A few suffocating inhalations resounded in the underground laboratory. A red pool of blood crowded every bit of space available near the table.
One eye attacking its corner, Arthur looked at the dreadful result of his newly acquired power. The cylindrical handle of the legendary sword was the only visible part of the weapon, the rest was deeply hidden beneath, in a perfect slot created by the sharp edge.
'Why? Why did you damned sword, come to rescue me?' He thought in his growing panic.
From his belly button to his sternum, a pulsating abomination, a second heart whose beats were paced by a surge of magicules passing through visible veins. A disgusting lump of living flesh clung to his skin and pumped an unknown energy into the boy's body.
The revitalization shook his organs and bones alike, but his mind was the most affected by another round of discoveries. The ghost, next to him, smiled again. It was impossible to identify Lancelot anymore because of the unrecognizable face he displayed. Bending over the boy, he spoke.
"This is more than pretty eyes you've got. This is all of my greed, young one. This is how you can grasp the world into your palm and pull it."
'Greed?' The boy asked while answering his question. The being he was talking to had nothing of his old mentor. The thousand-year-old dragon had once destroyed the world and possessed every bit of it. What he called greed was one of the many weapons used in the fight against Milda Gaiane.
He now realized it was no mageroot that allowed him to pull the small cup of water in front of Fedlimid and Melite. It was all from the power that once belonged to the fabled dragon.
The atmosphere in the laboratory heated up at an alarming rate. The boiling rage that came from Arthur's unaccomplished vengeance materialized in thin strands of fire magic that rose the temperature around him from ambient to melting the matter that strapped his limbs on the table. He felt the leather shrink and disintegrate under his pull as he leaned over the highest chunks of lacerated meat.
Using the table to stand up, he approached until his toes slipped on the liquid.
"How dare you!" He shouted, unconsciously weaving more and more power from his mageroot, cooking what remained of Uther.
"How dare you toy with me and escape so easily!"
Bubbles formed on the red puddle that turned brown while it evaporated.
It was inanimate, unidentifiable for most parts.
A voice, seemingly muffled by a wall echoed, it was Bion's. "Me-king! I beg thee! Stop your rampage, there is no outcome to a royal tantrum! My brother won't survive if I can't treat him!"
Arthur saw a blue bubble, a spherical wall of water that engulfed the omnimancer and his brother. He caught the anomaly that affected the blood on the spell as well, there he finally identified the issue and inhaled sharply to allow the matter to stop changing state.
A few seconds later, an icy wind blew the heat away and Bion bowed down in gratefulness before resuming the healing process on Seisyll.
The ghost, untouched by the red burst, wouldn't go away. Instead, he walked freely with a grace that never existed before, like an unknown entity that possessed a new body. Pointing at the agitated twin, he spoke. "They are omnimancers, they are indeed using telepathy, however, they're using an old trick. The one with black feathers has a brain tumor, the other uses necromancy to talk freely to the first. Well, freely is a huge word for such a price to pay."
After contemplating the exhaustion, the effort put to save a life, and the hope to reanimate Seisyll, the ghost started to change appearance. Like an insult to the only representation of his image, the missing hair at the top of Lancelot's head grew back, the little vitality age took away from him came back as the tiniest wrinkles on his skin vanished.
Once he witnessed his mentor rejuvenating at an astonishing pace, Arthur walked looking left and right for anything shiny. The boy rapidly found what he was looking for and extracted it from the ground with a strong pull that reminded him of his inexistent muscle soreness.
He came back to the busy Bion and commanded with a solemn expression and an ostentatious tone. "Add this to the trophy gallery once you're done. No repairing, no cleaning. See you later."
It was a mere reflex for the black mage to reach for the object, it took him several seconds to understand his hands kept mid-air two pieces of fancy metal. The shattered crown of the king had pieces of the man's brain, hair, and skull sunken in the soft gold, a few pieces of jewelry were missing, but the glory of the object was renewed nonetheless.
Art was no visual subject, it lifted tidal waves of feelings and stories beyond the boundaries of imagination. The split crown rightfully earned its slot in the trophy gallery, just like the mountain of doubts earned it in the omnimancer's mind.
The scale, the secret map that led Arthur to the treasure, had more than a shine. The royal shield had an aura, a presence the boy couldn't ignore since he learned it was haunted.
Arthur brushed his hand against the scale, the quartz-like texture was cold but emitted a dim glow. The ghost whispered in the boy's ear. "Greed." And the shield, only the organic part of it, vanished in silence, leaving behind an empty shell.
Bion couldn't afford to get distracted an instant, the life of his brother was flickering between his hands each time he used too many magicules to fuel his spells. The black omnimancer missed the odd disappearance of the legendary shield by a second, by the time he looked up, the prince was already stumbling his way out of the laboratory.
