(The Trial of tenacity arc)
Chapter 1
The Broken Self
"Between heaven and hell lies a broken self—one who desires to be something greater, something purer."
A boy stares into the sky. He glances at the flawless sky. He always envied it—a celestial devoid of thought. It serves its purpose. It's perfect.
I sometimes wonder… if I dissolved into the sky, would I become pure?
The evening sky clashed with Kekkan's eyes—his bright orange eyes. It was an unusual colour, and he occasionally got weird looks. It was a result of the circumstances of his birth.His face was so pale and almost lifeless despite his eyes being a bright colour they didn't have any soul in them.
I don't remember waking up only falling asleep
The wind blew back his greasy, overgrown brown hair—down below his eye, almost covering it entirely, but leaving a bit open. His air gave off a dusted texture. He was wearing the ragged, torn brown school uniform formed from brown faded patchwork, a very fragile uniform that had splits and cracks tearing through the seemingly contradictory.. Its buttons were bright and felt out of place almost like someone else's idea of a happy wonderland, it didn't fit, they could fall off with a little touch. Like a child's toy
He lay atop the roof of the school building. It was often a place he went to. It was isolated and alone. He wouldn't have anyone bother him. His attendance was not very good due to the fact he was always up on the roof—his special place. When he was up here it reminded him of a fantasy he used to draw up and imagine as a child he sometimes pictured himself in that very drawing a kids drawing with so much colour and life to it like a perfect reality. He had to attend this next lesson to secure his future.
"But there was no beautiful sky only a ceiling painted like one"
The sky disappeared as a ceiling formed. That ceiling then disappeared, returning to the sky.
Did the sky really exist or was it a façade
The big gold bell's sound rang through the school. He grasped his palms off the brick floor tightly, put them on his knees, and jolted himself up. The entire wonderland he loved so much always faded back to reality with the chime of the bell. He let out a little sigh. The wind blew his hair forward, in the air, flowing rapidly.
He slowly made his way to the big blue double door of the roof. Every step he took, dust flung out. His shoes were in bits—ragged, with holes covering them—but not enough to be a bother, just visually.
He jolted the doors open as he found himself in a busy corridor. He had some lectures about the study of the human psyche. He knew he had to go to the class, but it wasn't just out of necessity—he always had an interest in that subject.
As he continued walking down the corridor, he noticed a group of boys laughing. They looked to be gossiping about whatever. Every time they spoke of dark dust their snickering sounded sinister Kekkan gave them an angry look.
I pity those fools he thought to himself, as he brushed open the door to the classroom.
Not looking forward, he rushed nervously to his desk. Everyone glanced at him strangely. Like he busted into a birthday party uninvited he hated those fools he would always picture them as scribbled out figures to avoid dealing with them subconsciously. He tightly grips onto his chair, gently sits down. The wooden chair is rough and leaves a pain—so sitting through this lecture was going to be a challenge.
The teacher sat at his desk. He quickly glanced around the room, counting heads. Once he had counted all, he rose up. Kekkan looked around the class. He noticed a majority of the people were asleep or uninterested—many doodling, leaving marks on tables or sneaking on their phone. He was most likely the only one interested.
As he was distracted in his own thoughts, he doodled in his mind more about his dream world, a colourful place full of perfect beings who would not be held down by anything. the teacher spoke—which frightened Kekkan a little. All the colour in the room drained, Some of the other classmates discreetly laughed at him for this.
He spoke loud and clearly.
The Teacher [There's nothing more vast, deep, and expansive than the human psyche]
The teacher, whose name was Mr. Ken, seemed very interested and invested in what he was talking about. He always did take pride in his own words. He had short brown hair with round glasses and bright big blue eyes. With every glance his eyes begin to crack like glass.
Mr ken [You may think the human mind is only full of thoughts," he grasped his chest for a minute, "such as little things—what will I do today, for example—but it goes so much deeper than that. The human mind isn't just a canister for thoughts and ideas—it's a whirlpool of contradictory presences.]
He grabbed a piece of chalk and drew with rapid precision.
Mr ken [There was a theory that was brought to life by Carl Jung. His idea was of individuality, of self—that the human psyche consists of multiple selves, personas that are fundamentally different, but all coexist inside of the same]brain. He believed that these all combined are what make up a person—what they deem as their true self] He took another piece and drew more.
