"How can I throw up my potion? I thought it would never leave your body?"
I didn't acknowledge the fact that the Umbridge had suddenly returned; their words already struck something deep within me that sparked both my curiosity, and a sense of hopelessness. Standing up from the toilet, I suppressed my wave of nausea and walked over to the sink, washing my face off with cold water.
"Potions are just spirituality manifested with ingredients. Everyone's own spirituality and digestion is bent around whether or not they're willing to embrace it, to add it to their own and allow them to become what the potion desires they become."
The Umbridge remained in the corner, their unphased expression locked on my body. "This isn't the essence of a Doomweaver, Isaiek."
"I said stop calling me that," I groaned, setting the towel aside. I turned around to face the Umbridge and scoffed.
"I only drank the potion so I could survive and protect in this world, not so I could advance. I wouldn't mind staying at Order 9, but advancing is also something I wouldn't mind doing."
My hands rested on the counter, my gaze falling on my sunken reflection glaring back at me in the mirror. "Sure, I'm weak—I know that—but if I have to keep doing these awful things to advance, I want no part of it."
The Umbridge fell silent for a few moments before speaking again, their tone carrying a hint of solemnity.
"That's entirely your choice. The only thing in this world that holds value is power, and ensuring one maintains it. Over eons, beings ranging from mortals, Angels, even Gods fight like rabid animals to ensure they maintain their position as a supreme being. I've watched the world come to an end, I've seen empires—and emperors who thought they were invincible, crumble into dust."
They extended their bony hand, resting it on my shoulder. "If the only thing you desire is to protect in this world, it might as well destroy you. I have the Order potions for the next five Orders of the Apocalypse pathway—all you need to do is choose whether or not you want to live for your friends, or live for yourself."
They took a step closer to me, their wormhole-like eyes never leaving me. "You still don't seem to understand why I left you back at the manor, why I looked at your pitiful form and refused to help you, to console you."
"It's because I'm still weak," I snapped, turning around to face the towering creature. "You know damn well I'm not strong enough to protect everyone and get stronger. The moment I show a pinch of something you see as weak, you'll vanish and leave me with another great mystery to solve on why I'm not a perfect person."
My fist darted to the mirror, slamming my knuckles into the glass with enough force to crack it. "Unlike you, my friends see who I am, and they won't leave me for my flaws and help me along the way. If I want to become something greater, I'll fight tooth and nail until you look at me, bow at my feet, and live a day in my shoes, maybe even lick them while you're at it since I've never seen your mouth!"
Following my brutal rant, the cloaked figure standing in the corner remained silent, their hand leaving my shoulder and drifting back into the abyss of their body.
"If the only way I can live in a world with powers—powers I've wanted since I was born—is that I have to destroy and kill, you can take that damn potion back from my body and throw it away."
My fist slammed into the mirror again, this time, it cracked entirely. "I just found someone who I know can help me, he's the sweetest person I've ever met—I see a lot of myself in him. And if I have to throw it all away if I can live and breathe normally in this world, just kill me, just fucking do it!"
The cloaked figure cocked their head to the side, their illusory eyes flickering with something I couldn't decipher. "You're a lot like someone I once knew."
"And who might that be?" I arched an eyebrow, crossing my arms.
"He was a young boy just like you, but I'd have to say ...he liked the idea of murdering a lot more than you. But, of course, he was irrational, a fool. Once he found the love of his life, the poor boy was stumbling in his boots, hoping to win her over."
They let out a low sigh, folding their arms behind their back. "I look into your eyes and I see his, except, his eyes were the ones that watched the world burn beneath his feet."
"What do you mean by that?!" I asked, stepping forward.
I blinked, and the Umbridge vanished from my sight.
"Goddamnit!" I grunted, punching the mirror again. When I looked back at my fists, numerous glass shards were lodged in between my fingers, reflecting back at me a broken image, a boy who was too dumb to realize what he's walked into.
...
After I walked back to my quarters following a quick visit to the nurse's office—and an awkward yet fabricated explanation, and hoping she wouldn't find me crazy—I sat down on my bed and looked at the pile of Damien's toys in the corner. I heard the door open, looking in that direction. Damien, still clad in his pajamas, walked in and plopped down on his bed and rolled up in the covers.
But this moment of respite didn't last long. He shot back up from bed and darted to the corner of the room, sitting down on the rug, looking directly at me.
