"Enough, Cole..."
The voice squeezed from his throat, hoarser and drier than Erika expected. He stood just behind Cole, staring at that filthy white robe, at the back still roaring toward the estate, and suddenly felt that all of this was goddamn absurd.
Not because of those inexplicable plop sounds.
The noises continued, one after another, closing in from all sides like something invisible probing, mocking, waiting to watch them make fools of themselves. But Erika no longer cared.
Not because of Darren rolling on the ground.
The madman kept crawling, kept laughing, kept muttering about "kowtowing first or kissing the hand first." His words were completely incoherent now, a blurred line between prayer and curse. He's probably beyond saving, Erika knew.
Not even because of Cole's escalating volume.
"Linglong! Get your ass out here!" Cole shouted, his voice louder than before, but the tone had grown stranger—more like someone coaxing a stubborn child to come out of their room. That tightly wound string of tension—how was it so entirely different for him?
None of these. He had just had enough.
This entire journey. From that food stall, to the warehouse, to this street leading to the "respectable" district, all the way to this damn estate—he had just silently followed behind Cole. Told to go east, and never west.
Like a shadow. A sidekick. A mute. Starving, dragging an empty sleeve, stared down by disgusted eyes, surrounded by those wet plops, terrified by madmen—he had endured it all. Because he thought Cole knew what he was doing. Because he thought this was what a "vacation" was supposed to look like here. Because he had nowhere else to go.
But what about the things Cole had said?
What vacation? What kind of goddamn vacation was this? In this cursed place, watching those crawling things, eating skin covered in bristles, surrounded by thousands of lunatics screaming "Long live the Blood Palm"—this was a vacation?
What meal? The promised "I'll treat you to a meal in a few days"—where was it? Here? Shouting "Who's Darenz's most adorable baby" at an empty estate?
And now pulling this stunt.
Erika stared at Cole's back, then at the distant, silent estate acting as if nothing was happening. He listened to the wet plops and Darren's ravings, and suddenly felt something in his chest surge up. Not anger. Not fear. Something deeper, pent up for far too long, finally breaking free.
"Enough."
He said it again. Louder this time.
Cole stopped.
The dirty white robe ceased its swaying. Even the plop sounds from the direction of the estate seemed to pause. Cole didn't turn around. But Erika knew he had heard.
Morning light fell between them, stretching Cole's long shadow out before Erika's feet. The silence was so absolute you could hear the dew sliding off the blades of grass.
"Erika."
Cole didn't turn. His voice drifted back, calm enough to drive a man insane. "Remember the lessons I mentioned…"
"To hell with your lessons!"
Erika nearly roared. He was sick of this feeling of forever being dragged along, sick of being shut down with "first lesson" every time he wanted to ask a question. "You made all of that up!"
He glared at Cole's back. That filthy white robe, that forever-unshakable silhouette—it suddenly seemed utterly detestable.
"No wonder no one wants to go on missions with you!"
The words were out before Erika even realized it. He didn't know where they came from. Maybe the whispers from the training camp, maybe Cole's evasiveness about his past, or maybe he had just held it in for too long, blindly grabbing whatever might hurt and hurling it.
"What 'take it slow'?" he kept hammering. "You clearly just lack the ability!"
After hurling the last word, Erika stared daggers at that back.
Expecting a response.
Any response.
Even if Cole just turned to look at him.
Even if he cursed back.
Even if he scoffed, "What do you know?"
Anything to prove he had heard, to prove Erika's words carried weight, that they could pierce that forever-smirking armor.
But no.
Cole simply stood there, steady as stone.
The dirty white robe swayed slightly in the morning breeze. His shoulders didn't hunch, his back didn't stiffen. Even the rhythm of his breathing didn't falter.
Then— He started roaring again.
"Linglong! Get your ass out here!"
The voice was just as loud, the tone still that strange, indistinguishable blend of cursing and coaxing. It was as if Erika's words had been nothing but passing wind, never even reaching his ears.
