It was a cold night, but even so, Faust VIII opened one of the windows in his house. He'd always found comfort in the cold, and he thought that tonight he'd certainly need it. In his depression and anger he felt unbearably hot, and the cool night air was a great relief.
Faust bent over the windowsill and looked out into the night, breathing deeply. His house's light was the only one on at that hour. Faust didn't know what time it was, but the waning moon was setting, so the sun would be rising shortly, if his knowledge of astronomy served him.
The disgruntled man looked at the sky, wondering if God had accepted a woman with Faustian blood into Heaven. The thought was a cynical one; it was the anger over the loss of his wife that caused him to think so. Since the people responsible for her death had yet to be caught, he was blaming God.
Faust wiped a lone tear off his face. Perhaps it had been his blood that had caused God to be angry, he thought wildly in his misery. To save his beloved Eliza, he had to rebuild her immune system. He had exposed himself to her disease, built up a tolerance, and then gave her as much of his blood as he could spare. The treatment worked. She wasn't cured, but she was saved. Until her dying breath, Eliza Faust had quite literally been living on her husband's blood.
'Everything I touch shatters; I contaminate everything,' Faust thought bitterly. He half-believed it - it was what his classmates had said to him as a child. He was a Faust, a sinner by name and blood. Faust did everything possible to disprove the allegations. He became a devoted Catholic, but no one was "fooled." Faustian blood was contaminated by sin and the Devil's promises. No matter how Faust acted he was still a black sheep, nothing more in the eyes of the community.
He sighed deeply. He didn't know what he was going to do. Eliza had gone, and he had been shattered. He'd lost his only reason to live. Since he was a child she'd dominated his thoughts. He loved her so much it hurt, and as a teenager there were nights when Faust would worry endlessly about whether Eliza loved him or not. He couldn't imagine life without her love. Without her, there was nothing.
He broke away from the window as the temperature of the room cooled, and sat down heavily in the wooden chair next to his desk. This was too much, just too much! Eliza! Faust clenched his eyes shut. He would not cry. He could be strong without Eliza. He had no other choice.
He slumped in his chair and threw his head back. He had to do something. They had cheated death! They'd fought the thing of nightmares and won! This could not be how it ended! It simply couldn't!
He'd show God, he thought. He'd stray. Like in the parable, he'd be the sheep that wandered away from the flock, only he would never return. He thought that God had to be punished in some way. Perhaps he'd commit a violent crime, several of them, taint his soul as much as possible. He'd make God feel the same as he did. Let Him mourn over the loss of His child like he mourned over Eliza.
Faust's neck started to cramp and he sat up. "Heaven help me," he whispered. "I know not what I think."
He put his head on his desk. He would not cry; he wouldn't.
Why did it have to be them? Why not a family that deserved it? Why couldn't he have been at home? Perhaps he could have fought with the criminals and saved Eliza! Why not him? His blood was tainted; society would not miss him. Eliza did not love him as much as he loved her. It was impossible for her to. At least she could move on. She didn't depend on him for strength.
He rubbed his forehead. If only he could bring her back…. Yes, that's what he would do! He'd reanimate her! He grabbed paper and pencil and began to list everything he would need.
After awhile and several hastily scribbled notes, he sighed. If he accomplished this, he wondered vaguely what would happen to the belief that God was a creator. What would happen to religion? The world would fall into chaos…. If he brought Eliza back to life he would be proving the non-existence of the soul and that there was nothing after death. Wasn't that better left untouched?
He wouldn't tell anyone, he decided. If he raised Eliza, bought her back, they'd simply move. Death would lose but Faust would win gracefully.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Good morning, Dr. Faust!" came a voice belonging to an old woman. She sat happily in an old chair next to her cart of flowers.
Faust nodded at her. "Mrs. Drostovsky. How's your ankle?" Absentmindedly Faust scanned the cart for red. He wanted roses, Eliza's favorite flower.
