Coherence

ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ ᴀʟʟ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴇ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴ ᴡʜᴏ ʟɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ʟɪᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴅɪꜱᴛɪɴɢᴜɪꜱʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ʜɪᴍ, ᴏʀ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜɪᴍ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏ ʟᴏꜱᴇꜱ ᴀʟʟ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ. ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ɴᴏ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛ ʜᴇ ᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ. 

- Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (aka the author's fav book)

. . .

"How do I look?"

"Dazzling," Fyodor admitted, astounded by the eye candy before him.

You smiled shyly. "Oh, thank you."

You were wearing an evening red dress, bought just for the occasion. Even in your own opinion, the outfit was wonderful - it complimented your figure just right. The buy was one of a kind. Hey, even Fyodor liked it. He couldn't hide his admiration, which only boosted your confidence.

With traditional red heels and complete makeup, you were ready for the night. Fyodor too was wearing his dark formal attire - something you had never seen before, yet it suited him well. 

Yes, the preparations for the murder were borderline ridiculous. You had to get all fancy in order to get to that party and finish the job. Concerning that, a loose plan was formed.

"We'll improvise a lot," Fyodor told you, "this is such a situation, and I trust you'll know what to do."

"There's too much at stake, so I'll give it my best, of course. There's only one thing we're sure of: I'll be the one to kill Mikhail, right? Except that, we're improvising everything."

"Yes. I have a question about your ability, though. Do you amplify the source of light or simply the light itself?"

"Light itself, of course."

"Then, I assume I can take out my phone, point it at Mikhail's face and you can end him for good?"

"Yeah. I've done that already, it works."

"Wonderful." Fyodor beamed. "Then there's nothing stopping us. I'll retrieve his phone, it holds enough information to take over his business."

"How can you be so sure? I doubt he's got everything on his phone."

"He's got contacts. That's enough."

Why, of course, Fyodor could do anything with those numbers and names.

"And you will give it all back to my father?"

"Everything. You have my word." He offered you his hand, and you took it, ready for whatever the event would hold.

. . .

You ordered a cab, had your ride, and arrived to the mansion. Stepping outside, the chill as well as awe struck you - for the building was grand, and the night was cold.

Snow was all around. Luckily, the pavement was cleared of it, so you could reach the mansion. Fyodor held you by your hand all the while, and while climbing up the stairs to reach the massive door, he quietly asked, "are you nervous?"

"Not at all. I'm very excited, actually," you responded.

"That's the spirit," he approved, adding a smile. "If you ever do feel a bit nervous, remember, we're not acting anything. So don't be an actor. Be yourself, live through the situation as (Y/N) herself."

"You're telling me to be myself? Completely unfiltered?"

"It's the best that way. I speak from experience."

"Now that made me nervous. I'll probably snap one moment if I don't distance myself from the situation."

A shiver shook your frame. You remembered the numerous insults your father directed to Mikhail - you thought lowly of the man. One word would be enough to describe him: amoral, but in the most disgusting meaning possible. Even if he hadn't troubled your father, you would loathe him for a twisted character he was.

"Depends on where you direct your feelings. But who am I to advise you? You know yourself better." Upon reaching the top of the stairs, the both of you halted. The guard stopped you, asking for your names with a stern expression.

"Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky, and (Y/N) Vasilievich Gogol." You gritted your teeth, desperately trying to hold back your laughter after what Fyodor had said.

The guard told you to wait for a while. He dialed someone on his phone, then mentioned your names to that person. A few seconds later, he ended the call with an unusually soft "bye bye" and said, "you two are free to come in. You may leave the coats in one of the wardrobes at the entrance. Have a nice night."

You gave him a polite smile as a goodbye, whereas Fyodor didn't bother acknowledging him. As you walked inside, left your coats on their spot, the pleasant warmth of the interior flooded your being, and you couldn't believe your eyes.

It was just like in the movies, that was your first association. Like a grand hotel where only the richest would gather, or a millionaire's private residence. All the riches were right there, as depicted on screen - but no screen could possibly render the size of such a hall.

And just like in the movies, the guests were various and great in number. One of them, a young woman, body strangled by a tight, tight fuscia dress, approached. You managed to notice her merry grin - how couldn't you, after all, it was far too wide and white not to be seen.

She stepped right in front of you, almost as if to block your path. "Parlez-vous français, monsieur?" The lady inquired, confusing you.

