Chapter 6
The weight of the past few days sits heavy in my chest as I huddle in this abandoned building on the outskirts of Wayne's industrial district. The acrid smell of smoke still clings to my clothes, a constant reminder of Riddler's senseless act of destruction. I've done little besides secure basic necessities and this temporary shelter, spending most hours poring over newspaper clippings and social media posts about the orphanage residents.
Their names and faces swim before my eyes as I meticulously document everything I can find. Sarah Chen, age 8, who always saved half her dessert for the younger kids. Marcus Rodriguez, 12, whose laugh could fill the entire dining hall. Mrs. Patterson, the elderly cook who snuck extra portions to the skinnier children when she thought no one was looking.
In truthfulness, I hardly knew anything about them. Nearly a year with them, it was still not enough time to learn. I was aware that human lives here were short and uncertain, but this – why didn't I try to know and understand them?
Then it will be my job, to carry these memories into the future. Someone should remember; they should not be reduced to mere statistics in this cursed city of Gotham.
The Akashic Grimoire pulses faintly at the edge of my consciousness, as if responding to my grief. Its power to summon and create feels hollow now – what good is such ability when I couldn't protect a building full of innocent lives?
Still, I record their memories, determined that someone will remember them as more than statistics in Gotham's endless cycle of tragedy. When I finally find a way out of this universe, I'll carry their stories with me. Maybe somewhere, in some reality where life holds more meaning than cosmic drama, their memories will help shape a better world.
For now, I linger in this space between loss and purpose, striving to preserve lives unjustly taken in a world that never deserved them.
It was the third day since I arrived in this abandoned shell of a building, and I hadn't moved an inch outside my makeshift sanctuary. The world outside felt hostile, and within these walls, I could almost pretend the fire never happened. Almost.
It was mid-afternoon when I heard the hesitant knock on the metal door. My instincts flared, and my hand immediately went to the Akashic Grimoire. I activated the Field of Insignificance but remained still, waiting.
"Young man?" a soft, wavering voice called from the other side. "Are you alright in there? You've been holed up for days… I thought you might need something warm to eat."
I peeked through a crack in the door, using my Empathetic Sense to probe the voice's intent. Warmth, genuine concern, and an almost maternal kindness radiated from the elderly woman standing there. She held a basket in her hands, covered with a faded cloth.
Satisfied she meant no harm, I deactivated the Field of Insignificance and opened the door slightly. "What do you want?" I asked cautiously.
The old woman gave me a gentle smile, her lined face radiating sincerity. "Just to check on you. It's not good to stay cooped up for so long, especially when you seem… troubled."
Her words caught me off guard. Troubled? That was putting it lightly. Still, her presence was oddly soothing. "I… I'm fine," I said, though my voice betrayed the lie.
"Well, fine or not, you look like you could use a proper meal," she said, holding out the basket. "Soup and some bread. It's not much, but it's warm."
Hesitantly, I accepted the offering. "Thank you," I murmured, unsure of what else to say.
She stayed for a moment, watching me with an almost grandmotherly concern. "You've got sadness in your eyes, young man. It's alright to feel it, you know. But don't let it swallow you."
Her words lingered even after she left. For the first time in days, I felt a glimmer of something other than despair. Maybe it was her kindness, or maybe it was the simple reminder that not everyone in this city was cruel or indifferent.
I resolved to pull myself together. The orphanage's destruction had broken something inside me, but wallowing in grief wouldn't bring justice to those who had been taken. Riddler would pay for what he'd done—not just to me, but to all the lives he'd stolen.
After the encounter with the elderly resident, I needed somewhere more secluded. Using Grimoire's knowledge of local infrastructure, I discovered a decommissioned water pumping substation tucked away in an overgrown industrial lot. The single-story concrete structure, about the size of a small garage, had been abandoned for several years when the city upgraded to a newer system.
The substation consisted of two main rooms - the former pump room (roughly 15x20 feet) and a smaller control room (10x12 feet). While modest in size, its solid construction and obscure location made it ideal. The original chain-link fence had partially collapsed, hidden by dense vegetation that provided natural camouflage.
Using information from Grimoire about basic electrical systems and construction, I began making the space habitable. The pump room, with its high ceiling and sealed concrete floor, became my main living area. The previous tenants had left behind some industrial shelving and a workbench, which I salvaged. The smaller control room, still featuring its original heavy-duty door, served perfectly as a secure storage space.
The building's ventilation system was simple but functional - several high windows and wall vents provided adequate air circulation. The original electrical panel remained intact, though I kept any power usage minimal to avoid detection. A roof leak had developed in one corner, but rather than being a problem, it provided a way to collect rainwater after I installed a basic filtration system.
For security, I maintained the overgrown appearance of the exterior while clearing just enough space for discreet entry and exit. The building's location at the end of a seldom-used access road meant few people ever passed by, and the surrounding brambles discouraged casual exploration.
I also searched through grimoire for basic wards setup ,for which it revealed a simple yet effective ward: a "perception deflection field." Using its knowledge acquisition feature, I learned this type of ward subtly influences observers' attention, causing them to overlook the warded area. I used a lost, uncut gem—found via the Grimoire's search function—as the ward's core.
The Celestial Grimoire had fully absorbed the Summoning Grimoire. I remembered reading about this bronze grimoire before my reincarnation. It was from one of those clichéd Chinese novels where the main character was a super pervert. Despite the novel's flaws, it contained some fascinating concepts. One of the most intriguing elements was the grimoire's evolutionary nature, influenced by its owner's battles, and its unique ranking system.
