Trigger Warning

(See Author's Note attached at bottom)

06

The manifestation of evil wasn't hard to find.

In the mirror, any mirror. Humanity.

All the sins, all the evils, all the pains all the envies all the betrayal all the

JEALOUSY

Mitsuru's arms trembled as he steadied himself, taking deep breaths as he narrowed his dark green eyes. He was tired, his concentration slipping easily. Had it been any other day, Mitsuru would have been fine, easily being able to handle himself.

BANG!

The shot missed, skidding right next to the shoulder of the target. Bad aim. Unusual for him, and he cursed himself as he once again tried to steady his mind, tightening his grip on the gun as he adjusted. If it weren't for that damned argument, he wouldn't be shaking so much. He went to the gun range in an attempt to clear his mind, but it only seemed to distort it further.

BANG!

Another miss, this one right underneath the arm as Mitsuru nearly threw his gun in frustration. Steady. Deep breaths. Hold the gun, use the arm as the balance. Steady. Keep your eyes forward, press forwards. Steady. Shoot.

BANG!

"Mitsuru, please. Just give me another chance, please, son,"

BANG!

Mitsuru wanted to drone out the pathetic voice of his father, gritting his teeth in rage as he recalled the earlier conversation. Another chance? After all he had done? What a disgusting piece of trash.

BANG!

How weak could someone be, acting like that in front of his own son. Begging, on the floor, crying. It was weak. It was pathetic. It brought this abhorrent bile in his throat as he pictured his father like that, and Mitsuru's hands clenched further onto the pistol. How could his father even think he could act that way after all he had done?

BANG!

It was a vile rage that had consumed the brown-haired boy, and Mitsuru finally let out a selfish gasp for air as he fell back against the wall, quaking as he slowly slid down. He flicked the safety on and left it, devouring the air in front of him.

Pangs of emotion rang out throughout his body, and he felt part of his mind protest against his horrid treatment towards his father. However, another reveled in it, glad that Mitsuru was finally strong enough to do such a thing, to finally give his father the treatment he so deserved.

It hadn't always been like this. Mitsuru grimaced as he thought back to the memories that had permanently seared themselves into his brain. But the past was the past, and Mitsuru had to accept the present now. He exited the gun range swiftly, unable to stop the trembling of his hands.

Golden rays loomed over Mitsuru as he left to the outside, where the evening sun was raised, held back by the cool clouds of the autumn weather. It was a Sunday, and people pleasantly chattered about, families holding their children softly and couples walking lovingly, the very presence of one another being all they cared about.

This only served to dampen Mitsuru's already bad mood, and he bit his tongue aggressively as he walked, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his windbreaker. His eyes twitched at all the happiness that surrounded him. Any other day, and he would have been fine, just casually walking and ignoring it.

But not today. So he scowled as he walked, purposefully radiating a moody aura in an attempt to express his distaste for what was going on as he made his way… somewhere. He wasn't sure where he could go right now. Certainly not home. But there wasn't anywhere else he could go. But to see his pitiful father would only add fuel to his rage, and despite all the hatred he harbored for the adult, Mitsuru didn't want to blow up on him.

Mindlessly he wandered, losing himself in his own thoughts as his feet took control, following his instinctual path. The streets gradually became less crowded, the evening sun settling deeper and deeper into the sky. The bloom of an orange sky spread lengthily across the heavens, and Mitsuru paused as he found himself in front of a familiar building. It was broad, containing many annexes as a broad field of grass lay next to it.

The Garden, or at least that was the colloquial term for the school. It was a large building containing both elementary and junior high students. Memories flooded through him, ones that Mitsuru hastily rejected as he turned, attempting to leave the school behind him. Why had he walked all the way over here? The sight of the school brought forth a foul sentiment in the boy, and he clenched his fists as his mind walked further down memory lane. Specifically, to one person.

Hiro. Mitsuru recalled briefly seeing the teenage boy just about last week at the mall, and their awkward interaction pasted itself across his mind. It was really a childhood grudge that had made their relationship so strained, but Mitsuru couldn't find himself putting it away. Perhaps the hatred for Hiro was childish, but it still hurt to think about, no matter how much he tried to dismiss it.

