Chapter 12 - The Price of Comfort

"Why the fuck do you have a baby with you?" Nixie almost dropped her things when she saw me carrying the baby. "And why is it wearing the necklace?"

I could tell Nixie's mind was running at full speed, trying to figure out the situation.

"Holy shit?" I could see the puzzle pieces in Nixie's mind falling into place as she was figuring stuff out. "Is that thing a god? Did you fight that thing? Why is it a baby?" She looked more and more confused as she kept talking.

"Let me stop you there," I said to her, trying to calm her down. "First of all, this is not a thing." Then I looked at the baby. "To be honest, I don't even know what he is. Maybe a god or maybe a baby," I explained.

Either way, he didn't seem dangerous—just weirdly calm for someone who used to make a whole building float with his mind.

"Well, whatever it is, it has my necklace," Nixie said as she reached for it. As her hand neared the pendant, it suddenly glowed bright blue, and her hand was sharply deflected away.

"What the fuck?" Nixie exclaimed, staring at her hand.

"Oh, it does that from time to time," I said casually.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, frowning, and reached for it again.

This time, the necklace flared bright white—and the next moment, Nixie was launched across the room, her back slamming into the shelves with a loud crash. Jars and books tumbled down around her.

The baby just blinked, completely unfazed.

"Oh, it also does that sometimes," I added, trying to stop myself from laughing.

"Lead with that next time," Nixie said as she brushed the dust off her clothes. She looked pissed—like she was deciding whether to yell at me or punt the baby across the room.

There was an awkward silence for a bit. The only noise I could hear in the room was Nixie, fixing the shelves and picking up the things that had fallen to the ground—and the faint laughter of the baby.

"What now? Are you going to start taking care of that thing?" Nixie asked, not even bothering to hide the judgment in her voice.

"Again, he is not a thing, Nixie," I said, shooting her a look. "He's human? I don't know—maybe a baby god? Or a god that's also a baby? But so far, since we fought earlier, he hasn't tried to kill me, so that's progress, I guess."

"So? What's the plan here?" Nixie asked, crossing her arms, clearly not satisfied with my vague answers. "You just going to keep babysitting him, or something?" She weirdly put an emphasis on the word something.

"I don't know, I can't exactly take care of it," I said with a shrug. "I'm not even sure how to handle a normal baby, how would I even take care of a godly one."

"Then have someone take care of it," Nixie suggested, raising an eyebrow. "You've got so much to worry about right now, adding this thing doesn't exactly make your life easier." She gave me a pointed look.

The pregnant lady I kept on seeing around the warehouse immediately came to mind. Maybe she could handle this mess, though I wasn't sure if she'd be up for dealing with a baby god.

"Again, it's not a thing, it's a baby," I argued. "But sure, I'll see what I can do." I sighed, already thinking of whatever mess would come next.

"Just take care of it, for the meantime, me and this baby will be spending some quality time together," Nixie said with a smirk. "I'll try to figure out how to take this necklace off of him." She gave the baby a skeptical look, as if the necklace were some sort of cursed artifact. "This is going to be a pain, isn't it?"

"And how are you planning to do that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because you can only hit the wall so many times before dying." I leaned back, crossing my arms. "Unless you've got some secret method I don't know about."

"I don't know yet, but I have my ways," Nixie said, a sly grin spreading across her face. "You'd be surprise how stubborn and creative I can be when I put my mind into it," she said it like it was worth bragging about.

Well, at least Nixie is having fun, like she's found a good toy to distract her—the toy being the baby - like he was a puzzle that needs solving.

I left Nixie and the baby, since she wanted to spend some time with it. What's she going to do? I don't know. But knowing her, it'll probably involve some bizarre method of "bonding" that I'll regret witnessing later.

Nyx is still silent until now.

Nyx is still silent until now—and she's being really stingy with her powers. But for some weird reason, I could still feel her watching my every move from wherever she hangs out when she's not possessing me. It's like she's always there, lurking in the background, waiting for me to screw up.

Not feeling her powers running through me feels weird. I feel weak and tired, and it's making me uncomfortable, like my body is craving that power. There's a part of me that misses it, like I'm incomplete without it, and I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong.

