“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Higgs as he stood by my side at the edge of the floating island, gazing upon the planet we call home. Seems it is no longer engulfed in complete darkness since our last battle. “I guess,” I responded, knowing its true nature and the chaos that hid behind its beauty. Beauty appeals to the ignorant, people who merely value the surface and are unaware of what is beneath. Shame that even after centuries of our existence, we continue to live in such a disgraceful manner. I sat on the edge as I looked at the stars, wondering how many of them were other worlds. I wonder if there is anyone out there, staring into the sky towards me, contemplating the existence of others like him. Unfortunate for us that our sky is the limit because I crave the opportunity to start an entirely new life on a completely different world. I wish I could bury my sins with the graves of my victims. I began trembling as the temperature dropped on the island. Higgs offered his coat but I ignored him and walked to the other side of the island. He followed me. “I can’t find the right words, Ingram. I don’t really know what to say,” he admitted hesitantly. “Neither do I,” I responded, “which is why I remain silent. I suggest you do the same.” He seemed hurt by my response. Or so he was pretending. “I’m sorry, Ingram. You need to understand that I have no other choice,” he blurted, “I never wanted to kill her.” But you did, didn’t you? You ran your blade through her stomach willingly. Nobody was forcing you. You could’ve cut her arm off. Leg. Anything that wouldn’t have killed her instantly. Or you could’ve just let her alone. You chose none of these. Instead, you stole from me what could never be replaced. “Your apologies mean nothing, Higgs. Because I know that you’ll continue to do what you have always done,” I remarked, “your refusal to change will be your downfall. Repenting does not bring her back.” Higgs took a deep breath, exasperated from the dull nature of our conversation. “Do you really think we should keep fighting?” he asked, “look at all the chaos we’ve caused. We wiped an entire kingdom because neither of us could exercise resolve.”

“That was my last battle,” I answered as I gazed upon our planet, which was gradually being flooded by the oceans. “I find that hard to believe,” he confessed mockingly. “Your belief doesn’t dictate my choices,” I responded. “So, you’ve given up?” he asked, perplexed. “Retired sounds better.” “Why now?” he asked impatiently, “you did all of that just to surrender?!” I walked away again but he continued following me. “The ocean will arrive soon,” he continued, “shame that you have fallen before your death. I could never expect a son of mine to be…” He hesitated. “It goes both ways, Father.” “I know this isn’t the end for you,” he grunted, “you single-handedly disrupted my entire plans. We’re the same, Ingram. We long for battle and blood. You might deny it in these moments of despair but I know you. You’re a bloodthirsty bastard.”

“Melinda, can you end this?” I pleaded, “please?”

…

I woke up in my cell, staring at the ceiling. I found an open book laying on my chest. ‘A Silent Poet’ by Jason Zeller. He had given it to me during one of his visits. I had read about a hundred pages thus far. I got up and sat in a cross-legged position, facing the steel bars of my cell. Past those bars sat a familiar individual. She waved awkwardly. “How did you sleep?” she asked. “What do you mean?” I asked. “As in, pleasant. Or uncomfortable,” she added, “we added more books to your shelf. You should take a look.” I examined her. She had her axe, powered by her lightning ability. She wore heavy black armor with purple leather underneath and her grey hair had grown since I last saw her, reaching below her shoulders. I nodded in appreciation as I looked over at my bookshelf, filled with new faces. “How far into it are you?” she asked, looking towards the book in my hand. “A few pages,” I answered as I began folding my blanket. We remained silent for a moment. I examined the refreshed collection of novels. Dawn of the Arc. Reverie. Brief History of Trigon. Trigon being the kingdom I currently live in, inside an isolated cell designed to hold monsters and demonic entities. Like me. I scrolled ahead. An Ocean of Disorder. Trampled. War and Peace. Seemed intriguing enough. It saddens me to see books go away after reading them. I wish their stories stayed and continued. Their worlds became oddly familiar to me as I immersed myself in the novel. I wish I could be in their world. It is almost a tragedy that our imagination could create such descriptive features of worlds filled with prosperity and wonder, only to find ourselves stuck in ours. A tragedy indeed, for if I was given the chance to leave, I would not hesitate.

“What do you think of it so far?” she asked. I thought it was a great book, to be honest. The main character, Pritchard, was an appealing character, seeking the love of a woman as he wrote poems about the things he learns in his journey. He was a business man before he chose to pursue his dreams as a poet but much of his early works had been dismissed. But one thing that stood out was that he would not speak words. Ever. Or rather, he could not. I have read almost about a quarter of the book, yet the story has not revealed the reasoning behind such an odd trait of his. Could be some sort of trauma, I presume. A tragedy would renders him mute for the time being. The story is written in a way which creates this urge within me to discover more about this character and the journey he carries out. However…

“Don’t try to make conversation with me,” I grunted, “I don’t need anyone’s sympathy, Evelyn.” She was taken back by my response. “Sympathy?,” she asked, disheartened by the tone of my voice, “we were friends, Ingram. I believe we still are, aren’t we?” I looked away from the shelf and towards her, my eyes glowing purple. She sighed and leaned back against the wall. We didn’t speak for another hour or so.

