“Admin...istrator?” William mumbled a word he had never understood. It described some sort of authority in various notes in the library.

  The voice, made up of many others, returned, uncaring about his confusion or lacking decorum. It considered the circumstances and knew what to call.

  Did it sound pissed off? William wasn't sure if it was even one thing or if the voices were in his head.

  The Administrator sounded reluctant to continue with useless jabber when the flow of things kept pressing on. William was unable to think further than regarding the voice as... worse? It felt wrong; just what was happening or who was speaking to him as if he wasn't in the middle of this already insane revolution? In fact, why the freaking hell was the time slowing down, the demon panicking, and his mind stiffened, and so did that sick redness?

  Yet those voices reduced the others and spoke as if they were a reluctant accountant caring for a young, clueless customer.

  

  Who would even know it if not this one?!

  [Oh, name' Crevine. You've come a long way and become a fine Defiant, Sixth. Now, it is fine to add lines into the globe and call you Sixth, correct?]

  No answer.

  [You are at least quick, and even living, which is appreciated. You should rise higher if you want to live. You should come far if you want this time not to end in the all-familiar misery. Oh, I see it already. You shouldn't rise, I see.]

  [Time is ticking... Tick... Tick... Tick...]

  

  If William saw anything, then that would be millions of motes of Screens that changed constantly. Then the numbers turned into a big zero, which grew shaky, as if it were turning to dust and air, reaching beyond the infinity that was close yet impossibly far.

  William was unable to speak or think, feeling blood in his throat dribble and sizzle, and when his spine began to creak in a sluggish pull, he was that close to truly going dark.

  Hough was also close, looking slow as if underwater, and didn't push the button again. It was not the right time, as this case was unique and different from Celeste, but where and how? It wasn't just a matter of color. That was it. This should be taken care of, for the nature of the blood showed up.

  William saw that syringe still in his hand, contraption moving as if delayed and breaking, and throbbing liquid pulped into his forearm, looking bad and pulsing. And blinking in some light and noises, yet... what were noises, if not everything he had always known? His own thoughts were that. His own voice was that. Then there was the rest...

  Crevine said.

  The answer was obvious, but not piteful.

  

  The mirror remained calm for a time, as did the demon, which took on a smaller, more customary appearance, as if it had anticipated this moment and didn't wish to break.

  

  [Of course, no one will. This is a world and a word set in heaven—that rules are to be broken, yet tolerated. You won't... defy that, aye?]

  

  William watched himself, still looking red, lofty, and getting more and more out of his eyes as if looking took way too much effort. His concentration was slipping, which led to more panic. He couldn't do shit about what went on in his body, or this voice, or voices.

  Thankfully, Hough felt the timing was getting there according to his monitors, and not out of sight of this adversary, as he was unaware of the heavenly conversation happening outside everyone's ears, right beside him.

  He accelerated the flow, just as he had with anything beforehand, and let the liquids and steep energy change, transform, and, in turn, shake William awake. This helped the demon feel significantly better, but it also left the Administrator feeling misplaced.

  It won't be. Crevine very much liked and preferred every Defiant and enjoyed the tremble of the forthcoming pact.

  It was a heavy word, similar to responsibility. No matter how William disliked it or felt about the syringe, he wasn't sure what was real or not. He failed to sense the and the Screens remained, the dull zero remaining close and itching forward and out of this room, or reality itself.

  

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  William briefly thought about what sort of syringe should even be this fucking thick, or pumping, or what kind of questionable use could it have. It left a nerve-wracking pain that was loosening and fading, yet the contraption was sturdy, sizzling away in a thin mist that was starting to form from the blood and what was happening below it.

  Hough wasn't panicking, though his heart bled for this single-use contraption that had taken months to create in the Association. The skin moved further apart, allowing it to slip into the body, leaving the clothes bloodstained and vanishing.

  

  William began to laugh, gritting his teeth and his arms, feeling silly because nothing made any sense.

  Was it what was happening all alone, or always? Was this the point he had waited for all these years? He was a mere tool, subject, and dog tossed away by his parents until something fucking mattered again. Or not at all.

  His parents... What were they doing? For what did they even leave him, or bring him into this world? No. He was alone. He was wrong. He was evil.

  Hough watched as William laughed, which indeed created new issues with his machinery.

  “That is the... first.” He said, frowning and thinking he should laugh as well, but it didn't seem right.

  “Blood loss is getting ahead of this brat. Insertion is loose,” one of the Butlers said.

  “Less yapping, more protecting,” another Butler said.

  “Stability is key,” Hough urged and snapped his finger. “Pivot to the Accelerator and the chair, leave the brat to his device if he is laughing it off. Let him have it. Let him have it all.”

  Butlers agreed, though they wondered if it was that clever to leave their barriers on those machines alone.

  By now, William appeared crazy and out of his freaking mind.

  

  William was small, weeping and screaming in a white room, bloodied, and shuddering in memory and reality of his situation. He forgot it, but then... he did not.

