Pokémon Hunter, Haunted

[canisaries]

EDIT (5th Sep 2023): A few weeks late to this announcement, but the thread to the sequel story is now up! If you finished HH and liked it, start reading. Otherwise, keep your paws off that link, because there are HH spoilers there!

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It has arrived. The subject of many a meme. The story the author would not shut up about. Her magnum opus.

Hunter, Haunted is a story very dear to my heart, as anyone who's heard me talk on the Discord has probably witnessed by now. It was the second multiparter fic I'd ever written, and still remains the longest story I have written to date. Its start dates back two years (or now closer to three? oh boy this year's been such a mess i haven't even realized how far into it we are), but it's been through a major revision since, and I'm going to be revising it again as I post it here, though much more lightly this time... at least I hope so, for the sake of my own sanity.

So what's Hunter, Haunted about? Well....

Spoiler: Click here for the long answer

Hunter, Haunted is another story in my TPP (aka Twitch Plays Pokémon - don't worry, though, you don't need knowledge of that to read this) fic series, which follows my... unique version of Red and the very bad and awful things he does. This time, Red finds out his latest murder victim has returned from the dead as a yamask, and so he must figure out how to eliminate this witness before she can rat him out. Paranormal and psychological horror ensues.

In the series' timeline, HH comes after the oneshot Metanoia, which in turn comes after Seiren. In fact, Metanoia is the story that bridges these two multiparter fics together, and if you've finished Seiren, I strongly recommend you read Metanoia before this. If you're only now jumping in to the series, though, you can start either directly from this story or read Metanoia before it.

Before continuing to the story, it's important that I warn sufficiently about the content featured in this story. Hunter, Haunted contains:
- explicit, detailed depictions of violence and gore
- disturbing/disgusting concepts and imagery such as intense body horror, cultism, torture and cannibalism, as well as depictions of vomiting
- psychological (and perhaps in places existential) horror
- themes of mental illness and suicide, especially towards the end
- strong language, mild misogyny
- no explicit and rather little implicit sexual content, but some non-sexual scenes can be vaguely reminiscent of sexually charged ones
- spiders.
Due to all this, Hunter, Haunted is rated mature. However, I should also mention that this is not a grimdark fic. The setting itself is quite nice - it's just that our protagonist is anything but.

Spoiler: Art from Others

Joanna and Michi from @Chibi Pika

Red and the Beast from @HelloYellow17 (link to post)

Alright, I think that's all! If you're alright with all those warnings, I hope you enjoy the story. Feedback is encouraged and appreciated - I really want this story to be the best it can be. I have no particular preferences for what type of feedback I'd like, so please, speak your mind freely. Thank you, and here we go.

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HUNTER, HAUNTED

Synopsis:
Thinking he'd successfully gotten away with yet another ritualistic murder, Ichiro "Red" Akai is shocked to discover his latest victim roaming the earth once more - as a yamask. To keep his crimes from being exposed, he seeks to kill her again, but finds that dealing with ghosts is never that easy. Especially for those with minds already breaking.

Genre:
Drama, Horror, Black Comedy

Started:
18 Sep 2017

Status:
Initially finished 17 April 2018
Revision finished 15 June 2019
Second revision finished 9 July 2023

Length:
92 000~ words with both prologues and extra included
(measured 2 August 2023)

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There are two different Prologues - Original and Alternate.

These two differ from each other by featuring different scenarios with different levels of graphic/disturbing content, but they fulfil the same narrative purposes. Either one can be read, as the events of both are canon. Reading both is permitted, but do not be surprised to see information repeated between the two.

The recommended version is Original, but Alternate is for those who'd prefer a less gruesome entry to the story.
​

Spoiler: Original Prologue

PROLOGUE (Original)

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Breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out…

Air, warm. Soft. Sweet. Fills lungs, squeezes out. Kind of hurts, breathing this fast, but have to, have to or choke...

So hot. Hot and wet, sticky skin. Sweaty. Heart pounds in ears, in chest, right above stomach, stomach is heavy, full, satisfied… too much? Bloated? Not sure, maybe if I move…

Ah, sharp, hard, something on back… move, move to floor, oh, tired, tired arms and legs, body sticky and bare -- red? Red smears? Blood! Am I hurt?

...No, nothing hurts. Only smears. Can move rest of way. Ugh, sweat glues to floor, wet hair on neck, gross. Foot uncomfortable, move --

Hot! Take foot away! What's so hot there? It glows, bright. Orange, crackles - fire. Above it, shining - metal. Bubbling. Water inside? Why…? Where am I?

It's blurry. Can't tell. Just grays, browns, blacks outside that big light and other lights, smaller, scattered around.

Depth. Sharpen. See shapes. Recognize. Room of basement, the hidden room. My room, should be safe.

But it’s not clean. White floor has stains, red and orange. And there are shreds, lumps of something...

Human! Human shape to the left! Who?

...Not moving. Not a threat?

Lots of red on it. Glistening middle. Blotches of color. Matches the lumps, kind of. Behind the human, there’s a board. Wooden. Belts. I made that. I… put her on that.

Her. I remember. I brought her here, unconscious. Strapped her to the board. Lit the candles - the little lights are candles. Set up the fire and water bowl - big light and metal - like I always do. Always do when I… bring an offering for...

HIM.

Behind the fire. The rock on the altar. Its spiral. No longer speaking. HE has left - or was HE ever here?

HE was, right. I started the ritual, HE was there. HE approved of my offering. But then… I can't remember. How did I go from that moment to this? Who killed the woman? Was it me, or…

...could it be? Could it be that HE…

Yes.

Yes!

The corners of my mouth pull towards my ears. I can't help but laugh, even if it strains my lungs.

HE took over! HE took over my body! HE entered it, HE used it, used it to kill her. Accept the offering. Eat her flesh. Beautiful, wonderful, yes! This means the time is near. The time of ascension. Soon, very soon, HE will merge with me fully, and then everything’s gonna be --

Ah. Soon, but not yet. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. I’m still mortal for now, and I have a mortal’s obligations. Like cleaning all this up before it starts reeking. So I should get up…

With tired limbs and the grace of a newborn fawn, I struggle to upright myself. I use the bookshelf - apparently the hard object I’d woken up leaning against - for support, though regret it soon after noticing the red stains left on the wood by my palms. There really is a lot of blood on my body… HE must have really enjoyed HIMSELF. Maybe part of this elation I’m feeling is a high HE got my body on. An absolutely welcome gift.

As my surroundings sharpen further, I can make out the details of the lumps on the floor. As one could have guessed, they’re parts of her. Muscle, skin, fat, all sorts of tissue. Wildly and savagely thrown about. Just like you’d expect from the god of predators. Oh, I have to take a closer look at her body now. Cleaning up can wait just a few minutes.

Careful not to step on anything slippery, I stagger over to the body. After five or so slaps of my soles against the floor tiles, I can grab the board's edge and lean on it. Now I can survey her.

Oh, what a sight she is.

Red, pink, yellow, gray, purple, dark green. A flesh-tinted rainbow nested in her ventral cavity. Her organs - the ones that still remain - glisten in the fires’ light, eager to show off their beauty after two decades of darkness. Many of them, though, have large chunks of them missing, the lungs especially. They still leak blood and other fluids. It looks sad in a way, as if they were crying. But they're at rest now, just like all the others. Enslaved no more by the brain.

The digestive tract, though, took little to no damage. With the greater omentum mostly torn off, I can see the loops of the intestines, their surfaces smooth and unscathed. HE probably avoided them because of the smell. For that, I'm grateful.

The middle of the small intestine, though, seems oddly parted. Looking closer, there seems to be something pooled on the mesentery, something viscous… oh.

Moving on. I decide to inspect the intact parts of her for a change. Her skin is quite pale, understandably, though small, red crescents encircle the sections torn off, becoming sparser the further away they get. I check my fingernails to find bloody gunk underneath them. Matches up. Though I can't imagine these weak simian nails doing that much damage by themselves… HE must have brought some of HIS own strength along. That explains the missing anterior of the ribcage, too. I suppose HE just… ripped it off. Gods. Did HE even use the knife? Where is the knife, anyway?

Oh, there it is, on the floor near the altar. Clean. Next to… the bowl of boiling water… which is also clean.

The gentle mush filling my stomach hardens into a rock and becomes just as heavy.

Did HE not… cook the flesh?

I rush to the bowl and look around for any stains to prove me wrong. No, nothing. Where's the smaller bowl, the porcelain one I gather the flesh in --

There it is. Spotless, of course. Dammit!

Ngh, what do I do now? Is this a hazard? I know eating flesh raw is something HE discourages, but is it something HE would want me to try and empty my entire stomach for? I know the offering's blood was clean, thanks to HIS pre-ritual check, but does that translate to the flesh? Ugh, I really don't want to have to vomit, it burns my throat and leaves an awful taste in there for the whole day, but...

...you know what, it's probably fine if I don't. It wouldn't make sense for HIM to eat something HE considered a risk. HE just confirmed this body is the one HE wants. HE wouldn't go and spoil it now. HE must have checked the flesh was good to eat or made it good by force. If HE can enhance the human genome, I'm sure HE can take care of a few microbes. And if HE didn't… well, they're unlikely to cause severe harm if I seek help in time. I'll probably just feel shitty for a few days and then go back to normal. Right now, I should only worry about this mess…

I catch myself scratching my forearms. The blood has started to harden. Is there even some in my hair?

A touch confirms my guess. Hm. Maybe I should take a quick shower first. I can't imagine dried blood coming off too easily.

For safety, I decide to extinguish the fire before leaving. Using the porcelain bowl, I cast some of the boiling water on the flames. The room darkens considerably as they reduce to plumes of smoke. That ought to do it.

Now to freshen up...

---

Gods, did the room smell this bad the whole time? It's like something died in here. Oh, wait!

Now wearing a raincoat, rubber gloves and boots - even a shower cap in case of sudden squirts - I return to the crime scene. I grab myself a garbage bag and begin gathering the various pieces of the victim off the floor. To have something more to listen to than just the crinkling of my coat, I hum a directionless tune.

With the floor rid of the largest clumps of flesh, it's time for the body. I spread a tarp beneath the board and then, one by one, undo the belts that keep her body fastened to the board. Ankles, wrists, forehead - grab her neck for support - and finally, arms. She comes free, and I lower her onto the tarp.

Sure, having a tarp set up in advance for the whole ritual would make cleaning easier, but I'm just not a fan of how it looks. Brings down the atmosphere. And if the Helixians didn't need tarps all those millennia ago, neither do I.

Alright. I think I'll chop the head off first. I fetch my trusted axe from the wall it leans against, along with a plank of wood. I slip the plank under her neck to make sure I won’t accidentally shatter the floor and begin to hack away. Eventually, I cleave through the spine. I sever the remaining skin with the sharper knife, and so her head comes free. I grab it by the hair and, to humor myself, lift it up high like a Kalosian revolutionary.

Her face now level with mine, I stare deep into her eyes. No life gazes back from the darkness. They resemble my own, really. Uncannily much. I choose to move on to the rest of her face.

Ignoring the missing flesh around the mouth, she's rather good-looking. Symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing proportions rather typical for a Tohjoan female. Smoothly curved bridge of nose, deep-set eyes, widow’s peak. Pure and healthy skin, although discolored now by loss of blood. Thin, neatly shaped eyebrows. They feel silky to the touch. As much as I can tell with gloves on, anyway.

Odd that she didn't seem to have any company with features like these. Maybe she just wasn't interested in dating. Or maybe that friend she had was more than a friend. Fuck if I know what love is like. Not that I care. It's worthless.

Her teeth look healthy, with a regular shade of yellow-white - but also red stains from the blood, of course. Hard not to bleed on your teeth with your lips torn off. Why did HE go for those, anyway?

Oh! Speaking of her mouth, almost forgot…

I separate the head’s jaws. To my disappointment, the tongue is missing.

But I also didn’t come across it on the floor…?

The realization disturbs my gut. Oh, it’s in there then. Unwashed tongue, that’s a little disgusting… though I suppose regular people exchange spit voluntarily all the time. Would this count as first base, then?

Either way, this means I won't get to keep a trophy for this one. I suppose it makes sense, as I didn't get to be the one to kill her either…

No, don't think like that. You're overjoyed to have been taken over. It's way better than to have killed her yourself. This means ascension is near, after all, and once that happens, you'll get to kill to your heart's content. No fear of getting caught, no worries about disease. Only carnage. And you'll love it.

Anyway… even if I don't have a tongue to store, I'll still add a jar among the rest. It'll be empty, but a jar doesn't need to contain anything to mark a kill. That's what the label is for. A number and a name.

Name. Hm. What was hers, again?

I pause to take in her features once again. Her eyes, her nose, her mouth - or lack thereof…

Ah, now I remember.

Her name was Joanna.

---

Spoiler: Alternate Prologue

PROLOGUE (Alternate)

---

A gentle breeze blows through the streets of the neighborhood.

The trees and bushes sway gently in this wind, showing off their emerging leaves or the needles that braved through the winter. Simple little houses flank the asphalt roads, their pastel walls near blinding in the strong sunlight. Only a few puffy clouds here and there obscure the wide, azure sky. A faraway pidgey twitters - judging by its familiar song, a yellow-breasted one.

The streets and yards seem devoid of people. No humans, no mon. Makes sense - most have work or school at this hour. That means the only one out on this sunny April morning is me.

I love getting away with murder.

Alright, that's enough for a break. I lift up the handles of the wheelbarrow and continue pushing. The smell from the garbage bag nested within is starting to leak… but luckily the outdoor air is fresh and fast to circulate.

I take a turn, and there it is, the entrance to the woods. The escape from all prying eyes. Not that there are any. And not that I wouldn't have an explanation ready. What's in the bag? Why, green waste, of course. I'm dumping it in the woods, returning it to nature. Don’t want to pile it all on the yard to be an eyesore and bug hive. For the good of the neighborhood, you know? The community. My fellow men. And mon. I’m socially conscious, you see.

And if they still remained suspicious, I’d just make them socially unconscious. Ha! No, it wasn’t that funny.

I clear my throat and enter the woods. Blotches of light, filtered through the branches of spruces and pines above, dance on the floor of dirt and detritus. More and more birds join the choir of chirps and whistles, proclaiming their territory or wishes for a mate. I can't possibly see how someone could live without immediate access to a place like this. But, well, it's become apparent over the years that there's a lot of things I don't understand about people.

My arms are starting to get tired again… but the spot isn't that far anymore. I can make it there without another break. After that, all I have to do is make the evidence disappear, and then I can make the trip back at my own pace. So just hang in there…

"Kraw!"

Oh, not a murkrow.

With a shuffling of feathers, a black bird lands in my path. It stares at the bag with hungry eyes.

Yes, yes, I know you can smell it and it’s probably a fantastic fragrance for a scavenger like you. I have no ideological opposition to giving you a piece, but in practice, it’d mean opening up this stinky thing and exposing myself to all kinds of risks. What if a little civilized growlithe was roaming around in these woods, caught the stench and decided to follow it? Then I’d have a witness to worry about. I probably wouldn’t even be able to kill it, being a fragile, flammable human. And then I’d be caught because of a little puppy. A little puppy would be the one to cancel Judgment Day. I’m not letting that happen.

“Kraw!”

What's Judgment Day, you ask? Well, when an ancient god likes a priest of HIS very much, HE leaves HIS stony fossil home and incarnates in the body of the priest, morphing him into a being above all others. The god-imbued priest, with his new omnipotence, will then rebuild the Helixian kingdom and reshape the world into its rightful state, where the strong roam and hunt the weak as they please, no longer shackled by a civilization built by cowards.

Now, as it happens, I've had the great honor and joy of being chosen as that priest. I'm only waiting for the moment HE declares HE has gathered enough strength for the transition proper. HE already took my body on a test run today, you know. It may have led to at least a kilo of raw flesh being stuffed into my stomach, but I'm not that bothered about it. HE wouldn't let any microbes ruin my body now after three years of training me.

Not that any of it concerns you. Get out of the way.

The murkrow flits off the path to avoid the approaching wheel of the cart, but to my annoyance, the bird sticks around. In fact, it seems to be following me.

I set down the wheelbarrow and leap at the murkrow. It scrambles into flight. Good riddance.

I resume my pushing -- oh for fuck's sake! The crafty corvid only flew a circle. Now it's landed on the cart itself. I shoo it with my hands... which is of course pointless, as the bird only flies back each time. Dammit. I should just hurry to the dropoff spot…

I speed up my pace. This makes for a bumpier ride for the bird, but it doesn't seem deterred - it keeps pecking and tugging at the bag, rustling the plastic. Until finally… pop.

That lights a fire under my feet. Unfortunately, I'm already going as fast as I can while making sure any stray roots can't tip the cart over, so all I can do is suffer the heat under my soles. But the place is close now, only a little more, I can already see it. The stench of the corpse reaches my nostrils, fuck, now it's out there, but now I enter the opening and here I go!

I shove the cart forwards at a right-leaning angle, startling the murkrow into flight. As planned, the cart tips over and stops at the center of the gravelly opening. The garbage bag falls out.

I scan the area for any fallen branches and soon find one not far off. I snatch it into my hands and begin dragging its tip across the ground. The murkrow watches from its perch as I draw the circle, until it realizes I’m too busy to bother with it and dives into the center to rip a new hole in the bag and bob for scraps of meat. Let it. I’m almost done.

The base circle is complete, now for the details. Line there, curve there, circle there. Is it done? I analyze the pattern once more. Yes, it’s finished.

I leap to the wheelbarrow and heave it out of the circle. It scares away the bird, but only for a moment, as it returns immediately once I rush back to front of the pattern. Okay, the cart’s out. Only the activation remains.

I unsheathe my knife. The murkrow pulls its head out of the bag to give a quick, suspicious glance. No, it's not for you. You'll see.

I take the blade to my little finger and slide it across the skin. I flinch and I hate that I flinch, I shouldn't feel a thing from cuts this small anymore after what I've been through… but I suppose it doesn't matter as long as I can take the pain without fear. Either way, I've drawn blood as needed, and the red fluid is gathering, dripping… and with a small flick, a droplet detaches from the finger. It falls right where it's supposed to - inside the little circle at the edge of the ring.

The new stain on the gravel glitters. Then its red begins to glow. Then the light expands.

I step back for safety, watching the light creep along the edges of the circle and trace the grooves of each detail on the way. The murkrow throws glances at the glowing pattern, perplexed. Is it going to flee? Is it smart enough to realize this is something it should get away from? Is it greedy enough to ignore it?

Just before the advancing lights meet at the other end of the circle, something clicks in the bird's brain. It flaps its wings frantically, stumbling into the air, the circle's edge as its destination. Another red glow envelops everything within the circle, murkrow included. It brightens, and...

Flash.

The lights are gone. The bag is gone. The pattern in the gravel has returned to being a simple drawing. The wheelbarrow rests next to it, tipped over. There's nothing else in the opening but me.

And the murkrow, of course, staring at its newly trimmed tail.

"You're lucky you're alive, you know," I remark.

It glares at me, caws with spite and flies off into the trees. Oh well. Some folks just can't appreciate their luck. Hope it isn’t getting its friends on me… I’m not so good with those kinds of murders.

With the needled end of the branch, I sweep at the gravel, erasing the grooves little by little. While no one who happened to find this would know what it was for, it's still better to keep the pattern a secret. Someone might try to replicate it and accidentally set it off with a papercut or something - and then the whole world would be sniffing for tracks to learn more about this strange new kind of magic. I couldn't use it anymore in fear of getting caught, and that would make these murders a lot riskier to pull off unnoticed.

I finish erasing the pattern. The gravel looks disturbed where the circle used to lie, but it’s nothing that couldn’t have been caused by just a group of children playing. I toss away the branch, right the wheelbarrow and begin pushing it back the way I came, not a speck of worry on my mind.

My tracks are clear. There's nothing left of the victim outside of the blood washed down the drain and the flesh within my digestive tract, and I doubt they’re going to look through my sewage or cut my belly open to get what’s inside. And, well, even if they catch on to me… who’s to say they can do it before I ascend?

Though I suppose there’s still a third piece of evidence. Myself. While I do have the means to wipe my own memories of this incident, I shouldn’t go messing around with my brain. It needs to be in mint condition for HIM. Not to mention the thought of my own brain malfunctioning is… terrifying.

Besides, these memories are ones I’d really like to keep. I want to remember how it felt realizing HE had taken over my body, and I want to remember the preparation that had led to that wonderful moment. Perhaps at the time it had been just like any previous hunt, but in retrospect, it seems so much more special. Walking the streets of Viridian, looking for a suitable target. Finding and choosing her. Stalking to find out her daily rhythm, her name. Striking at the precise right moment. Transporting her to my basement with the help of another spell. Washing her, fastening her to the board, waiting for her to wake up and then seeing that terror on her face...

She is the one that gave me all this satisfaction. Maybe I should thank her.

I smirk. Nah. She’s dead.

Joanna is dead.

---

 

[canisaries]

Here we are, the first chapter proper! Rated mature for violent imagery and strong language. Enjoy!

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CHAPTER ONE
Just Another Day

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Beep. Beep. Beep.

Ah.

Morning.

My room. Gray walls. Light leaking in from the crevice between the curtain and the bottom of the window. Pale light. You know what that means - another cloudy day.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I suppose I should get up. Or at least turn that thing off.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Alright.

I roll over and tap the button on the clock. Its buzzing gone, the quieter soundscape of the outside reaches my brain. Winds. Distant traffic. Birdsong. Nothing new there.

I draw my hand back to myself and tuck it near my chest. It’s cold out there. Again.

I sigh and stare at the digits of the alarm. 9:00. The prime time to rise and shine. To get out of bed, do your morning chores and then set off for school to learn about all the wonders of the world. Or for work, to earn the bread to eat, to give a share to the government for all the nice services they provide.

But I don’t do either. I can’t do either. Because to do those human things, you'd have to be human.

Instead, I spend my days at home, trying my best to pass the time. Exercising. Watching TV. Doing crosswords. Going on walks. Cooking. Hunting. I like the last one best, but it's also the most difficult and illegal, so it's more of a rare treat.

And so, time after time, I drag myself through the hours and reach the prize at the end - sleep. That well-deserved escape from reality. Not that I remember any dreams, save for the occasional nightmare. I just like the idea of being able to skip eight hours of further boredom.

All of this is of course funded by my dear mother who cares just enough to give me food and shelter. And then, I suppose, some money comes indirectly from her husband, whose son is the only family that dares to share a house with me. And then whatever Fonz earns from his short time jobs to live here and provide for -- it.

Anyway... it's alright, actually, all of this. Because it's all temporary. Everything will change once HE is ready, and that time will be soon. The ascension is right behind the corner. HIS taking me over proves that. HE just needs to… wait a little longer, to gather HIS strength. I just need to wait a little longer.

Of course, I’ve been telling myself that for a few weeks now…

Steps downstairs. Sounds like Abe. I guess I should get up too.

Or should I? There's nothing to do, remember?

No, that's not true. Daily exercise is required to keep this body in proper shape. To skip that would be betraying HIM. You don't want to do that, do you?

I get up without delay. Gods, it's cold without the blanket… more reason to get through the routine sooner, I suppose. I'll get to put on some proper clothes.

With a sigh, I leave my room behind.

---​

I stare at the towel I've just hung on the drying rack. Strands of damp black hair dangle before my eyes, ever so slightly trembling.

The last part of my morning routine has finished, and now I've entered the wasteland once again.

Should I even go upstairs? Should I challenge myself to spend all day in the basement instead? Could be fun, in some kind of way. I could use that time to work more on that Helixian textbook. Even if I know it's completely useless, as I can't show it to anyone pre-ascension, and post-ascension I'd be able to just will the information into the brains of anyone I wanted…

Maybe I should pay HIM a visit instead.

No! No, I shouldn't. I shouldn't interrupt HIM - HE must be hard at work, making preparations and gathering strength. And if I saw HIM, HE might ask for another offering, and I wouldn't be able to say no even if it's only been a few weeks and I should wait longer to let the trail cool down… and lastly, I don't want to come to HIM while I still don't have that… one thing under control.

Speaking of… the two mon are probably up by now, getting ready for school and work. I should go upstairs and see them. Not going would be avoiding them, and avoiding is a sign of cowardice. I need to face them, face my weakness. It's the only way to overcome it.

Determined, I climb the stairs. I grab the handle of the door at the end…

They're talking. Fonz is walking around, his claws clacking against the wooden floor.

Stop hesitating. You have to do this.

I force the handle down and step through the door. Before anything else, I decide to sit down at the kitchen table. I should at least get to do this in a well-supported position.

Okay. Time to take the plunge. I pry my gaze off the table and finally direct it at the nidoking in the living room.

As expected, the omanyte lies in his arms. Big bright eyes, little tentacles. Patiently waiting as the nidoking gathers all the things needed for His day at school.

No, its!

Oh Gods, another mistake. I thought of Him as a Him again. It!

I slip a mental hand inside my ribcage and squeeze my heart. No feeling. No feeling of joy or affection or anything of the sort. You’re not allowed to see Him -- it in that light anymore. As far as you’re concerned, the omanyte is just an omanyte. An animal, a pile of flesh and organs. Not your lord, not your master. That role belongs only to HIM.

Having gathered his and the omanyte’s bags, Fonz heads for the door. Almost over, thank the Gods. He looks over here and so does… the omanyte, and they wave and say goodbye. With the strength of a mindless reflex, I manage to raise my hand back. And then - they’re gone.

Oh Gods. I let go of my breath and lean onto my elbows. I release my heart from its chokehold. That was worse than usual… again. And here I thought I was actually making progress.

Is it the pronouns? Did I have it right the first time? Are they just a needless song and dance that in the end don’t affect anything, or are they really steering my psyche in the right direction?

The bathroom door opens. A familiar boy of shaggy brown hair and skin much darker than mine walks out. I straighten my back as I don’t want him to start saying anything. Though now he’s looking straight at me with those dark, glass-shielded eyes of his. Is he gonna bring it up?

“Oh, Red!” Abe says, raising a finger. “I wanted to remind you earlier, but I forgot...”

Remind… huh?

“Today’s your psych appointment.”

...Oh.

“Remember?” he continues. “The one we reserved two weeks --”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I’m gonna come pick you up with a taxi at ten to three. Be at home and ready then, okay?”

Well… I’m not head over heels about getting my sanity questioned by some quack, but agreeing to see a shrink was clearly the only way to get Abe to shut up about it. Not to mention, giving a good performance will get me listed in the system as a completely normal and non-dangerous human being. And, of course, anything out of the ordinary is exciting by now, so goddamn it, sign me the fuck up.

“Yeah, I’ll be here,” I say.

Abe’s eyes adopt a rare sternness. “Do you promise? You have to go.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll go.” Gods, it’s like he’s calling me a ticking time bomb to my face. I guess that at least means he’s grown some guts.

“Good,” he says, like a parent, despite his young age of fifteen and lack of actual blood relation to me. “Oh, by the way, can you get some groceries if you’re not doing anything else by then?”

Two things to do today? Oh boy, I’m being spoiled. “Sure.”

He nods with a smile and hoists up his backpack, becoming the striking image of a bipedal bulbasaur. He opens the front door. “Ten to three, alright? Be here then.”

“Yep.”

He slips through, and so I’m left alone.

Sighing, I get up. Might as well take that grocery trip right away.

I gather everything I need - grocery list off the microwave, my old backpack from its corner in the living room, house keys from the hall and my trusty knife from my room upstairs. Well, I guess I don’t need the knife, this town being the idyllic little paradise it is and wild ursas being a rarity, but it’s the only part of my true self I can actually show in public. The airholes in my mareepskin disguise.

And with that, I leave the house. Welcoming me to the outside is a cold, gray sky. Right.

I forgot this was just another day.

What a waste of the late spring season. These days should have warm sunshine while the air is still cool and dry. Nature should be shaking its grogginess from March and April, fully awakening to blossom and celebrating life in all its forms - plants, animals, wild mon. But here I walk under a sheet of hazy clouds too thin to bring rain, but too thick to let the warmth of the sun through. What a disgrace.

A gust of cold wind dives down my collar. Shuddering, I zip my hoodie rest of the way up. It seems this weather hates me back as well.

Under its mocking gaze, I march on. Past the high school, library, hospital, graveyard, each at a glacial pace… until finally, I see a familiar yellow peek over the roadside pines - the supermarket’s sign. A little way more, and there’s the parking lot, not much longer now…

Laughter. Two men next to one of the cars. They’re smiling, they’re talking about their families. They’re doing great. Yeah, I bet they’re doing great. Doing great is so easy for everyone else, so easy when you’re just like everyone else. Gods. I force my eyes onto the automatic doors and don’t let myself blink until I’ve slipped through.

Alright. Finally, some warmth. Color, even, though unnatural. Hundreds of cans, cartons, boxes and other packages nest in the shelves across the gates and checkouts. Like birds of artificial feather, the products proudly present their plumages in hopes of enticing buyers. If they could squawk as well, it’d be a cacophony.

Not that it’s very far from one as is. Dozens of voices, beeps, shuffles and taps echo around the spacious hall to assault any lovers of solitude. It reminds the listener that yes, humans really are just ants scaled up, just as busy and erratic and unable to think for themselves...

Let’s get this over with. I walk through the gates, grab a basket and begin to hunt down the items of the grocery list. By now I know where to find them all, but the sections I don’t visit are still a mystery to me. They can remain as such. I don’t really care.

With each addition, the basket becomes heavier, until there’s only one item left. It’s written in a much shakier, scrawlier way. Given that and what it says, I know who wrote it.

It’s a request from m- the omanyte. He -- it would like some shrimp. I walk to the aquatic aisle, the shelf stacked with cans of the product in question. There’s the brand He -- it, it likes. Then there’s the brand it hates.

Should I pick the bad brand? Would that be a good way to show I don’t care about the mon? No - wouldn’t that mean I do care, if I care enough to pick the wrong one on purpose? But if I pick the good brand, I’d feel like I did it because I didn’t have the heart to pick the bad one, that I was weak. But is it really weakness? It’s what I’m used to doing, it’s normal. And it’s not like the good brand even costs any more than the bad one.

No, it is weakness. If I make the omanyte happy, I’ll just want to make it happy again and again. I’ll lapse back to my old ways and fail to do as HE ordered, and then...

But imagine it. Imagine His disappointment, heartbreak, when the can’s pulled out of the bag and He --

It. It. It!

How many times does it need to be repeated? When will you get it through your skull?

The Bringer cannot love.

Shut up! I’ve had enough of this. I don’t want to waste time thinking about anything related to that mon anymore. I’ll take a third, new brand. It costs more, but fuck it. It’s only money. I shove the can into the basket and head for the checkouts.

Goddamn it, it seems all the lines are just as long. I guess I’ll just pick the closest. Though now I see that the tired, graying woman in front of me seems to have a full cart. Great.

At a snorlax’s pace, the line slouches onward. Products get dumped on the conveyor belt, picked up by the cashier, read for their bar codes, the reader beeps, the cashier places the item on the other side, then she grabs the next, so on, yawn…

A wailing noise pierces the air. What? What is that, a siren? No - it’s a baby, a few checkouts over. And it is loud. Gods, my ears…!

I glance at the other people around me. They, too, wince every time the screaming surges in volume. But nothing more. They just stand and take it. And it just keeps going! I really can’t stress enough how horrible this is. This screech could put a victreebel to shame!

Isn’t the mother doing anything? No, she isn’t. How can she bear this? If this was my kid, I’d have chucked it out the window a long time ago.

No, it’s okay. My turn is coming up. I can already start placing my items onto the conveyor. Look, look, there they go. Maybe I have to wait a few seconds every now and then so that more space clears up, but I’m advancing. Time is passing. And now the woman in front of me is already paying. She leaves to pack, it’s my turn. See, everything’s okay. All I have to do now is to wait for my items to scroll past…

But how could I?

How could I let this go?

These people… they so clearly want that screaming to stop, and yet they refuse to act. Why? Because they’re worried they’ll make a scene. Be part of the scene already happening. Get disapproving glances thrown their way. Stick out from the group. Show some kind of individuality, free thought, free action! It’s terrifying to them to look bad for just a moment!

What worthlessness! What thanklessness towards their ancestors! The ones that built their own shelters, hunted their own food, made their own rules, all for these meek mareep to take it for granted and worry about the utterly pointless instead! Humans used to struggle for survival, and now these overgrown infants take it on a silver platter. They’re domesticated. Inbred by good times to be harmless, lazy and stupid!

They should be taught to fear again. And I… I should be the one to teach them.

No, I have to teach them. It’s my duty. I’m the only one who understands. The only one with a knife, the only one with the power. Yes, I should be the predator to rid the ecosystem of these pathetic slobs. The fearow to dive into this swarm of fat rattata and impale them with its beak and talons.

My fingers have already gotten the message. They stroke the smooth, wooden hilt of my excellent knife, caress it. These people might all think I have this for self-defense alone, but oh, no, no, no. This is my fang, my claw, and it’s itching for flesh to wrap around its blade.

I know what I have to do, and I know how I’ll do it. I’ll unsheathe my knife in the blink of an eye and slash it across as many throats as I can. Blood will spray on my face, mark me as the danger. They’ll all see it, and they’ll all run. Run and scream. In blind panic, some will flee deeper into the store and doom themselves merely by shortsightedness. Those will become my prey. Prey I’ll chase into the aisles, prey I’ll catch and tear apart, consume. Inhale their fear, taste their agony as my claw makes outsides of their insides. Their blood will soak me, splash onto the shelves. Paint the rainbow red. Brilliant, authentic red to break up the phony, lifeless hues of capitalism. Warmth for this cold day.

Yes. Yes. This is what I was meant to do. I was meant to cease these maggots’ lives, turn their mundane into massacre, strike when they thought they were safe. I’ll kill and keep killing until only two remain. That accursed infant and its mother. I’ll trap them into a corner. The woman will cry, scream, clutch her child and beg for mercy. ‘Please! At least spare my baby!’ She’ll pray for me to feel pity. I’ll only smile, approaching. Tears and snot will stream down her distorted, bawling face. Oh, Gods, why? she thinks. Why did it have to be me, today, in a supermarket, in such a gruesome, terrifying way? Why did my child have to be with me? How does something as awful as this happen? The only thing I’ll be wondering is if an infant’s flesh will taste any different from an adult’s.

“Thirty-seven, forty-nine.”

Hm? It’s the cashier, blonde, deep green uniform, looking at me with her big blue eyes. Shit. How will I kill her? I don’t have the element of surprise anymore. Do I just go for it? Pull out my knife and stab her in the throat?

“Is there a problem?”

…

“No. How much was it?”

“$37.49.”

I draw out my card and stick it in the reader. After inputting the code - 2778 - and submitting, the screen confirms my purchase. I take back the card, and the cashier hands me a receipt. I nod and move on to load the items in my backpack one by one.

The baby's wailing is gone. It probably stopped a while ago. All that remains is the normal background noise of the store. It's like nothing else had been there at all.

Items packed, I zip the bag and walk away from the checkout. Some steps later, I finally allow my brain to process what happened.

That was close. Way too close. I was millimeters away from making that fantasy real. Had it not been for that miraculous moment of sensibility, I would've thrown away my entire future... if it wasn't theologically incorrect, I'd say HE was looking out for me.

Gods, just… how could I lose all my rational thought like that? How did I not play that scenario to the end? Obviously I would've been shot, put down like a rabid animal, and then I would've been dead! Dead, dead, life over. No body for my soul, no brain to think with. Only the void. Endless, eternal void. Terrifying. And that's why it's important I don't let that happen to myself, why I should become the Bringer and ascend to divinity. Don't forget that.

Alright, enough scolding. I take a deep breath. With the exhalation, I force out as much stress from my body as I can. Unfortunately, it's not much. But at least I get to go home now…

Wait. There's a commotion by the exit. Seems like a bunch of people are showing all passersby some pieces of paper… dammit, I bet they're activists or something. I guess the other people share my annoyance given none seem to stick around for longer than a second before shaking their heads and moving on.

I don't want to risk snapping for real, so the secondary exit it is. I walk across the store to reach it and slip out. No one seems to be around, good --

"Excuse me, sir?"

Shit! I couldn't see that guy behind the pillar, and now he's stepped out to block my path. But this is also a free country, so I can just tell him to fuck off and be on my…

He raises the paper in his hand. The picture on it freezes me.

"Have you seen this woman?"

Against all odds - yes, yes I have.

In fact, I was the last person to ever see her.

I compare her face to the man's. There's an undeniable resemblance. Were you to stretch her out a bit, strengthen her jawline and stamp a permanent dopey expression on her face, you'd get this guy.

Before I've realized the importance of self-preservation over curiosity, I've let a question fly. "Who is she?"

"Oh, she's, um, my sister," he says. "Joanna. Sh-she's been missing for the past few weeks… almost two months…" His voice wavers between pre- and postpubescent.

I almost ask why they're looking here and not in Viridian where she lived, but remember swiftly that I don't want to go to jail. They probably have looked in Viridian, anyway, but why come to Pallet? Does the family live here? Will the investigation take place in this town? Shit…

"So, um, have you seen her?" he asks.

It's time to cut this confrontation here. "Sorry, no." Wow, both words were lies.

Something breaks in the man's dark eyes. It lights a little something in mine. Not expected, but not surprising.

"Alright, well, if you do, please call the police and let them know, okay?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Thanks."

With a nod, I step past him and resume my journey back home.

Huh. That was unexpected. I'd killed seven people before this, but I never bumped into any relatives of theirs. Should I consider this a momentous occasion? Should I have reveled in it more? It was a pretty great setup - such dramatic irony. Oh, please, mister Houndoom, won't you tell me where my seven little kids went…

A freezing wind snatches away my warmth, both physical and mental. Right. Can't let that bastard Red have any merriment, that's against the rules.

I slip between the spruces at the edge of the parking lot and enter the forested path beside the graveyard. The wind stops. Finally, shelter… from both weather and people.

Walking onwards, my eyes stay stuck to the bench next to the graveyard's gates. The closer I get, the more I want to sit down. But I'd just get home later...

Eh, you know what, I'm not in a hurry, and I could use the improvement to my mood. I pace faster to reach the bench, take off my backpack and sit down.

I sigh from the relief in my shoulders and legs and lean back. The old dark wood of the bench is cool, but comfortable enough. I look over my shoulder to let my eyes rest on the sight of the graveyard itself.

Graveyards are always nice. Everything about them is designed to be tranquil. Sturdy stone monuments plant to the ground in rows and columns, some simpler and less ornate than others. Engraved on their surfaces are names and the occasional aphorism. Flowers at the graves dot the scene's otherwise mild palette with vivid reds, yellows, purples and whites. The natural vegetation is much more modest - soft moss and short, prickly grass grow at the edges of the tombs and cobblestone paths.

To think this silent, beautiful yard conceals the ashes and bones of dozens of burnt corpses within…

This is where they all end up. Well, not in this particular graveyard, but dead nonetheless. They'll all perish - maybe of old age, maybe of disease, maybe in an accident, maybe in the hands of someone like me.

They won't make a difference, and even if they do, they'll still die. And what matters to the person after that? Nothing. They're dead, like everyone else will end up being.

Everyone except me.

I have a reason to keep going. I can reach immortality, endless bliss. They can’t... or they could, but they’re not aware of that option.

Either way, they’re still okay with it. How? Is it ignorance? Apathy? Have they not fully realized it? I know how weak they are - they wouldn't be strong enough to feign peace of mind in face of inevitable doom. Yet I’ve never seen anyone on the street break down into tears, cry at the heavens, curse their gods for creating this stage of never-ending anguish.

If life is such pain, how can they be happy?

A rustling pulls me out of my thoughts. A mon?

It comes from the row of bushes at the edge of the graveyard. As soon as I pinpoint the leaves that move, the creature slips back into hiding. I only got a glimpse, but what I saw was… golden?

My first guess is a meowth, but it doesn't seem to fit. The shape and size of the golden object was wrong. What else could it be… oh! A golden magnemite? That'd be a sight! Hell, anything would be a sight after these weeks of nothing...

Quietly but wasting no time, I stand up and get my backpack. I enter the graveyard gates and sneak along the fence, then the bushes. A meter or two away from the spot I saw the creature in, I slow down.

Whatever it ends up being, it might get startled and attack. I unsheathe my knife and hold it in front of me, then slowly, slowly circle the bush to see…

Nothing. Oh. That's disappointing.

Wait, at the edge of my sight! Another glint - and it's immediately gone. Disappeared behind that pine tree.

This thing is quick… and it makes no noise when it moves. It has to be a magnemite. Nothing else around here could be golden and float. Except maybe staryu, but why would one come out so far from the sea…?

I cross from the yard into the forest proper and hide behind a tree of my own. After a few eventless seconds, I sneak to a tree even closer to the creature's presumed hiding spot. Motionless, I stay in wait, keeping my eyes out for anything golden. Or anything at all moving independently from the wind.

Something. Something's emerging.

A golden edge peeks out from behind the pine’s trunk. Come on, come out. More floats out. Wait… that's not a sphere. It's a… it's like a concave oval. With eye holes. A mask from behind?

It floats in midair, supported by no limbs or wings. It seems to move with conscious intent, but no clear destination. It seems confused. That makes two of us.

Just what is it? Where did it come from? What's its purpose? Is it dangerous?

I might get somewhat closer to knowing the answers if I saw its other side. But it doesn't want to turn on its own, it seems. Some encouragement is in order…

Slowly, I crouch to pick up a piece of gravel. I pick a direction - towards the bushes, they'll make more noise - and chuck the little rock. It lands in the bush, shuffling the leaves sharply. The mask quickly turns around --

No.

There's no way.

---​

 

[canisaries]

I'm so glad that I've gotten new readers here! Makes the revision worth it. Now, here's the second chapter and the introduction of a character you may have seen me talk about a bunch of times on the Discord. Nothing gruesome happens this time around, so this chapter's rating is teen for just strong language. Enjoy!

---

CHAPTER TWO
The Forest

---​

Smoothly curved bridge of nose, deep-set eyes, everything else. It’s Joanna. That’s Joanna’s face on that mask.

Why? How? Of all possible faces, why hers? She wasn’t anyone special, was she? She was just a regular college student. Kind of an introvert, even. Why would she… matter?

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Or dreaming. Maybe I fell asleep on that bench. Maybe I never got up in the morning to begin with. This feels real, but inside a dream, you can never really tell…

The mask is moving. Stay focused. It’s heading for the bushes, curious about the rustle. Its way of moving is strange - gracefully yet uncannily, it bobs slightly as it hovers onward. It moves like a ghost...

Oh, of course. Ghosts. This has spectral activity written all over it. Either it’s a type of ghost I’ve never seen or heard of before, or it’s an illusion created by a ghost. But how would that ghost know about Joanna? Her significance to me? Oh, Gods, has it possessed me and seen into my thoughts?

“Hello?”

Both the ghost and I flinch at the voice. The ghost hides behind a tree of its own. I guess it knows no more than I do.

“Hello?” the voice calls again. A child’s voice. It’s coming from somewhere beyond the trees.

Rustling steps follow. At least the speaker’s something organic, then.

“There’s no need to hide,” the child calls. Something appears between the trees in the distance, something brown, pale, pink. Oh, a young girl with earthy clothes and pink hair. As far as I can tell from this far away with all these branches in the way.

She begins to approach us directly. “I know you’re there behind that tree. Just come on out, I wanna help.”

Shit. How does she know? No, wait, she might mean the mask. I have no idea what kind of help she would have to give me, so...

The mask shifts within its hiding spot, unsure whether to reveal itself. Go ahead, please. One of us has to, and it’s not going to be me.

After a few seconds, the mask finally gathers its courage and floats into the open. Once the girl spots it, she stops and smiles.

“Hi,” she says. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

The mask shyly nods.

“Oh, you can turn yourself visible if you want," the girl says, then pauses. "Do you know how to do that?"

The mask shakes its head.

"Oh, well, it's like… you imagine your body turning to stone," she says. "That's how the others say how it works, anyway."

The mask freezes. Moments later, something dark forms above it. The air becomes murky and opaque, like thick smoke. It forms into an odd shape - like a head with two arms and a tail gripping the mask. Two eyes like large, maroon plates open at its sides. They leak a substance of the same red hue. As it emerges, it looks like blood… but once it drips away, it evaporates into nothing halfway through its fall to the ground.

I might not know all that much about ghosts, but I'm certain when I say that's one right there.

Well, that’s not good. Whatever this thing is, I can tell it’s not a good idea to let it parade that mask around. Joanna needs to fade away just like all my previous victims - the fewer questions people ask, the safer I am. But a ghost… how am I supposed to get rid of a ghost?

The girl chuckles. "This is so cool. I've never met a yamask before."

Yamask. Is that what that thing is? I better remember that, then.

The girl steps towards the yamask, but it jerks back, becoming a bit translucent.

"No, no, it's okay," says the girl. "I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to. I can't do any energy-based attacks."

The yamask looks down at its mask and grips it harder with its shadowy hands. "Maaaa…" it wails quietly. The voice feels human, but isn't quite there… yet there’s a familiarity to it.

Oh Gods. Don’t tell me this ghost… is Joanna?

"Well, I guess that part I could damage… but I won't. I promise not to." The girl slips her hands in the pockets of her hoodie and gives another encouraging smile.

This gives the yamask the courage to approach again. It weaves through some low-hanging branches, its mask catching on the needles a few times.

"So, what's your name?" asks the girl.

The ghost pauses in thought but doesn't respond. Can it even talk to begin with?

"...It's okay, not everyone has one."

Relief. It didn’t say it was Joanna. I don’t think it would have any reason to lie here, so this means it either isn’t Joanna… or doesn’t remember being Joanna. Both work for me, though I still need to make it disappear somehow. Its existence might lead to new evidence surfacing. Or it could start remembering its past life and tell all about it, all about the one that killed her…

I can’t let that happen.

The girl reignites her weakening smile. "My name's Michi. I'm friends with a lot of ghosts round these parts. They told me they'd seen someone new floating about, a yamask. That must be you."

"Maa? Maa, maa..."

“Yeah, that must’ve been Gabby! She’s the one that told me about you. Sorry about her, she can be kind of prickly… but she’s a good girl once you get to know her.”

Wait, those wails have meaning? And she can understand them? I guess this Michi isn't just any ordinary girl.

“M-maa...” mumbles the ghost.

"Oh, no, you don't have to meet them all right away. Actually, they're used to leaving me alone with any new one for a while so I can make them feel more comfortable."

Well, that’s good news for me, I guess. Fewer obstacles in my way to destroy this thing.

The girl’s eyes dart in my direction, freezing me mid-breath. Does she see me?

She glances elsewhere, then returns her gaze to the mask. I let my breath escape my lungs. Guess she didn't notice me after all. At least I hope so. While there's nothing for me to physically fear from a child of… twelve years or so, a witness is a witness. It's always better to stay as low profile as one can. Who knows what crimes might end up being necessary.

"Say…" starts Michi, grasping her arms, "it's pretty cold and windy out here. There's an abandoned cabin nearby I like to hang out at. Do you wanna come?"

The ghost shyly nods - now with its true head instead of the mask.

"Alright, cool! This way."

The two head back the way Michi came. As they get further, I begin to follow, careful not to rustle the vegetation too much. Soon, though, I reach the trail they're walking and thank my luck that it's a winding one. Were it a straight stretch, they'd spot me in an instant.

From the glimpses I see through the slivers between tree trunks and branches, I analyze the girl's appearance further. Hoodie, worn jeans, beanie, fingerless gloves. All shades of gray and brown, starkly contrasted by her chin-length pink hair and bright blue eyes. Her clothing seems shabby at first glance, but a longer look reveals it's still in good condition, only a bit dirty. Likely from all this forest trekking. So she's no princess, but she's no street rattata, either. Just a wild spirit. A bit like me?

No, nothing like me. She's helping someone, for one. Someone like me would never do that. The difference between us is the difference between a pichu and a houndoom.

“So,” the girl begins after her long silence, “what brought you to these woods? Where did you come from?”

"Aa, maa. Mah, maah, maah…"

"Ah, I see."

What was it, what did she say? Dammit, why does this thing need to talk in wails only? I know some ghosts can speak human language just fine… but this must not be one of them.

I continue to follow the two on their trail. With the ghost's backstory apparently not having much to ask about it - good for me, I suppose - the girl chooses to share her own. I ready myself for mental notes in case anything relevant is revealed, but not much is. She's just some orphan from Viridian that likes to screw around in nature. Used to live closer to these woods but was moved due to her orphanage getting too full. No human friends, but many ghost ones thanks to her rare ability to communicate with them. A bit predictable, honestly. I could've deduced this myself.

“Anyway," Michi continues, "I come back here a lot and stay at the cabin if the nights are warm enough. My friends would probably understand if I didn't come here anymore, but I couldn't leave them. They’re kinda like orphans in their own way… no parents, lonely and scared, people usually don't want much to do with them…”

“M-ma…?”

“Oh, no, sorry, I mean… you're gonna be fine, that's what we're here for.”

“Ma…”

The two fall silent. It makes my steps seem louder again. I try my best to sync them up with the girl's, but it proves more difficult than expected due to her being a whole head shorter than me.

The branches seem sparser up ahead. Are we headed to a clearing?

"Okay, we're here," announces the girl. Oh, good.

I creep along the next stretch, keeping myself out of sight, and then stop. I can see the opening from here while the razz bushes still keep me hidden. A perfect spot for stalking.

Stalking a little girl. Doesn't sound very good when I put it like that, does it.

Nevertheless, the girl and the ghost make their way through the opening to the cabin near its edge. It's clear the shack's been long abandoned by its legal owners - its red paint is peeling off, and splotches of mint green lichen cover some of the exposed planks. Dust and smudges coat the back window and surely any other windows as well. I'm rather surprised the glass is intact. If time doesn't get those, primeape-brained teens usually do.

Michi leads the ghost into the cabin and closes the door. Keeping myself out of the window’s view, I sneak to the side of the building. This should be a safe enough spot to eavesdrop.

“Yeah, as I said, it’s not much,” says Michi, stretching by the sound of her voice. “Still, it’s cozy when you get used to it. Those blankets in the corner help.”

“...Mma?”

“I -- well, places. People throw old stuff out. Even though it’s good. Like this cabin. Whoever lived in it left it long ago, but I still think it’s neat.”

Resourceful, this girl. Clearly she’s more capable than most of her snot-nosed peers - and even a good amount of adults.

“This mirror, too”, she continues. “Just because it’s cracked doesn’t mean it’s worthless. You can still see yourself just fine.”

“Haah...”

“...Do you know her?”

I lean forward.

“...Maa.”

“Oh... well, maybe with time.”

Time… time is of the essence, then, if the ghost’s supposed to remember something Joanna-related.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go gather some firewood. I’m gonna be back soon, just stay here. And make yourself at home.”

The front door creaks open. I crouch. Do I need to sneak past the back window? Will the ghost spot me if I try? Wait, wait, the girl is going the other way. Return to the side wall, calmly, calmly…

Michi’s footsteps head to the start of another path leaving the opening and fade there. Seconds later, I dare to peek around the corner. No sign of her. I can let myself think.

Alright. What should I do next? I want to know more about this ghost and this yamask species, and the girl clearly knows things… but just waiting to pick up information from casual conversation feels rather slow. Not to mention I can only understand one side.

This girl, though, must have learned what she knows from somewhere else, and most likely that’s a source accessible to everyone. Books. Or the internet… but that’s something I decided to never bother with again after the disastrous consequences of last time. I grit my teeth. Why couldn’t that trauma have just eroded away with time? It’s been six years...

The library it is, then. Not only will I learn more about this species, I’ll likely find out how to kill it, too - and that’s something I can’t expect the girl to explain.

But… ugh, I still have these groceries to deal with, don’t I. I need to go home first. But then again, I’d have to go there anyway to get some supplies for keeping the girl out of my hair. Spores and duct tape come to mind. Yes, a visit home is imperative.

I sneak back the way I came and adopt a more casual gait as I reach the forest path. Skulking would only make me more suspicious. From now on, I’m just somebody out for a walk. Enjoying nature.

And why wouldn’t I? Now that I don’t have a target to tail, I can take in the little wonders in my surroundings. Tiny white buds line the edge of the path - rawstberry plants that have yet to properly bloom. Above them sway branches of shrubs and evergreen trees alike, casting shadows in chaotic patterns. Between them hang stray strings of spiderweb… okay, that's not so nice, not a fan of spiders… but dry leaves and needles crunch beneath my sneakers, their blanket broken up by the occasional root slithering across the path. Outside the path, I can spot mounds of moss on the forest floor. They look soft enough to lie down on. Ah, nature… I’m glad there’s at least something that can cheer me up on these gloomy days --

“Stop where you are.”

...Hm.

It appears the girl has spotted me.

I turn around. It’s Michi, alright. I guess she repaid my sneaking by walking silently herself.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” she demands with an icy stare.

“I’m just passing by,” I say and continue walking - but she follows me.

“No, you’re not,” she says. “You were following us.”

How did she know? Did I not hide myself well enough? No, play it cool. She might be bluffing.

I keep my expression neutral. “You must be mistaken.”

“Your aura didn’t lie.”

"Aura?" She's aura sensitive?

Oh. Yeah. Of course. Ghosts communicate through aura waves. That's why she can understand the yamask.

She nods. "I can sense them. And yours was behind us the whole time. I thought that maybe some ursa had a thorn stuck in its paw… but clearly you're not here to ask for help. So what is it that you want?"

"Well, there was a yamask," I say. "You don't see those everyday. I was just curious."

"There's more to it than that. I can tell."

I stop and narrow my eyes. She's persistent. "Shouldn't you be at school or something?"

"Shouldn't you?"

