CHAPTER EIGHT.

PAST

THERE ARE BE SOME THINGS that should be labeled Illegal with a huge capital 'I.' And an example would be killing two S-Class Monsters at the same time in a fluke.

And this time, it's not even Sora's strength that takes your breath away — it's your own.

Your chest is dipping and rising frantically. Your breaths are leaving you in rapid motions, and your chest is tight with your hands trembling. You're inhaling then exhaling again: your intercostal muscles relax, then contract. Your ribs pull upwards and outwards. Your eyes focus shakily on the carcasses before you — just like that, just by some accident — you've killed. Granted, it's another monster, but...

Your throat feels dry. Again. It's been happening too many times — the explosion of your power. The explosion of [Name]'s power. Truthfully, you don't have any idea on how this — this whole power system works. Is there a source? Is it sourced from the heavens? The Gods? Divinity? Isn't it a little unfair for some people to have such powers while some people are so...weak...?

"Dammit," you curse. You've been doing alot of cursing lately, it seems.

"Wow! You really obliterated them!" Comes a cheerful voice, and you turn, grimacing. But then you freeze — "Sora?"

That music-like voice — that lilting inflection. Of course it's Sora. You should have known.

"By accident," you say shortly.

"Even better," Sora winks, "do you want me to take you out some time? For dinner, for lunch, for breakfast?" Then he scrunches his face up. "I don't like the idea of breakfast dates much, but it would probably — will — be wonderful with you."

You scoff, before you kick at the monster's dead body. Blood is leaking out from your nails, dripping down onto the grass. You want to puke. "No."

"Cold," Sora muses, "so cold, darling."

You grit your teeth. "Don't fucking call me that."

"You do know people would long for your power, right? Why does it have you riled up?"

You don't know. You truly don't know. Once upon a time, you thought that having an immense amount of power would be pretty dang fun, but not now.

"Just shut up. I don't know you, pretty boy."

Sora is handsome — he does have masculine features, and his body is muscular enough for you to see his muscles ripple whenever he stretches, but his delicate features make him look more beautiful than handsome. Hence, pretty. But he's a pretty boy who's essentially a stranger.

"How sweet of you to call me that."

You glance at him. "The bosses here are all killed. You came here for nothing."

"No — I came here for you."

"And? I'm supposed to be flattered? World's No.1 — XinHua's prize — coming here for me?"

"My position is threatened by you. You possess one of the fragments, I'm assuming?"

"Fragments?" You echo, "what kinda shit is that? I'm leaving."

"Wait," Sora murmurs, "your hand's bleeding."

"It always does. When I use my power. It's nothing new, Sora," your tone softens this time. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it. You aren't even supposed to be here."

"You hate this job, don't you?"

"Must have been so subtle," you roll your eyes. "Yes. I hate this job — not the bartending one I have — I hate what it entails. I hate..." you trail off. I hate using this power. It's deadly. I don't know when I will kill —

"You know," Sora says quietly, "one wrong move, and I kill some innocent civilian along the pavement. At least with you, I never have to worry about that."

"Really," you say, unconvinced.

"Yes."

Liar. You know Sora Selasta is cruel, cold, heartless. The first time you saw him, he was making dead monsters into his lackeys. Into his shadows.

"What I'm saying is — I have a job offer for you, [Name]."

"To exterminate more monsters while working a nine to five? No thanks. I'm already a bartender. The only reason why I'm here is because —"

Actually, that's the million dollar question: why are you here killing monsters here? You're a bartender. You should stay in your own lane: you should mix drinks, deal with bratty customers, get your paycheck. So why the fuck are you out here destroying your goddamn mental health?

Oh. Right. Patricia. She begged for your help, claiming it was a one-time thing and that innocent people were going to die if you didn't use your powers to clear the dungeons. And so that's what you've been doing. Clearing gates. Killing things. All while being a bartender.

Sora looks amused. "Do you know who your employer is?"

"Don't know, don't give a fuck."

"I am."

You pause. "Well, shit. Am I fired?"

