Day 155, Week 19, Month Verdantis, Year 12123, Era Elyndris
Forbidden Library, Atlantis High School, Thirtos City
22:00
Fitran navigated the labyrinth of towering shelves with caution, his fingers brushing against the ancient spines that pulsed with an ethereal glow. The air enveloped him with the rich, musty scent of weathered parchment, while shadows flickered just out of reach of the sputtering torches. His heart raced, still echoing the adrenaline from the earlier confrontation; the memory of the duel with his Doppelganger clung to him like a shroud, gnawing at the corners of his consciousness. Above, Mammon perched, her keen gaze fixed on him, translucent wings vibrating softly like an eerie lullaby sung by the night itself.
"These tomes," Fitran ventured in a hushed tone, striving to match the intensity of her scrutiny, "they encompass far more than mere knowledge, Mammon. They are the bindings of histories eager to break free. You are their keeper." He pointed towards an especially intricate tome that intertwined light and darkness upon its ornate cover.
Mammon glided down with an elegance that belied her sharp demeanor, her dark eyes narrowing as she examined him with an intensity that felt almost predatory. "Yet here you are, a paladin who has turned rogue," she remarked, her voice smooth and laced with condescension. "Is it desperation that propels your choices, or is there something far more sinister brewing beneath?"
Fitran's lips curled into a cold smile, a flicker of defiance igniting within him. "Desperation has no place in my heart, Mammon. What drives me is intelligence. To bargain for a soul ensnared by Vlad's curse, one must wield finesse, not reckless abandon." He stepped closer, his presence commanding, as if the weight of his words should crystalize the very air around them.
Her laughter, though faint, echoed like a chilling wind against his spine. "The Forbidden Ritual of Vlad? You tread upon peril's edge, dear Fitran." Her wings rustled softly, casting a halo of otherworldly light about her.
"Peril is but a matter of perception," Fitran replied, his voice steady as he advanced, resolve etched in every feature. "I seek a binding contract, Mammon—one that redefines the laws of existence itself. Zombification under my singular command, ensuring that none shall dare to disrupt my dominion." His eyes deepened, glinting with the promise of untold power.
Her wings quivered, betraying a moment of hesitation. "You must understand, this isn't merely an act of necromancy, Fitran. Vlad's magic is a blight upon souls, warping their essence and unraveling the very threads of death." She folded her arms, her expression scrutinizing as she assessed his ambitions.
"Indeed," Fitran acknowledged, conjuring luminescent glyphs that danced around them like ethereal fireflies. "This power holds the potential to remake our world," he declared passionately, "shattering the fetters of mortality. Together, we can rise above it all." There was a fervor in his voice, the gravity of his conviction crackling in the air.
With an edge to her tone, Mammon spoke, a glint of suspicion flickering in her eyes. "What precisely is it that you offer?"
"Your unwavering loyalty," Fitran proclaimed, his gaze firm and unyielding, locking onto hers with an intensity that challenged her to divert her eyes. "Cast aside all other allegiances; you will belong solely to me." His declaration lingered ominously, heavy with the allure of peril.
She traced a phoenix quill through the air, her movements fluid yet foreboding, crafting a crimson glyph that pulsed rhythmically like a heartbeat. "And what if you falter, paladin? What then? Shall we engage in a waltz with death, or will you simply dissipate like those who came before?"
Mammon's expression hardened, a flicker of wariness crossing her face as she leaned in closer. "What precisely is it that you offer?"
Unwavering, Fitran held her gaze, an unwavering steel in his voice as he replied, "Your unwavering loyalty," his tone resonating with authority. "Sever all other bonds; your allegiance shall rest solely with me." His words hung in the air, laden with the weight of clandestine power.
With a swift flick of her wrist, she summoned a phoenix quill, the vibrant feathers slicing through the air, leaving a sparkling trail of light in their wake. "And should deceit take root within your heart," she cautioned, her piercing gaze narrowing dangerously, "know that your soul will be shattered beyond repair." As the gravity of her words hung in the air, the room seemed to darken around them.
With unwavering confidence, Fitran inscribed his name in luminous magic upon the cold stone table, the glow thrumming with an otherworldly pulse. "I, Fitran Fate, hereby accept—bound by the oath of absolute truth," he declared, his voice resonating with authority laced with an unsettling gravitas.
