Elizabeth

Was it Precious? Was it Nmesoma? What was she? That was all Elizabeth could wonder as she watched Michael walk away—the boy who once smiled simply at the sight of her. Now, his retreat left her shaken.

The trembling training room echoed her turmoil. It wasn't trembling from the physical strain of exercise but from the sheer force of her pain. She was alone now; the training hours had passed. She had snuck in, not to train, but to face her demons. Yet, instead of sweat dripping from her skin, tears fell steadily from her eyes, hot and relentless.

She sank to the floor, her voice trembling as she whispered into the void, "Was it worth it, Father? Was it worth it, Mother? Putting me through hell—through all that trauma—just because you wanted the best for yourselves. Not for me." Her fists clenched, shaking. "You forced me into this. You wanted me to have the best ability, the strongest power, but guess what?" Her voice rose, laced with bitterness. "I'm still not the strongest. I'm still not the smartest. I'm just… a girl. A girl who wants to be loved. To be loved consistently."

Her gravity control rippled through the air. A punching bag exploded, fragments scattering around her. She didn't flinch. She couldn't stop. "I'm tired of the inconsistency! I'm tired of loving people who leave! Tired of smiling through it all!" Her voice broke into a guttural scream as another piece of equipment shattered under her unconscious power. Tears blurred her vision.

Her thoughts spiraled, dark and relentless. Why do they always leave? Why do they promise and then betray? She trembled as she murmured to herself, "Everyone calls themselves broken, everyone plays at being hurt, but they don't know real pain. They don't know my pain." Her voice fell to a whisper, heavy with finality. "I'm the most broken. I'm the most angry. I am the psycho."

Her hands began to glow, a deep, searing purple light radiating from her palms. It grew brighter with every word she spoke, consuming her. Her control slipped away entirely as the room began to collapse under the weight of her ability—CONFINEMENT. She was no longer in control; her pain had taken over.

The room shook violently as she screamed, "I JUST WANT PEACE. I WANT HAPPINESS. I WANT CONSISTENCY!"

The walls crumbled around her. The ceiling cracked. Debris rained down, yet she stood there, unyielding, her tears mixing with sweat. As she gazed around the wreckage, a whisper escaped her lips, soft and broken. "Maybe Michael is right. Maybe death is peace."

But before the darkness could consume her, a voice cut through the chaos. A voice that was equal parts fire and fury.

"LITTLE GIRL, DEATH ISN'T MY PEACE. YOU ARE!"

Elizabeth's glowing hands froze as Michael burst into the collapsing room, his voice commanding, his presence suffocating. His lips twisted into an unhinged smile as he walked toward her, his eyes burning with obsession. "Dying alone? Betraying me? Do you think that's the answer?"

For a moment, she couldn't speak. Couldn't move. She was frozen, not in fear, but in awe. Michael closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her trembling frame. "Elizabeth," he whispered, his voice softer now but no less intense. "Why cry? Why waste your energy remembering the past? The future—our future—is all that matters. This is our story, our pain, our victory. Every person, every trauma, every betrayal—they're nothing but pawns on our chessboard. NPCs in the story of us."

Elizabeth stared at him, lost in his words, feeling both comforted and terrified by his obsession. There was something in his eyes, something more than love—something darker, hungrier. She leaned into him, craving the consistency he promised, no matter how dangerous it felt.

As her tears began to dry, she murmured, "Michael…" But before she could finish, the voice of another cut through the air.

"CONTROL Z."

The training room froze, then began to rewind. Walls rebuilt themselves. Shattered equipment floated back into place, seamless and unbroken. The purple glow in Elizabeth's hands dimmed as Michael turned, his face darkening. From the shadows stepped Mr. Bola, a sly smile playing on his lips.

"Now, lovebirds, you've got ten seconds to get out of my sight," Bola said, his tone almost playful. "Or you'll face charges for illegal entry into the training room."

Michael and Elizabeth exchanged a glance, a conspiratorial smile blooming between them. Without a word, Michael scooped her into his arms and darted out of the room at full speed. Their laughter echoed in the halls as they escaped, their shared madness binding them closer than ever.

Later, Michael left Elizabeth at her hostel. She smiled as she watched him walk away, her heart caught between fear and desire. Michael, on the other hand, walked to his dorm with the same obsessive grin.

Far behind them, Bola lingered in the wrecked room, watching them leave. "Like father, like son," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "I just hope he doesn't lose this one."

And far away, in the shadows, Precious stood silently, watching. Her face was unreadable, but her thoughts burned. So that's what it feels like. To forget all the pain, to forget me. I'm nothing but another trauma in their story.

TOMORROW, CLASSES BEGIN AGAIN. NEW FACES, NEW BATTLES, AND THE START OF THE EMOX ARC.