Obinai drifts in weightlessness, his body suspended in a void that stretches endlessly in all directions. There’s no sense of up or down, only the eerie calm of nothingness. Then, like a sudden shift in gravity, the sensation changes. His stomach lurches as he feels himself descending, the weightlessness giving way to the hard, unyielding slam of a surface beneath him.

He blinks, his eyes adjusting to the thick darkness surrounding him. Slowly, shapes form in the void—a simple wooden chair beneath him and the faint impression of a solid ground that stretches out. The stillness is suffocating, his breath the only sound.

Then...laughter.

Faint at first, but growing louder, reverberating in the dark.

The sound is familiar yet wrong. Obinai’s heart skips, his muscles tensing as a figure steps forward, emerging from the void.

It’s him—but not.

This version has long, flowing white locs that shimmers faintly, like silk caught in moonlight. His hands, charcoal black, seem unnaturally smooth, like polished obsidian. The most unnerving feature, though, is his eyes. They are filled entirely with darkness, a void broken only by two piercing golden irises that seem to glow with their own light.

The figure stops a short distance away, tilting his head with a smirk. “Do you know who I am?” he asks. His hands rise in a loose gesture, palms outward as though inviting a guess.

Obinai leans forward in the chair, his hands clenching together so tightly his knuckles whiten. His gaze hardens. “You’re the fucker who wrecked my life, aren’t you?” he spits.

The figure—Beelzebub—throws his head back and laughs. “Am I?” he says, wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye as his grin widens. “Think about it, Obinai. Really think. You’re rid of them now, aren’t you?”

The blood drains from Obinai's face. He blinks rapidly, his throat tightening. “What… what are you talking about?” he asks, his voice unsteady.

Beelzebub steps closer now, his blackened hands tucked casually into the pockets of his loose, matching trousers. His grin remains, wide and toothy, as he circles the chair. His cheeky footsteps echo faintly in the void.

He says nothing...

Obinai bolts upright, the chair scraping faintly against the ground as it skids back. His fist flies toward Beelzebub’s face. But before the punch lands, Beelzebub’s hand snaps up with effortless speed, catching it mid-air.

The grin on Beelzebub’s face doesn’t falter. “Oh, this is adorable,” he says. Then, without warning, his grip tightens. Bone crunches...

Obinai’s scream tears from his throat as his hand becomes a mangled mess in Beelzebub’s grasp.

Before he can collapse, Beelzebub kicks him square in the chest, the force sending him flying backward. Obinai crashes into the ground, his nose breaking on impact with a sickening crack. Pain radiates through his face, blood streaming from his nostrils and mouth. He lies there, gasping, his vision swimming as his fingers twitch helplessly against the dark surface.

Beelzebub’s glowing eyes pierce through the darkness as he saunters forward. He crouches beside Obinai, tilting his head like an intrigued onlooker. “Do you know what this place is?” he asks.

Obinai doesn’t respond.

Beelzebub’s grins again. “You,” he says, tapping Obinai’s chest lightly with one charcoal finger, “are inside of very own head.” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or should I say… your mind? Or, better yet…” He chuckles darkly. “Your sanity.”

Obinai winces, his body flinching at the touch. But when Beelzebub gestures toward him again, something changes. “Look at you,” Beelzebub says with mock pity. “Such a mess.” He points toward Obinai’s mangled hand. “Go on. Take a good look.”

With shaky breaths, Obinai glances at his hand—and freezes. It’s whole.

The bones are intact, the skin smooth and unbroken. He flexes his fingers experimentally, disbelief etched across his face. His nose feels suddenly clear too, the pain gone as he wipes away the blood only to find no wound beneath.

He scrambles to his feet, stumbling slightly as his eyes dart between Beelzebub and his hands. “What the hell is this?” he demands.

Beelzebub smirks...but is suddenly far from him.

One moment he’s beside Obinai, and the next he’s standing next to the chair again, as if he had teleported there. He gestures toward the chair. “You know your place,” he says. He pats the backrest of the chair lightly. “Go on. Sit.”

Obinai glares at him, his fists clenching at his sides. His body trembles, but not with fear—this time, it’s rage. His lips press into a thin line, but he says nothing. Slowly, reluctantly, he walks back to the chair. His hateful gaze never leaves Beelzebub’s as he lowers himself into the seat.

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“There we go,” Beelzebub says, clapping his hands once in mock applause. His grin stretches unnaturally wide as he leans against the back of the chair. “Was that so hard?”

Obinai glares at him, his hands gripping the edge of the chair so tightly his knuckles turn white. His jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

“Anyway,” Beelzebub drawls, circling Obinai with slowly. “Before I was so rudely interrupted…” He pauses, glancing at Obinai, then continues. “I have to say, I really did you a favor.”

Obinai’s body stiffens, his breath hitching.

Beelzebub smirks. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who better to stick it to them than their precious Obinai? Barely fourteen, and already such a burden.”

Obinai’s head dips slightly, his teeth grinding together. He moves his trembling fists to his lap, but he doesn’t speak, forcing himself to hold his tongue.

“With your hands, Obinai,” Beelzebub continues, his voice dropping to a near whisper. He steps closer, leaning down until his golden eyes bore into Obinai’s. “You felt it, didn’t you? The way their bones crunched in your palm… their bodies breaking like dry twigs.”

