The body fell to the ground. Gilgamesh could see it — the child's body couldn't handle such a powerful being as himself.
"Shit, I overdid it." With his astral form, Gilgamesh could see what was happening. He was growing anxious. Soon enough, the Mages would track him down again and kill him.
Several trucks, police cars, ambulances, and journalists arrived at the harbor. The police officers closed off the entire area, treating it as an apparent terrorist attack. Looking on, Gilgamesh saw that some of the children in the container were still alive. He feared some of them might have awakened too, overwhelmed by the sheer Quintessence of his own Awakening, but there was no way to be sure now. He was just an Avatar with no power, and his recent semi-omnipotence was gone.
The strange thing was… Being in an astral form, even tho he couldn't feel anything, at the same time, a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. He couldn't be an Avatar. An Avatar was a separate being. So, what was happening?
"No... It can't be!"
The truth is hard to swallow. Every time he had reincarnated, this hadn't happened, so why was it different this time? Was he really an Avatar?
"No... This body can't handle an Avatar this powerful. It's going to..."
Even as an Avatar, he almost blacked out. To be precise, he shattered. Every piece of his being broke into fragments, as if he were dying. If that happened — if the Avatar of a Mage died — he would never be a Mage again. He could never reincarnate. He would become mundane!
He felt his shattered pieces being sucked into the Paradox Realm. This world didn't want him to exist, so it would regurgitate him back into the depths of Reality until it could destroy him.
"I can't let it happen!"
With sheer force of will, he forced himself to resist the Paradox and avoid being sucked in, pushing himself to fuse with his new body. But the amount of strength it took to achieve this extraordinary feat, to defy reality itself, was no small task. He didn't have the time to calculate or maneuver carefully, so instead of just flying to the boy's body, the one he had inhabited for six years, he also tried to control his hundreds of thousands of pieces. In doing so, he inadvertently fused with many of the other children, workers, police officers, and nurses surrounding him. As he extended his essence, he felt himself intertwining with their lives, drawing strength from them. Yet, as his power surged, he could no longer maintain this connection. The remnants of his being — most of his fragmented magical self — were cast adrift, scattered across the vastness of the universe, lost among both the known and unknown realms of Reality.
"Damn…"
Gilgamesh internally screamed. He had lost 95% of himself. Only 5% of his being remained with his reincarnated body. He had to awaken many people to escape this situation with as little damage as possible. He couldn't even control his direction in this state. The worst part was, without a doubt, that he was an Avatar.
He hadn't reincarnated into this boy. He hadn't even possessed this body later. No, he was the boy's guide, leading him along his path to becoming a Mage. He would never be a Mage himself.
...
A few days later, in a hospital, a child awoke.
"Nurse! One of them woke up!" A police officer called out to a nurse, who rushed to the child's bed.
"Let me check on him."
The nurse ensured the child was okay before asking for his name. He wasn't Gilgamesh, and he didn't have a name. He told her as much.
The police didn't ask the boy for information about the incident. A child who couldn't even remember his own name seemed to offer little in terms of answers. It seemed pointless to ask for details at the moment.
Meanwhile, all the surviving children were interviewed to see if they knew anything, but it seemed they, too, had no clue about their identities or what had happened.
"That's certainly unprecedented. All of them have amnesia?"
"How is that possible?"
"We can't push them to tell us everything. They were being trafficked. Only God knows what was done to them and what they've already been through."
"That doesn't help the police."
"We found some of the children's parents. They can go home, but some of them will need to be sent to an orphanage."
"It is what it is."
There was a lot of discussion surrounding the children.
'Am I in a hospital?' The boy thought. The adults weren't in the room, but their discussion was still audible.
A man passed through the door, wearing a suit and a hat. His hair was white, and he had an impressive beard. He cast a calm, assessing gaze over the room before his eyes settled on the boy, who was sitting quietly on his hospital bed. With a polite nod, he walked over, his polished shoes clicking softly against the floor.
"Good evening," he greeted, his voice deep and measured. "My name is Mr. Borba, and I'm here to take you to a new place, a place where you'll be safe and cared for."
The boy looked at him, eyes wide, but his expression was unreadable. He didn't say anything, just stared at this mysterious figure. Mr. Borba seemed unfazed; he was used to the silence of children who had seen too much, wrapped in shock and confusion.
With a gesture, he invited the boy to stand, and the child slowly rose from the bed. Other children in the ward watched in hushed silence as nurses entered to help gather their few belongings—mostly small bags containing clothes provided by the hospital, some toys, and comfort items.
One by one, the children lined up, each accompanied by a nurse or caretaker. Mr. Borba addressed them in a calm, reassuring tone.
"I know this may feel strange. But rest assured, you will be taken care of, and you will soon find a new home."
They walked out together, a solemn procession down the sterile corridors of the hospital, illuminated by dim evening lights. Outside, two dark, comfortable-looking vans waited, each marked with the symbol of St. Gabriel's Orphanage. The children were quietly ushered into the vehicles, the cold night air adding to the eerie stillness that followed them.
Mr. Borba made sure each kid was settled, casting a careful glance at each one of them as if assessing their silent burdens. Finally, he climbed into the front seat of the lead van, nodding to the driver, who started the engine with a low rumble. The convoy pulled away from the hospital.
'This world must really hate me,' thought the Avatar, Gilgamesh. This Mr. Borba was none other than a Mage.
'They've already found me, but... they don't seem to have figured out my identity yet. Maybe it has to do with the fact that my consciousness isn't inside the boy's body? What about the other kids I awakened at the harbor? Too many questions...'
The truth was, Gilgamesh couldn't contact his other pieces. There was only one thing he could do. Get them back. But to do that… it wasn't in his hands; it was in the hands of this child. He would have to nurture and educate him carefully, but perhaps that would be impossible with another Mage involved.
'I'll delay revealing myself to him until I can think of something.'