—The Narrator is keeping you in the story.
By then, I had understood the ability of the Narrator: it is able to keep me a part of the story at all times.
But, since a real person—not a character had defied my authority, the Narrator is useless.
"Tell me, Reverie," said Oliver, who had become more arrogant and turned his gaze towards Reve. "Who is Leviathan Schneider?
"According to Archie, you are the author of Imperfections of a Knight. So why are the files here signed under the email address of a certain Leviathan Schneider?"
When he placed the laptop on the stainless steel desk and approached me, he bent forward.
Then took a bite of my flesh.
I winced in pain, unable to do anything because of my restricted movement, my eyes going backward and showing my sclera. Then, once the inner layers of skin touched the air, there was a stinging heat that dispersed into it.
Shrieking to the point I almost bit my tongue, I watched as Oliver grabbed a napkin from his slacks’ pockets and wiped his mouth with both hands.
"I have an anomaly too," he said, munching, blood dribbling down his chin. "It’s called Cannibal.
"Whatever it does, I’m not sure. They don’t give a description of it after all.
"However, I can tell the gist of it just by the name."
The timer ticked in front of me.
[The next round shall commence in:]
[18:19:24]
He slurped the crimson liquid that fell down his chin, more barbaric now.
Leaning forward once again, he was nearing my shoulder where he had bitten, touching the inner skin.
I screamed, feeling the heat of his own body heat more intensified.
"Ah," he said. "Will you tell me your anomaly as well, Sir Reverie?
"It’s unfair that I told you and you won’t.
"Though, I already have an idea."
My breathing turned raggedy and tattered. The room was cold towards the other fragments of my body, but towards where he had bitten my shoulder, it was pure ember.
I felt like I was dying.
Then slowly, the pain stopped.
It was gradual, the pain dissolved into nothing.
I turned to see a glance of my shoulder, of which had begun to reform itself. Though it had regenerated, it left a lumpy scar.
"Wow," said Oliver, chuckling darkly. "Now that was something never mentioned in Leviathan Schneider’s notes. A Regenerator."
I bared my teeth at him with a glare.
"I’ll pull each of your teeth out one by one," he smirked. "You will regenerate anyway
"You, Reverie, have truly strayed too much from the plot."
-
[The next round shall commence in:]
[16:57:59]
For the next hour, Oliver did not do a thing to me.
He did not consume my flesh any further, nor did he pull out my teeth as he had claimed, for he had said it tasted horrible and that he did not enjoy eating or hurting people anyway.
As though he didn’t pierce me in the head, he acted kindly.
He did nothing but type on the laptop wherein I could not take a glance because of the angle he wrote at.
The next round was about to start in less than twenty hours, and I had yet to prepare.
In the first place, what was there to prepare, right?
My anomaly, Regenerator, was simple.
It does what its name says.
I was lucky, for some anomaly-holders like Oliver himself had only a vague understanding of their own ability.
Oliver. As for Oliver, he continued to tap on the laptop’s keycaps repetitively.
It made me question what he was doing.
He had claimed that the laptop, which was once or could have been mine, had the notes up until the end of Imperfect Knight.
I knew that was a lie.
I searched every nook and cranny of that portable computer when I had first gotten to no avail.
But, then, what was he staring at?
I zipped my mouth.
But Oliver broke the silence.
"Have you seen Archie nowadays?"
"...no."
"I figured." He gave a dejected smile without turning to me. "We met the other day, you know.
"It went like this: it was seven in the morning before the rounds officially began.
"An accident, our meeting was. We haven’t seen each other once since we were eighteen, despite our being neighbors.
"He offered me tea even though he knew I was more of a coffee or hot cocoa person.
"We were at a cafe that was newly opened."
He continued typing and typing and typing.
"It had a nice atmosphere, almost akin to medieval pubs. Their croissants were nice, their tea, though, as most of them were, were quite bland.
"Once, at fifteen, he promised to always be with me through thick and thin.
"Now that we are in the middle of an apocalypse, though, I haven’t seen him once."
The screen reflected on his round silver-rimmed glasses, a handful of his jet-black hair falling down his forehead.
More typing. It was getting more erratic with every click.
"He said he had met someone that made him achieve his lifelong dream.
"I responded with ’Ah, did someone invest a ton of money on stocks for your company?’"
"That was the wrong response, for he scowled.
"’I would never follow the path of the likes of my father.’
"I apologized.
"Then, he claimed that the apocalypse will befall the world one day.
"And that day is near.
"He said: ’There are multiple signs of the apocalypse, such as commonplace domestic abuse, liars being followed, the sun rising from the west, the release of nephilim and behemoths, pandemics, natural disasters, but mostly...
"’The release of the Antichrist.’"
The Antichrist was a figure in an old piece of fiction, once a religion, written by many authors. So, it was unknown who had really invented the term.
A character named Christ starred in it.
"Then, he laughed. He laughed like I was laughing with him and laughed like he was a child once again. He laughed for no reason at all.
"He said as his eyes widened to oblivion, almost to insanity: "Now, this is the pinnacle of fiction!’"
"I asked, what do you mean? Apocalypse this, the release of the Antichrist that. Where did you get this information?"
His voice dropped a pitch as he said:
"He told me this: ’A little devil had told me.’"
A droplet of salty water dropped from Oliver’s tear ducts, falling down his cheek.
—The Narrator despises Oliver.