Misfortune Without A Conscience #Wattys2017

Chapter 3-4

I had seemingly warped into an unfamiliar place, where a foggy and dusky atmosphere had availed. There was an unpleasant and dull, or rather alienated; exotic scent. It was crisp yet so synthetic, almost as if it were nothing but a fake smell of some sort of floral aroma. The vicinity was bleak and unrefined, the smoke and misty atmosphere gave a musky tone—it was almost as if I were back at the Realms Of Onyx, for which was eerie and somehow spooky. But there was something much more outlandish, there was simply no sound, that it was nothing but serene and tranquil, which had brought me to immense anxiousness. The quiet and trivial atmosphere had brought me to caution, as that may be a sign of grave danger to come.

Then thoughts rushed through me, somehow I managed to comprehend them through visualisation, for which were briskly passing by like an undulating breeze that came thrusting into the air. There were spectacles of relentless predicaments, seeming like certainties that had occurred throughout the past, for which they seemed antique and ancient; yet somehow they were peculiarly symbolic. They had somehow meant something, for which my instinct weaves it so. The misty and bleary atmosphere soon faded as I witnessed a supposed exact same scene I had recalled through a dream. For which a supposed individual casted a spell, as a scarlet yet mellow light came rushing through the azure blue sky like a fiery bolt, striking down its supposed opponent. Wait, this was different. The certain white magus was not present, there was something else rather distinct. Much more powerful yet somehow vague, for it was certainly oppressive. The individual it had attempted to assault was me, for which then I had continued to retaliate. The voices were deafening as I casted another spell following as defence, "Poructo!", then a mixed coil of loathsome grey beam launched into the air, acting as a retribution for the vicious attack. Its fragments penetrated the wand of the attacker, for which resulted in a supposed victory, as the individual left through teleportation; having using the mana of an object.

The person's appearance was undefined. What I found immensely peculiar were the spells "I" had supposedly casted, those were magic that seemed rather dynamic and powerful; it was capable of mobilizing an enemy with one sheer conduct. This was truly peculiar, especially witnessing myself do so. Feelings of faint sensibility had rushed through me, I could not simply describe the emotions I had certainly felt following such witnesses. It was not but the extravagant magic, but who it was. I was indefinitely curious who that individual I was fighting with in that scene as well, for it could determine endless possibilities of unforeseen threat.

Then I had soon awoken as nausea overcame, with that realised the previous dilemma was a dream; yet somehow I'd conjecture not. Somehow, it felt so surreal, for it seemed like a conduct that could never be imagined, for it emitted a distinguishing feature I could never comprehend, and would never visualise.

My eyes soon rendered the surroundings following my consciousness, it was a certain familiar scent for which I perceived susceptible. The scent was unbearably similar to the one at the medical hall, for it had prompted my awakening. Perhaps that was the sole reason I came awake, the undulating smell that somehow never fades. It was particularly clean, yet somehow slightly acrid, the faint smell was certainly unpleasant, for which made me frown. It was evident that the proximity was indeed the medical hall, for which I had witnessed through the oaken bedsteads across painted with gilded colour embellishing the ever so plain and tranquil place with enthusiasm of some sort. I had presumed so largely because of the scent and scarce amount of noise; or perhaps I had foresaw this circumstance as I teleported with such a vehement stance, I wasn't entirely sure.

With that I pondered into the seemingly odd yet memorable predicament which had left me in deep contemplation, through the memories that were unfamiliar yet somehow meaningful. It almost proclaimed a certainty I had known, yet somehow do not; oddly enough. It had finally came to the fact that I wasn't entirely sure, that I had to consult a certain individual, of some sort. It was certainly evident that the dreams attempted to establish a connection towards our current wellbeing, but how? Was the sculpture that had carvings sustaining a dragon which emitted a surge of passionate flames meant something? Was the swift and untamed bolt that propelled through the air striking its victim briskly an emblem of significant danger? What were the experiences I had witnessed? Were they at all meaningful?