Chapter 102
DISGUST
It was a well-accommodating room— it was warm, cozy, and clearly designed to soothe the soul. The soft earthy scent from the burning scented candles mingled with the gentle light of the sun streaming through half-drawn curtains. There were paintings on the walls—each one depicting smiling families or pastoral scenes of calm, innocence, and peace. A gentle breeze passed through the slightly ajar window, rustling the fabric of the curtains like a whisper.
It was the kind of room that made one feel at ease—soothing, peaceful, almost sleepy. The natural sunlight that poured in through the large, lightly tinted windows cast a warm amber glow across the wooden floorboards, gently illuminating the rich hues of the room's decor. It was quiet here—deliberately so. The hum of the outside world felt distant.
Like another world completely.
Scattered throughout the room were many chairs, all plush and carefully arranged, but the centerpiece was two large couches set facing each other. They were clearly made for comfort, it was made from real leather.
On the left couch sat a short man. He was clearly a descendant of the Giant—though his stature was modest, there was a density to him, a compactness that implied hidden strength. His head was completely bald, but a thick, dark beard curled with authority across his jaw, and a monocle with a gold chain rested delicately on his eye. Twenty fingers, each adorned with luxurious rings that shimmered in the light, tapped rhythmically against the notebook in his lap. He wore a sleek, custom-tailored suit and an expensive-looking watch that gleamed like it had just come out of its box. Every detail of his outfit screamed wealth and deliberate taste.
His name was Thomas, and he was a highly experienced therapist. At the moment, he was scanning through his notes, an expression of deep pondering resting on his face. After a moment, he looked up at the man sitting across from him.
His client sat with a relaxed posture, sunk deep into the couch, legs spread in a manspread. He looked tired—mentally and physically —but not weak. His caramel-colored skin was dotted faintly with the marks of old acne, his face unremarkable at first glance. But what drew attention immediately were his eyes.
They were a pair of nothing but pools of pure darkness, not metaphorically, but quite literally—there was something about them that made one feel as if they were being pulled in, like staring into gravity wells that absorbed everything. He was an average-looking man in most respects, but those eyes made him striking.
His head was crowned with long locs—thick and well-kept. Each one swayed slightly when he moved, and they framed his face like roots. On each ear, he wore a diamond earring. Not subtle ones either—large, round and chunky, masculine cuts that glittered with every slight motion. They should've looked gaudy, but on him, they didn't.
They made him—dare I say—at least a solid 7.5 out of 10.
This was IAM Grimm. A survivor of the Hold. A complex figure who resisted easy reading.
It had been around three weeks since Thomas had first begun these sessions with him, and in all his long career, he had never encountered someone quite like IAM. Paradoxically, IAM was both the easiest and hardest person to read.
It was like sitting across from someone wearing a mask—but not in the usual sense. IAM's mask was his face. Not a disguise, but something fused with him, natural and yet unnatural at the same time. He wasn't hiding behind anything. He was what he showed. And yet... there was always the sense that something else lay just beneath that surface, something unreachable.
For Thomas, this wasn't unsettling in the usual way. IAM did not radiate menace or deceit. He didn't even give off a feeling of emotional weight or trauma in the traditional sense. Rather, it was a kind of absence—an emptiness that was not empty.
That was what intrigued Thomas the most. Not because it felt dangerous.
But because it felt like something.
Something he hadn't yet understood.
"Alright," he said. His voice deep. "I am ready to begin... Do you feel comfortable enough to start?"
IAM said in response, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His right hand moved almost unconsciously to his neck, fingers lightly brushing the skin in a slow, absent gesture.
"Do what you want," he said.
"Good," Thomas replied, pausing to adjust his monocle with a gentle pinch. He settled into the couch, legs crossed neatly, hands folded.
He studied IAM quietly for a moment, then offered his usual opening line.
"Thanks for coming in today. How are you feeling right now? Is something heavier than usual sitting with you?"
IAM blinked slowly, then gave his answer, His voice was slow but clear. His tone, matter-of-fact.
"Right now... To be completely honest with you... I am feeling a disturbing sense of disgust."
Thomas nodded, not reacting with surprise. His tone remained gentle.
"Thank you for saying that. When you say 'disgust,' is it toward something specific—or just a feeling inside? There's no wrong answer."
IAM leaned back deeper into the couch, his eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling as if he were trying to see through it.
"To everyone involved... My very teachers. They taught me. Joked around. Acted like everything was normal... when they knew they were going to be part of the reason why over a million people were murdered... Did they not feel anything? Anything at all... as they murdered them? I wonder what they were thinking."
Thomas didn't blink.
"That betrayal cuts deep—not just because they were part of something evil, but because they pretended to act human while doing it. That's a horrifying thing to hold. He said calmly. "What does that disgust do to you?"
IAM's voice lowered.
"It doesn't spread, but I feel it. On the surface I feel nothing... But deep inside of me, I can feel it bubbling. Stirring. Yet it feels... this disgust doesn't belong to me."
Thomas's voice matched the mood—soft, like stepping into water.
"That's powerful. It's not uncommon after trauma to feel like your emotions are foreign, like they've been put in you instead of coming from you. Like you're the vessel for something—rage, grief, sickness—that the world refuses to carry, so now it sits in you. When you say it doesn't belong to you, whose disgust do you think it might be?"
IAM didn't pause long.
"No... I know it's mine... because I'm the one festering it. Hoping it grows more and more... to prepare me for what I'm going to do."
Thomas looked at him, then asked slowly:
"I want to ask you... What is it preparing you for?"
