***
Back in the liminal space.
The legion's murmurs surged through Faust's mind. He jolted upright from his resting position, his spirit body's reaction to the possession was a strange shiver.
"Finally," rasped the first lesser spirit "After centuries, a body of my own."
"Ours," corrected a second. "And a poor one at that. He's so pale."
Faust's fingers jerked, nails scraping the rock. His left eye twitched as a third spirit hissed, "Why waste time? Tear it apart and find a better host."
"No," growled the first. "We'll make use of him, after which we find a better vessel. "
As the lesser spirits rambled on, a grim realization hit him, he had forgotten a key part of the ceremony.
Listening for a metaphor wasnt a direct process. You didn't just wait for a word to drop from the countless whispers. You had to hear and interpret a creed or, as it was commonly called, a Tale.
A Tale was a brief but cryptic description of the metaphor, one had to decrypt it to gain the metaphor. This was the tricky part of the seventeen ceremony, interpreting the tale wrongly was enough to alter the final metaphor heard.
Faust gripped the rock which provided shade to him, hauling himself up. His skin had begun to peel and shrivel. This was a sign of his spirit body corroding as his physical body was now under the legion's hold, and he had no spirit gear.
No spirit gear meant no anchor for his spirit, he'd vanish soon.
"I won't lose another child to the whisper," Claire's voice echoed in the memory that went through Faust's mind. "We'll wait until you get your metaphor before you attempt to summon your spirit gear... "
He rolled his eyes and laughed dryly, " Well, Mother, I am going to die anyway, and sadly, I won't be leaving any memento for you... Unlike Casper". He added looking at his glove.
The desert had changed. It was Nightfall.
Faust froze.
This wasn't due to the legion; their whispers were just background noise compared to a lifetime of ravings.
Faust's body shivered, it was as if his heart would jump out of his mouth.
A figure stood in the distance.
No one should be here. This was his liminal space.
He noticed it wasn't just a single silhouette figure; there were seven of them. With him at their center.
"Should I run? "
"Run?" Faust almost laughed. Where? A sprint through the open desert with seven shadowy judges on my tail? "Might as well try to outrace the sunset. "
What's the worst that could happen? At this point, his body spirit body was becoming ethereal. It was fading slowly.
Straightening, he waved his arm. " I'm Faust. Not that I mind visitors, but you guys seem late for the show...
Smiling, he added, "Better late than never, it seems. "
The figures now began to approach him.
Although he failed to express it, the thought of dying felt like a hard ball in his throat.
All he could think of now was how he had always wanted to silence the whispers but now he had failed to do that.
Worst he was going to end up like Casper. With this thought, Faust felt despair creep into him.
He continued as If the figures were listening.
"You know, ever since I was little, I've always wondered what true silence felt like...
And of all the negative effects of the primordial spirit's whispers I've been tormented with lack of sleep and restlessness. Aren't I human? I need sleep.? "
Through his left eye, he glimpsed the cathedral. His body struggled to remove the headgear, a barrier sealing him off from Father Maximus.
He couldn't tell his parents' reaction as he had a lesser hold of his body now, but he could feel the grief from his mother as she interacted with the barrier to no avail.
Faust attention came back to the liminal space, and he noticed that the figures were already getting close, but strangely, he couldn't tell what they were as they were completely dark, allowing only the figures to be seen by their outline.
Faust let out a sigh as he instinctively took a step backward towards the rock. At this point, his biggest regret was adding to his parent's grief.
To this day, his mother still sets a plate for Casper every night. His father had never remained the same silently blaming himself for Casper's death.
Faust chuckled as he slumped against the rock, folding into a lotus position.
"Can I have a last wish? " He waited as if the figures would answer.
"Let me taste true silence. Just once. "
The figures stopped.
Fsust eyes darted open; for a second, it was as if the never-ending whispers had ceased.
The feelings in his heart couldn't be expressed, but they were immediately overshadowed by a voice.
"That's definitely my voice. "
The Tale. Now? When he was knocking on Death's door?
The desert surged, and what followed was a gentle breeze. The atmosphere, the bleeding sky had an unnoticeable shift in hue.
A voice then boomed in the atmosphere. Faust's voice.
" Wayward heretic of curiosity,
Harbinger of certain uncertainty,
Yields questions clenched in jaws."
