Wilbur was a cog in the wheel.
Growing up he had considered himself a prodigy, only a step below the supreme 'legacies'.
Even now, even years after his foolish thinking, the thought still lingered in the back of his mind. He chuckled softly, his comb stuck in a particularly messy region of hair.
He bent to the sink, wetting his hair as he noticed the slight shades of black. He grunted, glancing at the bleaching cream. With a shake of his head, Wilbur continued to wash his hair.
He glanced at the reflection, watching himself as the moonlight shone on him like a god bestowing blessing. Sighing, his thoughts went to Old Man Jest–the old veteran with one hand, a rough mouth and the responsibility of the protection of his small home.
Wilbur had shared that responsibility, but when his application to the Academy had been accepted, the responsibility had flown from his shoulders.
Wilbur was a cog.
Amidst the sound of the running water, he could decipher Bill's shouts. Bill was waiting. Bill did not like waiting and Wilbur savored that anger. Since physical contest between the two had been deemed abhorrent by their 'Backer', moments like this were the only chance Wilbur had to hurt the 'leader' of their group.
Wilbur glanced down at his arms, wondering what would have happened. If the Military hadn't deemed his ability 'weak', if they hadn't sentenced him to be put in a class of meatbags and human shields. If Wilbur hadn't met 'Him'.
Wilbur was a cog in the giant wheel that would bring down the military.
Those were 'His' words and the first-year student would obey them. Even if it meant obeying the giant mutt that was Bill. It was slightly demeaning but Wilbur understood his place.
Grabbing his coat and stepping out into the night, Wilbur noticed the scrawny figure first–Peter. He was some distance from Bill, far enough to evade the stockier's boy reach but close enough to try to look confident.
"If we can't find someone, it's your ass on the line. Not mine." Bill proclaimed, his gaze scrutinizing. "But maybe you won't mind."
Wilbur ignored the 'Leader', looking forward as he spoke "Let's go."
Bill tsked at the silent response. Wilbur, though, smiled lightly. He would endure Bill's taunting, ignore Peter's shuffling and even carry the hate of students. All for the one who had dragged him from despair and given him glorious purpose.
Wilbur was a cog in the wheel.
* *
Bill drowned in the sound, the rhythmic begging almost therapeutic. Somehow he was back, back hearing her screams and his shouts until silence reigned for minutes. And then she would return, purple spots around her body and words of comfort meant more for herself than for him.
It was just like home. The begging almost pleasurable, Bill idly wondered if this was why his father had stuck around until he was recalled.
It was also boring.
Bill watched lazily at the kneeling student. His screams–the kneeling student's– were different. They weren't at all like that of home. Like a discordant melody attempting to sound like a piece.
Bill sighed, rising. There was no time. Bill needed to work. The thought of what to write stumped him. Glancing at Wilbur, his 'loyal' subordinate standing to his left, he pondered. "What should we write? We already did fascist. Rebellion? No, too direct."
Wilbur rolled his eyes "Nothing. Remember, that was the plan. We write nothing."
Bill smiled at his answer. "Yep, that's it. We'll write 'Fuc–"
Wilbur interjected, brushing away Peter who had been huddled next to him "We write nothing. Our backer instruc–"
"Our backer?" Bill almost laughed. "Our 'backer' who uses us as his personal henchmen, as his shield. You can't be serious. Do you think he cares about us? He'll cast us out the moment he's done with us. That's our backer."
Wilbur glared yet Bill continued, moving closer, kicking the kneeling student as he did. "You've seen him. We both have. Yet I seem to be the only one who truly understands how scary he is. How cruel he is? He smiles like the devil for Christ's sake. He can very well be the devil."
Wilbur stood silent, his eyes still bathed in fury as he glared at the 'Leader'. "And so what? You said it yourself. He's the scariest here. That's more reason to obey him."
"No."
It was a simple word yet it cut through the squabble. Bill paused, glancing at the kneeling student lying on the floor. His eyes were closed and no sound, except his breathing, could be heard.
Bill's gaze moved to Peter, the boy's cowardly form slinking into the wall. His teeth chattered loudly as he gazed at Bill's direction, to something, something beyond him.
Bill turned as he noticed the figure. It was someone, a piece of paper taped crudely over the figure's face. The paper only covered the figure's nose and mouth, leaving cold eyes.
The figure seemed to recognize Bill as it tilted its head slightly to the left. And then it spoke, the paper mask moving as the monster's lips moved. "I'm scarier,"
* *
Jace glanced at the figures in front of him. A young student was farthest, gradually creeping away. In front of the escaping student, stood a heavily built figure, the moon reflecting on his brown hair. Beside him a student lay–another victim of their actions.
And then, in front of the group, was Bill.
Kill. Kill. Kill
"Who are you?" Bill asked, doing his best to sound confident. Jace ignored the words, focusing on how he could take Bill down. The brown-haired boy behind Bill, looked plenty strong. And that was without mentioning Bill himself.
The more Jace thought, the more his goal seemed impossible. Yet that didn't matter. Bill had to go, no matter what.
Fate seemed to agree as Wilbur looked between Bill and the mysterious arrival, walking away as he left behind the words. "This one's for you"
A chuckle escaped Bill's lips as the words settled. The two figures stood, metres away from one another. Instinctively, both knew there would be no restraint. This was the battle of two forces–continually clashing until one was dominated.
"I'll give you one chance to att–"
Jace didn't stand on ceremony, rushing as he took advantage of Bill's kindness, launching a hit. Bill stumbled back yet Jace pressed on, striking the bully on the abdomen.
Bill responded back, throwing his legs against Jace's side. It was a feint, but that display was useless. Jace neither bothered to block or dodge, allowing the strike to hit as he jabbed Bill's fleshy throat.
Bill wheezed, gasping to the floor as Jace kicked the bully's lying body. "Who are you?"
The young boy wheezed as he struggled to stand.
Jace didn't answer, standing upon Bill as his fists came down. Punch after punch after punch landed a sickening thud. The chants grew louder. Kill him. Make him suffer. Make him regret.
Blood splattered as Bill reached up, struggling to tear off the paper mask. Jace ignored the reaching hand as Bill spat out the second the mask was gone "I don't know you."
Jace smiled as he wiped the blood off his cheek."I do."
And then he continued. Blood splattered about as Jace's hand continued the rhythmic action, pumping against the soft flesh.
A whisper came from Bill, so quiet that Jace couldn't hear. Jace's smile widened. He continued as his fist touched liquid, as the ground dyed with blood, painted in a macabre masterpiece. Bill's blood dripped down, forming an artistic canvas that could only be called one word–Bloody.
And then Jace's fist stopped. His fingers were drenched in blood, one of them hurting from a confrontation with a tooth. The mask covering his face had fallen into the pool of blood, Bill's fist still grabbing it tightly.
Under the crescent moonlight, in the back of the Library, Bill, the King of the academy, was dead.