Diabolist : The Beginning

Jane adjusted her illusion necklace before starting the video call with the client who had commissioned their mission. The screen lit up, revealing a teenage boy with striking green hair.

"Hello, I'm the one who commissioned the mission," the boy said as soon as the call connected.

Jane blinked in mild surprise. His appearance caught her off guard, and even more so, his young age. She quickly composed herself.

"The payment is six million. Are you aware of that?" Jane asked, her tone professional.

"Yes, sir—or ma'am," the boy stammered. "Don't worry, just... just heal my sister." His voice was laced with desperation.

"Location?" Jane prompted, keeping her expression neutral.

"I'm at Millennium Hospital," the boy said quickly. "I could arrange for a jet to pick you up," he added eagerly, his words tumbling out.

Jane raised an eyebrow at the offer. She had to admit, the idea was tempting. Most wealthy clients preferred to avoid public association with diabolists, rushing them out as soon as the job was done. A private jet was a rare luxury she wasn't about to turn down.

"We're currently near Norman. Meet us there," Jane said, her tone steady.

"I will," the boy said, nodding fervently. His eyes shone with tears, his gratitude palpable.

"Don't worry. Your sister will be fine," Jane said with a calm confidence that seemed to steady him.

The boy choked back a sob as he nodded once more. Jane ended the video call, closing her laptop with a soft click. She removed the illusion necklace and set it aside, her expression unreadable as she stood and prepared for the journey ahead.

***

Eva filled Goldie's bowl, watching her pet fish swim lazily toward the food. With that task done, she headed to her bed, her expression tight with worry. She could feel it—the looming weight of an episode building in her core. It was close, just a few days away, but the uncertainty gnawed at her.

An episode in public, during a mission, or—worst of all—while merged with Peter would be catastrophic. She couldn't take that risk. She needed to force it to happen now, in the safety of her room.

Taking a deep breath, Eva climbed onto the bed and shut her eyes.

She dove into the depths of her mind, pulling out a memory, one she hadn't dared touch in years.

A beautiful woman with flowing black hair and piercing blue eyes knelt before her, their surroundings blurred in a golden haze. The woman cupped Eva's cheek gently, her touch cold and chilling.

"Be strong for Mummy," the woman whispered.

The memory fractured as Eva gasped, the warmth fading into the cold stillness of her room. It wasn't strong enough.

Her chest tightened. She needed something more potent—something that would break her completely.

Eva plunged deeper, into a darker corner of her past.

A man loomed before her, dressed in ancient, flowing robes. His face was obscured by shadows, but she could feel his presence, heavy and oppressive. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against her face.

"How beautiful," the man murmured, his voice soft yet chilling.

The words echoed in her mind like the toll of a distant bell.

That did it.

Pain erupted from her core, sharp and unbearable. Eva's eyes flew open as her body convulsed, yanked violently out of the memory. Agony wracked her limbs, and her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps.

It had begun.

The cracks on Eva's back spread like living veins, dark and jagged, creeping outward with malicious intent. Every inch they claimed sent waves of searing pain through her body, a torment like no other.

Eva gritted her teeth, desperate to keep from screaming as her back arched involuntarily. Her fingers dug into the bedsheets, clutching them so tightly that the fabric began to tear beneath her grip.

The cracks continued their relentless journey, slithering up her neck and toward her face. Each movement was agony, as though her skin were splitting apart, and her chest heaved with silent screams she couldn't release. Her lips parted slightly, her throat straining, but no sound came out.

Her body convulsed violently, and she squeezed the bed harder, her nails ripping through the sheets. Goldie, perched quietly in the corner, whined softly.

For twenty long minutes, the agony persisted. The cracks moved like serpents, claiming more of her, until they suddenly began to recede, fading back into her skin. The pain ebbed, and Eva's trembling body slowly relaxed into the bed.

She lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling as she regained her composure. "It's okay now, Goldie," she whispered hoarsely, brushing her messy hair back from her damp forehead. Goldie calmed at her voice, her tiny tail swishing gently.

Eva reached for her phone, her hands still trembling slightly, and unlocked it. A notification from her streaming app lit up the screen. She opened it and saw a message from justalex:

"Hi, this is Alex. I hope it's a good time to talk. I'm grateful you take the time to watch my videos."

Eva stared at the words, her vision blurring as a lump formed in her throat. Something about the message felt sincere, almost tender, as though it had been typed out with genuine care.

Her eyes moistened, and the dam holding back her emotions broke. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks, carving paths on her pale face. For the first time that night, she let herself feel the weight of it all—her pain, her isolation, and the bittersweet comfort of a stranger's simple kindness.

