CHAPTER 11 : FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Located a few hallways apart, in a room occupied by nothing other than himself, a certain special individual’s hand was working their fingers to the bone, scribbles and circles being drawn over a crude caricature of Harux and Lucius. The latter, the main target as made evident by his enlarged proportions and an even bigger red X drawn over him.

Oblivious to the fact that the pain in his hand had radiated to his arms and shoulders, the only thing that he could think about was his enemies’ inevitable and timely destruction. How could he not? According to him, everything was fitting perfectly into place, well close to everything anyway.

All that remained was the final piece of the puzzle.

A grin of satisfaction on his face, Tommy spent the night relishing in his genius. After all, Harux now lived with a disowned reputation, a carefully engineered masterplan only made possible by his machinations. Who would care if he got a little hurt? No one. That’s right, he was sure no one cared about him, going as far as to fantasize about his definitively dreadful childhood. Maybe his parents left him, mayhaps a lion had seized his leg for itself and the one that he had seen was none other than a replacement, or maybe, just maybe, he had one day forgotten his lunch when going out to a picnic, being left all alone to whimper without food.

Heheh. The last one in particular struck him as excessively terrible.

Perhaps if things went well, he would even get the elf to admit his inferiority as a slave, and part ways with his dignity, or even better, his body, a limb parted on one wall, and a limb parted to another.

Visualising his gruesome demise, Tommy couldn’t help but giggle to himself.

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It was all too easy.

To a man blinded by arrogance, victory was not something to work towards but merely an inevitability. And as such, Tommy failed to see the simplest of flaws in his plan.

“Argh.” He wanted to puke.

Something was coming from his throat, in reflex, he reached for a tissue, and spat in it. With a quick glance, one could see what was wrong, and that was that it was not phlegm or spit that had stuck to it, but a ugly mixture of red and black miasma.

From this one could deduce that he was perhaps afflicted with some form of illness, or predicament, and they would be right. For this was the culmination of a curse he had received on a mission with Jaiga. Thinking it to be some passing disorder, Tommy made no note of it. Yet, unbeknownst to him, said curse was not only a physical affliction, but also a mental one, while incapable of substituting an individual's pre existing personality for something completely different, it did possess the ability to change it somewhat, encourage specific actions, or entice what would once be dormant, passing thoughts.

Such, while normally contrary to his nature, he had been seeking more and more unnecessary conflict as of late, going as far as to consider the possibility of murder. Years and years of rejection and shame building up, a voice whispered in the crevices of his mind, twisting his negative sentiments into something far more sinister.

While any other normal person would have sought out help for their condition, upon becoming self-aware and realizing that such a mindset had muddled with their conventional line of thinking, Tommy could unfortunately never fit in that bracket in the first place. The mixture of pride and already established malice had tarnished what otherwise would have been a more logical individual.

Compared to the petty squabble that had occurred tonight, the upcoming dispute would be far more than a simple exchange of firebolts. Thoughts of his deteriorating body in mind, Tommy and the being that dwelled within, resolved to end it with one swift clash.

But then again, without conflict, what desire would fuel individuals to reconcile in the first place?