Ninety-Nine K Memories

Asteron scrutinized the forest in astonishment, as if his own eyes were deceiving him. The night breeze stirred the leaves of the imposing trees, creating a hypnotic murmur.

He knelt and ran his fingers over the dew-kissed grass, noticing the coolness against his skin.

—Is this an illusion? —he murmured to himself, hoping for an answer from the wind.

But the coldness of the earth against his skin, the density of the moisture-laden air, and the wild perfume of the vegetation were unmistakable. It couldn't be an illusion.

He let out a dry laugh.

—Come on… now I'm just an ordinary man. No Adept would waste their time with me. —He looked up at the monumental trunks—. So this place is real. But how did I get here?

He scanned the trees with his gaze. In this life, he had read as much as he could before leaving Draven Mansion, but he had never found references to species with such characteristics. And yet, he recognized them.

—They are… "Ulthares" —he whispered.

They were common in regions where the Breath of the World barely flowed. He had seen them before, countless times, but always in other lives, in other planes of existence.

—Another world...? —The mere thought of it made his stomach churn. No, impossible. Something like that would require an ocean of Aether and a prodigious Arcane Ascendancy. And he... he hadn't even awakened his Ethereal Heart. Not an iota of Aether ran through his being.

—Then what the hell is going on here?

Something peculiar in his peripheral vision made him lower his gaze. His tattered attire had vanished without a trace. In its place, a high-necked white shirt with fine ruffles fell over his chest, accompanied by a dark brown waistcoat with green embroidery on the shoulders.

The tailoring was impeccable, as if from another era.

He touched the fabric with his fingertips, perceiving the quality of the weave.

—The world changed… my clothes too.

The texture radiated a distinct warmth, as if a current of energy ran through each thread. It was no ordinary garment. Magic vibrated within it.

He sighed with resignation. He knew that, in other circumstances, he could have deduced his location or even the composition of his attire with ease. But all those abilities required being an Adept of the Arcane. Something he was not.

“No time for this,” he thought, looking at his hands. “I need to form my Ethereal Heart.”

Suddenly, a shiver ran down his spine. His body reacted before his mind could process the danger. He threw himself to the side, rolling on the cold grass as a dark shadow pounced on him.

A snap echoed in the air, and the sharp fangs of his attacker bit into the void where his neck had been an instant before.@@novelbin@@

Asteron stood up quickly, senses alert. His eyes locked onto the creature stalking him.

It was no ordinary wolf. It was an imposing beast, with a muscular body and grayish fur that seemed to blend with the forest's dimness. Its eyes glowed with a yellow sheen, and its fangs, sharp as daggers, gleamed in the faint moonlight.

—You’re not an Arcane beast… or are you? —he murmured, without even blinking.

The wolf responded with a deep growl, flattening its ears back as it flexed its paws, ready to attack.

Asteron held his breath. There was no magic in that creature, but neither was there in him. And while his enemy had claws, fangs, and a body built for hunting, he only had his wits and the desperation of someone who knows they are a step away from death.

—And you never walk alone… —he muttered, with a cold smile as his eyes scanned the forest.

The shadows came to life. A fleeting gleam here, another there: lurking eyes. Then, the sound of muffled footsteps on the grass. First one, then another. In a matter of seconds, the forest vomited an entire pack.

There was no escape.

He understood it instantly. The night was hungry, and he was dinner.

The odds were against him, but Asteron was not one to give up.

He knew that facing the entire pack was a death sentence, but he also knew the nature of wolves: there was always one more impatient, more eager to prove their worth.

With a quick turn, he ran off, his gaze fixed on the youngest wolf. It was smaller, without scars, and its impetuosity made it the weakest link.

The wolves roared and lunged after him, but Asteron had already calculated every move. Just as he expected, the young wolf, blinded by the need to prove himself, advanced first.

Its claws scraped the earth and its jaw opened, seeking flesh.

Asteron saw it coming and let out a fierce smile.

—You're just a pup —he said, adjusting his stance.

The movement was instinctive, almost perfect. Asteron twisted his body at the last moment, dodging the young wolf's fangs by a margin that bordered on the impossible. He tried to seize the opening to continue his escape, but before he could react, he felt a sharp pain in his chest.

One of the adult wolves managed to reach him with one of its claws.

The force of the impact threw him to the ground, rolling among leaves and dust as he swore under his breath.

He got up with a growl, ignoring the pain that still burned in his chest. His eyes instinctively searched for the wound, but there was nothing. No blood, no tears, not even a superficial scratch… his clothes remained intact.

