The Loser | by Isaac7525

Shinso hesitantly knocked on the wooden door outside of Isaiah's room. Judging by the light he saw protruding from under the door, he surmised that it was an appropriate time to consult Isaiah for a spirituality lesson. Isaiah's apartment was connected to Aaron's apartment room; the only thing separating them was a single wall. 

He had previously stopped by Catherine's place and quietly consulted the duo for instructions on how to reach Isaiah's place. 

The door suddenly opened, and the man with one functioning yellow eye stood there. He was clad in alchemical wear, a pair of goggles hanging over his brows, and a blood-stained apron hanging loosely around his waist. Shinso's face paled, and he took a step back, his gaze continually fixed on the intimidating figure. 

"Consider the times in your favor, Hitoshi. My mood isn't like the ice outside." He stepped aside, allowing the boy entry. Shinso's indigo eyes remained fixated on the apron he was wearing, noticing the dark-colored blood staining the lower half of it. 

When he entered Isaiah's office, he took note of the lack of a bed and dining area. The entire area was dimly lit, and all the walls were lined with shelves. The boy's face turned a pale blue when he saw numerous skulls lining the wall, all of different sizes and shapes. None of them were human, all belonging to animals. 

Shinso stepped back, his back pressing against the edge of a table. He flinched and turned around, and his mouth almost hung open when he caught sight of a squirrel carcass splayed across the table, its internal organs and bones removed, neatly set aside. The inside had been washed clean and stuffed with cotton like a horrifying, grotesque stuffed animal—a macabre imitation of taxidermy.

"Don't be alarmed by the sight, it's just my work." Isaiah's tone was uncharacteristically casual. Shinso watched as he removed the blood-stained apron and hung it on a rack in the corner of the room. 

After a long, slow breath, the middle-aged man turned back to Shinso, frowning. "I heard about what happened to the girl."

Shinso nodded. "She...passed out." 

Isaiah froze for a beat before taking two steps forward. "Do you know why?" 

Shinso habitually took a step back, his gaze locked on the imposing figure in front of him. His fists tucked into white-skinned knuckles as he attempted to collect himself. 

"No..." he answered. 

Hearing this, the half-blind man stopped moving, his lips twitching downwards only a millimeter. "I heard you both consumed your potions." His tone was unreadable, Shinso saw a glint in his expression, only for a moment, before it gradually dissipated. 

Shinso gulped, his skin charging with goosebumps as an icy-white surge brushed his shoulders. "Yes, we did recently." 

The indigo-haired boy's gaze remained scanning around Isaiah's office, taking note of the numerous animal corpses splayed on the walls like trophies. In a desperate bid to change the topic and alleviate his nerves, he asked a question regarding these sights. 

"These animals..." He approached a table with numerous jars splayed out. His hand wrapped around one filled with a semi-transparent liquid—inside was the corpse of what appeared to be a mix between a spider and a scorpion. 

His gaze remained fixated on the peculiar creature as he continued. "How do you get them?" 

Isaiah Wall's lips twitched into a smile as he walked over to Shinso, plucking the object from his hands and tucking it into a drawer along with other jarred arthropods. After a short moment, he turned to Shinso and answered. 

"Either outside or the morgue." 

"The morgue? Isn't a place like that only for human bodies?" The boy felt a rush of confusion upon hearing this answer. 

"Is that how it is back at your home, Shinso?" Isaiah's tone changed, shifting to a more inquisitive demeanor. 

Shinso swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Yeah, though I've never been to one before...and I never hope to." 

"Well, ever so often I trample down there and pick up a few of the corpses I find interesting." 

Just then, the man's wrinkled hands reached down to another drawer, grabbing the lid and opening it. Shinso took a step back, his eyes widening in fear as he caught sight of the contents. Inside one of the drawers was a collection of brains, all stored inside a large jar filled with liquid. 

"The brain..." Isaiah licked the dry flakes off his lips, his only working eye fixated on the organs inside the container. 

"Is the most interesting part of an organism's anatomy. It's what powers the limbs, the organs, and blood flow. It's akin to a gelatinous gas lamp inside one's cranium." 

He turned to Shinso, his grip tightly coiled around the jar. "What troubles my taunts the most is how it works."

Just then, he put the jar down and opened another drawer. Inside were numerous rolled-up pieces of paper. Isaiah paused for a beat, his bony finger slowly tracing along the numerous sheets before settling on one after a brief period of careful deliberation. 

The man slowly pushed aside the other jars and miscellaneous items and rolled out the paper. The texture and surface of it were mottled and dirty, but both Shinso and Isaiah could properly see what was on it. Shinso saw an image of a rabbit—a cross-section of its brain.

Among my somewhat vast collection is the brain of a rabbit, the most peculiar and habitual of them all." Isaiah started, his gaze never leaving the image of the brain on the paper. 

The man licked his lips again and continued. "An animal of this grandeur, one which hides and never fights. It cowers in fear and always chooses the safest options. I'd say..." 

He turned to Shinso, his expression remaining the same. "...humans are like rabbits." 

Shinso felt an explicable chill when he heard that, unbeknownst as to why. He parted his lips and wanted to speak, but he felt that his throat had been glued shut. The silence in the office, which was only penetrated by the quiet hum of the kerosene-powered lamp, was broken once more by Isaiah. 

"Although I don't consent to dabbling into people's minds—in a literal sense, human behavior has always stunned me." 

At that moment, he raised his hand and flicked Shinso in the center of his forehead, causing Shinso to flinch and touch the spot of impact. "What was that for?" He barked. 

