Another fragment of memories came back to Spica. The Hunger. He felt his breathing stop. Why didn’t he even think about food or have been hungry? To satisfy the hunger he needed only to eat one time each three months. His food was to kill, every three months he needed to kill an enlightened spirit.
We need normal food but it’s only to obtain ether...
These few pills he found however allowed him and a lot of other members to skip a meal. AS he wanted to search for more he remembered where they were placed and froze.
Spica glanced with hesitations at the end of the basilica where massive tentacles began to take shape and an ugly grin took shape on his face.
Yeah, nope I doubt it would be a good idea to try to rip the kilos of Ichor which cover the cupboards. And I don’t even know if it would wake up the things in the cocoons.
He separated the pills, one in each bag and the last that he stowed inside his robe’s right-hand outside pocket.
The human distractedly passed his hand on his ventral pocket having had the sensation of perceiving a movement, but seeing no reaction, he turned his attention to a large rectangular black chest.
He walked past a few columns and passed his hand on the surface of the meticulously decorated chest.
He opened it and coughed as he encountered a mass of ashes that propelled by his hast went meet and tickled his nostrils, he closed the chest and coughed again, seeing at the last instant the carbonized and blackened bones of a hand.
Trying to repel the rest of the ashes he had inhaled, he felt chills run down his spine as a deep and melodious voice tore through the silence.
"Not only do you shamelessly plunder all the wealth of their clan after you have already stolen the body of one of them, but you are even going to steal their ancestral tomb? Don’t you think it’s too much Mister body snatcher?"
The voice invaded Spica and he felt his heart accelerated.
Spica plastered a confident smile on his face. Surely hideous with that mug.
He evaluated the surroundings but found no one. His thoughts fused as he tried to guess where was his interlocutor. Does someone from the clan survive?
He took a few steps backward and then came to stand at the center of the hall feigning tranquility.
But he called me a body snatcher, does he truly know, or is it a test?
Spica was suspicious because, from the memories of Soudec, nobody had a guttural, deep and cavernous voice that seemed so deformed. And he still couldn't see anyone.
This done, he opened up his mouth from which came a youthful tone that resonated through the arcades of the basilica. “Could I know to who I’m speaking?”
amiably presented himself the voice.
If Spica had heard the voice in its first sentence, this time the voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, inserted in his head and at the same time whispered to his ears, provoking a confused sensation.
Was he felt on a ghost or a genie in his lamp?
Map continued after a little warm laugh. “I don’t desire to derange you during your meticulous spoliation of the place. No impropriety of my part, I hope, Mister Body Theft.”
He’s that sure, tough bitterly Spica, as his forced smile lightly vacillated. It was very unpleasant.
He had already thought to do his best to dissimulate that he came from Earth just in case it could be worth the gallows but now the first person he spoke to had already unmasked him and even had witnessed his plundering.
Hard to make a better first impression.
He mentally rolled his eyes but answered still with his smile. “Why are you so sure that I stole a body?”
As Map seemed friendly and not disposed to violence, Spica decided to not deny it immediately or accept it. At least his interlocutor didn’t seem too concerned by the whole situation just amused.
He concluded.
Spica, who wanted to refute was left speechless. You could have said that earlier.
Spica hesitated, if he lied, he would alienate a potential ally but he didn't know the repercussions of telling the truth. He decided to choose carefully his words.
“You are near the truth,” said Spica, gritting his teeth and miming an expression of distress. “I have two distinct memories. From one side I’m Soudec and the other Spica.”
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“You’re right,” admitted he instantly. He had already said too much, and succeeded in hiding it seemed unlikely. Map seemed to understand better than him the situation, maybe he would help him.
“Is it common?” asked Spica.
“Yes… some fragments. “
Spica could sort of guess what was implied by him. Happily, he thinks that I came from a Rift, he reassured himself. By the way, ruptures of Rifts should arrive frequently.
Suddenly it occurred to him that Earth could be a Rift. He rejected this hypothesis, the few souvenirs he had from a Rift showed him, a black desert, strange happenings everywhere, countless dangerous creatures this was far too different from Earth.