He blinked, bewildered, before letting out a low laugh.

—I knew you weren’t something common…

He had no time to think. Another wolf appeared out of nowhere, lunging at him with fury. He threw himself to the side, spinning on himself, and collided with the rough bark of a tree. Before he could recover, a brutal blow tore into the wood right where his head had been a second before.

His breath became erratic.

No matter how much he tried to flee.

The wolves were faster. More resilient, and there was no escape.

Instinct told him that he was no longer fighting, but delaying the inevitable. He felt them surround him, felt the circle closing.

—Fuck… this is a fucking joke. I’ve had better days… —he murmured, bracing himself.

There was no time to lament. The entire pack pounced on him, and everything turned to chaos.

Attempts to dodge were useless. Blows, claws, fangs… everything fell on him in a whirlwind of violence. A brutal swipe to his side made his ribs crack as it sent him to the ground with a burst of pain.

He crawled, trying to get to his feet, but had no chance. Sharp teeth pierced his forearm and pulled at it, tearing shreds of flesh.

He roared with rage and pain.

He kicked hard, crushing his aggressor's snout, and rolled over himself to dodge another bite that almost severed his throat.

They weren't killing him, not yet. They were cornering him, wounding him, weakening him.

It was torture.

Asteron coughed blood and spat on the ground, relishing the metallic taste in his mouth. With a smile full of teeth stained red, he raised his head.

—I hope my bones scratch your throats and my flesh rots your guts.

The nearest wolf lunged without hesitation, but so did Asteron. His hands closed around its neck, and before the beast could react, his fingers sank into the animal's eyes with the fury of a man who refuses to die.

The creature growled and struggled, but Asteron held it firm. His fingers sank deeper and deeper until the viscous, brittle sound of bursting eyeballs covered everything.

Hot liquid overflowed between his nails.

The wolf howled in pain and thrashed frantically, but Asteron did not yield. His body trembled, pain gnawed at him, but his grip only became fiercer.

—Bastard pups! You think I'm a fun prey? —he whispered with a bloodstained smile, sinking his fingers into the wolf's flesh—. Come on, taste me… and see who ends up torn apart.

The wolves surrounded the scene with angry growls, but in their eyes, something else filtered through…

Confusion.

Because what they had in front of them was not a defenseless prey.

It was a wounded beast.

With a howl of fury, the pack finally pounced on him and he barely had time to utter a mental curse.

“Whoever brought me to this damn place… Fuck you! Why didn’t you just leave me in peace in my apartment?”

In an instant, the forest vanished, as if it had never existed. The claws that were about to reach him, the teeth that gleamed with bloodlust, all disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Asteron felt the ground vanish beneath his feet, and then... nothing.

When he regained consciousness, he was standing in his room. The dim light of a broken lamp illuminated the peeling walls. The air was dense, heavy with the smell of damp and the sour trace of empty bottles.

—What... what the hell just happened? —he murmured, but the words sounded hollow, as if even he couldn't believe them.

He was still clutching something. Something warm, trembling. Something that was panting with a hoarse wheeze. In his arms, the wolf writhed, its fur bristling and wet with blood. Crimson threads fell from its empty sockets, forming irregular stains on the old floor.

The creature twitched, disoriented, as if it had just been torn from a deep sleep.

Asteron didn't wait. As soon as he saw that the beast was confused, he released it and shot towards the kitchen, moving more by instinct than thought.

The wolf, blind and frenzied, let out a harrowing howl. Its instincts roared, guiding it with fury. Its nose burned with the scent of its prey, and its ears caught even the slightest rustle.

Without hesitation, it charged like a runaway train, towards the source of the sound.

Asteron barely managed to dodge to the side before the beast rammed into the wall with a deafening roar. The furniture that once occupied that corner exploded into a thousand pieces, reduced to nothing more than splinters and dust in a matter of seconds.

The house trembled as if it had been hit by an earthquake, and a rain of wood and glass fragments scattered across the floor, glittering under the faint moonlight filtering through the broken windows.

—Shit, shit, shit! —he muttered through his teeth, propelling himself into the kitchen as the beast recovered.

His hands swept across the shelves, searching for something, anything, that could serve to defend himself. The sound of the creature's claws scratching the floor approached, faster and faster.

The hot, fetid breath of the animal reached him from behind, and he knew he had no time.

—Really… I must improve my guest policy.

His fingers found what they were looking for. Two knives.

