12. *Your Body of Work

(A/N: Every chapters before was only to set up for this particular one. I'm so proud of it lol. Though it may not be it for everyone as it's heavily leaning on the psychology and faith thingy.)

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[In the howling darkness of the end, the very men become monsters that savage what little they have left. You are right to fear that 'thing'. But that very 'thing' will drive those men to triumph and encourage them to overcome and carry the glimmer of hope… The Flame of Madness and Atonement.]

[Or led to the failure in countless attempts that have carved into your very being.]

Veilhem awoke to find himself in a mansion of some sort. He examined the surroundings with a perplexed expression, trying to figure out how he had landed himself here.

It was a gloomy and disgusting setting with a rotten and putrid odor. He was used to that scent.

Pillars extended toward the sky and penetrated the clouds above. He couldn't see the ceiling in this spot.

Even the formerly exquisite walls were discolored with moss and ruptures. The entire castle was old and ancient, and it appeared to have been abandoned for a long time. 

Veilhem trailed off in the moist passage since that was the only route in this area. He was unclear what to do next, but his soul instructed him to walk. 

He walked. But to where? He didn't know.

He continued to wander aimlessly in this lonely corridor of the place without any purpose. 

He was tired, so so tired.

He was exhausted beyond imagination. 

Yet he kept moving. 

To where? 

Veilhem asked himself again and again, hoping to keep himself accompanied as he navigated this aimless journey. 

How and why.

Till he felt the chilling sensation brushed past his skin. He got out of the daze as he looked ahead. He was standing in front of a throne.

The king's room. 

Majestic and authoritative.

But that was not what represented this place. 

It was dark and devoid of anything or anyone. The only way he could see was because a dimly lit light cascaded down from the broken window at the end of the room. Yet even that light was weak and feeble, making this murky place feel all the more depressing and gloomy.

The pile of ashes accumulated till it reached the sky above and on top of it was the throne. It wasn't made out of gold or any expensive mineral. No, it was made of stone.

But the particular thing was that it was turned around, giving him the back.

The Turned Throne. 

(A/N: I fking dare anyone to guess what this meant.)

It… felt familiar, at least for him. 

Veilhem began to climb the mountain of ashes, but numerous hands protruded from the ashes and pushed him back.

They held him down; no matter how hard he tried to shrug it off, more would follow. Despite the fact that there were countless hands clutching to him, they failed to harm him. They simply grabbed him and pulled him toward them.

He was exhausted.

But he felt the need to reach to the throne and see what was behind it. Perhaps it could explain why he was here in the first place. 

Ignoring the hands, he continued ascending to the throne.

The more he attempted to reach it, the more those hands reached out and held him back. It was as if they intended to smother him and bury him in the pile of ashes, becoming one of them.

He rejected the ideal and crawled out of it. 

Seeing the throne was still far away from his reach, he slumped down or wanted to. His entire soul was drawing him toward the throne with all of its might. His yearning was there, only effort was needed. 

But why does he have to do that? Can't he give up?

That thought lingered in his head as he continued to struggle to get rid of these hands.

He made his way to the top and peered at what the stone throne was hiding.

[Gaze upon your sum total of failures...] 

[...your body of work.]

It was shocking.

The man was sitting on the stone throne with a sword pierced through his torso. He had a dull look as he continued to thrust the sword deeper and deeper. Dark blood seeped through the wound and trickled down to form a pool beneath them. 

The man who was sitting on the throne was him. It was a copy of him, down to the last minor details. 

Veilhem looked at the scene with bewilderment and suddenly, the man suddenly jerked his head and looked at him silently, as if he was telling him something but he didn't know what it was.

Veilhem clutched his head as the headache came up and he felt like his head was about to explode to millions of pieces. It was like he had forgotten something important. The doppelganger of his was there to remind him of that. Veilhem knew that…but what exactly was that 'thing'?

The pain grew stronger as time passed till he couldn't stand anymore. He fell on his knee as he held his head in pain. It was maddening to say the least.

The doppelganger just silently gazed at him with its golden flame eyes burning in its eyes. It felt as if he was judging him. 

What did he forget?

The hands that were grabbing him suddenly grew in size and they continued to drag him down to the pile of ashes. 

Veilhem knew he was out of time and he should figure out the answer. But it was frustrating to him, as his memory loss was severe. 

He eventually succumbed to it and was pulled into the heap of ashes made by countless corpses that had been burned to cinders. The doppelganger still looked at him with its judging eyes, he was looking down on him.

Veilhem's mind now was lost. He let his body drift into the unknown as the world turned into darkness once again. 

He struggled, but his effort yielded no result. 

Why him?

He asked, but the silence was his only companion right now.

No one responded, no one glanced at him, and no one judged him. It was nothing, pure oblivion.

But why bother?

His struggle was phenomenal; he should get a nice rest, right?

