Mind numb, Lucas relied on the pure instinct that he had to kill those monsters, once humans. He'd completely turned down his sorrow and fear, stabilizing the chaos erupting in his mind.
Here were the facts. The creatures needed to be killed for them to rest in peace. If he didn't, he truly and wholly failed to do anything for them.
However, he also needed to prioritize those still whole and alive.
That was why, when the cutoff scream tossed past his hearing, he'd spun around instantly. He had left for just a moment, a second to try to save that girl, the one who'd been spirited away at night.
It was just one second.
His face paled, flames flickering in his pale white gaze, reflecting the hanging body high in the air. Limp and dangling thin legs, slack and lifeless.
And yet, his mind remained a steady lake, not a single ripple coursing through.
The disparity in his thoughts, that this was a tragic, horrible sight, and that he'd made a mistake, and his mind that didn't waver made a sick, spread through his limbs.
'So this is the consequence of that child's ability.' He thought, staring blankly ahead. 'I can't turn my emotions back on.'
Granted, perhaps later he would bend over as the accumulated horror tided over him all at once. One had already died—so he had to continue his task. Or it would've all been for nothing, failing to both protect and save.
He grabbed at the air as the mangled body flew at him again, white bone tearing and stretching through her flesh—the red bracelet, now clearer, hanging on her dainty wrist.
Throwing his arm down, he smashed the child's broken body to the ground, hearing the sickening crack of bones.
Before she had a chance to leap up, he slammed his foot down, crushing her leg. He had to kill her quickly, soon. Lest somebody else die while he hesitated.
Kill, kill, kill. And then protect, protect, protect.
The words repeated nonstop in his hollow head. He wrapped his hands around the girl's throat, squeezing tight until she went limp on the ground, melting into the carpet, soaked in red.
Silent tears streamed down the impassive expression. But since he couldn't feel anything, they were out of habit and carried no emotion.
"I'm sorry," muttered Lucas, hating how he didn't genuinely feel sorry in that moment.
He slipped the red bracelet off her wrist, sliding it into his own. At least, he'd bring a part of her back.
"I'm sorry." He repeated, as if saying it twice would make up for his cruelty.
Then, without looking back, he ran towards the group.
They were scattered now, still turning their small heads to stare at their friend, now hanging from the ceiling with open eyes. Eyes that seemed to wonder, 'Why me?'
Lucas heaved and smiled, but it was an empty smile. "We're just playing a game, remember?" And in saying so, he felt as if he were denying their deaths. "I've already tagged 3 of your chasers, so there's only 2 more."
Wren frowned and reached out. "Lucas... what did you do?"
She didn't recognize that empty gaze, talking as if programmed and forced to say such words, with no meaning within them. The empathetic, sorrowful man who wore an unfeeling mask had, well, become his mask.
And that scared her.
Because who said many abilities were a good thing? Who said that it was more powerful, that they were safe to rely on?
If one got used to turning off their emotions as they pleased, it would severely numb something inside of them. And Lucas, who was emotional yet focused on the necessary, would absolutely abuse that ability.
"We need to keep running," stated the man, ignoring her. "While one of them is focused on that girl."
"That girl was a child running with us!" Wren despised the distant way he referred to the child, as if she were an inevitable sacrifice.
"Keep running."
"Lucas—"
"I know, Wren." But his eyes remained aloof. "I'll use the second time to turn my emotions back on later."
"Will you?"
She wondered, when it was much easier to kill and to protect when he didn't tie himself to the children, and saw them as a task instead of something more.
But when the sound of dragging drew closer again, and the ceiling trembled, there was no time for her to question Lucas' actions. She shook her head and broke into a sprint again.
Lucas grabbed Berry, who'd gone limp, tossing the boy over his back. Berry shuddered and clung closely to Lucas' back, plastering himself like glue.
The man felt hot tears drip onto his shoulder, freezing momentarily, but said nothing.
Rome watched, mad at his own lacking capabilities. He'd even stolen the King's title, for the sake of his survival, yet here he remained, useless. It wasn't that he didn't want to use the power gained, but that the power wasn't useful at that moment.
Misdirection. To draw a person or creature's attention elsewhere, and no matter how strong, the creature would fall to the ability.
He could only use it once a day, and it wasn't as if he could distract the person or creature. He could only draw attention from one living target to another living target.
In other words, a life for a life.
The shadows had flocked to Lucas' feet out of habit, even when he didn't use his ability. However, he channeled the darkness to swirl around, blanketing them in flickers of appearing and disappearing, confusing the remaining two monsters.
