The Five

A Story by Kitchu

Eriksvar suffering a personality change...

[...] He stared blankly at the stairs as he stepped down on the first flight, his grip of the rail tightening as the wood creaked ever so lightly. Looking around almost with a paranoid gaze, having reached the first flat surface before the second flight leading to the hall, he took a deep breath - the very air he inhaled, in a trembling manner, as if a shock struck him. His face pale and cadaverous as a sorrowful expression seemed to carve on his aged face. His blond hair and beard messed up, he did not bother to set them back in their original shape.

He closed his eyes, and stopped, sitting on the second stair and leaning against the one behind him lightly. Flashes echoing in his mind. Memories of times that should have been forgotten. The destruction of the Triumvirate, the Great Pact - most importantly, Ondolenar - Syrilus’s best friend - and Neramo - the brother of Syrilus’s adopted daughter. He has ruined so many lives, and he could now hear the same voices that once regarded him as friend, turning against him.

“Eriksvar... What have you done?”

“You are not my brother anymore. From this day forth, I refuse to call you “Asgaldsen”. You are my nemesis now.”

“How many more, Eriksvar? How many more lives? You broke us all.”

“Eriksvar! Have you lost your mind entirely?! Who made you do such thing?”

He clutched his head with both hands, clenching his hair and grimacing as he tilted his head low. Indeed, Eriksvar had done many atrocious deeds, behind the veil of his four personalities. Yet a fifth one, a concealed one, had emerged. His perhaps genuine personality. What Eriksvar would have been, were it not for his disorder.

For the first time in years, he felt a new kind of pain. One that pierced more than flesh and bone. It pierced his soul. He ground his teeth briefly as he mumbled to himself, whispering weakly:

“If any of you can hear me...”

His somewhat trembling palms moved to cover his face, leaving room only for his lips to continue articulating his mumbled, faint words.

“..I’m sorry.”

The door at the end of the hall creaked briefly. Eriksvar’s eyes darted towards it - and to his surprise... The handle moved counter-clockwise. The door opened. A blackened light swarmed the hall as a tall figure stepped in slowly, dressed in familiar clothes - having a familiar face - the dark-silver streaks of hair escaping the somber cover of his hood - the elegant walking.

“Brother...” The figure mumbled.

Eriksvar widened his eyes, getting to his feet a little dazzled, yet advancing as fast as he could, down the remaining stairs towards the familiar man. Mumbling with a half-smile, half-frown on his face.

“Syrilus... I am so... Sorry... Can you ever-...”

Syrilus raised his hand weakly.

“It is no problem, brother. I am only...”

Eriksvar stopped and seemed to nearly hold his breath in anticipation. The room seemed to kill off the candlelight that bathed it in warm yellow tints - out of a sudden - followed by Syrilus seemingly gaining a more and more dangerous aura. Eriksvar’s frown overtook the smile as he couldn’t help but stare. A deep, rumbling, malevolent yet familiar voice spoke in a whispered manner - all around Eriksvar, yet Syrilus’s lips moved in tandem with the words.

“LIES!...” The whisper lashed out at Eriksvar as Syrilus was suddenly surrounded by wispy, black tentacles of an ethereal flesh of sorts, dispersing as the tentacles seemed to fully wrap around him. They dropped on the floor as Eriksvar staggered back.

“Lies...”, it resumed.

“N-no... -you-... ARE the lie! You made me what I am!”, Eriksvar retorted in a very infuriated manner, charging orbs of intense flames in his hands.

The tentacles jumped at him, smacking him with a lot of power, possibly cracking one rib or two as he got hurled against the flight of stairs he previously sat on, the frail wood shattering as his body made the impact with it.

“You forget. This is not you. RECOVER.”, the whisper seemed to switch to an aggressive tone, now audible: the voice overriding the whisper. With those words, Eriksvar’s tonality also seemed to change.

“You are right...”, he smirked lightly. There was no doubt: his personality had switched, whether by the influence of his mentor or not. No longer the genuine Eriksvar - he had become what he had always been.

“You know your task, Eriksvar...” The voice spoke calmly, yet chillingly. “...you must kill him.”

“Indeed...” He got back to his feet, clutching his ribs with his left arm. “...I will not fail. I swore to uphold this mantle, so shall I.”

Eriksvar proceeded to walk towards the door via which the apparent Syrilus came, limping a little as the tentacles retracted into the wooden floor, the room slowly beginning to be bathed in the candlelight once again...