Nighttime study session...

WARNING!!! THIS CHAPTER IS THE MOST DISTURBING ONE I'VE WRITTEN YET!!! IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE DISTURBING CONTENT, DO NOT READ!!! I'M GOING TO RAISE THE CONTENT WARNING AFTER I WRITE THIS CHAPTER! YOU WERE WARNED!

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It's been 4 days, a lot of time passing yet no results. I've tried patterns and hand signs and... nothing works.

Gram goes inside around 7 PM, getting ready for an early morning like every other day. Meanwhile, I'm sat on the grass like an idiot, drenched in sweat from moving my mana continuously for hours.

If nothing else, it will help my endurance. I said I'd go inside and ask Clara after a day, but... I don't want to. If I can't do this, then I'm not worth anything. I have to do this or else I'll never catch up. Power is pain.

I continue to sit here with my eyes closed, waiting to either pass out or succeed. Normally I'd have fallen into a nap by now, but something is pushing me... something not entirely myself. I keep flowing my mana to my palm, my body having grown hot long ago, yet nothing happens. My mana doesn't leave my body or become a fireball or anything!

How am I supposed to achieve anything if I can't do this? What if I waste this 2nd life? What if I don't become anything? What if I just die a meaningless life again?

The grass around me starts to singe, but I don't notice. I feel like I'm on the verge of screaming out of anger at any moment. This world is the same as my last, isn't it? I got reincarnated here just to be below average again, didn't I? The only reason Clara took me with he is because of my parents, my heritage...

The blades of grass are now starting to sizzle up and pop, slowly boiling the little water stored inside. A plume of dark black smoke emits from my body before I come back to reality. The grass a few feet around me is on fire, that's bad.

I stand up and quickly start to stomp out the flames before they can spread anymore. The grass is burned, but not more than a small circle... still noticeable, but explainable.

I can feel more mana in my body, likely E+ rank mana levels, and I was obviously able to get mana outside my body if the grass is on fire. This means I can start practicing my proper fighting style, right?

"..."

I just stand there for a while, looking down at the spot I've burnt. I know that it's good practice to go up a sub-rank in 1 sitting, but I can't help but feel slow. It's not enough. I open my palm and channel my mana again, seeing if I can gather it into a ball in my palm.

Instead, I just end up with what is essentially a blow-torch sticking out of my hand. I've got the power for it, now I just need control... but how do I do that? I can feel connected to the mana, but I don't think it's that much. My hand's feel a little warm... so do my arms.

I fall over the next second, impacting with the dirt.

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Gram POV...

Around 2:30 in the morning...

Waking up, I get off the floor and check if Arthur is still asleep. He's not in the bed, so he must be awake by now... no, he's not like me. He wakes up early, but not this early.

[Daily quests.]

0/110 pushups-

I dismiss the quest window before it can fully show up, quickly getting dressed. Somethings wrong... I just know it. This can't be overthinking.

I walk out of the room and down the stairs, searching around the dark house for a while before finally checking the backyard. There he lies, on the ground. His hands and arms are scorched and burnt, looking awful. I can see the bones in most areas, the flesh burned off. It's the most gruesome sight I've seen in person ever, 1st life included.

"Arthur!" I shout even though he's likely unconscious. The burns look really bad, likely third degree. I crouch down next to him on the grass. I can feel the heat coming off his arms...

[Emergency quest.]

[Save Arthur Ishviel's arms.]

[Reward-

Once again, I close out the quest window. I don't have time to focus on it. I scroll through my inventory, desperately looking for a potion. I could've sworn I bought a healing potion... damnit! I check how many points I have in the store to see if I can buy another one... fresh out.

"Shit..." I mutter, getting more panicked by the second. 

I lift Arthur up carefully, making sure not to disturb his arms too much. I begin speed walking into the house, kicking open the door. I no longer care how much noise I make. In fact, I welcome the noise since it might wake Clara up.

"CLARA?!! CLARA!!!" It's a full shout now as I walk as fast as I can up the stairs. Damn that heavy sleeper... damn these long hallways... damn these points...

I see Clara sleepily walk out of her bedroom at the end of the hall, wondering what's wrong.

"Gram? Why are you..." She completely stops once she sees Arthur in my arms, dropping the small book she was holding.

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??? POV...

Everything's so dark... weird. 

