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Festival Fiasco

Part 5

Ever since his birth, the fateful worm had known nothing but darkness. Most of his days were spent in shrew-like bodies and digging tunnels for the foundation of their society. His job, like many others before him, was to search for precious metals in abused and dangerous mines. Several of his fellow worms passed away due to collapsing tunnels or pockets of earth full of poisonous air.

“We are many,” a worm twice his age told to him, “and we are weak. Disposable. Worms in the dirt that the Elite walk on. We matter as much as the rock we mine, and so we are in these caverns.” Not too long after passing on that wisdom, the older worm perished in a cave-in. The fateful worm was no surprised, as so many of their kind died everyday that learning names was far too tiring. It was better to have nothing than to constantly lose someone every day.

Then, on a fateful day, the worm overheard two passing Elites. “Centaurus,” one of them said, chuckling as he uttered that name, “is what those humans call one of our suns. Our sacred stars that lie above even Elites! Can you believe they have the audacity to even try to christen it with a name? Absurd.” The two walked away, laughing at the new species.

From then on, a small fire burned in that fateful worm’s heart. It was a completely foreign feeling, but he loved it. “Centaurus,” he said to himself as best he could, each syllable eliciting joy in his heart. “Centaurus, Centaurus. Cen-tau-rus…!” As he repeated that word to himself in the coming days, his gaze turned upwards, focusing above the dark rock ceiling he had always known. The next few months were spent digging his own personal tunnel, barely managing to hide his progress from the managers who watched his progress. It was difficult to dig through the dirt and stone upwards, but the name gave him hope and strength that he had never known before.

Finally, Centaurus emerged from the earth. He pushed through the final layer of dirt and emerged onto the surface. The air tasted fresh and untouched by dust. His panted heavily, enjoying each new sensation as he trekked through the alien world—his own home. The sky was grey and a light breeze coursed through barren field he wandered. After a few minutes of aimless wandering, he saw the first few rays. In the horizon, the sun began to rise.

“Heyyyyy~! Ya gonna wake up or am I gonna have to throttle ya, Centy?” Centaurus’ slowly opened his eyes, hands curled up in irritation as the annoying voice bounced off the walls. “There you are! About time. You sure like to keep everyone waiting, huh?”

“…Phecda.” Centaurus blinked to refocus his vision. Before him was an older man wearing a doctor’s coat, a stethoscope, and nothing else. He strutted over, balancing shifting from the balls of each foot.

“You never talk to any of us,” he began, pacing along the walls of the room, gaze wandering all over the white walls. “Yet, you remember each of our names so well! Your behavior is always so interesting, Centy~! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

With a grunt of effort, Centaurus swung his legs over and tried to leap at Phecda. However, the moment he launched himself off the bed and his feet touched the ground, he stumbled and fell to the floor. “The hell…?!”

“You. Are. Exhausted,” said Phecda, leaning over Centaurus, their faces just a few inches away from each other. “Absolutely washed up. It’s a miracle you’re even alive.” Phecda hopped back as Centaurus swung a slow and sluggish fist at him. “You can barely even fight. It’s honestly a shame to see you like this.” For a moment, Phecda’s fac fell before his expression lit up with his usual disgusting cheer. “I wonder what Zathina would say if she saw you. Or dear ol’ Arti. He’d get a real chuckle out of this,” he said, giggling as Centaurus leaned against the bed like an old man who couldn’t get up on his own.

“If you’re gonna kill me,” he said in-between pants, “just go ahead and do it. Anything’s better than listening to you yap and yap.”

“Ohhh, booo~!” said Phecda. “That’s such a boring thing to do, Centaurus. Why would I kill my most interesting research subject.” Once again approaching, Phecda leaned in and grabbed Centaurus’ face in a sharp vice-grip. A glint that never failed to send shivers down Centaurus’ spine appeared in Phecda’s eyes. The grin was gone, replaced by a twisted and frustrated grimace. “I would love to take you apart to finally learn how and why you tick, but that would ruin everything. No, I must observe you without interfering. Without letting those ridiculous fools getting in your way so you can flourish. Those Elites are so concentrated in status and let promising subjects just die in those worthless mines of them. God, I wish I could take them apart too so I could show our worthless world what trash truly looks like.”

