This was not the first time the man named Mezil Thyme stretched the boundaries of what it means to be human.
When was his first time?
Was it in the War of the Red Victory?
Was it as the Harbinger?
Was it even earlier?
Mezil couldn’t remember when he started feeling this dangerous melding of the fantastical and the mundane. He just knew that he should take precautions against falling into delusion.
The next part of the event would take place outside of the school. A special gift for the Aratet awaited there, or so he was told. The whole entourage marched back towards the entrance.
For the first time in a decade, Mezil noticed he could walk comfortably without his cane outside of The Void. All the aches of age had vanished in a blink.
It’s tempting to maintain this youth. Yet, he knew that doing so would be nothing short of a sin; the cost for anything long term would be far too great.
In the midst of his thoughts, a loud burp escaped his throat. Mezil quickly covered his mouth with his arm. How embarrassing. No matter how enchanted he was, it appears that his stomach will never fail to remind him of his biological limitations.
The Grandmaster leaned close to his ear and whispered a tease: “Hmmmm… gluttony is considered a deadly sin for a reason. Your body is feeling the burn.”
Mezil grunted. “Father, please don’t.” Burp. “And I’m sure accidental indulgences aren't counted.”
“Of course, of course. True gluttony is the mindset of ‘never enough’: ravenous, violent, and all-consuming.”
“I still think it’s rather hard to tell apart from greed,” commented the son-in-law. “They’re sides of the same cursed dice of corruption.”
“Dice, hm?”
“Coins don’t have nearly enough facets.”
It’s a drizzle outside. The sun had set over the horizon, leaving behind a bluish glow in the distance. Chilly weather, but at least it was no longer a magic-charged thunderstorm.
The non-Mettaton press in the distance started taking footage. A rather dour day to do their job, that’s for certain. Mettaton had the luck of featuring the happenings indoors.
On one hand, these reporters provided vital information about the world: think of them as a glorified alert bell. On the other hand, the media gave him no end to the headaches of sensationalism and half-truths. Whichever sold more.
The Grandmaster beckoned for the mysterious truck to drive to the school’s porch. He then turned towards the feast’s foreign guests.
“Aiden of Aratet,” said the masked one. “I knew Young Papyrus would have trouble uncovering your favourite food. The preparation time is too short and the unknowns too great. Therefore, I prepared something that might interest your community in the long term.”
Upon the elder’s signal, the truck drivers got to work. They opened the door and dragged out a ramp. One of the staff climbed into the space. Not long after, he led four woolly lambs out from the shadows. One ram and three ewes, roughly about a year old.
Clop, clop, clop, those little hooves went.
Assorted astonishments rippled through the group. Mezil raised a brow. He had to hand it to his father-in-law and his penchant for hidden aces up his sleeve.
“OH MY GOD!” Papyrus exclaimed, “ARE THOSE LAMBS?!? I HAVE NEVER SEEN A REAL LAMB BEFORE! ONLY PHOTOS AND DRAWINGS OF THEM!”
Frisk nodded. “Same here, Papyrus.”
Undyne said: “Man, their wool is a lot curlier than I expected.”
“T-They’re so cute,” Alphys muttered. “Are they… fierce? I’ve heard that farm animals can be pretty feisty.”
Mettaton scratched the top of his boxy head in confusion. “Adorable. But what special pizzaz do they bring to the table?”
The Grandmaster then explained: “Remember the Wisteria Blue Cheese you had earlier? The milk comes from this species of sheep, aptly named ‘Milksheep’. First engineered a hundred years ago, the Milksheep is known for their prolific lambing, robust health, and multi-purpose produce. They have a high dairy output, as their namesake indicates. Yet, they also provide good meat and wool.”
While petting the lambs, he continued: “The Aratet region has historically raised fat-tailed sheep. A very hardy breed. Although civilizations have depended on their produce for aeons, they still have one big drawback: their wool is coarse and often coloured. This limits the kind of crafts that could be made with them.”
