The Mirror World

The smell of death consumed the air as the battle concluded. A young voice rang out amidst the deafening silence,

"You can't win, Aldrik. Just give up and come home!" 

A young man shouted, his body adorned with black armor resembling a Crusader's. In his hands lay a cracked Great Axe that had seen countless battles. His stature resembled a monster's: his body was large, his muscles grand. 

Aldrik stares at the Dark Crusader before switching his gaze toward his hand. His flesh is long gone, leaving delicate white bones in its place. An undead is all he is—a creature of myth. He responds to the young man.

"There is no home for me left, Arza. We both know that. End this." Pain swallowed his voice as if he was barely able to speak those words.

Biting back a response, Arza readies his Great-Axe. Aldrik could no longer fight; his dark magics had run dry, and his undead army lay defeated.

Aldrik gazes into the sky one last time before steeling his mind. Arza knows he's incapable of fighting anymore, but there was one last thing he could do: Invoke the ancient spell his beloved God had taught him long ago. His words ring through his ears again: "This spell is of the highest order, that of the Gods. Use it wisely, for there is no second time."

This was it. Either he dies to Arza, or he lives to see another day. Invoking the spell forward, his hollow skull glows an eerie blue.

"You're still capable of the dark arts, Aldrik?! But how-?!"

Before he could speak any further, a monstrous roar echoed throughout the desolate land, paralyzing the two. A great rift tore open into the world as numerous tendrils reached down and grasped at Aldrik, dragging him within.

Returning to his senses, Arza shouts towards his closest friend and greatest foe one final time.

"Aldrik!"

...

Coming back to his senses, Aldrik grasps at his skull as a pounding headache tears through his body. Shock consumes him as he notices flesh covering his arms. Quickly getting up from his lying position, he checks his body and realizes all his flesh has returned. His greatest curse was broken.

'These clothes remind me of those the highborn wear... what happened to me?'

Noting that he was currently in what seemed to be a high-quality carriage, his mind quickly twisted and turned, trying to find an explanation for what had happened.

'Alright, I invoked the spell my Lord had bestowed upon me. A dimensional rift of perplexing size appeared, and I was swallowed into it. Did I... perhaps get transmigrated into a highborn body?'

As if on cue, his mind roars with pain as memories flood back into him. His name was Alexander Heathcliff. He is the child of a Viscount who was found to have potential with magic and was then sent to the South Port, where he can choose an academy to enter. 

'A new world... was this my Lord's blessing this whole time? Why would he tell me to invoke this spell? Was it so I would have no regrets? Did my Lord know what this spell would do? I must find clues-'

His mind froze. Before him, on the other side of the carriage, was a bowl of grapes and lemonade. Looking down once more at his flesh, hunger consumed him. How long had it been since he last dined? How many years did starvation tear him apart? Jumping up from his spot, he smashes his face into the bowl of grapes, devouring them as if someone was going to take them from him.

Rising his face from the now empty bowl, he grabs the lemonade with the power of ten thousand suns and drinks it rabidly. Satisfied, he moves back and sits back down. Realizing the peculiarity of his situation, he thinks to himself.

'This has to be a blessing from my Lord. I must pray to him and get a response on what's going on.'

Kneeling on the floor of the carriage, he invokes the Ancient Words.

"O' Kull Nephirr of the Dead! Heed my call! For what purpose am I here for?"

Darkness swallows the carriage as space distorts. Reality broke into indescribable pieces as countless remains surrounded him. Blood rain begins to pour as a terrible fog descends with a voice as loud as thunder.

"My beloved Chosen. I hear your call. I am glad to see your flesh has returned to you." The formless Fog spoke in joy.

Noting his God's presence, Aldrik relaxes. "My esteemed Lord. Where am I?"

Hearing this question, the formless Fog shakes as if confused. "I know not. This world is unknown. I am certain you have already discovered that you have been transmigrated to a new vessel."

Clearing his throat, Aldrik stands up as the Fog surrounds him as if giving him one gigantic hug. "What shall be my mission, Lord?"

As if expecting that response, the Fog begins to get denser as echoes of screams begin to resound throughout the desolate land, "Spread my name to this new World; Let them know the power of Kull Nephirr!"

Gently smiling, he places his arms behind his back as he bows. "As you wish, my Lord. I shall serve you with all my being."

As the darkness lifts and light finally flows through the carriage curtains, Aldrik sits down. Feeling gratitude towards his God, he relaxes. Curious about his surroundings, he opens the curtain to see they have stopped—a lousy feeling courses through his veins.

The loud sound of knocking resounds as Aldrik realizes what happened.

'Shit! They likely detected or saw my communion! I need to do something about this!'

Calming himself down, he devised a plan to trick them, but one essential item was required. If his memories serve right, he has an Essence Detector in his pocket, which can check one's potential. Praying his plan works, he opens the carriage door while maintaining caution.