To be a hero. It was a simple childhood dream, one that many would claim for themselves. To have superpowers and be the savior of humanity, to be able to fly endlessly and be the most special specimen on the planet. Plenty of kids dreamed of it, dressing up as Superman and Spider-Man, desperate to be special. However, for Mitsuru, it was different.

Everyone could be a hero in their own right. Heroism wasn't tied to extreme acts that surpass the human body. It wasn't as if Mitsuru wanted to fly, or to be invisible, or have any other superpower. In fact, what he wanted was fairly normal on the humanistic scale of capabilities. He wanted strength.

To fight, to be able to stand up for himself. To not just be the child that was tossed around at home upon his father's drunken rage, to not hide in his room crying as he clutched his ears to hide himself from his mother's wails of pain and suffering, to be able to not hide in his closet every time his father came home, to be able to-

Of course, it never happened. Rather, Mitsuru found his dreams being shut down by the one he looked up to so much, the one that inspired him to fight back, to struggle against all the restrictions that had been set upon him. He still remembered the childlike way Hiro had spoken to him, dismissing him easily.

"A hero? Pfft," Hiro spoke, giving Mitsuru a laugh as he continued. "That's lame. Why do you want to be a hero?"

It was a simple question. But it broke his entire world, leaving it shattered on the floor as his entire dream collapsed within itself. How could Hiro forget? Mitsuru had told him earlier, before his long absence, why he had wanted to be one. But the child had forgotten, breaking Mitsuru's small heart. Once again, Mitsuru admitted it was a childish reason to maintain his hate towards the teenager. But to him, there was no going back.

It just hurt, coming from Hiro specifically. At the time, Hiro was everything Mitsuru strived to be. He wanted to be exactly like the boy. He even distinctly remembered believing that if he was like Hiro, perhaps his father would love him. Maybe he would even stop hitting Mitsuru.

Such was just childish ideals though. In reality, nothing could stop the rage-imbued monster that his father was except, it seemed, his mother's death. It was a startling shock for both Mitsuru and his father, and a sharp turn in their daily lives.

One might think that his father would turn even worse, choosing to target Mitsuru even further. However, that was not the case. His father seemed to just completely shut down, and the sound of his weeping echoed throughout the house for about a year. Eventually, they slowly began to interact, and Mitsuru cautiously stood by, waiting for him to explode, waiting for the beating.

It never came. Instead, in an ironic twist of fate, his father wanted to reconcile with Mitsuru, to put their past behind them and live a new life, one without the putrid acts of abuse.

Mitsuru refused. After all his father had done, he could never forgive him. Thus, the past year of his life had been a strange reversal of roles, with Mitsuru harshly ignoring his father's cries for sympathy.

The city was quieting down, and he found himself walking in mostly silence, with small blurbs of nature making up the ambience. Finally away from all the city life, Mitsuru paused as he looked around, unsure of where he was. It seemed to be in the more abandoned part of the area, one he remembered was largely filled with construction sites and such in his early childhood.

However, something happened, and it all went away, leaving it a desolate part of the city, usually left undisturbed. Mitsuru recalled his father saying something about this area, claiming it was dangerous to roam around in. But when did Mitsuru ever listen to his father?

Rebellion boiled in his blood as he decided he would go against his father words and explore these parts, despite the part of his mind that protested against such danger.

So he walked, entering half-finished buildings filled with rubble. The atmosphere was horrid, giving off this old abandoned feeling. He found half-used pipes and other shards of glass, sometimes even clothes. Cigarettes dirtied the floor, and the litter everywhere was unbearable. Still, the sense of adventure pushed him onwards throughout the various barren buildings.

A particular structure caught his eye. This was one of the few edifices with completed walls, made to be a plastic warehouse-like structure. Walking up to it, he realized the building looked much cleaner on the outside than those he had visited so far. Mitsuru pressed against the door cautiously, but it refused to budge. Annoyed, the teen eventually resolved to push the door with his shoulder. He slammed against it, and slight movement made him aware that he was making progress.

One last push slammed the door open and Mitsuru stumbled through, metallic creaking echoing throughout the building as darkness surrounded him. He coughed, dust flying through the air at his sudden movement as he grabbed his phone, quickly turning his flashlight on. Light flashed on, and Mitsuru winced at the sudden illumination.

