A World Without Him

A World Without Him

Chapter 23

Tang doesn't know how long he was trapped for, but he knows it's been long enough, and he wants out. Turns out being stuck with only your own annoying, crazy, and self deprecating thoughts starts to grate on your nerves after a couple hours(?) of nothing but earworms and existential dread coming in regularly.

He would actually prefer some of those voices that were usually here by now, even the hands around his ankles, maybe even the stupid buzzing if it could drown out his own inner voice and get him to wake up. He just couldn't stand all these thoughts and he was just so tired of this place-

A sudden burst shut him up. It was back. The energy from before had come back, zipping around, almost frantically, around him. His eyes shot open, the whiplash from nothingness to something causing his heart rate and breathing to kick into high gear.

Tang had expected the energy to disappear, to slow its pace and fall back into obscurity like before.

This was nothing like that.

The sheer presence it held took his breath away; he could barely keep himself from shaking at the image in front of him. Lights and colors he'd never seen before danced around him, combining and dividing infinity in front of his eyes. Among them, he swore he could see shapes and images flash for a moment inside the swirling cacophony; faces, places, even still frames of what he assumed were major battles were conjured then consumed by the ever-shifting mass.

It was beautiful. It was dangerous. It was powerful. He didn't know what it was. It seemed ethereal. He didn't know what it could do.

His body moved on its own, an arm reaching out towards the mass unconsciously. A small voice in his head screamed at him to stop, to back away, but his body wouldn't listen. Everything fell into the background, his eyes focussed on his hand slowly approaching disaster.

Dread filled his gut, heavy along with anticipation. When the distance finally closed, though, his hand went right through the colorful light, a warm sensation covering his palm.

He watched, transfixed, as a bright orange came from his palm, tinting the surrounding light. It started to spread, staining more and more of the mass a glittery, shimmering orange as the energy was lulled and slowed from the shift.

When he tried to pull his hand away, a sudden weight washed over his body, something similar to a weighted blanket thrown over him, slowly dragging him down in the low gravity.

It was almost unnoticeable if you weren't paying attention, but after feeling absolutely nothing for too much time, you start to notice the little things that change.

He was shocked at the feeling, how the weight seemed to increase slowly but surely. The hand touching the colorful mass was hung above his head as he descended, stuck to the orange lightshow as he seemed to drag it down with him. Another new thing. He didn't like how many were happening at once.

He tried to lift his other hand to move, his legs to kick, to move anything, but they were once again numb to his pleas. The only thing he could feel from his limbs was the warmth on his suspended hand.

The weight on his body only continued to increase as he fell, similar to the feeling of being covered in a bucket of tar, not that he would know anything about that personally…

The heavy pressure enveloped him entirely as he sunk further and further into the void's depths. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, succumbing to the ever-present weight over them as they slowly closed.

His limbs slowly started to become responsive again, similar to when they fell asleep when he passed out at the library too many times and woke up to his head on his bicep, cutting off circulation.

The tingly feeling only grew as the weight became more intense. He felt like pins and needles were constantly stuck into his skin, like a very morbid human porcupine or pin cushion.

Tang couldn't even huff at the image he’d created in his head as everything felt too heavy to move, too uncomfortable to even try.

After a while, he could feel the mass start to glow brighter, muted orange hues shining through his eyelids. To his surprise, he could feel the sparks of energy start up again, quickly detaching from his palm and swirling through the void as it circled his body.

Because of this, he almost didn't notice when he could completely feel his limbs again, how the weight over his body stopped increasing, and when his body finally collapsed onto a hard, solid, surface. He did, though, and he jolted violently at the sudden sensation, his lethargic limbs twinging at the sharp tingling feeling when his body made contact.

He was hit with an odd sense of deja vu as he tried to pull himself up from the cold, hard surface. As soon as he started to move, however, the energy circling his presence violently dispersed, the concentrated form it held earlier fracturing and scattering into specs across the void.

Tang opened his eyes in confusion, blinking away the haze that covered them. When it cleared, the smell of smoke and ash suddenly assaulted his senses. He coughed violently into his elbow, gasping for air as the surface under him seemed to… warp.

Gone was the cool, smooth surface, replaced by rough wooden planks. He could feel ash start to pile up on his skin, the course texture shifting as he tried to sit up. A harsh bump from below jostled him back onto his elbows, sending stray ash flying into the air.

He let out a frustrated huff, coughing once again as the ash burned into his throat. Back on the floor, he could feel the vibrations of motion under his legs and palms, wooden wheels traversing uneven dirt roads. The feeling was oddly familiar, making his brows crease in confusion.

Slowly rising to his knees, he settled into muscle memory, adjusting his position while he leaned on the side of the… wooden cart. Huh. I haven't been on one of these in a while.

Looking around, Tang saw what looked like a nightmare-ish version of the Bellfield square. The buildings were all wrong, starkly different from the tents, stands, and warehouses of the current bellfield. What he remembered to be well built houses and storefronts lined the square instead, either on fire or having taken significant damage as the flames roared on.

Ashes and debris lined the road, oddly far enough away for the cart to pass on by. Holes and craters lined the ground as well, pieces of the earth jutting unnaturally towards the sky.

No…

Tang knows what this place is. He knows what's happened, and has enough common sense to know that he's most likely dreaming. But everything still seems too real.

The familiar way the buildings collapsed from the inside, the way everything from the ground, walls, people had just dented and splintered apart from something no one could register. Everything was the same, down to the minute details of where the fires burned to how the breeze blew the remnants away in sweeps of ash.