"Oui, et je suis avec elle," Fyodor muttered, then turned away from her, leading you with him. You heard her gasp behind you.

"Did you just... tell her off?"

"Mhm," he hummed, barely heard from the noise around. "Now let's ask around for Mikhail, shall we?"

"Do we separate, or?"

"I'd much rather we stayed together. The entire party is gross," he mumbled.

Finally, you laughed, relieving yourself of some anxiety. "Oh, you're such a stereotypical introvert. Adorable."

"N-no," Fyodor defended himself, "the entire atmosphere is horrible. Booze, reckless people, too much extravagance and irresponsibility. This is place is full of sin."

"Feeling uncomfortable? The sin is too great? All I can say is, be yourself, God," you told him, chuckling, and he glared at you.

"I'm fine. Come on, let's find the target, isolate him and get this over with."

Through air thick from alcohol, you walked around, avoiding or encountering people. Some were dressed like you - normal, modern outfits - yet some wore costumes, as if they were on a ball from centuries ago. It took you a while until you found an actual attendant who knew of Mikhail's whereabouts.

It was a young, nervous man, who was confused as to why would you want to speak with the criminal. He added he was unsure if he could bring you to Mister Artsybashev because he had his own, private room. "Tell him that Fyodor Dostoyevsky and (Y/N) Gogol wish to see him for multiple reasons," Fyodor coldly explained, completely ignoring the young servant's anxiety.

"B-but sir, he said he wouldn't take any more guests," he stuttered.

"At least inform him that we'd like to see him. Could you do that for us? Please," you pleaded sweetly, and to your relief, it worked. The attendant went to inform Mikhail about the two of you, and a couple of minutes later, he was back, bringing good news. Mikhail was willing to meet you.

And after a maze of hallways, you found that door, and the young servant wished you good luck. What for, you didn't know at the time, and you took little notice of it as you entered.

Luxury was embedded into the room. Every detail tempted you to at least glance at it - and you did. There was much to observe.

There in the corner, fern. In another corner, colorful flowers on a stool. Here and there, a marble sculpture. On the wall, a large painting depicting some naturalistic theme; a goat, stepping onto the grass, a lamb, grazing it, and a shepherd, in the distance, sitting beneath a tree. All around, green of the plants and blue of the skies. So little was shown on a pretty painting like that. Could it be, you caught yourself wondering, there was more meaning to it?

Some bodyguards were inside as well, static and unbothered, perhaps even bored. One of them, you noticed, even had his eyes closed.

Tapestry, warm, the color of blood with overflowing darker shades. Ornaments were many, done with exquisite detail - you wished you could come closer and study them (you could've sworn there was gold shining), but following Fyodor onward, you had to direct your attention to the public.

Surrounding the center of the room, a circle of sofas and couches donned with red plush. On them, people, dressed to suit baroque with their extravagance - most of them wearing masks, the type you could find in the carnival of Venice. The bunch was all laughing, hollering and bending and falling, with exception of one lady whose appearance caught your attention. How wouldn't it? She was above the sermon, the only one who kept her back straight, face stern, and wore no mask. Her high cheekbones and small chin built the visage of a pale beauty, whose blonde, almost white hair gave her a mythical veil.

She sparked your curiosity, distracting you at first, but Artsybashev, where was the man? He must've been one of the joyful people there. That was when you realized, among the costumes - there was only one male.

"Mikhail," Fyodor called out, "we meet again." Again?

And the male threw his head back, throat craning at the newcomers. Curly golden locks swayed  around as he tilted himself to see you better through the mask. In no time, white teeth like pearls were shown.

"So, this is Fyodor Dostoyevsky and his esteemed friend (Y/N) Gogol! Come, help yourself! There's food and drink on the table. Join us!"

The said table, at the very center of the room, didn't have much to provide. There had been some wine and bread (strangely), a vase with roses, and a basket with plenty of fruit. Empty dishes were there as well, indicating that whatever food there had once been, was no more - accompanied with a couple of necessary, emptied glasses. 

Cautious, you followed after Fyodor who sat on the couch among the women. You tried to move closer to him, away from these suspicious ladies. They didn't mind making their curiosity evident - their stares through the slits of the masks were visible and scrutinizing. One of them had her leg thrown on Mikhail's lap, a rather... vulgar act. You didn't feel comfortable at all.

"Let's start anew. Not like we even actually met - does a couple of messages count?" Mikhail questioned.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Fyodor responded.

