El's grey eyes fluttered open as the sunlight spilled onto his bedside and pooled on the floor. Sitting upright, he stretched, easing the stiffness from his muscles.
"Ahh, another one of those dreams,"
he muttered with a hint of annoyance. This recurring episode had plagued him for quite some time, but this one felt uniquely unsettling,which was that It hadn't unfolded in the world of Troy, as usual, but rather in a bizarre place called a 'trial ', reminding him of a story etched on the wall,a strange grotesque creature,an overwhelming amount of bones, too many.
A grimace crossed his face at the thought: would he be doomed to experience such horrific events time and again?
Unbeknownst to him, El, a somewhat partial empiricist, was beginning to view his dreams as visions—an unsettling truth he had yet to grasp,but he did not know that.
Just then, a knock at the door jolted him from his dark thoughts.
"Young master Azazel, may I come in?" a voice called from beyond the threshold.
"Come in," El replied, his voice steady.
The door creaked open to reveal a young woman in her twenties, her short brown hair grazing her neck and a scattering of freckles dancing across her cheeks. Clad in a simple black and white maid's uniform, she bowed slightly.
She was bely, El's temporary personal maid
"You are awake, Master El, has it been long,?" she said.
El met her gaze and replied, "Your timing is impeccable;and no, I just woke up." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feet touching the cool floor.
"I see. Breakfast is ready, and I'll be in the kitchen when you are prepared," Bely responded,as she prepared to exit.
"Thank you, Bely," El said with a calm nod. She bowed again before closing the door softly behind her.
Standing up, he turned to survey his disheveled bed, the sheets scattered haphazardly. His eyes fell on a book sitting atop the bed. Ignoring the mess, he reached for it, his fingers brushing the cover and took it before he walked over to his personal bookshelf—an old piece he had brought from home not too long ago. He couldn't imagine life without his novels.
He placed the book on top of the six shelves, in the wardrobe tucking it among twelve others. The top shelf held his favorites—the best works of the same or various authors.
The book he was just reading was from an new and for now unknown author, a discovery he had made online.
The pen name of the author was, "Incarnate," ; he had searched for more information about him but found little—perhaps the author was a hidden gem or just starting out.
The novel, labeled as urban supernatural, piqued his interest despite his usual preference for fantasy and adventureand wanting to have a change of things, he went through the urban genre on web-books,but he had stumbled upon countless poorly written ones,clichés that left him wanting to gag.
And not wanting to judgment based on a few bad selections, he opted for the most popular titles but quickly realized they were often the realm of degenerates.
so he immediately stopped using the web and did a diving in traditional books.
After a week of frustration, rummaging through piles of traditional books, he finally discovered "The Last Supernatural" by Incarnate. He had thought it would be a straightforward battle story, but to his surprise,not only did it unfold as a slow burn, it was also devoid of battle scenes.
The plot centered on a young boy who, in a modern world concealing its supernatural underbelly, became a vampire—not just any vampire but the last of his kind,and not only that but the final remnant of a world once filled with gods, vampires,werewolves, witches, and spirits,leaving weak ones who dies not long after.
The mystery of his transformation remained tantalizingly unsolved, hinting at deeper complexities and mystery within the narrative by the author.
But the narrative spun from a singular thread: a tale of a human transformed,less of humans and into a creature entwined with shadows—a creature of the dark striving to navigate the world of light and day.
At first he had once sought to blend in, to erase the distinction of his new existence, yet the weakness of his transformated form was a relentless torment.
The sun itself was now an unforgiving adversary, searing his skin with every ray that pierced the fragile fabric of his existence. Despite draping himself in layers of cloth and shielding himself with an umbrella, he was still not free from the burdens of his transformation. He had transcended the boundaries of mortality, becoming a being who hovered near immortality—a state that rendered true companionship an impossibility.
And decades turned into centuries, and despair festered in the void of his heart. And then a spark of conviction ignited within him: perhaps it was time to embrace the vast expanse of existence, to witness the kaleidoscope of human experience unfurl over eons. The planet had treasures untold, and no horizon of knowledge seemed reachable; advancements erupted with relentless fervor, promising an endless tapestry of discovery.
It was here, at this precipice of realization, that Volume 1 drew to a close. As the narrative hinted at the following installment, it teased with the prospect of the protagonist delving into realms of all things,wealth and power,all aspects of entertainment, experiencing entertaining things and sometimes even becoming the source of entertainment like acting etc—and unknownly became an enigma to those entrenched in the shadows of society.
Anticipation swelled within him as he envisioned the exploits awaiting him in the second volume, eagerly awaiting its arrival from the ordering site, his heart thrumming with curiosity.
Emerging from the bathroom, a towel secured around his waist and droplets of water cascading down his form, he strode toward his wardrobe. He retrieved his freshly laundered uniform, meticulously ironed to perfection. He took a moment to dry himself thoroughly,and then donning a crisp white long-sleeved shirt, cinching a tie patterned in rich brown and dark blue stripes, and layering a blue blazer atop dark blue trousers that matched his polished shoes.
Passing through the living room, fully adorned for the day, he made his way to the kitchen. There, he found Bely seated at the dining table, engrossed in the glow of her phone. At the sight of El's entrance, she leaped from her chair, eager to serve him his meal and he ate in silence.
Once nourished, he retreated to his room, retrieving his phone and scrolling through his contacts until he found Caleb's name.
The phone rang briefly before a lethargic voice emerged from the other end. "El, what's up?" Caleb's tone was heavy with sluggishness.
"Hey, are you guys ready for class?"
A pause hung in the air, heavy with realization. "Shit! Class! Well, I'm almost done. Just give me a minute... five, no, ten—maybe twenty."
"You overslept again," El sighed, a hint of exasperation weaving through his words. "Just hustle and meet us in Noah's room."
With the call ending abruptly, he moved to his drawer, retrieving a small bottle of pills. He popped two into his mouth and made his way out of his bedroom,into the living room his footsteps echoing softly against the floor.
"Bely! I'm leaving!" he called as he reached the door.
From the kitchen, a melodic response accompanied the sound of running water. "Okay, Master El,Have a good day."
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