"Ah, as well as it can be at my age. I suppose it's doing fine, better than on most days, at least. It doesn't hurt at night, unless there's a storm coming. There's one coming now, you know."
Faust squinted at the sky; it was sunny. "Is there?" he asked.
The woman nodded. "Mhmm. I'm never wrong."
Faust chuckled slightly out of politeness. "Well, I hate to miss an opportunity to talk with you, but I really am in a hurry. Do you have any roses?"
The old woman pursed her lips and scrunched up her face. "I believe so, yes." She rose from her chair, and walked over to the cart, stumbling every time she used her right foot. She rummaged on the other side of the cart while Faust looked absently at the people around him. Young boys were playing nearby, while a girl sat on her step. Faust's breath caught when he saw her. She looked like Eliza when he'd first met her!
The girl suddenly looked up, as though she'd felt his stare, and Faust looked away. He gave a strangled sigh, shaken. He glanced back at her, but she was still watching him. He fought to keep his composure.
Ah, here!" the woman said, bring out some red roses proudly. "Slightly…er, droopy…but still!"
I'll take them all…and a lily, just one, as well." He might as well bring a flower for his mother.
Who are they for, may I ask?" The woman suddenly gasped. "Johann! Could there be another woman already?"
Faust, already unstable from seeing the young Eliza look alike, trembled in silent rage. How dare she! He slammed an open hand down on the cart with a hollow sound, startling the old woman. Faust opened his mouth to yell, but checked himself. Instead he gave off a mocking sound which became a chuckle. "No, no," he said, smiling. "They are for Eliza. How much?"
The old woman told Faust the price and he paid, taking the roses in his arms like a newborn. "Thanks."
The woman nodded. "And Johann? Get some rest, you look tired."
aust walked away without a reply. The woman watched him, thinking, "poor man…. The grief of his wife's death has made him unstable…. Then again, he is a Faust."
The clouds had covered the sky when he reached the cemetery. It was getting darker by the second. Well, it didn't matter. He'd stay as long as he needed to.
The cemetery was relatively new with few stones, though the ring of lilacs, acting as a fence, covered a large area of land, ready for more graves when the time came. It was ill-maintained and weeds had dominated the area.
As Faust walked under the gate he nodded to the guard who looked up from his book. He was a man in his late forties, fat and balding, with graying hair. He had shifty eyes which Faust credited to working in a cemetery; he probably worked nights as well. As Faust passed the guard went back to reading his book.
It was not hard to find Eliza's gave. Hers was the most recent; the grass hadn't even started to grow back. He hadn't been present when she was buried, and he had to wander a bit before finding it. There was a double marker on top. Despite himself, Faust thought it very eerie to be looking at his name on a tombstone, knowing it was meant for him.
He turned to Eliza's side on the right. As spooky as it had been to see his name on a grave, it was just as depressing to see Eliza's. Unconsciously Faust shed a tear, noticing it when it reached the sensitive skin near his lips. He brushed it away.
"I've bought flowers for you, Eliza. Roses. Your favorite." He removed the lily and placed the large bouquet on her grave.
For a long time he stood there, thinking about what to do and how to get what he needed to revive Eliza. It would be risky. He would have to kill and drain the blood of some innocent person with her blood type. Maybe he could use a convict sentenced to death!…But then Eliza's body would have to be drained, blood vessels cut and then patched…. No, it was too great a task…. But if he let the blood decompose!...he'd have to replace everything because by that time everything else would be gone. The brain would be hard to fix, even if he had been able to work on her as soon as she died.
"Eliza, why did you leave me?" he asked, as though it was her fault. He bowed his head. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I should have been at home. Should have protected you…."
He started to cry, though he would not make a sound. Hot tears ran down his cheeks as he looked at the ground. He imagined Eliza's body beneath him, decomposing, the insects just getting at her body now and there was nothing he could do. The thought disturbed him and he felt his stomach fall out of him. To think of the woman he had nothing but loved and cared for…dead and buried and being eaten!