This was a sliver of hope; who knew there was light at the door of death?
The chance of surviving stirred hope in Faust.
He quickly repeated the Tale in his head. He had to find a deeper meaning behind it to gain his metaphor.
"Wayward? ... Faust's eyes darted around; he didn't mind the frozen silhouette figures. Right now what mattered was gaining his metaphor.
"You have to be kidding me thou Spirit. Me?... Wayward? "
Faust grumbled; he noticed one of the figures shaking its head; he felt a feeling of mockery and disappointment. His attention was then drawn to his lower body as now it was already gone leaving only his head floating.
"Am still at the door of death, I have to be quick,"
Feeling his neck slowly dispersing, he mumbled in a rush without overthinking.
"Wayward heretic of curiosity,
Harbinger of certain uncertainty,
Yielding questions clenched in jaws."
Ignoring his misquote, a laugh burst out of him.
" Poetic. It's obviously an acrostic, the tale spells out. W. H. Y. This is definitely my metaphor. My metaphor is ...
Immediately, darkness veiled over Faust's sight.
With the feeling of his spirit body restructuring, he felt like he was falling through a well.
Below. The cathedral, his possessed body, the subdued madwoman.
Above. The seven silhouette figures, watching.
Falling, he wondered who or what they were. He forced a blink as he was sure he had seen one of them jump into the well. But he couldn't see anything again.
A smile appeared on Faust's face as he finally heard it. Not his metaphor but silence.
Following that, a loud word echoed in his mind. It was louder than any whisper he had heard in his life, sharper and more imposing.
That word was 'WHY'.
***
Back at the cathedral, candles had been placed around the barrier formed around Faust by Father Maximus' attendants. This was a form of barrier over a barrier.
Father Maximus was sweating as he recited some prayers, finally calming the lady who had gone insane.
Then a gasp.
Among the kneeling celebrants, a brown-skinned girl suddenly gasped as she let out a word. "MEA CULPA".
The attendants rushed to remove her headgear as she stared blankly at the ceiling, the words tumbling like stones from her lips.
Claire sat on the floor by the barrier, her sons spent. Dominic stood rigid beside her. His hope, a dying flame.
Father Maximus had stepped towards the barrier now; he turned towards Dominic and Claire, and he nodded at Dominic. What Father Maximus was about to do would surely handle the spirits, but there would be no body for the family to bury.
He spread his arms as if to embrace the barrier. A sharp word resonated in the cathedral. This was Father Maximus' metaphor. "BITE".
For a priest, his metaphor was the most unconventional, but it was what made him unique.
Following the resounding metaphor. Spectral jaws erupted from the space between his opened arm. Unhinging wide enough to swallow the barrier hole.
A wave suddenly rippled through the cathedral as the lesser spirits possessing Faust's body scattered in all directions, returning back to the spirit realm.
Claire immediately stood up, she wasn't sure what was going on at the moment. Dominic's eyes widened with surprise as all of his hope had been lost.
As if waking from a falling dream, Faust's eyes darted open as he let out a word in a low tone. "WHY". With that, he fell to the ground.
His headgear had already been ripped apart by the force of the legion, so the attendants didn't approach him.
At that instant, beside him, a boy who was kneeling directly by Faust, awoke weeping.
His tears weren't of grief, but that was the only way his body could express the excruciating feeling of the intensified whispers.
With this sight, the congregation burst into murmurs as a new outcast had been added to Asperbone Ridge. Asperbone Ridge, where they resided, had the highest rate of failed seventeen ceremonies compared to the other parts of the Alderia empire.
Among them, a figure cladded in a brown cloak sitting in a pew far behind gently separated her legs, which were crossed. Strangely, she was barefooted.
With a nod, she stood up, her white hair escaping from the cloak's cover, and turning towards the cathedral's exit walked away; although she was barely noticed by the congregation, Father Maximus caught sight of her through the side of his eye.
Faust lay panting on the cold floor. His reflection stared back from the obsidian altar, with the same ink-black hair and the same tired eyes.
He chuckled; I still have those deep, tired eyes. I thought getting a metaphor was meant to improve my looks; Gelatea lied to me.
His thoughts were interrupted as Claire helped him up, hugging her son.