Michael escaped.
But he still wasn't safe yet.
Michael desperately struggled to crawl along the rough, rocky floor. He summoned the [Crimson Mantle] to protect his injured and sensitive body from the chilling cold pressuring him. His outstretched left hand pulled himself forward, the sharp sound of his steel armor scraping against the floor resonating in his ears. He pushed onward with his right leg, grotesquely mangled beyond recognition from so much overuse.
His right arm dragged behind him like a disfigured, limp worm, and his left leg was cut short with an atrocious amputation.
As he slowly inched further, his body painted the ground in a gruesome trail of crimson. This time, his mark on the world wouldn't disappear as most of his blood never returned to his body.
'Listen to me...'
Michael tried so hard to control the blood, he really did, but it just wouldn't bend to his will. Who would want to conform to a weak, mutilated boy with no hope?
"It seems even your own body has abandoned you. No one cares about the weak, Michael."
He ignored his mother's raspy whisper by biting his own tongue. Pain did wonders to hide one's imagination.
Michael perceived the ethereal exhaustion infect his muscles and mind... no, his very being, slowly draining him of all energy as more and more blood fell out of him. He lost strength in his neck, but still continued pulling himself forward, his miserable figure shrouded in the profound darkness softly illuminated by the dense fog above.
Minutes passed by in tranquil silence, occasionally broken by Michael's muffled groans and subdued whimpers. He was alone in this abyss.
His head was overflowed with activity. His rapid heartbeat - slowing by the second - reverberated in his mind, and his ears were deafened with his mother's murmur. His body was warm, almost scorching hot, and yet he felt so cold.
Following hours of enduring the heartless abyss, Michael felt something he sorely missed. He struggled to lift his aching neck and his eyes sparkled with faded hope.
Just within his reach, his frail fingers covered in the lusterless gauntlet glistened with incandescent light.
Michael looked up into the distance of the tunnel and saw faint brilliance hidden behind a ledge. He couldn't contain his excitement, and even though his body refused, Michael rushed. His desperation for salvation made him trip over himself, but it was all worth it.
A vast camp sprawled across the cavern's surface and depths. The towering structures built from crumbling onyx stone rose in haunting defiance against the faint darkness, their spires reaching to the misty night sky like wretched fingers longing to reach the stars.
Jagged archways lined the streets, their intricate engravings revealing the past, while ornate windows stained with bizarre imagery reflected the present. Black bridges stretching between steep edifices suspended like skeletal remains, connecting the tallest peaks to the ominous passageways of below, reaching the cobblestone streets creating a complex labyrinthine.
Torches burned with an ethereal radiance, casting distorted shadows on the streets below, dancing with ritualistic fervor upon the gothic facades. Amongst the gloom, Michael even saw his mother join the shadows as she twirled and spun.
The camp looked unfinished and yet astonishing. There was no reclamation by nature or infestation from nightmare creatures, but instead it was consumed by dust and broken scaffolding while raw materials laid about, as if the workers vanished.
It looked like an ancient relic of a long-forgotten civilization stubbornly resisting decay, and yet Michael couldn't disregard the odd familiarity he felt. He just couldn't understand why.
It was oddly similar to the paused constructions in the outskirts, where rich bastards wanted to 'help' the rats like him, only to abandon the project halfway when they got bored. But that still wasn't the answer.
'Are there people? Where are they?'
Were there other people like him? Have other sleepers made their home here... maybe even awakened?
Michael's resigned face finally showed a hint of hope as he looked down from the ledge. He glanced beside him where steps led to one of the many pathways, eventually making it to the streets.
His eagerness blinded his rationality as he yelled in a raspy, broken voice.
"H-hello!? Please..."
His voice cracked and he swallowed hard, tasting his blood.
"Is there someone - anyone here!?"
The cave only answered with deep and suffocating silence, pressing against his chest.
"Hello!? Please, I need hel-"
His sentence was interrupted when he went into a terrible coughing fit, spitting out blood and emptying his lungs. After a few agonizing moments, Michael scanned the streets for anyone, but he could only see his mother.
'Just where are these people...'
