Somewhere in London
C arolus stood amidst the collapsing world, mushrooms breaking out of every building and even mountains. Cars hung on top of mushrooms, and people hung like Tarzan onto the branches, afraid to fall and die.
He pulled the March from one ear, pressing hard. The March was too weak, and Carolus had gained so much power.
“Where are they?” he growled at the March.
“Where is what?”
“The Keys, March,” he said. “The Six Keys.”
The March shrugged, “I still don’t remember.”
“This can’t be,” he slapped him on the mouth. “You will remember when you see the mushrooms. This is what Lewis told you.”
“How are you sure?”
“Because I’ve heard it in his dreams for so many years,” he said. “Every time I wanted to resurface through a migraine and he magically stopped me, I could still hear this sentence in his dream. You will remember the Six Keys when you see the mushrooms.”
The March looked up at the mushrooms and realized he was about to remember. Carolus was right. This is the event. But the March resisted remembering. He didn’t want to tell Carolus.
But how long can he still resist?
Carolus was angry. He pulled March from the cap on his head. “I will torture you with electric prods again if you don’t tell me,” he growled and started screwing the keys harder into the March’s head. The March began pleading. He was in great pain, “Tell me, or I will not stop the pain.”
The March cried like a child. He fell to his knees. The pain in his head was too intense but it was good. It made him remember.