Day 155, Week 19, Month Verdantis, Year 12123, Era Elyndris
Elbert Experiment Laboratory, Floor 30, Atlantis High School, Thirtos City
23:00
A suffocating black aura, thick as clotted oil, coiled through the frigid confines of the laboratory, swallowing every flicker of lamplight whole. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air—sharp, raw, and steeped in ancient echoes. All around, lifeless bodies lay sprawled upon the cracked marble floor, limbs arranged in grotesque contortions, skin mottled blue, and lips an ashen black. Their vacant eyes gazed skyward, seeing neither stars nor salvation. The atmosphere trembled with a palpable tension, an oppressive hush pregnant with dread before the storm.
Along the walls, statues of ancient kings and stone guardians—relics from Gaia's primordial dawn—held their vigil, their stony visages frozen in eternal judgment. In that heavy darkness, it was impossible to discern whether they sheltered the living or merely bided their time, awaiting the reckoning of the dead.
Then, shattering the uneasy stillness, a sickening, brittle crack reverberated through the chamber. Fingers curled, and jaws snapped with a disquieting finality. Like marionettes tugged by unseen strings, the dead began to stir. One by one, joints buckled, and throats groaned in unison. In a twisted symphony of agony, the undead rose, mouths agape, their faces etched with the markings of unending torment.
"What treachery have you wrought, Elbert?" Fitran's voice sliced through the air, dripping with mockery and disdain. As he stepped into the sickly glow of the solitary lamp, shadows writhed around him, casting a foreboding shroud. "Do you truly believe you hold dominion over them? Observe their visages—distorted and steeped in torment."
Elbert's heart raced, yet he anchored himself, fists balled tight. "I do not master them. They are not my puppets, Fitran! This was never my design!"
Fitran chuckled, a sound that reverberated with the weight of his sinister magic. "Design, Elbert? Do you genuinely suppose that design holds significance here? These wretched souls are shackled by your hubris." He gestured towards the risen corpses, their empty eyes fixated upon the two living beings before them.
"You speak as if untouched by the consequences." Elbert's voice trembled with strained resolve. "But you are merely a wraith in this grotesque masquerade, clinging to the vestiges of your fading power."
"Power?" Fitran stepped closer, each word dripping with malice. "You misinterpret the essence of power. It transcends mere command; it entails grasping the darkness that resides within." He pointed toward a nearby statue, its stone eyes appearing to reflect his ominous words. "These sentinels, once guardians of the innocent—now they bear witness to your downfall."
"And what of your role?" Elbert shot back, his gaze piercing. "Do you truly fancy yourself their savior, shrouded in shadows?"
"I am but the harbinger of your reckoning," Fitran replied, a malignant grin creeping upon his lips as the dead began to shuffle ominously forward. "Pray tell, Elbert—do you venture to believe these wretched souls dance at your command, or at mine?"
"A rather predictable retort for one of the dead," a voice oozed from the shadows—calm, mocking, and saturated with certainty. Fitran emerged into the sickly glow of the solitary lamp, his silhouette cloaked in an unsettling veil of dark magic. "Tell me, Elbert," he paused, his eyes alight with a wicked glee, "do you genuinely suppose that these unfortunate spirits move by your volition, or are they merely marionettes of my design?"
Across the room, Elbert sat hunched over a battered iron table, his knuckles pale as if drained of blood. He flicked his gaze between Fitran and the carnage strewn around him, the enormity of his plight settling heavily upon his shoulders. "This…" he rasped, his voice scarcely above a whisper, "transcends the realm of the cursed. This is the abyss loathsomely gazing back, Fitran."
Fitran's smile widened, a wolfish grin that sent chills through the very air. "Ambition and fear—such delightful poisons." He advanced, savoring each word. "Yet, you fail to grasp, Elbert. The abyss is not merely a domain of despair. It is an inheritance, a legacy woven into the very fabric of our existence." He allowed his words to linger in the stillness, relishing their weight. "Tonight, you stand at a crossroads. Will you be the devourer of your own despair, or shall you embrace being the devoured?"
The heavy doors at the far end quivered violently, crashing open as a bitter wave of unnatural cold surged in, the chill coiling around Elbert's spine like a serpent. The lamp flickered ominously, casting grotesque shadows that danced in mad abandon. The corpses lingered, their heads tilted as if they awaited silent commands, an uneasy stillness wrapping the room in its shroud. Fitran's gaze remained steadfast, as though he had foreseen the intrusion.
