Warlock Apprentice

In Torras’ mind, the flashing memories gradually approached their end until everything froze at one certain time point.

He was sitting in a dark cave. His skinny, emaciated body had collapsed on the ground. His body slowly bloated and decayed until there were only his bones left…

“I’m Torras. I’m… dead?” Torras realized something and widened his eyes.

Strangely, more memories came back to him.

The regret and ruefulness of dying a sorrowful death made him mad. Year after year, he roamed around the dark island while hunting after everyone that somehow ended up there.

Each time he was done with clearing out the island, he would return to his grave and wait for more intruders.

 Until he met with this particular man who was a lot more powerful than him. “I think he killed me… Wait, then what am I now?” Torras looked around in confusion. “That gun… He had a strange gun that ended my accursed form. Or did he?”

“Can you hear me?”

Torras suddenly heard someone’s pleasant voice talking to him.

Wait. Pleasant? Why would I think that way?

Torras had been haunted by hatred, helplessness, and madness. Those were everything that he knew of.

After living through thousands of years as a murderous wraith, Torras felt great that he got to communicate with people instead of worsening his grudge using screams and claws. He felt as if there was a new light shining into his blackened spirit.

He could no longer conceal his jubilation and began to laugh out loud.

“What’s on your mind?” Angor asked while observing Torras’ actions carefully. He noticed that Torras wasn’t laughing out of madness but true delight.

“I feel… happy! You have a sweet voice.” Torras smiled so big that his eyes grew squinty. He didn’t care where the voice was coming from or who he was talking to. He was just glad to feel his extinguished mentality being rekindled.

“Oh, thank you, I guess,” Angor replied while still looking at Torras’ form.

He already felt it strange that Torras’ face behind that helmet mask looked so young and even appealing. He believed that, if Torras were to get a fake headpiece and dress up as a lady, this man was very likely to fool a lot of enthusiastic stags with that charming smile.

“I’m afraid I can’t feel your bliss, which is such a big pity. Is it okay if I ask you several questions so that I can get a share of that happiness?” asked Angor.

“Ha. Of course I’ll not turn down the owner of such a sweet voice. Go ahead.”

Angor waited for a while until Torras was no longer laughing too hard.

“Your name is Torras?”

“That’s right.”

“Aren’t you going to ask who I am first?”

“I don’t have to. You’re that wizard who killed me.”

“You think I killed you? Do you think you’re dead now?”

By these simple questions, Angor planned to find out whether Torras’ memory was still consistent.

“I… don’t know, actually. But I know you killed something. That was probably me… or was that not the ‘real me’?”

“You were pretty crazy back there.” Angor chuckled. “You have ‘vile’ written in your name, and you pretty much lived up to it.”

“I see. You killed the Torras I hated. You killed the ‘me’ that I couldn’t control. And you got rid of that part of me from my mind. As for my old name, ugh. I think an ireful government man gave me that moniker after I took his possessions. And somehow, everyone started calling me that. Although I don’t dislike this name. ‘Vile King’ sits well with my style, you know?”

Angor was glad to see that Torras remembered both his past life and what happened when he was an undead.

It seemed Sunders’ theory was correct. By using all six “white bullets” against an undead, it would revert to an ordinary, “rational” soul.

He quickly noted down the conclusion in his notebook while explaining what Torras might need to know, “People all have a slight chance of remaining behind as souls upon death. If they had strong regrets or obsessions at that time, they’re very likely to be tainted by dark energy and resurrected as undead spirits.”

Torras looked confused. “So… you’re saying I was an ‘undead spirit’, but now I’m no longer one?”

“Correct. The bullets I used on you weren’t intended to kill, but to cleanse you. Those are pretty costly, by the way. You’re lucky that you met with me.”

“Ohh… that must be why I can feel human happiness again.”

“You’re not safe yet, mind you. A clean soul can still be invaded by dark energy if you keep your old grudge locked up in your mind. Know that I no longer have more bullets to save you. Of course, you’re free to become an undead again if you do choose so.”

Angor didn’t mind whether Torras would become fallen again since it wouldn’t affect his experiment. But at the very least, he would like to know more about that strange island first.

“Oh no no no, I don’t want that to happen again. It feels way better this way.” Torras shivered. “Are we still at that damned island, Mister Wizard?”

“No. I took you away.”

Torras felt as if a burdensome weight were physically removed from his mind, setting him free.

“I escaped? For real?”

Torras tried not to be overjoyed, but it was just impossible to conceal his true feelings when his greatest remorse had been purged.

It took him a long time to calm down again, before he began to consider some other questions, such as his future plans, and of course, what Angor was going to do to him.

He thought about ascertaining where he was right now. The narrow room he was in had nothing other than a colorful stained glass that looked like a church window.

He moved to the window and looked through it, only to get terrified when he saw bright flames that covered up everything outside his room.

“Am-am I in hell?”

Angor glanced at the stove nearby and snickered.

Similar to what he did to Freud, he placed an illusion inside Torras’ chamber and put some furniture inside. He even created the illusion of a book, Dancing on Devil’s Tides, for Torras to read, just for fun.

After getting over his shock, Torras walked around his “new room” and sat on the bed. “I can’t remember when I slept on a soft bed last time. This place is nice. Just, the decoration might need some more polishing.”

Angor rolled his eyes.

He was finding it harder and harder to believe the stories in Dancing on Devil’s Tides, which were all about a ferocious and wicked warlord instead of this seemingly refined man who knew about fashion and style.

“The room is yours now. Do whatever you like with it,” said Angor.

Torras nodded and put on a more serious look. “Mister Wizard, you spent valuable resources on me and took me out of that prison. You want something from me, right?”

“There are two things. One, as I said just now, I need to ask a few questions. And secondly… you’re my test subject now. Of course I need to take you along.”

While talking about “test subject”, Angor was rather surprised to see that Torras didn’t show any particular reactions.

“You’re not afraid?”

“You just told me that those bullets were costly, mister. I don’t think you’ll change me back into an undead again. I’m dead anyway. It’s not like anything can be worse than that. Well, as long as you don’t throw me back to that island.” Torras shrugged.

“You’ve accepted your fate then?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Not exactly. You still remember what you did at the island, right? You even killed an apprentice from the White Clam Association. That man was an apprentice just like me.”

Torras frowned and failed to remember the details. He knew he had been murdering people, but he couldn’t keep their names and looks in his mind in his maddened state.

“Did I? Perhaps I did it when I could teleport around. And that apprentice must be really weak. But no, I can’t do that again.”

“Wait. You can’t teleport now? Isn’t that like a natural ability you can use freely?”