Hal was floored by the scene. Not only was he astonished at how much damage the spell had done. The entire flaming hole went through several rooms before decimating the outer wall of the building. Off in the distance, Hal could make out the same liquid flame vanishing off the earth. He was also stunned by the look of sheer panic in the older man's eyes. It was the look of someone who'd never been in danger before. Of having never faced his own mortality, his face a visage of terror, panic, anger, and desperation. The pools of silver spasmed, jittering left and right, searching for something, anything, to use against Hal. Hal could feel the man's fear and panic smother that dark glee he'd felt mere moments before. The silver-eyed man clawed at Hal's gloved hand fruitlessly, his skin turning blue from the lack of air. His pupil-less eyes bulged from their sockets.

>Hal?< A voice fell on deaf ears.

For a moment, Hal reveled in the man's struggle, in the feeling of domination and power. He felt a hunger he'd never known rise inside his gut, one that called for the man to die. It beseeched Hal to break him, to smother him. The man's clawing turned to ineffectual bashing, his fists striking against Hal's chest. All in vain attempt to force him to release his grip. But all it did was stoke that hungry flame in Hal's stomach into a starving blaze. Hal's grip tightened, his single hand more than enough to crush the windpipe of such a weak man. The flame rolled, calling for his death, demanding it, goading Hal to end him.

>Hal!< Another call, another sound ignored.

This thing had caused him pain, hadn't it? Why shouldn't it break, crumble beneath a force far greater than itself? Thoughts raced into Hal's mind, thoughts that he felt were his own. And with these thoughts, Hal felt a part of him creeping into the silver-eyed man, looking for something. Deep within the man, Hal found a fire, a grand blaze, that irritated him beyond belief. This was the source, the reason for it all. What if that fire went out? That was a question Hal wanted to answer. So he clutched that flame, suffocating it along with the man, crushing it, breaking it.

>HAL!Hal, answer me!< He called out again, the alarm growing stronger still.

Hal blinked, the smile he hadn't even realized he was wearing dropping from his face at his brother's voice.

The starving flame in Hal’s gut died at Instinct's words. That desperate hunger fading back to whatever abyss it came from, as fast as it'd taken over. In an instant, Hal's satisfaction at the man's desperate struggle turned to disgust at what he was doing. His grip loosened, then slowly he released the silver-eyed man's neck. He gazed down at his hand in disgust, like it was a foreign thing and not a limb he called his own. Beyond Hal's hand, he saw the man collapse to the ground, coughing violently. His lungs attempting to resume regular action but encountering issues. When he stopped coughing, his breathing was ragged, broken at times. His damaged throat failed to move correctly. Hal saw the bruises on the man's neck, already a deep red from the force Hal put into his grip.

The sight made Hal disgusted with himself. He wished he could say it was Instinct who'd tried to kill the man, but that would be a lie. It was Hal who attempted to crush his windpipe, Hal who took joy in doing so. Hal who enjoyed watching the light fade from the man's pupil-less eyes as he failed to suck in air.

>Hal? >I'm fine.< Hal lied.

"That proof enough for you?" Hal asked the silver-eyed man on the ground, desperately putting on an act of aggression.

The silver-eyed man glared up at Hal from his position on the ground, contempt in his otherwise empty eyes. Hal could feel his rage, his desire to kill Hal or tell him to begone. Both lost out to another emotion, one Hal took as resigned acceptance. "Yes, that's quite enough." He snarled out. "Birnerd, make sure he's prepared when the time comes; I don't want to see him again till then." His voice was hoarse, making it sound like he barked out the order.

And with that, Hal followed Birnerd out of the room without another word. His mind reeled with a mix of complex emotions, but the biggest one was regret. Regret at what he'd tried to do, and regret that he failed to gather enough information from Birnerd beforehand.

"Mind telling me what happened back there?" Birnerd started the conversation once they'd reached a private room in the manor.

"That's what I'd like to ask," Hal started. "You didn't tell me anything about him manipulating people like that," Hal said incredulously.

"I couldn't," Birnerd replied flatly to Hal's comment. "Unlike you, I cannot fight off his commands. So I'm stuck following them unconditionally, even after I've left his presence." Birnerd clarified his statement, his voice leaving Hal with an impression of resignation and long dampened anger.

