Memories are a curious thing—they can be both fleeting and indelible, shaping the narrative of our lives and the depths of our souls. On one hand, there are the precious memories—warm, golden moments that bring peace to our minds and a sense of nostalgia we can't help but cherish. On the other hand, there are the memories we'd rather forget—regretful moments that leave a bitter taste and events that make our hearts heavy with sorrow. Some memories may even scar you, changing your personality or leading you down a dark path. But in some cases, where horrid memories are forgotten—or better still, erased like they never existed—a completely different character can emerge, like a phoenix from the ashes.
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The hooded man had just finished performing alchemy on the side metal table, amidst an array of glowing coloured elixirs – the vibrant golden elixir in particular, continued to pulsate with an otherworldly glow. His experimentation had yielded something truly mystical – the newly crafted golden elixir was no longer a golden fiery liquid, but a liquid metal with a golden hue that glimmered like the morning sun. It’s slow yet consistent, cylindrical motion within the vial made it seem almost alive. It sparkled with such intensity that it seemed to defy the darkness that shrouded the hooded man's face, threatening to absorb the very void that concealed his features.
Meanwhile, the suspended man – his chest and torso still agonizingly wide open, ribs and heart exposed – could do nothing but watch with growing worry. His concern was etched on his face as he struggled to comprehend the mysterious alchemy unfolding before him, his mind reeling with the sinister implications.
"Let me ask you somethin'... Do you have any idea who I am or who I could be?" the torturer asked, his British voice low and menacing, his gaze eerily fixed intently on the small, golden, glowing vial clutched tightly in his hand.
The suspended man hesitated, his exposed heart racing wildly – threatening to burst free from his chest, which pulsed with terror. The floating orbs of light cast an eerie, macabre glow on the cold, damp, blood-stained iron walls, making the shadows writhe like living darkness. His voice trembled as he whispered, "...No."He hadn’t expected such a straightforward question from his captor – especially after the unspeakable torment he’d endured in the dark, foreboding dungeon, where the very air seemed to suffocate him with malevolent intent.
"I've never met a lad like you, thanks for askin'." the suspended man replied, his Irish brogue trembling slightly. To solve the question he was asked, he then suggested, “But it might help if yer show me your face.” He watched his tormentor warily, his eyes fixed on the glowing vial, its soft hum filling the air with an otherworldly energy.
The hooded man casually murmured to himself, “I see... That’s expected – none of the others remembered that night either. No wonder none of you knew how ignorant you all were to the mystical world.”
The mesmerised hooded man seemed to have come to a final conclusion all by himself – a conclusion that intrigued the suspended man the moment he overheard that there were others involved with all this, and the hooded man in front of him didn’t seem to care at all that he might have heard him.
‘He just mentioned “others”. Am I not the only victim of this crazy madman’s torment?’ the suspended man thought, alarm arising within him. His heart raced even more, it beat even louder.
“Enough!” exclaimed the hooded man, his voice tinged with irritation. He seemed oddly annoyed by the noise of the tortured man’s beating heart, especially now that it was exposed and pounding like a jackhammer. “I can’t hear myself think here!” He raised his hand and pointed towards the suspended man’s chest. “Either you bring the noise down or I’ll do it for you.” He wasn’t kidding.
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“Easy for yer to say, threatening me doesn’t exactly help, yer know?” the suspended man retorted, his voice laced with desperation.
“Seriously?” the hooded man sighed, rubbing his temple angrily. “Fine, but need I remind you that you’re still alive?”
“So?” the suspended man whimpered, his fear palpable but courage he tried to muster.
“So... you’re not dead, unless I want you to,” the hooded man replied, his tone menacing.
“But that doesn’t solve anything, you can still hurt me,” the suspended man protested.
The hooded man, though his face hidden by a dark void, made a motion that suggested he rolled his eyes. “You actually believe that I don’t know...” he stated menacingly, his arms crossed, the mystical golden elixir still clutched in his hand.
“Know what?” the suspended man asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You can’t feel pain,” the hooded man declared, his words dripping with malevolence.