Except for something.

There wasn't any blood.

He knew that people had gotten hurt that day, back when he was a boy and was… something. Whatever. It didn't matter why he was there, because what happened regardless is something he knows all too well.

He can almost imagine the mixed smell of blood, burning flesh, and smoke all too well. He gripped the side of the cart harshly, the rough wood digging into his hand. That was another thing he noticed. Why wasn't there any smoke-

*COUGH*

*COUGH COUGH*

A cloud of darkness and heat suddenly covered the cart, blanketing the entire thing, including Tang. He ducked his head as he coughed violently, the smoke worming its way into his lungs. It was overwhelming, making his eyes water as he tried to breathe despite the black cloud of crap and the… smell of blood and burning flesh.

He covers his mouth with his scarf (which seemed bigger than usual) and shudders in a breath, his body shaking at the sudden onslaught as he quickly looks out to the square, paling at what he found. Smoke now covered the area in a thick smog, enveloping everything in its path. From what he could see through the cloud, the pure destruction had turned to a massacre.

Bodies littered the area, some caught under rubble while others bled out on the street. The smell was all too like the one he remembered, scarily so. He was glad the smoke only allowed him to see their silhouettes; he didn't know what he'd do if he recognized the tatters of clothing on the most likely charred remains.

A sudden bump in the cart made him jump and shook him back to the present. It was almost like the cart sunk into the thing blocking the road, a wet squelch sounding as they passed… I don't want to think about what that was.

He breathed slowly through his scarf, trying to reason with himself. It's not real. He thinks. I know that. It's just another one of my horrible, stress induced nightmares due to the stupid military, this stupid town, and it's STUPID WAR with whatever attacked us on the road.

But the smell of rot, burnt flesh, and blood still invaded his senses. He screamed into his scarf.

Readjusting, by then he had realized the cart was going in circles around the oddly-intact fountain in the center covered in blood and ash. Looking ahead, pulling the cart was a seemingly normal brown horse, weirdly unaffected compared to its surroundings.

Looking closer while leaning over the cart to put a hand on its back, he noticed that it wasn't blinking, and he couldn't feel it breathing, either-

A strong gust of wind pushed him back onto the cart, the smoke coalescing around him in a whirlwind of black. His scarf was blown askew as he coughed violently on the floor, eyes watering as he struggled against the wind's current.

When it finally dissipated away from the cart, Tang shoved his scarf back into his face and gulped in giant breaths of (slightly) cleaner air as he sat up.

The cart jolting to a stop brought him back to the moment as he stumbled forward, the horse coughing something horrible as it tried to keep walking, stumbling over every piece of… debris thrown into the road. The sounds of it heaving and coughing were deeply disturbing as it basically echoed through the still, gorey setting.

Tang rushed to set it free of the restraints, struggling against the thick clouds of smoke even with his scarf over his face again. He tried to find a latch, knot, anything to undo the reins trapping the poor creature here, but he couldn't find anything before the horse collapsed onto the ground.

The cart toppled with it, leaning dangerously to one side as he let out a muffled yelp in surprise, gripping the sides of the cart for dear life. He was thrown onto the road, landing on top of stray pieces of wood and stone that dug into his side.

He groaned painfully as he got to his feet. Standing on solid ground again, he noticed how his sleeves seemed longer than usual and how baggy his pants and robe had become, bunching near his loose shoes. He tripped over the fabric more than once as he dragged himself back to where the horse played on the ground, motionless.

He grimaced at the sight as he crouched down next to its head. One hand held his scarf to his face while the other hand reached out to its face, closing its eyes to offer some sort of peace. “I’m sorry.” he mumbled, the odd sense of deja vu he got slipping away as he noticed how scratchy his voice had become from the smoke and how it sounded oddly squeaky.

His eyes scrunched together in confusion, a hand reaching towards his throat. “What was that?” His voice stayed weird, still high, still younger sounding than what it should be.

He stood up, away from where the horse now lied. He walked and walked, ignoring the scent of ash, smoke, and blood as he tried to find a building with at least half of its walls and windows still intact, preferably vacant of any… former inhabitants.

Gravel and chunks of wood caved under his feet, the black flats he usually wore not doing him any favors in terms of padding, especially now that they were a size too big. The warmth of the fires around him licked at his heels and bare skin, similar to holding a fresh bowl of noodles at Pigsy's with your bare hands; nothing too bad, but you know it could become worse if you slipped up.

He's only done it once, spill a bowl of noodles, but the skin on his hand was raw for weeks, leaving him unable to write for the entire duration it was healing. This was incredibly inconvenient as this was when he had started college in Megatropolis, and Pigsy had scoffed every time he came in after class and whined about the injury, calling him a clumsy fool with his head stuck in the clouds.

Pigsy did end up leaving him some fresh bandages and burn cream one night, when the pain started to worsen along with the swelling. He had teased the chef for it, obviously, but he doesn't remember exactly what he said. All he does remember is how red in the face Pigsy had gotten, embarrassed out of his mind as he grumbled all the way back to the kitchen.

The pain didn't seem so bad with him around.

However, this warmth around him now wasn't as comforting.

A small glint of light drew his attention. Tilting his head, he could see it was a shattered mirror lying on the floor. It was inside of a collapsed bakery, counters, chairs, and ovens crumbled and covered in ash. The sight of it sent a pang of hurt to his chest, but he ignored it in favor of getting closer.

