Viewer discretion is advised - drugging is present.
Charice awoke with a start, heart beating and head buzzing. He looked around, finding no clothes nor food near him.
'Hm? Did no one bring me anything? ...Oh right, Michael said no one ever brought me anything, guess I really do make them in my sleep huh…?'
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair as he stood up, feet touching the soft carpet in a way that soothed his frustration. The subtle buzz had waned, but it still loomed over the core of his brain, like an unfulfilled obligation he knew must be completed.
His veins too had soothed, the only sensation left being the subtle heat in the depth of his gut, and the unusually imposing rhythm of his beating heart.
"I should find Michael and ask him for help, hopefully he'll still give me a chance… After that, I'll have to deal with the delegation too…"
Charice was tired just thinking about all the things to be done, yet he also knew half of the work, that is to say the ritual and Michael's troubles, could have already been resolved if he acted sooner.
He groaned, only to blink in surprise at the fog that came from his nose.
It was the same blue that it usually way, but it was thicker, so thick he couldn't see through it anymore – and when Charice intentionally freed a bit of Chaos, the red smoke flowing from his palms, it too was unmistakably thicker.
"…So this is why I feel so…" He couldn't find the words for it, but with this change, Charice felt a bit more confident somehow. He extended his hand forward, the thick red and blue swirling together, merging in the air to create a point of radiant pink light around which they swirled.
Charice gulped as his hand shook ever so slightly, shivers crawling from his limbs to his ribs, yet after a few seconds, a few pieces of clothes had appeared, and his eyes glimmered at the sight of the first clothes he made in this world while awake.
When Charice opened the door to his room and walked out, Jeremy paused respectfully at first, until his senses kicked in.
An aroma of lavender and mint filled the air, alongside the taste of sugar and raspberry on his tongue. His eyes darted, if only for a second, and that alone was enough to feel the gaze of something terrible looking back at him.
It was no God, merely the Consort who glanced back at him before looking back at his body, ensuring everything was prim and proper, as it should be.
His golden hair, stretching to his shoulders, had a silver tiara resting upon it. A few bells extending from its ornate structure to the right and left of his ears, creating a somewhat chaotic yet soothing tinkling whenever his head shifted.
The bells had scattered droplets of Lapis and Redstone inside them, while the tiara itself had dozens of small, shimmering gems scattered throughout.
It was beautiful to a radiant degree, not unlike the crowns of honored kings, just lighter on his poor head.
Under the tiara, beneath his tender chin, was a loose dress with a turtle neck. Both of his arms were hidden beneath loose petal sleeves that wrapped around his arm like a series of blooming flowers.
The cloth washing over his body had various curious, tiny undulations, creating the illusion of rippling waves going down his chest, hips, to his feet.
Over this dress rested a simple open, white cloak that looked identical, with various Lapis and Redstone engravings on the back and sides, it flowed down his arms, back, and sides, resting just above the floor.
"Is something wrong?" Charice asked after checking himself, realizing he looked appropriate.
"Nothing at all, Consort!" Jeremy said, standing firmly at attention, his eyes not meeting the Consort's, his colleague was not faring much differently, also sensing the change in Charice's gaze.
His twin blue orbs, not unlike seas of power, were now swirling with might. Before it was passive, unrefined, a wave contained by many dams, yet now Jeremy understood what it felt like to drown under the ocean's weight.
"...Okay? Then tell Michael to come to my office, please." Charice commanded before moving on, feet dragging on the marble floor.
'I'll get divine approval for the Constitution, and then meet with the diplomats if I feel okay.'
…
"Do we really need all this…?" Charice asked, looking at the dozens of spices, herbs, tools, and most concernedly of all, drugs laid out on a large stone slab.
They were standing in a large room with no windows, no beauty or decoration of any kind. The air in here was moist, the white walls takin on a dimmer shade.
In the middle of the room, within arm's reach of the slab, was a pristine marble plaque, decorated with lapis and redstone lines that traced patterns akin to flowing blood.
Charice would call it a decoration, but the thick steel cuffs on it, alongside the other equipment clearly designed to restrain someone to not even an inch of movement, made feel like a threat.
Michael could be seen kneeling, preparing something out of Charice's sight at the slab.
"Yes. We must distance your body and mind apart, otherwise they would shield you from the divine."
