Hellfire. A myriad of flames and fallen souls. The ground turned sooty and scorched.

Sparks. Cauldrons full of boiling rock flowing through the seams set upon the earth.

Ashes and cinders which enveloped the land, trickling down like the stream of a showerhead, slowly making its way further along the unbeaten path. Smog covered the once clear sky, even rays of gold were blocked by its ever-thick fumes. The world asunder.

What accompanied the sight was a chorus. A symphony that shuddered through the very fibre of existence. The pained screams of those cursed and tortured, their cries so shrill, harsh, and sore, eaten by the very world they came from.

Feyrith stood there frozen, his world spiralling around him, prone to collapse at any moment. His mind wavered, turning blank for more than just a few moments. The darkness that was normally there to save him did not swoop in from the heavens, nothing there, as Feyrith was left empty, a hollow shell less than he was just moments ago.

Crack!

The vial he held in his hand fell to the ground, shattering into a million tiny little shards. His hands clasped open and close, eyes staring out into the nothingness. The stars no longer shone tonight, leaving all but an empty void in the once clear sky.

The beauty and brilliance this world once knew crumbled before his very eyes, his legs threatening to collapse on themselves at any given moment.

Red, red, red.

His vision was filled with not but terror and regret, his arms reached out to nothing, finding no one he could hold on to. The seams sealing in his memories came undone, each second passing a thread tied of his memory untangling.

It was then when his nausea came, a knot tied in his stomach, a pressing, suffocating force coerced against his chest. He found it hard to breathe, even worse than earlier when he was being pestered after Therian’s announcement.

His head felt like the surrounding landscape, red, hot, fiery, either hit by a Molotov or sprayed by a torrent of lava. It was worse than when he first regained his memories, years of his life he tried to forget, clawing themselves up his stream of consciousness.

All. My. Fault.

His vision turned dark, not to the void but to hell, where he deserved to be—where he needed to be. The sins he held were too great to be forgiven. No tears fell as his heart slowly crushed itself, his eyes bloodshot, crimson red. A carnelian gem melted down, seeped into the small cracks on the ground.

Slowly, the world came to a halt. The explosions in the sky and the destruction of the ground frozen over, stuck there like a paused video. No stutter or struggle to have to world stop its rotation, as neither it nor the people paused themselves. For a time itself had stopped moving.

In this phenomenon, Feyrith closed his eyes, falling to the ground and clawing at his knees like a deranged animal. He wanted to; he needed to hide himself, far, far away from this cruel, cruel world. Curled into a ball, writhing into nothing but his own guilt and agony, he sat there in that frozen time, doomed to be chained for eternity.

The bouncing of arrows, spears, and blades. Bullets stuck mid-air, prepared to go forward but without any power. Spells and reams of magic, circles, and talismans, floating on the ground and in the sky, the visages of something more peeking out of their bodies.

Blood, the tears of those fallen and bruised, their droplets lying on the cold ground, and the marble floor tainted. Clanging trays and cracked plates, shards of glass forming a death-trap.

He hid away from all of this, the darkness still far away from him. He was supposed to have forgotten about it. The time put far away from his mind. It was over, done, complete. As far away from his mind as possible, as far away from his life as it could get. The world was supposed to be beautiful again, brilliant, glorious, and shining.

There was no brilliance to be found here, only the constant dull grey panging of an emotion called remorse.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

His heart slowed down, going along with the world frozen in time. Even without sound, the screams that haunted him still shrieked in his ear, blood-curdling, ear-piercing shrieks.

Among the noise and static, there was a quiet hum that rang in his ear. Soft and tender, yet without a limit of malice laced in-between each beat.

“You’re still here.”

A familiar voice, from a long time ago, a very long time ago. Would he have called the voice a friend, not even knowing what it was? It called itself a demon, or something like that.

“Devil, boy. I called myself the devil.”

Those words braided with cynicism, a pattern weaved of arrogance and sarcasm.

Feyrith didn’t know what it was, even after spending years alongside it. It too forgotten with the passing of the sands of time. Ages since he heard the voice last.

“What a sorry sight.” The devil chided, its sneering voice bouncing around in Feyrith’s mind. He felt himself being tossed around in his own body, his own mind, beaten and swollen even without moving a muscle.

“Open your eyes.” The devil spoke, as Feyrith felt a strong grip hold on to his shoulder. With its tight, suffocating squeeze, he felt himself return, and the darkness he begged for so, enveloped him.

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He still didn’t want to open his eyes, afraid of the world it might take him to. Not that he had a choice. A firm tug sent to chest, jolting his eyes straight open as he was forced to take in the sight around him.

The landscape inside of his mind hadn’t changed much, that same labyrinth of bookshelves accompanied by the aforementioned darkness. Not to say it hadn’t changed.

As he turned his head around, chest beating, and heart racing, Feyrith laid his eyes upon a familiar face. His own.

Like he was looking into a mirror, sitting there, on a comfy brown armchair. His legs kicked back and arms crossed. It was him.

The same face and body, his eyes golden and hair blonde. Though the clothes he wore were different, a pair of jeans and a multicoloured t-shirt, less familiar to Feyrith as it was to a certain someone else’s memories.

He sat there with a relaxed smile on his face, leaning back without a worry in the world. When his eyes met Feyrith, a sharp glint flickered in his eyes as he stood up from its seat.

He began walking toward Feyrith. With every step that he took, the less Feyrith felt that he could breathe. Like a force was pushing at him from all directions, he fell deeper and deeper into the ground, his arms laid out like a lifeless corpse.

