It was cold. It was colder than normal. No, this was a different kind of cold. Vincent was used to feeling a sort of numbness take over his body, but nothing like this. This was not directly because of him. Or maybe it was—it was hard to tell.

All that he knew right now was what he was feeling—or wasn’t feeling—and what was in front of him. Even though his time stood still, the battle before him raged on. Even as his vision began to subtly grow darker, he continued to witness the bloody war continue.

Now that he was further back, he could observe almost the entire cafeteria. While Iro and Siegella continued to their one-on-one in the center, Vincent would see blurs of motions and waves of rubble occasionally appear out of the various hallways, usually followed by a couple of mobster corpses.

However, just as he began to close his eyes, he saw another figure emerge from the hallway directly across from him. Instead of the usual flying bodies, a living body walked out. It was slightly moving from side to side and it was shrouded in darkness—either by the darkness of the night, Vincent's own falling vision, or both.

As it stepped into the light, Vincent saw the face of Fang, completely covered in the blood of others. He knew this because there didn’t seem to be a scratch of them. In fact, the only thing that seemed to be wrong with them was how bizarre their facial expressions were. One second they would have a sadistic smile on them, and the next second they would be completely emotionless. It was a kind of dissonance that Vincent had never seen before. It was like their emotions, or the very least their demeanor, was swinging like a pendulum.

But it wasn’t long until even the face of a friend was gone from Vincent’s sight. His eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. He resigned himself to whatever fate had in store for him…and it seemed like it was nothing.

And then it went black.

“…”

“…”

“…nce…”

“Vin…nt…”

“Vincent…”

What? Vincent thought, responding to whatever voice he continued to hear.

“Vincent, don’t give up,” the voice said. It was a familiar voice, but one that Vincent didn’t have the mental compacity to recognize.

Why not?

Vincent’s own mind was still swirling and his thoughts didn’t even seem like his own. Or maybe they were. Maybe this is what it felt like to finally be free and to just let whatever his soul wanted to say be echoed in his head. The feeling reminded him of what it was like to be on the edge of awake and asleep. There was a transitional period in which he would still be conscious, but already partway into a dream. He would hear voices, conversations, and music, and even see things that weren’t even there. During those moments, there would be nothing left in his mind to stop his imagination—no social norms, no pressures, no barriers. He could just let go and let his mind empty itself out of everything it had to offer. In that emptiness, he felt free. Because where there is nothing, there is the possibility of anything.

“You have to fight. You have to carry on.”

Why? I don’t wanna fight anymore.

“Because you are destined to. You have to.”

WHY?! Vincent’s thoughts screamed out of him, using emotions that he thought were long-expired.

The bust of anger and fury subsided, leaving him with a hollow feeling of sadness. It was a depression not unlike that of the feeling you get when looking at a flooded city moments after the storm had passed. There was no danger, but the empty feeling of seeing what once was is overwhelming.

I’m nothing… Vincent somberly thought.

“Yes, you are nothing. Lean into that nothingness. Become one with it.”

One?

“Resonate with it. Be one with it.”

But I don’t want to be nothing anymore—I want to be something.

“You can't.”

Why?

“You are nothing. Be proud of it. Embrace it. And…”

Be one with it…

In the overwhelming darkness, light began to make itself known to Vincent once again. It started as a single speck, but it grew and changed and morphed into something more recognizable. Its shape became vaguely humanoid, devoid of all individualistic features.

Even though there was nowhere to visibly tell, Vincent saw the figure turn and look at him. He knew it was looking at him.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“You’ve been to the edge of the abyss,” the Alltemiac said, “but it’s not yet time for you to jump in. All I ask is that you take the first step.”

Alltemiac reached a hand out. “Resonate with your own emptiness.”

Vincent felt a thrumming sensation begin to reverberate all around him. The darkness that surrounded his vision started to shake in a rhythmic way. He focused on the sound. He focused on the feeling. He didn’t let a single thought enter or exit his mind. He allowed it to be empty. And slowly, he felt his own mind resonate with the same frequency as the darkness around him.

Without thinking, he finally reached his arm outwards towards the enlightened figure. As he did, the resonance grew stronger and louder, and the light began to shine brighter and brighter. His senses were overloaded, but his mind never once thought about it. Instead, he continued to reach out for the figure, but before he could touch it, everything went white.

And then he was back in reality.

In front of him was the same scene that was there before. Siegella and Iro continued to clash, with each one dodging before the other even made a move—sometimes it was Iro throwing his iron chain and Sieglla ducking out of the way, and other times it would be Siegella firing a pistol at Iro, but he would move right before the trigger was pulled. It was a back-and-forth that seemed as even as it could get. It all seemed the same as it was before… except for one thing.

