Lorelliad

Welcome! I took a break from the original story because I've noticed my motivation for writing it has been low. I plan to make this rewrite be a bit more slower paced.

Chapter I: Death

"Where in the hell did I put that thing again? I could've sworn I kept it somewhere in my desk…" 

What could be described of the room from where the almost deathly voice came was, dark. 

If one were to peer inside, they'd be unable to see anything. Try as you might, one would not be able to distinguish the objects inside the room from one another. 

And yet, somehow in the pitch-black atmosphere, there was someone. 

Again, this person would be unidentifiable. A normal, sane human would've reached for the light switch the moment they entered the dark room. 

And yet, the man from whom the voice came was not in any hurry to do so. One might surmise that the person in question was able to see in the unlit area, thus not requiring the light to be on. 

Was the man using some sort of night vision? This would also be a reasonable conclusion to arrive at if one were to see the almost endless greenish particles emanating from the man's closed eyelids. 

No. Rather, the man was the opposite of seeing. The man was blind. Blind as a bat, and unaware that his occasional monologues would creep out any who dare come close.

Let us assume that the light is on. 

Now that the room is fully illuminated, we can grasp the situation, and easily diagnose the man as a disabled person. 

As the man struggles to navigate the room, he would use the nearby hardwood desks and furniture to support his weight. 

Minutes turned to hours as the man eventually reached the work desk that was located in the center of the room. 

The man, realizing he had reached his destination, reached out his hands to grab the armrests of the chair. 

Through the help of his particularly toned upper body, the man pulled up his torn torso up to the chair's cushion. 

The reason as to why the man was as slow as a snail was due to another injury that we may have neglected to mention. 

"Ggh…! Those guys did do a number on me. It's not exactly fair to shoot a cripple in the legs, but I guess in war, anything goes."

The man sighed as he inspected the holes that were evident throughout the lower half of his body, specifically his legs. 

Blood was pouring out from the wounds, akin to a flood. And this flood was by no means one that could be stopped. 

"But I've got more to worry about than bullet wounds. The time for the ritual is nigh." 

The man took a bit to wipe the bloodied wounds on his immobilized legs with a handkerchief he had taken from his pocket. 

But seeing the endless trails of blood pouring out from the gaping holes, the man decided to give up and just leave them there. 

Just in case, he had tied the dry part of the handkerchief on the most lethal-looking wound. 

It was no medical treatment, but it would have to do.

"Oh, there it is. I hope it still works. I remember dropping this thing a couple of times on the floor." 

After digging through the desk that was located in front of the man, he was able to take out a device similar in shape to that of a camcorder. 

The man spent a great deal of time trying to get the malfunctioning device to even turn on. And when it did, sparks of electricity were emitted from its body. 

"Looks like it still works. Now, what was I supposed to do again? Right, record a video…" The man dug into his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper. 

"Record a video about my life's events? That sounds way too hard. Ever since I've been struck by that disease I haven't been feeling in the best of states."

"Err… right. I guess I'll just go off what little information I can remember. My memory has deteriorated over time, so I'll try to be as specific as I can." 

After struggling a bit to get the camera to work, the man dragged the office chair he was sitting in across the dark room. 

Despite the man being blind, he was able to align the chair such that it did not hit any obstacles that would've impeded his progress. 

Thus the conclusion that one would arrive at was that the man had extraordinary senses. 

Finding a sturdy table that was around his arms' height, the man placed the camera facing him. 

"One, two, three. Testing, testing. Three, two, one. Good. Looks like it still works. Hey, there, to whoever may be watching this." 

"I'm not boasting here, but do forgive me if it sounds like I am. Because surely everyone in Krodoa has heard of my name, yes?" 

"But just in case you were living under a rock somewhere, then I don't mind introducing myself. God, I hope I'm actually facing the camera. It'd be awkward if I was recording this whole thing without even facing it."

"Anyway, my name is Kenneth Conroy Enchanter. Now there's another name you should've heard of. Enchanter. It's not as famous as my first name, but still well-known nonetheless. 

"So, back to my original objective. If I remember, Lena had instructed me to record a video speaking about the events of my life. Heh, I wonder which life she was referring to."

"If you haven't gotten it now, I am a reincarnator. Someone from another world, someone who was originally not supposed to be alive in the first place. My name from when I was once alive was Michael."

"And yet, through some supernatural means, I was sent into the body of a recently born child, and was granted the fortune of being able to live once again, and in another world, no doubt."

"Now we don't have that much time, and I'm pretty beat up right now, so we'll have to do this quickly."

"So it all started when…"

It is not the time to go in-depth about what Kenneth was originally supposed to talk about. 

Instead, we will be traveling into the world of his mind, and seeing for ourselves the world that Kenneth originally came from. 