Ouch. She's got me there.

She steps closer, still confident. "Just cut the shit and tell me what you're after."

"Language," I mutter.

"You're not my mom."

"Yeah. I'm alive."

Her face flushes up. I smirk. Now we're even.

"Fine," she grumbles, "be like that, then. But I better not see you around here anymore."

I snort. "Or what? What's a little girl gonna do to me?"

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out something metallic --

Click! A blade springs out. A switchblade.

Honestly speaking, I didn’t see that coming. But that thing doesn’t scare me. Not when I have a much bigger blade of my own.

Eager to show her who’s boss, I reach for my…

Wait.

Think about what you're doing. If you take out your knife, she'll see what you're capable of, physically and mentally. Faced with that danger, she might decide to gather some of her friends for security or even take the new ghost somewhere else. And then it'll be a lot harder, if not impossible, for you to get rid of the ghost.

You need to yield. You need to falter. You need to give her the illusion that you're just another mareep. Hide your fangs.

I douse my heart with freezing humility and step back. "Whatever," I mutter. Just before I turn around, I can see triumph in her eyes. It's a triumph for me as well, even if this shame makes me shudder. But I'll get to show my true colors yet.

I resume my journey back to the graveyard. A few seconds in, a glance over my shoulder confirms Michi has gone her own way as well.

Aura powers, huh. Those could be a problem… were I not a Helixian. I'm rather sure that the psychic nullification seal will make me invisible to that sense of hers, and if not, there'll be some other seal for it. Once I get home, I can read up on the specifics. May as well look for anything on ghosts, too, while I'm at it. I'll gladly make use of any knowledge HE gifts me. Or HIS texts, to be more exact. I shouldn't bother HIM in vain. And I don't want HIM to see me with that… task unfinished.

I'll just settle this on my own. After all, it's just one ghost. With good luck, it'll be dead by tonight, and that girl will have no memory of it.

Soon enough, I return home. Having unpacked the groceries, I pay my hidden room a visit and check the Helixian texts - psychic nullification works against aura as far as I can understand the description, yes… but there are no instructions on dealing with ghosts that I could easily read with my level of linguistic knowledge. Maybe I could decipher the pages given a day or two, but it's more likely I'll get what I'm after faster and more accurately from the library.

After carving the psychic nullifier into my wrist and patching up the wounds, I copy the memory-eraser's pattern to my notebook to make sure I don't get it wrong. Then I gather the supplies I think I'll need in my backpack… vial of spores, rag, duct tape, scissors, naturally the notebook… anything else?

I don't think there's anything else. I should be ready to go. I should hurry up, too - these things ended up taking longer than I initially expected. The clock of the kitchen’s microwave tells me it’s ten to three already.

Ten… to… three.

Shit.

The front door opens, and in steps Abe.

“Red! Are you ready to go?”

---​

 

[canisaries]

it's been over a month since the last chapter, it seems. whoops! either way, chapter 3 is finally revised and ready to be read. an entire scene was removed and yet this is still only about 100 words shorter than the previous version. double whoops! either way, rating is teen for this one for the same reasons as the second chapter, those being strong language and not much else. enjoy!

---

CHAPTER THREE
Analysis

---​

The mental health clinic towers over me.

One would think that a place focused on aiding the mentally troubled would try to appear as welcoming and unintimidating as possible, but clearly the architect didn't agree. Instead, the building is a soulless, washed-beige block of concrete with featureless windows.

However, that's nothing compared to the entrance, which has a low, protruding roof held up by cuboid pillars that seem far too few and slim to support the thick mass above. The comforting fact that it's a modern building keeping up to modern standards is hard to internalize with the red-green vines spiraling up the pillars and hanging from the ceiling. It almost looks overgrown, abandoned.

Oh, how I'd love to just walk away. To avoid all the invasive questions about my life and sanity. To get right back to my ghost hunt before any secrets get spilled...

But I can't. The reason why is two meters tall, reeks of musk and stands right behind me.

Yes, Abe had thought ahead. He knew he was small and dainty, that he would have no chance of forcing me out of the house and into a cab by himself. But he knew a slaking would, and what do you know, his friend happened to know one.

Naturally, I considered pulling out my knife and threatening the mon… but as I weighed my options a little more, I decided against it. While it would be best to exterminate the ghost as soon as possible, it wouldn't help me much if my brother was convinced I was too dangerous to reason with. He'd begin to try his best to get me locked up, and I'm sure he'd eventually find the hidden room - and then I'd be exposed anyway.

On the other hand, actually going to this stupid shrink and getting a professional's opinion that I'm perfectly normal would shut him right up. Probably put me in the files as clean as well. Undoubtedly a worthwhile investment.

Abe finishes paying the cab driver further behind and scurries over to me. My sight accidentally veers to the left and meets the slaking's eyes. The mon snorts. I quickly look back to Abe, who answers my stare with an innocent, pup-like smile.

"Okay, let's go," he says, then turns to the slaking. "Thanks a lot for your help. Do you think you could still stay here until twenty past and make sure he doesn't try slipping away?"

The slaking grins. "You got it, kid."

"Thanks so much, Joe. I owe you one."

We leave the mon behind and enter the clinic. The very first room is a spacious white-and-viridian hall - a dramatic change from the thin crevice of the entrance. Outside us and a receptionist in his glass-encased desk, the hall is void of people.

Abe walks up to the desk and rests his fingers on the counter. “Hi,” he begins quietly. “My brother has an appointment.”

“Name?” asks the receptionist, his eyes locked on mine as I sluggishly approach. I can tell exactly what he’s thinking. What’s the matter with this one? Nothing. But I bet that’s what they all say.

“Ichiro Akai,” Abe answers for me. "But he prefers to be called Red."

Perhaps in this context, being Ichiro would have been advantageous. With another name, it would be easier to play the part of someone you’re not. But I suppose it's too late for that now.

“Alright. Let’s see...” The man swivels to his computer and begins to click and type. Even amidst his search, his eyes flick back to me. “15.20, Dr Jordan Marsh?”

“Yes.”

“Third floor, hallway E. You can wait there.”

“Thanks.” Abe nods and heads for the stairway at the side of the hall. I'm about to follow, but then...

“Sir, is that a knife?"

I turn to the receptionist.

"You’ll have to give it up for the duration of your appointment.”

I return to the desk, steps disdainfully unhurried. With the same enthusiasm, I unstrap the scabbard from my belt and place it on the counter.

As the receptionist drags the decorated leather case through the sliver in the glass, I make sure to keep my eyes pinned to his. Once his gaze strays to meet mine, I speak three slow words, moving only my lips.

"Don't lose it."

He averts his eyes and stashes the knife in a drawer.

I return to Abe. "Third floor, hallway E?"

He nods, and so we begin our journey through the floors. The stairway, encased by concrete walls, coils around an elevator shaft as it ascends. On the second floor, an open door's frame shows a glimpse into a waiting room with minimal decor. On the third floor… the exact same view unfolds. Am I sure Celebi didn't just throw me back fifteen seconds?

My pondering of false gods fades quickly as the room comes fully to view. Three people sit on the rough-textured couches of the central area, none of them paying much attention to the quiet noises of the TV near the ceiling. One is a skinny, bony man fidgeting with his watch and twitching his leg all the while. The other man is heavier and older, slouching back while staring deeply into the blank wall opposite him. The third is a woman so reserved and tiny that I may have missed her presence entirely were it not for the tapping of her fingers on her smartphone.

I can smell the crazy off them.

"Over there," my brother whispers and points to one of the many hallways leading out of the room. The sign above does indeed say E.

After entering and turning a corner, the hallway boasts a long line of doors. Opposite them rest a few chairs and a tiny table. Abe escorts me to sit down, finally, but… he still stands there.

I sigh and lean back. "You can just leave. You know I wouldn't run off without my knife."

He rubs his arm.

“Just go. Your job is done,” I say, this time with eye contact.

"Alright," he exhales and finally walks off. "Remember, bus 20," he adds over his shoulder.

"Yep." The bus that goes from here to the high school. Abe even gave me the necessary cash for a ticket. I could’ve told him I had enough on me already, but I’m not gonna say no to free money and exact change at that.

I watch Abe disappear behind the corner, then sigh and take a lengthy blink. My arms cross themselves and my finger begins to tap. The shrink better call me in soon.

I wonder what Michi and the yamask are doing right now. Are they talking? Who knows what kind of conversation they're having. Oh, what’s that, my yamask friend? You just remembered how the woman whose face you’re carrying died? Oh, she was murdered in an occult ritual? By that man that was following us earlier? Well, that’s not very nice! We should go and tell the nice men at the police station right away!

Oh Gods, what if that’s actually what’s happening? What if they already told the police? What if they’re coming for me right now?

No, no, think about this logically. Calm down your pounding heart. They don’t have any proof. And in this country, you’re innocent until proven guilty, right? They can’t get me arrested - only questioned at best. And the cops can’t just go ahead and ransack my place based on something a ghost and a little girl said, can they? As long as no one finds out about my secret room, I’m safe. And Joanna never even knew where the room was.

Alright, that's settled. Now back to waiting impatiently. I let my eyes wander around my boring surroundings and what the hell is that?

On the table. Black smudge with legs. That's a spider. Where did it come from? Are there others nearby? No, don't move!

My body squeezes itself against the far armrest. Stop walking this way, you bastard! I don't want anything to do with you, you disgusting, unpredictable stain of a creature. You don't even look alive. You're a machine, created only to crawl into places you shouldn't be in and repulse anyone who spots your ugly silhouette.

How does it do it? How does a tiny, harmless critter set off a blaring alarm in my brain, when its cousin ariados are perfectly fine for me to look at?

That's it. I'm sick of this. I’m sounding like common prey here. I'm a predator, apex no less, and this spider will know it. No matter how repugnant you are, you're fifty steps below me in the food chain. Die.

My hand is raised, ready to squish, but it only trembles in place. I really, really don't want to feel its shell or innards on my skin. Should I use my shoe instead? It'd be far easier on my heart…

No, this is ridiculous. Red, aren't you the Bringer? Isn't it your fate to merge with the Lord of Predators and usher forth a new age?

You've killed eight human beings in a slow and painful way. You've drunk their blood and eaten their flesh. And now suddenly killing a spider by hand is off limits because the touch of one is a bit icky?

It's almost like you weren't suitable to be the Bringer after all…

Slam.

Th-there. It's done. It's dead. It's dead, right? I don't think it's moving. I just feel its broken body, its gross body. It's done, so now I can get it off. Quickly, in case it isn't dead after all.

I yank the hand off the table and swipe the palm on the knee of my jeans. Spider corpse on jeans, okay, get off, I flick it off and it drops to the floor. I'm safe. Not that I wasn't ever safe. I can just be at ease now.

“Ichiro Akai?”

Who said that? Who said that? Oh, the psych! She's standing in the frame of one of the doors, freshly opened. She?

I get up. "Yes, that's me."

“I'm Dr Jordan Marsh. Please, come in." Jordan, huh. I guess it's unisex. But more surprising is her outfit. Red cat-eye glasses, jet black bowl cut, mascara, clothes black and white with the exception of a striking red scarf. Half secretary, half rebellious teen who'd tell me giratinism is the way to go. And I'd tell them to fuck off because I already have a cult.

As I make my way to the door, I steal one last glance at the dead spider on the floor one more time. Still there. It really is dead.

I enter the room and take in its interior. Big window taking up a lot of the back wall. Desk in one corner, two armchairs in the other. Small table between the chairs. On the table lie a clock, a vase of flowers - plastic… and a box of tissues. Seriously?

Dr Marsh closes the door. "Please, have a seat."

I choose the far chair. Its dark green leather is comfortable enough. Well, faux leather, I'm sure.

The woman seats herself in the other armchair, finds an empty page in her notebook and finally brings her gaze back to me.

"So," she begins, "how are you?"

I blink. "Right now?"

"Right now."

"Fine, I guess."

"You guess?"

I suppress a frown. "I know." Is the whole thing going to be this slow?

“Alright, then...” She scribbles something in her notebook. Was… was that important?

“So, what is it that you're here for?” she asks.

"Not sure, to be honest. My brother set this up for me. Did he say why?"

"I think he told me that you seemed unhappy and on-edge. He also mentioned something about violent tendencies. Do you recognize that in yourself?"

Violent tendencies. I guess word of my reputation reached him at high school… but it's not like this lady's gonna know. "Not really. I'm just not one to wear my heart on my sleeve."

“So you’d consider yourself a mentally healthy person?”

“Yes.” Probably more than most.

“Have you had any previous diagnoses?”

“No."

"What about the Twitch?"

I flinch. So Abe told her… maybe that's why he wanted me looked at. Thought he was doing me a favor by having me open up about that to a professional.

"Right," I say, "that didn't even come to mind… I guess it shows I'm pretty much over it."

"Over it?"

Oh, please don't sound so incredulous. I don't want that experience to mark me. Sure, I still have nightmares about those days, and sure, I still can't use modern technology without terrifying flashbacks, and sure, it somehow caused me to develop an obsession towards a little marine mon, an obsession that I now desperately need to destroy for the sake of ascension… but I need the world to see me as normal despite that. Somehow. Gods, this might not be as simple as I'd previously thought. Gotta think of a reply to acknowledge this, but still downplay it enough...

“Well, I get some nightmares now and then about those times… but I know it's over now, and that calms me down each time I have one.”

She writes something in her notebook again, then returns to more mundane questions. She asks me about how well I've slept, if I'm on any medication, whether or not I use any substances… couldn't I just have filled out some form? This is taking annoyingly long. My finger starts to tap again, but I stop it.

“Alright then, moving on. Tell me, how is school for you?” Dr Marsh asks, eyes on her notes.

“It’s okay. I don’t get the highest grades, but I don’t need them.”

“That’s funny...”

Wait. Wait, I may have fucked up. “Why’s that?”

Her eyes meet mine. “Because I know you quit high school two years ago.”

I freeze. Shit, I got caught lying. How does she know I quit? Did Abe tell her? It must have been Abe. That little sneasel...

“Why did you quit?” she asks, leaning back in her chair. She has a more… relaxed air to her now. It’s like she was waiting for me to slip up.

Okay, why did I quit, why did I quit. Quitting isn’t normal. What’s normal for quitters? What’s normal for a person in my situation? I quit because the people pissed me off way too much and I needed time to hunt down sacrifices for HIM. And take care of the omanyte - well, omastar back then, but... that’s history now. But could that work as a reason here? If I let her know I cared for someone - and from others’ perspective, still do - she’s less likely to consider me a potential danger to society.

“I needed time off to care for my... friend who’d fallen ill.” I guess that’s the best word to use here, since ‘master’ and ‘lord’ are definitely out of the question.

“Helix, right? An omanyte?”

The name sounds so wrong coming from her mouth. Still, I nod.

“Your brother told me you hold Him in very high regard… even that you considered Him a ‘god’. How accurate is this?”

I force a laugh. “Well, that’s an exaggeration. Some people say they ‘worship’ the people they love, you know?”

“I believe this is usually reserved for romantic interests. Are You two --”

“N-no.” That’s just… uncomfortable to think about. “Just friends. With a strong bond.”

“Can you further describe this bond between You two? How did it form?”

Memories flood my mind. The timid eyes of a newly-hatched omanyte, the touch of its cautiously reaching arm, these sensations muffling the voices screaming inside my skull. Then an older omanyte playfully swimming in loops and circles. The sound of its ‘good morning’ as I come downstairs. The pattern of its shell, the captivating spiral. The slit pupils of perceptive, yellow eyes and the coiling of tentacles upon tentacles. The deep blue blood on Mt Silver’s snow. The pain in His voice. The pain in my chest. I feel the same pain now. My heart wrapped in coarse rope, the loops chafing the organ and getting tighter. It hurts, but it shouldn’t hurt, there shouldn't be any kind of reaction. You can’t care… no - you don’t care. You got that? You keep H- it safe and healthy for HIS benefit, but you don’t talk to it, touch it or even look at it any more than you have to, alright?

That’s how you’ll move on. By realizing it’s just an… object, a tool. A lowly organism whose breath and beating heart just happen to allow HIS powers to grow much faster. It’s not HIM. It doesn’t even know about HIM. Aside from its spirit link, it’s worthless. A distraction. And if you want to be the Bringer, you can’t let anything hold you back. HE told you so. Sever that attachment, or you have no chance - HE was very, very clear about that. Either that connection dies… or you do.

“Are you alright?”

I'm in the room again. It's weirdly quiet. Was it always this quiet?

“Yeah, just got lost in thought,” I answer, fixing my sight on my hands to keep any more images from surfacing. They’ve curled into fists. I pry them open.

Oh Gods, I just want to get out of here and get on with my plans. This isn’t worth it anymore. How could I cut this short, but do so politely and normally…? Ah, got it! Why didn't I think of this before?

“Actually, though…” I interrupt the psych's writing. “I'm sorta getting a pretty bad headache right now.”

“Oh.” She lowers her pen. “Can you not go on?”

“I don't think I can, no… I'm sorry.” I rub my forehead. “I get migraines from time to time, and this feels like one…”

“How bad is it? Do you need help?”

“Nah, no, I… I think I should just go home and sleep it off. That usually does it.”

I get up and she makes no motions to stop me. I take that as a sign of success.

“Shall we reschedule?” she asks. Dammit, she isn't done with me yet.

“Yeah, we should… I don't have a phone right now, so please call my brother.” I wobble to the door. “Thanks… goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” she replies as I walk out and close the door.

Phew. Won't have to worry about that for a while. Hopefully not before I manage to get rid of the mask.

I backtrack the route I walked with Abe, though nearly get lost on the way, as some hallways are pretty much identical. The blueprints of this place must have been just an elaborate squiggle. Nevertheless, I arrive at the main hall and resume feigning a headache, just in case. After waiting through a short line at the reception desk, I ask for my knife back and receive it. I swear I could’ve seen a hint of malicious joy in the receptionist’s eyes. Should that kind of person really be in such a social profession? I’d never put myself in a job like that.

As I exit the building, I glance around, but see no slaking. He must have left by now, good. I search for and quickly spot a bus stop a bit further down the road, sprint over and make sure I still have the cash Abe gave me in my pocket. I do. Great. There’s plenty, too - I suppose in case of the price being more than anticipated. At least that little dork thinks ahead.

Alright, bus 20. You better come soon.

---​

I step off the bus at the stop next to the high school, knowing the library is only a short walk away. I’m doubly glad about it now after having to sit next to some human-snorlax hybrid who probably hadn’t showered since his puberty began. Compared to that and the general stuffy air of public transportation, the outside’s cold gusts are refreshing - but much better is to come.

Oh, the library. While on the outside, you may look like a secret government containment unit for extraterrestrial life with your shape of octagonal dome and colors of chessboard, I know the beauty that hides inside you.

The shelves of dark, carefully lacquered wood. The books of infinite colors and patterns, like flowers in bloom. The scent of freshly baked pastries from the café in the same building, and the sound of… nothing. Nothing but a few lone steps and the swish of a turned page every now and then. No babbling, no traffic. Only serenity.

I wonder now… why haven’t I come here in such a long time? I came here all the time in high school - well, the one year I managed to spend there. I would read about biology, about anatomy, learning how exactly those organs I’d seen and handled worked… and suddenly, chemistry was interesting, physics was interesting. So many things were. I wanted to learn even more…

But then I quit. I stopped going to school. I stopped going places in general, not that there were many. I guess it all lost its meaning somehow…

Oh, whatever. I’m on a mission here. I shouldn’t be thinking of the past with the present being such a mess. A mess only I can fix - but the tools I require lie within this building.

I sprint to the doors and slip inside. It's warm, as always, and… wait, what?

Where are the wooden shelves? Where is the café? And what is that smell? It's like a rabid rattata had busted into the kitchen and knocked over everything on the spice rack! This isn't mellow and relaxing, this is an assault on the senses!

And what is going on with the library itself? It's like it's going for the opposite effect, sensory deprivation! Where are the colors? Where are the textures? Everything's grayscale, everything's plastic! Even the books look like they're wilting…

Who would do this? Who would like this? Is it so important for those modernist snobs to shove their so-called art in people's faces that they've begun defacing public property?

Gods… my hand draws itself to my forehead. I feel weak. The scent… it's not just spices - which seem to come from a deli that stands where the café used to - I can even pick up rubber and new paint. A sure recipe for a headache… is this divine retribution for lying about having one before?

Forget it, it's not important. What's important is finding out how to get rid of that ghost. I can lament the state of our society some other time.

Alright. I calm my nerves and head to the Fact section. From there, Biology, Pokémon, Ghost. One shelf. A shelf not made of sturdy wood with elegant striping, but a long metal sheet bent into a squiggle to constrict the books within… no, don’t let your thoughts wander, get back on track. I pick a book that looks comprehensive enough - The Complete Guide to Ghosts - and sit down on the closest chair I find.

Skimming the book, it seems most of this information is either already familiar to me or completely irrelevant. Everyone knows dark beats ghost by first grade, and I doubt knowing the exact density and composition of a gastly's smoke is going to help with my current situation. Are yamask gone over in this book? I skip to the glossary and look under Y - nope. To hell with this book, then. I return it to the shelf and look for the next…

Unfortunately, the same repeats with that book. And the third. Fourth. Fifth. Or, well, not quite. Some of them mentioned yamask. One even included an illustration… but that was all. No new information gained.

Is there no book specifically on yamask? There has to be. Though there's no guarantee there would be one in this library. That thought takes my heart in its hand and bounces it like a basketball. What if I can't find the information on my own? I'll have to ask somebody, and that'll leave a trace, a big stinking one at that. I can't have that… but the alternative is to try and search the internet, and I… I can't…

No, focus! Don't give up yet! There are still plenty of books to go through.

I scan the backs of each yet again. Generic, generic, gastly line, misdreavus line, generic… hold on. Some of these have been pushed in back first. I flip around a few. Generic, Ghosts of Hoenn, Faces of the Past: The Unovan Ya-

Yamask.

The golden mask on the cover stares deep into my eyes with its empty sockets. It whispers congratulations on finding it.

I open the book right away. Tell me, what is a yamask?

Yamask, specifically the Unovan variant, are ghost-type pokémon with shadow-like bodies and large red eyes that seem to drip a viscous liquid. With their arms or prehensile tail, they carry a golden mask that resembles a human face . . . Okay, all of that I already knew. Skipping a bit further…

As with many other ghost pokémon, it has long been believed that these creatures are reincarnations of humans that have perished in the past. In the case of the Unovan yamask and its Galarian cousin, however, there has been significantly more evidence in favor of this theory than for other ghost species. There exist numerous records of Unovan yamask remembering experiences of the person whose face they appear to carry as well as retaining attitudes and behaviors the deceased was reported to have possessed . . .

Shit. It’s as I feared. The ghost is either Joanna herself or an imitation functionally equivalent to the real thing…

But I suppose it makes little difference. I’d already decided to kill the thing, no matter what it was. And speaking of killing, let’s try to find something on that next...

I continue my skimming. It seems that these yamask are most numerous near the ruins of an ancient desert civilization in Unova, but also appear elsewhere around the world, seemingly at random. They can also evolve - they can, now?

I flip the page to meet a fierce gaze. Red eyes filled with malice stare from the darkness inside of a sarcophagus. Four arms of shadow reach at the camera, seeking to grasp the viewer into a cold embrace and… eat them, maybe, I don’t know, haven’t gotten that far. But it’s also not relevant for me as long as I’m fast enough not to let Joanna evolve, so I skip to the glossary for clues on how to eliminate a yamask specimen.

Some jumping between pages lets me know the gist. With ghosts, the most obvious answer is always an exorcism. There are two kinds: fatal and non-fatal, and the names refer to what happens to the ghost as a result. Fatal destroys the ghost, ‘banishing’ it from reality, while non-fatal exorcisms are used to simply force a ghost out of a person, object or location without necessarily harming the spirit. They’re also apparently harder to pull off.

Well, then it’s a good thing I want this thing wiped off the earth! Fatal is the obvious choice. But then again… exorcisms can’t be that simple. And if they require actual faith to work, they definitely won’t be my thing. Were I not serving a god I’ve witnessed with my own two eyes, I’d dismiss religion entirely.

Oh, there appears to be another way of handling things. It involves taking the creature’s mask and wearing it, which will cause one to be possessed. This will make the ghost tangible within the host’s reality, allowing the human to land a deadly strike to destroy the yamask once and for all. However, this technique only tends to work with new ghosts and with the element of surprise at hand as the ghost can easily escape from reach soon after the possession's beginning...

Well, aren't I lucky to be dealing with a first-time ghost, then? Sounds like all I have to do is be quick and cunning, and that's what HE has trained me to be. This'll be a piece of cake.

Still, I should look into that exorcism business. It'd be foolish not to have a back-up plan. Back to the shelf it is…

---​

I fold the napkin and tuck it in my pocket. I really should’ve brought my notebook along.

I stop to stare at the ballpoint pen I’d borrowed to scribble down the instructions to one exorcism I found. Should I return it, or accept it as compensation for the horrible renovation of this place? Eh, I guess I’ll return it. I have enough enemies as is.

I walk up to the librarian and return the pen with a smile and a thank you - just to see if I was still capable of performing such actions, I suppose. I exit the library and --

Sunlight! Sweet, golden sunlight, unobstructed by clouds, oh, this is wonderful. I guess the sky is clearing up after all! And the fresh air… I breathe my lungs full of it. Oh, Gods, yes, this is what it’s all about.

I lean on a lightpost for a brief moment of deeper relaxation - but an unexpected texture against my hoodie's arm scatters my thoughts. Plastic among metal. I glance for an answer.

ARCEUS SAVES, reads a tacky blue sticker. Oh, so those morons are loose in this neighborhood…

But my frown melts away as fast as it came. Such trivialities can't bring me down now. I finally have the answers I need. The road onward is clear, and at the end of that road… I have the privilege of another kill. It's only fair, really. I wasn't there to see her die the first time. This time is another story.

What flickered back at the supermarket earlier today will soon get to blaze.

Tonight, the predator is on the hunt.

---​

 

[canisaries]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA IT'S BEEN THREE MONTHS BUT HERE WE FINALLY ARE. chapter four. things happen in this one, you'll love it. rated mature again because language and violence. okay thank you for reading and enjoy

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CHAPTER FOUR
Life

---​

Dappled sunlight dances atop the forest scene.

The dirt, the moss, the needles, my body... they all bask in the scattered glow, taking in whatever warmth it has to offer.

The path before me winds and forks, leading astray the less familiar, but no hesitation plagues my steps. I know the way.

The trees sway gently in the breeze, filling the air with the scent of their sap. Every now and then, a local inhabitant rustles through the foliage - a pidgey, a sentret, what have you.

The sun, the path and the trees - my spotlight, my red carpet and my crowd. They're all here to cheer me on, the star of the show, and guide me to the stage, wherever it may be. I have to keep a sharp eye out for it, lest it find me first. And that's not how the playwright wants it.

The sign of the stage, the mark to confirm its discovery, is fortunately unmistakable: pale pink hair. Yes, the location of my stage is wherever my antagonist --

"Fuck you!"

Oh fuck, she found me, what do I do --

No, no, wait, that wasn’t Michi’s voice. And turning around confirms she’s not there. Instead…

"Fuck you!" chirps the pidgey perched in a nearby rowan. Its beady black eyes radiate innocence, starkly contrasting its words. Why would…

Oh, I think I get why. Some young kid, maybe with a friend or two, had learned that some birds like to mimic speech, and taught this one to say this hilarious catchphrase. They must have encouraged it with treats, and now it wants me to reward its performance.

Well, I have nothing for it. "Shoo," I hiss with a flick of my hand.

"Shoo," it repeats. Oh, great.

I step towards the bird, but still it keeps its perch. What's wrong with this thing? Doesn't it know to be scared? Don't tell me even the birds in this town have become domesticated…

"Seriously, leave," I growl, now waving my whole arm. I don't want it picking up anything incriminating once I start my show.

The pidgey studies the extended limb with curious eyes, and... flits onto it.

I can't even move. It's too absurd. This thing weighs no more than the gloves I'm wearing, and yet it shows no second thoughts about jumping right onto a predator's body.

At least I'm lucky to have those gloves. Wouldn't want to catch any parasites from this puffball.

"Shoo," it repeats again, hopping closer along my forearm.

That's it. This is insulting. Am I not a predator to be feared? Am I not a danger to be escaped? Am I just a walking feeding station to you? What insolence. This pidgey needs to go.

I raise my other hand, take aim, imagine the collision with the creature’s fragile body…

...no. It wouldn’t be right.

It wouldn’t be right to break those feathers, bend them funny, ruin that perfect array of quills. Possibly even snap one of its hollow, delicate bones whose light frame allow it its flight.

There’s no satisfaction in destroying something like this. It doesn’t break beautifully. It’s only elegant if intact.

With a sigh, I lower the hand and bring down to the pidgey. The bird hops onto my palm and sits down almost immediately. I give its belly a gentle scratch with my thumb. The pidgey leans in, narrowing its eyes in enjoyment. Even through the glove, I can feel its softness and warmth.

These woods are their own ecosystem. I’ll leave it to the local predators to teach this bird to fear if needed.

“Jo-to-to!”

Another birdcall from afar. Sounded like a pidgeotto. It catches the pidgey's attention, for sure - it raises its head and erects its little crest.

This may be my chance to slip away. “Come on,” I say, nudging the bird with my fingers, “go see your… mom, or whoever it is.”

The pidgey chirps - at least it still knows how to chirp - and flies off to the direction of the call. Yes, great. Now I can get back to hunting my own prey.

I continue along the path to the cabin, eyes and ears sharp as a noctowl’s, ready to latch onto anything that sticks out. Each step I take is as silent as can be. Even my heart pounds louder. I hope this rush of blood in my ears doesn’t mask any important noises…

On instinct, my fingers brush against my thigh. As they fail to find the scabbard, a lance of dread pierces my heart - but it withdraws just as quickly as I remember my knife is in my backpack. I’ll get to reclaim it once the first scene is over. For now, though, it must remain hidden. I can’t come in with my fangs bared.

Rustling. I freeze in place. That wasn’t caused by me or the wind. So either it was a mon, or…

Pink. Among the bushes further ahead. Its position, its motion… it must be her.

My lips draw into a smirk. And so the curtain rises.

I reset my face, then sprinkle on a little ignorance. Voice painted with innocence, I call out. “Hello?”

The pink darts up at the noise. Just like a nidoran, so alert...

“Yeah, you,” I add, casually approaching. “I need to talk to you.”

As the vegetation thins out, I see her face, her eyes. Shocked, yet unquestionably defiant. She plants her feet more firmly on the ground, slips her hand into her pocket and -- yes, the knife! Her dull little incisors. Not made to gnaw through flesh, but ready to try - only in self-defense, of course, but no less painfully.

“Where is your aura?” she asks. Oh, good. The seal works, then.

I stop, tilting my head. “What?”

“Your aura. It’s...” she begins, but as her eyes wander on my mask of confusion, she decides I know no more than her. “Whatever. What do you want?”

I force a sigh. "Listen. I'm sorry about how I acted before. I'm not… good with people."

Her stare is unrelenting. No sympathy for just that, huh.

"Okay, I'll get to the point," I say, taking off my backpack. "The yamask you were with… I knew her. Her name was Joanna. Has she told you that?"

Michi raises her brow. After a pause, she asks, "How did you know her, then?"

"Neighbor," I say, kneeling on the ground and placing the backpack in front of me. "Her apartment in Viridian was next to mine. I know it doesn't sound like a lot, but --"

"Sure doesn't."

I refrain from glaring at the brat and continue. "I know, but we did talk. Friendly chatter, though I… I would've liked it to be more. She was really nice, you know, and pretty…"

"Get to the point, lover boy."

Sheesh, this nidoran's not shy with her quills. She's not seeing through my facade, is she?

"Anyway," I stress, "I came here because I think I can help her. I can remind her of her old life. If she remembers that, she might remember what caused her to disappear and..." I keep the rest in my mouth and pretend it tastes bitter. "S-so… will you let me see her?"

Her eyes stay cold. "Can you prove any of this?"

I drag a veil of dejection over my face and look away. “Uhh… I mean, I don’t really know how I’d prove it. I was hoping you could just trust me on this...”

“You’re not very bright, are you.”

Well, neither are you, if you know who you’re dealing with...

I suppress a scowl, instead fiddling with my fingers, pretending not to know what to do. Well, half-pretending. I didn’t expect her to be this stubborn - she looked like the naive type, but I guess I was wrong.

“Listen,” I say with some rediscovered confidence and meet her eyes again. “Can you at least let me give you something? It’s a scarf of hers. She wore it a lot before she accidentally dropped it on the street. I took it, and I was gonna give it back, but I was kinda shy about it...”

”So you stole from her, too?”

I ignore her and begin digging through my bag. She’s gonna regret all this lip once I get the upper hand.

There is indeed a scarf in the bag. It’s rather plain - no interesting pattern or colors, just solid black - but it’s warm. And being my mother’s, it has a woman’s scent, if someone was capable of telling that. In any case, it’s a believable enough prop.

But I’m not going for it, not yet. Instead, there’s a vial underneath it, along with a rag. As silently as I can, I pop open the plastic cap and pour some of the vial’s contents onto the rag. I close it and drop it, hanging on only to the rag, and raise my hands out of the bag with the scarf covering them.

As I stand up, I see some intrigue in Michi’s eyes. Beginning to believe me, is she? Good.

She makes no motions to leave as I walk towards her, but keeps her knife out and ready.

I stop and sigh. “Please, just take it. It’s the least you can do.”

She stays still. Until… yes.

She approaches with cautious steps, keeping her knife before her. Her eyes flick back and forth between the scarf and my face. I keep my expression somewhere between hope and resignation.

I can't quite tell if each step makes her more at ease or less, but it makes little difference as long as the gap between us is closing. Finally, she arrives at an arm's length and reaches out.

My lack of motion calms her. She grabs onto the scarf and pulls it towards herself --

I grab her knife with my left hand still covered by the scarf and shove the rag onto her face with my right. The force knocks her backwards, and I drop with her, pinning her down where she lands.

Shock widens her eyes. Her free arm claws at my face, but I push it down with a knee and keep it there. Both her arms immobilized, all she can do is scream and flail her legs. The rag keeps her muffled and her knee strikes - while determined - only manage to bruise.

I can’t hide my smile, not that I would even try.

This is it. This is what it’s all about, what I’m meant to do! Stalk, strike and entrap! Feel the victim squirm in vain, overpowered by my superior strength! Oh, her useless struggle is so amusingly pathetic. It's like playing with an ant - no, an ant can bite. She can't do even that!

And with every second, her motions get lazier. The spores - my venom - they’re wearing her down. Her screams lose their volume, her motions their vigor, until she gets sufficiently limp to no longer be a threat.

I peel the knife out of her hand and pocket it, then leave her to fetch my backpack. Some noises leave her mouth while I dig out the duct tape and scissors, but they’re hardly louder than a mewl of a meowth.

Wasting no time, I crawl back to her, cut off a piece of tape and glue it onto her mouth. Ignoring her now nasal whines, I flip her over and bind her wrists behind her back.

Alright! That’s the first phase over with. I can catch my breath a little, fix my hair, retrieve my knife from the bag and reattach the scabbard to my belt. Gods, it feels good to have that back.

A sharp spike in troubled breathing clues me in on the girl having noticed the weapon. I meet her stare with a smile.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt you.” I pause to drop the smile. “As long as you behave.”

I zip the bag shut and hoist it onto my back, and then it’s time for the other cargo. I flip the girl belly-up again and edge my arms underneath her body. She's not the lightest weight to lift - but I manage without trouble, because of course I do. I am a Helixian.

“Alright, kid,” I say, “let’s go see your friend.”

“Mhhh…!” That was probably an attempt at a scream.

“Oh, please, you deal with ghosts,” I purr and lean close to her face. “Surely I can’t be that scary?”

To her credit, what she’s giving me right now is the angriest droopy-eyed stare I’ve seen.

Because I like being an asshole, I lean even closer, right next to her ear. Nose to her temple, I take a deep sniff. She growls.

I chuckle, withdrawing. “I’m just kidding! I’m not that weird.”

I find my way back to the path and continue on the way to the cabin. Michi doesn't do much to stop me. She probably knows well that she can't - or that she shouldn’t, her captor having the means and will to hurt her quite badly.

The woods around us stay rather silent. There’s no noise outside the occasional gusts and the constant hum of faraway traffic, which one can easily imagine as just more wind if technology pisses them off. It sure does in my case. I prefer things natural, be they transport or the laws of life.

I breathe the air in through my nostrils, enjoying its crisp coolness and aroma of pinewood. How tranquil, and yet the situation is so dire. The poor, helpless child in the clutches of a monster. And soon she'll have to trade her friend's life for hers. Simply hair-raising. Excitement, drama! This is what I’ve been missing.

Although… this walk is taking a while. It feels a bit awkward just to stay silent like this.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" I speak. I pause for a reply, fully revelling in the fact that I know she can't give one.

"Beautiful forest, too. You picked a good place to hang out," I continue. "And that shack… well, it seems like a place I would've loved to hide away at as a boy. Even if it would get cold at night and the walls likely have mold in them…"

I frown. "I guess that's a lot rarer nowadays, kids playing in the woods. They've got their prescribed playgrounds and - ugh, smartphones…"

I return my gaze to her face. "I guess I gotta hand it to you, then, for being different. Still having that wildness in you."

She only shows reserved suspicion, as strongly as she can with the spores clouding her brain.

"Go ahead, take the compliment," I say, smirking. "They're rare to get from me."

No change. Those bright blue eyes stay alarmed.

I shrug. "Well, it's alright. It's not like you'll remember any of this afterwards, anyway."

After a couple more turns, we finally reach the clearing with the shack. I scan the windows for any sign of the ghost, but find nothing. Hopefully she’s there anyway.

“Here comes your part...” I whisper, lowering Michi onto her feet. I reach for my knife --

Fuck! My shin, she -- she kicked it? And now she’s --

I leap after her, easily catching up to her tottering attempt at a run. As soon as she’s within arm’s reach, I grab firmly onto the hood of her jacket and pull her back, drawing a whimper from her throat. Desperate, she struggles - until she spots the glistening blade held up to her neck.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough before,” I growl. “You either behave, or you get hurt. Got it?”

She gives a cautious nod.

“Good. Now, walk with me.”

I turn her around and bring her closer to the cabin, about two meters from the door. I still can’t spot Joanna, but with Michi at my disposal, I hope that will soon change.

“Yamask!” I call out as well as I can while still keeping my volume on the lower side. "I have your friend. If you don’t want her to get hurt, come outside. Now. And do it slowly! If you make any sudden motions, my hand might just slip!”

I watch the area for any motion, but none comes. No new sounds arise, either. Just the noises of the environment and the tense breathing of me and my hostage.

“I'm holding a knife, if you didn't know,” I continue.

Still nothing. Man. She’d better answer soon, or this is gonna get complicated.

Hm. Maybe if...

“Tell you what,” I say. “I’m gonna count down from ten, and if by then you haven’t shown up...”

My left hand latches onto Michi’s neck, drawing out a whine. She’s like a squeaky toy, fun.

“...I’m gonna slit her fucking throat. Alright? Alright. Starting now.”

I loosen my grip on the girl’s neck, but only to draw her closer by her chest.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

Joanna’s really taking her time. She’s not gonna leave the girl for dead, is she? That’s not the woman I stalked. But could she be overwhelmed by her fear? Her sense of self-preservation?

“Six, five...” I raise my voice. Are you not hearing this, Joanna? Michi’s trembling. Even I’m unsettled.

“Four!”

“Maah!”

I stop. That’s her. Oh, thank fuck, I won’t have to improvise. I exhale in relief. So does Michi.

I clear my throat. “I can’t understand that,” I shout at the cabin - I’m pretty sure the voice came from there. “Come out. Slowly.”

The cabin’s door cracks open, and something slides out. A floating, ink-black shadow - and grasped in her hands, the familiar golden face. Deep red fluid leaks from the creature’s eyes. Through them shines misery.

Finally. A faint smile crosses my face. “Hi, Joanna.”

Her ghostly fingers grab the edge of her mask a little more firmly.

“Do you remember me?” I ask, walking towards her, Michi shuffling along. Joanna stays put. She knows I can't hurt her.

As there’s no response, I continue. “I have good reason to believe that you either do or eventually will. But even if that's not the case… I can't have you floating out and about, flaunting that face. Someone might end up finding out the truth. Do you know what that truth is, Joanna? Do you remember?”

She hugs her mask.

“Well, whether you remember or not, I suppose I can tell you. It’s not like either of you will be able to spread it around once we’re done here. But first...”

I throw a glance at the door. “I’d like for us to take this inside.”

Four seconds pass before Joanna actually realizes I’m asking her to lead us in and opens the door. Maybe dying does something to your wits.

Dragging Michi along, I follow Joanna in, not once taking my eyes off the ghost. She watches me with equal vigilance.

But once the door has closed, I’m free to study the interior of the building. To the left is a door to another room hardly the third of this one. Ahead, a brick hearth and a cracked, full-length mirror. To the right, a pile of blankets and mattresses in the corner, and a wooden table flanked by benches against the wall.

Above the fireplace hangs a picture frame, but its contents are long gone, lost to time. It holds nothing but a ragged, black mess now. On the table flickers the light of a rusty oil lamp. Its smudgy glass blurs the outlines of the flame within, but the fire still burns bright and warm.

“An oil lamp, huh?” I turn to Michi, whose only response is a nervous glance. “You really are resourceful.”

I nudge her toward the bench. “Anyway, sit here, won’t you.” She obeys, and I put down my backpack beside her, my knife still at her throat. I dig out the duct tape and bind her shins, using my teeth in place of my knife hand.

“There,” I say as I sit next to her. “Now you can’t go running off.”

I wrap my knife-arm around her shoulder. It’s the most comfortable posture to take while still tightly holding the girl’s life in my hands. Definitely not comfortable for her, though, but that only makes it better.

“So,” I start, locking eyes with Joanna, “what happened? Well, you’re dead. You might have guessed that by now. Something you might also have guessed is that it wasn’t a natural death, that someone killed you. And that someone?”

I tap my chest, smiling. Joanna winces.

“But why did I kill you, then?” I raise an eyebrow. “What was my motive? Was I maybe a boyfriend that caught you fucking another man?” I shake my head. “No, nothing quite so trivial.”

I lean back. "The truth is that there was nothing personal about it. You just happened to fit the criteria my lord has for HIS offerings. Young, female, healthy… and, for the sake of my own security, you had few close contacts. So I took you. I took you and gave you to HIM. And HE was pleased."

Joanna glances around, fidgeting with her mask.

I frown. "Right, I guess you don't know who HE is. Well, HE… HE is magnificent. HE is terrifying. HIS nature is beyond mortal comprehension - all we can do is stare in awe as our pathetic brains try to scramble together some explanation. HE was there before the world, before time. Far before we humans came to be.

“Us humans, though, were of interest to HIM. That’s why HE recruited some followers, followers that would go on to conquer an entire kingdom. Under HIS rule, that kingdom flourished. It was a glorious era.

"Sadly, that kingdom only stood for a few hundred years. HE foresaw its end well in time, however, and had himself hidden to await a better time. Millennia later, I found HIM - and now, I will be the one to restore HIS kingdom. The Helixian Kingdom. Where the strong thrive and feed on the weak, as it should be. No more prey ruling the predators, no more laws to suppress us. True freedom."

Such words leave a good taste in my mouth. It’s a shame I can never speak like this outside meetings with HIM - or talking by myself, but that just feels sad.

I don’t even get to tell my victims this. I have to keep them unconscious until the beginning of the ritual, and after that, it all has to go according to the script. No time for chit-chat. I love it all the same, but sometimes it feels like my head will burst if I have to keep all these thoughts behind sealed lips.

I should probably cut this here, though. The longer I talk, the more likely it is for someone to overhear, even if the chance stays relatively low.

“Alright, that’s enough about me. Let's get to the point.”

I extend a hand to Joanna. “I'm gonna need you to give me that mask.”

“...Maa?”

“Are you questioning me?”

I grab Michi’s chin and push it up high, fully exposing her throat. Her neck resists the motion with pitifully insufficient strength, and realizing that helplessness, her breathing becomes even quicker than before.

“Did you forget where you are? Do you want to see her throat slit?” I growl. I know I’d want to. I'm breathing faster, too.

“Mah… m-mah…!”

The fluid from the ghost’s eyes spurts out like blood from a bad cut as her face contorts in agony, but the red vaporizes the moment it hits the floor. Her fingers, furiously trembling, grasp the rim of the mask like a cliff she was hanging by.

“It's just a mask,” I whisper, feigning concern with a furrowed brow. “It’s not worth an innocent child’s life.”

I extend my hand again. Chin freed, Michi shrinks like a squirtle withdrawing into its shell.

Joanna, on the other hand, keeps shivering, but makes no other motions. Not giving it, huh?

“Alright, I guess I'll have to do this again…” I sigh. “Ten. Nine.”

“Maah! Mah!” she howls. She takes one of her hands off the mask, shakingly offering the golden object forward with the other. There we go.

Calmly, I grab the mask - shuddering at its surprising coldness - and draw it to myself.

“I'm glad you chose this way, Joanna,” I say, turning the mask in my hand. Its gleaming surface reflects back a stretched, distorted version of my face. “Not only is it beneficial for me, but most would consider it morally correct. You’re living your second life, the girl her first. It's just common sense.”

The mask's still cold… but eh, what can you do. It’s not like it’ll be comfortable to wear anyway, not with a woman’s face and this jawline. Wait. It's not gonna change my face to hers or some karmic shit like that, is it? No, no it won't, there would’ve been something about it in the book if it would. Just put it on already, get it over with.

I bring the mask to my face and press it on. The chill burns - I grit my teeth to help bear it. At least it fits well, surprisingly enough. Really well...

Wait. It's sticking to my face. Is it that cold, cold enough to freeze onto my skin? I better get this off and warm it first so it doesn't sting so damn bad...

...hey. Hey, get off. Get off! It -- It's not coming off! It won't -- oh Gods, I can't breathe, I --

The other hand! I need the -- gotta sheathe the knife, fuck, but it’ll be fine, Michi can't get away while she's… not important now! I hook my nails under the rim and pull. Fuck! That hurts! But I have to, I need to get it off, to breathe again…

It's -- it's warming up? Getting sticky? The rim… the rim is gone! But the mask's still there, has to be since my mouth is covered, my nostrils, my lungs try to draw in air but get nothing, how can I --

Knife, knife! Cut it open! I grab the knife, feel for the gap between the lips -- there it is --

Pop!

Air! Air, streaming into my lungs, pushed out, sucked in again, refreshing my blood. The darkness encircling my vision backs off, fades. I'm alive, I'm alive.

Gods. Okay. I'm on the floor, wheezing. What was I doing again? Joanna! I need to kill Joanna! Where is she?

I stumble upright. It's so blurry. Everything's blurry, but there’s brown and gray but no black or red or -- something's appearing. That's her. That’s her! Strike!

I squeeze the handle of my knife. I can hear its blade gleam. The wrist bends with grace as the arm raises the weapon. The metal is an extension of me. The sneasel’s claw, the scyther’s scythe.

Joanna’s so clear now, now in this split second before her demise. Her black is the deepest black, her red the most vivid of reds… like blood. More. More of it, now. She will bleed.

Slash.

Yes, she’s full of it - the warm, sticky, salty, wonderful red fluid. And flesh. She has flesh. She’s corporeal. She feels pain. She’s dying.

Again!

The black smoke enveloping those guts tears like wrapping paper. That’s what it is. A present. A gift for me for being this way. Strong. Agile. Bloodthirsty. A hunter.

Stab! This time it’s a stab! The blade slides into her body, through it, into the wooden wall behind and stopping. Look at her, pain in her eyes, slipping away from this world to the void. Where she belongs. There should only be one life. I only have one life. No one else deserves more.

The smoke melts. It ignites with a white, white fire. It spreads to her whole body, eats at its edges. I can’t take my eyes off her terrified expression. She knows she’s dying. She knows I’m killing her. I am ending her. The flames grip her by the temples. One last look, and she’s swallowed by the blaze.

Gone.

The light is gone. Joanna is gone.

No more.

It has been done.

---​

 

[canisaries]

it's only been one month this time! we're slowly getting better. anyway, here we go with the last chapter of the first roughly defined act. very excited, not just because of the content of this chapter, but because we'll be getting to the real good stuff after this...

the revision ended up adding about a thousand words instead of condensing the chapter as i'd expected so feedback regarding what could be condensed (if it needs condensing) is appreciated. but so is all other kinds of feedback as it always as been!

rated mature for violence against a minor, blood, strong language.

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CHAPTER FIVE
Death

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It's quiet.

No wind, nothing. Only my own breath and the pounding in my chest. Frantic, but second by second slowing down to a calmer, if still fast, rhythm.

But… I killed her. Shouldn't I be back? Looking around, everything is still muted, hazy… dreamlike. If killing her is not the way back, then what…

...is my face… drying?

It feels… crusty, ugh. And cool. Cold. A layer of something is forming onto it. Solidifying. Is it...

Oh Gods. I gotta open my mouth before --

“Mmphh!”

It's too late! My mouth, my nostrils - they're sealed shut!

Nails! Fuck, no, nails don't do anything! Only screeches, screeches from the scraping. And the air, the air in my lungs, losing its oxygen, turning sour, toxic...

What is this? Joanna's last attempt at vengeance? Some sort of automatic curse? It's already the second time this mask has tried to suffocate me, but at least last time --

Crack!

I gasp. Air. It's back. My face feels warm, normal. The world’s still a blur, but the colors… richer colors… blink. Blink blink blink. Getting clearer. The cabin. Normal colors. Am I back? I can hear something… the wind! I'm back. Gods, thank the Gods.

I collapse to my knees from both exhaustion and relief. The knife drops from my hand, landing next to me on the cool wooden planks. I inhale, exhale, shakily repeat. Blood rushes to my brain and eyes. I'm coming back to life.

Something gleams on the floor. Shards. Golden. Of the mask? Must be. It broke on my face. That was that impact I felt. What caused that? What caused this whole thing? Was this… was this just transition to reality? I… I guess. I mean, the shift to the spiritual plane or whatever it was also had me nearly suffocating, only fitting that...

A sizzle. The shards. They've caught fire. White fire, the same that took Joanna. Does that mean it's ending? Truly ending this time? Yes. Yes! Burn!

“H…hah...hahaha…”

Why that laughter is leaving my body, I don’t know, but it feels appropriate.

The fire consumes the shards and, like smoke, dissipates in the air. The floor below isn't even charred.

It really is over now.

My ears catch the sound of something shifting behind me. I turn my head. It’s Michi, on the bench. She’s trying to get away. But her startled eyes tell me being spotted has stopped that for now.

Right, I still have her to deal with…

I grab my knife, or try to - the first two tries miss, I guess because I’m still a bit out of it. But on the third try, my palm catches the silky hilt, and I’m reunited with my dear partner.

I get up, and -- whoa, whoa, I’m light. I mean, I can feel the weight of each limb, but they’re light as feathers to move. Have I always been this strong?

I catch my reflection in the mirror and study it further. I’m tall. My shoulders, wide, while my waist is narrow… a silhouette so masculine, yet so graceful. And look at that pretty face, pretty hair! By the Gods, I’m beautiful! No wonder HE chose me! I’m perfect!

I take off my gloves and inspect my hands. Such nice hands. I want to feel this reality with them, no fabric in the way.

I turn to Michi. She’s so small. Afraid. And I'm so not that. The contrast is almost tangible.

But, yeah… I guess now I should get the spores and put her under so I can carve the memory erasing seal onto her skin. She’ll have a weird scar and maybe wonder what that is, but nothing should tie it to me. No one will remember Joanna's ghost, save for a few people that may have caught a glimpse, and I'll get away with this just like I've gotten away with all the other murders. Man, it's so easy. Killing people is so easy!

I walk over to the bag, about to zip it open, but stop. After I've drugged her and carved the seal… this'll all be over. I'll just go home and - well, I will perform that exorcism just in case, but besides that… nothing more. I'll return to my boring life and be right where I started. Nothing gained from this adventure, only a danger patched up.

But just take a look at what you have here. A scared little girl tied up and you feeling like a god. Your bloodthirst still unquenched. You need to get that out of your system. Killing a ghost didn't do it. But how about… a chase?

I study Michi with my eyes, and she answers the gaze with uncertainty and fear. Young child, girl, pink hair. Come on, now, she's a personification of innocence. And you? You kill people. You serve the Lord of Predators. You’re the ideal evil - a concept that doesn't exist to you, but does for a narrative. You like being the bad guy. You love it. You always saw the Big Bad Houndoom as something to admire. That's what you wanted to be, powerful and feared. And now you're in the woods, in grandma's cabin. Do you need it spelled out for you?

“Hey, Michi…” I start. My voice is deep. Intimidating. Masculine. I really hit the jackpot with this set of genes! “You know how I said I wouldn't hurt you?”

She recoils.

“No, don't worry, that still stands. I just want to… play a little before we say goodbye.”

With my knife, I saw through the tape binding her shins together. I half expect a kick, but none comes. That's a good girl.

“This is actually great for you, you know,” I say, grabbing the wool-lined hood of her coat, and prompt her to stand up with my knife. I escort her outside and continue.

“What I'm gonna do is let you go. You're going to run, and after a while, I'll come after you. If I catch you, I'll do what I was planning to do and wipe your memory of this whole incident. But if you get away… you get away. And you can tell the world all about what happened here today. Avenge Joanna, if you want to think of it like that. Doesn't that sound great?”

I smile at her, and while the duct tape covers her mouth, I'm pretty sure she doesn't smile back.