***

Alexander was getting ready for bed, but his mind kept wandering back to Aviva. He chuckled softly to himself as he slipped under the covers, finding it ridiculous how much she occupied his thoughts. He'd never even met her before, yet her presence felt so vivid in his mind.

As he settled into bed, an unshakable sense of unease crept over him. Negative thoughts stirred within him, whispering that something bad was happening to her. He frowned, shaking his head in disbelief. You don't even know her, he reminded himself, but the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

Unable to ignore it, Alexander grabbed his phone and opened the streaming app. He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to figure out what to say.

Finally, he typed: Hi, this is Alex. I hope it's a good time to talk. Are you okay?

The words looked silly on the screen, and self-doubt gnawed at him. She'll think I'm weird, he thought, quickly deleting the last sentence. He replaced it with something safer: I'm grateful you take the time to watch my videos.

Satisfied, he hit send and set the phone down, exhaling deeply. You're overthinking this, he told himself, pulling the blanket over his shoulders.

For a while, he just lay there, his phone silent beside him. He told himself not to expect a reply, that she was probably busy or asleep. But then, about an hour later, his phone buzzed.

He grabbed it quickly and saw her reply: Thank you.

Simple, but it made his heart skip a beat. Alexander blushed, grinning like an idiot as he ducked under the covers to hide his smile from the empty room. It was a small moment, but it felt meaningful—enough to make him fall asleep with a lighter heart.

***

Arram had his golden hair tied back in a neat ponytail as he stood in the chilly room, surrounded by tubs of colorful ice cream. His sharp green eyes scanned the containers, his lips curling into a satisfied grin as he reached the final count.

"And... fifty. Perfect." He straightened up, wiping his hands on a towel. "Okay, these are for me and Eva."

He carefully separated the tubs of strawberry and vanilla ice cream, sliding them to one side of the counter. Then, with a smirk, he turned to the chocolate tubs and nudged them to another side.

"And these... these are for the beast," he said with mock reverence, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Arram's movements were methodical as he prepared another batch, mixing ice cream in a silver bowl with almost too much precision. Just as he was about to seal the container, he paused, his gaze flicking to a shelf below the counter.

"Right. Almost forgot."

He crouched down, pulling open the small shelf and retrieving a bottle with a faded label. Rat Poison was written on it in bold, alarming letters. Arram's smirk widened into something far more sinister as he unscrewed the cap and poured a generous amount into the bowl. The thick liquid disappeared as he stirred it, folding it into the ice cream with practiced ease.

"And this," he muttered to himself, sealing the container and setting it apart from the others, "is for Peter."

He wiped his hands again, satisfaction evident on his face. But as he moved to pack the containers, his brow furrowed, and he scratched his chin in thought.

"Why do I feel like I've missed something important?" he mused aloud, glancing around the room as if searching for an answer.

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the freezer. Arram tapped his fingers against the counter, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before he shook his head and dismissed the thought.

"Eh, probably nothing."

He returned to his work, humming a cheerful tune as the poisoned ice cream sat innocently among the rest, waiting for its unsuspecting recipient.

***

The three—Eva, Jane, and Peter—sat in the back of a taxi, headed toward the meeting point where their private jet would pick them up. Peter was practically buzzing with excitement, his knee bouncing slightly, while Jane tried (and failed) to mask her own anticipation.

Eva, on the other hand, gazed out the window, looking utterly unimpressed. Her chin rested on her palm, fingers drumming idly against her cheek.

Jane glanced at her, noting the slight shadows under her usually flawless eyes. "Did you not sleep well?" she asked.

Eva turned her head slowly, leveling Jane with a glare. "I wonder whose fault that is."

Jane's eye twitched. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Girls, please, not today," Peter groaned, already sensing the brewing argument.

Jane ignored him. "Oh, I see. You're saying I stopped you from sleeping? If it weren't for me and this mission, I wonder when you would ever get to fly in a private jet."

Eva rolled her eyes. "I shall forever be grateful, O Materialistic Queen."

Peter buried his face in his hands. "Oh, good God."

"Peter, are you hearing this?" Jane asked indignantly. "I was just concerned about her, and she started attacking me!"

"I never said you were the reason I couldn't sleep," Eva countered smoothly. "You assumed that all on your own. I'm guessing the shoe fits?"

Jane gasped. "You bitch."

Peter sighed heavily, sliding on his headphones because he knew the rest of the ride would be filled with bickering.

And, of course, it was.