'I guess… It makes sense! Since the Gods, magic, and anything supernatural is so inherently risky and dangerous, our new bodies would be materialized with that logic taken into account, meaning most people inherently resist and are oblivious to the supernatural.'
Truly, Charice envied them – ignorant in bliss, and blissful in ignorance.
"R-Right… The other Paragons will be staying outside?"
Michael nodded.
"Their presence would only agitate you, only I will remain here while you are disoriented and utilize the restraints if needed."
"A-Ah… Please don't… Do that." Charice nervously mumbled, glancing between Michael and the menacing plaque. "That sounds so… Claustrophobic."
"I will not try to do so without reason, I assure you. But if you, in your drugged, half conscious state, prove to be a danger to us all… I will have no choice but to call on the Paragons outside and restrain you with their aid."
Charice gulped, a part of him wishing Michael had lied, if only to comfort him a bit more.
Still, even as his hands shook and the tiara upon his head rang, he felt his heart drum in his chest. It was not any kind of panicked beating, not the stressful lurching he had grown used to, but instead an echo of something.
He quietly gripped his chest, the fabric crumpling under his touch as he mewled, rubbing his feet on the floor to ground himself.
"I believe we are prepared." Michael then said, turning around with what appeared to be an old school smoking pipe stuffed with a strange plant, a slow trail of lazy smoke curling from it.
"This should do as a start, its Alachomora, a simple hallucinogen, we'll observe how your body responds to its influence and responsibly escalate based on that. Please inform me of anything strange you see. I'll explain to you the various risks while you smoke it."
Charice nodded and took the pipe, nose twitching as he sensed the strange, caramel smell.
Then, he placed the sucking hole into his mouth and breathed in, inhaling a steady stream of mist straight into his lungs.
He coughed instantly, the smoke rising up from his lips.
"Gah! It smelled good but…"
"Its a reprehensible sensation for you – its likely you never breathed in such chemicals as of now. Don't fear, you will get used to it."
Charice nodded again, taking a deep breath before taking the thing back into his mouth, this time, he exhaled without any coughing. His cheeks looked slightly redder than normal, and he gazed into Michael's beautiful, pearly eyes.
"Consort?" Michael asked, and Charice waited for a second too long before his title registered.
"Ah! Right. Right. I'm okay… Its just that your eyes… Why are they purple?"
The dim hue of the royal color could now be seen, along with a purple outline following the veins on Michael's neck and face.
"It would appear you are absorbing the effects quickly, what you see before you is the power of my oath to you, coursing through my very veins. Purple is the color of royalty, and therefore, the color of duty, leadership, promises too."
Michael seemed almost proud, as if Charice witnessing the depth of his loyalty was a gift to him.
Charice swallowed, deeply uncomfortable as he watched Michael's face grow outlined with these purple lines, it felt like looking at Frankenstein's monster, grotesque and far too strange.
Humans should look like humans, the fact that Michael looked different now than Charice was used to triggered him more than he wanted to admit.
"The plant is behaving exactly as it should, slowly, your mind is going to start wandering away from bodily sensations, do not be alarmed if your sense of touch grows numb."
He took another blow, watching as he could see far deeper than merely beneath the skin. A swelling lake of power could be seen just beneath Michael's ribcage, flowing like the august robe of a true knight.
Charice looked away from the light, there was a beauty to it, but his shaky hands and mind left him feeling unsure of his own stability.
"F-Frick, aren't I too sensitive to this?" Charice mumbled, running a hand through his hair, only to see the thick veins running along his arm, they usually couldn't even be seen, and then, they glowed with brilliant red and blue hues.
"E-Eek!" Charice screamed, tumbling away from his arm as if it was some foreign object, reaching out with his other hand to grab it, only to watch in horror as the lines appeared on both limbs.
Michael rushed to his side as Charice fell back and stumbled, falling to the floor, the expected feeling of skin pressing against stone never came, Michael catching him and carefully sitting him down.
"M-michael! Cut them off!" He screeched, "Something is wrong! They- cut them!"
'Already?' Michael perceived, 'Body dysphoria after only three intakes? And of such a violent variety?'
"Consort, breathe, breathe. Focus on my voice and remember what I said – those risks I talked about, do you remember them?"
Charice nodded frantically, shaking as he looked at his arms and Michael's glowing veins, doing his best to focus on his glowing eyes – which only unnerved him more. Normally the feeling of being held would comfort him, but the sensation was just a distant afterglow of its normal intensity.
