Through my projection, I make my way across the winding path of the grounds leading up to the door of the mansion. The demons on either side regard my essence briefly, then turn and open the doors. I continue to walk in with my phantom feet and through the same halls I had seen before. The statuary with its thinly veiled threats to all challengers draws my attention again, but I don’t linger too long in the room. My essence stops its forward movement when I reach the foot of the stairs again. I look up, but don’t see Gnat, my father’s jittery little demonic servant. He was there at the top of the stairs when I had a dream of this exact moment after my fight with Rhal.

I feel a powerful presence on the floor above and my essence takes a tentative step onto the first stair. This is different. Last time I was here, I could not take this step. Gnat was at the top looking down at me and said I was not ready to ascend yet. What could it mean that I am now walking up these stairs?

I reach the top and there is still no one in sight, but I glance around me when I hear someone whisper my name. I am pulled forward again before I can completely scan my surroundings.

Other Mike, are you there? I ask. I hadn’t tried to talk to my other half up until this point because the last time, he wasn’t there. Unfortunately, the same can be said this time. Our neutral headspace that we normally speak to each other in is not present. My projection reaches a grandiose door that is slightly ajar and stops.

“Enter,” my father’s voice calls from within, and my essence moves into the room.

The space inside is an elaborately decorated office or study. There are bookshelves recessed into the walls and filled with books and thick tomes. Every fixture in the room is gilded in an ostentatious gold affair, making it look like a classic display of wealth. Alastor, my father, sits behind a desk so large that it spans nearly the entire width of the study. His immense figure, however, dwarfs the fixture. He is leaning down and writing. Glancing up from under his creased brow, his eyes lock onto my projection. I focus on their colors; a yellow around the pupil that mixes with the red extending from the iris and both resembling a gothic sun or a series of solar flares. The intensity of his gaze makes me want to run–and I would be if I could–but his dark expression quickly softens as he studies me.

“Mikael?” he asks confusedly. He sets his writing instrument down and sits up. “You look different, son.”

“Am I really here?” The question escapes my lips before I can think of anything else. The voice that issues from this projection is the same voice I have when burning.

Alastor smiles and I get a sense of dread. It is not necessarily from the smile itself, it’s mostly the fact that my father is a very imposing figure. To see him smile so broadly makes me anxious that I have done something worthy of his praise–and I don’t like that. “Yes, you are really here. You have come to find me again.”

I am sure I had other thoughts, but his usage of ‘again’ gives me pause. “Again? Have I done this before?”

“Yes, just after your confrontation with Rhal,” he says, his smile turning to confusion.

“I thought that was a dream.”

“It was no dream, son. Your essence has sought me out a second time,” he says, smirking.

“Good to know,” I say and instinctively try to speak to my other half before remembering that he’s not there.

His eyes scan my spectral form and he frowns. “You seem troubled, Mikael.”

“Oh, that doesn’t even scratch the surface of what I am.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a weak half grin. “I am aware of your feelings regarding this place. I was referring to your pensive expression. Is something on your mind?”

My brow creases and I purse my lips before answering. “More like a lack thereof.”

He quirks his left brow. “In what regard?”

I sigh deeply. It is a pointless gesture as I am not truly breathing. “My demon and I can’t speak here.”

His expression turns impassive. “Ah,” he says. “That is nothing.”

“Why?”

“There is no separation here.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. In the Pit, you are one. There is no need for a separation of your demonic self. You are simply my son. It is much easier to see when you are like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, then study my spectral form. The closer I inspect myself, the more I see the skin of my transformation. Lines of fire spider through the cracks of volcanic rock across my body–the same form we take when we are combined. I glance up at Alastor and he looks to his left and flicks his chin in the same direction. Following his gesture, I gaze into a mirrored surface and see what he means. My shoulders are more broad, my muscles more taut, this form is an echo of Rhal’s physique. My visage has grown closer to my father’s. I look like a smaller version of him.

“It is no wonder my guards let you in so casually.”

“This is–”

“It suits you,” he says.

“I–What? H–How…” I stammer, but the memories come flooding back to me as if I completed the grisly task myself. We ate him. We ate Rhal and my demon said that it was to “gain his resilience”. I had completely forgotten about it. Or, perhaps, I didn’t want to remember it.

“You have made use of your gifts,” Alastor says.

“Gifts?!” I scoff. “You think that eating people to gain their power is a gift?!”

He cocks his head to the side, but his face remains impassive. I can tell by his stare that he really does see it as a gift. To him, this is a favor. I hang my head, shaking it in disbelief.

“I don’t understand, Mikael. I gave you a means to gain strength. It mimics my own ability. In fact, it improves upon it.” The use of a contraction and the genuine confusion in his voice makes me realize that he is just as flustered as I am.

Wow.

“I… I don’t really know what to say here,” I admit. This is just not something I am ready to deal with. I am like Sylar from that show Heroes. No, actually worse. He murdered people regularly and even he thought eating people was disgusting. I open my mouth to speak again, but feel my essence starting to be pulled back into my body.

Alastor’s eyes start moving across my projection frantically. “Mikael!” he says urgently, but I can only hear it as a whisper. As the world in front of me starts to fade, his words continue to hiss in my ears. “You are being hunted. You will not see her coming. Be cautious, my boy.”

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I gasp a rasping breath and my throat catches when I breathe out, sending me into a coughing fit.

“You’re okay, Mike,” Vithar says calmly from my left side. I feel his arm around my back. “Take a drink,” he says after the coughing stops. I feel the cold of the glass touch my lips followed by the water. The drink cools my raw throat and I reach up, grasping the glass and emptying it quickly.

“I think it’s safe to say that it worked,” Reggie says as I pull the glass away from my lips.

