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[Other Original] Standing Creation - ♥ Vanguard Duosoard. [T - M]

Palamon

Silence is Purple
8,106
Posts
15
Years
This chapter is rated M.

I have just done this today. There might be tyos.


Standing Creation - Vanguard Duosoard.

Chapter 20; Sadistically woeful. As a God rises, a demonic departure rattles the sails.

Two weeks passed by as if the entire world were normal again. Nothing had happened. No events occurred in the outside world, it was as if the entire planet were paralyzed by a broken rotary wheel that could no longer turn. The lack of people coming after Gleam, strange tactics to get her into Ceetos's office, and the lack of Chime coming out of his room were really getting to her. Gleam knew—knew something had to be amiss. No one had come to try to kill her in two weeks. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or scared to half death over it. Two weeks, and she had been alone. She wanted to check up on Chime, but she was told to rest as well. The door to his room had been shut tight, and she knew that meant she had no right to be in there when the door had been closed. Even though she had been told to rest for a week, she couldn't. She couldn't—the paranoia. The paranoia of what had happened only kept on bothering her. All she could do was think about it for two weeks. The very thought corroded her, and the solitude was barely making it any better. She knew she had every right to be in solitude, however. She knew she didn't deserve it, Chime's kindness, help, anything. She knew she didn't deserve any of it. The two weeks of solitude proved it. Instead of thinking it was because she was a Sovereign, she decided to wonder. She wondered. Wondered how the Sovereign of Solitude, the late Soullim, handled being alone. She wondered if he was lonely when he was still alive. She knew, however, she had no right to compare herself to other Sovereigns. She was not them, and she refused to compare herself to such low and insane people. She wasn't them, and yet, she wondered how she could suddenly compare herself to other Sovereigns. In two weeks of solitude, she had seen things about her that she would have never seen before her two weeks of alone time, and never in her life had she loathed herself so much. Never in her life had it been so hard to like herself. She then figured. If she was going to be alone for at least another week, she may as well go out to go do something with herself. She knew the solitude wasn't intentional. Chime needed to recover. The library. She could go find the library. With her resolve in mind, Gleam left the couch and attempted to head for the door, but she couldn't. Weakness, dizziness, something was in control of her as she tried to walk. As she tried to walk to the door again, the dizziness had completely won. Within moments, the ground became her best friend as she fell to the rug. The sound of a loud crash could be heard before she was invited by the blackness of nothing. The darkness of being unconscious was somewhat inviting to her. Maybe she could stay that way forever. She somehow, hoped it would be true.

Chime, on the other hand, had not been able to move for the duration of two weeks. Incapacitated. For two weeks, he had been incapacitated, and he knew that it would remain that way for a while. He knew that Gleam being alone was not a good thing. It was not a good thing, but due to his inability to move, he couldn't check on her. Constantly, he had tried to move and failed miserably. He hated it. Hated being confined to his bed from the lack of the ability to move. He wanted to be sure, however, that he would be able to recuperate enough to help Gleam later. He, thus, ordered her to close the door. Solitude, complete solitude from the world. He hated it. Hated the solitude. He wanted the solitude to be over, but he knew it would last until he could move his entire body again. Every day, as of seven days before, slowly, but surely, he had been regaining mobility. Useless, he was useless. Somehow, he knew, knew he would never fully recover. Even at the very moment, he knew that even if the scars faded, the mental scars wouldn't. The mental scars would be eternal, and he knew it. The mental scars would permanently remain, and the memories would haunt him. The memories were permanently protruded into his mind, and there was no escaping them. From the two weeks of solitude, he had been trapped. Trapped with the visions of all his darkest memories. No amount of screams, crying, and writhing would help him. The memories would not leave him. He knew. Knew that it was true pain. He knew that it must have been what true pain felt like. The two weeks of incapacitation had taught him what pain truly was. True pain. True pain was writhing. True pain was emotional.

Eventually, the solitude had broken. The sound of a loud crash could be heard coming from the other room. Wrong, something was wrong. He knew something had happened to Gleam. It didn't sound normal; it could have only been her falling. Falling on something. Falling. Save her, he had to save her. Now was not the time to be in bed, not being able to move much. He would drag himself out of there if he had to. Save her. He had to save her. He moved his body forward as he picked his body up. The pain. The pain was barely there. Move, he could finally move. Chime removed the covers on him and lightly jumped to his feet. The worry .The worry was empowering his every move. Walk. He could feel it, he could walk. Never in his life had he felt so relieved that he could walk. Quickly, he turned the knob and opened the door. He wondered. The crash. What could that crash have been? He knew that it wasn't a good thing. Within moments, he could see a horrifying sight. The sight of a fallen over Gleam had burned into his mind. Wrong, something was wrong with her. As the worry empowered his movement, Chime ran to Gleam's side. Wrong, something was wrong with her. The pain. The pain of not preventing the outcome had gotten under his skin. Tears had automatically rolled down his face. Useless, he was useless.

"Gleam!" he shouted, tears painting his face discretely. She wasn't conscious. He had to get her to come to. "Wake up, Gleam! Wake up, please! You have to wake up!" tears had continued to fall from his face as he continued to shake her only to fail miserably. He continued shake her in hopes he would somehow get her to come to. Again, he tried to scream in hopes of breaking her free. "Wake up! You have to wake up! Please, Gleam! Please, wake up!" the screams. The screams were failing. Failing miserably, he had been failing to save her from the dark depths of blackness. He knew that he couldn't give up, he couldn't. Harder, he had to try harder. As the shaking became harder, he could see signs of success. Gleam's vital signs were returning. The tears continued to paint him even in the relief of her being alive. He couldn't hide it. Couldn't hide the emotions from her. He couldn't remain calm, he couldn't. Despite her being conscious, he knew—wrong. Something was wrong with her. There wasn't any time to waste. There was absolutely no time. Calm, he had to become calm before it would be too late.

Gleam's vision had slowly returned to her. Instantly, she had noticed Chime had been standing over her, completely full of tears and emotion. She was not used to the sight, and it made her feel like she had caused it. Her fall—her fall had caused everything. Seeing Chime up and about made her completely worry. She wondered. Should he have been moving around? It had been two weeks, two weeks of separation, two weeks of solitude, and it had been hard on her to cope. Something, she had to say something. In her weakened state, nothing came. She could only say the first thing that came to her mind. Weakly, she let the words form as weakness overrode her.

"Chime, should you be moving around?" she asked. "Shouldn't you still be in bed?" the words. The words came out weird. They didn't sound right. She wondered to herself. Was she delirious? Was she hallucinating? She didn't know—she knew she was aware, she knew that could not have been it. "I just fell over…I, you… didn't have to…" no words would work. Strange, she felt strange.

Chime did not like the sound of what Gleam had said. He was not important now; his mobility was not important. The bottom of it, he had to get to the bottom of what had happened to have caused her to faint. Gleam should not have been moving around if she were in that kind of state and he knew it. He was not important right now. He had to tell her that, he didn't care if what he was about to say would sound harsh, he knew the situation called for him to be harsh.

"I'm not important right now!" he cried. "You shouldn't be moving around! You just fainted!" he tried to calm down, but failed almost miserably. Yet another failure had infiltrated him. Focus. He had to focus on the main subject. "You need to tell me," he said desperately. "Do you feel ill? Do you need me to do anything for you? There's definitely something wrong with you!" as he finished with the questions, he quickly picked her up and placed her in a bedridden position. He placed the blanket over her as if by clockwork. He waited. Waited for Gleam to answer him.

Gleam could feel bewilderment invade her. She barely understood. Barely understood why Chime as so worried. She knew, somehow, if she had said that, Chime would only worry more. She couldn't. Couldn't say that to him. She didn't think anything could have possibly been wrong. Something couldn't have been. She knew. Knew it was only a sudden weakness, a sudden weakness. It could have been, and it could only have been. She knew. Knew it was nothing. She had to admit that to him.

"I'm okay," she said weakly. "Really, Chime, it must have been weakness or something."

Chime sighed. Gleam was denying it. She was denying it, and he hated the sound of it. The harshness had to leave him this time. Somehow, he had to get the truth out of her, he had to. He couldn't sit by idly and accept the answer she gave him. She was not okay. She wasn't. She wasn't okay at all. He knew it. Knew the two weeks of solitude would do something to her. He knew, knew keeping the door closed was a bad move. So many bad moves, and they were all his fault. Everything that had happened had been his fault. It had been his fault for he had not been able to move. He could only blame himself. Himself and no one else. If Gleam had fallen ill from the solitude, he only had himself to blame, and he knew it better than anyone. He looked at her with a serious look on his face before he became lost in a sea of self beating. He couldn't focus on himself, Gleam was of the only importance.

"You're not okay," he said firmly. "I think you've come down with something. Really, this is all my fault, Gleam." he kept a serious expression on his face as he continued. "Please stay n bed. You're obviously not well."

Gleam sighed. He was worrying over nothing. It was not his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. She had worried him again. The solitude had been over, but the pain of solitude was not. Being alone for two weeks; the pain it left behind. It hurt, hurt beyond belief. Did she feel ill? She didn't think so. She knew it could have only been a sudden weakness. Chime was worrying too much. He had definitely been too worried. It was uncalled for. She hated it. Hated worrying Chime as much as she already did. She wished, for once, that he would worry about himself. Gleam didn't like the idea, the idea of being confined to the couch. The thought of staying put, not moving, completely bothered her. All she had done for two weeks was think to herself. No more, she couldn't stand being confined to the couch for another day—she could not handle it. Move—she had to move around. She knew that with Chime up and about, she probably would be forbidden to move. She knew Chime shouldn't have been moving around, either, but she was sure now that he wouldn't stand down. Regardless, she needed to repeat herself.

"Are you sure you should be moving around?" she asked again. "What about your injuries, Chime?" while she was happy he could move again, the first thing she didn't want was to worry him, but it was already too late to change it. It was her fault such had befallen, and she knew it. She knew it could have only been her fault; it could only have been. She could feel a light sigh overcome her as she continued to quietly bash herself in the contents of her mind. "Really," she said. "I'm glad you're moving around, but…." There was more. More she wanted to say, but the weakness overtook her. The next words wouldn't form. They stayed sealed inside her permanently as if locked in her throat. She decided it would be best to just give up for now—there was no way she could win.

Chime indirectly glared at the words Gleam said. Yes, he should have been moving around. It was his fault all of this happened and his fault only. The time fir solitude and recovering was over. Two weeks was too much time for himself. He had taken too much time for himself—he knew what had happened was the world's way of telling him that he was selfish. He had taken too much time for himself, and he was selfish. Utterly selfish. Completely, utterly selfish. He knew. Knew what had happened was the world's way of telling him such. It was a completely deserved outcome; he knew he deserved it more than anything before. Rather than wallowing about it, he knew now was his chance to show the world he was not selfish. Now was the time. Time to show the world. He would put it upon himself. Put it upon himself to take care of her. The world. He would show the world he wasn't selfish. He looked at Gleam quickly.

"Yes, I should be," he replied. "I'm not going to leave you alone, Gleam." He would not blush. He kept a constant serious expression. A serious expression. Clam. He had to remain calm. "I'm going to take care of you," he told her. "Is there anything you need?" he knew, that no matter what he did, it would not make up for the two weeks of solitude. Nothing would make up for the solitude. The world could not forgive him; he didn't deserve to be forgiven, and he knew it. He knew the world would have no right to forgive him. He knew. There was no room, no room for forgiveness. He sighed, snapping himself out of it. There was no time to worry about himself. Gleam was of the only importance. He couldn't think of himself, there was no way.

Gleam couldn't think of anything. She had no idea, no idea. She didn't want to feel weak anymore. She hated the feeling, and she didn't want to feel weak anymore. She didn't want to feel weak anymore. She hated being fussed over so much. It couldn't come to pass. She knew. Knew it couldn't. She just wanted it to be over, over. Something, anything, to make her regain strength. Something, anything. She didn't want to remain weak, something; anything, to help her regain all her strength. She knew there wasn't anything, but she knew it had to be worth a try. She knew she had to try something, anything; anything to somehow be normal again. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Can I have some water?" she asked. She couldn't think of anything else. Nothing else came to her. There was nothing else she knew that would help her in any least bit possible. Water was the immediate solution. The only solution. She wondered. Wondered if it were too much to ask for. She wondered if she seemed like and invalid unable to do anything. Pushy, she was being pushy, and she knew it. "If it isn't too much to ask…" she said under her breath. "Am I being too pushy?" she could feel it again. The weakness. The weakness was living up to its name. Pushy. She was being pushing. Too pushy. Completely pushy. Should she have even asked for anything? She wondered. Wondered if it were wrong to ask. Somehow, she knew it had to be wrong.

Chime looked at her. Why was she saying that? She wasn't being pushy. She wasn't being pushy at all—in any way. In any way. She was not being pushy. As much as he wanted to say that to her, he knew it wouldn't be a good thing to pile anything onto her. He knew it would be in his best interest to keep it inside him. No more. He couldn't do that after what had went on during the two weeks. Nothing could make up for the stress he caused her, nothing. Nothing would make up for what he did, and he knew it. Despite that, it had to stop. The thoughts had to stop. Standing there and thinking wasn't going to help Gleam become better. He couldn't dawdle. He had to cut it out with the dawdling. A habit—the dawdling was now, somehow, a habit. A habit he had to break.

"By all means," he answered, killing the dawdling. He proceeded to a cabinet and removed a small glass from the top shelf. After removing the glass, he placed it under the faucet and ran the water. After the glass had shown signs of being three quarters full, he turned the faucet off and walked over to Gleam, motioning her to sit up slightly. He hoped in the corners of his mind that the water would breathe life into her.

Gleam sat up slightly as Chime had instructed. She removed the glass from his hand and added it to her own. In her bewilderment, she stared at the glass. The water, would it really help her? She wondered. Wondered if it would do anything. To find out that answer herself, she took the water and began to drink it. Strange, something was strange. The water. The water looked cold, but it didn't even taste like anything. Nothing. The water tasted like nothing. After finishing the glass of water, she realized that she felt no different. Weakness still had been coursing through her, dizziness was still there. There obviously wasn't any way—any way she could win today.

Chime noticed. Even after the drink of life bringing cold water, she still looked ghostly pale. Something was wrong with her, but he couldn't make out what it could be. Hopeless. He felt hopeless to himself and hopeless to the world's force. Useless, he was entirely useless. Still he had to ask her if there was any change in her of any kind, it would be wrong not to, and he knew it.

"Did the water help you?" he asked with instinct. "Do you feel any better?" he could feel the worried tone sound more worried than it usually sounded, but he didn't care—he was far too worried to hide it. He couldn't hide the absolute worry in his voice.
Gleam weakly shook her head. No. She didn't. She didn't feel any better at all. The water provided nothing for her. It was no different. No different. There wasn't any change. She didn't want to remain that way, if not for a long time. She wondered what hurt more, the weakness or what was about to come later. She couldn't distinguish it—nothing was working. Her mind wasn't even working. It was as if she was weak everywhere. She wanted to hate it, she wanted to, but, she felt too drained. She was too weak to hate anything at the moment. It took too much energy, and she didn't want to waste anymore energy. Everything. Everything was slowly becoming too much—weakness was more powerful than anything. The weakness, the weakness was winning. It definitely had won, and she had decided. Decided to completely admit it.

"No, Chime," she answered. "I really don't feel any better." Rest. She needed to get rest. She didn't exactly think it would work, but she knew. She couldn't cling to Chime, she knew. She knew that would be selfish, she knew it. She knew. No more clinging. She didn't need to continue to cling to him. Rest. She would rest. She knew it was all she could do. She looked at Chime almost bewildered. "I'm going to rest now," she answered weakly. "Sorry, Chime…."

Chime knew that Gleam had something on her mind again, but he figured it would be best not go on about it. He didn't want to leave her alone, but he knew that it would be best to let her rest. Solitude. Solitude was killing her. Solitude really was hurting her. Solitude was hurting her, and it was his fault. It was his fault, and he knew it. Never again would he leave her in the cold world of solitude. Never again. He would never again do that to her. Everything, he knew was his fault. Everything that would happen later would be punishment. Nothing, he deserved nothing anymore. Did he deserve anything anymore? He wondered. The pain. True pain and Gleam had to be subjected to it. Horrible. He was horrible. He knew that if he let her rest, it would help her. Never. He could never forgive himself. The world, the world had every right to mock him.

He patted her on the shoulder. "It's fine," he said. "Don't apologize. Please, Gleam." He backed away a little to give her space. Did he have any right to pat her on the shoulder? He knew he probably did not have any right to. He looked at her. He wondered. Wondered if sleep was all she needed. It was going to be a long, agonizing night. He knew, somehow, that the agonizing night prediction would become the truth. It would become the truth. It would become the truth, even if he didn't want it to become such. "I should be the one apologizing," he darkly replied. "It's my fault and my fault alone this happened." He walked over to her and tucked her in more. "I promise you that I'll never leave you in solitude again. Please rest. I really hope you feel better by the morning." His fault. It was all his fault that everything had happened. It was all his fault. Everything was his fault. Gleam had to get better. Everything had had to get better. He wanted to show the world he was better than that. He was better than that, and he knew it. He backed away. He had to let her rest. He knew being there would not help her, it would hinder her. One way or another, it would be a hard night. A hard night to live through and it could only have been a hard one. He looked back at Gleam one more time. Sorry, he was sorry.

Gleam weakly smiled. "I will," she replied. "Chime, it's not your fault. It's nobody's fault." She knew Chime was taking her faint too heavily. She needed to figure it out: was Chime going insane? She didn't want that to be the truth. Rest. Chime needed to rest as well. Insane. She didn't want that to happen. It couldn't happen. She didn't want Chime to become insane. "You need to rest, too. I don't want you to get to my level." She knew that was not the right words she was looking for, but it was already too late to take it back.

Chime said nothing and nodded. He needed to sleep the day off. He had to. Even though he had slept the entire days away for two weeks, he could only sleep again to get rid of the feelings. He had to get rid of the feelings so he could prepare tomorrow. As he retired into his bed, he thought about it once again. Horrible, he was horrible. He continued to call himself horrible as he was tortured by a nightmare in the confines of his subconscious. Nothing could save him as a nightmare he knew he deserved more than anything.

When morning came around, Gleam felt no better. Burning. She felt as if her whole body was burning. She knew it—knew that resting wasn't going to help. Worse, she felt worse. The time of nothing happening in the program did not make her feel any better. Something had to be cooking in the ocean—something. As bewildered as she was, she knew, knew somehow, she was right. She knew something was going to happen today, but could not think of what. Today. Something would happen, but she could barely think. Her body, her body was burning when it really wasn't. Was it due to the two weeks of solitude? She didn't feel like wondering. It took far too much energy. It took too much energy to wonder. The burn. The burning feeling wouldn't stop. Such a powerful illusion—she couldn't hate it. The burn. The feeling. The feeling was ruling over her.

Chime entered the room a short while after. Quickly, he walked over to her in order to see how she was feeling. Within minutes, his eyes lost all signs of life in them. No. No. There was no way. Gleam looked worse. The world was mocking him, mocking him, and he couldn't win against the world. He noticed, Gleam looked feverish. He knew it. Knew something worse would happen, and he deserved it. He deserved every minute of it. He was being punished, punished for leaving her alone. He knew that it was the world's way of mocking and punishing him. Horrible, he was horrible. He had to take care of her. He didn't care if she would say no—his fault, it was all his fault. He had to be responsible. He had to be held responsible. He looked at Gleam worriedly as it was the only look he could provide.

"You look feverish," he said quietly. "You definitely have a fever today." He then realized—there wasn't anything left he could give her to lower it. The painkillers in his necessity cabinet were expired as of two months ago, and he wasn't going to give her expired pills—that was poison. No. It wasn't happening. It could be happening, it couldn't be true. There was nothing her could do to save her, nothing. Nothing he could do to save her, and he felt less than alive about it. The world. The world was punishing him, mocking him, and he knew it. He knew the world was punishing him. Still, he figured, he'd ask what kind of pain she was in. Maybe, just maybe, he could find something or be able to make a medicine. Something, anything. "Is… is there anything hurting? Any specific areas?" calm. Why was it so hard to remain calm? He couldn't; he could remain calm. It was as if he had lost the ability through punishment.

"My whole body feels like," she started, but corrected herself. "I feel like my whole body is burning." The burn. The burn was winning. The burn was winning. No thought. There were no thoughts that would shine through.

Chime couldn't hold it. Couldn't hold the scream inside him. No. Gleam was doing incredibly poorly, and he had nothing he could do to help her. Useless, he was completely useless. No. It wasn't happening, it couldn't be happening. It wasn't happening. He didn't know, but he had to help her. Something, there was something he had to be able to do, anything. He changed the expression on his face—it was time to help Gleam. He extinguished all his self thoughts instantly; he had to focus on Gleam. Gleam and nothing else.

"I'm going to take care of you," he said. "I won't leave you alone, Gleam." He hated having to tell her to stay put; to stay lying down, but for now, that's all he could think to say. "I'm going to take care of you…so please, Gleam, stay in bed." He could feel his body shaking. Something. There had to be something he could do. Something, anything. Anything—anything to help free her. Anything to free her, anything. "So, is there anything I can do? Anything?" shaking. He was shaking. Constantly, he shook, and wouldn't stop. Useless, he was useless.

Gleam didn't want to. Clingy. She did not want to become clingy. She knew—asking for anything was too much. She couldn't ask for anything; anything was too much. Too much. She didn't want to ask for anything, she knew. Selfish, asking for anything was selfish. Asking for anything was absolutely selfish. She would argue, but couldn't win against the arguments inside her. Chime seemed to be on edge, and she didn't like it. She didn't like seeing him like that, but the burn. The burn. She couldn't take the burn anymore.

"Cold," she replied weakly. "Something cold to counter the burn…." She didn't know what that was called, but the burn. The burn was torturous. She wanted separation—separation from the burn. Something to separate her from the burn. Anything.

Chime sighed a sigh of relief. Ice pack. He actually did have an ice pack. He proceeded to his freezer and removed an ice pack from the top section. He walked over to Gleam and placed it on her forehead. He hoped, hoped it would help her. Somehow, he knew it would be okay now—okay to become calm again, and he knew it. However, he figured, figured there had to be something else he could do. Something else, anything.

"Anything else I can do?" he asked. "I might have some herbs I can mix into soup. I just have to check my cabinet." Confident, he felt confident again, confident that he could do anything. His smile. His smile was internally returning to his face. "Though, it's going to be pretty bitter. Are you okay with that?"

Gleam nodded. She quickly noticed. Noticed that Chime seemed much calmer now. While she hated bitter herbs, she didn't want Chime to worry anymore. Over, it was over; the solitude could finally end. It was only a matter of time. The solitude. The solitude could finally be over. She looked at Chime and answered him quickly. "Really, Chime, thank you for all this. I appreciate it." She weakly smiled. While she hated the bitterness, she couldn't tell him. It was a nice offer, a nice offer, and she knew that all her negative thoughts were what truly made her worse. She nodded one more time to alert him. Alert him that she was ready.

Chime saw her nod. He proceeded to his necessity cabinet and removed a can of broth and medicinal herbs. He then crouched down into another cabinet and removed a pot. He placed it over his dorm stove and turned the left dial. The fire underneath the pot ignited, lighting the pot. After he was sure the pot was heated enough, he removed the top of the broth can and poured it into the pot heating on the stove. He, lastly, opened the cap of medicinal herbs and placed two into the broth. For five minutes, he stirred the broth until there was enough broth and herb in it. When he knew it was done, he turned the left dial on the stove to off and waited again. After a few moments, he went over to another cabinet and removed a bowl and soup ladle. When everything had been done and over with, he clamped the ladle and placed the broth into the bowl. He could feel it—feel his blood calming. He walked over to Gleam and placed the bowl of medicinal soup onto her body. Finally, he was useful again. Finally, in two weeks of being selfish, he was useful.

Gleam took the spoon in the broth and proceeded to digesting it. As she ate the broth, she could feel the bitterness. The bitterness in the broth. The bitterness; the bitterness was too much. The bitterness was controlling. The taste, she hated it. Hated the bitter taste—the taste was beyond too much. She knew she had to bear with it, however. She had to bear with it. She continued to digest the medicinal herb until there was neither any herb or broth left. When everything had been gone, she handed the bowl to Chime, and he placed it in the sink, running the faucet to clean the bowl. When everything had been finished, he returned to Gleam's side.

Gleam could feel it—the burn that had been coursing through her body was leaving. It was leaving her. Somehow, she had felt better. Chime had done a nice job. She noticed. Noticed that Chime was acting like himself again. Chime was acting like himself again, and she felt like she could smile again. Compliment. She had to compliment Chime. She wanted to see a regular smile from him. Just a little more. Just a little more time before something was to happen. Compliment, she had to compliment Chime. There was barely any time like the time the two had at the moment. One compliment. One compliment to turn around and save Chime. She hated seeing him look so worried and dead inside. Gleam removed the ice pack freezing her head and sat up. Compliment—she had to compliment Chime.

Chime saw Gleam had moved and quickly placed her back in a lying position. He didn't want to see her up and about yet. She shouldn't have been, and he had to say something about it to her.

"Hey, hey!" he cried. "Don't try escaping! You still have a fever!" he changed his expression to a more serious one. He had to keep her lying down. He knew, by now, that his work was almost done. Though, he knew, there was no more solitude allowed, and he knew it. He knew, as long as he could keep on protecting Gleam, everything would be fine. It didn't matter as long as he could continue protecting her. He gazed at Gleam quickly. "I think," he said. "All that's left for you is to rest. I'm sure by the time you wake up, the fever will be gone." Somehow, he had been able to smile. Smile a small fraction. A small fraction and he could finally feel the entirety. The entirety of his blood calming.

Gleam saw the opportunity now. Now was the time to compliment Chime. She prepared. Prepared to compliment him. "You know, Chime," she spoke in a light voice. "You'd make a good doctor." She smiled obnoxiously to alert him that she was complimenting him, a normal Chime. She wanted to see Chime be himself again.

Chime heard the compliment. He knew—knew that he didn't deserve any compliments, but he didn't want to return, he didn't want to return to killing himself with his thoughts. No more. Not now. He knew Gleam did not want to hear him talk like hat. He knew she didn't want to see him in that state. He knew. Knew that one reason for worry in Gleam was that. No more. He couldn't. He couldn't anymore.

"You think so?" he questioned. "Hmm, maybe I would be. I think I can see that in my future, Gleam." He gave her a smile. His first smile in weeks. It felt different, but he knew. Knew he had to get used to the feeling. "You know, Gleam, I—" he would have finished the sentence, but the sound of a knock could be heard on the other end of the door. No. The time of nothing happening, the time of nothing happening was about to cease. Chime's smile died and his expression changed to a blank one. The time. The two weeks of nothing happening had ended.

The knock. The knock returned. The knock was quiet, not violent. The knock. The knock was gentle. Entirely gentle. Something was wrong. Familiar. There was something familiar about the knock. There something familiar about the knock, and Chime couldn't help but have a bad feeling about it. As he proceeded to the door, he thought about it. The knock was familiar. The knock was familiar, and he knew it.

***************************

On the other side of the door, was a timid, recognizable face. A face that could only belong to Seriphard. If the boy had been there, it could not have been a good thing; it was not a good thing. It was not a good thing, it couldn't have been. The two weeks of nothing were about to come to an end. He knew Seriphard was there to take that away. He was there to take away the days of nothing, and Chime did not like it. He did not like that the boy was there. It could only mean for disaster. Disaster and he hated it. He knew, somehow, that the boy secretly could have been after Gleam. He could have been after her secretly, and he knew. He knew he couldn't trust the boy. He couldn't trust Seriphard. There wasn't any way he could trust him. He could never trust him, and he never would, but he couldn't admit that to Gleam. He couldn't admit that to her; he would keep the fact to himself as it was all he could do. Silently, he studied the boy's appearance again. His cadet blue hair. His cadet blue hair was horribly suspicious. The color was suspicious. His ink colored eyes, he was hiding something. He was definitely hiding something. His white clothes covered with red splotches—he was dangerous. Definitely dangerous. Perfect reason to send him away. It was a perfect reason to send him away. He looked at his back. The angel wings. Definitely artificial implants. They were definitely implants, definitely fake. He knew that if the boy was there, it was a sign of bloodshed to come, and he did not want that. A perfect reason to send him away. As Chime was about to close the door, he could hear Gleam shouting in the corner mercilessly.

"Seriphard!" she shouted. "Seriphard, hi!" she waved at the boy stupidly to make him feel welcome. She knew Chime was about to send him away. She turned to him. He must have forgotten that Seriphard was not one of the people who were after her. "Chime, let him in, he's here for a reason."

Chime sighed. He couldn't say no to Gleam. Reluctantly, he swung the door open all the way and let him in. As the boy walked in, Chime again noticed the angel wings on his back. He wondered. Wondered if they could have possibly been real, but he knew that was impossible; no one could possibly have had angel wings. After Seriphard had been deep enough inside the dorm room, he closed the door behind him and continued to stare at the child. Why? Why was he here? He didn't like it. He didn't like him being there, either. Something was going to go wrong, and he knew it. He continued. Continued to stare at the boy.

Seriphard looked at Gleam and noticed the redness in her face. Quickly, he took note, despite already knowing. The girl was ill. As much as he wanted to delay the warning, he couldn't. Timidly, he backed away and prepared, prepared to give his warning. First, he knew he had to ask. Ask a question or two. A mere question or two.

"A-are y-you alright?" he asked Gleam. "Y-you l-look a little ill." Shaking, the boy was shaking. As much as he practiced, he could only shake. He must have had a permanent switch that was always on and making him shake like a dog. Like a dog of which he never learned the name of.

Gleam quietly smiled. "I have a small fever, but I'm better now, I'm pretty much over it," she replied. "Thank you for your concern." Gleam looked at the boy. She wondered. Wondered what kind of news the boy had. She knew it couldn't have been a good thing, and it wasn't. It wasn't good news. She'd wait. Wait. Wait for him to tell her and Chime.

Chime glared at Seriphard from a distance. He didn't want him there much longer. He had to get him away quickly. Bloodshed—he foretells bloodshed. He didn't want him there much longer. A rift, the child caused a rift in the program. Over with, he wanted this explanation over with. He wondered. Was he being too cruel? We he being too critical in his judgment on Seriphard? Deep down, he knew. Knew he was being way too cruel, but he didn't care, he would never admit that to him. He wouldn't give up to the thoughts of him being too critical on Seriphard.

"What do you want?" he asked in a pestered tone. "Is there any reason you're here?"

Gleam noticed. Noticed that Chime still didn't trust Seriphard. She thought she told him last time that they could trust him. Seemingly, Chime had forgotten such. He had forgotten Seriphard was trustworthy. He was trustworthy, but Chime didn't think so. Chime seemingly didn't trust Seriphard. While it bothered her, she knew now was not the time for such. Now was not the time to wonder why Chime couldn't trust him. He had something important to say, and it had to be said. It had to be said, and now. Completely. Now was the time for Seriphard to explain.

Seriphard prepared. Prepared to explain. Prepared to warn the two of them. To warn to two. The two about what was about to come. The boy stopped, breathed and prepared. Prepared to explain what was about to happen.

"P-please l-listen to my w-warning," he said, shaking. "T-the c-creator of the p-program, he…."

