Walking down the stairs to eat breakfast, Viaelle felt a little nauseous. The discovery of where and when he was, had shattered the simplicity of his life thus far. On one hand, his wings had returned, albeit in an incomplete form.
On the other hand, his convictions wavered because of his feeble mind and the lacking pieces of his wings.
"Vale, darling, happy birthday! Is something bothering you?"
His mother's voice called out from the kitchen, even before Viaelle appeared before her. The boy froze. Just his footsteps made for a telltale sign of his sudden change in demeanour.
"A-ah, thank you, mother. I just feel a little dizzy, is all."
Trying to smile the way he always did but ending up with something stiff and crooked, Viaelle opted against the endeavour entirely. A forced smile was sometimes a lot worse, and his mother would most likely understand.
Ruffling his hair, he made sure that the traces of ancient magic on his body had fully dissolved back into his system. The magic genes in his body suddenly felt a little stifled once again, hindered by the vanishing effects of the boy's sorcery.
"…"
Viaelle held back a sigh.
Going back to the earlier metaphor, he felt as if his wings, although present, were clipped. Fully unfurling his wings and exercising his sorcery would alter his body as it had done in the past… or in this case, in the far future.
The reason why he was an abomination of mismatched body parts torn out from his victims was because his high magic as a slaughter mage was insidious — to his enemies and especially himself. Every spell cost him bags of blood.
Every kill required a bite from his flesh.
Every enchantment needed his bone marrow.
And every curse tore apart his soul.
Had some dark wizard failed to develop the Frankenstein Stitching spell while working as a battlefield doctor, slaughter mages would have never risen through the ranks as the most deadly magic users in the world.
Worse than war mages, and more monstrous than the dark wizards themselves, Viaelle and his kind were monsters who had thrown away their humanity.
Unfortunately, now that Viaelle was in the past, an integral potion to a slaughter mage's repertoire had yet to be invented. The serum that turned his body into something hovering between life and death and amplifying his magic a hundredfold… it didn't exist.
Yet.
'But that's still a few thousand years into the future..!'
Being a strategic resource on par with nuclear weapons, the Amalgamate Potion's recipe was known only by three people in history. Three people of whom had been reduced to atoms the moment they fulfilled their purpose.
Thus, Viaelle had never been able to retrieve the recipe of the serum which created him.
And now, he had no way of recreating such a serum.
'Long story short… I can't use my high magic anymore.'
Not that he wanted to. After all, becoming an abomination of stolen body parts was not an appealing sight and sensation. The never-ending phantom pains that had driven most of his kind mad was also something he no longer wished to feel. High magic was as limiting as it was powerful.
Luckily, Viaelle was now alive in the much simpler Eccentric Era, where magic was still commonly cast using wands and incantations. High magic which served as both his wings and his shackles, had yet to be conceptualised, with only ancient magic coming close to mimicking its power.
There was no need for firepower that could rend continents or give birth to stars.
Instead, all he needed was enough spell power to defend himself against curses and the natural forces of nature. A spell to keep him warm, clean, and healthy.
'I have a lot of time,'
Viaelle looked at the plate his mother had served him, filled to the brim with his favourite set of eggs, bacon, bread, and some sausages. Suddenly, all his worries receded.
Right.
He had time.
Time to study magic as the ancients had once used them and do the thing he had always dreamed of: pioneer his own path in magic. He spent centuries using magic that was never his own, stealing and mimicking as he slaughtered.
Now that he was no longer bound to a slaughter mage's high magic, he could pick and choose the spells he wanted to learn. Freely.
Viaelle was free.
Until he wouldn't be…
'But that's far, far into the future, Viaelle. If I can't even increase my own lifespan, then the end of the world would be the least of my worries.'
Chiding himself to rid himself of the memory of the crumbling universe, the young boy dug into his breakfast. Today was the day he had turned seven.
His parents were going out to take him to see the sea.
There was no need to worry about something so far away. The sea, which he had never seen in both of his lives, was much closer.
So, the years passed.
Every now and then, Viaelle would erase the cancers suffocating his magic genes as if trimming his hair. Although he could not unleash the full extent of his will, there was no need to go so far and become a monster.
Just having access to fresh magic, untainted by cataclysmic curses, was enough for him. In fact, he didn't have to cast spells as simply feeling its presence was enough, growing a little more with every erasure.
Soon, his magic genes would have nothing barring them from showing their might. And, by then, Viaelle would be in Hogwarts.
Yes.
Hogwarts.
A mysterious castle built out of ancient magic and stood as one of Earth's greatest havens in the depths of even greater wars. In Viaelle's time, Hogwarts wasn't just a castle, no, it had been turned into a citadel greater than any other.
He yearned to see it in its infancy… and now, to become one of its students.
Luckily, Viaelle had already been noticed by the Quill of Acceptance. Based on the legends he knew, he was going to receive a letter before he turned sixteen.
However, he swiftly learned that those legends were slightly mistaken.
Time passed swiftly after Viaelle first pruned his suffocating, mundane genes. He spent much of his time far away from magic, having no easy way to access its wares. Being the child that he was, he made himself malleable; learning the ways of the ancient humans bustling about around him.
His mother, Louise, and his father, Edmond, often found themselves touring different countries. Thus, the young boy was brought around and exposed to the blazing culture of old Earth. Because of the nature of his father's work, he visited a lot of archaeological sites like Machu Picchu in Peru, Angkor Wat in Cambodia, the Acropolis in Greece, and the Terracotta Army in China.
Food, which had long been mere sustenance for him — tasteless and purely for utilitarian purposes alone — had grown to become one of his most favourite aspects of life.
Viaelle was especially fond of fruits. Fresh, juicy, and born out of things called plants. Living beings that weren't actively trying to kill him were rare, creating a novel experience for his taste buds.
Now, the boy was only a few months away from turning eleven, and his parents were already talking about enrolling him in new secondary school. Something that they said would match his brilliance.
However, their decision was destined to be routed when their doorbell rang a day after they returned from a summer trip.
Viaelle was working on one of his latest oil paintings, inspired by the Great Barrier Reef, which he planned on visiting with his parents next year. The sound of their doorbell sent a faint shiver running up his spine.
The boy's gaze, which had been focused on interpreting the beauty of the underwater world, suddenly narrowed. His body convulsed as if on instinct.
'The smell of magic...!'