Stepping over crumbling bricks and splintered planks, he slowly approached the smoldering shell of the building, making sure he didn't stumble over the debris or his own clothing. As he got up to what used to be the doorway, he silently peered inside, making sure that there wasn't anything lingering in there.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw nothing moving, carefully stepping in through the rough entrance. The edges of his robe caught onto some bent supports stuck into the ground, not letting him get even a step into the place before he fell forward onto his left shoulder.

Tang sighed heavily into the floor. This is starting to get old. Fast. He thought, rolling to his back onto a decently clear area of the ground. He absently looked through the non-existent ceiling as he rubbed his shoulder, seeing how smoke and ash rose into the air and disappeared into the clouds, fire glowing through the gray in hues of orange and yellow.

Tilting his head to the right, he saw what he had come in here for. It was a long, oval-shaped mirror lying directly under the center of the hole in the roof, probably falling from the bakery's second floor. It was cracked and shattered in many places, covered in large amounts of ash; however, the beautiful frame remained intact.

Before getting up and getting closer, Tang sat up and looked around the bakery more thoroughly. It had only taken one blow, the giant hole above and the small crater in the floor being the only evidence of violence proving it. He saw other items in the crater as well, peering into its depths.

A broken plant vase with burnt flowers, some trophies melted and mangled beyond recognition, pieces of clothing that might have been matching aprons at some point, and some picture frames that weren't so lucky as the mirror, with most of the frames, glass, and pictures themselves being shattered or ripped to shreds.

He slowly dragged himself over to the crater, lowering himself about a foot as he carefully avoided broken glass and the like. Despite how careful he was, however, he still managed to accidentally knee one of the broken picture frames, letting out a hiss. The glass and splinters thankfully didn't cut through the fabric, though.

Sitting back and dusting off his knee of stray grime, he looked down at what he had hit. It was a family photo, parents standing behind the kids where everyone was smiling at the camera wearing matching uniforms that seemed familiar.

He picked the photo up, brushing away the layers of ash that covered it. The old couple seemed distant, eyes clouded with other worries and thoughts with polite smiles gracing their faces. Their hair had Grey streaks, yet was well handled with a bun or a ponytail.

The eldest child, or just the tallest one, stood next to the father; a small turn of the lips is all that's given to the camera, sharp eyes crinkled, annoyed with the activity perhaps. His hair was neat, almost too neat for a child his age, probably around 16 if he had to guess.

The kid standing in front of him was most likely the youngest due to how he stood a foot shorter than any of the other people in the picture. His smile was wide and unwavering towards the camera, some missing teeth becoming noticeable.

Then the kid on the left, the only girl, stood next to the mother, no more than 15. He noticed her eyes first, hazel irises glinting with mirth at the camera as long black hair framed her face-

*CRUNCH*

The photo was crushed in his hands. He balled it up violently, throwing it towards whoever knows where. I got distracted. This is just a dream.

He sighed heavily, focussing back on what he came here for. The mirror was propped up on the crater's slope, covered in ash that he quickly swiped off, slanted not enough for a full body view but enough to see his top half when he stood up.

What he noticed first was how skinny he looked, like he was drowning in his own clothes. That wasn't surprising, but what was was that all his wrinkles were now replaced with baby fat, his hair now infinitely shorter as well.

He raised a hand to his face in shock, feeling to see if that was what he really looked like. He was a teenager again. His age back when this all happened. Back when he couldn't fight back. Back when he wasn't strong enough to protect his friends.

He didn't like that he looked like this again.

Leaning closer, he saw the bags under his eyes he still had today. That never changed, he supposed. The cracks distorted the image, though, with parts of him in all different sections of the broken mirror. He remembered when he broke his own mirror in a fit of frustration, back when he was still in Megatropolis.

That time seemed forever ago, when he sat still and carefully plucked all those shards from his knuckles. He had hit it square in the center, cracks forming and crumbling outward from his weak punch, but this mirror seemed to have a different start.

Trailing the lines of the mirror with his eyes to look for the source, he saw that the cracks led to a small hole in the mirror made by blunt force, maybe from a piece of wood or brick, making a focal point that landed perfectly on Tang’s reflection, right above his heart.

He supposed it was poetic in some way he couldn't think of, mind hazy from the carnage and smoke surrounding everything around him.

However, the little introspection didn't last long. He heard the walls creak eerily before he even knew what was going on, ash displacing from the remains of the higher floor as it started to tilt inwards. His breath caught in his throat as he slowly looked up at what could only be described as something utterly, completely, horrifying.

A figure was suspended in the air, obscured by clouds and clouds of smoke and fire that seemed to wrap around its very being. The only thing visible through the whirling grey and orange was its piercing white eyes as it stared him down through the rubble.

The supports around him creaked in displeasure as the whirlwind around it kicked up, consuming more and more smoke, ash, and blood from the surrounding area. Dust, grime, anything light enough was picked up soon enough, either crumbled or burnt to complete ashes as it joined the tornado above.

The smell of burnt flesh and blood had gotten so much worse, causing him to gag and cough even through the scarf. It got so bad that he had to fall to his knees, letting go of his scarf as he kept dry heaving into the crater now empty of any personal belongings. Only the ashes remained constant, whirling around him with the smoke only making his coughing worse.

The wind howled in his ears, thrashing his loose clothes every which way and deafening his senses. His throat felt like it was on fire, ashes and particles tearing the soft tissue apart in every breath. He had started to choke at one point, his hands clawing at his throat in a pathetic display of helplessness.

