"I'll get straight to the point, Nicholas Darklight. What were you doing at the scene at such an hour?" A cold, calculated voice sliced through the tense atmosphere of the interrogation room. "You were found at approximately 2 a.m., attempting to flee the site of a massacre. So, I'll ask you one more time—what happened?" The man's jaw tightened, his frustration evident.
It was understandable. The scene they had stumbled upon was unprecedented: dozens of people were found locked in cages, and a dozen more were lying dead, victims of brutal gunfire. Fusionight City had never seen anything like it. Not in recent times, at least.
Nicholas shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the weight of their suspicion bearing down on him. Things weren't looking good.
Two detectives stood on the other side of the table, their gazes fixed on him. One, a stern-faced man with sharp eyes, led the questioning. The other, quieter but no less intimidating, observed him intently. Nicholas could sense something off about the second detective—the way they watched him, the way their presence felt invasive.
'What kind of attribute is that?' Nicholas wondered, his mind racing. 'His ability isn't mind-reading; otherwise, I'd already be in cuffs and tossed into a cell.'
He grimaced, resisting the urge to fidget. 'Really... what's my move here?'
***
Shortly after gathering his belongings and ensuring the captives were safe, Nicholas bolted from the carnival, of course not before, finding some water to wash his face of the blood that stained it. Finally, finding refuge in a relatively clean alleyway not far from the chaos.
Leaning back against the wall, he slid down until he was sitting on the cold ground, his body heavy with exhaustion.
"Tired... too tired..." he muttered.
The grotesque horrors he had witnessed clawed at the edges of his mind. During the chaos, his wrath had burned away his fear, driving him forward with single-minded determination. But now, with no enemy to direct his anger toward, the dread seeped into him, wrapping itself around his thoughts like a suffocating fog.
His body begged to collapse. A dark part of him even wished never to wake up again.
He slapped himself hard across the face, the sting jolting him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Don't think like that," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Think about something else... like how Philip wielded a gun. Hah."
The thought made him snort softly. He never would have expected his outgoing but otherwise timid friend to brandish a weapon, let alone use it. From what Nicholas had observed, Philip hadn't shot anyone, but his quick thinking—waking the captives and leading them to safety—had earned him the title of hero among the survivors.
Nicholas smiled faintly. "He'll probably be the talk of the town. Rose might have completely fallen for him after that." The image of Philip basking in quiet admiration brought a flicker of warmth to his thoughts. "And if he stays silent, 'Unknown' stays out of the story. Works out for me." He chuckled softly, genuinely happy for his friend.
But the smile faded as his thoughts darkened. "Next, I should think about... how my injuries healed."
His gaze fell to his shoulder, where the gaping wound from earlier had closed entirely, leaving only pink, tender skin. "It's... definitely a scar," he murmured, tracing the area with his fingers. His mind drifted to his leg—the one he was certain had been broken in the fall. The pain had vanished completely.
"I know I heard the bone break," he muttered, his brow furrowing. "So, how is it healed?" His gut churned uneasily, an instinctive sense that something had happened during his blackout—something he couldn't remember.
"Was there a third party involved?" he mused aloud, his tone skeptical. His thoughts spun with unanswered questions, nagging at the corners of his mind.
Then he shook his head sharply, frustration bubbling up. "Why am I even thinking about investigating this? I almost died! And for what? This time it wasn't just some dangerous thug or lunatic—it was a monster. A real, living monster. And people were working with it! How insane is that?"
His voice broke the silence of the night, only the whisper of a breeze responding.
He slumped forward, gripping his head in his hands. "Why the hell would I ever want to involve myself in something like this again?"
Yet deep down, he knew the answer. Even if he wanted no part of this twisted world, his intuition told him that the world had other plans. It would find a way to drag him back, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.
"Fate's Chosen Fool, huh?" he muttered through gritted teeth. "You must be getting a real kick out of watching a kid suffer, don't you, Fate?"
