Authors note

Several hours late, and riding on the wave of procrastination from a Friday night, I present to you, today's chapter. (Yesterday's, since "today" was only an hour or so.. but whatever.)

Word count

This chapter: 1831

Total: 11027

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This can't be for real… I killed myself. No… the witch killed me… Wait, I traveled time?

Aitken pondered in confusion what had just transpired.

But I’m already dead in there… that was my dying breath… I’m not ready to die here again - I’ll find my corpse later, when they dispose of it… if they dispose of it? It doesn’t matter either way - I’m probably not going to use my own corpse for anything. My family might still be alive, I can’t linger… But can they use my body for anything? I wish I had put any measure of interest in magic.

Aitken froze for a moment, considering his options. On one hand, he had his family. On the other hand he had his corpse, and the few belongings he had brought with him. The choice was a no-brainer - especially because of the risks involved in each course of action.

Aitken stood still, considering how to make his retreat. I wish this church had windows on the ground floor.

He snapped out of it, as some voices echoed in the hallways.

“You need to go to her, if you want even a chance of recovery.”

“I know, I know.”

The footsteps lead towards Aitken’s side of the hall. He hurriedly opened a door and made very sure to close it slowly and completely. On the inside was a library with bookshelves lining the walls and a table dead in the middle for reading. Aitken pressed his ear to the door, as the footsteps passed by.

One.. two.. three? three pairs of feet? or was it two? … or maybe four? I’m not sure.

Aitken waited till the footsteps had completely faded and he slowly opened the door, just peeking outside.

When he decided it was safe, he went to the end of the hallway and peeked around the corner.

One guard. I can take him… Wait, I can shoot him?

Aitken fastened the potato on the end of his tail, and spun his tail into a spiral.

He leapt around the corner, rapidly spun his tail out. With a spinning motion, the potato was fired towards the guard.

Flop.

The guard raised an eyebrow, as the imp had flung a potato a few meters in his direction.

A moment of silence passed by, and Aitken stared at the guard, who decided to knock violently on the door to the outside - presumably alerting more guards.

Aitken felt his hands get damp. He dashed towards the guard. The guard raised his blade, pointing it directly at his attacker.

Aitken made a sharp turn, and entered the storage room, slamming the door behind him.

Indeed, Aitken’s human corpse was laying there, in all his glory. Blood was still slowly seeping from the chest-wound. Aitken quickly grabbed the rusty sword from his corpse and jumped above the doorway, latching onto the rocks.

The door opened, and a guard ran inside.

Aitken let himself drop down, thrusting the sword in between the helmet and body-armour along the way.

Splosh.

The guard fell to the ground, and blood seeped in sync with his heartbeat. The familiar metallic smell of blood spread through the room, yet Aitken didn’t even notice it. He looked behind him - and indeed, a single guard was about to strike.

Aitken blocked with the rusty sword, and quickly snatched the first guards blade with his free hand, stabbing the last guard in the chest.

That was almost too easy.

Aitken ran to his corpse, and grabbed his old backpack. he carefully put it on over his tattered wings and onto his back.

For a brief moment, he pondered what to do. He grabbed his corpse and tried dragging it.

The corpse slid effortlessly over the floor, and was quickly dragged into the hallway where he picked up his partner - the potato - along the way and stuffed it into the backpack. Aitken dragged his corpse out of the church, heading for the forest. Even the roughness of the forest-bottom did little to hinder the dragging of his body, almost as if the body weighed next to nothing. Perhaps this was why he could knock somebody out with a potato - he was many times stronger than he ever was as a human.

He placed the corpse at a safe distance, gazing at it for a moment. “I will leave you here… At least they won’t be doing anything wicked to you. Rest in peace, my past self.” He said solemnly, staring at the corpse for a while longer than he probably should have.

He turned around, and headed for his first objective - his village and family.

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End of Ark 1 ↑

771 words above.

This is the end of Ark 1 - Death & Damnation. Ark 2 continues right here and now.

1060 words below.

Start of Ark 2 ↓

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Aitken arrived at his village. It was a small village, with nothing more than a few hundred villagers. Most buildings were made from wooden planks. The air smelled of days-old fires and tar. The occasional white clouds would drift by on the sky, but the sun was shining, yet even the sun was barely hindering the cold air from going through Aitkens scales.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He barged into the house, but the only thing that met him was the gut-wrenching stench of a decaying corpse. Aitken took a brief glance at the source, and as he expected it was the old alchemist - bloated and already far in the process of decaying.