Those eyes never left him once. Staring and staring and staring and staring as he faded more and more. Never moving, never talking, never blinking. Tears fell from his eyes in waves, the droplets barely making it an inch before the winds took it away as well.

He was dying. This is what dying felt like. A slow, painful way to go in his memories. He didn't remember this. He was never near the demon who did it. This never happened.

That’s what he thought.

The pain was too real, too specific to be something his brain made up for no purpose, the feeling too familiar to discard as just another part of a wacky nightmare. The surrounding building cracking and crumbling to the clouds of smoke becoming a fixture in his brain as he trembled on the floor barely conscious as the last bit of restraint was pulled away.

Pieces of drywall, brick, and ash came down all at once. Tang closed his eyes as he trembled on the floor. The first time this happened, dread, fear, and helplessness had engulfed him, Allan’s determination being the only thing pulling him through that mess. The second time, he had Cian for support, a voice grounding him to the situation at hand so he could get his ass out of it in one piece with Zach.

Now, though, he only had himself: his weak, cowardly, pathetic self, and wasn't that just a terrifying, dreadful thought to have? That without anyone else to lean on, to rely on, to leech off of, he'd be left for dead even in his own head?

The building collapsed inward over its own weight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tang woke up with a start, an awful crick in his neck making itself known as well. He gulped in the air greedily as he reached a hand up to his throat on instinct. His throat was completely fine, no burning sensations to be felt as he kept breathing heavily.

However, he did feel stretches of raw, tender skin over his neck. Feeling a hand over his neck, it was most likely scratch marks from how thin the marks were, how they slightly burned, and how he could see some redness under his own fingernails, too. Did I do that in my sleep? That seems a bit concerning…

A smack on the side of the truck spooked him out of his stupor, making him jump in surprise and turn towards the noise. “Heya, sleeping beauty! Finally awake?” Rick jokes, leaning on the side of the truck with a piece of rope hanging over his shoulder.

Tang just blinked slowly in response, unsure of what to say. Before he could reply, however, Harrison came up to the other side of the truck with a clipboard, glaring across the vehicle towards the other.

“Step away from my assignment, Rick. I need to give instructions and you can socialize all you like after your head dismisses you back to your tent. Glasses, come with me.” He said curtly, turning away from the truck and starting towards a small tent on the outskirts of what used to be a city if Tang had to guess.

All that was left was scorch marks and rubble, he's guessing something caused by explosives based on the earlier conversation in the medical tent.

Rick rolled his eyes dramatically before walking off with a wave in Tang's general direction. Tang could only huff at the antics before scrambling to get out of the truck and running as fast as he could to catch up with Harrison.

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A World Without Him

Chapter 11

(TW some strong language and minor blood)

Tang could feel himself wake from unconsciousness. His body became solid as he was pulled from the void that made up his dreams.

His eyes and limbs felt heavy, as if he was buried beneath the ground. Still, he could barely feel a cold breeze flow over his forehead as he listened to the sounds around him.

The rustling of curtains, birds chirping outside, distant voices of people on the street, and his own breathing flow into his ears. The sounds distant, yet too loud as they rushed into his head.

Then he tried to focus on his surroundings instead of losing himself in the white noise, as that wouldn't help him move any time soon.

Now Tang felt the smooth and cold surface he was laying on. The grooves of age in what seemed to be hardwood flooring gave him an idea of where he'd been placed after he collapsed outside...

How did I even get back inside, in my bedroom, no less? My apartment's on the 5th floor...

The hard floor dug into his side as he felt his clothes and hair had layers of grime on them. It gave an uncomfortable weight to his clothes. Then he remembered this was what he had on while at the library.

Don't think about that.

The point being, he was covered from head to toe in dust and other debris. He must have looked crazy yesterday when he ran panicked through the streets.

I shouldn't have left.

With a sigh and with his eyes still heavy, he planned to start pushing himself off the floor to stop the stabbing pain in his side.

However, he could barely sit up straight before he felt two hands grab harshly onto his shoulders. His eyes flung open as he was pushed up into a standing position by the hands, stumbling forwards from the excess force like a rag doll.

He snapped his head around to look behind him, but he couldn't see anything because of his damaged vision. A blurry silhouette was all he could barely see before it seemed to dissipate back into thin air.

Tang froze in place, waiting for the thing to make another move. Yet, he didn't hear or feel anything else for the minutes he stood completely still.

A small chuckle broke out from his short, silent breaths. He then broke into manic laughter as tears ran down his face and onto the hardwood floor. He could barely breathe as the laughter kept getting louder and louder as he doubled over.

'...Geeze, has he already gone insane?'

'From our efforts in stopping the big guy, I don't really blame him.'

Tang's laughter abruptly stops, his vocal cords stinging from continuous use. He shoots up, grasps his glasses, and looks around his room frantically for the source of the voices. He finds nothing other than a breeze from the open window.

The laughter returns, now louder than before. "I'm going insane!" He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling strands into his face. "I just wanted everything to go back to normal! I JUST WANTED TO BE FREE OF THESE FUCKING VOICES! I never wanted any of this!"

Smoke started to rise from where Tang stood on the hardwood floor as tears started to run down his face once again. "But no! I have to almost die! I have to see someone I care about LOSE A FUCKING LEG! I have to be tortured every night through my nightmares and have them FOLLOW ME THROUGHOUT THE DAMN DAY!"

Everything was suddenly too quiet for Tang as his labored breathing echoed through the bedroom. Tear streaks ran rapidly down his cheeks and onto the steaming floor.

