T/W: For mentions of suicide! Nothing graphic though
With that, hope you enjoy the story and comment any questions (for me, about the story or any for the characters themselves) you have for the Q and A session!!!! It means a lot!! ✨
I don’t know! I swear I don’t know!
NO! PLEASE!
I beg you-
-JUST LEAVE THEM ALONE!
A terrorising cacophony of screams plagued Mahan’s mind as the man sauntered amongst Neora’s bustling sidewalks. It was around eleven at night, yet, crowds still swarmed the neon-lit roads with the noisy horns and sirens of vehicles accentuating the grandiose nature of the city. However, for Mahan, nothing registered - not sight nor sound. Only agonised pleas and the taste of copper on his tongue existed for him. A smirk crept onto his lips, masked by the woolen scarlet scarf he wore. If a couple of broken gags of laughter escaped, then the public was too narrow-minded to notice.
Mahan grinned as a particular memory resurfaced. In seconds, the world blurred, revealing a man with vacant green eyes and lengthy, golden, frayed hair. Red stained the metal walls as the scent of decay prevailed. “Don’t do this.” He whispered. Yet, Mahan paid no heed. Instead, he broke off into gleeful laughter.
“Too late! WAY, WAY TOO LATE! AHAHA!” He jeered, earning a few annoyed glances from passersby who finally acknowledged the ruckus. Sparing nothing but a side glance, Mahan began to sprint through the waves of people, his eyes fixed on the shimmering skyscrapers surrounding them all. Cloud-piercing they could be, yet nothing could fulfill his purpose…nothing but one. It has to be perfect. Mahan concluded. Absolutely perfect. As minutes flew by, he found himself in front of shimmering glass doors that opened onto a golden, executive-styled interior, people in various formal wear marched in and out of the premises. Without any hesitation, Mahan barreled through the automatic doors, striding to the reception desk.
An expressionless man with wired glasses scoffed at his arrival.
“Good evening, sir. How may I–oh my, Master Victaros!” Within seconds, the man stood on his feet, bowing profusely as his brown eyes shot wide. Mahan smirked in irritation. There’s no time for this. He raised an eyebrow at the lad.
“Tsk. Do I have to ask for permission to be let into my own building?” Mahan questioned, causing the man to scramble to get his access key.
“N-no, sir! H-here you go!” The man stammered as he tapped the card against the electronic gate. Beep! The waist-high iron gates swung open softly. Mahan walked on without sparing a glance at the trembling figure beside him. Within a few steps, the pungent smell of lemongrass stung his senses, causing a scowl. Whilst he could make a list of the things he adored in this place, the scent was one he had completely loathed since childhood.
Thank god I won’t have to smell it any longer. He thought in twisted gratitude as employees parted ways in his presence. Mahan didn’t smile nor acknowledge their murmured greetings as he strode into an elevator, smacking the highest number possible. From within the speaker, a robotic voice queried.
“Restricted floor selected. Voice and name activation required.”
“Mahan Victaros, son of Amille Harol Victaros.” He winced as the blaring siren sounded.
“Incorrect.”
Mahan blinked owlishly before groaning in exasperation. Dual eyes rolled in their sockets. In hindsight, he should’ve forseen this- his parents’ pride in their legacy was notorious. In a moment of relapse, words from a Neoranian tongue long abandoned were released.
“Mahan Victaros! Hahdenrai liaranaou dousi viaranah!” I’m her son, goddamn it! He roared in a blind rage, his fist swinging furiously at the speaker box above him. Mahan seethed amidst the tense silence, stopping as a soft whir echoed.
“Access granted. Welcome: “My ‘angel of cherry blossoms’”
Mahan felt summer heat on his cheeks as the lift gravitated upwards. MUUUM! He groaned mentally. Gloved hands, cradled his face as the heat increased tenfold. Why? Just WHY? Streams of embarrassed whines and curses left his lips all the while until the sudden halt of the elevator.
“Floor Thirty-five.”
A bell chimed as the exit opened up to the balcony. Something flashed in Mahan’s head as his embarrassment faded away. Right. He had to focus on the real reason he came here tonight. One step was all it took for frost to nip at his cheeks and pierce his coat. He shivered as he took trembling steps forward. Glancing around, Mahan discovered no other presence or noise; in fact, the horns from traffic were nothing but whispers at this height. He was alone, with only the stars as his omniscient companions. He checked his watch.
11:40
Only twenty minutes left. With haste, he went up to the ledge as his eyes stared upon the colourful specks of light miles away. Mahan closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. Come on. Just do it. GO FOR-
“Scared, are we?” A voice laughed behind him.
Mahan jumped several feet in the air as he whirled on his heels. His eyes dilated as his heart ran a marathon inside his ribs. Yet there was no one. Sweat merged with tears as they trickled down.
“N-no-” he stammered, but another whisper came on his left.
“Shut up and do it then!”
Mahan yelped, spinning once more before tripping over his own feet. He sprawled on the ground, his neck craning in all directions as wicked laughter flooded his senses. Air constricted in his lungs, each breath getting shorter by the minute. Mahan clamped his eyes shut, slamming his palms to his ears. Nails broke skin as he grit his teeth from the onslaught. They’re not real. None of this is real! Mahan chanted to himself.
“Oh, but we were once.” A monotone murmur echoed in response.
“Full of life we were, " Another voice chimed.
