Apocalypse War: Survive. Die & Restart

An action-adventure novel about second chance, time reverse, and an apocalyptic war in a medieval grimdark world.

Hi! I'm writing a story called: Apocalypse War: Survive. Die & Restart, ( also on Royal Road)

Synopsis:
When I was summoned to another world with every other human on Earth to serve as a front-line soldier in a war against an invasion of nightmarish creatures, I knew right away that I was going to shit my breakfast on my pants. Especially when they said that with the powerful blessings of the Wizards and the Gods, they were going to turn us into superhumans and half-wizards, everything they said sounded like "you're a fucking cannon fodder!".

I was right. The war? We lost him so badly that all races became extinct. Me? I was a fucking veteran who survived until the end.. Was I strong? Fuck yeah, of course I was, except... it was useless, I died like everyone else.

The bad news? When I thought it was finally over, I woke up when I was summoned at the beginning of the war, 14 years in the past. That, and also the fact that every time I die, I am resurrected at the beginning of the war. Unbelievable, right? When I think that the first time I was resurrected, I thought it would be easy to save the world. I was so naive!

An action-adventure novel about second chance, time reverse, and an apocalyptic war in a medieval grimdark world.

Tags: Action, Adventure, Fantasy, Grimdark, LitRPg, War and military, Magic and Witchcraft, Demons and Monsters, Second chance, Time loops.

Tags - what you will never see: a harem (just a few sinister brothels), isekai, blue screens, a plot armor thicker than your grandmother's beard, see the treasures and secrets that fall into the hands of the MC as if the Gods were pissing on him face from heaven..

The cover
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Table of Contents:
Chapter 1: Last survivor
Chapter 2: First death
Chapter 3: Eh?
Chapter 4: Back to the past
Chapter 5: Second chance
Chapter 6: Instructor

 

Spoiler: Chapter 1: Last Survivor

Chapter 1: Last survivor

The muffled sound of steel boots breaking bones and tearing flesh with each kick resonated in his ears. His heartbeat as fast as a storm missile launcher, tirelessly pumping welcome burning blood through his veins, nourishing and oxygenating his aching massive musculature.

Suddenly, the air shook as the last head of the deformed hydra under his feet, which had regenerated again, began to roar, his gaping mouth full of fangs suddenly rushed at him, greeted by a brutal punch. The impact was so violent that it shattered the skull of the beast in a purple mist of confetti of bone and flesh.

Exhausted by the fight, Mars stopped for a moment and took the opportunity to fill his burning lungs with everything they could hold by taking large puffs. The air rushing into his nostrils with each breath reeked of blood and the stench of corruption.

A dozen creatures resembling deformed dogs, with their red muscles apparent as if their skin had been peeled, ran towards him. The deformed creatures had a jerky and disjointed gait that reinforced the sense of abnormality that emanated from them.

They moved so fast that they covered the distance between themselves and him and climbed up the body of the hydra in a few heartbeats, propelling their skinny bodies like fucking rockets. Using their powerful paws, several of them jumped on him, while the others almost seemed to fly to reach his body as quickly as possible.

A futile act. When he laid his gaze upon them, the creatures became instantly motionless, frozen in their movements in the open air as if their time had stopped, while their bodies began to make creaking noises as their bones broke under the telekinetic pressure he exerted on them. They emitted a few muffled groans before they were completely broken and fell to the ground like dolls made of inert rags.

From the Hydra's upper body, he looked down on the battlefield. An ocean of corpses stretched as far as the eye could see, and in the distance, the dimensional cracks spewed out legions of monstrosities in an uninterrupted torrent while the sky was colored with a thousand supernatural lights under the effect of the dark energies that came with them from the immaterial planes and distorted the texture of reality.

Fate is an unpredictable thing. When he arrived in this world, invoked by his sorcerers, who would have guessed that he would survive long enough in this cataclysmic war to witness the last moments of the world? A decade had been enough for all the kingdoms to fall under the assault of monstrous armies, and today, only 14 years after his arrival here, the last survivors and representatives of the races endowed with reason were facing their last moments.

They had sought to hide, taking refuge in the ancient abandoned underground cities in the forgotten lands of the far east of the continent. They had hidden even the faintest traces of their presence with the help of powerful spells that the wizards accompanying them had woven, layering their layers of spells one on top of the other. They had managed to make their presence undetectable to even the most magically-minded creatures, but that hadn't been enough.

After many years they had found their traces. When an aura of madness and psychic terror had crept into the city, and the walls had shaken under attack before the magical barriers were activated to replace the now useless camouflage field, it had been easy enough to understand the situation: they had come for them.

As he avidly sucked as much air as possible into his lungs strengthened by the alchemical concoctions, his magical senses discerned an imminent threat near here, two Carnagors, each weighing half a ton, materialized about fifty paces away, before rushing towards him. A huge golem of the flesh also emerged from the forest, snatching and sending hundred-year-old pines flying at every step, running at full speed in his direction like a fat kid in front of a pack of candy.

Fuck.

His enchanted old and great blade had been broken earlier in the battle, so using his telekinetic magic he dislodged a large steel blade next to the corpses of men who would never have use for it again and sent him to meet the nearest imposing Carnagor, entering like a deadly scythe through the front of his mouth lined with a triple row of fangs before cutting him in half. Under the effect of its magic and guided by its spirit, the sword changed direction before horizontally separating the body from the other Carnagor along its entire length as beautifully as a Japanese chef would have cut sashimi, breaking the blade in the process.

Well, maybe not as well as a Japanese chef.

With the nearest threat eliminated, he took a short moment to calm his dying mind and focus, focusing his will to a degree that would consume the golem's spirit when he released it on him. The ground shook with every step the golem took and even shook his bones as the foul thing approached. He could feel on the surface of his mind the blind anger as much as the vicious intentions of the grotesque assembly of humanoid meat.

Grumbling under the strain, he directed his attention to the enormous creature that was now approaching dangerously close to his position, its fat and deformed body waddling at every step and the thousands of human faces all over its body screaming, crying, and moaning with every twist of its limbs. As the big turkey shortened the distance between them, the obscene smile on his grotesque face seemed to become even more vicious, evoking a macabre parody of humanity.

