"Ngh…"
Nicholas groaned as he stretched. He had just stepped out of the police station after a round of basic questioning, doing his best to offer information without revealing his other life.
They're suspicious of me, he thought. Oh well.
Maybe he had shared a little more detail than "Nicholas Darklight" should realistically have known, yet he figured it was better to cooperate with the law, even if he had to be careful about it.
People passing by glanced at him oddly. He could hardly blame them. He looked exhausted after barely sleeping, and that sleep had been in a car at that. On top of it all, something else had gone wrong.
"I lost them…" he muttered as he walked away from the station.
He let frustration show on his face. The mist he had placed on the thugs was gone. It had vanished at some point without him noticing, leaving him unable to track them. He could not tell when it had happened or why.
"This is fine. It's fine, it's fine…" He tried to console himself despite knowing he had made a serious mistake.
What bothered him most was not even the consequences, but the mystery of it. Had the mist disappeared completely? Had it somehow returned to him on its own? Was the distance too great? Did it have a time limit he had never learned about?
"Too many questions and no answers." He wished, more than anything, that there was a manual for whatever his ability truly was.
Calling the Darkness merely versatile felt like an understatement, and he was certain he had barely scratched the surface of its potential. He originally believed his power only allowed him to create physical objects, but that was no longer true.
He revisited Jeremy's memories, confirming once again that they were truly engraved into his mind. He had used the Darkness to look inside Jeremy's fractured mind and force a piece of sanity back into place. Whether he meant to do that or not, he had no idea.
It had not been his intention. He hadn't even known it was possible.
Someone else did.
Someone else had shown him what he could do.
"That voice… it had to be them."
He recalled the mysterious whisper that sometimes echoed in his thoughts. It had spoken to him before: Find me.I'm here. And at times: Your darkness grows. Or is growing.
The voice was strange, neither fully male nor female. It whispered softly, yet he heard it with perfect clarity. It sent a chill down his spine, but it also made him feel serene. It should not have been possible for a voice to feel both terrifying and beautiful.
"If I had to choose, I'd say it sounded a little more feminine," he breathed out. But thinking about it now was pointless. He had bigger concerns.
For example, he now carried the memories of another human being entirely.
It was unsettling. He could recall most of Jeremy's life with perfect clarity, as if he had lived it himself, yet it did not conflict with his own identity. The memories sat inside him without trying to overwrite who he was. He knew he was Nicholas Darklight, not Jeremy. There was no confusion.
If he had to describe it, he would say that he was the librarian and Jeremy was a book stored safely on a shelf.
Though the book of Jeremy seemed to be in perfect condition, some pages were blurred, as if certain parts of Jeremy's life had been deliberately obscured. Nicholas could not tell why those memories were missing, nor what had erased them.
Still, the fragments he had access to gave him a general idea of where the remaining thugs might be hiding. Their base was most likely somewhere in the northern part of the Villain District.
And their boss… a massive figure wrapped in shadows, a man whose features were completely hidden. He had never been named in Jeremy's memories, yet Nicholas knew without a doubt.
This was the Big Man.
A pillar of evil.
Or was it a pillar of villainy? Probably villainy.
Nicholas vaguely recalled a conversation he once had with Philip, where Philip explained that four major criminals governed the Villain District of Fusionight. The entire district was divided into four territories: North, South, East, and West. Outside of that, there was very little information on them, only a handful of titles passed around by terrified witnesses and anonymous criminals.
The West had 'The Man With Many Questions.'
"That is probably the Mind," Nicholas muttered under his breath.
The South had 'The Family.'
The North had 'The Ruthless One.'
"That one might be the B.M."
And the East was ruled by the most mysterious of them all: 'The Imperceivable.'
None of these leaders had a public image. No photographs existed, no videos, not even a confirmed eyewitness testimony. Everything was hearsay and rumor, pieced together from panicked whispers and confessions.
The Imperceivable seemed to be the nightmare of every awakened individual in the city. People claimed that they could end battles before they began, that they could be everywhere at once, and yet never be seen. There were even rumors that Ultimus, the strongest human on the planet, avoided Fusionight City entirely because of the Imperceivable.
"Anyways..."
Nicholas exhaled, realizing his thoughts had drifted again. It was a habit he was all too familiar with. Losing himself in his thoughts was one of the few things that genuinely made him feel at ease.
Daydreaming, he believed people called it. Maybe that was what he was doing. He was never entirely sure his thoughts fit into any normal description, but he accepted it.
He slapped his cheeks lightly, drawing some curious looks from passing civilians.
Focus. He was getting sidetracked again.