"Oh, I don't need it to do it," IAM said, his voice steady, deliberate. "I just need an excuse—any excuse—to make sure I can drag them all down into the pits of hell… for the good people they killed."
Thomas didn't flinch. His voice was calm, careful. "You don't need the disgust—but it justifies your actions. When it's over… what happens to the part of you feeding off that pain?"
IAM tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes unreadable. Then he spoke, the corner of his mouth curling just enough to suggest something close to curiosity.
"You know... how about you?" His tone wasn't mocking, but it wasn't kind either. "I know you've got a wonderful wife at home. Two kids, right? So tell me... what would you do?"
Thomas's expression barely shifted, but something in his eyes flickered.
"…I think I'd want to tear the world apart," he admitted quietly. "And yeah—if I'm being honest—there's a version of me that would want revenge. But I'd also be terrified. Not of the people who did it. Of myself."
A beat passed between them.
"What about you?" Thomas asked gently. "If the people you loved were watching you now—what would they want you to do? And what would they not want you to become?"
IAM didn't answer right away. He looked to the side, exhaled slowly. When he spoke again, his tone was level, as if reciting something he had long accepted.
"Mr. Thomas, in this world… I have nothing. Nothing to gain. Nothing to lose. Except for me." His eyes narrowed slightly. "I understand what is wrong. And what is right. But I don't think I'm a good person. I don't think I'm a bad person either… But I don't think I'm in the middle either."
Thomas leaned forward slightly, not breaking eye contact. "That's a powerful reflection. What if being 'good' or 'bad'… isn't the question anymore?"
"I'm a selfish person," IAM said simply. "I don't care about what anyone else feels." His voice dipped, soft but unwavering. "You know… I watched someone die in front of me. They screamed.... They begged me to save them. And... I ran."
The room fell still.
"I regret it," he continued. "But if I were put in that situation again—I'd do the same thing. Again and again. Not because I'm evil. Not because I'm good. But because I'm selfish."
"That sounds more like survival than selfishness," Thomas said softly, eyes steady. "Do you think that moment… defines you?"
IAM met his gaze without hesitation. "You're right. I can change the results of my actions, but not the substance of my character."
Thomas leaned forward, thoughtful. "What if character isn't fixed? What if it evolves—shaped by the choices we make over and over again?"
"No, Thomas." IAM's voice was firm, unwavering. "I am who I am, and nothing will change that. That circle of the divine—the ones who betrayed us—all will suffer... Even if I have to do it myself."
"That certainty… it's powerful, and heavy." Thomas nodded slowly. "I respect your resolve. But even the strongest resolve leave marks on those who wield them."
For a moment, IAM's expression softened, almost briefly vulnerable. "To be honest, there are many times when I wish I could just end it all. But someone told me to find a reason to live… even if I had to make it up."
"That's important," Thomas said gently. "Finding a reason—even a made-up one—can be a lifeline.... You don't have to face this alone."
IAM looked away for a moment, then back. "I don't feel any satisfaction in the thought of killing someone. I've never done it before, after all. I'm someone who feels—deeply. I feel so many emotions, I understand what's normal. But somehow, even if there's something I don't want to do... I feel like... I will do it if necessary."
He paused, the weight of his words lingering in the room. "Because I know how to ignore that human part of me.... But I will never discard it. Because I don't want to lose my humanity in the sea of madness."
"That's a complex thought ," Thomas said. "Feeling deeply, yet pushing those feelings aside when necessary.... What does 'necessary' mean to you?"
"I don't know… Not yet. Until the moment comes when I have to find out, to make a choice." IAM's voice was steady, resolute. "But no matter how difficult it will be… I will make that choice."
Thomas said. "You don't have to carry those choices alone."
IAM's face flickered with a sudden unease. "After that betrayal, I've been feeling this paranoia… What if... And.. I..."
He froze and shakes his head.
"Anyways. What do you think so far?"
"I see someone carrying a tremendous weight," Thomas said softly, his voice steady and sincere. "Someone who has faced unimaginable pain and betrayal, yet is still here—wrestling with it honestly. How does it feel?"
For a long moment, IAM's eyes stared ahead, unreadable. Then, in a voice stripped of emotion, he said, "I feel nothing."
"That feeling of nothing," Thomas explained gently, "is itself a feeling. It's a shield your mind uses to protect you from being overwhelmed. If you want, we can sit with that feeling together."
A faint, almost wry smile tugged at IAM's lips. "Thanks for your support, but honestly, I'm in a good mood today. I've been accepted into the academy. Hopefully, it'll help me become strong enough. And you—make sure you stay safe...Thomas. I hope we don't have to see each other too often."
"That's wonderful news—congratulations," Thomas said with a professional smile. "I hope it brings you the strength you need. Remember, I'm here whenever you want to talk."
IAM nodded quietly and slowly exited the room.
The soft click of the door closing echoed behind him.
Thomas scribbled a few notes before scratching his bald head with a sigh.
"It's not getting any easier with that kid."
Throughout the entire session, Thomas had observed IAM closely. Though his face sometimes betrayed emotion or reaction, his eyes remained unreadable—revealing nothing.
What troubled Thomas even more was IAM's brutal honesty. He revealed things most people would hesitate to share, yet he seemed to have a clear grasp of his own fractured state of mind. It was as if he didn't need therapy, but rather someone to simply talk things through with.
This paradox made IAM simultaneously the easiest and hardest client Thomas had ever encountered. A very strange man indeed—Thomas was almost certain he was a madman.
Hmm, next time, I should try to explore his deceased comrades more deeply. How are they really affecting him.
Thomas's gaze drifted toward the window.
Thor... who exactly did you bring back from the ashes of the Hold?