I pat her shoulder. “You're a pretty impressive kid, Michi. I trust you to give me a good chase.”

I clear my throat. “Alright. When I say ‘go’ and take my hand off your shoulder, you have my permission - and order - to run like hell. Do you understand?”

She nods, and for the first time in a while, a spark of hope ignites in her eyes. So she still has some of that in her. May it fuel her and guide her way in these dense woods.

I draw in a deep breath. The air is cool, fresh. Still and calm. Before the storm. And now, it’s time.

“Get ready, Michi.”

She tenses up beneath my hand. I tense up, too.

“Three. Two. One...”

The volume of my voice lowers with each word, making the final one barely more than a whisper.

“Go.”

Like a day-old girafarig, she stumbles into a trot, then a gallop. I stretch my neck and back. Shed the mareep skin, let the bristly fur breathe. I wait for her to slip between the spruces at the edge of the opening. Then I begin.

Gravel flies at the cabin wall as I kick myself into motion. With a mere few strides, I’m already so fast. I dive into the woods, her pink hair in my sights.

The forest terrain is lumpy and scattered with rocks and roots, but does it slow me down? No. Every step is as stable and secure as a tauros’, but as speedy and streamlined as those of a dodrio. They’re flightless, but still flying - this is not running, this is gliding. Splitting the air and pushing through it like any mon of the skies would.

But I am no bird, no bovine. I am a houndoom. Horns crown my head, pointed teeth line my jaws, scalding steam escapes my throat with every exhalation. I am a killing machine. While my prey...

Little feet, little body, so frail. A sparkless pichu, its usually rosy cheeks pale with fear. Too light to even make audible noise as its tiny paws tap the ground, when the houndoom’s thumps can be felt to the bone.

Step, step, step, jump, step, hop, leap, step, step, duck, step. The houndoom knows only three things - the woods, the pichu and him. Nothing else matters, nothing else exists.

The pursuit goes on and on, but the houndoom gets ever closer to the pichu. The pichu wheezes. She weakens already. The houndoom’s fiery breath speaks as it rushes in and out of his lungs. Keep running. Don't you want to live?

Eight meters between the predator and his prey. Seven meters. A stream! She barely makes the jump. Five meters. Four meters. Dodge rock. Three meters. She can tell I’m right behind. Two meters. One meter. Pounce.

She screams.

Teeth clamp around her neck with the force of a tyranitar. The predator flips her over, then seizes her throat again. She gags. Her limbs flail. In vain. The grip gets tighter. Her blue eyes lose focus. Consciousness is leaving her. The last thing she will feel is pain as the houndoom drains her life to fuel his own.

But houndoom don’t have hands, do they?

They don’t. Then why are there hands? Wasn’t it supposed to be teeth around her neck, not hands? Wasn’t she supposed to be a fuzzy little pichu?

She’s not. She’s human. I’m human.

Wait --

The hands relax. I pull them back. The palms feel cool after the warm touch of her skin.

Beneath me lies Michi, motionless. Did I…

Hand shaking, I bring two fingers to her neck.

Thump, thump. Okay, she's not dead. She's just unconscious. Unconscious from… strangulation. By me.

But I… wasn't supposed to do that. I wasn't supposed to strangle her. And certainly not to death, as I just seemed to be doing. I was supposed to drug her and carve the seal… wait. Drug...

I left my bag back at the cabin. I wouldn’t have even been able to drug her. Did I totally forget? Was I thinking… at all?

Well, I… I guess she’s passed out now anyway, so I should just make the seal. I unsheathe my knife and grab Michi’s right wrist, pulling back the sleeve of her coat.

But the red marks on her neck won't stop staring at me.

Those won't disappear in just a few minutes, will they? No, they'll become worse if anything. Bruises. Bruises that perfectly fit my hands. Could they even have my fingerprints?

Well, that won’t even matter if they won’t stop until they catch the perp, and since this is a child, they won’t. They’ll sniff at any and every clue they’ve got to get their justice. Even if I were to drag this corpse to that stream we crossed a while back and washed her neck clean of any skin cells I might have shed on it, even if I took my knife and carved off that skin entirely --

Saliva floods my mouth at the image. No, no! Am I still so thirsty for blood? Did that strangling do nothing for me? Can I not be satisfied by anything less than a proper kill?

What prevents me from having one now?

No, no, no. I couldn't do that here. Way too messy. But couldn't all traces be wiped by a disintegration circle? No, I can't count on that - blood might seep deeper into the earth, for one, and the stench of her insides would stick to me… not that a circle would even fit here, either. Too many trees. But I will have to make one anyway - I can't let her live, not with those marks on her neck. I have to dispose of her body. I just… have to find some spot open enough for the circle to fit, first. And I better make sure she doesn't wake up in the meantime and needlessly complicate things…

I take out my knife and - after fending off the urge to gut her right there and then - cut a piece of duct tape from the bind around her ankles. I glue it onto her nostrils as best as I can, lift her up the same way as before and try my best not to topple over. Sturdily enough on my two feet, I bring her back the way I came, eyes constantly scanning for an opening near the path.

Through my rapid breaths, I pick up a strange aroma. It's sweet, like pechas. Is it coming from Michi? Why… why would she smell this sweet? Is it perfume? No, I never smelled it earlier! But I can't help my curiosity - if this is how she smells, how would she t-

An opening! There! Finally. I sprint to reach it and drop the girl in the middle. She lands roughly, but she's as good as dead already, it doesn't matter. Her head turns to the side, exposing her neck again, and my teeth, my teeth want to bite into it…

No, remember, way too messy. You can't do it. You can't…

But what if just a little? Just a little taste? If her scent is so sweet, her blood, her blood must be even sweeter. Just a little taste. Make sure no blood hits the earth. That's possible. That's quick. Just a little taste.

I pull back the sleeve of her left arm. Her wrist is so thin, her arm so dainty, her skin so pure… but force of habit makes me swipe it a few times anyway.

I take my knife and - this is it. I place its tip between the flexor tendons and press.

As the blade sinks in, red nectar surfaces. The smell surges. Yes, more. I drag the tip downward, cleaving the skin further. More blood. It’s so vibrant. It almost glows. It begins to drip --

No, I can’t let it drop off. It’d be incriminating - and I don’t want a droplet of it to go to waste…

I lean in, brushing the skin with my lips, gathering the blood. As soon as it spreads to my taste buds, my inhibitions vanish. I cover the wound with my mouth entirely.

The taste of blood... the salty taste of life, of pain, of death… there was a time it sickened me, as it usually does for humans, but HE changed that. There’s no nausea, no gag reflexes when it comes to this substance. What replaced it was an overwhelming urge to touch it, feel it, consume it.

I close my eyes and jut my tongue deeper into the incision, feeling the forms of the tendons. The warmth of this flesh... it ignites a flame in my heart. It drills my nails deeper into her skin. It gets me draining, sucking out the sacred fluid, quenching the houndoom’s thirst.

Hot. Vivid in color. Rich in flavor. The beauty of this blood, this moment, can’t be explained in any logical way - it’s a rose, a fire in the night, the rising moon, the spring morning. But most importantly, it’s…

HIM.

The divinity is unmistakable. HE is in this hunt, HE is in this feast. HE is right beside me, approving, advocating. This is HIS bidding I am doing. I am HIS vessel, embodiment. I am the gorge through which HIS river flows, the fuel with which HE burns...

Red.

I freeze.

Did I imagine that? Or did HE really…

No, that’s impossible. HIS vessel is all the way back at the basement, and that’s where HIS spirit is tethered to. Last time I asked, HIS powers could only properly reach five meters away --

But this is not last time.

My breath halts.

My lord… is that really YOU?

Yes, my priest. It is I.

My breath breaks free from its restraints and gallops like a runaway rapidash. HIM… here. Several kilometers from home. The only way HE could have gained so much power in that little time is if --

Yes.

Everything has quieted. The wind, the distant traffic, all of it. All I hear are HIS words.

Ascension is here.

Ascension.

The merging of man and god.

The beginning of a new era. The return of the Helixian kingdom. The rising of the houndoom above the mareep.

Now?

Now.

I… I don’t know how to react. I mean…

Simply open your eyes and witness.

Open my eyes…

I wish that was as easily done as said. Just parting my eyelids, what’s the problem? Well, it’s the earthshaking terror that, when I do open those eyes, I see nothing. I see the woods and Michi’s body and myself on the ground and nothing else. That this’ll have been some kind of waking dream and nothing more. Another… another delusion like the one that left me strangling that girl against all my intentions. More proof that I’m not stable anymore. Not sane anymore. That I won’t make it until the real ascension, whenever that would come. If it would even come...

Red.

I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to doubt YOU! But is it really YOU? I guess asking that’s also doubting, but, my lord, I’d hate to worship a false image, a-and I just don’t think I can be sure --

Red, open your eyes. I promise I will be there.

I pause to catch my breath before either lack or excess of oxygen scrambles my brain even further.

HE promises to be there. HE has never lied to me before. But whether this is an illusion… only by facing it fully can I know for sure.

Trembling, I force my eyelids apart.

I see Michi’s hand still in my grasp. I see dead needles and gravel on the ground beneath my knees.

Nothing unusual yet, but I am just staring at the ground.

I withdraw my tongue from the girl's wound and swallow whatever blood is left in my mouth. I put her arm down gently. More blood emerges from the flesh, threatening to overflow in a matter of seconds - but confirming this ascension's authenticity will only take a glance.

I place my hands on the ground for stability and look up.

A tall, bearded man of white robes and bronze skin stares back, a gentle welcome in his golden eyes.

It's real.

I wheeze in elated relief, throwing myself on the ground before him so fast I almost hit my head.

"There is no longer need for that," the man says, his voice as deep as always. "WE shall soon be as equals."

WE. The word is pure ecstasy. HIM and I, as one and the same. HIS soul and mine, sharing my flesh.

"Arise, my priest."

I needn't be told twice. I get up and nearly dust myself off before remembering there's no longer any need. Dirt, clothes... a god has no need to worry about any such trivialities.

The man - in other words, HE in the form of the first Helixian king, Kohath - steps to me. One would expect an aura of intimidation from a frame like his, but instead, he radiates benevolence. Like a loving father. Or how I'd imagine one to feel, anyway.

He extends a hand and places it onto my cheek. The warmth of his palm melts away all tension in my body. I lean into his caress. He strokes my skin softly with his thumb, and I find myself so relaxed I can barely keep my eyes open.

"You have served me well," he murmurs, his voice pouring over me like molten caramel. "And now, you have even surpassed yourself - offering to me such a young, fragile specimen."

What does he mean? Michi? I guess I killed her… yeah, I guess I killed a child… it wasn't for HIM, but HE can certainly have her if HE so wishes.

"To butcher a child means to embody the ruthlessness of a true predator," Kohath continues. "One more than qualified to remake the Helixian Kingdom."

His hand slides down my cheek onto my neck and travels along my arm. Having reached my hand, he takes it into his own, fingers interlocked. His other hand he slips into my hair at the back of my head. His warmth draws me onto him like a magnet - and while I flinch at my loss of control, he makes no motions to reject me. I can hear the beating of his heart, and it’s perfectly calm. The exact opposite of the drumroll in my own chest.

"Now,” he whispers - his breath like wind rustling autumn leaves - “the moment has come to meld US into one."

The space between his hand and mine lights up, glowing a soft white. It’s hot, but it doesn’t hurt - in fact, it’s somewhat pleasurable. The glow spreads across his hand, following the veins as if flowing through them.

I wince as a sudden pain slashes across my palm, but Kohath’s embrace stays gentle. A warmth enters my hand through the wound I suppose has formed, and it too begins to seep up my veins - with that same glow. Meanwhile, his hand… begins to dissolve, depleting as the light spreads further.

He really is flowing into me. He really is merging his body with mine. I’m going to… have HIM inside me, fully. HE will conquer every blood vessel, every cell’s cytoplasm. HE will… saturate me. I will become one with HIM. I will inherit HIS power. HIS control over everything. Anything material and anything immaterial. Existence. My existence. I can become what I want. I can think and feel how I want. I can banish any pain, any dread, any sorrow. I can feel euphoria unimaginable by any mortal. And… and I will never have to die.

The light continues its spread. It crawls up my arm, digging into the muscles and pumping them full of strength unprecedented anywhere in the animal kingdom, unmatched by the strongest of man and mon. This is what just a little part of HIM feels like. HIS full, unfiltered power would surely fry my mortal brain, pop it like a lightbulb burning out - but fortunately that light will soon reach my head, my very consciousness, and elevate my existence to an entirely new level.

The only thing I'll miss - no, I won't miss anything after I've ascended. What I hate to give up now, while corporeal sensations still matter, is this moment.

The light of divinity tingling in my veins. The warmth of Kohath’s embrace, his hand still in my hair. But most important of all is the knowledge that it’s all over. All worry, all strife. No more sleepless nights, no more empty days. No need to hide my true self, no need to fear getting caught. I’m free, free and safe. Safe from the police, witnesses, shrinks, judges, prison, death.

Happiness is no longer embedded in stone, needing to be clawed out with fingers bleeding. Instead, everything, every single thing... is finally alright.

I close my eyes and cradle my head on Kohath’s shoulder. I can let each of my muscles relax. HE has rewarded me not only with my deepest wish, but my unspoken desire - simply to be --

He yanks my head back by the hair. I open my eyes to find some answer on his face --

There is no face. There are only eyes, predator’s eyes gleaming yellow, and pitch black flames where his body used to be.

His glare drills into my soul.

AS IF YOU WOULD EVER BE ENOUGH.

He shoves me down. I expect to meet his chest, but go right through - there's nothing but air where he used to stand. I break my fall with my palms, sharp little stones in the gravel digging into my skin.

I look up, I look to my sides, I look behind me - but he's nowhere to be seen.

Only pines, spruces, needles, gravel, Michi's motionless body and myself.

"My lo-"

I don't even need to finish the sentence to realize I'm talking by myself.

I…

I don't get it. Why would HE come all the way here just to…

Oh. No. I understand now. It wasn't real. None of it was.

So in… in reality I'm… I'm still mortal. HE… hasn't expressed HIS readiness to ascend yet. HE still needs to wait for HIS powers to gather. I still need to wait…

...wait, wait, wait. I always have to wait. Just a little more, I tell myself, but a day goes by, a week goes by, a month, a year --

Grains of sand prick me under my fingernails as I form a fist around the gravel. I clench it tighter and tighter, driving the stones deeper into my palms. Hot tears squeeze their way out of my ducts and slip into the thousand creases formed by my agonized face.

I don't wanna go back. I don't wanna go back. I don't wanna go back to the fear. I don't wanna go back to the fear of all this being for nothing, that I've been tricked or that I'm insane, that I remember HIS words wrong, that there is no salvation and all I've done is throw away so much time from what precious little life I have --

No, don't even think it. If you think it, it might be real. You might make it real. You might see that there is no way out of this prison, this lifelong death row, the void that awaits when the brain dies and your thoughts die and you have no way left to make sense of the --

Why? Why was this done? Why were we created? Why give us souls? Why put spirit into these machines, why -- are you proud, Third Being? Are you proud of it? This dance you make everyone do -- does it amuse you? Why does a god need to --

I roll onto my side and hug my shins. Like a child. I wish I was still a child. I didn't think as much back then. I was…

I look at Michi over my shoulder. Yeah, I was like her. I sought adventure, experiences, mysteries… and every day I would learn something new. Each dawn had promise, and the world was full of possibilities.

But now I'm an adult and I know that what I am and what the world is don't mesh. I can't go to school, I can't get a job - I learned that years ago, and what happened at the supermarket today undeniably only highlights that. So all I can do is wait. Spend each day sitting at home, slowly drowning in the lack of things to do.

That's my life.

Wait, shit!

I scramble up to my feet and glance around. Luckily, no one’s there, but -- how could I forget? How could it slip my mind that I need to get rid of -- no, don’t even waste time ruminating on that, get to work!

A branch, I need a branch… there’s one, that’ll do. I leap back to Michi and begin to draw the circle, fetching the details of the patterns from my memory and scratching them into the ground, checking them, double checking them… I think it’s finished. All it needs now is activation.

I pull out my knife and prick the tip of my little finger. A droplet of blood emerges slowly, like a reptile slithering out into the spring morning after a long hibernation, and I flick it down into the little circle at the edge of the ring. As soon as the grooves light up with a matching red glow, pang of regret seizes my heart.

It doesn’t want Michi erased. It wants to keep her. She was extraordinary, she should be preserved. But I can’t. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t keep her around for a second longer - each second is a second closer to getting caught. She needs to go. I can’t even take a part of her, too bloody. Even her clothes would be suspicious. But why not --

I lunge at her and grab a lock of her pink hair. As soon as I’ve cut it free, I leap back out of the circle and take a few extra steps just to be sure. The light has spread halfway through the ring. I still had time to spare, but simply knowing what would’ve happened had I gotten caught within makes my heart pound.

In deafening silence, the light completes its journey around the circle and brightens. A membrane of that same washes over the contents of the circle - little Michi’s lifeless body. I take care to burn the image of her into my mind, diligently staring up until the --

Flash.

It hurts my eyes and forces them shut, but at least I can rest assured I fully caught her final moments.

Now she’s gone, and only the pattern remains. A pattern I’ll also have to erase…

No better tool readily available, I kick the ground with my shoes until the pattern has vanished completely. Only then can I catch my breath, sit back down and let my muscles go limp.

I close my eyes for some semblance of rest, but it’s not long before my mind returns exactly where it left off. That void is still there, staring at me, waiting for the moment my life comes to an end so it can swallow me whole. The bottomless pit under this bridge I’m trying to cross, a little tumbledown rope bridge that goes on and on, and all I can do is keep walking in the hopes that somewhere beyond the fog there’s solid ground, my salvation, but just as well it could end in nothing but two endless wooden poles keeping it up, and so I find I was bound to go down no matter what...

No, this is stupid. Nothing’s really changed, has it? Nothing between the start of that… hallucination and the end of it had an effect on my life. So why should I be freaking out? Couldn’t I just go on living like I did before?

But can I? If a simple trip to the store almost ended in a bloodbath today, what about tomorrow? Will my urges get the better of me and drive me to make whatever fantasy slithers into my mind into a reality, completely blind to the consequences? Then they’ll shoot me dead or lock me up somewhere until death comes… and permanently ruin any chances I have of ascension.

Maybe I should…

No. I can’t bring this up with HIM. I’ve been stretching HIS patience too much already. HIM taking over in the last sacrifice was a good sign, sure, but I know HE still expects me to cast the omanyte out of my heart, and the progress on that has been little to none. Were I to come to HIM with yet another problem with my mind, HE might… HE might revoke my status as Bringer. HE might even consider me unfit to be any kind of predator, and then… I’d be slaughtered like all the other mareep.

Even if HE brushed off my doubts and pain as just side effects to being a predator in this world for prey, HE would likely ask for another sacrifice. I’d fail to get one properly in my current state, and then I’d practically be no better off than in the other scenario.

I sigh. So I’m on my own. It’s not like there’s anyone other than HIM I can talk to about this. And it’s not like they’d understand even if I did. They’d just call me crazy and tell me to get some mental help --

The psychiatrist. Could she possibly...

No, no, no! You can’t let anyone know. Are you honestly naive enough to believe them when they say what’s discussed is confidential? If you told that psychologist how much you want to cut people open and play with their organs, you’d be dragged over to the nuthouse before nightfall. In what world would a society of caterpie willingly keep a spearow around?

Faced with another dead end, I open my eyes and let the features of the sky take over my mind for a change. The pleasant blue, the tufts of white, the invisible wind they drift around on…

It’s strange how calm they make me.

Why, if I had the ability to fly to the clouds in the blink of an eye and look down upon the world, breathing the thin, freezing air without harm, my problems with rage would vanish. Seeing humans for the ants they really are… why would I care about anything they have to say?

Wait. What’s stopping me now?

I am a human. An intelligent creature. Perhaps previously in a more primal stage emotions were necessary to guide us into better survival strategies, but now we can understand the world around us. We can make decisions based on logic, not raw emotions.

It's precisely what HE teaches as well. Primitive social instincts have outlived their usefulness. What used to help keep tribesmembers alive and offspring cared for has been made obsolete by rational thought. Now all it can do is stay in our way. It prevents us from letting the inferior die. It prevents us from consuming each other's flesh when starving. It stifles our progress in service of made up moralities, rules that no god truly enforces.

But I happen to be one of the lucky few to have been born as the next stage of human evolution. A being that can see through these illusory rules and act without care for them. An efficient being. A free being. And if I have the freedom to choose how I think, why couldn’t I choose to drop the emotions that harm me and keep the emotions that give me strength? Peace, joy, relief… an existence knowing only these feelings can't be that bad to live.

Then again... if it were that easy, I would have done it ages ago. In reality, my lack of control was bad enough to make me give up on school and, by extension, any kind of normal future. I had to leave before I did something that would’ve made things even more difficult for myself...

Leave. Give up. That’s what I did. I ran away from the problem. And have I ever faced it head-on since? No. Ever since I left school, I’ve only avoided social interaction to the best of my abilities.

No wonder I only seem to have gotten worse. I’ve had no practice. No exposure to strengthen my immune system, so to speak. As much as I hate to admit it, getting out there might just be what I need. Socializing. Disguising myself as simply another human. It is a trait a predator must have, lest he be torn apart by the herd he is infiltrating.

Yeah. I need to get myself into situations I’ve shied away from and learn to maintain a calm exterior no matter how fiercely I want to rip them all apart. Handle things as a gentleman would, even. Convince the others I’m a stand-up guy. It could help to dispel suspicion, too! And, hell - if nothing else, it’ll be something to do. Beats sitting bored at home.

Though, ironically enough… I think home is the place I’d most like to be right now. It’s been one hell of a day, and I could really use some rest after this whole… thing. And some food, actually. Blood isn’t exactly filling.

I get up. The wind in the trees enters my consciousness again, and it drives me to draw a deep breath of the fresh air around me. I feel my lungs expand, then deflate. Again. A serene rhythm of back and forth, like waves on a shore. All while the heart beats with a pace of its own, pumping that wondrous, hot blood throughout the body.

I guess this corporeal form is one thing I can be happy about. Not only did I luck out on my genes, I’ve brought out their full potential with diligent training. I’m quite close to the best a meager human can be. Once I add a few enhancements post-ascension, I’ll be perfect.

That’s right. I will ascend. Maybe it will end up taking another week, another month, another year - but I will persevere, only honing myself further during the wait.

I step forth as if facing the entire world, head held high and pride burning in my chest. Within my mind, I shout from the mountaintop:

I am the Bringer, and I will let nothing stand in my way.

---​

 

[canisaries]

two months this time, huh. well, i shift part of the blame on the oneshot contest. and most of it on my mental health that seems to have had the stability of a house of cards lately.

anyway! first chapter of act 2. we have reached the fun zone. and another milestone: in this chapter we meet samson, which means that hopping over to and reading the rest of the story in the previous version is now possible. i do hope that you'll wait for this revision to complete instead, though, even if it might take a while. i think i still have improvements to make in the remaining chapters.

rated mature for gore, body horror, strong language and sexual references, including a passing one to assault. enjoy.

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CHAPTER SIX
Rebirth

---​

The air I breathe in is strangely heavy, like water. But I’m not drowning.

It’s dark blue all around, like water. But I’m not drowning.

I float in place, the air supporting my weight, like water. But I’m not drowning.

I guess I must have gills.

I have gills, and I can’t feel my limbs. Am I a fish?

I curve my spine - it’s become much longer - to see my body beneath me. A scaly tail, flattened to function as a paddle, and two amber gems embedded in its flesh.

I’m much better than a fish. I’m a dragonair. A deepsea dragonair.

I try to fold what used to be my ears, and they’re indeed now fins. I lick my teeth. Sharp, conical. I glance around the dark blue around me and realize that human eyes would never see anything but black.

So this is what it’s like. Color me jealous! I can feel the raw power in this body, the form and musculature that allows a lightning-fast lunge at unsuspecting prey, the aura in my jewels… ugh, phrasing. Either way, this is a killing machine. Perhaps the brain isn’t as sophisticated, but what need for complex thought is there when my purpose is clear and unobstructed? Speaking of...

I sniff the air. Water. There’s a scent that’s very familiar on the right, very appetizing. Invited to hunt by the trail of blood, I follow it, slithering through the abyss - oh, how wonderful the water feels, flowing past my scales. This is nature celebrating its design.

The scent grows stronger - the wounded prey is nearby. In just moments, I see it. A magikarp. A fateful gash in its tail. It has no idea I’m here. Better strike before it does.

I whip my tail against the waters, springing forth. I open my mouth and bite down hard the moment I feel scales against my tongue.

An explosion of blood. Overwhelming to my sense of taste and smell. The magikarp flails in vain - my teeth have hooked deep into its flesh. I feel its muscles repeatedly flex and relax. The panic of a dying animal. Finally, it stops moving.

Some remaining streak of human thought ponders how I’ll fillet this without hands and cook it underwater, but my instincts soon override it, prompting me to swallow and only chew if I choke. I wince, expecting the scales and fins to rasp my throat bleeding, but all I feel are harmless scratches. A dragonair’s throat must be made of stronger stuff than a human’s.

With that first meal, as counterintuitive as it seems, awakens more hunger. This body is much larger than a human’s, after all, and all these muscles need plenty of energy. One small fry won’t fill my belly. I need the entire shoal.

Guided by my nose, I find more prey to lunge at and devour. A remoraid, a goldeen, another magikarp. A qwilfish I avoided, for obvious reasons. But I’m still hungry - and honestly, I could use something other than fish now. Maybe a shellder. Though will I be able to break the shell? Maybe I’d be better off finding a staryu.

I smell my surroundings once again, this time ignoring the scents of fish. There’s a faint aroma unlike any of the ones before. That’s it, that’s what I want. I chase the odd but alluring fragrance through the waters, scattering a few schools of little fish in my path.

Oh, if HE could see me now, HE would be so proud. A beautiful, deadly predator hunting to sate his hunger, an image so ancient yet always so elegant. I’m doing my part in the ecosystem, culling the weak to keep the species healthy. Removing the inadequate and fueling myself in the process. Destroying life to perpetuate mine.

The scent grows stronger. My target is close. What’s it going to be? A shining staryu? A diving psyduck? A chubby seel cub separated from its mother? Whatever it is, my teeth will tear it apart. With a smell like this, it must taste amazing. I can’t wait…

Oh, it’s coming from the bottom. From that rock, the little cave within it. Soon I’ll feel that creature’s soft flesh between my jaws, its useless struggles for survival. I slither closer and closer, all the way to the entrance. I’m ready to strike. I plunge my head in, teeth bared. What will I be eating?

Eyes wide as plates stare back. Eyes I know, framed by blue arms and a spiral shell.

What’s He doing here? It’s not safe out here. If any predator found Him, He’d stand no chance.

A predator like… me.

So I should...

I should. I have no reason not to. I should --

Yes. Go right ahead, Red. Eat.

I… I’m gonna. Just in a second, I’m gonna, I’m just… just getting ready.

Haven’t you been ready your whole life?

I, well, I mean...

Are you saying that there’s something stopping you? That’s not how the Bringer, the Bringer, the Bringer, the Bringer. The Bringer cannot --

Something yanks me back. It’s loud, so loud. Around, around, dizzy, there’s a deep, deep darkness in the middle. A whirlpool? The current grabs me and drags me into the abyss --

I gasp. Light. Light blue. Sky. Grass, chairs, people, wind, hands, legs. I’m a human. What?

Oh, I woke up. That was a dream. Okay. So... where am I?

I’m sitting among a crowd, it seems - a crowd of people in black suits seated on an array of lawn chairs. Some guy is standing at a wooden podium before us, speaking. He’s in black as well. Looks old, sad. Everyone looks sad, actually. What is this, a funeral?

...Actually, yeah. I think it is a funeral.

But no one I know has died. I don’t recognize these people…

Oh, don’t tell me... Mom dragged me here, didn’t she? Yeah, some distant relative I’d never even met kicked the bucket and still she made me come.

So where is she, then? The seat next to me is empty. Did she ditch me? Ugh, that bitch. Well, guess what? I’m eighteen. I’m a grown man and I get to decide where I go and what I do, and what I’m gonna do now is get the hell outta here.

Stealthily, I get up, lucky to have the second seat in the row. I let the crowd keep their attention on the current speaker while I scan my surroundings for an exit. This is a rather nice-looking graveyard, fancier than the one I live near, with less moss on the tombstones and walkways and robust deciduous trees in place of common evergreens…

Wait. Tombstones? Western tombstones, placed so far apart that there must be entire bodies buried underneath? I guess this must be a Western-style graveyard. I didn’t know I had Western relatives…

Well, anyway… it looks like the metal fencing around the around the area is rather high and equipped with a spiked tips, making it between extremely difficult and impossible to climb over. I don’t want to accidentally neuter myself, so I keep looking for a gate, but just can’t seem to find one…

“And now, a speech from one of her close friends, Ichiro Akai.”

...I’m sorry, what did the old guy just say?

I turn around. Everyone’s eyes are on me. He really did just say my name.

Now… normally, I wouldn’t have any issue with being rude to a bunch of whoevers, but something about these people’s faces is telling me that bailing right in front of them is going to lead to consequences. Of the angry mob kind. And with no easy escape in sight, that would not be pleasant to deal with.

“Mr Akai?” asks the old man.

I guess I should just give the speech. It can’t be that hard if I just stay vague and overwhelmingly positive. That should satisfy the crowd enough.

I nod to the man, and we exchange positions. I can see more people’s faces now. A lot of pale folk. This really is a Western funeral. Or… wait.

That young Tohjoan guy in the front row, with the long face and short black hair, isn’t that… oh Gods.

This isn’t any relative’s funeral. This is Joanna’s funeral.

Okay. Shit, uhh. How do you start a speech? I need to make it good, or at least believable. If Joanna really is the deceased and all of her family is here, I can’t have even a single one get the idea that I wasn’t on terms that great with her, as that would make me a suspect in the case of her disappearance. Although it’s not like I can do that now, can I, having told her brother over there that I didn’t know her at all. Fuck! Where did they even get the idea we were close? Did someone spot me stalking? No, enough thinking! I need to start the speech!

“So, uhh...” Not like that, dumbass! You’re not holding a presentation in front of your classmates, you’re calming a herd of angry tauros pawing at the ground!

I sniffle a bit. “I-I’m sorry, I’m just still so devastated...” I hang my head. “But we all are, aren’t we? She was such a sweet woman, kind to all, and so beautiful, too...”

I hear a whisper from the crowd. “Why’s he wearing white?”

What? I’m not… I am?

Yes, this suit is just like those of all the other men, except for the color. Pure white. White coat, white shirt, white tie. Even the shoes are white. Shit. Do you think I could pretend to be colorblind? No, that’s not how that works. Oh Gods. Well, alright, this is a thing. But I can’t let it distract me. I need to make up for this with my speech.

“She was a bright young woman, independent, supportive of her friends and family…” I try to remember some real life example that I’d witnessed while stalking her, but the only thing I can think of at the moment is her lying on the floor eating cheese snacks while watching some weird, weird anime on her TV. Uhh.

“She was a girl who knew how to have a good time.”

Whispers. Agitated ones. A commotion! Wh-what did I do wrong? “Oh Gods, I didn’t mean that she slept around or --”

One word keeps popping up. ‘Pocket’.

I look down, and the left pocket of my pants - it’s stained red. Blood red.

The crowd stares at me with wide eyes, expecting an explanation, but I’m just as lost as them. I haven’t hurt myself. I haven’t put anything in there. I can only reach my fingers in and pull out…

A lock of hair. Covered in sticky, slimy blood, but its original color can still somewhat be seen.

Pink. Michi’s hair.

But why would it bleed? No, why would it be there in any case? Why would I bring evidence of a murder to a funeral? No, why would I be at the funeral of the woman I killed in the first place?

“Get him.”

Who said that? It made everyone stand up. And now they’re approaching. Oh Gods, I gotta get out of here. No, doesn’t running incriminate me further? They still don’t have anything to actually prove I killed Joanna. Do they? They shouldn’t, but they walk like they do and the wild, furious gleam in their eyes sure says they want blood for blood! I need to run! I turn around and --

Smack right into a surface of some kind. Dark, wooden, hollow. That wasn’t there before. It’s a little taller than me -- it’s a coffin, standing upright. I try to move past it, but something’s got me by the arm. Something with a chilling touch. I struggle, but it holds me in place. Look back. It’s a shadow, a hand. A ghost mon’s hand. Why is it this strong? It’s basically cutting off my circulation!

“Let… let go,” I growl, but it falls on deaf ears. If it has ears.

More touches - warm ones, human ones. They grab me. The mob has caught up. A sea of black suits.

“Th-this isn’t legal!” I shout as a last, desperate attempt to sway their minds. Trouble from the cops - it’s what keeps me from killing blindly. But not for these people, it seems. They’re animals. Animals trampling me.

They tighten their hold and pull me back. For what? A pummeling? A public execution?

The coffin before me creaks, its cover slowly opening. The crowd watches, still. What’s in there? It can’t be Joanna’s body. There’s nothing left of that. And if there was, they certainly wouldn’t show it.

Crimson velvet lines the coffin’s interior. How royal. But that’s not what we’re looking for. Something glimmers on the inside of the cover. Metal. Sharp. And then the cover opens fully and I see it clear as day.

Needles. Thousands of thin, long needles sticking out.

No. No, they can’t. I scream that at them, but the crowd pushes me forward, right towards the velvet lining. I wriggle, flail, resist as strongly as this body can allow, but they’ve got hold of so many places that any movement left possible is absolutely pathetic.

I’m shoved. Velvet on my face, palms. Yet they’ve let go. Can I still run? I turn around to leap out, but the ghostly hand awaits me, slamming its freezing palm right at my heart and pushing me back. Wrists, ankles - frozen too, held to the back of the coffin. The crowd, all of them smile. In the front, Joanna’s brother. He grabs the edge of the cover. No. No, don’t --

He slams the lid onto me.

Every needle, each and every one, puncture my skin, eyes, teeth, rip through the flesh and crush the bone as instinct tears one final, ear-splitting scream from my bleeding lungs.

Pain. Purest pain I’ve ever felt. Every nerve blaring at the brain of the hell brought upon the body, unobstructed by any other signals as I go blind and deaf.

No pain.

No pain now. Only black, empty, silent, cold, wet. Any darkness from before - nothing compared to this.

Am I… dead? Is this the afterlife?

Will it be like this forever?

Thump, thump, thump, thump --

No, this isn’t nothingness, something’s coming!

Golden light rips a hole in the darkness -- it’s coming for me!

“Red?”

Red…? Human… speech? There’s a human figure in that light…

And where I am, it’s not empty. Something’s beneath me. Soft. It warms my hands. And my heart beats. If I have a heartbeat, I live. I have my body. So where am I?

Oh.

I hide my left arm behind me. Abe can’t see the bandage.

“Are you okay?” Abe asks, shaggy hair hanging in front of his eyes. The absence of his glasses, as always, makes his eyes seem weirdly small.

I take a moment to catch my breath. My lungs are intact and well. Thank the Gods.

“It’s okay,” I reply. “Just had a bad dream.”

“...You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright...” The boy in the frame hesitantly backs away and closes the door. “Good night,” he still says from outside before leaving for his own room with quiet steps.

I pull my left arm back from hiding and sigh. As the exhaled air hits my bare chest, I realize how wet I am from my own cold sweat. My heart still beats at record pace. Otherwise, though, I seem to be fine.

Maybe washing my face and a quick walk around will calm me down, convince my brain the danger is gone. I pry myself out of my bed. Ugh, my underwear’s glued to my skin. Maybe I should just sleep in the nude for the rest of the night.

I make my way to the bathroom and turn on the lights. The brightness smacks me in the face, stripping away most of my drowsiness. My steps are sticky on the tiles beneath my feet, but soon I reach the warmer, softer carpet in front of the sink. I turn on the tap and splash some lukewarm water to my face, neck and chest. Feels good. Well, pretty average, but after that dream, I’m just glad not to be in pain anymore. You know, I never did believe those people that say you couldn’t feel pain in your dreams. I guess they just get off easy and can’t comprehend other people going through something worse. Assholes.

I take off my underwear and toss it into the laundry basket. After cleaning away the worst of the sweat, I close the tap and grab a towel, the pecha-colored one. I dry myself off - oh, it’s warm, fuzzy, dry… sticky… red?

That’s... blood. That’s blood on the towel. Where did it…

I glance at the mirror above the sink to see my body, but my body, it’s -- red too. Bloody. Full of holes. So many small, deep, black holes. Puncture wounds. No skin is left. Only torn muscle, shattered teeth, deflated eyes, dripping vitreous humour, blood, that’s really bad, that’s really fucking bad, I’m gonna go blind, what will I do without my sight, I’ll be helpless, useless -- but wait a second now, wait a second, how am I seeing all this if my eyes are…

...Oh, oh, I’m still dreaming. That’s obvious. The jagged mess of teeth of the reflection twists into a smile. This isn’t real. I must’ve fallen asleep again after Abe left. Haha. It’s just… it’s just my mind again.

I look down at my chest, the sight matching the man in the mirror. Gods, I’m so fucked up right now. I hope that goes away soon, I don’t want to have to clean this blood.

I reach my mangled hand into my chest cavity underneath my ribs, grabbing the thing that beats and pulling it out with little resistance. I hold out disembodied heart that still pulsates, but now without blood. The torn edges of the thick blood vessels that leave it - aorta, superior vena cava, pulmonary artery, so on - are a sad sight. Vessels as diligent as these deserve clean cuts.

Well, whatever. Since it’s certainly not going to stick to my insides anymore, I leave it in the sink. I head back to my own room and climb back in my bed, hoping to sleep off the dream.

---​

I’m sorry, what?

I already knew before that the dream was bizarre, but now it's really dawning on me. A coffin coming to life and killing me… I guess my mind took some inspiration from that evolved form of yamask, cof… cofagrigus, I think. Hmh. And then the dream progressed to a fake wakeup...

Hold on. I don’t have my underwear on. But I took them off inside the dream, not outside it. Did they slide off somehow?

After a brief search of my bed, it seems they didn’t. So maybe some of the dream was real and I was sleepwalking? Eh, must have been something like that. Can’t have all been real, given I’m still alive and not bloody all over.

At least there was that other dream before the funeral, the one where I was a dragonair. It felt so good to get to kill things again. Makes me hungry for some fish, actually. But then it had to go and transition to the funeral… how did that happen again? I was tracking something new and then I found…

Fuck. No. It was… dammit. So much for fond memories of that dream.

But it's alright - it was precisely a dream and nothing else. In real life, I would've…

In real life I wouldn't end up in such a situation to begin with. HE wouldn't have me kill the omanyte, that's directly against HIS interests. My job is to protect the omanyte as it's a valuable asset. Not killing it in my dream was only wise! It needs to stay alive…

Oh, screw thinking about this. It's pointless. I should get my day started instead. It's a big day, too. First day of exposure therapy. I can get a fresh look at my problems and begin to systematically work them out. Yes, this is the day I really turn my course for the better. It's gonna be tough, but rewarding. When I get home at the end of the day, I'll feel like my lounging around is really earned. That things are how they should be.

That synthetic excitement injected into my veins, I march off to my morning chores. They transpire the same way as usual with perhaps a little more care put into washing my hair - but as I approach my cupboard, I realize I must diverge from the known path.

‘Clothes make the man’ is what many people say, and to an extent even the Helixians agreed. It’s clear from the visions HE gave me that Kohath dressed like the king he was, which was admittedly more modest back in the Bronze Age, but still involved more impressive clothing than the everyman.

I recall being described as ‘looking like a rapist’ back in my high school days in some overheard girl talk, so it would probably be smart to dress a little nicer if I am to go out and socialize without getting the cops called on me. But that brings up a problem…

I dig through my wardrobe and my suspicion is confirmed. All the fancier clothes I can find are too small for me. Makes sense as my mother stopped forcing me to shop for clothes with her years ago, and the ones I’ve bought since have all prioritized comfort. So will I actually have to go shopping for clothes today? Or maybe…

I’m surprised that I’ve never gone through my mother’s drawers before looking for clothes that could have belonged to my father, but I suppose there’s no time like the present. If he had a frame like mine, they might just fit.

I make my way downstairs and head for the main bedroom. Crossing the floor to the cupboards, I keep an eye out for any quills Fonz may have shed. I restrain myself from looking at the omanyte’s aquarium. I’m too busy for those thoughts.

Finding men’s clothes turns out to be easy - not because there’s many of them, but because there aren’t that many clothes in the first place. I suppose it makes sense for my mother to have taken most of the clothes she uses to where she actually lives. How she’s managed to fit them all in that apartment is beyond me.

Either way, this confirms that she lived together with my father for some amount of time, which in turn means she knows his identity and how he exited the picture but just refuses to tell me. The presence of these clothes would primarily suggest his death, but it’s also possible for the breakup to have been so stormy that he decided going back for his clothes wasn’t worth it. But then she would have also had a reason to keep them. Maybe she wanted to sell them and never got around to it or guessed correctly that I would grow into them.

Let’s not kid ourselves, though. He’s probably dead, a box of ashes and bones in the ground. Which is a shame - I would’ve liked to know which of my traits I inherited from him. There’s a possibility he was a predator, too, a very clever one at that to be able to manipulate my mother into a relationship and having a child with him. I haven’t felt that need to spread my genes myself, but I hear it’s very common, and it only makes sense when thinking from a biological standpoint.

But no matter how great he could have been, he’s the reason I’m here. That alone makes me want to deck the fucker.

I shake those thoughts and try on one button-up shirt. To my surprise, it fits like a glove. Guess my old man worked out, too. Bet my mom liked that.

I move to the bathroom and check myself out in the mirror. Damn, looking good -- well, the hair’s still a mess. I rinse my fingers and swipe back my hair. My widow’s peak is exposed. More like widowmaker’s peak… is what I would say, had I ever killed married men.

I grab a hairbrush from the mirror cabinet. It’s covered in loose brown hair - practically every tooth has a strand wrapped around it. Does Abe use this on his hair or a tangela? Ugh. I find a comb instead and run it through my hair until I run out of tangles. Finally, I comb my bangs to the sides and close the cabinet to see my reflection again.

Wow. Now that’s a metamorphosis. The man in the mirror has transformed from an under-bridge raticate to a street-strutting, show-stopping ninetales. No one would guess that this stand-up citizen killed women, took their tongues and stored them in jars in his basement.

Of course, there’s something still missing - the thing that everyone says is the most important. It’s never been that natural to me, but if I am to become a social butterfree, it’s something I have to master.

I give the mirror my most amiable, benevolent, tame smile.

There it is. Peak deception.

---​

“Morning, Abe.”

In the split second after he had turned to me, I saw fear in his eyes - the very primal fear we feel after witnessing something we consider impossible. Then, as his brain came up with multiple scenarios that could indeed lead to an event like this, the fear was replaced by curiosity, but it waited just long enough to let him smile and greet me back before he had to spit out the question burning in his throat.

“What are you all dressed up for?”

“Well, nothing in particular,” I hum as I make my way to the kitchen table where he sits. “Just decided to try it out. What do you think?”

“You look great.”

Damn straight I do. “Thanks,” I answer as etiquette demands, then head for the door. “I’m going out. Might still be out by the time you get back from school, so don’t be surprised.”

“Alright,” Abe says, “have fun.”

“Bye,” I shout and exit - but right after I've closed the door, I freeze in realization.

I took my knife with me. I didn't even think twice about it. It felt so natural, so right, but having a weapon like that on my hip… won't it scare people away? Shouldn't I leave it at home?

It sounds like the smart thing to do, but the thought of walking around without anything to defend me sends shivers all around my body. What if I accidentally piss off someone bigger and stronger than me? A group of people? Someone with a weapon of his own? I could end up dead. Or get seriously injured in a way that disqualifies me from the position of Bringer. I can't let that happen! Everyone else will just have to learn to deal with my blade. I'm allowed to carry it, dammit. I'm allowed to protect myself. The knife stays and that's that.

That settled, I step down to the front yard and take in the weather. It's sunny and warm with only a few puffy clouds in the vivid blue sky - but a refreshing wind makes sure no traveller gets too hot. Wonderful weather for a walk. If the water wasn't still cold, it'd be a fantastic day to go out to the beach.

Actually… maybe a few people have decided to go out and test the waters. There might be a considerable crowd over there, which means plenty of opportunities to strike up conversations.

That's where I'll head, then! It's been quite a while since I went to the beach, anyway. Maybe I'll spot some wildlife while I'm there, too. Something I'm actually interested in.

I navigate my way to the southward shore with the help of familiar knowledge and street signs, making sure to maintain perfect posture on every street regardless of the amount of onlookers. The scent of the sea fills the air. Soon enough, the building and trees make way for the big blue and sandy brown.

Nobody’s there. The beach is empty. This, of course, makes sense very quickly as I remember that it’s the morning of a weekday.

Well, whatever. I can still hang out for a while. It’s nice here.

I step off the road and make my way past the grass and onto the wooden walkways, not wanting to drag my pant legs through the sand. Each step makes a nice clack. I look around to focus on the people that are there - yes, there are some people, it’s just that there was basically no one at first glance. Like that woman in a blue uniform over there.

Wait. Blue uniform. A policewoman. What’s one doing here? Maybe she’s looking for me? But I left no evidence…

Yes, that's right! I left no evidence. That means she can’t be here for me. Or if she is, she can't do anything.

This right here... this is actually the perfect opportunity for me. What better way to prove my calm than by confronting my worst threat face to face?

I set my course for the woman in blue leaning against the wooden railing. Next to her sits a large pile of cream-colored fuzz - an RK9 unit. As I approach, it’s the one to pick me up first, perking up its ears and then turning to me with a reserved look. The human, having noticed her partner’s motion, faces me as well. I study her Unovan features, gray-green eyes and auburn ponytail and imprint them onto my memory. Now that I’m being social, I’ll have to get good at remembering faces.

“Good day, officers,” I greet, hands out of pockets and relaxed at my sides even if the right one keeps wanting to touch the scabbard.

“Good day to you too,” says the woman, smiling, adjusting her cap. The arcanine gives a brief wag of its tail.

“Making sure the beach is safe?” I ask her, walking over to the railing and leaning on it.

“No, they’ve got life guards for that,” she chuckles. “We’re just spending our break here.”

I nod, then look the arcanine in its deep brown, alert eyes. Its black nostrils quiver. What are you smelling there, sweetheart? Nothing but wool? Thought so...

“Brave of a fire type to venture so close to the sea,” I remark. Its expression loses a bit of kindness.

“If she wasn’t brave, she wouldn’t be a cop,” responds the woman, ruffling her partner’s neck fur, the fluff engulfing her entire hand. “Ain’t that right, Wendy?”

“Yeah,” the mon mumbles. I guess she was offended somehow? Whatever.

A second of silence passes. Another. I should say something.

“Is it busy over at your station right now?” Better than nothing.

“A bit, yeah.” The woman looks at the sea. “Have you bumped into those people walking around showing a picture of their missing relative?”

Oh? Now this is interesting. “Once, yes.”

“We keep telling them we’re doing everything we can, but I guess it’s hard for them to just stand around and wait. Can’t blame them for trying, even if it’s very unlikely they’ll get any kind of clue so late...”

“I hope they do.” Because I’m a person who loves happy endings. I wish no one would ever have to suffer or die. The thinking process of a sadist absolutely eludes me.

“Either that, or that they accept defeat. It sounds cruel, but keeping alive false hope isn’t good for the mind.”

“I can get that.” I place my hands onto the railing, one clasping the other. “What do you think happened to her?”

“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to go into that much detail.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

I suppose that’s as far as I can follow that path. I better ask about something broader that she can yap her gums off about, then.

“So, there’s something I’ve been wondering...” I begin. “There’s that show on TV, Celadon Police. You’ve probably seen it. How much of that would you say accurately depicts what it’s like to be part of a police force?”

She throws her head back with a groan, and that’s how I know I’ve struck gold. “Ugh, that show -- I hope you’re not too much of a fan, because I hate that show. Well, it’s not like I hate hate it - I don’t wake up each morning and shake my fist at the gods for it existing - but...”

Her rant continues from there, and by the amount of tangents, it seems that it won’t be ending anytime soon. I smile and throw generic remarks every now and then to keep her going while my real focus lies elsewhere.

Shining hair. Clear skin. Elegant shape of skull. Her looks and her profession contrast as much as her red locks and the teal sea. How does one keep their appearance that pleasing to the eye while chasing down and wrestling criminals each day? Did I merely catch her at a fortunate moment in time?

Though it’s not as if there aren’t details bridging the gap between white and blue collar. I can tell through her uniform that her arms are firm, and a healing scar runs across the back of her right hand.

I get the feeling that she knows I’m eyeing her up. She likely thinks that I’m checking her out. It would fit a narrative, sure - why else would a random person come up to a police officer on their break to simply chat? Little does she know, what I’m wondering is how it’d feel like to grab her by the jaw, unsheathe my knife, drive it through her suit and skin, cleave open her abdominal cavity and rip out her intestines like the stuffing of a teddi plush.

But I won’t do that. I have the weapon and I have the element of surprise and by the Gods I have the will, but I won’t do it. I know it’d doom my future and probably present as the arcanine would burn me to a crisp. I’ll just keep standing on the edge of this bottomless chasm, smiling at the pit and receiving a smile in return. So go on, honey, keep talking. I can’t get enough of this feeling of control...

“Ronnie?”

Oh fuck, what was that?

I find the source of the voice near the road - some guy, also Unovan, coming here. Blond, bulky, pretty tall. Another cop, but off duty and out of uniform? Wait. That necklace. Is that...

The woman gasps. “Samson!” She nearly frolics to him, but the man beats her to it. As he approaches, I see the golden pendant hanging from his neck more clearly, and yes, it’s the Wheel of Arceus.

A fucking Arcean.

“So it is you!” he says, reaching the walkway and hopping on the planks. Some sand flings onto my shoes, and I quickly kick it off - but it doesn’t seem like the man noticed. Fine, I guess I won’t bring it up, since I’m supposed to be all sociable and shit.

“And is this Wendy?” he asks the arcanine, who nods, leisurely wagging her tail. “Oh my goodness, you’ve grown so much!”

“A hundred and fifty kilos of fluff and fury,” says Ronnie, ruffling Wendy’s fur again, now more aggressively.

“You were just a growlithe when I last saw you, weren’t you?” said Samson, scratching behind the arcanine’s ear. “When was that, anyway? Shaymin’s Grove?”

“Shaymin’s Grove, yeah! We were assistants there.”

“Right!”

I ponder whether I should chime in to remind them of my presence, but fortunately that proves needless.

"Oh, sorry," says Samson, directing his gray-blue eyes at me. "Who's your friend?"

Ronnie waves her hand. "Oh, just a stranger that came up for a chat. I don't know him any more than that."

“Oh, sorry to have interrupted you.” His tone is enragingly earnest. This guy’s a real people pleaser. A mareep among mareep. What every mother would want their son to act like. I hate him, hate him, hate him.

“It’s fine,” I say anyway. He can still redeem himself by fucking off.

But, of course, Ronnie doesn’t allow him that choice. “So, I heard you’ve become a full-fledged priest, is that right?”

He nods excitedly, and I nearly gag. Not just an Arcean, but an Arcean priest. Not just a believer of nonsense, but a preacher of it.

“That’s so cool!” Ronnie says. “You know, I’ve been meaning to catch a sermon of yours, but, eh… I never remember it when I’m free. My cousin says they’re great, though!”

Samson chuckles and waves a hand. “Give your cousin my thanks, and don’t sweat it. You’re always welcome, though!”

I suppress a sigh and gaze off at the sea instead. It’s alright. This guy’s got to realize his rudeness soon and piss off. I’ll just wait until then --

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Oh, you motherfucker.

Ronnie digs out her phone and turns off the alarm. “Sorry,” she says, “break’s ending. But it was great to see you! Oh, and, um...” She glances at me. “Nice talking to you, too.”

I nod with a forced smile, and she goes back to Samson. “I’ll make it a point to come to a sermon of yours, and we can talk after, okay?”

“I’ll come too,” says Wendy. I guess I wasn’t alone in being ignored, at least.

“Sounds good! See you then.”

“Yeah, see ya!”

They wave each other goodbye, and the police duo head back to their car further down the road. Samson steps up to the railing, taking Ronnie’s spot, a wide smile on his face. As he leans on the railing, I get off it.

“Sorry again for cutting you off like that,” he says. “You know how it is with seeing old friends, though.”

No, I don’t. “Sure,” I mutter.

He leans his other arm on the railing as well. "So, not to get all missionary, but are you acquainted with Arceism?"

No. No, no way. I am not letting this guy preach his fairy tales to me. That's where I draw the line.

I look him right in the eye, unflinching. "I don't want to hear a word about your hokey religion, pony boy."

Stupefied. That’s his face right now. He just could not expect that I’d say such a thing. Oh, poor man. Reality hit him hard.

What will he do now? Will he get mad? He has to get mad. I insulted his entire world view, trivialized it to animal worship. Go on. Get mad. Escalate this. Show me how your rage overtakes your senses. Show me the evil within that you deny --

He sighs. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Oh my Gods. Oh my Gods. He really just pulled the ‘bigger man’ shit. I hate him. I hate him so much. Kill. Kill him. Knife. The hilt is cool to the touch.

Stop!

I freeze. I pull my hand away from the hilt and tuck it in my pocket instead.

I breathe in and breathe out. Time seems to stand still between us, at least. I can take a few seconds to choose my next move.

It ends up being rather unimpressive.

"Whatever," I mutter and turn away. Walking off, I worry he might still yell something, something that could threaten my self-control again.

