After School

2.47 Yuta

September 17, 1946: After School

Fate.

Fate brought the boy here.

Death.

Death brought the man here.

The Devil.

The Devil brought the Pagan witch here.

Years of turmoil and torture, greed and inquisitions, death and rebirth, all led up to this moment. The Devil, Death, Fate and the Pagan witch all knew. However, the man and the boy, who were at the center of it all, knew naught but their own role in the grand story.

"It is just us, and the Devil watching over our heads. As He always does," Wilson Stevenson remarked, his cursed emerald eyes glowing against the darkness.

Yuta's back was firmly pressed against the wall, and he trembled underneath Wilson's looming stance. He could not muster the courage to cast a harmful spell upon Wilson Stevenson. Yuta told himself it was because he was not powerful enough, but his conscience told him that he was simply unprepared to harm another. Even if it was Wilson Stevenson.

Yuta cursed himself for that. He wanted to protect Willesden and cast a force-field over it but even his willpower was draining. Willesden was imperfect and that was what made it feel like home. The school stood rooted in the grassless ground, soaking in the sunshine and never releasing it back into the world. It took in yesterday's rain through the cracks of the building, dampening the wooden floorboards with no remorse. It was not only the structure of Willesden but also the people within he wanted to protect. He could barely gaze around without welling up because each classroom and hallway held so many memories that Yuta couldn't exchange for a thousand lifetimes. Would he ever see a sight like this again? Would he ever feel safe in a building like this again?

Bile rose in his throat and he quietly choked on it. There was nothing he could do. There was nowhere to run or hide. He desperately wanted to protect the school and his friends, but the only thing he could think of, the only thing he could physically do, was talk.

"M-Mr. Stevenson," Yuta sputtered, clutching his arms against his chest, hoping that it would protect him from something. "Where did my friends go?" he tentatively asked, wincing his left eye and peering at Wilson through his right.

"They are far away, as I have said," Wilson Stevenson answered slyly, as he cupped Yuta's cheeks gently.

His touch sent icy shivers through his blood, chilling his brain synapses. Yuta flinched and swatted his hands away, but Wilson didn't budge. "You're lying," he said, drawing sharp and raspy breaths. "I don't even need a reason. I just know because everything that comes out of your mouth is crap," Yuta spat, as his anxiousness slowly trickled away and the fury took over.

Wilson chuckled boisterously and swiftly flicked his wrist so that his fingers were curled around Yuta's arms. He harshly dragged the boy forward and stopped in the middle of the gray hallway. Yuta could tell a sinister plan was forming in his head from the way the features on his face shifted uncontrollably.

"Fine. You caught me red-handed," Wilson said, sarcasm dripping from his sour tongue as he rolled his eyes emotionlessly. "Your friends have been transported to areas of the school where they feel most vulnerable. There, I have planted their darkest fears, crouching behind the shadows of the school, waiting for their arrival so they can jump out and make their skins crawl," he hissed, a dark shadow cast over his eyes.

Yuta gazed up at Wilson with horror, as numerous concerns and worries ran through his head. He swallowed the bile lodged in his throat and forced himself to do something for his separated friends. He was the only one who had a chance against Wilson, and he couldn't let their previous efforts go to waste.