Chapter 45: Power Awakening: Accepting Lust, Part 1
The faces were dotted like stars etched on a canvas. Each one had its own story—or rather, beatdown.
On the left was Jonah, someone who stuffed Logan’s face into a toilet. Next to him was Dale, who went ahead and tore his homework moments before class.
Then there was Blake, then Justin, then Judith, then...
The list went on and on.
While it was interesting for Logan to be able to see so many wretched faces standing before him, he didn’t feel any intruding red in his stomach, failing to charge him up or force a clenched fist or two.
Instead, a different feeling sprouted. This one, even through all his apprehension, persisted as a means to calm him down.
Logan stepped forward, hands at his side.
"What are you, exactly?"
The apparition laughed, then dipped down from its flight. Landing softly on its feet, it grinned:
"You know the answer to that."
Not quite certain what it was referring to, Logan let his eyes wash over the sea of faces just once. Again, the same feeling of calm.
"You understand now, the hypocrisy of your promise?" the thing sounded, allowing Logan to flicker his gaze up towards it. "Ah, but maybe you can’t admit it to yourself. If so, that would make you quite the masochist, Logan~"
Pixel punched at his skin. "Logan, I don’t like this."
Lowering his chin to her level, he kept his voice quiet:
"I know, Pixel. Something about this thing is just creepy."
Pixel’s head bobbed to each side. "No, it’s not that. It’s the feeling I get from this guy—like watching a serial killer. He gives off the same vicious aura that was emanating from your core when you’d first absorbed me. There’s something to him. Something off."
’Him?’ Logan thought, letting his eyes scan the thing. No longer did he take the form of a deceased Selene. Instead, his limbs were long, skinny, and devoid of color.
Or rather, his entire existence was.
Rather than possessing human qualities like a face or hair, there was nothing but nothing, like a walking placeholder held together by an immensely dense force.
Still, even through the white void, he could barely make out the figure’s shape. He wasn’t a pretty sight.
Preemptively, Logan cracked a grin. "Well, I suppose his body is shaped like a man."
It was only once the apparition shot his hands up—lifting the very world around them—that Logan took his appearance more seriously.
The not-man dropped his chin, mimicking speech. "Say, Logan. Of all the things in the world, what do you most desire?"
Logan didn’t know what to say.
"The aptly mundane would answer with any of the following: Wealth, fame, power, intellect, or even a promotion in their day-to-day. But what would your answer be?"
His throat worked, urging for the right words to escape. Like searching through a thesaurus, his mind raced. Then, in a single moment, he found it.
"Love—"
"Lies! Look to your left and right and tell me, in your heart of hearts, that what you want is love! Do I need to point out just where your true emotions lie?"
Logan tripped over the interruption, stuck on the way the apparition’s voice flared—hot, and free. It was so human-like, yet not at the same time.
Still, he took the time to inspect his surroundings carefully. There were faces he wasn’t fond of, that was for sure, but to say that he was enraged? That would’ve been a blatant lie.
"What is it you want me to answer with? I don’t want wealth—I’m not materialistic. Fame and power both sound great, but neither is my immediate goal. And intellect? Well, I already have plenty of that."
The apparition’s gaze was serrated—cutting into Logan’s own attention to the point that he jolted his head to the side.
"Logan, Logan, Logan~ how I’ve longed to talk to you. Out of all the people I encompass, you’ve always intrigued me most." With a devilish grin, his fingers snapped. Then, so too did the world.
Motion and life breathed into the endless wave of bodies, some flinching from the stimulus, others already readying themselves.
Then, a flood!
A tide of feet broke toward him, all aiming for Logan.
Logan bent his knees, ready to run in the opposite direction, but something stopped him. His feet wouldn’t lift from the ground, like something was pulling on them, telling him to accept the wave.
And so he did, falling to the ground.
Hundreds of bodies trampled over him—his torso convulsing from the force. "Khhhk, Kyhhh!" he coughed.
"Is this what you prefer, being literally stepped on by them? Is this what it takes for you to realize your ultimate contradiction?"
Logan’s eyes went red—either with stress, blood, or a combination of both—as Pixel called out for him. Her voice didn’t reach him, not over the strong footfalls surrounding them.
Then, in a single moment, it stopped. Bodies hung still, and Logan sat desperate.
Desperate for air, peace, and answers. Mangled from the recent stampede, he just barely rolled to his stomach.
"Khhh, why...?" One glance from the apparition, then another. Logan realized his intent through the slight narrowing of his eyes. "Please, could you just tell me what it is you want?"
It’s not necessarily what I want, Logan, it’s what you want. After all, you’re searching for the power needed to protect the ones you love, correct?"
Logan, struggling to his feet, held his battered ribcage. "Yes. Would you be able to give it to me?"
"Only if you accept who you are."
Again, the world shifted. Though not in the way Logan was expecting. The white turned even brighter, eventually settling into a plain green.
Blades of grass brushed against his skin, and he fell to his knees. It was the courtyard to the school, climbing far up with steps of lush plantation, like ladders.
"Sabrina..." a voice uttered, projected just a few feet in front of him.
It was himself. Fatter, more uncoordinated, and worst of all, unfeeling. Just a straight face.