Project:Imagine

Maxwell stumbled back to his room, his body aching from the intensity of the class. His wings still buzzed faintly with residual energy, but the exhaustion hit him like a wave. The adrenaline from the fight with Ivan was wearing off, and all he wanted was to collapse onto his bed and drift into unconsciousness.

But as he entered his room, something caught his eye—a familiar, unsettling sight.

On his desk sat a single white rose, its petals impossibly pristine, almost glowing in the dim light of his room. Next to it was a letter, the envelope as pale as the flower beside it. Maxwell's heart skipped a beat. He didn’t need to open it to know who it was from.

“Nihil,” he whispered under his breath, feeling an odd mixture of dread and intrigue tighten in his chest.

He'd once again received one of these cryptic letters, always accompanied by a white rose. Each time, the message was brief but laced with meaning, hinting at things only Nihil could know—things about Maxwell, his powers, and the hidden depths of the world they lived in.

He hesitated before stepping closer to the desk. For a moment, he considered leaving the letter unopened, pretending it wasn’t there. But he knew that wasn’t an option. Nihil wouldn’t be ignored, and besides, his curiosity was too strong.

Maxwell carefully picked up the letter, feeling the weight of the message even before he tore it open. He unfolded the delicate paper and began to read.

The letter felt cold in his hands, as if the paper itself carried the icy disdain of its sender. Maxwell unfolded it carefully, his eyes narrowing as he began to read.

“Hello, corpse of future damnation,”

It began, as always, with Nihil's biting tone, laced with venom.

“Has it really been that long since we last exchanged pleasantries? It's amusing, and yet tragic, that the stain of your existence persists. I find myself caught between pity and disgust at the fact that you, of all things, still crawl through this world.”

Maxwell's jaw clenched, but he forced himself to keep reading.

“Though I suppose your recent death was inevitable. After all, what more could be expected from a creature as worthless as you? A demon incapable of fulfilling even its own meager destiny. But take solace, dear Maxwell, for death suits you—if only you'd had the decency to stay dead.”

The words slashed through him, each one calculated to wound. Nihil had always enjoyed twisting the knife, relishing in the torment she could cause. Maxwell could practically hear her voice—cold, mocking.

“Soon, however, you'll meet another. Another player in this twisted little game you’ve found yourself entangled in. Unlike you, she is far more deserving of survival. Where you falter, she thrives. Where you cower, she rises. You’d do well to form an alliance with her if you wish to delay the inevitable ruin you’re destined for.”

Maxwell felt a chill creep up his spine. Who was this other player? And why did Nihil seem so certain that they would meet? The letter felt less like a warning and more like a taunt, a challenge he wasn’t sure he could refuse.

“I suggest you heed this advice, wretch. Align yourself with her. Maybe, just maybe, trash like you can survive a little longer. Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things. You are, after all, a corpse waiting to rot. Try not to embarrass yourself too much before your inevitable end, you miserable failure.”

The letter ended with a flourish, as it always did:

—Nihil.

Maxwell crumpled the letter in his hand, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. Nihil’s words echoed in his mind, each one a deliberate blow to his pride, his sense of self.

But there was something else there too—something deeper. A threat? A clue? He couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just Nihil mocking him for sport. There was a message hidden beneath the cruelty, a hint that something far more dangerous was on the horizon.

His eyes flickered to the white rose once more, its presence as unsettling as the letter itself. Nihil’s game had never been simple. And now, with the mention of another player, it seemed to be getting even more complicated.

“I really hate him,” Maxwell muttered under his breath, the crumpled letter still clutched in his hand. His frustration hung in the air like a storm cloud.

A soft voice suddenly chimed in from behind him, startling him. “I agree, that man is the worst,” said Eden, who appeared out of thin air, sitting cross-legged on his bed. She kicked her legs lazily, as if she had been there all along.

Maxwell jumped, his heart skipping a beat. “What the—Eden?! What are you doing here?” he stammered, clearly shaken by her sudden appearance.

