*clatter* *clatter*
The sound of several glass containers shaking and hitting each other resounded within the small, dark room. The sole occupant of the room, an old grey haired and wrinkled man, seemingly in his eighties, ignored the increasing vibration of the scores of test tubes containing unknown, swirling, and even glowing, fluorescent chemicals, and his silently, yet sharp gaze remained on the person, or perhaps, what was left of the person, before him.
”Wrong....wrong....this is wrong....this just doesn’t add up....why can’t an ordinary being handle conversion of mana and life force? This is simply....”
The old man rambles on, scratching his partially bald head with his bony fingers, as his gaze remains affixed on the corpse before him. Or at least, what remains of the corpse.
In simple words, a mangled mess of rotten flesh, molten bone, and partially dissolved organs fused together to form a grotesque amalgatiom of...something, that most certainly cannot in anyway be connected to the image of the healthy, grinning young man whose photo lies in the old man’s databank. Although this youth had name, a family, and what not, now, he I saw nothing more than disposable trash that cannot even be recycled into organic compost, lest the land suffer from rot and plague.
The old man, Zenith, sighed as he waved his arm, and with a sudden shift, a sudden gush of wind, the mess of blood and lymph floats in the air momentarily, before being flung away to a nearby trash bin. Yet if one looks within the bin, they would realise just how large a quantity of similarly rotting matter has already been created, as a consequence of the old sorcerer’s failure.
”That’s the last of them....no more shipments of death row criminals for her week....so what now? Halt the experiment?”
The question, Zenith asks to himself, yet he only chuckles as he wonders what had gotten into his mind. Truly, he thinks, growing old has made him quite susceptible to changes in his personality. If it’s had been the old him, there would only be two outcomes during a situation such a small this. Either the sudden disappearance of so e remote village, or the spread of a plague which kills several people, their bodies taken for inceneration. Yet now, he has changed enough to actually contemplate on halting his experiments, even if only temporarily.
”Would you look at that....I guess you’re right, grandpa....a kind soul falling to cruelty....and a ruthless murderer giving birth to a heart....time truly does do wonders....”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Zenith sighs, when all of a sudden, a sharp, shrill sound resonates from behind him. A sound, that many youths during their initial attempts at mixing chemicals and playing with the creation of God wouldn’t be familiar with, yet a sound that sent dread through Zenith’s very soul.
*crack* *crack* *shatter!*
”No!”
Time seemed to have slowed down, or perhaps it was only his perception of time that had slowed down, as Zenith used every old and withered fibre within his weakened and wilting body to turn around. And yet, even as his fingers danced and his mind roared, and his mana exploded from within himself body, near instantly covering his frail skin with complex archaic runes, Zenith’s eyes widen in, for the very first time in several tens of years, fear and trepidation, and mostly, hopelessness, as a surge of chemical explosions engulfed his reinforced body.
The scores of spell sound he had near instantaneously casted, which would by all means be more than capable of protecting the life of a tiny, water-less sapling within the deepest corners of a star, shattered even quicker than they had formed, as the resultant chemicals, pitch black in colour and with a heavy, agonising odour, spilled on Zenith’s loose and pale body, sending waves after waves of soul wrenching, mind numbing pain.
”Ahhh! Agghh! Damn it! Agh!! Ahhhh!”
Scream after scream left his throat, and yet Zenith couldn’t even faint, as his body started dissolving even a small he stood. With great effort, he grits his teeth, cracking and shattering several layers of enamel and even bleeding off his gums in the process, as his exceptional mind redoubles it’s effort in casting magic. Spell after spell came to his mind, and yet they all vanished as soon as they had come, not one being something that was even remotely useful in his current hopelesss situation.
”Think! For crying out loud! Think!”
As his physical body almost entirely dissolved, his mind seemed to have been freed from its previous shackles, as the tens of thousands of archaic runes, some of which he had learnt, and many of which he had created, rushed through his mind, forming and breaking and reforming into tens of spell models. Yet for minutes that seemed to be more similar to years, Zenith’s body stayed in contact with the bizarre black compound, as his skin and flesh corroded away, giving way to the muscle, blood, and finally, to his heart. Right that moment, as he lay mere inches, nay, mere millimetres away from the darkness that called itself death, Zenith Zero, the last of Earth’s Sorcerers, used every single ounce of his own power, his mana, his life force, and that of every single thing within his range of activity, to accomplish a near impossible task, or at the very least, a task that was deemed to be impossible,
”Shift!”
The moment the five letter word flowed out of his throat, the man, with a half dissolved body, disappeared in but an instant, his very existence shifting between the planes, and just like that, the life of Zenith Zero, one of Earth’s greatest and most talented Sorcerers, came to an end, and Earth’s only Sorcerer disappears, with none the wiser.