We will be changing our perspective to that of Michael, an office worker.

The world that Kenneth had originally come from was called by its inhabitants as Earth.

A young planet of only four and a half billion years, it was recently able to support life. 

And that was when the humans first came into the picture. Long story short, they were able to achieve many feats in the realm of technology, and have thus evolved to become the "technological powerhouse" that humans believe it to be. 

What foolish words! If one were to simply peer outside of their home galaxies, they would be able to find an assortment of planets and universal empires, far more advanced than the humans could ever hope to be! 

We seem to be getting too far from the main topic. Let us return to the subject of Michael, one of the almost eight billion inhabitants of planet Earth. 

"Shouldn't we get back to work? I mean, we've been standing in front of this water dispenser for the past ten minutes."

Ah, yes. The water dispenser. A popular location for workers to hang out, hiding under the guise of them merely heading out to grab a drink. 

If one was too thirsty, then there would be little to no work done at all. Everyone understands this. And yet people like these use it to their advantage.

"It's okay. I checked on the Boss earlier, and she was fast asleep in her room, haha! There's no way she'll see us." 

Three people, all wearing business clothing were standing around the water dispenser. They had formed a circle around it, almost like a shield. 

Such that anybody who had actually wanted to grab a drink would instead shake their head and go back to work.

"Heh. She's always been gouging me about not sleeping at work, and now she's doing it? How about we go "teach her a lesson", eh?" 

Among the three individuals, one of them was not as talkative as the other two. 

This man was otherwise known as Michael.

"Stop it, you two."

"Ah, come on, Michael. We were merely joking. Right, Johnny?" The man said as he bumped his elbow against Johnny.

"Right, right! You take us too seriously, Michael. Tell you what, how about I get you some coffee? What are you feeling like today?" Johnny took out his phone and began to open the delivery app he had installed some time ago.

"Iced coffee, then."

"There he is again, with that iced coffee. How many times have I told you to actually drink something else? Look outside! Look, it's snowing! Come on, help me out here, Lopez." 

"Johnny is right, Michael." The man otherwise known as Lopez said, "maybe try lessening your addiction to that stuff." 

"I'll try. But let me have this one last time." Michael tiredly pleaded. 

Despite Michael looking crazy in the eyes of the two, he had a very good, and almost sad reason for his addiction to iced coffee. 

Let us turn back time to when Michael was half his current age.

The present Michael is only a sixteen-year-old who had recently passed the entrance exam to get into the most prestigious university in his area. 

Michael was born into a relatively poor family. His parents did not have much in the way of money. And what was even worse was that he had multiple siblings to take care of.

Not that Michael had any issue with it. He understood the gravity of the situation he was presented with and made plans according to it. 

Even though Michael was not born with money, he was much richer in another aspect. And that was intelligence. 

The bright Michael was able to get into the most reputable schools around. 

Of course, this did not come without any cost. 

Michael would often overwork himself to make ends meet. To survive in this unforgiving world, he'd force himself to work.

It just so happened that one of Michael's pleasures in life was iced coffee. He found out that its bitterness helped energize his body, thus allowing him to keep on working past his limit. 

Time passed and Michael's addiction to iced coffee only grew. 

Recently, his coworkers, Lopez and Johnny, had been trying to slowly relieve the man of his expensive caffeine addiction. 

But back to the present. After the trio had ordered their drinks, they went back to work. 

Later on in the night, Michael was the last one to leave the office. 

"I'll see you tomorrow. Better not overwork yourself, Michael." Lopez, the only other coworker in the office left with him, was about to leave as well. 

"Yeah, I'll head out after I finish locking up. See you tomorrow." Michael bid goodbye to Lopez, who had already entered the elevator.

"I guess I should head off too. Better turn off the lights before I head out." Michael groaned as he closed his computer. 

"It's weird. I've been getting more tired than I used to be nowadays. I'm pretty sure I've been drinking enough coffee. Hah… I wanna go to bed." 

Michael's eyes were beginning to close; his eyelids were persistently trying to shut his pupils close. Holding his open palm over his eyes did little to help ease the pain.

He was perhaps a bit too eager to head to bed, as the tired Michael limped over to the elevator without bothering to turn off the lights in the building. 

"I'll sleep… just a bit," were Michael's last words as he fell over. 

There was no one else in the area to see the sleeping Michael, as the elevator doors shut, hiding his body.

The next day, the first person to clock in was horrified to find the body of Michael, lying lifeless in the elevator. 

Apparently, the elevator hadn't moved the moment he entered it, thus locking him along with what little air he had, and no lights whatsoever. 

The now-dead Michael had used up all the available air in the elevator, killing him slowly, until he eventually died from oxygen deprivation.