“If these critters are not suitable…” The cloaked one stepped aside, “Our esteemed guests may inspect the seed crop waiting inside. Wheat, potatoes, barley, sorghum, and many others. None of which are genetically sterile, so they can be seed-saved for the future. I have also included some farming tools. I would have preferred heavy machinery, but transporting them up to the plateaus could be an issue.”
The Aratet whispered between themselves, wondering what to do, while Aiden himself seemingly couldn’t believe what he had heard. The offers meant more than most urbanites would understand; to a farmer, these gifts could change the lives of a whole community.
“Are you sure?” asked Aiden. “We’re still not your allies.”
The Grandmaster responded, “Concern not yourselves with diplomatic affairs. Since these are paid by my own coffers, they are my personal gifts. Please let me know if there is anything that requires adjustments. You know your land better than I do.”
Aiden called for a number of his followers to inspect the contents of the truck, while he personally checked the flock’s health. Dayton assisted his father. As the eldest son, he will most likely inherit the trade.
Niton kept the sheep calm. He petted and sang to them as if they belong to his own flock.
By the time the lambs passed his father’s scrutiny, Niton had bonded with the lambs. He beckoned over to Frisk and the others, letting them pet the woolly beasts. Mettaton wasted no time filming the cutest clip of the day.
There was a notable difference between how the experienced farmers approached the lambs. They lacked the cautiously curious wonder of the Ebottian youngsters, whose uncertainty might make the animals nervous. And Mezil knew from experience that a nervous animal is also a dangerous animal.
There was only so much attention that the sheep could tolerate. After they tire, they were led away. Mister Mettaton ushered in a new direction for the festivities.
The whole entourage moved to the gym. As Mettaton had promised, he used his celebrity charm to stage Captain Undyne’s bench pressing shenanigans there.
“Beauties and Gentlebeauties, welcome! Tonight, our very own Captain of the Royal Guard will set a new world record! She will be the first monster to bench a weight of 17 adult humans! For an added challenge, Captain Undyne must be able to lift three times in order to succeed~”
Mezil can’t help but notice a huge change of mood among the Aratet. When they first arrived, their guard was high and they were ready to fight. They didn’t think well about the monsters either. But now? They had lowered that wall and let themselves loose. Friendlier. Cooperative. Welcoming. The gap between the factions stopped mattering and only the rule of fun remained. All because of the Grandmaster’s generous gift.
While they gathered volunteers, Mezil decided to see himself to the spectator seat. He refused to let his strange vampire status steal the spotlight. Let Captain Undyne shine in her own right.
The Grandmaster appeared to have the same thought. His robed self settled down right beside his son-in-law.
“Ah… the merry sight of children playing. What fun it is.”
“Are you amused?” ask the son-in-law.
In which the elder replied: “Of course. This joy never grows old no matter the era.”
It turned out there were too many volunteers. Doctor Alphys -- the smart one -- suggested to take a headcount of each side.
After they had the exact number, Doctor Alphys beckoned for Papyrus. The two ran back into the gym storeroom to hammer together a fair solution. They came out with a weighing machine, a mobile whiteboard, and two cardboard boxes. Judging from the excessive rolling and clinking noises, the boxes contained a bunch of glass marbles.
“L-let’s try this,” said the lizard, “The box on my left is for the Aratet, and the box on my right is for the Magi. There are only eight red marbles in each box. Those few to draw a red one will be number 1 to 16. Frisk will personally choose the 17th person. I-is that okay?”
“Okay!”
“Sure, sounds fair.”
“Hehe, this sounds like the lottery!”
“Oh, one more thing,” said Alphys. “You have to pick a marble with your eyes closed. No peeking!”
A lottery, it was. But it was a fair one. Before long, Numbers 1 to 16 were chosen from an even split of Aratet and Magi.
Mettaton did his Mettaton thing. “Well, well, well, who will be the Lucky 17 then? Will our little Crimson Keeper leave it to chance? Or will they make a conscious choice? Which will it be?”
The child pretended to ponder out loud, putting their acting skills to good use. After a few seconds, they pointed at their sister and exclaimed:
“I choose you, Cennachu!”