In an instant, a wave of dark magic surged through the space, sealing their pact with an ominous finality. The library shivered under the strain, ancient shelves creaking in protest. Around them, books began to flutter violently, and one enormous tome tumbled between them, landing with a thunderous thud, its pages scribbling themselves in vivid crimson ink.
"Speak truthfully of zombification," Mammon commanded, his brow knitted in concentration, lips curling into a grimace. "Or prepare to face annihilation." The threat lingered in the air, his tone thick with danger.
Fitran inhaled deeply, the gravity of the moment evident on his face as he began, "This is the legacy left by Vlad. Understand, Mammon, these are not mere shells devoid of life. They are vessels entangled forever by the anguished spirits that remain, vengeful and relentless. From the Revenants to Izanami, each one is burdened with a tragedy that humanity dares not face." A tremor in his voice betrayed the weight of such truths, filling the air with a palpable tension.
As he leaned in, Mammon's fingers grazed the flowing script, an expression of conflict twisting his features. "Each layer reveals a deeper sorrow," he reflected, his voice a mere whisper. "Slaves, nobles, lost lovers—what a dismal cycle we find ourselves entrapped in." The atmosphere around them grew heavier, as if the walls themselves were eavesdropping, absorbing every word.
"Yet," Fitran replied, meeting Mammon's gaze with fierce resolve, "through a keen understanding, even the bleakest tragedies can become weapons of empowerment. This realm thrives on discontent; I mean to channel that energy." His hand waved with fervor, determination shining in his eyes like embers in the dark.
With a chill in his demeanor, Mammon retreated a step, crossing his arms defiantly. "Vlad brought ruin to nations," he reminded, his voice sharp as a blade, "and the toll was catastrophic. Gamma may have resisted, but what was the cost? We cannot simply revel in the ashes of what was without courting our own annihilation." A tinge of regret laced his tone, a fleeting shadow passing across his stern visage.
Fitran's gaze sharpened like a dagger's edge. "This is not mere destruction—it is resurrection," he retorted, the firmness in his voice a testament to his unwavering resolve. "A name bears dominion over the very essence of existence, a might I shall not throw away." The fire within his spirit ignited the dimness of the chamber, casting an electric tension upon their words.
Before Mammon could muster a reply, Jacob Shakespeare's eerie laughter reverberated from the shadows, a sound that crawled over the skin like cold tendrils. As he emerged into the feeble light, mischief danced in his eyes while his quill raced across parchment. "A most intriguing pact, indeed," he remarked, his tone smooth yet tinged with mockery.
Mammon's expression turned steely as he snapped defensively, "Intervene in this, Jacob, and your end shall come first." His posture radiated the authority of a power broker, the kind who would brook no insubordination.
Jacob offered a dry smile, his gaze unfaltering. "Merely an observer, dear friend. Newly forged legends require their chroniclers, do they not?" he responded, the hint of sarcasm palpable. He shifted his weight, clearly relishing the atmosphere thick with tension.
Fitran, his voice cold as ice, interjected, "You are extraneous. This is no tale." His eyes, as sharp as the finest blades, drilled into Jacob, silently warning of the seriousness of their plight.
Jacob took a small step back, his quill dancing across the parchment with unyielding fervor. "Every tale, no matter how grand, is steeped in some fragment of truth," he replied, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. The atmosphere crackled with tension, as if it were on the brink of a tempest.
Suddenly, a bone-chilling draft swept through the air, raising the fine hairs on their arms. From the darkened corner, a figure cloaked in an embrace of shadows materialized—Fitran's Doppelganger returned, its presence weighed heavy on their hearts like an unseen hand.
Mammon recoiled, disbelief etched across his features, his voice falling to a whisper. "Your own reflection from the Abyss… You have truly lost your mind, Fitran," he breathed, terror lacing his words.
"Necessity," Fitran murmured, his tone grave, a twinge of despair intertwined with fierce resolve in his gaze, "shapes the choices we make." His fists tightened, the gnawing dread clawing at him from within.
Black Hood's voice sliced through the tension, deliberate and draped in menace. "You called upon me. Each invocation chips away at your hold on reality." The echo of his words reverberated through the chamber, a chilling reminder of forsaken nightmares.
Fitran stood firm, defiance radiating from him like heat from a forge. "You are but my shadow, birthed from the darkest corners of my mind. You knew precisely what you were doing to Rinoa. Answer me—why?" His voice climbed, raw with the weight of anger and anguish.