After hearing nothing for fifteen seconds, though, I conclude that the situation has come to an end. I breathe a little more easily.

I don't quite dare look over my shoulder to see if he's left, so I keep my course until I'm off the beach entirely. Only then can I stop at a roadside bench, sit down and fully process what just happened.

Okay. That could’ve gone better. I mean, I did just fine with the cop, which is the part that I consciously got into, but I still shouldn’t have almost shanked that Samson guy. Maybe bringing along the knife was a mistake after all. I should have realized my volatility… it’s like I’d forgotten all about the supermarket incident yesterday.

Well, what’s done is done. I should just avoid the beach for a while now in case that guy likes to frequent the place. I don’t think I should face him again before I’ve practiced with more people and gotten my hatred under control. Though I don’t even know how I’d want myself to handle things if he bumped into me again. Really only two ways about it - what I ended up doing this time or apologizing. And I do not want to apologize to an Arcean. If anything, they should apologize to me. For what, I’m not sure, but they should.

Alright. I guess I should just get right back on the rapidash despite getting singed. Just… stick to less aggravating types of people. Find a giratinist, maybe. We might have something in common.

With a sigh, I force myself to stand up and continue walking.

---​

 

[canisaries]

wow, this took pretty accurately one month. if i keep this up i might even have some kind of a schedule.

anyway! it's time for the chapter i've been memeing so much about, chapter 7. i wonder what gives it its reputation? you'll have to read to find out.

rated mature for gore, body horror, violence against a minor, strong language and sexual references. and i really have to stress the gore and body horror parts. you'll see. enjoy!

---

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Houndoom

---
​

Finally, I’m home. Thank the Gods. The front door of my house has not looked this beautiful in years.

I wish I could feel like I made more progress on this excursion, though. While I didn’t feel the urge to stab anyone like I did with that insufferable Arcean, I did have to tap out of conversations pretty quickly after starting them on account of them being boring as fuck and the boneheaded mareep just pissing me off with their… general mareepness. Oh, I have a wife and two kids, they’re the light of my life, the littler one is really big into prehistoric pokémon right now - yeah, well, I bet he thinks tyrantrum shouldn’t have feathers, as if he gets to make that decision, stupid fuck. I hate kids.

Right, well, anyway - I’m home now, and I don’t have to think about that shit anymore. All I have to think about now is getting some food. I’m starving.

I unlock the front door and open it. Fonz shouts his greeting from inside. Fuck. If he’s here, that means the omanyte is here too. I really don’t have the energy for this…

Either way, I slip inside and kick off my shoes, giving no shits about whether they’re fancy or not. In the comfort of my own home, I can treat them any way I want. It’s not like my dad’s coming back to scold me.

I shuffle my way to the kitchen to scramble together something to eat. Fonz sits at the table with his own dinner - some salmon and mashed potatoes, nice. I could have some of that myself. Last night’s dream definitely put me in the mood for some seafood. But last night’s dream was also the one where --

Dammit, this is what I was talking about. I’ve already had enough trouble containing my urges today. I don’t need any more of that, regardless of what kind of urges I’m fighting.

But the omanyte issue becomes impossible to ignore when I hear the mon chatting with a voice I don’t recognize.

It’s not Fonz, I’m looking right at him. It’s not Abe, he doesn’t sound like that. It’s not Abe’s father and it’s not my mother. So it must mean…

I clear my throat. “Did m- Helix bring someone home from school?” The name burns my throat to speak aloud, but I just can’t say ‘my lord’ anymore.

“Yeah,” says Fonz, grinning. “A treecko named Lily. Apparently they’ve really hit it off. Isn’t it great?”

I fix my eyes on the kitchen counter.

Yes, it’s great. It’s wonderful. He -- the omanyte finally has a friend. It finally found company. I can imagine how happy that makes it.

And the fact that it brought them home… means that it’s no longer ashamed of me.

Because I’m not there to call it ‘my lord’ anymore. I’m not there to be weird anymore. The omanyte can now bring people home because I’m no longer in its way.

He’s replacing you.

No, no, shut up. We already went over this with the Shirlee fiasco. He’s not -- it’s not replacing me. It has only found other people, other interests. And that’s good, you know? That’s good, because that means it doesn’t need me around so much. And I’m not supposed to be close to it anyway. This is good for both parties.

He no longer needs you.

That’s not -- no, that can go ahead and be true. Because it doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t matter what some little mon thinks. I’m going to be a god. That’s the only thing that matters. That’s the only thing I care about.

He no longer wants you.

“Red?”

I don’t answer.

“Are you okay?”

I have to answer.

I grab my heart and slam it through the window.

“Yeah,” I say. “Just got lost in thought.”

“Alright...”

Great, now look at what you’ve done. You’re being suspicious. You’re acting strangely. You’re raising questions. You have to fix the situation.

...I can’t. I have to take the next best option.

“Do we need anything from the store?”

“The store? Weren’t you there just yesterday?”

Yeah, weren’t you? “Yeah, but I wanna get something I forgot.”

He shifts back on that little stool of his that lets him sit by the table like a human being. “Well, I can’t think of anything we’re missing.”

“That’s alright.” I walk back to the door and shove my feet back into my shoes. “See you soon.”

“Oh, s-see you,” he shouts backs as I slip outside.

Once I’ve closed the door, I let myself collapse against it.

Well, I suppose it’s alright. I didn’t do anything explicitly harmful and removed myself from the situation before I could. That’s about the best I can ask of myself given today’s events.

Still, I…

No. Just let it go.

With a sigh, I prop myself back up. I step down from the porch and begin my journey to the store. Well, I suppose I don’t actually have to go to the store - I can just say they didn’t have what I wanted - but as I couldn’t get myself a bite to eat back home, I could buy myself a little something on this trip. I remember them having a section with freshly baked pastries the few times I’ve wandered off my usual route. One of those sounds really good right about now…

The thought, unfortunately, only makes my hunger growl louder. I choose to defer it for the time being and try to focus on my surroundings instead.

For a while, it helps. The pretty weather and nice breeze do well to lift my spirits… until I come across the library.

Gods. Just a year ago or so, I could have gotten a snack from the café already and had a wonderful time, but noooo, they had to go and screw it all up as that’s the thing humans do best. Well, guess what?

I gargle up some saliva and spit it down on the asphalt. There. Let that foamy lump be a warning to any other enjoyers of decency. And who says people like me don't do good deeds.

I lift my head up high and continue on my way. After what felt like much too long, I finally arrive at the supermarket - but there's a commotion at the front again. And what do you know, it's the same people as before. You'd think they would’ve given up by now. In a way, I admire their resilience. And in a way, I almost pity them - they too have found themselves imprisoned by their own emotions. But I suppose, more than either of those, I feel… pride. Pride at the fruits of my labor.

But I do hope I can slip by either unnoticed or with a quick 'no'. I'm here for destressing, not distressing. Man. Sometimes I wish I had friends I could say these puns to.

I approach the doors with a brisk pace I intend to keep no matter what. I dive into the crowd and manage to take a few steps until someone lightly grabs my arm. Alright, I was prepared for this. I turn to the culprit and --

“Excuse me, sir, have you...”

The word to speak is simple, but some group of neurons decides to block it with rage. They’ve seen the man that slammed the lid of an iron maiden onto me last night, and they’ve forgotten that it was simply a dream. It doesn’t help that the man has left his own sentence unfinished. It locks my eyes onto his face in anticipation. His dopey, dopey face. But it’s not just his expression that I can’t seem to escape - something is off.

His veins. His veins and arteries. I can see them. They sprawl along his face like the roots of some fungus, diving into his sockets and orifices. Was he always this pale? Is this some reaction his body is having to the copious amounts of crying he’s done judging by his reddened eyes? No, somehow it doesn’t look unhealthy. I’m not repulsed as I would be at signs of sickness - instead, I’m drawn in. Those red and blue lines are so vivid in their color, they’re like… they’re like candy. Sweet, juicy… plump. Full of blood. So full that it feels like the blood would just squirt right out if pricked with a needle. It would spray right onto me, my skin, my mouth...

He’s talking to me now. I think he’s talking about recognizing me from before but still wanting to ask if I’ve seen her sister. He holds up the photo, but I can barely give it a glance before I have to return to that spectacle on his face. With enough focus, I can see the minute changes in the pressure of those tubes. The squash and stretch as his muscles move. The pulses of blood that originate from his heart. His heart…

My gaze slides down to his chest. Deep in there resides that beautiful, colorful organ. Day and night it ceaselessly works to keep that blood flowing. So diligent. Yet this man gives it no thanks. He takes it for granted, even makes it work overtime with unnecessary stress.

“Sir, are you okay?”

I look back at his face. Wrinkles above the eyebrows. Slightly ajar mouth. Confused. At my behavior.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” I respond with lazy lips, and he goes back to his speech.

But am I okay? Am I okay with this? No, I can’t be okay with this. He doesn’t deserve that heart. And if I’m twice the man he’ll ever be, why shouldn’t I take it for myself? If I had two hearts, neither would have to work as hard anymore. They could work in shifts, one doing what a heart’s meant to do while the other takes a well-deserved break. I’ll give that heart a good home. I’ll let it live in a body that trains regularly and eats a healthy diet. This dude doesn’t, just look at him. He’s taller than me, and yet I have not a cloud of doubt that I could kick his ass. I could kill him with my bare hands. Eat him alive. Tear off chunks of muscle with my teeth, swallow them, digest them, put their bioenergy into much better use. Oh, Gods. How good it would taste, especially with those candy-like veins on top. I’m so hungry. I have to…

“What are you doing?”

He raised his hands. He stepped back. Because I… stepped forward. To lunge at him? Bite him in the neck? In this crowd? In broad daylight?

What the hell am I doing? I was just supposed to say ‘no’ and move on. Not this… this. I… oh, fuck. Just leave.

“Sorry, nothing,” I quickly say. “I’ll, uhh, let you know if I see anything.”

Before he can respond, I slip through the automatic doors. I don’t stop until I’ve passed through the store gates, something that’ll keep me from walking right back.

This was a bad idea. I should have learned by now that I shouldn’t be around anyone if I need to get myself back together. I just need to grab that snack from somewhere, buy it and get out. Eat it in the woods or something. Anywhere I can be alone.

Okay, let’s see. Where did they keep the pastries again…?

I sneak across the store like a lost rodent, peeking into every aisle I pass by and changing course whenever I feel like I’ve found a right turn, but time and time again I’m mistaken. What kind of logic does this place follow? How are clothes related to cheese? Why not have the fresh pastries near the bread? No, there are only packaged ones. I don’t want those - I didn’t come all this way for something conveyor belt flavored.

It doesn’t help either that each time the signs seem a little harder to read. And each time I turn around, my steps get heavier… it must be my blood sugar dropping down. All this stress is just burning me out faster. Thoughts get blurred, repeated, forgotten only seconds later… hey, I was in this aisle already. Which way did I turn last time? Left? Guess I’ll take the right…

Oh my Gods. There it is! Freshly baked pastries. Croissants, donuts, cinnamon buns. They are sweet, they are greasy, they are…

Well, they’re…

They’re fine, I guess. They’re exactly as pastries should be. But…

Now that they’re in front of me, I just don’t… want them.

I don’t want to eat wheat. I don’t want to eat plant matter. But I’m still hungry. I want something. What do I --

A salty, metallic flavor invades my consciousness.

Without even thinking, I lick my lips, catching more blood from the chapped skin. That’s exactly it, that’s what I want. I want flesh. I want the meat of a creature that once had a pulse. Or still has…

No! Don’t go down that route. Just... get some fish! That used to be alive. That’s some flesh you can still legally get. There’s a food counter right beside the pastries, get it from there? No, better not. You should avoid human contact as much as you can right now. Get the refrigerated stuff - you just passed that aisle just a while ago.

I backtrack my steps and see the beautiful red gleam of a salmon fillet. Yes, that, I want that. No, not that, that’s raw, you can’t have it raw, get the cold-smoked one. I open the shelf door and snatch the package, nearly missing thanks to the ever-thickening haze in my head. The soft touch of the flesh underneath my thumb nearly has me sink my teeth into it already, but no, I need to be a person for just a few moments longer. Fingers clutching the package strongly enough to almost tear it, I close the door and turn to where I at least kind of think the checkouts are.

Wait. Past the aisle, on the floor - a red puddle. Is that...

No, it can’t be blood. Why would there be blood on the floor of a supermarket? It has to be ketchup or berry juice or something. Yes, that’s it. Of course it isn’t blood. Nobody’s hurt, nobody’s bleeding, and that’ll become clear as day as soon as I get past these shelves --

Someone’s lying in the puddle. Face down, motionless.

Well… alright, that’s a bit more alarming… but maybe he took a fall. He does look pretty old. He took a fall and he landed on whatever he was carrying, which happened to be filled with some red fluid, and it burst open and made that puddle. That is what happened. Unfortunately, now that I’ve clearly noticed him, I’m obligated to help or else they’ll catch me being criminally negligent on surveillance tapes. What a pain in the ass…

I walk over to him, circling the puddle to avoid getting whatever that stuff is on my shoes. I crouch next to his face and reach for his shoulder --

No.

That smell is unmistakable. It is blood.

Despite my awakening dread, I grab the man's shoulder. No reaction. I fold the salmon to fit it in my pocket, grab the man with both hands and flip him over.

His entrails stay on the floor.

The smell surges like a sudden gust. Not just blood - all the odors of an opened abdominal cavity, its organs, its fluids. I recoil, nearly falling on my ass, but fortunately find my balance in time to stand upright. Still, my eyes stay nailed to the carnage.

What is… behind this? What would cause this? Did a rabid mon barge in and maul this guy? Is it still at large? Am I in danger?

I pause my breathing to listen for any clues - but the store's gone silent. Unbearably silent.

I look around, and what I see is even worse.

Puddles and smears of red coat the once-white floors. Bodies lay strung about here and there, some intact, others ripped apart. I creep to another aisle - same thing. Next one, same thing. Same thing, same thing, same thing. It’s really starting to seem like I’m the only one alive --

Something moved.

Something’s standing at the end of this aisle. Someone. Looks human. Has human hands. Stained by blood.

Was it him? Did he kill all these people? Did he have the same thoughts I had here last time, but lacked the luck that snapped me back to reality? He kinda looks like me. He might think like me, too. Right now, he’s frozen just like I am. Just standing there.

I don’t want to move, afraid I’ll trigger an attack - but I have to get my knife. I have to be able to defend myself.

I grab the hilt --

Blood.

Blood on my hands. They’re all red. Trembling.

And so are his.

That’s a mirror.

No. No, I couldn’t have. I’ve been shopping just like anyone else. When could I have done all this? It’s impossible! Yet the blood, the blood is there, and my knife…

I slide it out. The blade is red.

Oh shit. I need to get out of here.

I dash from aisle to aisle, careful not to slip on any blood or disembodied organs, looking for any sign of the checkouts. Though will I even be able to get through? Surely they’ve seen me on my rampage through the surveillance already. But will they have the power or courage to try and stop me? Maybe a mon would. I wouldn’t be much of an opponent to anything with elemental powers. I guess I just have to hope it’ll be humans alone or that they’ll be too cowardly to stop me. And that they have no guns...

Wait! Maybe there’s a chance the surveillance is broken today or that no one’s looked at it yet. If that’s the case, I may even be able to get away scot-free! I just have to get this blood off my hands. But how can I do that? I can’t wipe it on my clothes, it’ll still show. Unless…

With great care not to stain any visible area, I slip my thumb underneath the waist of my pants. I pull it outwards to allow my other hand to enter the space inside, and that other hand props it up enough to let me slip my first hand in. Alright, fantastic! I rub both hands against the insides of my pants, hoping dearly that there won’t be enough blood to seep through. It seems that there isn’t, but the blood is also taking its sweet time coming off --

“Hey!”

I look up and freeze. A man in a dark green shirt has entered the aisle, and he’s looking straight at me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, approaching. Oh Gods. Why is he even doing that? He has no weapon on him. Doesn’t he know how much I’ve slaughtered? He… can’t be aware, no. If he knew, he wouldn’t dare to approach. But then what the hell is he confronting me about --

“Get those hands outta your pants!”

...Ohhh.

Well, this is quite awkward.

“I said take ‘em out!” he shouts again. It’s looking like he’s going to come take them out himself if I don’t comply.

But… I can’t take them out. He’ll see the blood. He’ll figure things out. Should I just kill him? I’d have to be fast and get no more blood on me, though --

No, I’ve got it! Why didn’t I think of this before?

“Oh, thank the Gods you’re here!” I yell. “There’s a --”

I’ve pulled out my hands to present the blood I would claim to have bled. Only there isn’t any.

The clerk’s frown deepens. “A what?”

I glance behind me. The floors are stainless white.

“You’re gonna have to leave now,” says the clerk.

I inspect my hands over and over, but all traces of the blood have vanished. As the clerk extends his hand to grab me, I lift them up.

“I, uhh, sorry,” I say. “My bad. I won’t be any more trouble. Can you, uhh, still let me buy this?” I gesture to the salmon sticking out of my pocket. At least that didn’t fall out during this whole thing.

The clerk eyes me and the salmon. “If you behave,” he begrudgingly says.

I nod eagerly and follow the clerk to the checkouts, where he watches me as I purchase the salmon. Despite my company, the woman behind the counter still serves with the usual level of professionality, but her smile wavers at the words the clerk mutters after I’m done.

“Be sure to wash your hands.”

A bright red glow on my face, I exit the store. I cross the parking lot without delay and keep going until I’ve reached the graveyard.

I sit on the bench and stare at the salmon in my hands.

I’ve never hallucinated from low blood sugar before, but maybe it’s a thing. Or maybe I fell halfway asleep. I don’t know. I just know that I better eat this now.

Even though I’ve completely lost my appetite.

---​

"Hi!" rings Abe's greeting from the kitchen as soon as I open the front door. Unfortunately for him, I have neither the will nor the energy to answer.

I kick off my shoes for what I pray will be the last time today and shuffle towards the stairs. Hearing the omanyte's friend's voice from the living room further cements my plan to head directly for my bedroom and stay there for the remainder of the day. It'd seem very boring if it wasn't for the fact that I'm perfectly ready to already call it a night.

"Oh, hey," Fonz speaks up despite my right foot already touching the third step. "Did you get what you wanted?"

Should probably answer. "Yeah."

He says something, but as I hear no noises suggesting he's going to follow me, the exact words are irrelevant. All that matters now is that I can rest undisturbed.

Sixteen steps and what feels like an hour later, I bust through my room’s door and flop onto my bed face first. It's not as dark as I would've liked with the sun shining through the window, but it matters little as sleep already knocks at the back of my mind. I let it in, and reality blurs away...

---​

Where is it?

I glance left and right and back and forth, but all I see are trees. Pines, spruces, all swaying and creaking in the wind that howls with a houndour's voice. They spread out their branches as if waiting for an unsuspecting passerby to snatch away. Their needles wiggle like thousands of spider legs, eager to get their claws on me to do who knows what. Needless to say, I steer clear of them, sticking to the well-tread path of dirt and dead needles.

Up above, in the few spots where the branches don't obscure it, the deep blue velvet of the sky peeks through, along with a few little stars. Their faint, cold light is the only illumination the forest receives. Thanks to this, I can barely see two meters in front of me, which makes my search no easier. I suppose I just have to keep going until I bump into it.

Wait… what is 'it'? What exactly am I looking for?

Clank. Clank. Clank.

What’s that? Sounds like a machine of some kind. A big one.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

It’s coming closer. Shit. I don’t know what it is, but I better go hide just in case. I jump off the path --

Shlorp.

And instantly regret it as the moss gives in under my feet and I find myself knee-deep in sludge. Oh Gods, my shoes are drenched… ugh, wading through this isn’t going to be anywhere near fast enough. I gotta return to the path and find some other option, fast.

The suction is strong, but with great effort, I manage to pull my foot out of the muck and hop closer to the path. That's one step, I'll need a couple more. Come on… yes, shlorp, we get it. Hurry up, the clanking is getting louder! I don't wanna get in the way of a crazed tyranitar or whatever that is!

The ground's already shaking, oh Gods. What am I even gonna do when once I get out of the sludge? I glance around… hold on, over there! A lone pine growing right on the edge of the path. Maybe, just maybe, I can hide behind it.

I pull my foot out of the sludge one more time, focus on the solid ground just a meter away, bend my supporting leg - and leap.

The foot meets the path! I crouch right away, and to my great relief, I get to keep my balance. But there’s no time to celebrate. Light is shining from behind the trees, growing brighter each moment - it’s the machine. The rays burning my back, I run to the pine. Up close, it’s thinner than I’d hoped, but it’ll have to do. I slip behind it and try my best to fit in its shadow. Curse these wide, masculine shoulders…

The clanking enters my stretch of the path. It’s here. But its rhythm isn’t changing -- it must not have spotted me… yet, at least. I hold my breath as it approaches, keeping a close eye on the light’s direction. As the shadow shifts, so do I. I tiptoe around the trunk at the same pace as the machine passes the tree. A cartoonish maneuver - but miraculously, it works.

The machine carries on at the same pace it arrived with. The clanking’s finally fading, and so is the light.

I can sigh in peace. I’m safe.

“Thought we missed you, huh?”

What?

Clank-clank cla-clank cla-clank cla-clank clank clank clank --

It's coming here!

Thwack!

Something strikes the tree hard enough to make me jump back on instinct, forgetting all about my plan to hide. The ground that meets my feet is lumpier than expected and I tumble down backwards.

As the last resort of a cornered animal, my body freezes up, and all I can do is gawk at the terror that stands before me.

Eight spindly, golden legs carry the weight of a coffin-shaped body. On its face, a mask - that mask. Only instead of holes in her sockets, she has two gleaming pitch-black eyes along with two smaller pairs next to them.

And on the creature's back, wearing a headlamp that obscures her face but still leaves visible the dark clothing and the pink --

"Hi," greets Michi. She pushes up the headlamp, revealing a grin most infuriating.

Even through my terror, my hands form fists. "Y-you're supposed to be dead," I manage through my teeth.

"Well, I'm not, and doesn't that piss you off." She smirks, but soon frowns, leaning forwards onto the creature's head.

"Let's get to the point," she says and pats the monster's head. It raises its frontmost pair of limbs, flashing their unnervingly sharp tips, and plunges them into the dirt on my left and right. A dozen or so centimeters closer, they would have skewered my hands - ample reason to draw them to my chest and pay close attention to what the girl has to say.

She locks eyes with me - all innocence gone from those pale blues, replaced with only cold. She delivers her words without a waver.

"You need to confess."

Confess…?

Right. Of course she'd want that. But I…

“Well?” she demands.

This is not an easy thing to say with a car-sized six-eyed spider monster staring at you with murderous intent, but I don’t see much of a choice.

“I can’t,” I breathe.

The monster hisses sharply, and Michi narrows her eyes. “Yes, you can,” she says. “And unless you want to die right here and now, you will.”

Shit. So it’s either gonna be rotting in jail for the rest of my life or getting the kebab treatment.

Or… I do have one trick up my sleeve. It’s worth a shot…

I search my heart for all the misery and despair I can find and channel it through my face.

“I… I’m sorry,” I crow, voice breaking. “I-I’m sorry, but I had to do it! You don’t understand --”

The monster splits its mask into a maw of curved, sharp fangs. An infernal screech claws at my ears.

“Save it!” spits Michi. “You really think we’d pity you? The child murderer?”

“Well, I, uhh…I mean…” I raise my hands and force a chuckle. “Listen, can we just pause for a moment and discuss this?”

She frowns, but to my great shock, doesn’t immediately order the monster to kill me. Instead, she leans forward again. “We’re listening.”

I take a moment to catch my breath, but know my time is limited. “Alright, so...” I rub my hands together. “Since, um, I don’t want to die and you probably don’t want murder on your record, I’m thinking we could forgo that ‘killing me’ option...”

“So, you’ll confess?”

I glance away. “Well, about that… I was thinking that now that you’re clearly here and alive, that means no child murder was actually committed, and I… feel like it’d be quite annoying for both parties to deal with all the legal stuff that’s attached to these things, and so we could perhaps… just go our separate ways and forget all about this?”

Silence.

Is it a good silence?

Michi scowls. It’s not good.

“Kill him.”

A metal limb slams into my chest, squeezing out all air and knocking me onto my back. The monster pounces on me, lunging for my left arm with its maw wide and --

Fuck! Oh, Gods! That stings, stings! Screaming pain in my left forearm, it took its fangs and sunk them right in! Right between the bones! It’s like fire! She withdraws -- she withdraws, but the pain isn’t going away, no, it’s so bad, it’s so bad I can’t think of anything but my dissolving flesh. Dissolving, it really is dissolving, the skin is caving in by gravity alone. Blood pours out of the puncture wounds. Blood and other matter. I hear sizzling. The pain spreads to my torso. My lungs are bubbling. I can’t breathe. The venom creeps up my neck. Oh Gods, I’m really gonna die. My brain is going to melt. It’s already doing so. Patches of my vision go black and spread, spread. But my skin, my skin is still intact, it seems, if limp with no structures beneath. Oh Gods, there it comes, I can feel it. My thoughts shattering.

Death.

Wait. It’s gone.

It’s dark, soft, wet…

Oh, great, I get it now. It was just another nightmare. It was just a dream, and now it’s over. I’m awake in my own bed, safe. Though I’m not a fan of the cold sweat. Especially with my day clothes still on. Ugh, looks like I’ll have to change for tomorrow.

“Do you understand now?”

Oh fuck! Who --

Against the back wall, standing in the dark, it’s her.

“You will confess, or it’ll get even worse,” Michi says. What is she doing in my room? How did she get in? Shouldn’t she be dead?

“It’s not a hard choice,” she continues, glaring at me with those frigid eyes. “Jail isn’t even as bad as you deserve. I’m letting you off easy.”

Jail… or death. But not death. Only nightmares. Nightmares in which I die, which I suffer - but this reality remains reality.

This reality…

No, this isn’t real. This is another dream. In reality, Michi is dead, and if she was alive, she’d be smarter than this. She wouldn’t break into my house to taunt me, she’d go to the cops like a sensible person. She’d stay there for protection. She knows I’m a killer, someone to fear.

This one should know that, too.

At the sight of my determination, her expression wavers. “Is there really no convincing you?”

“No,” I say. “No, there is not.”

I get out of my bed and stand up straight. The clammy fabric of my shirt makes me shiver. I quickly unbutton it and throw it on the floor behind me. That’s better.

I lock eyes with Michi again and approach.

“What are you doing?” she asks, unnerved. “I can scream, you know. And then everyone will see us. I’ll tell them what you did.”

I hear steps. Hurried steps behind the door. A click, and the cracks light up - a shove of the door, and light floods in. In the frame stands Abe.

“What’s going on? What are you doing?” he shouts, but I’m not fooled. I lay my gaze on him and imagine him disintegrating into red dust.

It happens. I smile.

The lights flicker out, and the door closes on the pile of powder. Michi looks at the door, then at me. Stupefied.

I walk towards her. “Nice try.”

She backs up only to bump into the wall. “What do you mean?”

“You had your fun, but now this dream...”

I study the wallpaper behind Michi. Then, in an instant, it shreds to wrap around the girl. A startled gasp leaves her poor little lungs.

“...is a lucid dream.” I grin. Finally, things are going my way. A lucid dream is just what I need after these terrible past few days.

I’m going to get everything I can out of it.

I raise my right hand and bring it in front of the girl. She eyes it, expression quite alarmed.

“And that means...”

Shnk!

Blood spurts out the tips of my fingers, brought forth by the sharp, black talons that have shot out through the skin.

“We’re going to have my kind of dream.”

I snap my new claws, and with the reverberation of the loud click, cracks form in the surrounding walls and ceiling. The scene quakes, raining down dust and small debris. With a flick of my hand, all the furniture of the room decay into ash.

Another flick, and the ceiling and walls shatter, their pieces flinging out into the darkness around us. A gust of wind catches the piles of powder that once formed my dull, gray bedroom, scattering them into the void. Soon enough, nothing remains except for the strips of wallpaper still coiled around Michi.

The blackness brightens just slightly, becoming a deep blue adorned by thousands of sparkling stars. It reveals a familiar setting around us - the forest. As a last touch, I raise the full moon high above. Its cold light falls upon the scene, illuminating each detail my mind has been able to create.

This is perfect.

I turn back to Michi. “There, the scenery’s ready. Now...”

I clasp her face with my hand. The talons prick her skin. She struggles - in vain, naturally. Boy, this makes me smile.

“If you think I’m going to give up killing just because of a few nightmares, you really don’t know me,” I murmur. “So let me set the record straight, once and for all.”

I focus and my body begins to change.

The bones lengthen, the muscles swell. They stretch my skin thinner and thinner, until -- rip, snap, rip. The limit is reached and broken. The futile tissue tears and peels off in bloody patches, exposing the beauty within. Fibers, tendons, ligaments, fasciae, all glistening from blood and plasma. And it so terrifies the girl!

Somewhere deep inside my neck, rows of sharp, conical teeth pierce the flesh. I cough out a bit of blood onto my lips. The taste is mouthwatering.

“It's time you see me for what I really am,” I rasp. She whimpers as she spots the new set of pearly whites peeking from my throat, forming into a predator’s jaws.

Above them, eyes begin to form. At first they see only darkness, but light shines in from my old mouth, brightening by the second as I push my new skull ahead - but the opening isn’t quite big enough. I’m stuck. Hm.

I let my left hand sprout claws of its own and bring both hands to the old human jaws. I shove in my talons and pull.

With an eruption of blood, the jaws pop apart. I tear away the remains of my previous head and cast them off to the side. My old eyes gone, the new eyes see clearly - and Michi sees them.

Glowing yellow eyes with little black pupils stare back at her terrified face. My torn up mouth pulls its corners into a toothy grin as I finish off my new form with a few more details: two curved, milky-white horns and a bony, whiplike tail with a spearheaded tip.

Here I am - the Houndoom.

Michi’s nerves give out. She begins squirming, screaming like a zubat in a blender, desperate for someone to hear and come save her. But no one’s here but us. The tiny girl and the wide-eyed walking corpse, its wet crimson surface shimmering in the moonlight.

I stomp down a bloody foot to halt her wailing. “Well?” I growl. “Do you see now?”

“Yes! Yes!” she screams. “Whatever you say, you freak! Just let me go!”

I let the wallpaper turn limp. Drenched by the many sprays of my blood, it tears apart from the smallest motions of the girl. She stares at her freed self, puzzled by my sudden compliance.

“Well, go ahead,” I say. “Run. Maybe you can get away this time.”

I step back and drop onto four limbs, preparing another wave of changes within my body. Michi blinks, then remembers her survival instinct and takes the chance I've provided her. Her pathetic little run is adorable to watch. It's like she only learned how to walk yesterday.

Now… to really live up to the title of Big and Bad.

I flex my talons in concentration, blood squeezing out of my hands. With a good, long stretch, I expand my bones even further. Tendons lengthen, muscle fibers duplicate. My heels rise off the ground for hind legs better built for running. My snout grows longer to fit even more teeth, more robust for an even stronger bite. I whip my tail with pride - I have become triple my size before. This should allow for the end I’ve planned for her. Now it’s time I make that happen.

With my mind’s eye, I locate a root crossing Michi’s trajectory and raise it. Well enough, it knocks into her shin and sends her face first into the ground.

I leap into a gallop, earth-quaking thumps heralding my approach, and reach her just as she’s managed to get back to her feet. Like a kitten playing with a ball of yarn, I swipe my paw at her, sending her rolling across the ground. She stops herself on her back, but freezes in horror before she can do much else.

“You’re not very good at this,” I sneer. “Now… you know what the Big Bad Houndoom likes to do, don’t you?”

I lower my hand onto her, talons scraping the dirt around her shoulders, and grasp her as gently as a beast like this can. I can feel her shiver as I raise her up to my face.

The fear in her eyes as I slowly separate my jaws - priceless.

“No, don’t --”

She cuts herself off with a scream as I shove her legs into my mouth. The taste of dirt spreads across my tongue, but I’m not doing this for the taste. I’m doing this to finally sate my hunger.

“Let me go, let me go, let me go!” she squeals and claws against my fleshy muzzle, but they’re like scratches of a beetle at best. I shove her in deeper. In her struggles, another flavor begins to seep through the dirt. It’s sweet, it’s gentle… it’s pecha.

And I can no longer control myself.

I push her into my throat and the primal reflex takes over. All the right muscles contract to press her further down, stretching the gullet to its limits. It hurts. It hurts, but I can’t stop grinning.

Silence reigns as the oversized lump makes its painful way through my neck and chest. My pulse is deafening. The back of my brain tingles with its growing lack of oxygen, but my windpipe is blocked. Only once the mass has reached the bottom of the ribcage can I draw in my first breath in seconds.

I breathe hard and fast to revitalize my brain. Multicolored sparks fizzle at the edge of my sight. Oh, Gods. Maybe that wasn’t smart. But the satiation more than makes up for it.

On perhaps the seventh inhalation, I notice my breath is through a human mouth. I take a glance around, and while it’s blurry as hell, I can tell both my body and my room have returned to the way they were before. I suppose all good things must come to an end.

Too hot and too sweaty to sleep in, I remove my pants and throw them into the corner before crawling back into my bed. Finally, I can have a proper rest. A relieved smile forms onto my lips.

No more nightmares.

---​

 

[canisaries]

EDIT: I've been thinking about some things and I've decided I want to put up a disclaimer regarding the psychiatrist scene and about Red's "diagnosis" in general. Catch it under the spoiler.

Spoiler: On Red's pathology

There's a scene in this chapter in which Red is speculated to have antisocial personality disorder (ASPD). When I was first writing Hunter, Haunted in 2017 and fleshing out his psychology, this is what I intended. Despite my research, though, I ended up writing a character that in the end isn't really that closely representative of the typical traits and behaviors of ASPD.

Now, it is true that human beings don't always fit diagnostic criteria perfectly, but I've since realized that it would still be irresponsible of me to make it appear as if Red really was representative of ASPD. While character in-universe may suggest Red may have this condition, this is only because it is those peoples' best guess. In truth, Red is simply Red - his own psychological profile that does not fully match any existing diagnoses.

---

IT'S BEEN FOUR MONTHS AHAHA how did that happen? well, i guess summer job and a really difficult scene happened. there were 3k words worth of outtakes in this revision, no joke.

anyway! this chapter is rated mature for strong language, some gory metaphors and discussion of a past traumatic event. i should also mention that this chapter has considerable arachnophobic elements, so if spiders freak you out, be warned. alright, enjoy!

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CHAPTER EIGHT
Illness

---​

There was no doubt about it - I’d become sick.

It began from the moment I woke up. Pain. A dull, pressurized pain in my gut. As my mind shook off the haze of slumber - well, as much as it could - I gained the ability to better describe the pain.

It was as if all the organs around the area had detached from their ligaments, letting them flop around freely. After that, they'd all been filled with small cold stones, dried up and shrunk. And finally, on top of all that, their muscles were still inexplicably contracting, causing the organs to ceaselessly squirm around inside me, pressing and grinding against each other and the inner walls of my body.

Basically, I’d become a living, breathing ore processing plant.

This naturally made life very difficult for me. As the fatigue that had struck me yesterday had only strengthened, I found myself almost completely unable to walk. My limbs simply wouldn’t stay straight beneath me.

Luckily, I could still crawl around. I could use the bathroom and drink from the tap. I was on my way back from one such visit when I remembered water wasn’t the only sustenance humans needed, but the carousel inside me strongly disagreed. I knew going without food had a good chance of making things worse, but once I looked down the stairs, I decided that a little starvation was preferable over a broken neck. And so, defeated, I slithered back into my room, buried myself under my blanket and tried my best not to think.

Time passed. Whether it was minutes or hours is still unknown to me. I tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. Slumber kept circling me like a wingull stalking a poorly-guarded burger, but it refused to dive. The light from my window flashed my face over and over again… and then, my savior arrived.

I heard a voice from my door and turned towards it. In the frame stood a humanoid creature shorter than a man, but taller than a child. Its head resembled a dark-vined tangela without eyes.

I tried recalling the words it had spoken, but I remembered only some sounds. I stared at the being with miserable eyes, pleading with it to explain itself again. Fortunately, it did.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Now that I’d actually paid attention, I recognized the speaker immediately and felt quite stupid. It was Abe. Obviously.

‘No, I feel terrible,’ I attempted to say, but what came out was more like the mating call of a stantler buck.

Fortunately, he got the gist. “Do you want me to bring you anything? Food, water?”

Food had probably become a smart investment by then, and if I could get my water through some other way than channeling the spirit of a slug, all the better. I gave the closest thing I could to a nod along with another horny-stag-roar.

“I’ll get you a sandwich and a glass of water,” Abe said. As he withdrew, I promised myself I’d remember this on the day of ascension. I’d repay him then with a quick, painless death. Or perhaps by turning him into some bird mon. Something that flies has a much better chance of fleeing the Helixians.

Abe returned some time later with his promised sandwich. I chowed it down as fast as I could, which wasn’t very. I thanked Abe with another groan as he left the glass on my nightstand and left. I could tell he would come back again later in the day, and I was happy. Happy that Abe would be there. A rare feeling.

I actually managed to get some more sleep after that, although dreamless. It was a shame as staring at the same room for so long had made me hungry for variety, but at least it meant no nightmares.

What woke me up was another visit from Abe. It went roughly the same as the first, though I also asked how long it had been since the previous visit - a request that took plenty of effort and patience from both parties to be successfully delivered. It had been four hours, but Abe had also checked on me somewhere in the middle quietly enough not to wake me. I accepted the sandwich gladly, as the previous one hadn't made me any sicker. Though it's not like it made me any less fatigued, either.

Visit three was special. It began the same way as the others, but once the food delivery had been negotiated, Abe spoke new words. I didn't catch all of it the first time around, but once the words 'psych appointment' registered, my mind suddenly sharpened. I recognized my pain and exhaustion as ailments of my body, distinct from my consciousness. The fog in my mind thinned considerably, and for the first time in a while, I felt truly awake.

"Psych appointment?" I repeated, to the great surprise of both Abe and myself. The stantler had learned to speak.

"Yeah," he half-said, half-gasped. "I had rescheduled it to be two days from now, but I wanted to ask if you thought I should cancel that and reschedule again."

It must have been the illness that made me say no.

In retrospect, there was every reason to cancel the appointment. I had been very sick for almost a full day and logically I should have anticipated it to continue. There was no pressure to have that appointment as illness was a completely acceptable reason to skip it.

But there I was, drunk on the sudden clarity of my mind. Feeling as if I was getting better by the second. That two days from then, I'd be in the best shape of my life.

And the worst part of it all?

I was right.

"Red?"

I look to my left to meet Abe's curious eyes. I guess I must have gotten lost in thought.

“Sorry. Just thinking,” I say and give a reassuring smile --

Oh, right, but he can’t see it! He can’t see it because I’m wearing a mask! Because it’s the considerate thing to do when going out in public after being sick. Good thing my dear brother was there to remind me of this before we departed. Good thing I didn’t want to bother arguing…

“Alright,” says Abe, and we walk underneath the overgrown entrance and through the front door. We head for the receptionist… who’s the same as last time. Joy. Well, better just get it over with.

I reach for my knife and just barely notice the receptionist flinch. I almost smile, but his reaction’s not enough to make up for having to give up my weapon again.

I detach the scabbard from my belt and place it on the desk. “You know what to do with it.”

He smiles with his mouth, but not his eyes. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he says as he takes the knife. I nod and silently wish for an accident to befall him later in the day.

I pocket my hands and begin heading for the stairs. “You can leave now,” I say to Abe. “I’ve wasted enough of your time.”

“O-oh, no, it’s nothing,” he chuckles. “As long as you get help.”

I stop.

What did he say?

I turn around, but he’s hurrying to the exit already, avoiding my gaze as he stutters his goodbyes. “Yeah, um, hope it goes well. See you later!”

He slips away before I can think of the right way to word the question on my mind. All I’m left with is a tense silence as the receptionist no doubt struggles to restrain himself from some kind of remark. I decide to start climbing the stairs before either of us ends up losing control.

Get help. Get help for what? How have I appeared to be in need of help? I’m perfectly fine. Well, okay, I’m not, but Abe shouldn’t know that. He should only see me as kind of a grump, not as the bloodthirsty predator I actually am...

Hold on. Now I remember something the psych said last time. That Abe had told her I’d seemed ‘unhappy’ and ‘on-edge’, or some other words to that effect. And he mentioned my ‘violent tendencies’, which is bullshit because he only knows about that through word of mouth at school. Is this all he needs as an excuse to force me to get my head checked? Speculation and rumors? That doesn’t sound like Abe. He can’t have made this decision on his own. Someone else must have --

Of course. It all makes sense. This is the work of that puppy crush of his, Alice. That’s why Abe could bring her slaking friend to make sure I didn’t skip the appointment last time. She has her fingerprints all over this. She’s convinced herself I’m some kind of mental case to explain my occasional odd behavior and spread that belief to Abe, and now she’s gotten him to pressure me into psychoanalysis. She must feel so smart. So altruistic, too. The psycho will get his treatment and the rest of society will be safe from him.

Well, unfortunately for her, I feel the best I have in weeks. I’m going to utterly charm that shrink with my normalcy and return with clean papers. And Alice will have to admit she was wrong. Though I suppose she technically isn’t. I pretty much am a psycho. It’s just that she shouldn’t assume.

Having reached hallway E on the third floor, I pick a chair and sit down. It’s the one furthest away from the table. There’s really no way that spider is still there, but… well, it doesn’t matter. It’s my ass and I get to choose where I put it.

Since the hallway’s empty, I can safely remove my mask without anyone scolding me about it. I tuck it in my pocket, and it’s like it was never there. Like I’d just conveniently forgotten it. Shame about all the people I’ll infect now. I hope their number is high.

A minute or few later, Dr Marsh’s door opens, and the psych in question steps through. She calls me in, I get up and enter, all as predicted - though her clothes are different from last time. They’re still black and white, though, and those red glasses and scarf haven’t gone anywhere. She knows her signature.

Once we’ve seated ourselves on the green armchairs, she opens her notebook and asks what is sure to be the first of many questions. “So, I heard you’d gotten sick. Feel better now?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” I say with a smile. Stupid bitch.

“That’s good...” She writes something in her notes. I don’t understand her priorities.

She straightens her white wool sweater, then looks back at me. “So… you mentioned last time that you’d given up school to take care of your sick friend, correct?”

Damn it. I was hoping she wouldn’t bring up the omanyte anymore. “Correct.”

“And you spend most of your time tending to Him, then?”

I’ve set myself up for a ‘yes’. I suppose I’ll have to give it and only hope Abe hasn’t said anything contradicting. “Also correct.”

“Is it your parents that support you, then, or some other party?”

I suppress a sigh of relief. No accusations yet. Though it’s not like parents are among my favorite topics, either… but, really, what kind of shrink would this woman be if she didn’t bring those up at some point?

“Primarily, it’s my mother and stepfather that provide for me, my brother and my mon companions, but Fonz also takes short jobs from time to time,” I reply. “Fonz being one of those companions.”

“I see.” She writes something down in her notes. I guess that answered something she had in mind. I hope in the right way.

As I shift my position for comfort, I realize I’ve crossed my arms and legs. Should they remain this way? It can appear hostile. But it also shows defensiveness. Are more people comfortable or uncomfortable in a situation like this? Should I untangle my limbs only later on to give the illusion that I’ve warmed up to her?

Gods, people are so much harder when their guard is up. Maybe I shouldn’t overthink this. Maybe that in itself will make me seem unnatural.

Dr Marsh raises her gaze from her notes, and that's my cue to listen up.

"Would you describe yourself as impulsive?" she asks.

Oh, we're back into those form-questions again, it seems. Boring, but safe. "No, not really."

"Are you irritated easily?"

"I wouldn't say so."

"Have you ever stolen anything?"

Stolen? “Where did this come from?”

“It’s just a standard question. Don’t think much of it.”

I doubt it, but this’ll all be over faster if I just go along with it. “Well, no. I haven’t stolen anything.” Probably have, but the less I think about it, the less I’m technically lying.

"Did you have many friends at school?"

"A couple." That's standard, right?

"Do you still spend time with them?"

"...Not as much, but yes, occasionally. Like when Helix is at school." Proud at that quick thinking, I almost smirk. People love it when you tie things together.

"Aren't they at school?"

Ah. Should've known nothing would be that simple with her. "During recess."

"Those seem like good friends."

Seems like she accepted that answer. "They are."

"Have you ever been in a relationship?"

What, are you interested? "No." I see no need to lie. While society loves to see people jam themselves into relationships - there’s an entire holiday to applaud those that give in to their hormones - statistics are still on my side. There are plenty of guys my age that are interested in more important matters or simply unlucky when it comes to the dating game.

She withdraws to her notes again. I take the time to let my eyes wander around the room, refresh my brain a little bit. It's not terribly interesting, but --

Something moved.

In the little dark crevice at the corner of the ceiling, something moved.

Was it a fly? Or was it --

Long, pointy limbs stick out, and the ugliest of critters crawls onto the wall. Yep, a spider. Gods… is this building especially alluring to them somehow?

Whatever. As long as it stays all the way over there, it doesn’t matter.

“Alright, Mr Akai,” starts the psych, drawing my attention back to her face. “I must be frank. I do not believe you’re being honest.”

What?

No, don’t stop to think, respond, respond!

I reach an awkward hand behind my ear and scratch. “Uh…” I chuckle. ”Sorry, what do you mean?”

"I have a knack for lie detection," she says, leaning back, "but I'm not making this accusation purely off a hunch. I know you haven't been speaking the truth."

I grasp the arm of my chair a little tighter. "How so?"

"I had a long chat with your brother in preparation for this appointment. He let me know about a lot of things - especially how you've barely said a word to your omanyte friend in months."

My heart jumps.

She knew. She knew and she led me on regardless, only to uncover it now. And it's… it's exactly what she did last time, too! Why didn't I see it? Why didn't I --

No, don't dwell on that now. You need to fix this.

I sit up straighter. "Well, I mean… it is true that I've been more distant to Him lately, but that's because He asked me to do that. He felt like He'd been spending too much time with me, and that We should take some time off apart. He wanted to become more independent, too. You know how it is." Please know how it is.

"Well, that would make sense," she says, "but I talked with your friend Mr Fonz as well, and he said the reason behind the silence between You two was some incident back in February. He didn't go into too much detail, but he mentioned that he would have expected you to start talking to Helix again by now - and that Helix agreed."

Fuck. First Abe, now Fonz - can't those fuckers keep anything private? Just how much did they tell her? Did they really give those details? Is she just setting me up for another pitfall? How am I supposed to respond --

The spider in the corner moves. It’s coming down the wall. And behind it, from the crevice it crawled out of, new legs emerge --

No, the spider isn’t important! Focus!

“Mr Akai?”

Fuck! You’re not helping!

My glare makes her recoil. Shit. No, I can't let her see she's getting to me. Look down at the floor and calm down. You haven’t said anything incriminating yet. You can still make it through this.

"I'm sorry I have to pry into private matters like this," she continues, "but your close ones believe it's relevant to your mental wellbeing, and that means it's relevant to a thorough analysis."

‘Sorry’. Bullshit, you’re not sorry. This is a game for you. Catch the patient lying, force them to reveal their secrets. Ring up the police and reap the glory as they cart away the nutjob. Oh, what a hero you are!

“I would appreciate it if you were honest with me from now on. You don’t have to share everything, only what you’re comfortable with - but please, don’t try to give a false impression. I’m going to be able to tell anyway.”

She speaks these words in a comforting voice, but she must know that the implication is anything but. Nevertheless, I give a defeated nod. It’s not like I have a choice.

“Now, this silence between you and your omanyte companion… how do you feel about it?”

Well, how do I answer this? The Red that cared for the omanyte would be devastated. The Red that must no longer care for the omanyte would not be bothered. Problem is, both lead to further prying from the psych. If I was so attached to the omanyte, it wouldn’t make sense for me to keep my distance for so long. If I wasn't that attached to the omanyte, that'd contradict Abe and Fonz's testimonies and make her question why I'd change my attitude so drastically. And the answer to that is a door to all my deepest secrets…

So is it attachment, then? It’s the lesser of two evils. But how am I going to motivate staying away from the omanyte while still making the psych think I’m normal and don’t have any problems?

...Maybe it’s already too late for that.

Maybe revealing that secret is the only way to protect the others.

“It’s… it’s complicated,” I finally say.

“Complicated?”

I feel the vertigo of standing at the edge of a cliff, but it’s either this jump that’ll break my legs or dropping from a plane without a parachute.

“The incident that Fonz was talking about...”

I go back to February, to that day, to that moment.

The omanyte stares at me with eyes wide as plates as I babble on about my delusions. He’s trembling.

No, not He, it. You may be thinking back to a time when it was still a He, but now He is an it.

Alright. It is trembling, trembling because it doesn’t understand why I’m acting the way I am. Why I threw away its phone. Why I told the omanyte that it was in danger, that the phone would kill it, when phones had never been dangerous - it was always the computers, and only at the Centers. And only because of the Twitch. Which happened six years ago. And never since.

“Do you know what happens to computers when you’ve got the Twitch?” I ask.

“They begin malfunctioning, don’t they?”

I nod. “Yeah. The pokéball storage system doesn’t work. It traps the mon in their balls, and it makes the unregistration feature...”

“Break them.”

I nod again. She’s done her research.

“Well,” I continue, “knowing that, having no control over your body, and your companions being trapped with you… you naturally develop a fear. At least, I did. A fear of… screens, user interfaces. Very inconvenient in this day and age.”

“Certainly.”

“And when a companion of yours is just… browsing away on their smartphone, and you take a poor trip down memory lane...”

I grit my teeth. But this is the price I need to pay to still walk out of here a free man.

“Well, you freak out. You think that phone’s another death machine. You take it and… throw it away. And when they question you, when the others join in to ask you what the hell you’re doing, you tell them you were mistaken, that the distortion never went away, that you just wanted to believe it and got careless… and that little omanyte is going to become very scared.”

A short silence.

Does she believe me?

“I see,” she finally says. “So that’s what happened.”

It sounds like she believes me. It sounds like she wants to ask more about it. I sigh in relief. Finally, I catch a break.

“So… you scared your omanyte companion, and now you feel like you should stay away?”

Yes. Precisely, yes - that’s how I felt before HE ordered me to drop my attachment completely. I nod with my neck far less tense.

“From what Mr Fonz said,” she begins, “it sounded like Helix did not want you to stay away. Were you aware of that?”

Oh, this is perfect. This is the resolution that’ll satisfy her, make her feel like she really solved a problem, that she mended yet another person’s life like the savior she is.

“I wasn’t,” I breathe out in realization. “I thought I’d ruined it all, that I’d...” I chuckle at my own naivete. “But I guess I just let my fears run wild, and now...”

I plaster a sickeningly wholesome smile on my face. “I can just go to Him.”

It.

Right. “It.”

I freeze.

The blood drains from my face.

She didn’t hear that, did she? Just in case she did, I should...

“I mean Him.”

...No. That was the worst thing I could have possibly done.

I nail my gaze to the floor and seal my lips tight before any more reckless, life-ruining words can get out, but for the split second I could still see the psych’s face, I knew it was already too late.

“What was that?” she asks, but it’s clear from her tone that she'd heard each word.

Clinging to whatever control I have left, I give no answer.

But what’s she gonna think about that? It's only gonna confirm her suspicions. Instead, I should pretend like I never said that at all. No - that’s suspicious, too. Shit!

“Did you refer to Him… as an ‘it’ right now?”

She’s going for it. She’s going for it. Oh Gods.

As much as I dread seeing her expression, I have to check. I give her a glance. I see confusion, but more strongly, intrigue.

But if that wasn’t enough, there’s something else - something on her shoulder. Something black and many-legged. I check the back wall -- empty. No Spider One, no Spider Two. It’s fair to assume the one on the psych’s shoulder is one of the two - but where’s the other one? Is it near me? Is it --

“Mr Akai?”

She forces my eyes back to hers and, consequently, my attention back to the conversation. Right. I can’t stay quiet. I have to say something. I have to at least try. Maybe stall for time first?

“Sorry, what?” I say in the most casual way I currently can.

She leans back. She’s not repeating the question. Did she decide it was just a silly slip of the tongue with no underlying cause? Could I be that lucky?

“You’re very nervous all of a sudden,” she says. “Are you perhaps… afraid of being diagnosed with something?”

Is that common? It might be common. I doubt normal people like being branded as abnormal. Yes, I may have a shot with this approach. If what I say is partly true, perhaps she won’t sense any lie.

That confidence lets me relax my posture a bit. “Well… yes,” I say, clasping my hands together. “I wouldn’t want you getting any wrong ideas about me.”

“Oh, I am a trained psychiatrist. You can trust my judgment.”

Trust you to get me locked up so you can clean the blemish off your perfect society. Sure, I’ve killed. Sure, I’ve tortured. I am a criminal. But am I really expected to believe you’d just let me walk out here totally free had I done none of it and only had the urge? That you’d stick to human rights with someone you brand inhuman?

She shifts in her seat. “I want you to know, Mr Akai, that a diagnosis is nothing to be afraid of. On the contrary, it’s better to be diagnosed with something than to remain unaware. That way both you and the people around you can understand you better.”

Oh, shut up. I already know everything I need to know about myself, and HE knows the rest. No one else needs to know a goddamn thing.

At least she’s focusing on convincing me of this now. Maybe if I keep her busy with it, our time will run out before she can get to actual conclusions, and I’ll be able to come up with a million and one reasons why I can’t show up by the next time she wants to see me.

