A blizzard that blotted out the sky and stars. A chill that could quell any ambition and freeze any heart.

A cathedral claimed by ice sprawled out before my eyes. My body shivered at the sensation of freezing — I hugged myself, trying to rub heat into my unfeeling body.

I recognized this phenomenon. Was it a dream? An illusion? I had been dragged into the depths of my own mind, forced to confront whatever lay waiting or was trying to attack — the last time this happened, I barely survived the hostile takeover of my existence due to the late intervention of a burnt soul. Because of him, I was able to fight and overcome the final challenge of my birthplace.

As I struggled to my feet, I realized that I already lost this fight before it began.

Overwhelming. I wasn’t allowed to stand in her domain; only those she deemed worthy could survive in a place as hellish as this. A mere glance froze my legs solid — I collapsed to the ground, feeling frozen flesh snap and shatter underneath me.

Witnessing my pain and confusion, a different Grimm sat upon a throne of ice.

Was it pity or scorn upon her adult face and weary eyes? I didn’t have time to guess.

In a blink, she descended upon me and lifted my chin. Her touch froze my flesh solid; I felt a moment’s pain before the numbness set in.

“You’re not special,” she said, squeezing my face. I let out a cry of pain as bones fractured underneath her otherworldly strength — my arms flailed and tried to pry her hand free, yet my fingers only froze to her arm.

Grimm scowled. “I thought I could tolerate you. Not anymore. You sicken me.”

She picked me up by the throat and held me in the air, choking me. I tried to summon my wind — my Stigmata — to help me, yet the cold she wielded went well and beyond the bounds of reality; the very air froze around her, denying my escape.

“You’ve learned all there is to this world. And yet, here you are, unable to do anything with your knowledge. Never before have I ever seen such a despicable coward.” Grimm threw me to the ground and stomped on my stomach. Her icy heels pierced my liver. “Useless. Fucking useless.”

Unable to speak or think clearly, I writhed on the ground. I didn’t understand what I did wrong. I never did anything to her.

I never wanted to hurt anybody.

“You’re not the only one who can see into other people’s hearts. I’ve been watching you since the moment we first met, and your resolve is lacking.” She raised her hand into a passing stream of snow and drew her rapier. “If you can’t use your Stigmata properly, then I’ll take it for myself.”

She thrust at my neck. My instincts kicked into overdrive; I knocked the blade slightly off course with a summoned black knife and caught the blade with my flesh, attempting to buy myself time by sacrificing my left hand.

As I predicted, my hand froze solid around the metal. Instead of striking back, I kept her blade locked in me and grunted out a desperate, quiet question:

“Why?”

The look in Grimm’s eyes soured further. “Why? How long until you learn your lesson? How much more time will you waste?” She put weight into her rapier. My hand began to crumble. “How much longer are you going to keep hiding?”

A flick of her wrist tore my left hand off, and a kick to the side sent me tumbling across her court. I coughed as I struggled to push myself up, fighting against the sudden pain.

“Don’t play stupid,” she said, briefly lowering her blade. “If you really were new to all of this, I wouldn’t have to do this. But you’re just running away from the facts and playing ignorant.”

Did she see what I did during the encounter with the Arlequins?

Rather, how much did she see during our brief time together?

Grimm stepped forward. “This all happened because of you. It’s all your fault. What are you going to do about it?”

I focused and summoned my cobalt blade, gripping it with the half-fingers that remained. There was no other choice but to use it — the very bane of my existence.

Grimm thrust at my chest. My parry was a slow, wretched attempt to save my own life.

Our blades met. Mine shattered into a dozen broken fragments.

—Memories shimmered in the falling rain.

No other choice but to summon again. Sharpen the soul and swing again.

Loss. Betrayal. Whispers floating through time.

Every time our blades clashed, the memories and pain contained within the cobalt blade overwrote parts of me. I saw—

Desperation. Despair. Wishes never fulfilled.

A heart that faded to ice.

The death of my current self.

An inevitable convergence.

—This world was beyond saving. Wipe it clean and start again. With only a few nudges and traps in the right places, the feeble lives that a selfish species assembled for themselves would be wiped clean.

