Pain. Physical pain. An unbearable pain. But beyond it, there was another kind of pain—one buried deep within my soul. I couldn't explain it exactly in words, but if I had to, I'd call it the conflict between denial and acceptance of change. I felt as if this pain would bring my end even before the physical one.
A knock echoed at the door. I said nothing. Then, a young boy stepped inside. A boy with brown hair and simple glasses. My caretaker—the only person who reminded me I was still alive. The kid was just an ordinary human, orphaned at a young age. He knew nothing about parasites, obsidian blades, or supernatural abilities. He was innocent. A boy I took under my care out of pity. His name was Victor Mencer.
— Good morning, Mr. Crimson. I brought you breakfast.
— …
— I see you're not too thrilled, but still, you need to eat something. All those strong medications are exhausting you.
— Tell me, please…
—?
— …Does it matter?
— Yes, the medication will ease your pain, according to the doc—
— You want to know something? It has absolutely no effect.
— But—
— Noth… I tried to say more, but was interrupted by a sudden coughing fit.
I coughed blood again. I knew the parasite was mostly to blame. The weapon-parasite—one of the strongest parasites ever created by man. Its ability? The ability to change any fragment of the host's genetic material into whatever weapon the host desired. But this ability came with a price: the parasite attacked its host, damaging its health.
At first, I believed the side effects could be diminished with the help of a drug. But later, I found out I had fallen directly into its trap. The drug didn't help me—on the contrary, it caused even more problems for my body. But it was too late. Now, I was bedridden, unable to walk or perform normal activities. At least I could still speak.
— Tell me, Victor, do you know what man's greatest fear is, after death, of course?
— I'm not sure what answer you want me to give, Mr. Crimson.
— The answer is change. I started coughing again.
Victor took a napkin and wiped the blood from my chin.
— Change leads to all problems.
— I try to relate to what you're saying, but I don't fully understand.
— You see, long ago, there were two siblings: Chaleon and Cristha. Two inseparable siblings. Cristha was a girl with great dreams, wishing to make the world a better place for people. She couldn't understand why humans didn't share the same status. After all, we are all born the same. What determined whether a child was born into a wealthy family while another into a family of slaves? She wanted to create a world where everyone had total freedom and access to everything Earth had to offer. Chaleon, on the other hand, had only one wish: to see his sister happy and her dream fulfilled. Cristha decided to take action on her own and become the first person to be truly free. But the road never seems that long at the beginning. The girl didn't realize that as she approached that absolute freedom, she was moving further and further away from the reason she had started—for the people. With every step forward, her motive shifted more and more into a personal one. A goal that could never be reached, for humans always desire everything and then even more. They become greedy. She was not aware of this. The only person who saw it was her dear brother, Chaleon. No one knows what happened in the end, but one thing is clear: that change affected Chaleon as well, destroying him in turn, as he watched his sister grow more and more unhappy, trying to achieve something no one even knew was possible."
Victor seemed to have listened carefully to the whole story. Then he looked at me for a moment. It seemed I had given him much to think about. Finally, he said:
— Do you think Chaleon could have brought her back to the right path if he had tried?
— Honestly, I think he had lost her too long ago to recover anything of what his sister once was.
— I see…
He then looked at the food he had brought, then back at me. His eyes were brown, but they seemed not to reflect light—not literally, but more in a figurative sense.
— Mr. Davis, I will stop administering your medication if that's what you wish.
-Crimson Davis