Once again, I shield myself with the truth as I ask my next question. “But won’t being diagnosed with something make people… want to avoid me?”

“They don’t need to know if you don’t want them to,” she says. “All of this is confidential. Not even your brother or your parents can find out if you don’t want them to, as long as there’s no pressing reason they should for their or your own safety.”

Hm. Better not let her find out how often I’ve dreamed of killing my mother, then.

“What would those reasons be?” I ask, my expression unchanging in its concern - but on the inside, I lean back and lift up my feet with a smirk on my face. As long as I’m asking her questions, she can’t ask hers. I’ve found the path out of the labyrinth, and the light of freedom’s coming ever closer.

Even the spider’s retreating. It crawls onto her back, out of sight. Excellent - it’s very likely going to be squished the next time the psych leans back again.

“If you told me, for example, that you frequently thought about hurting other people or yourself and expressed having difficulty fighting back these urges.”

“I see.”

“Do you have urges like this?”

I --

Do not answer directly. Conceal your true feelings.

“That’s quite a question,” I laugh. “Do you see me as someone that would?”

"Don't take it personally," she says. "This, too, is a rather common question. For safety reasons, you see."

"I see." I suppose.

"But I will admit…"

What? What?

"Your brother's mention of those 'violent tendencies' did partly motivate the question."

Shit. Right. She did say Abe had told her something like that before. What did I answer then? Surely I must have dismissed it - but if she's bringing it up again, she must have not believed me. Knowing now how she can detect lies - likely not perfectly, but to some extent - it makes sense. And she's already caught me lying more than once now.

"We didn't really get to go through those last time," she continues. "I'd like to talk about it now, if that's okay."

If that's okay… so I could say no? Actually refuse to answer? Why would she give me that option --

Ah, of course! She must be asking this in case those experiences were too painful to bring up. I mean, it's not like mine were anything enjoyable. Mostly I fought against the students that would talk shit at me…

Which makes it the self-defense of a victim of bullying. Which makes it a perfect sob story. Yes! I'm going with this.

I give a shy nod, avoiding her gaze. "Sure."

"In what kind of situations did these tendencies manifest?"

"When being bullied, basically," I sigh. "Some other kids recognized me as a target, I suppose, and it only got worse when they found out they could exploit my anger and get me into trouble for being in fights."

Conveniently, I leave out the part about the guy I paid to act as my personal punching bag each Monday to help curb my bloodlust for the rest of the week. It's not like I look back at those times with the joy I used to, anyway, given the last time I saw the guy, he really fucked up my plans… and just because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. Even when that was clearly part of our agreement...

"What do you think made you a target?"

"Well, you know, being the lonely, quiet kid… easy pickings."

"Were your friends not around those times, then?"

What friends?

Oh. Oh Gods, right.

"They, uh, they… yeah, they weren't. I wasn't with them all the time, you know."

Her eyes narrow just a little, but it's enough to know my story's shattered. She could tell I had no goddamn idea what friends she was talking about.

"There's no shame in admitting you had no friends, you know…" she says - but there's more to come.

"But I don't get any shame from you."

I swallow dryly.

She leans back now. "You're still trying to cover up, aren't you?"

Eye contact burns too much to hold. I drop my gaze to the floor, but that heat still radiates.

How deep is she going to dig? Will she not be satisfied before all trace of deception is gone? Before all that I am is on record? Before she's flayed me and counted each one of my veins?

Silence holds as I have no words left to say. Seconds later, she sighs.

"Perhaps it's my turn to be honest."

What?

My eyes leap back to her face, and her stare no longer blazes like before - but the relief doesn't last long as I see something that freezes me instead.

I see the thin black lines on her ear and my hopeful side says they must be stray hairs, but then they move and do it too quickly - they're legs, legs of a spider. The spider.

It's dragging itself across the ear, across her skin, but she shows no signs of noticing. Can she not feel it? Can she not hear it?

"Since you seem very concerned with what I think about you..."

Oh Gods, she's talking, I better pay attention.

"...I'll tell you what my current theory is."

Theory? About me? Is she -- is she giving the diagnosis, right now?

"The way you lie so naturally and seemingly without shame, how your brother talks of past violent tendencies, how you're possibly trying to reduce your friend to an it in your mind…"

I try to follow what she's saying, I try, I try, but the spider keeps crawling, now moving onto her cheek. How can she not notice it, why doesn't she notice it, why doesn't she flail and scream? Is the spider so light that it can't be felt? It has to be. But that means…

That means there could be one on me right now and I wouldn't know it.

I swipe across my face, then down my arms, then along my thighs, all with lightning speed to fling off any spiders, real or imagined. I only freeze once I remember where I am.

I check the psych's face. Startled, surprised. Explain this, quickly. What's the sanest reason?

Right, I guess it's pretty close to the real one.

"I-I'm sorry," I get out. "Felt a spider."

A painful second of silence follows - but it's dulled the moment she responds. "Oh, alright."

So that was normal. Normal enough, at least. I exhale in relief.

"So back to what I was saying…"

What was she talking about again?

Oh, wait. Oh shit.

Her eyes capture mine once more - and I flinch at the spider uncomfortably close to her eyeball.

"Those traits seem rather antisocial."

Antisocial. Anti, social. The opposite of social. Social means friendly, outgoing. The opposite is a misanthropic loner.

In other words, me.

She has found me out.

No, no, she hasn't! She hasn't found out about my bloodlust, my murders. She doesn't know the full story. Right now, all she can assume is that I prefer to spend my time alone. Nothing more.

"Do you feel that word describes you?"

How should I answer? No, I'll respond with a question again! Stall until I come up with another plan!

"H-how is that word d-defined?" No, don't stutter! She'll see through you!

"The most formal definition, I believe, talks of behavior sharply deviating from social norms…"

Her words become muddled again as the spider heads for her eye. My breathing halts. She can't possibly ignore what's to come.

"...and a persistent disregard for the rights and feelings of others. Informally, though…"

The spider reaches the corner. Its legs play with her eyelashes. She has to feel it. She has to feel it. She has to feel it so I can feel it. So I can know there's nothing on me when I feel nothing instead of Gods know how many little legs are creeping on me, my skin… but there it is, lifting and lowering its legs undisturbed, just at the edge of her eye. If it goes any further --

"...people call a person like that a sociopath."

It steps onto the white of her eye. Squish.

"That's enough!"

The words, the roar, burst out before I could think. My muscles threw me off this chair to stand upright. My lungs, frozen before, now hyperventilate.

The psych stares at me with the shock I expected her to get from the spider - but that spider's now nowhere to be seen.

It fell off. It fell off, or it crawled inside her eye --

No! I claw at my scalp. Don't think that, it's not even possible, so don't torture yourself with the thought --

"Mr Akai?"

Her voice is calm. She shouldn't be calm. She's putting on an act because she's afraid of me. But she wasn't afraid of me before, no, she toyed with me. She's calm for another reason. She knows something I don't. She's pleased with how things have turned out. As if she --

"Did you plan this?" I spit. She flinches, she planned it. "You did. You-you trained them somehow to --"

Then she knows where that second one is, and she has some plan for that one, too, it must be on me --

I shake my whole body. I ruffle my hair, nails scraping the scalp to blood. Get off. Get off. Get off.

But wait! If she can command them, she can command them off me. I just have to threaten her, yes! I jerk up my head and turn to her, take a step --

She’s terrified.

She’s halfway off the chair, frozen in an awkward crouch. The angle of her position suggests she was heading for the door. To escape.

Me.

Because I’m acting crazy.

Slowly, I stand up straight. The room is either silent or the pounding of my heart just makes me deaf to all else.

Okay. Okay. What now? I-I just suggested she was somehow controlling spiders to fuck with me. That makes no sense. Why did I even think that? Am I losing my mind?

No, no, I’m just freaking out because I hate spiders so much. I admit it, I’m arachnophobic. Could she buy that as a justification? If she can tell when I’m lying, she should be able to tell when I’m being honest, too, right?

I let out a discomforted chuckle, unsure how much of it was natural and how much was feigned to enhance my act. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I assure the psych with hand motions and all, and I can see her settling back down on the chair, the fear in her eyes easing up. “I just really, really don’t like spiders and there’s a couple in here and they’re stressing me out, especially since they’re making it so hard for me to act normal which I need to do because in actuality, I’m --”

No.

No, what did you just say?

“You’re what?” asks the psych. She’s on edge, still, but her pen hand is trembling, trembling with triumph, I’m sure. I just all but admitted I’m a psycho. This was the final piece to the puzzle. I can no longer salvage this. I’m ruined.

No.

I can still make sure it doesn’t get any worse!

I sprint to the door, startling the shrink, but she doesn’t try to stop me. I grab the handle - and stop for a split second to reassure myself there are no spiders on it - and wrench the door open, pushing through to the other side.

“Mr Akai, please --”

“No!”

I throw the door shut and slam my back against it to keep her from coming out. Heartbeat bombarding my ears, I ruffle my hair again, ruffle to get rid of all real and imaginary arachnids. My body convulses with violent shudders. I shake myself like a mightyena after a dip in a pond. Only instead of water, it’s spiders. So many spiders.

I run to the end of the hallway, turn the corner, then run and turn another corner, then stop. There are nothing but hallways here. Nothing but white, no windows, no doors. I really should have bumped into something familiar by now if I was going the right way… should I go back to where I started and try again?

Oh Gods. Things just keep going wrong. I’m lost, I’m hyperventilating, and there’s probably people searching the building to detain me at this very moment. I just wanna get out. I wanna get out of here as soon as possible, before anything else goes wr-

Oh Gods no.

---

 

[canisaries]

it took four months to revise a chapter again. wahoooooo. well, let's get to the point. this is the last chapter of act 2! and boy do things happen. read on to find out what.

rated mature for extreme psychological distress, fear of death, body horror, blood and generally disturbing imagery. special warning for arachnophobia like last time, though this time it's a lot stronger.

alright, enjoy!

---

CHAPTER NINE
The Mareep

---​

"No!"

I stomp the ball of my shoe onto the black speck on the floor. I twist it, twist it to tear the bastard apart. No more spiders. No more, please. Let this be the last one.

Slowly, shaking, I lift my foot and move it off to reveal bits of black in a yellow-brown smear. It's dead. Okay. It's dead, just as it's supposed to be. Do not come back to life, you hear me? Stay dead. Stay.

It's staying dead.

I can finally breathe again. In and out and in and out. Alright. Now to get out of here. But I don't know where I am. I think I should backtrack my steps to the psych's door, hope like hell she won't be there to question me any more, and take the right turn this time. I was supposed to go right. I don't know why I didn't. I guess I wanted to get away so badly that direction didn't matter.

I turn around to --

The hallway is black.

The hallway is black with spiders.

The floor, the walls, the ceiling. A continuous coating of spiders, millions of spiders, crawling across each other, digging in and out of the swarm, dangling by invisible strands of web.

The mass crackles, rustles, as countless chitinous limbs brush and rub against each other.

There is no end to them. No white at the end of the tunnel. Only an infinite, all-consuming sea of spiders.

And it’s coming towards me.

In the blink of an eye, with haunting clarity, I feel all complex thought slip away - and then I'm already running.

Step follows step. Turn follows turn. Featureless hallway follows another, but the spiders never get quieter. I glance back and they’re no further from me than they were before. Maybe even less.

I try to run faster, but I can’t. This is as fast as I can go. And I don’t think I can even keep this pace much longer - lactic acid burns my legs and dry air scrapes my lungs.

I take another turn -- fuck. I stumble to a halt before I hit the opposing wall. A dead end. No doors, no windows, nothing. No way out.

I turn around to face the spider sea. It slows down, probably to savor my horror as I would with prey of my own. There’s nothing to do. There’s nothing to do but watch and wait for them to reach me and crawl all over me and --

Then what would they do? Would they eat me? There’s no way they could. I’m simply too big. I know it’s a big swarm, but --

Why is it a big swarm?

Spiders don’t move in swarms. They’re lone hunters. And they don’t go after humans, they fear them. With good reason, too. It’s effortlessly easy for a human to squish a spider. Why would all these spiders ignore that and run to their deaths? It doesn’t make sense.

And that’s why... it isn’t real.

Of course. It’s just another hallucination. I'm still sick, I just happened to feel a bit better today. This is as fake as the blood at the supermarket. I just have to… understand that. No matter how many spiders I see or hear or soon feel on my body, they aren’t real. There’s no danger and I don’t have to be afraid. And even if they were real, I wouldn’t have to be afraid - like said, they’re just spiders, and they can’t bring any serious harm to a human like me. Maybe somewhere else, they could, but there are no spiders in Kanto that could give you anything worse than a rash.

So it’s clear. I don’t have to be afraid.

...I shouldn’t be afraid.

I shouldn’t be afraid of something that poses no danger whatsoever to me.

I shouldn’t be cowering like prey at the sight of creatures thousands of times smaller than me.

I shouldn’t let a delusion control the way I think and act!

The spiders draw nearer, only a meter away now. I step back. No! You have to stay where you are. Don’t give in to that irrational emotion. You’re better than that. The Bringer is better than that.

Three quarters of a meter. I take another step back. Disgusting. Disgusting. You’re a coward. You’re weak. You’re not fit to be the Bringer. The next time you meet HIM, HE will see this in your memories and HE will reject you.

Half a meter. My foot lifts off the ground, but I stamp it back down. No. I’m stronger. My willpower, my resolve, my loyalty to HIM, they’re stronger. There is nothing in this world more important than HIM.

I hear the spiders above me. I don’t look up - in fact, I close my eyes. Focus. I shudder, but keep my footing. I will persevere.

The first scraping I feel at the tip of my shoe makes me flinch, but I keep my stance. The scraping advances, launching the same response time and time again, but I don't move. I'm doing it. Even though they're surrounding my foot and climbing to my ankles and -- and slipping under my pantleg and crawling up my shins. I just harden my skin. They can't do anything. They can't hurt me.

They reach the underside of my knees. Now I'm fighting against my reflexes, too. Still, I stand my ground. They're coming up, up, up, soon they'll be in my fucking crotch, oh fuck, but I gotta bear that too…

Think of HIM. Just think of HIM. Think of the prize that awaits you. Think of the terror if you don't succeed. The consequences. No ascension. No immortality. Death.

Or, no, no, don't think about death, that's gonna make you more stressed. Think about ascension. The body you'll have. It won't feel anything you don't want it to feel. You can make it feel only bliss, you can make it beautiful beyond comprehension, deadlier than any weapon. You don't even have to stay in a body - you can detach yourself and exist independent of anything material. Thinking without a brain, like HIM. No pain can reach you there, no itch, no spiders in places they really shouldn't be, no overwhelming urge to scratch and swipe them off, no indescribable discomfort, no violation of your bodily rights, no armada of little legs creeping up your hips, waist, chest, neck -- they're so fast now, they --

A scream. Collapsing on floor. Fingers scratching everywhere. Convulsing. Eyes open. No spiders.

Nothing crawling on the skin. Scratching slowly ends.

No bristling of little legs. Only wheezing lungs.

No sea of black. Just clean white.

Did… Did I…

No. No, it wasn’t me. I never gave in. I never lost control, someone else pushed me down!

But there's no one else here. No one else it could have been.

And replaying it all back, I remember kneeling before the fall. I remember raising my hands, raising them to my arms and face, scratching. I remember screaming. I remember the exact moment HE stopped existing to me.

No. I…

I failed?

I failed.

I'm not fit for HIM.

I'm not…

I cover my mouth. Shallow, terrified breaths echo back.

I'm not fit for HIM. HE won't make me the Bringer. I won't ascend. I won't be immortal. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to --

A stinging in my lungs. Is it happening now? Did my body fail me? Am I going to be dead, is my life going to be over? Am I going to lose my thought, my comprehension, my ability to process what I'm experiencing? Will I experience eternal unfiltered existence in nothing, be a soul without a vessel to make sense of all that comes or rather doesn't?

Wait. No. I think I'm hyperventilating, I think that's what that stinging is. I should breathe more slowly, more deeply.

But what does that matter? Sooner or later, I'm going to die anyway. Living is just putting off the inevitable. Finite pleasure is nothing against infinite pain. And what pleasure would there even be? What pleasure have you had in the past… ever that would justify the constant everyday emptiness in your heart and the dread scratching the back of your brain each time you make the mistake of sinking deeper into your thoughts?

The sting is getting worse. I force myself to inhale longer, exhale longer - it's like choking at first, but I know it will become better. If I can make things better, I should, no matter how pointless it is in the long run.

Pointless. Breathing gets harder again. How am I supposed to stay calm and in control with this guillotine hanging above my neck?

Now they're sobs. Tears are leaking out of my eyes. I'm crying, crying like a little brat. But it's not like there's much of a difference. I've just found out that I'm going to die and I haven't yet found the way to pretend to myself that I won't. Of course I'm crying. Of course I'm panicking. I'm seeing the cold truth of life. I'm seeing how bad things really are, and there is no comfort. There's nothing I can do but cry.

…

“Sir?”

Someone spoke. I quiet down. I guess I’d been quieter for a while. I don’t remember. I don’t remember how long I’ve lain here or how long ago I stopped sobbing.

“Hey, you there! Are you alright?”

It’s coming from behind me. There are steps approaching from the same direction. I think he’s talking to me.

A part of me says there’s no point in answering and another disagrees. I think things will only get more complicated if I don’t answer, so I better.

“Yes,” I say. My throat feels sore. I’m thirsty. I’m tired. I should go home. There I can drink freely and rest without being bothered.

I get up, first to my knees and then to my feet. I wipe the salt from my eyes and turn to the voice.

It's a man. Darker-skinned. Expression of worry and confusion. Casual clothing. Though I guess they all had casual clothing. I can't know if he works here or not.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yes," I repeat. "I just… need to go home."

"Are you sure you can get there?"

I pause. How do I get home again?

Right. The bus. Abe gave me the money again. I'm supposed to take the bus.

"Yeah," I answer. Speech is becoming more natural again.

"Do you know the way out?"

I pause again. I don't. I have no idea where in the building I am. But he does.

I build the sentence that expresses my request and speak it. "Can you show me?"

He nods. "This way."

I walk up to him with the gait of a living corpse, and he begins to lead me through the corridors. Part of me flinches with each turn, still expecting to find more spiders, but gradually I come to internalize how none of it was real. Not that this feels very real, either.

Eventually, we arrive at a stairway, though I don't think it's the one I came from. It seems more like a fire escape. But as long as it gets me out of here, which the green sign above suggests, it's perfectly fine with me.

The man still sticks with me, though, leading me down the stairs while periodically glancing back to see that I'm still there. Like a mother swanna checking all her ducklett are still following. But I don't mind. I think I like it. As long as he's guiding me, I don't have to think for myself.

Unfortunately, though, the stairs soon run out, and we arrive at a short hallway leading to a windowed door. The man escorts me even there, but once he opens the door, it seems our time together has come to an end.

"Are you gonna be fine from here?" he still asks, but if I said no, I think he'd call for some other help.

I think I'm gonna be fine, anyway. Well, in terms of getting home. Mentally… I don't think I'll ever be fine again.

I convince him that I can take it from here. I even thank him. He nods and watches me take the last steps through the door.

"Take care," he says, and leaves the way we came.

Once he's gone, I turn away from the building and take in my new surroundings.

It's a small parking lot. Yeah, that makes sense, employees need to park their cars, and some patients, too, if they have their life together enough to be able to drive.

No people, though. The only life I can immediately see seems to be the grass and young birch trees planted in the space between rows. The trees' leaves flutter in the soft wind, reflecting the sunlight falling from the mostly-clear sky. I know for a fact that I've seen it thousands of times before, but somehow in this moment, it feels brand new.

It's like there is no background noise. Everything I hear - the wind, the rustling of the leaves, the traffic of the town - feel like they're distinct, purposeful noises on top of complete silence.

It feels unreal, but it's the opposite. This is true reality. The reality in which people's lives end, and mine is no exception.

What prolonged psychosis made me think any different? HE promised me eternal life, and I still have no doubts about HIS ability to grant it, but in hindsight, it's obvious I was never deserving of it. I couldn't even finish high school. I couldn't bear just three years of idiots. And my fears… spiders and computers. Things that can't hurt me in any way. It's laughable. And lastly…

The one thing I had left to do, the final step, and I couldn't do it. Weeks of trying, no progress. The feelings would not go away. The obsession. The delusion. The exception to the rule. The fatal mistake. Him.

Even now, I can't hate Him. I can't blame Him. I just see His eyes and His arms and I'm declawed. The hands that would kill can only embrace. The predator is gone.

And that proves the predator is not me.

So, what now? I look ahead and all I see is death. The only moment that matters. Anything prior is only waiting. Dreading. Watching the countdown of the clock. Knowing there's no way out. There's no way out, the abyss will come. Life will be taken away. Sight, sound, touch, thought and understanding. Nothing but raw existence and the utter inability to -- it's coming. It's coming, all the time, every second, every moment, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die --

Sharp air scratches my throat. I'm breathing very hard. I'm… panicking, panicking again. I just want to curl into a ball and -- but what will that do, I'm helpless --

The first sobs bring with them shame. Wounding of the pride. I know it's all meaningless now, but the instinct is right in that this isn't the best place for this. I should go… right. I was already going home. I should focus on doing that for now. At home, I can have this breakdown in peace.

I wipe away the moisture in my eyes and sniff back the thinning snot. Hoping it isn't too obvious that I've cried, I navigate to the front of the building and walk into the shelter of the bus stop. Through its dirty glass wall, I stare at the end of the street and stand motionless in wait.

Car after car emerges, approaches and passes by. After some dozen, a longer vehicle appears. I squint until its number becomes legible. 20. That's the one.

I raise my hand. The bus answers with its blinker, and I tuck that hand in my pocket. I realize how this process has become automatic in my mind and no longer requires conscious thought to execute. Something about that is a bit comforting - despite this world-shattering realization, I can still perform everyday functions. I'm not utterly helpless.

The feeling strengthens as I manage to enter the bus and pay for my ticket like any other time, but the knowledge of death still looming above deflates any optimism that could arise. As there are no free seats, I grab onto a pole and stay standing, and the bus nudges into motion.

With a blank mind, I watch the numerous buildings and trees go by and listen to the hum of the machinery underneath. Its pitch changes with the speed, becoming the lowest whenever the bus stops to pick up or let out some other passengers.

There are men, there are women, there are old people, there are children, there are Tohjoans and people of other ancestries - but really, they're all the same. Human beings going about their daily lives, unbothered by the fact they're guaranteed to die one day.

I still don't understand. How? How do they do it? Are they in such denial? Do they simply not understand it? Or do they all put their hopes in there being an afterlife?

I look back at the windowed doors in front of me - this time for my reflection rather than the view outside. It's too faint to tell if my face still shows signs of having cried. My expression is blank, even soulless. To anyone else, I'd be just another passenger, another human.

But when I see that face, I know there is no human underneath. There is a being that kills humans and eats their flesh. A being to whom a gutted corpse is a sight of irresistible beauty. A being that lusts to hurt, to eviscerate, to consume. Whose mouth waters at these words alone.

And yet, that being cowers away from tiny, eight-legged creatures and computer screens. All its wrath fizzles away when it sees a little omanyte. It simply can’t seem to brush away its outdated emotions, wrestling with its unreasonable anger and fear on a daily basis.

It’s too daring to be prey and too frightened to be predator. What is it, then?

What am I?

Familiar sights beyond the window interrupt my thoughts. My stop is coming soon. I press the stop button, and soon enough, the bus drops me off.

I stand in silence as it closes its doors behind me and drives away. The smell of its exhaust fumes makes my nose wrinkle, but the breeze soon clears the air.

Well. Back to walking.

As I head homeward, the question of what I'll do once there burns harder and harder. Well, I guess there are a couple things I know I'll be doing. I need to break this all to HIM, for one. I should tell HIM everything, thank HIM for all that HE has given me and hope HE takes it well. I should start working on the plan to bring all those Helixian items back to the cave HE revealed to me. I could bring that Helixian textbook I was working on, too, just so that the next guy can have it a bit easier. And it isn't smart for me to keep proof. I guess that also means… throwing away the tongues. Well, it makes sense. A failure deserves no trophies.

I suppose I shouldn't go killing any more people, either.

My step falters. That's… a sad thought. If I knew my latest murder would be my last, I really would've -- no, wait. I wasn't even there for it. HE was the one that really killed her.

Such a cruel twist of fate. One day I think my ascension couldn’t be more confirmed… and a few weeks later, I realize it was never mine to begin with.

My throat constricts and my eyes moisten again, but no, no, I don’t want to cry. I’m just too tired. I just want to go home.

I pocket my hands and continue walking.

A shadow slides over the street. I look up to see thick, gray clouds gathering. What, is it going to rain now, too?

A tap on my shoulder answers that question. With a sigh, I pull my hood over my head and pick up my pace.

The roofs of the surrounding buildings soon begin clattering. The asphalt gains dark spot after dark spot. But they look… strange. Rust-colored. It’s almost like...

I raise a hand, palm up.

A splat of vivid red appears.

I look up. The skies have turned a dark red. I look around. No people, no cars. No sounds but the tapping of the rain.

Is this another hallucination? Blood rain? Blood rain feels familiar. Where do I know that fr…

Oh, no.

Oh, Gods.

On the hour of HIS arrival
these signs shall be seen across the land.
Predators and prey alike shall witness:
The sun shall cower,
The sky shall rain blood,
The earth shall roar​

The ground rumbles, and the asphalt splits open right in front of me, forming a deep gash in the earth. I jump to the right before the expanding crack reaches me.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. This is the worst thing that could possibly happen. The probability of something going this wrong is zero.

And the trees shall bow to HIM.​

Rustle, crackle, snap, snap. The birches growing along the opposite sidewalk contort, their bark bulging and splitting open as the trunks bend in sharp angles. The bright green leaves crumple up and dim into taupe as the branches twist to touch the ground. All the other trees around seem to share the same fate.

Dread shall fill the hearts of the prey, but the predators shall rejoice.​

I’m not rejoicing. I’m not rejoicing! I’m terrified! This is not how this was supposed to go!

From the body of HIS Bringer,
HE shall rise.
HE shall free HIS children,
shatter the shackles of their imperfect bodies
and create their vessels anew.
The Helixian Kingdom will rise again,
its reign now eternal,
on the day of HIS coming,
the day of Ascension.

Prophecies 4
The Day of Ascension​

The earthquake surges, throwing me onto the bloodstained ground. Beyond the buildings, beyond the horizon, something rises, something gargantuan and black as coal.

A discordant screech splits the air, a noise my very organs wince at. As soon as it ends, other screams begin - screams of humans. Screams of prey.

The quake calms just a bit, but it’s enough for me to dare move again. I scramble my way to the nearest cover, a bunch of mangled trees. I can’t let myself be seen. Shrieks still sounding all around me, I peek at the giant through the trees’ branches.

Height is hard to estimate at this distance, but it has to be at least thirty meters tall. The red mist around it obscures some detail, but its silhouette shows a humanoid torso on top of… well, I can’t really see the lower body, but it seems serpentine given the stance and the tail whipping the air behind the giant’s back. Its head looks wormlike, ending in a clump of tentacles. Considering the giant seems to be picking up one human after another and dropping them into its head - shortly after which the scream is silenced - it feels safe to assume there is a mouth somewhere in there.

I can’t look anymore. I crouch and bury my face in my hands, ignoring the blood smeared onto my skin. Sooner or later, I’m going to see the same fate as those people. Hiding won’t help. HE won't leave a single mareep unbutchered.

But, maybe… maybe if I can bring HIM the scriptures, HIS old stony home… maybe HE will spare me! I’ve been so useful, surely HE will s-spare me…

This is desperate, this is pathetic, but it's the only way I may be able to survive, so I have to give it a shot. I have to get home. Without HIM spotting me on the way there.

As another gut-shaking screech echoes throughout the city, I get up on my feet and begin to creep onward. Just keep going, just keep going. There’s not that much left to go.

The pounding or the rain and the screams of the giant’s victims are the only sounds I get to hear as I make my way closer and closer to my home street. The views I once thought safe and comfy have been twisted into nightmarish reflections of their past selves. Cracks and fissures riddle the earth, forcing me to delegate part of my precious attention from watching the giant to watching my step. All grass has wilted, and even the blood-soaked houses look like they’ve been abandoned for decades. The smell of something burning lingers in the air.

This really is the apocalypse. This is what I'd been waiting for all this time. This was the ultimate reward. And here I am, absolutely terrified. Shaking like a pichu, scuttling about like a rattata. I’ve never, never felt this… helpless.

Lungs burning and clothes utterly drenched in blood, I finally arrive at my home street. I hate how open it has to be. I keep to the right side of the street, sprinting from the cover of one house to another, eyes pinned to the giant in the distance each time. It looks like it’s too preoccupied to notice me. Maybe it doesn’t even care. Maybe I’m just another mareep among the others to HIM now. Maybe HE won't even acknowledge the fossil in my hands when I try to speak to HIM…

But I have to believe HE will. I have to believe in this plan. It's the only thing I can do.

At long last, my home comes to view. Only a few more houses --

Wait. The giant. It's… gone?

It was there just a few seconds ago. It couldn't have moved --

"HIGH PRIEST."

Oh Gods. Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods.

"FACE ME."

One instinct has frozen me in place while another screams at me to flee, but a third demands I turn around.

I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I’m so afraid. But HE has given me an order, and as HIS servant, HIS high priest, I simply must obey.

With stiff joints and slow steps, I turn around, preparing myself for HIS searing stare.

But no one could possibly be prepared.

Two eyes amidst countless squirming tendrils. Burning red sclerae. Piercing yellow irides. Pupils like pinpricks, windows to the blackest void. In my sight, they're no larger than the fist of an out-extended hand, and yet it feels like they’re the only thing I see.

”WHAT AN ENTERTAINING SIGHT,” HE says. The monstrous voice reverberates in my skull, rattling my very brain. “ONCE BRINGER-TO-BE, NOW SCUTTLING RODENT.”

I’m frozen. I can’t even breathe. What do I do? What do I --

Of course! I-I’m still HIS servant, so I should act like it!

I drop to my hands and knees so fast that they’re sure to bruise - if I live that long. I bow my head as far down as my body allows.

“F-forgive me!” I yell. “Forgive me, my lord, I-I-I was simply so afraid, afraid of YOUR might that I ran without thinking --”

HE laughs. I gag on my words. HE is laughing. Every exhalation is a punch to the chest. HE has never laughed at me before. HE has never --

“YOU STILL THINK YOUR SERVITUDE MATTERS TO ME?”

HE laughs again, then --

A deafening thud shakes the earth. I fall on my back and sit up - HE has struck HIS fist down on the street, which has naturally shattered the asphalt caught underneath.

“WAKE FROM THIS DREAM OF YOURS AND SEE THINGS AS THEY ARE. YOU HAVE BEEN REPLACED.”

Replaced? Right, yes, in order for HIM to ascend, there has to have been someone that acted as Bringer. But who? HE was in my basement. No one else knew about that room. Well, knew that anyone had the key and used it. So who could have been HIS Bringer? No one I live with is anywhere near a predator. Did someone just break in to steal valuables and somehow found his way to the room? Was he so perfect a predator that HE noticed him and guided him there? Or am I… am I really just so… easily replaced?

HE laughs again. I wish HE didn’t. No noise I’ve ever heard in my life has caused me this much pain.

“YOU WISH TO KNOW WHO HAS TAKEN YOUR PLACE,” HE says, a smile in HIS voice. “I WILL SHOW YOU, LITTLE LAMB. YOU ARE SURE TO RECOGNIZE HER.”

Her?

HE brings HIS hands - human-like, with long, golden claws - to HIS head, grabs the edges of the cluster of tentacles and pulls it back like a hood, revealing…

Her.

The golden mask grins with sharp teeth and beastlike features, but the likeness is indisputable.

Joanna.

“CORRECT, HIGH PRIEST.”

But… h-how? The Bringer must be human! He can’t be a ghost, and he can’t be a she, either! And she’s not even alive anymore! Not as a human, not as a ghost - I made her disappear!

HE laughs again. As if this was all so trivial.

“YOU WERE OUTWITTED,” HE says. “HAD YOU BEEN ANY SHARPER, YOU MAY HAVE REALIZED THE GHOST HAD ESCAPED YOU.”

But --

“SHE THEN DISCOVERED ME, AND I DISCOVERED HER - HER HATRED, HER BITTERNESS, HER CRUELTY. I WILLED HER AS MY BRINGER AND FOUND AN ALTERNATIVE PATH TO ASCENSION.”

Could it really be…

“WHILE YOU...”

HE leans forward, the metal of HIS face twisting into an expression of fury. The instinct of a prey animal jerks me back in terror.

“ALL THIS TIME, YOU HAVE BEEN WEAK. EVERY DAY YOU HAVE SPENT EITHER IDLING AT HOME OR WANDERING THE STREETS WITHOUT AIM. YOU HAVE FEARED AND LOVED THINGS OTHER THAN YOUR GOD, AND STILL YOU EXPECT TO BE REWARDED?”

A razor-sharp hiss shoots through HIS teeth, spraying me with droplets of blood-mixed saliva.

“PUNISHMENT IS WHAT YOU DESERVE.”

Punishment? No, oh Gods, no, not punishment. I-I can’t even begin to imagine what punishment would be like in the apocalypse if simply being alive is hell. My eyes flick around HIS body in search of the parts that HE might use. Will HE grind me into paste with those jaws? Will HE crush me like a bug with those hands? Will HE trample me with the many tubular legs of HIS worm-like hindbody? Will HE skewer me on the spearlike spikes on HIS back? Will HE ensnare me with the tentacles of HIS head, back or tail and use a few others to tear me limb from limb?

No, no, you idiot! Don’t give HIM ideas! Instead… just… beg! Just beg! There’s nothing else you can do!

I throw myself onto the bloody street again. "No, my lord, please! Forgive me! Forgive my cowardice! Please accept me as a predator!"

"SILENCE, VERMIN!"

Another shockwave startles me back upright on my knees. HE struck HIS fist down again.

“YOU DO NOT DESERVE TO FEAST ALONGSIDE ME AND MY CHILDREN!”

HIS maw opens wide for an earth-shaking roar, exposing HIS throat and the horrors within. A sea of spikes lines the insides of HIS gullet, largely stained red with some torn human body parts still stuck to it here and there. There’s no doubt that the people those belonged to all experienced one of the worst ways to die.

“YOU SHALL BE DEVOURED, JUST LIKE ALL OTHER PREY.”

“No, please...” I fall to my hands. My voice is a whine, a sob. But I know it won’t affect HIM. Predators don’t know pity, less does their god. “I-I trained my body for YOU! YOU know I’d make for an excellent --”

“YOUR PITIFUL BODY IS NO DIFFERENT FROM A BIRD-PECKED CARCASS TO ME!”

But I… I trained every day. I ate only the right things. I… I know I cut it a few times, but that was for discipline...

HE raises HIS head. “I HAVE SPOKEN ENOUGH.”

No, no, I can’t let this conversation end. I can’t let HIM…

But it’s not up to me, is it? When HE decides something must happen, it will - especially now. My fate’s already sealed. I’m gonna die, and not just die. HE is sure to make it excruciatingly painful.

HE… why am I still giving HIM this honor in my mind? Why do I hold HIM in such high regard? I know my death isn’t fair. I know this is bullshit. I have every right to be pissed off. I have every right to reject HIM.

But as much as my gut wants to get up on my feet and face my death with pride, I can’t. I know my shaking legs wouldn’t support me, and I know that any resistance will only motivate HIM to kill me slower.

There’s nothing to do but submit. Die like the coward I am.

HE chuckles. I take back what I said about HIS regular laughter. This is a thousand times worse.

“YOU EXPECT TO DIE BY MY HAND, HIGH PRIEST?”

What does that mean…? What the hell does that mean?

“YOU ARE NOT WORTH THAT HONOR.”

I notice motion in the fog at HIS feet. Vaguely humanoid forms, somewhat taller than me, appear behind the veil.

“YOU WILL DIE THE SAME AS THE OTHER MAREEP.”

The creatures emerge from the haze. They resemble some kind of human-canine hybrids with glowing, yellow eyes and skin like that of burn victims. They bare their sharp teeth in grins of savage elation. They are the predators, and it’s safe to say that they’re rejoicing.

A stray gleam beside one of them catches my eye. The monster’s clawed hand clutches a knife. One that looks suspiciously similar to mine.

I feel my flank and realize my scabbard isn’t there. When did I…

When I entered the clinic. And I forgot to get it back before I left. But how did…

I take a closer look at the knife-bearer’s face. It’s the receptionist.

That fucking bastard.

“MY HOUNDOOM ARE READY TO ATTACK AT MY COMMAND,” HE says, drawing my attention back to HIM - and making me realize I was still a lot happier looking at anything else. “BUT BEFORE I LET THEM LOOSE, THERE IS ONE LAST ADJUSTMENT TO MAKE.”

What?

My feet hurt. Why do my feet hurt? They’re aching, cramping… itching? Something weird is happening to the toes… ow, ow, it’s getting worse by the second! They’re changing shape, swelling somehow, squeezing up against the insides of my shoes, I gotta get those off --

Just in time, they begin to decay on their own, blackening, as if burning without heat or light. As soon as they become weak enough, my lengthening feet rip them apart, and whatever’s left quickly falls off, revealing what’s inside.

Mareep hooves. Black-wooled.

Something coils around my chest too fast to resist. Black, shining, a hint of wetness - one of HIS tendrils.

It yanks my trembling body off the ground, then places me onto my new feet. As HE slowly lets go, I’m made to figure out how to balance with them. Somehow, I manage, but… this hurts. This simply hurts.

I try to cry out one last time for HIM to spare me, but the only thing that comes out is… a bleat.

“THERE.” HIS grin widens even further - I didn’t think that was possible - and HE stands upright to HIS full height. HE is far, far too big.

“NOW RUN!” HE roars. “RUN, MAREEP, RUN!”

The creatures at HIS feet bark and leap forward. Fuck!

I turn around, stumbling, and somehow manage to start running. But where am I gonna go? The house? Sure, whatever! Fuck it! It's not gonna hold off these hell-beasts for any longer than a few seconds, but maybe, just maybe, those few seconds will help somehow.

My running speed is taking me by surprise though - it feels a lot faster than my usual top speed. Maybe these mareep-feet were an enhancement rather than a handicap. Did HE choose to do that to make the chase more fair and therefore more interesting? Just like I gave Michi a head start… the irony is not lost on me.

I'm almost at the house now. I shove my hand in my pocket and dig out the key, clutching it with my life. Will I be able to make the turn with this speed, though? Not to mention the street's still slippery from all the blood. I have to slow down, even if it goes against every primal instinct in my brain…

I manage to wrangle control over my body from them enough for a small deceleration, though it plunges my heart into overdrive and threatens to eject my entire stomach through my mouth from stress alone. I reach the house and make the fateful turn - come on, please, yes, I made it! Though this speed is still --

Realizing I won't be able to stop in time, I simply leap onto the front door and brace for impact.

Crash. Fucking hell! But there's no time to process the pain. I grab the handle and shove the key in the lock. It opens, the door gives way, I slip through, I slam it shut - or I hope so, at least, but there's no time to check - and run a few steps deeper in the house and...

Wait. What the hell do I do now?

"Wh-what's going on?"

I turn to the living room. Abe stares at me from the couch, eyes wide in alarm.

The question is a valid one for this scenario, but the way he said it, the way he's just sitting on the couch - he doesn't know what's going outside. How the fuck doesn't he know? No one could fail to notice the fucking earthquakes and screaming! Is he that oblivious?

"Look outside!" I snap at him, and he seems surprised, even offended - fucking moron, you're not gonna last a minute in this new world…

At least he’s listening. He’s gotten up and hurried to the window. I look to it myself to see what he sees --

What?

“...I don’t see anything,” Abe says, still on edge. The crazy thing is that I have little reason to doubt him.

Instead of the hellscape I was running through just moments ago, the view through the window is completely normal - sunshine, blue sky, green grass, idyllic houses. No puddles of blood, no red mist. No barking of voracious man-beasts, only quiet sounds of faraway traffic and birdsong.

I look at my feet. No wool, no hooves. Just the shoes I always wear, their heels planted firmly on the ground. No bloodstains on my clothes. Just a little dust.

No, this has to be a trick. A ruse to give me a false sense of security right before a pack of demons busts through the door and rips me apart.

“What were you talking about?”

I look back at Abe. He’s waiting for an explanation, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. If those monsters are coming, it’s not like I have anywhere to go. Maybe I can flee from upstairs using the tree next to my room, but chances are that there are already more bloodthirsty beasts waiting for me on the ground. Coming here was useless. But equally useless would have been to keep running.

Gods. I bury my face in my hands and close my eyes. Maybe all I can do is just lie down and let them come. Hope that my death is swift.

“Red?”

I can hear him get off the couch and come closer, but there’s no point in answering. In moments’ time, that door will break and my life will be over.

“Are you okay?”

Shut up. Just let me die.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong…”

I just breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out…

Nothing’s happening.

Aren’t they coming…?

I open my eyes. Slowly, slowly, I let my hands slide off my face and look around. Abe’s still there. The sunshine is still there. My shoes are still there.

“Red?”

I take another moment just to breathe. On each breath, I expect all hell to break loose, but it never does.

I swallow, throat dry, and stand up straight. With mechanical motions, I make my way to the kitchen window and look to the yard. No monsters. Just the same kind of view as the living room window.

I think… I think this is real.

I pull out a chair and sit down.

It seems like this whole apocalypse thing was just another hallucination. Just like the spiders back at the clinic. And that supermarket massacre from a few days ago…

Dammit. What is this illness? Physically, I feel just fine, but clearly I can’t be well if I keep hallucinating. Can a sickness like this really exist? If it does, it has to be extremely rare. Where could I have caught it? What was I doing right before all these symptoms began? What things did I interact with?

Wait.

Could it be…

It has to be.

Everything adds up. Everything points to it.

Oh, I’ve been so stupid… how could I have missed something so obvious?

Well, it doesn’t matter now. I think I know how to fix it.

I get off my chair and open a drawer. I see a paring knife. It will do.

As I give it a quick rinse in the sink, Abe takes a few more cautious steps closer. “What are you… doing?”

I dry the knife in a towel, then turn to him with a smile on my face. His expression goes from worry to horror as I lift the knife up to my temple. A hollow chuckle escapes my throat.

“I’m gonna cure myself.”

---​

 

[canisaries]

only two months for a new chapter this time! nature is healing.

anyway - welcome to act 3, the final one. thank you everyone who's read this far, special thanks to all reviewers, and i hope you enjoy reading until the end. (and the bonus chapter, too! and the sequel but it's way too early to talk about that lol.)

this chapter is rated mature for strong language, blood, wounds, self harm (as in harming oneself, but it is done for functional reasons rather than as a way of coping) threats of violence (some against a family member), body horror (focusing on the face, internal organs and fingers) and vomiting. it is also strongly recommended that you do NOT read this while eating. you'll know why. alright, enjoy!

---

CHAPTER TEN
Can't Remember

---​

“Don’t!” Abe yells, desperation all over his face and voice. But he doesn’t understand. This is how I’m gonna solve everything. This is how I’ll get everything back to normal.

Back at the cabin, all those days ago, I took the mask from Joanna and put it on my face to get her to possess me. It melded with my own face, nearly suffocating me in the process, but I managed to tear a hole for my mouth before any permanent damage could be done. As promised by the book I read, the possession made her yamask body tangible to me, allowing me to stab her to death. I saw her die right in front of my eyes, bleeding the same crimson that always leaked from her eyes before white flames came and ate away the rest of her body into nothingness.

Or so I thought.

In reality, she never died. I never managed to kill her in her ghost form. It was only an illusion she showed me. A damn convincing one at that, considering it took me this long to realize what it really was. What all of this really was. I get the feeling that wasn’t purely my own fault, either - she has to have influenced my mind somehow to keep me from coming to this conclusion before.

But now I know the truth, and I know how to fix things. Since the mask is what started the possession, and the possession is still going on… it has to mean that the mask never really came off. So now I have to take it off. No matter how much it’s gonna hurt.

I place the tip of the knife against the skin of my temple. It’s cold. I feel it tremble. Am I really gonna be able to do this?

“Please, don’t!” Abe tries again, tears forming in his eyes.

“Shut up!” I snap, and he recoils. “I… I have to do this. Go away! You’re distracting!”

“Why?” he cries. “Why do have to do it? What are you even doing?”

“Leave!” I yell, but he’s not leaving. Fuck. Annoying little shit… I just have to do it with him watching.

I close my eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. On the next breath out, I’ll do it. Breathe in, breathe out. Dammit. I couldn’t do it. Just try again. Breathe in…

New noises. Abe is doing something. It sounds like --

I open my eyes and catch him in the act, phone in his hand. He sees that I see him. He freezes.

“Little shit!” I lower the knife temporarily and stand up to approach the boy. For the first second, he’s too scared to move, but then he begins backing away like the little rattata he is.

I extend my other hand. “Give me that,” I growl, but he won’t give me the phone. Gods. I didn’t want it to come to this, but he leaves me no choice.

Slowly, I point the knife at him. ”Give me the phone, or I’m gonna hurt you.”

Fear utterly paralyzes the boy. I can practically hear his pulse reach records. In some other situation, it’d give me pleasure, but right now, all I can focus on is my survival.

I reach the other hand again and slowly grab the phone. He eases his grip on it carefully but obediently.

I look at the screen. I flinch as I remember my phobia, but push aside the painful memories to check the only thing I need to check - whether he managed to start a call. It doesn’t look like he did. I lock the screen and nearly pocket the phone, but then remember it can be tracked. Instead, I throw it onto the couch.

Okay. Now I also have to keep Abe from fetching the phone while carving my own face off. That makes things even more difficult, but if I want the illusions to end, I have no other ch-

A blood-chilling noise familiar from my nightmares creeps into the soundscape. Sirens.

They’re coming for me. They have to be coming for me. I don’t know what got them on my trail, but surely Joanna is to blame, confusing me and tricking me so many times. Or maybe Abe did manage to make a call, even one second of silence, and there were cops nearby that thought to check it out. I don’t know if that’s how it works, but I have to take that possibility into consideration. In any case… the best option for me right now is to flee. But before I do that, there’s a chance I can give myself a little head start.

I raise the knife again. Abe raises his hands with a whimper.

“I was not here,” I say, slowly and clearly. “I was not here, and I didn’t do anything. Do you understand?”

He nods fervently, face wrinkled up in distress. Looks like he gets the picture.

I back away, open my jacket and shove the knife in the breast pocket. The tip of the blade rips through the bottom, but for a makeshift scabbard, it’s good enough. I rush up the stairs and open the door to my room --

“Where are you going?” Abe shouts after me.

I stop to think of a lie. “The beach,” I yell back. It’s not too far away, but it’s at least it’s somewhere I know I’m not going. Though Abe can be smart. He’ll probably realize my exact thought process. Shit. Shouldn’t have said anything.

I leap across the room to the window and open it. The sirens’ wailing becomes painful to the ears, but it doesn’t seem like the source is within view. Good.

I climb on the windowsill and focus on the old, sturdy oak growing right outside - specifically the branch closest to the window, extending right above me. I haven’t done this in a while… I hope I can still pull it off.

I jump and grab onto the branch. My grip on its rough-barked surface holds, but a screaming sting on my left wrist nearly makes me fall. Fuck! I forgot about the psychic nullifier. I hiss to help bear the pain and shimmy along the branch to the trunk, where I step down to another branch and climb my way down to the ground. I’d like to catch my breath, but red and blue lights begin to flash near the front of the house. Shit. No time to rest.

I run to the back yard and shove my way through the hedge - very glad it’s not any thorned bush - and emerge at the back of another house. Glancing around to make sure no one’s watching, I circle to the front yard and step onto the street. From there, I can start walking in a regular, nonsuspicious manner.

But where am I gonna go? I know to head away from the house, but I can’t just keep walking forever. I need a place to hide. I guess the woods are better than the streets. The cabin? I guess it’s free now that --

Michi. I killed Michi after I got possessed. It might not have actually happened. She might still be alive. She might have told the cops what happened. She might be the reason they’re after me!

I want to run to the woods and kill her as fast as possible - but that doesn’t seem smart, no. I should keep her alive, but as a hostage, like last time. Last time didn’t really work out, granted… but now that I know what to look out for, my chances are better, right? And she knows that. She has to be watching me, so she knows that. She wouldn’t risk Michi’s life again with a worse chance of success, would she?

I don’t think I have any options. I have to go for it. It’s the only shot I have of forcing her out of my head.

Or, no, wait. Wasn’t there another? Just before I left the house, I was going to do something, I was going to…

I was going to carve my own face off? Holy shit. Why did I think that? That’s insane. There’s no guarantee that would work. Even if it did, I’d probably bleed out very soon after and die. Did… did Joanna put that thought into my head? Or was it my own, and she blocked whatever part of my brain would have normally rejected the idea? How much control does she have over my mind? Or is her power limited only to causing hallucinations, and I’m actually just going insane on my own?

I shake my head. This is too confusing. Right now, I need to just focus on getting to the cabin. If Michi’s there, I can force Joanna to stop fucking with me. If she’s not there… at least I’ll have a place to hide out at for a while.

I stop my somewhat-aimless wandering and think about where I need to head. This area isn’t the most familiar to me, but I’m pretty sure that if I take a left at this crossing I’m about to reach, I can make it to a street that’ll take me near the graveyard. I wish I knew where exactly the cabin was so that I could maybe avoid crossing some big streets, but I only know how to get there through that graveyard.

Okay. I reach the crossing and take the left. Looks about the way I expected. Okay. Okay. Good. The situation’s under control. I’m gonna get through this. I just gotta --

I hiss at a small sting on my left palm. What the hell? I raise the hand to see a tiny, clean cut right below the base of the index finger. Where did that come from?

Another cut, another sting, right next to it, connecting to the end of the last. As soon as it’s done, another one comes, forming a kind of zig-zag, maybe a crude, angular S…

The invisible blade draws a box to its left. Or… an O. It’s… it’s writing.

SO YOU
FIGURED
IT OUT?

…Joanna. This has to be Joanna. Is this her way of communicating with me? Isn’t there any better way, like…

“Why don’t you just talk to me?” I growl, though keep my voice down. “Can’t you make me hear things?”

A wave of warmth passes over the palm, healing the wounds. But only to make space for more.

I GET TO
HURT YOU
THIS WAY.

"Drama queen."

Another cleaning swipe.

YOU HURT
ME. IT’S
ONLY FAIR.

I groan, closing my fist. I shouldn’t be reading what she’s saying. She’s probably just trying to distract me while she reroutes my walk straight to the police station or something.

I look around at the trees and the asphalt road and the pastel houses and their well-kept, idyllic yards separated by hedges. I've just arrived at the turn to the street I need to be on, and I take it. Everything seems all good and real. I just need to be alert…

My palm warms up again. More stings. Damn. No, don't look. Focus on walking. Even though it's terribly boring. Even though this walking pace is infuriatingly slow.

If it's slow, though, I can take a peek, right? She can't do any harm in that little time. Just a quick peek. It might even be something useful.

I open my hand and glance at it.

MADE YOU
LOOK.

And a drawing of a dick.

I shove the hand in my pocket and keep walking. "Fuck you," I mutter, but I realize I'm not done. Now that I know she's listening, I have a hell of a lot to say.

"You've got a lot of nerve," I begin, "putting me through all those illusions. What was the point of all that, anyway? Just to fuck with me?"

Another wave of heat and a few incisions. I don't even have to look to see that she wrote 'yes'.

I sigh. "Well, it's not gonna work anymore. If anything weird happens, I’ll know you’re to blame. And don’t even bother trying it just to shock me. You should know by now that I’ve seen far worse things than you could ever think of."

I don’t feel anything on my hand. I guess she had no retort to that. Just silence.

Silence…

The sirens have stopped.

No. Were they ever there to begin with?

The realization brings a grin to my face. The sirens were an illusion as well. Or, no, wait - my grin melts away. Do I know that for sure? They could’ve just turned them off. Do they turn them off if they don’t find the guy? Dammit. They still might be onto me. But at least now I know there’s a good possibility they aren’t. As long as there’s a possibility, I’m winning.

I pocket my other hand and adopt a cocky smile. ”What do you think, Joanna? Were those sirens real?”

There’s a low rumble beneath my feet, then sharp crackling ahead - the asphalt is breaking. But it’s… off. Just a bit short of real, like an effect in a movie. It’s only visible with careful scrutiny, but it is there. And now I can tell.

The cracks form letters. This is her new notepad.

THEY WERE.

With a dismissive humph, I march through the illusion. The cracks fade away as I step on them.

“Of course you’d say that,” I say. “You might even be telling the truth. But if you think I'm just gonna give up and turn myself in, you're dead wrong. I'm gonna keep fighting, and I'm gonna find a way out of this. I'm gonna come out winning, and I'm gonna get myself the life I deserve."

THE LIFE
YOU
DESERVE?

The message changes before I can respond.

YOU DON'T
EVEN DESERVE
TO BE ALIVE.

"Oh?" I tilt my head, taunting her. "What happened to every life being precious? What happened to human rights?"

The next cracks are noticeably thicker.

YOU ARE
NOT
HUMAN.

I smile at such satisfying words. "Damn right I'm not," I whisper. "I'm better."

YOU'RE
PATHETIC.

I shrug. I guess insults are all that she has left. I take a moment to check my surroundings to make sure I keep my upper hand - yep, everything looks the way it should. The field of gravel on my right tells me that the street by which the graveyard is pretty close by now. Soon enough, I'll get to slip into the woods… the peaceful, calming woods. I won't need to worry as much about passersby overhearing my conversation there…

New cracks start forming in the asphalt. What, more insults?