Now things were getting interesting. It seemed to be an abandoned storehouse of sorts, mostly empty with various large crates lying around. Metallic beams held up the ceiling, and he slowly moved around, stopping once he realized his foot had stepped on something sharp.

Mitsuru looked to the ground, picking up the trash he had stepped on. A bullet shell. His eyes shot to the floor, and he realized bullet shells were scattered around, making up a large portion of the ground.

Every fiber of his being screamed danger, telling him to turn back. However, the defiant spirit that had risen within him refused, and he continued forwards, clutching his phone as he slightly trembled. He approached one of the crates, dusting it off.

It was locked with a metal hatch, and Mitsuru decided now wasn't the time to try and open it, as his shoulder whined at his previous physical venture. Instead, he looked at the labelling on the side of the crate, filled with architectural jargon that he wasn't familiar with. However, a large title was stamped onto the top right.

"Project Apus?" Mitsuru whispered out loud, unsure of what it was. The name rang familiar in his head, but he wasn't able to discern where he had heard it. He looked to his phone, ready to search it up before glancing at the top left of his device. No signal. Damn.

He propped himself back up as he turned his flashlight around in circles, slowly trekking around the building. More crates, some empty tables, chairs with broken legs.

Thud.

His phone clattered to the ground as he nearly screamed, scrambling onto the ground as he picked up his device, his hand shaking wildly. Was that… a dead body? His hand felt heavy as he took a deep breath, moving his phone's flashlight back to where it had shined before.

A dead body was sprawled in the air, spiked to the floor by a pole that burst through his chest. Cockroaches scattered as the sudden light hit them, and the corpse's decayed flesh was a startling image for the teen. It was a man, his mouth gaping open with dried blood etched across his face. Stabs littered his corpse as Mitsuru continued to stare, frozen, fear flooding him.

It looked recent. Which meant…

Mitsuru had to get out of here.

Chest rapidly rising and falling, Mitsuru dashed for the exit, all means of stealth left behind as he went for the light, his body tensing as he got closer and closer.

He was so close! The door was right there, and he could nearly reach out to touch it!

The sunset's gaze was a relieving sight as Mitsuru dashed back to the outside world, however such relief was not enough to stop his panic. He kept running, his feet on a mad sprint for safety as he raced through the maze-like streets of the area, his eyes wildly whipping for any signs of danger.

The sun was officially leaving the sky to the moon as Mitsuru finally stopped, selfishly intaking air as he leaned his hand against a building. He wasn't sure exactly where he was, given that his hysterical state of mind had an obvious lack of navigational function. But given the darkened tone of the area, he figured he wasn't out of danger yet.

Just one moment, then he would return to his desperate escape. Just a few more breaths. His throat yearned for water, but such valuables were unavailable. His feet ached, but Mitsuru knew the circumstances. He had to get moving.

"Hey, kid."

A voice. Mitsuru froze, fear overtaking his veins as every nerve in his body snapped, overcome with icy slabs of frost.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," The voice spoke again, a bit gruff with a hint of a laugh. With a gulp, the teenager in question finally turned.

He was on the scrawnier side, shorter than Mitsuru. The man wore dark leggings that sagged, a loose blue jacket hanging off his shoulders. Blue lines scrawled across his face, a tattoo with no real resemblance towards anything. His brown eyes blazed towards his, a fiery energy within them.

"I don't think I've seen you around these parts," The man said as he walked up to Mitsuru, his eyes scanning him up and down as he approached. Mitsuru wanted to take steps back, but his feet were glued to the floor, unwilling to do his bidding. "What's your name?"

He wasn't safe. He was shaking, his mind distorted as he barely even understood what the man had asked him. He felt his hand being drawn to his backpack, a warm force pulling it there. His fingers etched towards his holstered gun, one that he carried ever since he had gotten his training. It wasn't illegal, Mitsuru had earned his right to bear his arm, at least in this state.

But he hadn't ever used it in an actual situation. He swallowed as he slowly unzipped his backpack, keeping his hand hidden as he reached inside.