"I'll correct my mistake, Eliza. I vow it. I'll bring you back, no matter what. Death will not win. I am already a dead man without you; God can hurt me no more."
He wiped away his tears with the hand that held the lily. "Not even Satan himself will stop me." As Faust thought about the true extend of what he'd just vowed, he realized that Satan wouldn't stop him. If anything, he'd be cheering. God would be the one to stop him.
At that moment the storm broke. Faust looked up at the sky before pulling his coat around him.
"I love you, Eliza," he said, hoping that wherever she was, she had heard him.
Faust walked to the only other double marker. This one, too, read FAUST at the top. He laid the lily on the right side, his mother, and left without a word to his parents.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A month passed, and Faust continued with the medical practice he and Eliza had started, though it was out of a feeling of obligation. He was the only doctor in the area. Also, he thought, when the time came, he could work on Eliza with all the equipment.
His plans to reanimate Eliza came along slowly. He'd known that the human body was not easy to kill and so he wasn't surprised that he was having so much trouble planning the reanimation. The systems were all intact, and after five weeks they may need patching up, but they were salvageable. The brain wasn't a problem.
The realization of this fact was crushing. He truly had killed Eliza. Her frontal brain had been damaged, but only the area which controlled personality! The shot had been fired from far away and her brain was mostly unharmed. Eliza had died of i blood loss. /i He had killed her! When he found her she'd been shot some time ago, but she was still alive. He had been so anxious to remove the bullet that he hadn't paid attention to the blood. He'd even made it worse! If only he'd thought more like a doctor and less like a maniac. If only he'd kept his head!
The news was unbearable and because of it, Faust relapsed into a suicidal depression. He didn't want to live anymore. The guilt was consuming him, eating at him. He had wanted only Eliza's happiness, and instead he'd killed her! He'd thought only of himself and now the woman he needed was gone!
In a fit of rage Faust had decided he wasn't good enough to be a doctor if he couldn't even save someone from a non-fatal gunshot wound. He began to pack up his office, yelling at himself. In his mind he became two people: the one responsible for Eliza's death and himself. He took turns being each, yelling abuse one moment and taking it the next. He began throwing things, taking a sadistic pleasure in watching things smash and shatter. It still wasn't enough to satisfy him, and he collapsed, crying and sobbing, screaming that he gave up. Eliza could not live again. It was impossible. It was his fault. He really was a Judas.
That's when he saw it. In his frustration he'd thrown a cabinet full of medicine to the ground. It'd broken, vials rolling all over with a clanking sound. Some shattered, their contents mixing with others.
The vial closest to him was morphine.
He stared at it. Dare he? Perhaps this was the answer. As long as he lived, Eliza could. It was an alternative. He swallowed as he picked up the vial. He looked at the clear liquid that seemed to hold a promise of relief. Anything, he thought, anything, as long as it could save him from his pain. He went looking for a syringe among the shattered glass and medicine.
Weeks later, he sat at his desk, thoroughly addicted to morphine and without hope. By now Eliza would be too decomposed to do anything. He had to face it: she was gone. But she couldn't be - he needed her. She wasn't really gone! She was just waiting for him to come to her, waiting to be brought back!
He imagined himself succeeding in this operation. Eliza would open her beautiful eyes and smile at him. He'd tell her everything, and she would hold him, stroke his hair. She'd tell him it was okay, it was over. It was okay. He'd tighten his arms around her, run his hands through her hair, and tell her how much he loved her. Faust could practically feel the warmth radiation from her embrace, the love.
Faust whined and brought his hand to his forehead. In a moment of sudden anger and frustration he kicked the desk, which sent it against the wall. Everything rattled when it fell back in place; his pen fell to the floor.
This could not be how it ended, he thought desperately to himself. He could not feel without her. He'd proven he could live, but it wasn't anyway to live, drugged and apathetic. Maybe he could retreat to his mind. He could become one of those people that lived solely in their minds. He'd retreat there, live with her, and abandon his body.