HE ISN'T
REAL.

...What?

I stop, not wanting to brush away the message yet. What does she mean, does she mean…

She means HIM.

Rage surges through my body. My hands curl into fists. The nails dig into my palms.

"How dare you," I say, voice slow and quiet but brimming with hate. "How dare you fucking say that."

It wasn't enough that she pretended to be HIM, that she bastardized HIS image and HIS prophecies. Now she has to commit the greatest act of heresy and deny HIS very existence.

"You're very lucky you're incorporeal now," I add. "If you were in front of me right now, in your old human body…"

I stop myself before I get carried away. Glancing around, no one else seems to be close, but it still probably isn't smart to speak death threats aloud. She seems to be able to read my mind to some extent, anyway. She should already know what I'm imagining...

The cracks change. For a split second, I have the hope of them spelling a desperate plea for me to stop, but…

YOU MADE
HIM UP.

She just ignored everything I thought and said. To repeat this ugly, ugly lie. For what? Does she actually think I'm gonna believe her?

Another change.

YOU ALWAYS
DENY THIS.

Always…?

YOU KEEP
CONVINCING
YOURSELF.

What?

IT'S TOO PAINFUL
TO SEE THE TRUTH.

"...Stop." I don't like this. I don't like what she's implying.

YOU'RE DOING
IT AGAIN.

"No," I say. "You don't understand. I know HE is real. There is…"

I switch to unvoiced thoughts.

There is clear proof. HE led me to a chamber filled with items of Helixian past. I brought those items home. HE taught me spells, spells that changed real things in the real world. Would I really have gotten away with all my murders if the silencer circuit didn't work? The transportation circle I used to bring them to by basement? The disintegration circle I used to get rid of their bodies?

With each new piece of evidence, my heartbeat slows down from its frantic rhythm. That's right. I know HE and everything HE has given me is real. Joanna's only trying to screw with me, probably to distract me from… what was it that I was doing?

Shit. I think it had something to do with the graveyard. The woods. The cabin. But what did I need to do there?

I guess it doesn't matter yet. It'll come to me on the way there, I'm sure.

I give myself a light slap on my right cheek. My surroundings become sharper again. I need to stay alert.

I pace to the end of the road and enter the street I usually take to the store. The graveyard's gates are already in sight. Alright, I make it there --

The sign has changed. Instead of MASARA GRAVEYARD, it says…

HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING
TO KEEP FOOLING YOURSELF?

I quickly slip through the gates. I don’t wanna look at that any longer than I have to.

The graveyard is even prettier than last time thanks to the sunlight, specks of dust and pollen hovering in the air between the monuments, but I don’t have time to stop and enjoy the view. I head to the edge of the yard and enter the woods. I march through the mossy forest floor until I reach the actual path, then follow it further, flanked by prickly branches and bushes.

Now that I’m off the streets, I can breathe easy. It’s safer here. It has always felt safer in the woods. No cars, no people, just the trees and wildlife. Shade and silence.

My stomach grumbles. Huh. I guess I was too stressed before to realize I was hungry. When did I last eat? I know I ate in the morning, and well at that, before the psych appointment. But that wasn’t too long ago, was it? Maybe I'm burning food faster since I'm still recovering from the illness. No, wait, there was no illness, it was all Joanna. Gods, this is annoying. I better finish this fast so… wait, what was I supposed to do here?

Right, the cabin. And Michi. Something with Michi. Kill her? Wipe her memory? I mean, if I wipe her memory, she'll be like nothing ever happened, and if she told the police something before, they'll think now it was just her messing around. Because she's a kid and kids are weird and quirky. That's perfect for me. That's my plan.

And there's the cabin! She should be around here somewhere. I need to slow down my pace so I can catch her by surprise. I need stealth, especially this time now that she knows my aura's been suppressed. She won’t let herself be caught off-guard.

I glance around the opening, catching neither Michi nor anything surreal. She might be indoors. In that case, she’s already trapped if I go in. No need for stalking. But was there ever? I’ve already beat her once in a chase. Though back then I had mental clarity on my side. Joanna wasn’t as… brave with the illusions back then… or was she? Did any of it happen? I mean, if I killed her, there’d be no reason for me to be here in the first place…

It doesn't matter. I'm going in.

I walk across the opening and place my hand on the rusty door handle. I stop.

I imagine her there, inside, utterly unprepared. I imagine myself busting through the door, startling her. Her terror only growing as she recognizes me. How I’ll pounce on her like a raikou before she can try anything. How I’ll dig my nails into her skin, feel the muscles underneath flex and relax as she struggles.

My heart pounds in elation. After all the bullshit these past few days, I’ll finally get to hunt again, to feel alive as I’m killing something else. Be what I really am.

Now, it’s time to claim my prize.

I shove the door open. I look for Michi, nothing else matters, but she’s not there. Not standing in the open, at least. She must be hiding, she must have heard me after all. Good! It’s more exciting that way.

I close the door behind me and drag the wooden bench beside the table in front, screech - now she won’t be able to escape, not without me noticing, at least. I check the smaller room on the right - no one there, no places to hide. She must be in the main room. Let’s see. Under the table? Nothing there. In the fireplace? Nothing there. That leaves… that pile of mattresses. I could see her fitting inside that pile, yes. She has to be there, curled up, praying she won’t be found…

I walk closer. Slowly. I want her to fear. Fear is the best seasoning. Hunger is a close second, and I’ve got both on my side. My heart flutters, my stomach writhes. Only seconds now…

I place my fingers on the edge of the mattress. Grasp it. This is it. Three, two, one…

I throw the mattress aside.

Nothing.

I strip more mattresses away. Still nothing. She’s not here? But I need… maybe she’s outside?

I rush out - no, I need to move the bench first, so fucking annoying, okay, there. I rip the door open and leap outside. I look around, but I can’t see her anywhere. Where is she? I need to find her! I need to kill her, eat her!

“Pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-”

“Shut up!” I snap, spit flying out of my mouth. Gods. I hope that pidgey gets the message. I don’t need any distractions, any interruptions. I need to find Michi, I need to. But how am I gonna…

Joanna. Joanna knows where she is. They're always scheming together, scheming against me.

I bring my left palm up to my face. “Where is she?”

The skin is still smooth. Come on, respond. Respond, you bitch. Don't you dare go silent on me now.

A sting, a splitting wound. She's responding.

DON'T
YOU
REMEMBER?

Remember…? Don’t talk to me about remembering! You're the one fucking with my memory!

“Just tell me where she is!” More spit flies from my mouth, now foaming.

The palm is healed. Well? I'm waiting. Write! Do it already!

Finally! Words are forming…

SHE'S
RIGHT
HERE.

What?

“What the fuck do you --”

A forceful spasm in my stomach cuts me off. The surprise is nearly enough to topple me, but I stay on my feet.

I’d say that was caused by hunger, but something else is off. My stomach no longer feels hollow - on the contrary, it feels quite full. But not with food. It’s more like there’s a single, large mass. It’s heavy, clearly weighing me down. What is…

It just moved.

In fact, I think that spasm from before was actually…

The lump lurches, throwing me off balance again, and this time I can’t recover. I break my fall with my hands, wincing at the sharp gravel digging into my palms, and stay there on all fours.

Joanna’s words return to my mind and a horrible realization dawns on me.

No, it isn’t possible. She wouldn’t fit. Even if she did, she’d be long dead by now, from suffocation, overheating, the acids…

I place a hand on my abdomen in hopes to calm the commotion, but it only seems to make things worse. The mass begins to twitch, to expand. The walls of my stomach are stretching, stretching way too much. Air is squeezed out of my lungs as the mass pushes up against them.

“S-stop,” I wheeze, but it keeps going. I can’t reason with her. Maybe she can only be convinced through force…

I form a fist and jab it into my gut.

Something pokes up into my esophagus. A tidal wave of nausea washes over me, and I barely stop myself from collapsing. I cough, cough and retch, all the while I can feel it advancing, creeping up through my chest… is it her arm? Is she trying to reach the outside and grab something to pull herself out with? But the rest of her body won’t be able to fit through! Unless she's prepared to tear her way out...

I need to stop her. I need to make her go back down.

I cover my mouth and begin swallowing between my coughs, as fast and as many times as I’m able. I wish, I pray for her to begin descending, but she isn’t even slowing down. I think I need to give it up. I need to take in as much air as I can before I’m no longer able.

The sharp inhale finishes right as she breaks through, arriving in my mouth with the sour sting of vomit. I realize I can't move my head, her bones locking me to this position. I try swallowing again, but it's pointless. Her fingers brush against my tongue and I can feel - and taste - the stomach contents coating her digits. Disgusting as it is, it gives me an idea.

I open my mouth and shove my own fingers in, grabbing Michi’s. She flinches. I yank them towards the left, between my molars, and keep pulling until my own fingers are out of harm’s way.

Then I bite down. Hard.

A sharp whine reverberates in my chest. She tugs back, with her entire arm, bruising my insides, but I don’t let go. A taste of blood spreads through my mouth. It tastes bad. It tastes salty and metallic and like something I should get out of my mouth rather than swallow. It tastes the way blood tasted before HE made it wonderful.

The pressure in my lungs is growing. Pressure to expel the carbon dioxide before it poisons my blood. But can I let go yet? Will she really recede? I strengthen my bite - she needs to be convinced, convinced that I’ll only bite her again and again if she tries to come out. But my head is getting heavy --

Crunch.

A yelp, an eruption of blood. Her fingers retreating to my throat. But I didn’t let go. I’m still holding on to…

I spit it out. Her hand slides past the epiglottis. Air moves again. I wheeze out the buildup of stale air and wheeze in precious new air, but cough immediately, drops of blood and vomit having hitched a ride on the current. I wheeze and cough and wheeze and cough and spit and repeat for seconds on end while her arm gradually draws back the rest of the way. I finally catch my breath, collapse onto the gravel and roll onto my side. She’s become a single mass inside the stomach again. She’s shrinking. Thank the gods, thank the gods.

The temptation is great to simply keep my eyes closed and rest until all the nausea and aching left behind has gone, but there’s a noise. A crunching noise on the gravel, only a half-meter away.

I force my eyes open, trying to see past my tears. Something’s moving in the middle of the red-brown stain where I spat everything out. Arms shaking, I lift myself up onto my knees and squint.

It’s two severed fingers, bitten off at their joints. Crawling on their own.

I jerk back like a startled cat, scrambling away on the gravel. Disgusting, unnatural, wrong. I have to put an end to it. I need to stomp on those fuckers until they stop moving.

I get up, groaning from the strain on my weakened body, and keep my head down until I’m sure I can keep my balance. I look to the fingers -- they’re not there.

No, they’re there. Just a meter higher where they used to be, hovering.

Anxiety and uncertainty over how I’ll get rid of them now freezes me in place, but to my great relief, they begin moving away. Though, hey, they can’t just… leave. They’re evidence.

I stagger after the fingers, following them to the edge of the opening. They slip into the woods between two spruces, the same spot as… she went through back then.

They must be heading for the murder scene. That’s actually someplace I need to visit in any case. I need to check if any evidence was left behind. I feel like I checked back then, but back then I didn’t know I had a ghost stuck in my brain that could…

Illusions, right. That whole stomach-exiting episode was one, and so are these floating fingertips. I think I already knew that on some level, but I just didn’t fully understand it. Like realizing I was in a dream without realizing I could choose to wake up or change my surroundings.

I should try to keep a hard-line stance. Only accept the things I can tell are real. Avoid getting caught up in any illusory tricks. Keep control of the situation in my hands, not Joanna’s.

After glancing around for anything else that would seem off and finding nothing, I enter the woods. The fingers wait for me a few meters ahead and start moving again once I approach. They’re leading me, it seems, but it’s not as if finding the way to the murder scene should be hard - as far as I remember, we ran in a straight line. Or, wait. I dragged her body to some other opening to dispose of it. I guess I’ll just follow along.

The trees and rocks that pass me by are vaguely familiar. Memories surface from the last time I saw them. Memories of thrill, pleasure. But they’re only bitter now that I remember how it all ended. I lost control. I killed without a plan. I was lucky to have it happen in the woods with no one around rather than, say, a supermarket, but its implications are no less worrying. And it couldn’t have been due to Joanna. If anything, she would’ve tried to protect Michi.

So the whole houndoom and pichu thing… was from my mind alone?

Oh, the fingers are slowing down. I notice a sparser part of the forest coming up on our left. The fingers take a turn towards it - that must be the opening.

I pick up my pace, hurrying after the fingers. As they keep slowing down, I’m nearly caught up by the time I reach the opening, but keep a meter or more of distance in case they start to… act up somehow. Like try to claw out my eyes. No, don’t give her any ideas.

The fingers float over to the center of the opening - the center of where my disintegration circle used to be, I believe - and finally stop. In a blink, whatever holds them up lets go, and they drop down to the gravel with a light crunch. Then there’s hissing. They begin to disintegrate. They’re turning into smoke, skin-colored mixed with red. The smoke dissipates in the air.

In a matter of seconds, all if it is gone.

I wait a bit longer by the edge of the opening. Just in case, I suppose. But as nothing else seems to be happening, I dare to walk to the center.

It’s clear to anyone that takes a closer look that the gravel’s been kicked around. I look for any patches where parts of the disintegration circle may have remained, but there are none. And I scrutinize each square centimeter for anything that could be an illusion. Still nothing.

I move on from the gravel to the trees and rocks and moss and other vegetation. I circle the nearby pines to make sure there are no carvings on their bark. There aren’t. I check the sky. No, that’s pointless. You can’t change the sky.

Well, I think that’s everything. No evidence left behind, no illusions. I’d say that’s a relief, but if there really is nothing, why would the fingers lead me here?

…Hmm. Maybe Joanna simply changed her mind. She may have had plans for some other elaborate illusion, but decided not to go through with it for some reason. Maybe she didn’t expect me to commit to this reality-checking thing so much. If she tried some illusion now, I’d be able to see through it - and not just that, but get better at spotting future illusions, too. It does make sense for her to forgo some petty torture scenario to save her skills for some situations that actually matter later on.

Well, if nothing is happening and I’m safe where I am, I can finally take some time to think. Figure out the current situation and what I should do next.

I sit down by the trunk of a nearby pine and start to recap.

Before I came here, I was at home. I had just recently made it there after the illusion of the apocalypse. After yelling at Abe a bit, I finally realized that I never succeeded in killing Joanna in her yamask form, that she was still in my head and causing all these weird hallucinations. I had the… fantastic idea of carving my own face off, but luckily I was interrupted by Abe's attempt to call the cops before I could go through with it. Then I heard sirens. I threatened Abe with a knife and told him not to tell anyone I'd been there… gods, I guess I'll just blame it on the ghost if I make it through this alright.

After that, I fled the house without a clear destination. Then I thought of Michi and how she might still be alive and… what did I want to do? I came here to do that. At the cabin, I wanted to kill her, but was that my original plan?

I try to remember, try to think about things, but suddenly my mind is just… all mush. Is it the illness? No, there never was any illness, only Joanna! Is this her doing, too?

Or… maybe it's just low blood sugar. I forgot how hungry I was. When was the last time I ate? Before the psych appointment? It feels like ages ago with all that's happened since, but I don't think it can be more than two hours. Then again, I did have that breakdown...

"Pi-pi-pi-pi!"

I flinch at the loudness of the call. That pidgey's very close by. With some looking, I find the mon on the branch of a small spruce about three meters away. It's looking right at me.

I guess it wants treats just like that one from a couple of days ago. Maybe it's the same one and it recognized me as the one that gave it some scratches before. Dammit, I should've just ignored it. Now I need to make it go away somehow. I won't be able to concentrate while it's around.

I get up and approach the pidgey. It only seems to get more excited.

"Fuck you!" it chirps. "Fuck you!"

"No, fuck you," I mutter. Seems like it's trying to impress me to earn itself more affection.

“Asshole!” it replies. Oh, it knows more than one thing. I wonder what else it knows? I guess I could stay and listen for a minute before shooing it away. I can’t deny that seeing such a fluffy little bird spout such vulgar phrases is somewhat humorous, and Gods know I could use some levity.

“What else do you know?” I ask the bird.

“Shit! Shit!”

I smirk. “Oh, that’s predictable. Don’t you have anything better?”

The pidgey stares at me with its black, beady eyes, head tilted. Then it opens its beak.

“Ichiro.”

I freeze.

“Ichiro Akai.”

How does it… how does it know my name?

“Pi-pi-pi-pi…”

“No, no, say it again,” I prompt the bird. I step closer and offer a hand. “I’ll scratch you. Come on.”

The bird looks at the hand, then me, then the hand, and flits onto it. Its toes wrap around my index finger. I don’t have gloves on this time, but I don’t care. Hygiene can wait, this is more important.

“Say it again,” I plead. “Ich’… Ich’…”

“Ichiro Akai,” it repeats.

“Good, good!” I smile and scratch the pidgey’s plumage, but inside, I’m horrified. The voice it’s trying to mimic… sounds like my own. “Say something more, please. Anything else you heard in that voice…”

The pidgey holds its stare. I notice how much my hand is trembling.

“Ichiro Akai killed me.”

The trembling gets worse.

“Ichiro Akai killed me,” it repeats. “Joanna Murata.”

My hand now shakes so much that the bird abandons it as a perch. It flits back to the spruce.

“No, no, don’t leave,” I whisper. I can’t let it leave. If it leaves, I won’t be able to kill it, and it’ll keep saying those words, those words Joanna must have used my mouth to say the last time I was here, while I was occupied by that… illusion of HIM. It’ll keep saying those words, and in time, someone will hear them, someone that knows Joanna’s family, and tells the cops and they’ll start looking into me and --

No. Wait.

I take a deep breath and exhale it out.

Remember what’s going on. Joanna is still in your head. This could just be another illusion. This bird might not even be real.

I study it closely, as closely as I can from this distance - but nothing seems to be off. That doesn’t mean its words have to be real, though. She could be making the sounds over something else.

“Say it again,” I ask the pidgey, offering a hand again. “Come on. I’ll scratch you again.”

It watches me with one eye. I wiggle a finger, signalling scratches. It flits back over, landing on my palm. Yes!

“Say it,” I whisper, ready to stop talking at any point to listen to its reply. “Come on. Ich’… Ich’…”

“Ichiro Akai.”

It sounded…

I don’t know how it sounded. How am I supposed to know what a real bird mimicking my name would sound like? Its beak sort of moved like how I’d imagine it to move, but I don’t know. It was so fast that I couldn’t possibly tell whether it was altered, either. Shit!

“Ichiro Akai,” the bird repeats, probably wondering where its reward is. I quickly give it a scratch. Whether or not the words are fake, I should get rid of this guy. Better safe than sorry.

Slowly, I bring over my left hand. The pidgey’s a bit apprehensive, but it calms down once I scratch its side with one finger. Side, moving slowly onto its back. I prepare to clamp my hands together. I just need to be sure --

“Ichiro Akai.”

That wasn’t this bird.

I look over my shoulder. Another pidgey has arrived at the opening.

“Ichiro Akai,” it repeats.

“Joanna Murata,” responds the pidgey in my hand. It flies off, joining the other one. No!

“Ichiro Akai,” says another voice - somewhere else in the opening.

The whole forest knows.

More voices join in, uniting in a cacophony of words and chirrups.

“Ichiro Akai!”

“Joanna Murata! Pi-pi-pi!”

“Ichiro Akai killed me! Pi-pi-pi prrrruuu.”

“Prrrruuu. Pi-pi-pi! Ichiro!”

My heart thumps in my throat. What the fuck do I do? There’s no way I can kill all of them!

“Jo-to-to!”

A pidgeotto? I turn around to --

I leap out of the bird's way just in time, dodging its extended talons. It pounds the air with its wings to regain the altitude it lost and flies up to a low, dead branch of a pine. But it's not going to perch for long - I can tell that much from its puffed up feathers and erected crest. It's mad. Must be protective of the pidgey, or just territorial...

I slip my hand inside my jacket and grab the knife I'd stashed in there. Right as I pull it out, the pidgeotto leaps into another charge. I shield my face with my arms while trying my best to point the blade the bird's way, but the bird simply swerves around the knife to swipe at my ear - fuck! I try to swipe back, but the pidgeotto's already too far. Dammit. It's barely perched on the opposite tree before it dives for me again. This bird's insane! But I've got my knife. I've got my knife, and it's only a matter of time before I land a decisive hit --

Something collides with the back of my hand, which drops the knife in startlement. A pidgey flutters back --

The pidgeotto screeches, talons out, heading for my face, I cover my eyes, it scratches and pecks the backs of my hands, fuck, fuck! I reach out and grab, I catch one foot, the pidgeotto bites but I fling it away! It hits the ground, screeches, but it gets up and leaps at my face and starts shredding my hands again, fuck, what's wrong with this fucking bird, it's like it's possessed, it needs a fucking exorc-

Exorcism.

The pidgeotto turns to dust, spreading in the air and dissipating.

That proves it. That proves this was the word Joanna didn't want me to remember!

"Exorcism," I whisper. Hearing it back feels so surreal, as if I hadn't thought of the word for years until I suddenly came across it again, shocked to still remember its meaning. Which is…

I can't remember. I know it has something to do with ghosts and getting rid of them, but everything else is a blur I can't make heads or tails of, even if I had to have known what it meant just moments ago when it popped into my head. This must be more of Joanna's doing. But as long as I can remember the word, I can find out its meaning through some other means… so I need to make sure I'll remember!

I snatch the knife off the ground. Exorcism. I clean its blade on my shirt. Exorcism. I raise my left palm up and bring the blade to the skin. Exorcism. I drive the tip in. Strings, yeah, too bad, live with it. I carve an E. Then an X. Then O, R…

What’s the word I’m writing, again? Exor... cism. That’s it. Nice try, Joanna. I carve the rest on another row - C, I, S, M.

There. EXORCISM. Doubt I’ll forget it’s there, and if I do, the pain will quickly remind me.

Gods! Yes! Finally, something goes right! There really is still hope. There’s still hope that I’ll get rid of this mental tumor and live to tell the tale. Or keep quiet about it, rather. If the cops haven’t found out the truth by now, I have to make sure not to tell a soul about any of this. If they have found out the truth… well, it’s something I’m gonna have to deal with then. Right now, getting Joanna out of my head is top priority.

Sighing in relief, I tuck the knife back inside my jacket. There’s blood on it, but it’s my own. It’s no crime to bleed.

I take a moment just to breathe. Listen to my surroundings. Rustling trees, faraway traffic… no pidgey.

I look around, and indeed, I see no pidgey. I wonder if they were part of the illusion. That first pidgey did seem real when I checked it, but I couldn’t tell if its words were. Then I got distracted by all the other ones and the rabid pidgeotto… I guess I’m gonna have to return here after Joanna’s gone to check.

As for the cops… I guess I’m gonna have to play it safe and just assume there are people after me. Still, I have to leave these woods to get the information I need. The best place for that would be the library. Thank the gods it’s not far from here. I should be able to slip in and read what I need without alerting any cops. I just have to be careful. Not just about cops, but Joanna’s illusions, too. Gods. Things will be so much easier once she's gone.

Feeling surprisingly confident, I leave the opening and begin walking back the way I came.

Somewhere, a pidgey chirps.

---​

 

[canisaries]

a standing ovation for a new record in time between chapters everyone. five months. couldnt have done it without you.

no but seriously i do have pretty good reasons for taking so long this time - working on Judgment, working on my contest oneshot, working on another oneshot, summer job, quitting benzos, everything wrong with my brain, so on.

this chapter is rated mature for blood, strong language, threats of violence, suicidal ideation and behavior and murder. it's not actually as extreme in terms of content as the other mature rated chapters, but i think it's better to round things up rather than down. either way, enjoy!

---

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Got You Now

---​

I kept my ears perked the whole way back to the graveyard, but I didn’t hear any more pidgey saying my name or Joanna’s name or what I did to her. While it doesn’t prove those birds don’t exist - there’s no way to actually prove that, really - it’s still better than the alternative.

I also realized that carving the word ‘exorcism’ into my hand would cause it to bleed. I didn’t think about that downside when I did it because I was a bit busy trying to keep Joanna from blocking the word from my mind again, but what’s done is done. Either way, I stopped by the forest stream and cleaned off the excess blood as best as I could, hoping dearly the water was clean enough not to cause an infection. More blood did surface from the wounds, but they were only little beads, not something that would run down and drip off my hand and cause a public disturbance. The coldness of the water might have helped with that. I briefly considered using the bandages from my forearm to cover them up, but that would have defeated the point of carving my skin in the first place. I might have forgotten the cuts were deliberate instead of just being the result of some random injury.

The hand now tucked in my pocket, I arrive at the edge of the graveyard. Before I step out of the woods and into the open, though, I recap my plan.

I’m going to take the regular route to the library. It may be open, but it’s the fastest path, and taking any other would increase the risk of forgetting what I’m doing. I just have to walk at a brisk pace without doing anything strange to arouse suspicion or draw attention in general. The better I blend in, the less likely it is for the cops - who may or may not be after me - to find out where I am.

Alright. I take a moment to check no one’s around, then leave the shelter of the trees. I make it past the graves and out of the gate without anyone arriving. Good. The best I could hope for, really. I hold on to that positivity as I begin my treacherous journey to the library.

The spruces and pines flanking the gravelly road seem to be my only company for the next minute or so. I begin to wonder if I could actually sprint while no one's around - until someone, a local woman, emerges from a little side-path and turns my way.

I try not to let the surge of my heartbeat show and continue walking, but the organ pounds against my ribs like a primeape in a cage. Still, I force my eyes to stare directly ahead. I can't let my gaze stray and meet hers. She'd only pay more attention to me that way.

And don’t forget about the illusions, oh Gods, the illusions. Joanna might try to trick me with something again. She might create an illusion of that woman attacking me to get me to attack her in return, which would get me in an even worse position than before. Or Joanna could just make some kind of loud noise to make me jump and get the woman to notice something’s off about me. Whatever the case, I need to stay calm and always think before I act.

The woman’s getting closer. In just a few seconds, we’ll pass each other. Oh Gods. I prepare myself for anything while still attempting to appear casual. Time seems to slow down. Oh, Gods, just go. Go past me already. Please…

She does.

She passed me. She did nothing. Joanna did nothing.

I nearly stop and look behind me to see if this really happened, but I know I shouldn’t take that chance. I have to settle for the sound of her footsteps gradually fading until the ambient winds and traffic drown them out.

I catch my breath. I’d been holding it, it seems. I shouldn’t do that. Oh, great, another thing to worry about…

No, don’t get discouraged. Things will only get worse if you let your anxieties take hold. I take a deep breath and force my mind to move on. The road’s about to open up, after all. The need to stay cool will only become more dire.

I reach the end of the gravelly path, transitioning to an asphalt street. With the trees gone, I can already spot three new people in the area. The two of them coming my way, an older man and a woman with a baby stroller - fine, I guess that’s technically three people - come closer and closer. I prepare myself again, but despite my worries, they pass me by without any trouble. I notice nothing wrong about my surroundings before, during or after. In other words, Joanna stays in line. Whether that means I’m in control or that it’s part of some great insidious plan of hers, I don’t know. I just have to take the win and go with it.

Some time later, I reach the hospital. There are more people around now. It could be a good thing or it could be a bad thing. Good thing: blending into a crowd. Bad thing: if even one recognizes me, they can tell all the others and then they'll all come after me. And I can't kill that many people that fast.

Though there are more buildings around now, too. Buildings you're free to enter, like stores. If I spot any cops around, I can slip into one and hide. Whether they'd let me stay as long as I needed, though, that's another question…

I calmly look around, surveying the area for any blue uniforms yet again, but none are there. Only civilians. Most are humans, but there are some mon in the mix. There's a nidoking. Oh Gods, Fonz? No, Fonz trims his quills differently, and I'm pretty sure he's more purple in hue. And that one moves with swagger. Fonz walks like he's sorry about his size. And, of course, Fonz rarely leaves his jacket behind…

I shake my head. No. Don't stray into irrelevant thoughts. Keep your focus. You're not that far away from the library…

That's right, I'm really not! I can already see the flat black roof of the library peeking over the buildings. Gods, I'm happy, but I've never felt so slow. It's right there, and my steps are so slow, so slow. But I'm getting closer. Every step taken means less time to spend out on the street.

Okay. One more corner to pass. I can see the yard of the library, more and more of it coming into view as I get closer. There's a person. There's another person. There's a group of people. There's a stand by the doors.

Fuck.

Over a dozen people have gathered on the yard, a few of them wearing matching blue scarves. They must be members of some organization doing some kind of promotion or rally - a theory that’s supported by the fact that they seem to be passing out fliers. More importantly, they’re gathered right by the doors, on both sides, which means I can’t get to the library without drawing their attention. Oh, what the hell do these people even want?

No, no, it doesn't matter what they're doing as long as it's not passing out posters of my face with 'dead or alive' written underneath. I just need to get past them the same way I’ve gotten past everyone else I’ve met on the way here.

I take one last look around in case of any cops, which I can’t spot, and begin heading for the front doors. I walk past the first group of people. The one with the blue scarf shoots me a look as I go by, but she’s too busy explaining something to the others to pay me any further mind. Fantastic, beautiful, yes. Another group to my right, quickly cleared with similar ease. Alright, just don’t get overconfident. Remember to be alert for illusions.

Now approaching the main congregation. Slowing down walking speed. I catch words of their conversations - foundation, help, concert, children, fundraiser - but I throw them out of my conscious mind as soon as they arrive and steer my focus back to the people themselves, watching for any intent to talk to me so that I can shoot it down fast and clean with a classic ‘sorry, I’m busy’.

People begin to notice me, stepping back to give me space. No strange expressions on anyone’s face, no imminent sales pitches. Nothing looks illusory, not that I have enough time for a proper analysis of anything. My way is now clear. The doors wait ahead of me. Yes --

Something catches my foot, the world tilts, asphalt comes at my face. I barely get my arms in front of me in time to break my fall. Left palm hits ground, stings! Fuck! The cuts, right…

Whispers arise from the crowd. Shit, now I'm the center of attention. I need to get up quickly…

"You alright?" someone asks behind me. I turn my head to see --

Oh, fuck. I can't believe this.

The burly blond Arcean - in other words, Samson - recognizes me, too, judging by his widened eyes. Gods, of all the people to bump into…

He offers a hand. Fuck no, I think, but I can't turn down his offer for help now that I've clearly seen it - that would be rude, and rude people are not liked. Suppressing a grimace, I take Samson’s hand.

He grasps it firmly and pulls me up - he really pulls me up, goddamn, he's stronger than he looks - and I thank him as I'm required to. I try to move on, but he circles in front of me, blocking the doors. What the fuck does he want?

"Hey, before you go, um…" he begins, tone infuriatingly polite as if it made up for his little one-man blockade stunt. "I just wanted to apologize about that thing at the beach. Clearly, I was interrupting --”

I wanna tell him to go fuck himself and that pony god of his while he’s at it, but I know better. “Look, it’s alright,” I say, raising my hands. “I’m sorry about what I said, too. Can we just for-”

I raised my hands.

I close them immediately and take them behind my back, but it’s too late.

He saw my left palm. He saw the wounds. He might have even read the writing. And now he’s staring at me in shock.

This is Joanna’s fault, isn’t it? She made me forget I needed to keep that hand hidden!

“Wh-what was that on your hand?” he says, stepping forward. “Are you hurt?”

No. No. I have to get away now. “It’s nothing. Leave me alone,” I spit as I lunge past him, lucky that he didn’t stop me. I tear open the library’s door and slip through, catching a glimpse of the red stain left behind on the metal bar. Fuck, fuck. Just keep going.

I draw in a sharp breath -- and cough and cough immediately after, cough to get the stench of spices and rubber and paint out of my lungs, but it comes back with every inhalation. Gods, I wanna stab whoever’s responsible for this renovation, but now’s not the time…

I hurry deeper into the building, into the array of shelves, to the Fact section. I weave towards Biology, brushing past the myriad of books held up by the twisted metal squiggles they consider shelves. The black rug beneath gives a spongy squeak for each of my steps. Disgusting. I’ll destroy it all once ascension comes.

Okay. Pokémon, Ghosts. I’m here. One shelf, books in purple, black and blue. I need to find a book on… on what? I check my hand again. EXORCISM. It was some ghost thing. It was gonna help me get rid of Joanna. Is that word in the title of any of these books? Not here, not there…

Creeee-eee-eeaak…

What was that?

I glance in the direction of the noise, but nothing’s out of place. There’s nothing that would have made that metallic creaking… unless, of course, these shelves are so shitty that they’re buckling under the weight of the --

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. I need to focus on my task.

I finish going through the books’ titles. None contained the word ‘exorcism’, so I choose some generic-looking book instead - I think I skimmed this one the last time I was here. I open the glossary and look for E. There. I skip to the end of the block and there it is, ‘exorcism’, as the last entry. Lots of different page numbers are mentioned, but there’s only one range, 182-192. That sound like the best place to head. What page is this? 240. Alright. I place my index finger on the current page so that I don’t lose it in case I forget where I’m supposed to go - or, more precisely, in case Joanna blocks the memory…

Creee-eeeeee-eeaaak…

There’s that creaking again! But no, no, just ignore that, get back to…

Thump, thump, thu-thump thu-thu-thu-thu-thump thu-thump thu-thu-

Okay, that’s it!

I shut the book, finger still as bookmark, and turn around to see what the fuck is making all this --

I freeze.

Dozens of books lie scattered on the floor, piled around the shelf they’ve fallen from - or what’s become of that shelf.

The bicolor sheet of metal that used to coil around the rows of books has twisted into a strange, irregular shape. Its many-jointed form looks even more serpentine than before.

A sharp screech splits the air as the final joint bends towards me, twisted sideways. Another screech, and the segment tears itself in half, leaving serrated edges. It looks like the jaws of a very thin snake.

Another horrible screech comes as the halves snap together in a bite.

It is a snake.

Oh.

Oh, okay!

Despite the chill in my blood, my lips pull back in a grin.

Are you stupid, Joanna? Did you think I was going to fall for this? Did you think this was going to scare me? Make me throw down this book and scamper away with my tail between my legs?

What a sad attempt at an illusion. She must be getting desperate. Which, in turn, means that I’m getting closer.

I turn my back on the metallic serpent and return my attention to the book even if my primal instincts think it’s a poor idea. The creature makes more screeches, but I force myself to ignore them. I open the book in the middle and start searching for page… I check the glossary again. Page 182. Okay. I opened the book at 123. I skip ahead. 134, 156, 168, 172 --

“Uh, excuse me --”

“Fucking hell!” I spit, jerking my head towards the left. Unfortunately, I see someone I already saw not too long ago. The Arcean.

“What do you want from me?” I hiss at his stupid face.

He steps back, holding his palms up. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here to help.”

“Help?” I scoff. “I don’t want any! Get away from me!”

He’s not leaving, he’s not moving, he keeps those hands up and that fucking infuriating look of innocence on his face. “It’s alright,” he says, “I figured out your problem.”

“What proble-”

Shit, wait, no! If he knows something about me, he really shouldn't say it aloud!

I cower back, signalling submission. The sudden shift in my behavior makes him flinch, giving me another chance to speak, yes.

“H-hold on,” I say. “Can you just, uh, wait a moment?”

He blinks, still confused. “I… sure.”

That shut him up for now. I return to the book. 172. 176. 178, 180, one eighty tw-

It’s blank.

I flip a page. The next opening is also blank. No 183, no 184. Only white.

I pinch the rest of the pages and run my thumb upwards. Corners upon corners flash by, all empty.

I take a deep breath in, then let it out.

“Actually…” I say, turning back to the Arcean. “There is something you can help me with.”

His blue eyes light up - of course they do. “What’s that?”

I step closer to him and show the open book. “Do these pages look blank to you?”

“...No?” he answers, confused.

“Okay, thanks.” I transfer the book to my left hand and reach inside my jacket with the right, grabbing the knife in the pocket. “Now, I need to write something down,” I say. “Do you have a pen on you?”

He looks down, digging into his pockets. “Uh, let’s s-”

I let go of the book. While it falls to the ground, I throw my arm around Samson’s shoulders, draw out the knife and bring the blade to his throat.

He freezes at the sight of the weapon. “Wh-”

“Don't fucking move!” I growl, and I can feel him flinch. “Understand?”

“Y-yes,” he manages to get out.

I shuffle closer to get a better hold of him. It’s still not great given our height difference, but it seems to be working well enough.

“Alright. I wanna turn around now,” I tell Samson. “Follow me as I move. Got that?”

“Yes.”

We turn together to face the way I came. The shelf-serpent is still there. I growl.

“There’s no point in showing that anymore,” I growl. “I already know it isn’t real.”

“What?”

I flinch. Right, the guy can hear me. And so can everyone else. I shouldn’t be speaking aloud, I should be…

But can I really count on Joanna listening to my thoughts? It’s very, very important that she understands me exactly as intended, but my mind’s going a mile a minute. If I speak aloud, she’ll hear me clearly. And, really, what the fuck kinda harm is speaking aloud gonna do to me now? I already have a knife to someone’s throat. As long as I don’t mention Joanna’s name or anything else related to my past crimes, I won’t be making things any worse for myself.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Samson,” I say. “It was Samson, right?”

“Samson, yes,” he breathes.

“Alright.” I pause to think. “Okay, Samson, listen up. Whenever I say your name, it means I’m talking to you. Otherwise, ignore it. Do you understand?”

“I… yes.”

“Good. Now…” I look down at the book on the floor. “I wanna pick up that book, Samson. For that, we need to crouch. Just follow my lead. Got that?”

“Y-yes.”

Slowly but surely, we squat down. I notice a problem, but come up with the solution rather quickly. I transfer the knife to my left hand, keeping the blade against Samson’s throat, and pick up the book with my right hand. I’ve lost the page I was on, but I’d already accepted that as a likely outcome when I dropped the book.

“Alright,” I sigh. I notice I’m a bit out of breath. Can’t really blame myself. Either way, I make myself take deeper breaths until I feel like I’m good to go again.

“Samson, back up,” I then order, and he obeys. We rise as slowly as we descended, both cautious for different reasons - I want to make sure he gets no window to escape, and he wants to make sure I don’t slit his throat.

At last, we’re upright again. I realize that one hand isn’t enough to browse the book… but I actually have more than one hand, don’t I?

“Samson,” I begin, and the Arcean tenses up again. I offer him the book. “Grab this book.”

“Right.” He does as instructed, though his hold is trembling. Whatever. It’s not a problem yet. Right hand now free, I transfer the knife back to it. Much better for keeping a hostage on my left.

“Now, go to page…” I stretch my memory. “182.”

Without protest, he opens the book and begins to browse. I start to wonder if there's anyone that can see us. Should I look behind me? No, it’ll only get harder to concentrate if I see someone there. And Samson’s already getting close to the page I need…

At 180, he flips the last page. The next opening… is still blank.

I clench my teeth. Yeah, didn’t think it would be so easy.

“Is… is this good?” Samson asks, voice quiet and wavering.

“Good enough,” I mutter, then sigh. “Okay, Samson, the next few things I’m gonna say don’t concern you. Ignore them.”

“A-alright.”

I pin my eyes on the blank pages and think of Joanna. “Show them.”

I wait, but there’s no change. Gods. She’s really making me spell it out.

“Show them,” I press, “or I’m gonna kill him.”

Samson flinches. “What?”

“What did I just tell you?” I spit, and he shrinks under my arms. Hopefully he got the message for good this time.

I return my gaze to the book. Still blank. Fine.

“I know you can hear me,” I say. “Don’t pretend like you can’t. This guy’s life is in your hands, and you know it. Now…” I take a shaky breath in. “I’m gonna do what I did the last time you didn’t want to cooperate. I’m gonna count down from ten. If, by the time I hit zero, I don’t see any ink on these pages…” I squeeze Samson closer to me. “I’m gonna slit his throat. Okay?”

No response, not that I expected one. Though Samson’s trembling is getting worse.

“Right.” I get into position, moving the blade against the Arcean’s neck. He winces at the touch of the cold metal. An urge comes to slash it open right now, but no, no, not yet. Not ever, actually. Because Joanna’s gonna budge, just like last time, and I’m gonna get my way.

“Ten,” I begin. “Nine. Eight. Seven…”

Sudden sounds catch my ears. Steps, many of them, hurried, coming my way. Then they stop.

"Stay where you are," commands a voice. Male, authoritative. "This is the police."

The police.

My body freezes over. My arms, my legs, my face, my eyes - all but my heart which thrashes wildly instead, threatening to shatter the icy shell around it.

Then it all thaws.

The grin, closer now to a snarl, returns to my face.

"You're getting desperate," I sneer. "I can tell…"

How very convenient it would be for the cops to show up now, right here, in the nick of time.

“Turn around,” the voice continues.

I grimace. “You’re insulting me.” The grin returns. “But that doesn’t matter. The countdown will continue. Where was I… oh, right. Seven.”

“Turn around!”

Is she even listening to me? I count down louder. “Six. Five. Four.”

“Turn around, or we will shoot!”

She’s not listening. She’s not fucking listening. She’s not stopping the illusion. She’s not showing the pages. Does she not believe I’ll do it? Does she not care? Should I stop and find another approach?

No, that may be what she’s counting on. I need to stick to this. I need to stand my ground.

“Three!” I shout. There’s a waver in the voice. I squeeze the knife tighter, palm swimming in sweat. It will slash that skin, Joanna, it will kill poor Samson. Do you really want that?

“Final warning!” shouts the cop.

“Two!” I shout back. Two. Two. We’re at two. That’s so close. Why hasn’t she given up yet? Is she not gonna give up? Will I really, really have to kill this guy and deal with the consequences? Am I prepared to do that? Is this an edge I can afford to lose?

No. No, no doubting. That’s what she wants. No doubting. I will bring this to completion.

I breathe in. The next word repeats in my mind. My throat and tongue stand at attention, ready to launch. The time comes, and I shout --

“Stop.”

I’m paralyzed.

That voice…

That was her voice.

“Please,” she breathes. “Please, no more of this.”

That voice I have not heard in months. The last time was… it wasn’t even on the day that I killed her. I didn’t let her say anything before I attacked her, and after that, she was gagged…

“I wanna talk to you.”

Surprise begins to make way for relief. She's finally talking to me.

Although… that's not what I asked for. I asked her to show the pages. They're still blank. But I guess it's still better than her not reacting to me at all…

I clear my throat. “I’m listening.”

“Face to face.”

I pause. “What do you mean?”

“Just that I’m gonna appear in front of you,” she explains. “Don’t be alarmed.”

“And it’s not a trick?” I ask, tensing up.

“It’s not. I… I don’t want that man to get hurt.”

I glance at Samson. His face is deathly pale. His eyes unfocused and his mouth ajar, he’s giving his best impression of a dead fish.

I grab him a bit more tightly, sending a jolt through his body. I focus on the touch - the fabric of his t-shirt, the bone and muscle of his shoulder. It feels real. So does the knife in my hand. She hasn’t tampered with anything. I really do have a hostage.

“Alright,” I breathe. “Do it.”

I look ahead. At first, it seems like nothing's happening, but then I realize the air directly ahead has begun to darken. It condenses, darkens further, takes shape - the shape of a yamask.

Two red eyes open at its sides, leaking as always. A glint of golden light, and a mask materializes into the grasp of its hands. Joanna's face. Melancholic.

After days of hiding in the recesses of my psyche, tormenting me from where I can't see her… she's here, right in front of me, in her true form.

"...Hey."

I frown. “Get to the point. You’re on limited time.”

She sighs, tense. “Right.”

She takes one hand off the mask to hold it at her side instead, but changes her mind and brings the mask back in front of her chest again. She squeezes her eyes shut and forces out the words on her mind. “I’m offering you a way out.”

“A way out?”

She opens her eyes, but can’t bring herself to look at me. Her fingers grasp the edge of her mask harder. “I’m… I’m allowing you to kill me.”

Kill… her?

“This…” She pries one hand off the mask to gesture to herself, shaking. “This isn’t an illusion. This is really me. A-and that means that if you…”

Recognition flashes in my mind as I remember what I read all those days ago. That if a yamask appeared to the one they possessed in their real form, they would actually be vulnerable to physical attacks.

Of course, last time I tried that, she tricked me - it wasn’t really her, but a show and dance she put on to deceive me, to make me think she was dead while she kept hiding in my mind.

So why would this time be any different?

“I know,” she says - I forgot she could read my mind to an extent - “I know what you’re thinking, but… hear me out. If you stab me now, you won’t lose anything. You can do it quickly enough for your hostage not to escape. And when I d-die, those pages are gonna become visible. You can still perform an exorcism. You can even get some other guy to perform that exorcism so you know the text can’t have been tampered with. So…” She winces. “It’s in your benefit to try.”

Well… she does make a good point. All of that makes sense. Except for one crucial detail.

“What made you change your mind?” I ask. “What makes you just… want to give up now, after everything you’ve done? And most importantly…” My look turns into a glare. “Why would you want to die?”

She lowers one hand to form a fist. She still can't look at me.

"It's not that I want to die," she says, voice wavering. "It's that I just think it's for the better."

I raise a brow. "How come?" The last time she spoke to me, she seemed pretty hell-bent on getting me caught…

"Oh, I have no doubt you're gonna get caught," she spits, catching me off guard, but her venom dilutes from there. "You're clearly unstable enough without my help. It's… myself that I'm worried about."

"You?"

Her fist tightens. "Ever since I entered your mind… I feel like I've been changing. Changing… to become more like you."

"What do you mean?" Has she started to see things from my perspective?

She shuddered. "No. I'll never want to be on your side. That much I know."

I roll my eyes. Fine.

"What I mean," she continues, "is that I've… I've found myself thinking like you. Coldly. Selfishly. Treating people like tools, making these schemes with less and less regard for the people involved. Even now, I… I took so long to stop you from counting. I thought I could take the gamble. The gamble on that man's life." She hugged her mask. "I'd been convincing myself that everything I did was for the greater good, to get you locked up, and that I could afford to be tied to you for as long as that took, but… I-I don't think that's true anymore."

That's stupid, I find myself thinking, but I shouldn't think that - I should encourage her to think whatever benefits me. But I guess I also just thought that, so that edge is gone.

She clenches a fist again. "Of course to you that'd be stupid. You don't give a shit what happens to anyone else as long as you get something out of it. You don't understand what it's like to actually have moral responsibility. If you were in my place, you'd just let yourself become more twisted. You'd let your family, whoever they were, see their daughter turned into a monster."

Being selfish is all it takes to be a monster?

"It's not just selfishness!" she snaps, fist trembling. "It's… it's…"

A barrage of maroon droplets leaks from her eyes. Even with her limited features, I see pure disgust radiate off her face.

"The sick fantasies you have!" she shouts, gagging on her voice. "They've started to… feel good! What kind of person do you think I'm gonna become when I lose my morals and take pleasure in violence?"

She'd become like me.

There'd be someone else like me?

She hears that thought, and she looks like she's about to puke.

"I never want to be like you!" she cries. "I can't let myself bring a person like that into the world! Even if…" A sob cuts her speech. "Even if it means I have to die!"

She covers her face with a shaky hand. "S…so," she says, "I have to do it. Before I don't want to do it anymore."

She falls silent after that, save for her patchy breathing. I guess that's it for her little manifesto.

I take some time to think.

She claims that she wants me to end her life before she can become any more like me. To me, that logic would be invalid for two reasons - I don't think there's anything wrong with the way I am, and I really, really, really don't want to die.

But there was a time many years ago when I did.

When He died.

I didn't yet know back then that He could be brought back. I thought He was gone forever. The linchpin of my life, the only one I'd ever felt a real connection towards, erased from this world. Without Him, I couldn't see anything but darkness. Without Him, life felt worse than death.

Then I met HIM. HE told me HE could bring Him back, and HE also taught me death was incomprehensible to my human mind, something far worse than my life could ever be.

But she doesn't know that. She's seen me think that, but she doesn't believe it. She doesn't believe HIM. She probably doesn't even believe HE is real. She probably thinks I'm just crazy. What irony. From my perspective, she's the crazy one.

She does make a good point about the attack, though. There's no way Samson will escape during the little time it takes for me to swing at her. He's a complete wimp, a scaredy skitty. He'll freeze in shock, and before he knows it, my knife will be right back in front of his throat.

I can only win here.

I draw in a deep breath and sigh it out. “Okay.”

She slides her hand down her face to see me, but keeps it on her mouth, or where her mouth would probably be. She seems relieved, though still very anxious. Makes sense for what’s to come.

I consider my surroundings. It’s a bit cramped here with all the shelves. I better move a bit more out into the open so I have space to strike at her.

“Samson,” I say. His flinch tells me that he’s paying attention. “I wanna move backwards a bit. Away from the shelves. Just follow my lead, okay?”

“Okay.” Obedient as ever. This guy doesn’t even seem like the type that would try to escape. I just have to hope my impression isn’t wrong.

Slowly but steadily, I back us up out of the aisle and into the reading area, which consists of tables and chairs spaced well apart. I also make us turn around to face the rest of the space rather than the corner. This is the direction I heard the cops shouting from, but there’s no one here. Of course there isn’t. The cops were fake.

Joanna floats in front of me. The motion is jittery. Can I be sure she won’t dodge?

“I… I’ll close my eyes,” she says, eyes flicking to me between longer looks at the floor. “That way I can’t see it coming.”

“I guess that works,” I mumble. “Or… won’t you hear it from my thoughts when I’m doing it?”

“Uh…” Her shoulders slump. “Maybe. But --” She raises a hand. “I-in the case I do dodge… please don’t make any hasty decisions. It’ll just have been a mistake.” She lowers her hand and gaze. “I really don’t want that man to die, I just haven’t… ever done this before, you know. Obviously.”

I roll my eyes again, but I get it. Self-preservation instincts can’t exactly be turned off at will. “If it ends up not working, I’m going back to the original plan,” I say. “You’ll just have to stay there while I perform the exorcism.”

She pauses - oh, come on, are you thinking about switching now?

“L-let’s at least try this first,” she says. “I doubt exorcisms are very fast, and if they’re painful…”

Okay, okay, I don’t care. Just get ready already.

She sighs. “Right.” She floats up to position. “Is this a good spot?”

Yeah… yeah, I think so.

She nods, defeated. “Okay. I-I’m gonna close my eyes now.”

Finally.

She looks like she wants to say something else, but does the smart thing and closes her eyes instead. She remembers her mask and brings it to her side, exposing her body. Is it still hard and metallic now that she’s inside my mind? I guess it doesn’t matter as long as she keeps it out of the way.

Okay. Everything’s ready now. Am I ready? No, my knife’s pointing the wrong way. I flip it over, hoping Samson won’t notice. It doesn’t seem like he does. Good. I picture the trajectory of my strike. It cuts through the underside of that strange, flat body. Where her throat would be if she had one. Gods, yes, I get to slit her throat. Compensation for all the trouble she’s given me.

I stabilize my breath and with it, my hand. I sense the right moment come.

I slash across the air. The blade catches her body and tears through it like drenched paper. Her eyes open in an instant, bugging in terror and pain. Droplets of that red fluid go flying. White fire ignites at the edges of her wound, then flares almost faster than I can follow, swallowing up her body and her mask - and she’s gone.

I did it. I did it! I actually --

Something tugs hard on my knife.

Hard enough for me to lose my grip.

The knife slides out of my hand and flies off across the room.

What?

I blink. When my eyes open, the room is filled with cops.

Right ahead, a few meters away, floats a magneton. Stuck to one of its magnets, my knife.

Something slams into my chest - Samson’s elbow. The pain radiates to my limbs, paralyzing them, and I can’t do anything. Samson throws off my arm and slips away. He escaped. My hostage escaped. I have no hostage. That means --

“Go, go, go!”

The nearest policeman charges at me. I should run. I should run, but I can’t. My legs are frozen. My body is frozen. And so he reaches me. He grabs my arms and bends them behind my back. Another policeman has come to assist him. While the first man keeps me steady, the second locks something metal around my wrists. Handcuffs.

They got me.

A dark haze appears in front of me. Solidifies. To the shape of a yamask. The mask hangs off one hand, relaxed as can be, while another covers the mouth - or where the mouth would be. The eyes are mocking.

She laughs.

No. No. No. No!

“Yes,” she says, a smile in her voice. It cuts like a razor.

Someone nudges my shoulder and says something. One of the policemen. I don’t respond. I can’t respond. After trying a few more times, he puts his arm underneath mine, and I finally thaw.

I tear away like a crazed animal. I don’t get anywhere, of course I don’t get anywhere, he’s got his arm hooked under mine and my wrists are chained together, but I can’t stop it, and I don’t want to stop it. The policeman yells - tells me to calm down, I think - and my arm feels like it’s gonna rip, but I can’t stop. I have to get away, even if I know I can’t. I can’t let them take me. I can’t --

“That’s not gonna work,” Joanna mocks. I make one lunge towards her, but she doesn’t even blink. She knows I can’t do anything to her. I’m handcuffed, and even if I wasn’t, there’s no way she’s actually tangible.

She lied about that. She lied about everything.

“And you bought it.”

Something seizes my other arm as well. Another cop. They start to drag me away, no, no, I don’t wanna go. I try to regain my footing so I could try to jerk away again, but they don’t hold me high enough and I’m at an awkward angle, I just can’t make it work. I’m reduced to wriggling like a madman, shoes screeching against the floor. Just like… just like in my nightmares.

Nightmare, nightmare. Nightmares I get to wake up from and realize they aren’t real, but this… this is real. This is actually real. This is really happening. This…

Oh, no, no, no.

