I began walking down the hallway, a new sense of purpose accompanying my march. I was the same man, yet different — no longer the one they once knew. When I reached the intersection of the hallway, I took a deep breath, my head pulling back ever so slightly. As I exhaled, I felt a sharp pinch glide across my neck from right to left.
I paid no attention to it, just as a predator pays no mind to insects. Turning my head, I stared down the empty corridor to my left. "Zhao, do you live your life like this? How effortless can one be, in being useless? Your life's one purpose, and you can't even act on it. How unfortunate." I spoke in a taunting tone, a gentle smirk drawn across my face.
Zhao was a man who lived hidden, cloaked in shadow. He enjoyed being shrouded in mystery — fitting for someone of his profession. And though he lingered in the corridor's darkness, the two of us still exchanged a soul-shivering gaze. You could see the air tightening between us. Molecules seemed to pull closer as if begging for mercy, a faint smog rising around the tension.
I began walking toward my adversary. Neither of us felt fear; it was as if we were actors in a play, performing a scene we'd rehearsed countless times. Zhao then pounced from the shadows, sword in hand, its tip aimed at my throat. I halted and stared at him.
And then, it happened again.
Time stopped.
The very cogs of reality ground to a halt, as if some ancient machine had finally given out. Zhao hung suspended mid-strike, and I simply looked at him, solemn and untouched.
"The flow of calamity," I murmured. "You've wandered into it, Zhao. Like a feeble summer ant caught in a spider's web, you've entered my domain." The thin lines of reality stretched and warped around us. It felt like deja vu for events that never occurred — the kind that makes you question your own existence, your trust in the simple constructs of the world.
I stepped forward and placed my palm on Zhao's cheek, looking at him with a gentle yet piercing gaze. "How majestic in failure. It's thrilling to watch someone's entire life goal crumble before their very eyes." Weeks ago, I might've been at a disadvantage — might even have lost to Zhao. But today was different. I was no longer bound to a cycle, no longer destined for a fate beyond my control.
I drove my fingers into his eyes, plucking them from his skull as casually as if retrieving olives with toothpicks for a cocktail.
That was when reality snapped back. Life returned to "normal" as Zhao collapsed to the ground, releasing an echoing, blood-curdling howl. He writhed in agony while I stared at him with sheer disgust. I felt no pity for men like him.
"Zhao, no amount of screaming will earn you an apology from me. So save your energy and crawl out of my temple."
I muttered the words as I kicked him toward the intersection and closer to the entrance. Sunlight spilled over him — warm, bright — though he couldn't see it. He could only feel the heat against his blood-slicked skin, sweating from shock. "Crawl unto death, worm," I said, arms crossed in a gesture of absolute dominance. "Because I can't give you the death you deserve. No one can, you ingrate."
The temple was beautiful this time of year. Cherry blossoms framed the grounds, koi ponds teemed with life, workers and visitors walked around with bright smiles. But today the scene was marred by the pool of blood cascading down the entrance stairway — and yet, in its own macabre way, it was scenic.
"The death of someone who thinks he can control it is truly enjoyable."