Centaurus tried to scream or shout, but he couldn’t stop trembling. His muscles wouldn’t move or respond. If Phecda truly wished, Centaurus would end up as the subject of vivisection. However, no such carnage occurred. Centaurus still breathed.

The two stared at each other for a while before Phecda’s face broke into another gleeful grin. “You flinched~! You’re so cute when you’re scared, but not as cute as Arcturus when everything’s falling apart around him. Phecda let go of Centaurus and stepped back, pacing the room with that ridiculous gait again. “Don’t worry, Centy. I just took you to my host’s apartment so you could get some rest. If either Zathina or Arcturus found ya with no energy, who knows what they would’ve done!” He shook his head in disapproval. “No, I learned so much from you, and yet there’s still more I want to discover.”

“What are you—”

“Please, indulge me, Centaurus,” said Phecda, turning to face Centaurus again, who flinched. “There’s a discovery I believe I have stumbled onto, and I was hoping to use you as a sort of ‘wall’ to bounce ideas off of. Maybe we could even collaborate,” he said, emphasizing the last word.

Moving his hand over his hairy and borrowed legs, Centaurus could feel just a bit of sensation return. If he could just stall this conversation out, he could make a break for it. “Fine,” he said, scoffing and turning his face away. “Start rambling, ya freak. If you get close to the mark, I’ll tell ya. In exchange, just lemme go, all right?”

Phecda cocked his brow, head tilting in confusion. “Oh, that sort of cooperation is unexpected. Wonder if you’ve found some sort of escape route you want to distract me from?”

Centaurus kept his face neutral as Phecda wandered the room, running his hands over the walls. As expected, Phecda knew very little about his own host’s home. “Either way, I guess I don’t really care. All I wanted was a chat. Whatever you do afterwards isn’t very important. Although…” Phecda shook his head. “Doesn’t matter! Let’s great started.”

“Shoot.”

“How did a being like you,” began Phecda, “with very little chance of mastering his craft might I add, ever become masterful enough at possession to rival of Elites like Arcturus or Zathina? Isn’t it curious? I often pondered that between classes and experiments. How was that possible? It’s like a homeless man having more skill than a dedicated kung-fu master.” As if to emphasize his point, Phecda performed a crane stance, the flaccid dick flopping as he lifted up his leg.

“You watching earth TV?”

“It’s nice to have in the background as I work,” said Phecda as rubbed the back of his neck. “But the point is, things weren’t adding up. I threw a few theories around. Time travel, secret training from special ops, all sorts of nonsense. It was more like a little pet project than anything else. Try not to feel so special, Centaurus.”

Rolling his eyes, Centaurus said, “Nice to know I’m such high priority for ya.”

“Well, at first it was.” The dangerous glint in Phecda’s eyes returned. The atmosphere grew heavy as his footfalls grew harder and more intense. “Then I saw the effect you had on Arcturus. That’s when it really got interesting.” Phecda continued to pace around the room. The amusement and nonchalantness of his expression faded. “I grew up together with him. I’ve observed him. He was always so dull. So boring. Just another by-product of our society. Nothing more. But then…! Oh, you made his interesting, Centaurus.” Without warning, he sprinted over to Centaurus and grabbed him by the shoulders. Centaurus could feel Phecda’s warm breath on his face. “Just by existing, just by being skilled, you began to break the little peanut-brain that that fool had. Just by being, you made him fascinating,” he said, eyes shining with wicked intent.

“Wh-What the hell do you want…?” said Centaurus, his heart racing. Goosebumps spread throughout his body. He had seen such an awful personality from Phecda before, but this was simply on a level he could have never seen coming. “What do you want from me, Phecda?!”