He stared as the drops fell and dispersed among the ground. He could hear more whispers enter his mind, but he couldn't care less at the moment.

A small chuckle was the only warning before he bolted out of the bedroom, through the complete mess of a living room, and into the bathroom.

He wanted to be free of the filth covering his body. The dust and debris that killed maimed Allan when those monsters attacked the library...

Monsters?

Don't go farther down that road.

Tang only sighed at his thoughts before stripping and seeing the scorched handprints on the back of his overcoat. He grimaced before dropping it onto the ground, putting his glasses onto the edge of the sink and throwing himself into the shower. The scalding hot water turned his skin red as the stinging replaced the grime that used to cover his body.

Still, he scrubbed and scrubbed at his skin and hair until he was sure there was no more filth stuck to his body. Afterward, he let the water flow over him as he stood unmoving. Closing his eyes, he relished over the burning feeling.

He only opened them again when the water started to turn cold: the heat no longer being supported from his overuse. He slowly turned the knob to stop the water before stepping out and grabbing a towel off of the door handle.

After ruffling his hair with the towel and wrapping it around his waist, he sat down onto the toilet seat to take a breather. The cold air from the door left ajar helped him to cool down and think.

Am I really going insane? He thought. This has happened too many times to write off by now. Why is this even happening to me?

Why can't everything just end?

He choked up quiet sobs, putting his head into his arms. The lights above him flickered, and yet he just couldn't care anymore. He looked up blankly at the light bulb before rubbing his eyes and standing up to walk to the mirror.

He took his glasses off of the sinks edge and leveled them onto his face. He noticed the left side was cracked as he looked into the fogged up mirror, seeing the left side in pieces.

Tang grumbled as he wiped the mirror to uncover his eyes so he could see the damage done.

The lights flickered. He gasped as he saw his eyes suddenly turn blinding orange with blood splatter caked over his face in the mirror-

*CRACK*

Pieces of the mirror fell to the floor. His knuckles barely stung from the force he put into the punch. The mirror was now cracked and scattered onto the tiled bathroom floor.

With his heartbeat steady, Tang slowly pulled his fist from the reflective remnants. A hole through and mirror and into the back wall was now shown, some blood speckled in from his cut hand.

Holding his curled up hand, he saw the small shards now embedded into his knuckles: small trails of blood running down his arm.

He stared blankly at the cuts before rummaging into his cabinets and taking out a nail kit. It took some effort, but he was able to wrangle out tweezers from the case eventually.

He washed the hand with warm, soapy water before taking the tweezers and slowly pulling out each shard. His face was blank the entire time as he took each chunk out of his skin, even when washing his hand again and wrapping it up in bandages.

The whole debacle was over in a few minutes, even though it felt like hours to him. He looked back at the mirror. I guess I have to put another thing onto the to-do list.

Brushing the shards off the ground and clothes he left on the bathroom tile, he threw them into the bin and walked back into the living room.

In the messy state that it was, he could see many random pieces of clothing all over the floor and broken furniture. He could see leather jackets, old headbands, and even a Pigsy's shirt from when he used to work there.

Yet the thing that caught his eye was his matching jacket and pants he used to wear for special occasions. The soft navy fabric of the jacket and gray fabric of the pants Tang remembered helping calm him in those high tension situations.

The overcoat was long and had silver floral designs at the bottom near the calves and on the cuffs of the sleeves. The pants were similar, having those same floral designs at the pant cuffs. They were both hung over what was left of the coffee table.

He barely had to think before putting them on with underwear, a tan turtle neck, black flats, and the maroon scarf he snagged from his old clothes pile. It had the least debris on it.

Now feeling snug against multiple layers, which made him feel less cold and empty, he could finally do, erm...

Why did he dress up anyway?

He really didn't know why he put in this much effort, but now he supposes he might as well go out and do something other than being cooped up in his apartment.

Walking into his bedroom, he noticed the window was still open from the night before. The breeze barely bothered him as he shut the window yet again.

Now, hopping onto his bed, Tang reaches for his cracked phone to see if anyone messaged him for something. The only things in his notifications were a text from Pigsy and some ads about manga sales and new releases.

He then suddenly remembered how he had promised to see Pigsy. Yesterday morning, where he basically had a mental breakdown the entire day...

I am going to get so much crap for this.

He sat up and out of bed before turning off his phone. Maybe if he got there quick enough today, Pigsy would be a bit more forgiving? Who is he kidding, but maybe it was better to get it over with and a good distraction from what happened yesterday.

With that plan set in his mind, Tang took quick strides out of his apartment after locking it, of course, and started to walk the regular path to Pigsy's noodles.

The day was cloudy, yet no rain was supposed to come down today. With the sun blocked out, everything seemed a bit less vibrant than usual, which he was glad for as it would be a bit overwhelming otherwise with all the neon to go with the sun's rays.

The walk was quiet up to Pigsy's, putting him on edge as he looked back, on top of roofs and into alleys to see if anyone was following more times than he could count. Yet when he got to the shop door, there was something wrong with it: it was closed. Pigsy's was closed, on a weekday, during rush hour.

Oh no, did something happen to him?!

Tang quickly took out his phone to text Pigsy and realized he still had a message from him he hadn't read yet. Sitting on one of the outside benches, he opened the text from Pigsy

Pigsy 🍜🩷

10:46 AM

Pigsy: Hey

Pigsy: Just letting you know Mk dragged us onto a trip to Flower Fruit Mountain to help wrangle some Monkeys for Monkey King or something, might be gone for a few days.