“-until you stole it with your hands!” They screamed in unison, with the volume escalating. Mahan could only see mangled corpses and bloodied faces- each he could recall by name as the scent of metal tainted his lips. Mahan thought he could suppress his horror, but when he remembered the small, broken bodies, he lost it. He screamed with the voices, writhing on the floor.
“GET AWAY! GET AWAY!” Mahan screeched, shaking his head frantically. He arose on shaking feet, slicing his hands through the air with his eyes still shut. Eerie laughter returned tenfold, circling around his trembling form like wolves. All his walls shattered as he broke down into mindless mutters and hysteria.
“Not real. Not real- all dead. All gone! AHAHAHA!”
“Aw, including me?” A smooth voice teased. Mahan ceased speaking, a chill running down his spine. No…not you…anything but-
“Me? But you always liked playing with me!” Mahan felt a familiar caress on his jawline, urging him to tilt his head. But he did not dare to.
“Mahaaaaaan.” The voice drew petulantly. “Look at me, please?”
“N-n-no.” Mahan stammered, fixing his gaze resolutely on the floor. “I can’t-”
“LOOK AT ME!” The voice roared. With a lurch, Mahan’s resistance crumbled as chromatic eyes locked onto empty sockets. The man sneered as blood dripped from his golden fringe, with bruises dusting the rest of his pale skin. He wore torn, grey clothes with deep gashes lining his skin.
“Like what you see?” The man’s voice dropped to a low growl. “You chose every bruise, remember?”
Mahan was lost for words, frozen in raw terror as the man cackled maniacally. As soon as it emerged, the laughter ceased.
“Did you regret it?”
“I-I-sorry-” Mahan stuttered and shook his head incoherently. The man cocked his head to the side as a grin twisted its way once more.
“Then die for me.”
With a shove, Mahan fell back but never hit the ground. As he stumbled, the manic laughter from above faded from his ears and he snapped back into reality. Streaks of light and air rushed upwards as he entered freefall. Mahan’s thoughts and memories spiralled along with his body as gravity urged him to his death. Relief washed over him ath the thought.
It’s going to be over. I’m done.
No more lives. No more orders.
I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m - WELL, I DON’T WANT TO DIE!
Instantly, Mahan’s body acted of its own accord, arm groping onto a random ledge. However, he didn’t stop his plunge entirely, but was knocked off course, cascading before plummeting on a suspended platform. The world was a blur of colours and muffled noise. Mahan blinked away the fog in a daze, vaguely registering a liquid seeping in his hair. Gradually, his blissful dream was shattered as pain consumed him, sparking through his nerves, setting them on fire. Only then did he come to the horrifying revelation.
I’m…I’m not dead?!
What the hell do you think?
Mahan flinched as another voice responded to his thoughts. It sounded achingly familiar. The ‘voice’ scoffed at his apparent stupidity.
Moron. I AM you. A pause. The saner part at least.
Mahan’s delirium outweighed his current pain as he attempted to rationalise. He couldn’t dare imagine such an elaborate scheme…so how did this thing become so? Still in disbelief, he tried another question.
What…are you?
Didn’t we just establish this? Keep up.
Mahan gasped in surprise before groaning as the action sent whips of fire down his ribs.
Keep on yapping, and we’ll be dead soon. Open your intra-memo. It demanded. Mahan raised a brow as he responded in hesitatingly.
Why…why would you care at all? This is what I wanted from the start.
Oh really? Did YOU want to do this or…was it because of someone else? It spat full of malice. Mahan’s eyes widened slightly, but he refused to respond. Despite being alone, he averted his gaze, annoyed at being called out.
My, aren’t you a pathetic sight. It chided with disdain.
Irritation simmered in Mahan’s veins at the insult.
As if you know anything!
Oh, but I do. Every last detail, emotion, thought, and memory of yours is a reflection of mine. Including the guilt poisoning you entirely. The voice cut sharply with its words as it barrelled on.
You feel responsible for their lives. Their memory is chasing you like a shadow at your heels. Undying. Never stopping. Your blood and theirs have mingled beyond belief, and you just can’t wash it clean. And to make matters worse, you eliminated the one person who understood your pain by your own hand. Overall, you’re tired, aren't you?
Tears pricked Mahan’s eyes at the words. He was so exhausted. Missions, execution, everything was draining him the longer he continued, until he decided- he simply couldn’t. The voice cooed in comfort.
I understand what you’re going through. A burden like this is like treading water with an anchor to your legs. But…what if I said I could get rid of it for you?
Mahan stilled at the suggestion, his breath taken away. He could almost perceive the voice grinning as it said its next words.
Yes. It hissed. I’ve the perfect solution to your conundrum at my disposal. All your guilt dispersed in seconds. You will be free to continue living blissfully unaware of the sin around you. In fact, you can even blame someone else for any action at all: me. I’ll be your excuse for whatever trouble you pull up, that is, for a trivial condition, of course.
Yet, at the mention of freedom, Mahan ignored the warning tone. His thoughts were renewed with vigour as hope shone in his eyes like a blessing.
Anything! I’ll do anything! Just get rid of these cursed emotions. Mahan begged the voice within him. He pictured a Cheshire grin in his mind as the voice purred.
My pleasure.
Suddenly, something was drawing Mahan like a siren into the depths of his thoughts. His lashes fluttered closed. It was unnerving yet simultaneously tranquil. Without restraint, Mahan gave in to the force as something washed over his mind. In his last moments of consciousness, he heard the voice whisper once more.
Here’s my first present of many: rest. Happy Birthday, my angel of death.
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