it there. Respect the dead man's stuff when they're not valuable.
The window happened to be barred shut.
Interesting...
It must have been an inside job, someone with the Master Key...
That afternoon his mother, no, scratch that, Temius' mother, was yet to wake, and a delegate from his father, Tarkhan, had arrived.
"Don't go, son."
He swiveled around, but his mother had fallen back into slumber.
He smiled and patted his mother's head.
For the past four years he tried to limit contact with this particular woman, but, you know, it doesn't always work out.
"It'll be fine.
Mum."
He thought he saw a twitch of the mouth. Nascent, like a phantom's willow.
"Your name, boy. Is it Temius Daecerus?" A balding old man dressed in a black formal robe asked.
"Who's asking?"
Eight soldiers flanked the man, which was prolly the reason he's so damn-ass comfortable sitting in his mother's seat.
If only Alphonce was still here.
He'd tell the man to kick their asses.
"You got some balls you hairless kid." The man lit a pipe.
A PIPE.
Shit he's got to get one.
"Where's your mother?"
"Where's your mother? I don't recall you having the right to adress me as such. As a prince of Tarkhan's you owe me loyalty, by the big man himself's own decree." He pulled a seat over and sat cross-legged with as much gusto as he could manage being in that tiny-ass body and all that.
The man leaned forward, eyes glinting amusement and malice. "You think you have any grounds for negotiation? If I snap the finger, you die right here. Become paste. Our Sovereign Munificence, his name be hallowed before the Old Beasts of the Cavern, has more bastards like you running amok than his counting ability can reach -nay I doubt anyone can really tell how many of you little apes are bawling out there." He smoked a pipe, scratching Osamu's itch again. "So trust me, kid. You ain't got not power here. No one knows you. Now be a little bitch and surrender your mother over -and mayhaps I'll spare you.
Who knows." The bastard smiled like a fucking goat that Osamu wanted to beat the hell out of right now.
Osamu grinned his most devilish grin, at least he hoped he did. Please don't let it be some stupid-ass monkey smirk is all.
"You think you have all the cards? If you kill me be prepared to answer to the big man himself."
The old man stared at him for a beat.
"Okay. Kill the boy. Find the mother. Time's a-wasting."
He gestured and rose to leave.
Powerful giant hands grabbed Osamu's little frame, and one clamped his mouth shut.
Fuck fuck fuck, he didn't even get to say he's a magic user now. Shit. Usually don't villains blabber a bit more? And shit is that a knife?
He's fucked now. For real.
The old man stopped at the doorway and turned back. He looked Osamu straight in the eye, smiling, and he tipped his hat. "Oh little Temius. Give my regards to Alphonce."
He left, leaving Osamu alone with the brutes, one of which had taken out a serrated dagger from some pouch somewhere.
His barely-healed scar in the chest began pounding with the horrifying experience of being stabbed once, but he could nothing but watch as the guy took the knife, and without further ado, stabbed him.
Wow.
Stabbed twice in the heart -how very consistent of them.
But now he felt something.
Some current.
Whirring, buzzing, pulsating and waiting.
It felt something similar to the thing he'd felt that night.
Magic. Alright then -time to turn the tables.
He gave a muffled scream, barely holding on despite the immense pain of the stab -he's sorta used to it by now.
The clothing of the tall helmted man who held him from behind suddenly caught a golden blaze of fire. The man released him and began dancing and yelping, sending waves of smoke of charred flesh wafting around.
Osamu was bewildered, for he though there was supposed to be a bang, not this weak-ass crackling flame, so he tried to focus on the bubbling heat beneath his skin once more.
Shit. Nothing's coming and it felt like the heat had left him, leaving him ever colder than before.
Two guys were trying to put the flames out, and the other guys had just recovered from the initial blinding shock of the flame erupting.
He had no time.
He tore away from them and ran straight for the window, which thankfully was unguarded. Guess no one thought him dumb enough to jump out a frigging multi-storied palace on a cliff.
He jumped. No, actually. He tried. The frigging goddamn butcher's knife in the heart was too much. He fainted and slumped against the window sill. What a silly way to die.
He collapsed, and before his eyes closed from the deep weariness behind his eyelids, he saw that the whole study had gone up in those flames, and the thugs were busy running, with one even pinned beneath a bookcase and quickly becoming human kebab.
Beautiful.
He smiled, and slept.
Good night.