Kekkan took a pen doodled along with what he was saying, drawing a childlike picture of the multiple selves each representing a flawed version of themselves. The failures and the masterpiece. He frantically scribbles over the shelves with a black marker consuming them like a black hole
Mr Ken [Søren Kierkegaard believed that people who lived in despair did so because they did not become their true self.]
He held his breath for a minute.
Mr Ken [Now I ask all of you: what is your true self? Is it decided by your actions? By who you perceive yourself as? Or is it something deeper—something buried in the psyche that can only be achieved by digging into the mind and becoming what you deem as the person you want to become—the perfect version of yourself?]
He waits for an answer, kekkan goes to raise his hand but as he does the room flickers the teacher vanishes. Before he hears a roar he looks behind him to notice the teacher sitting in the back row digging the same kanji into his back endlessly, the writing and room so distorted it's unreadable. It shoots its head around as its neck cracks and gives kekkan a bloodthirsty smile. He blinks and everything switches back. The teacher is back at the board he sighs and turns around to the board, pointing his ruler at it.
Mr Ken [Kazimierz Dąbrowski believed that conflict with oneself and psychological disintegration are necessary to go above—to grow, to evolve. That in order to fully grow, we must break ourselves down completely to rebuild ourselves—to transcend our past self]
Kekkan dug his nails deep into the wood. The top of it broke off and he could feel the pain all at once. As a black goo shot onto the ground. He paid no attention. Mr kens words made him think.
Breaking down yourself… true self… who you really are.
It brought him back to a time he hid in the bathroom to isolate himself—when he glanced at a broken mirror. It was full of cracks. When he looked into it, he didn't recognize himself. All he could see were broken pieces of a puzzle. As the pieces slowly began to shatter.
He snapped back to reality as the teacher continued on.
Mr Ken [I have devised my own theory based on these. My idea—I'm going to call this the Perfectionist's Ideology Theory. I believe that the pursuit of becoming your true self—what you want to be—is pushing hard, and most important, for change, erasing parts. And what does this mean, you may ask?]
He holds his breath for a minute.
Mr Ken [There are several parts of ourselves we deem weak. Maybe it's an emotion or a memory. Breaking ourselves down, we can split all of these apart, and only then will we suppress the negative attributes of ourselves—mend them—so we may become our ideal self. But this can also be intoxicating to one. What if they can't achieve it? Will it destroy them—a pursuit of something they may never be able to grasp in their hands?]
The bell strikes. Everyone rushes out of class before the teacher is able to continue. Kekkan stands there as everyone rushes past him—as if time had just stopped for him. The room began to darken the reality he was in ceased to exist.. As everyone was pushing past him, all he could feel was the friction of every shove—until he was sent flying onto the ground, thumping his head against the hard wall. Before he was summoned back into this pathetic existence.
Throbbing pain immediately followed, as if his head was about to burst.
As he glimpses up with his eyes, vision blurred, he sees a man standing there. From one look, his presence was felt—one as if he was the only one in the room. His hair was a shiny green. Its light could be felt from any angle. His facial features were outstanding. All proportions seemed perfect. His face was so pale and distinct—he looked flawless.
He stood there up straight with a pen planted right in his shirt pocket. He placed out his flowing hand. He spoke elegantly:
???:[Arise, child. Do not falter. You still have to prove your worth." Each word he spoke became harder and harder to understand, he only caught the first part but he couldn't make out the rest]
He jolted me up with his arm gracefully. As he did, I opened my mouth and returned:
"What—"
Before I could speak again, he had left the room. But not before his being changed his smile was reaching across his entire face, a smile that looked like it would tear off his. He looked like a disturbed drawings of psycho shadows engulfed his face for a brief second before they disappeared. Until his entire face became torn paper with red scribbles over his eyes, I froze in place and in that moment he vanished and everything returned to normal.
He made his way out of the school. The place was now quiet. Nobody was in sight.
I hate this place. I find solace in isolation.
???: hey kekkan look out.
Unexpectedly Kekkan's side was throbbing as he found himself relocated on the firm ground.
???: ah ye dummy i warned ye and all yet yar arse still ended up falling. Ya gotta stop being so cocked up in that intellectual brain of ye.
[Why does he talk like that]
The newly found disturbance raises his hand to his lips before thoroughly chomping on his finger. However nothing ran red all it did was leave an unnecessary ludicrous purple mark on the very tip.
???: [oh nee i see you no remember me do ya. Well, allow me to introduce myself]
He let out a deep breath before exclaiming the still swollen finger tightly on his chest. Exclaiming with utmost excitement.
