Omnium's Fables

Omnium 21280:Do It ,Micheal!

"Ahhh!!! The voice again!!" Giovanni screamed, clutching his head as if a knife were piercing his skull. Then his gaze fell upon Michael, but he seemed to be looking past him, seeing something the boy couldn't perceive. "What is my desire? Yes, I wonder what it was?" he said, grasping Michael by a wing with brutal force. "You Ezralians are truly lucky. You don't hear it. You don't see it. Far from all this madness." His voice cracked, a choked sob, then exploded into sadistic laughter. "I don't even know how long I can keep talking like this. Do you understand, boy?!! I don't even know if these words are my own!!"

"I'm sorry, kid," he said, and with a quick movement, he ripped off Michael's wing. The pain was a white fire, an explosion that burned away every thought. Flesh tore, bones snapped with a wet sound, blood running hot down his back. Michael screamed, a cry that ripped through the silence of his paralysis, before the world dissolved into darkness.

Paolo raised his sword, ready to strike Michael, whose body began to change, his skin cracking, feathers falling like ash. Marco emerged from the tent, his face a mask of disgust. "When I pay for all this, and I will pay. You can be sure of that. I only hope that you two can sink along with me. And if that doesn't happen, I'll make sure to come back for you and kill you myself, you damned monsters," he said, his voice low but sharp as a blade. Then he turned, disappearing among the trees, without stopping the horror.

Michael wandered in a dense darkness, a void that swallowed him, devoid of boundaries, sound, or hope. His body no longer existed, reduced to an echo of broken thoughts, a consciousness floating aimlessly. "What is this...?" he murmured, his voice lost in an infinite nothingness, when a glow pulsed in the distance, faint, intermittent, like a dying star calling his name. "Where am I? Is anyone there?!" he yelled, the sound shattering against invisible walls, returning as a lament. Memories struck him like shrapnel: the Evangelists' betrayal, Mathias's blood soaking the earth, his mother's face transformed into a nightmare. "Now I remember. It's true. The Evangelists killed us..." he said, his voice breaking into a sob. He collapsed, or so it seemed, his imaginary body folding onto a floor that didn't exist, tears burning without falling.

Another glow, closer, made him start. A melody emerged from the silence, at first gentle, like the sound of a distant flute, a warm embrace that reminded him of evenings spent with his mother, her whispered stories before sleep. But the melody changed, twisting into jarring, chaotic notes, like a chorus of broken voices all screaming together. Three figures materialized before him, emerging from the darkness like specters evoked by a forgotten ritual. Two were white, their outlines blurred, like statues of light that moved with quick gestures, busy discussing in a language Michael couldn't grasp. The third was black, sitting at a distance, motionless, its body seeming to absorb every trace of light, a living abyss that pulsed with an ancient and terrifying energy.

Michael hid, or at least he tried, curling up in a corner of the darkness, his heart beating so loudly he feared they would hear him. The melody still enveloped him, a song that both soothed and terrified him. He closed his eyes, concentrating on those elusive notes, unable to memorize them, as if they were a secret his heart knew but his mind refused. For an instant, he saw Mariah's face, her warm smile, but the image warped, her skin scaling, her mouth opening into a fanged grin, the same monster that had devoured Mathias. The melody shattered into a cacophony, a violent shock that made him open his eyes.

The white creatures had noticed him. They stopped talking, their featureless faces turning toward him, invisible eyes piercing him. One seemed to scream, the other smiled, or so it seemed, but the melody stifled every sound, making their intentions a mystery. "Don't come closer!! Leave me alone!!" Michael wanted to scream, but his voice was mute, trapped in that dreamlike prison. He turned, panic squeezing his chest, and found the black figure already behind him, its body towering like a living shadow. A hand reached toward his face, fingers not made of flesh but of a fluid darkness, cold as the vacuum of space. Michael froze, but the fear vanished, replaced by an unnatural calm, as if the creature were offering him refuge from the pain.

Then, through the distorted notes of the melody, two voices tore through the silence. The first was a scream, full of anger and desperation, like a trapped animal: "Do it, damn it! Hurry up! You have to do it! I can't take it anymore!" The second, calm, almost gentle, replied: "Don't worry. Relax. After all, he's already done it. Isn't that right, Michael?" Those words were directed at him, digging inside him, and fear returned, a wave that overwhelmed him. The black hand touched him, and the darkness claimed him, a deep sleep that swallowed him like a bottomless sea.

I don't remember much of my past, except that the Evangelists, led by Marco, massacred all the inhabitants of Louis, including my family. I don't know how I survived Giovanni and Paolo. I only know that I woke up in an inn in Marva, the capital of Maverick, brought there by Graham and Leyla, the man who smelled of cigarettes and his daughter. They found me unconscious along the coasts, my wings torn off. They too had fled from Marco's Mechs.

It was said that Marco betrayed the Papacy, clashing with Giovanni and Paolo, depriving the latter of his sight. He was welcomed by Maverick as a hero, named head of the army. But no one spoke of Louis, of my home, of my family. Graham and Leyla believed me, but I felt they were hiding something.

I returned to the village years later. Louis and Ventra had vanished, swallowed by the forest. No trace, no evidence. After all these years, I am far from the truth, from revenge. As a soldier of Maverick, I get closer to Marco, step by step. It's the only thing I can do.