Chime blinked. The creator. The creator of the program had to be up to something. It must have been another rumor; there was no time to think about it. Despite the suspicion, he had to listen. It was obvious—obvious the creator was going to do something at any moment. The creator was up to something. Suspicion—he couldn't get over the suspicion boiling deep inside him. The suspicion. The suspicion was beginning to get to him, but he couldn't allow it to. The creator, what was he up to? He had to continue listening, and he almost forced himself to. He was going to force himself to listen; he didn't care, care if the suspicion was residing in the boy.

"Go on," Chime said. "What about the creator?" he kept an expressionless face. He knew what he was about to hear was not a good thing.
"T-the creator, h-he," Seriphard said, shaking and stammering. "He-he's on the r-roof." He paused for a moment. "T-the c-creator...he h-he might be planning s-something."

Gleam froze. The roof. The creator was up to something on the rooftop. Gleam couldn't. Couldn't stand it. Rooftops were horrible. She couldn't—couldn't be on one. But, she felt a sense of wonder break loose inside her. Why was the creator on the roof? What was he planning? That could not have been a good thing; it wasn't a good thing. Something was wrong. That couldn't have been a good thing. Wrong, something was wrong about the warning.

Chime's suspicion rose. The roof. The creator was up to something sinister on the roof. The creator was up to something on the roof. He knew his suspicion was right. Right from the very beginning. Was he up on the roof throwing people from society off? He figured that it could have been it. Ceetos Eetos was a sick and twisted man. Throwing people off the rooftop. That must have been it. He knew his suspicion was correct. Distrust roared inside him—he couldn't trust Seriphard. He was leading Gleam to bloodshed. He was already sick of it. Sick of having her see bloodshed.

"And?" Chime asked. "Why is he on the rooftop?" the obvious suspicious tone of voice had shown through. He refused to hide it this time. "Tell me, is he throwing people off the rooftop?" Chime was onto him. Obviously, he was trying to horrify Gleam, and he wouldn't stand for it.

Seriphard showed no understanding or acknowledgement of what Chime was claiming. He knew that he did not trust him. He didn't have to trust him; it was important, important that the two understand what was about to happen.

"N-no! Nothing like t-that!" he cried nervously. "H-he isn't t-trying to t-throw people o-off the rooftop, p-promise!" he could feel the shaking again, but calmed down. "Y-you s-should r-really c-come to the r-roof and s-see. I-I think you really s-should." He couldn't stop shaking. He knew Chime did not trust him that much. His suspicion would not make anything easy, but he had to get it over with.

Chime sighed. He didn't want to, but he figured that if it would let him know what was truly happening. He knew he needed to know what had truly been happening. He had to know what the creator was up to, it was the inevitable. The inevitable. He had to know. He had to know what truly was going on and why. He walked over to Gleam and removed the blanket from her body. She knew that Chime was ready and stood behind him with suspicion as to what Ceetos was up to.

"Arlight," Chime said. "Take us to the rooftop." He glared at him suspiciously. "This had better not be a trap, you hear? You'd better not be doing this to get Gleam into trouble or pain." He said it with a vicious tone. He meant it, meant it more than anything. Never. He would never once for any beyond reason, trust the boy. Never. Seriphard blankly blinked and lightly held onto Gleam's wrist.

"N-no, n-not at a-all," he answered, shaking like a dog again. "I-I'll escort you t-two to the r-rooftop, s-so, follow me!"

Chime gave up. No more, he couldn't be suspicious any longer. Seriphard stepped in front of Chime and opened his door, breathlessly running for the long staircase. The run. The run had been a short one, it had seemed. The staircase, the staircase had only been nine doors away. Nine entire doors away. Gleam looked at the boy's back and noticed the angel wings on his back as they approached the stairs. Did he ever fly with those wings? The thought of him possibly flying rather than climbing the stairs frightened her. She hoped, hoped that she would not get above the ground for even a second. She had to ask Seriphard. Ask him if he was going to fly as the fear boiled inside her. Seriphard placed one foot on the stairs. Gleam proceeded to ask.

"You…you aren't going to fly, are you?" she inquired anxiously. Flying; flying was frightening.

Seriphard shook his head. "N-no, why? I c-couldn't p-possibly…" he replied stealthily. "W-we don't have t-time. H-he'll be doing something a-any second!"

As Seriphard stopped talking, he rushed Gleam up the three hundred sixty steps up to the rooftop, and Chime ran after. Long and unusual. Why there were so many stairs made no sense. It made no sense and made the trip longer and further. Eventually, Seriphard had reached the three hundred fifty ninth step. He hoped. Hoped it already wasn't too late to show the two. Show the two what had really been going on. Without saying anything, he pushed open the metal door to the rooftop and led the small parade of Chime and Gleam to the scene.

Gleam's eyes grew small as she let go of Seriphard. Everyone remaining in the ocean had been on the roof, including Ceetos. The wind could be felt thrusting her as she continued to examine Ceetos from afar. Again, his appearance had changed. He was perfect looking, and omnipotent. His suit had been completely normal. No. Something wasn't right; his suit shouldn't have looked normal. What was the man up to? Why did he look almost omnipotent? She examined further; she noticed something large. As soon as she saw it, she could feel her eyes break. A huge vehicle with a single propeller on the top could be seen next to Ceetos. The vehicle, interestingly, was of a rainbow color. She remembered. Remembered the name of the vehicle. A helicopter had been next to Ceetos. What was the man planning?

The ocean did not seem to know, either. As Ceetos made his way, the ocean began to hit shore. The loud voices of one hundred people boomed and roared, distracting Gleam. The ocean, the ocean was even clueless about what was about to happen. Bad, this was bad.

The creator stomped on the rooftop lightly; however, it came out as a violent, earthbound shockwave. The ocean instantly calmed. The creator was about to speak. Instantly, the entirety of the ocean quieted. The stomp. The stomp wasn't human, it was God. God, the stomp was a God's stomp. The remaining ocean members cowered at his power. Ceetos Eetos was not human anymore.

Ceetos smirked. Everyone had his eyes on him. Scared. They were scared of his godliness. That was what he always wanted.

"Hello, hello!" he announced sporadically. "Congratulations, living one hundred three children! You have survived my program!" He started to move. Move into the helicopter.

The ocean began to hit shore. The creator. The creator was entering the vessel. Entering the vessel. As much as they were actually scared, they couldn't show it. The ocean became a tidal wave, voices crashing the sand. The creator. The creator was entering the vessel. He was entering the vessel. He was entering the rainbow vessel about to operate it. He was going to operate the vessel. The ocean continued to form a tidal wave of voices. They couldn't accept the face as true.

Ceetos could not keep a fake grin. The children. The children would not shut up. Stop them, he had to shut up the pesky remaining alive children. Ceetos's body glowed gold. The aura got blinding and flickery as he continued to power up the move. The gold glow then became eye whitening as coins began to rain from his palms. The coins struck at least ten children, forcing their stomachs open as the coins hit them like they had just been hit by coins high up from a sixty five story building. The ten children bled violently as the eye whitening glow faded along with the coins. The ocean shut up as the sight of blood pools formed all over his roof. His beautiful, almost always clean roof, and now it had been ruined. Ruined by ten idiotic children. He smirked and continued.

"Now that I got your attention, I'd like to say a few words!" he announced out of nowhere. "Congratulations, ninety three remaining children, you have turned me into a God!"

Gleam blinked. A God? Was she delirious? A God? Did Ceetos just say God? Soullim. Soullim was right. Ceetos was intending to become a God. All along, the Sovereign of Solitude was right. He was right—Ceetos was trying to become a God. Gleam couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand the fact. Disgusting, evil, inhumane. No word described the spectacle before her at all. The creator had become a God. There was no way. No way any of this could have been happening. A nightmare, it had to be some kind of nightmare.

Ceetos smirked and continued. "Congratulations, fools! Congratulations, fools! You have killed so many people that I have collected enough magic to become a God!" he said, completely changing his attitude. As he continued, he placed his other foot into the vessel. Escape. Leave the remaining ninety three there to die. First, he had to rattle the children up. Kill each other; he would announce that they could kill each other. "And, as my parting gift, I give you FREE REIGN TO KILL ALL!" he boomed. "Sayonara, children! You'll never get help, ever, ever!" he closed the door to the vessel and said nothing else. Within seconds, the violent sound of a propeller could be heard against the deadly force of wind. No one stopped as the creator's escape plan succeeded. Everyone watched in complete horror as the helicopter got smaller and smaller on the horizon line. Ceetos Eetos was gone. The ninety three remaining—the ninety three remaining were on death row, and they knew it.

Gleam tried to make sense of everything that just had happened. Free reign to kill all. Mass murder. The creator was about to allow a mass murder to take place. Why? Why would he escape? Why would he leave everyone there to die? Why now? Why so suddenly? No question would ever be answered. The questions were lost. Lost to the ocean of people. She turned to Chime. Chime had become extremely pale. Nowhere had there been any visible color. Terrified, Chime was more terrified than she was. Regardless, she had to ask him—had to ask him what to do now.

"Chime," she asked. "What do we do now?"

Chime knew. Knew the answer to that question. Hide. The two of them had to hide. The announcement. The announcement, free reign to kill all. He knew what that meant. More people were going to try to kill her. He couldn't allow society to try to kill her anymore. They had to hide. Had to hide. The four words the creator said—free reign to kill all, rang in his ears, and they would not stop ringing in his ears. The words. The words were parasites eating away at his mind. They would not leave him—the four words. Hide the two of them had to hide. Hid before it was too late. They had to hide, there was no choice; it was absolute instinct.

"We hide!" he cried. He looked at Seriphard. Apologize. He had to apologize for how he treated Seriphard. "Seriphard, sorry. Sorry for distrusting you. It was so wrong of me." He got on his knees, begging for forgiveness. "I'm sorry, Seriphard, my suspicion got the best of me. I really thought that you were one of them. That was wrong of me, and for that, I apologize." He got off his knees. The apology, the apology was the hardest one he could give.

Seriphard shrugged. "I-it's okay," he gristly answered. "N-no one e-eve b-believes me a-anyway." Seriphard grabbed Gleam's arm and escorted the two back to Chime's dorm room. The climb back. The climb of three hundred sixty stairs felt like a complete millennium. After a certain amount of time, Seriphard had reached the end of the staircase. He quietly escorted Gleam in front of the door and spoke one last time. "I-I h-hope," he stammered nervously. "T-the next time w-we meet… i-it will be f-for a p-positive reason. I-I h-hate it here. I-it isn't a good place."

Gleam blinked darkly. She agreed. It was not a good place. She remembered, remembered when she had arrived at Mariibo Rumaibo, she remembered wanting a change in life. She hoped somehow, she'd become free from the reasons she wanted to run away. She was wrong. She was in a place, a place where she now wanted to run away. The truth was ugly. The real Mariibo Rumaibo was finally devised. The program. The program truly was a fake. The words Soullim had said before he died. They were finally hitting her now.

"No, it's not a good place," Gleam answered. "This place…it's equivalent to a torture chamber." Gleam could feel tears roll down her face. The tears. They wouldn't stop. The tears became evident that they had to be there, and they would not stop. "I… I thought I could be happy here… away from everything… but this entire place is a lie! A lie! Why? Why did I want to come here? Why?" only now had she truly seen. The meaning. The true meaning of everything.

Chime patted her on the shoulder. For the first time, the pat failed. Gleam was in extreme hysterics, and nothing he could do would fix it. Nothing. The program being entirely fake—he believed it. The thought had crossed his mind a numerous amount of times. He knew. Knew, somehow, the idea would come up one day.

He turned to Seriphard and gave him his first trusting look. Now he was sure. Sure he could trust him. Trust him completely, entirely. Entirely with his entire body.

"Seriphard," he said. "I'm taking Gleam inside to rest. I really need to look after her. This must be too much for her to handle." He gave him a serious look. "Keep up with what you're doing, young man. It really helps."

Seriphard nodded. Chime opened the door to his room and placed Gleam in a sleeping position. Hard. She was taking this escape harder than anyone. He hated the sight. The sight of the girl he wanted to protect breaking down. It hurt him—it hurt him to see her like that. He did remember that she was only twelve. There was no way. No way any twelve year old had the capacity to handle that. Sovereign, or not, no twelve year old could handle such stress; none could. He prayed, prayed everything would somehow turn out alright tomorrow. He knew, however, that it was mere wishful thinking.

Gleam couldn't take it anymore. The creator escaped. Die, he was leaving everyone there to die. The thought hurt her to think of. No. The creator. The creator is leaving everyone there to die. Her eyes had lost all pupils. She had lost all life in her eyes. She then wondered, maybe it would be for the best. Maybe it would be for the best to become a corpse, too. She could escape the program. The building, she could escape. A corpse. She wished to become a corpse. She wished to become a corpse. She was tired of it. Tired of the program. Free reign to kill all, the words, the words carried no meaning to her anymore. A corpse, she had to become a corpse. She had to become a corpse. She had to become a part of the collection of corpses. Free reign to kill all—she wanted to become a part of the corpse collection. No more—there was nothing left to save her. She couldn't take her life anymore. She shed life-like tears. She decided to let the death thoughts go. She had no ounce of care left inside her to keep her mentally alive.

End of chapter twenty, next to come: the wind chimes sing through the paradox! Ah, how lovely they are! The wind chimes sing through the paradox! Come on, here them call! Nestle Mantle! Hear the call!

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Welcome to the next plot twist.

I applaud your effort if you made it this far without screaming or having a nightmare.

Just so you know, Seriphard is pretty important.
 

Palamon

Silence is Purple
8,106
Posts
15
Years
This chapter is rated M. You know the drill by now.

Standing Creation - Vanguard Duosoard.

Chapter 21; Wind chimes so beautiful that no paradox can halter their song.

Three days swung by abruptly. Gleam could barely live or accept anything at all. She accepted nothing; food, water, nothing. All she could do was unconsciously cry. Unconsciously cry as she lived through the shock over and over again. The words, the words still ringed in her head constantly. Free reign to kill all. The words were now permanently secreted in her mind. Free reign to kill all—mass murder. Nothing else would go through her mind—nothing. She couldn't pull it together, she couldn't. She tried to, but it was as if she had forgotten how. As if she had completely forgotten what it meant; what it meant to be in the actual outer world. She didn't like it. Didn't like the outer world anymore, and she didn't like her inner world, either. Neither world could hold her. Neither world meant anything to her. Escape. She had to escape both worlds. Escape the outer and inner world, she knew. Knew the only way for that to be accomplished was to become a corpse, a corpse. She longed for it—to become a part of the collection of corpses. It was the only way, the only way she could escape the building, both words, the only way, and she knew it. She knew that the only way to escape the building, both worlds, was to become a part of the collection of corpses. She longed for it, wanted it, she wanted it more than anything. She longed for it more than anything, and the thoughts completely stuck inside her. The tears had shed for the past three days were numb; numb. They felt like nothing. Nothing. She felt nothing. Nothing except the feeling of longing. Longing to become a corpse, a corpse. She felt numb. Completely numb, and it didn't matter, even to her anymore. As the third day was about to wind down, she knew, knew she had to cut it out. Enough was enough. Somehow, she had to. Had to snap out of it—temporarily become a part of the real world again. She breathed, forcing herself to be a part of the outer world once again.

Chime tried with all his might to leave Gleam be for the time being. He knew. Knew that she was having an extremely difficult time handling it. A difficult time handling the truth of the creator's intentions. The announcement. The announcement had to be hard on her. All he could do for now was let her be; let her think to herself. As much as he wanted to comfort her and save her from the pain of learning the truth, he had no way of breaking her free from the shock she was going through. He felt useless. He couldn't break her free—a failure, he was only a failure and nothing else. Three days later, and he still had to let her be. He wanted to help her get through it, but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything. He had never dealt with it—never dealt with people in shock before. He wish he knew. Knew how to help Gleam. Help Gleam be free from shock. While the shock did allow the illness she had received from solitude leave her, she now had to go through even more evil. He realized. Realized how horrible he had been. Not helping her—not trying to set her free. Horrible, he was horrible, and he knew it. He cared no longer; he couldn't let her be any longer. He had to help her. He had to do something for her. He told her that he would never leave her in solitude again. He was doing the wrong thing; he was leaving her in solitude. Hypocrite, he was such a hypocrite. He was leaving her in solitude again, and he said he wouldn't do that anymore. Check on her, help her, he had to save her. Not knowing how to help someone in shock or not, he did not care. He had to help her, he had to save her. He couldn't let her be alone, alone with her thoughts. Dangerous, it was dangerous. Chime exited his room quickly. He needed to; he needed to be there for her.

As he saw Gleam in his line of sight, he noticed. She had finally been sitting. Her eyes did not look so dead anymore. Alive, she finally looked alive again, she looked like her again. He knew that despite her visually looking like herself again, she probably had still been in shock, one way or another. He noticed. Noticed she looked dehydrated—like she hadn't had a drop of water in days. She looked almost without nutrition, like she also had not touched food in a while. The sight. The sight of her looking like that. The sight. The sight was appalling. Beyond appalling. Feast—he needed to provide a large feast for her. He didn't care if it took him all day—he didn't care if he would have to make her everything in the kitchen leaving nothing for him. He walked over to her and glued on a firm face. Now was the time. The time to begin.

"Dining room table," he said firmly. "Now."

Gleam heard what Chime had said to her. Rather than wondering why of which she had been summoned to the dining room table, she decided it was in her best interest to just listen to him. She quickly stood up to get it over with only to feel something for the first time in three days. As she tried to walk, nothing moved. Stuck; she had been too weakened to move. She said nothing and stood on the rug, not moving. She couldn't; she couldn't move. She continued to stand there, trying to move, only to fail from the lack of food inside her body. It only came to her now: she used up all her strength to stand. She used all her strength to stand, and she quickly realized. She realized she could not do this to herself. She couldn't anymore, corpse thoughts or not, she knew. The painful way to become a corpse was not the way to go. The painful way of becoming a corpse was stupid, and she knew it. She, again, stood there, completely unable to move from the seventy two hours of no water or food. She hoped it did not show she wasn't listening to him. She hoped it did not appear that way to Chime.

Chime sighed. He could tell she could not move. Upon noticing, he walked over to her and placed her on the chair in the front edge of the dining room table. After everything had been settled, Chime walked into the dorm kitchen and removed a large glass of from a top cabinet and placed it under the faucet as if by routine. He ran the faucet until the glass showed signs of being seven eights full. Quickly, he walked over and placed the glass onto the long oval table, and waited. Waited for Gleam to consume the water. Eventually, Gleam consumed the entire glass of water. In the back of his mind, he realized. Realized the difference it had made when someone deprived of liquids had inserted liquids into their bloodstream. He realized. Realized the entire difference it made. The entire difference it made for anyone. He then wondered. Wondered what he could cook in the form of a feast. He didn't care if it took him all day. He didn't care if he cooked everything in the entire kitchen of food, leaving nothing for him; he didn't care—he wasn't going to allow malnutrition to exist within her. It could never happen. He couldn't allow it.

Gleam stared at the empty glass before her and said nothing. She tried her hardest. Tried her hardest to make sense of what Chime was about to do. Whatever he was about to do, she knew, knew it would take hours. She didn't want Chime to waste any hours on her, but decided to stay mute. She did not want to say anything; she preferred if she didn't as she didn't want her voice heard. She wanted to stay quiet, completely quiet until she somehow lost—lost the ability to use her vocal cords. To never be heard from again. To never be heard from again, perfect, it sounded perfect. To never be heard from again—she enjoyed the sound of it. To never be heard from again. Pleasant, it sounded supremely pleasant. Gleam sighed and stopped herself from continuing her now almost permanent death wishes. She didn't want to become like other Sovereigns. Ridiculous, she was thinking ridiculous thoughts, and she knew it. She knew it was pointless to continue thinking about it. It would be better. Better to think about nothing. Nothing for a while, but it would be impossible. Impossible for such to become a truth. She continuously stared into space. Freedom; freedom from the inner world was impossible.

Chime walked back into the dorm kitchen and prepared. Prepared to create a fest. Half of what he had in the kitchen would become a feast. He would enjoy it more if he could cook everything in his entire kitchen, but then remembered. Remembered there was nowhere to barter. Nowhere to barter for food or ingredients. Dangerous, going outside was dangerous. He went back to his mad cooking scientist preparations. Eggs first. He would make eggs first. Chime removed a green pot and placed it under the faucet, turning the knob labeled with an H. He watched as the pot had been filled up with steaming water. After the pot had been filled up to the red line painted explicitly to the pot, he placed the pot on the stove almost like clockwork. He turned the left dial on the stovetop and watched as the green pot had a burning fire underneath. After the preparations had been completed, it had been time. The final step. The final step in mad scientist cooking plan. Chime walked over to the refrigerator and removed two eggs from the egg carton. He placed the eggs in his hand and into the pot almost perfectly. He watched as the shells boiled to hard as the eggs looked more and more appetizing. After ten minutes of watching the eggs boil, he removed the eggs from the pot and placed them on the plate. He smiled to himself and decided. Two eggs just wasn't enough for a feast. All the eggs. He would use all the eggs in the refrigerator to make a huge, egg themed feast for Gleam. With his goal in mind, he removed twelve more plates from his cabinets and began. Began to use his twenty two remaining eggs to cook twelve different dishes. And egg feast, he would create an egg feast. For the next two hours, Chime continued to make egg dishes while preserving the heat in the ones he had made hours before. As he had finally finished using up all the eggs in the dorm room, and various other ingredients to place the eggs in, he turned the dial on the stove to off and cleaned the green pot in the sink until all remnants of food traces had been gone within it. He then took the pot and placed it in his dorm dishwasher and prepared. Prepared to take everything he made for his egg themed feast and place it on the oval shaped table for Gleam. The mad scientist cooking kitchen became a normal kitchen again as Chime made three trips to the oval shaped table. Proud, he had been proud of himself. Useful, he had done something useful in the three days of being horrible. He wanted to remain of use somehow and all he needed to do was figure out—figure out what that would be. Chime walked next to Gleam and waited. Waited for all thirteen dishes to be empty.

Gleam blinked at the spectacle before her eyes. A feast. Chime had wasted two hours of his life to make a feast for her. He wasted two hours of his lifespan to make a feast for her. In her current line of thinking, she deeply abhorred it. She hated seeing Chime was two hours of his lifespan on her. She was sick of it; sick of having Chime do things for her. Using him, Gleam knew she was using Chime. She knew. Knew that the feast was a result of her using him. She was using him, using him to do dirty tasks for her. She didn't want it; didn't want the dirty food she had used Chime for. She knew it, she knew it. Gleam stared at the dirty food she obtained through using him. She couldn't eat it. Couldn't eat the food she somehow forced Chime to make. Dirty, she was a dirty, horrible person, and she knew it. As her decision to not eat the food had been clear, she picked her body up and removed herself from the chair. Escape. She would escape the table.

Chime lasered eyes at Gleam. He could see what she was about to do, and he wasn't going to allow her to escape. He had already been aware. Already been aware that something was trapping her in her mind. He wouldn't allow it. He would not allow Gleam to starve. It didn't matter to him—he wasn't going to let it happen. He wasn't about to let her leave the table. He would keep her there. Keep her there until every single speck of food had left the plate. He wouldn't allow her to leave the table. No way would that come to pass. Chime grabbed Gleam's wrist. Hard. Quietly, he placed her back into the seat. In one way, he wanted to make it so she couldn't leave the table, but knew that would be horrible and harsh. He wondered what that had to be called, but refused to get lost in a sea of thoughts for now.

"Absolutely not!" he said, with an almost sadistic smile. "You're not leaving this table until I see all the food from these plates gone." He glared at her and at the location underneath the table. He knew that she would try to hide the food underneath the table, acting like she ate it, but he would watch her until she ate everything he made for her, regardless, he had to remind her of what he didn't want. "And don't even think about hiding it underneath the table because I'll know, so don't even try to do that." Two hours, two hours of cooking for her, and all she could do was stare at the plates. He knew. Knew there was more on her mind than he already thought. The incident three days ago had obviously been hardened into her mind and would not exit her thoughts. Regardless, he wasn't going to allow her to leave the table until everything was finished, and he wasn't going to help her digest it. He also had to admit that to her. "I'm not helping you eat it, Gleam. So, if I were you, I'd eat it now." He hated taking that tone of voice with her and acting the way he was towards her, but he had to. He had to; the issue presented before him had been insanely serious.

Gleam again sighed. She couldn't escape. She couldn't escape the table. She couldn't win against win against Chime and his power. She wondered if it were a secret kind of magic he had, but she knew. Knew it couldn't possibly have been such. If wasn't magic. It wasn't magic; it was a hidden quality that only he had. Defeated in her next escapade, she stared at all the dishes made from the two dozen egg cartons. Why would he go to all that trouble to keep her on the planet? She decided not to think about it—it would not be a wise move. After staring at the plates before her for another five minutes, she gave up—the smell—the smell of the food was defeating her. She couldn't take it anymore. She had to consume everything on the plates. As she had done so, she noticed—sand. Everything tasted like sand. She laughed to herself. She figured. Figured it would be that way. She wished she could at least taste the food a little, but she lost her sense to taste anything far too long ago. Gone. Her sense of taste gone and she knew, somehow, it would never return. Lost, it had been lost from the moment she found out about what she truly was. She wondered if it also had to do with when she had been poisoned. She knew, knew both instances had to be it. She disliked losing the sense of taste, but knew it was something that could not be changed. Something that couldn't be changed and she had to accept it. After all the plates had been emptied, she thought again. Using him, she was using Chime. She hated it, hating using Chime. She continued to stare at the empty plates while remaining silent. The silence, the silence had to become golden.

Chime's eyes had confirmed. Confirmed that Gleam had consumed all the dishes of food. When all had been established, he removed all the plates from the table at one time, and placed the plate in the sink, spending five minutes on each plate, scrubbing the remnants of food away. When all the plates had been clean, he opened the door to the dishwasher and placed the plates inside. He removed a gel patch and placed the gel patch underneath a hatch and placed the hatch above the gel patch to allow the dishwasher to clean, clean everything of which he used to create the feast. He closed the door to the dishwasher. His hand cruised the buttons on the machine and pressed down on the button that allowed normal wash and heat boost. He turned the silver dial to the left, and within minutes, the sound of a working dishwasher echoed throughout the room. All had been said and done, Chime returned to Gleam's side and gave her a quiet look. The look of allowance.

Gleam removed herself from the chair and left the dining room table. Sleep. She wished to sleep and escape to the world of nightmares. It was easier, easier than being a part of the outer world. The inner world was far worse, but it was an escape. And escape from the world where there had been free reign to kill all. Her nightmares—her nightmares were that only provided escape. She said nothing, and placed herself under the blanket. Saying nothing again, she tried to escape. Escape the world of nightmares. She tried to escape, and failed. Wide awake, she was far too wide awake. She was too wide awake to escape.

Chime had come to notice the despair locked inside Gleam. He knew he had to—had to break her free. Break Gleam free from the despair weighing her down. Gleam was not herself, she was not herself. He knew that this was not the real Gleam. It was a foreign person who was taking Gleam's place. It was not Gleam. Free, he had to completely break her free. He wanted her to know. Know that he was there for her. He wanted to give her something. Something more valuable than he could ever hope to be. The despair, the despair wasn't Gleam. Gleam wasn't there. He wanted to bring the real Gleam back. The Gleam that made him smile. The Gleam that allowed the sun to brighten his world. He wanted to bring her back—back from the despair hiding the true her. Something to give her, something to get her free from despair. The girl that made him smile for real. He wanted her back. The girl he wanted to protect—he wanted to see her again. Something, he had to give her something, something of value to remind her, remind her he was always going to be there for her. Something that would provide for high value. He didn't know what to give her, but he would figure it out. Sit, he had to request for her to sit up.

"Gleam," Chime called. "Could you sit up, just for a moment, please?" he smiled to try to break her free. "I have something for you," he stated. "Let out your hand, okay?" value. The most valuable object there was. He would hand Gleam something to break her free. Free from the despair hiding the true her. Her voice—everything had been lost. Lost to an evil monster. An evil monster called despair. An evil monster named despair could not win, back; he wanted the real Gleam back.

Gleam said nothing again and obeyed. She figured it was something small, but she didn't want to open her mouth to speak or ask. Mute, she would remain mute. She continuously wondered; why? Why did he want to give her anything? What purpose would it serve to hand anything to her? A Sovereign, she was still a Sovereign. Her magic—her magic would probably shoot off and destroy whatever it was that he was about to give her. Despite that, she held out her hand quietly. She hoped, hoped her Sovereign magic would not flare as she proceeded to take the object he was about to give to her. While she had seen no reason for Chime to even be giving her anything, she knew she would have to open her mouth and lose her muteness. She wanted to remain mute, even though she didn't know why it was so important to her.

Chime rummaged through his pockets to look for the object he had been seeking. When he had come across the object he had been searching for, he looked at it to make sure it had been of which he had been looking for. He stared at the platinum framed shaped emblem. He nodded to himself as it had been the right one. Quietly, he handed the emblem to her. He knew, knew Gleam had no idea what he had been handing her. Since she wasn't speaking or even asking what it was, he decided. Decided to explain to her the value and importance of what he had given her. Why was she so quiet? He would find out later. Explain, he would explain the importance of the amulet he had given to her.

"That's my family crest," he told her. "I'm giving it to you." He stared at the emblem in shape of crystal. To give away such an important symbol of blood meant something of greater value. To give away his crest; feelings. It had connection to his true feelings for her, but he couldn't repeat them. He couldn't say them twice. Not until the despair had left her. He would not tell the despair how he truly felt about Gleam. He continued to speak. "Mommy may have rejected me," he said. "But I'm still a Nume." He tried to smile again. Free, he wanted to break her free.

Gleam stared at the symbol that had been placed in her hands. A gift, Chime had given her a gift. A gift she didn't deserve. A family crest? Wasn't that a family symbol? She didn't understand. Didn't understand why she would be given such a gift. She couldn't take it anymore. Speak, she had to speak. She couldn't stay mute anymore, She had to speak—she had to. She couldn't stay mute anymore. Speak; she had to open her mouth. She couldn't continue, continue to stay mute anymore. She opened her mouth to finally say a few words.

"Chime, you don't have to give me any gifts," she answered without much expression in her voice. "Please, I think you should take it back." Gleam motioned her hand to try to give it back to him, but Chime would not take it. She sighed, wondering again why he was giving away his family crest like that. "Why are you giving it to me all of a sudden?" her voice was slowly picking up curiosity and expression again. Something inside her felt at ease. The symbol had still been in her hand, not destroyed. Ease, she felt at ease. Lighter, she felt lighter in spirit. Her voice continued to gain expression again as she could feel less boiling inside her. "Really, Chime, why?"

Chime lightly smiled, but changed his expression to a more serious one. It was not a gift, it was a memento. He had to explain that to her.

"No, Gleam," he explained. "This is not a gift, it's a memento." A memento, a memory of him in case he ceased to exist. It was more than that, but he couldn't tell despair that. He couldn't tell despair the other reason he had given his family crest to her.

Gleam blushed quietly to herself. A memento. A memory. Was Chime planning something? A memento, a symbol or memory of someone who had become a member of the afterlife. Die, was Chime planning to die? Was he planning on dying to protect her? She hated it. Hated the possibility for that to have been the truth. It couldn't happen; it couldn't.

"But a memento," she started. "Is supposed to be a memory. I'm not going to forget you, Chime! I couldn't do that!" the possibility, the possibility that Chime was going to die to protect her, she couldn't say such. She couldn't—couldn't work death into the conversation. She had to keep her death thoughts a secret. They could not leave the chambers of her throat. "There's no way that I'd forget you, Chime," she said. "I could never forget you!" the entire expression in her voice had come back. Somehow, the expression in her voice had come back. Somehow, the expression returned, and she barely understood why.

