MTLNOVEL Chapter 23: chapter 21
"Son, we're so close," an old woman said while holding the hand of a little boy. Her weathered fingers wrapped tightly around his small palm, the skin paper-thin and spotted with age, yet her grip possessed an unnatural strength.
The woman's silver hair hung in loose strands around her gaunt face, and her dark robes billowed in the wind that swept across the barren battlefield. Although the boy was only 3 years old, he appeared to be an 80-year-old in the form of a 3-year-old. His small frame stood unnaturally still, shoulders slightly hunched as if bearing an invisible weight. His eyes were hollow, deep-set and surrounded by shadows that no child should possess, seeming to have no concept of personality of his own.
"Yes, Mother." The young boy said blankly, almost like a robot programmed to follow orders and nothing more. His voice carried no inflection, no warmth, emerging from lips that barely moved.
She turned to look at the large army that had gathered before them in their last attempts to stop her. Thousands of soldiers stretched across the horizon, their military vehicles forming defensive lines, tanks positioned strategically with their barrels aimed directly at the woman and child. The ground beneath their feet was scarred and broken from previous battles, littered with debris and abandoned equipment. She grinned at the sight before her, her thin lips pulling back to reveal teeth that gleamed with an unsettling brightness, not caring in the slightest, even as bullets shot towards her, the sharp crack of gunfire echoing across the wasteland. The projectiles cut through the air with deadly precision, only for the bullets to drop to the ground lifeless. They fell like rain around her feet, creating a metallic carpet of spent ammunition that clinked and rolled across the broken concrete.
For her child marked her, how could she be harmed? The invisible protection emanated from the boy like a shield, an aura of death that rendered all weapons useless. She turned and walked off, her robes sweeping across the ground, disturbing the fallen bullets that scattered in her wake. Her footsteps were unhurried, confident, each one taking her further from the carnage she was about to unleash, leaving her son to handle the battle on her behalf. As a capable mother, she had raised the perfect child. She had conquered death, and soon she would conquer the whole world.
Her son, on the other hand, looked at the rain of bullets flying towards him, watching the tracers light up the darkening sky like deadly fireworks. The sound was deafening - automatic weapons fire mixed with the deeper boom of heavy artillery. Smoke and dust filled the air, creating a haze that made the battlefield appear dreamlike and surreal. He stood perfectly still, a tiny figure against the massive military force, just so that all of the bullets, rockets, and other such things would die before they could reach him. Explosions bloomed around him, their heat and force dissipating into nothing before they could touch his small form. Slowly, a tear formed in his right eye before it fell. The single droplet traced a path down his pale cheek, catching the light of the fires burning around them.
With but a thought, thousands of soldiers went stiff, their weapons falling from suddenly nerveless fingers. The cacophony of battle ceased instantly, replaced by an eerie silence. Their bodies seized up as if frozen in time, before their bodies hit the ground, as lifeless as a puppet with its strings cut. The sound of their collective fall was like thunder, armor and equipment clattering against the earth in a symphony of death.
The kid slowly raised his hands to his head, his small fingers pressing against his temples as if trying to hold back an overwhelming flood. His breathing became ragged and uneven, his tears raining down as he was forced to experience everything from the people whose lives he had just taken. The droplets fell faster now, creating dark spots on the dusty ground beneath him. He gained everything they had, their love, their fears, their joys, worries, and so on. The memories crashed into him like waves against a cliff, each one more powerful than the last.
Their goals to stop his mother became his own goal, their devotion to protect their loved ones, and so many more. The weight of thousands of lives pressed down on his small shoulders, each memory as vivid and real as if he had lived them himself. It was as if he had taken their place to feel and experience it all as if it were his own experience.
The joy of welcoming a child into this world, the joy of being a father, and the warmth of having a loving family. He felt the gentle weight of a newborn in arms that weren't his, heard the first cries of babies he'd never met, and experienced the overwhelming love that flooded through hearts that had stopped beating. The pain of fighting with your loved ones, but working through your problems and coming out of it stronger than ever. Arguments over kitchen tables, tearful reconciliations, the comfort of forgiveness - all of it flooded through him. The pain of losing a loved one, the fear of knowing the concept of death is walking the planet, and having to step forward to protect your world at all costs…
"I'm sorry." He said softly. he hated his powers. Why was he born like this? Why was he given these powers? He didn't ask for it, he never wanted any of this… but what can he do?
"Let's go see the president." His mother called out with a relaxed tone. Her voice carried across the battlefield as if she were suggesting a casual stroll rather than continuing their path of destruction. And with the same blank and lifeless gaze, the little boy ran to his mother's side, his small legs carrying him over the bodies of the fallen without looking down. He reached up to take her hand, their fingers intertwining once more as they walked away from the silent battlefield…
Alex's eyes slowly opened. The transition from dream to reality was gradual, his consciousness swimming up from the depths of memory like a diver returning to the surface. The ceiling of his bedroom came into focus, the familiar cracks and imperfections a welcome sight after the horrors of his dream.