I just took a quick bath to wash off the lingering fatigue from the day, the warm water helping to soothe my muscles. When I finally laid down, my body felt like it was being pulled into the bed by gravity itself, every inch of me heavy with exhaustion. I barely had time to close my eyes before sleep took over, swallowing me whole.

And then a dream came.

This time, the memory I was reliving was of a child. I was in an orphanage—a really bad one. The air was thick with musk and dust, far from an ideal place for a child to grow. The weather felt familiar, as if I had lived through it countless times before. I could tell I was still on the island, but not the part that tourists visit. No, this was the side of the island that the locals were desperately trying to keep hidden.

I looked around me, and the children in this place weren't living like normal children should. They were thin—starving—malnourished, their bones poking through their clothes. Their ragged, old clothes clung to their weak bodies, barely covering them. It felt like the world had forgotten about these kids, and in a way, it had.

Most times, I found myself sneaking out of the orphanage at night, begging and stealing from the tourists wandering the island. I wasn't the only one, but I was the most skilled, the fastest, the smartest. I rarely got caught, but when I did, the beatings were brutal. Still, it was part of the risk, and that risk was worth it compared to starving. But that's just how life is—nothing special. It was clear the island wasn't the paradise they claimed it to be. The beauty was just a façade, hiding all the dirty secrets from the world.

I could only feel pain. I was living through hunger and desperation. It wasn't just the kind of hunger you get from missing a meal—it was something more, something primal. It was an emptiness and coldness deep within my core. It was something I can't fully understand now—something I hope I never have to experience.

Even in a dream, that kind of hunger leaves a mark.

Then one day, a man of great stature came into the orphanage. He was the type of person who could fill a room with his presence alone. Tall and well-dressed, his suit was tailored from a kind of fabric I hadn't seen before. His face was smooth, almost ageless, and his features were too symmetrical—almost impossibly so for a normal human. His eyes were cold, calculating, and devoid of sympathy. It was unsettling how it felt like he was silently assessing the worth of everyone around him.

In contrast to his appearance, he spoke softly, tenderly—almost like a parent. But there was something beneath that voice that made my spine shiver. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in the moment he entered the room.

He was the man I saw in my other dream—the one leading the cult.

He wasn't the first one to visit the orphanage and do something fishy with the kids. At first, I thought, good—less mouths to feed. But he kept coming back, taking one child after another. It wasn't that odd, to be honest—these rich types often had their own strange quirks—but taking that many children was a little out of the ordinary. I even saw the caretaker taking money from him. That alone wasn't unusual, but the amount I saw being handed over was more than enough for just some simple kink.

Still, with all the donations being received by the caretaker, it didn't matter. The children remained hungry. I kept stealing for myself, and I was getting better at it—faster, smarter, more ruthless. I learned how to survive, how to live in this harsh and uncaring world. Eventually, surviving became less of a struggle and more of a skill—a game I had to win every single day just to see the next.

One day, I saw him walking around the orphanage. He left his bag just lying around. I knew that bag had something valuable, and I took my chance. I thought he wouldn't even notice something was missing, given he seemed to be throwing money all over the place. I succeeded—it wasn't even a challenge. For a while, I was comfortable, well-fed. It was the first time I felt any sort of stability.

Then, one day, he came again. This time, I was the one he chose. He said he was adopting me. I thought that stealing and surviving on my own had toughened me up, but the thought of being used for some rich person's kink frightened me. I figured they would use me until I broke, then just get rid of me. But this… didn't happened

"Where are all the other kids?" I asked him, confused.

He looked at me, and without a hint of emotion, replied, "I'm not the one adopting them. I'm just a middleman. They've gone to families outside the island."

I felt a strange mix of relief and confusion. He wasn't here to hurt me, but I still couldn't shake the feeling something wasn't right.

"Where am I going?" I asked him, a part of me nervous, but another part oddly hopeful.

"This time, I'm the one adopting," he said, his words carrying an air of finality. It made me feel special, like I had been chosen for something important.

