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Path of Reckoning
Chapter 11: Painful Awakening

Chapter 11: Painful Awakening

The scent of burning herbs and smoke filtered into Aric’s senses as he slowly stirred awake. His body felt like it had been through hell—each muscle screaming in protest as he tried to move. The room around him was dim, lit only by a single candle, and the bed beneath him was rough but serviceable.

As he tried to sit up, a sharp pain shot through his chest, forcing him to lay back down with a grunt. The memory of the metal shard piercing his chest was vivid, as was the cold, unforgiving fall down Mount Morris.

I should be dead, Aric thought grimly, his breathing labored. Every inch of his body ached, his ribs especially throbbing from what must have been several fractures. Despite the pain, his mind was racing. His original body was still up there, wielding Khaos like it was second nature—no, like it was born to wield that destructive power.

He glanced around the small room. It was simple—stone walls, wooden furniture, and a small basin of water beside the bed. Clearly, he was in some kind of village inn. But where? And how long have I been out?

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," Aric rasped, his voice hoarse and weak.

The door creaked open, and a familiar figure entered—Giselle, the Subdeacon from the Church. She was dressed in the same modest robes, her expression calm but slightly more guarded than usual. Carrying a tray with a bowl of soup, she closed the door behind her and approached the bed.

"So, you’re awake," Giselle said flatly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. "I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever come around."

"Looks like it," Aric replied, his voice strained. He tried to sit up again, but the pain made him wince. He couldn’t help but notice Giselle’s sharp gaze on him as he struggled.

"I wouldn’t try that if I were you," Giselle said, her tone dripping with annoyance. "Your injuries were severe. You’re lucky to even be alive."

Aric gritted his teeth, settling back against the pillows. "How long?"

"Days," she replied curtly. "You’ve been unconscious for days. And honestly, with the state you were in, I’m surprised you didn’t bleed out on that mountain."

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Aric closed his eyes, frustration boiling inside him. Days? Every moment he lay there was another wasted opportunity. His original body was still out there—growing stronger, getting closer to whatever dark purpose it had. And here he was, bedridden and useless.

"I don’t have time for this," Aric muttered, his voice low.

"You don’t have a choice," Giselle shot back, crossing her arms. "You’re in no condition to be fighting anything, let alone whatever it is you’re chasing up on that cursed mountain."

Aric clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he forced himself to sit up, despite the pain. "I have to stop him."

Giselle’s brow furrowed in confusion. "Him? What are you talking about, Aric? What happened up there?"

Aric hesitated, his gaze hardening. He didn’t want to reveal too much, but there was no point in hiding it now. She had already seen too much.

"My original body," Aric said quietly, his voice bitter. "It’s not me anymore. Something else… someone else is controlling it. Using Khaos to its full potential. I barely survived the encounter."

Giselle stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Your original body? You’re telling me you’re in another body entirely?"

Aric nodded, a dark shadow crossing his face. "It happened a long time ago. On that night, I switched bodies… but now, my old self is being used by something else. Something powerful."

"And you think you can face it again in your current state?" Giselle asked incredulously, her voice rising in frustration. "You can barely stand, let alone fight. This is madness."

"I don’t have a choice," Aric replied, gritting his teeth. "If I don’t stop it now, it’ll only get worse. People will die."

Giselle’s eyes narrowed, and she exhaled sharply, her patience clearly wearing thin. "And what about the rest of us? What about the Church? You seem to think you’re the only one who can handle this, but we’ve been dealing with Blights and Aberrations for centuries, Aric. You’re not invincible."

"I don’t expect the Church to handle this," Aric shot back. "This is personal. And after I’m done here, I need to speak with the Patriarch."

Giselle’s expression instantly hardened, her annoyance flaring into open irritation. "Again with the Patriarch? We’ve already been over this, Aric. The last time we spoke, you demanded a meeting with him. And now, you’re asking for it again? What makes you think the Patriarch will even entertain that after everything?"

Aric looked away, his jaw tightening. He knew her frustration was warranted, but he didn’t have time for her objections. The Patriarch was the only one who could provide him with the answers he needed—about Khaos, his body, and the dark power controlling it.

"I need answers," Aric said, his voice firm. "The Patriarch has them. He’s the only one who can tell me what’s really going on in the Isles."

Giselle threw up her hands, her voice laced with exasperation. "You think the Patriarch will just drop everything to explain the mysteries of the universe to you? You’ve been avoiding the Church for years, Aric. Now you expect them to welcome you back with open arms?"

"I don’t expect anything," Aric said quietly. "But I’m going to get those answers. One way or another."

Giselle glared at him for a moment before sighing in frustration, clearly torn between her duty to the Church and her growing concern for Aric’s recklessness. "Fine. I’ll inform the Church of your request again. But don’t expect miracles, Aric. You’ve burned more bridges than you realize."

"I know," Aric muttered under his breath, feeling the weight of her words.

She moved toward the door, clearly fed up. Before leaving, she glanced back over her shoulder, her expression still lined with irritation. "Rest, Aric. You won’t get far in this state."

The door closed behind her, leaving Aric alone once more with his thoughts. The fight with his original body, the power of Khaos, the altar on Mount Morris—it all swirled in his mind like a storm he couldn’t control. And through it all, one thought stood out:

I have to stop him... no matter the cost.