—The Narrator is keeping you in the story.
By then, I had understood the ability of the Narrator: it is able to keep a part of the story at all tis.
But, since a real person—not a character had defied my authority, the Narrator is useless.
"Tell , Reverie," said Oliver, who had beco 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 , he bent forward.
Then took a bite of my flesh.
I winced in pain, unable to do anything because of my restricted movent, 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 na."
The tir ticked in front of .
[The next round shall comnce 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 scread, feeling the heat of his own body heat more intensified.
"Ah," he said. "Will you tell 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 fragnts 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 sothing never ntioned 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 comnce in:]
[16:57:59]
For the next hour, Oliver did not do a thing to .
He did not consu my flesh any further, nor did he pull out my teeth as he had claid, for he had said it tasted horrible and that he did not enjoy eating or hurting people anyway.
As though he didn’t pierce 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 na says.
I was lucky, for so 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 question what he was doing.
He had claid 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 . "We t the other day, you know.
"It went like this: it was seven in the morning before the rounds officially began.
"An accident, our eting was. We haven’t seen each other once since we were eighteen, despite our being neighbors.
"He offered 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 dieval 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 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-rimd 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 t soone that made him achieve his lifelong dream.
"I responded with ’Ah, did soone 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 claid 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 dostic 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 nad 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 an? Apocalypse this, the release of the Antichrist that. Where did you get this information?"
His voice dropped a pitch as he said:
"He told this: ’A little devil had told .’"
A droplet of salty water dropped from Oliver’s tear ducts, falling down his cheek.
—The Narrator despises Oliver.
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