"I told you I'd show you my toys, didn't I?"
I nodded begrudgingly, rubbing the tiredness from my sunken eyes. "Don't we both have stuff to do in the morning? Getting zapped doesn't sound that pleasant, but I wouldn't mind it, to be honest."
The white-haired boy chuckled, lying back on the carpet with a smile. "I'm sure I can fake being sick or something; it's worked before."
He reached beside himself and grabbed a small wooden toy that looked like a duck. A small hole was cut into its rear end, allowing a string to easily thread through. He held the object up to show me, smiling.
"This was a present from my father for my third birthday. He got it from one of his friends who worked with wood and stuff like that."
I extended my hand to pick it up, but I looked towards Damien, hoping he'd silently grant me permission.
"Uh huh, you can take it."
He placed the duck in my hands, the small wooden ball inside it letting out a low clatter as it rolled against the sides of the duck's wooden surface.
"My father called that the Trojan Duck, wanna know why?"
I nodded my head slowly, feeling a curse of curiosity. Damien gently tugged the string on the end of the duck, and a hidden compartment on the side of the duck opened, allowing the wooden marble to roll out onto the carpeted floor.
Damien let out a low chuckle as he grabbed the marble, placing it back inside the wooden duck and closing the hull.
"I also have this," Damien beamed, picking up a stuffed bear sitting idly near the bookshelf. The bear had wooden marbles for eyes, but one of the marbles was missing somewhere else. He hugged the bear to his chest, looking into its lifeless eyes with his own.
"It's missing an eye because the Trojan Duck needed to be finished; that's what my father told me."
He held up the stuffed bear to show me, his small smile never leaving his face. And to think this was the same boy who told me he was glad to hear I'd suffer tomorrow during 'conditioning'.
"Father always told me that the best things in life don't always come perfect, they can come rearranged and broken, that everything, no matter how tattered, isn't able to not be loved."
"Really now..." I gently took the bear from Damien, reluctantly hugging it to my chest. Some patches of its fur were sticky, most likely from spilled liquids or something else. Through the haze of fur, I noticed something bright pink sticking out from the tangled mess of brown fur... it was a small, stitched heart.
"I had a bear once that if you pressed the heart it would tell you it loves you a lot." A warm yet bitter smile formed on my face, the memory tugging at my heart strings. I looked like a complete moron hugging a stuffed animal to my chest like this, like a damn child, but talking to Damien was like ...talking to myself.
"Where'd it go?" Damien crawled to his hands and knees, sitting up.
"I didn't have it for long; I had to leave it alone or else my parents might get mad ...mostly my father, of course."
"I wish you had a good father, you always look so sad."
"Really now..." I chuckled self deprecating, still holding the bear to my chest.
"It looks good on you." Damien's voice lowered to a whisper.
"Excuse me?" I arched an eyebrow, my face flushing profusely.
"The bear." Damien pointed to the stuffed animal I was holding. "You can sleep with it if you want to; I don't mind."
The proposal sent my stomach into a perpetual backflip. The idea of sleeping with plush was deeply unorthodox, almost cringe inducing for someone of my age. But, for the most part, I've never done such a thing to begin with.
I've never had a plush to keep as my own, to hold, and to cherish.
"T-that sounds..." I couldn't finish my sentence, the words snared in my throat. I walked over to the closet, sifting through the clothing articles, but in the end, I chose just to sleep naked.
Climbing into bed, I settled into the sheets with the bear nestled beside me. Damien watched from the sidelines, a small smile on his face as he watched me. The boy still sat on the floor around his pile of childhood toys.
"This one is Captain Marty, my dad's favorite character from a book he read. He had someone make a doll of him for display, but as a kid I really liked it, so he gave it to me."
He held up a wooden doll which had been painted to resemble a medical soldier wearing shiny, plated armor. Through the view slit in his helmet, I saw his crimson eyes boring into my own, but they carried no malice.
"That's nice," My voice came out as a half-yawn as I lay down on the pillow, sinking into the sheets. I tugged the blankets to my chest, holding them tightly as if they'd suddenly disappear, just like this moment.
The rest of the night I listened to Damien talk about his toys until the boy slacked forward onto the rug, a trickle of drool running down his cheek as he snored softly, mumbling something about shifts in his sleep.