Michael, or Mikhail rather, doesn't immediately react when he comes out of his metamorphosis-induced coma. Things felt... Different. Truthfully, he was struggling to hold on to his identity, his name feeling like a mask as opposed to something true to himself.
While he didn't currently possess a physical body, his senses were still being overwhelmed by the influx of foreign knowledge and sensations. Gaining links to a litany of concepts that he previously hadn't had a single attachment to made it difficult to concentrate on anything else.
He could feel all the threads to those Clavicus had ruled, in particular, the thing that stabbed at him most was Clavicus Vile's realm, The Fields of Regret where most of the mortal's who'd lost best lingered.
Despite not having a tongue, or a body at all, he could taste the foulness of the realm. While part of him appreciated it and wished to keep it as is, his mortal identity and his new link to the concept of Death made him eager to simply 'hard reset' it.
The world flashes around him as he appears on a large idyllic-looking grassy hill that towered a considerable height over the surrounding grasslands. At first glance the place looked amazing, like a perfect picture of what Earth, or Tamriel could be, with small houses that blended perfectly with the plants and trees that surrounded it.
Once you got a better look however, it matched its name, The Fields of Regret, well. It didn't smell like grass or nature, instead the whole realm smelt of rotten flesh and other disgusting scents. The perfect-looking foods all tasted like ash...
The realm was designed to deny any pleasure at all. The wind on your skin felt stale and humid, the overall temperature was almost just above what was comfortable, making a regular person sweat. The sun would burn your skin if under it for too long, and instead of providing comfortable warmth, actually made those under it colder.
All in all, it was as if someone had given a sadistic toddler a realm to use as their sandbox.
Fortunately or not for the denizens of this realm however, the Mantling of Michael had unconsciously imbued new concepts into the place. The sky was steadily darkening with black clouds appearing overhead, the abundant plants scattered around slowly wilting, a dark fog of miasma was washing in from seemingly nowhere.
Michael doesn't even blink at this however, simply observing the residents of the realm scream and flee at the sudden catastrophes.
One Dremora flees up the hill to escape the wave of rotting miasma and ends up falling at Michael's feet... Which he'd subconsciously created at some point with the rest of his body?
The Dremora looks up from where he'd fallen and his dark eyes widen, "M-MY LORD!?" he slams his horned head into the ground in supplication.
Hmm. Michael knew this Dremora, they'd bet their soul in a card game in an attempt to obtain Umbra... Apparently, he intended to use it to gain power, conquer a Province in Tamriel, and take the fight to Mehrunes Dagon, who'd earned his ire in the past.
Michael soon gets lost in some of the memories of Clavicus Vile, but is brought back when the Dremora at his feet speaks once more. "MY LORD! WHY HAVE YOU DECIDED TO DESTROY US!? ARE WE NOT PLEASING TO YOU!?"
...
"No...?" he replies, wondering why he hadn't killed the Dremora already...
"THEN WHAT MUST WE DO TO SURVIVE YOUR WRATH, MY LORD!"
...
His first thought was for them to 'Die', but that would be the opposite of 'survival'... Why was he even thinking about this in the first place? Who cared if these ants perished?
...
He spreads his mind over the realm and observes the various mortals, all running for their lives and scrambling to get to safety. Almost all of the people present had earned their spot by losing a bet against him, most due to greed, but there were others who had other intentions.
A mother betting her soul in a game to save her daughter from a fate worse than death at the hands of bandits. She's lost, and Clavicus had thought it funny to make the woman watch the consequences of her actions...
Michael's hands unconsciously tighten into fists at the memory, but he ignores it and continues looking.
A teenager on the brink of death, betting his soul for food at the flip of a coin. He lost, and has spent his days sitting silently on a shore overlooking a river that smelt of rot and salt.
The boy himself was just about to get drowned in the deathly miasma, when he suddenly appears on the hill next to the Dremora...
There were many more instances of this, people who weren't in the realm for any significant or malicious slight appearing safely on the hill, which became one of the last safe places.
He'd allowed eighty percent of the realm to die however, those that committed evils in the past and sought no redemption. Those who'd spent their time in the realm tormenting those weaker than them...
This briefly brought to mind the Great Flood and Noah's Ark, but apathy washed away those thoughts rather quickly.
What did he even want to do with this place? It was his now, so unless he wanted to hand it over to another Daedra he'd need to make use of it, lest it lost its identity and fade into Oblivion.
He traces his eyes over the terrified people atop the hill and after some more thought, finally decides to make some small alterations...
*CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSHHHHHHH!!!!*
Everyone's attention is drawn from the lone figure standing amongst them to the region around them that was seemingly sinking...
No.
It was the hill that was rising... People look over the side and gape as the hill tears itself from the ground and begins rising high into the sky, towards the black clouds hanging overhead.
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In other parts of the realm similar events were occurring, large island-sized masses of stone, earth, and other materials rose high into the sky along with the hill.
They continued to rise, and eventually, the black clouds open up to allow the floating islands higher. Due to clouds being made with the concept of death, any living person who touched them would almost instantly die, forcing Michael to create pathways through them.
