Blood gushed out of Michael's body, flowing down the scythes like gluttonous veins. The tide of crimson engulfed the front gravekeeper's arms, staining the fabric as it tenaciously crawled beneath its shroud. The monster, still trying to pull its rusted blade from Michael's chest, was stunned within seconds.
Unfortunately, the other abomination learnt from its brethren's mistakes. It relinquished its grip on the scythe still lodged into Michael's back and began wildly ramming an incandescent torch into his wound.
Michael recoiled in pain from having his terrible injury burned, and no matter how demanding he was, his blood refused to listen to his authority in the face of purifying flames.
He may have stopped whistling the horrid tune, but it never left his mind.
Michael needed something to pace himself, something to guide him in his inadequacy. What better aid than some music? His knowledge of songs were practically non-existent, but what else did he have at his disposal?
He had no idea what he was imagining inside his head, it was just a cluster of random, horrendous noises, but it was a good enough anchor.
In time with a sudden uproar of sounds, Michael commanded his blood onto his arm and swung it, small flecks of crimson landing on the infuriating abomination's hood. He threw his dagger at the writhing monster and painfully ripped the scythe from his body seemingly without resistance, as if his armor bent to his will. Michael gripped the decayed wooden handle and twirled, the stained blade seamlessly penetrating the torch bearer's neck.
[You have slain an Awakened Monster: Wretched Gravekeeper.]
'Four.'
Michael dropped the rusted scythe to the ground, sinking in the thick mud as he turned and rammed into the overwhelmed beast. He hastily grabbed onto the dagger stuck in its face and pushed up, splitting the shroud open as blood doused Michael's mantle.
[You have slain an Awakened Monster: Wretched Gravekeeper.]
'Three.'
He fell to one knee in complete and utter exhaustion. Michael had trouble breathing beneath the steel helm, and this entire situation was far beyond his capabilities. He felt like throwing up from the exertion, his vision blurred from sweat and fatigue.
There were just three enemies left, that's all.
'Just three more... c'mon, you got this...'
The main problem at hand though, was that they were bunched up together. It seemed they learned his tricks, but to what extent? Did they know he sees all? Did they know that once his blood enters there vile insides, they're doomed? What did they know?
They seemed hesitant- no, Nightmare Creatures didn't know what hesitation was, they were simply just thinking, perhaps waiting for him to collapse? Michael didn't complain, it just gave him more time to catch his breath and think.
Michael was currently hunched over, close to the wretched tree of dead men. The enemies were about halfway between him and the perimeter of the mud clearing, warily approaching with heavy steps. Two had both hands ready on their tarnished scythes, piercing Michael with an invisible, lifeless gaze under their rotted hoods.
Another was right behind them holding a warm torch. The bright, bellowing light highlighted their dark silhouettes, casting chilly shadows onto his stained mantle, the dull steel faintly shining with yearning.
'How do I approach this?'
Before that, he needed to check something. Instantly, ethereal sparks gathered into his free hand.
___
Memory: [Pale Imitation]
Memory Rank: Awakened
Memory Tier: II
Memory Type: Utility
Memory Description: [A worn stick with one end tightly wrapped with cloth eternally set aflame with the pale imitation of lost hope.]
Memory Enchantments: [Lost Hope], [Guiding Light]
Memory Enchantment: [Lost Hope]
Enchantment Description: [The Memory aflame with hope will never die out so long as the wielder's flame never wanes.]
Memory Enchantment: [Guiding Light]
Enchantment Description: [Hope can absorb foreign flames and temporarily bestow its guidance on another item.]
___
Michael frowned within the helm's darkness, torturing his strained mind. With this new Memory, he could burn the Abominations right back. He doubted regular flames would be effective, but since it's the flames of an Awakened Memory, it should prove useful.
Through the pulsing aches, he came up with three options.
Firstly, he could separate them from each other, quickly stunning one before stabbing their head and moving onto the next. That was perhaps the safest, most sensible course of action... well, as safe and sensible as a Sleeper battling against Awakened Monsters could possibly be.
Secondly, he could go all in with a wild frenzy, bleeding as much as possible to overwhelm his enemies. It wasn't an entirely dumb choice, as it was clear the more he got hurt, and therefore bled, the more dangerous he became. But that also begged the question, how would he heal? And how badly would he get hurt?
Or... he could simply run away. There was no shame in running, and he was quite good at it. In fact, he was incredibly inclined towards that option. Cowards lived the longest.
Yet, he really didn't want to, the melody in his head was about to reach its climax, a cacophony of ear-wrenching, debilitating noises and random sounds, all coming together as if telling him what path to take. All he had to do was just listen and move with it.
'A tired Sleeper against three Awakened Monsters... how sweet of my blood.'
Perhaps he really was cursed, maybe for his entire life judging by his Aspect's description. Was his fate really decided by his blood?
He didn't know... for now at least, and that was fine. He didn't know many things, he had dozens of questions, and those questions would only grow more and more as time went on.
So what if he was damned by his blood? So what if his Aspect and Abilities, the representations of his soul, wanted him to consume like a monster?
Only he, and he alone, willed his blood, and no curse could upset that balance. His blood was his authority, no different from the Gods.
After all, how could one defy the Gods without becoming one themselves?
'Damned by my blood? Don't make me laugh...'
He straightened his back and turned to face the gravekeepers, their feet sinking in the crimson puddles of the brown mud. His emerald eyes, hidden behind his unnervingly still helm, glistened from the incandescent flames in his hand.
It seemed he chose the fourth option...
'Listen to me...'
Michael willed the blood he shed throughout the battle, and as the gravekeepers stepped in the puddles of crimson, it began crawling up their legs. There wasn't much and it moved dreadfully slow, but that was the plan.