—
Erika hated it. He hated that his words weren't violent enough.
He couldn't force these two beside him—one roaring at an empty estate, the other rolling in the dirt and muttering—to stop and reflect. He couldn't drag them out of their self-constructed delusions. He couldn't make them see how utterly absurd this all was.
Even if a response proved he was the one in the wrong. Even if it proved Erika didn't understand, that he should just shut up, keep following, and remain the obedient shadow that went east when told to go east.
At least that would be a response. Better than this. Being ignored, left standing here, treated like thin air—it would be a million times better.
—
The wet plops continued.
Darren kept muttering: "Crawl first… no, kowtow first… no, no…"
Cole kept roaring: "Lingling Longlong! Who's Darenz's most adorable baby!"
The morning light grew brighter, washing over the neatly trimmed lawns and the silent white estate.
Erika stood there.
His empty right sleeve swayed slightly in the wind.
He said nothing more.
"Damn it! Why aren't you dead yet!"
An unfamiliar roar exploded from the direction of the estate!
The voice was coarse and hoarse, carrying a hatred that had festered for god-knows-how-long, sounding like a rusted blade scraping against a throat. This wasn't Cole's teasing banter—this was real, venomous hatred. The kind that wanted you dead.
Erika saw Cole move. The dirty white robe was no longer still.
He walked forward, step by step. Not fast, but each stride was planted firmly, his boots crunching against the white gravel with sharp tap, tap sounds. That back no longer belonged to a madman roaring at an empty estate. It was something else entirely. It was a man who had finally gotten a response, and was now stepping forward to collect a debt.
"Screw you!" Cole's roar smashed back against the estate, louder and fiercer than before.
"You'll see hell before I do! "
"I'm coming over there to gut you!"
He quickened his pace. The hem of his robe lifted in the morning breeze, whipping behind him like a tattered, dirty flag.
—
Erika looked up. He was instantly blinded by the glaring sun hitting him right in the eyes.
It had just crested over the estate, the light too strong, too fierce, like a burning wall blocking his vision. He shaded his eyes with his hand, squinting, desperately trying to peer through the glare— He barely made out a blurred silhouette inside the grounds.
It wasn't part of the lawn. It wasn't one of the spherical shrubs. It was a figure. Standing somewhere before the massive white house, outlined in stark black by the harsh sunlight. He couldn't see a face, couldn't distinguish clothing, couldn't even tell if it was male or female. He only saw that the silhouette was completely motionless.
Waiting.
—
Suddenly, Erika felt something grab his leg from behind. He snapped his gaze downward— It was Darren.
The madman who had been rolling in the dirt, crying and laughing just moments ago, was now plastered to the ground, one hand desperately reaching out and clutching Erika's calf.
"It's over, hahahahaha!" Darren's voice shrieked from below, sharp and piercing like a dying bird. His upturned face was ghastly pale, his eyes sunken, the corners of his mouth stained with saliva and god-knows-what else.
"We're all going to die, hahahahaha!"
He was laughing so hard his entire body shook, yet the hand gripping Erika's leg only tightened. The nails dug brutally into his flesh, the sudden pain making Erika gasp. "Hahahahaha—"
—
Erika stared down at him. Darren's face was ashen, the color of a corpse.
It wasn't the manic, shattered expression from moments ago. It was something else entirely. Beneath the surface of that "it's over" and "we're all going to die" madness lay a terrifying, absolute, despairing clarity.
He knew exactly what he was saying. He knew exactly what was going to happen next. He just couldn't articulate it like a sane person anymore.
—
Erika looked back up. Cole was still walking, already a dozen paces away. That silhouette inside the estate still stood there, unmoving.
The sun grew brighter, utterly blinding. Darren's hand was still clamped around his leg; the nails had broken the skin, a thin line of blood trickling down his calf.
The wet plops— When had they stopped?
Erika didn't know. He only knew that something was about to begin.