Noah’s inspection of the lighter is disrupted when the girl suddenly grabs onto his arm and says with fear in her voice. “Th-there are ghosts. Are they going to attack us?”

Noah takes a moment to scan the classroom and sees at least a dozen hazy silhouettes of ghosts forming in the darkness.

Holding the candle in his left hand and the lighter in his right, Noah ushers the girl towards the door, pushing her along in front of himself. “We are getting out of the room.”

The girl does not resist Noah’s pushes and actively rushes out the door, moving to stand in the hallway right behind him.

Noah meanwhile remains just inside the door of the art room, fumbling with the lighter in his hands. He is pressing his thumb down across the spark wheel in an attempt to ignite the lighter.

But through his many attempts, he is unable to get even a spark. Causing him to begin to panic, as a nervous sensation spreads across his body.

With a brief glance into the dark room, Noah is able to see the figures of many approaching ghosts, who have angry expressions.

Noah continues to roll his thumb across the spark wheel and onto the button of the hand held lighter to no avail. His careful attempts resulting in not even a spark.

Feeling pressured from the approaching group of ghosts, Noah begins to haphazardly flick his thumb across the spark wheel and button, hoping to get some result, otherwise he will have to start running away from the ghosts.

The lighter sparks three times during his efforts, more than it did when he was careful. Feeling a faint glimmer of hope, Noah continues to flick the lighter, which eventually results in a spark turning into a small orange flame.

Locking his thumb in place suddenly, Noah freezes to preserve the delicate balance that resulted in the lighter igniting.

He brings the candle wick over to the lighter, careful not to move his right hand too much. As soon as the small candle wick makes contact with the orange of the flame, an unexpected plume of white billows out from the candle.

Forcefully expanding into the vague shape of a horned maw, the white flame aggressively leaps forward away from him. A strong intimidating aura is felt, as Noah and even the ghosts freeze in place.

It is not a physical feeling, but one that strikes deep into Noah. An intimidation, a cowering of his soul, as the maw of white flames is an existence that can strike fear into the souls of far more powerful individuals.

The white flames burn hot, causing Noah’s hand, arm and face to heat up. His hand and arm especially begin to sear, the hair of his arm even burning away.

The candle wax rapidly melts and flows down onto Noah’s hand in streams. A strong smell of spice mixed with dried earth diffuses. The scent of myrrh spreads across the room as the candle melts.

Despite the searing pain from the hot wax on his hand, Noah does not react as he is frozen in place. His eyes wide, in fear, in intimidation, as the Maw of white flames is the only thing reflected in them.

The burning and flickering flames absorb all his attention, as the smells and pains go completely unnoticed. He stands there for what feels like minutes, absorbed by the demon of flames that stretches out before him.

A small trail of white flames still connects the underside of the demon to the melting point of the candle. A small tether that is the only evidence of its limited freedom.

Finally, after what feels like ages, but in reality is only two seconds, the extended maw of the demon bites down onto the cluster of five ghosts. Cleanly severing their upper bodies from the lower halves.

Chewing with audible crunches and snaps, like breaking bones and torn tissues, the demon savors the first bite of its very last meal. Spectral screams of despair and immense agony accompany its refreshing delicacy.

With every crack and every pop of the ghost’s bodies, Noah can feel his own chest tighten up in pain. He can feel the carnage the demon inflicts onto the ghosts. It comes in waves, spreading up from his left arm, originating from the candle.

The spectral screams the ghosts let out reverberate within his own soul, shaking him in his already vulnerable state.

For the second the lower halves of the ghosts remain untouched, they ooze and trickle a near blood like substance. A denser and darker mist that pours out of them, dissipating into the air.

After only two rapid chomps, the flickering white maw swallows its first bite. Rapidly opening its jaws once again, it gobbles up the remaining parts of the ghosts.

Swallowing that down as well, the demon maw turns its attention to the other ghosts in the room. Rapidly flying forward, the demon maw extends its thin leash to the limit. The only thing preventing its total rampage.

Biting down and consuming one terrified ghost after another, the demon maw rapidly makes its way around the room in only a few seconds.