I get out of bed and change into my uniform, stepping into my shoes. The next second, I'm already at school. It's bizarre, but all I can bring myself to say is...

"Weird..."

I walk forward and down the hall, in the classroom before I can even open the door. No one's here. I turn around and am greeted with a perfect reflection of myself, it's expression as blank as my own. I move my hand up and it mimics my own movement.

"Weird..."

I say yet again, attempting to step past it. It steps in the way, my dull eyes glaring back at me. I feel eyes trained on the back of my head now, so I turn around to check. Nothing's there.

I turn around to check my mimic, yet it's gone... or maybe I'm the one that's gone. The next moment, I'm wearing a different uniform. I'm in an office, one with workers that have no true face. The windows feel like mirrors, but I don't say anything... not this time. I've long learned to keep myself in silence.

I walk past cubicle after cubicle, yet they seem to loop. I start to hear voices, whispers gnawing at my mind. Shadows creep into my mind, my hands beginning to shake. I look at one of the employees only to find that he now possesses a face... my face.

It's eyes are wide and it's smile is fake, the skin almost porcelain. I step past it and look at the next worker, being greeted with a similar sight. My eyes are narrowed and slanted, a sad grimace painted atop my lips.

I hear the whispers again, coming into my mind at an alarming rate. I speed up my walk and skip a few cubicles, to be greeted with an unexpected site. 

In this cubicle sits my mother's dead body, cold and stiff. Her long black hair and ocean blue eyes... still and unmoving, deprived of all life. The stench of rot is in the air and when I look back up, she's gone.

An arm pierces my chest through my back before I feel tension being put on my arms, a pulling tension. The tension rises and rises until I hear a snap.

I'm at a funeral. I recognize this memory vividly from my childhood. I look to the casket only to see... my own corpse. My eyelids are painted, to give the expression of sight despite closed eyes. I look to the side, expecting to see my father, only to be greeted with myself again. I stand up and attempt to run out of the church, busting through the doors only to reveal...

I'm laid on the ground in the rubble, arms detached. A tall man stands over me, sword in hand. I remember they called him the "chosen hero" or something, a big and tall Korean dude. He reminds me of Dad... I love Dad. He has on a black coat, muttering something about regression. He deflects a blow from the darkness, turning around only to reveal my face once again.

I'm in the hospital, staring out the window. I don't have my arms, but I don't see any duplicates of my face anywhere. Mom walks in with a bouquet of flowers, wearing a black dress that I can't quite place.

"Hello Nathan..." She says, sitting in the chair next to my hospital bed. She sets the flowers down on the stand and lifts the veil in front of her face, revealing... her face. "I don't know if you know this, but you've been in a coma since you... since you tried to kill yourself."

I take a moment to process everything. Since I tried? Does that mean that I didn't actually die? That none of that actually happened? But... no...

"I'm sorry," The words slip out of my mouth without my control.

I look down at my neck as if wondering why that escaped me. I look back up and am no longer in the hospital. His hands are around my neck again, choking me until I die. I'm as small as I was that day, as defenseless as I've always been.

These hands... daddies hands... why do they hate me?

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

The words escape my mouth countless times, no matter how little breath I seem to have. Tears fall from my eyes, but they fail to dissuade him from his assault. He punches me, the connection dislocating my jaw. That scraggly and unkempt black beard, green eyes, a scar on the left side of his lip... he looks like the tall man from earlier...

Everything disappears and I'm back in the school, curled into a ball and under a desk. I can hear them outside the classroom, beating against the lockers. Soon enough, they'll find me. They're gonna beat me again.

A large boy busts down the classroom door, scanning the room. He lifts the desk up and crouches next to me, grabbing my shoulders.

"This is all your fault!" He screams at me before grabbing my neck, but the words don't seem to match up with his mouth, as if I'm misremembering. His voice doesn't sound like his.

I'm in the kitchen of our old house again, back when I was 7.

Mom's cooking dinner and dad is reading the newspaper at the table. I go to ask Mom why Dad always leaves late at night, only to be rewarded with... immense pain.

The boiling water pours down against my arms, leaving scars on my hands instantly. I can't take the pain and fall over, wailing and crying. It hurts so bad.

My father sets down the newspaper and walks over to my mother, punching her out of anger. He looks enraged that she did such a thing... dad's my hero.

Mom stumbles back, slipping on the water she splashed on me.

She hits her head on the counter.

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