The Amateur Archaeologist

Chapter 21.2:- Milton Miller

"Kill it!" A shrill voice echoed through my brain. "Kill it now!"

"I-I-I can't!" I subconsciously found myself saying, "I-I can't!"

"Calypso, you have to or we'll all die!"

Strange jitters travelled down my spine, everything was pixilated, unclear like Floridian weather. I found my soul slipping out of my body, spiralling out of control. My blistered hands felt red, soulless, painful but mostly...useless.

The shrill echoing made me realise that I had to do something... kill something. But I was as clueless as a Suzy, I didn't know who, I didn't know what.

"I-I can't!" I subconsciously said. "I can't see, Chaos!"

"Y-you don't need your eyes," the manly voice said. "It's you, Calypso, your mind is enough."

A violent brush of air passed against me, knocking me to the ground. The ground pierced into my skin as sharp as a shattered glass, my wrist touched a cold metal, round like the hilt of a sword. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do, my wrist fumbled around the hilt of the sword, holding it still as if it were a part of my hand.

Strange grumblings echoed around me, like the roar of a ferocious dragon. As seconds passed by, the roar got closer, as if it was travelling towards me and my job became clearer.

"Do it!" The man said with urgency in his voice.

A battle cry escaped my lips as I drew the sword towards the gust of wind, shattering the thing in front of me into millions of dust particles that engulfed me into a spiral of its own ashes.

What did you do... Calypso?

"...and yet it's my daughter who's unconscious, dipshit!"

"I'm well aware of the damage—"

"Damage? My daughter is a damage to you? Where's that idiot? I'm gonna kill him!"

"Hey! That's my son you're talking about! Better watch that mouth, you don't know who I am!"

"And you don't know who I am!"

"...huh, a middle aged government worker? I've seen better."

"Middle aged? I'm only 34—"

As if I wasn't confused enough, the noise outside was like a cherry on top of a sundae. The yellow ceiling above my looked familiar and the stingy odour of the room brought back memories. My head and shoulder throbbed as I tried to sit up, I touched the top of my head and found it wrapped it in a bandage. The mere touch of the wound brought back past memories of how I'd ended up here.

Spoiler alert, they widely circulated around a son of a bitch named Evan Blythe.

"Good, you're awake." A familiar voice said, easily distinguishable from the noise outside.

I turned my head alarmingly, only to find James, with a purple eye, leaning on a chair with a bandage around his head that had turned almost red.

I groaned, "What happened to you?"

"Your chair fell," James answered with a sigh. "And so did Hunters, and mine and Alan's."

"Yeah," another voice said from around the corner, I turned around and found Hunter sitting in the other corner of room, ideally leaning on a chair with a bloodied patch on his left eye. "Funny cause the last time I was here, you were biting my finger."