Still in a daze, Noah is also dragged along as the demon maw moves forward with immense force. He can only stumble after it, following it into the darkness of the room.

The demon of white flames leading him onward as it pursues the easy prey before it. Not a single one of the ghosts attempts to run, as they are all cowed into submission before the demon even bites into them.

It is a complete slaughter. There is no battle, there is no struggle. Only a butchering of hapless ghosts who have never before seen such a terrifying being as the demon.

The demon of flames flies over a table, approaching its last prey that hides in the corner of the room. The last remaining ghost, the only one to have escaped its hungering maw.

Noah’s hip slams into the side of a table, the darkness of the room and his own current inept state prevent him from avoiding it.

Coming to a sudden stop, the demon maw’s own aggressive assault is halted just a hair’s breadth away from fully biting down on the last cowering ghost.

Feeling itself fading away as the last of the candle’s wick burns out, the demon maw clamps its jaws down. Only managing to bite a chunk out of the ghost’s arm, which it holds up above its head.

With a gushing of fresh mist from the ghost's wound, the large intimidating presence vanishes, fizzling out into nothingness. Its own white flames completely imploding like they never existed, folding in on itself until it's nothing more than a small speck of white, it too fading away.

Noah remains motionless, leaning against the table the demon had pulled him into. His senses do not register the demon’s disappearance. As his heart and mind are still recovering from the immense overload of sensations, and pains.

The tightness in his chest, the ringing in his mind. The tingling across his arm and the heat that is still scalding his left hand. Noah’s brain is still processing everything that has occurred in this short time frame.

The demon maw only existing for a brief 15 seconds, a short period of time where so much had happened.

Noah’s arm is still outstretched, the same position he was in when the demon pulled him. His eyes remain open in a daze, unblinking as he tries to make sense of everything he is feeling.

But it is through no effort of Noah’s that helps him to recover. Only when he hears a small voice from beside him and a gentle touch to his arm does he start blinking again.

“Are you crying?” Her voice nearly breaks into sobs. “Are you hurt too?” She pauses to let out a quiet cry. “I am..sad… They are all.. Gone…”

The slight tug on his arm, her delayed and grieving words. Noah’s sensitive heart pains him even greater as he too comes to the realization that all those defenseless ghosts were killed, murdered by the evil demon.

The demon that he had unleashed upon them. All their deaths were his own fault, it was his hands that had killed them. Before the tears overpower him, Noah croaks out a nearly inaudible “yes.” A response to the girl’s questions.

Is he crying? Yes, he can feel the water in his eyes, the moisture across his cheeks. He can sense the streams of tears have been rolling down his face for sometime now.

Yet Noah does not want to stop it. He...embraces the sorrow, the strong regret, the grief and loss. He collapses, the strength in his legs that had held him somewhat on his feet, finally giving out.

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He lays down, half sprawled on the table he was leaning against prior. His body wracked by choking sobs as tears anew run down his cheeks. He feels everything so immensely.

Everything is so strong, so overwhelming that he cannot help but break down. He falls further into his weakness, every last emotion pours out of him like a tide, falling from his face along with all of the tears, snot and mucus.

He has no control, he has no awareness. He only feels, and that's it. He feels intense emotion, because.. Because why? Why does he feel like this?

The ghosts, he remembers now. It was the deaths of the ghosts, because of him. He killed the ghosts and it makes him feel so distraught, so dreadful. He cannot help but to cry. An even more powerful sob causes his whole body to shake and quiver.

It was through his own hands that all the innocent ghosts perished, consumed by the demon maw of flames. Is it... such a terrible thing?

The ghosts, the same type that had attacked him on multiple occasions already. The same ghosts that were approaching him with the intent to attack. They were the ones that approached him aggressively first. Is it so wrong that they were the ones to be killed then?

Noah stops, his whole body becomes still. From a completely overwhelming sobbing wail, to stillness. His mind freezes over as cold waves wash across his body. Why? Why is he doing this?

