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No clue what’s going on in the story so far? We got you.
Chapter One by Lucy
Chapter Seven by Lucy
Chapter 11 by PatBunny
I will be re-posting this to attract different readers and writers of different time zones internationally. If you reblog this and I re-publish the post, the link will lead to an error message. The way to fix this would be to update the link on your end.
Chapter Nine by Thryaksha
A/N: Hello! This is Thryaksha, you can call me Tea. I usually write poetry and small articles. This is my first time writing a chapter, so it’s relatively short. Hope everyone enjoys it!
That was the only word that could properly describe what I was feeling now. My hands were covered in the richest scarlet known to man. The harsh light of the fluorescent tubes above me made the red drops of blood on the white marble glisten like rubies.
I recalled perfectly the scenes leading to this moment. Venus. I had ended her life and it had not been pretty. My jaw still hurt after my canines had receded. A low tremor now coursed through me as I remember the exact second I saw the glint in her eyes vanish. My breathing became fast and there was suddenly too much in my vision. Black spots danced and my eyes trailed the wall until I reached the part where the grey ceiling started.
This was too much to take, I thought. This was too much. I gasp, the air in the room not satisfying my lungs–hungry for everything it could reach. A single tear traverses the terrain of my cheek as I somehow bring my eyes to the carnage I had created.
Again, the question plagues me, who am I? Who am I? Is there duality in the “I”? I grasp my knees, demanding my fingers to stop shaking. The same thought is on a loop in my head and I force myself to think of blue skies, anything to get through this panic attack. This has been the worst one I’ve had since I was a little boy. Blue skies, blue skies, parks, cherry blossoms, Venus, I killed her, I killed her…
I dig my nails into my thigh trying to ground myself. I take another gulp of air, this one clearing out my mind.
I can feel a pull as if someone is trying to wrestle back control of my body as I concentrate on the drip her blood made onto the floor. It was like watching it all through the eyes of the killer, but I wasn’t the killer. I was a murderer, I knew, but this I hadn’t done, no.
As if reaching blindly through a fog, I remember calling myself Dr. Frankie. “Who’s Dr. Frankie?” I said aloud. Hearing the name out loud jolts the whole of my body, and I feel my shoulder crash against the floor. I convulse, and everything comes back to me in the clearest way possible. I could still feel him pushing, trying to pry control of my body into his arms once again.
If my mind was home to the two of us, then was he the intruder that lived in me? The wave of memories that hit me slowly start making sense to me, Dr. Frankie, the one who could perform surgery, the one who was so primal he could have lived with a tiger. Dr. Frankensti, whose main emotion was fear and he pushed it out with hate.
I suddenly taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth and I realize what he’d done. I rush to the sink, emptying everything in me, heaving and holding the sides of the basin. The tears flow more freely now, and I try to promise myself to never let him take control again…
I walk inside Z’s office and right away notice he looks weary and cautious.
“Sir,” I start, but the word dies on my lips at his expression. His hand on the revolver on his desk and his eyes reflecting the very fear I’d seen in Venus. I shake my head, ignoring the beads of sweat forming at the back of my neck.
“Viper,” he says, and I wonder about how I’d never heard his voice quite that frail before. He quickly clears his throat. “Viper, about yesterday—” I am tempted to interrupt him and tell him how I wasn’t me yesterday and that though Dr. Frank seemingly lived in me, he wasn’t me. I wanted to clutch onto any semblance of having a job, knowing full well that if I got myself fired, I’d only see the walls of a prison for Richards.
Oblivious to the thoughts running in my head, he said, “I feel you might need a break.” My mind stutters to a halt. A break? What even… I repeat back to him, “A break?” my voice uncertain.
“Yez. I think you need to cool off and come back, work for uz when you think you’re ready.”
“You’re not sending me to prison and framing me for Richards?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
He winces at the sudden increase in my volume and says hurriedly, “No! You don’t have to worry, no.”
The quiver in his voice makes me tilt my head. I can feel my blood pressure rile up and the last thought I think is, Is this why they couldn’t clear my memory out? Because of my alter-ego? Because of Frankie?
No sooner than had I completed his name, I felt myself be pushed behind a glass partition, and I felt the reins slip from my hand into Frankie’s.
I notice a sudden change in his demeanor. He stops slouching and a smile stretches across his face. I see the glint in his eye return, and I think to myself as my breath hitches, The devil is back.
“Oh?” I say, my voice is silky soft as I lift my chin up. “I don’t have to worry?”
“Yez, you can take a break az long az you want from this mission, it’z fine.”
I take a step forward and his grip on his revolver tightens. “You think that’s going to stop me?” I ask as I grin maniacally.
I follow the bead of sweat that drops from his brow, and I move fast. A single deflect to the left and back, my hands closing over his wrist. I give it a yank, and he immediately drops it, a scream emerging from him.
“Don’t even think about it,” I say as he tries to reach for the safety bell under the desk.
I find it comical, him freezing under my heavy sight, his hand merely inches away from a revolver and a safety bell, while I stood bare-handed.
A laugh tears out of me and I’m heaving with laughter within seconds and I’m doubled over. My hands reach the pen stand on his desk. I trail my fingers lightly over them, before picking one up and bringing it hard down onto his hand.
He screams as blood spurts from the wound, his hand pinned the rich mahogany wood. “You were a fool to think you could take me all by yourself, Franz Zeransky.” I say, stressing on his name.
His eyes widen to the size of saucers as the realization strikes him. “You remember…” he whispers, momentarily forgetting about the pain in his hand.
“Of course, I do, you nut-job,” I hiss at him. My hand presses onto the pen, digging further into the wound and he screams, tears brimming his eyes, “Please,” a soft whisper.
That wasn’t enough for me, no. I wanted him to beg before me. I remove the pen from his hand and mimic jabbing it at his throat. He winces harshly.
I laugh yet again. “Fool.” I can feel the fire in my eyes. “If you want the slightest of mercy from me, then you have to give up your throne.”
Puzzlement fills his eyes, and I roll mine all the way to hell and back. “The empire you’re building. Not yours anymore.” I lean close to him and wipe some of the blood onto his neck. I whisper in his ear, “Mine.”
I can feel the tension coiled in him, waiting for me to strike. I move back and sit in the chair opposite him, crossing one leg over the other and lounging.
“What—what will I tell the others, they won’t believe that you, Charles, has taken over everything. There will be riots.”
“Not my problem.” I rise from the chair and open the door. As I leave the room, I speak again.
“Tell them that Hell’s Spawn has just entered the game and there will be no survivors.”
I bang my hand against the glass trying to get back to the front. I scream as loud as I can, but something tells me that I’m trapped forever, and this is my grave…