[Back to the city which we were in…]
The first thing Scott saw when he regained consciousness was the dusty ceiling of his apartment. When he tried to move around, his body felt sluggish, devoid of all strength. He would have probably called for help if not for the fact that the neighbourhood he lived in was notorious for landing you in bigger troubles if you cried for help to get out of the one you were in. Besides, Scott didn't really feel particularly threatened. Sure, he had noodle-arms and jelly-legs. His eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, and he was having trouble breathing. But in spite of all that, he now had something that he had almost lost in the last decade - hope.
Either through sheer strength of will, or recession of his vegetative state, Scott found himself sitting in a haphazard position after a few minutes. It wasn't the most comfortable of postures but it was one he could manage after exerting himself to the fullest. A quick survey of his room told him two things.
First, the time. It was 3'o clock in the afternoon. He had been out for about fifteen hours. If anyone happened to enter his apartment right at this moment, he wasn't going to have to explain anything beyond a weird collection of books and some empty jars containing embalming fluid. All evidence of the questionable objects he possessed were gone. Though glad of that fact, Scott wasn't worried. His apartment had never seen a visitor, not even the landlord since the latter rarely came to this building and handled all transactions online.
The second thing that was of special note, was that the brazier was gone. Unless it suddenly decided to take refuge under Scott's bed, or inside the bathroom, both of which options he was going to confirm as soon as he regained strength in his legs. For now, Scott considered the brazier missing, taken by some unknown force, and that reinforced the embers of hope in his heart. Obviously, something had to have happened, right? Scott recounted at least thirty rituals that he'd conducted before last night, over a period of five long years. None of them amounted to anything. Not even a blown light-bulb, or creaking windows. No rustling of papers without air, or a feeling in the atmosphere that he wasn't alone. Or voices in his head, apart from his own.
And then the event that happened last night. It was simply too big for him to handle. Scott knew he was going to flip out sooner or later, he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He knew the dangers, or at least the 'alleged' dangers of the latest ritual that he had attempted. He knew he was taking a huge risk, but he wouldn't have bothered to desecrate the oldest living tree on the planet, steal the largest living specimen of cockroach, acquire the umbilical cord of an elf (or at least that's what he thought he was getting), cut off the right hand of an Egyptian mummy and skin the oldest mammal on Earth…just to conduct a ritual for kicks. He knew he'd committed several grave sins in the eyes of many, just by being associated with some of those items. And it would be wrong to just say he didn't care. He did, a lot. He felt terrible, he cried his eyes out many a times throughout the process of gathering of the items needed for the ritual. In the end however, the need for retribution eclipsed all other human emotions and repressed him long enough so that he had the strength to persevere throughout the end.
But was it worth it? Scott still had no idea. He knew it wasn't completely in vain. He knew something way beyond what human logic or scientific knowledge could answer, had happened last night. He just didn't know if it worked to his favour.
Scott was wiggling his big toe and summoning the strength to stand up, when he heard his doorbell ring. It was a very unfamiliar sound, so much so that Scott thought for a split second, that it wasn't his doorbell. Rationally, he knew there wasn't a chance of that, his apartment was the only one present on this floor. And he was sitting less than fifty cm away from the door.
The sound of the doorbell seemed to lend strength to his feet, and Scott was able to lift himself up after a few seconds. Limping, he reached the door, but not before his stronger hand was grasping the 9 mm that he'd hidden under his mattress. He pressed the muzzle of the handgun on the wooden door and shouted. "Who is it? I'm a bit busy here!" The reply that came from the other end was smooth and well-polished. "Scott Degen. After going through all the trouble of summoning me to this plane, the least you could do is make time for a conversation, right?"
Scott froze. He wanted to say something, but realized that he'd lost his voice all of a sudden. The period of shock was short-lived since after a second, he heard the voice that spoke to him from other side of the door once again, behind him.
"I mean it's not that I need a door to enter this room. Or anywhere for that matter. But still, it would have been a courteous thing, don't you agree?"
This time Scott did find enough strength to turn around, handgun raised at the intruder. He saw a bald, dark-skinned man, probably in his fifties, dressed in a posh dark blue suit, looking around his room like a visitor in a museum. Now and then, he'd pick up a book and his face would show hints of admiration. "I am most impressed Mr. Degen. Some of these books…even I would love to read them in my spare time." Without meeting Scott's eyes, the man kept talking to him with complete disregard for the firearm that Scott was pointing at him. "Honestly, if anyone deserves the outcome you're expecting from the ritual, it is you Mr. Degen."
Scott moved to his bed and sat unceremoniously. His legs had started to give out once again. He somehow knew there was no point in raising the gun at this person, so he just dropped it next to him. He finally found his voice and asked in a parched tone, "Are you…the one, who I called for…last night?"
The man let out a small chuckle and turned to face Scott. "No, I am not the one you initially wanted to call. But I am the one who answered. So…Mr. Degen. Since you seem like a person who doesn't like small talk all that much, let me get straight to the point. You have one wish. I shall not raise a dead person. I won't entertain nonsense about granting more wishes. Within those restrictions, I will listen to your wish, and if it's something I feel you deserve, I will grant it. Please keep in mind, I am under no obligation to listen to you. You were granted an audience, and it worked because you were sincere in your request. Feel free to let me know what you want."
The man stopped his long monologue and chuckled once again. "I am sorry, I have been extremely rude in forgetting to introduce myself. You can call me Hrax." He was holding a book in his hand when he made his speech. After introducing himself, he sat on the only chair in his room and started perusing through the book,
Scott took a deep breathe and stayed silent for several minutes. At first he was a bit wary that this being, Hrax, would get impatient and leave. But since he seemed to appreciate silence as much as he did, Scott relaxed and started reciting his 'wish' in his mind. He'd done so a million times when he'd embarked on his quest, but facing an actual opportunity to fulfill it, he wanted to make sure to leave absolutely no loopholes.
When Hraxanthus was about done giving the book an overview, he heard Scott's voice from across the room.
"I want to reincarnate 20 years prior to this date, so that I can exact my revenge by killing a certain person before they have the chance to wreck havoc on a lot of lives including mine. I don't want any special powers... I don't care if I die immediately after fulfilling my wish. I just need to have memory of the future. I can also give you my word I won't use the knowledge of future events for financial gains or willingly upset the events of this timeline by drastically changing events in the new timeline. If I ever do such a thing I am willing to pay with my life. I would only need enough hold on the future to execute a single person before a single event." Scott's paused and gulped down some water from a bottle on his bed. "Can... my wish be granted... Mr. Hrax?"