Guided by the weight of his will, all the power of his psychic force was unleashed, and with it all his fury on the stupid spirit of the artificial creature born of black rituals, blowing his spirit like the flame of a candle under the effect of a storm. The grotesque silhouette collapsed like a meat puppet whose threads were cut. His body, made up of the fused bodies of children, men, and women still alive and kept intact by unspeakable sorcery, slowly began to die, and when the magic dissipated, the cries of pain, tears, and pleas disappeared, ending their waking nightmare before thousands of souls were absorbed by his grimoire and their welcome power came to sustain him.

Falling from exhaustion, his knees struck the ground followed by the rest of his body which sank into the wet, muddy earth of all the blood she had drunk. The mental effort of the psychic attack had almost been fatal, his mind was already exhausted to an impossible degree, while his ruined body could break at any moment.

The fight had been going on for less than an hour, but everyone else was already dead, and he was totally exhausted. Yet thanks to the powerful blessings of the Gods and the power that came from the almost absurd amount of soul power inside him, constantly renewed with every monstrosity killed, he was a fucking superman.

There were few more direct ways to feel how much of one you were than to fight against monstrous mountains of flesh and bones tens of meters high as they tried to kill you, while the long blade of your bewitched sword sliced through another like a burning blade sinking into a lump of butter, or by breaking their bones and tearing their bodies apart with your punches and kicks.

Like a demigod embodied in a human body described in the myths and legends of ancient times, capable of running faster than a race car, jumping higher than any building, and capable of bending metal and breaking stones with your bare hands. He was like the embodiment of destruction itself, an invincible fucking god.

"Yeah. An invincible god, you hear that? You sticky and slimy asshole!"

The countless hungry mouths on the huge body of the Psychic Screamer squealed like a pack of spoiled, hysterical children. The voracious monstrosity, capable of annihilating any magic in the air around him, had almost given him an unenviable fate. Since then, she had been waiting in the distance in the air for the opportunity to satisfy her greed, patient, cunning and mocking. She was gloating, and her insatiable hunger, blind to the limit of insanity, dangerously blurred his magical senses.

But it was time to vaporize that floating garbage bag. In the hands of what was once an elf witch in a red dress was a starry ruby mounted on her scepter of power. The woman's fiery and rather proud character was now replaced by the coldness and silence of death, marking forever the end of her race's existence. The star ruby gem, which enthroned on the long bewitched staff, was brutally torn from its support by the powerful telekinetic pressure he deployed on the gem, before the brilliant red stone, guided by its magic, almost instantly traveled the distance and landed directly in his hand.

Immersing his mind in the gem, he infused his will while weaving in his heart a spell capable of destroying the hideous creature, once his creation was complete he sealed the spell inside the gem, before taking a look at the demon. "When your mommy cleans your slimy ass on the other side, tell her I said hi".

He propelled the star ruby at subsonic speed towards the creature. The instant it crashed into the body of the Psychic Screamer, the stone exploded in a sheaf of superheated violet plasma, instantly vaporizing most of its filthy body into flaming gas. The innumerable mouths of the creature's body emitted strident screams during the very short instant that took the rest of the upper part of its body from the state of flames to that of mere sizzling embers, then the rest of its flesh collapsed like jelly that scattered on the ground in deformed heaps, leaving only the hissing and sizzling flesh of the infernal heat. The air undulated violently under the persistent heat, distorting the image around the corpse.

Breathing deeply as the nauseating smell of meat and charred fat invaded his nostrils, he let his knees rest on the ground for a few moments, while the paralysis gradually spread to the rest of his body. But his rest was short-lived, perceiving a psychic call filled with distress mixed with despair not far from him. Someone was still alive!

He immediately used his magic to fly away like a fucking rocket in the direction from which the psychic signal came, traveling almost a kilometer in a few moments before landing at the foot of a heap of monster and demon bodies as high as a hill in front of the entrance of the underground city.

Hidden behind a magical occult barrier, a squad of ten Demons, whose faces and bodies were hidden under their heavy scarlet armor, accompanied a Master of Pain who was certainly torturing an unfortunate man, judging by the sensations of pain that Mars perceived, strong to the point of almost making his already weakened mind flounder.

Immediately becoming aware of his presence, the demons gave up their work to take care of him by taking turns giving orders in such a peculiar language that it was as if every word spoken would tear out his eardrums. The demons immediately attacked him as the Master of Pain channeled an unholy spell, releasing a scarlet ray of deadly, devouring energy that struck him head-on, causing the powerful protective fields around his enchanted heavy armor to tremble and crackle. The spell, however, never succeeded in penetrating the magical barrier that protected him.

He reached out his hand in their direction and scolded a word of power, releasing a spell in their direction. Red and purple lightning bolts flashed from his hand and struck the bodies of his enemies so hard that their skin burned and their armor melted, the liquid metal mixing with their quivering flesh for the short time that their agony lasted. The master of pain did what he could to contain and deflect the energies of fate, but unable to compete, he was overwhelmed by the lightning bolts that greedily devoured his flesh and bones, lengthening his torment and cries.

The place finally freed of all threats, he ignored the spikes of pain that threatened to overwhelm him and instead concentrated on the presence of the unfortunate victim at the foot of the pile of corpses that stood like a fortress made of bones and blood, courage and hatred, its ramparts built by the bodies of the martyrs who had defended it mixed with those of their enemies. At first he saw no one, there seemed to be only corpses here, had he arrived too late?

Then when he heard the screams, he saw a red silhouette on the ground, at first it was hard for him to recognize it, but when he did, he felt his throat closing and his eyes getting wet. A woman was lying at the base, what was left of her face was twisted in agony. Her beauty of yesteryear was no longer visible, her deep emerald eyes replaced by empty cavities, her flesh was swollen and deformed, while her broken bones protruded in some places. Her legs and arms had almost disappeared, relegated to mere shreds of flesh twisted by living metal tools.

He approached in a fever, stepping over the smoking corpses of the demons, advancing over muddy, treacherous ground that ripped his boots off with every step. As he approached, he felt as if someone was going to rip his heart out with every step that brought him closer to her. Once he was next to her, he knelt down, and gently moved his head next to hers. She was whispering something, but it was incomprehensible, in the face of his useless effort he intimately connected my mind to his, as he had learned to do from his mentors.

The contact was immediately painful, and he had to draw on his already meager reserves of magical energy to drive out the persistent pain and terror that reigned in her mind so that she could understand his thoughts, but even so she was unable to communicate properly with ideas and feelings, forcing him to delve deeper into her mind.

Under the jolts of pain, he barely understood what she wanted to say to him "Thank God... someone... alive. Mars... Is it... you?"