Michael turned his body so he could safely descend the stairs until he heard a loud screech above him. Looking up with a frightened expression, he saw a massive bat-like creature with torn skin and exposed muscles, oozing foul liquid from its rotten, infested body.
The nightmare creature relinquished its clutches from a rock pillar and swooped at Michael with daunting speed, reaching him within mere seconds. Its long, razor-sharp claws curled around and pierced him, locking him into place.
Michael was lifted into the air as the bat flew between the buildings and alleys with formidable agility. The creature knocked him into the indestructible onyx brick and scraped him against the streets, turning his bones into dust and peeling his skin.
He had long summoned [Wolf's Wrath], but he was restrained by the claws tightly wrapping around him, so he couldn't swing or stab the bat's body.
However, Michael knew he wasn't restricted to just using his weapon.
With all the little energy he had left, he tried commanding his blood to flow up the monster's legs, but nothing worked. His blood refused to listen and his splitting headache only aggravated.
'Listen... to me...'
Michael felt a seed of despair grow in his mind. Why won't his body just listen? It's his, his to control alone.
Then suddenly, everything became a little clearer.
'I said... listen!'
He used [Wolf's Wrath] to slice his own hand. Blood pooled and crawled up the bat's legs, withstanding the strong wind before making its way into the mouth, all according to his will.
Michael was continuously thrown against the bulwark buildings until the bat faltered and squirmed in agony. In the panic, it threw him through a large, ornate window on one of the towering structures.
Crystal glass shattered and sliced Michael as he rolled across a ruined, dark wooden floor. He flew across the gloomy room and slammed into the other side, right below another ornate window letting in faint light.
He grimaced and clenched himself as the window above him shattered. The bat crashed into the floor with it's massive body, wriggling and screeching.
Michael tiredly crawled to the creature, the sound of its shrills overshadowing the crisp crunch of metal crushing shards of glass.
'You abominations never learn.'
He mounted the creature and summoned [Wolf's Wrath], stabbing the creature in its rotten head and twisting the serrated curved blade. Michael didn't stop until he saw the bat's eyes lose the spark to survive with useless determination, and heard the cursed voice of the Spell ring in his head.
[You have slain an Awakened Monster: Decayed Bat]
His crimson stained figure lurched over the bat and he didn't waste a single second of repose to dig into the creature's rotten hide, tearing it apart with his teeth and gauntlet.
[Your blood grows thicker.]
Michael's broken bones slowly repaired as his skin stitched back together. His ribs groaned into place, and his left leg's stump expelled blood, slowing coalescing and taking shape into a foot.
He spent agonizing minutes suffering through the excruciating torture of his flaw, through the nauseating disgust of drinking vile blood and foul meat, and through the irresistible urge to cry.
It wasn't long until his frame was cladded in the [Crimson Mantle], completely restored with the warm, dark plates snugly wrapped around his shivering, weak body.
'I did it... I survived.'
Michael looked up from the carcass and glanced around the room, his pale face soiled with nasty liquids and flesh.
He was in a faintly lit room with dark wood floors, black stone walls and wooden furniture. There were several empty bookshelves covered in webs, but that was really it. The rest of the miserable room was either empty or had broken furnishings.
Michael messily staggered onto his feet, nearly falling from the weird sensation of having his regular body back. He took careful steps towards a set of stairs descending downwards, using objects or the walls as support.
Once he took his first wobbly step down, he suddenly felt really light. His conscious slipped before his head even smacked against the ground.
=====
Michael opened his heavy eyes and found himself lying under the covers of a thick, warm blanket. The ivory walls reflected the pale light of a radiant lantern on the bedside table next to him. The room's balcony was closed, allowing the milky curtains a chance to rest from the howling winds outside.
He turned his head - without flinching in searing torment - to look at the person next to him. It was a beautiful woman with lustrous hair, her picturesque eyes utterly engrossed in the book laid on her chest barely covered by a silky gown.
She looked so adorable, making Michael's lips curl into a pleasant smile.
"You look adorable."
Michael's wife gave him a passing glance before resuming her activity, a slight proud smirk plastered on her delicate lips.
"I don't need you to tell me that."
Michael wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder. He would read the book but the spell never translated it, and his reading comprehension was still juvenile compared to her.
"I know, but you like it when I do."