Going back to Jeremy's book and flipping the pages until the very end, he saw it.
Slash Draw.
"Where do I even begin with her..?"
She was a crazy woman, without a doubt.
She went from being emotionless in their first encounter to full of life in their second to straight up psychotic in their third.
In one clear cut, she had sliced the monster that was Jeremy, and after that started asking Unknown questions on why he was a vigilante.
Nicholas was surprised at his own mental strength to be able to think and answer her questions despite what had happened.
Though… looking back at it now, he didn't believe he really thought about his answers all that much.
He said that he helped for the sake of it, that he couldn't look away, and that he doesn't care about himself.
He was really just spouting whatever came to mind just to get her to leave him alone.
"I want to change…" That much was at least true.
He wasn't sure what exactly he wanted to change, but he wanted something to change.
And he needed to think about what that change was and soon, for he had a feeling that it wouldn't be long until he ran into her again.
He needed to give her a definitive answer.
So that she wouldn't kill him.
For now, though, he focused on something else. He wanted to explore this new side of his power. He needed a quiet place to think, a place where no one would bother him.
He decided to return to the park, the same one where the circus incident had taken place. The horrors were gone now, vanished with the freak show, and the space had returned to what it once was.
A patch of green in a city of steel and glass. A place that pretended, even if only for a moment, that nature still belonged here.
…
Nicholas covered a yawn with his hand.
Exhale.
He leaned against the bench.
Inhale.
He was trying to meditate. Or, more accurately, he was trying to figure out how meditation even worked.
He had read online that it was supposed to help with stress and improve mental clarity. Supposedly, it could even help someone "look inward," whatever that meant. Since he believed the key to accessing someone's memories had to be tied to his own mind, meditation seemed like the best starting point.
But whenever he tried to recall the mental space where Jeremy's memories had appeared, all he found was emptiness.
So he sat here, steady breathing, trying to clear his thoughts, hoping he could recreate that strange inner silence.
He'd always thought meditation and spirituality were nonsense. Yet right now, it felt like the only thing that made sense.
…Eventually, he opened his eyes.
"Maybe it is nonsense."
He had been at it for thirty minutes with no result whatsoever.
"Or maybe I'm doing something wrong…"
"Oho~? Is that Nicky-chan I see?"
Nicholas grimaced, of all people.
"What do you want, Haru?"
Haru, his classmate and self-proclaimed half-Japanese friend, beamed at him. Nicholas's tone had been heavy with exasperation, but Haru ignored it completely.
"My, my, Nicky-chan. Why so cold? I just came to say hi."
"You're a nuisance."
"Cold as always, Nicky-chan~"
Without permission—and without shame—Haru plopped down on the bench. He adjusted his loud, colorful sunglasses.
"It's rare to see the mysterious Darklight out in the sun. Outside school hours, anyway."
"Am I part of some wildlife documentary..?" Nicholas muttered.
"So when I spotted you sitting completely still, I had to check. I thought you'd died or something."
"…I was just enjoying what little nature's left in the city."
He didn't feel like explaining meditation to Haru. He didn't trust Haru not to make it weird.
"Hm… Yeah, this place is nice. But you know where it's even better? Japa— OUGH!"
Nicholas slapped him before he could finish.
"I get it, Haru. Everything's better in Japan," he said with a sigh.
Nicholas had once considered traveling the world. Even Japan was on the list. But after months of Haru's nonstop Japan-worship, the idea had become… less appealing.
I'm never going to Japan, just because of this guy.
This guy… Haru…
"Actually… I don't think I saw you at the dance yesterday," Nicholas said.
"Oh? Well, what can you do when you've got errands to run?"
"Seriously?" Nicholas gave him a look of disbelief. How could he not when Haru and Dick had expressed such great interest in attending? He shook his head. "What about Dick?"
"Family stuff, I think."
"So you don't know what happened yesterday?"
"The shaking and the smoke? I heard about that."
"No, not that. What happened at the dance."
"At the dance..? No, nothing. Everyone I talked to was just freaked out about the whole… monster thing?" Haru sounded unsure, even saying it.
"There was nothing like that," Nicholas replied quickly.
He let out a small, inward sigh of relief.
"Wait. Did you do something dumb again?" Haru asked, suspicion rising.
Nicholas didn't answer. He just closed his eyes and leaned back, letting the sunlight warm his face.
"Oi. You totally did something dumb. Didn't you?" Haru prodded, mischief bubbling in his voice. "Tell me what you did."
"You'll find out soon enough. Just know everyone probably hates my guts," Nicholas said, resigned to the inevitable fallout.
