The first sign of life from the young Aurelius was, of course, his rising and falling chest, clearly showing he was still alive. However, the next was the twitch of his finger, something that had not happened for the last two weeks. After that came the short groan that escaped his lips, followed by his contorted expression, and then, last but not least, his eyes, which blinked open.
"!!!"
The young man's eyes widened the next instant, and he sat up, groaning with the effort.
"Argh," he groaned, feeling an unexplainable pain radiate through his body. Unable to bear it anymore, he collapsed back onto the embrace of his ginormous bed, his eyes once again drifting to the ceiling. "I... I know this place," he whispered with a deep frown, then pressed his forehead with his left hand, pushing back a handful of white hair, his confusion deepening. "What happened?" he muttered, frowning even more, justifiably so, as the last scene he recalled before this was far more... bloody.
'I should be dead. They drove five swords through my abdomen, a spear through my heart, and that final blow that for sure decapitated me,' he thought deeply, then looked at his palms. 'Were these always this tender?' he mused. 'And... aren't they too small?' another thought that kept mounting his growing confusion and irritation. "Wait," he gasped, feeling something. "My legs! They're back. How the heck is this... wait... wait... this room," he fought against the deep discomfort in his body, which seemed determined to keep him pinned to the bed, and crawled out. However, he overestimated his strength and found himself sprawled flat on the tiled floor. "Haah... haa... it hurts..." he mused within gasps, turning to face the ceiling once again.
That familiar chandelier. This was definitely not the house he bought. In fact, the main question was how he still had legs. He clearly remembered them being chopped off by that sadistic bitch, and then burned to a crisp before his very eyes, right before the swords and the spear, and finally the blade that touched his neck before he found the world spinning.
Then again, having limbs regrown was not an impossibility. The priestess could do as much with great ease, but... why would she? And even if she did, how was his head planted back on his body, and how was he in this room? 'Why is it so familiar?' he could not stop this disturbing thought. It was like having the answer at the tip of your tongue yet not being able to say it no matter how much you tried.
"...Haah... Argh," he groaned in pain before dragging himself to his feet, then staring at his clothes. "Talk about shitty taste," he tried to laugh but instead held his chest. It was as though he was about to cough out an organ. '...Yeah, no jokes, no jokes,' he came to a consensus, then steadied himself, staring at the room. The wardrobe, the swords, the images on the wall of... indecent ladies...
'Queeneth?' he raised an eyebrow, his eyes falling on a certain celebrity his younger, adventurous self, once had an unhealthy fixation on.
A lot of things had gone down with her, one of which involved the said lady taking advantage of his lust for her to latch unto royalty...
"Hah, that messed me up bad..." he sighed, recalling how that very incident had brought about a scandal that caused him a lot of problems back then.
But while reminiscing, that disturbing thought returned. "Wait, why is that here?" he asked, but just then, it all made sense.
'My room,' he thought, glancing at the bed, the pajamas he had on, the table, the weapons, the relics, the gadget, the 100-inch LED screen at the far corner of the room, custom-made to look like a wall, the furry carpet at the center of the room, the... everything. "This is my room, my part of the estate," he gasped, but just as he said it, his expression began to contort into one of pure, unadulterated... hatred. "The Morningster Manor," he seethed, grinding his teeth. "Who would bring me back here?!" he roared, then began moving, stumbling but forcing himself forward. He collapsed against the wall while trying to reach for a table, but forced himself to his feet the next moment.
He was determined to make it to his destination, and make it he did. Eventually, he was standing in front of the translucent door, which he opened and entered, finding pictures on the wall, evidence of his past self's unhealthy debauchery. But he ignored them all, stumbling until he stood before it, the full-sized mirror where he once used to stroke his narcissism.
"How?" he touched his face, then his body, then his face again before touching the mirror. "This has to be some kind of... dream," he thought. The notion otherwise was just too unbelievable to accept. "This... is my younger self," he gasped, but just then something claimed his vision.
[REGRESSION SUCCESSFUL]
[SYSTEM'S REQUIREMENTS MET]
[SYSTEM IS NOW ACTIVATED]
"What?"
[Welcome, Joel]