Aitken covered his mouth, and looked over at the alchemy stove. A handwritten note with a list of ingredients and a procedure was on the front. One of the ingredients were indeed the flowers Aitken had picked up.

He followed the directions as exact as he could, until he had a vial full of clear liquid.

Aitken lifted the liquid up, and let the sun shine through it from the nearby window. This will do.

He grabbed the handwritten note and headed for a large wooden manor with stone statues and colorful flowers in front of it. The grass was already a bit longer than he remembered it - a little longer than one could wish for.

Aitken pushed the door open with a creaking sound.

“Who’s there?” A female voice asked.

“Akane? Akane, is that you?” Aitken answered - before he remembered that all his mouth would let out was a series of grunts and screeching sounds.

The voice didn’t respond.

Aitken entered the manor, and the smell of boiling water filled his nose. The smell somehow made him realise how he had not eaten a thing since the potato in Damnation, and suddenly his stomach was screaming for food.

Ignoring his hunger, he entered the first bedroom on the right. The sight that met him made him go numb. “No… No… Dad” Aitken ran over and checked for any sign of his father still living, to no avail. He lingered for a bit, before he grew worried about his remaining family members.

Mom? Akane?

Aitken entered the second bedroom. A large bed was in the side of the room, as well as a cupboard in the center of the far-end. Red carpet decorated the floor and a few dry plants stood in the window next to the cupboard.

On the bed his mother was laying - her brown hair had turned gray and her face was pale as a sheet. She had a cloth over her forehead and a bucket filled with water next to her.

Aitken approached his mother, who had finally taken notice of him. The look she had in her eyes were that of resignation. She was already prepared for death - even if it would be more sudden than she had anticipated. Aitken took a few steps closer to his mother, but the cupboard barged open and a lady with long chestnut hair, brown eyes and a dagger pointed directly at Aitken stood in front of him.

“Stay away from mother”

“no… Akane…” The mother said.

Aitken stood completely still for a moment - for how was he supposed to communicate with his family like this?

He took a step backwards and fetched the flower and vial and note out of his backpack. He placed them on the floor and backed off slowly. In the doorway he sat down, staring at them.

Akane frowned. “What do you want?”

Aitken shook his head slowly - this was the only means he could muster to communicate.

Akane warily approached the items, and she briefly stared at them, making sure to peek at Aitken occasionally.

“This is the alchemists handwriting…” She narrowed her eyes and stared at Aitken. “Why are you doing this?”

Aitken pondered for a second what to do, and he decided he would try to write out the response in the air. But as soon as he put his finger up to try, the letters completely disappeared from his mind - as if he had never known writing in the first place.

He decided to shake his head gently again. She put her nose over the vial and sniffed it. “I’m not trusting that.” She placed the vial on the floor in the corner, and pointed the dagger at Aitken. “Walk.”

Aitken sighed and got up, walking in front of Akane to the alchemist's house.

How can she even think that a demon would normally do as she asks, just because of a small dagger?

Akane entered the room, and immediately her stomach turned and she ran outside to empty it, yet nothing came despite her best efforts.

After a small while to recover, she put a cloth over her mouth and entered. She proceeded to have Aitken sit down, waiting for her to make her own batch from the flower she had gotten and the few ingredients left from the alchemist's house.

After she made the batch she entered the house, making sure Aitken was on the outside.

Click

Aitken waited patiently for a while, just to realise that of course she would lock a demon outside their home.

He decided to search the rest of the village, and he quickly realised that the only survivors were in fact his mother and sister inside the manor. The rest of the villagers were mostly already decomposing or ice-cold and long dead. He found this to be peculiar, but had no clue as to the reason behind it - perhaps his household simply got infected later, due to a water reserve? He was not present when the village was infected, so he did not know.

Aitken thought back on the day he heard of the plague. It was in the middle of the not-so-nearby city, and he was representing his father - the mayor - at the city council for the first time… Then the news struck, and he hurried home. Four days of travel, even at his pace - the entire town was already sick when he arrived. The Alchemist had asked him to retrieve the flower that could cure the plague… Yet how did the alchemist know? and would it truly cure the plague? Aitken did not know.

That night, he had very little sleep, as he twisted and turned in worry over his mother.

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Thanks for reading!