Pigsy: I couldn't tell you earlier because Mk just grabbed me and Sandy out of the shop and I could barely close it in time.

Pigsy: I tried to tell them what we had planned but Mk and Mei were too energetic to reason with

10:47 AM

Pigsy: I'm sorry for ditching you yesterday, but we're still having that talk when I get back. No excuses.

Tang just stared at the message, trying to reason with what it said.

Mk took Pigsy and Sandy without me? I know they haven't talked to me much lately, but they still would've dragged me along to whatever stunt they were going to pull. Even if not, they would have told me before doing anything! There wasn't even a text...

That left a gross feeling in Tang's chest.

And what if I had shown up yesterday? I wouldn't have even known if they were okay until this mornings text! Did they not even think about how worried I would've been? Did they even consider how I could have felt at all?

He only shook his head at the thoughts, trying to drive away the bad feelings that came with them. He knows he and Mk haven't talked much lately; the same goes for Sandy and Mei, but he still knows what's going on with them! He still talks and tells them what's happening through the group chat to show he's still there!

Yet why does it feel as though I've been forgotten about? Why do I feel a sense of doubt now? He thinks as he leans back onto the bench.

He thinks back to the library, an unwanted thought crossing his mind. Mk didn't even try to keep the damages to a minimum as he redirected the strikes to the roof instead of blocking them with his staff.

And he looked so carefree and happy after the incident! Did Mk even know Tang was there? Did he even think about the possible damages he had caused? And he just leaves afterward, posing with tea and smiling!

Do they ignore or filter everything he says?

...Does Mk even care about him anymore?

...

...

I should stop.

All this self-loathing is getting him nowhere. It's not as if he was hurt during the battle. He doesn't have a right to be angry about a lack of care when someone got it worse than him.

Now, his thoughts were back to Allan. He didn't deserve anything that happened to him that day. He had gotten it so much worse than him, so why is Tang complaining?

Suddenly, an idea crossed his mind. He could check all the hospitals near the library to see if Allan was registered anywhere! It's not a full proof plan, but it was something worthwhile he could do while he was already out of a slump.

So he started to walk to the library, or what was left of it, to see if he could start there. When he arrived, he could barely believe what he could see. The entire roof is gone, save the few glass panels still stuck on the back, the walls were seemingly about to crumble at a slight breeze, and different holes ranging from sizes were stuck throughout the building, making it dangerous if most of it weren't already crumbled onto the ground.

Yellow tape covering the premises swayed back and forth as Tang walked onto the parking lot sidewalk, not daring to get closer lest something were to fall again.

He already had a bad feeling when he arrived, and it almost got doubly worse when he stopped at the sidewalk. Nevertheless, he had wanted to see what the remains looked like, and now he knew. Taking a deep breath and looking away from the building, he checked his phone for the nearest hospitals.

Among the list was one that looked eerily familiar. MSH was listed near the top, and it seemed like a fever dream to be seeing it here.

Now, along with this feeling of familiarity, he felt compelled to follow this lead. Maybe to help the new bad feeling in his stomach from those letters, but he'll try anyways.

The walk isn't that far; it's about the same length it takes to get to the docks from his apartment. When he arrives in front of the hospital, he suddenly gets a sense of deja vu, like he's been here before.

Ignoring the feeling, he steps through the doors and heads up to the receptionist at the desk. "Hey there." Tang greeted a bit awkwardly. The receptionist just smiled. "Hello there, how can I help you today?"

Tang seemed to lose vigor as he continued to speak. "Erm, I was wondering if you had any teenage admitants named Allan? I-I was just wondering since I was his colleague at the library when it got attacked, and I know it's probably personal information but-"

The receptionist held her hand up halfway through his ramble. "I understand your concern, and if he is permitted here and allows friends to visit, you're welcome to see him. I'll just have to see if he's registered in our care, so please give me a moment."

Tang sheepishly sat down at one of the lobby seats as the receptionist went back to typing on her computer. After about 10 minutes, she called him back up to the desk. "We do have an Allan Bentley in room 1225. He's in for an injured leg, is allowing visitors, and he came from the library attack. Is he who you're looking for?"

He knew it was Allan from the leg injury; he saw him get wheeled away himself. He quickly affirmed the receptionist and thanked her before moving towards the elevator.

Following the signs on the walls with little difficulty, he was able to find room 1225. Yet, Tang hesitated in front of the door. Did Allan even want to see him? Did Allan blame him for what happened? He wouldn't put it past the kid if he did.

But he wanted to see if he was alright. Wanted to see Allan breathing and alive, even if that was a bit selfish of him since he's the one who slowed him down in the first place.

So before he can back out of it, he opens the door. The room is steril and white, with the acception of some window stickers from previous patients, most likely.

He walked slowly up the bed and gasped at what he saw. Allan seemed more thin and pale than he remembered. His brows were creased even in his sleep as he breathed slowly in a rhythm.

Tang thought Allan would be awake since visiting hours were still open, but he must be lucky to catch him right after he fell asleep.

Looking at the bedside table, he could see comics of some kind, with the first addition of Monkey Cop at the top. It seemed like Allan was able to keep it, even through the whole debacle.

This lifted a weight off of Tang's shoulders. Seeing how Allan kept the comic must mean he doesn't completely hate him now and is coherent enough to read already, as it seems to have more wear than when he first gave the comic to him.

He gives a small smile as he slowly puts his hand on Allan's head, comforting the kid to uncrease his brows just a bit and feel his chest rise and fall.