Sighing, Faust picked up the book and bought it over to his wall-sized bookshelf. He slammed the book into place, and just like the desk, the bookshelf lurched back and forth. Faust turned and started back to his desk after picking out another book. He heard a book fall to the ground and he turned back to pick it up. Without paying attention to the title, he looked for its place on the bookshelf, but discovered that the only empty place was where he had just taken the book in his hand. He frowned and looked at the out-of-place book in his hand.
It was a slim leather bound volume. He'd never seen it before. He turned it over and looked at the title to discover there wasn't one, just a golden pentagram. He looked at the book's spine and saw only the author's name: Johann Faustus.
Faust's skin prickled. "Johann Faustus?" he breathed. One of his ancestors? He supposed it must be the first, since it was Faustus, not Faust. Faust II had changed the name to avoid the connection. Dr. Faustus was not a good man to have ties to.
He put the book he'd originally taken back onto the shelf and opened the one he'd found. He started to read as he walked back to his desk.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Once again Faust stood by the end of his wife's grave. This time he stared at her name and wasn't pained. While the morphine could no longer make him happy, he could be apathetic and numb.
Dare he stray so far from God? he wondered. He'd read Faustus' book. It suggested a pact between Satan and him: his soul for knowledge and power. He'd written about all of the things he learned to do, things no mortal could. One thing in particular caught his interest: necromancy. The art of bring the dead back to life.
Faust had come out to the cemetery to try it. "Why bothering worrying?" Faust asked of no one. He was already beyond hope. God no longer cared for him. It was his own conscious that kept him from this. This was incredibly immoral…but was it a sin? Faust supposed that somewhere it must say something about this in the Bible, but he didn't know. He was a doctor, not a priest.
He inhaled deeply. He'd vowed to Eliza, hadn't he? He must do this. He was a man of integrity with nothing to lose. Surely God could understand that.
He held his arms out over the grave. He kept his purpose in mind, like the book instructed, and focused. He could do this; he would do this. He focused more intently on Eliza, picturing her body rising up, meeting with his soul, and then finally merging with her own. He stopped breathing and tensed his muscles, as though that would help.
The sensation was like anything Faust had ever felt. His arms prickled and he felt almost as though he was outside of his body. He left like he was floating; the only thing stabilizing him was the thought of Eliza. Suddenly there was a great surge of energy through Faust and he became excited at the thought that this could actually work. But the feeling stopped, and while he tried to recapture it, he couldn't. Maybe that meant…Eliza was raised?
Faust lowered his arms, opened his eyes and looked down at the grave. Not a blade of grass was disturbed. How disappointing….
What had made him believe that he was capable of such magic? Necromancy! The devil's art! He scoffed and turned. He was just a mortal. What right had to he mess with the will of God?
"It was a pretty good attempt, though," said a voice next to Faust. He started but didn't let it show. For a wild moment he thought he'd raised someone else and now they were speaking to him. He slid his eyes over to his right and his eyes came to rest on a child, a boy. He was sitting seven yards from Faust, cross-legged on the ground. Faust didn't move, but he glared at the boy, thinking that he had better have a good reason to bother him.
"Don't look so upset at me, Dr. Faust. I've come to help you. You almost had it, you know. If you hadn't distracted yourself…."
"Oh?" said Faust dryly.
The boy nodded. "You're on the right track, and I have to give you credit for what you just did. The German translation of Faustus' work was very watered down. I had to read the original before I understood."
"Are you a necromancer?" Faust asked. How could this boy possible know about what he was doing? And the original would've been in Latin…how could the boy have read it? He was so young!
The boy wrinkled his nose. "Hardly young. I may look like it, but in reality I'm older than you. But no, I am not a necromancer. You're born with that talent." He ran a hand through his hair and Faust marveled at the length. "You have that talent, along with tremendous potential. Of course, I expected nothing less than that; you're a Faust. Almost every one of your ancestors, starting with Johann Faustus could do it, and it's been getting stronger with each generation. I would imagine your son… or daughter… would've been a tough match, even for me."