  Surrounded by blood and ruined Darks, there was a big contrast to everything, as white and redness never felt appealing. Nothing was black. Yet, among this contrasting room, there was his mother, who arrived and crouched before him, assuring him, yet looking vague like a ghostly fairy. No. A shadow, she was confusing and hard to grasp.

  the demon figured.

  William thought, skipping a beat when his mind and memory shifted, and he found himself in his young and distant self with his real, laughing self.

  He went back. He had to! The vision shifted and sharpened. Then, he watched his mother's face. She was very pretty, gentle, and... real. Alive!? Her eyes were a bit tired, her nose was thin and high, her mouth was trying to remain smiling, and her blond hair was scattered behind her back. She was sweet... looking proud and worried for him.

  “William...”

  He was still weeping because he couldn't change what had happened. Did he ruin it? He made mistakes all the time, and someone did not like it, but who? He was his own host, looking at what happened as if he had discovered it for the first time ever, but deep down, this thing was always there. Waiting.

  

  “No...”

  

  William couldn't argue about it, since he felt his weeping deepened, and his feelings about seeing his mother again were stronger than anything else.

  So when the steps echoed in the room, revealing a figure in black, rough armor, invading the scenery of white and red, he stopped what he was doing and noticed the intruder. He couldn't see the face.

  But the voice? The one breathless and emotionless? “Is it another failure, Eliza?”

  “Viktor. We talked about it,” the mother said, patting William's small and bloody head. The Emblem in his hand was exposed, resembling the same coin that appeared bigger because of a smaller hand.

  “I suggested a different route before. We should try it. Try anything because time is getting short.” Viktor offered.

  “He is still five years old.”

  “I was five when everything overturned. You were... what?”

  “Third, and we aren't talking about this anymore!” Eliza argued, getting up.

  Viktor approached her, and his sheer presence and size overwhelmed her. “It is a critical time. Do you want to wait?”

  “Everyone needs to wait from time to time.”

  “Even us?” he said, hiding his genuine emotions.

  Eliza made a difficult face, crossed her arms, and turned to William, who stopped bleeding and walked forth and pulled on that pretty, ghostly coat. He slipped because of corpses along the way, which were slowly dissolving into thin mist.

  “He is... different,” she said with difficulty.

  [We are... right? Different is something better than good or bad, right? I like different. Are you?]

  “Force, death, and we know what's next, Eliza. We don't have a lot of moments.” Viktor pulled a knife out from his pocket and tossed it at crawling William, who didn't even notice a thin mist coming out of his arm and catching that knife, snapping it in half.

  Eliza sighed, wishing for more time, when one more knife came and hit the flesh, letting blood flow, and crimson to change.

  “I will send more out. Agree?” Viktor asked.

  “No... I will do it.”

  “What?”

  Eliza rushed forward, grabbing William, who was confused and screaming, as the crimson sight became increasingly real and forceful. A finger penetrated Eliza's shoulder, coming from a thin, snake-like crimson tendril.

  She embraced him, getting brighter and brighter until she resembled a small sun.

  Viktor was reluctant to speak or do anything. He watched his wife do something she never wanted to do, but he wished to get it done, so she tried.

  William watched it, feeling this searing his mind with force, yet he had never known its meaning.

  [It is confusing...] the demon said, skipping this memory and turning to the darkness because it was getting way too hazy.

  William wished for more, wanting to watch his mother, but she cracked his hand as she tried something new or looked for answers.

  There was a lot of pain, yet she was close, so whatever he thought became lost because she slipped.

  Then, he couldn't remember anymore.

  

  There were a lot of those, and the word "pain" had multiple meanings and interpretations.

  William watched a familiar sight—a leaving hand of his mother, who then ran away, and left him surrounded by a globe of light.

  

  “Mother... left?” William asked, lapping for breath and shock as he let her leave, or... she didn't want him anymore? It was the same damn confusion as the last time.

  Emotions left him confused and angry, and he felt she no longer cared about him. Then, the memory cracked, turning to something else that he had never seen.

  

  They fell, watching as Eliza didn't leave William behind, but let him out of the streets. What came out of it was fast, as if they were watching sections of a movie in pieces or fragments scattered across time and multiple scenes.

  William didn't get anything from it, but he noticed Eliza was wounded and crying. Then, there came that big, hideous Creature, wide and tall, and a Rift akin to a new vertical starry sky.

  It killed them both, gnawed her face off, and then... approached William.

  

  William wasn't even sure of what was real or not. He didn't give a shit anymore. He dreamed of his mother, yet she died, and left, so what was likely? Him dying or her getting out? He should accept the death of everything and everyone, including himself.

  

  William wasn't one who had done this, so this shity devil had better get it into its spiky head. He was like a prisoner of watching what he didn't know or didn't want to know.

  At least his mother didn't return as , nor did she want to kill him as a human, or something far worse, and didn't pain him one more time.