The first time I experienced the teleportation spell, it was like plunging into a whirlwind of unfamiliar sensations. I felt trapped in the middle of a film projected at breakneck speed, where everything around me became a blurry smear of colors while an unbearable pain threatened to tear apart every fiber of my being. When I finally managed to open my eyes, my throat could only emit a dry, halting sound, like paper tearing.
My head throbbed fiercely, and a relentless buzzing pounded in my ears. The cold drops of water falling on my burning skin only intensified my discomfort. Each breath brought a sharp pang in my chest that churned my stomach, as if I had been repeatedly struck. I tried to orient myself, slightly turning my head to survey my surroundings, fighting against the vertigo that threatened to make me lose consciousness.
—This is… —I murmured to myself, trying to make sense of what my eyes were struggling to focus on.
The darkness was nearly absolute; I could barely make out what was within arm's reach. I found myself in a damp, shadowy alley, where a nauseating stench of waste and stagnant water permeated the stale air. As I felt the ground beneath me, I sensed the hardness and roughness of the rock, which had left a sharp pain in my back and lower body.
Despite the pain and disorientation clouding my mind, I understood something fundamental: we had made it. We were alive, and most importantly, we were free. But that long-sought freedom now came with the overwhelming responsibility of surviving in a completely foreign outside world. Without a home, without food, without the slightest knowledge of the society we now had to integrate into. This would be our new reality, where every decision, every step, would depend solely on us.
I decided to take a risk and activated the innate ability I had awakened upon becoming an Iluminado. The Eyes of the Eclipse allowed me to "see" the world in a way that transcended ordinary human senses, granting me an almost omniscient understanding of stellar energy. It was a microscopic vision that let me manipulate the Neth at an atomic level, adjusting its intensity and form instantly, instantly analyze the structure and function of any negative spell, even the most complex, detecting its flow, quantity, and quality in Iluminados, mutants, and objects.
A breathtaking spectacle unfolded before my eyes: multicolored particles swirling around me like living constellations. They seemed like luminous dots joined in a linear sequence that flowed continuously, following a perfect mathematical pattern.
I forced myself to deactivate the ability as I felt a slight headache; if I focused, I could hear soft breathing: my siblings were here, they had arrived with me. But the relief was short-lived when my eyes landed on Arceus, slumped on the waterlogged ground, trembling intermittently like a leaf shaken by the wind. I then remembered, with a wave of panic, that in our rush to escape as quickly as possible, I hadn't had time to heal his wound.
—Are you okay? —my voice sounded hoarse, unrecognizable even to me.
I crawled across the wet pavement to where he lay and held my breath upon seeing his condition. I wasn't sure what exactly had hit him, but an alarming amount of blood was seeping from somewhere under the upper part of his torso, forming a dark pool that slowly spread. With determination, I dragged his trembling body to prop him against the nearest wall.
I was a warlock, and due to my nature, I couldn't use the sacred healing spells of Priests, nor could I cauterize severe wounds by burning the tissue to close them as a common mage would. My abilities were different, darker but no less powerful.
Contrary to popular belief, warlocks like me weren't walking taboos, criminals, or dark beings bent on sowing destruction in our path. Cassie's grimoire clearly explained that warlocks were masters in the art of death manipulation, Iluminados specialized in understanding the limits of corpses. Our power included summoning through contracts with the abyss, as well as controlling the undead, which focused on their creation, manipulation, and summoning through spells that altered life and the soul.
Think, Reinhardt, think.
The weight of the dimensional medallion hung from my neck, secured by a thin braided cord that brushed against my skin like a constant reminder of its power. I closed my eyes and let the stellar energy flow through me, a warm, pulsating torrent that attuned my mind to the artifact. In an instant, I felt the connection: a spark that linked my consciousness to the medallion, as if an invisible door were opening.
Suddenly, my mind projected into an ethereal space, an infinite vault of velvety darkness speckled with tiny motes of light, like distant stars. There, the stored objects floated in a silent void, each glowing with a faint aura that outlined their shapes. It appeared to be an unlimited storage at first glance, but its capacity had a limit, measured in cubic meters, as if the space itself had invisible edges. With a clear thought, I focused my will on the item I needed. My consciousness brushed against its essence, and in a fleeting flash, the object materialized in the real world. The process was instantaneous, almost imperceptible.
In the blink of an eye, my right hand held a glass vial, cold to the touch, with a cork firmly in place. Inside, a healing potion shimmered with a viscous liquid of deep blue, like liquid sapphires dancing under the light. Its sticky texture clung slightly to the vial's walls, and a faint herbal scent, mixed with a metallic hint, wafted out upon opening it. These potions, distilled with medicinal substances, had the power to heal wounds, restore vigor, and, in some cases, revive bodies on the brink of collapse.
With the vial raised, I approached Arceus. With my free arm, I carefully lifted his head, feeling the weight of his exhaustion. My hand trembled slightly as I tilted the vial over his mouth, pouring the liquid with precision to avoid wasting a drop. The dark blue slid down his throat, and then, before my eyes, the bleeding that soaked his leg stopped, as if an invisible hand had sealed the wounds. The torn flesh began to knit itself back together, the tissues mending with an almost supernatural smoothness, leaving only silvery scars where there had once been chaos. Arceus's breathing, previously a ragged gasp that tore at my heart, steadied into a calm, deep rhythm. His eyelids fluttered, and a spark of life returned to his gaze.
—Arceus, I need you to listen to me —I whispered urgently.
Then, with firm but calculated gentleness, I held his head between my hands and looked directly into his half-closed eyes. Seeing no reaction, I did what any friend would in my desperate situation: I gave him three sharp slaps to pull him from the clutches of unconsciousness.
The tactic, though unorthodox, worked. Within seconds, Arceus reacted.