Yes, everyone else was dead. "Yeah.. still standing."

Even with the help of his appeasement spells, he felt like his mind would collapse in terror at every thought ... too late ... *cough* ...please...remember...promise..."

His pleading tone resonated in his mind, "Leave the rest to me."

Relief radiated from her "Tha ... you ... are ... a good man ..."

No, that probably wasn't the case "Rest now."

He sang a few inaudible words, gathering in silence, before driving a blade directly into the woman's heart, reaping her life. Her unrecognizable face displayed a mixed expression of relief and horror, she tried to whisper something before making a deep and final groan as she expelled the air from her lungs. Life had finally left her face, replaced by calm and cold tranquility, but her soul was still there.

Unlike the monsters that invaded this planet, the curse that gave them their powers was unable to absorb the souls of the inhabitants of this world, or of those who had been summoned to it, the Earthlings. His only choice was to absorb it himself. Even though after their death, their souls were supposed to be burned by the curse, in an effort to limit the power that their enemies would absorb from their souls, and thus reduce the strength they would withdraw for the death of each of them, but the time had taught them that this could sometimes take a very long time, but more importantly, the demons had learned to slow down the self-combustion process of their souls and to keep them intact for long periods of time, in order to get the maximum amount of fuel out of them in endless torments.

This was the only gift he could give her now.

When he lured his into his own, he felt like he was being crushed in a vice. As his soul mingled with hers as he absorbed it, his mind was assailed by waves of feelings, memories, and sensations intertwined as the power of his soul flowed into hers and flooded his being, forcing him to relive in a few moments what had animated the woman's life from beginning to end., like a decade's long movie read at high speed, living all his memories, joys, happy moments, but also his fears, despair, and all his pains.

His already exhausted mind was almost blown away in the process, almost making him lose his mind in an instant, but it was not his first time, nor even the hundredth. Then the flood of power and memories slowly drained away, until nothing reached his mind. Looking silently at the body, fleeting tears caressed the deep scars that adorned Mars' face despite his efforts to hold them back as he recovered from the shock he had just experienced.

He passed his trembling hand over the woman's once delicate face. His eyes crackling with magic came alive with multicolored gleams as the woman's mutilated body was enveloped in a colorful flame that devoured his to the bone. He made a quick gesture of prayer with his hand, almost more for him than for his.

Now that there was nothing around, he invoked a small golden flame suspended in the hollow of his palm open to the sky, which he carried to his left shoulder, from which his arm was missing. The flame snatched a grimace and a slight groan of pain from him as the quivering open flesh cauterized under the effect of the sacred flame.

He grunted after using his magic before looking off into the distance, letting his vision enhanced by the dozens of magical enchantments intertwined within them simultaneously traverse the immediate as well as the distant environment.

The dry, earthy plain once dotted with tufts of grass yellowed by the stifling heat of the sun and its characteristic odors was now nothing more than an open-air morgue devoured by the corrupted energies spewed out by the corpses, infecting and distorting reality.

In the distance, even the peaks of the gigantic Drills-Skies mountains had begun to be engulfed by the corrupted mists slowly devouring everything they touched.

A sea of corpses stretched as far as the eye could see, drowning the corpses of those who, a few hours earlier, had formed the last defensive army protecting the city. The clamor of the battlefield, the fury of the fighting, the incessant shrill cries and the sounds of chewing had disappeared, and with them the meager and frail lives that once inhabited this fertile plain, endowing the now corrupt and sickly land with a suffocating and morbid silence.

The battle was lost in advance, as everyone knew when the creatures of the nightmare came to attack the once hidden underground city. All the warriors had fought to the end to defend those who had not had the power to fight. It had become impossible to escape, so they had bought time to defend the last magical barrier that separated the hundreds of helpless civilians and children from the underground city, crammed like rats in its dimly lit streets and trembling with fear as they knew that the unspeakable things that were hiding in this world, eager to inflict untold torment and tear out their souls, would eventually come to them.

But now the city was inhabited only by death, the inhabitants had had time to distribute and share the remaining diluted poisons to their children, watching them make their final journey before their very eyes before committing suicide in their turn once they were sure that the deadly effects of the poison had offered an almost peaceful end to these young innocent souls.

He was now alone in the world.

 

Spoiler: Chapter 2: First death

Chapter 2: First death

I guess it's the kind of perfect time to look at what my life was made of.

Hey, who could have imagined that he would live such a life before he was called to this doomed world like all the other humans on Earth? Certainly not him.

When he was a child, he had so enjoyed the many stories of adventure and horror told to him by his grandfather before he fell asleep, lulled into imaginary worlds by the sound of his deep and powerful voice. Those rainy evenings by the fire to explore in his imagination a thousand stories of horror and adventures where the hero ended up triumphing at the price of terrible sacrifices, often death, had strangely always remained in his heart.

Ironically, the stories he had loved so much as a child had become real when his life itself became a tale of horror and terror, filled with nightmares and abominations that went far beyond any story that grandfather had told him, or even anything he had ever imagined himself.

Grumbling, he recited a spell to which a Serving Spirit of Lurdra responded. In resonance with his spirit, it manifested itself in the material world, appearing before him and drawing on his already meager reserves of magical energy. The spirit communicated in thoughts and images the physical objects it cherished within him, and when he received the command from Mars, he vomited the desired goods into the material world. When this was done, he disappeared, merging into the surrounding magical currents with a grace and lightness that demons and nightmare creatures would forever be incapable of.

The booty of one of his last expeditions was old alcohol and cheap home-made cigarettes made from tobacco leaves from Jorias, one of the most prosperous nations south of the continent of Enoa. In the first few years after their arrival, the call of many of Earth's humans to this world made the tobacco trade flourish, prompting the kingdom to increase the number of its tobacco farms to a level never seen before in history. The trade in this highly lucrative commodity had fattened the already indecently wealthy merchant guilds far beyond their wildest dreams.

It had become a rare commodity after the fall of the kingdom that had been the leading producer of it a decade earlier. When he had found it, he had decided to save it for a special occasion or to celebrate an important event.

Fuck, a last and final toast to the end of mankind seems like the perfect occasion, right?

Taking the bottle in his right hand, he brought it to his mouth and bit the cork to tear it off, opening the bottle with a sharp gesture with his head. He could have opened it with his powerful mind and the almost absurd control of his telekinetic powers, but the feeling would have been different, respect for tradition was the only thing he had left at the moment. He took five big sips of the brandy, each of them warming his throat more than the previous one, before spitting out the sixth, then levitated the cigarette to his mouth and set the tobacco on fire with a single thought before taking a big puff.

