Capítulo 11: Bullying

Z's cane rested against the corner of his desk as he leaned back in the chair, his mind drifting to the enigmatic nature of his skill, Disharmony.

It wasn't just a tool; it was a curse, a double-edged sword that pried open cracks in reality, revealing truths he wasn't always prepared to face. The skill worked in three layers: first, it disrupted the natural flow of events, creating small shifts that could change outcomes. Second, it enhanced his perception, letting him see the aftershocks—the residual consequences of actions not yet taken. And finally, it bound the outcomes to him, ensuring that he paid a price for whatever chaos he unleashed.

Each use left him with a sense of dread, a creeping sickness in his soul that whispered he was tugging on threads best left untouched. Yet here, within the Ladder, Disharmony felt alive, more volatile than ever before.

A sharp knocking jolted him out of his thoughts.

He tilted his head, glancing up at the ceiling. The knocking was slow and deliberate, each sound evenly spaced.

Knock… knock… knock.

A low voice whispered in his ear, smooth and cold: "Disharmony is active."

Z's body stiffened. He stood up slowly, his gaze flickering to his cane. His grip tightened on it as he glanced toward the door.

The knocking continued, steady and measured.

He inhaled deeply, trying to calm the growing unease in his chest. He stared at the door for a long moment before moving toward it. His mind reached for his memory of the rules—was there anything about knocking at this time of the morning?

Nothing specific came to him. That didn't mean he was safe.

He opened the door.

Standing before him were two students he didn't recognize.

The first was tall and strikingly attractive, with dark, slicked-back hair and sharp features. His expression was one of disdain, his eyes narrowed as they fixed on Z.

The other boy couldn't have been more of a contrast. He was shorter, with a hunched posture that screamed insecurity. Acne dotted his pale, patchy skin, and his thick glasses perched awkwardly on his nose. His hair was a messy bob cut, strands sticking out in every direction. Anxiety radiated off of him in waves.

The taller boy spoke first, his voice clipped and irritated. "Why didn't you open the door sooner?"

Z kept his expression polite, bowing his head slightly. "I was asleep," he said, his voice calm and measured.

The taller boy's face twisted into an ugly frown. The shorter boy shrank further into himself, his eyes darting around nervously.

For a moment, Z thought the interaction might end there. But as he met the taller boy's gaze, a subtle shift began to take place.

The boy's face started to contort, his features twisting unnaturally. Blood vessels began to swell beneath his eyes, dark and pulsating. Rage consumed his expression, his irises burning with a malevolence that sent chills down Z's spine.

The boy's skin turned deathly pale, almost translucent, moisture pooling on his forehead as veins writhed beneath the surface. His lips curled into a sneer, revealing unnervingly sharp teeth.

"Sleeping?" the boy hissed, his voice gravelly and guttural, like the scraping of metal against stone. "Didn't you read the rules?"

Before Z could process the question, the boy's arm moved in a blur of inhuman speed.

Z barely registered the motion before a searing pain shot through his chest. The boy's hand had plunged into him, fingers curling around his heart.

Z gasped, his vision blurring as his legs buckled beneath him. He fell to the ground, his cane clattering against the floor.

He could feel his heart—his very life—held in the boy's grasp. It throbbed once, twice, then went still.

As the world darkened, a chilling voice echoed in his mind:

"You have died from bullying."

"Chaos has taken place. Disharmony has been used."

Z's eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his throat as he bolted upright. He was back in his bed. His heart was pounding, and sweat slicked his forehead. The room was eerily silent, but the events from moments ago lingered in his mind like an echo.

"Disharmony has been used," the voice from earlier whispered again, fading into nothingness.

Then the knocking started.

Knock… knock… knock.

It was the same as before: steady, deliberate, and entirely unnatural.

Z gritted his teeth, his hand tightening around his cane as he got out of bed. His legs felt weak, but he forced them to move. The voice in his head murmured faintly, "Don't trust it."

This time, when he opened the door, he didn't hesitate. He swung it open sharply, forcing a calm, pleasant expression onto his face as he greeted the visitors with a warm smile.

"Good morning guys," he said brightly, his tone betraying none of the tension curling in his gut.

The two boys from earlier stood in the hallway.

The taller one—the one who had killed him—regarded Z with a deep frown, his expression filled with suspicion. The shorter boy seemed just as nervous as before, his trembling hands clutching the hem of his shirt.

"Guys? Who else are you talking to?" the tall boy asked, his voice flat but carrying an edge that put Z on high alert.

