In this world, Magic is Everything. All people, all races, are granted with the power to perform mystical and magical feats via grimories, mystical tomes granted to each and every child on their 15th birthday. Those blessed by the mana can have their names written down in legend.
Shattered Grimoires is the work of the mind(s) of Ardere & Shattered Grimoire's staff. All characters and content are copyright their creators, and may not be replicated without their creators' permission. Black Clover is owned by Yuki Tabata and published by Viz Shonen Jump. All images belong to their original owners. The theme you are currently viewing was made by Eliza of ElizaCodes exclusively for Shattered Grimoires.
The room was quiet as a mouse, save for the soft scribbling of ink to paper. Amber light from the candle atop the desk painted the surrounding space in its scarlet image. Mania was deep in thought whilst he journaled his musings fanatically as if possessed by a spirit.
Bewitched and manipulated to do thy bidding, Mania had suddenly become fixated with writing his memories down. The rogue feared that his mind was eating itself and all of his consciousness. Mania was scared he would lose what little memories he had of his past. The voices maddeningly berated him, poking and probing at the rogue's faltering defense until it located a weak spot.
Mania's mind knew how best to attack itself.
What to say?
How to make him feel?
Which memories surface?
From there it was simple child's play. This cat and mouse game between Mania and his psyche was a long, arduous war. For the past few years Mania had been slowly worn down mentally, withering in obscurity as he fought invisible demons. Monsters lurking in the impenetrable black of his mind that went bump in the proverbial night. Truthfully, Mania was restless, tired from years of being on edge and looking over his shoulder. Weary from all the distrust and cryptic, subluminal messages Mania would glean because of his neurosis. The rogue had long ago been disillusioned from reality - losing touch with the material world and unable to see the line that separated the conscious from the fallacy.
Delusions from actuality.
As Mania wrote he could feel how splintered his recall was. How fragmented and artificially stitched together his past seem. Even now as he struggled to imagine his parent's faces, he could feel the waters of his mind muddy. The image blurred as it would wash away and leave him with a blank face - black as the void itself. So superficial and fake he would think as he flipped the page and continued his mad scribbling. The ink on the parchment was erratic and loose in appearance. Penmanship is far from the rogue's mind. Instead, Mania was focusing on the cold. The freezing nights if anything Mania would never let himself forget.
Never.
Even now he could imagine the wintry bite of Spade Kingdom. Mania remembered the people watched from up high as he starved on the streets as white snow fell. During those nights that seemed to never end, he would beg pathetically for the sweet release of sleep or even further; endless dreams he would never have to wake from. The latter never coming to fruition, though there would be times he would ponder. Wondering if it would have been better had he froze to death. Not a soul would mourn for him, not a single name would be mouthed by Mania's lips as if pickpocketed from the rogue by crafty digits. Mania hated thinking like this, he was appalled at some of the thoughts his mind could conjure. Even more so, he was afraid of how he would easily rationalize his own suffering.
Justifying the agonizing pain because he himself felt some sort of twisted misplaced guilt. Mania would complete the line of thought before the mood would leave him. His head hung low and his hair partially obscured his vision as he pressed his forehead onto the edge of the table. The rogue's eyes had been drawn to the ground momentarily beneath the table. Mania was fixated upon the darkness. He would focus on that single thing before closing his eyes and taking a deep, long breath. He was attempting to reset and clear the fog from his mind. How long now had he been writing, Mania just this moment realized he had lost track of time. Lost his sense of self as he absorbed himself into the moment without a second thought. Mania's descent into madness was momentarily stalled, he could feel himself rising from the proverbial tides of his murky mind.
Mania's subconscious had other plans, however; as the black seemed to transform. Twisting into something completely unrecognizable and different altogether. Opening his eyes Mania would lift his head from the table as if he was struck by lightning - an epiphany driving Mania's muse as the words came to the rogue of their own volition. The voices grew more restless, louder and louder they would coo to Mania. Pushing him to the brink, testing the mettle of his sanity convictions. Whenever the voices became louder, Mania become more irrational, his creeping fears and anxiety brought to the boiling point. These were the moments' Mania was most vulnerable and often he would seclude himself from the world around him. Hoping to hide his inefficiencies from everyone and maintain some semblance of normalcy, but he was far from normal.
Mania knew he needed help, but he could never bring himself to let another person inside his bubble - It had been only his for so many years now that the rogue simply didn't know how to live any other way. The sound of Mania's pen would become prominent once more in the eerie noiseless ambiance. Slicing the haunting silence Mania would focus on that sound. Attempting to shut the voices in his head out as he wrote about his life. Jotting down any and all details he could remember. The rogue was clueless as to what set off his episode, what sort of trigger had been the catalyst, but certainly, he was thankful. At least he would have something to reflect on. Though the price for such a thing would be his sanity being tested. The young rogue wouldn't show it, but the mystery of his family had always been something that keenly interested him.
It was strange, Mania's first memories were of a small shack on the outskirts of Spade. He recalled sleeping thereafter he spent his morning and evenings begging for scrapes. Clinging to even the smallest notion of kindnesses any person offered. The Spade Kingdom was a cruel mistress, filled with people who only cared for themselves. The citizens only cultivated their own interests, furthered their own agendas. Still, if it was for the vagabonds and rogue's there who gave Mania opportunity he might surely have starved or died a tragic death. It was through them that Mania would learn his first lesson in life. Sometimes to survive one would have to go against the grain and off the beaten path.