The alcohol had a bitter taste and the tobacco was so dry and strong that it seemed centuries old. Disgusting, but enough to satisfy his old habits for the last time. When was it last?

When he had been summoned to this world by wizards to serve as a front-line soldier in a war against an invasion of nightmarish creatures, like all the other humans on Earth, he knew right away that he was going to shit his breakfast in his pants. Especially when they said that with the powerful blessings of wizards and gods, they were going to turn them into supermen and half-magicians, all they said sounded like "you're cannon fodder!".

But even after guessing what kind of shit he was in, he was naively excited by such an unexpected opportunity to live in a fantasy world that was bewitching and enchanting in its beauty. Hope costs nothing after all.

But his illusions were short-lived. They, the Earthlings had not come here to live an adventure in a world of magic and swords, to realize their fantasies or to live a romantic experience. They were here to do what humans do best, fighting day after day to survive, immersed in a war that no one could see the end of against creatures that had come straight out of their worst nightmares.

He had fought day after day for survival, but he wasn't alone, for many of them every day was a continuum of loss and grief in this never-ending war against the horrors that came from the immaterial dimensions, he had seen more than his share of horrors and fought things that even his wildest imagination would have been able to conceive of.

Yet the truth was that he was only one of the legions of the others, used as mere cannon fodder and condemned to fight on the front lines of this impossible war far beyond what reason should have allowed, forced by the influence of controlling spells as much as by the call of the curse that weighed down upon him. This was apparently the price humanity had to pay to atone for the crimes and sins it had committed on its home planet, Earth, but more importantly, it was their only chance to survive.

Soon after his arrival, like all the survivors of the ordeals in the Tower of Dreams, his mind was filled with stories of legendary rescues, heroic fighters, glory, and medals. The war had never seemed so generous and full of promise. It's not like he was asked for my opinion anyway. The mind tricksters in charge of indoctrination had told him exactly what he wanted to hear so that he would volunteer and be proud to be on the right side, unlike all the wimps and cowards who would only do it because they were forced to.

But did he at least have a choice? The various spells and mental manipulation techniques used were obviously not unrelated to the abnormal malleability of his mind or the strange docility he had shown despite the unthinkable circumstances in which he found himself. A few weeks later, after intensive training in the Tower of Dreams, he returned to the real world, to the fortress city of Taraxis, to be sent directly to the front line the next day with a smile on his face.

For the glory of Humanity, he was going to be a fucking hero!

But fighting monstrosities wasn't exactly the eminent career plan that had been described to him. There was nothing glorious about seeing men and more often still boys being torn apart and devoured in front of you, dismembered by monsters, their cries muffled only by the blood that gushed from their mouths to fill the helmet of their armor, like simple animals thrown alive into a giant meat grinder that would take pleasure in keeping its victims alive as long as possible.

Despite their hard training and increased strength, they were outnumbered by their enemies, and their weak telepathic or telekinetic powers were a meager consolation. The casualty rate in the first hour of combat was catastrophic. And even now, so many years later, he could sometimes see their anonymous faces twisted by fear and pain in his dreams, breaking the fragile torpor of his rest on the rare occasions when he was able to find sleep through the effects of powerful drugs that calmed his tortured mind. But the tiny doses of the drug, which at first had been enough to give him deeply, peaceful rest and bring him welcome and life-saving relief, had lost their effect on his mind, even at doses that would have killed anyone else.

This war was nothing more than an open butchery, so much so that by the time he had arrived, 14 years earlier, the great convocation that had begun only four years earlier in the kingdoms had probably already seen hundreds of millions of earthlings fallen in battle.

Even with their intensive use of Earthlings to plug the gaps in their defenses, the Alliance of Kingdoms continued to lose many battles in a war that no one could see an end to. Each victory won was only temporary and at the cost of countless lives. Containing the threat was ultimately all they could hope for, despite the presence and continued call of billions of Earth's recruits, and the support of the blessings of the Gods and sorcerers to strengthen them.

The irony of the situation was that as more and more earthlings were summoned into this world, more and more Demons and Nightmare Beings from the immaterial planes were entering the material plane. These monsters were born from the aggregates of intense thoughts and emotions generated by reasoned beings, and if there was one thing the human soul was fertile for, it was fear, hatred, and all the dark and painful emotions that the human heart was capable of giving birth to.

They thought they had found hope in the figure of the Humanity of the Earth, but the Sorcerers had only precipitated the fall of their world. Who could have said whether they were really unaware of this fact, or whether it was a desperate gesture, a final attempt to change their destiny?

The war had only been a long descent into hell. The forces contained in the devouring abyss had descended upon them like a natural disaster, as inevitable and murderous as it was indifferent to their desperate efforts. One kingdom after another had fallen, and those of fighting age had finally given way to whole groups of children, the sick and the elderly, totally incapable of fighting.

The Earthlings, despite their seemingly infinite numbers, had finally ceased to be invoked when only old men and children, unable to do anything useful, were the only humans to appear at invocations. It was clear to everyone that to continue would be a waste of the magical energy reserves of the gods and sorcerers.

Their meager hopes of resisting the invasion were brutally crushed by reality when the armies of the kingdoms gathered and their sorcerers of immense power were overwhelmed by their enemies, leaving nothing but desolation and ruin in their wake.

This war had been impossible from the beginning; they had been foolish to believe otherwise.

In the end, the only havens of peace that finally existed were the ancient villages and cities in the far east of the central continent, protected as they were by powerful spells of psychic concealment and located in places almost impossible to find. But even these had ended up disappearing one after the other.

The last years he had spent in the underground city had been the most peaceful years since he had arrived here. He had relearned to appreciate the pleasures of food and drink, even though the former was often rustic and the latter rare. Contact with other reasoned beings had once again been a source of pleasure. He had even had the opportunity to savor the affection and warmth of the women's embrace on several occasions and had managed to spend a few rare nights without his nightmares haunting him.

But none of this had relieved him like the consumption of Souls Stones. While the absorption of the souls of the living was one of the most horrible experiences he had ever had, the absorption of the souls that lay in the Souls Stones was nothing like it. He had wasted an inordinate amount of soul power to break the protective enchantments of the Soul Stones he had stolen from the ancient shrines of Myze, as they once wove the telepathic network when it still existed.