Mezil almost spat out a laugh. Almost. When did Frisk pick up a show so ancient? It originated in his parents’ time. Sometimes, they would both burst out that corny intro song. He had only embarrassing memories surrounding that title.
…The games seemed more appealing. If he had to survive in such a fantastical realm, Mezil would choose the ghost sword or the raven knight. Or that golem-like supercomputer. Good aesthetic to go with their usefulness. At least those were not disgustingly cute like those overrated electric rodents.
“U-um,” the doctor tapped the whiteboard with a pen. “Before we can start, we’ll need to record your weight.”
And so, the participants queued up for the weighing machine. Some of the Magi grew self-conscious to have their truth exposed. Perhaps winning that red marble was not so lucky after all?
Then, it was finally time for the attempt. But they hit a snag: they couldn’t cram 17 adults together as easily as 17 children. Team Ebott got right to work to solve the issue. They pooled their creative minds to make a hexagonal platform out of bones, glued together by Frisk’s Purple stars.
Once the platform was complete and verified secure, Captain Undyne prepped her bench. They mounted it on some supports and arranged all the humans on it.
Their second attempt was a success. On live broadcast, the kingdom’s strongest fish supported the weight of 17 fully grown adults.
The whole crowd cheered her on. Every time she benched, they shouted the number loud and clear.
“ONE!” they yelled. “TWO!”
Strong or not, she still carried a great weight. The last one will always be the most arduous.
Mettaton hammed the presentation. “This is the third and final push, darlings! Can she do it?!?!?!”
After catching her breath and her might, Undyne successfully benched for the third time.
“THREE!!!”
And everyone -- monster and human -- burst into cheers and congratulations.
Mezil smiled at the sight.
…Until he spotted an oncoming figure from the corner of his sight. Human. Slightly heavier build than his, but around the same height. There was only one person who matched these dimensions.
“Not going to join your sons?”
“Let the children have their fun.” Aiden of Aratet replied. As he sat down right beside Mezil, he added: “And yes, that includes my troops.”
That made Mezil think for a moment. For the 33-year-old to speak as if he’s a greyed senior, the majority of the Aratet attendees had to be just a step shy from actual teenagers.
“How old are they? Your troops.”
“The eldest is 23.”
It was an accurate assessment.
Same as Papyrus, huh…
Hmm. Cenna, Undyne, and Doctor Alphys are all around the same age too.
A new age, a new generation. How appropriate.
Meanwhile, Undyne’s display of massive strength had earned the Aratet’s respect. They began to treat her more as a human peer instead of a weak monster.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“You, very strong!”
“Yeah! I’m strong alright! But let me tell ya, there are guys stronger than me. Like King Asgore himself!”
It feels like I’m looking at a playground. Well. It’s nice that they get to embrace their inner child. With their background, I’m certain they had to grow up far too soon.
One of the Aratet pointed at Sir Grillenn, excited. “And him?”
“Grillby?” Undyne replied, “Good question. He was my senior, but we never fought head-to-head before. Asgore was the one who taught me how to fight.”
“He -- man of fire -- beat all of us. We want to challenge him fair. Wrestling! Muscle against muscle.”
“Ooooh a friendly wrestling match? That sounds GREAT!”
Undyne joined the feisty fellows and approached Sir Grillenn. Their sheer enthusiasm exuded much intimidation.
“That Champion…” Aiden commented, “He’s quick. Keen. Strong. I didn’t expect such a placid peacemonger to be able to fight at my level. The quiet ones are always the most dangerous.”
The Magus replied, “Sir Grillenn surprised me too. Placid, you say? Hmph. You didn’t witness how ‘Prosecutor Grillby’ roasted the hypocrisy of others. To Sir Grillenn, preaching peace while taking the path of violence is the ultimate betrayal.”
“What of you, then?”
“I keep my oaths. And I don’t sugarcoat what is required to protect my loved ones.”
Aiden crossed his arms. “Hmm… are you sure he isn’t placid? He’s getting pushed around as we speak.”
Indeed, the elemental tried to decline a few times. A futile effort with the forceful fish around. By her instruction, they ended up surrounding their unfortunate victim, forming an impromptu wrestling ring overseen by King Asgore himself.
