The cold, sanitized white tiles clicked under Luke's feet as he made his way across the halls of the hospital where his body lay. The chemical smell burned within his nostrils, as semitransparent silhouettes of people from the real passed through him in a rush.

As he passed the rooms filled with the sick and dying, he could feel the miasma of death energies cling to him like a bad stench.

A stench he already knew from before his awakening.

He cast away the memories of his father before they took root.

Lately, it’s been getting harder and harder not to look back, the hollow, impotent rage lies dormant yet ready to combust like an inferno in the hidden recesses of his mind.

He snapped his fingers to refocus.

Unknowingly walking a bit faster, he made his way down to the part of the hospital that housed the comatose patients.

Passing through the building he could feel such an onslaught of emotions, energies, and a myriad of creatures and curses he was baffled and at a lack of words. Actually seeing what the minds of people trapped here manifested was like an acid trip in a nightmare carnival.

Voluptuous, barely dressed nurse automatons with scalpels and pumping needles for fingers, an actual Dread Doctor that welcomed him and was kind enough to give him directions as he was making his way down to the morgue for his evening meal. He invited Luke for some fried livers with chopped onions and black tea but he had to politely decline.

He could see spiritual and magical growths on patients, Ghost of those that couldn’t pass into the afterlife, weights, and malformed spirits born of Hope of Life and Dread of Death.

*Jesus, like a crowded zoo* Luke thought to himself as he pushed away a monstrosity of tumorous flesh with a walker clinging to the tiles, the elderly look alike bounced off the wall and from its orifices, it let out flatulence-sounding akin to “goddamn kids” but muted and indistinct.

Squeezing through the staircase filled with restless souls waiting in a never-ending line to the reception he finally reached the comatose floor.

He could immediately notice the difference here.

It was eerily peaceful and quiet.

Serene even.

He could easily recognize the doors his cloned body lay in. The wards were barely noticeable to the untrained eye but after his short yet intense studies, he could smell the blessed iron in the air.

As he stood in front of the siding doors he had trouble with keeping to his decision to enter, he smiled and tapped the 7 spots that unlocked the alarms in this formation and released the confusion emitters.

As it turns out, this particular formation they used to make sure no one or nothing magical would pay any interest or latch onto his copied form worked on similar premises to his own Stealth technique.

While he erased his own presence from the Will of The World and its occupants, this formation gently influenced anyone focusing their intent on the space it occupied that it was not worth entering, nothing interesting may lay hidden here. To put it simply, they caused the mind of the viewer to connect this particular space with what the formation could identify in their surface thoughts as boring, annoying, or such and superimposed it on itself.

Quite the enchantment.

He learned a lot from it, and in tandem with Avian's lessons on Mind Magic, he managed to improve his own technique by quite a margin.

With a swipe of his overgrown hands he released the invisible shackles, and the doors released with a hiss. While in the real world, the body was constantly attended to by old, grumpy nurses, here it was untouched and immaculate.

He bowed his head down to enter the now too-short-for-his-stature doorframe and slid the doors behind him without even looking back.

In the room were two open windows, painted with warding sigils from within, barely allowing the passage of the sickly light. On the left were the cabinets and a metal chair, while on his right was the big bed on which his copied body lay.

Stepping closer, he grabbed the chair and slid next to the bed. As it clunked loudly on the tile flooring, he dropped his massive body onto it, the metal squealing under his weight, threatening to give until Luke subconsciously used a telekinetic construct to lessen the load it bore.

With his elbows rested on his knees and yet still looking down on the bed in front of him he remained there motionless, in silence and with no thoughts in his head. For a moment, ever his breath stopped.

What he saw seemed so impossible now.

First, he switched his view to the magical one, and he saw an empty shell, a sack of flesh with no soul, no energy signature, no mana. Just a Normal person's body.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Next, he Gazed through the Void. Still, there was nothing out of the ordinary there. Normal, usual Pollution of Creation filled his view.

Almost as if scared, he returned to his normal sight and wearily looked upon himself.

Himself from before all this madness.

What he used to be.

He felt such cold within, like witnessing life from behind a glass pane. Suddenly, all feelings became detached, he felt as if looking at a different person.

His eyes drifted downwards at his arms hanging in between his knees. His one palm was covered in scars, compared to the original one it was huge, with black talon-like nails that consumed light greedily. The Void pathways crisscrossing his scars only deepened the pale color of his sickly skin.

The Prosthetic felt more foreign now than ever before, it worked and reacted to his thoughts seamlessly, it was made of his own bone.

Conjoined with him.

And yet it was a monstrosity, a part of it at least. A tool of slaughter.

He looked up, almost scared.

“What have I become?” His voice was trembling and quiet.

Looking at the peaceful look on the dummy’s face birthed a myriad of emotions within. Sadness, anger, and inkling of pride drown in rising wrath at the one who threw him into this new world.

