Berethia stood amidst the devastation, her form illuminated by the flickering flames consuming the remnants of the village. Her emerald eyes gleamed with a manic intensity, her movements erratic as if she were a puppet pulled by unseen strings. She leaned on her staff, her head tilting sharply as she studied Changra—no, Kael.
"Changra, Changra, Changra," she crooned, her voice dripping with mockery and madness. "You're here. Finally here. Do you know how long I've waited? How long I've dreamed of this moment?"
Changra didn't respond, his breathing heavy as he stared her down. His fists clenched at his sides, the Crimson Dagger humming faintly in his sleeve, but he resisted its pull—for now.
Berethia laughed, a high, brittle sound that echoed across the battlefield. "Oh, silent treatment? That's fine. You were always so good at ignoring me, weren't you? Just like everyone else."
She stepped closer, her movements jerky yet deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. "Tell me, Changra, how does it feel? To be so... special? So untouchable? Everyone loves you, don't they? Jane, Thorne, Aria, even poor Merrick—they'd all throw themselves into the fire for you."
Changra's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His crimson and blue eyes locked onto hers, unflinching even as her words pierced through the air like venom-tipped daggers.
"Nothing to say?" Berethia spat, her voice rising. "Of course not. You don't even need to speak, do you? People just follow you, adore you, envy you." Her lips curled into a bitter smile, her eyes narrowing. "Do you have any idea what that's like? To be the one on the outside? Always watching, always wanting, but never enough?"
"I didn't ask for this," Changra finally said, his voice low and strained. His words cut through the tension, but they only seemed to ignite Berethia's fury further.
"You didn't ask for it?" she screeched, her staff slamming into the ground, sending a shockwave of green energy rippling outward. "You didn't ask for it, but you took it anyway! You take and take, and you don't even see what you're leaving behind!"
Changra's gaze flickered, his composure faltering for just a moment as her words hit a nerve. "What do you want, Berethia?"
"What do I want?" she echoed, her laughter sharp and unhinged. "I want what I deserve, Changra. I want to take from you what you took from me. Your friends, your strength, your precious little world. I want you to feel what it's like to lose everything!"
Her staff flared with green light, the magic swirling around her like a storm. "But you wouldn't understand, would you? You, who've always had people to fight for you, to die for you. You've never been alone."
Her words cut deeper than any weapon, and Changra's hands trembled as his anger began to boil over. The hum of the Crimson Dagger grew louder, resonating with the storm inside him.
"You think I've never been alone?" he said, his voice sharp and bitter. "You think you're the only one who's lost, who's suffered?"
Berethia's grin widened, her eyes gleaming with twisted glee. "Oh, I know you've suffered, Changra. I can feel it. Your rage, your guilt—it's delicious. And yet, here you are, still so self-righteous, still pretending to be better than me."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried across the air like a sinister lullaby. "You're not better than me, Changra. You're just like me. Broken, angry, and oh-so-envious."
Changra's chest tightened, his grip on his emotions slipping as the Crimson Dagger's hum became a roar in his mind. "You don't know anything about me."
"Oh, but I do," Berethia whispered, her smile widening as she raised her staff. "And I'm going to show you just how much we're alike."
The air between them crackled with tension, the heat of the nearby flames casting flickering shadows across Berethia's twisted grin. Changra steadied his breath, bracing himself for whatever she planned to do next.
Then, without warning, Berethia lunged.
Her movement was erratic, almost inhumanly fast, and before Changra could react, she was upon him. Her staff clattered to the ground as she tackled him with surprising force, driving them both to the scorched earth. Changra grunted, his back hitting the dirt hard, the weight of her presence pressing down on him.
"Get off me!" he growled, his arms straining to push her away, but her grip was ironclad.
"Oh, no, Changra," she cooed, her voice dripping with madness as she leaned closer. "Not this time. This time, we're going to get… personal."
Her emerald eyes glowed with an unnatural light as she grabbed his face, her touch cold and clammy. Changra thrashed beneath her, his mind screaming for him to fight back, but her grip was unrelenting. He froze as her lips curled into a chilling smile.
"Let me show you," she whispered, her voice both a promise and a threat.
Before he could say a word, Berethia lowered her face to his and pressed her lips against his.
It wasn't a kiss of affection. It was invasive, like drowning in an ocean of venom. Changra's body tensed as his mind was wrenched from the present, his vision blurring and darkening as he was pulled into something far deeper, far darker.