"You are here, are you not?" Elbert whispered, his heart racing, unsure whether he spoke to Fitran or to some far more dreadful thing lurking within the gloom.
"I have always lingered in the shadows," Fitran replied softly, his voice a haunting caress steeped in dread. "Every specter you have summoned, each secret murmured in the dark, every spiral of doubt that gnawed at your essence—those now belong to me. Even the flicker of hope you clutch, Elbert, is but a plaything for my amusement."
As if the very fabric of reality quivered in response to his proclamation, the doors slammed shut with a resonating finality. Time hung in the air, breath and heartbeat entwined in the throbbing silence. Then—a spectral blade cleaved through the ranks of the dead, heads tumbling and bodies collapsing into a chaotic disarray of fresh carnage. It was not mercy that he commanded; it was an unyielding dominion.
Fitran's laughter reverberated through the heavy stillness, deep and unsettling, like the tolling of a bell marking doom. "Did they truly fancy themselves as hunters?" he sneered, casting a dark gaze over the fallen, as if he were a malevolent lord surveying a twisted realm. "Corpses possess no will save for that of their master. And this night, my dear Elbert, that master is neither you nor your precious Spiral."
A new sound cleaved through the palpable tension—weighted, measured footfalls that rang out like mourning chimes. Each step fell with the gravity of a final decree, as if a judge were delivering a sentence of death. From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in midnight black, his visage partially hidden. High cheekbones hinted at noble blood, yet his eyes shimmered with the wildness of a predator. Blue sigils danced across his armor, while Gaia's royal crest glinted ominously upon his breastplate. He cast back his hood, revealing a grin sharp enough to sever the very air.
"You appear as lost as ever, Elbert," the stranger mocked, his voice laced with the Spiral's ancient, bewitching magic. "Still pursuing the power that slips through your grasp like grains of sand? Or have you at long last accepted what the darkness is willing to bestow upon you?"
Elbert's voice quivered, each word heavy with a mix of dread and recognition. "Fitran."
"Ah, hearing my name pass your lips feels almost like a cruel twist of fate," Fitran said, stepping into the dim light, his smile a façade hiding the storm brewing within. "Still ensnared in your vain pursuits, Elbert? Or is this yet another desperate endeavor to reclaim what you have lost?"
Elbert's gaze fell upon the faintly glowing glyphs at his feet, the symbols resonating with a power both hauntingly familiar and unsettlingly alien. "I defend Gaia with every breath I draw," he asserted, his voice steady, despite the turmoil churning in his chest. "I shall harness any force requisite—even the very darkness you have sown within me."
Fitran's gaze pierced Elbert, unwavering and unrepentant. "Your obsession with the Spiral has perpetually consumed you, Elbert. You coveted the very souls blessed to wield its gifts. Now, look upon yourself—raising the dead—but what does it truly grant you? Authentic power, or simply an illusion of dominion?"
Elbert straightened, his grip tightening around the staff—ornately carved with Atlantean runes that pulsed with latent energy, as if they could sense the tension hanging thick in the air. "You are but a wretched outcast, Fitran. Here, your name is a curse—whispered only in the shadows. But mark my words: I shall not allow you to pilfer anything from me again."
With a fierce slam of his staff against the cold stone floor, Elbert summoned a torrent of shadow-magic, filling the chamber with a ghastly glow that twisted the very fabric of the air. Yet, Fitran's lips parted into a sinister smile as he drew nearer. "Elbert. Tell me, do your sacrifices shield you, or have they merely become your cruel restraints?"
As their words collided, the grotesque forms of the undead stirred in response—a sickly mockery of life, animated by the weight of Elbert's deepest fears. He inhaled sharply, conjuring the ancient edict of the Thrones. "By the sacred will of Gaia, I pronounce judgment—you who are damned shall find no peace in death."
Fitran's eyes flashed crimson, mirroring the fury coiling within him. "Death?" he scoffed, tightening his grip on Excalibur. "It serves only as a chain for the fearful, those too cowardly to embrace the mysteries of the unknown." With a deft flick of his wrist, the blade shimmered in the dim light, its ancient magic vibrating through the atmosphere, an echo of lost souls weaving through the air.
Before he could complete his thought, the gruesome undead lunged at him. "So utterly predictable," he muttered under his breath, gliding like a wraith across the scarred battlefield. Excalibur arced, tracing bright paths through decayed flesh and splintered bone. "One slain!" he bellowed, as a decaying limb soared past, followed by a nauseating splatter. "Two! Three!" He swung with fierce determination—each motion not merely ending a life but orchestrating the surrounding chaos. "Can you not perceive? This is liberation!"
