"We are soldiers; we do not have the luxury of a conscience. We are killing machines! We are the swords of our fearless king! We shall take what is ours, either by fire or by blood."
Marcus Daystar,
Supreme commander of the Ragnarok army.
7th sector. Year 2275.
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With a yell, Aodhán awoke from the vision. His eyes flew open immediately, hoping to be free from the horrors he'd just witnessed and be back at the foreboding cave with his camera, but what he saw made him almost believe he was still within the calamitous vision.
"Oh, heavens! No! No more!"
He was in the midst of a storm, or more precisely, he was being pulled into it.
"By the Maker! No, please, whatever this is, it needs to stop right now!" He shouted, futilely fighting against the force that continued to reel him in.
Electricity rippled and forked around him, causing the hair on his body to stand on end. Thunder rumbled, louder and more frightening than the vision had ever been, but no matter what he did, he was surely and continuously pulled into the storm.
He screamed, his voice breaking from fear, as he finally reached the center of the storm. "No! Please, you can’t—"
His cries were cut short as agony ripped through him, tearing into his very soul. Lightning rushed through him, causing his whole body to spasm as if it were lit on fire and doused in ice a million times.
The lightning swirled around and into him, tearing away flesh and shattering bones. The agony climbed, intensifying with every arc of electricity that rushed through him.
His scream sputtered as he lost the strength to give voice to his pain. When the force that held him captive finally loosened, all that was left of his body was a smoking mess of sizzling flesh and pus. His consciousness slipped away from him, like water flowing through his fingers. He tried to hold on, fighting to remain awake, but his efforts were futile.
***
This time, when Aodhán came to, he was too scared to even open his eyes. Tentatively, he tried to wiggle his fingers and was very relieved to find that he felt no pain; instead, he felt even better than before.
Afraid of what he might see, he slowly opened his eyes to stare at his body. There were no scars, wounds, or any signs of the tribulation he just went through. His brown skin was smooth, seeming to glow with an inner light.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
It was then that Aodhán finally noticed the clothes he was wearing, and with a dejected sigh, he fingered the medieval clothes he'd seen people in the calamitous vision wear.
"It's another forsaken vision." He muttered to himself, hoping with all his might that this one would pass without pain or trauma.
He turned to observe the room he found himself in, and the only words he could think of that even remotely described the room were luxurious and cozy.
The bed he was on was king-sized and located at the center of the room. The walls, wardrobe, and bedposts were made of a mystical black wood covered in runes.
The wood glowed brightly enough to illuminate the room, and the floor was covered in a soft gray rug that more resembled the fur of an animal than something manufactured, but it was the ceiling that really caught Aodhán's attention.
A world map was carved into the bronze ceiling, highlighting even the tiniest details, and at its bottom, the word ÆFLYM was written in stylized scripts. Six large continents covered the entire map, but one stood out as it emitted a faint golden light that called to him.
Focusing his attention on the glowing continent, Aodhán discovered that it was further divided into five parts, with the largest dominating the center and the other four at the north, south, east, and west.
"Do you perhaps have an interest in cartography?"
Aodhán stumbled, knocking over the small stool placed beside the bed, and when he raised his head to identify the intruder, horror gripped him by the neck, and he instantly collapsed to the floor, wheezing.
It was the man from the first vision—the soldier with the frigid eyes—but he didn't look so much like a mass murderer anymore; instead, he looked more like a kindly old man with a penchant for pranks and jokes.
A small silver tray floated beside him, and on it lay a jug, two small cups, and a plate of what looked like cookies, but Aodhán didn't think that was possible because the man was a murderer, and murderers weren’t supposed to eat cookies or drink tea!
The man clicked his tongue in annoyance at Aodhán’s expression and placed the tray on a table that suddenly appeared before him.
Aodhán had no idea what to say or do, but getting out of this vision was a priority. He raised his hand to slap himself, but before he could do so, the man spoke again. "I assure you that trick will not work this time."
Then I'm dead! By the Maker, he will kill me. Aodhán thought fearfully. He was utterly powerless against an entity such as this, and he shuddered as the man observed him with a playful smirk, as if he were watching an interesting lab rat.
The silence dragged on for an eternity, and with a disappointed sigh, the man poured himself a drink and stirred it with a spoon that appeared to have been made from cloud before taking a slow sip.
The drink had a scent like nothing he'd ever known, but the heady aroma instantly filled the small room.
"You are yet to answer my question." The man spoke once more, interrupting his thoughts, and after a few more seconds of silence, Aodhán decided to go out on a limb and ask. "Are you going to kill me?"
The man shook his head, chuckling softly in amusement, before placing his cup back on the tray. "If I wanted you dead, seedling, you'd already be." He gave a small smile, letting his words sink in before he continued. "Besides, I couldn't kill you even if I tried."
Aodhán nodded slowly, trying to understand the man's words. "Because we're in a vision. You can't kill me in a vision."
The man nodded. "Perhaps you aren't so stupid after all. You can feel sensations, but killing you in this vision is beyond even me, and there are only a few who are stronger than I am."
"Oh," the sound escaped from his lips even as relief coursed through him.
The man continued sipping his drink slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. It gave Aodhán time to think and adapt to the new situation. Questions raced through his mind, tumbling over each other in a bid to get answered first, but he pushed them all away and asked the question that plagued him the most.
"Who are you?"