Published at 12th of August 2024 7:25 am

Chapter 76 First Step

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The sound of the gunshot faded away, and the lessened patters of the rain on the roof of the warehouse was all that encapsulated the space, causing a sullen feel to stain the air.

With his only eye widened in a mixture of both confusion and shock, Craig slowly dropped his outstretched hand from the floating mystic artifact, whose flame’s color was constantly changing, and placed it and its twin on where he had been shot.

He looked over his shoulder, and there, just about the backside of his abdomen, was his savior quite close to him that they almost looked like they were sharing some sort of wholesome embrace.

Although, with the heavy atmosphere surrounding them, it was anything but that.

The confusion on Craig’s face still remained as he coughed up another mouthful of blood. His countenance gave the feeling that he was not sure what was happening, or rather, he did not want to believe that what his mind told him was what was happening.

“What is…” Craig tried to speak, but both his stammering and the blood caught in his gullet made it hard for him. He croaked in that regard as he trailed off. But after a second or two, he tried again, “What is going on?”

Elmer hid from the tall man’s gaze as a preventive measure against the mythical presence the man had as an ability. His teeth remained clenched hard as the vibrations which had been upon his left hand from holding his waist bag over the nozzle of his revolver, slowly petered out.

“Is… Is this a part of the process?” Craig asked once more after taking note of Elmer’s silence, and those words caused the boy from Meadbray to pinch his eyes shut, the resolve he thought he had resigned himself to having waning at once.

Elmer shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, then took in a deep breath and drove the point of his boot into the hind-joint of Craig Wiley’s knee, sending the tall man down to the floor with a grunt of pain. After which, he placed the nozzle of his revolver to the back of the man’s head, cocking its hammer for another shot. “Don’t look back, and let your hands remain where they are. Do not try to use your mythical presence as it is futile. Once I feel its effects, I’ll pull the trigger at once.” All Elmer had said barely above a whisper.

“I… I don’t understand,” Craig’s eye welled up as he croaked once again. “The messenger… He said you’re my savior. You read the letter. Why… You were meant to help me. Why are you doing this?!”

Even Elmer himself did not know the answer to that anymore. He did not know the answer to anything or what he was to do with his life at this moment.

Every single thing he had set his mind to accomplish after countless tries to get the officials of Andhera to come to his and Mabel’s rescue, had crumbled down once again. Just like it had done on that day Patsy had lectured him on the world of Ascenders.

But this time, it was not as simple as just changing his route from going to the Church’s college and becoming an Ascender through illegal means, it was way worse this time.

If he could not reverse time for Mabel, then what exactly was he to do to bring her soul back? Where was he to go? Where was he to start from? Who was to help him?

What even was the use of joining the Pathway of Time anymore, and why had he gone ahead with his current actions against Craig?

Elmer’s chest tightened as he answered, with a low voice, the frightened man down on both knees in front him like a death-sentenced prisoner before a guillotine, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Please,” Craig begged immediately, his hands drenched completely in his blood. For someone who had been termed corrupted and unclean, the liquid that oozed out of him was as bright as it could be for any human. His emotions and wishes were that of a human as well. “I have to go back. I have a daughter. I have a wife. Please.” A tear streamed down his eye, one so thick that it seemed like it had been mixed with the one his other eye would have expended if only it had life.

A sinking sensation took home in Elmer’s stomach at the sight, and that caused him to press his lips tightly in a slight grimace as his thoughts found themselves conflicting with one another.

“I advise you to remain silent. Do not utter anymore words,” he told Craig, his chin shaking as he pressed the nozzle of his revolver strongly against the back of the man’s head as some sort of warning.

Was he really going to do it? Kill Craig—a real person?

This was not like with the Lost or Lev’s curse. The person kneeling before him was a human—a person with flesh and blood just like he. Someone who had a family. Someone who had a life.

But what else could he do? If he allowed Craig to use the ability of The Warlock’s Torch then…

Then what?

How would that affect him in any way?

The Warlock’s Torch could not grant him the wish of bringing Mabel’s soul back, neither would joining the Pathway of Time. The mystic artifact served him no purpose any longer. Craig could use it and it would not disrupt his already discoordinated life.

But if that was the case, then why was his stomach tying a knot at the thought?

Subconsciously, was he still hoping to risk it? Try if it was really impossible to bring Mabel’s soul back with this method?