With every swing, blood sizzled as it kissed the sacred edge. "Like a master sculptor, I shape the remnants of what once was," he declared, his voice unwavering amidst the clamor. His movements fused artistry with brutality; poetry intertwined with carnage in a savage ballet.
Meanwhile, Elbert's desperation swelled like a tempest on the horizon. He raised his hands skyward, summoning the Gaia Tree. Glyphs blossomed in the air, roots twisting with primordial might. "This is not solely about survival, Fitran!" he cried, his eyes wild with the tempest of fear and defiance. Statues lining the walls quaked, their stone eyelids snapping open to reveal flames of azure that roared to life within. "I defend what remains of our world!"
Fitran did not waver. "Statues? Do you truly believe they can protect you?" A smirk curled his lips, his voice as sharp as icy daggers. "Will you summon the resting dead as well?" His gaze bore into Elbert like a merciless blade. "Your power has always been a mere loan. Most pitiful, Elbert. And now, you wield it to desecrate that which you once pledged to shield."
In response, stone fists descended with a ferocious might where Fitran had stood only a heartbeat prior, shattering the tiles beneath them as if they were mere glass. He evaded the onslaught with an effortless grace, energy crackling in the very air surrounding him. "Welcome to my realm!" he proclaimed, his voice vibrating with excitement. "Photon Slash!" A blazing arc of gold cleaved through the darkness, annihilating the nearest zombies and reducing a once-mighty stone guardian to a cascade of glittering shards.
Elbert's countenance twisted in fury, his vision dimmed by the heavy burden of betrayal. "You wretched traitor! You have turned against Gaia herself!"
Fitran advanced, enveloped in an aura of perilous confidence. "Survival is not lost upon me, Elbert. You mistake tenacity for treachery." He gestured grandly, indicating the turmoil that surrounded them. "The Spiral has always been a noose—you were the one who willingly thrust your head through it, not I."
Yet, beneath the veneer of mockery, a shadow of pain flickered across Fitran's features as the zombies, clad in the tattered insignia of long-lost knights, surged forward—remnants of an honor that had once defined them. Old comrades. Friends. "You remember them, don't you?" Elbert's voice oozed with contempt, slicing through the heavy air. "You failed them all. You could have rescued them."
For a fleeting moment, a shadow of anguish flickered across Fitran's features, as the weight of memories tugged insistently at the edges of his fortitude. Yet, he banished the sentiment, raising Excalibur high into the dim light, its blade shimmering with an ethereal glow. "I remember them all. Their valor was unmatched, and that dread is why this must end now." With a decisive motion, he drove the blade into the earth, the impact resonating like a thunderclap, channeling the sacred essence of Purification. In that instant, a radiant light burst forth, searing through the darkness, incinerating the rot, filth, and tainted memories that clung stubbornly to his heart.
Yet, the summoning circle pulsed ominously beneath them, belching forth more lifeless husks, a grim testament to Elbert's vile sorcery. Fitran's resolve solidified; he would not permit this nightmare to persist. "Celestial Ascension!" he proclaimed, the whispers of ancient warriors echoing at his back. Wings of resplendent light unfurled from his shoulder blades, a dazzling beacon of hope and wrath. He ascended through the tempest, then dove downward, Excalibur ablaze with a fire that defied the encroaching darkness. With an unwavering spirit, the blade plunged into the heart of the portal, shattering the summoning and unbinding the accursed circle.
As the air crackled with energy, the very fabric of the world splintered around them. Light and shadow clashed with a ferocity that sent statues hurtling to the ground, glyphs dripping like wax beneath a fierce flame, the room itself folding inwards upon the dark sorcery that had ensnared Atlantis for centuries.
When at last the dust began to settle, only two figures remained in the aftermath. Fitran stood, battered and resolute, a glimmer of fierce defiance igniting within his eyes. Elbert, however, was crumpled upon the ground, a vision of defeat, shadowed by the heavy weight of his myriad failures, yet still ensnared by the ambitions that had long since turned to darkness.
"You've shattered my life's work," Elbert whispered, his voice a mere breath, laced with disbelief and a profound sorrow. "Decades of toil and dreams, obliterated in a heartbeat. Can you truly grasp the enormity of what you've wrought?"