"Yeah, what else is new?"
"Dick."
"Not my name."
"At least retort back with an insult…" Nicholas rubbed his face.
Haru only laughed.
"Hey," Nicholas said suddenly, "if someone asked you out of nowhere what your purpose was, what would you say?"
"How random." Haru tapped his chin theatrically. "But if I had to answer on the spot, I'd say my purpose is to annoy Nicky-chan~"
"Of course it is."
Nicholas let out a loud sigh. What exactly had he expected from Haru? Then again, Dick probably would've given an even worse answer.
"Hey, Nicky. Do you believe in ghosts?"
Nicholas snapped his head toward him, eyes widening—not just at the question, but because Haru didn't add the usual "-chan."
"Ghosts? I might've, when I was a kid."
"We're still kids, dum-dum."
"Half and half, then. There's already so much weird stuff in the world that I wouldn't be surprised if ghosts—or even magic—existed."
Haru nodded along as if this was the most reasonable thing he'd ever heard.
"Mhm. Hm. Mhm."
Nicholas gave him a tired look. "Why do you ask?"
"What? You can ask a random question, but I can't?"
Nicholas stared at him blankly, then rubbed his face again. "Fine. Whatever." He leaned back on the bench.
Haru slapped his shoulder lightly. "Relax. I'm kidding. I just overheard people yesterday and earlier today talking about seeing ghosts around the city. Crazy, right? You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
It was odd—Haru asking him that so directly.
"Of course not—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
The crab-like monster under the school. When he cut its back open, countless shadowy figures spilled out.
He hadn't thought about them again until now.
Was there a connection?
"Though if you ask me," Haru continued, "it's all just nonsense. Ghosts? Even that sounds like a stretch, don't you think?" He slapped Nicholas's back, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"…But magic isn't?"
Haru grinned smugly.
Nicholas frowned and stood up. "Well, I should get going."
"Aw, you're not gonna hang out with your friend a little longer?"
"Nope. See you on Tuesday."
With that, Nicholas left the park.
Hands in his pockets, he hummed to himself while wandering through the city. His father hadn't told him to come home immediately, so he figured he'd take his time and explore.
What were his current goals?
-Think of a speech that would keep Slash Draw from killing him.
-Explore the capabilities of his power.
-Learn more about Black Blood.
-Check out these supposed "ghost" sightings.
"Was there anything else…? Oh, right."
-Not die.
How had he forgotten the most important one?
…
–!
He stopped.
A strange sound brushed past his ears.
He looked around. People moved past him without reacting at all.
He had never heard anything like it—and he had heard plenty of unfamiliar sounds this month. Which, as always, could only mean trouble.
"Or maybe I'm just tired." He rubbed his face.
Was he imagining things?
There was an alley nearby. He decided to check, just in case.
As usual, Fusionight's alleyways were dirty, hostile, and completely uninviting.
Nicholas stepped carefully, not wanting to ruin his shoes. He scanned every detail.
The waste container overflowed with trash. Torn newspapers littered the ground, some arranged into a makeshift bed.
"I guess someone homeless lived here…" He spoke in the past tense. Faint stains of dried blood marked the newspaper and concrete.
Whoever stayed here had left long ago.
"I wonder if a murder happened…" he muttered, though it was far more likely the person had been treated badly and fled in a hurry.
"There's nothing unusual here. Just your everyday Fusionight alley…" Sometimes he wondered why tourists came to this city at all.
It was like any other city—worse, in some cases. Plenty of places were nicer, and the crime rate here was more than "slightly above average."
The only real draw was KhyberCorp.
"If I could leave this city for good, I probably would-"
A sudden chill crawled up his spine.
He turned.
Nothing.
Even with his enhanced senses, he felt no one. But his intuition… was restless.
He couldn't see it, hear it, smell it, or sense it—but something was here.
Is it another monster?
Anxiety pricked at him. Darkness gathered at his fingertips, ready to form a dagger.
He waited.
Several minutes passed.
Nothing.
"I must really be going crazy…" He tried to believe his own words, but the chill in his spine refused to leave.
He stepped out of the alley. Everything looked normal. A few people were giving him strange looks, but he had learned to expect that by now.
He was about to head home when, in the corner of his eye, he noticed something. Or rather, someone.
Across the street stood a tall man who seemed carved out of stillness itself. His hair was a deep, wild red that fell past his shoulders. He was smoking a cigarette, the faint glow briefly illuminating his face.
Nicholas felt the man was staring directly at him.
Surely it's just my imagination?
But as he kept walking, he could still feel that gaze pinned on him.
It feels like… he's looking at something behind me.