Eden smirked, unfazed by his shock. “Oh, you know, the usual. Same reason as that letter over there.” She flicked her gaze toward the desk, where the white rose and Nihil's letter still lay. “I came to tell you about the upcoming fun.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Much like how I chose you, my idiotic brother picked a champion of his own. You’ll meet her at the joint training event. I want you to utterly crush her.”

Maxwell blinked, still processing. “Wait…what? Nihil’s letter said I should ally with her—” he started, but Eden waved him off, interrupting him mid-sentence.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Ally, schmalley. Do that if you want. But do me a favor, would you?” Her eyes narrowed, a mischievous glint flashing behind them. “Throw the ball really, really hard at her.”

Maxwell blinked in disbelief. “Why would I do that? Why do you want me to hurt her?”

Eden let out an exaggerated huff, pouting like a child denied a treat. “Because I’m annoyed, obviously. My stupid brother is so smug with his little ‘precious champion.’ I just want to see her squirm a little. You know, shake things up.”

Maxwell ran a hand through his hair, bewildered. “So… you want me to throw a ball at her because you’re annoyed with your brother?” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’ll try to win and beat her, but I’m not going out of my way to hurt her.”

Eden’s pout deepened as she folded her arms across her chest. “Fine, be boring about it. But you better win. No slacking off, Maxwell. Or else…” Her voice trailed off, leaving the threat hanging ominously in the air.

Maxwell exhaled, already feeling exhausted. “What does ‘or else’ even mean with you?” he muttered under his breath, but Eden only grinned, vanishing as abruptly as she had appeared.

The room felt heavier now, Maxwell’s mind spinning with the weight of the letter, the upcoming challenge, and now Eden’s strange demands. He glanced back at the white rose, feeling more caught in the middle of something dangerous than ever.

“Can you tell me about her?” Maxwell asked, trying to push past the shock of Eden’s sudden appearance and refocus on the upcoming game.

Eden lazily twirled a strand of her silver hair, eyes half-lidded with boredom. “Let’s see… like you, she’s not fully human,” she began, her tone casual. “She’s got pyrokinesis and the Authority of Nothing. Charismatic too. She’ll be a decent contender in the game…” Her voice trailed off, as if she was already losing interest.

Maxwell’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I know this vessel is human, but I’m still a demon at my core.”

Eden’s smirk faded, her eyes narrowing slightly as she muttered under her breath, “Sure, but you’re only half-demon. Your mother was human… that stupid wretch.” The last part was almost inaudible, meant to stay hidden from him.

Maxwell’s expression darkened. “Tell me about her,” he pressed, his voice quieter now. “I never met my mom… and my dad’s dead. I want to know what she was like.”

Eden yawned, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t bother. She’s six feet under, just like your dad. You do have a sister though…” She trailed off, stretching her arms and letting out another dramatic yawn. “But I’m too tired to discuss this with you right now.”

Maxwell’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait, what? A sister? You can’t just drop that and—” Before he could finish, Eden collapsed back onto the bed, eyes closed as she pretended to fall into an instant slumber.

“Hey! Hey, wake up!” Maxwell said, moving toward her and shaking her shoulder lightly. “You can’t just say that and then fall asleep.”

But Eden had fully committed to her performance, letting out exaggerated snores as if she were deep in dreamland. Occasionally, between breaths, she mumbled in her sleep, “Stupid brother… my Maxwell is so much better than your champion…”

Maxwell ran a hand through his hair, a wave of frustration washing over him. The room felt more suffocating than before, a whirlwind of half-revealed secrets swirling around him. A mother he never knew, a sister out there somewhere—yet all he had now was a snoring entity and more questions than answers.

“Why is my life like this?” Maxwell muttered, his voice heavy with frustration as he slumped onto the edge of the bed. His mind churned with too many unanswered questions.

“You’re all so irritating,” Maxwell sighed, his voice tinged with exhaustion. He stood up abruptly, pushing away the confusing thoughts clouding his mind, and left the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Eden’s eyes fluttered open. She grinned to herself, no longer pretending to sleep. “Well, that was fun,” she mused, stretching languidly. “I just had to let all that slip. Not that it matters… He’ll meet his sister soon enough. What are the odds that both my brother’s apostle and his sister would end up in the same place, at the same time?”

