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Sanguine Prince | Chapter 14: Serenity (Second Draft)
🕑 Added 2026-01-04 17:08:22 +0000 UTCArcturus’ eyes opened to the familiar sight of his room on Earth, his mind once again submerged into the deepest recesses of his subconscious.
It was not a surprise that after falling unconscious, he’d once again found himself lucid dreaming within the safety of his own mind. The scene was somewhat different this time, though, with a light smatter of rain on the windows of the house and a faint rumble of thunder in the distance. He’d always enjoyed sitting on the veranda with his mother, drinking a piping mug of hot chocolate and speaking to her about different topics while the scent of rain filled his nostrils.
He glanced down and was only slightly surprised to see himself wearing the same clothes he’d had on in Angela’s workshop, complete with the bloodstains from his nose and lacerated right palm.
Arcturus turned his hand over and looked at it, noting the faint white line of scarring where his nails had torn up a near-straight cut in the flesh. From his last levelling-up experience, he had assumed no scar would be present—but, of course, his body was reconstructed according to his inner identity.
If that scar had become synonymous with his identity, perhaps on a subconscious level, then of course it would be there.
“I suppose that’s my mark, then.”
Arcturus looked up without alarm to see the watching eyes of the man he’d murdered, standing in the same mix of science fiction space cowboy attire he’d noticed in the real world, though lacking the crushed throat or purpled face.
There was, strangely, neither fear nor trepidation within Arcturus at the other man’s presence. He felt a strange blend of sadness and resignation when looking at the Terran, knowing inherently that the other man’s being there within the depths of his Arcturus’ own mind was only proper. It felt right in an indefinable way.
“I’m sorry, Geran,” Arcturus said sincerely, his voice strained with shame and regret. “I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t want to….”
“It’s alright, kid,” Geran said with a strange sort of serenity, his grey eyes thoughtful as he surveyed the room. “I’m at peace with my death. That might surprise you, but I think it’s probably a more important ending than I could have hoped for.”
Arcturus blinked in confusion, frowning at the other man’s words. “How? It was so needless! I was so overcome by rage, and—”
“You had to go through a crucible, Arcturus,” Geran said with the same placid serenity. “I just presented a chance for that.”
“That isn’t right, though!” Arcturus protested with a self-recriminating scowl. “I’m supposed to be a man, and I threw a tantrum like a child. A lethal tantrum...”
His scowl melted away, and he lowered his head into his hands, fingers kneading at his scalp hard enough to almost make it bleed as the reality of what he’d done impacted like a rain of bricks.
“Oh god, I killed someone.”
“You thought you were defending your life, Arcturus. Anyone else would have done the same thing.”
“That’s not an excuse! Even defending yourself, there are ways to—!” Arcturus abruptly cut off, his mind processing what Geran had said. “Wait, what do you mean ‘thought’ I was defending my life?”
“We were never there to hurt you. You know that.”
“How would I—?”
“Because I’m part of you, now. Stop closing it off, kid, and let it in.”
Arcturus looked at him in confusion again, before gasping and doubling over, his hands grabbing at his throat.
He couldn’t breathe.
His eyes flew to Geran in a panic, but the man simply stood and watched him with the same calm, serene expression, a wry little smile on his face as Arcturus slid off the bed and hit the floor, writhing as he felt himself growing faint from the lack of oxygen. He was dying. He was dying, and he couldn’t stop it. There was a vise squeezing at his windpipe, and he was going to die, the exact same way he’d murdered Geran!
As immediately as the thought came, Arcturus felt the pressure recede and vanish in the same instant as energy flooded him in a tide of potential, causing him to arch his back and his eyes to bulge against the deluge of a life’s worth of experiences. First moments, first steps, first words, first love, first kill, and then repeats and new experiences: every moment, every second, every instant of Geran’s life flowed into him in an unbroken tidal wave of essence—one which eventually forced him to cry out for it to stop, without success or real effect.
On and on came the unrelenting stream of lived days, faster and faster, until at last the moment of the older man’s demise rippled through Arcturus’ young mind and he finally, mercifully, felt the pressure of it all fall away.