He just lay in his bed, unmoving as he went over that dream he had just had. His heart rate gradually slowed from the rapid pace it had maintained during the nightmare, and he could feel the slight dampness of sweat on his pillow. A dream of the past when he was nothing more than a slave, forced to obey his mother's every command due to the bind holding him.
He hated everything to do with his powers, so much so that even in this new life, he avoided using his powers every opportunity he got. The very thought of accessing that ability made his stomach turn, a visceral reaction born from years of trauma. It was a form of torture to be a slave, and your only form of freedom was to experience the life of those you killed, only to be hit with the unimaginable guilt of killing them, since the experience almost always leads to you growing attached to them.
Oh, how he hated his powers, oh, how he had tried to kill his powers many times, oh, how many times he had tried to kill himself… but that was the past. This was a new life, and he could fully enjoy the life he had always wanted… although he had to admit, he was a bit disappointed that he would never be able to experience welcoming to this world his own flesh and blood.
"Are you alright?" At the other end of the bed, Rachel's voice sounded, causing Alex to look over only to see Rachel already dressed. She sat on the edge of the mattress, her clothes neatly arranged, hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. The morning light caught the concern in her eyes as she studied his face… yes, last night they had both lost their virginity. It's been 6 days now since Diana left, and with how many times Rachel had been coming over, Diana had loosened up with those strict rules she had been giving, leading to this.
"I just had my first-ever nightmare," Alex said with a light smile. In this life, that was indeed his first-ever nightmare. But back in his past life, he had a ton of nightmares all based on the experiences he had absorbed. From single mothers clawing at him to give them back their husbands, parents cursing him for taking their son, and many more. It all hurt since he had all of the experiences of their loved ones, so he had the same attachment to them as the ones he killed to some degree, which meant it hurt dreaming about such things.
"You seem oddly relaxed about your nightmare." She said lightly, to which Alex shrugged while getting up, the sheets falling away from his torso as he sat up. Causing Rachel's eyes to be unable to help themselves but to scan his half-naked body. But she snapped back to reality as she remembered the nightmare Alex had.
Alex's hands had been wrapped around her during sleep, their fingers intertwined in an unconscious embrace, which connected and dragged her into his dreams. The physical contact had created a bridge between their minds, allowing her to witness the horrors of his past… and she had been traumatized. The images still burned behind her eyelids when she closed them - the battlefield, the falling soldiers, along with their experiences, the tears of a child forced to kill. She had to break free from Alex to escape that nightmare. The moment of separation had been jarring, like being pulled from deep water, gasping for air. She was about to leave to collect her thoughts when Alex woke up.
She didn't understand how Alex could go through all that as a child and still smile. The contrast between the broken child in the dream and the man before her now seemed impossible to reconcile. She was also confused, as the Earth in Alex's dream was clearly not the same Earth they were in.
But that dream had helped her understand something about Alex; she now fully understood why he hated her powers. The weight of those memories, the burden of experiencing death from both sides, would break most people. She understood why he wanted to live a normal life; she, too, would have had the same goals as him if she were put in his condition… although she was sure she would have been far more shut off from the rest of the world, unlike he was now.
"Do you want to talk about the dream?" She asked, sitting down on the bed and looking him deeply in the eyes. Her hand reached out tentatively, hovering near his arm but not quite touching, as if afraid to make that connection again. She honestly didn't know how she wanted him to answer. A part of him wanted him to say yes, and for him to open up… another part didn't want him to open up just yet, as she needed time.
"Naw, it's nothing too big… so, I was thinking about our talk yesterday," Alex said lightly, smoothly changing the subject to the talk they had yesterday. Rachel had talked about him having hobbies other than gaming and watching anime all day. It got Alex thinking that he had not been living to his fullest potential.
"Really? What are you going to do?" Rachel asked curiously. She allowed the subject change, recognizing his need to move past the nightmare.
"I don't know, I was hoping you would have an idea or something," Alex said awkwardly. His hand rubbed the back of his neck in a gesture she was beginning to recognize as his tell for uncertainty.
"Try… art, take some art classes. I think being creative and turning your thoughts into a picture would be cool." Rachel said, to which Alex thought for a moment. His eyes lit up with genuine interest.
"And then I can write my own manga…" Alex said with a look of shock. He could make the next One Piece. The excitement in his voice was palpable, like a child discovering a new toy.
"…Sure," Rachel said, unsure how to feel about that. But she wouldn't get in the way of Alex having fun, not when he had such a harsh upbringing. She wanted to do her part in ensuring he could live the life he had always wanted.
"I will be leaving. I will come back later today with a gift." She said, trying her best to give him a bright smile. Alex nodded curiously while kissing her. Their lips met softly at first, then with growing intensity... a kiss which almost turned into something more, the heat between them building rapidly, if not for Rachel breaking free from him. She pulled back breathlessly, her cheeks flushed.