The world around him dissolved.
When Changra's vision cleared, he was no longer lying on the battlefield. Instead, he was suspended in a swirling void, a chaotic storm of green and black. Whispers filled the space around him—disjointed, fragmented voices that clawed at his mind. The air was heavy with despair, suffocating and oppressive.
"Where…?" His voice faltered as he looked around, his body weightless yet bound, as though invisible chains held him in place. "What is this?"
A laugh echoed through the void, sharp and brittle. "Welcome, Changra," Berethia's voice purred, disembodied but omnipresent. "Welcome to my world."
The void began to shift, the storm coalescing into fragmented images—glimpses of a life steeped in pain and longing. A small girl sat alone in a dark corner, her hands clutching a broken toy. A teenager stood in the rain, her eyes hollow as she watched others laugh and smile without her.
"This… this is your mind," Changra muttered, realization dawning as the fragmented images swirled around him.
"Do you like it?" Berethia's voice echoed, dripping with venom. Her form appeared before him, ethereal and twisted, her smile wide and unnatural. "This is what envy looks like, Changra. This is what it feels like to be forgotten, discarded, unloved."
Changra's fists clenched, the weight of her words pressing against his chest. "You don't get to pull me into this. You don't get to—"
"Oh, but I do," Berethia interrupted, stepping closer. Her form shifted with every step, flickering between her adult self and the young girl he had seen in the visions. "You're in my world now. And here, you don't get to hide."
Her words struck like a dagger, and Changra staggered as memories of his own pain bubbled to the surface—his father's harsh words, his mother's cruel hands, the blood on his own. The whispers grew louder, intertwining with his own inner torment.
"Stop this!" he shouted, his voice breaking as the void began to close in. "I'm nothing like you!"
"Oh, Changra," Berethia whispered, her voice like silk. She leaned closer, her hand reaching out to touch his chest. "We're more alike than you think."
Changra steadied himself as the swirling void threatened to pull him deeper into its chaos. He forced his breath to slow, his eyes scanning the fragmented storm of Berethia's mind. The flashes of her memories were oppressive, their weight pressing against his chest like an unbearable burden.
But he had been here before.
"I remember this place," Changra muttered, his voice echoing in the storm. "The last time I was here... it wasn't like this. It was..." He hesitated, the memory clawing its way back to the forefront of his mind. "It was one big monster. Something... consuming everything around it."
Berethia's ethereal form flickered, her smile twisting into something sharper. "Ah, yes," she said, her voice a mix of amusement and mockery. "My little guardian. My rage, my hunger, my... companion."
Changra's fists clenched. "Where is it now?" he demanded, his voice steady despite the chaos around him. "Where did it go?"
Berethia's laughter echoed through the void, brittle and sharp. "Gone," she said simply, her eyes glinting with something unspoken. "Consumed, just like everything else."
"Consumed?" Changra's brow furrowed. "By what?"
"By me, of course." Berethia stepped closer, her form flickering between the childlike version of herself and the twisted, unstable woman she had become. "You saw it, didn't you? The monster, the rage, the envy—it was always a part of me. I just... embraced it."
Changra's jaw tightened as he processed her words. "You didn't have to," he said, his voice low but firm. "You could have fought it. You could've—"
"Could've what?" Berethia snapped, her tone sharp as her eyes flared green. "Fought it? Tamed it? Locked it away? Like you do with your precious little dagger?" She laughed again, the sound grating. "Don't be a fool, Changra. We are what we are. You can't hide from that."
Changra's hand instinctively moved to his sleeve, where the Crimson Dagger pulsed faintly against his skin. Her words struck too close to home, stirring something he wasn't ready to confront.
"You're wrong," he said through gritted teeth. "You let it consume you. You gave up."
"And you think you're any different?" Berethia's smile widened, her expression wild and unhinged. "Tell me, Changra, how long before that little blade of yours consumes you, too? How long before you stop fighting and finally give in?"
The void around them seemed to close in, the storm growing louder, the whispers more insistent. Changra's heart pounded, but he stood his ground, his eyes locked onto Berethia's.
"I'm not like you," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the chaos. "And I never will be."
Berethia's laughter echoed again, but there was something hollow in it this time, something that hinted at the truth buried beneath her madness. "Oh, Changra," she whispered, her voice soft and haunting. "You'll see. We're not so different, you and I."