The mindscape pulsed—stone slick under Raizen's boots, air thick with rot and oil, Kezess's writhing mass looming close, red eyes glinting unevenly across the faceless form. Tendrils coiled slow, dripping black fuel that hissed soft on the ground, stinking sharp and sour.
"A thousand push-ups," Kezess said, voice slithering cold, cutting through the dark. "Twenty kilometers running. A thousand sit-ups. Thousand bar pull-ups." The red eyes flared, some dimming, some burning brighter, staring Raizen down like he was prey.
Raizen twitched—hands jerking at his sides, breath hitching loud in the silence. "What!?" he blurted, voice cracking, eyes wide, darting over the shifting tendrils—those red glints locked on him, unblinking, cold as the stone underfoot.
Kezess leaned closer, tendrils curling tighter. "A thousand push-ups," he repeated, voice slower, heavier, "twenty kilome—"
"I-I got it!" Raizen cut in, voice shaky, hands clenching—nails biting his palms, still raw from clawing his scalp. "But if i do all that, I'll die!" His chest heaved, sweat beading cold on his brow, the memory of that strangling grip—tendrils slick and choking—flashing back, making his throat ache anew.
Kezess surged—tendrils lashed out fast, surrounding Raizen in a cage of black coils, fuel dripping wet, splattering his boots, stinking of burnt meat. "If you won't do it," Kezess hissed, voice low, mean, "I'll drag you back here and—" The tendrils tightened, brushing his arms, cold and slimy, cutting his air just enough to make his heart thud harder.
Raizen flinched, breath catching—"Strangle me here and I'll die in real life?" he snapped, voice trembling but sharp, eyes narrowing faint. "Aren't you getting to confident for someone who was getting choked a minut ago?" His hands shook, but his jaw set, a flicker of defiance cutting through the fear.
The mass stilled—red eyes blinking unevenly—then Kezess laughed, short and cold, a grunt echoing in the black. Raizen shuddered, shoulders hunching—Kezess's tendrils pulled back slow, fuel dripping louder, plinking on the stone. "Okay." Raizen muttered, voice small, giving a shaky thumbs-up, his bravado crumbling fast under those scattered glares.
Kezess snapped his tendrils—a sharp crack—and the dark lurched. Raizen's gut dropped, stone vanishing underfoot—he jolted awake, back in his room, bed sagging, blanket tangled around his legs. The air was cold, stale, shutters rattling faint in the night breeze. He sat up slow, breath ragged, eyes darting—dark corners, warped beams, spiderwebs swaying—searching for that writhing mass, those red eyes. Nothing.
"I'm only a thoughtform," Kezess's voice slithered, low and close, right in his skull—Raizen yelped, "Eek!"—hands flying to his head, heart jumping. "You won't find me out there," Kezess added, cold, amused. "Don't scare me like that!" Raizen hissed, voice cracking, glaring at the empty room, chest still heaving.
"Probation's over," Kezess said, sharper now. "Ask them to let you use the drill hall." Raizen blinked, swallowing hard—throat still raw—then stumbled to his feet, boots scuffing the dusty floorboards. He pushed the door open, hinges creaking loud—a maid sat across the hall, slumped in a chair, book open on her lap, pages yellowed and curling. She didn't look up, just turned a page, bored.
"Uh... excuse me," Raizen said, voice rough, hesitant—hands fidgeting at his sides. The maid sighed, eyes flicking to him, flat and uninterested. "Oh, it's you," she muttered, flipping the book shut with a soft thud. "What is it?"
"Probation's over," Raizen said, shifting his weight, boots creaking the floor. "So... can I use the drill hall?" His voice dipped, unsure—she stared a beat, then sighed louder, rolling her eyes. "Wait here," she grumbled, standing slow, book tucked under her arm. "I'll ask the Marchioness."
"Why do you treat these lot with politeness," Kezess growled in his head, voice cold, edged with scorn, "when they give you none?" Raizen flinched—eyes darting to the empty hall—then muttered low, "I won't even get food to eat if I don't." His stomach twisted, a faint pang there, remembering skipped trays, stale crusts.
Kezess's voice darkened, a scowl in the tone. "What?—That's why I'm saying—burn them all down, rule on their corpses." Raizen shook his head quick—"No thanks," he said, voice firming up, "I don't want to add more sins to my account." His hands clenched, the memory of that girl's guts—steaming, pink—flashing again, sour in his throat.
"For someone shivering a while back," Kezess said, cold and slow, "you sure can talk back." Raizen huffed, breath puffing out—then footsteps echoed, sharp and clipped. The maid returned, Lady Teriel striding beside her—tall, gray streaking her dark hair, eyes hard as flint. She stopped, glared down at Raizen—lips tight, a faint sneer curling them.
"I don't care what or where you do," Teriel said, voice cutting, cold, "just from now on, maintain your distance from my son." She turned, cloak swishing, heels clicking as she walked off—Raizen's chest stung, a sharp twist under his ribs, Ryan's freckled face flickering in his mind. He sighed, heavy, staring at the floor.
"Now get going!" Kezess barked—Raizen jolted, muttering, "What are you? My mom?" Kezess's voice sharpened, "Whom are you comparing me with? You don't even have a mother," A pause—then a sigh, low and rough. "I still can'r figure how someone scared out of their wits changes demeanor so quick."
Raizen stepped into the hall, boots scuffing—then a bucket tipped, water sloshing, a prank Tabitha loved—servants snickering behind a corner. He didn't look—body twisted instinctive, dodging the splash, water puddling behind him. The snickers cut off—servants froze, wide-eyed, staring as he kept walking, jaw tight, drill hall ahead.
He pushed the doors open—dusty air, wood beams sagging, a pull-up bar rusted at the ends, floor scratched and worn. "Let's do this," he muttered, dropping to his knees—hands hit the ground, gritty under his palms. Push-ups first—arms shook fast, breath huffing out, sweat beading cold on his brow. One, two, ten—muscles burned, chest aching—twenty-three, and his arms gave, collapsing flat, face smacking the floor, dust puffing around him.
"Twenty three push-ups to put you down," Kezess said, voice flat, dripping disdain. "Pathetic." Raizen groaned, cheek pressed to the wood, breath ragged—"You... huh... aren't helping." he wheezed, arms trembling, sprawled out, the thousand looming like a mountain he'd never climb.