???:[Ma name is Arata just like myself FRESH AND NEW.!!. I am the founder of the hooligans of the school. I once borrowed ye books without permission and i am very grateful for ye assistance. Well I mean it's not like ya would even go to class anyways]
He lets off an incredibly painful grin despite him being a bit of an oddball his teeth glistened white his uniform was tidy and clean. He sported round dark glasses with a peculiar royal blue bowlcut. His eyes clashed with the style; they were a nice ivy green.
He then shot his finger towards kekkan pointing at him with a declaring look.
Arata [and I shall request ya to take part in my so-called gang of hooligans.
Glaring up at the man idiot. Kekkan let out a frown before speaking .
Kekkan [First of all your hair looks like a dog's bowl of shit.]
Arata [ wha- kekkan. My hair is a work of art beloved by all.]
He then begins to sway his hair in an attempt to make it look presentable.
???: I always told you to style it better. Maybe then you would get some ladies.
A tall dark haired man, his hair swaying up in a curl on the front like a wave from the pacific ocean. He sported a torn up version of the uniform holes fractures with particles of dust giving it a more grey flavour.
???: my apologies sir arata does not represent us he just wishes he did.
He approached Kekkan; his posture was unguarded and loosened up compared to Arata's straight and tidy posture; they were polar opposites.
{anyways good afternoon. I'm Ichiro , the first born son of the Takahashi family.]
Takahashi was one of the royal families of the neighbourhood. Rich scum who only poured their own portion of wealth and left the rest to rot. Yet Ichiro was the opposite of what you would associate a royal with.
Ichiro [The Quicksilver killer over there is Shiroi Akuma.]
I had heard that name before shiroi was described as a nightmare to anyone on his bad side. He was a ruthless punk and thief who stole and abused any unsuspecting bystander. He was scum. An egotistical prick.
Shiroi had his back placed against the steel frame of the door behind them. Juggling a blunt but polished pocket knife. He dressed. With a flair jacket with a quicksilver shine it gleamed throughout the entire area. It had a tight collar around his neck with light black embroidery patterns all throughout bling silver chains resided all around his neck and chest. His wavy parted silver hair and glam rock glasses all matched well with his overall vibe..
Shiroi [hmm very nice to meet you]
Shiroi was scoffing off to the side but not at kekkan at a separate entity.
???: [the glam king over there thinking he the shit again aint he]
Emerging from the darkness a new member arrived,
A figure rocking a gothic trench coat with silver spikes emerging from the sides. His entire outfit consisted of leather and silver embroidery. Long midnight coloured hair that flew down from the side down over his shoulders. His skin was as pale and white as a ghost and dark eyeliner covered his eyelids. On top his head a wide brimmed black hat resided.
Who was he the undertaker
Shiroi [Kage how many times do you have to be put down before you learn your place hmm]
Kage [quicksilver prick]
Ichiro [why don't we pipe down for a minute lovebirds and get on to the reason we gathered today.]
Both kage and shiroi let out a distasteful sigh.
Arata stood up proudly in the centre of the room and opened his mouth. But before he could speak another word kekkan jolted himself up before heading out of the vicinity.
Kekkan [I'm not joining your pathetic fashion club.]
Arata sunk to the ground in defeat.
Ichiro {he is sure to come around]
Kekkan noticed the bickering but ignored it and proceeded on. As he exited the school and through the street, the sun had begun to set. The school was a good distance from his home. He didn't stay at his parents' place—they were always just too much for him. The entire place was chaotic—especially when he was around. He couldn't stand his father.
So he liked to go to a place of isolation. A little hatch he had which led to his secret hideout.
He walked for a bit until everything became dark. The moon was shining. He rustled through leaves in the forest until he arrived at his hideout. He placed a fake grass patch over it. All he had to do was pull it to the side to unveil his home. It was a nice and peaceful place.
But today… something wasn't quite right.
As he lifted the fake grass patch over, he heard noise—followed by what seemed to be a kid in pain. He threw aside what he was doing and instantly sprinted over.
What he saw wasn't pleasant.
A ginger-haired boy with a spear through his stomach, whelping in pain but it wasn't the normal kind. His cries for help screeched like an eldritch horror monster.
"What kind of devil would do this?"
He shot up his eyes and noticed the perpetrator. It was a cloaked figure.