The stones were protected from dark influences by ancient and powerful spells, of which only the Sorcerers of the Order of Myze had the secret. Whereas they were once almost inviolable, protected, and hidden, since the disappearance of their Order, they would sooner or later have been found by the enemy. They had no remorse for desecrating and pillaging the sacred sanctuaries, emptying them of the objects they were supposed to protect.

For the first time since his arrival in this world, he had found a form of peace, even if it was only temporary. The stones had contained the souls of so many different individuals, scholars, craftsmen, sorcerers, lords, tragic heroes, and sometimes even simple anonymous souls. The stones contained almost no soul power, but the memories, ideas, and emotions contained in the souls had been a form of salvation for his spirit. Even though the memories of the souls inside looked like confused and distant dreams, almost as if their lives had been embalmed in a dreamlike fog, the thousands of different lives he had briefly lived at their touch had been a thousand times better than the brutal reality of his existence.

Their presence had succeeded in making him forget his own memories and the dangers that lurked outside the walls. He had even learned bits of magic and secret knowledge, but if he had honestly been unable to do anything with it, and anyway when the end of the world was so close, what would have been the point?

Since the world was finally doomed, he had lost the desire to become stronger, what use would it have been to fight against enemies of infinite numbers or against the great dark mists that devour the lands and oceans of this world? His presence had not had the slightest effect on the destiny of this world. The truth is that his life had been so unimportant that if he hadn't been there, it would have made no difference. He had preferred to immerse himself in the memory of those who had lived while the kingdoms were still standing and forget all about that stupid war.

But each time, the power of the soul contained in the stone would eventually fade and with it his memories and feelings. Each time the return to reality was even crueler.

The last contact they had had with another base or city was already more than six months ago. All their attempts to make contact through the weak telepathic networks woven by their sorcerers had remained silent, and their rare expeditions to explore territories that had not yet been swallowed up by the dark mists that slowly devour the existence of the world had brought only sad news.

Any fool could understand this situation and what it meant, so obvious was it. They were the last group of intelligent races living on what was left of this doomed and the torn planet.

Looking one last time in the direction of the underground city, he took a moment to honor with his thoughts the souls wandering in the underground city, they may have avoided a horrible end, but unless they dissipated, they remained doomed to live out their last moments in a nightmare visited by monstrosities greedy for vicious games.

They were doomed since their existence had been revealed to all creatures with a simple sensitivity to magic, and there were beings capable of perceiving the smallest source of energy thousands of miles away. All the horrors that were now aware of their presence were now doing their utmost to be the first to devour their souls.

Unless someone put an end to it all.

Looking around him again, he could not help but think what a wonderful treasure this world would have been without all these horrors. At this point, he still preferred to see what was left of this world destroyed with his own hands rather than watch it slowly succumb to the dark mists. Perhaps even the world itself would prefer it to end this way.
Emptying the remaining alcohol before letting the empty alcohol bottle fall to the ground at the same time as the last consumed cigarette fell from his lips, he could already feel and hear the spirits of the horde of monsters squealing with excitement as other monsters became aware of his presence and approached.

Blowing air from his lungs and expelling all thought to the exclusion of his intention, he gathered his will and focused it to cut himself off from the outside world as much as from his physical senses to focus on his magical senses.

Retreating inside his mind, he descended into himself to the depths of his consciousness, where the most primitive emotions lived, marked and twisted by their continuous proximity with the dimension of the immaterial. They palpitated with life, their hunger for destruction, and their desire to oppress and trample underfoot any other form of life that he himself was thwarted. This devouring and endless greed mixed with an irresistible desire for conquest accompanied him as he let fragments of his soul slide to the other side of the veil.

Pain lacerated his spirit as much as his soul, while on contact with the abyss, his spirit was consumed and twisted as the immaterial planes opened up to him and its dark inhabitants sought to enter his soul and dig their way in. Remembering the odious prayers of invocations used by the sorcerers of the nightmarish gods, he called upon the most powerful existences of the immaterial to come and devour the tantalizing bait it now represented, like a beacon shining on the horizon on a night.

Suddenly an obnoxiously powerful existence, perhaps a nightmare lord, swept away the other presences with a simple blow and clung to his existence with such force that he almost felt as if he were dying and that his soul would be destroyed in the next instant.

The whole body stiffened by the nauseating pain, the magical power flooded his soul and mind like a cataclysm, he could barely contain the unmanageable flow of raw and corrupted power. Electrified flames burst out of his orbits as he projected his spirit into the sky while the surrounding cloudy areas around him reacted immediately to the absurd amounts of power he deployed.

Gleams folded the sky back as far as he could see, rivaling the dawn, while immense multicolored lightning bolts passed through the clouds and struck the surrounding land, creating a maelstrom that rumbled and grew larger every moment for miles before engulfing the entire horizon.

He narrowly avoided being swallowed up by the oozing existence of madness and terror, restricting it with all the strength of his will, sharing his concentration on maintaining the last barrier around his soul to prevent vicious existence from nesting there, or his spirit from breaking under the aura of madness that seeped into him, retaining just enough lucidity to direct his fury on what he was seeking up there, beyond the heavens.
Deploying all the strength he had slowly and hard accumulated during his too-long life, he stole and consumed the demon's powers within him, and used them to draw everything he could from the asteroid belt that orbited the planet.

Half-conscious, and as madness gnawed at him more and more, he felt the powerful existence that wished to seize him roar with anger and frustration at his failure to seize him, shouting and whispering in a thousand different voices, hitting him even harder with all the power of his rage to seize his mortal envelope, blinded by his hunger and desire for the material body that was offered to him. And also too stupid even to deign to be interested in or understand the acts of the frail and weak mortal creature he was, or what his precious life force was intended for.
Mars looked up at the sky. Flaming and bright, many lights illuminated the horizon like celestial rain as the asteroids passed through the planet's thick atmosphere at unthinkable speeds. Even the thick cloud cover could not extinguish the light of this dazzling promise of destruction and death for what remained of the continent.

As the electric arcs burned his flesh and transformed it under the influence of the powerful corrupted magical influences that licked the surface of his body, for the first after so many insurmountable years, his heart was inhabited by a strange and deep feeling of peace as his eyes gazed up at the sparkling sky.

Breathing, he closed his eyes, put his fist on his heart, and addressed the last prayer to this world. Then, finally, when he reopened them, the world turned into a silent light as the countless meteors struck him.

Farewell, old friend.

 

Spoiler: Chapter 3: Eh?

