Claude looked at the real Elyas, sitting there like some sorrowful specter draped in an aura of misery. The bright golden chandeliers above them flickered slightly, casting twisted shadows along the extravagant marble floors and the heavy velvet curtains that seemed to weigh the room down.
Claude was confused and shocked, blinking a few times as if trying to dislodge the vision from his mind.
'What the hell is he doing there...? He usually just cried somewhere useless where no one could see him…'
Claude genuinely did not know what Elyas was doing out here in the open, so exposed and pitiful.
'Doesn't matter. I'll just ignore him like always.'
Then, in an instant, Elyas' head snapped toward him, his bloodshot eyes wide with an unnatural intensity.
"It's all because of you... you... you stole my life..."
Claude's face, against his will, twisted into an angered scowl, like some puppet with its strings yanked too hard.
'The hell? Why are you talking to me like that? Shut the hell up and go back to crying in a corner where you belong!'
Despite the savage thought, a wave of heavy, real regret splashed cold against Claude's heart.
No matter how much he barked internally, no matter how vicious he became to survive, the reality was crushing: he had murdered Elyas.
He had butchered an innocent, ripped him out of his own life, and now wore his stolen skin like a cheap costume.
Friends. Family. Safety. Comfort.
All of it, snatched. And Elyas could only watch, a helpless, pathetic ghost shackled to Claude's sins.
But it was too late. The blood was already on his hands. Nothing could wash it away.
Claude lowered his gaze, not wanting to see Elyas anymore, not wanting to see the hollow despair carved into his face.
Then—
"It's all your fault…"
The whisper slipped through the air, stabbing into Claude's ears.
"It's all your fault!!"
Elyas's face twisted into a grotesque snarl, dripping with hatred so raw it made Claude's chest tighten. His eyes bulged, veins forming, mouth warping into something inhuman.
The words were like knives, each syllable hacking at Claude's already threadbare defenses.
Then another voice, colder and sharper than ice, slid in behind him.
"Yeah... it is his fault. All of it. He ruined everything. Hate him. Rip him apart. Make him suffer."
Claude stiffened instantly.
The voice. That goddamn voice.
He felt the tap-tap-tap on his shoulder, almost playful, urging him to look behind.
'No. No no no. I am not listening to this. Not here. Not now!'
But his body refused to move. It was as if invisible nails had been driven into his feet.
The tapping grew harsher, almost clawing at him.
"Isn't that what you want, Claude?"
The voice slithered against his ear like the scrape of a knife on bone. It made his stomach twist into a knot so tight he could hardly breathe.
The world felt like it collapsed onto his shoulders, a massive, grinding weight that threatened to crush his spine into dust.
'N-no! Stop spouting lies! I-I didn't do anything wrong…! I just survived! I did what I had to do! Shut up! Just shut the hell up!'
Claude clung desperately to the excuses he had spent two weeks building, brick by trembling brick, each one a shield against the screaming guilt.
But those excuses were crumbling under the pressure.
Every word Elyas and Clyde spat at him was another hammer blow.
"You are a liar!"
Clyde's voice ripped through him.
"You are a manipulator!"
Elyas's accusation stabbed through Claude's ribcage.
"You are a monster, right?"
Clyde's voice was cold. Smirking. Knowing.
"You are a thief!"
Elyas screamed it like a death sentence.
'S-shut up!!'
Claude screamed inside his mind, pressing his hands against his ears in a desperate attempt to drown them out. But the voices didn't stop. They clawed at him, buried themselves deeper, laughing at his misery.
Claude's mind was a hurricane of denial and panic.
"You are a piece of shit."
Both Clyde and Elyas said it together, their voices grinding into his skull like a grinding stone.
"I said shut up!"
Claude roared, his voice booming out into the open air, drawing every pair of eyes in the room toward him.
Claude felt dozens of eyes burning into his skin.
He turned his head, and everyone was staring at him as if he were some kind of rabid dog foaming at the mouth.
Claude froze, realizing he had spoken out loud. His breath caught in his throat.
Enya, looking both amused and disgusted, was the first to break the silence.
"Who are you talking to, weirdo?"
Her voice dripped with mockery, making Claude's fists clench under the table.
Sylvia leaned forward, concern etched deep into her delicate features.
"Elyas? Are you okay?"
The others simply watched, their faces blank, their judgment loud in the silence.
Claude stumbled to his feet, practically knocking the chair over.
"E-excuse m-me..."
He stumbled out the words, barely coherent, and hurried to leave the room, almost tripping over his own feet. Sylvia immediately got up and followed him, concern painted all over her face
By the entrance stood Roy, stoic and sharp-eyed as ever. At the sight of Claude's state, Roy stepped forward without hesitation.
"Is everything alright, young master? I heard you shout."
Claude pressed his palm hard against his forehead, feeling the throbbing migraine spreading behind his eyes like wildfire. The polished floors seemed to sway beneath his feet as he moved.
Claude grunted, practically crashing through the corridor.
Roy nodded silently but kept following him like a hawk.
But the voices didn't stop.
They gnawed at his ears, no matter how many corners he turned.
"You're pathetic!" Clyde hissed.
"You're useless!" Elyas snarled.
"You're a killer!" they screamed together, their words carving trenches into his mind.
Their laughter, shrill and broken, followed him like an invisible noose tightening around his throat.
Claude finally crashed into the nearest bathroom door, yanking it open and stumbling inside, slamming the door behind him.
But the voices didn't stay outside.
They flooded in after him, filling the tiled room with an invisible, choking fog.
Mocking. Hating. Condemning.
Claude gripped the sink with trembling fingers, staring at his reflection.
But all he could see was the blood.
All he could hear were the screams.
All he could feel was the crushing weight of everything he tried to bury coming back to drown him.
"You're pathetic."
"You're a coward."
"You're a murderer."
"You deserve to be buried alive."
"You deserve nothing but pain."
Clyde and Elyas' voices hammered away at him, each insult hitting harder, faster, sharper, until Claude felt like his skull would split open under the weight of their hate.
And worst of all... a small, broken part of him agreed with them.