The cloak was unusual. In the middle of the night, it wore bright colours—a long white cloak made from coloured patches of paper each with innocent looking doodles. and fragments of gold scattered throughout it.. It had a hood covering him. His face was completely covered due to the night sky, his identity engulfed in darkness. He stood there, staring at him.
Kekkan clenched his fist.
Kekkan [Who do you think you are, spilling a child's blood on my home?]
The figure paid no attention to him and slightly turned, ready to walk away.
Kekkan gritted his teeth so hard he could almost feel a crack. He felt such anger—before correcting himself.
No. I must not show weakness.
Kekkan walked calmly but swiftly towards the figure before placing his hands on the corner shoulder of the figure. The figure turned to face him before staring and not provoking any further.
???; [I have no interest in you yet," he said, before gently removing Kekkan's hand from his shoulder[
He then scoffed and began retreating.
Kekkan spoke in a pitiful tone, Kekkan [Where is your shame? What kind of man do you need to be to hurt an innocent child?]
He turns his head towards Kekkan before stating, ???: [That child is not innocent. He is impure. Weak. A failure. An idea that should not merge with the others]
Kekkan clenches his fist again. He had hoped to stay calm, but these words struck a chord.
Kekkan [Weak, you say? Impure? A failure? He hasn't had enough time to develop his strength. He is just a child. How dare you!]
The figure turns his head in disappointment.
???: [I will hear no more of your mindless blabber. You don't know a thing about strength]
Kekkan approaches the figure.
Kekkan [Oh yeah? Then how's this!]
Kekkan launches his fist with all his might into the figure's face, closes his eyes, and hopes to feel the impact—but he feels nothing.
He opens his eyes and—what he is dazzled to find—that the punch did absolutely nothing. The figure is unfazed. The blow dissolves into the side of his head like liquid. Kekkan quickly brings his fist out of it.
The figure flings a golden pen from out of his pocket, swiftly jabs it into his face. Kekkan stumbles back. The pen didn't hurt him much, but it did send him back a tiny bit and leave him helpless.
He began scribbling some kind of kanji on his face—although Kekkan couldn't work it out—as it was placed on his forehead. The figure slashed his pen into the side of the air, feeling the breeze of the wind against his arm, before chanting—
???: [Purify]
BOOM Instantly, Kekkan's head exploded. Fractures could be felt from every side of his head. and he was left in excruciating pain.
But with this, he still pushed forward and launched another punch.
???: [You still don't see. The more knowledge you gain on the matter, the more your strength will increase. So now, why don't you sit back and face the truth?]
Kekkan ignored his words as his fist flew through the air—only to be met with—
???: [Shatter]
His joints felt like they had been shot. The figure delivered a critical blow on his arm as he planted his elbow into Kekkan's arm.
Kekkan screamed in pain.
Kekkan [You bastard i will end you]
Kekkan swiftly but powerfully lifted his entire leg, putting all his power into it in the air towards the figure.
???:[Silence]
The figure declared as he jabbed his pen into Kekkan's foot and wrote the word—
???: [Begone]
Several cuts that went down Kekkan's entire legs opened up, but it did not spew blood; his entire leg shattered like glass. Kekkan felt all the pain—but he couldn't be weak.
He bit his tongue to try and endure the pain before thrusting his entire body into the figure—only to be met with—???:[Halt.]
The figure placed his hand out to the side and jabbed intensely into Kekkan's stomach. His entire body froze. He couldn't move, including the wounds that had opened on his leg.
He was paralyzed with fear.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. But he couldn't.
He noticed that the word "Halt" had been written on his hand. Had this been there the entire time? But that wasn't important right now. He needed to get out of here and save the kid.
He tried to move his legs to run towards the kid—who had miraculously still been breathing—but he couldn't.
What power did this thing have?
Stricken with fear, Kekkan stood there. The figure creepily walked up to Kekkan before writing on his ear the word in kanji—???:[Levitate]
He could only recognize the word since he whispered it deep into Kekkan's ear. It sent chills down his entire spine. Slowly, Kekkan started floating in the air. He still couldn't control his body to escape or move.
"I'm so pathetic. I can't do anything. I'm supposed to be good enough..."
The figure stabbed his pen into his right palm and wrote the word in kanji—
???: [Leap]
He then stretched out his legs and shot up into the air sideways. He sunk his pen through the sides of Kekkan's body. Once he landed, he shot up. He did it repeatedly. Kekkan could feel a painful poke with each jab.
"Arg—Arg—Arg—!"