Act one: first restart​

Chapter 3: Eh?
« When the day comes when you are confronted with the situation that haunts your mind in your most unfathomable nightmares, but your heart desires it more than anything else in the world to the point of possessing your whole soul, what will you do? Will you refuse it to protect your already feverish mind? Or will you choose to embrace it with all your heart, even though you know it will swallow you up in a journey of no return in the deepest, darkest pain? »
- Vicar Aleria, Sister Superior of the Sorority of the Blind Eye.

As he was swept away in a whirlwind of fire and pain, overwhelmed by unspeakable madness, it was as if time no longer existed, the only thing that remained was the desire for everything to end. Mars was unable to tell if his screams were real or if he imagined himself doing it while his body and mind were consumed by suffering, his bones burned as if their marrow had been replaced by lava.

Sadly, his soul was not destined for eternal rest or delightful happiness surrounded by hot women. Unfair, but he hadn't brushed his teeth for a long time, it would surely have scared them away anyway. What a gentleman he is, even death could not take away his chivalry,

Hey, if a God is looking at me from somewhere, don't forget to add it to my credit, okay?

There was only one possible end for those who carried the Curse offered by the sorcerers, and that was to feel their souls being slowly consumed. The good news was that his soul would disappear sooner or later, exhausted under the purifying flame, and hopefully, the existence of the nightmare lord that had clung to him would probably burn with him.

Well, take that, you little shit! There is no such thing as a small victory. Next time you won't go up against someone weaker than you.

Surprisingly, the pain began to diminish barely enough to make him feel like he was being boiled alive. A new cry came from him when a new burning blade penetrated his mind. His whole body trembled, he clenched his teeth under the intensity of the punishment, while his mind radiated a new form of pain from a new bite. In the end, the torture was not so bad. Maybe it wouldn't even be much worse than the life he had led?

A wave of incomparably strong nausea took hold of him. He needed to vomit, which his imaginary body did under the effect of the spasms. He could also hear other people vomiting around him and what sounded like the screams of many people in surprise or panic. A priori, he was not alone here, it was surprising, who would have guessed that ...

Huh. Wait, what?

His throat was on fire, his eyes fogged with tears, when he opened his eyelids, the light-filled his vision, and his eyes narrowed in discomfort. His naked, trembling body lay in a puddle of vomit on the ground, visibly composed only of bile, into which his face barely missed plunging.

As he turned his head, dozens of men and women, and even teenagers, no, there were more than that, probably hundreds, were lying in grotesque poses similar to his, cowering and naked like worms, all lying and shaking pitifully on the granular red stone floor that served as their bed.

The lines of golden metal, embedded in the ground, evoked the strange patterns so characteristic of ritual triangles, probably intended for some evil spell, still pulsating with an effervescent glow like dawn as the magic that inhabited them faded with each pulsation.

What was he doing here? Had his soul been captured by the nightmare Lord before being consumed? Perhaps he was now his prisoner until his soul disappeared? Not impossible. And that would explain why the fucking furnace stopped. But he didn't remember that the infernal dimensions could look like that, everything was much too clean here, it looks like the many temples dedicated to the Gods on Artorias. Perhaps they had hired new decorators and a large sweeping team since his last visit? Although this place looked strangely familiar... hey, or had he seen this before?

Searching for answers, and laboriously straightening his body, he raised his head to look around, unable to understand what he was seeing. The many humanoids on the ground looked like a grotesque sight, it reminded him of the boxes of blue-headed maggots that I used to fish in the rivers when he was a child. Struggling against gravity and his wobbly sense of balance, he managed to get up again, emerging victorious from his fight against himself.

His new posture gave him a new vision of where he was. Now standing, he was like a lonely king reigning in this sea of worms. The night sky seemed to be their only cover, but on closer inspection, it was a huge night-blue ceiling, far away, dotted with thousands of tiny luminescent jewels that looked like a starry sky. In the corners of the room, huge pillars of translucent white stone lined the black stone walls carrying the starry dome.

Scattered throughout the room were demons in the appearance of women dressed in purple robes and embroidered with silver lines decorated with a crystalline pattern that bore a striking resemblance to that worn by the servants of the Wizard's Order of Elentir and which he had never seen in any believer of the nightmare gods or demons. Further on, several dozen demons, this time in the appearance of men, armed and dressed in uniforms that largely covered their armor with mesh, almost resembled the soldiers of the ancient kingdom of Varrimar when it still existed.

As time passed, many people in the circle stood up, many tried in vain to hide their nakedness, shouts mingled with tears. It all just looked like a big mess, okay, but something was missing. Where was the blood, the suffering, the cries of pain, and the tortured souls? He didn't have the misfortune of visiting many of the places that exist in the immaterial dimensions, but everyone he saw had left their mark in his mind forever. Everything was different, and if there was one thing he remembers, it was that wherever he went, there was evil as indefinable as it was powerful. Yet he felt none of it.

Something is terribly wrong here.

Suddenly, the currents of magic in the place became agitated and reshaped as the demons sang in a melodious and indescribable language that was very familiar to him, something that was usually sung by sorcerers and did not really resemble the demonic languages he was used to, while a shower of tiny twinkling stars floated in the air, caressing the bodies of the unfortunate humans in the ritual triangle that was gradually losing its clarity. The spell brought a welcome calm to his mind and heart, making him more lucid and more aware of his surroundings.

One of them, dressed in a robe more richly furnished than the others, beckoned to a demon of stature as thick as a tree trunk and dressed in heavy armor, nodding his head he transmitted his orders to the soldiers accompanying them. Soon they all took up positions around the ritual triangle, one man advancing more than the others.

The demon had the appearance of a human warrior, his eyes the color of pale steel, giving off a faint silvery glow as they solemnly crossed the stage before him, his impassive face was covered with a long scar from chin to forehead; lying in his heavy armor worked and set with precious stones, he was surprisingly beautiful for a demon, since when did they look like that? It was certainly illusory magic, but what was the use for them to deceive their prisoners? After all, they were entirely in their power now.

Perhaps he thought the time had come, or perhaps he simply grew impatient with the sad spectacle before him and began to speak in a voice that was strong and deep, but much softer and more melodious than one would expect from a demon of his size, conveying something bewitching, almost supernatural. "Welcome to you, Terrans."