"That's rather arrogant," Faust said, crossing his arms. He did not trust this boy. How had he known what he'd been thinking?
The boy simply laughed. "I suppose. It happens when you've been undefeated for so long…."
Faust shrugged, not knowing what to say.
"I would like to help you raise Eliza. Will you join me here tonight?"
Faust paused in thought. Would he? If what the boy said was true, then he couldn't be human. Older than he, but still to look so young…. Was it a spirit possessing a child? Impossible, but what else could it be?
The boy smirked and there was no doubt in Faust's mind that the boy could read his thoughts. He was not human.
"Could you help me? You said you aren't capable of necromancy."
"I'm not capable, but I have a talent for drawing out potential."
"Why does it have to be tonight? Why not now?" The book had said that he would be able to call her up from the ground…perhaps it was a ritual thing?
"Because right now I have a toddler that demands my attention. …She isn't mine," the boy said, guessing correctly again at what Faust was thinking. "But I'm her guardian. And I have a few things to set up. What do you say, Faust? After sunset, meet me here?"
Faust nodded. He had nothing left to lose. If the boy could help…it didn't matter what he was, right?
"Excellent." The boy put his hands together and smiled. He stood up and began to leave. He turned around, suddenly, and said, "and Faust, no morphine tonight."
Faust's mouth parted slightly as the boy left. Faust swallowed and looked back at his wife's grave, wondering what was to become of her.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Faust reached the graveyard that night, he'd expected trouble from the guard. He'd expected to be told that the cemetery was closed, but he didn't find a guard on duty. There really wasn't a need for one, Faust rationalized. The chances of a graveyard being vandalized was little; no one wanted sprits to be both angry and after them. Plus, working alone at night in a cemetery must get pretty creepy.
Faust shuddered and drew his coat close to him. It was a warm night, but he was suffering from withdrawal. Every muscle protested movement and it seemed like his veins were screaming at him to give them morphine. They ached. He didn't know why he obeyed the boy. He thought that there had just been an air about him that made him seem like he knew what was to be done.
He walked through the dark cemetery almost automatically. He knew by now where Eliza was.
When he got a few meters from the spot, it looked to Faust like a fireball had suddenly landed on the ground next to him. He jumped away from it, startled. The flame illuminated the area, and though it was easily over six feet tall, Faust didn't feel any heat. He started at it, confused. That was impossible.
"Yes, it's quite useful." Faust's eyes fell onto the boy standing next to the flame. "It's heatless and doesn't need anything to burn. And best yet, only you and I can see it." The boy smiled again, pleased.
He had to be a demon, Faust thought suddenly. A quote from a book he'd read came to mind: when reason fails, the devil helps. When science had failed Faust, this boy stepped in. Surely that was ground for suspicion! The devil would be cheering him on and this boy wanted him to succeed!
"Shall we start?" The boy gestured towards Eliza's grave. Faust turned to it, and saw the casket dug up and sitting next to an open hole. The wood had faded, but it had not yet begun to fall apart. A good sign, Faust thought.
"I took the liberty of retrieving Mrs. Faust. I know you are protective of her, so that's all I did. I haven't opened it yet…and so I can not tell you the state she's in."
Faust's heart almost stopped. This was it. He really was going to do it! He was going to see her again! He went over to the casket and fell heavily to his knees.
"I will keep my distance, Faust. I assure you that as long as the flame is here, I am. I'll step in if things go wrong, but it's up to you."
Faust barely heard him. He scooted to the left side, the side that opened. He placed his fingers over the lid, drummed them nervously; they made a hollow sound. His heart pounded and he thought this was most defiantly crossing a moral line of some kind. Before he could think any farther, he threw open the casket.
"Oh, Eliza…" he breathed. He looked at her face. The skin had turned brown due to the dried blood, at least what little was left. It was eaten, muscle showing through. Her lips were almost gone, revealing her teeth. Her eyes were gone too, the skin suspended over empty sockets. Her hair lay under her, though it had all fallen out. Faust trailed his eyes down her body, taking note of all the damages.