Chime smiled. The despair, the despair had left Gleam. The real Gleam, the real Gleam had finally returned. Wonderful, it was wonderful to see her again and not despair. Despair had lost. Gleam had emerged victorious. He hated it. Hated seeing her the way she had been. Successful, he had succeeded in breaking her free.

He patted her on the shoulder. "Ah, there she is," he exclaimed. "The real you." He looked at her calmly. "I missed the real you. It was as if you weren't here, Gleam." He didn't know why, but he wanted to hug her. He knew, knew something was bothering her gravely. The bottom of it, he had to get to the bottom of it. Chime walked closer to Gleam and hugged her. A while, it had been a while since he had done such. "What's bothering you?" he asked. "I know something is bothering you, Gleam. I can tell." He knew he didn't have to, but he felt like he had to remind her. Remind her that he was there for her. "I'm here for you. I'm not going to leave you alone to drown in despair." He knew. Knew there had been more than he would there to be. Listen, he'd listen.

Gleam stared off into space. Could she tell him? Could she tell him her desire to become a corpse? She couldn't; attention—it would seem like she wanted attention. She didn't want that. She didn't want it to seem like she wanted attention. She could tell him everything that had been bothering her, but she couldn't tell him—couldn't tell him her desire to become a corpse. She couldn't, she didn't want it to seem like she wanted attention. She knew, knew she would tell him everything but that. She couldn't, she couldn't tell him that. If it weren't attention, it would turn into worry, and she was sick of worrying Chime over and over again. She couldn't do that anymore, and she knew it. She knew that would she would worry him when she told him what was bothering her anyway, and she knew, knew she couldn't lie about it, either. She placed the crystal shaped Nume crest in her pocket and joined in on the hug. No tears, she could not shed any tears this time. Clam, she had to remain calm this time.

"Free reign to kill all," Gleam answered. "What the creator said, I can't take it." Calm, she had to remain calm. She could not fall to tears. She couldn't. "The words, Chime, they still ring in my ears. I don't know why, but the words just sting me." Die. He was leaving everyone there to die. His departure, everything was frightening, but she refused, refused to cry this time. "He's leaving us here to die. I already knew that this place wasn't for real, but to learn that is just too much," she said, shaking her head. "It's too much, Chime. I really can't take it. I wish there were a way to get out of here! I completely hate it here, Chime. I really do. I thought for a little while, I could pretend none of this ever happened, but the events play through my mind. It's like this is another thing the creator wants—for his words to ring in my ears." She breathed. Lighter, she felt lighter as she told him everything that had been holding her down. She wondered. Wondered if she could tell him. Tell him she wanted to become a corpse. She wondered if she could, she wondered.

Chime knew. Knew she obviously couldn't handle it. The shock she had already gone through had made it evident to him. He knew, however, that Gleam was hiding something. He knew there was more—more to what had been bothering her. Regardless, he had to find out. Find out what she was hiding before he clarified and comforted her. He had to find out what she was hiding. As long as it didn't hurt her to talk about it, he would ask. He knew that at this point, she could not take too much more.

He backed away and ended the hug. "Gleam," he said sharply. "You're hiding something from me, aren't you?" he looked at her eyes, he knew, he knew she definitely had been hiding something. "If you're going to deny that will be lying," he pointed out explicitly. "I can tell by your eyes, so please don't hide anything." He gave her a serious expression. "Tell me what else is bothering you. Is that okay with you?"

Gleam was trapped. Trapped again. She wondered how Chime had come to know all this by just gazing at her. Could she tell him? Would he freak out if she told him? She didn't want to tell him her desire, her desire to become a corpse. Worry, she couldn't worry Chime anymore. She knew, however, that since Chime was onto her that she couldn't hide it anymore. She could no longer hide it. She wondered. Wondered if it would seem like she was seeking attention. She didn't want to seem like that, but she knew, knew it would seem like such. She breathed to prepare. Prepared to say—say what she needed to.

"Yeah, Chime," she answered in almost a whisper. "I am hiding something from you, sorry." How? How could she tell him her strong desire to become a corpse? How could she tell him that without worrying him or causing him to scream at her? How? "The truth is… I want to escape," she answered. "I want to become a part of the collection of nine hundred seven corpses." She tried to reword it, but she didn't want to seem like she wanted attention. She knew, knew she had to reword it regardless. "In other words," she whispered. "I… I want to die." Attention, she knew it made her seem like she wanted attention. She could feel it—herself darkening. "I seem like I want attention now, don't I? I'm sorry, Chime."

Chime already knew. Knew she had wanted to leave the world. No, she did not seem like she wanted attention, he had known. Had already known such to be a fact. He had already known, he been paying close attention. Console her, he had to console her. Feelings of that category were no joke, and he knew it.

He pulled her into a hug again. "Of course not. I know you wouldn't say anything like that for attention," he replied. "Look at me." He waited for Gleam to look at his eyes before continuing. When he had noticed she had been looking at him, he continued. "I know. I know you want to die," he said quietly. "I've known for a while. You tried to kill yourself right in front of me, remember?" he glared at her. There was no way she would remember. Out of sorts, she had been completely out of sorts then. He knew she wouldn't remember the event.

Gleam had no idea what Chime had been talking about. She didn't remember; she remembered the moment Ceetos had sent her out of his office, but didn't remember further. A gap, a gap between leaving his office and the moment of waking up at one in the morning. She didn't remember, remember what Chime was talking about. Hazy, the memory was hazy.

"I don't remember," she said quietly. "I'm sorry." She knew. Knew Chime would think she was lying again. She hoped, hoped it didn't seem like such.

Chime knew she wouldn't remember. He had to tell her. Tell her he didn't want to lose her to the hands of self murder. She couldn't; he didn't want her gone. He knew, knew it she had left this world, he would lose—lose to the monster named despair. He wanted her to stay a member of the world. She couldn't, couldn't leave the world. Protect her. He needed to protect her.

"It's okay," he said. "You don't have to remember, you were out of sorts then. I didn't expect you to remember." He had to tell her, tell her he didn't want her to leave this world. He had to. "Listen, Gleam." He pulled Gleam closer to him. "Death is a one shot deal. I don't want to lose you." He could feel his eyes almost glow yellow, like a Sovereign, but it was an inside illusion. "Okay? So please, Gleam, don't think about it. I don't know what my life would be like without you inside it." He refused to blush. Serious, he was entirely serious. "Actually, I don't want a world where you're not in it." He didn't know, didn't know what to say next, but he had to continue. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to lose her. "I don't want to lose you," he said abruptly. "I don't want a world without you. I'm telling you, in the end you'll see it's not what you really want." He couldn't continue; nothing else came to him. He knew, knew if he continued, it would all sound the same.

As Gleam proceeded to answer back, the sound of a violent knock could be heard at the door. It could only have been someone after her or Chime, she knew. Knew it had to be such. The lack of constant knocking changed her mind otherwise. It must have been a knock and run, a knock and run, but something wasn't adding up. Used to it, she had been used to violent knocks, she turned to Chime.

Chime looked at Gleam. Quickly, he proceeded to the door and opened the door, looking for anyone in the area. Nothing, nobody—nobody had been around. Something had been familiar about the setup. He knew something had been on the other side of the door. He walked onto the outside and noticed. A note had been pounded onto the door. He removed the note from the door and read it to himself. The note said:

"To the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect and/or the Sovereign of Destruction,

If you two don't fight me within twenty hours, I'll kill you both! So, I suggest you get your asses down here and fight me if you want to live!

Signed,

Nestle Mantle, the Sovereign of Paradox."

Chime's face darkened. A Sovereign, a Sovereign was after Gleam. He had to fight them. He couldn't let Gleam get destroyed. Destroyed by another Sovereign. Within moments, he returned inside with the note. He couldn't, he couldn't let Gleam get hurt. He had to protect her. He had to protect her at all costs. The sound of this Sovereign. The sound of Paradox, it was not a good sound. It was a deadly match, and he would keep her away from the battle.

Gleam noticed the dark expression on Chime's face. She noticed something had been familiar about the setting presented before her. "That note in your hand," she pointed out. "What does it say?"

Chime gave a dark expression. "…A ransom," he replied. "A ransom from the Sovereign of Paradox…" his voice drifted off a little. A Sovereign, another Sovereign had been after her.

Gleam's eyes widened. Why now? Why, of all times, would a Sovereign come to ruin everything? Why? She knew, knew she would have to deal with this Sovereign before it was too late. She would have to, she didn't want the Sovereign to get anywhere near Chime. She had to take care of the Sovereign of Paradox before it was too late, before it was too late, and she knew it.

"If it's a Sovereign," she began. "Let me—"

Chime cut Gleam off. "No, Gleam," he answered. "Let me take care of the Sovereign of Paradox this time." He knew. Knew if he let Gleam battle, she would die. He couldn't allow it. He couldn't let her battle knowing that was a possibility. "Gleam, I've failed to protect you so many times, so please, this time, let me protect you! I promise. I won't let them get anywhere near you, so, please let me handle this battle." He changed his expression to that of a fighting expression. "I'll handle this Gleam. You've battled enough. I don't want to see you get hurt anymore. I promise I'll defeat them, even extinguish their life if they tried to go after you!" he lowered himself to his knees. "Is that alright with you?"

Gleam sighed, she couldn't say no to Chime—she guessed it would be okay, okay to let him battle the Sovereign of Paradox instead of her, but she knew, deep down, she would battle alongside him if he would be gone for more than two hours. Regardless, she didn't want to admit such. She had to roll with whatever words she had left.

"Okay," she said. "Fight them and win!" she could feel a smile on her face, but wiped it off. Serious, this was serious.

Chime walked over to her and hugged her for a third time. "Gleam," he said. "I love you."

Gleam blinked. Why was he saying those words to her again? She guessed it was a male stereotype. She didn't understand, but decided not to question it.

"I know you do," she answered. "I do too, really, but, not here at Mariibo Rumaibo. We should wait to make this more than friendship when we leave this place."

Chime agreed, but said nothing else. He would wait. Wait until Gleam was asleep to battle the Sovereign of Paradox. After a long while of waiting, Gleam had fallen into a slumber. He knew, knew he would have to leave a note in case he wouldn't be back in time of her awakening. He walked over to his kitchen and removed a pen and index card and began to write the note. When the note had been finished, he placed it onto the blanket covering her and exited the dorm room. Protect her, he would defeat the Sovereign of Paradox, and he would show Gleam he had what it takes, what it takes to win against a Sovereign.

**************************

The hallway Chime had found the Sovereign of Paradox in was blacker than night. The walls were black as if shadows, but the entire room was burning with sunlight. Chime disliked the sunlight, stronger; the sunlight had been stronger due to the black walls. He turned to the walls around him. The walls seemed to harbor an explicit message of which spelled out ghost and you shall become in a wrong order. The hallway—it must have been a hideout. A hideout, a Sovereign hideout. Eventually, he gazed eyes at the Sovereign of Paradox. He stared at the person's features as they stood there with a sinister smile on their face. The appearance, the appearance bothered him. The Sovereign. The Sovereign was a female. She had orange hair, the color of peaches. Her hair had been tied back as if the girl were innocent. The girl's hair had been molded into pigtails that lengthened to about the chest; she had dark green eyes, the color of poisonous jewels. Her eyes, her eyes looked as if they were beautiful, but they were not. They had seen something, something explicit. Her eyes, her eyes were sadistically woeful. She was about a year younger than he was, he could tell. The girl had that used to being a teenager look about her. Her clothes made her look innocent; she looked almost too innocent. Chime gazed at her clothes, they were blacker than night, blacker than the walls. She had been wearing a black blouse with a red sewed ribbon in the center, and a black skirt that could have once been plaid. Chime knew. Knew from the appearance, dangerous, the girl was dangerous. Dangerous and beautiful. The girl's eyes glowed green as she proceeded to speak. She was disgusted. Disgusted by the sight of the silver haired boy.

The girl laughed maniacally before speaking. Alone, the idiot came alone. "Hello, Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect!" she greeted sarcastically. "What a surprise! One of you actually came!" she evilly glared at Chime. Skin, she had to get under his skin. "If neither of you came, I would have killed you both!" she announced explicitly. "Congratulations, you ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥, guess who picked the half correct choice. You should have brought the Sovereign of Destruction with you; I thought I made it sufficiently clear! I asked for both of you, but I guess we all don't know how to read properly, now can we?" a faint singing voice could be heard as she finished speaking.

Chime grunted. What a piece of work she was. He couldn't allow it, couldn't allow for this person to get to Gleam. He remembered the note. The note had said and/or, not and. And/or. If anything, she was the one who couldn't read properly. It was obvious to him. She thought she was a genius when she had been anything but. Counter, he had to counter her words. The piece of work had to be countered.

"No, you're the one who obviously can't read properly!" he replied in a venomous tone. "It said and/or, not and." He darted eyes at the girl. "Leave Gleam out of this! I'm fighting you! I'm not going to allow you to even so much as get near her!" he stared at her darkly. He wouldn't allow it. Wouldn't allow the girl to get near her. Fight, this was his fight. It was his fight, and he wanted the girl to remember that.

The Sovereign of Paradox laughed a sadistic laugh. Idiot, the boy was an idiot. Properly introduce herself, she had to properly introduce herself before the battle. "Whatever, uptight wannabe! Let me introduce myself properly," she said with emphasis on properly. "I'm Nestle Mantle!" as she said such, she spun in a circle and pointed at the ceiling and danced inappropriately. "Better known as the Sovereign of Paradox!" she wanted to get under his skin. Bring up, she had to bring up something that would anger him beyond belief. She began to do such. "Remember those eight girls that poisoned the Sovereign of Destruction?" she asked. "They worked under me."

Chime remembered. How could he forget the eight of them? They poisoned Gleam; he would never forget such event. The eight girls who tried to kill Gleam by poisoning her, she was behind it. She was responsible. She was responsible for Gleam's poisoning. That was it. He had to defeat her. She had to be completely defeated. The fact, the fact that she was behind it made everything seem dim. He couldn't hold it in any longer, he had to scream. He had to scream at her.

"Do you really think I would forget something like that?" he shouted, voice rising. "You were the one behind it!" his temper was boiling. "Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to do that, you monster? She's a nice girl!"

Nestle smirked. That's what she wanted to hear. She wanted to hear him scream and cry about the Sovereign of Destruction; defending the Sovereign of Destruction. More, she had to get under his skin more. More, she had to completely rob him of his free will. She would rob him of his free will until she would unseal his lock sealing his powers. She would do so, and she was determined into doing so. Continue, she had to continue getting under his skin.

"Oh, please, you uptight child," she said disrespectfully. "All Sovereigns have people under them. I'm not limited to that." She stretched her hands out imperiously as she continued. "Soullim Garaoudim had ten people with black reaper coats under his control, Numboil Turmoil had three people whom he labeled his slaves under his orders, Avangift Sarogroft was rumored to be working alone, Tainted Pureled has three scared children under her belt, that Sovereign of Prosperity probably has people under her too, but I've never seen her, and I had my eight girls in dresses under my control. I wasn't behind it. I told them to do whatever they please. I didn't say 'go poison the Sovereign of Destruction,' I said 'Do whatever you please.' So, you ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥, before you go accusing me of being behind things I'm not even doing, get your facts straight first!" she then obnoxiously pointed at him. "And it's pretty obviously to me, who you're working under. What was her human name, Gleam Noiyam? You're working under her! She using you!" she placed her hands on her face attempting to sound all cute. "Aww, poor ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥! He doesn't know he's being used by the Sovereign of Destruction! You're going to end up just like the eight girls who were under me!" as she finished leering at Chime, she broke into maniacal laughter. That should have been enough, been enough to get under his skin.

Chime hated it. Hated how Nestle had been acting towards Gleam. Making her seem like she was evil and like everyone else. Gleam was not like that; she was not evil, he wasn't being used by her. He wasn't about to listen as she demeaned and antagonized Gleam right in front of his face. Insulting, it was absolutely insulting, and he couldn't sit by idly as she demeaned Gleam. Unacceptable, insulting. It was absolutely insulting.

"Don't you dare demean and insult her like that!" he cried. "She's not like you! She would never use me! She wouldn't!" his voice had again been rising as his temper flared. "I'm not working under her. Did you not hear me? I said I came here on my own accord!" shouting, he had been shouting as he continued. "Do me a favor and focus on me! Gleam has nothing to do with this!"

Nestle smirked again. That face, that face of fury. She loved it. Loved the look of fury on his face. She loved it, that face. That face of fury. Attack, she would while his fury only grew. It would only be a matter of moments. Continue, she had to continue to get under his skin.

"Speaking of people under me!" she said, clapping her hands together like a child. "When all eight of them failed to poison the Sovereign of Destruction, I killed them!" she placed her hands in a meditating position as she prepared her attack. "And how did I kill them? It looked something like THIS!" Nestle's hands began to glow red as she concentrated lowly to herself. As the red glow became fiery and more violent, a large rock with craters appeared in her hands. As the rock had gotten larger in size, fire surrounded the black rock filled with craters. After it had gotten large enough, Nestle winked and released a small giggle. After the small giggle, Nestle released the burning rock and sent it flying, charging at Chime. She laughed maniacally as the attack were about to burn him. Burn him alive.

Chime stared as the meteorite was about to make contact with him. He watched as the space rock was about to make complete contact with him. He laughed to himself. What a sadistic attack she was about to hurl. As the meteorite sped to Chime's hip, he could feel it, the entire world, the heat of space fire burning his clothing; burning his already crippled hip. That was it. That was it, that was it. He had to destroy her. Planetary winds, he had to use a planetary wind chime attack. He wasn't going to let her continue. Continue to attack him and insult Gleam. He looked at the girl viciously. No more. He could feel it. Feel his body shake, shake from complete fury. He formed his left hand into a fist and clenched his teeth as the anger only rose inside him.

"That's it!" he shouted. "I have had it with you!" Chime pointed his finger to the ceiling. From his hand emerged planetary winds the speed of a level five categorized hurricane. Within the planetary winds came even stronger planetary winds. The winds were strong enough to blow him away. With his free hand, he snapped his fingers to create the next part of his attack. As a set of black wind chimes in the form of how the planets appeared, Chime could feel his eyes glow yellow as he screamed and hollered. His eyes glowed as if he were actually a Sovereign for a few moments. After everything had been done charging, the planetary winds took the wind chime attack into a spiral and charged violently at Nestle. The attack made grace with Nestle as the wind of the planets blew her to the black walls and the wind chimes hit her face, leaving a nasty metal marking deep on her skin. Chime smiled as a wind surrounded his body, taking over his insides. As the wind overtook him, he walked closer. No control, corrupting him, the magic was corrupting him. Sovereign, it was almost like a Sovereign's magic. As the wind chimes kept Nestle staked to the wall—control he had absolutely no control. His eyes continued to glow yellow as if he were a Sovereign. As the wind continued to surround him, he could feel it, the recoil. The recoil was getting to him. As he completely and hopelessly lost control, words that did not seem like his own formed in his mouth. "So, come here and fight me," he said. His voice had two voices in it as he became less and less like himself and more like the Sovereign he wasn't. The wind surrounding him only got stronger as the recoil became even more of a problem. "Get down here," he called without any control. "Down here, coward!" he removed the wind chimes sticking her to the wall and watched as the girl smiled. Corrupting, the attack was completely corrupting him. Graces, he was falling from his graces. After a little while, the wind left him after what would seem like sheer luck. The ground would be his best friend if he allowed it, but he couldn't. No fainting, Gleam was on the line here. He couldn't faint, he couldn't faint; there was no way.

Nestle laughed maniacally as the wind left Chime's body. The boy had an edge, a major edge, and he was hiding it. He was hiding major power inside his body. She had to exploit such until she unsealed his powers, and she was determined to do such. She would unlock his seal and soon. Intimidate him; she had to intimidate him more. Intimidate him to the point of not knowing that she had gotten him. She smirked as her plan was about to become perfect. Perfect and she knew it.

She looked at Chime childishly. "Aw, look who can't control his own magic!" she giggled again, and placed her hands behind her back. "Why don't I show you?" she preached. "What a powerful attack in control looks like!" her hand glowed black as she said such. As the glow got stronger, a white star like figure appeared in her hands. When the white star got to the size of a white giant, she released it, shining in Chime's eyes, perpetually blinding him for a few moments. As the star swirled around Chime's body, the star became his back's best friend, leaving burn marks carved into his back, forcing a scream he had never screamed before to let loose from his throat. Nestle brushed her hands together and the star back dropped a light behind her, ending the attack. Sadistically, she spun around in a circle cutely. Winning, she was winning. "That's how you control a powerful attack! You're not all that after all, are you?" she ran over to him, placing her foot on his burned back and kicked him in the back until she heard him scream. Scream from the writhing pain. She laughed maniacally as the boy had been writhing.

"You fight dirty!" Chime cried. "You don't fight fair!" he could feel the writhing pain overtake him as the kick absorbed him. The burns of the star writhed. The pain was nothing like he had ever felt before. Nothing had ever been worse before. Losing, he was losing to a horrible Sovereign. He continued to scream as the burn began to travel up his entire body.

Nestle smirked sadistically. Now it would be easy. Easy to unlock his seal. The burn would eat him away as she proceeded to unlock it, unlock the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect's seal. Again, she smirked as the burn ruined him. Dirty? She wasn't fighting dirty; she was fighting like any Sovereign did. The poor, hopeless boy understood nothing.

"Fighting dirty?" she questioned. "Oh, please! I'm not fighting dirty! You've got a lot to learn, kiddo! All Sovereigns fight like this, so get used to it!" she maniacally glared at him. Stupid, the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect was so stupid, nothing, he understood next to nothing. She knew, knew that would be his downfall. His stupidity would be his downfall.

Meanwhile, back in Chime's dorm room, Gleam had been waking up. A nightmare had been sure to grace her as she woke up suddenly. A nightmare, a nightmare about Chime had graced her subconscious. As she proceeded to remove the blanket covering her, she noticed. A note, a note had been left for her. She removed the note from the covers, and read it. The note said:

"Gleam,

I have gone to fight the Sovereign of Paradox. I will defeat her, do not worry. You've changed my life, and taught me what happiness is. You've taught me how to smile. I want to be able to return that smile to you since you lost it. I love you. And whatever you do, don't come out of my room. This Sovereign is dangerous!

- Chime Nume."

Gleam stared at the note and completely fell to tears. Something was about to happen to Chime, something. She couldn't stay there as the Sovereign of Paradox was possibly killing him. Gleam crushed the note and rummaged through her drawers to find the weapon she had on her since the magic test. She took the weapon and hid it in her inside pockets. She hoped it wouldn't come to such, but regardless, she hid the item discretely.

Gleam ran for the door and picked up the pace as she came across a completely black hallway drenched in the sun's influence. She saw Chime and the Sovereign of Paradox in the center, clashing heads. From what it appeared to her, the Sovereign was winning. She had to join in; she couldn't sit by as she was defeating Chime. She violently stepped into the field to show, show she had arrived.

Chime turned to Gleam and noticed, she had come by. No. No, she couldn't have been there. She couldn't have been. Leave, she had to leave. She couldn't be there. Nestle, Nestle would kill her. Send her away; he had to send her away.

"Gleam!" he cried. "I thought I told you not to come! Run away, Nestle Mantle will kill you!"

As Nestle had heard Gleam arrive, she knew—now was the time. The time to unlock his seal. Stab him, she would stab him. With the Sovereign of Destruction right where she wanted her, it was time. Time to stab him. Sovereign magic, she would use her Sovereign magic to unlock his seal. Now, she had to do such now. She smirked. Time, it was time.

She smirked again and began. "Nestle in the Mantle!" she chanted. "Play in the core! One, two, three four!" she ran over to Chime and picked him up from the floor. Her left hand held him up as she was to begin, begin the stabbing. She laughed maniacally—perfect. The Sovereign was watching, and the boy was scared. She moved onto the second part of the spell. "To live is to die, and to die is to live!" as the chant ended, Nestle's hand changed into a metal sword as long as a sword from olden times. As her right hand had been done becoming a sword, she placed her hand between her neck and head, and thrust it forward. Her hand sword made contact with Chime's heart, opening a hole inside it. She pierced further until she slashed all the way through his chest, leaving a hole all the way through. She then took the hand sword out and placed it next to where his heart was. She could feel it with her nerves, a button, a button was there. She backed the hand turned sword away and thrust it forward as another hole formed inside Chime. She could hear a click as she removed the sword from his chest. She smiled evilly. Did it, she did it; she unlocked his seal, and made it impossible for him to live.

Chime could feel it. Feel the click of the stab. No. No. He couldn't protect Gleam. His seal, his seal was unlocked. Gleam, he couldn't protect Gleam. His heart, his heart was stopping. As he could feel the entire effects of the stab, he could feel it; all his pumping blood, all his pumping blood was dropping. As he could feel his life escaping him, he fell to the floor; his eyes lifeless, as he dropped to the floor, his blood decorated the floor beautifully. Stopping, everything was stopping. As he left the world, he looked at Gleam one last time before becoming a member of the afterlife. He couldn't protect Gleam; he was going to die, at least protecting her for a little while. Somehow, if the afterlife were true, he would watch over her. As all eleven pints of blood decorated the floor, he closed his eyes forever, somehow, he knew, knew he could watch over Gleam as a ghost.

Gleam stared in horror. Dead. Chime was dead, dead. Chime was gone, dead. Dead. Dead because she was stupid, her fault, it was her fault. Dead, Chime was dead, dead. She could feel all strength leave her legs. It couldn't be true; Chime couldn't be dead, he couldn't be dead, he couldn't be dead. No, he couldn't be dead. This wasn't happening, it wasn't happening. A nightmare, it was a nightmare. As the visions of a dead Chime burned into her brain, she screamed the loudest scream her mind would allow her to do. No. Chime couldn't be dead, he wasn't dead, there was no way; an illusion, it was all an illusion. As she kept on repeating those words in her head, she could feel it—revenge. She had to get revenge. Revenge, she would get revenge and avenge Chime. Everything was gone, nothing was left. She had nothing left to save her. Save her from her Sovereign nature. A corpse, she would turn Nestle Mantle into a corpse. The corpse she deserved to be.

End of chapter twenty one, next to come: leering comes and goes. Nestle Mantle won't last long to a completely changed Gleam. Revenge will parry, revenge shall become victorious.

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Spoiler:
 

Palamon

Silence is Purple
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This chapter is rated M. Do I even need to explain?

Standing Creation - Vanguard Duosoard.

Chapter 22; In complete petrifaction. What it means to Nestle entirely in the Mantle.

Petrified beyond petrification. No. He couldn't be dead. Chime couldn't be dead. Chime couldn't be dead—he couldn't be. As Gleam had realized, realized it had been the entire truth, she had come to a realization. Avenge, she had to avenge Chime. Revenge, she had to get revenge against the Sovereign of Paradox. Entire revenge. There was no way, no way she could remain alive. She couldn't; there was no way. The witch—the witch killed Chime. She killed Chime, she killed Chime. The witch, the witch. The witch killed Chime. She didn't care anymore—she could no longer cling onto it—her humanity. Her humanity she seemingly wanted to keep. Gone, it was completely gone. No longer had it been inside her. Lost, her humanity had been lost. Sovereign nature, it was time to be in touch with her Sovereign nature. There is nothing left to save her, she couldn't resist it anymore—she couldn't be saved from her Sovereign nature. There was nothing left; nothing left to keep her sane. Nothing. She realized—sacred, the something sacred she had been looking for, the one thing she wanted to find. Something sacred, something that was sacred to her. She had found it. Found what had been sacred to her. Now it was too late—if only she had realized sooner, if only she had realized sooner that Chime was sacred to her. Nestle Mantle robbed everything from her, everything. No longer could she be what she once was. Kill the witch; she had to kill the witch. A corpse. Nestle Mantle had to become a corpse. A corpse and nothing else. Despite everything, she knew, knew she couldn't kill the witch right away. Maybe there was still time, maybe there still had been time. Time to get Chime back amongst the living. She was up against a supreme ruler of paradox. Life, there had to be a way to bring him back to life. There had to be a way, there had to be. There had to be a way to bring him back to life. There had to be. Force it out of her; she would force the witch to bring Chime back. She knew, knew everything was over. Now was the time to destroy, destroy the witch. Finally, she had figured out her resolve. Finally, everything had been final. She jumped to her feet. Destroy; destroy the witch that killed Chime. She would destroy and kill the witch that killed Chime. She could feel it—the hunger Avangift once mentioned. The hunger to destroy, she was hungry to destroy the witch. Hungry to destroy the witch that killed Chime.

Nestle smirked silently to herself. She knew the connection between the Sovereign of Destruction and the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect. Now that the connection had been severed, it was time. Time to further end the connection. One kill wasn't enough. Under her skin—she had to get under her kin. She had to get under the Sovereign of Destruction's skin as well. Pleasant, pleasant, it would be so pleasant; so pleasant to kill the girl. A roll, she was on a roll. The girl probably wasn't going to live much longer, anyway, not if she could help it. Completely sever the connection; she would completely sever the connection. The girl, the girl was such an idiot. Clingy, annoying, emotional. She wanted to destroy it, destroy the girl's emotions. Force her into a puddle of her emotions and sever her when she wasn't aware. Under her skin, she had to get under her skin. Considering how the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect had fallen right into her hands, it would be easy, so easy. So easy to kill her. She would enjoy it; enjoy killing the Sovereign of Destruction. It mattered so little to her as she had known the girl was responsible for killing the other Sovereigns. The streak of killing would end now. Human magic, she would use human magic to kill the girl. Weak, the girl was too weak; the girl was too pathetic to kill with Sovereign magic. Five shots would be enough to kill her. Five shots of scorching stars to burn her to death. She could feel a maniacal laugh coming, but held the entire laugh in. No, it was too soon. It was too soon to break out in a well deserved laughter. Later, she could laugh when she killed the girl. Too soon, it was too soon. She proceeded to continue smirking and waited. Waited for the little girl to make her first move to learn her battle style. Weak, the girl is so weak. Fun, it would be so fun to exploit it—her weakness.

Gleam stared at Nestle viciously. Smirking, the witch was smirking. She wanted to rip it—rip the smile off her face. The witch, the witch was smirking, she was smirking; she was smirking. She couldn't stand the sight of it—that smirk. Die, the smirk had to die. Rip it; she had to rip that smirk off the witch's face. She had no right to be smirking, how sadistic. How disgusting, she could feel it—the crack. The crack was going to get larger. Begin, she had to begin to turn the witch into a corpse. Sick of it, she was sick of the witch standing there, marveling the murder she committed; marveling the sadism she craved for. Marveling everything she robbed from her. No more. The witch needed to atone for her sin. Time, it was time to get ballistic.