“You can’t blame him.” Mezil reasoned: “His flames blinded one of your soldiers. Lucidia told me about it. Guilt is a powerful force.”
Aiden shook his head. “No guilt is needed. She had bad luck. And fortune is half the battle. That stab would have crippled a human. Except, he’s anything but…”
Mezil filled in the blanks. “Sir Grillenn had consumed fire to maximum capacity, am I right? It’s like puncturing a pressurized can: the sudden release would have created quite the recoil.”
The other man nodded.
“Are her injuries permanent?” asked the Magus.
“They might be,” said Aiden.
“If we can settle for a truce, I can make an arrangement for her to meet an ophthalmologist.”
“…You speak too soon, Vampire.”
“Just giving you the options, Aratet.”
Beneath that stoic response was a dash of awkward embarrassment. In hindsight, offering aid at this point was a rather amateurish move.
Am I getting too optimistic? Don’t get swept up by the atmosphere, Mezil Thyme. Remind yourself of your Integrity.
Mezil turned his attention to the friendly wrestling match to distract himself.
The event soon escalated into a hot-blooded competition. Hot-blooded youngsters stretched the rules, trying to gain a victory over Sir Grillenn at least once.
Every attempt failed, either from a deadlock or a ring-out. It’s of no surprise to Mezil: for this was the knight who trained Sans Serif.
Glaring, the Magus commented: “They’re trying to get their revenge.”
“Don’t worry, Vampire. Us warriors don’t hold a grudge against fair battles.”
That was a statement deserving of his skepticism. “A word of advice, Aratet… Never presume a lack of grudges. Discontent is oft kept hidden.”
Mettaton commented, “Tough luck for our contestants! It appears that our red hot baby darling remains the grand champion!”
Grillby flashed the palm of his hand and shook his head. “…No more…”
“What’s this?” said the glam bot. “Our Champion has had enough? But there’s still one more contestant. Isn’t that right, Captain Undyne?”
“HECK YEAH!” she yelled, “I can’t just stand by and let this opportunity slide. We’re gonna spar! RIGHT! NOW!!!”
Undyne’s overexcited battle cry echoed between the gym’s walls. The challenge continued to escalate until water spears started flying all around.
In response, Sir Grillenn mounted his defense. What he could avoid, he’d avoid. What he couldn’t avoid, he’d neutralize with bursts of fire. Meanwhile, a perimeter of hot air dried up the remains and kept the gym floor dry.
Frisk exclaimed, “Holey moley, I thought this is going to be muscle against muscles?!”
“UNDYNE, NO! BAD FISH! MAGICAL VIOLENCE IS NOT ALLOWED!!!”
“Who’s gonna win? Fire? Or water? Place your non-monetary bets right now~~~”
“Give it your all, Grillby! FUFUFUFUFUFUFUFUFUUUUUUU!!!!”
Mezil raised a brow. “That’s no longer a wrestling match.”
“Well,” The Grandmaster replied, “Monsters express themselves with magic after all.”
Aiden sighed, got up from his seat, and marched towards the rowdy gang to restore discipline. All he needed to do was stand there with intense disapproval. Queen Toriel did the same for Undyne.
The chaos was instantly deflated, and all the guilty adult-children lowered their heads in shame. They were made to stand in a line before Grillby and bow down, both in apology and humility. Grillby bowed back as a sign that he accepted their gesture. It’s a common courtesy in duels to pay respects to each other.
Mettaton being Mettaton, added his own spin: “A lesson is learned, everybody! There will always be someone better than you… and that’s perfectly fine! Life is not a hot billboard chart, baby~”
He held the microphone near Frisk. “What’s next on the agenda, little ambassador?”
“A school tour!” They answered in great confidence. “Come along, I wanna show everyone my class. Especially Niton and Dayton.”
“Excellent idea, darling!”
While the entourage assembled to move on… The Grandmaster slipped a question towards his son-in-law.
He asked, “Winston, when are you going to settle your ‘unfinished business’ with Aiden?”
Mezil thought he should be witty. “When he stops trying to stab me with a silver stake.”