Wren snapped her fingers, countless black, jeweled shapes forming in the air before they spun past the children, embedding themselves into flesh.
It wasn't enough. Scratching grew more frantic, from inside the walls and even underneath the floorboards. Panic bloomed, unfurling and suffocating them in its breath-stealing vice.
Will sucked in a breath, slowing his speed as he squeezed his narrow eyes closed.
The air shimmered around them. Noticing something, one of the bodies lunged at them, before slamming against an invisible wall.
The teenager coughed violently, stripping all colour from his skin. Lucas stared at him solemnly. "How many attacks can you hold up against?"
For him to keep moving with the group, and in his current state, the answer of five rested at the tip of his tongue. Five attacks were all he could hold up for before his knees buckled.
Yet what left his lips was, "Seven."
Lucas looked at him squarely. "Seven attacks? Before you collapse, or only leaving you enough energy to continue running?"
"I can hold out for seven," insisted the teenager.
"...then I'll keep you to that, kid."
Another heavy thud came from the barrier, a grinning face pressed against an invisible wall. Lucas estimated that they should arrive at their rooms soon—even if this were a game of death made by the Teller, she wouldn't kill everybody.
Not all at once; not right away.
"Lucas." gritted Will hoarsely, struggling to keep up. "My... barrier can only stay up in a specific... area. If anybody leaves... the area..."
"Then they'll be out of the barrier's protection," nodded Lucas, grabbing the slender arm of a straying child, bundling them all close.
"The doors! I think that's it—up ahead!" yelled Wren, pointing at double sets of doors, set side by side with a dark green hue emitting from underneath. "We're almost there!"
A wave of relief surged through them, prolonging their energy.
Only minutes away from their goal. Minutes away from surviving, just one more night. Hope fell upon them again, if only a fraction of what it once had been.
They were beaten, bruised, exhausted, and starved.
But they were alive.
Lucas' gaze flickered at the crawling, bleeding children that rushed after them. He'd wanted to kill them, to give them reprieve from the manipulation.
But after he'd left and lost one, he didn't dare try again. It wasn't worth the risk, and although it was cruel and terrible to judge which life was more worthy of saving, he held responsibility to the children he knew, rather than the ones he didn't.
Two more attacks slammed against the barrier simultaneously, and a burst of blood fell from Will's pale lips.
He stumbled, and Wren scooped him up under one arm. "Come on, brat, we still need you. Don't you dare pass out or fall behind!"
Will glanced up, sweat dripping down his face, and offered a distant smile of appreciation. He allowed his body to grow limp so as not to be a burden.
The doors waited ahead, and they were all eager to jump at it.
Another heavy crash bounded off, and the barrier flickered as Will spat out another cough of blood, wearily watching the bloodied children scramble and run again.
'Don't die.' His body seemed to beg. 'I'll give you my life, my health. Everything. Please, don't let anybody else die.'
The air grew still around them.
Wren flung the doors wide open. The children in white spilled into the room, tumbling over their own bare feet, scarred and covered in filth.
Will's mind blurred, vision growing unfocused as another frenzied crash broke against his barrier, and he willed his mind—
—to last just one more second. Until the last of the children arrived.
All he wanted was one more second.
'Please!'
Lucas, near the end of the group, crossed the line of the entrance with one foot before his eyes widened. Before he could think, his hands cast Berry hurriedly into the room, into safety.
He lunged out desperately—
In the hurried rush of the children, so close to safety that they pushed and shoved with tears brimming and illness rolling in their stomachs.
A particularly desperate boy rushed ahead—his elbow knocked into delicate flesh, and white cloth fluttered backwards in the corner of his eyes, just as he rolled into the room. A resounding cry left his cracked lips, faster than his mind could understand.
The girl, with twin braids coming undone with the fall, spilling around her body, widened her innocent eyes.
She watched as a slender hand stretched out to her, sleek and narrow fingers, a hand that would always reach its destination. A trustworthy hand that she'd willingly placed her life in.
The girl smiled, without worry.
An image flashed in her young mind of that impassive adult snatching her before she fell, and pulling her to the room with all her friends, her family.
And then—and then, she'd be safe and happy, wouldn't she?
As her eyes remained glued to Lucas, his remained focused on hers. And at the horrifying, twisted, and shrunken body that loomed behind her.
Inside the rooms, sitting curled up on a bed in the back, Mira lifted her head sleepily, eyes brightening when she saw the others spill into the room. She was too excited to take in their tiredness—or the absence of their numbers.