"You killed Chime," Gleam said, shaking meekly. "You witch! You killed Chime!" as her voice had gotten in overdrive she could feel the overwhelming desire. The overwhelming hunger for destruction. "You killed Chime!" she repeated in a louder voice. She could feel her voice rise as she continued to get lost in her fury. "Give him back to me." Again, she could feel it, feel the overwhelming desire. Desire to destroy. Desire to destroy the girl. "Give him back to me!" as her voice raised, she could feel it get stronger, the desire. The desire was getting out of control. Just a little longer. Just a little longer before charging at her. Just a little longer. Hold it in; she had to hold in the desire. "Give him back to me! Bring him back to life! I know you can do that! Give him back to me! Give him back to me!" the crack, the crack was getting larger. She could hold it no longer. Attack, she had to attack. Gleam placed her right hand in an onslaught planked position and charged at Nestle. As she had gotten closer to her face, she placed her nails on the right side of her face, near her cheek, right below her right eye. The pretty face, the pretty face needed to go. As she thought such, her eyes glowed red. Perfect, everything was perfect. As her nails carved deeper into her face, she noticed. She noticed the lack, the lack of blood coursing on the witch's face. White scratches, white marks, but no red. Why? Why wasn't there any red? Why did her face stay pretty as she added her decoration to it? Why? Why? Harder, she had to carve harder. Gleam pressed inward and tried harder to ruin the pretty face, only to fail miserably. She smiled to herself as she continued to fail. Pathetic, how pathetic she was. Giving up, she wondered how hard nails were on the Moh's Hardness Scale. Two point five? She didn't care; she didn't care how hard they were. She couldn't. She finished off with, "I know you can bring him back to life! So, give him back to me, you witch!" control, she had to maintain control, but it was too late, she knew she had already lost all of it—all of her control.

Nestle's smirk only became larger. As the girl had been done with her pathetic little hysterics, she made a decision. Nestle grabbed Gleam's arm that had assisted in attempting to ruin her gorgeous face. She made sure her nails gripped the arm sharply. As soon as the arm had been nailed, Nestle used all the strength inside her body and swung the girl around until she had enough strength to plunge her. When such had been established, she tossed her and watched as the little girl travelled to the wall behind her. As the girl made grace with the wall, she smirked. Wonderful, how wonderful and splendorous. How wonderful and splendorous the sight was. As if she would bring him back to life. Why would she, why should she? How stupid, the girl is stupid. Why was this man so important to her? She would have killed him by accident sooner or later, anyway. Why bring him back to life? Of course she wouldn't. Not for the Sovereign of Destruction's sake. She would sever it further—their connection. The connection between the two had to permanently die just like the man himself did. The scratches the feral little girl made on her face, the scratches, how annoying. As she had decided to sever the connection further, she slowly walked over when Gleam had been on the floor. She devised the exact same punishment she had given Chime. She ran over to her, placing her foot on her back, kicking the spot where her lungs were and continued obsessively until she heard her scream. After about four kicks, she again nailed her arm and forcefully picked her up from the ground. She stretched her arms out imperiously and prepared to counter her feral scream fest.

"What are you, four and three quarters or twelve?" she asked with entire fake exasperation. "I can't bring him back to life, and even if I could, I wouldn't do it for you, Sovereign of Destruction!" she placed her hands on her skirt and pranced around inappropriately around Chime's dead body. After her small, inappropriate frolic, she returned facing towards Gleam. "Besides, even if I did, he lost all his blood, remember? It will only cause him extreme pain if I brought him back. Would you want that, Sovereign of Destruction?" she gave a catty grin. Perfect, she picked a perfect counter argument to her little rampage. Perfect. It was a perfect argument. A perfect excuse to shut the girl up.

Gleam clenched her first. Disrespectful, how disrespectful this witch was towards death. How disgustingly disrespectful she was acting. Who did she think she was? She had no right to act that way. Tired of it, she was already getting tired of the girl's behavior, but it was too early, too early to turn her into a corpse. It was too early. She couldn't, couldn't afford it, couldn't afford to make a mistake now. Wait, she would wait until the right moment, the right moment to turn the disrespectful witch into a corpse. She would wait. Wait until the perfect moment, the perfect moment to turn Nestle Mantle into a corpse. She would wait until the battle would flesh itself out enough. She would wait. No magic, she would use absolutely no magic. With her decision in mind, she smiled to herself. Treat her the way the ocean treated her. She would treat the witch the way the ocean did. Pay, the girl would pay.

"I don't know who you think you are," she said. "But, why don't we just settle this with a battle?" Gleam proceeded to act like the other Sovereigns. The madness, the madness was beginning to break loose inside her, and she could feel it. "I'm getting tired of looking at your pretty little face." She could feel a small laugh inside her and decided to embrace it. "Why don't we see what it feels like to be patronized and put down by another Sovereign? I'd love to show you how that feels, Nestle Mantle!" again, she laughed, laughed until she could feel a crack form again. It was all so annoying—no magic, she would fight without any magic. Decided, she had decided.

Nestle's eyes glowed a green color. Perfect, how incredibly perfect. The feral girl was finally doing everything she wanted. A battle, they would battle. Finally, she could sever the connection between the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of cause and Effect and the Sovereign of Destruction. It was time. Sovereign magic, she would get rid of her using Sovereign magic, but human magic came first. Five shots or less, she would kill the girl in five shots or less. Pacing, she would stealthily pace the battle. She would get under her skin and demean her, demean her to the point of unawareness. Perfect, everything was becoming perfect, and she knew it. She would demean the girl. She would demean her. The Sovereign of Destruction had no right anymore, had no right to live.

Nestle smirked. "You want to fight that bad?" she asked sarcastically. "Fine by me, Sovereign of Destruction! You'll end up just like your friend over there, anyway!" she obnoxiously pointed to Chime's dead body. Leer, she would leer the girl until she would kill her. She would leer her until she was unaware. In the end, it would all work, and she knew it. Leer, she would leer the girl until she was dead. As she thought such, she smirked again. Kill, she would kill the girl, and she would do so in five shots. Five shots and nothing more. She would do it in five shots while completely getting under her skin. She would get under her skin, and she would do it with everything her body lets her do. She would get under her skin, and she would show the ignorant fool what it meant to be better than a feral child. "What are you waiting for, Sovereign of Destruction? I'm waiting for you to attack! Unless you're a coward! That would make you less than, what was his name, Chime Nune, right?" she smirked. It has started. The leering. The leering has begun. She waited. Waited for the girl to come after her.

Gleam was slowly beginning to feel the words hit her in all the wrong places. How dare she compare the two of them? Equal, the two were equal. Though, she knew, knew that was a pity insult. A pity insult and she knew it. Nothing to get worked up over, it was nothing to get worked up over. Slow and painful, she would cause a slow and painful death for Nestle Mantle, and right away. She would provide a slow and painful death to show her—show her what death feels like. What it feels like to die. She wanted to show her. Show her how Chime felt. How Chime must have felt when she murdered him. As she closed in on the terror she wished to bring to Nestle, she placed her arm into a locking position and charged at the girl's legs. As she ran to her, she could feel it again, the madness, the madness was in overdrive. As she was right in front of Nestle, she formed a fist. Within seconds, her fist and Nestle's knee met. As her fist picked up more durability, she pressed in harder until she could see a purple swirl form around her knee. As she could feel the rush, she continued. Continued to force her way into turning Nestle into a cripple. As her first continued to make contact with the witch's knee, she smirked. How good it felt. How good it felt, how good it felt to mutilate, to mutilate without magic. How good it felt. How good it felt to mutilate the killer's knee. Good, it felt so good. After doing some final punches, she backed away and marveled what she had done. Beautiful, it was a beautiful sight to splendor and behold.

Nestle maniacally glared at Gleam. Was that all she got? Punching? Her knee until it got black and blue? Pathetic. The girl was pathetic. Was that all she got? Pathetic—the girl was pathetic. She had less potential than her late minions did, and it was amusing. It was amusing. Screw brute force, she would use magic—the girl was pathetic using brute force over magic. She would show her. Show her true magic. Show her five shots that would extinguish her. Extinguish her. She had no right, no right to live. Was that all she had in her? Pathetic, her fighting was pathetic. Pathetic, pathetic, it was extremely pathetic.

"Is that all you've got?" she asked in a childish manner. "You're so pathetic! I bet the boy protected you only because he felt sorry for being so pathetic! I know that's probably why. He protected you only because you're weak, pathetic and a little girl!" she clapped her hands twice, making extremely obnoxious faces. Attack, she would send off her first shot. "Perhaps I should show you," she said in a vicious tone. "A marvelous attack that's POWERFUL!" Nestle pulled on the red ribbon on her black blouse and placed her hands in a charging position. As she placed her hands in the charging position, her hands glowed a rainbow color. As she concentrated, the glow became larger and more violent. As the glow became overwhelming and blinding, a spiral almost larger than her hands appeared in her palms. As the spiral became larger, the spiral changed to an almost ultraviolet color. When it had become the right color, Nestle jumped into the air and spun in a circle. After the little performance, Nestle released the spiral and sent it charging at Gleam. She smiled to herself and watched as the small galaxy would make her burn and freeze. This was it—the first attack had been shot. Four shots left, it was time, time to add the girl to the death collection. Four shots left until it was time. Time to add the girl to her precious murder collection.

Gleam watched as the mini galaxy was about to join with her body. She would run away or dodge the attack, but it was impossible. It was impossible to dodge. It couldn't have been dodged. The attack, the attack was mesmerizing. It was a mesmerizing spectacle. She snapped out of it, no. She couldn't. She couldn't think that. Evil, the attack was evil. Evil, it was an evil attack. As the attack came closer, she stared at the spiral again. It was still mesmerizing to stare at. She, again, snapped out of it and closed her eyes. She couldn't look anymore as the attack was about to make grace with her. Within seconds, she could feel it—the attack. The attack had felt absolutely devastating. She had never felt anything like it before. Cold, the attack was freezing. Freezing; below freezing. Freezing. As the attack had felt like she was being eroded away, she felt a scream louder than anything screamed before. She grunted. Grunted at what Nestle had said.

"How dare you!" she shouted. "How dare you say that about Chime!" as she got into the extremes of shouting, the second part of the attack had occurred. Heat over four hundred degrees coursed through her body. She could feel another scream embrace as deadly heats broke through her body. The burn, the burn was extreme. Extreme, the burn just wouldn't let up. She couldn't, she couldn't give into the burn. She continued. "You don't even know him," she stated devilishly. "He didn't feel sorry for me! He didn't! We were friends! Stop pushing around your disgusting little logic! You're a witch! You killed him! You know nothing about him! So, shut up, shut up; shut up!"

Her scream had ended within moments. As such had been established, Gleam had been ready, she charged at the girl yet again, and as soon as she found the perfect shot, she raised her leg and thrust it backward. The hip, she would kick her in the hip. As she had found such spot, she pushed her food inward and pressed her food into Nestle's hip—hard. She waited. Waited for the girl to scream only to hear no scream. One more kick, one more kick. She had to, had to kick again. She would show her, show her the way, the way it felt when Chime got shot. The way it felt. She backed away and kicked harder. When she had noticed the girl was not even screaming or flinching she made a face. Why? Why wasn't it working? Why wasn't anything working? Why was everything failing so miserably? Why? She was failing, failing so miserably to avenge Chime. Miserably.

Nestle grabbed Gleam's ankle with her nails. Hard. As she dug her nails deep into the skin of her ankle, she smirked. Simple, killing the girl was going to be so simple. More insults, she had to continue. Continue to get under her skin. After she had gotten a firm grip on her ankle, she released the girl and tossed her to the wall. She could hear the crash and smirked. Weak, the girl was weak. It was time, time for the next shot.

"You. Are. So. Pathetic," she sang childishly. "My, my does being pathetic run in your blood or something? Your punches, kicks, scratching and other brute force attack are so pathetic!" under her skin. It was time to get under her skin again. "That's why you were using that so called friend of yours! You wanted to feel less pathetic, so you took him under you. You were using him! I get it now! You were using him!" she clapped her hands together and prepared, prepared her next shot. "People who use others, how low! I'll show you! Show you a PUNISHMENT YOU DESERVE!" she smiled sadistically and placed her hand on her shoulder. As her shoulder glowed a white color, a wing appeared within seconds. She removed her hand from her shoulder and appeared to be above the ground at about approximately six feet above. After the distance had been final, Nestle swished her hands as a large, blinding, orange fireball appeared in her hands. After the orange fire ball had been big enough, Nestle released it and made it circle around Gleam. After she finished forcing it to circle, she pointed at Gleam's center. The fireball obeyed and made grace with Gleam. As the attack began to burn the center of her clothes, Nestle motioned her finger at the fireball. The fireball travelled behind her and created an orange blinding light behind her. She embraced the light, and like a fairy tale princess, she used her singular wing to fly in a circle. After a giggle embraced her, she snapped her fingers and appeared back on the ground. She smiled evilly as the girl screamed freakishly.

Gleam huffed an angry huff. She wasn't using him. She never used Chime. Never, not once. She had never used Chime. She had no idea, no idea what she was talking about. Disgusting, insulting, she insulting, absolutely insulting. She was tired of it. She couldn't out up with much of her anymore. Pace it, she still had to pace the kill. She would pace the kill until the exact moment. The exact moment, and it wasn't time yet.

She created and almost cynical look on her face as she countered her insults. "Who do you think you are?" she cried. "I never used Chime! Not once! I never used him! I'm not your kind! I wouldn't resort to your tactics!" as her fury began to build again, she thought to herself. There was something disturbingly familiar with the string of insults she was hurling. Something familiar and she couldn't get over it. She had to try harder. She couldn't just punch, kick and scratch her. Toss, she had to toss something at the witch. She stared at her feet below. Shoes, she only had her shoes. Destroy. She would destroy the witch. Gleam removed her left shoe and swirled the object around, turning it into a weapon. As the acceleration had been enough, she released the shoe from her hand, making sure it had hit her face perfectly. After the shoe had traveled far enough, the once worn by her feet object kicked the face of Nestle leaving a red tinged bruise as if hitting or being slapped by her. She laughed practically maniacally as the bruise had been almost glowing. She smiled to herself. Good, she had done well.

Nestle walked over to Gleam and pushed her down to the ground. The attack, the attack was so stupid. It didn't even faze her. How stupid. Did the girl seriously think that she had done a powerful attack? Pathetic; the girl was so pathetic. Throwing a shoe. Throwing a shoe, how pathetic. Third attack, it was time for the third shot. Two shots left. Two shots until the girl were to die.

"Aww. What a little ♥♥♥♥♥ you are!" she said in an overly high pitched voice. After sarcasm lived inside her, she returned the shoe to the pathetic little girl and smiled sinisterly. Under her skin, one more vicious episode of getting under her skin before tacking her insults to the next level. She smirked and started speaking again. "I bet he told you, didn't he?" she inquired. "That he loved you, didn't he? Well, let me tell you that the boy was definitely faking it, and you know it! He was faking it the entire time! He felt sorry for you. He only pretended to like you. I mean, come on. Anyone liking the Sovereign of Destruction? Wow! That must be a new fad! I didn't know ♥♥♥♥♥es actually thought people liked them! The Chime boy was faking it. He was faking all his love for you." She placed her hand on her heart and closed her eyes. "Would you like me to ENLIGHTEN YOU?" Nestle backed her hands three centimeters away as she gave space from her chest and hands. After the gap had been established, a yellow glow appeared in her hands. As the attack had been charging, a small, yellow oblate spheroid appeared in her hands. When the oblate spheroid had been large enough, Nestle raised her hands above her head as the yellow oblate spheroid appeared above Gleam's head. Nestle proceeded to snap her fingers to initiate the next part of the attack. When the snap had finished, a mirror like forced had surrounded Gleam's body, hitting every single spot there had to be. After every single body part had been hit, the attack ended. Nestle snapped her fingers and the yellow oblate spheroid inched five inches away from Gleam, shooting off another mirror like force by the floor. Within seconds, a completely replicated image of Gleam appeared right in front of her eyes. The image smirked as it locked eyes with her.

Gleam sweat in an almost immediate panic. A live reflection, a live reflection of her had been there. Right in front of her, a live reflection. What was she planning? What was she planning on doing? Was she trying to force her to forget the insults she just fired? No, she refused to forget them. She wouldn't, and as she thought such, she was out of luck. She wouldn't forget. Wouldn't forget the insults. She wouldn't. She wouldn't. No way.

She glared at her live reflection, then at Nestle. "You must think I would forget all you said now by creating that reflection of me didn't you?" she asked with a poisonous voice. "Well, no way! As if you would understand! He didn't pretend to like me! Who do you think you are?!" Gleam watched as the reflection moved in closer. Dirty. The girl fights dirty. "Who do you think you are?" she asked, backing away. "You don't know anything!You don't know him! How dare you! How dare you say all that when you killed him!" she could feel it again. The madness. The madness inside her about to break her. She hated it. She was disgusted by the witch and her disrespectful insults, but there were more important things to do at the moment. The live reflection. The live reflection was the main issue at the moment. How? How does one fight a reflection of themself? How?

Nestle smirked. Scared. The girl was scared of her own reflection. Wait. She would wait to get under her skin. She would send the reflection after her. The reflection would fight her. She smirked, and snapped her fingers at the reflection. Time, it was time to send it after her.

The reflected bared an evil smile and placed herself in front of Gleam. Cut. She had no free will of her own. The live reflection of Gleam raised her left arm into the form of a chop. As her gamma ray glass hit Gleam's body, she let out an almost guttural scream. The reflection of her continued to shoot glass upper cuts around her guts as she only continued to attack. Her orders were quite strict.

As the upper cuts continued, Gleam managed to find an opening in the mirror color reflection of her. The stomach. The reflection's stomach. As the reflection continued to with the uppercuts, Gleam waited. Waited for the moment. The moment to kick the live reflection's stomach. As the wait became longer, and the upper cuts only became stronger, Gleam gave into her desires. Destroy, destroy the reflection. Destroy the rive reflection. Gleam placed her hand on the uppercut hand and held it captive. The reflection struggled and squirmed as she held onto the upper cutting arm. After a few moments, she placed her leg behind her back then thrust it forward into the live reflection's stomach. As her foot throbbed with absolute pain, the reflection let out an almost mute scream. Within seconds, the reflection appeared to snap in half, and before anything else could be said or done, the reflection became nothing but mirror shards in front of her. Gleam smiled to herself as she picked up a half dozen of the mirror shards. Cut her, she would cut the girl to ribbons. Cut her. She would cut the girl.

Gleam charged at the witch. As the mirror shards had been locked into her hands, her eyes glowed red. Hungry, she was hungry. Hungry to destroy the witch. As she had gotten closer to the witch's arm, she locked eyes at the vein. A vein, she would show her. Show what it felt like—what it felt like to get cut by the vein. What it felt like. Gleam smirked almost sinisterly as she placed the mirror shards onto Nestle's arm. As she had found a vein, she placed the glass into a carving position. Gleam began. As the mirror shard made contact with Nestle's arm, Gleam smirked. As a scar began to form, Gleam worked wonders up Nestle's arm. As a large cut opened up on Nestle's arm, Gleam removed the mirror shard and watched as the blood dropped from her. She would regret becoming like the Lethals, even for a moment. No, this couldn't be happening; she couldn't become like everyone else. She couldn't but it was already too late to go back to what she once was. There was very little time life. She could stand less and less of herself as she became more and more of the monster the ocean was. She sighed internally. It was almost time, almost time to end the fight. Almost time to end the fight once and for all. She was getting sick of it. Sick of being a stranger to herself. She hated it more than everything that had already happened.

Within a moment after, Nestle grunted. The girl was no longer pathetic, she had done the unthinkable. Cut, she had cut her. Sovereign magic. She had to use her Sovereign magic to transfer the injury over. Transfer the injury over to the little feral girl's arm. There was no way—no way she would allow such to happen.

She smirked and began the spell. "Sovereign of the Paradox!" she chanted. "Sending words opposite and more! One, two, three, four!" she placed her hand over the injury and began to prepare. Prepare the transfer. She moved onto the next part of the spell. "To heal is to injure, and to injure is to heal!" as the chant ended, the long scar on Nestle's arm vanished. As the scar vanished, a piece of a mirror shard appeared in her hand. When the shard had been sharp enough, she ran over to Gleam and did the exact same procedure of which Gleam had done to her, only one and a quarter times stronger. She smiled evilly as the exact same amount of blood dropped from here. Did it; she had done it. Die, the girl would soon die. Proud, she was proud.

As Gleam soaked the attack in, she realized. Deserved, she deserved the strike. But she couldn't. Couldn't give into her thoughts. Not during battle, she couldn't. Not now. Too soon, it was too soon to do such. She knew—magic. She had to use her human magic to heal the cut. To heal the cut before it robbed her. She couldn't die now; she still had to get revenge. She had to. Heal; she had to heal her arm before it overtook her. Gleam formed her hands into a circle. In between the ceiling tiles and wall, her magic circle appeared. She wrote the words heal and poison enemy onto the magic circle. From the magic circle emerged two diamonds of different colors. A diamond colored light pink travelled to her side and over to her arm, producing a small light over her injured arm. As the entire scar vanished, the other diamond travelled over to Nestle's side and close to her heart. Gleam watched as the diamond created a poison inside her heart. She watched quietly as the girl's face in hopes of it becoming dead white, and for a purple aura to alert her that the poison had gone through. Time, it was almost time to kill, kill the witch for killing Chime.

Nestle laughed maniacally. Poison? How stupid; poison. Did the girl seriously think she could poison her? How stupid. She was stupid. Under her skin, she had to, yet again, get under her skin. Torment. She would again demean and insult the Chime boy. One shot left. Only one shot left until her death.

"Ha, ha! Did you really think poison would be enough to get me?" she asked childishly. "Thin again! Poison is a weak attack!" she pranced around and danced in a circle as she thought up her final insult before her fifth shot. As she had thought up the perfect insult, she inappropriately jumped up and spun in a circle stupidly. Get under her skin; she still had to get under her skin. Nestle smirked again and began. "This is ironic, really," she said. "Reminds me of when I sent my eight girls in dresses after you! That poison was supposed to kill you, and it should have done so!" she giggled like a little girl. "Then, what do you know! The boy saved you!" continuously, the girl giggled disrespectfully. That should have been enough. Enough to get under her skin. "You should have just died then, Sovereign of Destruction. That would make everything so easy on me!"

Gleam formed her hand into a fist. She was behind her poisoning. The girl, the witch was behind her poisoning. She was behind it. Behind her poisoning. She couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand to see her there in front of her face anymore. Corpse, she had to turn her into a corpse. She could feel her entire body shake with hostility. She was behind it. She was behind her poisoning. The eight girls in the dresses. The eight girls in the dresses were under the control of the witch. She was behind it. She was behind her poisoning. She could feel it more than ever before—the hate. The hate she felt towards her. Corpse, she had to turn her into a corpse, but no, it was too soon. More, she had to find out more—more before she turned the witch into a corpse.

Gleam changed her expression to a face of fury. "So, you were the one behind my poisoning?" she asked with hostility. Unbelievable, this witch was unbelievable. "You're unbelievable!" she could feel tears stream down her face, but wiped them off quickly. No. No crying allowed. She couldn't cry—she couldn't. "I hate you! I hate you! Why would you do that? You should have just come after me like everyone else! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I'm going to make you pay! I'm going to make you pay, you witch!"

Nestle smirked the way she had done when the Chime boy reacted to her words. Perfect, the girl's reaction was perfect. She could say the exact same thing to the Sovereign of Destruction that she said to the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect. She initiated the same explanation as she had said before.

"Oh, please! What are you, four and three quarters?" she asked disrespectfully. "You know Sovereigns like us have people under our control. I had eight girls in dresses under my control. I wasn't behind it! I told the girls to do whatever they please, and it just so happens that they chose to poison you! I had nothing to do with your poisoning! Don't be a ♥♥♥♥♥! Before you go assume things, get your facts straight!" she did exactly what she did when she was leering Chime. She placed her hands on her face, attempting to sound cute. "You're no different than me. You were using that Chime boy! He was working under you and you know it! And he ended up just like the eight girls who were under me!" as she said such, her eyes glowed green. Perfect, it was all leading to a perfect point.

There she went again. Went again with saying she was using Chime. She hated it. Hated the sound of it. The insults, she could barely take anymore insults. If she had said another, that would be it. No more, she couldn't take the girl anymore. All she had done was demean and insult Chime. Disrespectful, the girl was so disrespectful. Why? Why didn't Chime kill her when he got the first chance? How could he stand it? How could he stand by as she insulted him? How? She put her hand into a mutilating position and viciously glared at her. Sick of her, she was sick of her.

"We were friends!" she cried, fury rising inside her. "I'm not your kind!" she repeated again. "I would never resort to tactics like yours!" she could feel it. Feel the fury continue to rise in her voice. She was trembling inside. Afraid, she was afraid. Afraid of the monster she was becoming. "I didn't use him! He was trying to protect me through and through! I wasn't controlling him! He was my friend! How dare you demean us! How dare you!" she could feel her fury destroy her. Crack, another crack was forming.

Nestle smirked evilly. History was keen on repeating itself when two people were the same kind of moron. Same attack, she would send the same attack after her that she sent to her minions and Chime. Her final shot—her final shot before killing her.

"Speaking of which! You'll love this attack I killed my minions, and what the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect was hit with!" she said, clapping her hands together like a two year old. "When the eight failed to kill you, they had no use to me!" she placed her hands into a meditating position to create her attack a second time in one day. "And since you look so desperate and eager to know how I killed them, it looked something like THIS!" Nestle's hand began to glow red as she concentrated to herself. As the red glow became fiery and violent, a large rock with craters appeared in her hands. As the rock had gotten larger in size, a blue fire appeared over a red fire and surrounded the black rock filled with craters. After it had gotten large enough, Nestle winked and released a small giggle. After the small giggle, Nestle released the burning rock and sent it flying, charging steadfastly at Gleam. She laughed manically as the same events happened again.

Gleam stared at the insane, larger than life boulder on fire. She stared and noticed. Noticed how mesmerizing it was. As the space boulder began to make grace with her, she only stared. The space boulder was mesmerizing. As the space boulder made complete contact with her skin, she could feel a scream let loose inside her. Burn, the burn of the entire world could be felt in her body. She could feel it, feel the burn. The burn had felt nothing like she had ever felt before. Quickly, she snapped out of it, however. No time to feel a burn, there was no time for such. No weakness, she couldn't show any weakness.

As Nestle was about to smirk demonically to prepare her killing blow, an abrupt luscious silver light shined throughout the entire hallway. The light, it was coming. The change in the entire world, anything, everything being possible, everything was about to happen. The reason. The reason she killed him was finally happening. It was finally happening. The silver light, the silver light was a sign. A sign of everything she could make possible into possibilities. Cause and effect. Cause and effect were about to go haywire. Anything, she would be able to do anything. One last session of getting under her skin. One last session. She smirked and decided. Decided. One last session. On last session of getting under her skin before killing her.

"Cause and effect are about to go haywire," she said in a serious voice. "That means in twenty four hours, anything will be possible!" she glared at the girl evilly and began. Began the final session of getting under her skin. "Considering the fact that he fought your battles for you, Chime deserved to die! He deserved to die at my hands!" as she finished the final session of getting under her skin, she let out an extreme maniacal laugh. Perfect, it was perfect. Such a perfect way to get under the girl's skin. Perfect, the choice was perfect. Die, the girl would die the same way. The same way the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect did. Perfect. Everything so far had been perfect.

Gleam held in her anger this time. Enough. That was enough. She couldn't take her anymore. Enough. She had enough of the witch. Corpse. It was time. Time to get rid of the witch. Her life could no longer be allowed to continue. One insult too many, it was just one insult too many. It was time; time to unveil her hidden defense.

"You know what?" she stated. "I've had enough of you." As she said such, she rummaged through her inside pockets until she could feel the object she had been looking for. When she had come across the object, she smiled. Time, it was time. "And just so you know," she said. The sound of a gun cocking could be heard as she removed the object from the insides of her pockets. "I'm not going easy on you." She pointed the gun and prepared. Prepared for her glorious moment.

Nestle smirked and then changed such to an even bigger devious grin. Nice girl, the boy said. What a joke. "And to think he called you a nice girl!" she cried sarcastically. "I didn't know nice girls carried around guns!" she knew. Knew this was the end. Her only weakness had been revealed. Late, it was too late to run.

"Goodbye, Nestle Mantle."

After a moment's thought, Gleam decided. The stomach, she would aim for the stomach. When such had been established, she placed her finger on the trigger. No regrets no regrets. As she breathed in one more time, she was ready—ready to kill the witch. Gleam nailed the trigger. As she let go of the trigger, three bullets raced from the gun and charged at Nestle's stomach steadfastly. As the bullets made grace with Nestle's stomach, she watched as the blood from the gunshot became evident. She had no need to use the weapon again. Three bullets, three bullets had been enough. She watched as Nestle Mantle's body had been lifeless. Successful, she was successful. There was no possible way the girl could be alive anymore. The battle was over. Gleam placed the gun into her back pocket and walked over to the corpse of Chime Nume.

"Thank you, Chime, for everything," she said to Chime's dead body. "Enjoy the afterlife. I'll be joining you soon…"

End of chapter twenty two, next to come: a tainted innocence of one once lost. Tainted Pureled enters and divides. One will be led to believe she was pure as windpipes fall short of being useful.

******************************

Remember that gun from chapter four? I never did say what happened to it, now did I?

Surprise, surprise.

Why is it possible for Gleam to have killed Nestle with only three bullets?

Go back to chapter 19, I 'm not spilling out answers here.
 
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Palamon

Silence is Purple
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This chapter is rated M. Don't like people choking? Then leave.

Standing Creation - Vanguard Duosoard.

Chapter 23; Led to believe she was Pure when in the end, she was merely Tainted.

Two days flowed by almost undeniably slow. It was almost as if every minute was a day and every day had been a year. Two days of slow moving. It was as if the world died. It was as if the entire world died, and Gleam wanted it. She wanted the world to die—wanted the world to rot away. She wondered, wondered if she could use her magic to make the world rot away. She sought to cause the world to rot. She wouldn't have to be in a world without Chime anymore. If the world were to rot, she could be with Chime. She laughed to herself in the despair of it all. Rot away, the world should just rot away. She wondered in her further despair—what would a rotted world even look like? She craved to see the result. But she knew. Knew that her power wasn't making objects, or a planet for that matter, to rot. She knew that wasn't possible. So, she wondered. Wondered why she thought it were a thought in the first place. Stupid, it was a stupid thought and she knew it. Still, she knew. Knew it was what she wanted. The world, the world needed to rot. She was sick of it, sick of being in a world where there was nothing sacred. A world where everything is robbed from her. She hated it. Hated the world, she was sick of the world and wanted it to rot. Rot and stay rotted. A world that didn't exist. A world that was entirely rotted. There was nothing left. There was nothing left to save her. Nothing left to save her, and she knew it. Rot, the world had to rot—there had to be a way. A way to make the world rot. She knew, knew that it wasn't possible. Stupid, the thought was stupid, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered so as long as she was alone. She knew there was nothing left, absolutely nothing left. Nothing left, there was nothing left. Tedious everything was tedious.

She was forcing herself to sleep on the outside of a random dorm room. She couldn't. Couldn't—couldn't go back into Chime's dorm room. There was no way. She lacked the key, and she knew, knew if she even were able to get inside, she knew; knew she would wait for something that would never come. She had no right to go back into his dorm room. The room did not belong to him; it did not belong to her. No right, she had no right to dominate his room. Behind, all she could do was leave the room behind. She made a decision to stay away. Stay away from her dorm room, however. There was no way. No way she was going to go back—go back to her old doom room. Room 372, Room 372 no longer existed. Room 372 was gone from her mind—it never would exist again. In the absence of Chime's existence, she had only one option. She had no choice. Room 372 does not exist; the key to her room did not, either. As soon as such was determined, she removed the key from her pocket and watched as it fell on the gravity of the entire world. Watches as the key that didn't exist float down into the crack in the cement two stories down. The key had been no more—there was no chance. No chance for her to sleep on a couch anymore. No chance to return her into her no longer existing room. There was no chance to return. No chance to go back. Back into any dorm room. No memories would trigger. No memories would flow back. The floor near a random dorm room. She cared too little—cared too little to look, look to see the number of the dorm room. All she knew was that it was nowhere near the room that no longer existed, and nowhere near the room of memories. Over, nothing had been left standing. Nothing was left anymore. Everything was robbed from her, everything.