“Aha, I think we’ve actually long gone past that point.”
“As if.”
Again Mezil burped. How terrible. He had started to feel his bowels beginning to work up a storm.
Come to think of it… I haven’t gone to the loo yet today. Sigh. I hate school toilets.
Alas, the call of nature could not be denied.
“Sorry Father, I’ll be right back.” Mezil then excused himself from the main event posthaste.
The monster school’s restroom reminded him of Lemurian amenities. Since monsters don’t defecate or urinate, they had no need for rows and rows of toilet stalls. Instead, they had rows and rows shower stalls, as well as lockers to keep their belongings.
Though it could differ for certain types of specific diets, monsterkind’s biological end-products tended to be old, expired dust. They would shed these off like dead skin. This makes wiping, showering, and sand bathing the main ways to keep themselves clean.
Thankfully, unlike most of Lemuria, they did have some toilet stalls for human visitors. Frisk’s school had three unisex ones for the child. Someone thought of backups, it would seem.
As he walked towards the stalls, Mezil glanced at the mirror.
Nothing unusual happened. Despite everything, it’s just himself. Still… he didn’t let his guard down.
Into the stall, he went. At least the lavatory was kept clean, well stocked, and functional.
In the middle of his toilet toiling, his phone rang. The name on screen read the following:
‘Roger Eldin, Commissioner’.
Mezil answered the call. “Hello?”
The man on the other line asked, “Are you in private?”
“If you count the school toilet, then yes. Am I echoing too much? We can switch to messages, if you want.”
“You sound fine. I prefer voice anyway. Frees up the hands. Lord knows I need those buggers in this current predicament.”
“You sound like you have many questions for me.”
“Damn straight I do, Thyme! Did the sun rise from the fucking west?! Bloody hell, I can’t even describe today’s cockamamie. In fact, your motion picture spectacle ain’t even number one on the charts.”
“Huh. Colour me surprised. What stands at the top for you?”
“You -- Supreme Judge Mezil Thyme -- having a jolly good time on that humbug livestream. The whole internet just watched you eat shoulder to shoulder with story book rejects and a merry band of bandits! I thought your oath meant never to entertain such bollocks!”
“Hmph. It’s a diplomatic feast organized by the Dreemurr Nation, Commissioner. Monsterkind wishes to end a thousand-year grudge. I’m not so brazen as to ruin their hard work. How do you think our own country managed to make peace with its neighbours? If this is what it takes to make Aiden and his people give up their life of violence… then so be it. Please don’t take this as exonerating or condoning criminal activity.”
“Weren’t you the one who insisted on deradicalization being a bunch of baloney? Nevermind that. My men and I foiled the plans of two dozen Techeval agents. On The Grandmaster’s personal direction to boot! Things always get weird whenever you Magi get involved. It’s like you guys can see the future…”
Mezil resisted the urge to clear his throat. The good cop was right in so many ways. Instead, he said: “Is that a problem? Foreign agents shouldn’t be free to operate on our soil without government consent.”
“They claim that they are, calling it an ‘enemy of my enemy’ situation. Y’know the Techevali want your guests dead, right? And your guests happen to be wanted men. Well, this so happens to make the fellows we arrested the ‘good guys’ here. According to our ‘beloved’ mayor, at least. Meanwhile, your boss just donated wool on legs to those scruffy bandits. Now that's what I call a mountain of dirt!”
Politics and public perception. How Mezil hated that tasteless game of charades. “Tell that blasted fool of a mayor this: I did NOT forget that mass-hacking incident! Traffic was clogged for hours, preventing firefighters, police, and medics from reaching The Spire. If it weren’t for our monstrous saviours, we would have been attending a mass funeral!”
The commissioner paused for a moment. “You’re right on the money there. This is between you and me, Thyme… but I think it’s mighty suspicious too. More so when I keep getting orders from above to ‘let it slide’. Either the mayor had a hand in the attack, or someone else is trying to turn this into his downfall.”
“Are they threatening to slash your funding again?” asked Mezil.
“What’s new? I can’t get a single good night’s worth of precious sleep lately.”