Before the monsters came too close to him, he turned around and ran back into the maze of mausoleums and crypts. They quickened their steps, but their awkward hobbles were no match for his speed.
The abominations chased him into the cramped alleys, keeping their eyes locked onto his figure. Their prey stumbled and turned down several corners, crashing against the graves and smearing his blood along it. He was desperately fighting for his life.
How pitiful.
As the victim disappeared around another corner, the Nightmare Creatures never ceased their hungry chase. They turned the same corner, but there was no one in sight. The armor clad figure was gone, but not his footprints and blood trail.
The wretched gravekeepers followed the tracks, going deeper and deeper into the maze until suddenly...
...The footprints and blood trail diverged into separate paths.
Something inside their putrid heads worked overtime. Following a couple of seconds, two followed the footprints while the last one went in the other direction, following the smears of crimson.
The two monsters raced down the alleys, following their prey's track. After a while, they found themselves back in the clearing where their brethren were slain, the trail simply just leading to where the battle took place.
Those weren't his recent footprints, but his old ones.
And before their somewhat intelligent minds could comprehend that, it was already too late.
[You have slain an Awakened Monster: Wretched Gravekeeper.]
The torch bearer fell to its knees, the frail frame sinking into the mud as the scythe wielder backed up in caution. It stared at the steel figure's cold, menacing eyes enveloped in darkness as he held two torches, feeding one into the other.
As one was extinguished, Michael dodged a wide swing from the gravekeeper and summoned a dagger from ethereal sparks. He pulled back as he dipped the serrated bone blade into the bellowing flames. Michael pulled it out a couple seconds later, the bone somehow faintly melting with specks of incandescent flame, and lunged at the monster.
The abomination attempted to block the swing aiming for its head with the scythe, but the battered wood was cleanly cut through.
Michael fell to the ground in exhaustion as the creature's head landed in the mud, followed by the body collapsing.
[You have slain an Awakened Monster: Wretched Gravekeeper.]
'I did it... I really did it.'
The other Nightmare Creature that followed his blood smears was already killed, as that was the true route he ran down.
'Damned monsters forgot climbing exists... and they didn't even know I was tracking them.'
Michael rolled onto his back, his chest moving rapidly. He calmly stared at the foggy night sky, appreciating the myriad of stars.
'How many did I kill? Twelve?'
It was a shame he didn't receive Blood Fragments for each one slain, regardless if it was useful or not. Seeing a number go up would be quite satisfying right about now.
Michael laid there for a second until finally managing to collect enough willpower to sit up, groaning as his wounds yelled at him. He slowly stumbled onto his feet, his head growing dizzy from the familiar fatigue he felt before, as if his entire soul was depleted of energy.
He was incredibly injured, and perhaps that was an understatement. Countless wounds adorned his body, two punctures in his torso, and perhaps dozens of broken bones and torn muscles, all hidden by his mended mantle.
So much pain on top of the lingering torment from not even a day ago when he found himself in the blizzard. The agony that was made so much worse by his Flaw.
'At least it isn't cold anymore.'
Michael let out a subdued chuckle followed by a wince.
'What do I do now?'
He needed rest, but resting here wasn't really desirable, among all the dead bodies and gloomy atmosphere and all.
=====
Michael continued wandering the winding dirt path breaking the field of ashen flowers. The soothing aroma didn't help his already absurd desire to sleep, but there wasn't much he could do.
'It is what it is.'
It had been a couple hours since his grim encounter in one of the many villages - or more like mazes - of those crypts and mausoleums. Although it was incredibly dangerous and risky of him to enter one, it was all... well, it was somewhat rectified with the fact he received a new Memory.
It looked like a simple torch, but when in a cave perpetually cast in darkness, that was a useful boon. The ability to absorb foreign flames and apply an effect to his weapons made it even more worth it.
It was quite sad he couldn't use it much, as the light would only reveal his location, but it would prove invaluable in combat.
However, there was a far more important thing he received. Knowledge.
Michael now knew far more about this place, specifically what those blotches of cramped graves really had in store for him. And next time, he wouldn't make the same mistakes.
Recklessly running after an escaping Nightmare Creature? Never again.
Battling against a dozen Nightmare Creatures with no previous knowledge of their capabilities? Yeah, not making that stupid mistake again.
Fighting in a disadvantageous environment? The lesson learnt was obvious.
All of these tough lessons will only further his fighting style, all adding onto and even refining his foundation. These places were the perfect training grounds.
'I don't think training is that dangerous...'
Michael groaned reluctantly just thinking about his future. There won't ever be a chance to train if he doesn't rest or heal his wounds.
As he thought about it, something caught his attention in the corner of his eye.
'Oh? What's this?'
Just a couple steps away in the field of lullabies stood the cold remnants of a campfire covered in cinders. Coiled in the campfire was a steel sword, burnt and broken beyond use.
Michael walked towards it, trudging through the thick grass and inspected it up close. Besides the sword mysteriously positioned in it like the campfire was a slain beast, there was nothing irregular with it.
'An ancient campfire?'
He stooped low and quickly summoned the torch, placing it against the decayed wood. After a few moments, the cold campfire was aflame with warmth, hissing as the flames snapped to life. Michael unhurriedly sat down against the dirt, grimacing as his body ached, and rested for a while.
'Why is there a sword, though? Was someone else here before me, or is it also ancient?'
There were no engravings or anything of the sort, perhaps burnt away long ago. It couldn't have been from an Awakened, since they would've wielded a Memory, not a regular weapon.
He didn't sleep, but the rising embers flowing softly in the breeze comforted him.