"I asked you for your name," The man was getting closer, impatience clear in his quickly approaching steps. There. His fingers brushed against the handle of the pistol, and his hand reached out to tightly clutch it. Deep breaths, Mitsuru.

"Hey, what're you doing back there?" Shouting, the man sped up, closing the distance between them in swift steps. With one last breath, Mitsuru whipped his hand forward, pistol locked forwards as he aimed it down on the man.

Silence. The man had immediately stopped at the sight of the black firearm, expertly balanced by the boy. Mitsuru was no newcomer to the gun industry. He had been practicing for years, waiting for a chance to prove himself. A sense of confidence floored through him at the look the man was giving him, and he beckoned the man to move back as he held the gun straight, his finger twitching against the trigger. He was in complete control. It was a feeling he had never felt before, and energy flowed through his fingertips. It was exhilarating.

"Hey, I was just trying to help," His voice was slow and cautious, echoing out throughout the streets. The man raised his hands in the air, and Mitsuru's eyes snapped to the man's stealthily shuffling steps.

"Back up, now. I'm not afraid to shoot," Mitsuru was pleasantly surprised at the tone of his voice, which sounded much deeper than its normal tone. It only fueled his conviction further, his grip tightening against the pistol.

The man finally stopped, mere steps away from Mitsuru. However, the distance was still far enough to give Mitsuru a chance to react. A slow nod, and Mitsuru nodded in return, unsure of how to proceed. The man was twitching, and his eyes looked nervously around, before locking onto something behind him.

Was there another one? His eyes itched to look, and he quickly whipped his head around, his eyes quickly scanning the area. Nothing?

The sound of shoes scraping against the ground alerted Mitsuru to turn back around, where he bore witness to the man sprinting towards Mitsuru, his hands desperately reaching for his gun.

Mitsuru closed his eyes as he pushed the trigger, his body ready for the recoil.

…

Nothing.

Mitsuru's heart sank as he realized the critical miscalculation that had occurred. He had forgotten about the safety.

A brief struggle over control led to the pistol being stolen from his grasp, thrown across the street as Mitsuru fell to the floor, his hands scraping roughly against the pavement. His breaths wildly ragged, Mitsuru could only watch as the man slowly grinned, an evil glint in his eye as he stood over the vulnerable teenager.

"The fuck did you think you were gonna do with that kid?" The man erratically spoke, his eyes hard as he continued to stare down at Mitsuru. "I was really tryna help. Maybe take your phone and some other goodies, but you just had to pull the gun out, didn't ya?"

Fists grasped onto Mitsuru's collar as he was picked up, the man putting his face directly in front of Mitsuru's. His breaths smelled of alcohol, tainted with pungent taste. Mitsuru didn't even give a fight, his very will of survival seemingly gone. It was over. All the confidence that had been rushing within him disappeared the instant Mitsuru had pulled the trigger, failing to do the simplest of tasks. He was dead.

"But now, you're going to experience pain you smug bitch. Tryna kill me like that, you're in for the worst," The man said excitedly, his eyes filled with an unruly sentiment as his fists tightened against Mitsuru's collar. The teen barely reacted, instead slumping in the man's grasp.

He was going to die. Just like his mother. His mind painfully flashed back to her slump figure, her lifeless body lying in the hospital bed, a periodic beeping that had haunted his dreams. He wondered what she would say to him in heaven, if it existed. They could finally live peacefully, away from the fear that had controlled their lives from his birth.

BANG!

Mitsuru fell to the floor as the man's grip abruptly loosened, his mouth agape as he stood there, before taking a misguided step forward, stumbling to the ground. Blood pooled from the back of his head, corrupting the floor below him.

His heart throbbed against his chest, and every muscle in his body seemed to release itself from its self-imbued tenseness. He was alive. He wasn't dead, yet. Relief flooded throughout his veins as he turned to look at his savior.

Tall. She was tall, a slender build complimenting her figure. Long pink hair fell down to the girl's waist, and her turquoise eyes shone dangerously, a hint of a glowing red hue active in them. She was dressed in a black and red plaid skirt, a similarly colored jacket hanging loosely from her elbows as a simple white shirt finished her look.

A gun was clearly pointed at him as her eyes seemed to scan him robotically, and Mitsuru felt fear once again take hold of his body, rendering him a frozen body on the floor.