But what would happen if it was really undoable? The artifact only granted a wish once a year. What would he do if he wished for Mabel to have her soul back and it turned out to be impossible, and thereafter, the torch remained unusable, what then?

What even was his purpose now?

Elmer’s left hand released his waist bag, letting it fall to the floor, and in return flew to his head to grab his brown hair tightly. He was having headaches.

He then allowed himself a peek at The Warlock’s Torch which was floating mysteriously but beautifully over the pyramid-arranged candles as though a small gust of tornado-like wind was holding it up.

Even though he knew not his purpose currently, the artifact still filled him with a longing sensation.

It was alluring. It was seductive. Its power was.

And he wanted it for himself!

Elmer’s jaw instantly loosened. The tenseness that had befallen the muscles of his face giving way to make his countenance take on a plain, emotionless one.

What even had he been thinking? This… This was merely a setback. Nothing had changed. Mabel’s soul was still in the hands of Azrael, the God of Souls, and his purpose in life was to retrieve it no matter the methods he had to use.

Directly wishing through The Warlock’s Torch for Mabel’s soul to return to her was seemingly impossible? Fine. It had not been in his plan to use the artifact in that way before. His plan had been to join the Pathway of Time, ascend into the Upper Echelon, and find a way to reverse time for Mabel.

But since reversing time was as well something that seemed impossible, then he only had to tweak his plans in that regard.

Joining the Pathway of Time was not subject to change. Ascending the Echelon ranks was not subject to change. Only the end goal was.

If nothing could bring Mabel’s soul back from the clutches of Azrael, then he would have to rip it from that despicable God himself. And for that, he still needed the knowledge on the supernatural.

Going to Andhera as he was would in all probability lead to his death.

He was weak, inexperienced, foolish, and a child. It would be completely impossible for him to survive in a city swarming with those who shared unique characteristics with the ones who had brought his life to such a state.

He needed to work on himself first, and for that he needed to be in the Pathway of Time. He needed to ascend into the Upper Echelon of the Pathway of Time. He needed to enlighten himself on the supernatural, and strengthen both his body and mind. That was the only way he would be able to stand a chance against the Ascenders in Andhera and as well their God. That was the only way he would be able to successfully snatch Mabel’s soul away from Azrael, and at the same time exert his revenge.

Yes. All this while he had been nothing but a fool. A child running around with little, fickle dreams as a means to cloud his mind of the reality of what his world had grown to entail—of what it had become.

He wanted nothing to do with the God of Souls?

That was foolish!

How come it had taken him this long to realize such a thing? If he wanted Mabel back, then the God of Souls was an unavoidable being to him.

This was the moment he had to wake up from his dreams, take off the pajamas that had ‘peasant of Meadbray’ written all over it, and face the nightmare that was his reality.

If he had to walk over people to reach his destination, then so be it.

He had watched Mabel suffer enough. Five years was more than sufficient. So if he had to become the reaper himself to bring her back, then that occupation he would take on. He would do whatever was necessary.

The twirls Elmer’s stomach had been having slowly dwindled out at once, and in their stead a vast emptiness crept up.

Elmer took his eyes from The Warlock’s Torch and put them back down on the man kneeling before him.

He felt like the step he was about to take was going to put him on the same level as the priests who had attacked him and Mabel five years ago, and for that reason he readied himself, as well as a sentence for the man before him.

Taking in a deep breath as the heavy and strained exhales of Craig Wiley made their way into his ears, Elmer allowed his lips loose in a faint tone that would have been utterly lost if only the warehouse was not completely silent.

“Craig,” Elmer called, his hands shaking softly as a result of his subconscious fighting hard against the action he was about to take. Craig dared not to look back, heeding to the warning he had been given by his apparent savior. After a moment of silence, Elmer added, “Resent me.”

And after a soft golden glow appeared, the sound of a gunshot whooshed through the air, echoing in every space between the arranged crates and boxes as a lifeless Craig Wiley plopped forward to the floor, blood gushing out from his abdomen and forehead in unison.

Elmer took his gaze to the ceiling, instantly avoiding a glance at Craig Wiley’s body as his breathing, which he had seized before the shot, now hastened rapidly.

He allowed his revolver to slip from his hand and drop to the floor, while the hard pounds of his heartbeats resonated within his ears as he fell into his thoughts with a quick close of his eyes.

I… I really killed a person…

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