The suspended man’s eyes widened in horror, his mouth opened but words didn’t dare come out. His throat felt dry, and his heart suddenly skipped a beat. He kept silent, but his expressions and his exposed heart said it all – the hooded man was indeed right – the suspended man couldn’t feel any pain since the very beginning.
The hooded man continued, “I’ve known the whole time...”
The suspended man’s beating heart seemed to simmer the more he spoke, he wondered, “Then... You’ve known the entire time?”
“I just said that, fool. Don’t make me repeat myself,” the hooded man replied.
“If that was the case, then why in the name of all that's holy...why did ye do all o' this?!” the suspended man exclaimed, his voice crackin' with anguish. “Ye knew I couldn't feel any pain, yet ye...ye tortured me, ye savage! Ye treated me like a bloody animal, butchered me like a piece o' meat! Ye literally ripped me chest open! What kind o' monster are ye? Ye seemed to have a vendetta against me, but now ye claim ye don't even want me dead?! Why...why in the devil's name did ye put me through this hell?!”
“To bide time,” the hooded man replied, his tone unimpressed and without empathy. He didn’t care for a single moment about the tortured man’s qualms.
“What!?” the suspended man cried, his voice trembling with rage and despair.
The hooded man explained, “You heard me. I needed to waste some time while I waited.”
The tormented man flinched with disdain, “W-W-Wait fer what?”
“This.” The hooded man held up the mystical golden elixir without a second word.
“Fer that...? You tortured me for hours just to wait fer that...?” the suspended man spat, his anger and pain boiling over.
“Oh yes, I needed to wait for an old friend of mine to deliver this to me,” the hooded man explained, his head bowed, cradling the elixir close to him with an unsettling tenderness. “They would have been here to deliver a rather... unpleasant fate to you as well, but they’re too soft-hearted for that, I’m afraid.” He let out a long, ominous sigh that seemed to hang in the air like a malevolent presence. The suspended man's eyes widened in terror, his heart silenced with fear, his lips frozen in a silent scream as the hooded man's words hung over him like a dark and foreboding shadow.
As the hooded man stood there, silent and still, he stared at the elixir with an unnerving intensity, his gaze burning with a fire that seemed to fuel his very soul. The golden liquid appeared to stir a painful memory, a past tragedy that simmered beneath the surface, waiting to unleash its fury. Once he'd collected his thoughts, he turned to face the suspended man, his eyes blazing with a vengeful fury. "Mark my words, mate," he spat, his voice dripping with malice, "I'm a different breed. Morals don't bloody well apply to me!" His fist clenched, and he pointed his fist at the suspended man, a trickle of blood oozing from his knuckles as his rage threatened to boil over. "Not for devils like you, who'd sell their soul for a taste of power."
The suspended man feared to ask but he had to. “Lad... Just who are you? I confess that I may have forgotten you, but if ye show me yer face, maybe, just maybe I could remember what I forgot.”
The hooded figure chuckled menacingly, his calm demeanour a stark contrast to the malevolent intent simmering beneath. As he spoke, the dark void masking his face seemed to pulsate with a shadowy essence. "They say the eyes are windows to the soul," he began, his voice dripping with malice, "but a god once whispered to me that the heartbeat is the soul's voice—and the man I once called father told me this—Memories are just the shadows of one's very soul." He paused, his breathing heavy with anticipation, before grasping the suspended man's heart and whispering with cruel intent, “And one of those shadows is standing right before you—waiting to consume you whole.”
The hooded man continued, his hand still gripped tightly around the terrified man's beating heart, his voice trembling with a mix of excitement and malice. "Fear not, mate, for you'll see the face of your tormentor soon enough. Yet, what difference would it make, eh? We're still strangers, our true selves locked away... awaiting the grand reveal, like." And with that, he released his vice-like grip on the man's frantic heart, prompting a gasp of relief from the suspended wretch. But, as the hooded man's dark form began to recede into the shadows, his parting whisper sent shivers down the captive's spine — "Till we meet again, mate... when the masks are shed, and all hell breaks loose. Wait for my return..."
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