I was reading the book called Reverie. It is about a civilian, a student Brigade whose imagination seems out of control. Coincidentally, his powers stem from his imagination entirely. She can imagine certain objects and they pop into existence from what I can understand. The story is pretty much revolves around how she tries to control her imagination in order to harness the true potential of her powers. Quiet and aloof, she tries to make connections with people, starting with her royal family. “Jason’s going to be here soon,” Evelyn informed, “he came earlier while you were asleep. Said he’d be back after a couple hours.” I ignored her and continued reading. Jason Zeller had apparently been hired by the Brooklyn Gazette, an up and coming publishing business owned by Helena’s parents, Edward and Lisa Brooklyn. On his first visit, he didn’t introduce himself. Instead, he came and sat for a couple minutes, asking questions about my health and my recovery. I briefly answered his questions. He thanked me and left. I didn’t think much of our meeting until he continued visiting and began asking more personal questions. About my battles. My gifts. My relationships. I refused to answer every time, so he would move on to more open-ended questions about life in general. It seemed he had grown familiar with the ambience of existential despair clouding the air within this cell. He’d ask me about my dreams, how I felt about them, where I would want to see myself in a few years after my sentence was over, and other questions of that nature. Amelie said that her and a few others are trying to shorten my sentence. Apparently, there is a chance that it can be shortened if I open up about my perspective on the things that transpired which contributed to the declaration of my sentence.

I’d rather not speak on those matters. I am okay with spending a few years in here. If I wanted out, I would simply tear apart these steel bars using my symbiote and my bare hands. Or disassemble it entirely. Or teleport through it. Amelie and the Council are aware of that. At least, to some degree. The cell and the bars have power crystal engrained within which feed on the energy of the Gifted. That is, if the Gift itself is not able to resist.

“Tell him he’s wasting his time,” I hissed. “No, you’re wasting your fucking time!” Evelyn snapped as she stood up, “don’t you wanna get back out there? Aren’t you sick of this place? You’re one or the strongest people in Pangaea. You saved so many people. You don’t deserve to be in here!” I gave her a skeptical look. “You done?” I asked. She grew silent and sat back on her chair, continuing her glare. “You’re clearly biased, Evelyn.” “I killed innocent people at Raith’s hall,” I explained calmly, “I killed countless Brigades in Aramore, many who were forced to serve by Higgs. And I was responsible for the atrocities that happened in the fallen Kingdom of the Ulcerates. I created that wasteland, littered with tortured and raped creatures because I was able to turn the tides of battle against the innocent.” “But I know that all of this was not what you intended,” she assured, “you didn’t know which side was the right one, did you?” “Doesn’t matter if it was intentional, Evelyn. You know this,” I responded, “they’re all dead. But the one person I did all this for is alive. Higgs made it out alive. I failed, Evelyn. Miserably.” “No, you didn’t. You dismantled his entire army single-handedly. You made it so that none of Pangaea’s forces had to risk their lives to go out there and draw out Higgs.” “I couldn’t protect Helena,” I confessed as I leaned against the wall, my back turned towards Evelyn. “I couldn’t save her!” I grunted as I punched the wall and created a small crater, sending debris everywhere.

“Is this a bad time?” asked a familiar male voice. Jason Zeller. I turned to face a skinny, middle-aged white man wearing a black cloak with sliver linings on the sleeves and a white button shirt underneath. He had silky black hair and a straight beard. His head was covered with the skin of a robotic symbiote, sparing only the front of his face and the center part of his hair. “It’s always a bad time with you,” I hissed as I lay back on the bed. He ushered to sit back down and opened the cell, closing it behind him. This was a first. I jumped out of my bed and stood at a distance. I morphed my arm into a giant blade and braced myself. “No need for any hostility, Ingram.” He remained calm and held a chair in his hands. He walked past me and placed it next to my bed, picking up my book and reading the summary on the back cover on the chair. “Come. Sit on the bed,” he called. Was he not afraid that I could decapitate him at any instant? He noticed that I had not moved from my place and turned away from the book to face me. “That blade,” he observed, “expertly designed. A thin layer of your symbiote on the outside with poison underneath. Physical contact brings out the poison. If your attack is deflected, the poison splatters onto the opponent. If it succeeds, then hardly any chance for the victim to survive.” His eyes glowed blue, creating circular holograms in front of his eyes. It enhanced his vision because the poison isn’t visible to a normal eye. He was gifted. An observer ocular ability. Hell of a reporter, that would make him. But I was convinced that this wasn’t the case anymore. He was someone else entirely. I walked past him cautiously and sat on the bed, leaning against my pillow. “Thank you,” Jason said as he placed the book back on the bed. “What is it this time?” I asked as I tried to read his energy levels. But it wasn’t there. I couldn’t see. I am convinced that he is not merely a civilian. Could it be that a cyborg can avoid detection from ocular abilities the same way my symbiote does? I have never met one before in my battles. “Who are you?” I asked, “besides being an author and a reporter.” He raised an eyebrow and the slightest hint of a smile appeared. He has never smiled before. At least, not in front of me. “A father,” he answered proudly. He dodged what I was trying to get at. “Do you work for Amelie?” I asked. His face refused to reveal any emotion. Nothing but stoic. “I can only speak honestly about myself if you display the same quality,” he responded.

Fucking hell. I needed to know why a non-civilian was visiting me repeatedly. I had a feeling he was more powerful than he seemed. “Answer this first,” I demanded, “will my responses be revealed to anyone else?” I looked over towards Evelyn and she had began leaving the prison. Jason must’ve signaled her. I turned back towards him and waited for his response. If I was a normal human being, I would find this man quite creepy because his eyes were always shot open and I cannot recall him ever blinking. Clearly some sort of sociopath. “It’ll stay between us unless you say otherwise,” he affirmed. Why would I ever do that? I nodded, signaling him to proceed. “Did you dream earlier when you were asleep?” he asked.

“I don’t dream."