“Duly noted. Sounds like you have your hands tied.”
“Same for you. Hard to miss an inside job when it burns bright like a godforsaken bonfire. My goodness, what a mess…”
“I know. Until the dust settles, I won’t be able to enlist help from the Observers either.”
“So, what can you do now? Summon The Barfellows? Bad idea there. If those posh bigwigs catch wind about Officer Eccleston, my whole department will be on the chopping block. ‘Conflict of interest’, they’ll say.”
“They’re the last line of defense. Until then, I’ll try to get intel from a certain someone who’s closer to the center of the spider’s web. Go straight to the source, you can say.”
“Aiden of Aratet? You serious?…” said Roger. “Fuck me. The sun really did rise from the west.”
His brow twitched. “I’m not THAT socially inept.”
“With the way Cenna and Eccleston act around you, I wouldn’t know any better.”
“Now you’re just being cheeky. And you know it.”
Mezil then heard the main restroom door open. Quickly, he hushed: “Someone’s coming.” He proceeded to end the call. It’s abrupt, but it’s for the best.
“Tsunderjudge?” It was Frisk. “Are you in there?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Number 1 or Number 2?”
“That is of nobody’s concern!”
“Yep. It’s just as I thought.” Directing their voice towards the entrance, they said: “Sorry, we only have two toilets available right now. The Tsunderjudge isn’t coming out anytime soon. For those who can’t wait, you can use the shower rooms to pee.”
Cenna exclaimed: “I knew it! You go first, Frisky.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The waterworks began. Using his phone, Mezil quickly hopped on Mettaton’s livestream. He must know what’s going on beyond the toilet doors.
It showcased a long queue, stretching all the way to the school halls itself.
How many people are there?!
It appeared every single human in this event had to answer their own call of nature in this one facility, all at the same time.
Meanwhile, the cramps came back. It stung more than usual: a clear sign that a certain pest exacerbated the problem.
Nnnghhhh…
The longest queue spawned a serious discussion about the biological differences between humans and monsters. The town had already built public toilets in the marketplace area, but as the school had shown, it wasn’t nearly enough. If Ebott Town was to welcome more humans, they must make the ‘necessary adjustments’.
At the end of it all, Captain Undyne was requested to shape streams of water from the taps to wash the place down.
If they want to go the way of mundane magic utility, Mezil will do the same. A layer of Lucidia-brand shields kept the water from flowing into his stall. He’s determined to ensure his little zone stays dry.
After thirty minutes, the entourage finally moved on. Peace and quiet returned to the bathroom at last. What a relief, for his legs had started to grow numb from sitting too long.
I should let the Commissioner know that I’m able to speak again… hmm, what’s this?
There was an unheard voice message. Not surprising. If he’d been following Mettaton’s stream, he would have seen the toilet scene.
It said: “Hey Judge Thyme, can you pass a message? I want to meet the royal goat family for breakfast. One of my officers will be delivering a letter straight to the Queen’s residence. I hope I’m not being too rude, but… I gotta see them for myself. Talk parent to parent, if possible. See you tomorrow.”
Hmm. As I expected, the Commissioner’s actions have changed. In the past timeline, he sent the letter directly to me, asking for my cooperation in ‘the investigation of the attempted assassination on Asachulra Bhuntiri’. Since we’ve averted that tragedy, that case ceased to exist.
I will no longer be suspected of collaborating with the Techevali. Instead… I’m seen as a terrorist sympathizer. Sigh. By proving my innocence in one action, I’ve incriminated myself for another.
Still, Roger’s request to meet the Dreemurrs remains the same. How curious. What about his attitude, though? Frisk rewound too soon, so we’ll never know what’s truly on his mind until they meet…
Finally done -- both physically and mentally -- Mezil cleaned himself up. At the sink, he squeezed some liquid soap onto his hands and lathered them. He tried to act normal the best he could.
Again, he faced a mirror.
There are many myths and cultures that revolve around mirrors. Some believed them to show one’s true soul. Others believe that they reveal secrets. Certain cultures take it a step further, believing that mirrors are false empty worlds that trap the spirits of the dead.
