The Tension in the Room

The air in the room was so thick you could barely breathe. The only sound that broke the silence was the cold, emotionless voice of Arcsil.

**"What are you doing here?"**

His words sliced through the air like a cruel blade. His crimson eyes, like polished jewels, were fixed on him, radiating an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. For a moment, he was frozen, fully understanding the danger of the situation. He instinctively took a few careful steps away from the piano.

**"I... class ended early,"** he stammered.

**"Interesting,"** Arcsil replied, his tone completely devoid of emotion. It sounded almost inhuman.

Curiosity, however, made him ask, **"What are you doing?"**

**"Playing the piano."**

**"You play beautifully,"** he said softly.

Despite the compliment, a sense of dread washed over him. Something about Arcsil, something dark and unpredictable, terrified him in a way no one else could. He always felt that Arcsil had the power to break him—not just physically, but emotionally. His very presence, shrouded in shadows and darkness, preyed on his deepest vulnerabilities.

Arcsil rose from the piano bench, his back now turned. His shadow seemed heavier, darker, as if a storm raged within him.

**"Are you... okay?"** he hesitantly asked, the words escaping his lips before he could reconsider. He immediately regretted the question.

That simple question was the spark. The moment everything changed, the moment he decided to let his shadows consume him.

---

### **Arcsil Carnileus's Perspective**

I lost control. I never meant to hurt him, but the shadows inside me had a will of their own. They lashed out at Astia, their black, razor-sharp edges tearing at his soft skin. He fell to the floor, his fragile body broken under their assault.

I wanted to stop. I wanted to help him. But my body was foreign, controlled by something beyond my understanding. I became a puppet, my strings pulled by the insatiable hunger of the shadows. They craved his essence, his pain, his suffering. His energy - the energy of a fallen angel- quenched their endless thirst.

Each wound I inflicted on him gave me a strange sense of power, a surge of energy coursing through me. But with every cut, Astia's spirit crumbled a little more. And the worst part? I didn't know if I regretted it.

This was only the beginning. The beginning of what would eventually break him—and me.

---

Astia writhed on the floor, his arms burning with an unbearable pain. He'd never experienced anything like it. It was as if a thousand tiny blades were piercing his skin all at once. Blood welled from fresh wounds, staining the wooden floor beneath him.

**"Brother... why are you doing this?"** he whispered, his voice broken with exhaustion.

Arcsil's response was cold and cutting: **"You're a little demon."**

**"What...?"**

His red eyes burned with an unnatural glow as his shadows surged forward again, engulfing him like suffocating tendrils. The pressure was overwhelming, squeezing his body as if to crush him into dust. He felt like he was being erased.

Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, the shadows released him, and Arcsil stepped closer. This time, it wasn't the shadows, but himself, who was causing the pain.

**"Let me see your face,"** he commanded, his voice devoid of warmth.

Astia remained silent, his tears mixing with the blood on his face.

Arcsil, ignoring his lack of response, grabbed his hair, forcing him to meet his gaze. His red eyes probed him, searching for something—fear? Pleasure? He couldn't tell.

**"Let go,"** he croaked out.

**"You're disgusting,"** he spat with pure venom.

Arcsil, still gripping his hair tightly, dragged him toward the courtyard. The pain in his scalp was excruciating, as if his hair was being torn out by the roots.

The storm outside continued to rage, the thunder echoing like nature's cries in the sky. Arcsil threw him into the mud, the cold rain mixing with the dirt beneath him. Before he could even think about standing, his shadows solidified into tiny, sharp daggers.

Arcsil began to scratch at his skin—not enough to leave a permanent scar, but enough to draw blood and inflict intense pain. Astia was defenseless. His body, still unaccustomed to its new form, offered no resistance. He didn't even know why he was being punished. His tears flowed freely, a natural reaction to the brutal pain he was enduring.

That's when he stopped. As soon as Astia's tears began to fall, Arcsil stopped his attack. Instead of continuing, he crouched beside him and gave him a wicked, terrifying smile—a smile that sent shivers down his spine.

**"I like it... cry more. You're so beautiful when you cry."**

**"Stop it... do you even hear yourself?"** he cried, his voice trembling with despair.

Arcsil's expression darkened, and his voice exploded in fury:

**"Shut up! I don't want to hear your voice. Only speak when I tell you to!"**

But Astia, filled with both fear and rage, snapped. With the last of his strength, he kicked out at his chest, sending him stumbling backward. Without a moment's hesitation, he scrambled to his feet and darted behind a nearby tree.

He said with a shaky voice **"What the hell have you gotten yourself into? Brother, who even are you anymore?"**