Chapter 2: The Wheels of Fate

It's been a couple of weeks after reminiscing and working out the emotional baggage containing Oliver's death for Allen. It was mentally, physically, and apparently spiritually exhausting to talk about it to another human being.

The whole process and the idea about talking your problems out sounds relatively easy to do.

Until. . . Well, you're actually have(forced) to talk about it in person. The hesitation, anxiety, fear, anger, shame, and sadness involved is god-forbid difficult, unnerving, and uncomfortable to confront, and very exhausting at the end.

Now though, Allen wanted nothing more than to go back and face his dreaded therapist, than being here. In this, this den of Eric's!

"Come on Allen, lighten up." A mechanical voice said, trying and failing on stopping Allen from glaring a hole at Eric's head. The main perpetrator for bringing the group of friends to this unholy place.

A person in a red spandex suit with a web like design, momentarily blocked the piercing gaze of Allen. More people wearing a variety of costumes came and went between Allen. From people dressing up like video game characters, from movies, to cartoons, and to tv shows.

In the corner of Allen's view, he can see banner's of all manners on the side of the wall or above the ceiling. From small, to large, to different colors, to different logos, they were all swinging gently due to the air conditioner.

He brought his glare back onto the bastard that dragged them to this place. He monetarily unfocused his eye and looked behind Eric and saw stands of different kinds standing in rows. Some selling manga, comics, merchandise, clothing, books, guides, portraits, arts, and different kinds of mask's.

Allen was forced to participate in what is widely known as a Comic-Con convention. Now, it wasn't so bad. The costumes here are amazing. Hell, Allen even saw a life-like Wendigo a couple of minutes ago. To Allen, this place would have been fun and relaxing to go to.

The main problem are the people in this place. Some were nice to talk too, even pleasant to converse between. The problem stems from people acting similar to Eric.

Now, people don't act or think like Eric does.

However, in this situation. . .

"Praise our rightful ruler and conquer of 'The Great Dreamer'! For he was the one to hear our plea. He was the one to upheld the truth. He is our savior from this Curse-ed Reality! Praise the Almighty. . . Catthulu!"

Dramatically proclaimed Eric, eyes shining and dancing with maddening glee. He kneeled down onto one leg and raised both his arms up, holding a red velvet pillow delicately.

On top of the pillow, appears to be a green alien-like cat creature, with tentacles surrounding its mouth and limbs, and instead of two eyes there are instead six eyes. The gore test appearance should be disgusting to look at. Instead, it looks cute in a morbid fascinating way.

Eric was currently wearing a velvet black robe, ending on his bottom calf. With the hood up and obscuring the top portion of his face, only showing the bottom portion where his mouth and nose is.

"Praise Catthulu!"

Another group proclaimed, kneeling down were a group of three girls in pink robes, with stickers and plushies attached to said robe.

"Praise Catthulu!"

Proclaimed a group of two in red tinted black mage robes. As they stood, and put both their hands together, in a praying gesture.

"Praise Catthulu!"

Kneeled down a group of seven people in black robes, with the hood raised up as everyone in the group wore a Cthulhu mask.

"Praise Catthulu!"

Random people joined in, thinking that it was funny or interesting to participate in. Not knowing the true horror that awaited them.

{*Shiver* Their spreading.} Allen thought with primal fear, as he looked upon the scene of Eric (corrupting) conversing with other people in the same costume, different color themes, and with random people.

Allen looked around the convection, failing miserably on calming down his fear on another cult from being formed. He breathed in and out, trying to calm down his growing nerves. He looking down, shifting his focus on something else besides his deep premonition of another fanatic group being created again.

He traced his white gloved fingers on the smooth grey AK47 replica he purchased a couple of days ago. Trying to collect his thoughts together, Allen forced himself into a calm mind-set and think of a way to either escape or destroy this abomination of a group.

Allen was currently wearing a black grey thin coat, ending at his lower calf. With a white logo in the back area. The logo was a white rook chess piece, with the letters 'Rhodes Island' underneath the rook. He had the hood up, and a black plastic hat covering the top portion of his face, while a black plastic piece covered his bottom half. A thin black see through plastic covered the area of where the eyes were supposed to be.

