My memories are fading, my body falling apart, not just me but everyone around me, they just don't know it yet. Sickness and madness, for some reason the project was not executed, something went wrong, but there is hope, the books, they still exist...
Hello, good morning, afternoon or evening, before you start reading, I'd like to say that this story is a collaboration between Wattpad user Jetstream56 and myself. Give him due credit and thanks as well.
Happy reading to you!
How long has it been? How many centuries? How many of us are still sane? Did the project we worked on so much didn't work? Was there a problem with the Grimoires? On the other hand, would it be a problem with the original Gestalt? Where are the supervisors?
All these questions ran through my mind as I walked through this sewer, my footsteps echoing down the long stone corridor as the dirty water ran beside me, luckily I am unable to smell, an advantage of not having a body.
As I walked, I saw others like me, hiding from the sunlight, using this grimy place as home, I try to talk to them occasionally, but their minds have long since degraded, they let out meaningless mutterings, or snatches of memories from the past.
"I am... I am... AAAHHH!"
"Honey, where are you?"
"Why... Because I..."
"Mom... Mom is you?"
Some huddled in corners, waiting for the end to come, others would head-butt the walls in frustration and then there were those who went crazy, using pieces of pipes, bricks, and other objects they found, attacking everyone ahead.
I saw a group of them passing, I hid in a crevice in the wall and waited for them to go away, when I saw them disappear, I breathed a sigh of relief and returned to my walk.
I kept walking until I reached a metal door, opening this door I entered a room, my room, an old metal bed in front of me, on the left, a table with a chair, on top of the table, a pile of trinkets that I stole through the city.
Books, vases, toys, figurines, coins, keys, and much more, it's amazing how their culture has developed, it wasn't planned by us at all, I wonder if it's an unforeseen result or intentionally done by someone.
But what was on the other side of the room was what caught the most attention, my weapon, the weapon I stole from a blacksmith, sometimes some of us escaped from the sewers and caused trouble around town, I found a group attacking an old blacksmith, I took one of his weapons and chased the group away, but when I turned around, the blacksmith had fled.
It was a big ax with a twisted red handle, with engravings on the bottom area and a metallic thorn on the tip, the ax had a strange design, two worn blades protruding from one side, you had the area of old and worn metal, one blade, the other metal area, then a larger blade.
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I took the axe, it was moderately heavy in my hand, and I took a few swings in the air, a dark aura covered the weapon, the inhabitants of this world call it magic. Hump! If only they knew the truth behind it, the MASO we've studied for decades reduced to simple magic.