She let out a small, mischievous chuckle, reclining lazily on the bed. “What was her name again…? Something from that book about Wonderland, wasn’t it?” She paused, tapping her chin. “Ah, I'll remember it eventually. It’s bound to come up soon, anyway.”

Meanwhile, across the campus, Cynthia sat alone in her dorm room, her body trembling as silent sobs wracked her chest. Things were spiraling out of control. Tears of blood trickled from her eyes, staining her cheeks, the warm droplets falling onto her hands as her head pounded with an unbearable, pulsing pain.

In her mind, the voice of her brother screamed relentlessly, like nails on a chalkboard, his words cutting deeper than any physical wound.

“You’re a monster, Cynthia! You should never have been born!”

The venom in his voice filled her ears, overwhelming her senses until the world outside disappeared into nothingness. Her vision blurred, and her reflection in the nearby mirror warped, her skin beginning to turn pitch-black in patches, spreading like an otherworldly curse across her body.

She gripped her arms tightly, as though trying to hold herself together, fighting against the creeping darkness within. It felt like she was unraveling, both physically and mentally. Her breath came in short, shaky gasps.

“Why is this happening to me?” she whispered, her voice breaking as the tears kept flowing.

At that moment, Cynthia felt utterly trapped—caught in a nightmare she couldn't escape, her brother’s hatred poisoning her thoughts, the curse on her body twisting her form. She curled up on the bed, clutching her knees, desperately trying to drown out the pain, hoping against hope for someone, anyone, to save her from herself. But deep down, she feared there might be no salvation left for someone like her.

The black spots crept across Cynthia’s arm like an unstoppable plague, spreading with a grotesque urgency. The pain was unbearable, a searing heat that felt like her skin was being torn apart and reformed all at once. Her once-smooth flesh warped, the texture hardening and darkening until it resembled burnt meat—twisted, leathery, and ruined. From within the blackened mass, distorted faces began to emerge, their mouths stretching wide in silent screams. One by one, they hissed her name.

“Monster,” they whispered, their voices dripping with malice. “Freak. Abomination.”

Panic surged through her. Gasping for breath, Cynthia stumbled into the bathroom, clutching her deformed arm as though trying to hold the darkness back. Her reflection in the mirror was unrecognizable. The sclera of her right eye had turned an unnatural crimson, glowing like a cursed ember. Pain shot through her skull as if her eye were on fire.

Tears of blood streamed down her cheeks, thickening and darkening with each drop, until they turned into an oily, black substance that dripped into the sink, staining the porcelain-like ink. She watched in horror as the tears left streaks of darkness on her skin, unable to comprehend what was happening to her.

And then, behind her in the mirror, her brother’s ghostly form materialized. His face was twisted in rage, his eyes burning with hatred. His mouth opened, unleashing a torrent of vicious screams that reverberated through her mind.

“You should have never been born!” he bellowed, his voice an echo of the torment that had haunted her for so long.

“Monster. You’re nothing but a curse!”

In a burst of uncontrollable fury and despair, Cynthia lashed out. Her corrupted arm, now a thing of twisted faces and demonic flesh, slammed into the mirror with terrifying force. The glass shattered, shards flying in all directions, cutting into her hand and spraying the sink with droplets of blood.

The voice from the mirror only grew louder, more insistent. Each shard of glass seemed to warp, the fractured pieces reflecting distorted versions of her brother’s face. It was as if the very room was mocking her, each crack in the glass whispering her doom.

Each jagged shard on the floor seemed to taunt her, their sharp edges reflecting tiny, sneering faces. “I will never leave,” he whispered, his voice soft but cruel. “I will watch you fall. I will see you die.”

“Leave me alone!” Cynthia sobbed, her voice breaking as she stumbled backward, clutching her bleeding hand. But the voices didn’t stop. They echoed in her head, multiplying, growing louder until it felt like they were splitting her skull in two.

“Never,” the shards replied in unison, their mocking tones stabbing at her psyche. “Not until we see you break. Not until we watch you die.”