They were not completely wrong. Silica based crystals are Amplification materials in the realm of magic. The presence of glassy reflections alone could empower DEMONs. It was for that reason his archenemy once dragged him all the way to a greenhouse.
…A certain ‘prisoner’ is being way too quiet. If there’s a time to tarnish my name, this would be it.
Or is it too obvious? Either Frisk or myself can undo his attempts. Knowing that pest, he’ll wait for that one moment that we can’t rewind. I can be certain of that much.
When would that be?
As the water rinsed his hands clean, anxiety continued to bother Mezil. He stared intensely at his own rejuvenated face. Men and women throughout the ages would kill to have their youth return, both in the figurative and literal sense.
For Frisk and the rest of the world, the battle with the giant beast was an epic spectacle of success.
For The Vampire of Time, it was a grim omen of his mortality.
A thousand souls. Is that what it takes now? Ten years ago, I could return to this form with far, far less.
The older I am, the more lifeforce I require to pass the threshold… thus increasing the risks.
I’ve kept my Determination levels low to compensate. But, will that suffice?
At the corner of his eyes, Mezil spotted the faint dark form of Persona.
The pest appeared at last.
The prisoner spoke: “That’s a nostalgic face. Brings back memories.”
Mezil responded to that statement by reinforcing the seal on his belly.
Persona grunted in pain. “Argh! Is that how you treat an old friend?”
Narrowing his gaze, the Magus replied: “We were never friends.”
“Could have fooled me. Aaah… that’s the best feast I’ve had in ages. And it’s all thanks to you.”
“Go back to your cell.”
Mezil shaped layers and layers of soundproofed magic around Persona’s Hex, raising his willpower to keep that malicious soul in solitary confinement.
Entertain the devil? What bollocks. There’s no time for pointless games. The Vampire wanted to enjoy the fruits of his victory in peace.
But could he? The warning signs were all there.
Calm down. Don’t panic. Remind yourself of Integrity…
The people outside would have noticed my absence by now. I should freshen myself up and rejoin the event.
The best way to do that would be some cold night-time water. Mezil turned on the tap, leaned forward, and cupped the liquid with his hands.
Except…
When he splashed it on his face, the water wasn’t cold.
It was warm. Thick. Smelled of iron.
Mezil opened his eyes to find his hands coated in blood. It’s dark red.
More of that substance flowed free from the tap. He shut it off in haste, and then… he noticed the mirror.
Looking up, he saw himself as a living shadow with a halo of thorns.
A DEMON.
His face dripped with the life of others. This grisly image reminded Mezil of what the Grandmaster had mentioned about gluttony.
‘True gluttony is the mindset of ‘never enough’: ravenous, violent, and all-consuming.’
The dark side of his magic demanded for ever more life. More, and more, and more. To escape entropy. To justify the cost.
An impossible promise. A dead end lie.
No.
This is not real.
It’s absolutely illogical to have water turn to blood right here and now.
Remind yourself of Justice.
Mezil resisted. He shut his eyes tight, yet the image refused to leave.
Remind yourself of Integrity.
Remind yourself of Justice.
Integrity is the root of Righteousness.
Justice is the root of Truth.
Righteousness and Truth decree that enough is enough!!!
“Dear?”
The presence of a new voice snapped him out of it. The dark world of shed life vanished as suddenly as it came.
He looked towards the source. It was his wife. What a sight for sore eyes; she’s the best help he could ask for.
“Mezzy?” Lucidia asked, “Are you alright? You’re in there for much longer than usual. Why are you looking pallid?”
Pallid?
She was right. Looking at his own reflection, Mezil realised that he was far from calm. True fear had gripped his heart.
Mezil Thyme swore to never delude himself. Not with grandeur, not with complacency, not with pride. Now more than ever, he must put that oath into practice.
Be honest. Be vulnerable. It’s either a temporary discomfort, or a foolish death.
“Lucidia, my dear beloved,” he said. “I cannot maintain the seal anymore. Call Cenna. I’m… I’m worried for my life.”
That ‘unfinished business’ must be done tonight.