He sighed heavily, the weight of his words settling on him. "I'm talking to a theoretical concept now... I must've really lost it." He leaned his head back against the wall, staring up at the faint outlines of the city skyline.
What to think about now? His thoughts drifted, trying to latch onto something less maddening. How did the circus carnival even get permission to operate?
'Events like that need approval from the mayor's office,' he thought. And the mayor of Fusionight City was none other than Benjamin Khybernus, a man hailed as the "Future Hope of Humanity." The title alone made Nicholas scoff bitterly.
"Could he have been in on it?" Nicholas whispered, the thought dark and unwelcome. The Wendigo had spoken about eating half the captives and selling the rest as slaves. Could Khybernus—someone Nicholas had saved just a week ago—have been complicit in such a horrific operation?
The idea made his stomach churn. "It'd be a real kick in the balls if the guy I saved turns out to be behind this nightmare," he muttered. It wouldn't surprise him too much, as it had already happened, just a week ago, in fact. It was sad, really… He shook his head, dismissing the possibility. It was too much to process right now.
"Next, I should think about... the monster itself," Nicholas murmured. He dismissed his mask with a flicker of thought, the dark material dissolving into nothingness.
His gaze dropped to his hands, flexing them as if expecting to see remnants of the blood he'd spilled. He wasn't entirely sure he'd managed to rid himself of all traces, but he hoped it would be enough to avoid any unwanted attention.
"Despite the horrors I've witnessed... I've learned a lot of new things, so it... balances itself out, I guess."
The words rang hollow, offering little comfort. But even a faint glimmer of solace was better than drowning in despair.
The things he had learned were troubling. Monsters were indeed real, and they resided within the Swart Rook. The Wendigo—or whatever that creature truly was—seemed to be one such monster born from the black fog. However, it had claimed to exist long before this age of Swart Rook, suggesting the fog wasn't a new phenomenon. Perhaps it was a resurgence of an ancient terror, a grim echo of an older world.
The creature hadn't minded being called "Wendigo," leading Nicholas to suspect that this particular monster had inspired the legend itself. It also spoke of acquiring its body through significant effort, which supported his theory: the Wendigo was some form of malevolent spirit that required a human host to regenerate its physical form. And it did so by driving its host mad. Suddenly, he felt pity for the clown, Glib.
The Wendigo had also claimed there were countless others like it, lurking in the world, preying on humanity. Worst of all, it had dared to call Nicholas a monster, too, saying they were kin.
"What nonsense," Nicholas muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
He stared at his hands as if the answers to his questions might be etched into his skin. "I don't believe I'm a monster... but what is this power? It's not like anything I've ever heard of. I don't think I'm Awakened. I'm... something else. Something very confusing."
The weight of his thoughts bore down on him, and he let out a weary sigh. "How much do the governments know about this? How much are they hiding? Are they fighting the monsters in secret? Or are they too weak to even try?"
He rose shakily to his feet, the night air doing little to steady his nerves. "Is there... is there anyone I can trust in this bizarre world?"
As the words left his lips, a familiar, pleasant voice whispered in his mind.
Your darkness is growing...
Nicholas froze, his body tensing at the sound. "It's... it's growing?" he repeated, confusion evident in his tone. "That's different from before—"
Before he could finish, a sharp, unnatural sensation welled up in his throat. Panic seized him as a horrid, inky black liquid began pouring from his mouth. It wasn't ordinary darkness; this substance devoured light itself, its presence a living, oppressive void.
Nicholas stumbled, horrified as the flow continued, relentless and unyielding. It felt like an eternity before it finally stopped. By the end of it, he was left weak, his body trembling.
'Burn it,' his instincts screamed. The command was primal, urgent, and undeniable. He didn't know why, but he was certain this black liquid couldn't be allowed to remain. It was dangerous—wrong.
The liquid seemed to be immune to his dark flames, which did not bode well with him.
He looked around frantically, spotting a discarded lighter among the trash in the alley. With shaking hands, he picked it up and crouched near the dark substance. The lighter flicked to life, its tiny flame flickering in the cold night air.