The demon with a human appearance frowned: "I am aware that at this moment you may think that what you are experiencing seems so far removed from your daily reality that it seems unreal, in the same way, that dreams or nightmares accompany your nights of unconsciousness". Taking a short break, his gaze quickly turned to the whole group: "But I would also like you to know that no matter how impossible, no matter how absurd your current situation may seem to you, it is not the fruit of your imagination or your dementia, but as real and concrete as you may conceive it to be".

Funny, I feel like I've heard that before, where was it?

When the man's voice died out, the very many people previously involved in the chaotic scene now showed a calm and attentive manner that contrasts sharply with the state the crowd was in ten seconds earlier. The melodious and unrealistic voice, carrying powerful magical currents, was probably just as responsible for this as the unreal situation they were in. "Those moments of doubt and confusion that you are experiencing now will find, relatively safely and quickly, and awareness of the situation in which you find yourself. "

The irises of the man shone with a faint glow "Rest assured that as representatives of the authorities in charge of the kingdoms of the continent of Enoa, we will work with all the diligence and dedication that it is reasonable to show so that you can adapt in the most beneficial way possible to the changes you are currently experiencing, and as quickly and simply as possible".

Enoa..? Like that continent of Enoa?

Perhaps because he was certain to have the full attention of his audience if he wasn't already doing so, the man went on with the task at hand at that very moment. "I hope, therefore, that you will show, in your own interest as well as in ours, the greatest cooperation with my men and me that you will be able to exercise during these confusing hours of great change in your existence, however abrupt and disorienting they may be. "

Ignoring the apparent disorientation of his audience, or perhaps simply too aware of his condition, the man continues, looking serious, his eyes of steel giving the impression of carrying with them a heaviness and bitterness that he had never seen in a demon, adding weight to each of his words. "You who are here on this day must know that your presence is not the result of chance or an accident, it is simply the result of many intertwined causes. Yes, ever since you woke up, you have certainly been wondering how you got here and why you are here. On top of everything else, every answer will have its time, so I invite you to devote your full attention to my words".

Mars, almost cursed that old man fucker to punctuate his confusion in the face of the unreality of the scene, he now remembered where he had seen it before. These were exactly the first things he had seen the day he was invoked on Artorias.

What the fuck is this shit?!

 

Spoiler: Chapter 4: Back to the past

Chapter 4: Back to the past:
"They are not even real soldiers! No discipline, no uniform, the worst smell imaginable, and some of them don't even worship the gods! Who would want to fight on their side? "
- attributed to an anonymous soldier, between two pints of black beer at the tavern of the fast nag.

Mars didn't understand why he was seeing this. He never imagined, even in his wildest dreams, that he would ever see this scene again.

Was this the legendary moment when he was supposed to see his whole life pass before his eyes? If so, the pain he felt didn't have to be so realistic.

Now almost all the men and women in the circle were standing in front of the man dressed in his heavy black armor, elegantly decorated with gold patterns and wearing a thick coat of silver fur, bathed in the gentle pulses of light that filled the room, adding to the unreality of the scene.

In spite of vertigo that overwhelmed him, Mars concentrated all his will to continue watching the scene unfolding before him.

"You are now in the kingdom of Varrimar, one of the nations bordering the west of Enoa's young continent, in the world of Artorias, a world very different and very distant from Terra, the world that saw you being born and living until today. Suddenly, the voice of man grew colder and an inexplicable feeling of disgust seemed to exult from his being: "You, the inhabitants of Terra, have been judged guilty of the destruction of your world for the next eons by your actions and those of your ancestors, when you caused the extinction of the majority of species, and inevitably the extinction of your species and your civilization. In his misfortune, when the great Spirit of Terra became aware of the fatal and inevitable destiny promised to you, and after desperately searching for a solution to your insoluble problem, he touched the spirit of our Heart World and our gods. Together and with the agreement of the Regent Divinity of your humanity, they decided to offer you asylum in our world, this, and also so that you can pay the price for your sins".

"This is the cause of your presence. Humans of Terra, your existences have been invoked here in order to atone for the crimes that afflict you, crimes that you will be able to redeem by fighting the infamous existence represented by the nightmare beings and the Demons that rage in this world like an incurable plague". The room temperature had suddenly become several degrees colder than before. The man suddenly seemed more imposing and authoritarian than before, as if such a thing was possible: "This is the price your entire race must pay and your only hope for survival and salvation".

The few remnants of agitation in the crowd had disappeared, almost turning into a group of living statues, some displaying apparent stupefaction impossible to the point of loosening their jaws, visibly under the yoke of understanding of something that denies any sense or semblance of reason, almost breaking the spells of controls that were suppressing their minds. How could it have been otherwise? Whatever the authenticity of the man's words, or their falsity, almost every sentence he uttered seemed profoundly unreal.

"Yet you will not go into battle unarmed or in ignorance, for you will be blessed with powerful enchantments, which will help you in your many battles, while at the same time being the shield that will protect you from the perils and evils of the long war ahead. But this strength will not be free, there will be only one way to acquire it, and for that, you will have to fight your deepest fears to make it yours". The man continued to speak, explaining the situation, while punctually accompanying his words with living gestures: "Whatever fate awaits you, your glory and honor will be engraved forever."

Glory? Honor? My ass! We've all ended up dying in more different and varied ways than the mind can even imagine.

"Do not fall into vain illusions, and do not allow yourself to be devoured by fear or paralyzed by weakness. You cannot escape the fate that awaits you, you must be able to decide how you will choose to follow the path that will lead you to your destination, whatever it may be. The Gods will witness your deeds, your bravery, and your choices, O noble and less noble warriors of Terra, for you will be an impenetrable shield for this world against the evils that afflict it. "

After showing an almost absurd calm for such an easily disturbing scene, the many men and women of the circle did not get agitated, nor did they shout or create disorder as would have been normal to expect such reactions from them, rather they stood still with a pensive air, almost like statues, sometimes some of them were agitated and moved with inexplicable fervor ; they knelt down as if they had been suddenly touched by a revelation to pray and pay homage to God knows what. In fact, he knew what it was.

The mental influence spells that rained down on the room from the beginning proved their powerful, almost absurd effectiveness. He could feel the weight that weighed on his mind with every word the man uttered despite his mental strength forged in mud, piss, shit, and blood.

Hum, I hope I don't have to watch all the scenes in my life before my soul dissipates, some of them were really embarrassing.

There was something in him that kept calling out to him. He didn't even need to look around him at the hundreds of earthlings who were staring into the void like idiots to guess what their eyes were seeing.