The bed and walls started trembling as he unconsciously started emitting the heat and pressure he felt inside.

A bottle materialized in his hand, he threw his head back and started chugging as he let his feet rest on the bed next to the immaterial body. The bedding creaked under pressure.

As he finished the whole bottle in one go, he swiped his arm to the side and the bottle exploded on contact with the wall into a shower of glass.

Leaning the chair back, he put both his arms behind his head and tried to ponder as bile rose to his throat, and burning overtook his mind for enough time to reclaim control.

*What the fuck?* he wondered to himself.

*What now? Should I really go after the bastard? I’m not even sure if he knows I’m alive. What if I needlessly start a conflict I won’t be able to finish? Especially with how his family handles stuff… Jesus Christ, poor Monsoon, that poor crab, he doesn’t deserve what happened to him… what was his sin? That he was born? That he was weak? In the wrong place and at the wrong time? Just… Ja pierdole ( polish version of tired “fuck me”)…*

Moments passed as he let the pity and uncertainty roll over him.

*But what’s the other option?* he looked emptily into the ceiling as a can of beer appeared in his waiting hand, with a quick “PSSSSST” he opened the can and started slowly sipping the lager.

*Go back? And what? For most magical folk I’m like an ugly graffiti walking around and dirtying their magical utopia. My sheer existence is bound to get me in trouble, with my shit luck and tendency to disrupt order it is only a matter of time before something happens. And fuck me in that equation, what about my close ones?* he focused enough to look at the nightstand on the other side of the bed, pictures of him and his friends with wishes of coming back to health lay there, with a thought he opened the drawer in it and with his mind lifted the contents.

He started laughing like a madman and fell from his chair.

What floated over in the air was a can of beer, the same can he just spilled all over himself. His favorite and only choice. On the can was a post-it card that just said:,, Cheers friend” With signatures of Lettuce, Bubble, and even Kupid. Further in the drawer laid more cards, from the crew of DK Bar, from some of his exes.

He honestly couldn’t believe it. He felt a ping of pain not seeing anything from Her, but the joy of the love he felt from his friends quickly squashed that.

Laying sprawled on the floor he exhaled deeply, and with finesse impossible to him just weeks earlier he opened the can with his mind and started pouring its contents into his mouth as he continued to think. He was truly still amazed even at the simple act of floating a beer can with his mind.

*haha…oh boy, once again, what the fuck… I can’t risk those guys, I owe them safety. I owe them my love. I owe them my life… I can’t go back, at least not right now. I need to settle this shit, take care of that German Schnitzel piece of shit, and become able to protect them.*

As the can got twisted into a knot he started standing up and proclaiming his decision louder and louder with each word.

“As for what happens after that? Fuck it, I’ll handle it, I always do, Future me is going to take care of it. What is some loneliness to me? Ain’t the first time and won’t be the last, at least now it has a purpose.”

Standing over his copy he said to it.

“There are miracles I can now manifest with my mind and my own hands… hand… I need to get stronger, I will become stronger.” He promised.

Still a boiling pot of confused feelings, but with less burden on himself he left the ward, recasting hastily the warding locks and materializing another bottle on his way to the one place he could always feel comfortable and at home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The city thrummed with life, tens of thousands of people crossed the cobblestone roads and walkways.

The cement jungle.

The city center shined with hundreds of neon signs, lighting up the night like uncountable little stars.

Luke crossed the city jumping from one rooftop to another, effortlessly achieving something which before was impossible and only visible in action movies.

He even did the ninja run with his arms behind his back.

On the edge of the city center, he reached the four-story building block that was his target, with over 400 years of history to its name it stood proudly. The bottom floors were lined with shops and restaurants from the side of the street, with huge, 4-meter-tall wooden gates with cast iron handles sticking out like a sore thumb. From behind the gates loud music and chatter of inebriated resounded loudly.

He crossed over the street and jumped over the building and the interior garden easily, dropping to the other side of the place, easily slowing his descent with telekinetic tethers and landing gracefully.

Making sure there was no one to bear witness he prepared the signet and the spell supporting it and with a rising anticipation he Crossed The Veil back into the real.

Even while under control his Void powers are still interrupted with masking and body reforging everyone usually underwent while in the real. His skin was still moonlight pale and full of scars, hair disheveled, and eyes empty of life. He was a head taller than what he used to be, but in this case, he was happy because of it. With some prodding and nudging he changed his facial structure and voice to avoid recognition.

Looking over himself he was moderately content with the result. His prosthetic blended in quite nicely, though it was covered in skin and muscle it still seemed sharp and bony. His fingernail also seemed dark enough to pass as nail polish.

“I look like an emo…” Luke complained as he circled the building and entered the tunnel.

Entering the inner garden and seeing the two familiar sphinx statues brought him such a level of calmness and joy he was stunned in place.

He immediately noticed one of his dealers standing in the corner conducting his business.

With a growing smile on his face, he walked towards him ready to start the night.