"Of course it doesn't," Mikhail carried on, "so it's as if we've never met."

"We know a lot about each other anyway."

"Fyodor, that's what a friend of mine would never say! And I'd love to call you a friend of mine. In fact, I'll do it straight away." He turned towards you. "(Y/N), I want to call you a friend as well. Do you allow me to?"

"Of course I do," you told him. You had your temper under control, and your drive was enough to make your role credible, not leaving any room for anxiety.

"And who is (Y/N), my new friend?"

"I'm nobody," you blurted out.

Everyone laughed. You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure if that was a good thing to say.

"Well, my friend, you're a somebody to me. A friend. You have enough time this evening to become even more."

You barely held back your disgust. "You're a friend, Mikha. Let's remain friends for now, the both of us."

"Don't be so quick to turn down the offer," he warned, "you might discover many, many interesting things about myself."

"Such as?" You didn't know at the time, but you would soon regret that question.

"Besides being your friend, I am, you could say, a man. Yes, that would be the best introduction. I'm a man! What a man I am - one of the people."

He took a piece of bread from the table, lifted it up high for everyone to see by holding its crust with delicate fingers.

"I shall eat this bread, to show everyone I'm a member of the ordinary folk."

He bit onto it, while the crowd erupted in titters. Nonetheless, he, to everyone's surprise, choked on it and began coughing crumbs all over the place. This did not hinder him, not one bit. Rather, he straightened himself, puffing out his chest, and declared: "This is, gentlemen, a sign! The bread is not meant for me. So be it - men change, and I've surpassed my humble origins. To that, I suggest a toast - to the changes and the fickle humanity!"

The toast was accepted by all, and all voiced their approval. 

Except you, and of course, Fyodor. The two of you exchanged looks, short, but knowing - Mikhail could easily wind up being a charlatan with an empty head.

"And you two are, apparently, Fyodor and (Y/N). Two lovely names to fit two lovely people. Two! That's a wonderful number. Marks the start and the end! But, could you describe infinity with it? No, no, my friends, evidently not."

He now raised his hand, drawing the loop of infinity in the air. "Which number would be better to count infinity? One, where you have nothing but it, or three, which is something inexplainably more? Imagine eternity. What do my esteemed guests say?"

One of his guests spoke up. "We're always thinking of eternity as an idea that cannot be understood, something immense. But why must it be..? What if, instead of all this, you suddenly find just a... little room there, something like a village bath-house, grimy, and spiders in every corner, and that's all eternity is. Sometimes, I can't help feeling that that's what it is," Fyodor finished. The poetry, color of his words was an unusual addition.

No comment, Mikhail immediately asked for your opinion. "And friend (Y/N)?"

You improvised. "Infinity is everything. It's hidden in every atom, in every molecule, every thought and action - eternity is just the span through which the infinity changes, mere layout for another layer. The universe is created infinite, but changing through eternity. Stars will break down, turn into dust to create us, then eat us and die a blazing death, its dust once again existing. If you look at the essence of existence itself, you will see and know, infinity is the same as eternity, and it is everywhere."

"You've just described God," Mikhail pointed out, flashing you a grin with the glisten of his teeth. "Let me assume, you're religious?"

"Not at all."

"Admit it, you have some interest in God."

You sighed softly. "Only the natural curiosity the very idea of God causes, but nothing out of the ordinary."

"Ma'am! God is everywhere. God is your infinity and eternity. But do you see Him?"

"Even if I believed in God, I wouldn't see Him everywhere. Maybe in nature, but in people around me, hardly."

"He'd be disappointed to hear that." Mikhail sniffed. "Wouldn't you, Fyodor?"

"No, because I understand her reasoning," Fyodor answered.

Mikhail was taken aback. "(Y/N) had a choice to see God inside me. She rejected it - isn't that offensive?" He took off his mask. Blue eyes glistening with restlessness came to the forefront. "But it's okay, better an offensive guest than an offensive host."

He tried to rouse you even more, yet he failed. You wouldn't let a fool like him dance on your nerves.

"Pardon, it's my fault for choosing not to see God in anything. I can't. Do you think that, if I snap my fingers and say I am no longer blind, I will be able to see?" Your cool was near its limit.

"No, but you can choose to believe, thus see," Mikhail countered.

Fyodor then took the spotlight with one bold statement. "Man does not have free will."

"Why?"