With silence, the girl expertly flipped her gun, holstering it as she turned, her hands depositing themselves in her pockets, and Mitsuru blinked. She was leaving?

"W-wait!" Mitsuru called out, scrambling to his feet. "Thanks for saving me! What's your name?"

The girl turned back, and Mitsuru nearly flinched at the coldness of her eyes. The utter disinterest was so obvious in those green orbs of hers as she looked back at the teenager, and Mitsuru wanted to just fall back to the ground and pretend he never existed. She looked at him like he was some rotten piece of trash in her path, and her eyes were clearly irate that such filth had even talked to her.

Heels clanked on the floor as she resumed her walk, not answering his question as she left, leaving Mitsuru to his lonesome.

Mitsuru nearly slapped himself as he felt a wet sensation flowing down his cheeks, and he angrily bit his tongue in a futile effort to stop his tears. His feet slowly stepped forward in an inconsistent fashion as he attempted to control himself.

It was horrid. This feeling of failure. His one chance to prove himself, to finally be given a chance to do something. And he had to be saved by someone that hadn't even given the boy a second thought, barely acknowledging his existence.

It was infuriating. It was downright humiliating. Yet, Mitsuru knew that he should be grateful, given that she had ensured his continued survival. So with a great deal of unhappiness, Mitsuru accepted his failure and reasoned that next time he would be able to stand the test and excel.

Next time, he would prove himself. Not to anyone in particular, not at all. No, Mitsuru wanted to prove his worth to himself.

Night had fallen once Mitsuru made it back, making his way painfully to his house. The scrapes on his hands were stinging at him, and he was in an absolutely rotten mood. He definitely didn't want to return home, given that his father would react poorly to his late return. But he had to, so he was reluctant with his steps as he made his way home.

He had escaped the rest of the area with relative ease, making his way back to the normal streets he was familiar with. The return to normalcy was greatly appreciated, and Mitsuru shivered slightly at the cold winds that berated him. He was close to home, and he found himself strangely yearning for its warmth.

"M-Mitsuru?"

The boy turned, looking down at a frightened girl. Long wavy blonde hair flowed smoothly down her back as a blue headband held it. She wore a simple white hoodie, small black shorts leaving her bare skin exposed. She was crouched near the river that flowed in his neighborhood, a bag full of small fish food in her hand as her rich blue eyes locked widely to his body.

Kokoro. She was a part of Hiro's group of friends, and he remembered her in the past for her innocent childish ways, always afraid to do anything. She was a very safe girl, though perhaps she might have changed after all these years. They had a few classes together at Mistilteinn, though the boy generally paid her no mind.

Mitsuru looked down at his windbreaker, scowling as he realized blood had been splattered against it. Damn.

"Are you okay?" Kokoro's blue orbs were filled with worry as she stood, her voice high as she made her way to Mitsuru.

He stepped backwards, keeping the distance between them as he regarded her with cold eyes. "It's nothing. I had… just fallen earlier, that's all," Mitsuru avoided her gaze as he lied, though there was truth in the statement. It was just that the blood had not come from his scrapes. No, it was from the man that had been shot dead in front of Mitsuru.

"Let me see," Her voice was soft, and Mitsuru found himself nearly giving in. The caring in her words were nearly enough to break his will, given that he had a serious lack of such throughout his day. However, he stood strong as he shook his head.

"Don't. Don't pity me," He found himself saying, his voice sharp. She flinched, and he felt a strange sentiment rise within him, an uncomfortable feeling that Mitsuru wanted to rid himself of.

Silence befell the two as they stood awkwardly, Kokoro looking down at the floor and Mitsuru staring forwards to the street. He thought of the girl that had saved him, the lack of interest in her eyes. And, finally, Mitsuru realized why it had hurt so much. He wanted to be recognized. He wanted to be acknowledged. But in his backwards sense of thinking, he pushed away those that wanted to care about him, only searching for the eyes of those that never looked towards him. Just like in the past, with Hiro.

"I'm… sorry. I didn't mean that," Mitsuru said, his voice forgiving as he turned back to the girl, who seemed to flinch again with the sudden attention. "It's just been a long day."