Soon enough the hill rose above the clouds, leaving the darkness and entering the light of the sun. There, those fortunate enough to survive the earlier catastrophes were greeted by the sight of tens of thousands of large islands rising over the sea of black
This is the vision Michael intended... Islands that only floated under his power over sheer death. Heaven and Hell.
"M-my Lord, Clavicus VIle... What-" a woman starts only to be interrupted.
"Mikhail Vile." Michael instantly reacts, not wishing to have any relation to the former Daedra Prince other than the fact that he'd killed him.
"M-Mikhail Vile?"
"Clavicus Vile is dead at my hands, The Fields of Regret follow... This is my realm now." he emotionlessly states, his eyes looking over the horizon as the parts of his realm out of his physical vision begin the same changes.
"B-but... We're trapped here, on this hill..."
Michael focuses on the woman, his gaze causing her to freeze stiff, "Those who deserve life may go where they want."
...
The people shuffle uncomfortably as they look at each other as if daring someone to ask another question.
Ostiicus, the Dremora slowly gets to his feet and walks to the edge of the hill, "I-... I DESERVE LIFE MORE THAN ANY OF THESE MORTALS!" he announces, taking a step off of the edge... And somehow managing to walk on thin air...
"H-how!?" one woman shrieks, "He wished to take over Tamriel my Lord! How is he worthy of living!?"
"Ambition is no sin." Michael emotionlessly remarks before his body starts disintegrating, fading away as he turns his attention elsewhere.
With nothing better to do, the survivors begin exploring the 'The Floating Isles of Providence', as they'd decided to name it. The realm no longer matches 'The Fields of Regret'.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Michael allowed his mind to float in the void of Oblivion, his earlier interactions with those people making him feel less and more than human. It was disconcerting to know that he would have fought tooth and nail to overcome this emotional abyss he'd found himself in, yet currently couldn't care less about it.
He needed an anchor, something to stop him from losing what he once was...
He tries to will himself back into Tamriel but finds his consciousness knocked away by the Veil of Akatosh that his Spire was still powering... It takes longer than he'd like to remember how to cast the Dimension Gate spell, which allows him to bypass the Veil...
His consciousness forms at the steps of the Eye of the World, a body manifesting around his mind like a suit of armour. He forces his feet to move and his hand to knock on the door, soon coming face to face with a girl with bro-... Megumin.
"Michael you're back! D-did you save Charlotte!?" the girl happily asks, looking around him for the girl and making him realise that he'd completely forgotten about that...
Seeing no one else, Megumin looks back up at Michael and freezes... "I-is that a new hat?... Or a prank?" she tentatively asks while slowly skooching backwards into the Spire.
Confused, Michael raises a hand to his face, it felt normal, how his mortal body usually felt... His hair was the same, dirty blond with a blue tint at the ends...
Ah...
Sprouting from his hairline were two large horns that used to belong to Clavicus Vile, which somewhat matched the dimensions of those on the Masque of Clavicus Vile... Unlike the now-dead Imp however, his were a pale white and emanated a cold wind and allowing tiny ice particles to form from them, Auroth's Blessing seemingly making its appearance through them.
"I-... Need Tiffania." he states, reaching for the door but finding it closed in his face as Megumin flees up the tower while shouting for help.
...
His skin prickles slightly as he looks up, spotting the laser atop the tower powering up... Was that for him? Maybe...
The door of the Spire opens, revealing everyone standing by ready for combat. Megumin had her staff in hand, Saeko preparing to draw her blade, Saya with Wards already manifest, Maria with wand in hand, and lastly, Tiffania with her own wand.
He just stares blankly at them, both confused and not at their reaction to him.
"Michael?" Tiffania tentatively asks, her eyes flitting from his new horns to his face. "If that's you, please say something only you would know..." she quietly says, looking as if she was dreading what comes next should he answer wrong.
...
"I... My sister, Lillith." he states after scouring his memories... Memories that'd been scrambled somewhat with the residuals of the old Clavicus.
"That's right..." Tiffania says, but still unsure.
"He might've stolen Michael's memories!" Megumin exclaims.
"Or maybe he just got high again..." Saya retorts.
"And the horns? Where's your explanation for that, genius!?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe MAGIC!? You idiot!"
...
Michael feels the side of his mouth upturn at the display before him, silencing the group as they await his reaction.
Realising that it was his horns that were disconcerting, he reaches up and snaps one off... Only for it to grow back within seconds. Unbeknownst to him, Clavicus' aeons of possessing those horns had made them integral to his being, it was Michael's sense of self that kept bringing them back...
He looks down at the horn in his hand and holds it out to the group, "I'm Michael. I need help." he neutrally states despite the desperation hidden in his tone.
...
Kinda difficult writing a completely apathetic character but I think I did an 'alright' job... Hopefully?
Hope you bois liked the chap, if I missed anything please let me know. Thanks!
If you like my content or want to read ahead please go to : https://www.p.atreon.com/Nagross, I'd appreciate it.
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Faruk Ereng
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