She hopped out of bed, hurrying forward, but there were too many at the entrance for her to walk through.
Instead, she turned her head left and right, the sleepiness fading as she smiled.
"Lottie? Where's Lottie?"
She looked at the pretty woman who often encouraged her to eat, and Wren opened her mouth, but no words came out. Mira couldn't understand—why did that woman stare, as if falling into endless despair?
The tips of Lucas' fingers brushed against the thin fabric of the nightgown, billowing as the girl fell backwards.
At the same time, the creature's bloodied fingers dug into her neck.
In the silence, seconds that felt like decades, Lucas didn't register the sickening plunge of flesh. The soft sound of something dying, or the loud crack of bones. He didn't see the gleam of a fine needle, piercing into her.
He slid the knife in his hand over, flipping it around and mercilessly slamming it into the creature's abdomen, already blooming with wilting flowers.
Pulling it out, the knife harshly grated through flesh, slicing through the side of their stomach. Lumps of blood and clots spilled out the side.
Cradling the girl to his chest, the blade ended the creature's life instantly.
He slammed his knife backwards at the other creature that had caught up, sparing no sympathy or care. He killed, not as if they were humans, but as if they were insignificant enemies.
He betrayed a part of himself, and it would be worth it.
Necessary to save and protect. He didn't spare the corpses a glance, even as their blood spilled at their eyes remained open in silent protest.
With nothing else haunting or chasing the halls, Lucas rested his weight on his knee and moved himself away from the girl, coming to the slow realization that her distant pulse wasn't normal, nor was the utter lack of movement.
Realizing that she might be dead.
Lucas threw his arm out, still holding onto the girl desperately, staring at the soft smile that remained on her lips and her eyes that twitched once, but failed to register his face.
He lowered his gaze to the deep holes in her neck, bent at an odd angle.
And then a deep dread crept under his skin, overwriting the hesitation that he'd erased until it bubbled to the surface, and sent his mind spiraling.
He heard Wren shout at him to get up and enter the room in case something new approached. He heard Mira press again more urgently, wondering why Wren had clasped her hand over the girl's eyes, and wondering where her good friend was.
And then he thought, knowing, as blood spilled from the gaping wounds and onto his curled up hands, immobile and still.
He thought, a simple, logical thing.
That those who died due to the Story would become the Teller's puppets. And that meant, at that moment when he felt as if he were being dragged into a murky swamp, there was only one thing he could do for the girl.
Forcing the lump stuck in his throat down, he trembled and raised his hand. Metal gleamed under the shimmering candle's watch.
Then he plunged it down swiftly, across the broken throat until the distant pulse became entirely void, and he knew while the body fell limp, that—
—Lottie was dead.
And he'd killed her.
Lucas staggered up, still cradling the body in his arms, his back facing the wall of children who stared outside the room.
If he brought her body back in, that would scare the children. Right. He had to be considerate, had to now think about the remaining children and not dwell on the ones he'd failed to protect.
Focus, focus, focus.
He swayed miserably and walked a distance away before placing the body down. Pressing a palm over her eyes, he carefully shut them.
Lucas lingered for a moment, then turned.
Stepping inside, he slumped back against the door, pushing it closed with a slight thud. Mira frowned at the closed door, spinning her gaze over to the man, struggling against Wren's grip that held her tightly.
Lucas took a step forward, and the group of children parted to let him through.
"Lucas," warned Wren hoarsely, not a hint of mockery in her voice.
The man, proud and reliable after leading them for all these days, the man with a sharp tongue at times but who preferred remaining silent and listening, fell to his knees in front of Mira.
His head, always raised in a steady confidence that knew what he was doing and how to do it, hung lower.
Then, he bent lower and whispered a firm yet bewildered, "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I failed." He continued, all while the sweet and oblivious child tilted her head and frowned, unable to understand the meaning behind his apologies.
Instead, she pried Wren's hand away and looked around again.
"Hey... Mister. Where's Lottie?"
Lucas shook his head numbly, raising his hand to his face, a shiver causing his entire body to convulse, before he returned to a frightening stillness. Then, he raised his head and stared Mira directly in the eyes.
But his expression, thought Wren in horror, was a blend of emptiness and splintered sorrow that had no place to show.
His voice found its steadiness, but the words sounded as if he wasn't entirely sure of what he was saying.
"Lottie?" muttered Lucas, as new emotions tided over the ones he'd forcefully turned off, creating an overwhelming backlash. His throat burned with acid as he continued.
"She's dead, kid. Lottie's dead."