[center][i]"The power to affect time and space. In other words, the heart’s ability to draw a manifestation of itself into reality. Of course that power will inevitably resemble a person’s true self, wouldn’t it?"[/i][/center] [hr] [i]Click.[/i] A spotlight. [i]Click.[/i] Two spotlights. [i]Click.[/i] Three. Four. Five. Six. [i]Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.[/i] Intense, searing heat. A table; old, wooden - it smoked. Black, ugly carbon rose into the air. Rose into the light. Into the blinding, impossible, whiteness. It sparkled there. A choking smog of darkness that sparkled against the light of a million suns. The powers of the night rising up to cloud at the heavens. It was burning. Burning. All of it was. [i]Click.[/i] Beams of light. Beams. Screaming. Figures, human ([i]just children just children just children screaming screaming screaming[/i]), huddling. As far from the light. Far far far away. Fear, a scent strongly carried by the dry, dry air. No water. None in the air. It was seeping into the floor. Into the cardboard of disturbed sets. Into half-written scripts. Ink running. Tables and desks and chairs and everything scattered and scattered across the floor. Chalk melting off a shattered board. Rainbow scatter. Light reflecting off clear pools of water. Into eyes. Into everywhere. [color=fff200][i][b]l̡̰̤̦̘̜!̶̬͚̣͕̜͎͚!͓̼̠͘[/b][/i][/color] One figure. One ... one monster. Suspended in the light. A lamp orbiting its body hypnotically. Click. A beam. Click. Off. Two lamps. Three lamps. Click. Charred wall. Four lamps. Five lamps. Six lamps. Two ... two monsters. Three screaming heads. A body trapped in the wall. Stopping. Starting. Three screaming heads. A body trapped in the wall. Stopping. Starting. Déja vu? World screeched to a halt. Stops. Starts. Like a cassette tape. Jammed. Like piping. Blocked by roots of a great tree. Reverse. Restart. Three ... three monsters. Endless din. Not the screaming. The din rose. Noise and noise and noise. It buzzed. Buzzed. Chirped. A million voices rose to speak. To question. No answers. A shadow. Ten shadows. A hundred. A thousand. Ten thousand. Hundred thousand. A million. A million pinpricks of darkness swarmed above. Four ... four monsters. A student in a gakuran. A student walking closer. Like any other student. Like any other teenager. Male. Surrounded by horror. No face. None. Just a mask. White. Black. Like a mime. Two cold, pale hands gripped at Kaede Yamamoto's cheeks. Nails dug into the skin. It drew blood. Somebody's screams grew louder. "[b]s̨̭͓̥̠̻̀E̮͉̻͢ḛ̡͡ ͔̲̯̤͕̭͓͇y̡̲̯̩̫̦͡O̸͇̭͢ṵ̞̘̯ ҉̙̫̘̪̟̫̳̼͇͢l̢̲̟A̸͍͈̩̠͎͖̰̯͖͢͝t̢͞͏̯̠E͉̹̟͘Ŕ̭͓̞̻̤͍̪̝ ̛̳̠̠̲͔̺̮͓͠ͅM̮̹̙̬̼͙̀͜i̸̢̖͞S̴̥̺t͕̮̘̞͚͕͝͡ͅͅḙ̸̮̀r̳͚͎ ̶̠̮̟̺̝̠p͇̲͈͓̕͟R̸̰͙̺̤̜̯̗͢e̷̹͓͍̯̜̕S̡̨̺̜̻͍̤͝i̩͓̯̕͠d͚̘͎̘̣͞ͅE̟̩̳͞N̯̱̬͍̕T̛̰͠[/b]" [right][i]I am thou...[/i][/right] A ghostly mass slammed through Yamamoto. Through his chest. Through him. [right][i]Thou art I...[/i][/right] Silence. Deafening. Everything had stopped. Frozen. [right][i]From the sea of thy soul, I come...[/i][/right] Blood dripped. Dripped. Dripped. A vision of the clock tower. Seared into his mind. Of an entrance. Of a distorted, distorted ... fake world. Fake fake fake fake. Unnatural. Time. Stopped and started and stopped and started and- Nothing. .. . .. . .. . .. The drama clubroom. Utterly ruined. Club members unconscious, flattened against the ground. Unharmed, he was, in a pool of blood. Lying there. With a memory carved into his mind. The only evidence of their existence. The air was thick. Thick and heavy. Okazaki, Oogami, Hanazawa, Sasaki. All missing. .. . .. . .. The noise was definitely going to garner attention.