Waking up in a jarred state of mind, Michael looked around in confusion as he felt his body jump every bump of the way. A constant rumbling of metal wheels and hooves sprinting shook him as he tried to get his eyes used to the change in environment. All he remembered was being carried down a winding staircase that looked to be endless.
Now, he was covered by a thin blanket while the sun filtered in from a window just a few feet away from him. Getting up with the creaking of the bed he had been sleeping on, he let his feet dangle as he sat on the edge. His hands were still the same, dirty and skeleton-like, yet he had an expensive robe covering him instead of the rags he used to have on.
Looking around the caravan wagon, it was packed to the brim with boxes of metal and wood. In them clinked the sound of what seemed to either be glass or light metal. The only space to get to stand was the path towards the exit and right in front of his bed so he can get out of it.
Another massive bump jarred Michael as he almost fell off the bed he was seated on with the rise of the entire wagon. Standing carefully, he made his way through the maze of things towards the door at the front. The window that was supposed to be there was replaced with a sheet of metal, making it impossible to look out of.
Waiting in front of the door, he held on to a few of the boxes to keep himself steady as the caravan kept moving forward relentlessly. Michael closed his eyes as he focused on hearing what was outside. In the darkness of his mind, he heard the crashing of horses barreling their way on a graveled and leveled road. Their riders panting as much as the animals themselves, trying their best to get as far as possible from whatever they wanted to escape.
Seating directly in front of the door were two people with familiar voices speaking to each other. Jax, unlike himself, was holding an entire discussion with Bialo as the wind snapped around them. Their words were muffled by the winds and wheels, but Michael was able to make out a few words by pressing his ear onto the door.
"... Liege… him… insanity… status... pay,"
Insanity? Status?
Frowning, he could not make heads or tales of what they were saying, but it was made clear in but a few seconds as a bright light caught him off guard. Looking away, he tried to protect his eyes, yet no matter how quickly he turned or whether he had his eyes open or closed, the source of the light found its way directly in the middle of his line of sight.
Focusing on the light itself, a screen similar to the storage screen he had seen from his ring came into focus. But this time it was a bit different.
Status ~
Name ~ Ruthar Ges Lunar Kinderal III (Michael Collins)
Affliction ~ Greater Insanity (Greater Stability)
Your mind is not like others. It has become two in the makings of one. The first is of great madness, comparable to the kings of Carth. It binds you onto the path of self/worldly - destruction and sin. The second is of significant stability, its path is paved by the virtues and commandments of The Highest Power - He who is Light upon Light.
His left eye began to twitch rapidly the longer he read, as though its effects were taking place only now. Both his eyes began to burn, the right more so than the left. Falling down, his hands shook in an effort to not claw at his eyes, but the itch and pain that assaulted him was unbearable. Instead of using his nails, he harshly pressed the balls of his palm onto his eyes, pressing as hard as he could without damaging them.
Unknown to him, his eyes were changing, becoming more than human. Their color and the very whites of his eyes began to morph. On the left, the whites were pure no longer, rather a black so deep and dark it had become the night itself. The pupil changed into a slit rather than the circular shape found so often to those of human ilk. It's color a bright gold that reflected the light.
On the other hand, his right eye became clearer than ever before. Whiter than milk if at all possible. No coloration, blood vessels or anything else, only the purple of his irises shining brightly; leaving a trail as they moved to and fro.
Gasping in pain, time seemed to still, elongating the suffering he had to endure. Every second felt like ages, centuries passing in a blink of the eye. Longer and longer it lasted, his whimpering voice unable to utter a scream, this torture was his alone with no one else to share it with. He felt his throat lock up, unable to bring air into his desperate lungs; they burning and begging for a reprieve.
Barely able to open his eyes, he stared at the ceiling of the rumbling caravan wagon. An endless black invading the very edges of his sight. Promising a much-desired warmth and stop to this all. Whispering and convincing, slowly leading him down its wanting path. Yet, a tiny voice at the back of his mind spoke words that echoed farther than what should have been possible. Warning him of the illusion that had been created to take him away. It screamed of insanity that could not be recovered from, a madness that will shake the world to its core. Showing him images of burning landscapes, of once water abundant ocean turning into scorching deserts uninhabitable by any life whatsoever.
Closing his eyes, he pushed from the last time. He knew deep down that if it did not end soon he would not make it through, Michael would not exist rather a hallowed vessel left in his place. Exerting all his force, he tried to will his way through, only to come short…
His mind screamed in retaliation but he knew it was too late. He was falling down a bottomless sea, floating in its murky waters decorated by the blackness of the deep, of the abyss. Raising a shaky hand he stretched it trying to reach the light and freedom that felt so close, yet so far away.
Crack
The deep sea he was drowning in fractured. It started as a single tiny crack, but it slowly exploded into a mosaic widening every second. With another world shatter Crack the world he had been in shattered, making way for reality. Gasping for breath, he sucked in lungfuls of air. Hurting his throat in the process, he coughed over and over again as he tried to find up from down. Flailing his arms, he needed something to grab, to give him a foothold in the real world.
As he wildly swung his arms, a massive body grabbed him. Steading his circulating mind, he clutched for dear life. Afraid that if he let go, the abyss would return to take him, the whispers would lead him so connivingly again. He shook in his spot as a third voice unlike the rest tried to get his attention. One familiar and comforting even if he did not make out a single word it spoke.
It took too many tries for Michael too willingly listen to the actual words rather than bask in the peace and tranquility they brought him. Slowly they gained meaning to him. Opening his eyes he smiled shakily to the owner of the voice. Close to him sat Bialo trying to get through to him, worry lining his weathered face. His mouth moving in ways that seemed hilarious to Michael without the audible words making it to him. Laughing, he finally heard them, heard the sounds that were uttered.
"Young Master! Can you hear me? Say something, please. Young Master?!"
Bialo's voice ached with distress and hope of success. Fear that he may not have been there soon enough to make a difference to a destroyed mind. Continuing his laughter, that same voice at the back of his head slowly nudged him to reply. And reply he did even as the whispering voice tried to rope him into not responding.
"Yes, Bialo I can hear you. My ears are working just fine. If anything, your incessant screaming directly into them might be causing more damage,"
Smiling at the relieved expression he saw on the old man's face, he felt lightheaded and his eyes heavy. With an eased mind, and the careful direction of the voice in the back of his mind, he allowed himself to close his eyes and fall to a quiet and much-needed rest.