Chapter 7:The Sound of Madness
The vast chamber pulsed with a haunting purple glow, reverberating with an energy that enveloped Damon like an ethereal cloak. At its center, he stood—a radiant figure of youth and untapped potential. His laughter, rich and effervescent, erupted, cascading like ripples through the gathering crowd. Though enveloped by the brilliance of the light, the warmth of his joy radiated outward, a palpable force that uplifted the spirits of those around him.
From the periphery, drawn by the enchantment of that laughter, Thomas and Gerald emerged before the grand Hall of Archives. A spark of mischief ignited in Thomas's eyes as he erupted with laughter that thundered against the chamber's walls, energizing the atmosphere. He seized Gerald in a bear hug, effortlessly dissolving the stoic facade of a king.
"Old Devil! Enough of that!" Gerald protested, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth as surprise flickered across his face.
"Foolish old child! You dare to act so foolish? Even now, in front of me your father?" Thomas chided, giving Gerald's shoulder a jovial slap. "At least I've got my precious grandchild to keep me entertained!"
Their laughter echoed, but as if the world had hit a cruel pause, an icy stillness swept through the chamber, smothering joy in its suffocating grip. An instinct pulsated within both men, prompting them to activate their barriers as a wave of foreboding coursed from the heart of the blinding light. The energy spiraled chaotically, tearing the Æth from those around them—both in the archives and beyond—leaving a trail of breathlessly astonished faces.
Damon stood at the epicenter, tendrils of luminescent void energy coiling around his arms like ethereal serpents. His shirtless form radiated brilliance, as if the very essence of the universe had collapsed into him.
"Haha! Such a young devil!" Thomas boomed, exhilaration spilling from him as he turned, the dark fabric of his robe billowing dramatically. "I shall make some preparations!"
As Thomas strode away, an unsettling chill crept down Gerald's spine, skepticism flashing through his gaze. "So that old devil can smile like that... that conniving bastard!" His intensity shifted toward Damon. "That's my boy! This is your era—show the world you exist!"
Damon, bowing his head slightly beneath the weight of his father's encouragement, felt pride swell within him. "Raise your head, my child," Gerald continued, his voice thick with emotion. "You've yet to begin your journey, but know—you've already made me proud." Yet, amid the affectionate words, Damon couldn't overlook the flicker of turmoil in his father's eyes.
"Father, were you in a battle?" Damon asked, concern threading through his voice.
"Hah! It's that old devil—your grandfather," Gerald replied, annoyance slicing into his tone.
"Grandfather?" Damon echoed, his brow furrowing in surprise.
"Yes—the vile one!" Gerald sighed, the recollection crystallizing into the lines of his weathered face. Damon imagined the old man's hard features, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "Hah! That old bastard is my grandfather," he muttered, a chuckle escaping him as he embraced this peculiar lineage.
"Let's forget the past today. Today is for celebration!" Gerald tapped Damon on the shoulder before stepping back, leaving Damon to soak in the echo of his father's words in the expansive hall.
With a sigh of relief, Damon stretched, murmuring to himself, "Finally, some peace and quiet." Turning to make his way toward the exit, he suddenly halted, startled by the sight of Ruth, unconscious on the cold stone floor. Annoyance bubbled up within him. "What is she doing here?" he thought, blissfully unaware of the chaos his presence had unwittingly wrought.
"Not my problem," he muttered, intent on brushing past her. Yet guilt, sharp and insistent, gnawed at him from within. Reluctantly, he turned back, lifting her into his arms with a gentle grace that belied his strength—an unvoiced promise of protection.
As he left the Hall of Archives, his heart thundered with a strange mix of compassion and duty, resolve surging within him.
Upon arriving at the Void Mansion, a maid rushed to greet him, her eyes wide and shining with concern. "Oh, young lord! Let me take it from here!" she said, carefully lifting Ruth from Damon's arms.
Once inside, Damon stepped away, flopping onto his bed as though shedding the weight of the day itself. "Finally, some alone time!" he declared, relief washing over him as he readied a hot bath. Steam spiraled around him like a soft embrace, the warmth whispering secrets of solace.
As he settled back, the water cradling him in warmth, he reached for the ancient Masquerade Tome lying on the side table. "Ah, the deadly form of summoning," he murmured, tracing the delicate script with reverence. "This art goes deeper than the dark arts; only the mad shall practice such craft." A chuckle escaped his lips at the tome's warning. "At least it comes with precautions."
"Ahh, but I can only practice this technique once I claim my first life," he pondered, allowing the heat of the water to envelop his thoughts, swirling memories and emotions within him. "During the awakening, I felt something…" He stretched out his hand, seeking the remnants of an unmistakable presence lingering in his soul.
Suddenly, he glimpsed a small, glowing seed—the embodiment of his ambition, his desires. A smile flickered across his face as he cradled the seed delicately in his palms. "Vivi, don't worry; you shall awaken soon," he whispered, warmth spilling from his heart.
With that, he grabbed a towel and climbed out of the tub, instantly stepping into the void with an ease or was it instinct?
As he drifted into the realm of the void, he murmured, "You deserve something worthy of your grace." Approaching the ethereal void garden, the flora instinctively parted, making space for him to plant the seed in soil blessed with the purest Ætherion.
Damon's heart swelled as he placed the seed deep into the ground, whispering, "Atru shriba." The earth quaked beneath him, erupting in a baptism of pure energy that pulsed with life.
As he explored the vast lands of the void, he drifted past room upon room in the mansion, each locked away like the secrets of a labyrinthine maze. "How do I navigate this?" he pondered, a sigil glowing in response, guiding him to an open chamber.
A grin broke across his face. "Now this is efficient!" He entered and found two gauntlets nestled within, perfect for the mastery of palm techniques. As he slipped them on, they felt oversized, an initial discomfort scratching at him. But then, as if attuned to his essence, they molded into place.
"Are you kidding me? This weapon possesses a soul!" he laughed, hearing the yearning whisper of the gauntlets. "Who is there!" A voice spoke in Damon's head "please give me blood" the voice begged as it soon turned to rage "Blood—I want to drink blood!" it crooned, an unsettling sensation creeping forth.
Damon merely turned his nose up at the weapon's dark craving, summoning resolve. "The art of perfect madness," he said with a glint in his eyes, stretching his hand forward. Within an instant, he opened another door, sensing a presence lurking inside.
With nerves tingling, he quickly moved through the shadows, closing the distance until he stood before it. "Who are you?" ..his presence radiating pure, unrestrained killing intent.