The eternal quest of the human being is to shatter his loneliness.
Loneliest
Mazen was a paradox: simultaneously hesitant to be around me yet longing for my company. At times, he attempted to maintain his distance, but it often proved futile. Either I wouldn't allow it, or he couldn't resist for long. Nonetheless, I pride myself on being exceptional company.
I really noticed the change when one of Mazen's jealous servants tried to take me out. She thought she'd torture me a little first, and I tell you, dark mages know a lot of nasty curses. Anyway, she didn't like my quick healing much, because it only made me more valuable in her eyes — not that Mazen was all that interested in my ability. However, the mage had made up her mind, and I could have said anything to her, it wouldn't have changed her mind.
Well, Felis went in search of me as usual, and found me bloody and in torn clothes, while she laughed at my misery. I immediately sensed his presence, but the woman was too busy torturing me to do so. I gave him a meaningful glance over my shoulder before he did some mindless fuckery. As I'd noted several times before, he wasn't the most talented mage I'd ever met.
Sure, I could have killed the woman, she wasn't overly powerful either, but her actions assisted my plan, so I needed her alive to make a show. So I endured the suffering and waited to see if Mazen would save me or not. Well, he did — Felis finally ran to get him.
He was pretty mad and slowly tortured the crazy bitch to death several times. How is it possible to torture someone to death repeatedly? Well, by healing her before she dies and then starting over. You don't want to go through something like that, trust me. It's not pretty to look at, and if you can't stomach violence, you're guaranteed months of nightmares.
In any case, Mazen was gracious enough to share with me the sight he usually reserved for himself. Plus, since I was the one being tortured by the woman, he thought I had some right to see it and perhaps be entertained. Well, I was not entertained, but I kept that to myself because the monster in me was interested, to say the least.
The monster's emotions churned as I watched the scene unfold before me. Fascination gripped my twisted heart, the sight of agony and suffering somehow both repelling and drawing me closer. A stage kind of delight, as if the torment inflicted on another fed some primal urge within. That was the moment the monster in me started liking Mazen. The more the monster likes you the more it wants to devour you, though.
Mazen started by picking off her nails one by one. That alone is fucking painful, believe me. Then came her eyes, which, after a few magical words, just spilled out. Of course, that must have hurt like hell too, because I think that's where she screamed the most during the whole torture.
Mazen then began to break her bones as she sobbed and screamed. I don't really know if she had any bones intact left at the end. Of course, Mazen always healed her somewhat when he saw that she was dying. Just enough to keep her alive for a while longer.
The dark mage next methodically crushed her internal organs. What's unusual about magic is that you don't get blood on your hands and still torture or kill someone. It's a bit like it spares you from the filth. Of course, you're still a killer, you just don't have to bathe afterward.
He did a good job on her face, if I'm being really honest, he slashed it beyond recognition. At this point, his anger seemed to have evaporated. He healed her enough to keep her from dying of her injuries, then left her in my care. He told me to do as I saw fit. I suppose he thought I would torture her for a while longer in my own way. I took pity on her.
Poor thing, she must have hoped until Mazen left that her master would forgive her and she would survive. Perhaps she even thought that when she was finished, she would be completely cured. It's amazing how naive humans are.
Anyway, she was not nearly as professional as Mazen when it came to torturing others. But then Mazen is a sadist and one of the darkest mages of our time, so he's hard to compete with. I wondered if Mazen doesn't really like torture but it's most important for him to feel a sense of superiority and exclusive power over others. He enjoyed being in control of other people's lives, he enjoyed being able to do whatever he wanted to them, it was both an affirmation and a habit.
Anyway, so I took pity and killed the woman. I slit her throat with one swift and precise cut to end her instantly. I decided she'd suffered enough. I waited a little, to let Mazen believe that I had really continued what he had begun, and then I went to find him. He was in his study. As I entered, he preemptively clarified that he had punished her because she was disobedient, not because he feared for my life. Not in those words, but that was his point.
Of course, we both knew that for disobedience the punishment was rather harsh — but he had to say it anyway, to put his mind at ease and continue to delude himself that he didn't like me at all and that I was just a tool in his hands. He needed to reaffirm it, to reassure himself that his regard for me was minimal, that I was merely a pawn. I left him to his self-deception. He'll find out anyway.
Then, of course, he made me aware that I stank and ordered me to bathe if I wanted to enjoy his company. Of course, he never would have thought that I would march into his bathroom grinning. (I noted that his bathroom was far superior to mine and decided it was time to claim it as my own.)
He looked pretty stupidas if his eyes might pop out and bounce on the table. I barely suppressed a laugh before closing the door.
His bathroom was larger than my bedroom, adorned with white marble tiles and intricate carvings. It boasted both a shower and a tub the size of a small pool.
Casting aside my ragged clothes, I quickly showered before sinking into the tub filled with fragrant, spicy-scented water. I found some bath oil blends that Mazen used because I could smell them on him sometimes. He didn't smell as strongly of black magic then, so it must have had some cleansing effect. It had pine, frankincense, rosemary, cloves, honey, and rose oil — at least those were the things I recognized.
Relaxing against the tub, immersed in the soothing foam up to my neck, I sighed deeply. It felt as though all the negativity within me was melting away. Was this magic?
The door creaked open softly. Mazen glanced briefly toward the tub to confirm my presence before fixing his gaze on my face. With a whispered spell, he effortlessly cleared away the discarded clothes strewn across the floor. He placed fresh clothes and towels on a nearby chair, shaking his head in disapproval—a habitual gesture of his in my presence.
"Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to take things without asking?" he scolded me.