"No one can ever be a truly free agent, as that would require a man to be his own cause, an alone and isolated agent, which is impossible while the very choice is being made." He closed his eyes. "But since the moment he is born, man's will is shaped. To compare it to a Christian perspective since we're at it, a true Christian would never have the will to commit sin. His will is therefore restrained, and he does not have free will. And what would be free will - to do whatever one's whims demand. A completely useless tool, meaningless even." And his eyes were open, to signify the end of his declaration.

Mikhail did not comment at all - his tongue was brisk as he asked next, "self-dubbed God, is this your own contempt towards the disobedient man?"

"I bear no contempt for anything. No, it is my take on free will, which as I said, does not exist."

"That's harsh. I almost started pitying ourselves - but I won't. I'd never."

"We deserve no pity for that matter, true," Fyodor agreed.

Mikhail's hand trailed up and down the woman's leg, wavering like his own moral predicament. You couldn't bear to watch the scene. Before looking away, you caught a glimpse of his foul smirk, and by his stare found out it was directed to you. How hideously, excessively repugnant.

"I make sure I live life so that nobody can pity me," the same man proclaimed. You didn't want to watch him, let alone speak with him. Fyodor had noticed your disgust, and he was quick not only to reply, but bite on your behalf.

"You base your life off of the opinion of other people. That does deserve pity."

Mikhail's ego was struck. "You're the one to tell," he accused.

"Yes, because unlike you, I don't live life for myself."

"And what's so bad about it?"

"That you have no life."

"Lovely assumption. I do not have a life because I wasted it, but at least I'm content with it. What have you done with yours? How did you waste it - chasing ideals, calling out sinners, scaring people behind the mask of your organization? Maybe, trying to achieve something impossible. Because your aspiration is, unlike mine, impossible."

"Do not hypothesize."

"I won't, and I ask the same of you. However, give me a moment." He held his chin for a second or two. "Give me a moment to explain what you truly do not possess."

"Certainly."

With a nod, a boisterous flicker in his eyes and a condescending smirk, he began. "You have no you. How do you imagine to exist, when you yourself are not true? Let it be as you said - there is no meaning in the entire world, but a fact will remain true wherever, and the fact is that you are not true. The truth is all around you, but it does not reach you. You are excessive to this world, for you do not exist; you are, unlike everything else, unable to find your own purpose, even if you were to try. You only seek the purpose of others, not yourself, analyze and say - "yeah, this is awful," and you throw away man's nature with hatred. Because you do not belong to mankind. And I'll agree, I'll say, there might be no free will - but you are no one to take it or give it. Man is, look..."

Mikhail pointed at the apple in the basket.

"Man is defined by the freedom of choice. That is his will. And may this choice be a causality, but man still gets to choose. And may man not think it through, but he chooses. You however are not capable of making a choice. You only posses the knowledge of facts, a delusion created by weighing advantages against disadvantages, but where is man in that? Where is the defiant, humane, irrational man? Exactly, not in you. No wonder you hate it! And that, that does not make you better or worse than other people! No, it only makes you different. Because truths can not be compared to each other - there is no truther, or falser statement than another - and the truth is, that you do not exist, and you will never exist, because once a man gains an experience, he can't get rid of it. Your experience of the sacrificial lamb is perfect, it offers you both the sweet torment and the moral satisfaction. You will never get rid of it - but you may change, as all men can. But, you are no man, and you can not change."

Mikhail sat back, pleased with himself. He had no intention of continuing, oh no, he relished the shock on Fyodor's face, he loved the silence his show caused. People all around seemed to have suddenly turned attentive, anxious even - none of them expected the lengthy talk. You included; whereas none of the spectators had a role in this discussion, you had the right to join in whenever. Naturally, it spurred your mind, and you were sure it was the same with Fyodor.

Yet, you had an unlikely advantage. It just so happened that your pastime activity - reading books - had prepared you for formulating an immediate counter attack. This was your territory Mikhail stepped on, and you were intent on punishing him. He crossed the line.

However, Fyodor gave a rather careless, inconsiderate response before you could react. "I can not defend myself, because some of it is truth - but not the entire truth."

Mikhail grinned. "Man will never be able to know the entire truth. That is his curse. But I believe this is enough."

"It is." Fyodor did not have the will to argue any further.

Therefore, it was time for you to join, energetically disagreeing. "But, you forget the will that made him become like that. He couldn't have been born with an empty head, and remain like that for the rest of his life - he chose to sacrifice himself for man. And if that makes him lesser of a man than any of us, so be it."