As Vincent focused closely on the battle in front of him, he noticed something for just a second. It wasn’t something that he felt with any of his five senses. It was strange. What he felt was a wave of emotion that briefly washed over him. It was like a thrumming, invisible wave that pulsated through the air. No, that’s not quite right. It felt like there were two invisible waves of energy that clashed with each other, and the aftereffect of that clash was what was blasted out into the surrounding air.

Vincent looked down at his hands. As he moved them, he saw what looked like small ripples left behind in the air. It was like he was swishing his hand through the clearest, lightest, most nonexistent water there was. He didn’t think about what he saw, he simply concentrated on what he felt.

Slowly, his breathing began to form a pattern. He allowed his mind to be empty, for his breath to be hollow, and for his emotions to be barren. His mind began to hum. His body began to vibrate. His entire being began to thrum.

Vincent began to resonate.

In this state of resonance, all pain ceased to exist. The only thing that was left to feel was the humming of the waves in the air and the raw feelings behind them—pride and sorrow. He followed those waves to their origin, tracing them back to the two combatants in front of him. Each one resonated with a different melody, and the waves around them reflected that tempo. The waves allowed for their emotions to be played for all to hear. Perhaps the best way to describe it would be to say that those waves sang the tune of the person’s most primal emotion.

And then a different feeling popped up in Vincent’s head. It was much smaller compared to the behemoths in front of him, but he felt a small prick on the left side of his head. Without thinking and without feeling pain, Vincent stood up.

Looking to his left, Vincent saw a younger man with blonde hair, wearing raggedy clothes, partially torn up from the hips down. There was blood and wounds covering parts of the man’s body, but nothing seemed too egregious. At the man’s side, however, was something of interest: a pistol.

Vincent felt anger emitting from the man. As he concreted more on the faint waves that were discordantly coming out of the man’s head, he felt something more than just baseline emotion…he felt intent. He didn’t know why, but he felt a thought that was not his own. He felt the man think about pulling his pistol up and shooting Vincent right in between the eyes.

And just like that, Vincent watched the man bring his pistol up. Time slowed down to a near crawl. All of Vincent’s concentration was now on that man and his pistol—everything else faded into obscurity.

Frame by frame, he watched the man’s pistol inch up until finally came to a stop. The barrel was pointed right in Vincent’s direction, and yet he did not feel any fear. Honestly, Vincent felt nothing.

Fractions of fractions of a second passed by in what seemed like an eternity. He waited until he felt something else. He waited for the intent to return. He waited for the rush of emotion that came with pulling a trigger.

And then it did.

Vincent felt the intent of the man to pull the trigger. The moment that he felt that, he stepped to his right just as the bullet flew by him. He had dodged it, but the assault wasn’t over yet. Using the same waves that emanated from the man, he felt the man’s confusion and anger. He then sensed the waves ripple a bit as the intent to shoot more shots rang out.

Vincent used the momentum from his last step to haphazardly move to back and forth, causing each shot to barely miss him. As he did this, he slowly began to close the gap between them. He looked like a drunk man stumbling his way through a war zone, somehow avoiding all bullets. Unlike a drunk man, there was a deep intent behind every move. However, like a drunk man, there were no thoughts behind his movements, only instinct.

Soon enough, he managed to get right up to the mobster that was firing at him. Vincent didn’t need to look at the face of the man to know what he was feeling—he could just read his waves…and his waves screamed fear.

Without hesitation, Vincent wound his arm back and unleashed a starbreaker at the man. The mobster flew backward, colliding with a nearby table, causing it and the man to tumble over onto the ground. Vincent watched the man fall unconscious within seconds, slumping to the ground, and as he did, Vincent saw that man’s waves diminished to that of a near-still pond.

With the immediate threat out of the way, Vincent turned his attention back to the main event. He saw that Siegella and Iro were standing still, staring at each other, stunlocked. Massive bursts of waves shot forth from both of them, meeting each other in the middle. Swirls of whirlpool-like energy twisted and collided with one another, reverberating out to the rest of the cafeteria. While most physical objects seemed unaffected, a few pieces of metal violently shook. It seemed like they were an even match for each other—almost suspiciously so.

Vincent began to make his way toward the center of the room, determined to end this fight. Normally, before he would engage in a battle, he would lower himself into a colder place. However, he already felt colder than he had ever been. He knew that his abilities were back and stronger than ever.

“Seigella,” Vincent called out, creating a void in his hand. At the same time, he let his mental waves explode out of him, unrestrained.

Both Siegella and Iro turned to look at him, and both had an equal look of shock and surprise. The difference between them, however, was that Siegella started to smile.

Vincent then looked down at his hand and noticed that the void resonated in a different pattern than anything around him. He allowed his mind to match that rhythm, and as he did, the void detached from his hand and began to float in the air. He willed the void to quickly circle around him, and it did. He then pointed one finger in the air and made the void barely hover above it.

Looking back up at Siegella, he said, “Let’s end this.”