She still remembered. Remembered everything. Remembered everything about Chime. She remembered everything. She knew that two days was not enough time. It was not enough time to forget. It was not enough time to forget he ever existed. The memories. The memories of him stung. The memories stung insanely. It hurt—the memories. The memories hurt too much. Blood, the memories were stained with blood. The most recent memory stung. It would not leave. The memory, the memory was trapped. She couldn't escape it—the memories. The memory had too firm of a grip. Too firm of a grip on her. Flashbacks, the flashbacks wouldn't stop. The memory—it was as if she wasn't allowed to forget it. It was as if she was stuck with the memory. As the memory continued to brush into her mind, invading her, she could feel a scream come inside her. Why did it have to be this way? The memories stung. All the memories stuck. Was it all a nightmare? Was it a permanent nightmare? She knew if it was, she wanted to escape it. She wanted to escape the nightmare. The memories, the memories would never stop—stop stinging. Even the memories filled with happiness had stung. She wondered, wondered if Chime would mind. Mind if she forced herself to forget. Forced herself to forget him. Selfish, the very thought. Selfish—it was a disgusting and selfish thought. As much as she wanted to force herself to forget, she knew that to be selfish and disgusting. There was no way, as much as she wanted to force herself to, the memories were engraved—engraved into her cerebrum. It was too late, too late to erase the memories. Erase the memories from her cerebrum.

Save him, she could have saved him. Why? Why didn't she save him? She could have saved him. She could have sacrificed herself to save him. She could have saved him, and she knew it. She knew she could have. She should have died instead. Died, she should have died instead. She should have been the corpse. She should have. She should have been turned into a corpse and released from the world. Dirty, her life was so dirty. Her life was a dirty life. She got to live while Chime was dead. Dirty, her life was dirty. Dirty, her life was dirty life that she knew she didn't deserve. Her life—her life was a dirty one. Robbing the future of others while hers only continued. Dirty, her life was dirty. Taking the life of others while hers shined. She wondered if the ocean felt any sympathy for those they killed. To steal the future others. Did the ocean feel any sympathy? She knew—knew that could not have been possible. The ocean, the ocean was not like that, and she knew it. She knew such had to be the truth. It was the cruel and horrible truth. It was the cruel and horrible truth, and she knew it.

Gleam remembered five days ago. The announcement still had rung wired into her mind. Five days later, and the words were now of complete permanence. The words were a towel ring; she was the towel. Five days and nothing was becoming better. She soon realized, realized it was somehow going to remain the way it was permanently. The creator was gone. Everyone had been left there to die. With each day, the program had less and less people within. Even the ocean was a collection of people out to get her; she knew—knew that there had to be some people who were nothing like that. She wondered, wondered if the person who could have been in the dorm room she had been standing near was part of the ocean. She wondered. She knew, knew the room was empty. The room was empty. The room was empty, and she knew if it wasn't, someone would have come out of the room to kill her by now. Obvious as obvious came—not a single human had existed. Existed in that hallway. It was obvious. She wanted to be shocked, but she couldn't bring herself to feel such. Too late, it was too late to feel utter shock. She could not unsee. She could not unlive the moment. The moment was robbed from her. The creator, the creator stole the good moments she almost craved for. The creator's announcement was disgusting, and she knew. Knew that he would never return. Over, it was all over.

She noticed, noticed the lack of people. The lack of people going after her at that point of time. Day by day, the number of people had to have been getting smaller. The population, the population had to have been less than seventy five. Five days, and the number of people had to have dropped by at least twenty. She didn't understand, didn't understand where the assumption came from, but something was biting at her. Something she understood none. The permanent and cruel alone time didn't help her, and she knew. Knew it wasn't ever going to. It was never going to be of help to her—being alone. It helped none. It helped none to be alone, but she knew. Knew it would forever remain that way.

In the two days without anyone, she did not once reflect on the murder she committed. She refused to, refused to even think about it. She was already used to the hell, already to the torture. Twenty two people. Twenty two people killed by, killed by her hands and magic. Twenty two futures stolen. Twenty two lives completely mutilated and removed from the planet. She wondered what to call the feeling she had been experiencing, but she didn't care to name it. Massacre machine, she was nothing more than a massacre machine. Twenty two people, despite all of it was the same to the creator, it was still a massacre. Massacre machine, she was a massacre machine.

A massacre machine and she knew it. She was a dirty, massacre machine. She figured, figured all Sovereigns had to be like that. She was no better anyone anymore. The program—the program destroyed who she was before. Even if she could, she decided against it, decided against thinking about how it used to be for her. The time to be a little over excited girl with a dream was gone. The dream she had, for her life to change had most certainly come true. Her life had changed, changed into a life she hated. She could feel herself taking back her original thought about not regretting to be born. She felt it, the regret; the regret of being born. She regretted it—regretted being born entirely. Pointless, she knew by now that being a Sovereign was her fate that had been carved into stone. Her fate to have been a Sovereign was obviously no accident. It was the one thought; the one thought that rarely raced in her mind. If she was not a Sovereign, if was not a Sovereign, her existence would have never had happened. She decided it was the truth, the cruel and absolute truth. There was no avoiding it—no avoiding the truth.

The truth, the truth was an evil creature that would always live. The truth, the truth was the absolute inevitable. The truth, the truth would always be there to ruin everything. She wished. Wished it were all a lie; wished everything was a lie. A thought she had to cast aside—a lie. Everything being a lie. She couldn't give into the thought; the truth. The truth had chained her. The truth was a controlling mastermind, the truth, the truth had tyrannical properties. Tyrant, the truth was an absolute tyrant in disguise. The truth was the worst tyrant. A tyrant, the truth was a tyrant.

A lie, why couldn't it all have been a lie? Why couldn't everything have been a lie? The truth, the truth was a tyrant. A tyrant she could never escape from. The truth, the truth would always win—she barely had an escape. A lie? Why couldn't it all have been a lie? Why couldn't the program have been a long, coma state nightmare? Why couldn't everything she had experienced have just been a fabrication? She wished it to be, craved it to be; wanted it to be the answer. A coma nightmare, why wouldn't it have been such? A come, why wouldn't it be a coma? Why couldn't it all have been a vivid nightmare?

A nightmare. It should have been a nightmare. The thoughts—the thoughts inside her were in entire overdrive. Nothing—nothing could block the thoughts from flowing, nothing. Stuck, she had been stuck with the thoughts that had been the current bother. She had too much—too much on her mind, and it transcended. Transcended into something more. There was nothing to calm her down. Nothing, nobody, to comfort her. Nothing to save her from the swirling black hole inside her. Crashing, everything was crashing, everything was burning. Everything was crashing and burning inside her, and she had nothing, nobody to save her, comfort her, nothing, nobody. Loneliness, she finally understood what it truly meant—meant to be lonely. The loneliness had been absent for almost four months, and it had come back, come back with a blood draining vengeance. A blood draining vengeance and she had been forced to experience it all over again.

Gleam rubbed the sides of her hair with her hands and screamed out of nowhere. Torture, standing there, in a random hallway near a random dorm room alone with her thoughts. Watching her, someone had to have been watching her. Away, she had to run away. She couldn't stay there—couldn't stay where she had been grounded. Watching her, someone was watching her. Run away, she had to run far away. Gleam rose to her feet staggered weakly for a moment as she had become mobile. Within a moment's calling she could feel the freak feeling again and continued to run frantically. Away, she had to get away. Stupidly, however, she did not notice, notice the disgusting truth in front of her. A group—a group of three had been lurking, lurking in the shadows of a corner. The three watched as Gleam had come entirely close to their range. Before Gleam could find the group of three watching her, she again felt the feeling—watching her, someone was watching her.

The group of three spiritually gulped. Lord Tainted, Lord Tainted would be proud if they hit the Sovereign of Destruction in the back of the head. Tell her once they constrained her, tell her the challenge Lord Tainted had settled before it was too late to tell her. Seeing the girl had run there meant she had fallen into their lord's trap. The mini leader in the group of three sighed and picked up the shovel a monotonous gulped. He did not feel his heart stop, all had been good. As the boy Gleam had no awareness of had gone behind her back, before she could run, the boy took his metal shovel and violently thrashed the back of her head. Not knowing what hit her, Gleam dropped to the ground. As her body dropped, the group of three took the limbs of the girl and placed them in her arms as they kidnapped the girl reluctantly. Familiar—the world had been in repeat, repeat, and the unconscious Gleam was not aware of any of it. The lair, the lair would abuse. Abuse the term familiar.

*************************

Gleam had come to practically four hours after. As she had been brought back into the world, she could feel the bash in the back of her head. As she had regained consciousness, she studied the location she had been brought to. She noticed the very home style features left behind. The place of which she had taken to had no windows. Dark, the room had been very dark. There had been no signs of a sun's influence in a practicality of a creation of the program. The room—the room looked like a den. A den she had seen when she looked around at houses through windows one time when she went through a looking through window phase at age seven. She continued to examine the room further. The room still had many den qualities. A television had been in the corner, on with images of grey snow in constant on the screen. She could hear the sound of static on the television. She looked down on what she was constrained to, and from something familiar, something soft. When she had been placed in a sofa bed, she held in her scream. A sofa, she was on a sofa, not a couch. She looked around and examined the room more—there had been a long, dark blue rug covering the floor, but nothing else seemed to exist within the confines of the place of which she had been abducted to. She had also noticed, dress—her body had been no longer covered by her usual clothes, but a dress. Undressed her—the people had undressed her. Dirty, the abductors were dirty; she noticed, however, the lack of ropes or chains restraining her. Freely, she could move freely. She wondered, wondered how come her abductors didn't tie her up. Strange, it was all too strange. She decided not to think about it—it was best to leave it be for now. She would wait, wait until the people had come back to ask them—why they did the vile act of undressing her and putting her in a white dress. She wanted to know why. Why would they do such a vile act?

Eventually, a set of three people's footsteps could be heard. Three—three people. Connection to a Sovereign. They had to have a connection to a Sovereign. They had to have. Gleam gulped. Another Sovereign, another Sovereign was about to ruin her again. She remembered out of nowhere—two, there had only been a total of two Sovereigns left. Two Sovereigns left, and that was it. No such thing, there was never such a thing. Never such a thing of being free from people after her.

Eventually, the people and she met. Gleam examined the people of which abducted her. The abductors, the abductors had practically white hair; it was as if they had grown old at age eight. The three, the three had seemed slightly younger than her, maybe eleven, but older than Seriphard. The three were about the same height as her, but from her angle, she could not tell. The three wore practically white clothes, it was as if everything was had lost its pigments from the lack of sunlight. The abductors did not look aggressive. They, in fact, looked intimidated by something. Intimidated by something—intimidated by a larger force. She knew it more than ever before now—a Sovereign, they were working under a Sovereign. As a scream was about to become hers, however, the child in the middle had begun to speak. The voice, the voice had been male.

"P-please don't freak out, okay?" the boy said. "W-we have our reasons for doing this." He tapped his foot on the ground anxiously. Freak out; the girl was going to freak out. The boy turned to the female in the group. The girl would be better at handling this, and he knew it.

Gleam further stared at the girl. The girl also had white hair. She must have been eleven—the look on her face told her. She wanted to know—wanted to know why would children younger than her undress her? The girl had long, wavy hair and had looked deprived, deprived of anything. She wanted to know, know why these children, why these children would remove her clothes and redress her, vile, it was vile.

The girl spoke timidly. "Yes, p-please don't freak out. We don't' want to hurt you," she whispered. "Please just give us a minute to tell you why we kidnapped you…" the girl waved her hands back and forth as she attempted to make sure the girl remained calm. She could tell by the look on her face—could tell she was going to freak out. It was a strange sensation. A strange sensation to see someone older than her someone older than her to freak out. A sensation—a strange sensation, it was a strange sensation. A strange sensation to have been experienced.

Gleam couldn't not believe the words she had just heard. Don't freak out, don't freak out. How couldn't she freak out? Undressed her and changed her into a dress. Unacceptable as unacceptable came, it was unacceptable as unacceptable came. She wasn't' about to listen—wasn't about to listen to the people who knocked her unconscious and changed her clothes in such time frame—answers. She wanted answers—she needed answers. She was not going to listen, not going to listen to their answers until they told her why. Why they changed her clothes. Gleam changed her expression to an exaggerated gesture before speaking. Not willing to listen, she was far from willing to listen.

"I'll only listen and give you a minute when you tell me why changed my clothes," she replied apprehensively. "Tell me why you would do that to me! I'm older than you, and yet you undress me and change my clothes! That's vile!" if they had no reason—Nestle, they would end up just like Nestle Mantle. A corpse, the three would become a corpse. "Depending on your answer," she said. "I might destroy you." As she said such, her eyes glowed a red color. Red, the color of blood. Nature, she was already acting like her Sovereign nature. She couldn't—couldn't escape it. Couldn't escape her Sovereign nature. She shook her head as she thought such. No, calm, she knew, calm. She could not lose it now—later, she could scream later. Now was not the time. She had to remain calm, she had to. Answer, how would they answer? She waited, waited on the group's answer.

The girl turned to the member next to her. She couldn't answer, could not answer the question. The agendered one of the group, the agendered one of the group was the only one, the only one of which who could provide the answer. The agendered member, they were the one. The only one of which who could provide the answer. The agendered member, they were the one. The one who changed her clothes. She could not answer the question. The agendered member, the agendered member had to answer the question.

The agendered member placed their fingers in their hair and groaned. Why? Why did they have to answer the question? Why in Milaturia did they have to? Vile? It was anything but vile; her clothes were vile. The clothes stunk; orders, it was orders.

In fear of saying the wrong thing, they answered quietly. "It was our orders," he answered. "Her Lordness Tainted disapproves of dirty clothes." They removed their hand from their white hair and put on glasses to make his vision become stronger. "If you woke up naked, you would scream," he answered monotone. "We put you in a dress to prevent the travesty. We're sorry. We were ordered to clean your clothes and redress you. If such angers you, we'll give your clothing back now."

Gleam blinked—ordered to clean her clothes? The three people, the three people didn't have a will of their own. Evil, turning the three of them into corpses would be unjust and cruel. It would be unjust and cruel. She couldn't; couldn't even so much as touch them. Listen, she would listen to what they had to tell her. It was obvious to her—obvious to her that they were being forced to do everything that had befallen. She could tell—tell it wasn't of their choosing, wasn't of their choosing to try to hurt her. Benign, the three were benign. She sighed, she couldn't destroy them—they weren't dangerous enough.

"Okay," Gleam answered reluctantly. "I'm willing to listen." Her expression changed almost instantly as her face darkened. "Tell me what you need to." Lord Tainted? She wondered. Wondered who this lord of which the agendered one spoke of. She knew, however, that was the least of her business. She did not need to know—did not need to know who this Tainted lord was. She only needed to know the reason: the reason of which she had been kidnapped. She knew, knew whom of which they had been speaking of was not her business. Out of it—she had to stay out of it. Listen, she would listen to the reason of her abduction and would not ask further questions. She wouldn't. "I won't…" Gleam said, drifting off. "Destroy you, depending on your answer, promise."

The three looked at one another. Who? Who of them would tell her? Who would tell the Sovereign of Destruction? Who would tell the Sovereign of Destruction why they had abducted her? Who would tell her? They stared at each other; it wasn't easy to say what they were about ti—it wasn't easy to give out the challenge. They knew, knew it would be difficult. Correctly, they had to state Lord Tainted's challenge correctly or it would be curtains. They looked at each other. Who? Who was going to tell her? They couldn't—couldn't leave it in the dark. They had to—they had no time to waste. The boy in the center stepped forward and prepared almost out of nowhere, without even thinking it over. He had to explain, he had to. The presiding fact that time was ticking, the fact that time was ticking meant for action.

"P-please listen carefully," the boy in the middle answered. "Lord Tainted told us to tell you…" the boy dropped into thought and carefully worded, carefully, worded carefully what he wanted to say in his mind. He had to, had to say exactly, exactly what Lord Tainted had said. He knew. Knew he had to copy, copy the words she had said exactly. He breathed one last time to state perfectly—state perfectly what Lord Tainted said. "Lord Tainted says," the boy started to say. "She says… 'Sovereign of Destruction, I challenge you to a battle in the Attic of Secrets. You had better come, or die from my powers, huzzah.' She says… you need to come within forty five hours or she'll kill you by making you swallow your teeth." Perfectly, had he replicated Lord Tainted's words perfectly? He wondered, wondered if he had replicated the words—the words correctly. He knew, knew if he didn't, Lord Tainted would be furious. Lord Tainted, Lord Tainted would kill them. Kill them, mutilate them, and they all knew. The middle boy breathed and spoke last time before stopping. "S-she has instructed me to give you this map to get into the attic," she answered. As he had said such, he removed the map given to him to hand to the girl. With force, he handed the map to her. Perfectly replicating what had been instructed. Had been permanently perfect in being the leader of the three? He knew that it would not become true; his positive qualities—his positive qualities were stolen and added to Lord Tainted's power. He would never be perfect. He would never have a good quality as long as he lived. "W-we're sorry for kidnapping you. We couldn't say no to Lord Tainted. S-she is a really frightening S-Sovereign." He could feel himself continue to cower. Should he have said that? Should he have went and revealed Lord Tainted's true identity? He could hear the sound of a tick near his heart. No, it was a bad move, a very bad move, a stupid move. His moments, his moments were becoming supremely limited. Less time—he had done a supremely stupid thing.

Gleam stared at the white haired boy. Tainted, the person they had deemed their lord, Tainted had been a Sovereign. Tainted was a Sovereign—after her, the Sovereign had been after her. She was sick of it—sick of the Sovereigns coming after her. There wasn't a need. Wasn't a need for it anymore. Wasn't a need for her to fight the Sovereigns anymore. She wondered, wondered which Sovereign this Tainted person had been. She looked at the three cronies. Could she ask? She shook her head, not her business, it was not her business.

"I can't believe this," Gleam said. "She could have just challenged me in person! Why couldn't she have done so?" completely missing the point, she knew she was completely missing the point.

The girl looked at the boy. She remembered, remembered Lord Tainted had told her. Told her to be in charge of the clean clothes retrieval. Before anything had been done, the girl walked over to the washing machine in the other room and removed the single pair of clothes inside. As the clothes had been dried and clean, she returned to the room and handed Gleam her clothes. Speak, she had to speak.

"She wants you to fight in the clothes you came her in," she said with no personality or diction in voice. "We'll turn around so you can change."

Gleam sighed. Why was it so important? Why was it so important what she wore into battle? As the moments passed, Gleam removed the dress from her body and placed herself back in her regular clothes. Better, it had felt better to be in her own clothes. She hid her personal smile to be allowed to come onto her face. She glared at the eleven year olds—why? Why had they looked so weak and in pain? She knew, knew she couldn't question it—not her business. It was not her business.

The boy in the middle shook harder. The ticking, the ticking in his chest had begun to get louder. His time, his time was almost up in the world. Leave, he had to get his abductee out of there before it would be too late.

"U-um, Gleam, right?" he asked. "G-Gleam, ma'am, we're sorry, but the playdate is over."

Gleam tilted her head in the confusion of what had been said. Playdate, playdate? She didn't understand, codewords—it all had to have been a codeword. Codewords of the eleven year old society. She decided, decided not to question. Decided not to question what had been said.

"Pl…" she said, stopping mid sentence, correcting her word flow. "What are you talking about?" she asked. "You're not going to kill me, right?" her voice almost raised into a fury. No, she couldn't, benign, the children were benign. "Why are you saying that all of a sudden?" she asked, correcting herself.

The boy in the middle placed his hand over his shirt tenaciously. With all the strength in his beaten body, he ripped the shirt off as if he were ripping a telephone book in half. As there had been less shirt and more body, a sight to horrify appeared on the body of the boy. As Gleam examined the body, she noticed—wires, wires were placed inside the boy's body. Inwardly towards the chest, Gleam could see a black screen with the numbers zero, zero, zero, five, zero, zero, three and six. A timer, the screen was a timer. Behind the screen—behind the screen had to be a box, a box. As she had realized to of which the object had been, she screamed at the top of her lungs. A bomb—the Tainted person they had labeled their lord had implemented bombs—bombs into their bodies. Cruel, that was too cruel. How could anyone do that to anybody? Inhumane, it was perfectly inhumane, and should have been against the law. Gleam could feel a shout about to steal her. No, cruel, that was too cruel.

"Why?!" Gleam cried. "Why would she strap bombs to your chests?! That's awful!" she could feel tears ruin her face. Cruel, it was all too cruel. "You're doing everything she said, right? So, why? Why would she do that to you? Why?! It's inhumane!"

The main boy did not even have to ponder about the answer to such question. "She wants us all to die," he answered expressionless. "She stole everything there was to steal. This was all a game to her." As the clock's time accelerated, the boy flinched. "…We… don't have much time left. This is all we have to say, so y-you can leave."

Gleam got off her feet and quickly headed for the door of the lair she had been taken into. She ran as tears struck her face adeptly. Cruel, Sovereigns were cruel to humanity. While she understood why, she still deemed it was wrong. Innocent people did not deserve, innocent people did not deserve the torture they were given. A lesson, she would teach this Sovereign a lesson. As her goal was settled, she proceeded to find the Attic of Secrets. A lesson, she would teach this Sovereign a lesson.

*************************

The Attic of Secrets was bare. Nothing representing a secret had even been left behind. All and all, she knew. Knew the name was a direct lie. The name was a direct lie. It was all a lie, no secret, there were no secrets. Gleam had studied the attic as to best her ability as the light would allow. The attic was a common practice in most old houses. Wooden, the entire attic was of a wood setting. There was nothing unusual about the attic; it had been the most common example of a hideout she had ever laid eyes on. The name, Attic of Secrets, lie, it had to have been a lie. It was a bare attic, there was nothing in it. It was obvious, obvious that the secrets were removed. The secrets had been removed when the creator had escaped five days ago. The attic, the attic must have once been the location of the creator's hidden stashes of documents or something else of such category. Sense, it made sense as to why a Sovereign would pick such as their lair.

As the clock beat, a figure had walked up the stairs of the attic. As Gleam noticed the figure coming in contact with her, she stayed put. Not enough space, there was not enough space to run away. As the figure came into contact with her, the hand of the figure pushed gleam onto the ground and placed themself on Gleam in an almost explicit manner. Due to how close the person had been to her, she could not get a clear description of her appearance. Within moments, the figure spoke to her.

"Hello, Sovereign of Destruction!" she called, holding her down. "I'm Tainted Pureled! The Sovereign of Innocence and I'm anything but!" the expression, the expression of her voice had a high ego, and Gleam disliked it. "Seems like my cronies wasted their last moments in life telling you my challenge! Wonderful!" inwardly, she pressed herself in, she loved the sound, the sound of her struggle.

Gleam struggled and squirmed as the Tainted person had hoisted her. Her eyes became as large as she had learned the girl's identity. Tainted Pureled, the Sovereign of Innocence. Responsible, she was the one responsible for placing bombs in the eleven year olds chests. Innocence, virginity, the girl was trying to rob her of her virginity. No, no way, she wouldn't allow it. Wouldn't allow the girl to do such to her. Innocence, virginity, just what was the girl planning? Off of her, she had to get the girl off of her.

"Get off of me! I'm twelve!" Gleam cried. "A-and besides, I'm not your kind!" Gleam blushed slightly out of embarrassment. Too much, the last line was too much.

Tainted laughed maniacally. Innocence as in virginity? Fell for it, the girl fell for the trick. The girl fell for the trick. Before removing herself, she felt the urge, the urge to correct. "Oh, please!" she cried. "Did you think I was the Sovereign of Sex? I have nothing to do with that!" as she finished her sentence, she removed her body from Gleam's and stood. "My power is to steal good qualities from people and feed off of them, sweetheart! I did just that to rile you up!" she cracked yet another laugh. Priceless, the look was priceless.

As there had been enough space between the two now, Gleam could get a clear picture of what the Sovereign of Innocence looked like. Tainted had medium length hair that was tapped at about just above the chest. Her hair was obnoxiously wave; she had outer space colored her that sparkled beautifully like it had done so on the outer space color crayon from her childhood. She had violet eyes, the color of an aurora borealis. Her hair further spouted a side ponytail in a mini format—she bet that the males in the program swooned at the site. The girl was extremely tall, almost feet from her standpoint. The girl was seventeen, oldest, she was the oldest Sovereign. He breasts had been huge, as her ego had been. Gleam's eyes travelled to the girl's clothes. The girl had been wearing extremely lacy clothing, almost silk. Lingerie? Was it lingerie? The girl must have had a lot to say. A lesson, she had to teach the girl a lesson. Human magic, they would fight with human magic, she would demand, demand for the use of human magic.

"I don't care!" Gleam cried. "Tell me why you planted bombs in those people whom you call your cronies chests!" she made sure her voice sounded demanding. "When we battle, we will use our human magic!" Gleam demanded again. The Attic of Secrets, the Attic of Secrets would be too dangerous to destroy. "Don't give me fake answers," she said. Destroy threat, she had to make a destruction thread. "Answers like will lead to the destruction of your lungs!" her eyes glowed red as she said such. No, no she was giving in again, giving into her Sovereign nature.

Tainted laughed to herself. Simple question, what a stupidly simple question. She could answer such a simple question. She could answer that within moments. Human magic, however, she had not used once in her life, but that would be for later. Such a simple answer. Easy kill. What an answer. She wanted to see, wanted to see how the little girl would react. Would react when she told her. Told her why she did it. She loved it, loved how she would react so stupidly to such. Ready, she was ready to see, see the Sovereign of Destruction reaction.

"Why did I plant bombs into my crony's chests?" she asked in repeat. She could be seen playing with her fingers as she asked herself. "Simple, really!" she formed her left hand into a huge pointer finger. "If I strap bombs into their chests, everything they say will count against them, and I can smile in their faces when they die!" not what she had in mind, not what she had in mind, but the words worked. "You don't understand what it means to be a Sovereign, do you? Humanity deserves bombs strapped to their chests!" human magic. How would she show her the correct human magic to steal her positive qualities? She smirked to herself. She would wait until the girl shot off again, bite, she would bite the girl.

Gleam growled and balled her hand into a fist. It didn't matter what humanity did to people; it didn't matter—those specific people did not deserve it. The three cronies didn't deserve the fate she had forced upon them. Cruel that was so cruel. She barely understood, however, what she had what it meant, what it meant to be a Sovereign. She knew, knew that this was not about that—she wouldn't fall for that, she wouldn't.

"Still," Gleam said. "It's inhumane! You can't do that to a person!" she could feel a shake embrace her. An overwhelming feeling to use her Sovereign magic against her, she had an overwhelming feeling to use her Sovereign magic against her.

Tainted smirked. What a wonderful reaction. Trembling, the little girl was trembling. A perfect time to attempt, to attempt to use her magic before she continued to entertain herself with the little girl's dumb reactions—her reactions, her reactions entertained her.

Tainted could only think. Think of two spells. As she waited for eyes to be on her, she drew a triangle with her fingers against the air. With her other hand, she tugged her hair. As such had been established, Tainted's right hand and arm began to transform into something of a monster. On her head appeared a fin that had been timberwolf grey. After the fin had completely appeared on the head, the second transformation of the monster began. Tainted's eyes shimmered and had only gotten brighter as the transformation continued. Within seconds, the shape of her hand changed into a sea creature, as the transformation ended, Tainted's arm had been an actual hand. The arm had been shaped to an almost three dimensional triangle elongated into a sharp end. On the sides appeared gills. On the center of the timberwolf triangle appeared forty five fangs smirking. The eyes, the eyes were barely visible, but they had been there. The arm, the arm of the Sovereign needed to be broken. Broken to bits. Tainted placed her transformed arm behind her back and charged at Gleam relentlessly. As her body had been in front of hers, she placed her new arm from in front of Gleam's arm. She pets the sea creature in place of the limb, and the sea creature viciously smiled. Tainted placed her arm over Gleam's and the sea creature's fangs clamped down on Gleam's arm. No escape, there was no escape from the sea creature's grip.

As the idea she mentioned human magic hit her, Gleam realized, not expecting what had just emerged. She did not expect the attack. The fangs were sinking deep and she could feel it. She could feel the fangs ripping—ripping her arm off—the fangs, the fangs were causing havoc. As the fangs continued to break into Gleam's skin, she screamed. Breaking apart, it was as if her arm was going to be ripped off, ripped off by a shark. A shark, the holes left behind were going to bleed, bleed, and she knew it. To the humiliation of dying from a sharp bite, she forced herself to struggle. Get it off, she had to get the fangs off of her before she died. She had to.

"Get it off me!" she cried weakly. "Stop it! Get it off me! You're going to rip my arm off!"

Tainted gasped a fake gasp. Powerful, the attack was too powerful. She had every right to rip her arm off, but didn't want to, didn't want to her, didn't want to hear the girl's constant complaints. She pets the sea creature and within moments, the fin cascaded onto her head faded along with the shark. As such now was normal, she backed away. She smirked, smirked a malicious smirk. Now she could teach her—teach her how, how humanity, humanity treated her.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" she said, providing a broken grin. "What you just felt was an example of how disgusting humanity is!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. She'd show her a world and get her to understand, understand what a Sovereign goes through. She had no idea. No idea. No idea of the hell, the hell she went through pre Mariibo Rumaibo. "You may not agree, Sovereign of Destruction, but after what humanity did to me, I'd strap bombs to everyone's chest!" as the approach to of which the conversation was going, it was time—time to mention her Sovereign magic. "And those few people who have good qualities? Those people are my food! Humanity doesn't understand what a Sovereign is, and neither do you." A hint of sarcasm could be heard at the end of the sentence.

Gleam stared at the holes bleeding in her arm. The pain, the pain of the blow, the pain of the chomp. All the way through, the attack had pierced a hole entirely through the skin of her arm. Before collapsing, she did what she had to. Gleam placed a bandage over the hole formed. She wondered, wondered if she had done the correct bandaging, but now was not the time, now was not the time to decide such. Lesson, she had to teach the girl a lesson. No, she couldn't, she couldn't believe, she couldn't believe the girl's logic. Counter, she had to counter the logic. Gleam tried to form her hands into a circle, but no attack would form, nor would any magic circle appear. The pain, the pain of the hole, the hole was preventing anything—any attack from occurring. She could feel a scream hurl as she continued to be weakened by the holes. No, she couldn't give in, she couldn't give into the pain.

"Don't say that I don't understand!" Gleam cried. "You have no right to put words into my mouth!" destroy—she could feel the overwhelming desire again—destroy she had to destroy her. "Stop this, will you? Innocent people do not deserve torture! That's so cruel!" she repeated. "You're going about everything all wrong!" more, there was more she wanted to say, but nothing worked.

Tainted smirked. Wonderful, the fury was wonderful looking. She had to continue, had to continue causing fury inside her until it led to her perfect performance, her stealing of the girl's good qualities. Continue, she had to continue the conversation. The conversation at hand.