Veilhem's eyelids grew heavier as he closed his eyes in front of the enormous task that was set on him. However, the prospect of slumber scared him. He wasn't sure what would happen if he rested. 

[Sometimes, the greatest horror you could have imagined, it would seem, is nothing at all.]

[The unknown thing that has plagued your mind is often persistent and insidious.]

Even so, he was unable to rest since fate had another plan for him, tormenting the guy once again for its passion. He despised it, letting himself fully plummet to this calm and dark night.

Veilhem felt a hand placed on his shoulders as he fell to the floor, assuming there was one to begin with.

He pushed his eyes open as he looked around to see who was touching him. 

To his incredulity, a girl with red hair tied in a long braid and two strands on the side stared at him. Her eyes were distinctive since they did not resemble any human being he could think of. The golden irises fastened on him, like if they were penetrating his pathetic soul. 

However, her gaze had turned into a frown, a sight that was clearly unseen to him.

But why did it feel so different?

Veilhem lost in his train of thoughts as his mind did its best to keep him awake. 

She mumbled something but he couldn't grasp what that was. According to how he read her lips, she was telling him this.

[Wake up Veilhem.]

[&^& &%& me ^*&#alone.]

He could not move at all, his body was paralyzed. Her delicate face showed signs of anxiety. She was undeniably beautiful. Nevertheless, someone like her continued calling him in desperation.

How odd…

A tear rolled down her cheek as she did so. She began to slam her small fist into his chest and call him. 

He felt nothing. Truly nothing at all.

Veilhem grumbled, attempting to recall the real essence of the event.

The redhead sat on top of him, putting his hand to her mouth. She bit softly. Her frigid face was replaced with a bitter look.

The sensation was… peculiar yet it was familiar…

He definitely knew this.

Ma…ki…ma?

A storm of emotions raged within him that he was unaware of, as he saw that gorgeous face melt down in tears. He wanted to put out his hand and draw her closer, giving her a strong embrace to calm her down. 

He didn't know why but he felt like he should do it. Albeit, his hands didn't move, more like it couldn't. 

Veilhem wanted to move so desperately. He forced himself to move through sheer will and great struggle. That desperation brought the flame that resided within him. 

Finally, his fingers twitched. 

[While the Flame still burns, hope remains.]

Something in him rekindled, a spark of hope, the 'thing' that should have been extinguished a long time ago. That very 'thing' kept him in line and gave him the reason to linger on. 

It was Hope.

The greatest weapon of mankind.

It's ironic, isn't it. 

The embers gently consumed his fatigued body, providing him with a new wave of warmth. The gorgeous girl with those inhuman traits was there, clutching him tightly while quietly crying in his chest. 

Feeling the heat, she broke out of her daze and raised her head in surprise. 

Yes, he realized it now. His purpose. His only wish and hope. That had led him to sign a contract with Devil, who had the appearance of the girl in front of him.

To be freed from the cycle and to die as a human. 

[Your craven past is behind you, ahead lies your redemption. Raise and shine, for as long as you can before your demise. It was not an easy path but it was the path that you have chosen nonetheless.]

Veilhem struggled to rise from the ashes. It felt like minutes, hours, or even days to get out of there. He took a look up at his doppelganger in the eyes and pulled the blade from the man's belly.

The moment he did that, Veilhem could swear that the doppelganger smirked beneath the helmet. He turned into ashes and scattered, becoming part of the ash mountain. 

Veilhem sat on the stone throne, he now knew what this throne actually was. 

The Throne of Want.

For every undead to want meant that they wouldn't lose oneself, slowing down the hollowing process. 

Veilhem knew what he had to do. He turned his gaze to the sword that was in his hand. Touching it meticulously, he felt the texture one last time. 

Veilhem plunged the sword deep into his torso, groaning in pain as he did so. His body shook tremendously as his agony seemed to never end. But it didn't matter in the end. He was used to this.

His black blood gushed out as he stared at the splendid windows in front of him. The headless knight had his own head resting on his laps, while the Dark Sigil was rising high in the sky above him.

[We will see each other soon, #*%#. For now, let me wish your path is filled with wondrous blessings and tragedies.]

The light shone upon him, gracing him with its dim brightness. 

[Do you hear it? The dissonance rang in between?]

Veilhem felt his awareness vanish into the dark night, yet he didn't regret it. His ears were flooded with incomprehensible sounds from the mystery voice that narrated the entire time. 

His fate failed him but he accepted and embraced it nonetheless.

[I represented this requiem…]

[...to you.]

At that fleeting moment that seemed to be milliseconds, his soul had advanced one step to that of a Lord.

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(A/N: I did go plus ultra holy fuck. I just want to make a chapter that indicates how badly death affects the undead but I didn't expect myself to go completely further and beyond. 

Yes yes, I know that my writing is trash but I tried ok. I noticed not many readers read this kind of story on this platform. Perhaps I should become a lobotomy JJK fan and embrace the brainrot.

So… I deserve to take a break, no? hehe.)