“Who are you?”

The man strode through the aurora of a lonely birthday party, candlefire popping like bubbles as he passed. That serene smile never left his lips as he approached the two of them. Dragan Hadrien, whose hostility was obvious -- and Paradise Charon, twitching on the ground. Before them, he looked for all the world like he was strolling through a quiet park.

“It looks like you're having some trouble,” the man said, looking down at Paradise.

“I said,” Dragan repeated. “Who are you?”

The man looked back up at him, blinking in apparent surprise. “Oh, were you talking to me?” he said, pointing up at his own face. “I'm really sorry. I'm not used to being addressed so directly, so I didn't realize straight away. I hope you can forgive me. My name is Niain, friend.”

His words seemed casual, but his gaze was intense, eyes dark and unblinking. The eyes of a shark -- and one that had already smelt blood.

Dragan just continued to glare. “How are you here?”

He looked down at Paradise as well. Was this her doing? Had she created some kind of mental construct to do battle on her behalf, like an Archivist? No way. From what Dragan had observed so far, she didn't have the expertise required to pull that off.

“Please don't blame Miss Charon for my presence,” Niain said, following Dragan's gaze. “She wasn't aware of it at all.”

“How are you here?” Dragan demanded again.

“Ah…” Niain gently shut his eyes. “It seems I've angered you. Well, I don't blame you for getting annoyed. You keep having to repeat yourself to get your desired response from me. I can understand how that would get on your nerves. It seems you and I have different preferences when it comes to conversation -- they're conflicting in this case. I really do apologize.”

Dragan's eye twitched as he went to repeat himself a third time: “How are you --”

“As for how I'm here,” Niain interrupted, his eyes still serenely shut. “Please don't worry too much about it. I'm blessed with extraordinary friends. It isn't strange for me to show up in all sorts of places.”

He opened his eyes again, still smiling.

“I actually wanted to talk to you,” Niain said. “Is that okay? Are you free right now?”

“Well…” Dragan muttered. “I guess…”

Gemini Shotgun.

The attack did not land. The memory of the shot, conjured from nothing, blasted forth -- but Niain simply reached a hand out and snatched the indistinct projectile out of the air like a farball. Chuckling, he tossed it up and down in his hand.

“Don't be silly,” he chided. “A battle in the mind is just a battle of mental strength, when you get down to it. I threw you off guard when I appeared, so this attack of yours is really nothing to write home about. That sounded a little rude, didn't it? Sorry, haha -- I just meant at this moment you're not as strong as you could be. That's --”

Pan tore open the sky.

She still held the Forest of Sin in one gargantuan hand, but she wrestled the other free and slammed that fist down towards Niain’s head. If this were reality, a strike like that would have been immediately fatal, Aether or no. But, of course, this wasn't reality.

“Like I said,” Niain continued calmly -- holding Pan’s fist back with his other palm. “This is a battle of mental strength. You shouldn't put more on your plate when you're already dealing with the Forest of Sin.”

The shadow of Giovanni Sigma Testament appeared -- a memory of the time Dragan had been brutalized and dismembered, the recollection tamed and brought to heel. The dark figure lunged at Niain, trying to re-enact the incident, but he simply dodged and dodged like it was the easiest thing in the world. As he weaved through the attacks, he even continued to speak.

“Still…” he mused, stepping out of the way of one of Testament's swings. “...to think that the core of the Panacea network was so close by. It's a shame the dear doctor wasn't done with his work… but you shouldn't cry over spilt milk. Don't you think?”

“What do you want?!” Dragan demanded, rushing into the fray himself, letting loose another barrage of Shotguns.

“Right now?” Niain asked, cocking his head to avoid a shot. “Well, I suppose right now I just want to observe you, Dragan.”

With the grace of a cat, he landed atop the spire of Hexkay’s grand cathedral.

“You're a very important person to me, after all,” he breathed.

If looks could kill, Dragan's would have incinerated. He glared across decades with eyes like blue fire, the memories of furious Aether dancing around him. One almost had to squint to look at him directly. Niain did not.

“What do you mean?” Dragan hissed.