"I am not putting words into your mouth, sweetheart!" she answered sarcastically. "Funny how you don't understand. You've seen the brutalities of humanity—they've been brutal to you, too; don't deny it!" she had remembered, remembered the talk around the program. The Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect had saved her life many times. What was his human, name, Chime? Bring the boy into the conversation; she would bring the boy into the conversation. "I know you know," she said. "Other Sovereign cronies went after you, and it had only been due to the boy of whom you knew as Chime saved your sorry butt! If he wasn't a Principal, he would do the same thing to you that society did to us!" she stopped. Wait, she would wait for her reaction. Take her good qualities; she would take her good qualities. Within a moment's time after, as the thoughts sedated, her eyes glowed violet. Easy, all of this had been so easy.

Gleam could feel the ever stronger desire. Lesson, she would destroy her, Chime was brought into the conversation. Chime was slipped in. No, wrong, she was trying to get under her skin, Nestle, she was just like Nestle. No, she wasn't going to let her demean Chime. No way was that happening, no.

"Shut up!" Gleam cried. "Don't you dare bring Chime into this conversation! He would never do that, so shut up; shut up, shut up—now! Why even bring that up, just stop it! You all make him out to be a horrible person—stop antagonizing him or I'll kill you! You hear?"

Tainted sighed. She noticed how defensive she had gotten about the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect. Perfect time to attack a second time. She changed the flow of her sigh and turned such into a snicker.

"Not if I kill you first!" she barked back.

Tainted readied the formation of the next attack. Tainted drew a circle in the air with her fingers against the atmosphere. With her other hand, she tugged her lacy clothing. As such had been established, Tainted's right arm had become a catalyst as it transformed into something of a lion. From her back appeared an orange tail with black stripes. After the tail had finished, the second transformation of the lion began. Tainted's hand glistened and had only gotten shinier as the transformation continued. Within seconds, the appearance of a lion's paw appeared in place of her hand. As the transformation ended, Tainted's hand had only slightly been shaped differently, shaped to a paw. Internal bleeding, she would cause the Sovereign of Destruction to bleed internally. Tainted placed her paw into an upward position and charged at Gleam's stomach. As the claws met Gleam, she placed the claws over her stomach and started to slash the stomach with her transformed claw. As the claws sunk in, she smirked. After three major digs inside, Tainted ceased and waited, waited for the girl's reaction.

Gleam could feel the secondary pain. The stomach, Tainted had hit her stomach. No, she couldn't, couldn't give in; give into the pain she had caused within a moment of time. A lesson, there had to be a lesson for this.

"That's stupid," Gleam replied weakly as the pain struck her in the stomach. "Animal Genetic Magic isn't enough to take my mind off what you said!" she could feel the desire, the desire to destroy more than ever now.

Tainted smirked. Where had this been taking her? She did not know, but she had heard, had heard the girl had down two days ago. Exploit, she would exploit the situation.

"Isn't this how you killed Nestle?" she asked in a stupid tone. "Now you know how it feels—feels to be hit in the stomach! Hurts, don't it?"
Gleam had been disgusted further. What was her game plan? What was she planning to accomplish by bringing such words onto the battlefield? Not making any anymore, she was not making any sense anymore. It was aggravating how quickly the conversation, how quickly the conversation had changed. Was she trying to force her into understanding—force her to understand what she felt? She wouldn't, wouldn't force herself to get so low as to be at this Sovereign's level. Never—she would never lower herself.

"Shut up!" she merely answered.

Tainted sighed. Nowhere, this was going nowhere. The Chime person, she had to bring the Chime person back into the conversation. A lie, she would come up with a lie. Crack the boy's windpipe, she would make a lie of which had to do with the windpipe of the late boy.

"Don't have to, sweetheart!" she answered sarcastically. The lie, she had to start the lie. "Just saying, if Nestle Mantle hadn't killed Chime, I would have cracked his windpipe and killed him instead!" she smirked—that would let loose fury. Perfect, that was perfect, the perfect approach, and she knew it—she knew the approach had been solid, solid.

Gleam could feel a crack rupture repeatedly as she heard the words individually in her mind. It that was it. Lesson, she had to teach the girl a lesson. Whatever message she had for her mattered none. No one, no one would be allowed to say that. Corpse, Tainted Pureled deserved to be a corpse. She would do what Taitned said she would do to him. The crack, the crack shattered inside her as she could feel the overwhelming desire—the overwhelming desire to give the girl, give the girl what she deserved. Gleam ran over to Tainted and plowed her on the ground, placing her body over hers. Within moments, she placed her hands on the Sovereign's throat—the end. This was going to be the end.

"HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF CRACKED YOUR WINDPIPE?" she shouted, trying to emulate Tainted's personality perfectly. "How would that make you feel?!" she placed her hands deeper into the girl's throat, readying to kill her entirely.

Tainted sweat and squirmed as her actions backfired. Seriously, she was taking the joke seriously. She was taking it seriously. She had felt it right there, frightened, she was frightened as to what was about to happen to her.

"Hey, I… I was joking!" she said with a supremely nervous voice. "Get off of me, please! I'm sorry!" ask for help, she had to ask for help. She had to get loose—now. "Help! Someone get her off of me! She's insane!"

Gleam let out a small snicker. Help her, as if anyone was going to help her. "Don't you remember?" she asked with a complete sadistic tone. "You said humanity is disgusting and that means they're not going to help you!" her eyes glowed red repeatedly as she continued to get ready—ready to destroy her windpipe. "And, oh, that's right! Your cronies are now, so why would they help you?" one last moment, there was one last moment before it as time. "Isn't it fantastic? You'll die at the hands of me, the Sovereign of Destruction!"

Gleam took her hands and shook Tainted's head back and forth as she pressed harder and harder into the girl's neck. As she continuously pressed harder, the girl made foreign sounds she did not understand. Attention the girl must have wanted attention. Eventually, she pressed in even harder and shook—shook the head back and forth as if she were a baby. After a while, she could hear a crack in her throat. That was the noise, the noise she wanted to hear. As the end had come, Gleam looked down. No pulse, the girl had no pulse left. Done, it had been done.

As she had finished, she could feel an even further crack. As she removed herself from the dead Tainted's body, she let out the most maniacal of laughs. Her eyes glowed redder than they ever had done so before. She finally understood what it meant, finally understood what it meant, finally understood what it meant, what it meant to be a Sovereign.

End of chapter twenty three, next to come: hallucination, hallucination, here there everywhere! Stealing lighters, attempted setting selves on fire, one could say, there will be a saving, a saving in style.

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Okay, one grammar nazis, if you see that I don't capitalize a word when it's not a speech tag, unless it's a period after a sentence...in my dialogue THIS IS MY PERSONAL PREFERENCE AND WRITING STYLE! I know, the narrator repeats everything like James Bond repeats his name, but I do that on purpose.

So, yeah, you knew Gleam would choke someone eventually, didn't you?

Well, you got your wish, sadists.

Three chapters left. Can you imagine how it'll all end?
 

Palamon

Silence is Purple
8,106
Posts
15
Years
This chapter is rated M. Hallucinations, kind of trippy, and quite gore like, even though it's not actual gore.

[FONT=&quot]Standing Creation - [/FONT][FONT=&quot] Vanguard Duosoard.[/FONT]

Chapter 24; The indication of a hallucination. Igniting and firing until the Style rips.

Four days dragged on even slower than any movement of time in the history of movement. Gleam was used to it, used to time moving slowly. Never again, never again would time fly by. For the past four days, she realized more than anything before. Corpse. A corpse, she was sick of everything. Everything there was to be sick of. Nothing satisfying anymore and she knew, knew there was no escape route, the only escape—corpse she had to become a corpse. A Sovereign corpse, a Sovereign corpse sounded lovely, a corpse sounded absolutely lovely. She craved it more than anything, a corpse, to become a corpse. A corpse, she craved to become a corpse. Addiction, it had almost been like an addiction, and she loved it. She loved the feeling. She loved the feeling more—more than understanding what it meant. What it meant to be a Sovereign. She no longer cared, no longer had a care in the world; no longer had a care in the world about the twenty three people that died at her hands. She no longer cared about the futures she robbed. She cared no longer, it mattered none. Destruction, she now craved it more than life itself—destruction. She could finally feel a brand new craving for it—destruction. Power, she could use her own power to destroy, destroy herself. She loved it, loved the sound of it. Destroying herself. Wonderful, it sounded exponentially glorious. She cared no longer. The people, the people she killed mattered none. Glorious, it had felt glorious. The craving, the craving to become a corpse. More than anything, she craved the feeling more than anything. She made sure; made sure the feeling was permanent. The feeling, the craving. Needed it, she felt the need to cling onto it. Cling onto the feeling, the feeling to crave to become a corpse.

The crack. The crack inside her—rupturing, it was rupturing. Rupturing entirely, and she could feel it, she could feel the crack becoming larger, destroying her. A crack, and she craved the feeling. Craved the feeling. Completely and entirely craved it, and it the feeling had only been becoming stronger. She couldn't stop thinking about it, destruction. All she had been living for—destruction. Self destruction and destruction to those who tried to kill her. She understood what it meant, understood what it meant to be a Sovereign. Destruction, destroying herself, destroying those after her. She craved it. Craved the feeling—it was the only feeling. No separation, she could not have any separation from the feeling. No longer had she been an excitable little girl, an innocent, naïve child. Over, the time to be an innocent, naïve little girl was over. She would never, never be able to go back, go back to the way things were. All her humanity, all her humanity had plunged into the ocean, plunged into the ocean and drowned. The humanity she once sought for, the humanity she once sought for was gone, gone forever. Save her, nothing could save her anymore.

In constant entrapment, she questioned. What if Chime never existed in the first place? What if he was just a figment of her imagination? What if she just invented all his warmth, feelings; protection? What if Chime was never real and everything up until the point he disappeared from existence was just a world she created in the confines of her mind? A fabrication—was it all a fabrication? Was Chime Nume just a fabrication her mind created? What if she was a figment of someone else's imagination? What if everything was a fabrication? Everything, everything must have been, been a fabrication, everything. There was nothing that could have been real, nothing, fake, everything was a figment of her imagination, everything.

As the thoughts ate at her, she screamed at the top of her lungs, tears painting her face. No, no, she couldn't think anything like that, she couldn't resort to it. Tears continued to paint her face as she realized the thought had even crossed her mind. No, why? Why would the thought even so much as exist? Her imagination, it could never have been her imagination. Her imagination was not capable, was not capable of creating entire beings. She continued to breathe heavy as the thoughts she drowned in would not stop flowing. It made no sense—the thoughts were not making sense. Proof, there was proof Chime had been real. Proof, there was proof—absolute proof. The crest, the Nume crest, the changing world from the lack of his life. Cause and effect breaking, slowly going haywire, the world slowly ending. All, all were leftovers of Chime Nume's existence.

She wished, wished she could have changed the flow of time, changed the flow of time and cause a chain reaction to rise him from the dead. She wondered, wondered if telling him being in a relationship at Mariibo Rumaibo wouldn't be a wise decision was what killed him. Time, why didn't she have time alteration magic? Useless, her human magic was beyond useless. Why? Why was it so stupid? Diamond Dimension Manipulation—why couldn't her diamonds manipulate time? She knew that was impossible. The past, the past could not have been altered. Recent, it was too recent. There was no way, no way time could be rewound. Trapped in the present, she was trapped in the present.

Escape, she could feel it—escape the present and be released from the past. The future, the future was missing. It did not exist; her future was of no existence. She could feel it, the crack; the crack of her last bits of humanity rupturing all over again. There was no future left, no future left for her. She knew, the more futures she robbed, the less future would be left for her. She didn't want it—want a future anymore. She refused to believe there was any future left for her. Gone, the future had been entirely gone. No more, there was to not be a shining future. Gone, it was completely gone.

Six days was too much. Six days of extra time in the world. Too much, it was too much time. Corpse, the everlasting desire, away it wasn't going to go away. All over again, she craved it, craved becoming a corpse; craved it. The same as every other Sovereign, she would becoming just like the other Sovereigns. Benefit, there was benefits from becoming a corpse, benefits. There were so many benefits, and she knew it. Escape, escape from the real world, he could escape, escape from the entirety, the entirety of both worlds. She could escape both the real world and subconscious world. She knew it would be better off to escape, escape both worlds. Escape both worlds and be free, free from everything. Free from the monster, the monster of which she considered herself.

As the thought barrage only continued, Gleam continued to wonder, wonder how many people had actually have been, been of the living in the remainder of the program. She knew, knew the number had to have dropped by at least ten again. She didn't care, she didn't care anymore. It didn't matter to her in the slightest—the remaining people, the remaining people didn't matter. Nine days since the creator had abandoned everyone remaining. Nine days, nine days, and the program's population, the program's population had to have changed. It could not have been merely altered. Merely altered by six at the hands of she, Nestle and Tainted. There had to have been more population changes, there had to have been. She knew, knew, knew she wasn't the only one who had disrupted the population. She knew, knew Nestle and Tainted had not been the only others, either. There had to have been more, had to have been others, others diminishing the remaining population of Mariibo Rumaibo, there had to be.

She, out of complete nowhere, remembered something of extreme importance. Something of extreme importance. An important, impractical fact. One Sovereign left besides herself. There had been one. One Sovereign left. One Sovereign left of which she hadn't met yet. One Sovereign left; there was only one Sovereign left. Nothing to be proud of, it was nothing to be proud of. She would never fool herself; never fool herself to be proud, proud into knowing. Knowing there had only been one, one remaining of the Sovereigns. All the Sovereigns, all the Sovereigns except for one and herself had died, died because of her. They had been removed from the life cycle, removed from life because of her, and she knew it, nothing, nothing could change it, nothing would. Despite what she forced herself into believing, she knew that there would be no change.

Despite it all, she still wondered. Wondered who the last Sovereign was. Wondered what the last Sovereign represented. She wondered, wondered what it could have possibly been of. Of the five, including herself, she wondered—wondered what they represented. Did it have any connection? Any connection to the other representations? She thought back. Destruction, Solitude, Emotion, Control, Paradox and Innocence. Connection, was there any connection? She shook her head. It was of no possibility—there was no possibility. No connection. There couldn't have been a connection.

She continued to wonder. Could the remainder Sovereign, could the remainder Sovereign have been reducing the population? Could it have been the remaining Sovereign? She knew, knew that was not a completely ludicrous idea. What could the Sovereign have been? What could the Sovereign be of? She indulged herself into forcing names out. She forced, forced herself to come up, come up with a name. Graces, could it have been the Sovereign of Graces? The Sovereign that had been the lead cause, the lead cause for people to fall, fall entirely from their graces? The entirety of the thought, sense, it had made a perfect amount of sense. Sense, it was perfect. Somehow, it felt perfect, logical, the answer had been logical.

The remaining Sovereign. Would they show? Show up? Show up in a form to go after her? Would the last Sovereign send minions to abduct her? She knew, knew one way or another, soon they would come after her to kill her, and she didn't care, she didn't care. One way or another, she would become a corpse. She knew, knew the method of which didn't matter—craved the feeling, she craved the feeling. Craved the feeling of longing, longing to become a corpse. A corpse, she longed it again, a corpse, the feeling—the feeling was now a permanent. The longing, the longing to becoming, become a corpse.
As she opened her eyes and placed herself back into reality, she noticed something she had never noticed before. Blood, everything was covered, covered completely in blood. Her surroundings were completely covered, covered in blood. The wall next to the dorm she had been crashing towards was of the same status. Everything—everything in her sight, covered, covered with blood. She didn't remember, didn't remember it being that way twenty four hours before; it wasn't. Everything, everything had been normal, everything had been normal. She wondered, wondered if someone had come, come and killed a large number of people in the one time she had not been looking, the one time she had managed a wink of sleep. She blinked, if that were the case, there would have been dead bodies. A record, a record to show there had been activity in the hallway, but there was no sign of any dead body. Wrong, wrong with the setting. The high amount volumes of blood covering everything—there had to have been a reason. There had to have been reason for such, there had to be a reason.

She wondered, wondered if it had been fresh. Wondered if everything had been fresh. She hated the idea, hated the idea of testing it herself, but she had to know—had to know for sure.

Out of practical nowhere, she placed her hand over her clothing. She noticed, it looked fresh, it looked entirely fresh. The blood on her clothing, fresh, it had looked fresh. As she placed her hands over one particular spot, she noticed, nothing—it like felt like nothing. Clothing, the placed of which blood seemed to exist—normal, it was normal, entirely normal. It wasn't there, nothing was there. Nothing could have possibly been there. As she had realized nothing was there, she could feel a disjointed scream embrace her. No, no, bombarding. Wrong, something wasn't adding up, nothing was making sense. Stay there, she couldn't stay there for a moment longer.

She forcefully jumped to her feet and felt the overwhelming sudden need—run, she had to run. She had to run. She had run away, as she had continued to run, she noticed—all the walls, all the doors, the lying corpses, blood, all were covered in high volumes of blood. Blood that couldn't have possibly been there. Blind? Was she going blind? Was she going blind? Was it a result, a result of blindness? Was the sudden appearance, the sudden appearance of blood, blindness? Blind, she was going blind. As she continued to run, she could feel her head spin harder and longer. The pain—the pain, was it blindness?

She couldn't take it anymore. A corpse, she had to become a corpse. Escape, she had to escape the world. She smiled to herself slightly as she continued to run. A corpse, she had to become a corpse. Chime, she could be with Chime again. Escape, she had to escape the world—escape the cruel and horrible world. Something, anything to accelerate the process, the process of becoming a corpse. Something, anything. Sick of it, she was sick of living in a world she despised, living as a person she could no longer stand. Corpse, she had to becoming a corpse. Sick of being a product of the world, she was sick of it.

As she stopped running, she noticed, a corpse, a corpse had a tool in their pocket. While she wished to respect the dead's belongings, it was probably a member, a member of the ocean. She crouched down and weakly removed the object from the pocket and continued to race through the hallways until there had been an empty one to start the work. As such had been established, she stopped the movement of her legs and studied the object of which she had robbed. Acting as if the blood she had been seeing was not there, she looked deeper.

The object had seemed to have been scissor shaped with a small hole. It had been as if the hole was a pipe of some kind, but Gleam could not describe it. In the center had been a trigger or flick—press it, she would have to press it. As she placed her hands over the flicker, she could see a small fire directly from the funnel or tube. She smiled almost sadistically. Burn, she could burn at the hands, the hands of a lighter. Glorious, it was absolutely glorious.

"Watch me, Chime," she said, shaking and hoarse. "I'll join you! Join you from the world of fire!" the shaking only continued. Burn, she could burn away, burn away and join the afterlife.

As the decision had been made, she placed her finger on the flick and created a ring of fire around her feet. As it had been not good enough, she placed the lighter below a part of her white coat and pressed the flick once more. As the flames enveloped her jacket, she smirked. The fire, the fire was incredibly pleasant. Her eyes glowed red as the fire surrounding her became stronger. She loved it, loved the enveloping flames. Loved the enveloping flames pressing against her sides. The brimming fire, perfect, it was going to make her corpse absolutely perfect.

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While Gleam had been playing with fire, Style had been in her room, finally able to tackle painting for the first moment in ages. It had been ages, ages since she had left her room. The announcement or speechathon as she called it in her town had left her with a feeling of better safe than sorry. Nine days ago, nine days ago was just a sign, a sign that it would be best, it would be best to not leave her room unless someone needed her. Enough entertainment to keep herself occupied, she had enough to keep her mind occupied until more tragedy fell. She knew that no one was going to take her paintbrushes away anymore—safe in her custody, they had been safe in her custody. Paint to her heart's content without magic assistance, she could finally do such without any assistance. Eggshell, Eggshell would be so proud of her.

As she continued to paint on the white canvas with her now blue dipped paintbrush, a disturbing, yet gentle knock had made itself evident at the door. Style knew she couldn't ignore the knock and quickly placed the paintbrush down into the water to clean the brush off. She knew she couldn't look messy in front of a guest. Style untied the smock covering her clothes and kicked her feet to speed her movement. As she had approached the door, she slowly turned the knob out of fear again. What if it really had been a person out to take her paintbrushes? Not sure what to prepare for, Style opened the door and studied the body on the outside.

Familiar—the boy at the door had been standing there before. The boy still had cadet blue hair like the last time she had seen him on the outside of the door. His eyes—his eyes still had been barely visible. The shirt covered with splotches, how it never changed a bit. Style smiled at the boy. How pleasant to see him alive and well.

"Oh!" Style cried. "You're that nice cadet haired boy!" she could feel a significant feeling take over. Would she be able to get him inside this time? "Come inside! I can't keep you out there. Eggshell would always yell at me for keeping visitors on the outside." As the boy came into the room as Style instructed, she trailed back into and almost one sided conversation. "So, Seriphard, right?" she asked. "What brings you here?" she knew, knew that the boy was there, there for obvious reasons. A reason to warn her. Warn her about a hell to come.

Seriphard blushed. Name, had he been called by name? Not used to it, as only two people had called him such in a recent setting. He knew that there was no time for such. Warn, he had to warn Style. Warn about the fore coming disaster, he had to warn her about the fore coming disaster.

"Y-yes, I-I'm Seriphard," he answered. "Y-You'rte S-Style M-Magle, right?"

Style nodded. It was obvious now, painting, painting could wait until later. Painting was now the least bit, the least bit of her concerns. Her dream, her dream would be on pause, be on pause until the messenger was done. She knew that stalling, stalling was not allowed anymore.

"So," she said. "What is it that you need to tell me?"

Seriphard prepared, prepared to tell the girl. Prepared to tell and warn the girl. Warn the girl of the brimming fire. The brimming fire that had to be stopped. The only person left that could break and stop the fire, Style; it could have only been Style. He prepared, prepared to tell the girl. The horror, the current horrors. The only one left that he could turn to, she was the only person left he could turn to.

"P-please l-listen to what I'm about to tell you," he said, shaking like a leaf. "You remember that g-girl Gleam Noiyam, r-right?"

Style blinked. The cute gold haired girl? Why was Seriphard warning her about her. Good kid, wasn't she a good kid? Mistake, was Seriphard making some kind of mistake? Why was he warning her about the girl, Gleam Noiyam? She knew, knew thinking about it would not point out the answers. Listen, she had to listen to the next part, the next part of the warning. Good kid, was it something that would change her opinion on her?

"I remember her," Style answered, absent of any expression. "What about her?" Style prepared. Prepared, prepared for the first of the worsts to be revealed. She knew, knew it could not have been a good sign, but she knew; knew it could not have been a good sign. It was not a good sign, but she had to continue, continue to listen before creating an opinion.

Seriphard prepared again before speaking. The warning, the warning would require action. He hoped. Hoped that the Style girl wouldn't change her mind within seconds. Seconds of the warning. While he knew, knew she was not such a person he figured there was always the slight chance, slight chance of a sudden change in a person.

He stared at Style before continued. Eyes on her, he would keep his eyes on her. "P-please listen c-carefully," he said, shaking as he had usually done so. "G-Gleam, s-she's trying to d-die, b-by setting f-fire t-to h-herself."

Style's eyes opened wide. Why in the world? Why in the world was she doing that? Would Seriphard know? Would this little boy know why? Something, she had to put a stop to whatever it is that Gleam was doing. She wondered why her guy buddy wasn't stopping her. Off, something was off about the entire warning. She could feel it, the feeling—help Seriphard save her. Help him, but she knew she had to find out first. The reason, the reason, the reason behind such event crashing.

"Oh no! That's seriously bad!" she cried. "Do you know why she's trying to do something so dangerous? We have to get the fire away from her!" she raised an eyebrow in suspicion of why her guy buddy wasn't there to stop her. "Say," Style said. "Why isn't her guy buddy stopping her?"

Seriphard was pleased; pleased with the answer, despite knowing she would agree to help. He wondered how he could go on and tell the girl why, why chime, whom never trusted him, wasn't trying to stop her. It was not easy. Not easy to tell anyone, tell anyone about a death. It was not easy. It would never be easy, especially in a setting, a setting of which death and murder were a commonality. Little time, there was little time for such to take too long, however. As time passed, the brimming fire, the brimming fire would destroy the girl faster.

"C-Chime?" Seriphard said with a question. "H-he's d-dead. H-he can't stop her a-anymore." He placed his hand out to alert Style they had to leave.

Style grabbed Seriphard's hand. Dead? Gleam's guy buddy was dead? That did it deep inside her in more ways than one. She understood, understood the pain she was going through. But that couldn't have been the only reason. More—there had to have been more. More reasons behind the girl's burning to death attempts. She felt the almost overwhelming need to know every reason as to why.

"Oh, wow, no! That's not good!" she replied. "But there has to be a reason for this…"

Before Seriphard decided to answer, he grabbed the girl's hand in an attempt to bring her, bring her to Gleam. Bring her to Gleam before, before it was too late. He knew the importance, the importance of the girl. The right person, he had found the correct person to warn. Warn about what was happening.

Style had noticed, noticed the boy had grabbed her hand. Time, it must have been time, time to save the girl. She couldn't allow the girl to fall, fall at the hands of fire. She nodded at Seriphard as he proceeded to the door. Time, it was time to snap her out of it, snap the girl out of this dark path.

After they had been on the outside of the door, Seriphard began speaking once again. "T-there are many r-reasons," he answered. "S-she's just t-trying to find an e-escape t-to g-get a-away from t-this confusion."

Style understood. Understood what had been happening. Wrong, she was going about this all wrong. If only, if only the Chime boy had been within the same world as her. She didn't know, didn't know if she would be able to stop her, but thinking about it did not help, it did not help the situation at hand.

"She's going about this all wrong," Style said, in between thoughts. "I am glad you came to me about this!"

Seriphard wondered if he could tell Style. Tell Style of the existence. The existence of ghosts. He knew, saying now would be highly inappropriate, but right, it felt as if it were right, right with the situation.

"S-she doesn't e-even r-realize," he started to say. "D-doesn't even r-realize t-that Chime is w-watching over her."

Style's eyes opened wide. Watching over her—ghosts. Ghosts existing, ghosts. Style had always believed in the existence, the existence of ghosts. To actually hear, to actually hear they existed. A warm feeling, it brought about a warm feeling deep within his heart. She liked it more than anything, the warm feeling, the warm feeling of knowing, knowing ghosts were of existence.

"Woah, that's coolsome!" she cried. How? How did he know, however? No sense, it wasn't making any plausible sense. "But, wait, how do you know that? Can you….?" Impossible, it was impossible. Could the boy; could the boy, could the boy see ghosts?

Seriphard timidly sighed. More, they always wanted to know more. Would she believe him? Believe him if he said he could see ghosts as well? It was hard, hard to tell, hard to tell anyone that he could see ghosts. Hard, it was a hard thing to reveal. Would he be able to? Would he be able to reveal the truth? Seriphard breathed in silently and decided. Decided it was of best interest to state—state he could see ghosts.

"G-ghosts exist, Style. I-I'm the only one who c-can c-confirm," he said. "I-I can s-see them. E-Eggshell s-says hello, by the way."

Eggshell? Eggshell was there? Style knew—knew she had been watching over her one way or another. The feeling, the feeling that she actually was. Warm, the feeling was absolutely warm. It was nice, nice for her to do so. Who? Just who was this Seriphard? Know, she wanted to know who he was before they were to run and search. Run and search for wherever Gleam had been. She wanted to know, know who this Seriphard was. Angelic, there was something angelic about him, and she liked it. Warm feeling, it was an incredibly warm feeling to have been experiencing.

"Eggshell?" she asked doggedly. "She's here, watching over me? Wow! That's wonderful!" she placed a smile on her face, feeling the need, the need to pat the boy on the shoulder, no time, however, there was no time for such. "Say, what are you exactly?" she then asked. "I don't want to be mean, but, you can't possibly be human."

Seriphard realized only there. Dawdling, this was an example of dawdling. No more time, there was no more time to sit by and talk. There was no time. Talk and run, he would talk as they were to begin to run.

"S-sorry," he said, shaking. "W-we'll have to t-talk a-as we r-run. We n-need to stop Gleam!"

Seriphard tugged on Style's arm as the two started to run within seconds. As the hallways blurred and became a speed track, Style understood. Understood that Seriphard was anything but, anything but a human. An angel, he had to have been an angel. He couldn't have been of anything else. An angel, the young boy was an angel. He had to be, there was nothing else he could have been. An angel, there was nothing else he could have been. An angel, he was an angel. An angelic messenger. As the two continued to wonder, who was he, exactly? How did he know all that had been happening to begin with? She wondered, wondered who he was exactly. Who this boy was.

As the two turned to a sharp corner, Style proceeded to speak again. "You're a good kid," she said. "It's good of you to warm me about this! But, how do you know about this? Can you…predict the future?" the future, no, farfetched that was a farfetched idea. Wrong, the idea had to be wrong. Did the idea even make sense?

As the run only continued, Seriphard knew—knew he couldn't talk about, couldn't talk about knowing, knowing everything. He couldn't. Could he tell her? Tell her about his sister? What sister had asked of him? Would that work? Would that work out well enough? He figured. Figured that had been the only good approach for now. It was the only, the only approach of which he could take.

"M-my s-sister, s-she c-can't save Gleam," he said, shaking more and more as he continued to attempt to speak. "S-she n-normally w-would t-try to save her, but, s-she c-can't."

Style blinked. Sister? Seriphard had a sister? She wondered. Wondered what kind of sister she had. Could she have been a spirit? Why couldn't she save Gleam? She wondered—wondered far too many things. Why? Why couldn't she save Gleam? She knew, knew that since the run had been a long one, she might as well ask about it. The question, the question that would bring out for sure, bring out for why, why his sister—why his sister couldn't.

"Why can't she?" she merely asked.

Serihpard breathed in an accelerated on the running before answering such question. Faster, they had to have gotten there faster. Soon the brimming fire, the brimming fire would worsen. Worsen if they continued. If they continued to run slow.

"B-because she doesn't have a p-physical form," he simply replied.

Style knew, knew what that meant. Knew what that meant, but she wanted to know, wanted to know who exactly, who exactly his sister was. She wondered. Wondered who she had been. No physical form. If she had no physical form, that meant something, but she knew, knew it didn't point, didn't point to any specifics. No physical form? No physical form. Mean, what could that possibly have meant?

"Who exactly is your sister?" she asked almost out of nowhere. "I can only think of one person who has no physical form." She paused. No, it couldn't have been. It couldn't have been. It couldn't have been who she was thinking about. "Wait! You can't mean…! Your sister is…." Prosperity, the girl connected to prosperity. The girl Eggshell had spotted allowing an angel into her body. Her, was that his sister? Alike, they were most certainly alike.

Seriphard retreated back into thoughts as the run only continued to get faster as the two blazed through hallway after hallway after hallway. When four hallways had been passed through, and they had almost been at the location, he could reveal the identity of his sister.

"Y-yes, s-she's," Seriphard slowly replied. "T-the Sovereign of Prosperity."

Style smiled. Smiled quietly to herself. Prosperity, the boy had been related. Related to blood, blood to the Sovereign of Prosperity. Warm feeling, it was an incredibly warm feeling embracing her. She continued to enjoy the feeling. Enjoy the warm feeling in a dark place, in a dark place such as the one she had currently been in. Name, she wanted to learn it. The name, the name of the Sovereign of Prosperity.

"Say," Style said. "What's the Sovereign of Prosperity's real name? Could you tell me?"

Seriphard knew, knew it would benefit. Benefit to tell the girl, tell the girl, tell girl, tell the girl his sister's, his sister's name.

"Vanguard," he said. "Vanguard Duosoard."

After the revelation of the name, Seriphard stopped. He could see in the corner, could see in the corner, fire brimming, the entirety of the fire burning the girl. Minor, it seemed minor. Regardless, he had to let Style know, know the procedure in which they would save her.

