The sound of the bells echoed in the hollow halls, and the pillars that surrounded him seemed to loom closer with every second.
Something shifted as the sounds of wood snapping rang in the hall, as soft breathing came from his side. Liu Mowen's pupils dilated in fear, and swept over the cathedral once again.
His breathing was hushed as he looked to his right, where a figure lay, the body half buried under rubble.
The man seemed familiar; something about him made Liu Mowen remember. In that moment, he remembered the man's name, but nothing more than that.
His name was Grant Ainshart, a companion of sorts to the body of whoever he inherited.
Grant coughed, traces of blood leaked down the sides of his mouth, the blood was dark red, almost black. Liu Mowen saw it and knew the man would not have long to live; his lungs were probably crushed by the rubble above him.
Liu Mowen walked over to Grant, almost sympathetic even though he had no idea of any of the connections he had with this man. Still, a tear rolled down his cheeks.
"Le—" Grant said forcefully, his voice barely audible, "Take the flask of Dreor… It's no use for me anymore… I'm a dead man; even such a potion wouldn't be able to heal my wounds."
The rubble shifted again as Grant's left hand reached down into the rubble and to his waist, retrieving a small vial, decorated with gold and filled with a gooey, clear red liquid.
Holding it out in front of Liu Mowen, he dipped his head and glanced at the vial, prompting him to take it from his hand. Carefully, Liu Mowen reached down and took the flask from his palm.
Grant nodded weakly, "Good… Tell the church, warn them about the ro…"
Before he could finish his sentence, his mouth froze, and he stopped moving entirely; the small pumps of his pulse in the silent hall dispersed. His eyes were still half-opened and his mouth mid-sentence when he passed.
It began to rain outside the moment Grant passed away, the sprinkles of rain splashing outside, the sounds piercing through the silence.
Liu Mowen reached over to the corpse of Grant, holding his hand above Grant's face, his swept it down, brushing it over his eyes, closing them. Then he closed Grant's mouth as well… His expression was peaceful now, just like he had fallen into an eternal slumber.
Liu Mowen dipped his head in a bowing motion, showing his final respects. Closing his eyes as he bowed made him feel ever-so-slightly sad, almost like he had just lost an old friend.
After a moment of silence, he stood straight and took a deep breath; the pain in his chest still throbbed as his wounds never healed. Then he glanced at his clasped hand, where the flask of slimy liquid sat.
Something told him to drink the flask like an inner voice, yet he was still unsure. Stuck between thoughts, he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. There was still the chance that he could just collapse and die from the grievous wound, yet drinking the unknown flask may not be the cure.
He thought long and hard before deciding to drink the flask.
Mustering the courage to lift the unappealing, slimy flask of goo above his mouth, he gulped down the saliva around the corners of his mouth.
He opened his mouth wide and pursed his lips against the cold opening at the top of the vial. Liu Mowen closed his eyes, then breathed out of his nose.
Gulp—
The first bit of the icy cold slime drooled onto his tongue before he forced it down his throat. The taste was horrid, like spoiled jelly, yet he continued till the flask was emptied.
In the moment, the cold became heat, and the liquid began burning the sides of his throat.
Liu Mowen wanted to scream, but nothing came out; he gasped for air.
Was I not supposed to drink that? Am I going to die now? He thought as his throat felt like it was getting pierced by a million tiny needles.
Clutching his neck, Liu Mowen fell to the ground, squirming like an octopus, his arms flailing like loose tentacles.
After a while of struggling, the pain finally subsided. Liu Mowen felt weak but somehow managed to stand with much of a throbbing pain in his chest. He looked down, and it was gone; the gunshot wounds had healed themselves with new skin.
Guess that was the right medicine. I guess this is what they mean when they say 'good medicine always tastes the worst.' He said in his mind as he stood up and dusted himself off.
Backtracking, he returned to where he first awoke and took another look at himself in the broken mirror. His gaze flicked back and forth between the mirror and his surroundings before noticing a trace of red on the floor.
Writing in a language he somehow knew, even though he was completely unfamiliar with it, it was the Enitch language, the main tongue used in the Enir Kingdom, in his mind, he translated it into Chinese. It said, "Fear the Rogues, and the churches even more."
Reading the line of writing triggered something within him; memories flooded his mind, he remembered more about this world, about the churches and the lifestyle they have here. But the word 'Rogue' never appeared anywhere in the memories that flashed.
Liu Mowen crouched down next to the words on the floor, "Fear the Rogues, and the churches even more." He read it out loud under his breath.
He knew about the churches, the twelve highly respected religions that exert heavy influence over many matters, not just in the Enir Kingdom but all the Republics and Empires in the Western Continent of Ceetis.
Why fear the churches?
Liu Mowen rubbed his forehead with the back of his thumb as his mind continued telling him the stories of wherever he was.
What do I do here?
What can I do?
He drew himself up, standing and facing the exit of the cathedral, the looming metal doors standing in brilliance under the glistening red moonlight of the blood moon hanging high above the sky, its rays casting an eerie light through the broken roof.