Gaze wondering from his polished shoes to his thin nose, the entirety of his obscene being, you aimed another accusation. "Your model of man stems from the Devil."

Your opponent was surprised - just as Fyodor. "The Devil, in this case I assume, is the symbol of evil. Are you implying that the man I speak of, the ideal man, is an inherently evil being?" Head slightly bowed, he hoped to earn less contradicting.

You shook your head. "No, yet he always comes back to evil, even though he wishes good. There is one absolute fact you've overseen and twisted to being a poor quality, and that is, selflessness. The Devil fell because of his pride, and what you say here, is that Fyodor is no man, even though he represents the exact opposite of the Devil's main trait. Selflessness. He lost himself, but what's the worth of being found? None. So you can't criticize a man for having a virtue, and you can't criticize him from bearing hate - a flaw, and a very human emotion - as well. Your point makes no sense."

You took a deep breath, and, encouraged by the silence that followed, carried on.

"You said that the truth can not be measured - and if the truth, objectivity, is all there is to the world, why does man have this wish, this contradiction? Why is he attracted by things above, or beneath truth? Because, man does wage one truth against another, and considers them not equal. And often, he often even lies himself."

"Yes, but he meets the truth first. Then the abandons it by his own choice."

"Unless what he met was not truth."

Mikhail huffed, waving his head. "Now, we're hypothesizing - and we said that's forbidden."

"But, that is man!" You almost jumped out of your seat. "A hypothesis, for every man is different. You can not find an universal truth for everyone, except that every man is... a homo sapiens. Because, what's a man to you? His mind, his heart, his soul, his physiology, his life? All of it, or nothing? Or something more - what then? He's all of it, Mikha, and it's a bad thing that I'm suspicious of this: that you believe man is just an abstraction." The crowd went uneasy.

"It is bad," Mikhail responded, "because I think all of us know what a man is."

"Define then, my friend, what is man to you," Fyodor suggested, maddening Mikhail.

"You caught only one word in the entire argument and you won't let go! And the matter is so trivial. We can't even bother discussing it."

"May it be trivial - imagine that we're dumb and explain it to us. You wonder why? Because that's the key of your accusation - that I'm no man. But don't explain anything, it's evident that you do not know how. Nevertheless, what isn't trivial, is pointing at a man and telling him that he isn't one. Because, above all, that's a blatant lie. Then, an insult, made for the very sake of insulting, without proving anything else but: I ought to be ostracized, without any proof, but your current whim. You're envious, you're scared, and you want to make sure everyone in this room laughs at me and applauds to you. That did not and won't happen, because you have started a fight you can not win, with zero understanding of your philosophy," Fyodor concluded.

He was right, you were right. Mikhail, if he were using his head even for a little, would have been able to formulate a response. All he narrated was by heart.

To make his defeat even worse, his mistress removed her leg from his lap and distanced herself from him. That caused quite a few chuckles, and massive delight to yourself.

He had no other choice but to smoothly continue, "Fyodor, (Y/N)? Alone or together, you are a formidable force. I must admit my defeat, and of course, express my admiration. It would be inconsiderate of me not to say that."

"We haven't come here to argue, Mikhail, friend. We've come here to gather information," Fyodor chose to prolong the conversation.

"What about, friend?" Mikhail asked, some sour undertone heard.

"Your business."

"That is sadly private."

"When I contacted you online, you refused to speak because we were using electronics. Now, you refuse to speak as well. What's the reason now?"

"It's evident - I'm wary of you. Now even more so."

"Or afraid? Maybe even embarrassed in this fine company." Fyodor formed a pleasant expression after assuming so.

You looked around, and the women indeed were amused. Even the pale one, the corners of her thin lips tugged upwards just a bit.

"Mikhail, my friend, if I wanted to do anything bad, I would've done it a long time ago. If I were senselessly desperate, I would've let you step on me. I would've told (Y/N) this and she too would bow down her head as you drove her crazy and insulted me."

Mikhail nodded. He was visibly tense - perhaps he forgot he was no longer wearing his mask. The strain of his mind was drawn in clear lines on his face.

"I wish to cooperate with you. Is that not possible?" Fyodor questioned.

"It is, but I can't allow it."

"Why? The both of us would have use of it."

"I'm unsu - I'm yet to decide what to do. Both refusing you and accepting you seems awful."

"Exactly. I know you are a deep man. Regret wouldn't let you sleep at night."