Underneath the coat was a white lab coat that was closed at the top and opened at the bottom, ending at his top calf. He wore white leather gloves, skinny blue jeans, and black steel toed boots. Allen was going as 'The Doctor' from a mobile tower defense game.

"It's not like another cult will form. . ." A pregnant pause was all Allen needed to know, that Tristan also saw the same unspeakable, dreadful, horrifying thing as he did.

". . . Right?"

Doubt laced the speakers voice, as he too saw the (Corruption) conversion between the group of rope individuals and a mix of random people. Praising and worshiping their new patron of a knock off version of cthulhu in a cat form.

"*Sigh*. . . "

Allen sighed, slowly calming down the anxiety and fear, and replacing his chaotic thoughts into a more calm, calculated (rage induced) mind-set. He turned his head to the left, following the voice to its source.

The speaker stood around 6'2 ft. He was decorated in green armor from top to bottom, covering his whole frame. Allen saw his reflection in the yellow tinted visor, covering where the eyes were supposed to be. This was Tristan, he was dressed as 'Master Chief', from a military fiction video game.

"Right, It not the end of world." Tristan breathed a sigh of relief when he heard that sentence. His fear on whether Allen was going on a warpath calmed down. Allen looked collected with himself, unlike last time.

*Shiver* Tristan shook his head to the side, trying and failing on getting rid of the disturbing memory he recalled.

"All we have to do is get rid of the source." Cold calculated thoughts of killing Eric, disbanding, destroying, blackmailing, or maiming the new cult came like breathing to Allen.

Thoughts of blackmail, verbal abuse, or getting physical filtered through Allen's mind in rapid succession. He got rid of plans that he deemed too minuscule, pathetic, and ones that took too long to execute.

He needed a plan that would be permanently, successful, and immediately to execute on the spot.

After all, he will not allow himself to repeat the same mistake twice. Because last time when Eric was left alone to his own, without any supervision whatsoever at school. He created a tiny cult amongst the freshman, worshiping and praising their new rightful and savior, Kirby-sama.

The Eater of Worlds, Conqueror of the Lone Hand, Cuteness Personification, and it spread like a disease.

This was 8 months before Oliver's death. The group of friends thought that it was funny and sometimes joined in the cult's shenanigan's. Long pass the jokes, the praises, and the friendly atmosphere surrounding the cult. Things changed dramatically a couple of weeks later.

They did not know how, why, or when it happened. But, the cult somehow were doing. . . animal sacrifices. It was supposed to be plushies and a joke to the cult at first.

Now, it became serious. Some of the members quit, being disturbed and freaked out about watching other members killing cats, dogs, or other small animals for Kirby-sama. While the more serious members took the Kirby-sama into a whole new level of fanatic worship.

A month has passed and Eric tried, he tried everything in his power to lessen this obsession. It was supposed to be a joke. Now, it became something very disturbing in the eyes of the students.

Even Oliver was unnerved with how the cult was. And we're talking about the guy who accepted everything with a polite smile to everything. To going in between a fight, to rejecting numerous lover letters/confessions, to eating soba calmly in the middle of a sex-ed class.

"Allen, Clam Down!" Tristan internally panicked as he didn't want to see another scene of Allen breaking the mentality of another person. Tristan still had nightmares of screaming, pleading, and the cries for help from his fellow students kowtowing and begging Allen to stop.

They Cried, begged, apologized, and pleaded for mercy.

However, Allen stared at the frighten group with dulled emotionless eyes. He resumed to dig and bring up their dark past, bringing up blackmail materials after the other. He verbally abused them and when they retaliate. He would beat them until they were nothing more than black and blue, regardless of age or gender.

All because they dared laid their tainted hands on his pet cat. *Shiver* He didn't even know human bodies can bend that way.

While Tristan was having a nervous breakdown in his head. Allen glowered towards the bastard who seemed to be creating another fanatic cult again.

He still held a grudge on the grou- no, the fifth that dared. Dared! laid their hands on his precious friend. He gritted his teeth as he remembered the pests that held his friend like he was nothing more than an object.

{He ignored the part of his mind that opened unwanted memories of Oliver}

Coldness washed over Allen, even after the event he wanted to do more than words and bruises to them. Yet, his own moral compass and the law stopped him from doing any more than that.