Time seemed to stop as Asteron jumped onto the countertop, just as the wolf lunged. The animal's jaws snapped shut with a wet, violent sound, grazing his face before digging into the wooden shelves, which gave way with a crash that echoed in the apartment.

In a fluid motion, Asteron dropped onto the beast's back, sinking the knives to the hilt. The wolf howled, thrashing like a demon, with such force that Asteron was thrown into the air, landing on the floor with a dry thud that knocked the wind out of him.

But his gaze did not leave his enemy.

The animal swayed from side to side, as if the wind could knock it down at any moment. Blood gushed in thick threads, soaking the apartment floor with an intense red that contrasted with the gray of its fur. Its eyes, once luminous and piercing, now clouded over, gradually losing their golden glow.

But it wasn't dead. Not yet.

The wolf, a mass of matted fur and blood, crawled across the floor. Its paws, weak but persistent, scratched at the concrete floor, seeking traction. Its head rose, blind but determined, and its nose twitched as it caught Asteron's scent.

And with a last breath, it charged.

—Damn beast! How much more are you going to fuck with me?

Asteron raised the knife with the strength he had left and plunged it into the wolf's skull. The blade pierced bone and brain with a wet snap, filling the air, followed by a silence that enveloped everything.

The animal fell on top of him, with its crushing weight, and its hot, fetid breath on his face. But before life abandoned it, its claws closed in a final act of revenge, tearing Asteron's chest.

Pain pierced him like an incandescent spear. A scream escaped his throat, but he choked it back with a forced laugh.

—Well… Today is definitely not my day… —he muttered through gritted teeth, as warm blood slipped between his fingers.

Everything burned. Every muscle, every nerve.

He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn't respond. His wounded arm trembled, and blood gushed out in irregular pulses, staining the floor.

His mind struggled to find a way out, but thinking was like trying to grasp water with his hands. His eyes, wandering, fixed on the bathroom.

—I must... get... there... —he mumbled, crawling with fierce determination.

—If… I survive this…. I’m moving apartments —he joked between gasps, leaving behind a trail of blood.

The bathroom. So close, yet so far.

Upon reaching it, he clung to the sink as if it were the last bastion of a fading world.

His legs trembled under the weight of his body, and his reflection in the mirror was a distortion of shadows and crimson stains. Blood ran down his face, mixing with sweat and dirt, creating a grotesque mask of his former self.

With superhuman effort, he reached out towards the medicine cabinet, but his fingers only grazed the rusted edge before his arm gave way.

The slip was inevitable. His body slumped to the floor with a dull thud, and the coldness of the tiles pierced his skin like a dagger. Pain shot through him, sharp and penetrating.

The medicine cabinet was there, so close, but unattainable.

—No... not like this —he muttered, filled with determination—. I’m not going to die in a fucking bathroom.

His hand clenched tightly around the knife still warm with blood.

Gasping, he used it to drag the metal box towards him, the only damn advantage of this disaster: that it had fallen next to him. The screech of metal against tiles made his teeth grind, but he didn't stop. When the medicine cabinet was finally beside him, he let out a choked laugh.

"What irony… I only know one person capable of defying the Arcane in such an absurd way…. And it’s me… so I have a forest to visit."

Suddenly, the world crumbled. The bathroom, with its artificial light and impersonal coldness, vanished like a forgotten dream upon waking. The floor gave way beneath his feet, and he fell into a bottomless abyss, without time, without meaning.

When he regained consciousness, the red and sticky grass under his chest reminded him that he was still alive. The air was fresh, but carried the metallic taste of blood and the earthy aroma of soil.

He tried to speak, but only managed to emit a guttural sound, a groan that was lost in the breeze.

"So... it was always me...", he muttered, although the words weighed on his tongue. "The red door… it has to be her doing. But… why?"

But there was no time for deep reflections.

His vision was a chaos of writhing shadows, and his body, heavy and useless, barely responded. However, between his numb fingers, he felt something: a small box.

With clumsy movements, he opened it, fumbling with its contents.

Vials.

The icy glass kissed his skin, indifferent. His fingers, stained red, slid over the surfaces, searching for something that only he could feel... until he found it.

A different vial. It didn't burn like fire, but like something deeper. Like a heartbeat trapped in crystal.

A faint smile, almost imperceptible, formed on his face. Before a retch shook his body, and a thread of blood escaped his lips.

But he didn't care.

"This..."

With the last spark of his will, he opened the vial and let a drop slide onto his tongue.

And then, the world vanished into a warm and welcoming darkness.