"I'm aware." Mikhail pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm also aware of the fact I can't refuse you."

Fyodor leaned in, tempting, "but you do have a choice. Display your free will."

The blond still hesitated. To nudge him even further, you added, "if you're afraid of... whatever, feel free to eliminate that fear. Take your time, think it through. You're not forced to do anything." It wasn't difficult to play a good friend in such a situation, knowing you were leading him to his demise.

He took your heartfelt advice with a nod. "Everyone, leave. Only (Y/N) and Fyodor stay with me."

The ladies, who were expecting this, quickly got on their heels and strutted away. Even the guards left. Now that the room was isolated, and Mikhail's anxiety began showing.

He ran a hand through his hair. His chest rose as he took a deep breath, then let it out as a shaky exhale. He couldn't bear looking at either one of you, and soon, his own dread forced him on his feet to pace around in circles.

You did your best not to laugh. You looked at Fyodor, and he too was barely suppressing his pleasure. Upon catching your stare, he gifted you with a smile. All was well.

"First and foremost," Mikhail spoke up, his steps coming to a halt, "is (Y/N) capable of manipulating light?" A sharp sensation crossed your heart - a warning, but you did not display anything.

"That's oddly specific," Fyodor commented and you continued, "no, I'm not. I'm not even an ability user. But... seeing what it allows you, I wish I was." You looked to the ground, faking your longing. Giving personal input would make the lie more believable.

"But why, (Y/N)? Why would you want to be an ability user? Our gifts are as much of a curse," Mikhail explained, reciprocating the emotion.

"The ordinary will always yearn for the extraordinary," you responded.

"And the extraordinary will sometimes tragically yearn to become ordinary."

"That makes the both of us fools."

Mikhail managed to chuckle, albeit nervously. "That which we don't have will always attract us. Just like... this entire situation." He twirled his hair between his fingers. "I know Fyodor holds the government with one hand, and with the other hand, he holds the internet. Beneath him is the local underground."

He acted out the whole thing, spreading one arm after the other, slamming his foot against the floor. Then, his vision landed on you two. "He can do anything, but he chose to play God and eradicate abilities. Ah, this is almost perfect." He laughed. "I stated Fyodor isn't a man for he does not exist as a person, (Y/N) said my definition of man is the Devil. Could it be, Fyodor is a God then? Interesting thought, almost terrifying. Either way, you can see my doubt now. I'm afraid of his power."

Mikhail had no idea, but you understood him. You went through the same suspicion - and it caused you much trouble. Seeing him in such distress brought you a handful of sympathy; that amount wasn't enough to compensate for mountains of revulsion stacked inside you.

"You should set the fear aside. Have you never faced authority, people who are somewhere higher than you?" He did, of course - your father was his boss, but he evidently had problems with them. "Sometimes you must lay low for your own sake. It'll benefit you."

"Yes, yes. All I have are very... nonsensical reasons, but you must understand the fear. It can't leave me. It's making me vomit at the thought of joining Fyodor."

"I do understand," Fyodor spoke up, "feel free to vomit if that's how you relieve yourself. I do not care about what you do. I've come here with a proposal, you take it or refuse it."

"You don't understand. There are so many signs, everywhere, telling me to leave you. Even (Y/N), I see in her face an enemy of mine. Do you know how that makes me feel? And how your own omnipotence makes me feel? You're too perfect to be true, and that's repugnant."

"Again, I do not care. Do as you wish."

Mikhail hissed. Some spit left his mouth. "I managed just fine without you. You didn't have to come here, ruin my evening and possibly my legacy as well."

"Legacy? What legacy does a criminal like you hope to leave behind," Fyodor attacked.

"My entire business! I'm the biggest firearm dealer in the country, even beyond. I don't intend to risk it because of your plan."

His entire business? How dare he - as if he was the one to gather all of the assets, not your father.

"You won't risk anything. All I need is some of that power to be lent for a while, I'll return it in cash, twice the value."

Mikhail once again stopped walking. "I don't trust you."

"That is because you, yourself, shouldn't be trusted."

Discarding the rage boiling inside you, you joined as a peacemaker once again, "but why argue? Fyodor went the trouble to approach Mikhail peacefully. That rarely ever happens. I think Mikhail should consider that." Both men fell silent - Fyodor, hiding his satisfaction, Mikhail, hiding his doubt.

