***
Back in the liminal space.
The legion's murmurs surged through Faust's mind. He jolted upright from his resting position, his spirit body's reaction to the possession was a strange shiver.
"Finally," rasped the first lesser spirit.
"After centuries, a body of my own".
"Ours," corrected another.
"And a poor one at that. He's so pale."said another.
Faust's fingers jerked, nails scraping the rock. His left eye twitched as a third spirit hissed, "Why waste time? Tear it apart and find a better host."
"No," growled the first. "We'll make use of him, after which we find a better vessel. "
As the other lesser spirits rambled on, a grim realization hit him, he had forgotten a key part of the ceremony.
Listening for a metaphor wasnt a direct process. You didn't just wait for a word to drop from the countless whispers in the liminal space. You had to hear and interpret a creed or, as it was commonly called, a Tale.
A Tale was a brief but cryptic description of the metaphor, one had to decrypt it to gain the metaphor. This was the tricky part of the seventeen ceremony, interpreting the tale wrongly was enough to alter the final metaphor heard.
Faust gripped the rock which provided shade to him, hauling himself up. The skin of his spirit body had begun to peel and shrivel. This was a sign of his spirit body corroding as his physical body was now under the legion's hold, and he had no spirit gear.
No spirit gear meant no anchor for his spirit, he'd vanish soon.
"I won't lose another child to the whisper..." Claire's voice echoed in the memory that went through Faust's mind.
"...We'll wait until you get your metaphor before you attempt to summon your spirit gear... "
He rolled his eyes and laughed dryly, " Well, Mother, I am going to die anyway, and sadly, I won't be leaving any memento for you... Unlike Casper". He added looking at his glove.
The desert had changed. It was Nightfall.
Faust froze.
This wasn't due to the legion; their whispers were just background noise compared to the lifetime of ravings.
Faust's body shivered, it was as if his heart would jump out of his mouth.
A figure stood in the distance.
"No one should be here. This is my liminal space". Faust instinctively claimed ownership as he took a step back.
Looking around, he noticed it wasn't just a single silhouette figure; there were seven of them. With him at their center.
"Should I run? "
"Run?" Faust almost laughed at the first thought that went through his mind.
"A sprint through the open desert with seven shadowy predators on my tail?"
"Might as well try to outrace the sunset. "
What's the worst that could happen? At this point, his body spirit body was becoming even more ethereal. It was fading slowly.
Straightening, he waved his arm.
"Faust," he said, his name finding it difficult to escape his lips.
"Strange guests for a dying stage. But I suppose every performance needs an audience."
Smiling, he added, "Better late than never, it seems. "
The figures now began to approach him.
Although he failed to express it, the thought of dying felt like a hard ball in his throat.
All he could think of now was how he had always wanted to silence the whispers but now he had failed to do that.
Worst he was going to end up like Casper. With this thought, Faust felt despair creep into him.
He continued as If the figures were listening.
"You know, ever since I was little, I've always wondered what true silence felt like..."
"Sleep. Of all things to lose. I could endure the voices, the shadows, the aching thoughts… but not this. Even madness deserves a moment to close its eyes."
Through his left eye, he glimpsed the cathedral. His body struggled to remove the headgear, a barrier had now been created by the legion sealing him off from Father Maximus.
He couldn't tell his parents' reaction as he had a lesser hold of his body now, but he could feel the grief from his mother as she interacted with the barrier to no avail.
Faust attention came back to the liminal space, and he noticed that the figures were already getting close, but strangely, he couldn't tell what they were as they were completely dark, allowing the figures to be seen only by their vague outline.
Faust let out a sigh as he instinctively took a step backward towards the rock. At this point, his biggest regret was adding to his parent's grief.
To this day, his mother still sets a plate for Casper every night. His father had never remained the same silently blaming himself for Casper's death.
Faust chuckled as he slumped against the rock, folding into a lotus position.
"Can I have a last wish? " He waited as if the figures would answer.
"Let me taste true silence. Just once. "
Accepting his fate,Faust closed his eyes. His mind void of all thoughts.
Not like thinking could solve his problem right now.
A ripple went through the whole desert, immediately followed by countless familiar and unfamiliar words.
The figures suddenly stopped.
Ahhhh!!!
Faust eyes darted open.
For a second, it was as if the never ending ravings had ceased.
The feelings in his heart couldn't be expressed, but they were immediately overshadowed by a sharp and intense pain.
With eyes opened Faust could see the intensity of the ravings actually influencing his liminal space as he noticed the ripples which made the figures which surrounded him to also ripple, causing a visual shaking effect.
Although the pain caused Faust to scream and roll, his mind failed to register any thought.
It was as though the whispers where louder than his own thoughts.
Not being able to even think, Faust rolled and screamed in pain, ears bleeding while the figures watched.
---
"That's definitely my voice. "
"My thoughts! "
"My thoughts are back, but what was that just now? "
---
"Could that be my Tale? "
The Tale. Now? When he was knocking on Death's door?
"That's it then, Listening. I had to actually listen to the whispers? "
The desert surged, and what followed was a gentle breeze. The atmosphere and the bleeding sky had a obvious shift in hue.
A voice then boomed in the atmosphere. This was Faust's voice.
" Wayward heretic of curiosity,
Harbinger of certain uncertainty,
Yields questions clenched in jaws."
This was a sliver of hope,who knew there was light behind the door of death?
The chance of surviving stirred hope in Faust.
He quickly repeated the Tale in his head. He had to find a deeper meaning behind it to gain his metaphor.
"Wayward? ... Faust's eyes darted around, he didn't mind the stationary silhouette figures. Right now what mattered was gaining his metaphor.
"You have to be kidding me... Me?... Wayward? "
Faust grumbled, he noticed one of the figures shaking its head; he felt a feeling of mockery and disappointment. His attention was then drawn to his lower body as now it was already gone leaving only his head floating.
"There's no time, I have to be quick,"
Feeling his neck slowly dispersing, he mumbled in a rush without overthinking.
"Wayward heretic of curiosity,
Harbinger of certain uncertainty,
Yielding questions clenched in jaws."
Ignoring his misquote, a laugh burst out of him.
" Poetic. It's obviously an acrostic, the tale spells out. WHY. This is definitely my metaphor. My metaphor is ...
Immediately, darkness veiled over Faust's sight.
With the feeling of his spirit body restructuring, he felt like he was falling through a well.
Below. The cathedral, his possessed physical body, the subdued madwoman.
Above. The seven silhouette figures, watching.
Falling, he wondered who or what they were. He forced a blink as he was sure he had seen one of them jump into the well. But he couldn't see anything again.
A smile appeared on Faust's face as he finally heard it. Not his metaphor but silence.
Following that, a loud word echoed in his mind. It was louder than any whisper he had heard in his life, sharper and more imposing.
That word was 'WHY'.