She rested her head on his and kissed it.
"Hmph. You can't even read this book, and yet you find it so easy to read me."
"You make it so easy, like your face when I-"
"Enough."
"Yes ma'am."
Michael couldn't really talk, he was terrible at hiding his facial expressions like right now with his beaming grin. And he couldn't blame her either, it wasn't her fault he was naturally gifted at-
"I don't need to look at you to know what's running through that indecent mind of yours."
He stayed silent and allowed his cheeky smile to speak for him. A few moments of warm silence passed by as the candle gently flickered with fiery embers, at least until Michael grew curious.
"Care to enlighten your clueless husband on what you're currently reading? The runes look... entertaining"
She softly glanced at him again before looking back.
"My pretty boy is curious in my hobbies?"
Michael felt his cheeks fluster as her chest faintly rose in subdued laughter.
"Hey, I just want to know if it's something I should be jealous of."
She hooked her slender arm around him and used her hand to point at the runes.
"I'm reading a entertaining story I loved back when I was a kid. The plot follows a young boy called... what does that rune say?"
Michael concentrated his weirdly empty mind to remember the lessons from his wife. The language spoken by the ancient people were quite unlike his own, but the same as the one the Spell used. Each rune could mean completely different things depending on the context, tone, other runes next to it and many other factors, making interpretation of such a thing very complex. Even just a slight difference to how the runes looked could change everything.
To solve this, he came up with a technique. He would associate the words with his imagination.
"Sun- no, moon... lost? Lost moon?"
"Yes, but typically it's simplified as 'Moon Loss'. If I ever meet the mother that called their precious son Moon Loss, I'll give her a piece of my mind."
'As empathetic as ever.'
She paused for a few seconds before continuing.
"Anyways, Moon Loss - usually called Luna - is an orphan peasant. A very frail, feeble boy."
"Aww, what a poor guy."
"I know, right? He spent his whole life on the streets... makes me sad just thinking about it."
'I want to tell her I was on the streets, but I shouldn't... but what if she makes me pancakes?'
Michael was lost in thought, contemplating his decision while she resumed her explanation.
"After spending his whole life on the streets, suddenly, a war rages in his city, plunging his life into chaos. Ravenous beasts chase him, forcing him to run into the forest."
"What happened next?"
"He escapes by the skin of his teeth. After wandering the wilderness, lost and afraid to trust anyone, a star falls from the sky."
"A star? Really? Seems awfully coincidental..."
His wife pinched him, making him yelp.
"Be quiet, it's a story. Just blame fate. As I was saying, the lowly boy encounters the remains of the star, and a gorgeous young lady emerges from the incandescent flames. Their first encounter isn't ideal, but because both were basically swimming in a cursed ocean with no other choices, they decide to survive together."
"How... romantic?"
"In a way, yes. The boy didn't know at first, and it took him a while to come to terms with it, but he truly longed for her."
"Oh, how treacherous..."
"No no, not in that way, but more like... love? It sounds cliche, I know, but if it makes you feel good, being cliche or not doesn't matter."
Michael stared up at her with glistening eyes.
"Maybe I should be more cliche?"
His wife looked down with an imperceptible frown on her graceful brows.
"Yes...?"
"Hey!"
She tightly embraced his head with a sly laugh.
"I already love you for who you are, you don't need to change."
Michael heartedly laughed and rested his head on her warm chest, listening to her beating heart. As he felt lulled to sleep from the calming rhythm, the balcony door unexpectedly crashed open. The chilling, winter wind resounded with an incoherent cacophony of wails and sobs, prompting Michael's hairs to stand on end while the room was casted in shadows. He closed his drowsy eyes to ignore the thunderous cries, only to realize they all came from him.
He hesitantly looked up at his wife's lifeless, pale face. Numerous flies flew between her empty eye sockets, staring at him with an empty gaze, while her once smooth skin was now rotten and decayed, festered with slimy maggots.
Michael struggled to open his quivering mouth, choking on his own guilt. He rested his head on her chest once more, feeling her fragile ribs bend under the minuscule load. No heartbeat was there to soothe his thoughts.
"I want to be with you longer, please don't go. Please don't leave me alone... I don't want to be alone."