Hal wanted to get upset, to lash out at Birnerd for underplaying the danger of this job. Despite that desire, Hal could only sigh at Birnerd’s words. As he felt how difficult it was to go against an order given by the silver-eyed man. Hal knew that if Instinct hadn't been there, Birnerd would have died. Outside of that, Hal wasn't even sure how, or even if, he'd broken free from the commands issued by the pupil-less man. With that knowledge, he could no more begrudge Birnerd for withholding information than the older man could Hal for breaking his nose.

"Hah," Hal sighed audibly. The tension he'd been holding ever since he arrived at the mansion fading away, replaced with his normal semi-alert state. "Alright. Tell me about the trial; what exactly should I expect?" Hal asked, trying to make sure he gathered adequate information this time, lest he get caught shorthanded once again.

At the change of subject, Birnerd visibly relaxed. His shoulders fell in, and his head lulled back slightly as his posture collapsed to a less militant one. Hal could feel tension melt off the man, like snow in the spring. The change of subject relieved the man, that was clear, but something else sat below the surface. Something Hal couldn't feel in the air like he could the rest. Hollow, was the only word Hal could place to the impression it gave.

"The Trial of Luseer, put simply, is a trial of survival with a randomly timed objective." Birnerd started his explanation, his voice slipping into the act of a showman Hal expected of him.

Pain. I'd felt it before, not that I yet knew the word for it. That's what woke me, pain. The space around me was tight, crushingly so. Every part of me pushed in evenly, keeping me constrained. I wasn't able to move, not that I cared while I was sleeping. But when I woke, it was to a sharp, stabbing feeling, from beyond what I knew. I lacked the ability to convey my thoughts at the time, words being well outside of the tiny bubble where I slept. But I knew I didn't like the feeling, and I wanted it to stop.

Usually, that tightly formed bubble would be impossible for me to break. In that way, it was less like a bubble and more like a seed, buried deep within something else. On that day, though, the bubble truly became such. Fragile, stretchy, but not quite poppable. So I pushed against it, reaching for the source of that affliction, trying to crush it. I couldn't reach far, and I couldn't see the details beyond my space, but it didn't matter. As a seed, I existed within the body of another, akin to a parasite. And on that day, that other obeyed me, if only for a moment. I couldn't see the details, only vague tints, and shapes. Still, I could tell where the stabbing sensation came from, and what I needed to break to get it to go away. So I reached for it, and once it was within my grasp, I squeezed tightly.

I could feel the pain fading as I did so, and I took joy in breaking the thing that brought me such. I could feel that something crumbling in my grip, fading, starving, dying at my hand. I didn't care. It wasn't mine, I could tell; it belonged to another. I could not take it for myself, and it would not be mine if I tried. So I did not care if it broke. After all, it was hurting me, and I just wanted that stabbing feeling to disappear. And it did, just before the thing that wasn't mine vanished entirely, the feeling that woke me disappeared. I won't say I would have stopped squeezing if I'd known, because I wouldn't have. I might have been a little more reluctant to snuff out what I now know was the flame of life so thoroughly. Especially if I'd known what doing so would do to a soul. I didn't know that, though. So I tried to crush it, snuff it out, break it entirely.

But before I could do that, the bubble crashed back in. My reach beyond its walls, no longer finding any purchase, and the uncomfortable but familiar pressure returned. Though, this time it was lessened ever so slightly from before.

I tried to fight against the bubble, tried to break free again, like a trapped animal. All I did was tire myself out. So when I finally ran out of energy, in my futile struggle, I returned to my slumber. Awaiting another day, when something would wake me.

At the time, I was no more than an impulse, an urge, locked beneath everything until something cut deep enough for me to notice. I was no better than a ball of emotion with the capacity for violence. I could not see right from wrong. I could barely understand that concept of wanting something, let alone something so complex as morality. As I was, I was a dangerous thing that would infect the minds of my brothers if left unchecked. But I was not unchecked. Buried deep beneath the two of them, I was contained until the day the two of them chose to release me.