Seriphard let go of Style's arm and pointed at Gleam. Ready, he was ready to tell the girl, tell the girl; tell the girl the procedure.

"O-okay," he began. "T-that's her. T-the g-girl who is t-trying to burn her j-jacket. I-I want you to p-push her out of the fire. B-but don't' do a-anything to hurt her. Just p-push her out and c-comfort her l-like Chime does, o-okay?"

Style glared. She could see, see the burn. The figure of Gleam burning. She didn't know if she could promise that. Not okay, what that girl had been doing was not okay. She could not promise, could not promise she wouldn't hurt her, but she couldn't say that.

"Like Chime does?" she said in question format. "Okay, I'll push her out of the fire!"

Style ran steadfastly. She couldn't promise, couldn't promise that she wouldn't hurt her. As her body had gotten closer to Gleam and the fire, Style changed position. Throw her of the fire; she would throw her out of the fire. As she had gotten closer to the fire, she knocked Gleam out of the way and out of the fire, placing herself on top of her body. She placed her fist in the air, readying, readying to punch the girl. Why? Why would she do something so stupid? Why would she do something so stupid? Why?

Gleam, on the other hand, could feel the madness, the madness leaving her as she had slowly realized. Realized she had been removed. Removed from the fire. She had realized, realized in the moment, someone, someone had been on top, on top of her. Someone had been stopping her? Why, why would anyone? Why would anyone try and stop her? The ocean—was it a member of the ocean? She wondered. Wondered why anyone would try—try to save her? Burn, why couldn't she have burned like she wished? Why? Why did she have to live? Live and without Chime, Chime existing in the same world as her? Why? Why?

Style felt the urge to punch, punch Gleam to snap her out of it. Say something, she had to say something, but it could only come out as a scream.

"What in the worldview were you thinking?" she cried, almost about to create a punch. "Do you not know how stupid this is?! Don't try to burn yourself! This is the stupidest thing you could do to yourself!"

Seriphard called from a distance. "Style," he said sternly. "D-don't a-attack her. S-she's taken in enough d-damage."

Style sighed. She forced herself to calm down and removed herself from Gleam's body; she pulled the girl into a quiet hug. Calm down. She had to calm Gleam and herself down. She had to, no more fury; there was no more time for attempted fury and attacks.

Gleam tried to back away, back away from Style, but she couldn't; the grip, the grip was strong. The grip, the grip was too strong, too strong. Replace Chime; was she trying to replace Chime? No, impossible. No, that couldn't be, no, she was trying, trying to replace Chime. No, no, she couldn't. She couldn't do that. She couldn't replace Chime. She couldn't replace him, she couldn't. She couldn't do that. She couldn't. Replace, she was going to replace Chime. No, no, she couldn't. She couldn't. She could feel her head spin all over again. No, Chime, she was trying to replace Chime.

"Stop it," she cried. "Stop it! You're trying to replace Chime, aren't you? Let go of me!" she could feel it, tears. Tears had started to roll. Roll down her face. Chime, was Style trying to replace Chime?

Style realized. Realized the amount, the amount of pain she had been in. She realized, realized the torture. Completely out of sorts, the girl was completely out of sorts. She knew, nobody, nobody could replace, could replace Chime. She had to say such before it was too late. She had to. No choice, she had no choice.

"I know, I can't replace Chime, no one can," she answered. "But at least let me calm you down." She could feel her anger leave her voice; leave her voice as she pulled her into a larger hug. She couldn't hurt her, the girl, the girl wanted to die. Die and be with Chime. She knew, knew it had to be the truth.

In the corner, Seriphard snapped his finger silently. Within moments, a light of a holy and warm appearance surrounded the fire, demolishing it within moments. He watched, watched as the fire vanished within moments and quietly joined in with Style. He had to, had to say something, say anything.

"G-Gleam," he said. "P-please d-don't do this. Y-you k-know it's not w-worth it."

Style knew, knew, knew; knew what this was leading to. Something, she had to say something, anything; anything to change the flow, the flow in which she directed, directed her tone. Would it be okay? Okay to speak for Chime? Would it be okay? She sighed, no choice, she had absolutely no choice.

"Yeah, Gleam, please don't," she replied. "I don't want this, and Chime doesn't either! He would want you to live!"

Gleam could feel it. Care; there would be no one else left. Car, there were only two people left, left that weren't a part of the ocean. She could feel it, feel tears stream down her face. No, no. She couldn't anymore. She couldn't win; win against the thoughts, the thoughts living inside her. She couldn't win, win to the outside. Win, she couldn't win, win against Style. Female Chime, was she truly a female Chime? She could feel herself get into the hysterics of crying. No, why could she never, never get the ending she wished for?

"I'm sorry," she hoarsely said in between hysterics. "I'm sorry!"

As the moments passed, Style decided, room. Room, to her dorm room. She had to take Gleam to her dorm room. Supervise her; she had to take her in her room to supervise her. She looked at Seriphard quietly, wondering if he would agree.

"Seriphard," Style said. "You won't mind supervising Gleam for me in my dorm room, would you?" she hoped, hoped he wouldn't, wouldn't mind, wouldn't mind doing such.

Seriphard quietly nodded to confirm. "T-that's f-fine," he said. "T-two h-heads are b-better than one."

As such had been established, Style grabbed one hand, while Seriphard had grabbed the other. Supervise, they would supervise her until she had nothing, nothing left to show. Show that she had no longer felt, felt the need to be done, done with the self destruction. She would supervise, supervise Gleam's behavior; supervise Gleam's behavior alongside Seriphard until she had been done. When she had been in a safe zone, a safe mentality. She knew, knew it was all she could do—dangerous. It was dangerous, dangerous for the girl to be alone.

Gleam realized, realized in the blood sight of it all. There was no way, no way she would be able to escape—escape and be with Chime. She would be stuck in a world without him as long as Style and Seriphard had been there. Hated it, she hated it. Hated how she had been interrupted, but it was too late. She sighed, maybe it would be for the best, best for her to live, live for a couple of days on. A few more days, a few more days wouldn't hurt.

As Style had opened the door to her dorm room and escorted Gleam in, a figure floating in the distance smiled to herself happily. Her brother, her brother was doing a wondrous job, a wonderful job in place of her. Proud, she was proud. Appear, it was almost time to appear, appear as a physical form.

End of chapter twenty four, next to come: time does not preserve thoughts of any. How many of the ocean remain? Oh, how many remain in the ocean? As Gleam finds out, the decision stands, a figure becomes a human. That human, ah, how she might be something else.

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This chapter is much shorter than a lot of my other chapters. That's only because it's ending sooner than you think. In two chapters...

You know who that figure is, don't you?

You'll see in chapter 25.

And you totally saw my title drop coming, huh? B]
 
Last edited:

Palamon

Silence is Purple
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This chapter is also rated M. ...I guess.

[FONT=&quot]Standing Creation - [/FONT][FONT=&quot] Vanguard Duosoard.[/FONT]

Chapter 25; Standing Creation - ♥ Vanguard Duosoard.

A week had droned by since the burning incident, and Gleam had been confined to the sofa in Style Magle's dorm room. She tried, tried arguing that she didn't need to be graced with a bed or stay in her dorm room, but the usual latter of not winning prevailed once again. Familiar, something had been disgustingly familiar about it all, but she no longer cared. It didn't matter—nothing mattered. A fuse, her life was running on a short fuse. Sick of everyone, everything; she was sick of everything. The extension, the extension of her life angered her. She was tired, tired of people forcing themselves to save her. While she knew thinking it would be better if society killed her, she knew she had no right to think such. The thought of leaving the world had thus stayed permanent. The thought, the thought refused to disappear, and she didn't want the feeling to vanish. Despite somehow feeling a calm feeling for a short time, she knew it was an illusionary calmness. An illusionary calmness and a part of her enjoyed it. A part of her enjoyed, enjoyed the illusionary calmness. Nothing had gone on for the entirety of the week. Gleam knew, knew nothing dangerous remained. No one dangerous remained. Dead, every dangerous member in society had been removed from the world, and she knew it. She hated thinking that there was nothing dangerous, but she knew that no one was going after her anymore was a sign, a major sign, and she was hoping, hoping it would remain in such way. She was tired of it, tired of people going after her. Tired of it. She knew, knew that it was of absolute stupidity to think, think that society, the ocean, had been done going after her. A horrible and completely dumb thought. It was an absolutely horrible and dumb thought, and she wanted to stop—stop thinking about the ocean. The ocean was no longer, no longer a concern, a concern to her. The ocean was done, done—done being a major concern.

The blood covered world. The blood covered world had been dimmed. Dimmed slightly. The world covered in blood, it had only come back once in a while during the week. When it came, she hated it, hated it more than anything. Hated the sight, the sight of everything, everything being covered, covered in high volumes of blood. When such had been happening, she wanted to burn, burn over and over again. The craving, the craving of becoming a corpse only continued, continued to live inside her. The feeling, the feeling of craving, craving to become a corpse. Extreme beyond extreme, the feeling had been extreme beyond extreme. However, she knew the sight of everything covered in blood would never vanish. Permanent, it had become absolutely permanent. She almost craved it, almost craved the desire. The desire to become a corpse when such visions had become the extreme visions they were. Blindness, it had to have been related, related to blindness. Visions of extremes that had not been there, blindness, it had to have been blindness. She wanted the blindness, the blindness to happen soon. She no longer wanted to see—see a world, a world where everything, everything had been covered. Covered entirely in blood. She no longer wanted to see, see a world, a world covered in blood. She had to find a way, find a way to escape the occasional, the almost always occurring visions of everything, everything being covered in blood. But Style, Style disallowed, disallowed any of such.
In the week of being forced into Style's room, she learned more, more than she should have known. Something had felt familiar, familiar about everything. Everything that Style, Style had told about herself. She had learned, learned everything. Everything there was to know about her. The passions inside her, the age she currently had been, her entire past. The past—her past seemed more tragic, more tragic than she thought it could have been. She hoped nothing would trigger, trigger in Style as she reconciled, reconciled her entire past. She realized, realized—different. Style had been so different, so different from Chime. She was so different, so different from Chime. No longer did she see, see Style to be a female Chime. She was anything but, anything but such. Her impression, her entire impression had changed of Style Magle. A girl with ambition that had charm, she had charming ambitions, and she admired, admired how the girl, how the girl had nice, nice ambitions. Her ambitions—her ambitions were amazing, amazing, and she envied, envied her ambition, her aspiring ambitions, and she wished, wished she could have been—been exactly, exactly like Style. Ambition, a girl full of ambition. She wished, wished she would have, could have been, would have been exactly like Style, but it was too late, everything, everything had been gone. Her ambitions, everything.

She had learned. Learned Style had only been thirteen—in about three months, she stated she would be fourteen. A new teenager, Style had still somehow had been a new teenager. She had entirely and passionately stated, stated how she had wished and dreamed, wished and dreamed to have been able to take it to the next level, take it to the next level, to take her friendship to state of girlfriend and partnership. She stated clearly, stated bravely and clearly that she had kept her hair short for Eggshell. She had kept her hair short to show her, show her that she loved her more than life itself. She stated clearly, she realized, realized she had loved her in a romantic way. She told Gleam, she had once been a Sovereign, a Sovereign in her life before. She explained, explained to her, explained that she had been the Sovereign of Murder, the Sovereign of Murder in her last life. She stated clearly and bravely, clearly and bravely that she had been declassified as human, declassified as a human by society. She explained it had been the same way for Eggshell. Both, both of them had been past, past Sovereigns. She stated, stated that it led, led to relentless torture, relentless torture by the hands of the people, the people in her so called utopian little village. Her so called utopian village, and she almost wondered, almost wondered if it was a mistake, a mistake to have lived in the village, but she knew, knew that was a dumb thought.

Style had then told her. Curse, she had been cursed, cursed to die—die in the exact same way she had in her last life. A curse, it was almost a cruel curse. A cruel curse, cursed to die the way her past life had. She told the girl she liked it, liked it because it meant, meant there could have only been one way, only have been one way to die. She stated, Eggshell, Eggshell had been of the same, a curse, but it had not been the same, the same as her curse. Gracefully weaker, the life Eggshell had been given was cursed to be weaker, significantly weaker. Throughout the week, Style explained all, all about everything. All about herself, all about the cruelties, all about her world; all about everything was to know, and she seemed completely brave, completely brave in every single entirety.

In the present time frame, however, Style had gone back to indulging herself into her painting. Seriphard had left; Seriphard had left four days before. She had decided, decided before. She had decided, decided Seriphard had done, done enough. He had done enough and sent him back to his dorm. Eternally grateful, she had been eternally grateful for his supervision. Style had noticed that Gleam had attempted, attempted to hurt herself during certain instances, and she had to stop her. It annoyed her in ways she couldn't explain, but the supervision of suicidal feelings continued. They only continued as she did not want to see, did not want to see Gleam, see Gleam act in that way. There for her, she had to be there for her. There for her in place of Chime. In the silence of her dorm room and paintbrush, she knew, knew that she had to check, check up on Gleam. She couldn't allow, couldn't allow for any signs, any signs of suicide inside her. Somehow get her into her painting, she wondered if she could strike up a conversation about her painting to change, change the direction, the direction of which she had been thinking. Try, she would try, try to do such, to do such to change, change her thoughts.

"Hey, Gleam," she said. "I'm painting a mountainscape. Could you tell me what you think of it?" a smiled creeped onto her face slowly in an attempt, an attempt to get her to smile.

Gleam turned and stared morosely at the painting. Nothing there, there had been nothing there. A blank canvas, a completely blank canvas. A trick, was this some kind of trick? Was this some kind of new trick her mind was playing on her? Nothing on the canvas, there had been nothing there on the canvas. There had been absolutely nothing appearing on the canvas. She didn't understand, didn't understand why, why that was, she didn't understand, she didn't understand why—why there was no image, was no image appearing on the canvas. Lie, she had to lie. She had to lie and tell her—good, that it looked good. She had to lie, lie and say, say it looked good. She couldn't, couldn't tell the truth, couldn't say she couldn't see the painting. Lie, she had to lie. Lie, she had to. No choice, she had no choice.

"Um," she said. "It looks good!" she smiled, smiled as she lied, lied incredibly badly.

Style blinked. The tone, the tone of her voice. Lying, she had been lying. Badly, for that matter. Lying, why was the girl lying? She didn't like it, like how she was lying, lying about the painting. It was enough, enough to instigate anger, enough to instigate a point of anger inside her. A lie, the girl was telling a lie. There was no way, no way she was going to accept, accept a lie, a lie for an answer. There was no way, no way she would. Would go about and accept it, accept the lie. Confront the lie. Confront it, she had to. She changed her smile to a frown within seconds. Serious, it was of a serious expression.

"Gleam, please don't state falsehoods, okay?" she said in a demanding tone present. "I would appreciate it if you speak of the truths and not of the falsehoods." She sighed as she continued on, the good kid. She was still a good kid. She was still a good kid. There had to be a reason, had to be a reason, a reason of which, a reason to her lie. Good kid, she was still a good kid. "Come on, Gleam, you're a good kid! Could you tell the truth?"

Gleam backed away slightly. No—caught, why had her lies always been so easily caught? Why had it always been that way? Always caught, her lies were always caught? How? How could she go on and tell her? Go on and tell her? Go on and tell Style, tell Style she couldn't see—couldn't see the canvas. She didn't want to say; say she couldn't see the canvas. She didn't want to. She knew, however, knew she had absolutely no choice. Onto her, the girl was completely onto her. Completely and utterly onto her, she had to, had to, had to come clean. Come clean and say, say she couldn't see, see the painting on the canvas. She had to come clean and admit it, come clean and admit that she could not see—see the painting.

She breathed and prepared, prepared to state—state the truth. "Sorry," Gleam answered. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings." She changed her expression to that of a dark one. "I can't…" she paused. "I can't see the painting." The tears, the tears could not fall. Serious, serious, a serious face at all times, there had to be a serious look on her face. She couldn't cry, there was no way, no way she could allow, allow herself, allow herself to shed any tears. No tears permitted, no tears were even permitted. "I'm really sorry," she said. "I'm just so sorry, Style. I'm really sorry." Apology after apology, she could feel apology after apology flow out of her as if she could only, only apologize. Apologize and nothing else. Only an apology that seemed to rush out of her. An apology—was that really all? All that could come? Come out of her?

Style wondered why, why Gleam couldn't see, see the containments, the containments of her painting. She wondered, wondered what that could have possibly meant. She didn't know, didn't know. She wondered. Just how much trauma? How much trauma had the girl truly gone through? How much trauma had she gone through? How much trauma was there? Not normal, it could have not been of normalcy. It could not have been of normalcy. Somehow, it was a scar of which, a scar of which she didn't understand. A scar that she knew, knew she would never personally deal with. Still, she knew, knew she couldn't, couldn't leave it alone.

"Don't apologize, Gleam, it's okay," Style answered. "You've certainly gone through a lot, haven't you? Much more than I have, so I guess that must be why you can't see my painting, I totally understand!" tone, why was her tone changing? She sighed. "Gleam," she said again. "I find it coolsome that you can even handle any of this. At your age, and all." She felt an overwhelming desire to pat the girl. Pat the girl on the shoulder. She wondered why, why she had such desire. No sense, it made no sense to her.

Gleam noticed. Noticed how Style's hand was about to meet, meet with her shoulder. No, no—she couldn't. Couldn't do that. Chime, it would remind her of Chime. She didn't want any key reminders she didn't want any key reminders, reminders of how Chime, how Chime did anything. No memories, she wanted no memories of Chime. Not now. No, she couldn't. She couldn't, she couldn't touch her shoulder. Back away, she had to back away. As the fear of being forced to have flashbacks continued, Gleam backed away from Style. Enough distance, there had definitely been enough distance between, between the hand and her shoulder. Say something, she had to say something, anything to explain. Anything to explain the entirety of why. Backed away from her, she didn't want her to think, didn't want her to think she had a personal, a personal issue. She didn't want her to think, think she had, had any issues, issues with her.

"N-no, please," she said, shaking. "Not my shoulder!" tears began to glue onto her face. Why? Why now? Why had she started crying now? Why? "Please… please don't pat my shoulder. I don't want the memories to flow back! Please don't! I beg you, Style! I beg you!" a mess, why had she become such a mess? She was a mess, a mess, and she knew it. She knew it more than anything. A mess, a mess, and she somehow knew. Somehow knew. Somehow she looked equivalent to an animal, equivalent to an animal, and she knew it. She knew it more than anything. A pitiful animal, she was a pitiful animal.

Style looked directly at Gleam. Trauma. She had definitely been experiencing trauma. She should have known, known it would have been a bad idea. A bad idea, it was a bad idea. A bad idea, and she knew, knew she shouldn't have. Shouldn't have attempted, attempted to pat her shoulder. Bad on her end; a horrible move, it was an absolutely horrible move. It was of no wise movement to her. Apologize, she had to apologize. She could not accept, could not accept; accept what she had just tried to do. Unacceptable, it was so unacceptable.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Gleam. I didn't mean to remind you," she said, voice dropping. "I don't want to bring up memories of your guy buddy, really. Sorry, Gleam." She wondered; would Gleam view her, view her worse than society? Would she view her as a member of a dangerous society? The thought, the thought graced her mind. "Well, it's okay if you think I'm just like the society of this program," she said. "I really wouldn't mind."

As Style had begun with her strange extra personality trait, Gleam came to wonder. How many people remained? How many people remained in the program? How many members of the ocean remained in the program? How many members of the ocean were left? How many? It came to her, came to her that there had been so little people left. Style's strange personality trait—the ocean. Somehow find out how many people, how many people truly remained in the program. Would Style go for it? Would Style go for what she wanted to know? Wondered, she wondered beyond, beyond her usual level, her usual level in wondering. Would Style? Would Style go along with it? She breathed in and began, began to initiate, initiate what she wished to ask.

"You're not," she answered. "Speaking of society…" her voice began to drift off as she thought of how to word, word what she was about to say. "Speaking of society," Gleam repeated. "Style, I want to see how many people are left, please?" she sighed lightly. "If there's even a way, I mean."

Style had wondered. Wondered the same thing. She knew, knew that Seriphard, Seriphard would know. Know the answer to such question. Dorm, Gleam and she could go to Seriphard's dorm and ask. Ask directly; ask directly how many people, how many people had been left in Mariibo Rumaibo. He had left, left his dorm room number information. Ask Seriphard, she knew they could ask Seriphard. She gazed at Gleam and prepared to tell her, tell her where they were headed.
"There's a way!" she said, pointing her hand to the ceiling. "I have Seriphard's dorm information! He left it for me in case we needed him again. Seriphard knows everything, Gleam, so we'll ask him!" too enthusiastic, she was too enthusiastic.

Gleam almost smiled. Seriphard, Seriphard would know, know he would definitely know such information. While the thought of pestering him bothered her, she knew, knew the population was dwindling. She knew this was the perfect opportunity to learn. Learn from him—how many. How many people remained, remained in the program. Remained in the program besides the three of them. She knew, knew they were not the only ones. More, there had to have been more than just the three of them. She knew despite albeit pestering, she knew. Asking, asking was the right notion.

"Wonderful!" Gleam cried. "So, where exactly is Seriphard's dorm room? Is it far away or anything of the like?" Gleam blinked. The like? Why? Why would she blurt? Blurt words like that? She shook her head, no—no time. No time to fall into her thoughts. No time, no time to lose to her thoughts. No time, there wasn't any time for the sort.

Style went into thinking the number, what the number of the room had been. An incredibly high one, she remembered the number exactly: room 885. A high dorm room number. It was a high dorm room number, but it mattered none. It didn't matter the number—Seriphard would still be there, hopefully. She, for one, did not want to abuse the boy's knowledge, but she knew if she would have to protect Gleam, she needed to know too—know how many people remained in the program as well. Guy buddy, Seriphard was their guy buddy, maybe it didn't matter—matter if they asked him or not.

"You might mislike this," she said, sneaking her dialect into the sentence. "Seriphard is in room 885. He's about two floors above." She laughed inappropriately at her next sentence. "The dorms are so weird here, but we'll find it!"


Gleam didn't like—like how high up the number was, but there was no time to fall into a thought now. Leave, they had to leave and ask, ask Seriphard. Ask Seriphard how many people remained.

Gleam stood and prepared, prepared to leave. "Room 885 is far, but we can do it," she answered with a practical fake confidence. "So, let's get out of here!"

Style laughed and grabbed Gleam's hand. "Okay, okay," she said. "Let's go on a quest to Seriphard's dorm room!"

As the two left dorm room and headed for Seriphard's Gleam knew, knew the number she would hear would not be of a high one. She was prepared, prepared to know and learn, learn the new population. The new population of the program. Ready and not, she was ready and not to learn, learn the current population, the current population of the program.

**********************
When Gleam and Style had arrived at Seriphard's dorm room, they had noticed. The door, the door had been rotted. Rotted to the very core. It had almost been as if people had gone after Seriphard as well. The door, the wood. The wood had been rotted. Gleam wondered why, why anyone would go after an angelic messenger such as Seriphard. A rotted door, a completely rotted door. Not a good sight, it was far from being a good sight. It was far from being a good sight, and she knew it. The ocean, the ocean had been cruel, cruel to so many people. So many people, and she did not like it, she did not like how little people cared about others. Cared so little about others. Cared so entirely little about others and their lives—known, she should have known. Should have known that the ocean was no different than anyone. Gleam then sighed. She stopped her thought trail. No, not now, not now, not now. There was no reason to get lost in thought now. No reason, no reason to get lost in thought now. No reason, couldn't, she couldn't. Knock, she had to knock. Get it over with; they had to begin to get everything over with. Gleam didn't know why the number was so important to her—wondered why it so much as mattered, but she knew, no time to think. She didn't have a single second to think any more about it.

Gleam flinched and decided. She couldn't, couldn't turn the knob. She couldn't turn the knob. She couldn't turn it, turn the knob. She turned to Style. She couldn't turn the knob. Frightened, she had this sudden thought; it would be frightening and mortifying to learn. Learn the number, the number of people which remained. She knew, knew the number would be low. She didn't want to know, know the number of the amount of people remaining. She had to know, to know, the number, she couldn't, she couldn't stop herself, stop herself. Stop the truth.

Style sighed and knocked on the door in Gleam's stead. She waited, waited for the answer, waited for an answer at the door, the rotted door. In the distance, Style could hear the footsteps. Wait, she had to wait. Wait for the knob and footsteps to meet. Wait, she had to wait. Wait for the knob and footsteps to meet. Wait, she had to wait. Wait until the sound of the knob panned through the hallway. She waited, waited, waited for the knob to show signs of turning, for the rotted door to become an open door rotted door. She waited, waited anxiously for the door to open. Waited for the door to become a side door. Long, it had been taking so long. Why had it been taking an almost millennium? Eventually, however, from what would seem like the wait of the millennium, the knob turned and the door opened. Style prepared a serious face to grace the serious issue.

After the door had swung open, Gleam realized—cindered. The dorm room on the inside from her line of sight had looked cindered. As she usually had done, Gleam examined the boy's appearance. She found it incredibly strange, incredibly strange how no one, how no one had done anything about the boy's clothes. She noticed, the same shirt splotched with blood. He had to have been wearing the exact same shirt. Poor? Had the boy been poor before entering the program? Possibility—it had to be a possibility.

Seriphard stared at Gleam and Style. He knew, knew why they had been there. He had known, known they would come. Despite it, he couldn't, couldn't show any signs of knowing. He knew what would happen next, happen next if he told the two, told the two how many were left. He knew, knew what had been about to happen, and he couldn't go against it, he couldn't go against, against the absolute inevitable future. He couldn't tell, tell anyone, anyone he had known—known everything that came to be. He couldn't. The future—the future was an inevitability. Couldn't be stopped, it will never stop. Inexorably marching, the future had inexorably marched on.

"O-oh," he said, shaking. "S-Style, G-Gleam. G-come in."

As Style and Gleam entered the dorm room, Gleam again noticed. Noticed the destroyed inside. The entirely destroyed inside room. Cinders, everything had been burned, a burn raid, there had to have been a burn raid. A burn raid. Why? Why would anyone do such to anybody? Horrible, it was a cruel and horrible world. She knew it would inappropriate to ask about the burned room, but she had to ask. She knew, knew she felt it in her, had to, she had to. She had seen a burned couch with popped springs. Would it be okay? Okay to sit? Before anyone could say anything, Gleam placed herself down on the couch and turned to Seriphard.

"Before I ask," Gleam said. "What happened to this dorm room? It looks like there was a witch hunt in here."

Seriphard did not mind the question. He knew, knew she would ask the question. It was okay, okay that she had asked. Answer the question before telling, telling what she wanted to really know.

"N-no, n-not a w-witch h-hunt," he confirmed. "A-a b-break in h-happened. W-when my s-sister had b-been here." He changed his expression to a less frightened one. "T-they c-came and t-tried t-to b-burn her t-to d-death by s-setting t-this r-room on f-fire." He paused. "B-but I-I s-stopped t-them w-with my Seraphim Holy Makeshift m-magic. T-they n-never c-came back."

Gleam blinked. Sister? Seriphard had a sister? A sister—what kind of sister had a Seriphard relative been? She knew that she couldn't—couldn't ask. Couldn't ask—couldn't ask his sister now. Later, after she learned, learned how many people remained. After, that would be for after.

"That's terrible!" Gleam cried. "But… to the point." Gleam turned to Style. Easier, it would be easier to have Style ask—to have Style to ask the question.

Style nodded as Gleam turned. "So! Seriphard!" she said, clapping her hands together inappropriately. "Could you tell us how many people remain in Mariibo Rumaibo?" Style pointed at Gleam and then at herself. "Gleam and I want to know!" Style sighed to herself. The cheerful voice, the cheerful voice was wrong. So wrong, terribly wrong. Too late to fix her tone, it had been too late to fix her tone.

Seriphard prepared. Prepared to say, say the number. Prepared to say, say the number. Prepared to say the number, the relatively small number. He had to prepare. Prepare to say, say the number in its entirety. Say the number, the small number. He knew—knew how small the number would be and how Gleam, how Gleam would react, react afterwards. Ready, he was ready. Ready to start to say, say the number. Say the number of which remained. Remained in Mariibo Rumaibo. He knew, knew, knew that Gleam would react. Do, he already knew what she would do. Too late to change the inevitable. It was too late to change the inevitable future.

He breathed. Ready, he was ready. "I-including u-us three? Uh," he said, trying to hide the fact he did indeed know. "T-twenty five." He said it in the darkest tone as possible. "T-twenty f-five people w-when you add t-the three o-of u-us t-to the number." He turned to Gleam. He could see she was about to scream. He knew everything was pacing the way it had been made out to be. He disliked it; disliked how he couldn't go against the future, but late—it was far too late. "T-they're peaceful p-pacifists. C-completely benign p-people t-trapped in this b-building. M-my s-sister is l-looking for an e-escape r-route." He could not say, say his sister had already known the escape route, he couldn't. "T-the r-remaining p-people. T-they're like u-us. T-trapped h-here." He could not continue, continue to speak. Could not continue.

Style knew something—something was beyond terrible. Beyond terrible, beyond terrible about the number—the number left behind. Twenty five people—twenty five people, twenty five remaining people. Something about the number disgusted her. Disgusted her. Disgusted her—the number. The number was disgusting. Twenty five people; disgraceful. It was absolutely disgraceful.

"Wow, no!" she cried. "That's terribysmal! Twenty five people is such a low number! How in the worldview did that happen?" she knew—knew that was a really bad move. Bad question, it was a bad question. "Oh, uh, on second thought," Style said. "Don't answer that! Sorry!"

Gleam could feel a scream embrace her. No. Twenty five people. Why? Why was the number so low? Why? Benign, he had said the people were benign. Benign, benign in every entirety. Twenty five people. Horrible, it was of an absolute horror. Twenty five people. Twenty five people. It was too horrible, too horrible for words. She could feel a scream embrace again. Terrible, it was too terrible. Too terrible for words.

Gleam's scream caught onto Style. Leave, they had to leave—Gleam, Gleam was absolutely indulged. The thought had to have shocked, shocked her entirely. Leave, they had to leave. Dangerous, the girl had to have been thinking something dangerous. Couldn't stay there any longer—leave. They had to leave the dorm room, leave before Gleam tired, tried out something of entire danger. She had to get Gleam out of there—out of there before it was too late.

"Thank you Seriphard," she answered. "Gleam is going to do something dangerous, so I'm taking her back to my dorm! Sorry for coming at such short notice!"

Seriphard walked over to the door and opened it for the two. It was not short notice—he knew, knew they would come. But he couldn't, couldn't say such to Style. No one could know, know such horrifying truth. Not a short notice, it was not a short notice. It wasn't of short notice, but he couldn't, couldn't say anything about it. He couldn't. Something else, he had to say something else.

"N-no," he said, shaking like a leaf. "I-it's o-okay. A-always happy to h-help. I-if you n-need help w-with G-Gleam's d-dangerous t-thinking, come b-back for me."


"I will," Style replied. "Thanks! See you again!"

As they left the dorm room and Seriphard shut the door, he sighed. This future to come. Inexorably marching on, it insisted on going the way—the way it had been set to. He wished he could change the future again, but it was too late. Used his three chances to change the future; he had used his three chances to change the future. As the thought graced him, he swore he could feel stone fill his stomach a bit. No, no, his magic was changing, and he hadn't—hadn't even done any impure acts. No, no. Was it wrong to tell the girls the truth, or had his lies of knowing, acting as if he didn't, catch up to him? He could feel the stone from inside stopped forming. An illusion, it was perpetual illusion.