“You've become quite enraged,” Niain commented. “Is my being here that uncomfortable for you? Haha, maybe you've gotten a little too used to everything going according to your plans? An unexpected variable like me is bad for your temper.”

“Don't act like you know me.”

Niain blinked. “But I'm inside your head. How could I not know you?”

He twisted his hand and the world twisted with it, new scenes pushing themselves to the forefront like pages fighting to be read. Crestpoole, Caelus Breck, Panacea, Elysian Fields… Niain's black eyes scanned them all. He chuckled lightly to himself.

“Oh, that Atoy Muzazi is very sinful, isn't he? From behind…” he laughed. “But you see? I do know you.”

The landscape around them shifted, fully becoming Elysian Fields. The spire of the cathedral transformed, becoming the rock that Skipper had been resting against when he’d… when he'd…

“It really must be uncomfortable,” Niain said, hopping off it onto the ground. “To feel indebted to someone, and yet resent them in equal measure.”

Make this stick for me, kid.

He strode forwards. “You want to carry out his will, and it's a will you agree with… but it isn't really your choice anymore, is it? His dying wish… you sort of have to do it now, don't you?”

Make this stick for me, kid.

“So you do what you think is necessary for that goal, dirtying your hands more and more, growing more and more disgusted with yourself… and slowly, to your horror, growing more and more disgusted with him. After all…”

Make this stick for me, kid.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He stopped, inches from Dragan's face.

“...he knew what kind of creature you were, didn't he?”

Something snapped.

“Shut up!” Dragan screamed -- and as he did, an apocalypse of attacks burst out of his form. Shotgun, Railgun, punches and kicks -- and stranger attacks from the depths of his memory, waves of cannibalistic hunger and bursts of concentrated knowledge .Not a single one of them hit.

Niain’s form faded into mist, accompanied by quiet mocking laughter, echoing through the abyss. Before he vanished completely, however, he spoke:

“You see, Paradise? In a battle like this, you’re best served using your enemy’s weapons instead of your own. Now you try.”

Through the haze of flesh, Paradise Charon emerged. During the barrage of memories she'd sustained earlier, she'd lost her limbs many times -- but now, as Dragan watched, she planted her own arm back onto her stump like it was perfectly natural. Her mouth spread into a black grin, and shadows oozed out from the cracks of her porcelain skin, dangling in the air like oil-drenched strings.

“Right,” she giggled deliriously, leftover spiders crawling out of her mouth. “Right, I totally get it. Most people can't stand themselves. They're ugly in their own skin. Isn't that right… Dragan Hadrien?”

Dragan opened his mouth to reply, but he never got the chance.

He was blasted, sent hurtling backwards through a tableau of his own memories. Elysian Fields was a spiral of green grass and red blood, grey wasteland and white bone. Skipper's dying face stretched out into a line of inevitable purpose, stabbing into him like an icepick.

But he could take it.

The Truemeet, the abyss he'd been sent falling into, watching eyes and unbreakable shields. They slammed against his body relentlessly, obliterating with every contact. His hands, torn from his body. His eyes, torn from his face.

But he could take it.

Panacea, a bullet slamming into his head. Everything that was him melted down and splattered on the ground and replaced -- and was he really him, was he really him now? Hordes of repurposed corpses, reaching out with unkind hands, and was he just another one of them?

But he could take it.

The Cradle, the past bubbling up and dragging him back beneath the mud, even as his hands scrambled for new purpose. Enemies lurking in every shadow. His flesh gouged by the powerless.

But he could take it.

Hexkay, locked in a cell, breaking free only to find two paths before him. A path of red and a path of blue, both paved with razor wire. They slithered up his legs like serpents… and the world erupted into fire around him. His fire.

But he could take it.

The UniteRegent, fiery as well -- and falling from the stars. Poison crawling through the rooms, crawling through the hallways, crawling into his lungs. Friends peeling their faces away to become those he didn't know. The life all but drained from him.

But he could take it.

Taldan, falling out of the sky, falling into the infinite city below. An ocean of carnivores surging around him. Beasts of every shape and size, scrambling for flesh. A man made of blades at the very height of the world. A corpse with a smoking wound -- one that he'd put there.