He left quickly after that. He couldn't stay in that room much longer when he knew how much pain Allan was in right now. He could see the void where his left leg used to be under the blanket.

The feeling of regret only got worse as the sky started to dim on his way back. Why did Allan have to suffer like that? Why couldn't I save him? Why wasn't he able to make it out okay like everyone else?

It was the fight.

Tang was now in front of his apartment door. He had stopped in front of it as the voice spoke from behind.

That child took to fight too recklessly. He directed the strikes to the ceiling, causing it to fall onto you and Allan.

No, no, it wasn't Mk's fault. There was a lot going on, and everything was just chaos-

Yet the child seemed to deny those stakes. You saw how he moved on so quickly, how he smiled and joked about it afterward, taking nothing about it seriously.

Tang looked to the ground, a gross feeling climbing up his throat.

But he did care! He even reached out to me after he found out I was there!

And that is the problem. He only cared about the companion he could have lost, not for the other lives he'd endangered. Heck, he only started to care when someone else showed him you were there.

The voice spoke with certainty, venom apparent in its tone.

Do you think he would have worried were it not for that reminder? Do you really think he would have looked twice if you were someone unrelated to him?

But Mk is a good kid! He didn't look only because he thought everyone had made it into the shelter.

He started to shake with rage as the voice kept going with its remarks.

Yet he knew you were there, and he didn't even stay to check if you were alright? Did he even know you were there? Did he not give you the simplest time of day that he completely forgot about your existence.

Stop.

Do you really think you matter to him anymore? It's not like he even bothered to tell you about the trip yesterday, where he left you completely alone with no contact. Do you think someone like that is worthy of having those powers?

Stop it.

Someone like that shouldn't be worthy of anything, nonetheless powers to destroy whole cities. You know what happened, and you couldn't save Allan that way. That boy doesn't deserve the abilities he has, and takes them for granted.

Why are you doing this?

Tears roll down Tang's face yet again.

Why should he get these powers? Why should he be the chosen one when you are much more deserving? Why does he get to take power for granted when you struggle every day to keep people safe and survive? Why does he get to feel happy and live without worry while you have to lie down and suffer from how many people you have had to watch die?

"JUST GO AWAY!" Tang's voice cracks as he yells into the open air. Silence is the only thing that greets him as he numbly stares at the door in front of him, still unopened.

His face is now blank. The tear streaks on his face have dried to the point they're stuck on his face. He slowly brings his key to the door and numbly walks inside, seeing the mess of his living room and bathroom of the doorway.

He only ignores the mess, stopping briefly where The Origins of JTTW had been left open before grabbing it and beelining to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him and walking towards the window. He lifts the window up and lets the breeze blow through the room, ruffling the sheets and blanket on the bed.

The cool breeze doesn't bother Tang, though, as he only turns towards the bed and bats the loose strands out of his face from the down hair he didn't bother to put up.

He doesn't lay down on the bed. He instead kicks off his shoes to the side, takes off his cracked glasses, and puts them on the side table with his matching phone.

Then he stares out the open window, looking towards the blurry figures of stars and planets as he lifts up the barely decipherable book showing Golden Cicada.

I can't keep going like this. I need to leave. Maybe that's what these horrible dreams have been trying to tell me. I just want to get away from it all.

He roughly shuts the book and throws it into the wall. Whatever he's dealing with, he's not gonna put up with it anymore starting tomorrow. He's going to leave, and he's going to get better.

That's what he thinks as he falls back into his bed and looks back to the blurry lights once again before blacking out, hopefully for the last time.

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A World Without Him

Chapter 22

His dream held nothing memorable. The black void had apparently lost its novelty after being dragged into its depths so many times before. Tang's expression held only annoyance as his body spinned and glided through the never-ending darkness.

He didn't want to deal with what he knew would come next. The hands, the voices, the damned buzzing that came in recently.

What he wanted right now was one of those phantom things to appear in front of him, actually consider him a person worth talking to, and answer his questions.

To tell him what this void was even for, how they had access to his head since he knows the reoccurring nightmares and chatter wasn't formed from his mind alone, no matter how those things try to gaslight him into convincing himself overwise.

However, he also knew nothing would come from screaming at the void or cursing these stupid voices out in every curse word he knew, dead languages included. Maybe some of them would understand; he saw the old style of clothing the two spirits had when they showed up at the infirmary.

But it's not like they would talk to him of their own accord (besides Cian, but that thing comes and goes as it pleases and only talks to him when it's amused or wants something. It's a wildcard he doesn't want to think of the implications of), those two he saw were freaking out when he just looked at them.

From the urgency in their voices, Tang doesn't think he has a good chance at a one on one like that again, especially not here.

So, he chose to do the only thing he could: wait, like almost every time before. He crossed his arms, folded his legs, and sat still, eyes closed as the void suddenly reacted to his choice.

It seemed to come alive as he relaxed into its atmosphere, accepting him into its domain. He swore he could feel tendrils of unseen energy suddenly coil and bend around him, letting themselves be seen for the first time. He could sense it slow and accelerate based on unknown variables, how it had potential, how it could be something more if someone just gave its power shape.

It was overwhelming, yet not unfamiliar, like an overenthusiastic relative hugging you a bit too tight. But when he opened his eyes again, everything suddenly stilled, only pitch black as far as he could see.

It was silent, empty, yet again. Tang didn't know what that could mean, or even what that rush before was, but he wanted to figure at least one thing about this place out.

