"For all intents and purposes, the boy is healthy." The Doctor said, opening a drawer and grabbing a box of cigars. "Just take some pain and fever medicine if needed, nothing much different from the usual, and everything should be fine." He soon lit the cigar and took a drag, releasing the smoke across the office.
Ryan coughed lightly at the contact. "That's it?" He asked incredulously.
"Yes, after all, we don't know the cause and can only treat the symptoms." The doctor shrugged. "It's a drag, but that's how it is... Unless of course the upper echelon shares more information with me about how the Syndrome started and developed, which they won't do. Either way, it's all I can do for you, boy."
He then took another drag and exhaled before saying. "Ah, yes. You'll probably die soon, so I suppose your age doesn't matter much. Would you like to try? It's good for unwinding in tense moments." He offered the cigar to Ryan, who watched it with unease.
"What do you mean by that?" Ryan asked.
"Nothing much." Ryan declined the cigar, at which the Doctor shrugged.
John, standing beside him, scoffed and replied: "Things got complicated. More so than at the beginning." He then continued. "Once we enter the meeting room, two topics will be debated. Instead of one, as was expected."
He then spoke with a somber expression. "Our faction will accuse the Boss of trying to Silence your father and then of trying to erase his bloodline by Assassinating you, a failed attempt by luck. Thus destroying our faction, which without a leader would submit entirely to him. The Boss would be a Tyrant, a Despicable Villain."
"Which is the truth." Ryan said, with redoubled suspicion. Nothing had been easy for him, and at this point blaming someone made more sense than simply being unlucky. "But what's the second topic?"
John sighed heavily before running a hand through his hair. "You learned how to use the Voice." Ryan frowned, not understanding what that meant. Every child learned to speak when young, it was reasonable to assume that he, who was nearly an adult, knew how to speak.
"There's no point explaining it to you now." John said. "But they will also accuse us. They'll say we were preparing a rebellion and that we are actually the aggressors. That your father's disappearance is convenient and that your syndrome is an excuse to start the battle, especially now that you survived. In other words, from their perspective, we are making up excuses to start a rebellion. Which isn't true, but to them it may appear that way."
Ryan briefly pondered this. "Both versions can coexist, can't they?" He said with a heavy heart.
"Yes, we consider the current Boss a Tyrant and have always truly been one step away from a rebellion. What we don't know is who took the first step. It is also a mystery why and how your father disappeared and exactly what happened to you. Both sides assume the worst, and that is leading to war."
John took a deep breath. "When we step into that room, the chance of a shootout breaking out is almost guaranteed. It's the best opportunity for the leaders of each faction to eliminate their adversaries."
"That said." John continued. "What are your orders, young master?" Ryan observed John's servile posture for a few moments while the Doctor smoked in front of them. Finally, he sighed.
"We go to the meeting room." Ryan said. "Let's see what they have to say."
"Are you sure, Young Master?" John asked. "They're after your head." Ryan smiled faintly.
"And do they think I won't go after theirs if they come after mine?" He then straightened up. "Lead the way."
With slow steps, they left the office. John guiding Ryan as they passed over a hall with hundreds of henchmen on each side. Rifles always at the ready, prepared to fire the first bullet.
In each of the mansion's rooms they passed through, dozens of men guarded dozens of different doors. The atmosphere was heavy and tense on all sides. And the sight of Ryan brought not hope, but rather an omen of a star of ruin.
"It's here." John said, pointing to the double door. Ryan stood still, analyzing it for a few moments. He knew he could die if he entered that room, but after so many near-death experiences…
Death no longer seemed the same. It no longer resembled that skeleton wrapped in a black cloak carrying a sharp scythe while bringing with it icy winds. Ryan could no longer feel the blade beneath his neck and fear it, no matter how cold it was.
"Open it..." It was as he spoke those words that Ryan realized he was on the verge of an epiphany…
His eyes widened.
He had already gathered all the elements for the awakening of something, something he didn't know what it was and wasn't even seeking.
Something, like a hidden talent.
As soon as he stepped into the room, Ryan saw screams going from one side to the other. But, surprisingly, it wasn't words being screamed, it was Voices.
Inside the room, all the mafia leaders spoke with calm voices and dignified postures while wild waves crossed the room at every moment. Ryan quickly spotted Rudeus and Alex. They were emitting waves that resembled constricting serpents trying to devour the men, who concentrated on their enemies from the opposing faction.
