Sin & Savior

CHAPTER 10, PART 3

Although she'd originally had an interest in writing her essay about Alfred Adler, Carl Jung, and Sigmund Freud: the fathers of modern psychology, sociology, behavioral development, investigations of the self, and sexual study: she was more interested in the man that stood at the head of her classroom now.

Meyla had always been of the belief that if you really, truly believe in yourself: it doesn't matter whether or not anyone else believes in you, because if you don't believe in yourself — then it wouldn't matter if everyone else did. And she believed in this man more than any she had ever met on earth in her life. She couldn't readily identify why, but she had a void aching within her and seeking to speak as to why she felt this way.

"Uhhmmm....Dr. Manley, can I speak with you for a moment?" she said in her thick Saudi accent, striding to the head of the class, careful to lift the tail of her hijab so that it did not drag along the filthy and well-stomped ground of the classroom.

"Absolutely, Miss Rayn. How can I help you?" he chanted excitedly.

They'd met on far more than one occasion. Meyla Rayn was the Traveller Gianmarco's wife in multiple universes past, and he — Calloway — had created her by hand. He was surprised when she wound up in his class this time around, as she wasn't meant to exist within this particular universe as a non-host body for the Travellers. He'd created her specifically as a vehicle for Scarlett to be trapped inside that would slowly infest her psychoemotional state, but it never failed to backfire on him, causing her to slowly embolden herself instead by growing through the damage her psychosis would cause. If there was one thing he had to admit: the Traveller Gianmarco was excellent at galvanizing and rallying somebody to emotional healthiness: even if he wasn't ever nearly so excellent at maintaining their healthiness after the fact.

Meyla was, unironically, a Nyxraithian Succubus rather than a human. However, unlike the succubi of human lore: she was an empathetic alchemist of emotional energy rather than sexual energy. She was welcoming, warm, and like a battery of positive energy. Her Muslim faith never encumbered or wedged her away from other people through some heavily radicalized ideal, abrasive personality, or stereotyping of her persona based on the way she dressed. It was rather quite the opposite: her friendly, sympathetic, nurturing energy magnetized others to her far more easily than one would imagine. In fact: she was so lovable that Calloway, himself, would never be the one to activate her. It was always Peter, his right-hand man, that would build her into a quiet agent of chaos, sowing discord and making subtle situations either far better or far worse than they ought to be. Her friends would either wind up rooting for her while dreading the unintended consequences of their actions around her, or her emotions themselves would be unabsolvable and silent or undeterringly chaotic. So much so that it would push away the people that cared about her the very most.

He'd already known her story: an aspiring young real estate investor that ultimately applies to his Fireside Private Equity Real Estate firm while she was still in university. At which point: Peter would welcome her into their fray with open arms after Calloway lets him know that she attends his classes and could easily be compelled to get closer to Scarlett if he brings her to him. So Peter does. And then Kyle Calloway would do what Kyle Calloway always does: carve her into an active instrument of his conniving.

The problem with this is that every time Peter would bring her to him and that she would end up married off to Gianmarco - her unconscious capabilities as an alchemist of empathy would work in reverse to thwart his efforts because — rather than putting The Catalyst off: she would become his everything. He'd succumb to her charm without batting an eyelash, and afterward: Calloway would constantly struggle to get them from under one another's skin. She went from a vessel created by Calloway's own palms to being the most dangerous host vessel of all that The Mother Particle had ever been housed in across every universal expanse or dimensional rift they'd found themselves doing battle. He'd designed her to be all the things a perfect host would be — overly protective and devoted, possessing undying loyalty, abnormally vivid and adaptive intellect, reasoning, and memory; and — by far the most dangerous traits any Traveller could ever possess — a spectacular imagination and creativity. One could possess ultimate power and no means by which to exercise it without those two, which he'd given Meyla in spades, assuming she'd use that creativity as a means to get close to The Catalyst and destroy him without giving herself away. However, in every scenario: not only did she give herself away — she gave herself away to him ENTIRELY. Mind, body, and soul. Something that he would not allow this time around.

"I am already familiar with the many inner workings of the apparatus of persecution within my home country. I'd imagine I'm exactly the kind of person you suggest would be triggered by a conversation at length about the nature of war. I...I don't want or mean to be difficult. I just....I'd be very interested in an alternative option. If...if that's alright with you." She asked him shyly.

He quickly reached out and grabbed both of her hands in his own.

"Tenebrosa Mors Noctis." He whispered. 

"Don't worry, Miss Rayn. I'll be your alternative option." He smirked inimically, with a heavy brow and eyes full of simmering resentment. 

Meyla's eyes widened in shock as she felt an icy chill run through her body. The classroom around them seemed to fade away, leaving only darkness. She tried to pull her hands away, but Dr. Manley's grip was unnaturally strong. "What... what are you doing?" she gasped, her voice trembling

Dr. Manley's smirk grew wider, revealing teeth that looked unnaturally sharp. "Oh, my dear Meyla. You've escaped your purpose long enough. You were created for a reason, and it's high time you fulfilled it."

The darkness swirled around them, tendrils of shadow wrapping around Meyla's arms and legs. She struggled against their hold, her heart pounding in her chest, but it was of no use. The vestigial arms lashed at her throat, before invading it -- pouring black, malevolent energy throughout her entire body, and activating the latent darkness inside of her. No one around them carried eyes capable of witnessing the level of spiritual terror being inflicted upon her in that moment, including Meyla herself. For her? It felt like nothing more than a grasping of palms. Little did she know that he held her life, itself, in his hands...and he did not intend on letting go.