Servamp:Back to the Past.

Chapter 23

(A/N: This took way too long and I accidentally wrote too many words for this one chapter by itself. This chapter's word count could exceed three chapters put together and I don't even know why I wrote so much for this.

Anyways, sorry for making you all wait for such a long time after that cliffhanger — not like there won't be a cliffhanger again :P — ! I was pretty busy and, well, lazy. But I pushed myself so here it is! Chapter 23!

Please enjoy your reading! ^^)

~{&}~

"Cry," Licht bellowed with a deep and intimidating voice that was forced out of his vocal chords and lungs by his own weapon, not by his own will, and his slender and long fingers pressed down on his floating keyboard, eliciting music that sounded... depressing to one's ears.

Mahiru widened his eyes at the sound, desperate for that scene to repeat history again,"W-Wait, Licht, stop! Don't—!"

Too late.

The petite little nurse plugged in something into her ears, blocking sound from entering them and whispered softly as her eyes glowed a mystic red hue,"Now go, my little marionette. Bestow my ideals and puppetry into your fleeting music. Spread your wings and soar through the skies and bring downfall onto others who oppose us. It is, after all, your duty as an angel to spread your God's will and words."

Licht's usual blue eyes flashed a blazing red light before no longer having their ray of light in them anymore; what remained of the angelic pianist was now merely a puppet with a master pulling on his strings.

And just like that, his whole conscience and willpower took a turn for the worse; a seed planted itself into his mind, ridding him of his strength to think properly for once and he felt a smirk forming on his face.

His previous desires that were buried deep beneath his angelic façade were unravelling themselves and he was deriving from the feeling of sick yet sweet pleasure of it all.

Everyone talks about being 'good', being 'proper', being 'right the whole time'. But really, what was 'right' in the first place?

His delicate fingers worked their magic on his keyboard. Like paint on a paint canvas. Like ink on a paper. Like an artist with a pencil. It was destined to be (a red string of fate, maybe), to create sweet fantasies that appeases people.

However, he was not going to play a piece that amused and made people cry their hearts out of appreciation today, to fill their hearts with the beauty and magnificence of his skills. No, it was quite the opposite actually.

Today, he was going to break those hearts that were filled with corruption, those hearts that opposed his ideals and his purpose, and that was the only thing he could think of.

There's a little devil inside everyone. Although he was an angel, he still knew that too well. Beneath their manufactured perception - their artificial reality - is a writhing, twisted mess of dread.

Loathing. Judgement. Elitism. Self-doubt. All thrashing to escape the feeble hold of their host, seeping through every little crevice they can find. Into their willpower, starving hem of all motivation and desire. Such a deplorable, tangled mass is already present in every single one of them.

He wanted to fix this. He wanted to purify the world of these demons. He had his own perspective of things, and he was going to achieve it slowly.

Why had he buried his true desires deep within the whole time when it felt so good to unleash them all? It didn't make any sense.