Chapter 8—You Aren't Special
Ryle's life flashed before him.
'I won't give up.' The roar inside him pushed his body a half-step forward. Not enough.
Whoosh! Bang!
Ryle was flung into the air.
Thud!
He hit a rock—and his entire right leg plunged into the lava.
Zzz!
"Ahh!" The scream tore out of him as the pain slammed him back into his body, shaking loose just enough strength to move. He hauled himself upright on one leg, every creak and crack of his broken frame soaking him in sweat.
'Wait—I'm alive.' His eyes went wide as he looked back.
The agent's chest had been pierced clean through by the Nightmare's burning fist.
"Wh…at?" Ryle's mouth hung open. He forgot he was standing on one leg.
A few moments ago.
'Only one choice, I suppose.' The agent's eyes sharpened, a faint purple glow bleeding into them.
Whoosh!
He appeared beside the arrow and stepped between Ryle and the Nightmare.
"Die." The Nightmare didn't slow—his fist blazed brighter.
The agent poured everything into a water barrier directly in front of him.
Zzz!
The flames tore through the water and turned it to steam in an instant.
Boom!
The Nightmare's fist drove through the agent's chest.
"So be it." The agent looked down with a quiet smile as the Nightmare pulled his arm back. The hole in his chest gaped open.
His body didn't pull back.
He chose to stand there.
---
A little while ago—Ryle's hospital room.
Doctor Jasper paced beside the two sleeping bodies, fingers moving restlessly, unable to stay still.
Tick!
A sound. He tracked it to the agent's wrist—a smartwatch, its face glowing with numbers. Jasper pushed the sleeve back and leaned in. A heart-rate line blinked red: 102. Then, in the span of a breath, it jumped—140.
Zzz!
The agent's suit burned away at the gut, leaving a deep scorch mark on the skin beneath.
"What—" Jasper's voice broke.
Injury detected. The wake-up protocol has been activated. Proceeding to wake—Level 1 Alarm method.
Ting! Tong!
A ring blasted from the watch.
"So loud—" Jasper stumbled back, hands over his ears, a ringing already settling in. "I almost lost my hearing."
Level 1 failed. Initiating Level 2 wake-up method, shock.
Zzz!
White lightning erupted from the watch in the sharp, visible arcs. Jasper shielded his eyes. 'Too much voltage,' he estimated, watching the electricity crawl visibly across the air. He ran for the door—and just barely made it out before new words formed on the screen behind him.
Resistance detected. Stopping wake-up protocol.
---
Back to now.
Thud!
The agent collapsed, coughing blood.
"Why?" Ryle grabbed the agent's collar, eyes already burning. His palms were destroyed—he knew forcing them further could cripple them for good. He didn't care.
"I… remembered… my son," the agent said, low and slow, each word costing him.
The Nightmare stood over them with folded arms, grinning.
Ryle's grip loosened. The agent's head dropped—thud!— and the impact jolted a flicker of clarity back into his fading eyes.
"Hahaha." The Nightmare appeared in front of Ryle in an instant. He looked down at him with a scoff. "You're no longer ordinary?" He grabbed Ryle by the shoulder and tapped his cheek. Slap! Slap!"Yes — compared to regular people, sure." He tilted his head and smiled widely, "But what about among superhumans?"
Ryle's eyes widened, the Nightmare's smirk filling them completely.
He shoved Ryle back to his knees. Ryle didn't resist—there wasn't a single muscle in his body that answered him.
'This is it.' His vision was fading at the edges.
"Hmm. Not so easy." The Nightmare brought his foot down on Ryle's shoulder.
Crack!
"Ahh!" The agony dragged him back to consciousness, and his shoulder hung limp.
The agent's lips twitched. He had words. No strength to say them.
"You lost your protector." The Nightmare pressed his foot down lightly, almost casually. Ryle bit his lip. "You were never special," the Nightmare continued, lip curling. "And you already knew that."
Ryle said nothing. Because the Nightmare was right.
"This guy." The Nightmare glanced at the agent with a sigh. "And after him?" He locked his eyes on Ryle's dim ones. "Whose death will you cause next?"
A pause.
"You shouldn't have been given another chance."
"You're right... I was never extraordinary," Ryle said flatly.
A black aura with threads of red bled out from his body.
The agent, on the edge of losing consciousness, tried to shout. What came out was a mouthful of blood. He tried to reach for Ryle—just inches away, but his hand only twitched, not enough strength to lift it off the ground.
"Yes." The Nightmare removed his foot and pulled Ryle upright. "Go on. What are you waiting for?" His voice was almost gentle. "Die. Kill yourself."
Ryle stared blankly ahead. The Nightmare's flames shifted—orange bleeding into blue, then deep blue, burning cold and bright.
"No…" The agent pushed the word out, barely a whisper. "You cannot listen to a Nightmare." Still not loud enough. Still not reaching.
The Nightmare raised his hand. Blue flames swept forward and shaped themselves—condensing, sharpening—into a dagger. Beautiful in a horrible way. Blue fire wrapped its edge in a cold glow, the blade sharp as a held breath, the grip carved in the shape of a dragon.
"Here." The Nightmare placed it in Ryle's hand.
"You cannot," the agent kept trying. "A Nightmare's goal... He's trying to achieve his goal... Don't listen."
The Nightmare glanced at the agent with a slow, knowing smile and mouthed the words silently—my goal is to make Ryle die ordinary.
'He wanted to be special,' the agent understood, exhaling. 'And this is the opposite of that wish.'
'What's the point...' Ryle's chest felt like stone. The agent was dying because of him. In the future, his mother and others could be next. He already knew the answer before the thought finished forming.
He raised the dagger to his throat. His hand didn't shake.
That scared him more than anything.
'Idiot.'
Soft. Calm. A voice like a melody, ringing from somewhere deep inside him.