And because of that, he closed his eyes, ignored the warning signs, and tried to coax the energy back out. He sat in silence for a good while, waiting for the familiar energy to return.

Nothing happened for a good while. No spikes in the atmosphere, no familiar feelings, and there weren't even the usual voices or hands crowding his space. It was just quiet. He didn't move to open his eyes, though, as he liked the peace and wanted to stay a bit longer, even with a small bit of paranoia in the back of his mind saying the nightmare would begin sooner or later.

So, he focussed on what he could feel. His hair swayed behind him in the low gravity, stray wisps tickling his neck as the strands went every-which-way. He could feel his clothes do the same, the soft fabric of his sleeves and the ends of his robe billowing away from him…

...My robe?

He slowly opened his eyes once again, looking down at his body. He was no longer in the drab uniform he was given at the sleeping quarters, but instead he was back in his old red, white, and gold outfit.

The fabric seemed brand new as he took a piece between his fingers, nothing like the worn threads of his actual outfit. His shoes, scarf, and gloves were absent, though, while he still had long white socks under his maroon pants.

He calmly unwound his legs, letting them dangle in front of him. Looking closely at the fabric, he could see a small, almost unnoticeable orange sheen over the clothing. Frowning, he lifted his hands to his face seeing the same sheen over his hands, sleeves, and… the bell.

It seems like this piece of shit followed me in here. He thought bitterly, scowling at the bracelet hanging off his wrist. He raised a hand to his hair, running his fingers through the strands.

He still wasn't exactly used to the length, having had short hair for a good decade before it started growing dramatically after LBD. His hand kept trailing through the strands, ending at the middle of his back. And even before then, he'd never had it this long.

He fidgeted with the ends of his hair, lost in thought. He noticed some pieces had become lighter than the others, similar to the highlights he'd seen in Mei's signature hairstyle. However, his were closer to ashy blond than neon green.

Tang wonders if the color was natural. It fits her family’s theme, the whole white, green, and gold palette, so maybe she did it as some self expression while also sticking to her family's rules. She’s also a descendant of the Dragon of the West, so he supposes it's possible to get it naturally from those mythical being genes.

If… when he goes back to Megatropolis, he'll have to ask her himself.

He let go of the strands he was fidgeting with, letting them float in place as he sighed into his palms. Taking his head out of his hands, he glanced around the void once more, trying to see if anything changed while he was stuck in his head. The scholar couldn't see anything different, so he sunk back into himself and crossed his arms with a huff.

He wonders if the voices are gone now, stuck somewhere, unable to interact with him anymore. He saw how panicked they were in the medical tent, and he hasn't been able to hear from any other voices like them afterwards. He wonders if Cian was the person they were talking about, how someone should have blocked the connections from them? The details were fuzzy.

Still, he remembered the clear fear on their faces, how they couldn't let him die just yet. He's supposed to stay away from Cian and the monastery apparently, and Tang is more than happy to avoid both if he could. He could feel it in his gut that interacting with either of those options would not result in something good.

It's not like he can do much else at this point. His bag had most likely been confiscated by those military officials while he was unconscious, so most of that supplies is stuff he's never getting back. He groaned at the thought. All of that work is just gone in the wind now.

He misses his journal the most. All the little notes and scribbles he makes help him to focus, and reading back on them helps keep the memories fresh. Most of the stuff he writes is just about the legends and Monkie Kid's adventures, though, as he likes to portray them on paper the most.

Speaking of the legends, he wonders what is exactly going on with these spirits. The scholar doesn't remember hearing of ghosts matching the descriptions of the spirits he'd seen in any of the myths he's read, and since he is a Certified Scholar Spectacular (name given to him from a 9 year old Mk with a paper badge to match. He kept it in his journal as a bookmark. He really wants that journal back now), he knows that they've never shown up in one.

He thinks they're somehow related to the Golden Cicada and the Great Monk, with the obvious gold and orange colors along with the multiple cicadas popping up in most of his dreams. He just doesn't know how that connects with the rest of the information he’s gotten.

Flickers of memories play in his head as he tries to think of anything tying these things together. Cian had called his visions flares, and that it had his powers before him. If Cian was anything like the other voices, did that mean those two spirits also had powers like his before, too?

How do his powers work in the first place, anyways? How can they be passed down from (most likely) the Great Monk if he had already ascended like in JTTW, and had no possibility of reincarnation?

He rubs the back of his neck, lost in thought. Maybe Cian had lied to him at some point, about anything really, but then how were those voices from the medical tent related?

The truth is, Tang doesn't know.

The declaration hurts his soul, but it's true. He can't link these things to anything he's seen before. Everything is too foreign, too unpredictable where he can't wrap his head around all the stuff piling over one another.

He hates the feeling: being in the dark, not knowing what he's really dealing with. He prides himself on his knowledge, his ingenuity, as it's the only thing that really sets him apart from his friends.

So when that gets taken away from him, he's left scrambling, making situations worse than they already were in an attempt to make them better.

His teeth grind together as his hands grow tight on his arms, the unpleasant thought wriggling under his skin. Maybe I shouldn't have stayed here for so long. Nothing good has come out of this place so far, anyways. He thinks, looking out into the unchanging darkness; it's still empty.

He didn't know what he was expecting.

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I'm sorry the next chapter of A World Without Him will be a bit late. I do have half the chapter done already and will try my best to publish it tomorrow.

He looks like the fun uncle that is just the tiniest bit insane... I love him and his desgin!

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