Geran watched him as Arcturus gathered himself, opening his eyes slowly as memories of a whole life settled into his psyche and faded into accessible yet deeply stored information. Despite it not being actively present, he knew without question that any insight he sought from those experiences remained in the darkest, most unseen recesses of his mind.
In the future, with the proper training, perhaps he could even peruse them at his leisure.
“I never thought I’d die to a godling,” Geran said thoughtfully as Arcturus sat up.
“A godling? No,” Arcturus said wearily. “I’ve met God, and he’s an asshole.”
“Yes, because that’s a normal experience for just anyone to have,” Geran replied drily. “I’m part of you now, Arcturus. I can feel what’s inside of you, what you’re composed of—the powers of Creation and Destruction themselves; the primordial Aether. I can taste it with the echo of my soul, and the purity of its concentration terrifies me even as I am now—barely a true sapience, just an echo of someone gone. You have no understanding of the level of power you possess.”
“Well then, it’s not much help to me, is it?”
“Not yet,” Geran agreed with a small smile. “However, one day, when you fully learn to harness it? That day, Arcturus, you’re going to make Terra tremble.”
“I have no desire to do anything of the sort,” Arcturus said firmly.
“We shall see,” the spectre replied before vanishing with a startling abruptness.
Arcturus blinked when he was gone, looking around his room and pushing himself slowly to his feet.
“Geran?” he called experimentally, frowning at the sudden solitude, before realising he was missing the ghost of a man he’d murdered.
It was probably for the best that the spirit of the slain mercenary had departed, or gone dormant of its own accord. Arcturus did not want to consider the idea of having to fight some sort of life-or-death struggle in the confines of his own mind. He recalled several instances in more than one video game, anime, or visual novel in which just such confrontations took place.
He had always found it strangely intriguing, watching the hero have to battle against the guilt of their actions through contention with the very person whose life he or she had taken. There was a strange sense of justice in how it was all done, though he could admit the flashy effect and over-the-top dialogue had made the games a little hard to believe.
This isn’t a video game, Arcturus.
Unable to help laughing out loud at the recrimination of his subconscious, Arcturus knew what had to be done. With the unlocked essence of Geran’s existence thrumming within his being, he knew it was time to distribute it. He moved to the waiting writing desk quickly, feeling the hum of energy inside of himself growing more restless every passing moment—pulling at him to make proper use of it.
The paper was waiting for him as it had before when he sat down, though this time there were two distinct, black-outlined shimmering white bars side by side. Two levels, two bars. It made sense. Turning back to the paper, he smiled when he saw his character sheet had appeared and started to read.
ARCTURUS VALOURA
Level: 4 | Class: Ȁ̶̩͉̝̤͘͝r̴̥̥͕̐̌͒͝ć̸̫͓̿ͅä̸̧́̐̀n̷̲̏̌̀͜͝ẹ̷̜͙̈́̏ ̷̙̥͐̄W̴̮̘͂̓̊͝a̴̢͑͆͋ŗ̷̬̫̋r̵̪̯̋̓̅̕i̷̛͖̬͍ō̵͍͉͜r̸̡̻̗̜̿͒
Race: Daevic Terran(?) | Sex: Male | Age: 21
Title(s): N/A
Anima: 11 (110 HP) | Aether: 11 (110 MP)
Health per Minute: 1.8% | Mana per Minute: 2 Units
Strength: 19 | Agility: 13 | Intellect: 14 | Vitality: 15 | Perception: 14 | Arcana: 18 | Willpower: 21 | Charisma: 14 | Luck: ??