Until on the final one, the figure put more force into it, gripped the pen tightly before saying—
???: [It is over now, child. Your time of worth will come another day]
As he laced the final strike against Kekkan's neck—
???: [End]He spoke as Kekkan shot back to the ground.
He could still feel the sting—the pain of every strike. He landed roughly on the ground. His fall wasn't pleasant.
Arg—!
He was out of breath and took quite a while to shoot back up to his feet. As he glanced down, he noticed all his physical injuries were gone, his foot was molded back together—and the figure had disappeared.
That didn't concern him for the moment.
He instantly, without hesitation, ran over to the child. He pulled out the spear with all his might and threw it to the side. He picked up the child in both arms and began to run to his base.
Kekkan [t's gonna be okay, child]
He swiftly made his way down the ladder into his base with the child still in hand. He took a slight step and, before he knew it—crack—the ladder broke and the floor shattered but they weren't the only things that were fractured.. He fell deep down into nothingness, closing his eyes. When he opened them he was sent soaring into the hard tarmach the floor had placed itself back together. Despite this, he held the child in both hands, acting as a shield.
He rushed into the base, placing the child on the bed. He was still bleeding. Blood sprayed out everywhere as the unconscious child lay there. Kekkan rushed over, scavenged through every little drawer he had—every little supply he had stored.
I have to do this. I have to save him.
At first, he couldn't find anything, and this unleashed deep anger in him. He smashed the drawers, planted his fist deep against the wall—but that didn't stop him searching.
As he opened the final drawer, he found himself in luck. There was medicine, bandages—everything he needed to save the boy's life. His anger turned to hope.
He took out the glass bottle of medicine. He poured it all over the wounds in an attempt to ease the pain. He made sure to get it inside the severe parts of the wound. He then repeatedly wrapped all the plaster he had around the wound.
I must keep trying. I can't fail.
When he ran out of bandages, everything seemed to be fine. He carefully laid the child down on his bed, his head planted softly into his woolen pillow. He pulled out a wooden stool and sat beside him, waiting for him to wake.
Days passed, and yet Kekkan still sat there, awaiting the end of his slumber. His hope began to diminish, and on the third night, he thought to himself:
The kanji the figure wrote… End. Was it? I sustained all my injuries—with just a pen, some kanji, and a spoken word—he erased it all? What if I could do that for him?
A lightbulb shot up as Kekkan thought out this idea. He pulled aside some soft white paper, flicked out a pen from one of the drawers, and began writing. He carefully wrote with such precision. The ink sunk deep into the page went so deep that the page gained a realm of its own. He wrote in kanji.
[End]
[End!]
[End]
[ENd]
[END]
[END!!]
Upon completion, he threw the pen confidently onto the table, placed his arms behind his head, and let out a smug smile. He sat like this for a while before realizing the child did not wake.
What did I do wrong? This was supposed to work.
Kekkan hit himself in the head roughly three times. He frantically began panicking. He drew more paper to the side, sunk his pen deep into the page, and wrote it again—[End]" But it didn't work.
This time it will work," he said as he pulled aside more paper and repeated the process over and over again.
Goddammit…
He realized after a few more times there was nothing that was going to work in this regard. Upon realization, in a fit of rage, he screeched. It began sounding quite familiar to the child who screeched like a beast; it did not leave his throat; it blended in there like a disease. The fact is he didn't care about not having the supplies. What bothered him was this part of him that believed he could fix this.. He felt a slight snap—but that didn't stop him. He delivered a blow into the wall with his fist the pain getting more every time.
On the third strike, his knuckles cracked briefly before they aligned themself back in place quickly.
No… This has to work. If I can't fix this, what am I?
The thought screeches through his head like nails on a chalkboard—echoing, paining, hitting him. He pushes his back and sends the stool flying, then rushes over to the boy's bed. He places his hand on the boy's chest and pushes down with two hands.
Kekkan [Come on. Wake up, kid]
He presses down again, but the boy remains in slumber.
Again—but nothing.
Again—still dormant.
His hope is beginning to fade.
Save the boy
Save the boy
Save
Boy
pathetic
I'm supposed to be able to fix anything… So tell me—why is this the exception? I'm nothing if I can't do everything.
He pushes more, but still no result. A tear begins overflowing from his eye before he quickly wipes it away. He tumbles to the floor in despair, before he hears a voice in the back of his ear:
???: [I haven't been purged yet]
The boy has awoken from his slumber