A Tale of One Deviant (Book One)

Chapter 137: i'mscaredforyou

"A...text...?"

     Yes. That's clearly what it was. In front of me, like I'd received a chat on a computer screen, there was a text from "[51st]."

     It didn't have an image in the bubble by the name. No, instead, there was just a solid black circle.

     The entire screen was a perfect rectangle that was long and not very wide, one that was trimmed on the edges and in all of its lines. It was highlighted in periwinkle again, and the general color was white. The speech bubble, a rounded rectangle coming from the left, was at the top of the rectangle underneath a time stamp that said it was sent a week ago. Everything looked so modern and aesthetically-pleasing that I couldn't help but think I was staring at a computer in a public library in Tokyo again.

     It was all enough to distract me in an instant and make me forget what I was freaking out about. Well, whatever else I was freaking out about besides the bratty Dragon persona inside me, my magic finally breaking free again, and my arm feeling like I'd stuck it in a furnace and a boiling pot and maybe, just for kicks, a volcano as well somewhere along the way.

     My arm burned long enough that I couldn't stare at the screen any longer, arching my back off the floor as it winked out. The pain was searching for other places to infect, and my shoulder blade was a great place for it to spread to, absolutely fantastic. I latched on with my fingers, wincing at the briefest of contacts. Holding onto it was scream-worthy, but my vocal cords had decided to make themselves scarce when it came to the task of showing the world how agonizing my experience was.

     No.

     I tried to seal off the wound, amputating it for the moment so I could think straight, but the Dragon reared its head again with those stupid all-meaning one-word demands again. It strongly objected to the idea of me actually preserving my health, if that was somehow possible. I knew Dragons loved their scars, but I was bleeding out heavily. There was no waiting for it to heal or scar. There was no-

     Thanos.

     Yes. He had it. My disconnected limb, somewhere in that world, was in his grasp. I could physically feel it, like it wasn't just a phantom pain or a trick of the mind when I flexed my fingers or bent my elbow. It felt like my arm was tied down, was bent and broken, but it existed. As I imagined curling my fingers, they curled. As I rolled my wrist, it turned around. The connection was faint, but it was there.

     The Dragon flooded my head with thoughts of violence. A fight. A rematch. Revenge. Thanos' face as he tore off my arm. When he was burned by my flames. When he threw me down from the sky. When I pierced his skull and destroyed his eye.

     When he flooded the land and destroyed the surroundings.

     When I evaporated sea water and tore holes through the clouds.

     When he shattered the bottom of the sea with my skull.

     When I incinerated his tens-of-thousands-strong army with a single spell.

     When he broke apart the Smile islands with the force of my body being thrown.

     When I broke apart his armor and bared his real strength, no longer hidden by decoration, to the world.

     When he took me through the night with hellfire and bloodlust.

     When I took from him what likely mattered most.

     When he held the skies above his head and looked down on me like I wasn't worth his time.

     When I proved him wrong and turned the area into a natural disaster.