The power of the curse manifested itself, immediately something in his right eye became different because in front of him appeared particles of light that joined together very quickly to form luminous filaments that folded back on themselves, before manifesting themselves in the final form of that good old grimoire that had been so useful to him.

The dark blanket had reflections of mother-of-pearl and gold and was meticulously carved with exquisite lines, a large raw rock of purple color was enthroned in its center, shining with a deep and powerful light at a unique rhythm, a closer look would reveal countless glimmers of light shimmering like stars dancing in its bosom, the rock seemed to breathe and have a life of its own. The book opened and its pages scrolled as the writings of an ochre light appeared on its pages.

Welcome to this new world, young Terran, the circumstances may seem so strange that they become unreal, but know that, contrary to what you might think, this is the purest and most authentic reality. The many Gods of this world will witness your deeds and assist you in your perilous quest. Do not shame them.
He almost choked on his saliva while reading the passage. From memory, it was exactly the same phrases he had read in his early moments in this world. It was also super insulting.

Don't shame the Gods, eh? Yeah. It would be such a shame if something like that happened.

The glittering letters made him feel as ancient as the world itself, like an old protector watching over him from the first moments of his life with deep and familiar intimacy. Their power resonated with his whole being, reaching the depths of his most discreet mind or his most hidden feelings.

Mars recognized this power among all the others, the priests and other clergymen of the various Gods called it a blessing, as well as a whole host of other flattering qualifiers of which they had the secret, almost like politicians during an election campaign; but in truth, it had been nothing but a curse, and all other lost souls like him had had to bear its weight. Forced to fight the creatures of Evil in suicide missions to quench the thirst of souls caused by the curse, again and again until they died like dogs trying to extinguish it.

For most of them, this had given them just enough strength so that they didn't die immediately, as if it was too boring for them to die quickly. In truth, it probably did. After all, their summoning here had a cost, even if they didn't know what it was, and even the Gods' magical energy reserves had a limit, they couldn't afford to summon useless cannon fodder to their world that would die without doing enough damage to the enemy,

Had they been given a choice, few people would have willingly gone to the front to fight against things they would do anything to avoid. Yeah, surprising, isn't it? But the mind control spells, indoctrination, and even that curse must have cost them a lot of magical energy. It was clear as day that they were expecting a return on their investment.

It had given them the gift of absorbing souls and harnessing their power to gain strength and power beyond imagination, but it was also what forced them to fight without ever having the opportunity to flee. The curse had been the driving force behind their existence. Even hiding in the underground city, he and the other surviving earthlings had been forced to go out regularly to harvest the souls of monsters and demons in order to quench the thirst caused by the curse. Each time the sorcerers had draped them with concealment spells so that they would not be spotted by their enemies and betray the position of the city.

Its inexplicable beauty, which seemed to be the purest and most fragile thing in the world or the inexplicable form of love that emanated from the grimoire enveloping their minds, had been for many of them, very ironically, one of the few things that had prevented their minds from sinking into total madness.

The whole body of Mars was caught in intense tremors, breathing heavily and clenching its teeth. He had seen enough by now. Either what he saw was only his life passing before his eyes, but he had never heard the sorcerers talk about anything like it, or his soul was trapped in an illusion created by a powerful dark existence.

Going back to the past? he wasn't willing to believe so easily in such an absurd possibility, even in a world of Magic where the Gods were supposed to protect them, because it was something impossible, and he was in a good enough position to know it? well, maybe. He was much more inclined to believe the least enviable possibility, simply because it was logical and didn't defy imagination.

Even though the power of the curse that ran through his soul was reputed to be something inimitable, especially by Demons and nightmare beings, and although his many experiences helped to confirm these facts, he did not believe that nothing in the universe could distort or usurp its power.

What was being played out before his eyes had no chance of being real, however real this illusion might seem. What he was experiencing at that moment was probably the playground created for the leisure of a vicious and evil existence that would want to play with his mind and soul in every possible and imaginable way. After all, what could be more fun than giving your victim hope and playing with his heart before breaking it? Who knows how many others before him had to fall into the trap?

But if there was something he didn't like to do, it was to do what was expected of him. Since childhood, his irresistible desire to look beyond appearances, and his spirit of contradiction have always been dominant traits in him, and he had no desire to please his captors.

No matter how complex or solid an illusion was, it was always possible to create a breach in it to get out of it, or even to break it, and that's what he would do. With an effort of will, he began to apply the spell-breaking spells he knew in silence. Yet when he concentrated on tapping into his powerful magical reserves, he detected almost nothing, almost exactly as he did when he first arrived here.

Even more absurdly, he detected no other power of the soul in him but his own. This had never happened to him, not even in the most advanced illusions he had been confronted with, the strongest of which could only make it more difficult for him to access his powers, but never to suppress them in this way. Well, it was an unfortunate result, but not so surprising, after all, he was dead.

Without any other recourse, he applied a set of techniques to break the illusion with the sole force of his psyche. Unfortunately, however, it soon became clear that none of the techniques he was using had any effect on him, except that his old headache had gradually dissipated and his mind now seemed much clearer and more limpid.

Faced with the absurdity of the situation, he decided to pour all the power of his psyche into his techniques in order to create a breach, however slight. Faced with a spell of illusion as solid as this one, by persevering, again and again, it would inevitably break. Yet despite her attempts, absolutely nothing has changed.

Do you think I'm going to give up that easily? You steaming pile of shit.

It was totally abnormal, he had never met anything that was capable of creating something like that, could it have been a demon God or a nightmare God? But no one had ever seen them or even noticed their presence, to the point that their very existence was doubtful and more than a myth, and there was nothing that could create something unbreakable after all the Gods were supposed to be incapable of doing that. So why should it be different here? What on earth had he fallen into?

But as he was about to start again, he stopped halfway through his act and looked at the grimoire that silently flew before him and the glowing stone in its center, which borrowed the essence of the Gods, and influenced his mind with a feeling of intense clarity. As elaborate as the prodigy was, his attempts should have at least created a flaw or a breach around him.

Instead, his techniques had only had the effect of allowing him to better grasp with his senses and his mind everything around him. And this could only happen in a very specific situation. As impossible as his conclusion was, there could only be one.

It was when there was nothing to dissipate.

Struck by a feeling of disbelief, he looked again into the invocation room with his eyes wide open and a haunting thought in his head. If what he believed to be an illusion was not, would that mean that... the hypothesis seemed impossible but yet, all this... was reality?

You're kidding, right?