It had been the ninth Council member they had covered in a body bag during these past few weeks. Ripped apart and dissected as though a Machgar, a wild half-cat, half-machine, had sneaked into the man's home to commit the deed; it made for unpleasant viewing. It had been done in the man's living room, which was filled with expensive furniture, now also decorated with his blood. Brando Symili was his name, and he had been part of the Council, which linked him with the other eight they had found in similar states, butchered and almost unrecognisable. However, it wasn't just that which the Lieutenant and the rest of Exia believed united them.

  They also believed Lucifer had killed them.

  Of course, they had no way of proving that, but Newman's instincts and his inner voice told him otherwise. There was savagery to this act, alongside a sense that these assassinations had been committed under great emotional stress. Despite how they might have appeared on the surface, they were not the work of a focused killer. There was rage within these killings. Pain. Hatred. Something had caused Lucifer to commit these acts.

  What message are you trying to send?

  Newman regarded the thin bespectacled man, staring at the ceiling of his own living room in horror. It was as though Lucifer had swooped down like an Ethero Fiend, ready to consume its next victim.

  Maybe he should have, Newman contemplated, unable to assess the scene without the image of Imperi appearing in his mind, followed by the sounds of Fiends feeding on his corpse. He shook his head, hoping that the thought would disappear with it. It didn't. Instead, the only thing that returned the focus was the sound of cameras clicking, of multiple DFA Agents muttering amongst themselves, no doubt thinking the same thing.

  That his kind really were the monsters they had assumed they were.

  His face tightened alongside his fists as he stared at the dissected body, wishing that it was Lucifer instead.

  You're going to ruin everything, Newman thought, noticing the voice stir within.

  He heard someone approaching.

  'This is your fault.' a bitter voice called behind him, causing the Lieutenant to sigh while momentarily closing his eyes. Newman turned, seeing Lieutenant Dest, along with his fellow young Officer, who shifted in discomfort as soon as he looked at them.

  At least they have the sense to remember a threat, Newman mused, forcing a smile.

  'I apologise for not possessing the ability to predict the future. We still do not know if my suspect is responsible for this.'

  Dest shot him a dark glance, unimpressed by the retort. 'This has Hateful hands all over it, Newman. He's the one who wants to become a god. Who else would strike down members of the Council?'

  'You touch upon points I've already considered,' the Lieutenant answered, his patience waning. 'But that doesn't equal proof. As far as we're aware, nine of the twenty-three are dead. We might assume it's the same killer, or perhaps even the same group of killers. Apart from that, we have nothing.'

  Newman moved to walk past his fellow Lieutenant, eyeing the other officer as he stepped away. They feared him, and part of that shamed him, but another part relished it. It had become more obvious recently, the way they looked at him, the mutterings aimed towards him and his race. Newman then felt Lieutenant Dest's hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stop. His face had taken another look, one more akin to regret.

  'I wouldn't go out there yet,' he said, pausing as though considering whether to say anything else. He swallowed and nodded to himself before regarding Newman more plainly. 'There're a lot of Agents waiting outside. If they see you…'

  'Then perhaps we'll be adding more bodies to the one behind us,' the Lieutenant replied. He didn't wait for Dest's response. He shrugged the Lieutenant's hand off and continued towards the main door, which led to a small balcony before reaching a narrow corridor of steps. He could see flashing red and blue lights awaiting him in the distance. He could imagine the word spreading. Brando Symili, dead in a brutal murder. He had been quite a controversial figure within Exia, one of the biggest factory owners in Seraphu. He had been a major employer in Exia, but his working conditions were said to border on slavery. The Lieutenant doubted many would weep for him.

  Then again, they haven't seen what I've just witnessed. He didn't die peacefully, that's for sure.

  Newman considered that. Beginning with Tobias Thorson, all nine of the murdered members of the Council had suffered similar deaths, which made the Council's response even more baffling. Hannibal Desmarti, their leader, had called a hearing at Heaven's Gate, announcing that he and his fellow members would not accept any form of protection. They would present a united front and trust in the Divinity to guide and protect them. Evidently, that hadn't worked well so far.

  But the Divinity is our god. Why don't you regard him as such? Newman asked himself within, noticing the voice stirring once more, listening.

  Because you don't believe in him, it hissed. It had been growing more vocal lately, and despite how much that concerned him, he let it speak uninterrupted. The voice seemed to be all-knowing, highlighting truths he couldn't escape from. Newman stopped half-way along the corridor that led towards the main door, glancing around to see if anyone was nearby. When he was sure he wasn't being listened to, he lowered his chin to his chest.

  'Why would you say that? If I didn't believe in him, does that make me better than Lucifer?'

  Does it matter? You both seek the same thing.

  The Lieutenant gritted his teeth at that notion, trying to force himself not to react. 'No, we don't.'

  Yet your mind is full of doubt, the voice replied, speaking as though it had a wide grin on its face, making Newman imagine Barbatos. The image of the sorcerer did little to elevate his mood.

  'Then please illuminate me. How are we both pursuing the same thing?'

  You both seek the freedom of your race, do you not? Lucifer pursues the Divinity while you pursue humanity. You fear his progress, the strides he makes towards your goal. Meanwhile, you know what will befall you as soon as you step outside. Lucifer is destroying all that you've worked for. Humans despise you, but nowhere near as much as you despise them.

