[A MEMORY]
I had a name once.
I think I did.
Fingers — not these brittle long ones that could penetrate walls. But rather small, clean ones, clinging to someone's sleeve.
I was hungry. I remember being scared, desperate.
Then a voice — a tiny, sweet voice.
"It's okay."
—-
[PRESENT TIME]
The towering, skeletal beast looked up at the figure hovering above. He held a chain that seemed to float and extend mid-air, with a book wrapped around at the end. Both the chain and the book glowed, releasing a hellish red and black aura.
But the one it focused on was that glowing orb from Mikel's eyes. His eye glowed like no other, as if flame was coming out from within. He wasn't falling — he was crashing down like judgment itself.
Fury.
Intent.
Destruction.
All of them were felt by the Blighted as it stared at the figure hurling down at it.
Rage.
Intent.
End.
It repeated it a few more times, and it froze for a moment.
Rage. Intent. End.
It remembered those feelings very clearly.
Then, those sweet, round, gentle eyes shone like the morning sun until they looked back at it with life slipping out of those once lively eyes.
It's okay… Papa.
It's… okay.
Like a switch, the Blighted finally move in retaliation.
A strong mist erupted from it as a few of its fingers withdrew from the home, shooting up to strike Mikel in the air. Each of its movements caused turbulence in the area.
"Kyah!"
A scream tore through the neighborhood as families rushed out, thinking it was an earthquake. The entire ground shook, and every strike from the creature's extending bones left parts of their homes in ruin.
Contrary to its non-existent mouth that failed to scream, the wind roared with each swing, pressing bodies to the ground, lifting roof tiles like feathers. Each strike of its bones plunged into both the living and the dead, draining their life essence.
Rage.
Intent.
End.
PLUCK. THE. BUD. BEFORE. IT BLOOMS.
[Warning: Blighted entering its accursed form.]
[It's starting its Last Curse Rites.]
[We need to find it.]
Still mid-air, Mikel deflected the assault, each impact threatening to hurl him upward. Yet, his body still fell as he shot the blood chain, and it wrapped around the structure. Several jagged bones grazed him, their aggression growing sharper with every strike, but none found a fatal mark.
"KYAHHH!"
Hearing the faint screams, he glanced at the source. Only then did he see people — his neighbors — running away from the area. Houses are breaking, roofs are flying, some debris is crashing into them, and bones are impaling them through the large concrete.
Fires broke out nearby, and soon, the air was thick with dust, decaying mist, and choking black smoke.
It was causing real damage.
[Do not get distracted, Master.]
The warnings flashed before him — a second of distraction, a pull from morality that started to gnaw at him. The Blood Chain tugged violently, yanking him out of harm's way as a barrage of bones clashed where he had just hovered.
Mikel's jaw clenched like a vise, letting the blood chain whip him around in the air until his feet managed to land in one of the extended femurs. With the chain wrapped around it, Mikel found a temporary surface while still mid-air.
Chaos consumed the scene below, but the culprit continued its rampage.
Grinding his teeth, his eyes burned.
As if sensing his growing rage in his heart, the blood chain loosened from the structure, letting him fall straight to the skeletal being that had been wreaking havoc. As he free-fell, more bones shot up in his direction.
CLANG!
The Blood Chain deflected them on its own while Mikel smoothly somersaulted in the air until he was falling head first. His eyes remained on the creature, extending his hand out as he fell closer toward the monster's head.
As the distance between them lessened, light — dark, red, and round like a cursed magic circle — faintly appeared underneath his spread palm.
The light started faint but quickly grew brighter and wider. The skeletal beast's bulging eyes locked onto the growing light, dilating in dread.
Hope. Memory. Fear.
As its last desperate attempt to save itself, its skin tore as more of its bones — ribs, pelvis, and even its own spine — shot through at the threat coming down at it for its judgment.
But alas…
It was too late.
Mikel's hand was already a meter from its head, blood chain floating around him, and then with the book between them.
[Purification Protocol — Initiated.]
[Alert: Risk Index High. Host entering Final Curse Protocol.]
At the same time, the book suddenly opened on its own. Its pages were facing the skeletal beast, writings on it appearing as hollowed screams poured from its pages, warping the air around them like wails from the dead.
"Echo," he breathed out, and the scream they got from the Night bound slashed through the air.
The skeletal beast froze at the piercing scream, parts of the bones disintegrating from the scream, giving the blood chain enough time to squeeze around it. Restrained, Mikel's palm finally touched the monster's forehead.
[By the chain of the accursed, by blood unspoken.]
"By the chain of the accursed, by blood unspoken."
[Tear the rotten from the twisted wicked.]
"Tear the rotten from the twisted wicked."
[Eyes that sees.]
"Eyes that sees."
[Hands that are bound.]
"Hands that are bound."
[Purge the hate.]
"Purge the hate."
"Unbind the forsaken."
Mikel took another deep breath as he spoke a language he had never spoken before, at the same time Doom prompted him to the protocol rite.
"I cast you out, in Death's own doom!"
*****
In Memory of Lawrence Gatsby.
Lawrence sat in the corner of the funeral home, staring at his own portrait just right above his closed coffin. Unlike most funerals, this one was nearly empty. Only some people he barely knew attended, talking about the things they didn't mean.
A good father. A hardworking man. At least, they said, he was reunited with his daughter.
"No," Lawrence, now a ghost, whispered as he stared blankly at his own coffin. "I am not a good father."
If anything, he was a silly person who had gambled with his daughter's life with the words of a fake shaman. A naive man, who believed that if he poured all of his life savings and invested them in the investment scheme, the shaman told him his money would triple.
But that wasn't what happened.
Instead of earning from this investment scheme, the person who was said to be the owner of the company disappeared without a trace. As a result, he couldn't afford his sick daughter's surgery, which led to her death.
"How… can I reunite with her?" His voice cracked, ignoring the whispers from the funeral attendees. "I do not have a face to show her, and… I don't think she would even want to see such a foolish father."
Lawrence paused, feeling this warm sensation in his hand. As a ghost, he had lost all sensation. Even when he wanted to shed tears, it was impossible. Yet, he felt warmth — a very distinct warmth.
Slowly, he turned, and surprise washed over his face.
There, crouching beside him, was a little girl, smiling at him so brightly.
"It's okay, Papa," she said, her voice sweet, her smile warm. "It's okay. We're together now."
"Clarence…" Lawrence's mouth quivered as his vision blurred with tears. He didn't know how he could even tear up, but they felt real. They felt hot and warm, full of sorrow and regret. "Forgive me that you had an unworthy father like me."
Clarence, the little girl, hugged her father and patted his back reassuringly. "Papa is the best for me."
And her words clenched his heart.
"Don't leave me anymore, Papa."
Lawrence sobbed softly, his voice broken with tears, drawing his head back as he nodded at her. "I will be a better father for you in our next life."
A smile crept up on his tear-filled face while the young girl smiled brightly.
With him holding her hand, the father and daughter finally walked away, slowly fading into the night until they were both gone.
****
[PRESENT TIME]
Mikel's breath slowed as he completed the rite, the circle of scriptures beneath his palm expanding — wide enough to swallow the skeletal beast below. His eyes still burned with power, but his gaze softened.
"Be with her now," he whispered. "Lawrence."
A single tear slipped from the creature's bulging eye, drifting up — impossibly — to touch Mikel's cheek. It wasn't cold like death. It was warm, heavy — like sorrow given form. And it told him: Thank you.
At the same time, its name burned on the page of the Grimoire — before all the bones stretched across the area, shattered like glass.