Raising his head and looking through blurry eyes, Noah faintly sees the last remaining ghost, still cowering in the corner of the room. The dense mist is still dissipating out of it from its terrible wound.

One ghost still remains. There is still one.

Pushing himself up with shaky arms, Noah stands upright once again. Taking unsteady steps around the table while bracing himself against it, Noah approaches the last ghost. A determination present in his eyes.

Some little spark of defiance and stubbornness that pushes him to complete the task he had started. To eliminate all of the ghosts, simply because ‘something’ does not want him to. That same ‘something’ that is influencing him internally, making him so emotionally vulnerable.

Taking step after step, each becoming more firm than the last. Noah makes his way to stand directly before the last cowering ghost. The ghost of a small boy whose arms are pathetically raised over his head in a futile attempt to protect himself.

A defenseless boy that even now is oblivious to the danger that stands before him. His mouth open in a silent plea for help. A never ending prayer for his torment to finally end.

Noah’s dull eyes bore into the small ghost. The streams of tears that had sprung from them moments earlier are all gone. The only thing that is visible in them, is an indifference.

He does not feel for the boy himself. It is only those ‘things’ that compel him to feel. He will shed no tears, and feel no sympathy for the ghost. Not even as he raises his left arm, the one that is reddened from the flames.

Bringing his wax covered left hand up, Noah cleaves straight through the body of the ghost. The direct contact brings with it a new sensation. A feeling of cold mist that soothes the burns along his hand and arm.

The singular swipe only being enough to distort the silhouette of the small ghost. Not nearly enough to kill it.

Noah sees this and brings his arm back across through the ghost in a back hand strike. But that still isn't enough, so Noah swings again and again.

He swings his left arm back and forth through the ghost’s body a number of times, until the ghost’s silent cries are quelled forever. Its body dissipating into a fine mist that diffuses into air around it.

The many swings of his wax covered hand spread the strong smell of myrrh across the room, causing Noah’s nose to crinkle, barely keeping back a sneeze.

The powerful smell of incense from the candle being firmly ingrained into Noah’s person, his clothes, hair and skin. Especially his left hand where the cooled wax has hardened, cementing Noah’s fingers.

This was the reason Noah’s attacks were able to harm the ghost. As all ordinary physical strikes would not be able to truly harm a ghost, only irritate them.

From beside him, Noah hears the girl's soft voice once more. “He was hurting. I hope he is ok.”

Noah hears himself responding before he can fully comprehend why. “It is better now,” he says in a whisper. An answer that might mean something more to himself.

Noah brings his right hand up to his cheek, he is able to feel the dried streams where his tears had run down.

He wipes his face across his forearm, erasing the last remnants of his weakness. The moments of uncontrollable vulnerability that had afflicted him.

The same as he has done before, Noah does not contemplate why this happened and why he felt so intensely. Instead, he turns away from it, attempting to forget it.

So he stares ahead of himself blankly for a few moments, absorbed in the strange somber mood that surrounds him and the girl equally.

When all is over with, Noah turns to look down at the girl standing a distance behind. He looks at her with the same dull eyes he saw the last ghost with. These are his own eyes.

The words that come from Noah’s mouth do not pertain to any of the previous events, instead they form a question about his trial. “The room is clear, how will it become a safe haven?”

It is a question mainly for the girl to answer, as Noah himself has yet to think of even one possible solution. With no intention of even trying to find one. So he throws the responsibility onto the girl that has yet to fail when giving instructions about the next course of action.

Noah prefers this method, over putting any effort in himself. He would rather let others lead and think while he just lays back and simply exists.

But the girl’s answer gives Noah a shock. “Heaven? That’s the place.. good people go to.. after they die?” Her answer is laced with intention. More than likely this was not a simple mishearing of words.

Instead this is an intentional answer given to incite a certain reaction. A reaction that Noah does not give. As he remains quiet, unmoving in his emptiness.

But one thought does linger in his mind: Good people go to heaven. Then to have ended up here, in the Afterdeath, Noah must not have been a good person. Does that mean he was bad then?