“Yeah,” Vithar agrees.

I slowly lower the glass and set it on my lap. There is tension in my shoulders, and there is definitely pain–but it is manageable. It is fading. “Wow,” I say, glancing down and pressing a hand to where the scar tissue on my shoulders is. “How does it feel this good so fast?”

“When I tried to repair your body last time, it was as if something was trying to change your physiology–almost like your body was in the process of rewriting itself. Nothing I tried was working,” he says.

I know exactly what had happened now. It was the assimilation of my new ‘resiliency’. I stay quiet and let Reggie continue.

“When I corrected the patterns that your fibers were failing to make, your body responded almost instantly. Your natural healing eagerly set to work, repairing more rapidly with every correct attachment. It was actually quite a sight.”

I flex my chest and stretch my shoulder, moving my arms to bring my elbows as close as I can behind my back. There is a tightness along with the soreness, but the agony of the past several months is gone. I would love to look at my shoulders now, but they are wrapped up. Last time I saw them they were still pink, puckered, bleeding and discolored with purple bruising. The bruises had spread across my chest and the whole thing even looked painful. Now though, my chest is pink toward the edges of the bandaging and the purple has faded to a lighter yellow color that is less noticeable on my tan skin.

“Mikael, how do you feel?” Reggie asks, startling me. To be honest, I had been so absorbed in the absence of the searing pain that I forgot there were other people in the room.

“I feel… I feel amazing,” I say, still working my arms. “Thank you!” I stand up and hug the small wizard tightly, lifting him off the ground slightly.

“Unhand me, please!” he yells, struggling against my grip. “This is unacceptable!” he tries to struggle again, then deflates. “You’re welcome, Mikael. Please let go of me,” he says, and I do.

“I’m sorry. Thank you, Reg. I really appreciate it,” I say.

“Reginald,” he corrects.

“Yeah,” I say, but it’s become just a stock response when he says it.

“Are you really fixed?” Vithar asks.

“I still have some pain and tightness, but it lessens with every stretch. Comparatively, it feels great.”

“Awesome.”

“Agreed. Do I still need these bandages on?” I ask.

“I advise most patients to keep wounds wrapped for another few days or weeks depending on the severity. You, however, might not need them anymore. When I say your body began healing rapidly, I mean it.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Indeed. The scar tissue on the other hand, I don’t know if that will ever go away. It’s quite a small price to pay for getting your arms ripped from your body. To have scars but still have the appendages is a feat not many humans can boast.”

“I suppose so,” I say, flexing my hands. They have been cold, weak and slow to react for months. Now they feel like they’re getting the proper circulation. They feel almost hot and are reacting much quicker. My grip feels strong for the first time since the incident. I hadn’t realized how bad everything felt until everything was working right.

“I’m happy for you, Mike,” Vithar says, slapping my right shoulder.

“Dude,” I say, and he shrugs. That was a bold move to see if it still hurt.

(Master is better?!) Brimstone says and jumps at me. I catch them with one arm and hold them to my side, keeping them away from licking my face with the other. It feels almost effortless to do so, and my Hellhound is heavy.

“Did you lose weight?” I ask them.

(No. Brimstone even stronger than before,) they say.

“Huh,” I say.

“Mikael, you should know that your musculature is different from last time I saw you,” Reggie says.

“In what way?”

“Additional fibers, more densely packed and with a higher functionality for activation.”

“That was a lot of big words.”

“Right, hm. ‘Your muscles work better. Work harder. Big strong,’” he says, mimicking a flexing motion with his arms with a self satisfied smile spreading across his face. Vithar smirks and tries to hide a laugh by turning his head.

“Very funny,” I say flatly.

(Brimstone understood that,) Brimstone says.

“He was being, eh, it doesn’t matter. So, what does that mean in terms of physical application? Am I gonna get huge muscles?” I ask.

“No, that’s a common misconception that big muscles means more strength. While there is a correlation, it’s all about muscle fiber activation. As for physical application, it’s hard to say just from looking. If I were to guess however, I would say it means you’re heartier, stronger, and you should have more endurance. Of course the latter can be tested easily once you’re more active.”

“Should I ease into it?”

“Again, I would advise a normal patient to take it easy. But for you, I think you should be fine.”

“Should be fine? Is that a medical term?”

Reggie sighs. “Mikael, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I have not had a great deal of experience with your…” he pauses.

“My what? My kind?”

“Sorry, old habits die hard, I suppose. With ‘someone of demonic heritage,’” he says.

“Fair enough. So, go for a run or something?”

“That’s a good idea, yes.”

“Do you need to observe me? How will you keep up?”

“No, I will stay here and speak with Vithar. Let us know how it goes.”

“Alright, you guys get out. I’m gonna change my clothes.”

“Cordial as ever,” Reggie says, but he stands and he and Vithar exit the room.

I walk into the bathroom first. My reflection looks very different from even a few hours ago. It’s much easier to see the changes in the mirror than just glancing down. The purple bruising has fully receded. I slowly pull the pins from my wrappings and unwind the bandages. The pink line of scarring goes fully around both of my shoulders, fraying in odd spots here and there from additional tearing or pieces of skin that refused to let go. I trace the lines with my fingers. The absence of swelling feels odd considering the state they were in just a short time ago. I scrutinize my body for a moment, searching for anything else that might be new. Satisfied with what I see, I walk back into my room. The clothes of choice for a quick run are simple. Ipull on some basketball shorts and a loose t-shirt.

(Can Brimstone come with Master?) my Hound asks.

Of course, I say, and Brimstone’s tail starts wagging quickly. You there Other Mike? I ask my demon.

he responds.

Actually, you said we would discuss it later, but go off.

What does that mean? I ask. There is no response.