Falling was a sensation no one should have a sense of familiarity with, yet Ezra found himself falling once more

What little light the school building offered quickly disappeared within the depths of darkness Ezra was hurling himself towards. The first few minutes were fear-stricken. Expecting death at any moment.

Many minutes after that, he was considering whether or not this was another attempt to break him down.

Leading up to what Ezra thought was at least an hour, he started to tune out to the falling sensation, still anxious but also... bored. Ezra was never a patient man, not even for what he believed to be his own death.

In a way, his lowering his guard was meant as a sort of challenge for anyone watching him to come in and try their luck.

But nothing seemed to bite; it was just him heading down the abyss.

His mind wandered, not towards why any of this was happening but rather towards what that smiling girl said—that he was stealing from ‘them’ and that his actions warranted attention twice.

To quote Ezra himself from within his mind: "Sure feels nice to piss on their shoes.”

He began to contemplate some of the inner workings of this ‘game’ he was part of. There are two sides to play for, one being the designated winning side, with the goal of hunting and killing the other. All of that was clear.

What wasn’t was the end goal.

Sacrifice, seeking something among the people they force into this game, doing it for the sake of it—none of it mattered until Ezra wasn’t stuck anymore.

Perhaps it was the very fact that Ezra cared so little about the details around him—the fact that he could focus so much on resisting just for the sake of resisting—that made him special.

He hoped for the opposite. He hoped that he wasn’t unique, that other people stuck within this game were resisting, just like he was, and that they were doing it better than he was.

Quick flashes of that smiling being’s reaction flew before his eyes again, the genuine shock he witnessed, even for just a second when he defied the apparent rules of this realm.

The taste of the terminology was sour for Ezra; it felt wrong to even entertain the idea of being stuck in some twisted little spiel of eldritch entities in some realm of sick entertainment.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He was already imagining a situation where he would be told that the things set in motion would be beyond his comprehension.

Ezra understood just fine what kind of role he and everyone else were supposed to play. There was no point in caring beyond that, even if he couldn’t deny the slight flicker of curiosity.

Still falling, slowly coming to the conclusion that he wouldn’t ever stop doing so, led to Ezra calming down and tracing his steps back to his acts of defiance, perhaps gaining understanding about the machinations behind him being able to do so.

Defiance and rage are the conclusions he came up with.

The first being part of his nature, Ezra more than once referred to himself as a “Contrarian asshole.”

The rage, however, was new to him. No one, especially not himself, would have called him a wrathful man by any length. And yet the situations he found himself in brought that emotion forth every time, without fail.

But just as he did with many things in his life warranting moments of introspection, he didn’t entertain thoughts of his mental state for any longer than he deemed necessary… which meant a few seconds at best.

Yet… that feeling, the experience back when he managed to escape for the second time when his blood boiled, the need to escape and defy, the surge of power he felt. It wasn’t just the adrenaline pumping through him back then, though one could have easily mistaken it as such.

Something changed back there, even if only for a moment, almost as if his nature changed. Was it a freeing feeling? A feeling of loss?

He couldn’t quite narrow it down to any of the above. It was just something that...

Something that seemed natural in a way, almost like being able to express yourself in another language perfectly, without being able to really put the nuances and complexities to the test or explain why they are the way they are.

So instead of trying to explain it to himself, he simply started to revisit that moment, revisit it, and then alter his intent.

He didn’t want to escape like he did before; he wanted to stand on solid ground again. It didn’t matter where.

His concentration grew to the point where the falling sensation was completely blurred out, and he just focused on being in the same state of mind he was back then.

The beating of his heart suddenly became louder, his hands cramping as if they were desperately grasping at something—a flash of red light, as if the blood vessels in his eyes had lit up for the tiniest second.

Everything stopped, even his breath, and for only a moment, it was if, though his intent was let loose into the void, his will set upon it, without any other choice but to listen.

And then... he found himself on his knees, the ever-familiar feel of polished concrete beneath his fingers, his gaze slowly lifting upward, the halls not clad in darkness but set aflame for him to witness, the dark not daring to blind him any longer.

And there were whispers—frenzied whispers of ill intent, beckoning for guidance, wolves asking for their prey.

And he heard the silent pleas of those who were lost and scared.

Ezra was entranced, his vision adjusting further, spots of color moving. He knew what it meant; it was just natural to know. He saw players from both sides.

He felt the calling to join them in the hunt and felt his body cramping up.

He felt the change and the shock in his eyes as he saw the nails of his fingers slowly extend and sharpen.

He was changing into one of them, and part of him almost started to desire the change.

It was the cries of help that brought him back, back from a brink; he didn’t realize he was so close to overstepping.

He wouldn’t be a monster.

Not yet.