You brought one of the roses to your nose, covering your smile. Its smell was intoxicating, but uncomfortably strong - it was very likely that a perfume was sprayed over its petals. What a shame.

"Let's say I consider this partnership. What would that mean?"

"In two years, you hire me a 100 men, and you bring me enough firepower to ruin a city. You have enough time to collect it."

Mikhail was flabbergasted. "I won't question that. What do I get?"

"Access to most of my servers, the government information stored there, as well as emancipation from the authority to some degree."

The blond turned intrigued, suddenly much calmer than before. He came back to his seat, even crossing his legs as he sat down on the couch across you.

Fyodor strategized well, as always. Mikhail was a criminal whose fortune was attracting more and more attention as of lately - he could easily get enemies he would be powerless against. Stability when it came to the material, that was what he would accept - but emotional stability, no, most certainly not.

While they talked and thought, you were playing with the rose in your hand. Its thorns were removed, so you could handle it with no care. You thought the bud not to be fully opened at first, but upon viewing it more, you realized some of its petals were torn.

Gaze now down to you feet, you counted five petals that once belonged the flower and were now stepped on. Reduced to trash on the floor. Just like Mikhail would be in a couple of minutes, if everything went well.

"I might agree. What if you trick me?"

"I am willing to give you access to my servers right now, then see for yourself."

"I'll have to accept that offer. How would you do that, though?"

"Your phone."

Mikhail took it out, turning it on. He approached Fyodor with gentle words. "Please then, friend, don't do anything funny. I'm sure you know of my ability?"

"I do, yes."

"Does (Y/N)? She's fascinated by us ability users. Would you like to hear?"

You did your best not to sound impatient, which you were. "Go on."

"If I were to place my hand on Fyodor's chest... like this," he said, doing exactly as he said - and his free hand landed on Fyodor's chest, that one spot where his heart was beating. But Fyodor did not move. "I would be able to make everything organic on him decompose. From his suit, his skin, flesh, ribs, to his heart and beyond, all around. He'd turn into a rotting mush."

Fyodor didn't seem bothered at all - neither did you.

"That would probably smell," you commented, causing a laugh from the blond.

"It would, actually! It's gross."

Did you lighten his mood or not, you weren't too certain. You were aware he liked you, used that, and it turned out well - he let go of Fyodor. He unlocked the screen of his phone, when Fyodor asked, "could you turn up your brightness, please? My eyesight is horrible."

"Sure." Mikhail did as Fyodor demanded. Little did he know the question wasn't directed to him.

You activated your ability, making the phone's light blind Mikhail and burn the majority of his face. He dropped it, wincing in pain, as the both of his hands shot up to aid his poor, scorched visage. He walked backwards, tripping over the edge of table and falling in the process. His body hit the floor hard.

No matter his character, his current misfortune and the torture he was going through, pained you. No emotion was evoked, however - only the natural reflex of killing.

"Is this loss, friend Mikhail," Fyodor chirped, to which his soon former friend wailed.

"Not yet," you whispered. You took Fyodor's phone (which was turned on and on maximum brightness already), then positioned yourself near the body.

You placed the phone a little bit above his neck, once again activating your ability. His scalp was set aflame. He screamed in anguish, only to die a silent death just a second later, thus releasing at least your ears of the horror.

One moment was enough to bring you the agony of murdering and take it away. No other sound reached you. The quiet was soothing, as well as the fact: you were done, and the idiot was no more.

Fingers snapped next to you. "Great job." Fyodor blinked at you, a small smile situated on his lips. "Are you alright?"

"Of course." You stepped away from the body - the head was engulfed in flames, and it didn't smell nice. "Why'd you ask?"

"You seemed terrified for a moment. But your walls are up now, so I reckon you're alright." He took the wine bottle from the table and spilled it on the fire, successfully extinguishing it.

"Yes, yes. I'm fine. You know what it feels like, after all."

"An escape from this world? Relief? Catharsis? I hope not while killing him. This man hired prostitutes to listen to his nonsense. Everywhere you look, he's sinful."

"God, that's very right. And nobody even came to his rescue while he was screaming. Amazing." You sat onto the couch once again, sprawling your legs onto it. You could finally breathe with ease. Fyodor walked up to you, leaning above. His nose scrunched in portrayed disgust, but his focus remained on you.

"This place reeks of sin. I can't wait to get out."

"My, Fedya, your nose is so sensitive, I didn't know that."

You saw him roll his eyes. "Why, thank you."

