บท 611: The Fields of Regret... Regretting.
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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Niggross
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