"V-Vanguard, sister," he said to himself. "S-sorry, I u-used up my t-three f-future changing grants. I-it looks l-like I c-can't c-change the inevitable f-future…" as he sunk into the floor from the emotional pain, he knew. Knew everything would be over for him—over for him before he knew it.

Meanwhile, as Gleam and Style entered the dorm room, she could feel the thought. Die, she wanted to die—die for the better good of the universe. Die to save—save the remaining members of the ocean. Twenty five people including herself, there had only been twenty five people left. She couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't—die, die for the better good of the universe. She had to destroy the building after everyone but she escaped. She had to. Sick of it all, she was sick of the program existing. Destroy the building and die in the collapse, she would perform, perform the heroic act. Want to—she wanted to escape—escape the program. Have everyone else escape, she wanted everyone else to escape, escape as well.

Style noticed. Noticed Gleam had been locked deep into thought. What could she have been thinking? What could Gleam be thinking at this point? Know—she needed to know. While she knew it was rude, she knew, knew Gleam must have been thinking, thinking something entirely dangerous. The bottom of it, she had to get to the bottom of the thought before it was too late, she had to. Rude, she hated being rude, but she had to.

"What are you thinking, Gleam?" Style asked. "Don't deny something is on your mind."

Gleam didn't care—care if Style knew. Care if Style knew what she had been up to. She would not let her stop her; she would not let the girl stop her. He to, she entirely had to do this. It was time, time for action. She knew Style would stop her. Stop her from letting her do, do what she needed, wanted. She knew she would, she knew she would try to stop her—no time. There was bi time for that. Absolutely no time for that. Be clear with her opinion and decision, she had to make it clear.

"Sorry, Style," Gleam said. "I'm going to save the rest of you by using my life as patron." As she said such, her eyes glowed red. No sights of blood covering appeared this time. Good, everything was working.

Style clenched her teeth. Stupid, dangerous—the girl was doing dangerous things. Hit her, she wanted to hit her, but she couldn't. No hitting, there would be no hitting. Suicide, she had a suicide plan. She knew, knew this would happen. Stop her, stop her from doing what she wanted to—kill herself. She had to stop her in every way.

"Do you realize what you're saying?!" Style cried. "You say you're going to kill yourself to save everyone? That's stupid, Gleam! That's suicide! How do you even think you can achieve such a stupidity?!" hit her, she wanted to hit her, but she couldn't. Hear what she had to say, she had to let her talk.

Gleam sighed. She knew Style would call it stupid. Different from Chime, she was so different from Chime. Tell her anyway, she would tell her anyway what she had in mind. The rejections were going to continue either way, and she knew it.

She opened her mouth to speak again. "I'll destroy the building as all escape," she answered. "This building needs to go down, Style."

Style balled her hand into a fist. Such stupidity, such stupidity she was spouting. She could not allow, allow the stupidity to happen. The little girl, how could the little girl even hope to achieve? Achieve such stupidity? She could not allow it, she would not allow it, she shall not allow, allow her stupidity to become a truth. She couldn't. It could not happen, it would not happen; it shall not become a truth. She again balled her fist. Stupid, the girl was being stupid.

"You can't destroy the building! That's a stupid idea! It's just a suicide! You can't!" she cried. "You can't, okay? Do you even have the magic to do that?"

Gleam sighed. Now she had to state—state she was the Sovereign of Destruction. Didn't want to, she didn't want that to happen. Too late, now it was too late. She had to tell her she could, could destroy the building. She had to. She had to. No choice, she had no choice. If Style rejected her she couldn't be surprised. Tell her, she had to tell, tell she was the Sovereign—the Sovereign of Destruction.

"I can," she said. "I'm the Sovereign of Destruction, Style." She changed her expression to an inappropriate smile. "Sorry, this is how it has to be, Style. But, I appreciate your effort of being a good friend."

Style sighed. She gave up. She couldn't stop her, not with a reason like that. Been through a lot, she had been through a lot. As much as she hated the idea, she knew—she had to let her. Let her do what was needed. Do what had to be done. The answer she gave, she couldn't argue, she couldn't argue about it.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you?" she said, lowering her tone of voice. "Well, I guess this means I can't stop you. I'll let you do this." She sighed. "Sorry for stopping you."

Gleam blinked. Did she not say anything? Did she not say anything about her being a Sovereign? Different, this girl was so different. With her acceptance, she knew, knew she had to exit. Exit this moment. She turned to Style one last time. She had to exit, exit and exit now. No time, as the moments ticked, there would be more societal risk. She had to leave, leave right at that very moment.

As she thought such, she stood and headed for the door. "Thank you, Style," Gleam said. "Thank you for this week and for saving me a week before. I promise I'll save all of you, really."

Style sighed. How could she be so confident about dying? "Well, it's okay," she said. "Sorry for stopping you and all. I'll pray you do well." Her last words to Gleam, horrible, they were abysmal.

As Style had finished speaking, she knew. Knew it was time to exit. The perfect hallway, she knew her perfect hallway. As she exited the dorm, she headed to the place she knew well. The window, the window she had shattered. There had been a trigger, a trigger to destroying, destroying the entire building there—hidden, hidden on the ceiling. As she had spotted the window on the side, she stood and prepared. Prepared to die for the better good of the universe.

As she was about to destroy the building, or prepared in her case, a blinding light had made way in front of her, stopping her from preparing. Why? Why was someone getting in her way? Why now? Why now of all instances? As the light died down, a figure of a beautiful girl with angel wings appeared. No, stopping her, the girl was about to stop her.

The girl spoke. "Sorry, Gleam Noiyam," she said. "I can't allow this destruction to continue! This suicide isn't happening." She placed her hand on her chest. "My name is Vanguard Duosoard and I'm not letting this continue."

Gleam stared. Vanguard Duosoard. Vanguard Duosoard was stopping, stopping her wish. The last name, the last name, the last name, familiar, it was disgustingly familiar, and she could barely get over it.

End of chapter twenty five, next to come: how it'll all end, and how the wish will be fulfilled. The wish will be fulfilled, and it will be of a tragedy in its ending result. The final chapter, how it unrolls, unrolls in a tragedy!


******************************

The next chapter ends the main project.

Yup. It's ending with one more chapter on the line.

You can tell.
 

Palamon

Silence is Purple
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[FONT=&quot]Standing Creation - [/FONT][FONT=&quot] Vanguard Duosoard.[/FONT]

Chapter 26; Gleaming Glow of Light.

Gleam thought long and hard about the name Vanguard Duosoard. In a sudden instant, she realized: familiar. Something about the person had been entirely familiar. Something about the person had been entirely familiar. She didn't know why, why she felt like that she knew her. A feeling she didn't understand, it was a feeling she did not understand. A feeling she didn't even want to understand—why? Why was this girl stopping her? Why was Vanguard Duosoard stopping her from fulfilling her wish? She did not understand, did not understand why it had been so important, why it had been so important? Why was it so important to keep her alive? Why was it so important to a stranger? Why had it been so important her? Something about it had not been adding up? Nothing about it was adding up. Nothing. She wondered—Sovereign. Could this person have been a Sovereign? Could this person have been the last Sovereign remaining? Was she stopping her because she was after her? Was she stopping her for the entire reason of wanting to kill her instead? Was that why? Could that have been why? She knew if that were the case she would find a way around it. Enough, she had enough. Stupid, it was all too stupid. All too stupid to force herself to make sense of any of it. It was all absolutely pointless. Stopping her was pointless. Bother, why would anyone bother and go to all that trouble? Pointless, it was all pointless. Pointless in stopping her wish, just so pointless. Dying for the better good of the universe and destroying the building like she wanted to. Why couldn't the wish come true without a person interfering? An interference that always broke through—her purpose, it must have been a forced purpose. A blatant reason behind it, there must have been a reason behind this.

She studied the girl's appearance after too many moments in shock. The girl had quite long hair, perhaps the length of her bottom. The girl had hair reminiscent of an angel hairstyle. The hair on its own had been angelic looking of absolute beauty. She had beautiful light blue hair like she had never seen before. Her eyes had been the exact same color of Seriphard's eyes. Ink, the eyes were the color of ink. She again felt that feeling again—familiar. Her eyes had given it away. She was familiar. Her eyes were the deadest eyes she had ever seen; the girl barely looked alive, the girl did not look alive in the first place. On her back appeared to be angel wings. An angel, was the girl some kind of angel? The wings again produced a feeling, a familiar feeling, a feeling as if she had already met, already met her once before. Impossible; that had to, and was impossible. It was impossible—impossible. So impossible. She couldn't have met her; she had never seen her before. So why, why did she seem so familiar, why? Finally, Gleam examined the girl's clothing in an attempt to get a final sense of who she had been. Her clothes had been so white, so pale; it was as if she could see right through her. She wore white, practically clothing. It bothered her, the appearance bothered her.

She could not stand the thought, could not stand the thought of interference, interfering with her desire. She was interfering with her desire, and it was so aggravating. Why? Why did she insist on prying? Why did this stranger insist, insist to pry? Why, why couldn't she go? Why did everyone insist, insist on meddling? Insist on saving her? She failed to understand, failed. Why couldn't she allow her to do what she wanted? She knew that as long as the person had been there, as long as the person had been there, she knew, knew there wasn't a way to avoid her. Get the ball rolling. Explain to her, explain to the girl that she had to. Had to die for the sake—die for the sake of those who remained. Die for the sake of those who would remain. How little it mattered—mattered to her that the girl, the girl had been standing there. Vanguard Duosoard needed to know, know she could not change her mind at all. She wouldn't get that far, there was no way.

Gleam gave a fake smile to initiate a conversation. "Who are you?" she asked. "You know my name. Just who are you?" she could feel her blood boil with anger as she could feel the vicious thoughts—after her, this girl must have been after her. After her, and she figured in which she was stopping her for the reason, and that reason only. "Just who are you?" she cried. "Why do you insist to interfere? You're a Sovereign, aren't you? You're after me, too, aren't you?" she could feel an illicit fury undergo inside her skin. She figured it would occur either way, and she could barely care. Get rid of her if she was indeed after her. She would get rid of her if such were the case. Nothing ever worked, ever worked in her favor. "Who are you?" she asked fro the third time. "Why are you interfering?" repeating herself too much, she was repeating herself too much.

Vanguard glared at Gleam. What was she going on about? After her? One way or another, she had to get through to the girl. The destruction could not continue, it could not continue. She would fulfill her purpose in stopping her, she would fulfill it, fulfill exactly what she needed to. Tell her, she would tell her that she did indeed, did indeed have reasoning, reasoning behind everything. Reasoning behind it all. Tell her in order to stop her, she would tell her in order to change her mind. All the truths, all of what she had to say, everything. Everything she had to say. She had to before it was too late, had to; she had to before it was too late to explain it remotely; entirely. Confirm and disprove all. Everything had to be fixed, everything. Everything had to confirmed, everything, everything there was; absolutely everything and she had to say. Could not be unturned, it could not be unturned.

She gave another glare. Time for some questions, confirmations and answers. "Yes, I am a Sovereign," she replied. "The Sovereign of Prosperity." She sighed. "I would never even want to go after you. I'm here to prevent your destruction plan! I cannot allow you to do such a thing, Gleam. Think of the people who care about you and love you." Already, she was already going off to a tangent. Said what she had to say completely out of sequence, it was all out of sequence. But, it didn't matter, the sequence, and it wouldn't have to matter. "I've been watching over you for a long time," she replied. "Since your first battle, I've been keeping my eye on you. There have been so many instances in which I could have stopped you from doing your dangerous acts." She paused. "I didn't have a physical form then, but now I do, and now it is my turn to stop you!" she put on a brave face within moments to show her serious side.

Gleam allowed the information to sink in. Sovereign of Prosperity, Vanguard Duosoard was the Sovereign of Prosperity. The last Sovereign, she was the last one. The last Sovereign, the last and final Sovereign. Her name, Seriphard, she must have been related to Seriphard. Get everyone out of the program with her assistance; she had to change her mind. She had to somehow change her mind. Somehow, she had to. She wished it would be easy, easy to convince her. She thought over, thought over the second part Vanguard had said. Cared about her, cared about her. The girl, Style, gave in. She knew, knew Chime would stop her, but there was now way, there wasn't any time, wasn't any time to think, think about Chime. She had to convince her, had to convince her that this was the only way. The only way to save every single person.

She gave a fake smile once again. "Sorry," Gleam said. "This is just something I have to do." Her voice lost expression. "A thing I need to settle." She breathed pathetically. The girl had been watching over her. Why? She didn't want to find out the reason, the reason at all. "I really am sorry, but I have to do this. Sorry if your watching over me will end in failure."

Vanguard sighed. Would she have to attack her? Would she have to attack Gleam in order to fix her thinking? It was her final chance to save her, her final chance to completely save her before she did the damage. Save her before it was too late. If she continued to persist, she would indeed attack. Attack it out of her. She would attempt to attack it out of her. It was all she could attempt. Attempt in order to save her. Try, she had to try, try before going on to attack her.

Vanguard thought about it. Bring up everyone who tried to save her; she would bring up everyone who tried to save her. That would be the right move in the latter of knowledge. Wake her up, wake her up, it would wake her up and stop her. Completely stop her. Completely wake her up and stop her thinking. She had to get her to stop; it was all she had left to try before attacking. Remind her and bring up who had tried to save her, she would do it.

Within seconds, she knew it was time to try. "You do realize," she started. "That everyone trying to save you will be in vain, right?" was that even the right word? Was that even the correct word to use? She sighed and continued. "It will all be for vain." Was this going to be a bad way? A bad way to continue? "It will all be in vain. The boy who always protected you, Chime Nume, failed to save you. He used his last moments in life protecting you. He failed to save you from this moment." She started to pace around in order to continue. "My brother, Seriphard Duosoard tried to save you," she directed. "He used all three of his future changing chances in my place to save you. It looks like he will also fail to save you." One last person, she had one last person to go through. "The girl, Style Magle as well failed to save you, even, and you indeed persist on this. Please, think this over! Do you want everyone's efforts to be all in vain?" point made, her point had been made.

Gleam had barely listened. Barely listened to any of the possible arguments that the Sovereign had in store. She didn't want to hear them, did not want to hear them; did not want to hear the arguments she may have had. It didn't matter; it didn't even matter to her. All stupid, it was all so stupid. Did not matter, she could not change her mind. She would remain stubborn in her choice. She would remain entirely stubborn. Entirely stubborn with her choice. There was no way she would convince her, convince her to do anything. Would continue to be stubborn, she would continue to be stubborn. Show she would be insistent, she would show how insistent she was on this.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "But I really have to do this. You can't stop me. I've made up my mind, Vanguard. Please don't try to continue forcing yourself to try and stop what I wish to do." Why was she trying to stop her? Why? Why couldn't she be like every other Sovereign and want to kill her, why? Why had the last one have to be this way? Why? She highly disliked it, highly disliked how everything was playing out. "Why is this even so important to you?" she asked. "Why am I even important? I shouldn't even matter, so why do you care? Why? You really don't need to do this. Just let me do what has to be done! Enough with trying to stop me already!" while she knew, knew it was wrong to snap like that, she no longer cared to try, try in the attempt, try to do anything. Anything at this point. She no longer cared, no longer cared. No longer cared about anything. Fulfill her desire, she would fulfill her desire. Mattered none, nothing had mattered. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing had mattered, nothing mattered anymore. Find a way to get her to stop, find a way to get her to leave her be to escape everything. Find a way; she would remain to find the way.

Vanguard knew that this was now enough. Attack her, she would now attack her. She would now have to use the Seraphim Manifestation magic inside her, use the magic inside her to stop, to use her magic to force her to stop. All she could do. It was now obvious. Now obvious that she had to stop her in a way she didn't want to. She didn't want to, didn't want to resort to violence did not want to lose half of her life span by using her magic. She didn't want to cut half her life span again. Her magic, her magic cut her lifespan by half. By half each time she had used it. Five years remained. She knew with using her magic again, knew using it again would lead to her losing two years and six months. Worth the life span cut. This was worth the lifespan cut. Attack her to stop entirely. She would only attack her in order to stop her entirely.

She flapped her wings to the ceiling and prepared. Prepared her reluctant attack, her reluctant attack. "I'm a pacifist, but," she said. "If you continue to insist upon trying to do this, I'm sorry, but I'll have to attack you!"

Gleam completely sighed. Attack her; she was going to attack her. Mattered none. The delay, the delay did not matter. Matter whatsoever. It did not matter, she no longer cared. No longer cared that this person attempted to do, to do in order to stop her. What the Sovereign continued to do. How little it mattered. How little it continued to mattered. How little it continued matter. How little it continued to matter to her. It was all a ruse, all must have been a ruse. A ruse to stop her. Stop it later; she would stop the attack later. Not now, she could not do such now.

Vanguard stretched her arms out in order to collect the energy. The energy to manifest. Manifest the angel of fire in her body. Within two moments, a holy drowned Vanguard. The holy light, the holy light had begun. Begun to harbor, harbor inside her body. As the light strengthened, the sight of an angel going inside her body soon became evident. As the angel became a part of her system, she could feel the transfusion of the angel's soul and her soul mashing together. She hated the feeling of the soul transfusion. As the final moments of the transfusion ended, she could feel the cut, the new cut in her lifespan. As the time had finally ended, the fire swirled around her body. Time to unleash the attack; it was time to unleash the attack.

"Fire angel, hear me!" she cried. "I give you half my lifespan to initiate a slight fire barrage! Show me the way of the fire!"

As the chant ended, Vanguard placed her hands into a wide position. As the fire surrounded her body and collected into her hands, she closed her eyes. When such had been established, the attack launched. She hoped and pleaded. Hoped and pleaded it wouldn't do too much damage. Hoped and pleaded it would not do any damage. Hated causing damage, she hated causing damage.

Gleam eyed the fire, eyed the fire as she could see the attack becoming more vicious. She didn't care, care that the attack was about to hit. Let it hit, she would let the attack hit. She didn't even so much as care. Didn't even so much as care, even so much as care about the fire. Within seconds, a smile graced her face as the fire travelled, travelled swiftly to her clothing and body. As the fire broke deep into her skin, she continued to smile. Numb, the fire felt entirely numb. Attack back, she would not attack back.

As the attack had ended, she could feel the fire surround her singe. She could feel the fire vanish and become nothing, vanish and become nothing, vanish and cease to do anything. She could then feel the final action. She could feel the angel exit her body and the new cut, the new cut in her lifespan. All would be over, all would be over. All would be convincing. The attack would convince her, convince her, convince her to stop; it would play a role to convince, convince in changing her mind. As such had been done, and the angel entirely left her body, she dropped to the ground and flinched. No way, no way was going to allow this to continue. Convince her to stop, would this convince her to finally stop her dangerous notion?

Gleam sighed. On attack, just one attack. Human magic. Human magic, one instance of non lethal human magic. She couldn't hurt her, she couldn't hurt this Sovereign. Benign, she couldn't hurt anyone of which was benign. She couldn't. There was no way. Her decision, her decision in the end—die. Die for the better good of the universe; destroy the building. She wanted her to give up. She decided on the attack, decided on the attack, decided on the slight attack. She wanted to stop her line of thinking. She wouldn't let the girl continue to try to force, force her to try and convince her, convince her in stopping.

Gleam formed her hands into a circle. Underneath her legs appeared her magic circle. She wrote the words seed pluck onto the magic circle. From the magic circle emerged a half dozen diamonds, the color of seeds. Pluck on her face as if a bird, they would pluck on her face as if she were a bird. The hardness of the diamonds transformed. The hardness of the diamonds further transformed, transformed into something softer. Something completely softer. The diamonds became the hardness of about a flurry of seeds as the transformation had been done. She watched quietly as the diamonds travelled to her face. Within seconds, the attack and Vanguard met. Stupidly, she watched, watched as the seeds plucked her. As the seeds plucked her, she watched, watched the attack. Within moments, the attack ended. That had to have been that. She knew, knew however it wouldn't work. Continue to convince her, she would continue in convincing her. She would continue to attempt, attempt to convince her that she would not, not let her alter, alter her decision.

Vanguard had finally decided. One more attack, it would only take one more attack. One more attack. One more attack, just one more. Cut her lifespan in half once more. She would cut her lifespan in half once more. As such had been thought and done, Vanguard flapped her wings and flew, flew to the ceiling. Water angel, she would this time initiate the use, the use of a water angel to attack. She didn't wish to continue, didn't wish to continue, didn't wish to attack twice, but she had to. She had to do such. No choice, there was no choice in her choosing. As it was obvious it was time, Vanguard stretched her arms out to allow, allow the angel inside her body.

Gleam sighed. Sick of this, she was sick of this fight already. She was tired of dragging everything out, tired of having Vanguard drag the battle out. Tired of forcing a battle, forcing a battle to drag out her saving of everything. Stop it; she had to put a stop to it. No more, she couldn't take it anymore. No more, she could not take this girl's preventing any longer. No longer. This could go on no longer. Say something, she had to say something to stop, stop this from continuing. Something, she had to say something, anything.

"Stop!" she cried. Not loud enough, it must not have been loud enough. "STOP!" she proceeded to shout. "Please, let's stop this. I don't feel like battling you, okay? I'm sorry, Vanguard, I'm out of options here. I'm really sorry, but this is what I have to do. Please stop trying to change my mind."

Vanguard sighed and placed her hands at her sides. She couldn't win, she just couldn't convince her. She just couldn't convince her to stop, stop with this suicide. Give up and help her fulfill her wish, she would help her fulfill her wish. As the thought graced her, she knew it would be best, best to do what she wanted. Selfish, it was so selfish. So selfish that she had been trying to stop her. Enough, enough with the selfish desire. It was enough. It was enough, Vanguard forced herself onto the ground and began, began to regret, regret what she was about to do.

She sighed. "Alright, I give up," she said. "I guess there is no way I can convince you to stop. It was indeed selfish of me to stop you as well. I give you the utmost of my apologies." She breathed and paused. "Whatever it is, I guess I can help you. I give you my word that I will do what you ask of me."

Gleam blinked. Help her. She had suddenly made the decision to help her? Why the sudden change? She knew, knew now she could get her to find some way, find some way to helping her get everyone to escape, to escape the building with absolute safety. She knew, somehow she knew, knew that Vanguard might have known. Known the building escape routes. She must have known. Get her to get the twenty four including Vanguard out. Vanguard could tell, tell the remaining to evacuate. She decided, decided to get ready, get ready to tell her.


She breathed her final breath and stalled for a moment. "I'm going to destroy Mariibo Rumaibo with my Sovereign magic," she replied. "But, I'm going to need you to escort everyone alive out. Could you do me the favor and help me find a way to get the twenty three, including yourself, out of here?" she gave a smile as it all was becoming the truth, a corpse, she would finally, finally be a corpse, finally be the corpse she craved to be and escape, escape the building, escape the program permanently. "Could you find a way?" she asked again. "I'm sure you know one way around."

Vanguard knew. She knew, knew the location. The location, the location of the evacuation door. Allow the others to escape. Allow the others to escape the program. But what about Gleam? What had she been planning? Destroy the building. What about the corpses? What would become of her and the corpses? Before continuing, she needed the nerve to ask, ask about the corpses. Though, constantly stalling was the use of the selfish, selfish to delay all.

She gave Gleam a look of practical regret. "What about the corpses?" she asked with a hint of regret in her voice.

Stupid question. Why had Vanguard been asking such a dumb question? Joining the corpses. Joining the corpses like she craved, craved. Craved becoming a corpse. It was time for her to say, say she will be joining, joining the corpses. She would join the corpses. No more delaying. No more delaying at all. She could not delay this any longer. She could not delay this any longer. It was time.

"I'll be joining them," she said, beginning to place a suicidal smile on her face.

Vanguard had to remind her, had to remind her that this was what the creator had wanted her to do. Despite it all, despite his departure, he would still be able to receive her power anywhere. It was what the creator wanted, but she knew. Knew, knew she could no longer attempt, attempt to stop her. Remind her, she still had to remind her otherwise. She still had to. She still had to remind her, remind her that it was exactly what the creator wanted. Exactly what the creator wanted. It was what the creator wanted. Quickly, she would say such in order to remind, remind her. Selfish, it still however, had to have been selfish.

She gave Gleam a look of the dead. "You know, you do realize that by doing this," she said and paused to get into the mindset. "You are doing what the creator wants, correct?" she needed to remind her, remind her he could still get to her powers, no matter how far, how far she would be from him. "He has a way to steal your powers. He will; I know he's a God now, but he still can steal your powers. He used a rewriting spell to make such possible." Why? Why did a twelve year old have to go through all of this? Why did a twelve year old have to go and deal, deal with any of this? "You're still twelve," she slid in. "You'll never experience what it's like to be a teenager."

Gleam tried not to feel hostilities as Vanguard seemingly tried again in delaying this. Why did she continue to delay? Why did she continue to delay this over and over again? Almost annoying, it was almost annoying, but now was not the time. Now was not the time for such. She couldn't. Couldn't get angry and ruin it now. Freedom, she wanted her last emotion to be freedom. Freedom and nothing else. An open and free emotion—all she wanted, that was all she wanted.

"I know," Gleam replied. "I know it's what the creator wants. But I don't want to be in a world where Chime doesn't exist." She breathed to maintain control of herself. "I don't want to be in this world as long as I'm alone, and living in a world without the happiness I once sought? It's a stupid one?"

Vanguard understood. She understood now. There was no way Gleam was going to back down and out of this; there was no way she was going to. Do what she had to. She would do what she had to. She knew. Knew it was time, time to do what had to be done. Escort the twenty three others out. She had to escort the twenty three out now. No more dawdling and asking of question. Time for action and for action now. Time to do what had been needed to do; it was time to do what had been needed to do. She knew, knew she would need, need to use an angel, an angel for that notion.

She reflected upon her decision. Reflected upon it before going on, before going on with what she knew had to have been done. "Alright. I'll do it," she said. "I know where the exit is located. I'll send an angel out to escort everyone out of the building."

As everyone flew over to the ceiling for the third time, she stretched her arms out in order to allow an angel to manifest. An angel of sound, she would manifest an angel of sound in her body. The holy light, the holy light was starting. Her body slowly began to harbor an angel within her body. As the light strengthened, the sight of an angel going into her body soon became more evident than before. As the angel became a part of her system, she could feel the pain of the transfusion of the manifestation of the soul into her body. As the transfusion ended, the cut became more evident than before. One year and three months. She now had one year and three months remaining. She now had one year and three months of her life remaining. As the transformation and transfusion ended, the barrier of sound surrounded her body. Time to do what was needed; it was time to do what had been needed.

"Sound angel, hear me!" she cried. "I give you half my lifespan to send out a warning to the skies!"

As the chant ended, Vanguard placed her hand over her ears to initiate her sound blast. As she could feel the shout she needed to say inside her, she practically fainted from the everlasting pain. The everlasting pain of losing, losing her lifespan. Within moments, she shouted with her accompanied sound angel:
"To all, this is the angel of the sound speaking! I'm here to inform you we have found a way out of this program! Into the world, you will see, there is a hidden fire exit on the first floor! Embrace your escape as this will be your one and only opportunity. Embrace it!"

The sound of the voice, the sound of the voice shook entirely through the walls, panning through the dorms as well. She knew it had been loud enough; it had all been loud enough. Loud enough for all to hear. Loud enough, it had been loud enough.

As her work had ended, she could feel the angel leave from inside her body. She dropped to the ground and felt a sudden weakness break inside her. All too much, the strain was all too much, but she knew, knew this was a result, a result of the angel going inside her body. She knew, knew this was the direct result. As the dizziness completely ripped her apart, the weakness killed her on the inside. She could hear all the leftover, all the leftover sounds of the evacuations of all the people. It was a strange feeling, a strange feeling to hear everything now.

After ten minutes, Vanguard was sure everyone had been out of their dorm rooms. Alert Gleam that everyone had been out, she had to alert her that such had been established. Out, everyone had been out. Everyone had exited the building. Alert Gleam such, she had to alert her everything was ready. Ready for her to do what she needed. She breathed and tried to crack through the weakness going all around her body. It was time; time to tell her as delaying was over.

She looked over to Gleam's left. "Everyone is out now, Gleam," she said. "Go on. You may destroy the building now."

Gleam shook her head. No, not yet. Not yet, become her spirit form. She had to have Vanguard go into her spirit form. She couldn't allow, couldn't allow her to get caught in the blast.

"No, not yet," Gleam said. "Please go into your spirit form. I don't want to hurt the Sovereign of Prosperity." She smiled a fake and lying smile. "I'm going to save you, too!" she exclaimed. "You're part of the benign society. You need saving as well."

Vanguard exasperatedly blinks. Within a second, she tugged her wings; a beautiful, yet useless vortex overtook her. The Sovereign magic, however, not having a place of which to go vanished. Her body, her body acknowledged such magic had been done; her body vanished, vanished as she again had forever lost her physical form. This was the end. The end of Mariibo Rumaibo.

"Thank you, Vanguard."

As Gleam thanked Vanguard, she could feel that she was ready, ready to die to fulfill the final purpose she had left. The final purpose left inside her. Before everything had to prepare, she smiled a death smile and said her last words.
"This time, Chime," she said. "This time I'll join you and no one is stopping me, so get ready."

As everything was final, a gleaming glow of light overtook her. It had been a while, a while since the feeling of the Earth were to come into her hands, and she was more than ready for the feeling, the feeling of the Earth in her hands had then came. She knew the next part would decide it all—the perfect and final part of the act. A cluster of energy came into her hands. After the attack had been done charging, she quickly released it. The attack travelled to the foundation trigger planted into the ceiling and vibrated throughout the walls. The feeling of the building's destruction shambled entirely throughout the building. The gleaming glow of light ended, everything was beginning to end gracefully.

As the weakness overcame her, Gleam fell to the floor, back facing the ceiling. As the crumbling building began to crush her and her life thinned, she smiled, embracing death with open arms. She could feel her vision blacken. The end, this was the end. This was the end. Moments and moments of everlasting collapsing took her over. Eventually, the entire collapse of the building hit Gleam. Fragments of the building broke her lungs. She could feel her brain numb, her lungs break, and her heart stop. Over, she could leave the world forever and it would be glorious. The final shake came by; final fragments of the program dangerously fell onto Gleam. The final moments, the final moments were now. As Gleam closed her eyes permanently, the building became no more. Gleam Noiyam, Gleam Noiyam no longer existed. Free, the answer she would receive, the life, the life of Gleam Noiyam now ceased, ceased to be of the living.

As the building had been reduced to rubble, Vanguard could feel the tears embrace her as she saw her brother and everyone of the remaining society had evacuated. Why? Why had it had to be this way? It was only now she realized—the gleaming glow of light, the gleaming glow of light was gone forever. There would be no more, no more reason, reason for her to see. See a world the way it was.

She continued to cry rivers. Why? Why did Gleam Noiyam's light have to die? Why? She shook her head quietly. The gleaming glow of light, the gleaming glow of light would be happier, happier in the afterlife. She continued to float by absent of her physical form. The gleaming glow of light, Gleam Noiyam would search and find the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect and find everlasting happiness.

Vanguard closed her eyes and turned away from the ugly world. At least the little girl escaped, escaped the standing creation.

End of Standing Creation - ♥ Vanguard Duosoard. The journey ends here, and it will end for eternity.

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This is the end! I... I thank you for reading.
 
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