Eric, still unaware of his situation or in plain stupidity. Caught the sight of his friends and happily waved towards them. He left his cute god to one of the cthulhu masked individuals.

He lightly jogged towards their direction, apologizing to people and saying "excuse me", while cutting in front of them or in-between them.

"Phew, that was nerve wracking." Eric stopped about a foot away. Heaving a sigh of relief and wiped away the non existing sweat between his eyebrows.

"Hey Allen, do you think if I create another cult." Still unaware of his situation. Eric talked about creating another cult. Forgetting about the other one he created that was utterly destroyed by the same person he was talking to.

"That they wi-"

Eric was cut off as he felt a hand roughly squeeze his head. Pain assaulted his head as he let out a silent scream from his throat. He forgot everything else and thrashed around like a fish without water, trying in vain on escaping the hold on the fiend that grabbed him.

"Grrrrrrr."

Eric stiffened when he heard the familiar sound of an inhuman growl coming from the perpetrate.

"Do you want to die!"

Allen glowered towards his friend. Daring him to say something stupid, so he could have a reason to castrate this bastard here and now.

"I was just joking. Joking. Joking!"

Eric frantically waved his arms around. Shaking and wiggling his whole body in an attempt to escape the iron hold Allen has him in.

Allen sneered in contempt at the pitiable excuse Eric came up with. He held no remorse nor pity on what he was about to do to this. This disgusting human being he called friend.

"Um. . . Allen."

A hesitated voice broke Allen glacier glare to Eric, and redirected it towards the person that dared interrupting him.

Tristan stiffened when coming into Allen's glacier glare. He shouldered on, ignoring the hopeful look Eric was giving him.

He swallowed and braved forward "I don't want to get kicked. . . So can you do, whatever you are going to do after the Convection" He ignored the betrayed look from Eric.

{Bastard, if you didn't create another cult. This wouldn't have happened.} He was nervous dammit, Eric should be thankful that he stopped Allen to begin with. He didn't want to push his luck any further.

A low growl brought back awareness to Tristan, he knew Allen wouldn't harm him . . . right, Right?!

Allen continued to glare at Tristan and contemplate on his words. He looked around, finding out that people were looking towards them, either filming them, pointing at them, or ignoring them. He huffed and released Eric from his grasp, who abruptly sat and nursed his head.

"This isn't over." Allen promised Eric. He shifted his mindset and emotions to calm down, for now.

Eric sighed with relief as the pain slowly subsided. He glared up towards his sadistic friend, but froze in place as he heard familiar words being spoken.

Those three words sound harmless. However, he experienced first hand when that sentence was uttered. It was a sentence that Allen uttered when his group (cult) got their hands on his pet.

He trembled as phantom pain assaulted his body. He now feared canned food. Can food of all things?!

"So, um... do you guys want to go our separate way." Tristan interjected between the two friends. He didn't want to get kicked out because of Eric's weird fascination of creating cults and Allen animosity towards said cults.

"You know. . . " He paused as he tried to think of an acceptable excuse."To experience different things." It was very obvious that he did not want to be near them when they fought and possibly be dragged into it by Eric.

Before Allen said anything, Eric readily accepted Tristan's proposal. Allen sighed in disappointment, he could follow Eric and harras-(cough) keep him company. But he let it go, besides his curiosity was piqued when he saw a FGO stand

The group friends all accepted the proposal and separated. They separated for different reasons.

Tristan didn't want to be dragged into conflict and get kicked out. Eric wanted to get away from the demon named Allen.

Allen, well Allen wanted to explore and sate his curiosity of this place.

Not knowing the wheel of fate spinning. The group separated, going down different paths from each other.

Eric went down the path filled with nothing more than blood, the sickening howls of beast, and the knowledge of truth.

Tristan followed the path of knowing oneself, rediscovering lost instinct, and accepting one's death.

Allen, Allen walked the most difficult. A path filled with loneliness, of forgotten sin, and despair.

However, as bleak and hopeless these paths seem. They were paths not meant for normal human being. These paths were trials, trials to break, to strengthen, to reforge, and become something more than normal.

Ignorant or blessed, the group stride forward, not knowing the future that laid bare before them.