"Hah… hah…" William pushed the fabric tear away from his face, panting with exhaustion.
With his chest bobbing up and down, he continued to stare into the ceiling of his tent as he collected his thoughts.
"So fucking frustrating."
The emotion was still fresh in his mind. He experienced it. But no matter how hard he tried, the tears never welled.
William's face quickly soured, scrunching in anger. He stood up, exiting the tent in a fury.
His feet crunched through the thin layer of snow in the vast valley, marching straight up to the bleeding ice tree.
"I thought I asked you for privacy, Tantalus."
"The past… haunts you," the ice tree croaked.
"It does not haunt me. I simply refuse to forget," William sneered. "I refuse to forget what he's done to me."
"That does not seem… to be the whole truth."
"Have you forgotten what he's done to you?" William lashed out. "Hah. How could you possibly? Just look at you."
"I do… and I seethe… at each thought… of what… once was," Tantalus admitted. "But I am… no Human."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Humans… adapt. They move on. For such reason… your mind… tries to forget."
"I'm no longer Human."
"I… disagree," Tantalus shook his face. "You are… too Human."
William scowled and turned around, kicking up the snow in irritation.
"The past… is but a guide. The future… is free… of restraint."
"I must remember the past to lead my future. It is the only way for me.
"Absolutes… are antithetical… to this world."
"What? Are you defending the Demon God with cheap wisdom?" William accused. "You, the eternally cursed, condemned to a nonexistence of unthinkable pain?"
"Nonsense. A simple warning… of my own follies" Tantalus replied. "What is… your future?"
"No. Our future," William replied. "Our future will be of domination and retribution."
"Actualize… that. Less… empty promises," Tantalus rebutted.
"I am. I simply need to weave a particular Skill, and then we can start."
"It would… be wise… to remove… that other… Skill."
…
"Silence. Let me work in peace."
William turned away, marching to his tent with an agitated scoff. He tied it shut—the tent comforting him in darkness.
The image of his old life—his lover's warmth—was still fresh in his mind.
Yet even now it threatened to fade. Without their memory, why did he even live? What was all this for?
He was cut off; disconnected. He couldn't feel like he once did. Not after everything.
William was no Human.
"I can't forget," William tightened his fists. "I mustn't forget."
***
Mark rubbed his left eye as he walked through the campus hallways.
'A medical marvel. But they better not fucking charge me for treatment. I'll burn this whole place down if they do. At least, when I get the chance.'
Especially after a disaster like that, it would be quite insensitive to charge those who were injured. But Mark was never one to underestimate the extent of Human greed.
It wasn't long before he arrived outside of Everett's office. However, there was an unexpected guest.
"No, Mr. Montour," Everett's voice rang throughout the hall as Mark approached. "The date hasn't been announced yet, but school's out for now."
"Alright," Ronald Montour nodded, preparing to take his leave.
Mark was honestly quite surprised to see Ronald seemingly in one piece.
'Half-expected him to die off-screen. Not like he's of much importance to the world.'
Ronald was tall, with sizeable shoulders. He had a short brown middle part—blue eyes hid behind rectangular glasses.
His demeanor was neutral and stoic, but the moment his eyes landed on Mark, he hesitated. A facade faltered, but only for a singular moment.
'Weird.'
The tall boy's face promptly soured as he began to pass Mark.
BUMP.
Ronald drove his shoulder straight into Mark's as they crossed paths. Quite deliberately.
Mark twisted and recovered, turning to watch his new antagonist strut off.
He nearly summoned his Soul Sword.
'The back of someone's head never looked so nice.'
"Prick," Mark muttered, turning back to the awaiting Everett.
"No fighting, Mr. Abbott," the professor stated. "Get in here."
Everett had her gaze trained on her watch, sending a message as the two entered the office. The door clicked shut, announcing the start of a soothing calm.
"Seems he doesn't like you very much," Everett said, her tone expectant.
"Couldn't tell you why. Never really talked to the guy," Mark shrugged. "What happened to her during the attack?"
"Dunno. I get other people to file reports."
"And the Principal gets you to be secretary for him?"
"Don't test me," Everett aggravatingly glared. "Even I don't get to meet with the Principal whenever I want. I'm still wondering what makes you special enough to do so."
Everett went underneath the desk as they spoke, seemingly undoing a series of locks belonging to a hidden safe.
"I'm a many of many talents. I've recently gotten myself into the 'Demon Slayer' sphere. Think I could probably make a living off of it," Mark sarcastically quipped.
"Add 'Smartass' to your list of talents."
"It's already there, I assure you."
"Tsk."
Rolling her eyes, Everett placed a heavy metal object onto her wooden desk.
It was a cartoonish, picturesque golden key.
"Now take that key, and run into that wall," Everett explained, pointing to an empty part of her office wall.
…
"You're fucking with me, right…?"
"Look," Everett sighed. "I'm pissed off. Just do it."
"…Alright."
Taking hold of the strange key and stared down the empty wall.
'Just like Harry Potter. I'm the chosen one.'
Giving a tentative look to Everett—who nodded him on—he calmly walked into the wall.
…
Pure nothingness. Then he blinked. Strangely, he no longer held a key.
When his eyes refocused, he was forced to squint. The blaring sun was overhead.
Mark found himself on the most pristine, white-sanded beach. The coastal breeze was gentle and soothing—there wasn't a cloud in sight. An art painting of sorts.
Closer to the shore was an umbrella—it shielded a beach chaise lounge. Next to the chair was a cooler.
Other than that, there was nothing.
'What the fuck is this? A Corona commercial?'
Mark slowly made his way towards the chair, the soft sand parting under his shoes.
It was quite obvious who it was, sitting along the beach, sipping an ice-cold beer.
The Principal.
"Welcome, Apostle of the End," a man's voice said, staring into the distant rhythmic tide.
All Mark did was freeze in place.