No Turning Back

Chapter Thirteen: Alone

Richtofen's eyes shot open. He was back in the makeshift dissecting room he had created for himself. Dismayed, he looked around the room and sighed. Although Richtofen had just painfully recounted such important years of his life; time had moved slowly in the present. But before he could let out another sigh - his breath caught in his throat.

His eyes narrowed whilst he looked around the chaotic office again; but, this time, he drank in every detail of the room. His stomach churned as he felt a wave of doom and gloom cloud over him. It was the spatterings of blackened tissues and blood on the walls, the ceiling light flickering as the sickly bulb strained for life; even the mere sight of the floor covered in a sea of manically strewn paperwork - what he saw disgusted him.

In this light, Richtofen saw things very differently. And the feelings it evoked even caused him to almost wretch as he deliberately avoided looking at his 'patient' still laying on the makeshift operating table. The Ragnarök facility had housed unspeakably grotesque experiments yet it was his own office which now frightened him. Still feeling unnerved after recalling his past, it gave him a fleeting moment of clarity that his kind were rarely afforded. The realisation that the room reflected the chaos of his twisted mind had presented itself like a eldritch spectre.

There was even a dull ache at the thought that history was repeating itself. Even though he was so close to confronting Samantha; the same uneasy feeling from the past loomed over him. But he tried to remind himself that no matter how unshakeable this feeling was; it always cropped up right when he was on the precipice of something great.

Richtofen suddenly realised that the voices had been eerily absent from his mind which left him alone with his thoughts - a rare occurrence. Rarely did a day go by when his mind wasn't being bombarded with the cacophony of voices all competing for dominance. Richtofen knew something was afoot; but, even in his alarmed state, he dared not speculate any further.

So, despite the metaphorical alarm bells ringing out in his mind, Richtofen ignored them. These beings were above ulterior motives; they saw Richtofen's impressive potential to become like them! There was simply no way they were using him for their own ends, he thought. They were different.

But for all Richtofen's intelligence, it was his ego that refused to accept this possibility. The human masters in the brotherhood he had long since outgrown were really no different to the ethereal ones he now submitted to - both mortals and immortals alike succumbed to the seduction of power.

After a low sigh, Richtofen stood up and stumbled breathlessly towards the nearby open window. A few minutes went by as he cast his gaze out onto the desolate landscape. His eyes scanned the mangled empty husks of what were once buildings; which was something that seemed to bring him some calm since the world ended. Such beautiful destruction.

The evening breeze whispered through the gap in the window as the cold air gently grazed Richtofen's face. He looked down at his pocket and produced a silver pocket watch - the back of which was engraved in gothic script. The brotherhood had presented it to him with the latin motto "finis coronat opus"; which means, "the end crowns the work".

Richtofen pressed the top as the lid clicked open to reveal the mother of pearl clock face. The seconds hand raced across the Roman numerals as he listened to the incessant ticking. The time read ten o'clock - which seemed to immediately sober him.

Richtofen put the pocket watch back in his pocket and ran a hand through his blonde hair to slick it back. He then buttoned his shirt collar and readjusted his tie before returning to his desk to put on his hat. The previously dishevelled man on the brink of breaking down was no more; these kinds of mental slip ups were always swiftly glazed over and buried.