"No, of course not. People flock to see your face."

"Ha-ha, very funny."

Sora frowns, but his eyes glitter. "I know you love your bartending job dearly, [Name]."

"So I am fired."

"Conditional job offer. You get to keep your job — but you come to missions with me," Sora tilts his head, "how about that? You don't have to worry about killing. I'll be the one who does the killing."

"So I stand there like some trophy?"

"I know you don't like dungeons. You get pretty — scared — of them."

Yeah, you do. You don't know why, but when you enter a dungeon, you feel your anxiety spike up and your nerves reach an all time high. And it's not a fear of death. It's — if you had to put it in words, it would be that you're scared of someone else dying.

But how is that possible? It's always just you.

"Fine," you sigh, shaking your head. "I need that job."

PRESENT

"Patricia wants to speak to you."

"What?" You yell from across the room, Myra's words barely registering in your head. "Patricia does? Tell her she can get lost."

The bar is filled with a bunch of people — voices keep streaming in, causing you to furrow your eyebrows and grit your teeth. Several people have asked for your number, but why the fuck would they want that? This isn't an insurance business, for goodness's sake. This is a bar — for people to make poor financial decisions: to empty their wallets, and to fill yours. Sora gives you a rottenly high salary, and he allows you to work on commission, too. You're basically filthy rich. And now, there's so much chattering — so much noise — that it honestly makes your head churn.

"What? Incident 6019?"

"File an incident report later," someone says.

"Wow, that monster's gonna fetch a pretty price. You'll have lots of paperwork to sign."

"Go back to the incident. Let's not go off topic."

It's terribly noisy here. Those A-Class Adventurers are creating a din.

You snap your head back to Myra. "Did you hear what I said?"

Myra falters. "I can't tell Patricia that — it'll —"

"Fuck," you curse, giving an exasperated sigh, "I'm busy. She has no respect for people's time."

"Sorry about that," Myra says sheepishly.

"Don't be. If she called you for a favour, it means she noticed you. And it means you'll get the NMOX scholarship. Maybe don't call Patricia by her name in front of her, though. But you'll probably get NMOX. You're qualified."

Myra blushes — and you ignore it. "You think?"

"Maybe. No promises. Patricia is a fickle woman."

Patricia is. That, you know. You do remember her from the times she made you carry out those missions even when you were a bartender (you got close to Sora that way, so no complaints) but the reason you pretended not to know her during the whole S-Class meet up was because you've detached yourself from the adventurer lifestyle. It's too tiring. The only times you go now are with Sora.

"Ah — okay," Myra stammers, "I'll be waiting here, er, when you go back?"

You look at her strangely. Sometimes she seems so confident, bubbly, self-assured, and other times she's...like this.

"You go back first." You place the glass on the table. "I'm gonna go meet her."

"Oh!" Myra says, her voice laced with disappointment. "Okay..."

You leave, muttering curses under your breath.

—

"What is it, Patricia?" You hiss. "I said I don't want anything that's got to do with your stupid little double life anymore. I'm not going back to adventuring professionally."

You're crossing your arms in her annoyingly clean office. It doesn't even look like anyone's been here before, much less works here.

Patricia clicks her tongue. "Shame. You were wonderful — we need you, [Name]. XinHua needs you. The people needs you."

"Yeah, right. You used that excuse the last time. And turned out the only person that needed help was an elderly lady dropping all her cash after gambling and winning big. Stop your fucking lies, Patricia. There's a reason why I pretended I didn't know you."

Six years in the game. Missing memories, strange powers, off-putting nightmares. You were a bartender in the first year, before you temporarily became an adventurer. Then you quit adventuring and focused on bartending again. Then Sora pulled you once more into the world of adventuring and that's when you made your first kill. He still feels guilty.

"I know about your powers."

"Why wouldn't you?" You shrug. "You're the chairwoman."

"About the origins of your powers."

You stiffen. "Okay."

"Where did you get the scars on your face? Or the rose tattoo?"

"...I thought it looked nice."

"Hm," Patricia hums. "Let's try that again. Who inflicted those things on you?"