His gut twisted. It told him to leave, and fast.
…
He walked quickly, weaving through several blocks, trying to shake off the uneasiness. Only when he was sure he had put enough distance between himself and that place did he circle back toward home. Night had already settled in by the time he reached his street.
"I seriously have a stalker? What have I ever done to deserve that? Ah." A few possible answers surfaced, though all of them involved him wearing a mask.
Is he some hidden hero? Trying to uncover Unknown's identity?
If that were the case, he would have to be much more careful from now on.
Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that the man wasn't hostile. His gut hadn't warned him about the red-haired stranger at all. It had only warned him about that place.
As if his intuition had simply ignored the man.
"Whatever. Too much thinking, not enough brain power." He muttered as he fished his keys out of his pocket.
He stepped inside. He was home.
As soon as he stepped inside, he was met with a gloomy atmosphere.
"What are you two doing?" Nicholas asked cautiously.
His brother and father were on the couch, stuck in some strange in-between state where they were neither sitting nor lying down. Both wore miserable expressions. The TV was nothing but static.
"We were waiting for you to come back… to make food…" their father muttered weakly.
"Mhm." Evan nodded with equal despair.
"Hold on. It's almost dinner time. Don't tell me you both skipped lunch?" Nicholas felt a flicker of anger, though it came more from worry than irritation. "So you both waited for me all day and didn't eat anything?"
"Dad tried to make something…" Evan whispered, shuddering. "Not good. Not good at all."
Nicholas stared at their father, who hid his face in his hands and sank deeper into the couch as if trying to bury himself in shame.
"What did you even make…?" Nicholas asked, although something in him said he didn't want the answer.
"You'll see…"
He sighed.
These two are hopeless.
"If you were so hungry, why didn't either of you call me?"
Neither looked at him.
"Maybe you were still at the police station."
"Maybe you were on a date."
They offered excuse after excuse, all of which boiled down to the same thing: they didn't want to risk bothering him.
"You're both idiots."
He walked into the kitchen and promptly threw away whatever his father had attempted to cook. He didn't even want to smell it. The look on his father's face alone was enough to make him gag.
Half an hour later, dinner was ready. His father and brother practically squealed with joy.
The rest of the evening passed without trouble, and soon it was time for bed.
Nicholas changed into his sleepwear and settled in, deciding to read more about meditation before dozing off.
…
-?
He stirred awake and rubbed his tired eyes.
Another knock sounded at his door.
"What is it, Evan?" he mumbled.
"I need your help…" his brother whispered.
Nicholas frowned without lifting his face from the pillow.
"It can't wait until morning?"
"No… please."
Nicholas let out a long sigh and dragged himself up. His body begged him to lie back down, but he couldn't ignore his brother.
He shuffled to the door.
"Please… open the door." Evan's voice was soft. Too soft.
Nicholas froze.
Something was wrong. The tone, the rhythm, the weight behind the words—none of it belonged to Evan. His brother was an energetic kid who spoke faster than his thoughts, tripped over big words, and radiated optimism even when it didn't make sense.
So why did he sound so sad?
What happened?
Was this even Evan?
Nicholas's heart raced. His hands trembled.
"What happened, Evan?" He demanded a reply.
"Please… open the door."
That isn't him.
Darkness gathered at Nicholas's fingertips, forming a dagger.
"Please, open the door."
Fear knotted in his stomach. If something could mimic his brother's voice… what else could it mimic?
Would it look like his brother?
"Please. Open the door."
Was it using him like a puppet?
"Open the door!"
Nicholas threw the door open, dagger raised.
Nothing.
The hallway was empty.
But the chill on his spine didn't ease.
He rushed to Evan's room.
"…"
Evan was sound asleep, breathing softly.
Relief washed through him.
Just to be sure, he checked their father's room as well. Fast asleep.
Nicholas closed the door and exhaled slowly.
"Am I really just hearing things?"
He headed to the bathroom to wake himself up.
The light flicked on, too bright, and he shielded his eyes until they adjusted.
Splash—
Cold water hit his face. He looked up at his reflection.
Nicholas smiled faintly.
"Man, it must suck to be you."
The smile faded.
"That it does."
A soft crack sounded.
The bathroom light dimmed, flickered, and cut out entirely.
Did the bulb blow?
He glanced up, then back at the mirror.
"What…"
There, right beside him. A strange figure floated with an ethereal glow.
"Eh?"
The figure's face was rotten beyond recognition. Its eye sockets were hollow, its skin a dark, decayed shade.
"Eh?"
Nicholas slowly turned around and saw the creature standing right beside him. It wasn't a hallucination. It wasn't a trick.