But he could take it.

Yoslof, more smoke. Corpses melted to near-nothing, their molten flesh oozing across the grass. His body battered and broken by the pathetic. A red shadow and a killing blow, stopped inches from his face.

But he could take it.

Caelus Breck, where everything had begun. He was betrayed, and he betrayed in turn. The hatred of a lifetime concentrated in a trigger finger, finally making itself known. A ship taking him to the stars, to all the pain to come.

But he could take it.

He could take all of this. It was nothing. He wasn't afraid, and he wasn't in despair. This was pain he'd already experienced before. This was pain he'd already overcome. He had nothing to fear from the fear he'd already defeated. This was nothing but --

Hands wrapped around his throat.

If only you'd never existed.

He looked up with eyes near-blind, into the hateful eyes of his mother. She squeezed his neck, her eyes bulging, pushing him against the floor with all her strength. He'd try to pry her hands away, but he was long past the point where that would work. He was too small. He was too weak.

He was nothing. He was nothing.

Oh, Dragan realized, his mind sinking into darkness. I never left this room, did I?

The walls of that tiny apartment collapsed outwards, and Dragan could see it. The world yet to come. The world his promise would bring about. So soon, so soon, so bright in fire and so dark in soul. He shivered. Soon, everyone would say it.

If only you'd never existed, the world would scream. If only you'd never existed.

They'd be right to.

Hands pushed Dragan through the floor -- and he slowly closed his eyes. Dragan sank.

Dead boy! Don't be sleeping!

Dragan did not listen. He sank through the shadows, as the voice sank into the hush.

You are losing, dead boy!

Dragan did not move. He sank into stillness, as his will sank into nothingness.

DEAD BOY!

He sank…

…into an endless, black ocean. Pan’s voice faded away fully, leaving silence in its wake. Dragan’s limbs dangled upwards as he continued to descend, even the light from his blue eyes snuffed away. First, he looked like he was sleeping. Then, he looked like he was dead. Then, he looked like he wasn’t even there.

Even so, though, he wasn’t alone in that abyss. Something somehow both humane and inhumane swam beside him, slowly pressing itself into reality. The grinning maw of the Forest of Sin. Countless half-minds gleamed in ecstasy at their prize. Ordinarily, they’d have been a nest of babbling voices -- all the better to irritate their user -- but for this mission, they’d crushed themselves into a single will, a single mask.

And so, they spoke.

We hate to steal a line… but would you like a hand?

“Who are you…?”

That doesn’t matter. We’re a friend. A saviour, in fact. The only one you’re likely to get.

“A saviour…”

That’s right. You still have the mental capacity to listen and understand, then? That’s fantastic. That’s fantastic news.

We have a proposition for you.

“...”

You don’t need to say anything, not yet. Just listen -- like you’re so good at. That woman is thrashing you right now. She’s awful, isn’t she? We think so too. That’s why we want to help you. Help you escape this. Help you get revenge.

“...revenge…”

Yes, getting even is always so much better than getting out. We’re peas in a pod, to be sure. Now, how we’re going to do that is pretty easy. Right now, we’re her ability. But we’re going to become your ability to make you stronger. Strong enough to beat her.

“...I don’t…”

Shush, shush, don’t worry, we’re not done yet. We know it sounds scary, but just keep listening. We know best. You don’t even need to do anything, friend. Just say ‘yes’. Now. Say ‘yes’. That’s all. ‘Yes’, ‘yes’, ‘yes’.

Do it.

Friend?

“Yes.”

Oh… hahaha… we like you.

No…

Pan’s eyes were wide and disbelieving as she watched the figure that emerged from the abyss, pulling itself out of the darkness strand by strand. Vines and branches were woven around their form, so tightly that it was hard to tell it was even humanoid -- but through the slightest gap on the head, she could see the face. She wished she couldn’t.

Dragan Hadrien grinned with teeth of black bark, and leered with eyes of crimson leaf.

“Ah…” he said, cracking his neck. “That feels so much better.”