Mystic Syn

Quote

It's ya boi: Ji Naito.

  Anguish.
  True anguish.
  Once the Deathgrater had touched him, everything blacked out, the only sound he could hear was himself giving a bloodcurdling scream as the wounds dug deeper and deeper. It wasn’t just where the man had touched him, but it spread through his body, covering every inch with a scorching pain. A knife sketched out the red lines of pain, embedding itself deeper with each new line. It spread to his face, fingers, and even feet.
  He thought he’d felt true pain before, but anything he felt beforehand was only a tiny fraction of what he was feeling right now. They were only teasers; an appetizer before the main course. The places where the gashes had appeared seared with pain, making him want to curl up and let go.
  But he couldn’t.
  Instead, he lived through that pain, getting dizzier and dizzier the longer he spent in it. More daggers stabbed themselves into his lungs with every breath he took in, rattling and getting faster and more shallow. Red-hot spikes impaled themselves into his head, embedding deeper at the slightest movement he made, which in turn made him scream louder. He tried to let go of it all––to give in to that ever comfortable darkness––but he just… couldn’t. As if something was actually hol––
  Peace.
  Serenity.
  It was calling to him, beckoning for him to approach.
  He reached out, grasping onto that faintest glimmer of light.
  The sounds of the battle faded away to an echo in his mind. The searing pain melted as he passed through that veil of darkness to the peace. His breathing steadied, feeling easier to do so. His head stopped pounding. He felt… better. 
  When he opened his eyes, white stretched as far as the eye could see.
  Ji Naito looked around for any sign of life, coming up with nothing as his bare feet finally touched solid ground. He turned his gaze downwards, and nearly jumped back in shock at the sight of him wearing white robes from head to toe. Each piece of the robe was threaded with a complicated pattern that he couldn’t quite describe, but it flowed with each design on the robe.
  His hands immediately searched for pockets. Surely there would be––
  “Why, hello there, friend.”
  He turned immediately, glancing to where the voice had come from, then almost jumped at the sight.
  A man sat cross-legged underneath a tree with long, drooping branches not far from Ji, white petals fluttering in the non-existent wind. He wore robes similar to Ji, though his patterns were more complicated than Ji’s would ever be. His stark white hair flowed freely as he poured tea in two ceramic cups from a weird looking teapot with a long metallic spout.
  Ji concentrated, but nothing came, not even the rush of adrenaline.
  “How––” Ji tried.
  “Magic doesn’t work here,” the man replied without hesitation, sipping the tea.
  “Where––”
  “The Inbetween.”
  “How––”
  “You’re on the brink of death.”
  “Who––”
  “Doesn’t matter to you.”
  “Why––”
  “Doesn’t matter to you.”
  Ji narrowed his eyes. “Can––”
  “No, I cannot read minds,” the man finished for him, glancing up at him as he took another sip. “Not that I want to read yours.”
  “Then, how––”
  “Everyone asks the same questions in the same exact order.”
  “That’s not true,” Ji and the man said in unison, though the man looked bored. “I am my own person and have my own unique opinions.”
  Ji clamped his mouth shut, glaring at the man.
  “C’mon, Ji,” the man laughed, gesturing to the spot next to him.
  He didn’t follow, clenching his fists. Ji folded his arms.
  “Omni above,” the man muttered, taking another sip of his tea. “You’re angrier in person.”
  “How do I get out?” Ji growled, ignoring the comment.
  “You wait,” he replied as if it were obvious, inspecting his cup and pouring more tea. “Either you’re given another chance at life, or you pass on.”
  Ji growled in frustration.
  “To pass the time,” the man said, unimpressed at Ji’s growling, “you can ask me a few questions. I’m required to tell the truth.”
  He scowled at the man. “And how do I know you’re telling the truth?”
  “Ask me a question that you know, for sure, is true, then we can get to your actual questions.”
  His scowl grew deeper as he tapped his finger against his arm. “Alright then,” he said, looking down on the man. “Where do my loyalties lie?”
  The man raised an eyebrow as he sipped. “It’s conflicted right now,” he answered anyway. “Your loyalty has been to yourself for the past eleven years, but with this new group of people… Hmm, a lot of built-up conflict, especially with your feelings for her.”
  He frowned as a response. The man smirked smugly at his reaction.
  Of course he’s right.
  “Your questions?” The man offered the second cup of tea to him.
  Ji pondered, waving away the man’s offered tea. He raised a hand to his chin as he thought, then looked back at the man.
  “What chance,” he began, bringing his hand down as he stared into the man’s eyes, “do I have against the Angel of Death?”
  The man sipped his tea thoughtfully, nodding at his question. “None,” he replied after sipping.
  “That’s not true,” he snarled back, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “I’ve grown stronger. I’m not that boy she met years ago.”
  “Have you, though?”
  “Yes, I hav––”
  “Have you, though?”
  A glare settled in his gaze. “What do you mean?” Ji folded his arms again. “I’m a Mystic and have been training for years.”
  “‘Training,’ you say?” The man placed his cup down, staring right back with cold blue eyes. “And where has that gotten you?”
  “It’s gotten me to a place where I can defeat her.”
  “And yet you can’t defeat a Deathgranter with only a fraction of the power she carries.”
  What was this feeling? Pain? Regret?
  No.
  Unworthiness.
  It threatened to eat him up from the inside out, but he held his ground.
  “You lie,” he hissed, the feeling not going away.
  “I just told you that I’m unable to lie about the answers to your questions,” he said, rolling his eyes slightly. “If you can’t defeat Saatvik, what chance do you have against the Angel?”
  Ji glared at him.
  “Face it, Ji: You’re useless.”
  “I am not.”
  “Who’s lying on the ground dying right now?” The man raised an eyebrow at his silent response before continuing. “Who has been of little help to the missions your group has been undertaking as of late? How many times have you relied on Elya for help? How many times has your summoning been able to help you? How many times has that been able to work? How many times have you been an asset to the team?
  “With what amazing skills you have, you choose to not expand on them; you choose to be satisfied with what you have without pushing yourself. 
  “You’re nothing.”
  “That’s. Not. True,” he hissed through gritted teeth as he allowed himself to maintain a provoked stance, though everything on the inside wanted to collapse in on itself.
  “Then name one thing you can do besides summon blades. Prove me wrong, Ji Naito.”
  Ji felt at a loss for words. 
  Many times, he opened his mouth to shout a retort at this man, but decided against it and closed his mouth and let his gaze fall to the white ground. Arguing would only lead him in circles where the man would only point out the flaws and still be right. Everything inside him threatened to burst free, but he placed his foot down, growling softly at the emotions. This was not the time for those to run rampant.
  He looked up, only to be surprised to see that he was fading.
  The man smiled to himself. “Looks like you’ve been given another chance,” he said, raising the cup of tea towards Ji as some sort of salute. “Come back anytime, Ji Naito.”
  Ji’s world faded to black, the horrible sounds of the battle piercing his ears.
  He coughed, then gasped. His thoughts slowly grew clearer. Every time he inhaled, it didn’t feel like thousands of tiny daggers were embedding themselves into him. The lacerations sealed themselves, though the blood still soaked his whole body. He managed to open his eyes weakly for a moment before they fell shut again.
  You’re useless. You’re nothing.