"I don't fucking know, dammit." You seethe, "I've been in a bad mood since everyone keeps bothering me. And I've been having all these stupid nightmares —"

"Nightmares," Patricia repeats, "nightmares...how interesting. Let me take a wild guess: are there people dying in front of you in a dungeon? Are those your nightmares, [Name]?"

"No." You say calmly, looking unwaveringly at her. "No, it's not. I don't want to help XinHua, I don't want to help anyone. You played me the last time — and now that will cost the lives of the people who perhaps do need saving. But knowing you, it's another trick. I'm going."

"You're too loyal to Sora."

"And?"

"He'll break your heart."

You walk away, and nothing settles in your brain except her words — and all you can think of is: how the fuck does she know what happened in my nightmare?

—

XinHua is a small world.

Which is how you bump into Axel.

You're peering into a plasticated pseudo pond, bathed in sun slicked sweat. There are shapes swollen by the presence of earthy soil, fruits resplendent under sunlight, ripe and juicy.  The collective weights bend the slim boughs in graceful curtsies towards the ground.

You hear him before you see him.

"Pretty, huh?" He grins.

Axel seems friendly — but he's mad in the head, so you still regard him with caution. Plus, you two got off bad terms last time. You speak with clipped tones. "Very."

"Aloof as always, [Name]."

"Would have been a better day if I didn't see you."

"You'll end up breaking my heart."

"Didn't I already do that?" You glance at him, "so what is it now? Going to try to kill me again? Nice cast, by the way."

Axel's wearing a cast. LOL.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean any of that."

"Oh yeah?"

"I got into a fight with my mom," Axel scratches his head with his free hand, sighing. "You know how bad my relationship is. And you've pointed it out before — when we were dating — that I tend to have huge explosive spurts of anger when I get in a bad mood. I've been trying to work on it, but..."

"Let me guess," you say wryly, "it didn't fucking work?"

He has the decency to look sheepish. "No."

Axel's tame. Really tame now, actually. Is this the Axel that former [Name] fell in love with? You see the vision, but not quite.

"Kay." You say. "Go ahead, then."

"Go — ahead? Do what?"

"Vent," you say in irritation. "Go vent."

Axel pauses. Then he launches into a tirade of words. "With my mom — It's pretty bad," Axel says, "oh god, when she starts talking in that sarcastic, cheery voice of hers, I want nothing more than to smash my head against the car window repeatedly. Or her head. She repeatedly says the same shit over and it's like a fucking broken recorder; oh, you'll end up a cleaner, you'll destroy our family legacy...how about I destroy her fucking head, first?"

"Oh, wow," you blink. He said those words so fast that you actually had to pause and actually look at him. "That awful, huh?"

"I keep thinking it's a phase. You know, that teenage rebellion phase where all you can do is hate your mother, your parents, your goddamn life—! But really, I've been thinking the same thing for ages. It's never going to stop."

"Hm." You say flatly. You wonder if this nonchalant response will bring about his anger, but instead he looks relieved.

"Thanks, [Name]."

"...What?"

"You really never change," Axel says earnestly, "I can vent all I want and you don't overreact, like some people."

You really never change.

A leopard doesn't change its spots.

But you're supposed to change! You aren't [Name].

You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name]. You aren't [Name].

"I know you were in love with him," you say impatiently, "with...[Name]."

"With you." Axel shakes his head.

"I can't. I'm not him."

"No," Axel says desperately — his voice is choked up now, his earlier mood disappearing in a flash. "I'm in love with you. I still am — I —!"

Only one eye has tears slipping down his cheeks. Half of him hates you. The other part loves you.

You're tired. You squeeze your eyes shut. You want Sora here. You want —

In this moment, you just want to hear his voice. His words of comfort.

Your voice is pained as you speak. "I'm not [Name]. I never will be."

A/N; hooray! hope you enjoyed :) sorry if this was messy (let me know if it was confusing) and sorry it was four days late lol... am released from the prison of h-h-hell...

how was it?