I stop my flailing, letting out something like a sigh mixed with a laugh. No, this isn’t real. This is another one of Joanna’s tricks, and I fell for it because I freaked out and forgot to be skeptical.

“Nice try,” I wheeze, staring at the yamask with a triumphant grin.

But she laughs. “Oh, you’re pathetic!”

The grin twists into a grimace, but don’t give up, don’t let her words get to you. She’s just trying to throw you off. If you really focus, you can see this is all fake, and then that attitude of hers will fly right out the window. She’ll be begging for mercy. She’ll fear you, as she should.

Okay, concentrate. Concentrate on the cops. I turn my head to analyze the one to my right. He looks back at me, asks if I’m alright, which he’s probably doing because he thinks it’ll calm me down or he’s legally required to, he doesn’t actually care, I’m just some deranged maniac to him. I study his face, his eyes, they’re brown, his eyelashes, eyebrows, wrinkles, nose, lips, chin, hair and ears, all little hairs and pores on his skin - no, that’s bad proof, humans are hardwired to expect natural features on a human face. I look down at his uniform. The blue fabric, its texture, the threads interweaving… then the wrinkles of the cloth, how they change as the policeman moves, then the buttons, how they shine in the lights…

Then the badge, its engraving of the Kanto coat of arms - the three feathers - and beneath it, the words ‘Kanto Police’.

Nothing’s out of place.

But that’s just because I haven’t focused enough! I need more time, more effort. This is fake, I know it. It has to be. I can’t really have been caught. That just can’t happen. My life can’t be over. They can’t really be…

The metal threshold of the front door knocks against my heels. The cool outside air pours in. The people outside, the fundraiser people, stare at me from both sides of the entrance. Scared. Backing away. Whispering.

This is real.

“Yep,” Joanna says, floating up closer. “They’ve got you now.”

They’ve got me. Do they…

“They know what you did,” she says, “thanks to all the clues I left them when you weren’t looking.”

No. It can’t be. They can’t know. There can’t be that much proof. They can’t know for sure. I-I still have a chance if I just --

“Please!” I yell, turning my head to try and see ahead. “This is a mistake! I haven’t done anything!”

But they ignore me. They just keep dragging me. They’re dragging me towards a white police van. One of the other cops opens the back doors. An arcanine with a vest appears from behind the van. Its eyes lock onto me, vigilantly watching as I’m dragged closer and closer to the vehicle.

Joanna laughs again. I hate that sound!

“You just kept a man hostage right in front of them!” she says. “Do you think they’re gonna believe you?”

The cop next to the van reaches into the back and pulls out a ramp, which he then positions on the edge. Yep, they want to put me in there. I need to get the fuck away. But I already know I can’t. But it doesn’t stop me. I jerk and twist and flail and try to bite one of the arms holding me but I can’t reach it with my stupid short human neck and flat human face. My arms, sore from the constant attempts to tear away, start to weaken, and it seems like the cops are holding on even tighter - fuck, fuck.

“This is all a misunderstanding!” I yell, words as my last weapon, but no one listens, no one listens. The back of the van awaits straight ahead, doors fully open like the maw of a gyarados about to swallow me whole. I can’t go in there, I can’t go in there, no, no, no, but I can’t get away, their arms won’t budge. They reach the ramp and haul me in, the arcanine following in my wake. They pull me against the right wall, or left wall from their perspective, and plant me down on the wooden bench. They let go of me -- they let go of me!

I jump right back up, but the arcanine opens its mouth and snarls, and the prey in me leaps backwards, my back hitting the wall, fuck, ow. No, no, I can’t be a slave to my instincts now, but holy fuck, that’s a big arcanine, and it’ll bite or tackle me if I move towards it again, and that’ll break my bones. The two cops that hauled me in leave, and I want to run after them, but I can’t, I can’t. They slide the ramp back in and slam the doors closed. No!

In an instant, the snarl on the arcanine’s face disappears, followed by a quick lick of the lips and a neutral expression. The mon then moves to the side and sits down, freeing up space for me to shuffle up to the doors and their gridded windows. I slam into the doors with my shoulder, of course, and nothing happens, of course, they’re locked. There’s not even anyone outside anymore. No one but Joanna.

“It’s over,” she says, no ire in her tone this time. “I’ve won. And now...”

The van begins to rumble. Seconds later, it nudges into motion.

“You’re going to face the consequences of your actions.”

---​

 

[canisaries]

hello everybody! it's been a while, almost a year. but this time the wait was at least partially intentional so it doesn't count. i've been recovering from my terrible mental health episode and a few days ago i finally found myself ready to pick this story up again - yep, a few days! it's record time for a new chapter, though i have to be honest and say that's because i barely changed anything in this revision. we're at the point where the writing's new enough to be the way i want it. i wouldn't be surprised if i got the next one done in another few days, buuut i won't promise anything.

anyway, strap in, because you're in for a wild ride. this chapter is rated mature for blood, graphic violence, violence against a minor, body horror and vomit. it's the most graphic it's been since the prologue, and i wouldn't have it any other way. thanks for waiting. enjoy.

---

CHAPTER TWELVE
The Skin

---​

“Is it always so dark in here?”

I don’t know why I said that. My voice is shaky and my heart’s still pounding in my ears. I guess talking makes me feel like I have at least a little control over my situation.

But the arcanine sitting across from me provides no answer. The space for a reply is merely filled by the rumble and hum of the police van as the mon continues to stare at me with its dark but vigilant eyes. At the front of the van, the rest of the police squad stay just as silent as the RK9.

I lean back onto the wall. The white block protruding from it doesn’t make for a terribly comfortable seat. The discomfort isn’t helped by my cuffed hands forcing an awkward curve to my back.

I guess it really is dark in here, though. There’s no source of illumination save for the tiny gridded windows at the front and the back. Through their little square holes, the blue of the outside sky shines in, casting its faint, cold light on me and the mutt.

Alright. I don't know how long this ride is going take as I don't exactly know where I’m being taken, but I do know that it's someplace I really don't want to be. Then again, I suppose there's a scale to it. If I’m taken somewhere I can still possibly run away from, that's a small bad thing. If they're taking me straight to jail, that's a bigger bad. If they take me to a chair with cords coming out of it…

No, they have to take me somewhere before those latter two. Everyone gets a trial, right? And I don't even know how much evidence they have - they might not have enough, or at least not enough for the worst punishment for each of my crimes combined. Though considering that'd be several lifetimes, just one step down from that won't be too much help.

And there's still the issue of the ghost in my head. If they don't have enough on me yet, she'd surely be glad to give them all they need via my own vocal chords.

I shudder, causing the metal cuffs to chafe into my wrists, which in turn makes me grunt in discomfort.

“Where are we even going?” I ask, fully prepared for just more silence.

“We’ll be there soon,” says the arcanine, surprisingly enough. Her eyes are fixed on the window on the front. Oh, no need to actually pay attention to me. It’s not like I’m a serial killer or anyone important.

“Yes, but where?”

No answer. Back to this, I see.

“Where?” I demand.

The arcanine reacts this time, but only by rolling her eyes.

Oh, I’m a joke to you? Just an annoyance? I killed nine people. Eight of them I ripped apart and ate parts of. I stalked them all for weeks and made them vanish without a trace. I’m a cold-blooded killer, show some goddamn respect! Awareness of the situation! If I wasn’t cuffed, I’d have my hands around your stupid bitch neck! And that I did not intend for that pun!

An itch crawls onto my temple. Dammit, not now! I don’t have anything to scratch that… couldn’t you have appeared during any of the countless moments I’ve had with my hands free? Fuck, it’s getting stronger…

The arcanine gives me a strange look as the left side of my face severely twitches in a vain effort to ease the itch. Great, now I look like a stereotype. And the itch isn’t going.

I lean my head to the side, reaching for the shoulder. I rub the side of my face on it, but it’s too low to reach the itchy spot. Maybe the wall? I turn to it, but quickly decide not to try my luck with it. Who knows what kind of filthy people they’ve held in here. I don’t want any of the microbes squirming on this wall in my healing wound.

The hum of the motor lowers in pitch, and I’m pushed towards the front of the car. We’re slowing down. We stop.

Well, that was a short ride… I guess that’s good news for me, since I don’t think the worst places to end up in are near my neighborhood.

Seatbelts are unfastened, car doors opened, steps taken outside. The doors of the back swivel apart, letting in the outside light intense enough to draw my eyelids almost all the way shut. Between my lashes, black figures begin to take shape over the white. Black, then blue, then composed of many colors. One with reddish brown around its head leans in.

“Was he nice?” it asks. It’s a she, and a she with a voice I recognize. She was at the beach. She’s the red-haired policewoman. I glance at the arcanine, which now has stood up. I guess it’s the same one from then. Explains its attitude.

“Nice enough,” replies the mon as it leaps down onto the street. Its mane and tail catch the wind, beginning a fluttering dance. Yes, you’re so majestic, catching the bad guys, all heroic, we get it.

The red-haired woman climbs in, shoes clanking on the metal floor, and gestures to me to get up. “Okay, buddy, let’s go.”

She’s smiling. Why is she smiling? I’m not a kid, I’m not a victim, yet her tone is so sweet. I was nice to her before, yes, but her opinion on me has to have changed after the information she now knows. So is she… mocking me? Is that what’s happening?

Whatever, it doesn’t matter. The time for possibly my only chance of escape is nearing and succeeding is priority number one.

I take my time standing up, letting my eyes adjust to the brightness. The view outside sharpens, revealing more cops. Quite a lot of cops. All their eyes are on me. My breathing gets shakier as the woman places her hand on my arm, the touch startling the limb.

I walk to the edge of the floor and hop off, the woman escorting me the whole way. I look around. Every side seems to have an equal amount of people. Beyond them, plain woods surrounding this opening and some large, white building. Looks like there’s no crevice in the crowd for me to slip through… yet, at least.

“Is everything ready?” someone asks.

“Should be, yeah,” another answers. I hope I don’t have to stick around to find out what they mean.

The cops’ faces turn - simultaneously, unsettlingly enough - to what lies ahead. We begin to head for the white building about a dozen meters away. Pretty bland looking, as this concrete cuboid seems to only have one door and not a single window. Is it some kind of storage? And where is the street? I look back, only to see a solitary asphalt road surrounded by more wavering trees. Is this a back entrance, or…

“Where am I?” I ask the redhead still by my side as we begin to move.

She gives me a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, we’re here to help.”

Help…? How do you… help someone like me? Why would you?

This isn’t right. This is all wrong. Nothing makes sense. I need to get away, get the hell away from here before they drag me in through that door. I have a feeling that if I enter it, I won’t ever be coming out. And if I will, I won’t be doing so as the same man.

I keep my head still while I glance to my left. There’s a gap between two officers. My jaw tightens. It isn’t the best opportunity, but I know I won’t be able to forgive myself if I don’t try it and a new one never comes.

I try to calm my breathing, relax my shoulders, slow down my heartbeat. It has to be out of the blue. I blink. I’m normal. Yeah, I’m normal.

“Pi-pi-pi-pi-pi...” sings a pidgey somewhere. “Pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-”

I ram my foot into the woman’s shin. As she recoils, I bolt for the gap. The surprised faces of the cops sweep past, then it’s just the spruces in front of me. I hear shouts from behind, but nothing touches me. Did I do it? I think I did it! I just need to make it to the woods and lose them --

Why are my wrists heavy?

They’re getting heavier. It’s the cuffs, they don’t want to follow me. I try to pull them closer but I just slow down, they’re even heavier and I can’t move, shit, no, no!

The spruces ahead, their sweet gate of freedom, are no longer approaching. My feet brush against the asphalt below in vain.

“Let me go!” I scream, yanking on my hands, the wrists rubbing against the cuffs frozen in midair. Then they move. Backwards. The trees recede. The fuck’s going on?

The force pulling on the cuffs only strengthens. I’m drawn back and no attempts at stopping myself are helping. My shoes just keep skidding on the ground as helplessly as the hooves of a deerling on ice.

The cops and the building return to my sight. I’m right where I started. Two men come at my sides, grabbing onto my arms. I struggle with fuck all results.

“Good job, Magnus,” I hear someone say behind me. I look over my shoulder to see one cop patting the back of a proud magneton. The same magneton that disarmed me at the library. Son of a bitch. This ugly thing keeps fucking up my plans...

“Come on, let’s go,” says the man to my right and tugs me towards the building. I give him a wrathful stare, standing my ground. He sighs. “Alright then.”

He and his partner grip my arms tighter and begin to drag me, my back to our destination. I try to anchor myself but find no success. I’m not getting away. Oh fuck, it’s hitting me, I’m not getting away.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask the cops following us, voice near to breaking.

Their eyes all shoot at me, and they open their mouths. “We’re here to help,” they respond in unison.

I’m not going to ask anymore.

Okay. Okay. This is weird, but it can’t be so bad, right? This is Kanto, a civilized state. A democracy, a free region. They can’t do anything inhumane to me. That’s forbidden by law.

But they’re cops. They are the law. They decide the law. They have the power. They can do anything. Who’s going to stop them?

A creak arises from behind. We’ve reached the door.

As I’m pulled inside, the first thing I see is a closet by the doorframe. It's as white as the walls of the room, though really everything’s dimmed to more of a gray from the lack of indoor lighting. It all darkens even further after the last cop of the group, having entered, begins to shut the door.

When the room has gone pitch black, the men dragging me take a sharp turn. With a click, the room illuminates again. I’m pushed onto my feet and let go. I twist around, taking in the new surroundings with haste.

I’m still in the same room, but now I see how large it is, and how… unbalanced. Most of the room is as blank as the building’s exterior, white walls broken up by only a few doors and the closet, but the front of the room...

Elegant arches. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the high roof, carpet of red velvet on the floor. Paintings of beautiful men, women and mon on the walls. Golden vine-like decorations running up and down all surfaces.

In front of all this, right next to me, a snow-white sheet covers something immobile and human-sized. Someone standing behind the whole thing. A man. Now he’s moving. He’s stepping into view. I see his face, his tall bulky figure, his pale hair and gray eyes and I realize who it is.

“What’s he doing here?” I demand from the policemen, but they’ve all turned away from me - towards the closet. The clacks from their shoes fill the room as they form a line in front of it. One by one, they open its door, pull out some kind of long, white garment and return to their spots.

I look back at Samson. He has one of those garments as well, hung around his arm. With that arm’s hand, he holds a leather-covered book opened in the middle. With the other hand, he fidgets with the spiny golden wheel of his necklace.

Golden...

I study the decorations of the room more closely. They too are golden and spiny with green gems embedded in them here and there.

This is an Arcean chapel.

Samson snaps the book shut and hands it to the red-haired policewoman. “Alright,” he announces, facing the crowd of cops. “We all appear to be present. Let us begin.”

A wave of swooshes rolls over the room as all its inhabitants - sans me, the arcanine and the magneton - put on their garments, which I now see to be robes. Everyone but Samson has their hood on, hiding their face, but the redheaded woman remains recognizable afterwards due to her locks peeking out.

The Arcean locks eyes with me. His face stays neutral, but those eyes… he really doesn’t like me. I guess that makes sense after I held him at knifepoint and all that.

But that’s kind of where the sense making ends. Why was I brought to an Arcean chapel? Do they want me to hear a sermon on how murder is bad before they cart me off to prison? Does he want me to hear one and the cops are just going along with it for laughs?

“Sister Ronnie,” he says, prompting the woman to step up to the sheet-covered mystery object. “Please.”

Her delicate hands pinch the fabric and pull off the covering in one swoop.

It’s a board. Upright. Wooden, painted pure white. On it, two, four, six, eight, ten straps, symmetrically placed. White leather, golden buckles.

It’s not a sermon they’re planning.

I’m not staying here. I’m not staying here.

I turn and run, run for the door, into the sea of robed humans. Their arms rise, their hands grab onto me, but I don’t care, I have to get out.

“Move aside,” a robotic voice rises from the audience. All fingers suddenly let go, as if I had a deadly disease --

Pain! Fuck, it hurts! Stop! Stop!

The world has turned on its side. My limbs are thrown around like I was caught in a hurricane - no, four hurricanes, all in different directions.

It stops. My limbs still jitter. I can’t see right. Everything’s a mess. Is something touching me? Am I being dragged? I try to struggle, but I’ve forgotten how to move… some seconds pass, I think, I don’t think I can trust my sense of time right now. I hear speech, muddled, my chest is cold, I can see something, I can feel again… I’m… I’m… I’m on the board!

My jacket is gone, my shirt is open, my chest is exposed… th-they’re really going to do it!

“L-l-let me g-go!” My words come out slurred as I’m still relearning how to pilot my tongue. It’s not helped by the belt is pressing against my larynx. There’s one for my forehead, too, making me unable to turn my head properly. I feel so blind.

“Gods, Magnus, how hard did you shock him?” someone mutters in the crowd.

Magnus. The magneton. How many times will it destroy my chances of escape? I hate it! When I ascend, I’m going to seek out every one of its kind and --

Oh fuck. I’m not going to ascend. Because I’m here and I’m going to die. I’m going to die! But I can’t die. This is not how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to live forever, I was supposed to bring about the new world, but now, now I’ll die before I can, I’m going to be dead! I’ll never see the Judgment happen, I’ll never see HIM again, I’ll never see my home again, I’ll never see Him again, I-I’ll never hold Him --

“Brothers, sisters!” booms Samson, shattering my deafness to the outside world. His back is to me, his arms raised in the air, the robe’s sleeves resembling wings. “Today, we have seized the beast. Praise be to Arceus!”

“Praise be to Arceus!” echoes the crowd, raising their hands towards the ceiling.

The Arcean brings his hands to his heart. “But,” he begins with a sorrowful tone, “while this is a joyous occasion for us and the rest of the world, we mustn’t forget the many victims of this monster’s crimes, the innocent lives lost to the ravenous jaws of this horrid creature. May Arceus soothe their souls and guide them to paradise, may he bless and comfort their families. Truly.”

“Truly,” responds the crowd, bowing their heads.

“Let us have a minute of silence,” declares Samson and bows his head as well. In a snap, all noises cease, all motion freezes, except for my panicking breath and heart.

So they knew? They knew about me all along? They watched me, waiting for the right moment to strike, waiting for my first and last mistake. And today they noticed such a moment, and they sent in Samson undercover, is that right? All that bullshit about him wanting to help, that was a ruse to get close to me!

And it actually worked… and now they finally have me. And they’re going to kill me. They’re going to cut my heart right out of my chest, I bet! These people want to see me suffer. These people want to drink from the chalice of justice filled with my blood.

Justice… what a drug to the mareep. What a sweet high it gives them to perpetuate their mindless norms and standards, to celebrate the culling of the misfits! They speak of righteousness when they mean conformity!

These pathetic creatures! Crowning each other every day for being so unquestioning! Spitting on the eons nature spent handcrafting them to survive! And here they execute the one meant to thrive, the rightful heir of this world!

If I only had the power… their brains would paint the walls pink...

Itch. Left temple, again. No, now is an even worse time! A-and another, in the lower back? Gods!

My fingers twitch, my biceps tug at the wrists fastened down below... it’s so uncomfortable, but I can’t do shit about it! Couldn’t I at least die without feeling like a thousand tiny bugs are crawling under my skin?

The itch spreads. Oh fuck. It’s in my sides, my shoulders, my neck, everywhere. I’m trembling. It’s not getting better. A growl leaves my throat.

“A minute has passed.”

With Samson’s words, it’s like I’m awakened. The itch has released its grasp of me. Blood rushes to my skin freely, relaxing my muscles. Weird, but I’m not complaining.

“Now we may begin.” Samson faces me. Oh shit. Nevermind, I’m complaining.

His glare is full of contempt. “You, Beast! You have done much evil. You have torn innocent women from their lives. Tortured them and desecrated their bodies in unholy rituals for the demon you call your god.”

Demon? Demon?

“Better a demon than a fucking pony!” I snap, but he ignores me.

“Arceus has witnessed your despicable deeds. He has sent us, his loyal followers, to rid this earth of your wickedness.”

My stomach turns. That's how sickening his words are, this whole situation is. I snarl.

“Yet there is something that must be done before that,” Samson continues. “A life that can still be saved.”

My stomach turns again. Wait, no. It’s not nausea. I know this feeling, this distortion. This is...

“Sister Ronnie,” Samson calls. The woman soon walks into my sight. She holds something in her hands, something shiny… something metallic. Samson picks it up. It’s a long-bladed knife. They’re going to… oh fuck, they’re really going to…

The lump in my gut swells. It squeezes my lungs from underneath. It gets harder to breathe - every inhalation stings. From the bottom of my vision, I can see my abdomen bloat, its skin stretch…

A whine arises from within. Something presses onto my insides, squishing my organs to abnormal shapes.

“Stop, stop!” I grit my teeth. How impotent must my digestive fluids be not to have melted this brat to mush by now?

“Do not fear, child,” Samson says, approaching. “You will finally be free.”

He raises the knife, its blade sparkling in the chandeliers’ crystal-reflected light. Oh fuck. This is going to hurt.

“Now lean back, child. I do not want you to get harmed.”

He jams the blade below my ribs. Hot blood spurts out, blinding pain floods my nerves. I scream. It’s deep! It rips even more of me apart, traveling down to my navel, past it, stop!

They pull the metal out. My screaming breaks up into agonized breathing. I feel too bare. Organs aren’t meant to be exposed like this. Too much blood is leaking out.

A small arm slips out of the wound, smeared with blood and stomach contents. Its fingers curl, reaching out for something to grab onto. The sour stench of vomit wrinkles my nose.

Samson offers his hand to the child, undeterred by the goop it's covered in, and she grasps it. He pulls on it, tearing the edges of my wound apart as the rest of her begins to leave my body.

“No… no, no, no…” I can only whimper.

Pink hair appears. I hear a weak gasp. A gasp for fresh air, a gasp of freedom.

But she shouldn’t be free. She doesn't deserve to be free. Curled up inside a cauldron of acid, locked behind bars of bone, that is the fate that belongs to her. She needs to suffer for all the trouble she’s brought me. She needs to be digested.

Another yank, and her brown coat is visible. Another, and her jeans show - another, and she tumbles down onto the floor. I’m so incredibly hollow now. The emptiness is screaming…

All the blood spilt has now dyed the front of Samson’s white robe a sticky crimson. He crouches down and helps mucky little Michi up. I can see her right hand missing two fingers.

She turns around. Her pale blue eyes glare at me, furious but victorious. I respond with an equally furious stare.

Samson steps forward, no doubt to show off his shining armor once more - but is stopped by Michi raising of her arm.

“This is it for you, Houndoom,” she says, letting the arm drop. “You're finally going to get what’s been coming to you for years.”

“Get back in,” I breathe, shaking from the pain of my gaping wound. Even with that agony, I want her back, need her back. It feels like she'd even fix it. “You belong in there. You are my prey.”

Michi looks back at Samson, who’s still holding the bloody knife. “I’m done with him. You can get back to your ceremony now.”

She heads for the door. Seeing her back turned to me, seeing her get away… I need to chase her, hunt her down. The instinct is awakened. I need to do what my nature tells me to do…

But no struggling, twitching, flailing is getting me off this board. I can’t get away. I’m forced to watch my prey walk out right in front of me, just meters away from the stomach it should be filling, the thirst it should be quenching. All while my body bleeds out, all while these mareep gawk at my pain, my humiliation, my death…

This can't be how it ends. This can’t all have been for nothing. I didn’t train myself, restrain myself for years to just… die. This can't be how it ends!

But what can I do? I can’t do anything! I’m just a weak little human with flimsy limbs and dull teeth. This body is so pathetic. How can it be so pathetic? I have the mind of a bloodthirsty beast, but the body… where is my rightful body?

The body… the body was there when I ate her.

That body is what made it possible. That body had the teeth and the claws that caught her and the throat that squeezed her down. And that body, where it came from - it was this skin, this disguise, and it must still be there.

I wheeze just a bit. It's a wheeze of laughter.

Michi stops. She looks over her shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just so silly how simple it all really is...”

“Sure, okay.” She resumes her walking.

I focus on my right hand. Its soft flesh, tidy fingernails. Such an adorable little hand. But it’s false.

My fingertips split with ten spurts of blood as curved, needle-sharp talons reveal themselves.

The audience steps back, some members gasping. Samson’s eyes open wide. “The Beast...” he whispers, voice trembling.

Michi has frozen.

“You thought you could make me forget?” I continue. “You thought you could convince me I was just a lowly human?”

She's beginning to fear. I can see it, smell it. For six heartbeats, she stays as silent and still as the rest of the room - then she faces Samson.

“Kill him.”

Samson flinches, as if he’d just now remembered he had the knife. He steps closer. “This is the end, Beast,” he tensely says, raising the knife.

Something aches at the very bottom of my spine. Right on cue. It’ll make for a nice, flashy way to showcase my power.

The vertebrae multiply, extending my spine so rapidly that it tears right through my skin and jeans. The newborn tail rears its tip like a serpent about to strike. The arrow-shaped end glistens with my blood and its own sheer sharpness.

Samson takes a step back like the coward he is, but being a fool as well, stands his ground. Hiding behind the knife, he gathers up the courage for another strike and finally lunges for my heart.

But guess who’s faster.

The wonderful noise of flesh and organs being skewered rings out around the room. Samson’s pale blue eyes, bulging out of their sockets in shock and pain, flick back and forth between my face and the black appendage inserting into his abdomen.

I can’t help smirking. “Guess those prayers weren’t much help after all.”

I yank back the tail. The tip slices through even more tissue on its way out of the man’s body. He collapses onto his knees, dropping the knife and gasping for air. The crown of his head, covered with his golden hair, points right at me. I guess I should finish him off, make sure he doesn’t sneak up on me later with that knife.

“Hey, pony boy.”

He raises his head, eyes full of terror. With one swift swing of my tail, I slash across his throat. Red fluid gushes out, depriving his brain of the oxygen it needs. He opens his mouth to gasp once more, like a magikarp on dry land, then falls down on his face, silent. An ever-growing pool of blood forms underneath.

I bring the tip of my tail to my mouth and lick in a bit of the blood. The taste is energizing, appetizing, back to the way it should be. Deep in my throat, new teeth begin to form.

“Father!” screams the red-haired woman as she dashes to Samson’s limp body. It should be obvious he’s dead by now, but still the woman has to flip him over and take a good look at his cleaved neck and empty eyes before she gets the picture.

Finally, she snatches the knife and jolts up. Her green eyes drill into my own with rage. “You bastard!”

Blade raised, she charges at me. She hasn’t learned a thing from her leader’s mistake. I suppose I can use her to test my strength in a different way.

The straps on my right arm loudly snap as the limb yanks itself free. I shove the palm right onto the woman’s face and squeeze. As her skull crackles, she drops the knife and latches onto my hand with her own. Her tugs and scratches are like a little bug’s. Those and her whimpers… so adorable.

With one crushing contraction, her whole head caves in. It crumples like paper, if paper oozed blood and gray matter. Her skull feels like eggshell within my grasp. The yolk drips down to the floor.

I toss her corpse aside. It thumps down right next to Samson’s and no longer moves.

Through my bloodied talons, I glare at the audience. “Does anyone else want to try?”

Frantic steps and cries fill the room. They all race for the door. They think they can run. Cute.

Oh, the itch is back, back in my left forearm. I pull the arm free and raise it in front of my face. Aside from the psychic protection seal carved onto the forearm, nothing seems off about the skin. Whatever’s causing it must be from beneath. Well, let’s find out!

I stick a talon into the skin. It singes, but I no longer need to fear pain. I swipe the claw down regardless. Blood squeezes out, but there’s something else, something black… black fur. Sticking out like grass from a crack in the asphalt.

Oh, I get it… I get it! The body has developed further! It’s been growing within, incubated by my old skin. Now it has its own, and a coat of fur to top it off. Makes sense, houndoom have fur. I was personally more of a fan of the skinless version, but perhaps this one leaves less of a mess behind…

More itching. It’s everywhere now. Every inch of skin has hair beneath, wanting to get out. Well, I have no reason to keep it in!

I hook my claws on the edges of my abdominal wound. Fuck, this is going to hurt, but it’s all for the sake of evolution.

I pull the edges apart. The skin tears, splits further, exposing more of the bloody black fur. Every fiber broken screams at me, screams at me to stop, and I scream with them, but all of it comes from a lesser being. To the beast, pain means nothing! The new mouth in my throat already snarls, gnashes its teeth, waiting to get out!

The crowd still panics and stampedes in place. It seems they’re all trying to get through the door at the same time, jamming it… of course they are! They’re herd animals! And there are the arcanine and magneton herding them, circling them, keeping them together. Good, good! Keep them gathered up like that! That way I can kill more efficiently! But to take care of personal business first...

“Michi!” I call, voice inhuman, monstrous. Where is she? There, at the edge of the crowd! She glances at me from the sea of robes, eyes sparkling with tears, desperately pushing onto the people blocking her way out. So small, such a runt, such a sweet little snack!

“Look at it!” I roar, spreading my arms wide. “Look at my true body! Remember it well, as after I get you… you’ll only see the inside!”

Oh? The itch has spread to the last place it hasn’t spread yet - my throat. The snout inside is furred now, completed. It’s time for me to pry myself off this board and abandon my human skin once and for all. The hour of the Beast has come.

I grab the sides of the board and push my body forward. The remaining belts, on my forehead, neck and legs, squeak as they’re stretched nearer and nearer to breaking. My remaining human skin is drying up, hardening, crackling. My heart beats faster, louder, stronger! My lungs draw deeper breaths than they're ever drawn before! I’m ready! I’m so ready! I’m doing it, doing it, now!

Rip!

…

...Wh-what?

No heartbeat.

No breathing, either.

My head hasn't moved. The belt is still on my forehead, my viewpoint is the same. The people are still panicking, shoving each other to the direction of the door…

But my arms aren't there. My legs aren't there. Nothing below my neck is there. Where has it all gone?

Black hairs pop into the bottom of my vision. There's something fuzzy there. It rises, grows.

It's a back. Two arms. A neck. A head. All at least twice the size of mine.

It growls, making the earth tremble from the sheer power of the noise. Two growths extend from its skull, reaching for the roof. They curve, sharpen. Horns.

Fast as a thunderbolt, the beast leaps forward, landing right next to the crowd. Before the people can even react, the creature has shoved its horns through a few’s backs, impaling them.

Screaming. Swipes of talons, sinking of teeth, stabbings via tail. The white robes turn red, and the people fall like crops to a scythe.

It's playing out exactly as it should - but without me.

I’ve been left behind.

Oh shit. That means… that means it has my organs. My heart, my lungs. I don’t have anything. I’m only a head. I’m going to die. I’m going to die and nothing can stop it!

How long do I have? How many seconds before consciousness leaves?

The room brightens with orange as the arcanine fires a blast at the beast, but the creature merely dashes through the flames and grabs the mon by its snout. The arcanine whimpers once before it’s flung to a wall, muzzle dyed red.

An ear-splitting, metallic screech follows. The magneton is caught in the beast’s jaws, the mon’s steel shell currently bent as the pressure of the bite is too much. Sparks fly out. Soon after, the beast drops the flattened metal mon to the floor with a clunk.

There seem to be no more humans in the room to kill. None except one.

On the opposite wall, a small figure cowers, shivering. She must have snuck there during the commotion. Now she’s creeping along to wall to a better hiding spot, desperately hoping she won’t be noticed.

A dull ache forms in my brain. Oh fuck. There it is. Death. It’s approaching like a stalking predator and I have nowhere to run.

The beast raises its snout towards the ceiling. A long, loud, wailing howl arises from between its sharp teeth. But it’s cut short - the arcanine has gotten back up and tackled the beast to the floor. The black-furred creature snarls and drives its talons into the arcanine’s neck. The mon jolts in pain, showing the whites of its eyes, then limply collapses. The beast stands up, victorious.

It twists its neck around to face me - like a noctowl, but even faster. Its yellow eyes, bright as a bonfire in the night, burn onto my brain as it stares at me. I know what it’s trying to say. That I’m next.

Michi takes another step. It's still relatively silent, but not silent enough for the beast. Its fiery glare locks onto the girl, who freezes in response. Thank fuck, it's distracted…

But it makes no difference, does it? I’m gonna pass out soon, anyway. I’m lightheaded, the headache’s worsening… it’s all gonna go black any moment now, I’m sure.

The creature lunges for the tiny human, quickly seizing it with its claws. The girl trembles all around as the monster slowly opens its maw.

The beast jerks its head forward and chomps down on Michi’s neck. It pulls back, ripping the girl's head off with little effort. Blood shoots out of the stump of a neck and rains down all around. It's like a great, big fountain.

The beast straightens its neck and gulps Michi’s head down whole. The creature may not have an expressive face, but just by looking at it I can tell it’s enjoying the hell out of its meal. But it's not done with her yet. It looks back down at the body, and something slithers out of its mouth. A black, slimy tendril. Joined soon by two others.

Together, the tendrils dive into the severed throat of the girl. They slide deeper and deeper, squishing as they move. The beast has frozen in wait. What is it doing…?

The tendrils stop. They begin reeling back into the beast’s body. I can hear a voice. Muffled. Female. Distressed.

The corpse’s neck widens rapidly. Something's emerging.

A shadowy figure pops out, its maroon eyes wide with terror at the tendrils wrapped around it. The neck stretches even more until a glimpse of gold arises, then the whole thing is yanked out - the whole thing being Joanna and her mask.

“Stop! Stop!” she screams as the tendrils pull her into the beast’s maw. “He killed me! He killed me!”

The beast ignores her. It draws her to its throat, snaps its jaws shut and swallows.

It turns to me.

My eyes get sore. Black circles my vision. Oh fuck... my time is up. Well, place your bets: which will be my ultimate cause of death, suffocation or mauling?

The beast approaches. Its steps are heavy thumps. It reopens its mouth.

The black framing my vision advances, narrowing my sight to only show the monster ever nearing. Its dozens of teeth, its blinding eyes. They're all I see anymore.

No… I-I don't want this to be the last thing I see. I want to see something… good.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t keep track of the blackness anymore, but what would be the point? Whether slow or fast, it'll still come.

I go back. Back several days, weeks, months, years. I go back to that moment when the men in lab coats first handed it to me, that beautiful thing. The omanyte. Him. I’m gonna call Him a Him. I’ll never meet a god who could punish me for it again, so why bother sticking to one’s orders.

I think about His shell, its grainy surface. His tentacles, their touch cold and so weak. His big eyes, His gaze, equal parts fear and curiosity. The feeling in my chest, my throat. Completely foreign to me then.

I’m so sorry, my lord. I gave You away in exchange for immortality… which I then never even got. At least with You, I may have been able to enjoy what little life I had.

I can feel the beast’s breath. Hot and humid. The monster growls, and I think I can even hear its saliva dripping. Death is only moments away, it seems… so let me tell You something. Something I’ve been meaning to say ever since I met You. Three words so simple, yet so hard to even think.

My lord.

I...

---​

 

[canisaries]

so my breakneck speed with revising continued, and i have now completed this fic (save for the extra, which i forgot about until now). i will, though, pace myself with the updates, giving them once a week. not that itll last for very long anymore - this is the penultimate chapter. although next week i will not be posting the final chapter yet, but vivarium, the midquel that takes place between chapters 13 and 14.

rating is teen because there isn't much going on this time. just some blood and injury. enjoy!

---

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It's Over

---​

Talking.

Wheels rolling on tiles.

Not here, but somewhere close by. Beyond walls.

I’m breathing. My heart beats. I’m lying down, on something soft.

Where am I?

I draw in a long breath and slightly open my eyes. It's bright. Bright and white. White. The chapel!

I sit upright, eyes wide. The brightness burns my retinas, but fuck that, I need to get… out…

No, this isn’t the chapel. There’s no gold, no red velvet. Instead, the only other colors beside white are teal, metallic gray and a warm, dark brown.

Teal is the tiled floor, and the metal is from the bars along the bed I’m on. The brown comes from the wooden table across the room. The hospital room.

I lie back down. The sheets and mattress are soft and smell clean. I suppose a hospital room like this is one of the better unfamiliar places to wake up in.

So… why am I in a hospital? I haven't been sick… or, no, I was sick, but I got bett… no, that’s not it either. I was never sick, it was just an illusion. Illusion… is this another illusion? No, I don't want any more illusions! I just… I just want to be okay, back to normal, like I used to be before all of this.

“J...J-Jo…” I try, but my jaws are still lazy. Whatever, she gets what I mean. “Are… y-you th...there?”

No response. But she could just be ignoring me…

The door of the room opens, loudly enough to make me lose my train of thought for a while. A woman enters. Dark skin, white and teal clothes… a nurse’s clothes?

“Good evening. Are you alright?” she asks, just a tad slower than people usually say that.

“I…”

Well, am I alright?

“I’m… not sure.” I sit up. “Why am I here?”

“You're recovering from an exorcism.”

Exorcism? I know I was going to perform one, but I never actually managed to do it, and then I was taken by the cops and… weird shit happened.

I check my left hand. The palm is bandaged. I guess they saw the wounds and did that. I wonder what they thought the word 'exorcism' meant…

“You were possessed by a malicious yamask,” the nurse continues. “It was taken out of you. You're free of it now.”

Taken out…?

No. My luck isn’t that good. There’s some catch here. This is just Joanna trying to fool me into thinking I’m safe so that I’ll put my guard down.

“My name is…” She tells me her name, but I immediately forget it. “I’m your nurse. Can I help you in any way?”

“Sure… can you tell me what happened in more detail?” Not that I could trust any of it, though…

“I’m sorry. I only know what I just told you. But I can get you someone who knows more.”

“Do that, please.”

“Alright. Is there anything else you need? Water? Food? Bathroom?”

“No, just… do that thing you offered.”

She nods and walks off.

Well, if this is an illusion, Joanna’s at least paying attention to detail. That clock on the wall - quarter past eight - is ticking at a consistent pace, and there’s a security camera near the ceiling. Its lens is pointed just a little bit away from me. Then there’s a window mostly covered by blinds. Orange light is shining through and casting down onto the floor in a striped pattern. Sun’s gotta be setting. Or rising, if a full night happened to pass while I was out. Just thinking about that makes me disoriented.

Either way, this whole room seems pretty real to me. But so did all that happened in the chapel. Did I just not check? I was pretty distracted.

I lift my shirt and check my skin. No wound. Well, my old scars are still there, but there’s no huge one going right down the middle is what I’m saying.

Still, if this is just Joanna tricking me again, how can I prove that? Take another hostage? This time I’d know not to take the knife away. But if Joanna’s good enough to make this room, she’d be good enough to make a fake person or mask someone approaching. There’s no way to win…

The door opens again. May as well treat this as real for the time being and see where it goes.

Four people enter - the nurse from before, some guy I don’t know in a white coat, another guy I don’t know in plain clothes and oh for fuck’s sake why does Samson have to be here.

“Thank you for coming,” the nurse murmurs to Samson, who gives a smile while stepping through the frame. He still has that Arcean necklace on. Does he ever take it off?

“Good evening, Mr Akai,” says the stranger in white. He’s got glasses and short dark hair, and I’m no detective, but I’m pretty sure that coat is a doctor’s. “I’m Dr Satou. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I say with caution. “What happened to me?”

“You were suspected to be under malicious possession, by Mr Samson here,” the doctor explains with a nod to the Arcean, “and that suspicion turned out to be correct. You were detained by the police…” He tilts his head to the other stranger this time. “...and brought here, to the hospital, where an exorcism was performed with the help of Mr Samson with you restrained. You lost consciousness as it ended, likely due to mental exhaustion, and your wounds were treated. Since then, you've rested here.”

I… see. So that’s why Samson followed me. Didn’t expect him to have experience in exorcisms...

Wait. Exorcisms can be non-fatal. Did they get Joanna out? Have they talked to her? Oh Gods. If they have, it's jail for me.

“What happened to the ghost?” I ask, trying my best not to let the distress show.

Samson’s smile droops. The doctor shuffles aside to let him take front stage. Okay, what’s he gonna say?

“We… attempted a non-fatal exorcism,” he sighs, “but due to unexpected complications, the yamask didn’t survive.”

Really?

“Have you seen what’s on your left wrist?” he asks.

I look, though I already know what’s there. The scars of the psychic protection seal. They’re almost healed by now, only visible as brown impressions. My teeth clench. People shouldn’t see these seals, they’ll get interested… but I guess I had no way to prevent it this time.

Now what do I do? Do I play dumb? Do I play dumb about this whole thing, just say I don’t remember - save for a few snapshots, to allow myself some leeway? I think that may be the best strategy for now… I can always say I’ve remembered more later on.

Samson saves me the trouble of asking what it is. “It was there when you were caught, bandaged up,” he says. “One of the nurses suggested that could have been what made the exorcism unusually difficult and ultimately caused it to go fatal. She said it resembled some spiritualist symbols she’d seen and another speculated that the yamask carved it themselves to resist any possible exorcisms.” He stares directly into my eyes. “Do you know anything about that symbol?”

I return the stare, unflinching. “No. I’m sorry.”

His expression softens with a smile. “Hey, no need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re okay now.”

Why does he care so much about some random kid like me? I've been nothing but an asshole to him, and he has no guarantee that was all just because of possession. And he seems genuinely upset by the death of the ghost. One would think that unusual for an exorcist, but I guess he's some kind of non-lethal-exorcisms-only type of guy.

Speaking of the ghost, I'm still not convinced she's really gone. I've been tricked too many times before. At least this time I'd like to see it coming.

Hmm, just realized that cop hasn't said anything yet. I wonder what he’s here to tell me. Ngh, I hope I’m not in too much trouble after all I did… being possessed should excuse me at least somewhat, right?

His tired-seeming eyes notice my stare. “Right…” He scratches his stubble. “I'm Officer Tojiro from the police. As you know, you caused a bit of a ruckus at the library earlier today. Now, we don't know yet how much of that was you and how much was on the ghost, and whether you're safe to let go, so you're gonna have to stay in this hospital for the next twenty-four hours.”

“What? Come on, what did I do that was so…”

Right. I guess putting a knife to someone's neck and saying you're gonna kill them unless they do something is kinda serious. I glance at Samson. He smiles. Even though I almost slit his throat today. What a weird guy.

“I don't know how much you remember,” the cop continues, “but it did involve you threatening a man's life at knifepoint. We can give you a full rundown of the events during the questioning. Speaking of…" He brings his hands to his hips. "We ought to get started on that."

Oh shit. Already? But I need time to prepare…

The nurse steps up. "With all due respect, sir, he's been through a lot. You should let him rest for a while."

The cop scratches his stubble. "One hour," he eventually says. The nurse sighs, but lets it be. An hour is probably good enough, so I don't protest either.

The cop excuses himself and takes his leave. The doctor decides he should follow, and so does Samson. The nurse lets me know I can call her at any time and then exits as well. The room has become empty save for me. And the presence of the security camera I can't ignore.

I gotta give it to you, Joanna, if you’re there. This is a very impressive ruse. Take it from a professional schemer. I just don’t know where you’re going with it. If you can make illusions this detailed and you’ve found a way to circumvent my reality-sense… you can pretty much make me do anything by crafting the right situation for it. But you haven’t made me speak aloud my secrets. Or have you? Are you actually able to take over my body? Have you done so and just cast me into a fake world inside my brain while you spill each and every bean in the real world? And then when you’re finally gouged out of me in the real exorcism, this world will just collapse and I’ll find myself somewhere completely different?

Collapse… it could happen at any moment. At any moment, I could see the truth. Realize my life is over. This anxiety is infernal. But if I’m doomed nonetheless, should I just kick back and try to enjoy my last moments as a free man?

I watch the clock tick. Tick, tick, tick. It just keeps ticking. How slow could she be? Or how cruel?

Or, maybe… this really is reality.

Wouldn’t that be something.

---​

The hour passed. I decided to use it as planned, thinking over all that had happened and what I should say about it. I stuck with the ‘I don’t remember’ idea, and when the cop came in with a couple of his buddies, that’s what I told him. I did, however, conveniently remember a few details - only vaguely, of course - that pointed in the direction of me having acted out of fear and the belief I had to do what I did in order to survive. It’s technically not false when I put it like that, you know.

In exchange for answers, they told me more about what the future would hold for me. Were I to spend the next twenty-three hours like a good little boy, I could be released on bail. Bail didn’t sound bad at all - it’s essentially like normal freedom, but you can’t leave the region and if you get caught for another crime, Gods help you. You also need to show up to court when the time comes, or again, Gods help you.

Adhering to the terms of the bail wasn’t a hard promise to make. I’ve got no plans of going vacationing, and if I do need to commit a crime or two, I’ll just do what I’ve always do and have no one find out. A crime is really a crime only when you get caught, after all. As for court, the biggest threat to that is simply forgetting. I’ll have to arrange myself a reminder when the letter comes and I find out the date.

I asked them what would happen after court. Depends on the verdict, they said. There’s such a big room for interpretation that I could walk out like nothing had happened at all or spend up to ten years in prison. Ten years. That’s a hell of a long time for just wiggling a knife about. Abe could actually have gotten laid during that time.

After the questioning, the good doctor joined us again. The officials’ forces combined, they told me there was one more thing I needed to do, for both medical and judicial reasons. I could barely contain my excitement when I heard the words ‘psychological evaluation’ once again.

I decided not to tell them about my visits to Dr Marsh given my suspicious behavior there and hoped to hell they'd pick someone other than her. They said they'd be in touch with me, although I corrected them that it'd have to be my brother Abe given my current lack of phone and my permanent lack of a mother that would actually talk to me.

And speaking of Abe…

“Red!” the boy exhales and rushes to me. The nurse closes the door behind him.

Abe stops beside my bed, grabbing his arms. “A-are you okay?”

“I'm okay, yeah.”

“I'm sorry for getting here so late,” he says. “I wasn't around my phone for a while and it was on mute and it took time to catch the bus and then I had to wait until you were done with the police --”

“It's fine, I don't mind.”

It's clear that he does, though, given that panicked justification and his reddened eyes. I don't know why he cares so much. I’m a pretty shit brother, all things considered, and he's only had me for a couple of years. Not to mention I actually threatened him with a knife just a few hours ago. I should probably apologize for that at some point. Get back his trust in case any was lost.

“So… what happened?” he asks. “They said something about a possession? And exorcism? Why would a ghost want to possess you?”

I tell him the same thing I told the cops. “Beats me. I don't know when it got into me. My memories are hazy, anyway…”

“But it's gone now, right? It's over?”

A freezing chill grips my core. If only it was that simple.

“Yeah.”

“That's good, that's good…”

Neither of us says anything for a while.

I guess I could do that apology thing now.

“Listen…” I start. His eyes meet mine again. “When I left home… I don't remember fully, like I said, but…”

As he realizes what I mean, he looks away quickly. “Y-you mean when you… had the knife and you told me not to tell anyone you were there or… you'd…” His fingers grip his arms tighter.

“Yeah. That, I guess.” I sigh. “I'm sorry. I don't know what exactly I was seeing or thinking then, but I do remember feeling really helpless and cornered. That must have made me act the way I did.”

“I see...” His eyes wander the room for a while. Then he focuses on the bandages of my left hand. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, that.” I consider removing the bandages to check out the wounds, but the hospital personnel probably wouldn’t like that, and I should try to stay on people’s good sides for now, given my situation. “They think I carved the word ‘exorcism’ onto my palm to help myself remember what I needed.” A brief smirk forms on my face. “Pretty clever, huh?”

“That must’ve hurt...”

Hmh. I guess he would focus on that. “Well, I don't remember.”

His gaze finds its way back to my face. “So… what happens now? When can you come home?”

“Twenty-four hours. Well, around twenty-three by now. Either way, they wanna monitor me to make sure I won’t do anything crazy. Apparently I got rowdy during the possession and that’s why.”

“Did anyone get hurt?”

Oh, Abe, always such a goody-two-shoes. “Nah. Save for feelings, maybe.”

“Good...”

Another silence arises. He seems deep in thought.

“You should head home,” I start, reclaiming his attention. “It’s getting late, and I’m sure the others...”

The others. That includes the omanyte. I haven’t thought of… it since that last memory I had before blacking out. I was dying, or thought I was dying. I thought of the omanyte…

No, I shouldn’t dwell on that right now. Especially not with Abe around.

“I’m sure the others want to know what’s happened to me and if I’m fine,” I continue. “You should let them know everything’s alright.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he sighs. He begins to turn, but freezes.

“...What is it?” I ask.

“I…” He shifts positions, never finding a comfortable one. “I was just wondering...”

He closes his eyes and forces out what he has to say. “Do you need a hug?”

Do I need… “No?”

“O-okay. Just making sure.”

“Okay.”

“Well, s-see ya.” He dares one quick glance at my face, then heads for the door.

“See ya,” I reply, and he exits with a nod. He closes the door with him.

I lie back down on my bed and exhale deeply. I enjoy a long blink. My eyelids really are getting heavy, now that I think about it.

But before I go to sleep, I want something to eat. I hope they still serve food at this hour. Probably not… but it’s worth a try asking.

I’m about to call out for a nurse, but remember I was shown a button next to my bed for that sort of thing and press that instead. Hope it works. Hope the nurses aren’t sick of needy or troublemaking patients overusing it to the point of ignoring it. I’d imagine a room for solitary confinement would have a higher percentage of patients like that.

Guess I’ll just wait for now. I better not get my hopes too high up for the chance of food - the hunger will only get worse if I think I’ll be getting some grub and then be denied. Even if, given the reputation of hospital food, I’d probably have a better culinary experience with a fresh placenta from the maternity department...

Oh, dammit. I just realized I could’ve asked Abe to bring me something.

---​

Ngh… who turned on the lights? I’m a recovering patient, couldn’t you let me sleep in? They say sleep is the best medicine, you know…

...Why is it this quiet?

The hospital was still full of hums and steps and beeps when I went to sleep. Am I supposed to believe every patient was magically healed overnight and they’ve all left since?

No, even that can’t be it. There’s no noise from the outside world, either - no traffic, no wind, no birds. Something’s definitely off.

I force my eyes open.

Empty?

This room is empty. No tables, no chairs, not even a window, and… where’s the door?

I sit up and survey the milky white room, but no, I can’t see a door anywhere. But that’s not right. If there’s no door, how does anyone leave? Or enter, for that matter?

And… what am I wearing? A white hospital gown? Why are there… belts on it? What are those used for?

Okay, this is really weird. I don’t like this at all. Somebody better explain this to me and quick.

Maybe… maybe something happened while I was asleep? Something that made them put me in this room? Actually, ‘room’ is too generous - this is basically a cube. Just a white cube with nothing but this bed. Clearly not the same kind of bed as the one in my old room, either. This one’s mattress is less soft. You’d think someone required to spend time in this cube could use all the luxury they could get.

I push the thin blanket off myself and put my feet on the floor. It’s cold, even through the socks I’m wearing. I don’t think those are mine, either.

A whirr? It’s loud. One of the walls is moving, scrolling up. It slowly reveals what this cube connects to, that being a hallway it flanks. The hallway is covered in dark gray tiles for its whole visible length, save for the door embedded in the wall across from me.

The whirring stops with a clank, the wall fully raised. Silence returns.

Can I… leave? Are they indirectly telling me to leave? Well, that’s fine by me, it’s not like I want to stay. This place is just creepy.

I head for the hallway with a brisk pace. I wonder where it le-

Fuck!

Oh, that’s really funny. That’s really funny that you’d put a glass wall there.

I rub my poor aching face and step back. A faint grease smear now floats in front of me. At least I’ll be able to tell where the wall is now.

Steps. Someone’s coming. I’m guessing from the hallway.

A brief wait proves me right. Three humans emerge, one male and two female. Each has a long coat, a headpiece, gloves, a mask and a notepad, all of the items white. The woman on the left seems to have no right ear.

They stop in front of my cube and turn to me.

“Uhh… what’s going on?” I ask.

“Nothing,” answers the man, his voice muffled by the mask over his mouth and nose. “Go back to what you were doing.”

What…? No, I want answers!

I lean on the glass. “Why am I here? What is this place?” Oh Gods, don’t tell me... “Am I quarantined?”

“Not in the traditional sense of the word, no,” the man replies, and writes something down.

“...What’s that supposed to mean?”

This time the woman on the right responds. “You carry no pathogen or radiation, but you are being contained for the safety of others.”

No pathogen or radiation… “You think I might do something dangerous?”

“You already have,” she says and gestures to her female colleague, the one with the missing ear. “Just look at Nurse Hayashi.”

I glance back and forth between the two. “Elaborate?”

“You tore off her ear.”

“...No, no I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. Don’t you remember? You were yelling and snarling the whole time, too, about how you were some kind of ‘priest’ who was going to bring about the end of the world.”

Fuck, they know about my priesthood? Could it be that what they’re saying… actually happened, but I just don’t remember?

“I don’t think he remembers,” says the man.

“Interesting,” say the women in unison, and all three write something in their notepads.

This… I don’t like this one bit. I don’t like the way these people treat me, like I’m some kind of feral. I’m probably smarter than all of them. And I’m definitely stronger. They should be the ones in here being fucked with. They should be --

Did something just growl? I can’t see anything...

You know what, it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting out of this… whatever this is.

I stand up straight. “Let me out of here. Right now.”

“That can’t be done.”

I bang a fist into the glass. “Right now, assholes!”

Oh, shit. I wasn’t planning on doing that. I was trying to be civil, show them I was a human just like them.

“Are you going to get violent again?” asks the one-eared woman.

“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll tear the other ear off too!”

No, I…

“I think we’ve seen enough for today,” she says, unfazed by my aggression. “Let’s move along.”

They lower their pads and continue their march through the hallway.

“Hey! I’m not done with you yet!” I bang the glass, but they ignore me, disappearing behind the corner.