It seemed he had taken it upon himself to impart some semblance of manners upon me. Despite my disregard, he persisted, offering unsolicited advice during meals and pointing out my unconventional table manners. For example, at lunch, he used to tell me that you shouldn't cut all the meat in advance, but always just the bite you eat. I gave him a skeptical look, and I didn't even listen to him about how badly he thought I was holding the fork.
He was certainly committed to his role. I wondered how many had dared to use Mazen's bath and lived to tell the tale. I flashed him a grin, to which he begrudgingly responded. Few could resist my smile. With that, he exited, leaving me to bathe until the water turned cold.
As the water cooled around me, I finally climbed out of the tub and wrapped myself in one of the plush towels Mazen had provided. I took my time drying off, enjoying the rare luxury of his bathroom. The rich scents from the bath oils still clung to my skin, a lingering reminder of the brief respite from the chaos outside.
Dressed in the fresh clothes Mazen had left for me, I took a moment to survey the opulent surroundings once more. The polished marble, the intricate carvings, the sheer size of the space—it all spoke of a life of privilege and power. A life so different from my own.
I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Mazen's reaction when he found me here, comfortably settled in his space. He was always so composed, so controlled. It was amusing to see him caught off guard.
Opening the bathroom door, I stepped out into the study where Mazen was waiting. He glanced up from his work, his expression unreadable.
"Feel better?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.
"Much," I replied, returning his gaze steadily.
There was a brief, charged silence. It was as if we were both waiting for the other to make the next move in a game neither of us fully understood.
Mazen broke the silence first. "Good. Now that you're presentable, we have matters to discuss."
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what might those be?"
He gestured to a chair opposite his desk, indicating that I should sit. As I settled into the chair, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity. Mazen was a man of many secrets, and I wondered what he was about to reveal.
"We have a situation," he began, his voice steady. "One that requires your... particular skills."
I leaned forward slightly, my interest piqued. "Go on."
He met my gaze, his eyes piercing and intense. "As you know, the ceremony for my ascension to king is fast approaching."
I nodded, still unsure where this was going. "Yes, and?"
Mazen took a deep breath, clearly trying to maintain his composure. "There's a tradition that must be upheld during the ceremony, one that... involves some shopping."
I blinked, momentarily stunned. "Shopping?"
"Yes," he said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I need new ceremonial attire. Everything must be perfect, and frankly, I detest shopping. I need your help."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "You hate shopping?"
He sighed. "It's a tedious, necessary evil. But the outfit must be impeccable. The ceremonial cloak, the gloves, the sash, everything."
I grinned, enjoying his discomfort. "And you want me to accompany you on this royal shopping spree?"
"Precisely," he said, his tone serious. "It's crucial that everything is perfect. Your taste is... acceptable."
I laughed again. "Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?"
He wanted to hang out with me some more. He was just too shy to say it directly.
Mazen gave a small, relieved nod. "Okay, I will start the arrangements then."
So, I've read almost all the books. Of course, Mazen didn't hide the ones that illuminated the gaps in my understanding of his plan. He probably thought it was pointless if I didn't have my memories. Yes, to be wrong is human. Mazen, for all his denial of his own humanity and how much he kept proving to himself and those around him that he was a superior being, he remained human.
Among the records were those of Aleshio's swords, referred to as two of the most powerful magical artifacts. I recalled they were forged as one and belonged to the thirteenth paladin. After an hour of intense concentration and three instant migraines, I remembered this particular paladin was Alice's boyfriend and Geri's boss. Geri bore our family crest. It became clear: my real brother was the thirteenth paladin, the one with the sword. That's when I understood why Mazen spared me. Killing me would've been less hassle, and I wasn't sure I could have effectively confronted him with that setup. No, not likely.
If he wanted the throne alone, he'd kill me, take it and be done with it. No, he wanted the sword first, and that was because the Shadow Circle was made up of seven members, and as I thought back to Pitou's attempt on Mazen's life, I reasoned that they all had a claim to the throne. So, first he needs a weapon that clearly and undeniably puts him above the rest, and then he almost has the crown in his hands. By choosing my brother's sword, he must have thought he'd killed two birds with one stone. As I said, to be wrong is human.
It was evident I was the bait, and they would come for me. Well, since I made the preparations for my own plan some time ago, all that changes is that I now know how I'm going to get my memories back. Mazen unwittingly played into my hands.
After all, I have learned enough about Mazen that when he kills, he uses his favorite little dagger. When he sent an escaped henchman to the other world for fun, I asked him why he used that little dagger. He said it was because it was an artifact he made and could absorb a little life force when he killed someone with it. It gets stronger and stronger, so does its memory manipulating effects — of course he didn't tell me that, I was the one, who figured that part out.
I also remarked to him how bright his blade is, I can almost see myself in it. He smiled suggestively and said I was a good observer. Great, now I also knew that it helped him place himself in other people's memories. The knife is not a mere medium, but a transformed mirror with Mazen's reflection in it.
I wondered how dangerous it would be to transfer that ability to the cursed sword. I didn't think it impossible, in fact I suspected that was one of the things he wanted to do. It would have made the most sense. A little polishing, a little hocus-pocus, and the blade is reflective, and then he has the most powerful and deadly dark artifact, which only he can fully harness the power of because of his rare special magic. It was frightening to think of such a future.
However, Mazen didn't anticipate two things: that he would grow fond of me and that I would gradually uncover his plans. Powerful people often underestimate their adversaries, and Mazen was no exception. It's their conceit that often leads to their downfall.
"Ah," I whimpered dramatically, clutching my belly. "I'm famished."
Mazen paused, clearly in need of a break himself. Despite his resistance, he reluctantly set aside his work and accompanied me to the dining room. I had no intention of altering my eating habits to appease him, a fact he could plainly see as I preemptively cut my meat into bite-sized pieces. I grinned triumphantly as he let out a weary sigh, unable to fully hide the tiny curve that appeared at the edge of his lips.