"Because I am your buried truth," Black Hood retorted, a smile twisting upon his lips like a serpent's hiss. "All that you see and all that I do springs forth from within you." His gaze shimmered, mirroring Fitran's inner turmoil with unsettling clarity.
Fitran trembled with fury, magical energy swirling about him, illuminating the space in an ethereal glow. "Then I shall obliterate you for good," he spat, determination blazing in his spirit.
"You must heed my warning," Mammon urged, urgency cracking his voice, "If you destroy him, the Abyss Reflection may shatter, consuming you whole." He stepped forth, reaching to grasp Fitran's arm, pleading for reason to prevail.
Fitran raised his glyph sword with defiance, the luminous blade reflecting his unwavering resolve. "I'd rather embrace annihilation than kneel before the shadows of my own making. Do you hear my vow?"
The Doppelganger cackled scornfully, shadows stretching around him as he summoned dark energy. "Your brave facade is nothing but a charade, Fitran. Every loathsome deed you strive to denounce has taken root inside you."
With a roar that reverberated through the dimly lit library, Fitran surged forward, bellowing, "Spiral Rebirth—A Name That Cannot Be Erased!" His voice surged with conviction, slicing through the tension like his sword cleaving the air.
The very room erupted into a tempest of chaos, energies clashing like thunder, a grand symphony of power swirling around them. Black Hood reacted in desperation, shadows swirling intricately within the air, each strike echoing deeply within Fitran's soul. "Confront your past, Fitran! The memories of Rinoa and Iris linger, tormenting you."
"Nay, you've misjudged me!" Fitran spat, gritting his teeth as he drove his blade decisively through Black Hood's ephemeral form. The Doppelganger shattered into a swarm of black particles, a chilling murmur echoing from within its dissolving essence. "While pain lingers, so shall I… remember my name."
Fitran wavered for a moment, the weight of triumph mixed with an uneasy vigilance pressing against his chest. Shadows writhed beneath his feet as Mammon reinforced the glyph seal encircling the contract, his gaze narrowing with palpable concern.
"Beware, he will reemerge if you let your guard falter," Mammon warned, his voice a low rumble that resonated like distant thunder, his eyes scanning the remnants of devastation.
"Then I shall rewrite the very rules," Fitran proclaimed, his voice unwavering, tinged with determination. "This power shall not bind me. I shall wield it." He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, a flicker of defiance igniting within the depths of his gaze.
Jacob, lounging against a nearby shelf, completed his scrawling within the pages of his tome, a sly smirk curling his lips as he lifted his eyes. "What a captivating tale unfolds—one soul wrestling with its dark reflection for supremacy. Quite the exhilarating narrative, don't you agree?" His voice dripped with irony, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes.
Fitran shifted his focus from the shadows, fixing his gaze squarely upon Mammon. "The world shall alter this night," he asserted, his tone resolute yet quiet. "Contracts may bind, but it is I who shall dictate their terms."
Mammon's brow knitted as he surveyed Fitran, a tangle of respect and trepidation playing across his features. "Your ambition," he said softly, his voice tinged with warning, "holds the power to either elevate us or lead us to ruin. Do you truly grasp the weight of that responsibility?"
With a subtle nod, Fitran's voice emerged like a whisper carried by the evening breeze. "I understand what's at stake," he responded, his gaze unwavering. "For the sake of those I hold dear, I will not allow the shadows to claim victory."
An oppressive silence enveloped them, the library settling into an unsettling stillness. Fitran's heart quickened as he sensed the lurking dread in the corners, unseen shadows poised like predators, ever watchful for a hint of weakness.
Mammon leaned closer, his tone conspiratorial, almost conspiratorial. "Welcome, Fitran Fate, to this new era," he intoned, a hint of gravity in his voice. "Change is on the horizon, but such transformations come with a steep toll."
Fitran found himself alone amid the whispering tomes, their pages weighed down by stories of woe and danger. Gripping the memory of Rinoa tightly, he murmured a resolute vow into the dust-laden air, "I will rewrite our fate, no matter the sacrifices required."
The echo of his promise resonated through the library, a poignant certainty that either salvation or destruction lay ahead. Yet one truth remained clear: he would craft this chapter with his own hand, come what may.