The sentient ghost led the way to the king's room. The naked prince walked around the palace, covered in red that dripped down his body, leaving behind proof for the house staff to believe what they had seen.
The door was open, ready to welcome any guest. Only shades of red and golden decorated it from the tapestry to the fancy velvet-roofed bed.
Arthur couldn't care much about the decoration, his eyes caught an unexpected, symmetrical detail as he ventured into the unknown area of the palace.
There, stood an illusion that made the room double in size. A mirror, coating the entire wall in front of him left him speechless because of his appearance.
The mageroot, the heart-like organ that pulsed over his tummy made him sick. The only inheritance he forcefully got from his father was hard to look at even though the dancing magicules that bounced and coiled around him now looked harmonized with every single cell of his body.
He wasn't skinny. Not anymore. The distorted memory he had from his trip down the corridors of hell led him to strange conclusions until anew, the voice of the ghost pulled out answers to his questions.
"You've been reborn as something much more than a filthy human, Arthur Aethersworn. You entered the womb of the mountain, you fought against an army of brainless soldiers and you fused with what could make you a greater being. You offered me the best analogy for reincarnation, that's the sole point on which you surpassed Uther. The longest part of the process was the reconstruction of your wretched body."
"I fought?" Arthur half-asked.
Hundreds of images, with the same light distortion his eyes now allowed him to see, flooded his mind in a nightmarish tempest.
He remembered a memory that wasn't his, an eternity lurking in the dark, waiting for whoever got lost in the cave and left behind all hope as he fed on their carcass. An endless night in the tortuous cave where there was no mark to find the exit. An infinite dizzy state where he roamed, devoid of all common sense, of a voice, during which his body reconstructed itself with food and hunting exercise.
A place where he met the army sent to find him back, where he saw people being plagued by the irrespirable air that spared him from the intoxicating death.
"I did that." He nodded to himself, accepting more of his flaws.
The disastrous memories he had allowed him to remember the acidic stench, the headache-inducing perfume of sulfur that soaked every pore of his skin.
He neared the mirror, observing the perfect reflection of his newly acquired treasure with contemplation and awe.
"Magnificent." He said, obliterating any doubt concerning his dark cravings and regrets for his inhumane acts.
"They must've looked really good when they decorated your skull, ghost."
Within a sarcastic sentence, Arthur managed to wound the dragon's pride. A grimace appeared for a split second during which he cursed the great sight he once had. "Scorn. When I dug valleys with the flick of a claw, sent flying forests with the whip of a tail, and shook kingdoms with a roar, they called me Scorn, the fabled dragon."
Since he had learned how to shake hands properly thanks to the veteran thieves, Arthur raised his hand mid-air to seal the silent agreement knitting their fate. "We have a lot of work in front of us, Scorn. Instead of setting the world ablaze, I have to make my kingdom rise, and you are everything I wished for. At least, I believe those are my real thoughts and not something my father slowly infused in my veins."
The ghost's touch was ethereal, inexistent. But his smile was potent. "Young one, I'm not here to sort your thoughts out. If we force people on their knees it'll be a great start already." He scoffed.
Every disturbing and deviant image that decreasingly flashed in front of Arthur's eyes was welcomed by nearly impossible detectable reactions from it, confirming to the boy how deep-bonded he was with the dead dragon. Their ideas were similar and it sufficed to be on the same page.
His hand out, he contracted his fingers and focused all of his remaining strength on calling the legendary sword. It appeared out of thin air with a scratch on the royal carpet. The sword went through the ground and stone slabs with ease to answer the call of greed.
Walking slowly, Arthur put the sword down on the bed, questioning both the item's sentience and the unconscious call that led to Uther's death. His fingers twitched, and he had remorse for not being able to soothe the misery born from his suffering. However the appeasing reflecting light, the perfection of the blade, and the dangerousness of the artifact he could now use freely were priceless.
"Why is this place so devoid of interest, unlike the outside world?" He asked the ghost, understanding little by little the depth of detail his eyes now allowed him to see.
Rather than replying, the ghost gave him advice.
"It's not because you can that you should. You better avoid making this sword pass through the ground before you accidentally slice someone else in half." He shortly pondered on it before his thoughts were interrupted.
Someone shyly knocked on the door, it echoed in the empty room. The door opened while brushing against the soft carpet as a maid peeked inside.
She turned several shades of red darker, then tried to vanish behind her slim fingers when she thought the last mistake of her life was done. However, Arthur gave her a fake, radiant smile and tasks to complete.
"Bring me Fedlimid, Melite, clean underpants, and a hot cup of mint tea."
He had the time to observe how the magicules coiled around the woman, how her hands had denser concentrations of the particles. 'She was ready to cast a spell. Everyone I saw in the corridors can use magic. I better check the cooks next, just to be sure.' He thought.