He brought me to a hotel, showed me my room. For the first time, I had a room to myself. It felt good, the food was amazing, and the bed was comfortable. I even pitied the children still stuck in the orphanage—but it wasn't like we were friends. I wasn't going to let that bother me. I was lucky, and that was all that mattered.

But one day, I discovered something—a diary hidden in a compartment in the desk. It was a diary kept by one of the kids from the orphanage, the one who had been adopted before. The pages were worn, and the ink slightly faded, but it still felt like a hidden piece of their past.

It told how lucky she was, being chosen by that man, but that didn't make sense. She wasn't special. I was.. She'd been shifted off somewhere outside the island, out of my reach. There was something strange about the whole situation, something that didn't quite add up.

I kept on reading, and it seemed like just a normal diary. She was just writing about her daily experiences at the hotel, probably before she was taken to the family adopting her. But there was a strange part about the diary. In every entry, something was written—something gibberish, something I didn't know how to read. It said:

"cxeta vjgpe jctc gu ngc fmpv vtsuv jgo."

It was something I didn't understand, but it had to be important, so I wrote it down on a piece of paper.

But when I woke up the diary was gone , the cleaning lady must've taken it by accident I guess. But when I asked about it the told me they didn't see anything.

Which mas weird but not weird enough to be suspicious. I continued living there for a while. The man was treating me like his real child.

When I woke up the next day, the diary was gone. The cleaning lady must've taken it by accident, I thought. But when I asked about it, she said she hadn't seen anything. That struck me as odd, but not enough to make me suspicious.

I continued to live with the man, enjoying the life he had given me. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. One day, I ran into an acquaintance from the orphanage. I asked her about the code and how to read it. She told me it was simple—add two to the consonants, subtract two from the vowels. In exchange, I bought her some food.

I went back to my room, tried decoding the message and it took me a while to figure out. But when I did It read:Everything in here is a lie, Don't trust him.

I felt a chill run down my spine, but I didn't know who to trust. The man had given me everything—comfort, food, a life without hunger. He treated me like his own, with kindness that I had never experienced before. But now, with this strange code in the diary and the unsettling feelings that had been growing inside me, I had doubts. Who was I supposed to believe? The kids who had been taken away, their faces full of fear as they vanished into the unknown, or the man who had been so kind to me?

Life continued, but as days passed, I became more paranoid. It was as if my mind was no longer my own. Every little sound in the hotel set me on edge. I began exploring the hotel more, trying to make sense of the strange and hidden corners. The man's men—the ones who always wore dark hoods—frightened me. They never spoke, and their cold, hidden faces seemed to loom over me, watching me with an intensity that felt wrong. I started noticing things that made me uneasy: I saw some people being dragged through the halls, their hands bound tightly, their bodies limp and defeated. The man noticed my stare one day and casually explained they were just people who had done bad things.

"Like you," he said, his tone smooth and almost comforting. "You were once like them."

I froze at his words, my heart racing. What did he mean? Was I truly like them? What kind of "bad things" had I done? His explanation didn't calm me—it only made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up even more. If that's the case, then these people probably deserved it, right? That was the justification in my mind. But still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that something deeper was happening under the surface.

Then, one day, he came to my room. I was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, when I heard a soft knock at the door. It was him. The man who had adopted me, the one who had shown me a life I never thought I would have. He entered without waiting for me to invite him in. His presence filled the room, and for a moment, I could feel my heartbeat quicken.

"I need you to trust me," he said, his voice soft but commanding. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto mine. There was something unsettling about them—a flicker of something I couldn't quite place. A warning I didn't fully understand yet.

I wanted to speak, to ask what he meant, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the quiet authority in his voice, or the way his gaze never wavered. Before I could say a word, he moved swiftly, a syringe in his hand that I hadn't noticed before.

In one quick motion, he injected me with something. The sharp sting of the needle was the last thing I felt before everything started to blur. My vision dimmed, and my body felt heavy, like I was sinking into the bed.

My consciousness began to fade away, slipping like water through my fingers. I tried to fight it, to hold on, but the darkness crept in faster than I could comprehend. My mind screamed, but no sound escaped. And then, everything went dark.