Cissel realised in that mont just how much she had isolated herself. By blocking everyone out, she had essentially allowed her trauma to manipulate her thoughts and decisions based on incomplete facts.
She knew Mark, and the cruelty John described perfectly suited Mark’s twisted nature. She also realised she had no idea what had happened to Ricky after she was brought to the infirmary.
Yet, even with this spark of curiosity, the thing that had broken deep inside her heart that day didn’t nd itself. She wasn’t ready to let go of her protective shell of suspicion.
"I’m going out now," John said, his voice accompanied by the sound of slowly pushing himself up from the floor. "The others are waiting. I’ll make sure to tell them you said hi."
"But I didn’t!"
Her voice finally cracked through the silence. It was weak, hoarse, and strained, sounding like a voice that had been dragged through the depths of hell, but it was hers.
A playful smile, filled with a sense of achievent, flashed across John’s face for a brief mont. He had intentionally taunted her, and she had taken the bait like a frustrated child.
"There you are," he said, his tone lightening. "I’ll be sure to tell them you sent your best wishes and that you’re rooting for the club."
"I didn’t say anything like that," she stamred, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and lingering hurt. She hesitated, her hand clutching the bedsheets. "I... I just need so ti, John. I need to be on my own for a while. I need to figure things out."
John felt a strange, cold shiver ripple through his chest the mont he heard her hoarse reply. Sothing deep in his heart was shaken. He had spent the last few days assuming she was rely grieving or angry, but hearing her voice, so hollow and weird, told him that his assumptions were dangerously off-base.
Sothing was fundantally wrong. In a desperate bid to reach her, he decided to pry into the one thing that even Cissel, in her most unstable state, couldn’t deny: her own life story, her life mission.
"Sure," John said, his voice dropping to a low tone that cut through the infirmary silence. He shrugged, though he knew she couldn’t see the gesture.
"Take all the ti you need in the world. Just rember this: it was you who ca from the future. You’re the one who saw the ash and the blood of what’s coming.
You can rest as long as you want, but don’t forget where you ca from. Don’t forget what brought you here in the first place, or the pact we made back in that cursed place."
She was the only person in this entire world who truly grasped the cruel face of the apocalypse that awaited them if they faltered or failed. She kept regressing looking for a hope, and he knew since he heard her story for the first ti that he was that hope. And he knew that she knew this.
Inside the room, Cissel squeezed her fists until her nails bit into her skin. She didn’t want to admit it, but his voice sounded like the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. And she hated herself for feeling so after all that happened.
"I still need more ti..." she whispered, her voice trembling. Her mind was a battlefield of chaos. She wasn’t lying; she was leaping between impossible extres.
One second, she was filled with a bottomless hostility, hating everything John represented, his power, his secrets, his uniqueness. Next, she felt a profound, aching pull toward him that felt like love, or perhaps a desperate need for the safety he used to provide.
"Take your ti," John said, letting out an inward sigh of defeat. It seed his attempt to bridge the gap had failed once again. "I suppose getting over high-level ntal control and illusions isn’t exactly a walk in the park."
"What are you talking about?!"
The shout was sudden and sharp, cutting him off track with a calm smile on his face. He baited her again.
"Oh? You didn’t hear about what actually happened?" John feigned a surprise he didn’t truly feel. He knew she had been confined to this room, refusing to speak even to Elena, so it was logical she was kept in the dark. But he saw an opening now, a chance to fill her in with the hard facts of what happened.
"Let tell you exactly how it went down," John said, a calm smile spreading over his face as he began to narrate the sequence of events.
He detailed how he had been lured into the basent by a cyborg. He explained the trap Mark had prepared, the use of mind control and illusion effects on him.
"Think about it, Cissel," John continued, leaning closer to the wall. "You know my capabilities. I could have easily carved my way out of that basent with my sword alone. I have enough power to handle a single target without breaking a sweat.
And yet, I was pushed, ntally shoved, into using the one ability that made no sense. I used a massive AOE attack against a single opponent in a confined space. It was the only move that could hurt you while doing almost nothing to the enemy. It wasn’t a choice; it was a trap laid by Mark."
"You are lying."
As the words left her lips, the temperature in the hallway seed to drop ten degrees. Cissel’s voice had changed. It wasn’t just hoarse anymore; it was deep, resonant, and carried a hostile timbre that didn’t sound human at all, that didn’t sound like her voice at all. The sound of it startled John, sending a jolt of adrenaline through his body.
Up until this mont, John had deliberately kept his abilities deactivated while visiting her. He wanted to respect her privacy, to let her heal without the intrusive gaze of his abilities. But hearing that weird, distorted voice shattered his restraint. In a heartbeat, he activated his Wirefra Sight.
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