“It’s been a while.” He spoke, the voice of the self-proclaimed devil coming out of the mouth of Feyrith’s doppelgänger. His voice sent shivers down Feyrith’s spine, goosebumps coming out of his arms. It truly had been a while, and for a very good reason.

“Don’t make that face.” He muttered, locking Feyrith in the eyes. The pained expression in Feyrith’s eyes when he looked his doppelgänger in the eyes, filled with all the disgust and remorse in the world. That was enough to send him into a frenzy, its expression distorting into one of anger.

Feyrith was pulled by his neck cuff. His body stood upright and floating in the air. He had grabbed onto him, causing pain inside of his own mind.

“It’s been 8 years since I’ve seen you last, and this is what you’ve become.” He mumbled, looking at Feyrith with distraught eyes. “Consumed alive by the drivel of this world.”

His eyes showed not of just spite and anger, his clenched teeth only adding to the mourning in his gaze.

Feyrith showed a weak show of will, shaking his body just slightly to loosen the tug on his neck. Did a weaker looking soul exist at this exact moment?

“Let go of me.” He spoke. As his voice quietly echoed through the tomb of bookshelves, the grip on his cuff tightened as he stared into Feyrith’s pupils.

“You.” He muttered; eyes widened as he bore into Feyrith’s chest. “You are not Ciel.”

He let go of Feyrith, the latter falling onto the ground. His hand lying on his face, he began to think, pondering the situation he was in. A devil without vision.

A semblance of clarity and calmness returned to Feyrith’s mind as he flickered in and out of the realms of the dead and the living.

“I’m not.” He spoke, addressing his doppelgänger. Turning around, he faced Feyrith, before walking up to him and placing his hand on his shoulder, feeling around his body.

“No, you are.” He spoke, his eyes returning to normal. “I was wrong, so, so very wrong.”

“This body is different, but your soul.” “Your soul is exactly as disfigured and broken as the last time I saw it.”

His eyes twinkled grimly, the machinations of the devil. One Feyrith wanted to get away from as quickly as possible.

“Your memories.” He muttered with a grin. “Do allow me to partake.”

Argh!

Feyrith felt a sharp line of pain run up his brain, groaning in the aftermath. He stared as his doppelgänger, stood there his head bobbed up and down, eyes grinning like a madman. Time passed just like this, the pain continuing to imprint itself into Feyrith’s mind.

“Ohoho!” He shouted.

“How interesting.” He spoke. “How very interesting indeed.”

The pain left Feyrith, though its remains still wandered. His doppelgänger looked at him with a wide grin, as if he was a scientist, fascinated by the sample he had obtained.

“A new world.” He muttered.

Feyrith didn’t know what to make of the expression his doppelgänger showed now. Had he opened a box not meant to be opened? No, it was not his choice, it was never his choice.

His heart beat faster and faster upon the silence that filled the room, slowly increasing in pace until he could hear it pry its way out of his chest.

“You are broken.” He spoke. “So, very, very broken.”

“And you already know, Ciel.” He cocked his head, twirling his fingers as if fidgeting with something. “Or I guess Feyrith now, judging by your memories.”

“I love broken people.”

“You have become so very weak.” He muttered, pacing around the armchair he was sitting in.

“A ruler. A hunter. That’s why I made a contract with you in the first place.” He spoke. “I made a contract with a demon in human skin.”

“Now look at you.” He said, disgusted. “Wasting your days away with what?”

“Kindness?” He cursed. “Spare me the bollocks.”

“This place was not built to assist you in being kind.”

Feyrith’s doppelgänger had a sour look on his face, his arms clenched tightly. Instead of responding, Feyrith stayed there, silent, waiting for execution, maybe? For release? Whatever it was, he stayed still, like a soulless corpse. Then, pain struck him.

“Oh, what’s this…” He muttered, his eyes now widened. Feyrith felt a rush of memories flood through his head, but he didn’t experience them as much as seeing glimpses of those memories. “Treasures?”

“Maybe you haven’t become quite so dull after all.” He spoke softly. “Not yet, at the very least.”

“How about this, then?”

“What do you say to another contract?” He spoke, holding out a hand.

“Why should I?” Feyrith asked.

“Because I know what you want.” He answered, letting out a cackle. “The only thing you want.”

“Solace.”

One of the many temptations of the devil, that outstretched hand that offered him the salvation he had begged for. Feyrith’s eyes glimmered as he thought back to that fateful day years ago. Sweat ran down his back, his mouth filled with saliva.

Clutching on to his hand, he swallowed his breath, his eyes slowly turning cold. Tools.

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Feyrith’s eyes opened wide, and he witnessed the frozen world. It was still incomprehensible to him, like a cipher, distorted and muddled, a collage of colours floating around in empty space. Then, the world began to move forward once more, those same colours winding and warping.

“Feyrith!” He heard a voice shout into his ears as his eyes dilated and returned to their original form. A panting Lillian, sweat running down her forehead, and her pouch dangled behind her back.

“I apologise. I don’t know what came over me.” He spoke.

“It doesn’t matter, for now let’s go.” Lillian spoke with resolute breath, her head peered out far into the distance. Feyrith took in a deep breath, a frigid cold running through his whole body, eyes curled and frozen.

“You should get going. My contractor.” The devil whispered into his ears. Feyrith tuned him out and coursed mana through his body. I know. I know.

When a butterfly flaps its wings.

“Then you should pluck it out of the sky.”