The memories flashing unbidden in his mind—fleeting but vivid. He clenches his eyes shut, trying to block them out...

...but Beelzebub’s laughter shatters his attempts.

“Oh, how riveting it was,” Beelzebub says, grabbing Obinai’s shoulder, shaking him lightly. “The suspense, the anticipation—ugh, it could kill me.” He throws his head back, laughing with wild abandon as Obinai flinches under his grip.

Obinai looks up at Beelzebub. “I will end you,” he growls, “even if it—”

Beelzebub moves in close...

...his face inches from Obinai’s.

The suddenness of it freezes Obinai mid-sentence, his mouth snapping shut. Beelzebub’s golden eyes narrow.

“They hated you,” he murmurs.

Obinai’s eyes widen.

“They hated you, Obinai,” Beelzebub repeats, his voice soft but sharp enough to cut. “You were a disappointment. Do you honestly think they loved you?” He stops behind Obinai, leaning close to whisper in his ear. “Think of their smiles. Go on. Do you really think those smiles were for you?”

Obinai’s can't feel his legs, his breathing shallow as tears well up in his eyes. He shakes his head, his hands trembling. “Shut up,” he whispers, barely audible, but Beelzebub continues.

“You were extra,” Beelzebub sneers, stepping back in front of him. “Even though you came first, you were just an extra. A spare part. Do you even remember how much you stressed them out? Look at you, Obinai. Look at what you represented when they had to drag you outside—how many people did they warn about you? How many teachers?”

Beelzebub’s laughter fills the void, echoing endlessly. “It’s almost funny, isn’t it? They gave up on you, and yet here you are, clinging to the idea that they didn’t.”

Obinai’s tears fall freely now, streaking his face as he struggles to breathe. He starts to get up, but Beelzebub is quicker. He presses a firm hand on Obinai’s shoulder, forcing him back down into the chair.

“Uh-uh,” Beelzebub says with a chuckle, wagging a finger at him. “Not so fast.” He crouches slightly. “You know what I think?” he asks. “I think you still haven’t gotten used to pain just yet. But that’s okay. Want me to help? I could, oh, I don’t know… rip off one of your limbs?” He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Or maybe both your legs? Then you can crawl around like the pathetic little worm you are.”

Obinai bites down on his lip so hard it splits. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t care. He says to Beelzebub. “You,” he says, his voice trembling, “have to die. No matter what it takes.”

Beelzebub’s grin spreads wider, impossibly wide, as he straightens to his full height. His golden eyes gleam. “There it is!” he exclaims, throwing his arms wide as if addressing an unseen audience. “Now that’s the spirit! That’s how you articulate it!” He begins to pace in front of Obinai.

“You’re finally showing some backbone,” Beelzebub continues. “Some conviction. Oh, how I’ve waited for this. You’ve been such a sniveling little wreck up until now. And this?” He gestures toward Obinai with a flourish. “This is much more interesting.” He pauses, cocking his head to the side, his grin sharpening. “Of course, the fun part will be watching how long that fiery little spark of yours lasts. Breaking it? Oh, that’s going to be delicious.”

Obinai doesn’t respond. Beelzebub stops pacing and turns to face him.

“Ah, but enough about you,” Beelzebub says. He takes a step back, his form beginning to blur at the edges, merging with the darkness. “Let’s talk about the old man, shall we? The one you’re so conveniently shacked up with.” He pauses, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve noticed, haven’t you? He’s not exactly… normal. Barely human, if we’re being honest.”

More silence between them...

Beelzebub leans forward slightly. “There’s something about him… something familiar. His soul, Obinai. It has a flavor to it. A wisp of something that caught my attention.” His grin twists into something darker. “It’s intriguing, really. If he were just a little weaker, just a little less resilient, you’d be waking up tomorrow cradling his entrails in your hands. His blood, still warm, would be dripping from your mouth.”

Obinai’s stomach churns, his face paling, but he refuses to look away. Beelzebub watches him with a gleeful glint in his eye.

“But,” Beelzebub says suddenly, his tone brightening, “you’re just as rude as ever, aren’t you? Never even bothered to ask my name. Shame on you, really. Where are your manners?” He lets out a theatrical sigh, shaking his head. “Allow me to enlighten you.”

He straightens, spreading his arms as his voice takes on a resonant, almost musical cadence. “I am Beelzebub,” he declares. “Your shadow. Your fear. For now.” He lets the words hang. “Of course, names are just vessels, you know. Echoes of power. But I’ll let you chew on that for a while.”

Beelzebub’s form begins to dissolve into the surrounding darkness, his voice lingering even as his body fades.

“Wake, mortal,” he says. “We’ll see each other again soon enough.”

Before Obinai can process his words, he feels an overwhelming force grip him, lifting him violently off the ground. The darkness spins around him, the weightlessness returning, but this time it’s different—faster, more chaotic. The sensation pulls him upward with such intensity that a scream catches in his throat, unable to escape.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stops.

Obinai jolts awake, sitting bolt upright with a gasp. His chest heaves, his breaths shallow and rapid, his body slick with sweat. His hands clutch at the blankets beneath him, twisting them into a damp, crumpled mess. The dim light of the cottage surrounds him.

His heart pounds in his ears, the echo of Beelzebub’s laughter still fresh in his mind. “Why…” he whispers shakily...