The door in the hallway opens, capturing my attention. A man resembling the others leaves, paying me no further mind. Through the frame of the door, I see a room with actual furniture in it. A sofa, a coffee table, some chairs, and sitting on one chair is --

“Joanna!” I scream. My nails scrape the glass. I should’ve known. I should’ve known the hospital was just her tricking me again.

Well, I did know. But I did nothing. What could I have done? Nothing. But I should have done something.

“You piece of shit!” I spit at her, but all she gives in return is a brief, uninterested glance with her big red eyes. They no longer leak.

The door swivels to a close, dimming the hallway just a bit, but enough for a reflection to appear. A reflection of me, but also something else. Some kind of shadow over me. Sharp-horned, needle-furred.

Oh Gods, oh Gods oh Gods oh Gods!

Its eyes open. Its blazing, searing yellow eyes. Staring right back at me with its tiny, sharp voids for pupils. Silently as a noctowl.

“Let me out! Someone!” I rasp. I keep pounding the glass. It hurts all the way to the bones of my hands, but no one comes.

All hairs on end, I turn around. I barely get a free look at the beast when its tendrils seize my neck, coiling around it in a slimy, suffocating grip.

It’s huge. It definitely wasn’t this big before. I try to scream again, but not a puff of air can leave or enter my lungs. I’m forced to stare right into the beast’s maw, the source of the black tentacles wrapped around me. The beast's jagged, off-white teeth point in all directions. Streams of sticky spit roll down its pale tongue and gums.

Something moves in its throat - the wrinkles on the skin. They form faces, faces I recognize, faces of my victims. Agonized. They’re trying to scream, squirm their way out, but all in vain. They're part of the beast now. Forever.

A breathy growl exits the pit of the throat, coating me in the stench of its innards. The jaws open wider.

A crushing grip - the beast’s hand - takes hold of me, squeezing my limbs against my body, crackling the bones. I’m unable to even struggle. The tendrils release my neck, only for the beast’s jaws to pinch around my skull. My primitive side takes full control, and I screech.

The pinch gets tighter. The teeth cut into my scalp with burning pain. Hot blood trickles down my forehead and temples, circles my nose and ears. The teeth reach the bone.

The beast bites down.

Crack!

---​

 

[canisaries]

posting here to say that the midquel oneshot vivarium has been uploaded in another thread! it takes place between chapters 13 and 14. find it here.

thank you for your attention, and stay tuned for the final chapter of hunter, haunted next week!

 

[canisaries]

ladies, gents, enbies, here we are. after two years, we have reached the end of the story. this is the final chapter of hunter, haunted.

i will still be back next week to upload the extra chapter that's from samson's POV, but the main story ends here. though red's story will continue in the sequel, the bringer, which i have started writing already! i hope youll move on to that, too, when it's up.

this chapter is rated teen for brief descriptions of violence. now, without futher ado - enjoy.

---

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Black Wool

---​

Maybe she’s still there. Maybe she’s not there. Either way, I find myself wishing she was in front of me right now so that I could grab that mask of hers and stomp it into scrap metal.

Of course, I’d vastly prefer it if she was still human. Humans have all sorts of tissue to tear out and shove down their throats. I’d kill her over and over again, painfully and brutally, and finally get the satisfaction of ripping her apart that I missed the first time around.

That nightmare I had - the one with the cube and the beast - put me in a sour mood for the rest of my twenty-four hours in the hospital, not that I’d been in a good one to begin with. Thankfully, though, none of the staff picked up on my bloodlust, and my time there came to a close without further problems.

As I stepped out of the hospital doors, a wave of relief came over me. I was finally free again. Well, I would still have to show up for court when the day came, but free enough. The sun was setting and the evening breeze was shuffling the leaves of the birch trees planted alongside the street, and I took in the serenity of it all. I really needed it after everything that’s happened.

Half an hour prior, Abe had arrived at the hospital to escort me home, but I declined. Said that I wanted to take a walk in the woods to get away from buildings and people for a while. It wasn’t untrue, but it was leaving out my main motivation - making sure I hadn’t left anything behind at the cabin that could incriminate me. Either way, Abe reluctantly agreed. As he left, I got a feeling that he still wanted that hug. Weird kid.

I continue on my way, walking deeper into the forest from the graveyard. There was actually someone else beside me there this time - some old man bringing flowers to a grave. He didn’t seem to pay me any mind, though, which was good.

I wonder if they'll give Joanna a grave in that yard once they've realized she's not coming back. Her family was from Pallet, after all, and her brother was at the supermarket nearby. But they could live on the opposite end of town for all I know. Would I even be able to find her grave?

No, I wouldn't be looking for graves that far in the future, anyway. I'd be too busy being a god --

I stop.

...Right. I don't know what I'll be doing. Because, given all that's happened… I don't even think I’ll be the Bringer.

Does that mean that I’m gonna die? Oh Gods --

No, don’t jump to conclusions. You’re still useful to HIM. Even if you’re not the Bringer, you can still become immortal. Someone else can be the Bringer, and you can be among the other predators. Someone high-ranking. I’ve done enough for HIM to get a favor like that, right?

But I’ve failed HIM. I gave into my fear during that incident with the spiders, and in that chapel illusion… I thought of Him. It. No, Him. I’m through pretending. I can’t deny my bond with Him anymore, even if HE told me to break it off. That much is clear.

Though… it’ll mean HE will be angry. Oh Gods. HE will want to punish me, and it’ll be far worse than whatever Joanna put me through. Maybe HE will force me to bring him back to that cave I found him in after all. Then I would actually die. I’d live a mortal life fearing that emptiness to come for decades before it comes and takes me. And then it’s nothing, forever.

My breath and steps become shaky. I don’t want to die, no. I have to plead with HIM to spare my life. I have to make HIM understand that my bond with Him isn’t something I’m holding on to to defy HIM, but something I’m just unable to erase. Have HIM see it as a wound, a disability, and not a problem with obedience. Because that’s what it is, right? And if that’s what it is, HE will see the truth, and HE will know that I’m not lying. And HE will spare me.

I’m not fully convincing myself here, but I should hold on to that hope for now. I need to do what I came here to do anyway - if I do end up staying mortal, I’d at least like to spend my remaining time as a free man rather than behind bars.

The rest of the walk to the cabin proves uneventful. No mon sighted outside a few birds, no people save for myself. Most importantly, no pink-haired girls. But the cabin itself may be another story.

I step into the opening, careful not to rustle the surrounding ferns too loudly. No signs of life around or in the cabin, visible or audible… yet. Keeping my caution, I circle to the opposite side, then approach the old red shack slowly. I reach the window and peek in.

Nothing in this secondary room. I move on to the door, finding it cracked open. It's unlikely that she'd leave it open like that. Me, however… I think the last time I was here, I rushed out in some kind of… bloodlust-induced haze, so I very likely didn't properly close it after myself.

I open the door and look inside. No one’s there. Judging by the mattresses thrown on the floor, no one’s been here after my last visit. That’s good.

Alright, that’s one out of three things off my to-do list. I should get to the second before it gets dark.

I exit the cabin and retrace my path back from when I first chased Michi. Nothing off on the way there, not that I expected anything. I took a brief detour to check out the spot where I made her corpse disappear - the mold was kicked around thoroughly, leaving no sign of the disintegration circle. Anyone coming across it will either fail to notice it or blow it off as the result of a wild mon scuffle. Perfect for me.

Finally, I arrive at the murder scene.

The dirt of the ground appears naturally distributed. No blood can be spotted off the bat, but I take a closer look. I'm especially careful in checking the patch I knew she died on. I search even for hairs, but nothing’s there. It’s clean.

I circle each tree within a two-meter radius, carefully inspecting their bark for markings. I'm shocked to find the nuclear launch codes carved into one. Just kidding. There's nothing here, either. That's two out of three. And just in time - the sun appears to have set by now.

Only one thing left to check. It isn't as simple as the others, though - I have to wait for it to come to me.

I sit down by one of the pines and lean onto its trunk, sighing. I draw my lungs full of the pure forest air. My eyes close by themselves.

Michi… either she's dead, or she's long gone from here. I'm considering the first option more likely, as I would've expected to hear something from her by now had she escaped. So, I have good reason to believe that I really did kill a child. I am a child murderer. Not just any child, but an orphan. Although, isn't that less bad in a way? She's got no parents to mourn her.

No one to mourn her…

Well, that's not right. Michi was a clever, resourceful girl. She had promise. She deserves mourning far more than the annoying little brats I usually see stumbling about. But they'd get it if they died, she doesn't. Why do their memories get to live on when she becomes forgotten?

I know I felt hatred towards her. I know I wanted to make her suffer. But those feelings were really for Joanna, weren't they? She was the one controlling Michi in those illusions, the hand behind the puppet. It's really her that deserved the pain. What Michi got… it wasn't personal. It was just what my hunter's instinct told me to do.

I should've hunted someone who had it coming. Kill one of those worthless brats, not rob the world of a prodigy. If raised right, she may have even become a predator. A packmate. On the other side of the teeth.

But now she's gone. And I'm the reason why.

So I should be the one to bear her memory.

I open my eyes. The twilit woods welcome me back. I eye the patch on which she died, the whole area. There's nothing really special about this spot - there are hundreds more just like it. But I think there should be something. Even just a little something.

I get up and search for… anything pretty or peculiar, really. Smooth rocks, flowers… I think I see some white over there. Could be what I want.

Yeah, they're flowers. Rawstberry, actually. That'll do just fine.

I pick a few of the flowers, find a smooth rock about the size of my palm and return to the scene of her death. I place the flowers on the dirt and pin them down with the rock.

It's a very modest grave, but a grave nonetheless. Now there's something left of her that everyone can see. They won't understand it, but they'll know it must have some meaning. As did her existence.

Yes, this and the lock of hair in my basement will preserve her. Maybe the flowers of this grave will wilt and the rock be knocked around, but this memory will last. She'll continue to exist in my mind, my mind alone…

...wait, didn't she mention something about ghost friends?

Yeah, when I was following her for the first time, she spoke to Joanna about some other ghosts. I totally forgot. She was friends with all of them, right? I just never saw them because, like she said, they were used to leaving her alone with new ghosts for a while…

I guess she won't be forgotten, then. Essentially ever. Ghosts are practically immortal. I got worried all for nothing.

I guess that also means this grave is kind of useless… should I take it apart, to erase my tracks completely?

...No. I'll let it stay. It's a nice thought.

"Pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi…"

Birdcall. There's what I need for the final item on my to-do list.

I sit back down to make it easier to stay still, and return the pidgey's call. "Pi-pi-pi-pi."

I hope the birds aren't too afraid of me after last time. If that really happened. That's what I'm trying to find out, actually.

Fortunately, after a few more calls and a couple of coos, a small brown bird emerges from hiding. It jumps from one branch to another, each a bit lower than the last, ever so slightly pushing them down upon landing. Its tail flicks to help it balance itself. Birds are such acrobats...

“Prrruuuu...” I coo softly, encouraging it to come even closer. It flutters down onto the ground in front of me, good.

“Hey, birdie,” I whisper. “Say the words.”

It stares at me, beady eyes innocent and curious. “Pi-pi-pi?” it chirps, pacing about on its scrawny feet.

“Complete the sentence. ‘Ichiro Akai…’”

Its bulky, pink beak stays shut this time.

“‘Ichiro Akai…’” I try again, breathing a bit more easily now as optimism creeps into my brain.

The pidgey runs a circle, then hops onto the tip of my shoe. It twirls in place, studying the odd material it’s on, then ruffles its feathers and sits still.

It doesn’t seem to care about these words. I sigh, relieved. So either Joanna never actually taught them the words or they’ve been forgotten. Both are good. I could leave now, but… I like this little pidgey. I may as well stay until it gets bored of me, which I can’t imagine taking too long.

The pidgey has started preening. It’s pretty. Its wing feathers are neatly placed side by side. Its neck is twisting to impressive positions as it tidies its plumage. Its markings are simple but iconic…

...wait, why’d you stop?

The bird has raised its head and is staring through me. Its feathers are now tightly kept against its body. It’s become as still as a sculpture. Is it… scared?

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

It opens its beak. Nothing’s coming out. What giv-

“He’s coming.”

What?

The bird just spoke, but that wasn’t my voice, that wasn’t even Joanna’s voice - I’ve never heard that voice before. It was female and young, but it wasn’t Michi. It was older.

“He’s coming,” the bird repeats, the voice now distressed.

“...Who is?” I ask quietly. Who taught it to speak that way, and what kind of situation was she in? It’s not related to me, is it?

“He’s coming!” the bird whispers. The speaker sounds like she’s about to cry.

“Who is?” I repeat.

Thump.

...What was that? Was that a tree falling down or --

Thump.

“He’s coming!”

Thump!

This thump was much louder, loud enough for the pidgey to take flight, wings frantically beating against the air. It disappears into the treetops.

Okay, what the hell’s going on? I get up and turn around. The thumping’s coming from over there, right?

But there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just more trees and their swaying branches.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

It’s getting louder. What is it? What’s making this noise?

No… no, no, don’t tell me…

Crrrr-rack!

A big, low branch in the distance breaks. It reveals…

Not you. Not you!

Almost as if it’s heard my thoughts, its lips pull back into that horrible grin. Its blazing yellow eyes stay nailed onto my face, never once blinking as the pitch-black monster approaches. Every step is a quake.

It’s one thing to be afraid of a monster. It’s entirely another to know that it means you’re insane.

Joanna never left.

My hands draw to my head, nails digging into the scalp. No, don’t let this happen again. I’m so done with this. I want to be free.

The beast comes closer. A hungry growl leaks out between its teeth along with strings of sticky spit. It wants me shove me into itself just like I did to Michi. Though not before it pulls off each limb and chews them clean. Tears out and slurps in my organs. It loves blood, it loves flesh, it loves violence. I know because it was born from me.

Well, what do I do now? Do I follow my instincts and run even though I have no chance of getting away? Do I stay and try to fight? Neither will end well. I’m gonna be torn to shreds, feel that pain, then wake up knowing it’ll just keep happening. I’ll just keep on seeing things that aren’t there until people notice and I’m thrown into some white cube to spend the rest of my days in. Unhappy, fearing my inevitable death - and still seeing things, if Joanna manages to fuck my brain up that badly before leaving.

Or, even worse… she already did.

So that’s it, then? All of that shit’s gonna happen to me and there’s nothing I can do about it? All those years predetermined, and I just have to simply sit through them until death comes to take me?

Feet unable to carry me, my knees meet the ground. I slouch to save myself the sight of the beast’s blinding eyes. The earth shakes, and my body dreads the crushing teeth soon to pierce it, but my mind can’t escape the thought of who’s really responsible.

If Joanna’s there, she’s listening. If she’s not… shouting at nothing will just suit a lunatic like me.

All the strength that’s left my limbs gathers at my vocal cords. I fill my lungs for the desperate cries to come.

“I can’t give you what you want!”

It echoes from tree to tree. The beast’s steps don’t waver. Not that I expected them to.

“I can’t give any of it!” I continue, having found some shred of solace in the yelling. “Confession? Killing myself? Being sorry?”

I grimace. “Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t be sorry! I just can’t! I’ve never been able to! You may as well be screaming at a deaf man!”’

The beast stops. Probably just to plan more carnage, though, so who cares.

“And I can’t tell them,” I say, no longer shouting. The strength I had has already begun to run out, I see. Every word seems to be quieter than the last. But if I’m already talking, I may as well keep going...

“And I can’t kill myself. Because I wanna live. I wanna be happy. At least content. And it just happens that the only way that can be is if I do these things. Trust me, I’ve tried to live like you, but it just doesn’t work, because there’s something… different about me. Wrong with me. I'm not…”

...And, just like that, I don’t know what to say.

The words, of which I had heaps just a moment ago, have run out. Whichever part of my brain was feeding them to my mouth has jammed. All I can do is breathe, face burning, eyes watering.

I think it's because… I just admitted something I've been avoiding for a long time.

That there's something wrong with me.

“...Dude.”

What? Who?

I look up. Purple. Purple smoke. Big white eyes, tiny pupils. Fanged mouth. Gastly. What? Why?

“There’s no monster,” it says quietly, tonelessly.

And… it’s right, the beast is nowhere to be seen. But… what…?

“It was a fake,” it continues, its crimson-bordered eyes staring at the ground. “I was just messin’ with you, dude...”

Its voice is female and somehow familiar… was it the one from the pidgey?

Wait, it’s saying it was messing with me. That was all… set up by this gastly? But that makes no… or does it?

“Y-you made --” I try, but the voice is weak and phlegmatic. I clear my throat. “You made that monster?”

The gastly nods.

“How did you make it… look like that?” I ask. “Like that, in particular?” How does it know how the beast that’s been terrorizing me looks? Has it read my mind? Fuck, does it know what I did?

“Uhh… I mean… I don’t really control the details,” it says. “Like, the way it works is that I show people something vague and make them scared in a way that they fill in the blanks themselves… I mean, that’s how my friend describes it. She knows a lot about ghosts, like, book stuff.”

Friend…?

The gastly makes eye contact again. “Right, yeah. Speaking of my friend, have you seen her around? She’s a human, pretty young. Pink haired girl. Answers to Michi.”

Hearing about the pink hair gave me a zap and the name a full-on thunderbolt. I hope I didn’t show it too much. Looking at the gastly, I don’t think it noticed.

“No, sorry,” I say. “Haven’t seen anyone like that.”

“Oh. Okay. If you see her, though, tell her Gabby’s getting impatient. The new guy can’t take this long to break in.” The gastly hovers a bit further. “Uh, and sorry about the scare. You looked like you could handle it, but I guess I touched on something personal, like drama with an ex or… whatever. Bye.”

“...Bye,” I respond as the ghost floats away, disappearing into the trees. I swear I could’ve heard it call me a ‘weirdo’ under its breath on its way out.

I get up, dust off my clothes and stagger back onto the path. I just wanna go home now. This week’s been too much. As if one ghost wasn’t enough, now I had to meet another…

Well, I guess that settles the Michi thing, at least. She’ll definitely be remembered, with or without a grave, and fondly so.

Good, because I’m sure as fuck never coming to these woods again.

---​

Something wrong with me…

I can’t shake that thought. Haven’t been able to since I left the woods. It keeps echoing, never fading, no matter how many times it bounces off the walls of my skull.

I always knew I was different. That others would think something’s wrong. But to say it really is wrong, the opposite of right…

I thought everyone else was wrong. HE thinks so. HE says us predators are what humans should be. Further evolved.

But is it really so? Maybe for the other predators, but I… I don’t know how it’s so hard for me to just live. The prey seem happy enough, and the predators blend in… I definitely don’t blend in. From the perspective of both prey and predator, something is off about me.

So… what am I?

Faced with my house’s front door, I have to stop walking. I wonder if it’ll put a halt to these thoughts. I’d sure like that - I’m so tired from all that’s happened, today or this entire week… I just wanna rest. Physically and mentally.

I twist the key and open the door.

“Red?” asks Abe’s voice from deeper in the house. Rushed steps come, and the boy appears in the hall, shaken. “Red!”

I sigh. Is something going on? I’d really not deal with anything more today. “What is it?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Heavier steps following Abe stop at the hall’s frame. A nidoking peeks in, big ears perked. Fonz. He seems interested as well, but not as worried as Abe.

Abe sighs. “You were out so late, and there was an ursa warning in the area...”

“Oh.”

“B-but you’re fine,” he breathes. “So I guess...”

He trails off, unsure how to continue, only looking down with his hands grasping one another.

I get the craziest idea.

“Hey.”

He looks up to see me approach. His right leg wavers, considering a step back, but freezes as he realizes what I’m doing.

I set my arm on his back and draw him close. “I’m fine,” I say. I don’t know how true it is.

Abe’s tension deflates, though not entirely. He leans into me. His arm twitches, but he decides against raising it. We stay like this for a few seconds.

Well, there you go. There’s your hug. I don’t know why it matters to you so much, but now that you’ve got it, you better not beg for it anymore. The only people I allow to touch me any more than this are doctors, you know.

I let go of Abe and walk past him, then Fonz. Fonz looks surprised. Yeah, same. But I’m really too tired to care. Right now I just want a spot to crash and lie on like the animated corpse I am.

The couch is the closest. Guess I’ll take that. I walk over and --

Oh. Right. You. You exist. You with your shell and your tentacles and your big, innocent eyes.

The couch occupied, I go for the armchair instead. I reach it and collapse. Something’s softly poking my left arm, probably a quill of Fonz’s, but I really can’t be asked to care about it right now. It’s not like he’s the poison-point variant.

“Hi.”

That clear, bright, young voice…

Listen. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’ve already lost the position of Bringer, the thing I’ve been struggling to achieve for years. I might not even be worthy of being a predator anymore. How much of a sin can it be if I, at this moment of weakness, let my true feelings be?

“...Hi,” I exhale, and look at Him.

Him. His vibrant blue. His many soft arms. His spiraling shell.

Oh, how I’ve missed You.

He’s not looking at me right now, but focusing on a notebook He holds. One tentacle wraps around a pen and taps it against the shell absentmindedly. I guess He’s used to me giving Him the cold shoulder by now, so He returns the favor.

Fonz enters the living room and sits down next to Him with an encouraging smile. The omanyte prods at Fonz’ leg with a tentacle, and he lifts Him onto his lap, beginning to stroke His shell.

The affection is clear. They obviously care for each other. They’re like family, honestly.

Family… that’s not a concept unique to humans or human-like minds. It’s everywhere in the animal kingdom.

A mother ursa will fiercely protect her cubs. A feraligatr will use her crushing jaws to gently carry her hatchlings to water. Houndoom pack members will care for the alphas’ pups. Houndoom, the very symbol of predator.

Why shouldn’t I be allowed to care for Him? All those predators care on instinct, and it doesn’t make them any less deadly. I’m already supposed to make sure He stays healthy and alive, to help HIS powers grow faster. Won’t an attachment only motivate me further? Make me feel better, help me stay in control? It won’t stop me from stalking and killing. It’ll only enhance my performance, if anything.

Maybe it could even help me patch up my other faults. Maybe that’s exactly how I could be a predator.

“Red?”

Fonz. Our eyes meet. I guess he saw me staring at Him.

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” he asks quietly.

Well… you know what? I think there is.

I take a deep breath and --

Say nothing.

The omanyte has stared back. So vulnerable. Wants answers, but tries to hide it. He’s… scared. Scared of me. That’s what I’ve caused to happen.

My mouth is paralyzed. Even a simple ‘yes’ is too hard. I feel like I don’t even have the right to speak to Him anymore.

As my lips still refuse to cooperate, I let my gaze wander on the nidoking. Fearsome horns. Thick, armor-like skin. Powerful claws, intimidating tusks. Quills on the nape of his neck and his back. Robust tail, a well-timed swing of which could surely break every bone in a human’s body.

But the horns are filed to be dull and the quills are cut to be mere stubs. The claws rest immobile on the creature’s thighs, walling in the tiny omanyte, protecting Him from any harm. The tail is lying limp by the mon’s side like an ekans enjoying the first sunshine after its long hibernation. The tusks have barely seen any use in years.

Most of the mon’s trimmed back spikes are even safely contained within an extra large leather jacket in order not to have his needles stick in the furniture he uses or the occasional human that bumps into him in a crowd. A jacket. On a nidoking. It's ridiculous if you think about it. This mon is an armored killing machine, yet here he is, sitting on a couch made for humans, in human clothing, with the most human concern on his bestial face.

For a moment, I just see a chubby thirty-something guy in a mascot outfit in front of me. The thought makes me snicker.

Fonz’s ears rise in curiosity. “What's funny?” he asks, unaware of the complete absurdity of his own existence. My teeth are dull and my nails couldn't cut through anything, yet he's the one holding the omanyte and I’m the one drinking orphan blood.

My eyes heat up, gathering water. I sniffle. Gods, this is a weird feeling. I lean my face into my palms, patchy breathing echoing back at me. The hands hide a wavering grimace.

To regain even an ounce of control, I blink to clear my eyes, squeezing out a tear or two. I need to keep talking. When I’ve said what I need to say, I can leave and ruminate on how much of a freak of nature I am somewhere else.

I take the hands away, letting my head support itself again, and look straight at the omanyte. He’s curious, but still so scared, scared because I’m being so strange right now, and have been strange for weeks and weeks...

“It’s okay,” comes out of me. I don’t know if I’m telling Him or myself, it just felt right to say. Fonz moves his claws onto His shell, for emotional support, I suppose.

I clear my throat. I just need to get it over with. The words don’t matter - as long as I get my message across, it’ll be fine.

“I need to apologize.”

That’s a start. Keep going. Breath in, Breath out. Talk.

“I’ve been really weird lately,” I finally manage to get out. “Especially towards you, my lord. But I-I… I don’t want to be like that anymore. I don’t want to be away from You. I can’t keep ignoring You, no matter how much...”

No, I can’t mention HIM. As much as it would lighten my burden, it needs to stay secret. If He knew what these hands have done, He’d never let me hold Him again.

Come on. Breathe in, breathe out. Let’s continue. Where was I? I forgot. Shit.

“I’m sorry for getting You the wrong kind of shrimp,” I bumble, not coming up with anything else to say. Fonz’s shoulders relax and a slight smile appears on his face. I laugh, just a little. The motion speeds up the tears on their way down my cheeks.

Right. Now I remember where I was going.

I get up, slog my way to the couch and sit right next to the two. “My lord...” I start. “There’s something I need to tell You.”

“...What is it?” the omanyte finally speaks. It's a punch to my heart. His voice is so feeble. And so young - He’s still just a juvenile, even if He’s growing up so fast.

“I...” I try, barely able to speak through my constricted throat. How does He manage to have this effect on me? His mere vicinity overwhelms me, bringing forth enough passion to rival the thrill of a sacrifice. But instead of feeling tremendous power rush through my very being, I feel… so weak. Incomplete. Unless I get closer.

I guess that means the verb I’m going to use really is the right one.

“I love You.”

The words silence everything. The ticking of the clock, the beating of my heart, any traffic or wind outside. Well, they’re still there, but they’re nothing after that deafening blast. The world has frozen in response. I guess only I can melt it now, start time again.

“I’ve loved You since the day I first met You,” I continue. My larynx is opening up. It’s easier to speak now that the main bomb has been dropped. “I trust You remember it too. You’ve died twice since then, but I imagine that moment’s important enough to be included in the things H... Your spirit allows You to remember even across different bodies.”

He doesn’t respond, He still just stares.

“You do remember, don’t You?“ Fear accelerates my pulse. Surely He can’t have forgotten?

“I do,” He peeps, calming me down again. I guess He was just dazed by my confession.

“Okay, good...”

I allow my eyes to close. They need a bit of a break.

“S-so...” the omanyte begins. My lids open in an instant. The fear comes back. Oh fuck. I didn’t even prepare myself for His response. What if He thinks it’s creepy? What if He doesn’t want to be around me anymore? Have I just robbed myself of the very thing I finally allowed myself to have?

“Do you… love me as, like...” He continues. It's clear that the word doesn't quite fit His beak either, but I doubt it's even a fraction as terrifying as it is for me. “...a friend, or family, or a…” He leaves the last one unspoken.

“I’d say family,” I say, smiling. But I don’t know for sure at all. I don’t love anyone in my family. I don’t love anyone, period, aside from Him. Or, well, there’s HIM. But that’s complicated.

I inch even closer to Fonz, eliminating the last centimeters of distance between us as my leg touches his. He doesn’t flinch… much. Good enough.

“But the most important thing is that I do,” I add, “and that’ll never change.”

Never? What about when Judgment comes?

My smile wilts. The omanyte sees it. Fuck, no. I need a lie now.

“Well, I’ll die one day, but… You know what I mean.” I grin. His tension leaves. Bullet dodged.

A droplet taps down on Fonz’s claw, making it twitch. I realize my face is burning and soaking wet, and briefly look away to wipe away the excess fluid with my sleeve. When I’m done and turn back, it's drenched. I haven't cried this much since His last death.

I sigh. I haven't even held Him in such a long time. I’d love to go ahead and just do it right now, but I don't want to startle Him any more than I already have.

Still, I really, really just need to feel His touch again. To know He doesn't hate me. To show Him I mean only well.

Cautiously, I raise my dry hand and rest it palm up on top of Fonz’s claw. The omanyte looks at it, then me. Then He unfurls one of His tiny tentacles and touches it.

Contact is made on just two fingers, but my whole body feels it. The gentle cold. The richest azure. The intricate sculpture of the sea, each one of the dozen suckers. Now I’m the one frozen and the world moves too fast around me.

His eyes flick back to me. So much trust, hope, belief in them. So fragile He is. He can never, never be allowed to see my inhumanity.

Slowly, my fingers curl, encasing the little limb with the most minimal of pressure. I’m afraid to use any more, lest He be hurt or startled. Now that I have Him back, I should never have to lose Him again.

But it's going to be inevitable, isn't it? One day HE will rise, and from that day on, there'll be nothing but misery for the prey.

If I’m going to be happy then no matter what, will I even care enough to want to protect Him? And if I did, who's to say HE or another one of HIS houndoom won't get to Him first?

“What's wrong?”

The omanyte’s voice awakens me back to the present. The beautiful present which I shouldn’t leave and waste - this is something that should be enjoyed now. While I still can.

“Nothing,” I assure Him. “I just thought again about what a jerk I’ve been to You lately. I feel awful about it.”

“Well, I forgive you,” He responds. It came so easily to Him. Like He… was ready to forgive me even from the moment I first ignored Him. A vessel bound by spirit to the very god of cruelty, and He’s the kindest mon I’ve ever known.

“Th-thanks,” I breathe.

I suddenly remember there’s a third member in this discussion, too. I look up at Fonz’s face. He's smiling. Right. He’s used to being ignored by me. That's how we work. But I guess I might as well shake things up a bit now, I’m being sentimental anyway and that rarely happens.

“I don't tell you this enough, but you've taken great care of Him.”

He’s absolutely shocked. Heh.

But soon enough, he smiles again. “It's nothing, pal,” he chuckles and raises his arm to grab my shoulder. His claws, although dulled, are still very sturdy. Good thing he’s not my enemy.

He takes away his hand and the room returns to silence. Save for the clock and outside noises, of course.

“So… yeah. That's all,” I say. “You can just go back to what you were doing. I think I’m gonna go and take a shower now.”

Both mon nod, if a bit awkwardly. The omanyte’s tentacle slowly draws away. On some instinctive level, it hurts, but I know I’ll feel His touch again later, many times. Because I don’t have to avoid Him any longer. I don’t have to keep killing myself on the inside anymore. I can allow myself to feel how I feel.

I can't know what the future will bring. I can't foresee the pain that may one day come. But there's one thing I can say for certain about this moment right now.

It’s real, and I’m so glad it is.

---

“You seem tired.”

I look at her, trace her red-rimmed glasses with my gaze. Dr Jordan Marsh. I didn't think I'd ever be glad to see her, but here I am, happy that she accepted my request to meet her here at the café, outside a clinical setting. She takes a sip of her coffee.

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” I reply, leaning back in my chair. “Nightmares.”

Yeah, it would’ve been great if all my problems had vanished along letting Him back into my life, but reality had other plans. The Judgment question wasn’t enough - I needed to get nightmares, too. As if I hadn’t already suffered through plenty during the possession.

"What kind?" she asks.

"I'd… rather not get into it," I say. Nightmares about being imprisoned in a white cube doesn't sound like something an innocent man would have.

"Nightmares are a common post-possession symptom," she says. "Not surprising you'd have them."

"I see." I pause for a moment, but then remember why I'm here. "Right. I should get to the point." I clear my throat. "First of all, thanks for agreeing to meet me."

Dr Marsh nods, seating herself opposite me and lowering her coffee on the table. "I don't normally meet my clients outside work, but I can't deny that I'm curious as to what you have to say."

"Well," I sigh, "the first thing I want to say is an apology. I must have given you quite a scare with the way I was acting."

Dr Marsh waves a hand. "It's alright. You were under possession at the time. You can hardly be blamed."

You'd be surprised. Still, I nod. "I just hope the court will see it the same way."

She leans onto her elbow. "What exactly happened?"

"Well, I'm fuzzy on the details, too, but I took a hostage, apparently," I say, "at knifepoint."

"I see," she says. "Attempted murder."

The words still sound wrong. I guess when I've committed murders with such thorough consideration the one I hastily threaten to do doesn't feel like it should count.

"I can see why you're so worried," she adds. I flinch until I remember she's a master at reading people. I should expect no less.

"I was told I could be locked up for up to ten years," I say. "So, yeah, I'm worried."

"At least you're in Kanto," she points out. "In Unova, you could have been looking at life."

"Or the needle," I mutter. I'd be considerably more freaked out if that was a possibility.

I clear my throat. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something about that whole thing." I grab my palm. "I got a psych eval done by another psychiatrist, and that went without a hitch, but considering you met me while I was under possession, I feel like they'd ask you, too. If that's the case… what are you going to tell them?"

Dr Marsh lowers her cup, having just taken a sip. "I'm under no obligation to tell you, but I'll do you a favor," she says. "I'll tell them that you were on edge and that you seemed like you wanted to hide something. Mainly the fact that you have antisocial tendencies. But also the fact that you seemed to be hallucinating spiders."

Shit. Them finding out I have antisocial tendencies can't be good. Some small part of me considers killing her to keep her quiet, but it doesn't take a second before the rational part of my brain gives me all the reasons why that would be a bad idea.

"Why were you so insistent on keeping that secret?" she asks.

I look at my hands. "Didn't want to get locked up for being a hazard."

She huffs, amused. "I hope you know by now that that's not how it works."

"But I have a legitimate reason to wish you hadn't figured it out now, right? If the court knows I'm antisocial, they'll have a stronger reason to believe I committed that crime of my own volition."

"Maybe," she says, "but you were still possessed. They have to consider the fact that you may have been seeing things that gave you no choice."

"But I don't remember," I lie. "And even if I did, who's to say they'd believe me? I could just as well just be lying to cover my ass."

"That's exactly why possession cases are so tricky," she says. "And in this case, there's no ghost to measure your words against, either."

I sigh. "I guess there's no way to know how this'll go before it happens."

"Afraid so." She takes another sip. After a pause, she speaks again. "You're better off with a professional knowing you're antisocial, you know."

Doubtful. "Why is that?"

"More context to your mental health," she says. "It's easier to see why you would be depressed, for example, if you find yourself unable to connect with others."

I blink. "Do you think I'm depressed?"

She shrugs. "I don't know, are you?"

"I… don't know."

"If you don't know, it probably means you are."

Depressed. I mean, maybe? A little? I don't like my life. But…

"I get out of bed each morning," I tell her. "I work out and I shower. If I had school or a job, I'd go there without trouble. Shouldn't I have trouble with those things if I was depressed?"

"You can be functional and still be suffering on the inside," she says. "And, well, you strike me as someone with a lot going on beneath the surface."

I tap my finger on the table. "Depressed," I repeat. "Maybe. I don't have a lot to be happy about."

"You really should consider therapy," she hums. "You might find out things about yourself. Things that'll answer why you don't feel happier."

I frown. Of course I know why I'm not happy. I'm a predator in a world run by prey. It's what HE was supposed to fix.

But… there's a chance I'm not even going to get that now. If that's so, I have to work with what I have. Find a way to be content. I'll still die, and that's terrible, but… I should make the most of what life I do get.

Dr Marsh leans closer. "There is help for you," she says. "You just have to accept it."

I look into her eyes. Dark, like mine. But instead of good staring down evil, I just see another human.

Our faces stay expressionless. Frozen.

Until mine thaws.

“I think I’d like that help.”

---

END​

 

[canisaries]

hi all! here i am with the extra i promised. this is the first thing i wrote from samson's perspective, so i had to go back and tweak it a little according to how i wrote samson in judgment.

anyway, rated teen for some violent imagery. see you next week for the upload of the first chapter of the sequel.

---

EXTRA
The Woodsman

---​

Its breath stinks. It’s like the time Eli got sick in the car.

But I have to keep breathing in the reeking air. If I stopped, I’d have even less of a chance of keeping the beast’s jaws at bay. My hands already tremble against the monster’s bristly snout and chin.

The beast doesn’t care. Its yellow eyes have yet to look away, let alone blink. Slimy drool drips down its jagged teeth and pools in its mouth. Its lungs continue to pump out its stinking breath. Could it actually be toxic? As if this creature wasn’t deadly enough.

I'm not gonna win this battle of strength. I should run away before my arms give in and the beast sinks its teeth in me. I just need to find a place to --

Mary? Mary! What are you doing here? Get away!

She’s standing a few meters away, eyes wide in terror, which I can understand well - this thing is scary even for Dad. But she needs to get away now! I've seen what this monster likes to do to little girls, and I couldn't bear seeing that happen to Mary… Arceus, please, let us get out of this alive!

"Daddy…?"

The beast's ears perk from Mary's whimper. It pulls back and turns its head to her.

"No!" I yell. Mary, what have you gone and done? I would've run in just a moment and led the beast away! You should've waited and fled then! No, you're only a kid… I shouldn't demand strategy like that from you… but if only you'd…

The beast slides its tongue across its teeth and turns the rest of its body to Mary. Its tail whips, audibly splitting the air. No, you stay away from her!

"Hey! Over here!" I scream at the monster, desperate for it to face me again, but it's deaf to me. I have to get to Mary. I have to shield her --

A powerful strike of the beast's left horn to my chest throws me onto my back with a sizeable bruise. It hurts, a lot. It may have broken a rib. But that doesn't matter, no pain matters, I have to get to Mary, Mary --

I catch her in my sight. The beast already has her in its claws. She screams and it's terrifying - I can feel her fear and so much more on top because the beast opens its jaws and --

I'm somewhere else.

Dark. Soft. Blanket, pillow…

I sigh. It was just a nightmare.

I check on Laura. She’s still fast asleep, her long brown hair in a bedhead. Good, I didn't wake her up by thrashing in my sleep or anything…

I rub my forehead. It's sticky from cold sweat, just like the rest of my body.

Should I try falling back asleep? I don't want to sink back into that dream, and lying here feels uncomfortable… I think I'll get up for a bit. Dry off, maybe get some water… anything to calm down my racing heart.

As quietly as I can, I lift the blanket off myself and get off the bed. The alarm shows 3:54 in orange digits. Figures. I slip through the bedroom door into the upstairs hall. The bathroom's to my right, but there's something else I want to do first.

To calm my paranoia, I open the door to Mary’s room. She’s in bed, sleeping soundly like a shaymin in its grotto. See? She’s fine.

No need to bother her anymore. I don’t want to wake her up just because Daddy had a silly dream. I close the door as carefully as I opened it and enter the bathroom.

Having washed up, I consider going back to bed, but… I just don’t feel tired. I should tucker myself out. But how? I don’t want to wake anyone else up, including Eli, who is much more alert… maybe I should take a walk outside. Nights this time of year are pretty and pleasantly cool. Seeing the world blanketed in darkness might help my brain realize it’s sleepy time, who knows.

This plan requires sneaking past Eli, though… heck, I’ll try it anyway. He can’t hear everything, can he? And he falls asleep so easily, he can take naps on command. That settled, I creep downstairs, avoiding the worst of the squeaky steps. Each whimper under my feet makes me cringe, but I’d be surprised if they were loud enough to wake Eli.

Downstairs, all that remains is to sneak through the entrance hall and out of the door. Eli’s bed is nearby, in the living room. We've told him it looks like we’re treating him as a feral, but he insists on it to 'guard' the house… Eli, it's not a son's job to guard his family. That should be mine. Or rather the locks’.

Turning the corner, I catch sight of him. As expected, he lies motionless, curled up under the blanket. If it weren’t for the white crescents of his horns, I wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of him in this darkness. Behind him lies the fireplace, long unlit. I should light it again soon. It would delight everyone. We’d need firewood first, though, as the basket is nearly empty. I should chop some. Actually, why wait? Chopping wood is both tiring and productive.

I make it to the door without Eli stirring and lift the keys off their hook. To pocket them, and to keep off mosquitoes, I take a jacket from the coat rack as well. I slip my feet into a pair of worn rubber boots. Now comes the hardest part…

I twist the handle and nudge the door open. The hinges creak and the frame clacks, but slowly, slowly... I keep still and check Eli. He doesn’t move. Maybe this only seems louder in the silence. I open the door just enough to fit myself through and close it with equal care. Whew. Mission successful.

The air is cool and clear. The streetlights provide just enough light to see ahead with relative clarity, all I currently need. Gentle gusts swirl in the trees while wildlife of the night chatters and chirps, certain sounds less pleasant than others. But a croak is a poem to a murkrow, as the scripture says - there's beauty beyond human preference.

I circle to the back yard and unlock the shed without worry. There's much more room for noise out here. Even for chopping wood, though…? I'm starting to see a fatal flaw in this plan. Well… I guess I'll try to chop quietly, then? Is that possible?

Ah, no worries. It's not like I got anyone's hopes up. I only really need to give myself something to do.

The logs feel dry as I carry a few of them to the chopping block. Nice, much better than being damp and hard to cleave Now for the axe…

I lift it out from its usual crevice between the wall and a pile of boxes. As I bring the axe outside, the light hits its head and glimmers on its metal. I find my left hand on my throat.

I sigh and pry it away. My throat is left feeling vulnerable, but I can’t keep feeding that habit. It’ll go away slower that way.

I tried to keep yesterday’s events from my mind as best as I could, but now I’m just in too deep to escape. I can’t block the image of that kid and his knife so near my throat. I was so close to death. Everything could’ve ended with just one mistake. Not even a mistake. That kid was so unstable, so crazed that he may have done it without any reason…

At least I had the comfort of seeing him cured. After the exorcism, after he’d woken up, he was back to his senses and seemed alright. He didn’t remember anything, or so he said, so there was little hope of getting an apology, but it’s not like I needed one. I’ve already forgiven him.

I move back to the block, set up a log and do some practice hacks to see how quietly I could do it while still making progress. Settling for the best result, I keep hacking at a steady pace, replacing the log with a new one after finishing. That chopping as background music, the events of the exorcism replay in my head.

The chapel that appeared around me, regally decorated to a ridiculous extent. The bodies on the floor - the policewoman and a copy of myself, both robed in bloodstained white. The kid in front of me, on the board… he was only a head and a bloody blanket of skin dangling from his neck, but somehow still alive. And absolutely horrified.

Then I heard screaming. I turned around, and saw… that thing.

The Creator wants us to respect all mon, no matter how unsightly they may seem. I agree, but it simply couldn't have been a mon. Not even a kind I'd be unfamiliar with. It was a demon.

I hear the front door open. Shoot, did I wake someone up after all? There are steps… they sound like paws. Eli, it seems. Soon enough, the houndoom peeks his head around the corner of the house.

"Oh, there you are," he says, walking closer. "Knew it was you by the scent. What are you doing?"

I sigh. "Had a bad dream and couldn't fall back asleep. Thought I'd do something useful. Sorry for waking you up, tried my best not to."

"Nah, it's okay…" He sits down next to me and leans his neck against my leg. He's warm as always. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Eh…"

He stares up at me. "Was it about what happened yesterday?"

Looking back at his puppy eyes, I can't bring myself to lie. "Yeah…"

"You gotta talk about it, Dad. If you don't, we can't comfort you right."

"But I don't want to worry you. I don't want to give you nightmares, too…"

He playfully bumps me with a horn. "Hey, come on. I'm a big, bad houndoom. I'll burn any monsters right up."

“Alright,” I sigh. I set the axe aside and sit on the chopping block. “But you have to promise me you won’t get scared.”

“Pbbt. I promise.”

“Okay.” I pause. “So how much do you know about what happened to me yesterday?”

“Well, I know you met the guy who was rude to you the other day and that he held you hostage,” he says, voice lowered as he knows that must’ve been frightening to go through. “And that you figured he was possessed and then, after the police got you safe and arrested him, you performed an exorcism on him. That’s about the extent of what I know.” He shuffles closer. “But I can tell there’s stuff you aren’t telling, even if it’s just talking about how you felt...”

“Yeah... it’s true. There’s more to it.”

I pet Eli’s neck, feeling his silky fur, and position myself more comfortably. Which admittedly is hard on what's essentially a tree stump.

"He was trying to exorcise her," I tell him. "I told the police I couldn't remember, but I'm certain of it. The things he was saying…" I rub my chin. "It seemed like he was trying to read an exorcism from a book, but she had made the pages blank. He threatened me in order to get her to show them."

"Did it work?"

"I'm not sure," I say. "She appeared to show herself to him, and they talked for a bit. It sounded like she was giving herself up. You know, turning tangible. Letting him kill her. He swiped with his knife, but a magneton snatched it away. That's when I… well.” I chuckle. “I elbowed him in the chest. I hope there’s no hard feelings. If he remembers, that is. He said he didn’t remember much when I met him afterwards."

“Do you believe him?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. Memory loss in possession cases isn’t uncommon, but he could be lying to protect himself.”

Eli stares at his side, unmoving. Before I can ask, he spits a small flame onto himself, then blows something burnt off.

"Mosquito," he says. "Sorry. Keep going."

Well… alright, then. I clear my throat.

“The police then arrested him. He was struggling and screaming the whole time, about how this was a misunderstanding and the like. I came up to the police and explained to them that he was possessed, and I showed my exorcist license. We then took the kid to the hospital, to the spiritual operation room, where he was strapped down and I performed… the exorcism.”

Eli notices my troubled expression. “What happened during the exorcism?”

“He was a mess,” I tell him. “Yelling something unintelligible, convulsing, even screaming in pain. And then… something unsettling happened.”

“What was it?”

"Towards the end of the session, the room changed around me. It’s happened to me before - as you know, sometimes the exorcist can start to see whatever illusion is being shown at the moment - but the imagery I saw… was simply strange. Usually it’s pretty straightforward, just general scary stuff or replaying some past event, but this one was odd. And disturbing.”

I describe the scene to him - the chapel, the bodies, the kid on the board as just a head and a cloak of shed skin - though leave out the most brutal details. He’ll get the gist without them.

“Then I heard screaming. I turned around and I saw this… huge, monstrous creature,” I explain. The memory of its vicious stare still makes me shudder. “It was kind of like a mix between a tauros, an ursaring and…”

I sigh. I don’t want my son to think there’s anything wrong with him.

“A houndoom?” Eli completes for me. There’s no resentment in his voice, but my nod is still reluctant.

“It’s okay, Dad, I don’t mind,” he says. “I know humans just naturally think my kind is scary-looking. It’s not your fault for having instincts. At least yours doesn’t make you wanna smell others’ butts.”

I snort and give him a scratch behind the ear. “Yeah, yeah...”

“So, what happened then?”

“Well, there were more robed people in the room, and the monster was going all out on them,” I continue. “The were pretty much no match for it, and they all fell. There were some mon too, like the arcanine and the magneton of the police trying to protect the humans, but both ended up losing as well.

"And then there's the thing that really upset me… against the wall, there was this little girl, maybe twelve years old, and the beast went for her next. It..."

I pause. Eli can say he can handle whatever I say and look at me with those curious eyes all he wants, but I'm taking creative liberties with this part.

"The beast knocked the life out of her," I continue. "I'd finally had enough at that point and just closed my eyes and kept reciting the exorcism. I tried to block out any sounds around me, but one caught me off guard - someone yelling 'stop, stop'. I had to see what it was and opened my eyes. It was a ghost, a yamask, in the mouth of the beast. She was looking straight at me, terrified.

"But I couldn't stop. I had to go on to free the kid and to free the ghost, who probably was the one I was staring at. I figured she must have thought the exorcism I was doing was lethal - which it wasn't, of course, so I ignored her for the time being and kept speaking. But… she yelled something over it, right before the beast ate her whole. She said… 'he killed me'. Twice."

"Did… she not explain that before she left, then?" asks Eli, oblivious. His innocence really twists the knife in my heart.

"She…" The bitter squeeze on my throat makes it hard to speak. "She didn't make it," I finally get out. "Something interfered as she was leaving the body. Later on, someone suggested it was this marking carved on the kid's wrist. Looked like some witchcrafty stuff, apparently… I had no idea."

"...Oh." Eli leans onto me. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah…" I take a deep breath. "But, you know, I tried my best, and I couldn't have known, so…"

"Yeah, it's not your fault. You only tried to help."

“And she’s in a better place now. I’m praying for her.”

“I’ll pray for her too.”

I rub Eli’s neck, and we stay like that for a few seconds.

“So...” he starts, “what was the nightmare like?”

“Ah, well, not too complicated. The beast was there, and it was going for me and Mary… I woke up pretty quickly, but it still made me feel lousy. I mean… I think I’m kind of over it now. I know it was just a dream and that it couldn’t happen in real life since the beast was just an illusion. But the other stuff…”

“Like what the kid said and what the ghost said?”

“Yeah. And what I saw in the illusion. Like, where did it all come from? I was the only Arcean in the room in real life, but the illusion had an entire chapel with everyone in robes. And the possessed kid… why was he just a head? What was the beast all about? If it was made by the ghost, why did it eat her? And who was that little girl?”

“Did you ask the possessed kid?”

“No,” I sighed. “And I didn’t tell the police anything.”

Eli frowns. “Why not? This could be important.”

“I… I don’t want the kid to get in trouble based on just some illusion,” I get out. “It could ruin his life. I asked the police - they said he could get up to ten years. He’d lose his entire youth.”

Eli gets up. “But what if he did do something? What if he really did kill that ghost?”

I shrink. He did give off a troubling impression. I don’t know what he was seeing or believing at the time, but he did still keep me hostage. And he was pretty aggressive at the beach.

“But… what about the beast?” I ask. “It attacked the ghost, and it didn’t seem friendly to the kid, either…”

“Maybe she lost control of her illusion due to the exorcism,” Eli suggests. “Can that happen?”

“Well… the host can begin to mentally overpower their possessor, but the kid clearly wasn’t in control, either. He was dying.”

“Hmm…”

Eli stares at the ground in contemplation. I join him in his gravel-studying until he speaks up again.

“Are you sure there was only one ghost?”

“Huh?”

“What if there was another ghost?” he asks. “Like, another one possessing the kid.”

“Another...” I pause to think. I didn’t distinctly feel another presence, but… what would it even feel like? Would I be able to tell how many ghosts there are?

“It could’ve been the beast,” Eli suggests. “That’d explain where it came from.”

“I’ve never met anyone with multiple ghosts in them before...”

“But it should be possible, right? I mean, spiritomb exist.”

“Well, that’s a special keystone rather than a human body, but you’re on to something...”

It would make sense. The kid’s violent behavior, the beast, the yamask’s final words… all of those would’ve been caused by the malicious ghost, while the yamask could’ve been someone caught in the crossfire or even someone trying to help...

Or maybe there was no yamask in the first place? Maybe this hostile ghost created it to try and stop me from completing the exorcism so it could stay in the kid. If it knew that the seal would interfere, it would’ve been trying to stay alive. Maybe it’s like that one nurse suggested, maybe this ghost actually created the seal for… whatever powers it might give.

A flash of light snaps me from my thoughts. Eli has blown another flame.

“Do you wanna go inside?” he asks. “The mosquitos are annoying. You’ll get better firewood if you chop them during daylight, anyway.”

He’s right. I think I feel better by now, anyway. “Sure. Let’s go.”

Having returned the axe and logs to their original places, Eli and I walk to the front door. Still careful not to make too much noise, we slip in, and I put my keys and outdoor apparel back where they belong.

"You wanna talk on the couch?" asks Eli quietly.

I stop to think.

"You know what," I finally start, "I think I'm good. That double-ghost theory of yours explains a good bunch of things. I think I'm gonna be able to sleep now."

"Oh? You sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks. It helped to talk about all this. But I think it's time we both headed back to bed."

"Well, alright," Eli says, returning to his bed in the living room and curling up comfortably. "If you ever need to talk more, though, I'm here for you."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Eli lays his head down, and I quietly climb back up the stairs. I check on Mary one more time before entering my bedroom to make sure I didn't disturb her. I did not. Smiling, I climb back onto my bed and shuffle under the covers, which have dried from the sweat by now.

Just as I think I've succeeded in my sneaking, Laura stirs on her side of the bed. She opens her eyes and squints at me despite my attempts to stay as still as possible.

"Mark…?" she mumbles.

"Sorry, it's nothing, just had a nightmare," I whisper, defeated.

“Mhh...” She turns over and says nothing more.

There goes that… oh, well. It didn't seem to bother her too much, so I shouldn't let it bother me. I rest my head on the pillow and close my eyes.

Two ghosts… I don't know why I didn't think of that before. It explains so much that it now seems obvious.

I mean, it doesn't settle everything. It doesn't tell me what the story behind those two ghosts was or what that little girl in the illusion had to do with them.

Should I have told the police? I feel like I’ve lied to them. Stood in the way of the truth. I mean, they wouldn't put the kid in jail just for some imagery in an illusion, right?

Well, I do have the option of still telling them, either by calling or whenever we meet next. I don't want to bother them for something non-urgent, so I guess I'll wait for the next meeting. I'll have decided what to do by then.

I stare into the darkness of my eyelids, mind blank for a few seconds.

That other ghost… I really wonder what made it do all that. Ghosts may have their own views on morality, but they’re still motivated by things. And this one must have been very intelligent, able to speak and manipulate a complex illusion like that. What could have made it so angry? Unless… it wasn’t angry, and it was just having fun…

I shudder. I hope not. I’d like to believe the best of everyone, be they human or ghost.

Well, at least the ghost is in Arceus’ hands now. And so is that yamask. He’ll know what to do with them.

O Creator, take good care of them, I pray briefly. I feel better right away.

Yes… that’s right. Let Arceus handle it, that’s what I should do.

I wrap myself in my blanket and sink into sleep.

 

[canisaries]

hey everyone! just popping in to say the first chapter of the sequel story has been posted. have a good day!