Fitran's gaze wavered for an agonizing instant—an ember struggling against the merciless void. "Do you think your sacrifices bear weight? Courage is a sharpened blade, Elbert, not the twisted defense you've erected against the harshness of reality. We draw the line here."
Elbert's body quaked, his fingers clenching tightly around his staff, radiating fierce conviction. "You remain blinded, don't you? Sacrifice transcends mere loss—it embodies annihilation. I cease to exist so your silencing makes no mark upon me. Not this day." With a sardonic twist gracing his lips, he unleashed the final spell. Inky black glyphs surged from the walls, spiraling forth to consume all in their path. The room itself began to collapse—the very essence of it—bodies, sorcery, and memories alike spiraled into the endless void.
A barrier surged up between them, solid and unyielding. Fitran battered against it, frustration simmering beneath his skin. "Coward! Dost thou believe memory to be a cage? Nay, it is thine own strength! Thou shalt wither into naught but a whisper, a mere cautionary tale for those who dare to tread upon thy path."
Elbert met Fitran's defiant gaze, his eyes a storm devoid of warmth. "History heralds the victor, Fitran. Yet, thy treachery shall reverberate through the ages, traitor." With a final roar of defiance, the chamber crumbled into disarray—leaving only Fitran, alone, hefting Excalibur amidst the ruins destined to fade into obscurity.
A haunting whisper curled through the air: "What now?" Shadows coiled around his ankles like serpents, unsettling yet strangely familiar.
Fitran's laughter, a low and menacing sound, sliced through the silence. "Solitude is but a prison for the weak. I am both the specter and the blade, forever entwined."
He turned away, weaving incantations anew from the shadows that threatened to swallow him whole. "No death heralds the end—merely the dawning of something profound."
Years earlier, deep beneath Atlantis Academy...
Rain pounded against the ancient stone, relentless and unwavering. Within a hidden vault, Elbert clung to the cold marble slab as though his very essence depended upon it. "Elise… just a little longer…" His voice wavered, heavy with desperation.
From the depths of shadow, Vasil stepped forth, his visage betraying a tempest of disbelief. "You are mad, Elbert. You gamble everything for but one life?"
Elbert's eyes flared with a wild desperation, a fire stoked by love. "Would you not pursue the same for one you cherish?" His voice quivered, thick with urgency, as he administered the reanimator fluid into Elise's still veins, fingers trembling with fear and hope. "The decrees of the Queen hold no weight if they leave me lonely in the abyss."
Vasil's expression darkened, his voice a low growl of accusation. "You lay the dead at her feet, each a curse that festers upon your soul." He drew nearer, his eyes narrowing as if trying to discern the heavy toll of Elbert's transgressions.
Elbert met his gaze with fierce defiance. "Love is the sole law that matters. The Spiral pays no heed to our boundaries," he spat, his words rich with anguish and wrath.
Surveying the confined vault, relics like the Crown of Tenebris and the Phylactery of Ruin shimmered with dark enchantments, their sinister glow mirroring the dread that thickened the air. "They are my only hope," Elbert declared, fists clenched, his heart hammering against his chest in desperation.
Vasil's countenance turned steely, and he spat upon the stone floor in contempt. "This shall culminate in devastation, Elbert. You have pilfered from the Vault, twisted the Root to satisfy your own selfish longings," he warned, his voice resonating eerily within the chamber's cold embrace.
Paying no heed to Vasil's words, Elbert inhaled deeply, whispering the incantation, his voice a mere sigh against the stone walls. The circle around him flared to brilliant life, casting eerie shadows as he implored, "Elise, my love… return to me." His heart thundered, each beat echoing the depth of his yearning.
Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open—deep and black as an endless abyss. "Elbert… the chill… allow me to enter…" Her voice was a haunting refrain, drawing him further into the depths of his despair.
Vasil staggered back, terror etched across his features. "You have tethered her soul to darkness!" he cried, recoiling as if the very shadows were poised to devour him.
Elbert wept, the sound raw and filled with torment, grasping desperately at the frayed strands of hope as the shadows clawed at Elise's lifeless form, pulling her toward the gaping maw of the void. "I should have shielded you from this fate…" he murmured, tears cascading down his cheeks, his heart splintering with each agonizing thought.
For a fleeting moment, Vasil's voice softened, an unexpected gentleness threading through his tone. "Love does not possess the might to resurrect the fallen, Elbert. It bears the fortitude to release them," he spoke softly, a flicker of pity and comprehension illuminating his eyes.