"But, you know what's actually funny? The fact you, as a God, are the greatest sinner of them all. You literally invented sin and then blamed Satan for it."

"As God, I'm in no position to comment anything."

"Yeah. After all, you can only say you'll offer us paradise, and then, someday, the great salvation when man will be liberated from sin." You stared up to him, giggling. "But you're the one who made and allowed sin in the first place! You hypocrite."

Fyodor played along. "I'm but a bored spectator for millennia, have mercy on me, o humble one. I will bring you eternal joy!"

"Until then, children die, man ruins, and you spectate, spectator. You're not the moral end mankind would prefer, you're just the happy end."

"I'm not the end, I'm beyond end."

"Many won't like the epilogue. What then?"

"I'm the author of the story, not them."

"Once you put down the pencil, what do you do?"

"It doesn't matter. The story is about man, not me."

"But you are man as well. You are God, and God is you."

He ducked, placing his hands on the couch for support. "Then I am lucky to be born on this world, where paradise is still a possibility."

You cackled, only to lower your head onto the cushion. "For everyone else but you."

He came even nearer, climbing on top of you. "That's where you're mistaken. I am everyone."

Fyodor leaned in close, but did not proceed. What did he intend? Narrowing your gaze, you looked defiantly into his eyes, inviting him to turn his notion into action.

And he whispered at last, "your eyeliner is smudged a little. Or a lot, I'm not sure. Right he -"

You pushed him away mid-sentence. He almost fell, and you stood up, clicking your heels in annoyance. "I can't believe it. I seriously can't believe it."

He was smiling. "Sorry, my most cherished angel, I was just speaking the truth."

"You should never, ever, insult a girl's makeup."

"But I didn't." His lips formed an innocent pout.

"Wait then, wait a moment," you told him, walking up to a mirror. You thoroughly examined your eyeliner, but it was just fine. Glaring down at Fyodor who was still on the couch, you huffed. "Are you kidding me?"

"Maybe." He once again began smiling, the act now having a whole different meaning. You could only roll your eyes.

"Okay then, we'll stay inside until your pure Christian lungs suffocate from sin."

He closed his eyes, pretending to fall asleep. "I don't care." He yawned afterwards.

"In that case, I'm leaving. We've finished this a long time ago." You turned around, and he jumped to follow you, Mikhail's phone in his hand. With a giggle, you opened the door, only to be met with - nobody and no one.

Of course. Nobody heard his screams because everyone scattered around the building. Not even the bodyguards cared - the entire hallway was empty, meaning they went to party somewhere. No wonder. Mikhail was restraining them while forcing them to stare at his developing orgy.

Didn't that mean he was a terrible boss as well? And the women, they flipped him off as soon as they had the chance. That spoke for itself.

After managing your way throughout the hallways, you found yourself in the main hall, and from there, you took your coats, put them on and went outside. And once the fresh air hit you, you realized how glad you were that this horrid night was over. At last, it was over. You repeated the fact over and over again inside your mind.

On your way, you were sure to look around for any of the people who were in the room with Mikhail, especially that one outstanding individual. None of them were seen.

What was it with the pale beauty? She came to your memory, remained there for a while, and played no role. She bore no significance at all! She was the same like everyone else, it was merely her momentary aesthetic that made her stand out. The thought of the situation made you smile - it was moving for no reason at all, made important in your eyes, like all art. None of it was rational, rather - inspirational.

After chatting for a bit, you brought up the matter. "Do you remember her?" Your question came without any explanation beforehand, yet Fyodor understood.

"I do. I had no choice but to remember."

You smirked. "And what do you think of her?"

"The same as you. Nothing," he paused, then spoke in a meek tone, "and I have to say, I'm so sorry you had to go through this. I could see how uncomfortable you were."

"It's alright, really. I survived it, it's behind me. I won't ever again even think about that scum. He's the past now. But! We're going home after a job well done and that's what matters!" You grinned. Upon seeing you brighten, Fyodor managed to relax, his expression softening. He even let out a chuckle.

"I shouldn't even worry. You are doing great on your own," he whispered tenderly, vapor escaping his lips. He wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you in a hug. There, you placed your head on his chest. A smile followed on both sides. Who would've known that such a simple act could bring you so much warmth?

You were done. The entire task was incredibly easy. Fyodor took his phone, ready to call a taxi - but he stopped. You looked up, eyes locking with him, shock replicating his own. Sirens were heard. The police announced their arrival.