Her neck was shriveled, her arms, crossed over her chest, were mostly muscle and bone, her hands all bone. Her legs had shriveled as well. In the places where the dress had disintegrated, Faust could see rotting organs, mold, bacteria, and insects all contributing their share to Eliza's decomposition. He realized that if he managed to save her medically it would have been nothing short of a miracle.
Faust let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and inhaled. The smell made him gag, and while he tried to control it, he had to turn away. It was horrible, the stench. He gagged again, his body trying to throw up, but he wouldn't let it, not in Eliza's presence.
Faust could have sworn he heard giggling and a scolding whisper.
He breathed deeply and tried to remember why he was doing this. That wasn't really Eliza, he told himself. It may look like her, but it wasn't. How dreadful this was! How blasphemous! He thought that he would most certainly go to Hell for this and this alone.
Nonetheless, he turned back to his wife, breathing as little as he could. Tears came to his eyes as he wished he had taken the morphine. His stomach dropped out of him when he saw her wedding ring, hanging onto the joint of her finger, threatening to fall. He reached out to touch her face, but thought better of it.
"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name!"
Faust looked up sharply at the unfamiliar voice. He was caught! He'd be jailed! A sense of dread overcame him.
"Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven!"
It was the guard from the first time he'd come to visit Eliza! He was sickly pale and fumbling with a gun.
"Lead us not into Temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen!" He shot.
Instinctively Faust threw up his hands as he cringed. This was it, he thought, his demise. He apologized to Eliza. He hadn't been able to raise her after all. He braced himself, knowing that if he was shot in an appendage he had a chance of living. Hadn't the boy promised to help him! Where the Hell was he!
Faust never felt any pain.
There was a scream, high-pitched and frantic followed by several rapid-fire shots. Faust opened his eyes, expecting the boy to have shown his true form as a demon of some kind, but he saw Eliza's corpse in front of him, shaking with every bullet fired into her. She was defending him.
After the shock sank in, Faust realized what this man was doing as Eliza's body shook with every bullet fired. He was shooting at Eliza. i He /i was i shooting /i a i gun /i at i his Eliza /i .
Faust barred his teeth as he lunged past Eliza. The man backed away, clearly startled, and they both fell to the ground, Faust's hands upon the man's neck. The man grabbed both of Faust's wrists and tried to pull them away, but Faust squeezed harder.
This man had shot Eliza! It was his fault, HIS FAULT! He was the murderer, Faust was sure of it in blind rage. He was the reason for Faust's misery, his addiction, his straying from God! He must SUFFER.
The man clearly wasn't ready to surrender to Faust yet. He kicked at him and squirmed, managing to get Faust onto his side. The guard reached for his gun which had landed above his head, and brought it across Faust's face. Faust lost his balance and landed roughly on the ground. An undercurrent of thought asked for help, but from whom Faust didn't know; his thoughts were on hurting the man.
Seemingly without warning, the man was pulled back before the gun was fired. Faust assumed that the boy had stepped in at last, and he was once again upon the man, choking him. The guard gave off all sorts of noises, strangled sobs and gasps for breath, but Faust didn't care about that. He'd hurt Eliza, so he must die.
As Faust started to breathe heavily with the effort, he felt the man's windpipe collapse beneath his hands. Being a doctor Faust knew that there was no way the man would live, but he kept choking him anyways. The man was no longer struggling, but convulsing, as he turned a sickening shade of blue. Un-oxygenated blood had reached his brain. Blood began to pool around the man's eyes when Faust realized that he was choking a dead man.
As quickly as he could Faust stood up and took a few steps back, staring in absolute horror at what he had done. If he wasn't going to Hell already, he most definitely was now!
"I'm a murderer…." He whispered.
Faust pivoted wildly at applause. One was rhythmic and the other choppy.