"Yes... I mean no, I have to go." Rachel said, forcing her eyes away from those rock-hard abs she for some reason just wanted to lick. This was the body which even the gods would be envious of... how could she resist?
So she left, her footsteps quick as she made her way to the door, leaving Alex playfully pouting. He watched her go with an amused expression, his lips still tingling from their kiss. He saw Rachel off, impressed that she was walking normally when last night she was complaining about not feeling her legs. The memory brought a satisfied smirk to his face. Anyways, once she left, he got ready for the day, moving through his morning routine.
"..." Raven flew through the air, her dark cloak billowing behind her as she soared between buildings. The wind whipped past her face, but she barely noticed, her mind consumed by what she had witnessed. Her flight path was erratic, reflecting her inner turmoil, her mind on the dream Alex had. The images played on repeat in her head - the child forced to kill, the mother's cruel smile, the falling soldiers. She didn't know if she should tell Batman or someone about that dream, or keep it to herself. The weight of the decision pressed down on her, adding to her already considerable guilt.
This only brought more complexity to their relationship; it made her feel even more guilty for lying to him. Every moment they spent together was tainted by her deception, and now she carried the burden of his deepest trauma as well. If she were in his shoes and found out the truth, she would be angry... but she didn't want to leave him. The thought of losing what they had built together made her chest tighten with anxiety...
She snapped back to reality by a text. The vibration of her phone pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. Looking at her phone, she saw it was Batman asking her to come to the watch tower. The message was typically brief and to the point, giving nothing away about his intentions.
She frowned, realizing that Batman might already know about the dream. The paranoia that came with working with the World's Greatest Detective never fully went away. Although she didn't know how, as she had made sure to scan the whole house for cameras daily
She sighed and headed to the watch tower, adjusting her flight path toward the teleportation point. The journey felt both too long and too short. Once there, the familiar surroundings of the Watch Tower's meeting room came into view. Batman stood at the central console, his cowled figure as imposing as ever, where she told Batman about the dream. She recounted every detail she could remember, watching his expression remain stoic throughout. A part of her believed it was mainly a dream and had nothing to do with the real world; after all, they knew everything about Alex's childhood, so it might be just a dream. The rational part of her mind clung to this explanation, desperate for it to be true.
Yet Batman thought otherwise, his analytical mind already working through the implications, as he believed that the dream held a great deal of information about Alex's powers, or maybe about a past they had yet to know about. To Batman, it made sense since that dream was the only form of information about Alex's birth. ***"I can't believe I'm going to school," Alex said with a backpack on his back. It's been 3 days since he and Rachel lost their first time, and today was the day he was going to take art classes. The decision still felt surreal, like he was playing at being a normal person.
He was a bit excited, since he had big plans for what he could do with the skills to draw it all. His mind raced with possibilities - the stories he could tell, the worlds he could create on paper. With his talent, it wouldn't be hard for him to be able to draw anything, and with unmatched drawing skills, it would open a new form of income. The thought of financial independence through something he enjoyed was intoxicating.
He entered the art school, which wasn't too big, the building modest and welcoming with large windows that let in natural light. The smell of paint and canvas hit him immediately, a complex mixture of chemicals and creativity. The hallways were lined with student artwork, a riot of colors and styles that made him pause momentarily to take it all in, as he found himself within the classroom where a bunch of grown-ups stood before their canvas while looking at the teacher. Easels were arranged in a semi-circle, each one claiming its own space on the paint-splattered floor.
"You must be Alex, I'm Bobbie," The art teacher said with a welcoming smile upon Alex's arrival. The man was in his fifties, with paint-stained fingers and an apron that had seen better days. His gray beard was neatly trimmed, and his eyes crinkled at the corners with genuine warmth. Alex nodded towards him with a slight smile.
"Go ahead and find a place, we were just starting." He said, to which Alex nodded while going to stand next to a red-haired man. Alex couldn't help but study the man, as he was tall and muscular, the last person he would see in a place like this. The contrast between his imposing physical presence and the delicate paintbrush in his massive hand was almost comical. He was also the first redhead he had ever seen; the color was striking, like burnished copper catching the light. Let's not forget the fact that he was tall.
Alex was at 6'4, far taller than the normal person, used to looking down at most people he met... yet this guy was at least 6'8. He was a walking giant, his presence dominating the space around him without effort, with long red hair tied into a ponytail. The hair was well-maintained, flowing down his back like a river of fire. A simple button-up shirt with a white shirt under, the fabric straining slightly across his broad shoulders. Simple jeans and slides completed the casual ensemble, giving him an approachable air despite his intimidating size.
"I'm Tharos, nice to meet you." He said with a friendly smile while holding out his palm towards him. The hand was massive, easily capable of crushing Alex's in its grip, yet the gesture was gentle and welcoming.
"I'm Alex," Alex said, taking his hand and shaking it. The handshake was firm but friendly, and Alex noted the calluses that spoke of long hours with a pencil, guitar, alongside the paint stains that marked him as an artist.