Tenth author's journal 2: Mikhail

41.1_Beyond the capsule

Chapter 41.1: Setting up for an uproar

These last few weeks have drained most of my sanity along the way, though Matasyn’s plan was simple as having him set up the corresponding mythical beasts around Barachiel’s domain for nullification, it is still somehow ambiguous with many questions left unanswered.

Why hasn’t he done it much earlier when the time was less complicated before, I mean it was the six archangels’ time before, so why doesn’t he do it before Sariel establish the twelve angels’ system?

Was it always twelve or there was a time the number was much larger, there is some missing when I think of it clearly. I mean there were twelve in the time of primordial.

“Tomorrow is the full moon of the first moon, how time flies.” Andromalius’s sigh breaks the silent atmosphere. Certainly, it doesn’t take the whole world’s knowledge to ignore how Andromalius has changed in the course of my guidance.

Though it wasn’t guidelines anymore, my teaching is far more merciful than what I have been taught in those years. Andromalius sherds of his barbaric kind of leadership and take more a logical approach.

Even his appearance changes a little, no longer was the standard coak of beast skin cloak and worn-out leather armor; the attire that he wears now is the full suit, silk cape, and silver plate.

“Indeed, the next page of the rebellion starts. May I remind you of the failsafe if I failed?” I ask Andromalius to recite the failsafe plan when things have gone south. Though the possibility of that is slim with the full information gathered about Barachiel’s routine and duties, there must be things to be done about it.

“Gather the citizens to destinated teleportation circle and shelter in Aeterna. I don’t find the chance of failing this time, your majesty.” Andromalius recite it without stuttering…good enough.

Silent cross about the clouded night, even though the full moon is approaching yet not one shine escapes the dark cloud, an omen eclipse upon my mind, the source for my irrational factors of the mission.

“Your majesty?” Andromalius has been staring at me, perhaps my silent weird him enough to ask a comforting question.

“I may or may not perish on the operation but you mustn’t go avenge me in their provocation. Their traps are vicious unlike what kind protegee they are shown to be.”

My façade has finally crumbled, these days I can’t help but hold them in. Those worries I act such as nothing is wrong. Taking a life isn’t as easy as I thought, at least for Kushiel I have a reason but now takes from someone who doesn’t actually deserve it.

On top of that, the fear of my last venture through the world. I can’t be calm with the fact that so many have left unfinished, I still haven’t been done with teaching Andromalius yet. What will happen to Saudade when I have gone?

“Just promise me, you don’t do anything rash. And for Kryos…don’t let me know of my passing, just let him on that I am on somewhere about. Kryos is someone who can be easily lied about.”

Ah, tears. They fall senselessly as I continue barking at this unreasonable guilt. I can’t stop these feelings, they are just too much.

“Mikhail! Let me comfort you a little, may I request that?” Without a need for an answer, Andromalius come to give me an embrace. The warmth of his body shelters me from the cold wind of the night.

“I am just scared. These days…I can’t shake up the feeling of something going wrong, sir Andromalius. I never go through war and I hate killing innocent.”

Spilling what my soul despises most, I let myself vulnerable…for this only time. In front of any but Gabriel, I always find it dangerous to lower my guard over others. I should do it more earnestly…

…

Sunrise over the horizon, as I wake up in the sovereign room, I guess I am so used to the guest bedroom that I have never said to be here. The former reason was because of the guilt of usurping Kryos’s throne, and the latter is that I just comfortably schedule myself off in the office, and the armchair is reasonably comfortable to rest in.

My luggage of this day has been well-updated, the equipment is no more of a staff and the parchment contains the space equation “Schrödinger's cat”. The parchment creates an illusion veil that contains all over Barachiel’s in which everything would not be able to transmit over the outside world after the “result” has been confirmed.

The paradoxical nature of “Schrödinger's cat” brought questionably to them because the “perfect cube” would just be fine to cover off the signal for help, but the thing is that the consequences of perfect are easily discovered in the cube. As all things even living or dead thing would be shaped to the side of the very cube.

Risky as it may, the “Schrödinger's cat” covers more consequences than the “perfect cube” given its properties to disturb the common sense of those affected by it while veiling the outside as the cover of a nonexistent anti-spacial zone.

Enough dread already, I should get going before the timing is off. Zadkiel is scheduled for a meeting with Barachiel at exactly 13 o’clock at noon. The coyness of their relationship is known to the archangels and angels alike.

