Chapter III - I Remember

Dearest observer,

Memories are strange things-they can be short-lived or stay with us forever, shaping who we are. Some are warm and comforting, bringing peace and a touch of nostalgia. Others are painful, heavy with regret and sorrow, leaving scars that can change us.

But sometimes, when the worst memories fade-or disappear completely-we can become someone entirely new, like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

***

The hooded man stood by the metal table, the dim light catching the array of glowing elixirs surrounding him. Among them, the golden one shone brightest, its pulsating glow almost defiant in its brilliance. His alchemy had birthed something extraordinary-a golden elixir no longer liquid fire, but a molten metal with a hue that rivalled the morning sun.

Inside the vial, it moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if it had a life of its own. Each glimmer from its surface pierced the gloom, casting a radiant light that dared to push back the shadows veiling the hooded man's face. It was as though the elixir itself sought to consume the void that hid his features, its glow relentless and alive.

The suspended man hung helplessly, his chest painfully exposed. He could do nothing but watch, anxiety etched on his face, as the alchemy unfolded.

"Let me ask you somethin'," the torturer said, his voice low and menacing. "Do you know who I am? Or who I could be?" He stared at the golden vial in his hand, eyes fixed on it with an unsettling focus.

The suspended man's heart raced, each beat louder in the quiet room. Shadows twisted around them, dancing in the eerie glow of floating orbs.

"...No," the man whispered, his voice barely audible. He hadn't expected such a simple question after all he'd endured.

"I've never met a lad like you, thanks for askin'," the suspended man replied, his Irish brogue betraying a slight tremor. He tilted his head, as if weighing his next words carefully. "But it might help if ye show me yer face."

He eyed his tormentor warily, watching closely as the golden vial pulsed softly in the man's hand. The hum of the liquid filled the air, an eerie, almost tangible energy that seemed to make the shadows grow heavier around them.

The hooded man murmured to himself, "I see... That's expected. None of the others remembered that night either. No wonder none of you knew how ignorant you all were to the mystical world."

He seemed to come to a conclusion all on his own, one that intrigued the suspended man. The mention of "others" struck him hard-his eyes widened. The hooded man didn't seem to care that he'd overheard, lost in his own thoughts.

'Others? Am I not the only one this madman's tormenting?' the suspended man thought, a surge of alarm rising within him. His heart raced, each beat louder, faster.

"Enough!" The hooded man snapped, irritation thick in his voice. He seemed oddly disturbed by the sound of the man's exposed heart, pounding like a jackhammer. "I can't hear myself think here!" With a swift gesture, he pointed to the suspended man's chest. "Either you bring the noise down, or I'll do it for you." There was no hint of jest in his words.

The suspended man's desperation flared as he shot back, "Easy for ye to say. Threatenin' me doesn't exactly help, ye know?"

"Seriously?" the hooded man sighed, rubbing his temple in frustration. "Fine, but need I remind you that you're still alive?"

"So?" the suspended man whimpered, fear clear in his voice, though he mustered what little courage he could.

"So... you're not dead, unless I want you to be," the hooded man replied, his tone menacing, cold.

"But that doesn't solve anything. You can still hurt me," the suspended man protested weakly.

Though his face was hidden in the dark void of his hood, the hooded man made a motion as if rolling his eyes. "You actually believe that I don't know..." he said, his voice dripping with menace, arms crossed, the mystical golden elixir still clutched tightly in his hand.

"Know what?" the suspended man asked, barely a whisper escaping his lips.

"You can't feel pain," the hooded man declared, his voice thick with malice.

The suspended man's eyes widened in horror, his mouth opened, but no words came. His throat felt dry, and his heart skipped a beat. He remained silent, but his expression, and the wild thumping of his exposed heart, told the story-the hooded man was right. Since the very beginning, he hadn't felt any pain.

The hooded man's voice lingered in the air, heavy with menace. "I've known the whole time..."

The suspended man's heart seemed to quicken, the rhythm growing more erratic with each word the hooded man spoke. Then... You've known the entire time?

"I just said that, fool. Don't make me repeat myself," the hooded man replied, his tone sharp, dismissive.