"Let's see if you burn," he muttered grimly, lowering the flame to the black liquid.
The moment the fire touched the darkness, it ignited violently. A flame of unnatural intensity roared to life, casting an eerie light that made the alleyway feel even more claustrophobic. Nicholas staggered back, shielding his eyes from the searing brightness.
The liquid burned fast, vanishing into nothingness within moments, but the aftermath left a lingering unease in the air.
Nicholas stood there, staring at the charred ground, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. "What the hell is happening to me?" he whispered, the question hanging heavy in the silent night.
An unknown force crept into his mind, tightening its hold on his sanity.
Something he couldn't name had begun to unravel his grip on reality.
That was when—
"Freeze!"
His eyes widened.
Police officers surrounded him, their weapons aimed at his chest. The suddenness of it all left him frozen in place, unsure of how to react. He was too shocked to even think of running. In some twisted way, he had already complied with their first command.
"Hands in the air!"
Slowly, he raised his arms. He didn't want to risk doing anything that might give them a reason to shoot. The officers approached cautiously, their eyes never leaving him. When one of them grabbed his wrist to cuff him, the cold metal felt more like a jolt back to reality than a restraint.
Huh? That single thought echoed in his blank mind, unable to form anything more coherent.
***
And that was how he wound up in this interrogation room.
He frowned, leaning back in the chair with his arms still aching from the cuffs. He made a grave mistake. He'd let his guard down, distracted by exhaustion and the nightmare of everything that had happened. Now, he was stuck figuring out how to get himself out of this mess.
But the part that truly grated on him, more than the cuffs or the questions, was...
'How dare these bastards think I was in on it?! I saved all those people! I nearly died doing so too! Ungrateful much?!'
He clenched his jaw, holding back the urge to yell. It would reveal too much, and the last thing he needed was for them to suspect he was Unknown. That would open up a whole new set of problems—ones he couldn't afford to deal with.
For now, he had to stick to his plan: play dumb—a clueless victim of circumstance. It wasn't far from the truth, after all.
"What happened?" the detective repeated, his voice sharp enough to slice through Nicholas's muddled thoughts.
The question snapped him back to reality. He stayed silent for a moment longer, trying to steady his racing mind. "I don't know…" he finally said. It wasn't a lie. He hardly understood the chaos he had witnessed, let alone the mysteries surrounding it. All he had were theories, and none of them felt solid enough to lean on.
The detective sighed, clearly unsatisfied. "Alright then. What was the last thing you remember?"
Nicholas hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I woke up… on the ground somewhere. Close to me, there were four bodies." His voice dropped as he continued, the memory still vivid. "I was terrified and ran the first chance I got. After that, I rested in an alleyway, vomited, and tried to process everything. That's when the cops showed up."
The detective glanced at his partner, who gave a subtle nod, seemingly validating his words. "Okay," the detective pressed on, "but what about before you went 'unconscious'? What happened then?"
Nicholas furrowed his brows, pretending to search his memory. "I watched a show," he said slowly. "And the only thing that came to mind while watching it was the word 'brilliant.' I don't even know why. It just… felt like the right word."
The detective's expression didn't change, but Nicholas could tell that piece of information wasn't new to him. It must have matched other testimonies from the incident.
"Then," the detective continued, his tone turning more pointed, "do you know why you were around the carnival grounds instead of being in the cages with everyone else?"
Nicholas winced internally. That question was trickier. How could he craft an answer that distorted the truth while still holding some shred of plausibility? After all, he had been in the cages before using his abilities to escape.
"...I was saved," he said carefully. "By someone. I think."
It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't entirely a lie either. Someone had put him to sleep and healed his wounds. That part, at least, he was sure of.
The detective narrowed his eyes slightly but didn't push further. "Someone saved you? Did you see who it was?"
Nicholas shook his head. "No, everything after the show is just… fragmented. I don't remember much."
The detective exchanged another look with his partner, then leaned back in his chair. "Alright. Let's see how your story holds up."
'Ugh.' Nicholas resisted the urge to smack his head against the table.