Isaiah smiled like a father who had played a prank on their child. "A little study, heh." 

This uncharacteristic chuckle from the man put Shinso on edge, a layer of goosebumps protruding from his skin, which had paled slightly. The indigo-haired boy lowered his hand, tucking it beside him as the man continued to speak, pointing to numerous graphs on the sheet of paper. 

"I just stimulated a particular region of the brain called the cerebral cortex, the one that allows one to feel pain."

He looked towards Shinso, smiling. "You can thank the scientists and researchers over the past decade for that." 

"Uhm..." Shinso didn't know how to reply. 

"The brain is divided into multiple sections like a piece of bread, each corresponding to a certain function." 

Numerous pieces of the diagram were labeled in different colours. There were two highlighted sections, one was on the left, the other on the right. At that moment, Shinso felt a rush of confusion. Although the knowledge he had accumulated from biology class was brief and something he never really thought of, he could vividly remember a poster in the room. It showcased that the brain had three sections, not two. 

"Doesn't the brain have three parts?" He asked, arching an eyebrow as he crossed his arms. 

"Only two." Isaiah replied. 

A few guesses suddenly sparked inside of Shinso's head: this world was almost entirely different from his. The moon is a maloviolent crimson color, people have mystical abilities, and he's heard of Gods. So what if the brain only had two parts instead of three? 

"I guess so." 

Suddenly, Shinso clenched his stomach as a surge of pain coursed through his lower abdomen. He fell to his knees, a tiny trickle of blood leaving his nose as his teeth gritted. His vision turned slightly hazy as a bitterly cold rush of wind engulfed his entire body. 

Isaiah rushed over, his hands bolting to Shinso's shoulder as he looked into his eyes with palpable concern. His brows knitted downwards into a determined scowl as he slightly shook Shinso. In his vision, Shinso gazed upon a radiant, fiery light that descended from what seemed like nowhere. 

The man with one working eye didn't turn his head, nor did he pay attention to this ball of light. Shinso watched as the sphere of illusory light quickly manifested into what appeared to be a small watch. The watch was bronze and had a shiny sheen over its entire surface. 

Suddenly, all of his symptoms faded as abruptly as they started, and the boy felt an abnormal weight in his left pocket. Shinso's hand dove into his pocket, removing the object. Isaiah, who had initially been concerned, stepped back and gazed at the object in his palm. 

"By the deities..." He whispered under his breath. 

Shinso remained silent, his gaze fixed on the pocket watch which had manifested from the illusory light. At that moment, Shinso let out a small grunt as his left palm erupted into bronze-colored flames. The flames were large in volume, but they didn't cause any pain at that moment. 

The flames seeped up his left arm before fading away quickly. Shinso watched, his heart racing as numerous illusory symbols emerged on his left arm like brands. They seemed to resemble coils or snakes in a way, all moving downwards towards the center of his palm. 

"It appears your potion digestion has officially begun." Isaiah chuckled. 

Shinso didn't move, he didn't speak, nor did he know what to do. 

...

Raymond's smile widened slightly as he stepped forward, his gaze continually fixated on my form. Just then, he spoke again.

"I like that temperament of yours, it's much like someone I knew." 

The sound of footsteps sounded out in the hall, and the both of us watched as the blonde female servant entered the room, along with Bertram, who was clad in a bathrobe and pajamas. The boy's usual monotone gaze shifted to me, and he spoke up. 

"I'm all clean, how should I proceed?" 

Bertram looked towards the clock which hung above the fireplace, taking note of the time. "It's eight fourteen, meaning I have sixteen minutes before my issued confinement to my room." 

"...confinement?" I was taken aback by the boy's unusual wordplay. 

"His vocabulary is one I fancy." Raymond smirked.

The blond servant smiled as she departed, leaving the three of us alone. 

"May I ask about Wilfred?" Raymond continued to smile, crossing his arms. 

Bertram gestured down the hall. "He's in his room." 

At that moment I stood up and walked down the hallway towards the area where Wilfred's room was located. I pressed my ear against the door and listened inside. Behind the door, I heard nothing but the wind blowing in through an open window, along with the rustling of fabric as the boy seemed to be changing. 

I heard the grinding of gears and clockwork as metallic sounds emanated under the door. Then, I heard music playing softly from what seemed to be a music box. 

Feeling a surge of curiosity, I lowered my head and peered in through the keyhole, my gaze fixated on Wilfred. The boy was frail and shorter than average, and he was clad in a pair of navy blue pajamas. He sat down in an old and rusty looking chair facing a table. On the table, I could see an opened music box, a metallic figure of a skeleton spinning clockwise as the music continued tranquilly. 

The boy with bags closed his eyes, humming softly alongside the sounds of the music. The wind continued to blow out the open window, causing his pajamas to ruffle slightly and the music box to tip over. I flinched at the sound of it colliding with the floor; the audible sound of breaking could be heard from behind the door.

Wilfred's eyes widened as he darted down, picking up the shattered pieces in his hand. I watched as the boy attempted to stick the skeleton figurine back in its original spot, but his failure to do so prompted tears to accumulate in the corners of his eyes. 

"No, no, no..." His shaky voice caused my heart to ache. I felt the urge to break down the door and help him, but when I gripped the doorknob and gave it a quiet shake, the lack of mobility in its clockwork told me it had been locked from the inside, not the outside. 

The boy's gaze darted towards the door, his eyes widening slightly as he bolted over to it, opening it swiftly and running down the hallway. In his left hand, I observed him clutching the skeleton music box. As he ran, a trail of gears and mechanical components followed him.