Map interrupted his thoughts and suggested.
Spica analyzed deeply. He directly troubled me, pushed constantly, and just after making an offer? He showed me that I didn’t know this world and that he was the key to my problem. He’s intelligent, cunning, and proactive. This strange image of a ladder, is this a reference to something? And why he seemed to be in a hurry? Is he also worried by the Ichor?
He knew that even if Map was plotting against him, having a native on his side was too important. Between his potential enemy, his complete lack of information, or even how were treated foreigner, knowledge was definitely what he needed the most.
The most important is that I don’t even know the path to Zitronnia or Swordfeather City.
However, a certain apprehension seized him and transformed him into wary as he remembered that
Map wanted to be carried.
I thought he was a human, eventually a weird type of human but it’s true that in this world every species can be illuminated and learn the Language. Please, I don’t want to see this soon a murloc.
“I want to know what’s this Ichor and who you are,” Spica demanded, lightly anxious at the idea of a demonic creature suddenly emerging from darkness.
“And later you'll answer my questions,” he added.
Spica heard an unpleasant rustle of paper and turned his head in the direction of the noise.
He began to head in that direction and saw that the vein of Ichor was heading gradually to a big cupboard full of different kinds of papers all over the place, the result was a catastrophic disorganization, a lot of documents came from printers, there were also scrolls richly decorated, books with leather covers and newspapers.
At the top of the pile of papers, dominating the clutter was a large oval hand mirror made of black parchment paper.
Spica frowned, what was this object? Suddenly a weird expression deformation his face as he remembered the noise, Don’t say me…
He saw a white thin line appearing and broadening on the center of the mirror, gradually revealing rows of paper fangs, as on the edges bloomed a multitude of little eyes similar to rose buds.
He stayed fascinated in front of the scene, he was literally seeing an origami fold itself.
Spica recovered from his surprise as the voice of Map echoed in his head, “Well, first time to see an enchanted object?”
He stared at him as calmly as possible and asked, "Where should I store you?
“You could put it another way,” sighed Map in his ears, this time the voice came directly from the mirror. He began to change under unpleasant paper rustling, and in a few instants at the place of the mirror was a kind of praying mantis in three dimensions who climbed on his shoulder.
“Finish what you were doing. I’ll go hide after our little chat.”
Spica nodded and emptied as quickly as possible the rest of the niches exempted from Ichor.
After that finished, as he bent down to take the boxes of crystal powder, he asked Map. “Why your voice don’t forcefully come from your body and why it seems to insert itself into my head?”
“You don’t know it?” the thin line on Map’s insect face curved, “It should be general knowledge even if you come from a Rift.”
He scrutinized Spica and added, “To make it simple, i'ts called the "Conceputal Langage", it’s possible to talk uniquely by projecting his runes, if this tends to make dialogues stranger and awkward, especially if there's a great lack of vocabulary, it allows even races with no mouth to communicate.”
The human put the last box inside one of the bags that were now all bulky and swollen.
He asked. “Is this a kind of telepathy speaking? How do you direct to who you speak?”
Map moved his head from side to side and explained.
“And it’s possible to disable this way of speaking?”
“Yes, Godess Light, in all her glory has granted us the gift," spoke the talking paper with his deep voice, and a touch of disdain that didn’t go unremarked by Spica.
"And how I can do it?"
“There is a modest price for this knowledge. But I don't think it's time to talk about that yet. A lot of dangers threaten us,” said Map.
Their discussion came to a halt as they exited the building. He gave a last glance behind him. His eyes stopped on the two cocoons.
He paid homage to Decady and the lizard. If he didn’t care about them, he had respect for those who have been confronted with the madness of the world. They had finished their journey and were back at the quay, for his part he had just embarked.
He had decided to see and explore this strange world.
He slammed the doors shut leaving behind him darkness regained its full right on the basilica. A piece of the wall gave away under the weight of the Ichor, revealing an apse.
At the center of rich ornaments, on a small table, was a black statue of a sun with a human smiling face.