In the story, anyone who possessed a grimoire actually owned a realm rather than just a storage space. The higher the rank of the grimoire, the more complete and expansive the internal realm would become. A Bronze Grimoire's space was dark and empty, suitable only for a beast's slumber. A Silver Grimoire offered light and earth, while the Gold Grimoire expanded to include mountains and rivers, allowing beasts to live comfortably without needing sleep. A Platinum Grimoire was even more advanced, containing birds, butterflies, flowers, and trees, creating a thriving ecosystem.
Now, after integrating the Celestial and Summoning Grimoires, several limitations had been removed, though I still needed to fight and rank up the grimoire to improve its internal realm's quality and size. The ranking system had been replaced with a more organic progression tied to experience, particularly combat experience. The grimoire's storage function had also fused seamlessly with its internal realm, making it a versatile tool. Additionally, I could now contract with humans, a feature previously unavailable.
In the original novel, the monsters and beasts weren't particularly memorable, except for one: the Thorny Flower. This creature had an interesting concept. If provided with the correct nourishment—specifically demons as fertilizer—it could evolve into a humanoid, anti-demon holy beast. Given its weak and widespread nature, summoning it should be relatively inexpensive.
The grimoire's Guardian Beast bestowal feature, while sacrificed in part to fix the summoning feature, still persisted. Fully sentient and sapient summons could become Guardian Beasts, capable of revival within the grimoire's realm. However, revival required a significant amount of energy, and I had no intention of testing this until the grimoire was fully repaired.
The energy conversion feature had also improved due to the fusion. The realm now supported my contracted beasts and summons, producing or converting energy as needed. This ensured their sustenance and enhanced their abilities.
For my first test, I attempted to summon the Thorny Flower. Being specific in my request made the process more energy-intensive, though its common and weak nature partially mitigated the cost. Using only my own energy, I initiated the summoning ritual.
When the light dimmed, I found… a seed. Placing the seed inside the grimoire, I observed its dormant state within the realm. This seed would undoubtedly require effort to grow, but I had just the right person in mind to assist: a particular doctor who would love to help.
That night, I reopened the Grimoire. If I was going to keep my vow, I needed to work—to grow stronger and smarter. The path ahead wouldn't be easy, but I couldn't afford to falter.
"Let's begin again," I whispered to the Grimoire. Its pages flickered with a soft light, as if answering my call. Together, we would ensure that Gotham's cruelty wouldn't have the final say.
My various energies—psychic, mana, and body energy—combined with the absorbed energy from the last few weeks, should be enough for a single summon. I had spent countless hours deliberating who I would attempt to summon. The Grimoire, however, doesn't allow me to summon just anyone I desire. I have to input a set of requirements, and it will attempt to summon someone who meets those criteria.
After much consideration, I decided on a requirement: someone on the close to death but with extraordinary potential. With my mind made up, I poured my energy into the Grimoire, feeling the flow of power surge as the summoning ritual began. The air around me shimmered, and the room grew heavy with a pulsating energy. Moments later, a brilliant light filled the space, and when it dissipated, standing before me was a young girl who appeared to be around my age. She had striking purple hair and vibrant purple eyes, her expression a mix of confusion and guarded determination.
She was exactly what I had hoped for—someone brimming with potential yet carrying an aura of resilience that suggested she had already endured more than most. However, as I extended my Empathetic Sense towards her, I felt a deep void of sorrow and hopelessness radiating from within. Her spirit, though strong, bore the scars of a soul that had been teetering on the edge, a darkness that could only come from having almost given up entirely. It was clear she had been suicidal before being summoned, her life might be moments away from slipping away if not for the Grimoire's intervention.
She took a cautious step back, her small hands clutching the hem of her worn dress. "Where… where am I?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
My heart sank as recognition struck me like a bolt of lightning. I'd seen her before. Her name was Fern—a child whose tragic story had been etched in the fragments of my metaknowledge. She had lost her parents in an accident, leaving her to wander through life with a void so vast that despair had consumed her. But I also knew her fate… in her world, she had a chance to find solace and happiness with a foster family who would love her unconditionally. I had stolen her from that future.
"You must be Fern," I said softly, taking a step closer. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and she nodded in confirmation. "My name is Damon Prince. I'm the one who summoned you here."Her eyes met mine, a mix of fear and curiosity in her gaze. "Why did you bring me here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I knelt down to her level, guilt weighing heavily on me. "I'm sorry, Fern. I didn't mean to take you away from your world, from a chance at happiness. You would have found a family there, people who would love and care for you. I shouldn't have summoned you." I paused, my voice heavy with regret. "I'll do everything I can to make it up to you. If you want, I will try to send you back."
She was quiet for a moment, then spoke, her voice surprisingly steady. "You know, I might have been happy if I didn't come here. But..." she paused, studying my face. "You're like me, aren't you? Lonely?"
Her words caught me off guard. I nodded slowly, "Yes, I am. How did you know?"
Fern's lips curved into a small, sad smile. "I felt it when you called me. It was like... like someone who understood how I felt, reaching out."
I felt a lump in my throat. "Fern, I'm so sorry. I never meant to burden you with my feelings."
She shook her head. "It's not a burden. Maybe... maybe we can help each other?" Her eyes met mine, filled with a hope that I hadn't expected. "We could try to be happy together. If you want to."
For a moment, I couldn't speak. Then, slowly, I nodded. "I'd like that, Fern. I promise I'll do my best to make this a place where we can both find happiness."
She reached out and took my hand, her small fingers wrapping around mine. "Okay. Let's try, together."
In that moment, I felt a spark of hope that I hadn't experienced in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to heal each other.
The room seemed lighter somehow, as if her presence had chased away a part of the darkness that had been suffocating me. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt a glimmer of something I thought I'd lost: a reason to keep moving forward.