Chapter 2: Mortal Malice
Xu Shangxi fled. He ran with that searing, yet-to-dissolve blue brand pulsing on the webbing of his thumb.
Through the newly established [Medium] connection, I could perceive his senses with chilling clarity. His heart rate was skyrocketing, his breathing shallow and jagged—the typical physiological feedback of a mortal facing a horror beyond their comprehension. In the shadows of the attic, I slowly closed my eyes, letting my consciousness descend onto his shoulder, riding the sigil on his hand.
My vision was now dual-layered: one part remained in the withering Bookstore No. 404, while the other followed this trembling boy as he stepped into the morning streets of London.
[Monitoring: Coordinates Synchronizing...] [Environment: St. Christopher's High School - Hallway]
The colors of the physical world seemed dull and cheap under my scrutiny. To me, the students in their uniforms were nothing more than moving biological points. They laughed and chattered atop the ruins of collapsing logic, unaware—much like ants dancing inside a leaking bucket.
Xu Shangxi clutched his right hand tightly, the straps of his bag digging red welts into his trembling fingers. He tried to vanish into the corner of the classroom, attempting to become that invisible "drawing freak" once more.
"You cannot hide," I whispered softly into the depths of his mind.
He shuddered violently, glancing around in terror, but there was only the cacophony of pre-class rowdiness.
"Xu... Shangxi? What are you mumbling to yourself?" a shrill voice cut in.
My logical domain instantly locked onto the targets: three male humans, age seventeen, flooded with excess hormones and a low-level glitch called "Malice." The leader, Leo, had left a long trail of negative shadows across Xu Shangxi's life.
In the mortal eye, this was mere school bullying. In mine, it was a Rejection Reaction of Logic. Because Xu had been stained with my "Weight," the friction between him and his mediocre environment was being magnified exponentially.
"It's... it's nothing." Xu kept his head down, reaching into his bag for his worn-down sketch pencil.
It was his only solace, his only "Reality." Countless times, that pencil had traced the geometric fractures he didn't understand but was obsessed with. To him, it wasn't art; it was a shield against loneliness.
"Still drawing those freakish scribbles?" Leo sneered, suddenly lunging forward to snatch the pencil away.
[Warning: Host's emotional index rising.] [Residual Warmth Activity: 12%... 15%...]
I watched coldly. The grey energy within Xu Shangxi began to churn restlessly. The thing he cared about most had been taken. The agony born of "Loss" was the perfect match to ignite the Residual Warmth.
"Give it back," Xu murmured, his voice a humble plea.
"You want it? Go find it in the trash!" Leo held the pencil high, relishing the cheers of his lackeys. He stared at Xu's face, which was twisted with suppressed rage, and felt a false sense of power.
"Look at him," I commanded within Xu's mind. "Look at the grain of his fingers, the stress points on that pencil. That is where reality is at its thinnest."
Xu Shangxi didn't know who was speaking, but he realized his vision had changed. He no longer saw Leo's arrogant face. Instead, he saw a web of intersecting vector lines.
"Your eyes are creeping me out, you freak." Leo felt an inexplicable chill. To hide his unease, he tightened his grip.
CRACK.
The ordinary pencil snapped into two pieces in his hands.
In that instant, the flow of time slowed to a crawl in my sight. I saw the wood fibers splintering, the graphite core shattering into fine dust, and the last flicker of "Hope" dying in Xu's eyes—replaced by a vast, bottomless grey wasteland.
[System Determination: Anchor Broken.] [Logic Authority: Temporary Unlock.]
"You... you broke it," Xu whispered.
"So what? You little—"
Leo's words stopped dead.
Under everyone's gaze, the half-piece of the pencil falling toward the floor did not land.
It hung suspended in mid-air. Then, centered on that broken pencil, the surrounding air began to crackle with dense, silver fractures—as if the atmosphere itself was a pane of tempered glass being crushed by an invisible weight.
The school hallway groaned, a heavy, resonating wail, as if some leviathan lurking within the walls was being forcibly awakened.
Back in the attic, the corners of my mouth curled slightly.
"Well done, my Medium."
The true trial had only just begun.