Cynthia’s legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, blood staining her clothes and pooling beneath her. The exhaustion hit her all at once, an overwhelming sense of weakness and despair. Her head throbbed with such intensity it felt like it might explode, and her vision blurred, the world around her swimming in darkness.

Her cursed arm twitched, still seething with the dark energy that had corrupted it. The faces embedded in her flesh grinned, their eyes gleaming with malevolent glee. The energy drain was unbearable, like her life force was being siphoned away with every passing second.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she lay there, surrounded by shards of her broken reflection, haunted by the voices that tormented her. Alone in her despair, she felt her grip on reality slipping. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold on.

As Cynthia slipped into unconsciousness, the grotesque disfigurements that had ravaged her body began to retreat. The twisted faces melted back into her skin, their cruel grins vanishing, as if the darkness itself lost interest in tormenting her when she could no longer feel the pain. Her arm, which had moments ago been a nightmarish mass of corruption, returned to its normal state, pale and vulnerable. For now, the curse slept along with her.

In the dimly lit room, a soft green glow flickered, heralding the quiet arrival of Eden. She materialized out of the shadows, her eyes glowing with an eerie yet serene light. Her usual playful demeanor was absent; instead, her expression was one of pity, a rare softness that she hardly ever showed. She stood over Cynthia’s fragile form, her gaze thoughtful, almost melancholic.

With a gentle wave of her hand, Eden whispered, “Authority of Life.” A soothing wave of green energy flowed from her fingers, wrapping around Cynthia’s body like a protective cocoon. The dark mist that had clung to Cynthia’s arm dissipated, retreating before Eden’s power as if it feared the life-giving force. Cynthia’s strained breathing eased, and the tension in her muscles began to relax as the curse momentarily lost its grip.

“This should fix you… for now,” Eden murmured, her voice soft but edged with concern. She carefully lifted Cynthia, her movements unexpectedly tender, and laid her down on the bed. “But this curse, it's not gone. It will come back, probably when you're at your weakest.”

Eden sighed, standing over Cynthia as she studied her face. She could sense the swirling remnants of the curse lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to strike again. “How did you come to be burdened with something so vile?” she wondered aloud, her voice tinged with curiosity and frustration. “If this keeps going, you could become a threat to Maxwell…”

She hesitated, her emerald eyes narrowing as she considered her next words. “Maybe I should just end you now,” she said quietly, her tone cold, though her hand hovered indecisively above Cynthia's chest. “It would be easier. He’d probably be sad, but…”

For a brief moment, Eden’s hand flickered with energy, the green light intensifying, but then it faded as she sighed deeply. She glanced around the room, her sharp gaze analyzing every inch of Cynthia’s form, searching for the source of the curse that had embedded itself so deeply within her. She extended her hand once more, and tiny green fireflies appeared, fluttering through the air and weaving around Cynthia’s body like living threads of light.

Eden frowned. The exact cause was elusive, the curse deeply hidden within layers of spiritual and physical corruption. But something nagged at her, a familiar darkness that sent a chill through her bones.

“This…this feels like Pandora's work,” Eden muttered, her lips curling in distaste. “How utterly annoying.”

The fireflies pulsed as they continued their investigation, but Eden already knew the cause. It explained the faces, the creeping darkness, and the overwhelming despair that gripped Cynthia like a vice. Eden’s fingers twitched in irritation at the thought of her brother’s meddling.

She paced the room, glancing back at Cynthia’s sleeping form. “How could something so precious to him end up entangled in this mess?” she wondered aloud. “And yet… there’s no easy fix. Maxwell wouldn’t want her dead. But what happens when she can’t control this any longer?”

The fireflies began to dissipate, their faint light scattering as they returned to Eden. She stood at the edge of the bed, a frown etched on her face as she stared down at the sleeping girl, whose fate seemed more twisted with each passing moment.

“Well, Maxwell,” she whispered into the dim light, “I hope you’re ready for the storm that’s coming. Because this girl…she’s not just cursed. She’s a time bomb. And when she goes off… even you might not be able to save her.”

Eden turned and vanished as silently as she had come, leaving Cynthia in the flickering shadows of her room, where the curse still lurked, waiting patiently for its next opportunity to strike.