“I… just want you to go about the same as you always do!” said Phecda, releasing Centaurus. “I want to witness your potential, that’s all.” He merely shrugged, expression perfectly nonchalant. The sudden changes in mood only served to give Centaurus more anxiety. When would Phecda go in a rage? It was effective torture strategy, but Centaurus was wondering if that was even the goal.

In that brief period, Centaurus realized that Phecda was silent and just staring at him. Suddenly, embarrassed, Centaurus said, “You’re… seriously freaking me out. But, you’re fine with me winning this whole thing? Letting me get the chance to become a Dreadfighter and serve the Emperor directly? That’s fine with you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” said Phecda. “You don’t have the skills of Zathina or even Arcturus, but you have good skills. And your head’s not up in the clouds like those two.” He threw his hands up into the air, eyes rolling as he spoke. “Always about honor and status with those two. They’re like broken records. Really, at least having someone like you around will keep things interesting. Besides…” Narrowing his eyes, Phecda said, “Someone who is willing to throw away everything for success is perfect for Dreadfighters, isn’t it?”

Flinching once more, Centaurus tried to back away further onto the bed. “So you figured it out.” Hiding anything from this madman would just agitate Phecda and make the situation worse. “Yeah, I throw just about everything at it when I possess a host.”

“Elites like us are specifically taught not to do that,” said Phecda. “If you try and force a connection with a host, you risk losing yourself. It’s like mixing two paints and hoping that the colors will remain pure. And yet… you still continue to do that. Every time, you allow your consciousness to meld with your host’s just for a tiny advantage. Why is that?”

Not wanting to face Phecda, Centaurus pointedly turned his head and stared out the window. The sun was beginning to set. Just a few hours longer and the festival would be over. His host still wasn’t fully recovered, but that was no longer his main concern. Thoughts and fears he had been burying deep inside of him finally emerged with little resistance. “Ya said it yourself. To risk everything for just that chance for success. That’s all it is. As simple as that.”

Pouting, Phecda said, “It’s so boring when you try to say it like that. At least do it like those detective shows where they have the lead talk about it in great and exciting detail!”

“My life isn’t a show, freak,” said Centaurus. “Just… I don’t have anything else, Phecda. If I don’t become a soldier, if I don’t prove my worth, then…” he paused, unable to say it. I’ll be just a worm. He shut his mouth and refused to let the words continue.

“I see. You’re a product of our society as well.” Phecda nodded, as if the world suddenly made complete sense to him. He spun on his heel and faced the wall, expression hidden. “Don’t kill Arcturus, Centy. He’s boring sometimes and crazy at others, but I still like him. You make him fascinating, but if you make him dead I’ll tear you apart and eat you, okay?”

The usual mania in his voice was gone. For the first time since they had met, Phecda spoke in a serious tone. “Yeah, sure. Wasn’t planning on killing the guy, anyway. He’s a piece of shit but like… no one that needs to be killed.”

“What’re you going to do when it’s just you and Zathina left?” asked Phecda, still hiding his face. “Do you think you can beat her?”

Centaurus ran a hand down his borrowed hair, a habit of his host. “I don’t know. But, I’ll give it a try, even if it kills me.”

“You’re desperate.”

“When you’ve got nothing else to live for and everything on the line,” said Centaurus, “wouldn’t anyone?”

“…Well, to see that realize…” Phecda turned around once more, smirking as he approached Centaurus. “You need your energy. I just happen to know a neat way for humans to generate the chemicals we feed on.” The doctor’s coat billowing as he strutted over, Phecda kneeled in front of Centaurus and began to lower his pants. “Just lean back, stare up at the ceiling, and relax. I’ll take it from here.”

“…You’re a real weirdo, y’know that?”

“Why thank you. You’re a real weirdo as well, Centy.” Phecda leaned in and kiss Centaurus’ lips, to the latter’s shock. “Keep being interesting. Worms don’t make for such fine test subjects, I promise you that much.”

Kindness came from such interesting places, Centaurus mused.