"A g-g-g-g-g-ghost?" He stuttered so hard his own head throbbed.
In a single, frantic motion, he threw the door open and bolted out.
Unfortunately, the closest escape route was the stairwell leading to the ground floor.
"Ah! Ow! Khg—!" Strange noises escaped him as he tumbled down the steps.
"Ugh…" He clutched his head, waiting for the dizziness to settle.
"Whyyy…"
He froze.
"Why… whyyy…"
Against his better judgment, he looked up the stairs. The ghost hovered there, its lower body cut off entirely. It floated down toward him, slow and deliberate.
"Fuck this." For a moment, he considered sprinting out of the house altogether. But his father and brother were asleep upstairs. He couldn't leave them.
Nicholas hurried into the kitchen, trying to quiet his footsteps. Even so, he could still hear the ghost behind him, its whisper rasping through the halls.
"Why… whyyy…"
He yanked open the nearest drawer, hands shaking, and grabbed the first thing he saw—a metal ladle. He held it like a club, knuckles white.
"…Really?" He stared at it, then at himself.
The ghost's whisper drifted into the kitchen, brushing the back of his neck.
"Why…"
Nicholas flinched so hard he nearly dropped the utensil.
He exhaled through his teeth and shoved the ladle back into the drawer.
"What am I doing… I can literally make weapons."
Darkness gathered at his fingertips in a faint shimmer, ready to solidify into a blade at a moment's notice.
Behind him, the ghost's voice dragged through the air again, softer and somehow sadder.
"Why… whyyy…"
Nicholas closed the drawer quietly and stepped back, weapon forming in his hand as he turned to face whatever was coming.
Then again… weren't ghosts supposed to be immune to physical attacks-!?
A shiver.
Something passed through him.
Or worse… something lingered inside.
He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to preserve any warmth he had left.
So… cold.
In the next moment, his life flashed before his eyes—no, not his. Someone else's.
A young man with big dreams. Dreams he would never reach.
He had been thrown out of his house at eighteen. After that, he tried desperately to survive, tried to rise above it all… but nothing ever worked. He slept in alleyways, used newspaper for warmth, ate whatever he could scavenge.
Then one day… he was abducted.
No warning. No consent. Someone had shaken him awake, and in panic he'd thrown a punch. His captor struck back, shattering teeth and drawing blood.
Then came hell.
Experiments.
One day. Two days. Three days.
One month. Two months. Three months.
One year. Two years. Three years.
It never stopped.
He saw monstrosities he couldn't understand. Creatures that shouldn't exist. Things that ultimately killed him.
Then darkness.
Cold and endless.
At least he wasn't alone.
…
Then, after an uncountable stretch of time, he saw light again.
He was free.
But what did freedom mean?
He couldn't touch the world anymore. He couldn't be heard. He could only watch.
The thought of being trapped in eternal observation wore down whatever remained of his mind.
If only someone could see him.
If only someone could help him—
Move on.
He needed that light.
Nicholas lurched forward.
"Blurgh—!" He barely kept himself from vomiting on the spot.
His vision shook. His pupils were blown wide.
"What was that…?" he whispered, even though he knew no answer would come.
"Rejected… rejected… no light…"
Nicholas snapped his head toward the trembling voice.
The ghost had drifted out of him. It hovered a few feet away, weeping.
A light, huh?
Quietly, without alerting it, he summoned a dark flame into his palm.
"Ah—ah! Ah!"
He set the ghost ablaze.
It screamed as the dark fire consumed the rot clinging to it. The corruption burned away, leaving behind something softer… warmer. Its glow shifted from sickly to peaceful.
Then it faded, disappearing without a trace.
Nicholas collapsed onto the kitchen floor, eyes wide, heart pounding.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. His father flicked on the lights and squinted at the sight of his son sitting on the tile, surrounded by a foul-smelling puddle.
"Nicholas. What the hell happened?"
Nicholas blinked, realizing he was being addressed.
"O-oh, I… I was gonna get a midnight snack. Guess the snack didn't sit well in my stomach. Aha."
His father sighed. "I'll clean it."
Nicholas lifted a tired hand without standing. "I made the mess. I'll take care of it. Besides… you've got work."
His father hesitated, clearly unconvinced, but eventually headed back upstairs.
Once Nicholas was sure he was gone, a laugh slipped out.
"Aha… aha… ehe… heh. Hehehe-"
Laughter kept bubbling out of him. Part relief, part disbelief, part hysteria, and part exhilaration.
Not only had he survived… he had learned something new about the facilities, too.