"Good to see you, John." Someone at the edge of the table greeted John. Ryan wasn't the target, but he could feel a wave as though countless knives were trying to strike John. While John soon returned a similar wave, this one however resembling insects that seemed to want to invade every orifice of the target.
Everyone here used some kind of mental hex, the same mental hex.
But the Forms, the Forms were different.
But what they were doing was the same.
Ryan's eyes widened.
At the far end of the table, to the right, there was an empty seat. That seat, obviously, belonged to Ryan's father.
To the left, Aron adjusted papers with dense sweat running down his forehead. At that moment, he ignored Ryan's presence and that of the others.
While at the far end, the Boss, a young man of pleasant and common appearance despite being handsome, greeted Ryan with a friendly smile, in the only way he knew.
A wave like a tsunami swept through the room, silencing everyone as Ryan was swallowed by it. The sensation was like being thrown into a tank full of acid, which slowly corroded you until only white bones remained. It was harrowing.
But this was his Form.
What he really wanted to say was something else.
It was something like: I survived this.
What he was saying was: I am strong, I am the leader, I am the one in charge here.
In a single word, it was: Intimidation.
The Voice was saying: Be intimidated
They all had a different 'Form', but they meant the same thing: 'Intimidation'.
Now Ryan finally understood the discussion taking place at the table. On the physical plane, both sides spoke with calm voices and composed expressions. Meanwhile, on a mental plane, they used their Voices to intimidate their enemies, showing who was stronger. That table was a Cold War, one that only those who knew how to use the Voice could perceive.
But Ryan went further…
Why was each Form different? Why each of those people had a different way of intimidating the others.
Ryan knew the answer by instinct: Only those who know pain can talk about pain.
How did you come to know pain? What is your worst Trauma? What did you survive against all odds?
Being surrounded and thrown into acid?
Being submerged in snakes or insects?
Being stabbed?
He smiled broadly, by instinct.
Euphoria filled his heart.
That was an epiphany!
His eyes sank like a black hole, devouring all light.
What was Ryan's worst Trauma? He had endured many things, but if he had to choose the worst one.
It would be being devoured alive over and over again.
But that was still too abstract.
Ryan knew more facets of it. He could show even more.
He remembered the pain of claws tearing through skin, fangs sinking into flesh. He remembered the fear and the despair, as well as the pain. But more important than that, how close he had come to death, to the point of questioning whether he had truly survived.
For Ryan, death had already drawn so close that it had become an intimate companion.
But he also knew one final facet. Just as the beasts had torn his skin, he had torn theirs. Just as they had sunk their fangs into his flesh, he had ripped the flesh from the beasts with his own fangs.
Just as they had tried to kill him and nearly succeeded, he had done the same.
I Caused Fear, Pain and Death.
I Received Fear, Pain and Death.
Ryan structured his Form, a bestial cry composed of the following facets:
Fear, undeniable in the face of death.
Pain, inescapable as death drew ever closer.
Death, the painful and harrowing final outcome.
Karma, the vicious cycle that never ended.
It was a perfect shape, four facets formed a stable and perfect square.
That was Ryan's Form.
Ryan then screamed. Not with sound, but with the Voice taking Form like that of a Vicious Beast. Sweeping across the entire room, making everyone tremble in surprise at the unfamiliar new Voice. And then reaching the Boss at the far end of the room, and Aron.
The Boss, the target of that wave, tensed his muscles as his veins stood out. In the beginning, he was a great beast that had killed and devoured countless others. Until his body convulsed, feeling as though it were being torn into smaller and smaller pieces as it was devoured by a bloody and vicious beast.
He felt overwhelming fear, knowing he was going to die.
He felt pain that went beyond what human senses allowed.
He felt death place its blade beneath his neck while more and more of his limbs were torn away.
Finally, he felt the wheel of Karma turning… repeating an endless cycle.
When he came back to himself, the entire room was silent, every gaze completely fixed on Ryan.
While all the Boss said was: "That was... was... so cute. It was like a baby trying its first words."
Suddenly, Aron kicked the table aside, dragged back his chair, stood up and drew a pistol while everyone else at the table did the same, each aiming at a different head. Aron pointed his weapon directly at Ryan's head as John moved quickly.
"Ryan, you have a lot of nerve! You are received in our home with the best we have, and in the end you spit in our faces!" Aron cocked the gun with a click. "Your father was warned countless times! You couldn't have been taught about this! So justify yourself immediately! Justify right now how you know about the Voice! Otherwise, consider yourself dead!" Aron held the trigger.