"No, no! You're fine, it's all my fault," Kokoro squeaked, her voice fading away as she stared softly at Mitsuru. "If it's okay with you, can I see your scrapes?"

The boy just nodded softly, raising his hands hesitantly in the air. Kokoro looked at them, holding them in her hands warmly.

"They're not that bad," Kokoro said while analyzing the wounds. "You just shouldn't have rubbed them onto your clothes. Here, I have some clean water we can use to wash the blood and grime off."

Mitsuru watched as Kokoro walked back to the area where she had been feeding the fish, grabbing her water bottle before returning. She gently opened the cap, slowly releasing the water atop his palms. Mitsuru winced at the sensation, cringing as the water stung at his cuts. But he held his hands still, and he found himself jealously watching the water fall to the ground, his parched throat suddenly becoming very aware.

Kokoro seemed to notice his eyes, stopping the flow of the water as she tipped it back up. "Are you thirsty? You can drink from it, I haven't touched it yet," She told him, tilting the bottle in his direction. Mitsuru wanted to say no, but his thirst decided to take control as he took the bottle gratefully, savagely gulping the water down as his throat sighed in pleasure.

Kokoro stared at him with fascination as he put it down, and Mitsuru felt himself turn slightly pink as he realized he had drunk all the water.

"Wow," Was all she could say, stifling her giggles with her hand as took the bottle back. "You really were thirsty, huh."

Face flushed, Mitsuru just slid his hands into his pockets, a sheepish half-smile on his lips as he shrugged.

"It's okay. You did say it's been a tough day," She offered him a sympathetic look, a smile wide on her lips, something that Mitsuru strangely found endearing. "We've all been there."

"Yeah, I guess we have," Mitsuru responded quietly, his eyes glancing away from her lips. "Anyways, it's late. I should be heading home."

"Y-yeah! You're right. I should be getting home too," Kokoro spoke rapidly, collecting her stuff as she began to walk away, nervously glancing at Mitsuru once again before leaving.

"Hey, Kokoro," Mitsuru called out to the girl, not wanting to leave it there. The girl turned, and her hair blew softly in the night winds, her body lit by the wonderful moonlight. She looked pristine, and Mitsuru found himself turning a tad pink again. "Thank you. Really, thank you."

"No problem, Mitsuru," A happy smile spread across her face, her eyes shining with an unfamiliar emotion. "I'll see you tomorrow at school, okay Mitsuru?"

He nodded at her, turning around and taking his leave. He was unsure of what exactly was happening to him, this sudden rush of emotions that had taken over. But he enjoyed it, that was certain. It truly had been a long day for him, and meeting Kokoro was the highlight. He smiled softly, before shaking his head.

It was just mere coincidence, really. There was no other meaning behind it other than Kokoro was a nice girl. So he took his mind off her, finding himself before his house. Taking a deep breath, he rang the doorbell, uncertain of what reaction his late arrival would garner. His mind flashed to the picture that stained his memories, the one of a rage-filled man drunkenly standing before him, every ounce of humanity gone.

The door opened. Immediately Mitsuru was taken into a hug, and he felt the body embracing him shaking wildly, racked with sobs.

"Mitsuru, where were you?" His father asked, holding him tightly as Mitsuru grimaced at the unfamiliar sensation. "I was worried sick. I thought I had lost you… just like…"

Had it been any other day, Mitsuru would have forced his father off him, scowling and telling him to fuck off. Had it been any other day before his mother's death, he would have been sorely beaten by his father. But it wasn't any other day. Today was a new day.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Mitsuru found himself whispering, and his father even froze at the words. Perhaps it was meeting the girl that had saved him, perhaps it was Kokoro. Perhaps it was his encounter with death itself. Whatever the reason, Mitsuru felt a sudden change of heart. Perhaps it was time to give his father a chance. "You won't lose me yet, I promise."

The Squire's Adventure

Author's Note: This chapter delves into some darker themes about child abuse, however it isn't depicted in the chapter. Rather, I chose to delve into the recovery and rehabilitation of all parties involved in the process of abuse. Please know that this comes from a very personal place, and if you have any problems with my depiction of it, please let me know. Otherwise, I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you to those that left reviews, I love reading the reactions you guys have to the story.