Core Skills
[Aether Manipulation] (Passive, Infinite Scaling) | [Inspect] (Passive, Infinite Scaling)
Combat Skills
[Unarmed Combat] (Passive, Level 1) | [Stealth] (Active, Level 1)
Magical Skills
[Psionicist] (Passive, Infinite Scaling) | [Telekinesis] (Active, Level 3)
Trade Skills
[Cartography] (Active, Level 1) | [Arcane Linguistics] (Passive, Infinite Scaling) | [Enchanting] (Active, Level 1) | [Aethersmithing] (Active, Level 1) | [Aethersmithing (Infusion)] (Active, Level 1) | [Aethersmithing (Diffusion)] (Active, Level 1)
Arcturus considered the sheet in its entirety carefully, perusing each section of the breakdown of his essence with intent scrutiny, blinking when he reached his Unarmed Combat. The text for the level designation was shimmering, dancing with light to his eyes in a way nothing else was. Curiously and cautiously, he pressed his right forefinger to it to ‘activate’ whatever was waiting, blinking as the [Unarmed Combat] number flashed from 1 to 2, and nothing else changed.
Anticlimactic though it was, he nonetheless nodded in pleasure at the growth, realizing that it only made sense for his skill to evolve given the events of Angela’s Workshop. As his eyes proceeded down the list, he also spotted that his [Telekinesis] was shimmering as well, drawing his eyes and attention. More than that, and unlike his unarmed skill, the telekinetic description was shimmering as well—hinting at an evolution far more poignant than the jump from 1 to 2 for [Unarmed Combat].
Swallowing his nerves, he touched the ‘Telekinesis’ written on his sheet and read the morphing words with a growing smile.
[Telekinesis] (Active, Level 4): Your advancement in Telekinesis has removed the need for casting frameworks! Your Telekinesis can now be used solely in whatever capacity your mind imagines. Due to your reckless and self-destructive use of multiple psychic overdraws to brutally execute another person, your telekinetic skill is now more resistant to shattering!
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said out loud, laughing with relief at the snarky description he attributed to his subconscious inner voice.
His accidental self-destructive rampage had served something akin to a furious week at a gym, working and building his telekinetic muscle rapidly. It did make sense in its own way, given that to build muscle, one had to damage it and force it to heal back stronger. His [Psionicist] abilities, operating under the same rules, only seemed appropriate.
Turning back to the rest of the sheet, now with the updated [Telekinesis] and [Unarmed Combat] ability levels, he perused what else he had gained. The [Cartography], [Arcane Linguistics], [Enchanting], and [Aethersmithing] were listed under ‘Trade Skills’—a category he recognized as dealing with abilities, talents, or skills that didn’t relate directly to any form of direct contention. They were like tertiary additions to his repertoire; useful in their way, but removed from the more practical applications his other talents afforded him in combat. Which, of course, made sense.
Yes, that’s why they’re called ‘Trade Skills’, genius.
Arcturus’ eyes swept over the sheet again in full before addressing his gaze to the primary attributes under his name and the demented text of his classification, frowning at the still-glitched nature of the writing he was seeing.
It was as if reality were trying to quantify him and failing, pondering the idea that perhaps he was more unnatural than he’d previously thought—and that the sarcastic comments alluding to such on his sheet weren’t so sarcastic—in a momentary state of concern.
If it were true, it might mean that his existence would not follow the same path as others'. Would it result in some sort of penalty to his lifespan? A future mutation he couldn’t control? Some sort of potentially harmful aural effect, like he was radioactive?
Focus on what you know.
The logic of his inner self halted his slow spiral into worry, and Arcturus drew a calming breath as he realised it was precisely the truth. He could control his level-up and, potentially, his future developments—good or ill—with enough caution and attention.
Knowledge would be required for that, however, and that would mean actually making the effort to finally visit one of Luxanium’s libraries. As much as he desired to find his friends – assuming they were on Terra – and find a way to get back to Earth, he also understood and acknowledged the necessity of information. His Father had stressed that enough.
Understanding one’s circumstance was a critical factor in any crisis, and his current situation was definitely no exception.
Arcturus sighed and shook his head in disbelief regarding the brutality of the world he found himself in.
"Anyone who thought that adventures in a magical world were appealing had no idea what the hell they were talking about," he grouched.
You realize that includes you, right, Mister I-Talk-To-Myself?
His only response was a grunt.
