Another Fate | Rebirth | BxB [Hiatus]

2: Once Again

Imogen awakens with a start, clutching his chest. His pulse pounding in his ears erratically. He urgently searches his soul for the contract to summon Unai. Nothing happens.

Is the contract still blocked?

His eyes are open but everything is a blur. He can't see where he is or if he's alone. He shakes his head and blinks to clear his vision. 

Why don't I feel any pain from my wound?

He lifts a hand from his chest where the stab wound should be, there isn't any blood. 

I've been healed? Why are my hands so scratched, bruised and..small? This hand is..small, delicate but grubby? Is it even my hand?

He wills the hand to move, forced to accept it must be his as it moves at his command.  

What has happened?

He looks down at himself seeing a ragged dirty appearance and small stature. 

My body is small? How can this be? Am I even still me?

Just then, a familiar smell catches his attention reminding him of the slums. It's the smell of decomposition, rot, smoke, sweat, and the sharp ammonia smell of urine. The stench, combined with the influx of memories it brings, causes him to turn on his side gagging.

Where am I?

He now sees he is laying in a pile of rags. Inspecting the nearby wall he sees the pattern of contract formation on a board that's leaning against the wall. 

The rune pattern that changed his life. 

He sits up slowly, eyes going wide as he looks around the cramped run-down shack. The smell, the shack, the practice pattern, it's all clear to him now.

I know this room, this place. I'm back in the slums? Back in time?

He tries again to summon Unai. It fails. It's clear there is no contract yet. Imogen takes a slow deep breath to calm himself so he can figure out when he is. Now that he knows where he is.

As he is still uncertain, someone kicks aside the crate that acted as a door at the entrance of his shack. Rough hands grab him and toss him outside. 

"Here's the little shrimp. Not bad right?" A hoarse voice says to another man that was waiting outside.

The other man looks him over carefully from head to toe. Holding Imogen's face up by the chin, leering at him. "He's pretty for sure. Nice eyes but he's so small. Is he about twelve?"

"Sixteen is what he claims." The man that is holding him by the arm states.

"Dirtier than most. Is there something wrong with his mind?"

"Could be. If so it'll just be easier to control him."

No one seems to be speaking to him just about him. So Imogen ignores them for the moment.

So sixteen, that should be shortly before I summoned Unai. Good, I can re-summon him soon.

Sudden chills run down his spine and his stomach drops. This is not good at all. He begins to struggle with all he's got against his captors. He remembers these men.

He doesn't want to go back to that place. Being held captive in that place is the reason he was desperate enough in his first life to risk the summoning. He had preferred the high chance of death with the slim hope of freedom the contract summoning gave him over staying in that place.

His struggles are useless. 

The men are much stronger than him. Imogen is malnourished and scrawny. It's no exaggeration that he looks twelve. Living alone in the slums all these years has not been kind to him. Even so, he's still clearly pretty with his pale green eyes and nicely formed face.