Z tilted his head, keeping his smile intact. "No one. I was just waking up."

The taller boy's frown deepened. Something about his posture, his presence, felt off—unnatural in a way Z couldn't quite put into words.

"You've taken your medicine, right?" the boy asked suddenly, his tone sharp and demanding.

Z's smile didn't falter. "Of course," he replied smoothly, though his mind raced. What medicine? What was he supposed to say?

The tall boy narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. "Go see the doctor. Now."

The shorter boy flinched at the command, looking anywhere but at Z.

Before Z could respond, a sharp pain shot through his skull. He staggered, one hand going to his temple as the world around him began to distort.

The tall boy's form started to change.

Z blinked, his vision blurring as the boy's sharp features melted away, replaced by something grotesque. His once-handsome frame twisted and elongated, his skin turning dark and oily as jagged shadows clawed their way out of his silhouette.

The walls of the hallway began to bleed, thick rivulets of crimson dripping down in erratic streams. The faint sound of knocking echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Z clutched his chest, his breath hitching as the world closed in around him.

The boy-turned-shadow loomed closer, his glowing, hollow eyes boring into Z's very soul. The shorter boy had vanished—no, he had dissolved into the crimson-soaked walls.

Blood began to seep from Z's eyes, warm and thick as it trailed down his face and dripped onto the floor. His heart pounded erratically, his vision spinning out of control.

The air felt thick and suffocating, pressing down on him like an invisible weight. He couldn't move, couldn't think—only stare into the gaping void that was once the tall boy.

Then the ground rushed up to meet him as his legs gave out.

His final thought before the darkness consumed him was a faint whisper, like a thread of logic fraying under pressure.

There's only one of them…?

The voice returned as his vision went black:

"You have died from Fright. Chaos has taken place. Disharmony has been used.

Z's eyes snapped open once again, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. The familiar sight of his room greeted him, but it did little to calm the pounding in his chest.

He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, before his gaze shifted to the bedside table. The pill bottle sat there, its label half-peeled and unreadable, an ominous reminder of his previous deaths.

This time, he didn't hesitate.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Z grabbed his cane and moved toward the door with a calm, deliberate pace. His hand gripped the doorknob firmly, and he took a steadying breath before pulling it open in one swift motion.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice cheerful and unwavering. His eyes scanned the two figures before him without lingering too long on either of them.

The tall boy—the same one who had killed him twice already—frowned deeply. His sharp gaze flickered over Z, his lips pressing into a thin line. The shorter boy, however, looked as anxious as ever, his eyes darting around nervously.

The tall boy tilted his head. "Why did you take so long to answer the door? You opened it fast enough."

Z's smile didn't falter, though his mind raced for a plausible answer. He tilted his head slightly, his expression calm and polite. "Oh, that's because my roommate was showering. It was so loud I didn't hear the knocking at first."

The tall boy's frown deepened for a fraction of a second, and Z's heart skipped a beat. He forced himself to remain still, keeping his smile intact even as tension coiled in his chest.

Finally, the tall boy nodded. "Fine." His tone was curt, but he didn't press further.

He gestured down the hall. "I came to tell you it's time for breakfast. Don't be late."

Z inclined his head politely. "Thank you. I'll be down shortly."

The tall boy hesitated for a moment, his gaze narrowing slightly before he turned and walked away, his movements sharp and purposeful. The shorter boy shuffled after him, his anxious demeanor making him look even smaller.

As they disappeared down the hall, Z shut the door quietly, his smile fading the moment he was alone.

His scalp tingled, and a cold realization swept over him.

I really do have a roommate.

The words scrawled on the back of the paper flashed through his mind:

"WHAT KIND OF BASTARD TURNS THEIR BACK ON THEIR ROOMMATE!"

Z swallowed hard. What if those weren't just words?

The thought chilled him to his core.

His deaths began to make sense. The first time, he'd ignored the existence of his invisible roommate entirely. The second time, he'd acknowledged the presence of the short boy—someone the tall boy clearly couldn't see—and disregarded the "rules" about his supposed roommate.

Two sets of rules. Two sides of the note. Both contradicting each other.

Z exhaled slowly, gripping his cane tightly. His fingers trembled slightly as he considered the implications.

He didn't know which side of the note to trust.

But he knew one thing for certain: both sides carried a death penalty if disobeyed.

As expected of an [order] scenario. It wasn't that the Ladder was playing tricks on them. It was that there were two sets of contradictory rules they were being forced to follow!

And Z wasn't sure how much longer he could keep his footing.