  'That's enough!' Newman snapped, before realising what he had done, flicking his gaze around himself. No one was near him. His frustration creeping in, he continued forward, heading towards the main door, which led to a cul-de-sac in which there was a cluster of magnificent mansions. The DFA had covered most of it in tape, barricading it with DFA vehicles, preventing the public from getting past. In the meantime, he could see a group of his fellow DFA Agents standing in a huddle, talking amongst themselves while casting suspicious looks at him. Newman ignored them while heading past the group towards his car. He had parked it beyond the main cluster of DFA vehicles, and reached into his jacket pocket to get the keys.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  'How long are you going to let that freak continue to do this?' an incredulous voice asked from behind him, forcing Newman to turn back. The cluster of DFA Agents had turned towards him, all regarding him with the same contemptuous looks he had grown used to. He said nothing to the Agent, a young-looking clean-shaven man with short hair.

  'Well?' he said, as though Newman owed him an answer. 'One of your fellow freaks is out there ripping Council members apart, yet you're doing nothing about it! When are you gonna grow some balls and go to that asylum you call home?'

  Newman ignored that, alongside the sounds of laughter coming from the voice. It knew how much he hated to be talked to like that, and how much he despised these people. It didn't stop the other feelings rising from within too, longings that scared him. To distract himself, he approached the young Agent, who stepped forward as though expecting a fight. However, Newman had another idea, noting how the other Agents were circling around them.

  'What's your name, kid?' he asked, as the Agent frowned, incredulous.

  'You didn't answer me, you freak!' he spat, taking another threatening step towards Newman. 'Why haven't you done anything?'

  'Because we have no proof,' Newman replied, forcing himself to remain calm.

  'Bullshit! He's one of your bastard kind! You should've dealt with him by now!'

  'Is that so?' the Lieutenant replied, taking a breath. 'Perhaps you could do better? Why don't you hunt down my suspect yourself?'

  The young Agent appeared baffled, not having expected this response. His face contorted into a scowl, stepping towards Newman before spitting at his feet, just missing his boot. He waited again for a response that Newman refused to give him, while everything fell silent around them. A few seconds passed before the young Agent's face twisted in disgust.

  'Your kind deserves what it gets,' he muttered, turning away from him. His face sneering in hatred, Newman stepped in the same direction as the young Agent, tapping into his Blessing as a Transformative. Before he realised what he was doing, he had summoned his curving arm blade, ignoring the horrified gasps of the other Agents as they watched. When the young Agent noticed something was amiss, he turned to see the giant blade inches away from his face, causing his anger to dissipate instantly.

  'Please, say that again,' Newman said, feeling every inclination to commit the deed, to send the message he had always wanted to send. A part of him was sure the voice was trying to add to this, wanting to see the carnage that would follow in its wake. Despite himself, Newman retained control.

  'You have no idea what it's like, do you?' he asked, knowing the Agent wouldn't have an answer. None of them would. For reasons that eluded him, he felt this add to his anger, to his hatred. He knew he was sneering at the Agent, at all of them as they watched, one action away from changing everything forever.

  'I feel all of it,' he whispered, not sure who he was speaking to, his eyes fixed upon the young Agent. 'Your anger. Your hatred. Every time you look at me. Every time I cast my eyes upon this unjust world. I see nothing but hatred and pain. I feel it coursing through my body. I wonder when it will change, when the world I envision will come to pass. That's what stops me from ripping you apart. That's what keeps me going. What does it mean to pursue a dream? Even if you know it could be a delusion. Even if you fear you're wrong. What is there left if you do not pursue it? What justifies the actions we take?'

  Newman paused then, realising what he had just done. Hearing the voice laugh from within, he forced himself to take a step back, relinquishing his Blessing. Feeling ashamed, he turned without another word to say, making his way to his car as a stunned silence fell around them.

  Within minutes, he was driving towards the Divinity Highway, not too sure where he was going. Tears streamed down his cheeks, while inside he felt hollow and numb. His mind throbbed and he had to pull into a lay-by, closing his eyes as he pressed his hands against his temples. The pressure relieved him somewhat, but it still didn't change what had just happened. It didn't change what he had been so close to doing.

  'I almost ruined it all,' he gasped, feeling claustrophobia encasing him. His eyes darting in panic, he was amazed to find the Institute standing on the opposite side of the Highway, looming over him as though delivering its final judgement. Newman chuckled in irony, unable to stop his body from shaking. An idea came to him then, an idea he knew was stupid, yet he pursued it anyway. He rummaged through his jacket pockets, trying to find his phone. He unlocked it and began searching through his contacts. Newman tapped the screen and held it towards his ear, listening to his staggered breathing as the phone rung ominously.

  Then, the ringing stopped. She had answered the phone. He could hear her breaths, sounding just as fearful as he felt. There was a chilling silence between them. Slowly, understanding came to him. He would have to speak first.

  'Hela?' he finally asked, feeling as though he sounded like a little boy. A few seconds passed and not a word was spoken in reply.

  'I…' he tried to begin, knowing the mistake he had made in doing this, allowing his tears to fall without restraint. 'I'm…not well. Sorry for bothering you. I just wanted to say that…that…I love you.'

  He ended the call and extended his hands to the steering wheel, allowing the phone to drop to the floor. A great sense of loneliness washed over him. Then, as though to prove the opposite, the voice stirred within.

  You are not alone, Megidra. You never were. I will always be here. I will always be watching…

  What are you? Newman asked, doubting that he would get an answer.

  I am Ryun, the voice replied. And together, we will achieve your dream.