"Okay, great job, keep focusing on my voice, my voice will never be twisted by the drugs, so latch onto it to focus."
Michael continued to speak as Charice listened with wide, teary eyes that glowed a mighty pink.
"What you're feeling right now is detachment from your body, you're starting to see the things that your body normally hides from you to protect you, and your mind is too drowsy to compensate for it. If you feel hatred for your body or mind during this process, remember its temporary."
"F-F- Temporary?! How long does 'temporary' mean?!" Charice couldn't help but shout with rage.
"A few minutes. If we continue the process and you ascend into the realm of Gods, you will only have to endure for a few minutes."
Charice breathed in and out, closing his eyes before nodding with determination, yet that determination paled.
"G-Give me the next thing before I l-lose it." He whimpered through clattering teeth, holding out a hand in silence. Michael dutifully delivered it.
"This powder is called Laguma, Consort, tell me, are you seeing more red or blue on your body?"
"Y-You're gonna force me to look at myself…?" Charice's voice broke in fear, but Michael had no choice but to remain steady in his silence.
"F…Frick, fine!" Charice opened his eyes again, pupils shrinking like those of a scared child as he stared up at Michael, his entire body a distorted mess of purple hues, flowing and cascading down his vaguely humanoid form like silky cloth.
"A-Aah…" He gasped, but Michael quickly reassured him.
"Consort, I don't know what you're seeing, but remember to focus on my voice. My voice cannot be twisted, whatever you see in front of you, it is me."
Charice nodded, looking at the silvery powder in the figure's hands, and then, with great worry, starring down at his own body.
A mess of colorful red and blue nebula's swirling around a bright pink core, in a tender, humanoid shell. He couldn't see his clothes anymore, unsure if they had truly vanished.
As he stared into himself, Charice felt a wave of dizziness and sickness wash over him, the feeling of being watched and watching someone simultaneously filled his mind. Without any warning, he threw up all over the floor, his eyes growing numb and limbs cramped morbidly.
"Consort! Listen! Use my voice to anchor yourself! If you pass out now, you won't ascend anywhere, you'll just die of an overdose!"
Michael felt true panic crawl up and down his spine, from his view, the Consort's body had stopped moving half a minute ago, his words and gasps were garbled but still understandable, but then, his eyes went hollow and vomit trickled down his lips.
'Fuck! If I knew he was so sensitive, I wouldn't have started with Alachomora. Normal people would have felt a little dizzy maybe, but once his vision starts to break down, the process cannot be stopped!'
Michael glanced down at his hand and at the Consort's hollow, glowing pink eyes that widened in real time, opening as far as they could, the iris and pupil expanding visibly.
The powder was still in the Consort's now lifeless palm, fingers twitching occasionally as his heart stuttered with desperation. Michael breathed deeply, closing his fist in frustration as an argument raged in his head.
'He's going to die.' He recognized, 'I have no choice, even if he might hate me or not remember anything at all… I must do whatever it takes.'
Through bitter and clench teeth, Michael sighed and cupped Charice's hand, trying to keep it steady as he moved it to the mouth, vomit leaking from his lightly parted lips.
"Forgive me, Charice." Michael begged before grabbing the Consort's chin and forcing his mouth wide open, the powder falling onto his tongue and into his throat.
His body shook and choked, until the barely functioning reflexes kicked in, prompting him to swallow.
Michael sighed in relief, carefully placing the Consort's body on the plaque and tilting his head to the side, that way, he wouldn't choke on any future vomit.
The sight was disgusting, a man so vulnerable, reduced to such a terrible state. Michael could not bear to look any longer than necessary, tearing his eyes away as he gently gripped the constitution of the August Maximar Republic and placed it next to his sleeping form.
And yet, even as he treated the document with such respect, the shine in his eyes dimmed a bitter purple glow.
'I swore an oath…' The paper shimmered in his hands softly, 'I abandoned it all...'
Charice's head lifted slightly, jerking back to slam itself on the marble until Michael placed his hand behind and caught it with precision.
Michael carefully placed a small cloth behind the Consort's head, his mind overflowing with questions and demands each seeking something new – yet he drowned them all with a steel grip.
'That doesn't matter.' He assured himself.
Because now, the Consort was in a realm far, far away from this one. And Michael could only pray.