Only with a guiding hand will they survive the hell that is to come.

The state of this world was an undeniable truth. Sin from the few would drown the many. Darkness closed in from every corner; on the horizon was a war fallen from the stars to make hell on earth. It was all there in my snapshot of memories from this current era; I had more than enough evidence to make my judgement.

Analysis: a foregone conclusion.

If I gave up now, all my pain would end. All this meaningless suffering and sacrifices and opaque confusion would fall away and dissolve into peace. The only thing I needed to do was give myself over to those who lie in wait.

I was a coward who abandoned my dreams for the sake of survival. I saw those in need and did nothing in fear of causing more harm than good. I was a disgusting creature that was easily replaced; a flick of a switch could reprogram me into my true self.

In the absolute darkness of a known future, there was nothing wrong with falling asleep.

I closed my eyes and sensed my mind giving in. A stab comes at my neck; I didn’t have enough energy left to dodge or parry.

Yet my body still moved.

In the emptiness of my glass heart and unseeing eyes, my Stigmata burned. Against my will it kept me fighting for the very last vestiges of my life.

A deviation from the script. An unplanned consequence.

A test.

This was an unwinnable fight. A half-baked existence like myself could never beat somebody who fully realized their destiny. Yet the more I drew my blade and lost myself, the closer the answer grew.

I didn’t like seeing people get hurt. Pain and despair were things I didn’t want to experience ever again. Yet I threw myself into the fray time and time again, despite knowing how it would end.

What were the reasons behind my actions? Why was I alive?

Engraved in the pain and sacrifice was a perfect record of everything I have ever seen. From that record, a drawn conclusion.

I hated this world.

I hated its people and how they failed to treat other humans as human. I hated the fates that lie in wait for those who try to do good. I hated that one has to trample on others to get ahead. I hated the happy for ignoring the miserable. I hated the miserable for taking the time to pity themselves. I despised nature and its uncaring providence over those who could feel and the irrational, self-destructive behaviour of those who felt.

Any person could harbour beliefs like these. They were pointless ideas that were drowned out by apathy and perspective; a human and a worm could never understand one another. All they did was weigh down on your mind — you were better off discarding them and living your life the best you could. But I didn’t have the luxury of forgetting.

Lifetimes of tragedy repeated before me, beating me down. Forced to confront everything that was, a singular desire was refined and reforged.

Black clouds and strength of mayhem. A moment of calm wind before the storm.

All I needed was the final spark to set my hatred ablaze.

Barely seeing, I rushed at Grimm. She smirked.

I stabbed her in the shoulder and we both tumbled to the ground.

“Good,” she said, “finish it. Take your anchor to this world and grow strong.”

I raised my blade.

I already had all the information necessary to draw a conclusion about my existence, yet refused to draw the line out of fear. Now I knew.

All the phenomena of this world had a singular source. Ether was the slow-burning poison that made this world spin, whiskey for the soul. Stigmata weren’t what they seemed; the trees that reach the heavens have roots that reach all the way to hell. They are what make the mind manifest, and placed within everyone was the capability to reach the stars.

I was incomplete. The true form of my Stigmata had yet to reveal itself in the real world because there was not a whole person within, just the smouldering remains of borrowed personalities and dead hopes.

I was more akin to a program than a living being. I could overwrite anybody who I had a close connection to. I could take over Owl’s body and mind and let her rest happily within me and easily reach my potential. Stigmata were merely a concept; they could be stolen, learned, and applied by different people. Many records were already stored within — I could use these powers at will if I had an anchor to this world.

Owl was an easy prize, somebody who didn’t want to remain in this world. The ability to stop time would make me unbeatable. It was almost as though somebody placed her in front of me and expected me to take my prize.

After all, this was all done to accelerate my growth.

These were the rules established for me. At long last, I finally acknowledged them.

Grimm smiled. Good. I couldn’t stand her, either.

I knew what I had to do.

There was no turning back.

So be it.

I slashed, and in that moment, I was marked as an enemy of the world.