BREAKING THE FOURTH WALL

Diaval sat at his desk, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the blazer he had worn earlier draped over the back of his chair.

He loosened his collar and sighed deeply.

The room was silent except for the soft scratching of his pen against the parchment as he made notes and calculations for his mother's new business.

But his mind was not entirely focused on the task at hand.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples.

"What a mess," he muttered to himself.

"I've taken over someone else's life, their body, their goals, their... everything.

What if Diaval had his own dreams? What if he had plans and ambitions? Hell, what if he had someone he loved? And here I am, just barging in, wearing his skin like a suit. It's not fair to him."

Diaval's thoughts wandered back to the original story.

He knew Diaval, the character he now embodied, had been destined for an early and brutal death.

A death that served only to push the plot forward, to give Adrian a tragic backstory and a reason to thirst for power.

"What kind of fucked up author writes a story where characters are just tools? No consideration for their lives, their emotions, their dreams. Just cannon fodder for the sake of drama and excitement."

He paused, running a hand through his hair.

"And it's not just me, or rather, not just Diaval. It's all the characters. They're born into a world where their fate is already written, their lives pre-determined by some sadistic storyteller.

Villains who are doomed to fail, heroes who are burdened with impossible tasks, side characters who exist only to die and add depth to someone else's journey.

What a fucking joke."

Diaval stood up and paced the room, his frustration boiling over.

"If those authors could see it from our perspective, maybe they'd think twice before writing such bullshit.

But no, they sit in their cozy chairs, writing whatever they want, treating us like puppets on strings. Well, fuck them. I'm not going to be their puppet."

He stopped at the window, staring out into the dark night. The distant town reminded him of the world he had left behind.

"Characters in novels, movies, games... they all get the same shitty treatment.

Used and discarded, all for the sake of the plot.

And here I am, stuck in one of those stories. But I'll be damned if I let it end the way it was supposed to."

Diaval clenched his fists, his resolve hardening.

"I may be a side character, but that doesn't mean I have to die like one.

I won't be some stepping stone for Adrian or anyone else.

I'll carve out my own path, even if it means dealing with all the bullshit that comes with it."

He returned to his desk, his determination rekindled.

"Sure, it might bring me more trouble than the lazy, easy life I wanted.

But fuck it.

I'm not going to let some predetermined fate control me.

I'll change the story, rewrite it if I have to. This world may be fucked up, but I'll survive it on my terms."

As he sat back down, Diaval picked up his pen again, a new sense of purpose driving his actions.

He would protect his mother, build her a thriving business, and ensure that neither he nor anyone he cared about would meet the same tragic fate as the characters in the stories he once read.

This was his life now, and he would live it as he saw fit, not as some author dictated.

"And to hell with anyone who tries to stop me," he muttered, a fierce light in his eyes. "This is my story now."

Diaval's thoughts churned within him, a storm of frustration and anger.

He couldn't shake the feeling of being a puppet in someone else's story, and it made him feel both furious and helpless.

Unable to sit still any longer, he got up and left his room, hoping that a walk might clear his mind.

He briefly considered seeking out Mira for comfort but remembered she was busy with her duties around the house.

Disrupting her would only add to his guilt.

As he wandered through the mansion's grand hallways, he found himself drawn to a large window overlooking the training grounds.

The sight below caught his attention: a figure with blonde hair, shirtless and glistening with sweat.

Adrian.

The intensity of his training was evident in every movement.

His muscles rippled as he swung a massive sword, his eyes glowing a fierce blue.

Diaval watched as Adrian's black wings extended to an impressive length, partially transforming him into a formidable sight.

Half of Adrian's arm was covered in black scales, adding to the intimidating image.

'A partial transformation,'he thought.

Diaval couldn't help but feel a pang of envy and frustration.

Adrian's physical prowess was undeniable, and watching him train only underscored the gap between them.

Diaval's body, though fit, lacked the sheer definition and power Adrian displayed.

He sighed, knowing that brute strength alone wouldn't be enough to protect himself in this world.

"Strength without brains is nothing," Diaval muttered to himself.

He thought back to his own life, remembering stories of mighty warriors brought down by their own lack of strategy and understanding.

Combat required more than just physical ability; it required sharp wit, quick thinking, and the ability to read your opponent.

"You could be the strongest person in the room, but if you don't know how to use your strength intelligently, you're just as good as dead."

As he continued to watch Adrian's training, Diaval resolved to focus on honing his mind.

Physical strength could be matched and surpassed, but a sharp intellect could turn the tide of any battle.

He knew he was gifted with a keen mind, and it was time to put that gift to use.

"What am I worried about?....I'm fucking smart."

His thoughts were interrupted by a presence beside him.

He turned to see a man who seemed old yet carried an air of youthful vitality.

The man's white hair, beard, and defining white mustache gave him a distinguished appearance.

Diaval immediately recognized him.

"Sir Eldric," Diaval greeted, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him.

Eldric inclined his head slightly, a respectful gesture.

"Young master," he replied, his voice calm and measured.

Diaval straightened, pushing aside his earlier frustration. This was the moment to start making real changes, to take control of his life and destiny.

And with Eldric's guidance, he knew he could begin to shape his future on his own terms.

///NEXT CHAPTER: THE MAN WITH A DOZEN THOUGHTS