They would have to take matters into their own hands and not listen to what others said. Rules and laws - they only mattered to those who mattered and were primarily enforced only if you lacked the means to sway the hearts of wickedly greedy men. Mania never forgot this lesson, it practically made him the man he was today. One of the defining reasons Mania still carried on doing the work of a rogue. He felt no shame in his place within society. No jealously and in fact wholeheartedly believed people like him were needed in the world. To even the odds for the corrupted nobles who preached hypocrisy while committing the exact same atrocities. The only difference was one of them had status and power. Wealth and connections could make troubles disappear easily.
2:55 am
The witching hour drew closer as Mania wrote madly into the night - attacked by disembodied voices that sang unto Mania his own inevitable demise.
Mania's hand felt raw and blistered as he continued writing away late into the night. The rogue had been completely consumed by this unrelenting passion and desire that compelled him to action. The strength in his hand and arm was faltering as Mania closed his eyes several times. Slipping in and out of consciousness Mania was cresting the shores of reality and dreams.
The ebb and flow of sleepiness over washing him as the rogue would periodically catch himself almost dozing off. At this point, his writing was becoming more and more lackadaisical, his focus weakened. Before the rogue knew it he was submerged in the darkness of his mind, unaware he had fallen asleep. Light would shine through the black of Mania's mind and he found himself inside a dark closet. Light from the outside barely filtering through the slits in the door. The scene before him is a complete mystery, one Mania had not the faintest recollection of.
"What... is this?"
"A dream?"
For some reason, Mania could feel a knot twisting inside his stomach and tears welling in his eyes, but why? He was terrified to peek through the hole in the door. Frightened of what revelation would be revealed to him. Confusion is what the young rogue felt in this dreamscape as he tried to summon the will to gaze upon what he had buried deep in his mind and locked away from himself. Was he ready to witness the unknown? Mania lacked the answers and resolve at the moment as his legs buckled and shook from perpetual fear.
Did he fear the truth because deep down he already knew? Already understood what was about to play out before him? Though it was a dream, it all felt so very surreal as he felt his breath snatched, stolen from his very lungs. Steeling himself Mania would press himself against the closet door and finally gaze upon that of which he had shut out for so long. Looking through the peephole Mania saw two people who appeared to be strangers, but something odd and unnerving stood out to him. They were pleading with dark-robed figures cloaked in shadows. Mania couldn't hear the muffled sounds as if he had been trapped underwater, but he could see what was happening. The conversation looked extremely heated, the fear upon the woman and man face all but apparent.
It would all happen fast as more dark cloaks appeared as if conjured from thin air. They surrounded the pair, their inaudible words muffled by the sound of Mania's heavy breathing. The pain inside his stomach became unbearable as he clutched his gut and bore witness to the man and woman ruthlessly murdered brutally. Mania fell back, the hot tears streaming down his soaked cheeks as he stumbled for a moment. Oblivious to what was truly transpiring. The ring leader's gaze seems to see past the physical wall of the closet, laying bare Mania who was hiding. For a moment it looked like the figure had noticed the young boy in the closet, his penetrating gaze chilling the breath Mania exhaled. The look in his eyes held a heavyweight burdened by the sins of a man who was unhinged and insane. Never before had Mania seen such evil sadistically cold eyes - there was no remorse, no emotions. Just the detached expression of a monster that haunted Mania's nightmares.
"Burn this place down to the ground, including the bodies. Our part in this cannot be discovered. Find the boy too! He must be dealt with! I shall inform the order that Yohan and Gwen refused to turn over the prize. They left us with no choice and still I must return empty-handed... Search this place, if the prize falls into the hands of our enemies our plans shall be impeded."
The cloaked figures would acknowledge the command as he slipped away into an ebony portal. The cloaked men started sifting through the house as they doused it in oil. Mania was still bewildered, unable to believe what was happening. Who were the two people so casually murdered? Who was the man that took their life? What organization did they belong to? What exactly was the prize? Mania's mind was running wild with thoughts he couldn't shake. He wanted to know more, to understand more, but these memories hurt. Why now did he decide to dream of this past that he didn't remember? Why now? Truthfully, Mania could feel it in the pit of his gut as he wiped the tears from his eyes. The man and woman were his parents and this was how they met their end.
Yet, if Mania had truly witnessed this, why was his memory so jumbled and disorganized? Before today he had believed his parents simply abandoned him, but the gaps in his memories always lead him to believe that there was far more to the story than he knew. Trying to get to his feet Mania could feel his legs trembling, the dream felt extremely real as if he were reliving the moment. When he felt the coast was clear Mania made a mad dash for the door as quickly as his small legs would carry him. The door felt so far away as he ran, but he would stop right over the body of his parents. He gazed at their faces, forever burning the image into his mind. Mania didn't want to forget them ever again. No, his teary visage was twisting into pure rage. A burning hatred fueled the fire in his hazel eyes like the fires crackling in the distance. He would push forward, through the door and out into the cold before the dreamscape shattered into a million shard.
Mania sank into darkness, swallowed whole he felt as if he was floating.