While the angels were struck by Zadkiel's unwavering devotion to Barachiel, the archangels well not many of them know their story but most of them thought of it as idiotic of a memories’ missing couple. These things aren’t rare for mortals to be when one was called to a higher being.

‘Collocatione’ I teleport to the entrance of Lambert’s domain…it is rather counter-productive as I haven’t gone beside Barachiel’s domain for scouting, rather I would have Matasyn be the leading one in this plan.

“You are early, never have thought that you would be this agitated.” Uriel washes up her face to hide the sleeplessness from the planning. Even though she wasn’t too happy with the “chance” of her sister’s death, she still contributed her best effort to perfect the plan.

“I just want to get this all over it, Uriel,” I say, wiping my face in the lake also. The water here is always clear because a kind of water spirit resides here. They were created by Lambert for other creatures to come to the garden of promise to have a place to rest their feet and catch their breath.

“If it was either one of us won at that argument, the thing wouldn’t be this difficult. “ Uriel complains once more, I have been hearing this from the exchange call between us.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Uriel. You know what that kind of reason neither of us could have won.” I sigh, sure she isn’t taking it so well…but something strange.

“I am not…Mikhail, do you think we are both so quick to discard our sibling like that?” Uriel's voice turns solemn, I don’t know what has caused it and moreover, nothing to respond with so I am going to with the first thing in my mind.

“Guessing it for someone who reaching their hand to the left behind one, I was sure that you weren’t mean it, just to test their reaction, wasn’t it?” I say with a comforting tone.

“Well, Gabriel has been singing praises even when you have left him back in that place. I doubt that kid really worships you as his god.” Uriel returns with a lighter tone. She is no longer the prideful archangel of magecraft I once feared.

“…He worshiped the wrong idol. To be honest, I haven’t broken the bond between me and Gabriel; I don’t I can ever do.” I say gleefully, while it is a confession of my own but I feel lighter now that I actually keep my word.

“Hey, it isn’t time to get cold feet. Let us forget about this little story of our sorrow. Cause the main tragedy is about to take place.” Uriel says while holding her hand up, like an announcer she narrates the tales like a bard. Sewing this to the main history is the first step to take for the rebellion as a whole.

“All right, where we are those two?” Calming her down, I ask.

“Lambert is having some time to suit Matasyn up. Let's just say he has been wearing some ceremonial outfit unsuited for a funeral.” His old robes when he was the human sage. I guess he wants to be reminded of his mistake on that day so much that this manifests in the wrapped reality that he calls redemption

“Let’s not bother him about attire because he is in distress enough. Just teleport me at the coordinate that he has set out for us.” I disregard her comments

Uriel scoffs and casts ‘Collocatione’ that lands us both in the rear front of the forest that is southward from the center dorm where Barachiel’s domain is. The roaming of wildlife is wanderlust they are unnatural flora that emerges outward like a sore thumb.

There are many that suppose to be the previous evolution state of the current plants,  Primal gust that was the starting point of wind whisper, and the Tainted lily also appears in a way that is unsuitable rather than the nowadays blood lily.

Primal gusts only grew on the cliff of strong winds to let them carry their seed to the place the wind die down, for the flaw of its paradoxical existence the fortunate seed grow to adapt to the lower land earth to the change of today's wind whisper.

Tainted lily grows on swamp-like land containing corpse plunger, this abomination was born from the mutation of swamp lily and corpses. Due to the more peaceful nature the world becomes, the plant adapts to a more “common” source as it evolves into Blood lily and only grows to demon land black mana.

“How disgusting, don’t feel the same way, Mikhail? Barachiel twisted nature for her own enjoyment. I was always hearing her complain about seeing this from her dream but she was just living out her past memories like dream.”

As the protector of magecraft, these existences are nothing but sacrilegious to her belief. Material is precious and rare sure, but they are without reason to adapt unnaturally that defy the very nature of its known.

“It’s not our place to judge her. But you are right about it being impulsive, those flora would die if their seeds were spread like this.” I agree with her thinking

Setting up the space equation, the large veil has been put over the cat. “Schrödinger's cat” works perfectly without a hint of distortion, the paradoxical events only appear when the question is asked.

The question this time is “How will Barachiel die?” The option of course belongs to Matasyn. I am not one to pry about so this ends my interference with his plan.

“Happy death day, Barachiel,” I say while teleporting us both away. Our little doubtful self has been released, the show is yours to play with Matasyn.

The end

Darling, why do you dread?

For the scarlet, I spill.

Honey, why do you cry?

For dying, reborn we will