"Outstanding," said the boy. He stood up and picked up a girl, a black toddler who was sucking her thumb, with one arm. She put her head on the boy's shoulder sleepily and watched Faust, though the boy was staring, clearly impressed, at the dead man.
"I mean, I knew you had talent and a lot of pent up rage to channel it with…but this is…remarkable." His eyes slid to Faust's. "An entire cemetery on your first try…. You must've figured out what you did wrong on your first attempt."
Faust looked back at the dead man and saw what the boy meant. The display was amazing, but it made Faust's stomach drop out of him. Several skeletons clung to the dead body, holding it down so he could be properly strangled. The boy hadn't stepped in at all, but even so the man never had a chance. Eliza! He looked for her body among the twenty or more bodies, but couldn't find her.
"She's a very obedient woman, Faust. She stayed where you told her too, even though you were in trouble." He went onto say something in a foreign language to the girl resting her head on his shoulder. She giggled, and Faust recognized her as the one who had been giggling earlier.
There was Eliza, fully restored and wearing her nurse's uniform, standing next to her grave looking as she had the last time Faust had seen her, as though her death has never happened. Faust walked over to her, flabbergasted. He'd…he'd done it! He'd actually done it! He took her hands and stared at her eyes. "Eliza…." He could be happy again! He'd found his strength at last!
But wait, something was wrong. Why wasn't she smiling? Why weren't her eyes shinning in the firelight? Why wasn't she telling him it was okay?
Faust ran the back of his hand down her cheek; it was cold.
"No…. No, no, no…." Faust closed his eyes. She…she…had been raised, but she was still dead! A corpse! "No! This wasn't how it was supposed to be!" he cried out miserably.
"This is your 'oversoul,' a manifestation of your powers. This is not Eliza, but the form it has taken…. If you find her soul and use that as your oversoul, I can assure you that it would be Eliza," the boy said matter-of-factly.
"H-how? How can I find her?" Faust choked out. He was sick of this, sick of life and everything being against him.
"If you become Shaman King, you can bring her back for good," he said. "Otherwise….. Well, Faust…." He sighed. "I would clean her skeleton out and buy a weapon suited for a human's strengths. A blade, or bo…. That's a Japanese fighting stick, by the way. Keep her in good condition. In a few years someone will contact you about the Tournament. I'd like it if you'd join me during it. It doesn't matter which half of my soul, but I want to see you fight."
Faust made no move to show he understood or had even been listening. He felt horrid, having killed for nothing, having kept his back turned to God for so long. Eliza….
"I will give you one shred of advice. Rather, it's an observation I've made, but it could be helpful. There isn't a way to increase shamanistic powers except by death and reincarnation. Most shamans don't have the courage to do that, even though they want to increase their power. Here is my observation, Faust: every time Eliza is hurt, you die inside," the boy said.
Faust understood what the boy meant; he'd already felt it several times, the pseudo-death of himself when Eliza was harmed, the agony and then the swelling of power, though at the time he didn't know what it was.
"Also, I don't think you know why the necromancy worked this time, so I'll tell you. You had a clear focus; your desire to kill, and an order to help. Last time your focus was 'raise Eliza' and your order was for her to rise, but you let yourself get distracted with the feeling of what you were doing."
Faust ground his teeth, annoyed that the boy hadn't left yet.
"Well, if you don't want my advice you should've said something. I'll see you in the tournament."
Faust looked up in time to see the boy whisper something to the girl. The girl took her thumb out of her mouth, before kissing her hand and flinging her arm off to the side. The boy smiled at her affectionately and then bowed to Faust. The flame went out, leaving Faust in darkness, his own hell.
Faust looked back at Eliza with half-lidded eyes. He touched her face, but she didn't react to show she could even feel him. He willed her to look at him, and her head moved to do so, though her eyes were empty. "A doll…." Faust whispered.
He started to laugh. "Just a doll!" He felt his eyes tear as he looked at her. Her eyes hadn't left him. He bowed his head. "So close, so close…." he said, lapsing into misery once again.
i A sick man.
A monster.
Broken still today. /i