I Possessed The Worst Character In The Hellish Game
Chapter 26: Portrait of Madness [1]

Chapter 26: Portrait of Madness [1]

The moment the Archbishop vanished from the inn’s common room,

The heavy pressure that had been pressing down on both Mikael and Jeanne seemed to vanish.

Jeanne let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

Standing before someone as powerful as Archbishop Sophia had drained her mentally more than she wanted to admit.

Every second in Sophia’s presence had felt like she was one wrong move away from disaster.

Even when that woman wasn’t actively pushing her aura down on them, just standing in her presence had been enough to make every nerve in Jeanne’s body pull tight.

Jeanne turned toward Mikael, who stood motionless as he stared blankly at the spot where the Archbishop had disappeared.

She was really surprised by how calmly he had handled the whole ordeal.

Even when Archbishop Sophia had aimed those sharp questions at him.

He had answered them with the same calm voice of his.

It was almost unnatural.

Jeanne doubted she could have managed to answer with the same calmness if she were in his position.

For a brief moment.... she found herself looking at him and wondering if this was really the same brother she had always known.

’He had truly grown.’

The memory of their earlier conversation from just a few moments ago surfaced in her mind.

A soft smile formed on her face as warmth spread through her chest.

It had been so long since Mikael had truly opened up to her... he had actually called her ’Big Sis’ again with that same softness.

She’d lost count of the times she had apologized for the past she couldn’t change.

For all the sharp words she had thrown at him in the years when misunderstanding had curdled into blame.

Those old words she had said to him still left a small ache inside her..... words she wished she could take back.

The rift between them was still healing, but moments like this made her believe it could fully close one day.

She opened her mouth to say something to ease the earlier tension between them.

"You know, I was thinking—"

She stopped midsentence when she saw that Mikael was still blankly staring ahead with unfocused eyes, as if he hadn’t even heard her voice.

"Mikael?"

He blinked and was suddenly pulled back from wherever his thoughts had taken him.

"Sorry, I..." His voice came out a little rougher than usual. "I.... need to get to the washroom."

"Oh, sure. I’ll wait here, take your time."

Jeanne watched him cross the room towards the attached washroom with steady steps.

****

*Click!*

Mikael turned the washroom doorknob until it clicked softly.

He stood motionless there for a moment, his hand resting on the cool metal of a doorknob.

Suddenly, the carefully expressionless mask he had worn the entire time broke apart as his stomach lurched and a wave of nausea surged up his throat.

He slapped a hand over his mouth and stumbled toward the sink as his legs nearly tangled with each other.

His free hand caught the wooden rim of the basin.

His body convulsed as he doubled over, his shoulder jerking.

*Bleerghh—*

The remnants of his earlier meal splattered into the basin.

The simple bread, the vegetable stew, even the faintly herbal traces of Sophia’s medicinal tea--everything came up in a thin, acidic flood.

He gagged, coughed, and vomited again as his stomach clenched.

Drool and bile clung to his chin.

His hands clutched the wooden basin until his knuckles turned white as he fought to keep himself upright.

The heaving finally subsided into ragged gasps.

He lifted his head and met his own reflection in the small, tarnished mirror.

The hollowed-out but strikingly handsome face stared back at him.

His short black hair clung to his damp forehead in sweaty strands.

His skin had gone extremely pale, and a muscle beneath his sharp jaw twitched uncontrollably.

He kept staring at his creepy, ghostly, grey irises that seemed to belong to someone who was already dead.

"....Disgusting."

He was disgusting.

Every word he had spoken to Jeanne, every carefully placed pause, every tremor he had allowed into his voice--

It was all a performance.

A calculative, cold-blooded manipulation dressed up in the warm disguise of a brother’s affection.

The moment he’d seen her wavering, the moment he’d felt the weight of her unasked questions pressing against him, and had seen that his identity might get exposed, that he was not the real Mikael.

He had reached into the fragmented memories he inherited from Mikael and pulled one tool that might work against her.

Her love for her brother.

Calling her big sis again.

He had watched the suspicion in her eyes soften into something fragile and hopeful.

He had known... with that horrible, instinctive understanding of human frailty.... that calling her that would dissolve her guard.

He understood the psychology of it perfectly.

Jeanne had been carrying guilt for years, a guilt she didn’t fully know how to voice, a wound she desperately wanted him to heal by simply forgiving her.

So he gave her what she wanted to hear.

He played the part of the forgiving, open-hearted little brother.

He let her believe the distance between them had finally closed so that she might not doubt him in the future that he was not her real brother.

He had hidden those doubts by giving her momentary happiness.

And he had done it so smoothly without a moment of hesitation and flinching that revolted to him no end.

It was disgusting how naturally he had done it.

Worse than the lie itself was the feeling that had crept over him when he realized it had worked.

In that brief moment when Jeanne turned away to compose herself, when her attention shifted just enough that no one was watching his face, he had felt something surge through his chest.

It wasn’t relief, nor was it satisfaction.

It was a triumph.

A bright, electric thrill that raced along his nerves and tugged the corners of his mouth upward.

It was disgusting.

Utterly disgusting.

The lock he had placed on his mind... the careful mental barrier he’d constructed to keep the worst memories buried, shattered along with his composure.

And the memory of him killing the carriage driver Thomas came back.

Mikael saw it again as if he were still there:

The grey essence bullet was forming at his fingertip.

He saw himself raise his hand.

Saw the driver’s one remaining human eye widen and saw the desperate terror in his single eye before the bullet punched through it.

A sound like stepping on overripe fruit.

The driver’s body slumped to the side and didn’t move again.

It was....

His eyes caught the reflection in the tarnished mirror above the sink, and the thought died in his throat.

His mouth was stretched wide upwards.

A grin that had nothing to do with warmth or humor... a grin that belonged on a face with far less sanity than his own.

It was a manic, ecstatic curve of the lips that twisted his features into something almost unrecognizable.

The pale skin, the ghostly grey eyes that now seemed to gleam with a light....

All of it framed that horrible smile like a....

Portrait of madness.

And beneath the horror, beneath the revulsion that was already starting to churn in his gut, he felt it again.

That feeling.

The satisfaction of winning.

It was sweet but utterly sickening.

Just the thought of it.....

The awareness that he had enjoyed killing someone innocent, that somewhere in the part of his soul was still savoring the memory, made his stomach lurch violently.

’Disgusting.’

His stomach lurched violently again.

He doubled over the basin, his body heaving—but nothing came out this time.

Just dry gags that scraped his throat and left him trembling against the wooden basin.

He saw his reflection in the mirror and realized he was still smiling ear to ear.

He clutched at his face, fingers digging into his cheeks as if he could physically tear the expression away.

What was happening to him?

This wasn’t him.

No, this couldn’t be him.

He was not a killer.

He was not the kind of person who smiled over a corpse.

He was... he was...

His thoughts tangled and broke apart.

Then, slowly, a cold pair of arms wrapped around him from behind.

******