Noah does not know what it means to be deemed a good or a bad person. In the Afterdeath, there is fortunately, no distinction. Personal motives and circumstances are the only judges of one’s character.

Will you be able to act when it matters most? That is the only question to ask.

Morals? Justice? You will have to create them yourself, if you want to believe in them.

Letting his thoughts fade, Noah lifts his left hand, taking his first look at the damage done. The hardened wax on his hand and slight burns to his arm.

He feels the pain, notices the discomfort. Yet he has no deeper feeling, just a surface level pain. He feels disconnected from his own body, not truly identifying it as himself.

Not being able to see his hand and arm very well in the dim light, Noah asks aloud again, seemingly having forgotten he did so already.

“Is there a way to create a safe haven?” He asks no one in particular, the dull tone of his voice betraying no emotion.

The girl responds after a few quiet moments. “The lights. Turn on the Lights!” She says with a sudden burst of excitement. Something seeming to have clicked in her head.

Raising her arms like a giddy young child, the girl begins a hop-skip journey towards the door. Presumably she has knowledge of where the light switch is.

Noah watches through the darkness, the bobbing silhouette of the girl moving across the room, bumping into various chairs and tables along the way. Yet her enthusiasm is not deterred, even after stubbing her toe quite firmly.

Then with a joyful “yippie!” She flips the switch. A few of the lights across the room flicker and turn on, bathing the previously dark room in a fluorescent glow. Completely unlike the dim orange of the hallway lights.

The same type of lighting that illuminated the nurse’s office and band room, is now present inside the art room.

Still, there is no prompt to signify that Noah’s 4th trial is complete. As the trial had stated: To clear the room of all danger and transform it into a safe haven.

Just as Noah is about to move, the girl shouts out aloud once more. “Ah! I know something!” She settles down briefly, moving over to the nearest table. She sets down her toy bear that she has been holding onto this whole time.

“I’m sorry Mr. Bear, but your scarf is very…” She pauses, unable to find the correct word. Holding her on the top of her head, the girl puts on a struggling expression, desperately thinking of the correct word, but it eludes her.

“It's…Precious!” She finally yells. Unwrapping the glittering red scarf from the toy bear, she once again apologizes. “I’m sorry Mr. Bear, your scarf is very precious.”

Leaving her toy bear on the table, this being the first time Noah has seen her separate from it. The girl approaches the still inwardly open classroom door. She carefully grabs the door's edge and pushes it closed, revealing a tac board covered in pins on its inner side.

Pulling a pin out of the board, she hesitantly raises the glittering scarf in the other hand, putting it against the board. Acting like it brings pain to do so, she pokes the pin through the fabric of the scarf and into the board, which holds the scarf in place.

Saying one last, “I’m sorry,” she turns around facing towards Noah. Who has been silently observing her this whole time. Clasping her hands together nervously, she says with some confidence, “There! It's all safe like heaven!”

True to her word, Noah receives his prompt at this moment. “Trial 4 complete. Now beginning trial 5. Lifeless your task is to wait for the warning alarm to ring, before you will evacuate the school grounds and board the bus that will deliver you to your next destination.”

‘Hearing’ this prompt, Noah merely shakes his head slightly. He got the message, understood its content. Yet what the trial is expecting him to do is still slightly confusing.

It takes Noah a while longer to come to his own conclusion on what his next course of action should be. To most others, it is very straightforward and simple, to just wait.

But Noah’s strong suite has little to do with thinking. If there is anything he excels at, it has yet to be shown.

Approaching the nearest chair, Noah sits down. Having finally reached his own decision. He will wait in this art room until the alarm sounds, however long it may be.

The girl that has aided him in his trials so many times also sits in a chair, one adjacent to Noah’s own.

The sharpness in her eyes and hidden depths to her thoughts are all gone. What remains is the same disoriented, bleary eyed girl Noah met when he first entered the bathroom, prior to detention.

Whatever intellect that was residing in the simple and innocent girl, is now gone. She has reverted back to how she was intended to be. She is once again, herself. No longer under the influence of a wandering beguiler, who has always called herself a seer.