The suspended man's voice cracked with anguish, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"If that was the case, then why in the name of all that's holy... why did ye do all o' this?!" He trembled with disbelief. "Ye knew I couldn't feel any pain, yet ye... ye tortured me, ye savage! Ye treated me like an animal, butchered me like meat! Ye ripped my chest open! What kind o' monster are ye?"

His words were desperate, each one dripping with frustration.

"Ye seemed to have a vendetta against me, but now ye claim ye don't even want me dead?! Why... why in the devil's name did ye put me through this hell?"

The hooded man's response was cold, almost casual. "To bide time."

The suspended man's mind reeled. "What!?" His voice trembled with a mix of rage and despair, barely able to comprehend what he'd just heard.

"You heard me," the hooded man continued, almost bored. "I needed to waste some time while I waited."

The tormented man flinched with growing disdain. "W-W-Wait fer what?"

The hooded man's answer came slowly, a chilling weight behind each syllable. "This." He held up the glowing golden elixir, the liquid gleaming with an unsettling beauty.

"Fer that...? Ye tortured me for hours just to wait fer that...?" The suspended man's voice broke, his anger and pain boiling over.

The hooded man nodded, an eerie calm in his words. "Oh yes, I needed to wait for an old friend of mine to deliver this to me." His voice dropped into something almost affectionate as he cradled the vial close, a soft tenderness in his movements. "They would have delivered a rather... unpleasant fate to you as well, but they're too soft-hearted for that, I'm afraid."

'Another maniac like him out there!? Give me a break!' the suspended man groaned in his thoughts, his Irish accent thick with disbelief.

A long, ominous sigh escaped the hooded man's lips, the sound hanging in the air like a dark omen. The suspended man's eyes widened, his heart stilled with terror. His lips parted, but no sound escaped them-frozen in fear as the hooded man's words loomed over him like an insurmountable shadow.

As the hooded man stood there, silent and still, his focus was unwavering. His eyes were locked on the elixir, burning with an intensity that could almost sear the air. There was something about the golden liquid-something that ignited a hidden anguish deep within him, a tragedy long buried, aching to break free.

His face tightened, the muscles under his hood trembling with the weight of the memory, a silent storm that threatened to rise. The very essence of the elixir seemed to stir that old, unhealed wound-a dark and painful memory. His breath caught for a moment, and as he slowly exhaled, he gathered himself, his resolve hardening.

Turning towards the suspended man, his eyes flared with an inferno of vengeful fury. The anger wasn't just a feeling; it was his very being, raw and consuming.

"Mark my words, mate," he growled, his voice thick with venom, the words sharp and deliberate as they cut through the air. "I'm a different breed. Morals don't bloody well apply to me!"

'Well, that's the sort of thing a villainous criminal would say, isn't it?' the suspended man thought with a touch of sarcasm. 'I mean, what's next? "I twirl my mustache while I plot your demise?"'

The hooded man's fist clenched tightly, the blood trickling from his knuckles. His body shook with the effort to contain his fury, but the rage was palpable, raw, and unchecked.

He pointed the bloodied fist at the suspended man, his voice rising. "Not for devils like you, who'd sell their soul for a taste of power."

Every word dripped with contempt. His eyes never left the tortured man, as though the very sight of him ignited something inside-something dangerous.

The suspended man, fear crawling through him, dared to ask, "Lad... Just who are you? I confess I may have forgotten ye, but if ye show me yer face, maybe, just maybe, I could remember what I forgot."

The hooded figure chuckled lowly. The darkness around him seemed to pulse with every breath he took. "They say the eyes are windows to the soul," he mused, his voice smooth yet dripping with malice. "But a god once whispered to me that the heartbeat is the soul's voice. And my father once told me... Memories are just the shadows of one's soul."

He stepped closer, his grip tightening on the suspended man's heart. "And one of those shadows stands right before you-waiting to consume you whole."

His grip loosened, and the suspended man gasped for air, relief flooding his chest.

As the hooded figure receded into the shadows, his voice lingered in the air, cold and foreboding. "Till we meet again, mate... when the masks are shed, and all hell breaks loose. Wait for my return..."

"You may not remember the past, but..." The last words hung in the air, the tension thick. What followed a few seconds after was the hooded figure's chilling final whisper...

"...I remember."

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