Chapter 41: Endless Greed

I wake up in the middle of a dark, empty room. Standing in the middle is only a single wooden pillar whose bark is already battered from the multitude of kicking and punching. With only the soothing moonlight as my guide, it’s a bit difficult to see, but I can still tell the exact spots where these blackened bloodstains on the pillar are. Am I getting nostalgic at the same place where I was beaten to a pulp day after day? … I guess so.

Why am I here, however?

“Last I remembered, I was still being a punching bag to the old man… Oh, right. My arm.”

I take a glance towards my supposed broken left arm. To my surprise, it looks completely fine, without so much as a scratch on it. I try moving my elbow and shoulder around, too. There’s no sense of pain at all; everything seems to be working just fine.

“I guess this must either be a dream… or the afterlife,” letting out a sigh to myself, I exclaim. “Shame.”

I continue to venture out of the cramped space. It would be a lie if I said that I was eager to explore what this unknown place was all about, but it would also be untrue if I said I wasn’t a bit curious. After all, I’ve left this orphanage for well over ten years.

As the door creaks open, I can see the flickering light of a dim candle coming from the room far away to my right, by the end of the hallway – the dining room, where the dozens of us orphans share our rare moment of peace and quiet of the day. However, judging by the dark scenery, right now should be well past midnight. Who would go to the dining room at that hour?

I hesitate as my hand touches the doorknob. Why do I have the feeling that I don’t want to see this? What is this uneasiness rising in my stomach and throat?

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I push the door open.

I see why I was so worried. I can’t believe I’ve forgotten about it; this is that incident.

In front of me is a small kid, only around eight or ten years of age. Almost everywhere around him, there’s some kind of bandage: one on his nose, two others around his arms, and I know for a fact that his right leg is also suffering from the same fate. Barely able to hold the candle in his hand, the kid turns his head around to check for anything suspicious, without realizing that he’s the only suspicious person around here.

“Hey, Peter!” A small, but astonished, voice sounds behind me, causing both me and the kid to lightly jump in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Jeez, George!” The kid turns around as if seeing right through me to face the older dark-skinned kid standing at the door. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“Then don’t sneak around in the middle of the night like this!” The other kid scratches his head, still full of curly chocolate-colored hair, in worry and frustration. “What if Father caught us?”

“Oh, fuck off,” scoffs the bandaged kid, “you’re still hungry yourself, right? What’s a little late-night snack gonna do?”

“It’s precisely because of stuff like this that you keep getting beaten! Look at yourself already!”

“And what? Let all of you starve? I’m not doing that!”

“Who needs you to care about us?”

“I do, you little shit!” The bandaged kid throws a punch at the dark-skinned. Even with the injured hand, he’s simply much stronger than his opponent. After all, he is the best among them when it comes to fighting, while the kid named George was the worst among the worsts.

After being hit on the face, little George has already started to sniffle. The kid has always been a crybaby, after all, that’s why he’s easy pickings for the others. Without another word, he left the dining room with tears and snot flowing out like a river. And now, the only one left in the room is none other than the younger me.

“I” open the cover on the table. On the table is a warm roasted turkey – our would-be prize for the night had we been able to pass all of our physical exercises for the day, but it seems like back then, I didn’t notice yet another object lying in wait.

A strange syringe, which contains an equally suspicious liquid. Staring at the delicious golden bird, “I” let out an audible gulp. Meanwhile, I take the chance to observe the syringe. I try to pick it up but to no avail. Well, I figure as much. When the kids started fighting just like what happened before, without even noticing my presence in the room, I’d already known that I don’t really exist in this space. It’s a shame, but I have to make out of it while it’s still on the table.

However, it seems like I was wrong yet again.

I remember what happened next. Back then, I hurriedly took the turkey without regard to any of my surroundings, and on my way back to our bedroom, I ran into the old man. He gave me another beating before I finally had enough and ran away by breaking through the window. And yet… right now, in front of me, that younger version of me is picking up the syringe and watching earnestly, as if his true target was the small vial all along.

“You know, this is a lethal poison,” the young boy suddenly makes a remark, his eyes fixated on me as if he could see me perfectly fine. “One shot, and it’s enough to even kill an archangel.”

Seeing that I’m staying silent, the boy continues. “Now, what would you pick in this situation?”

“You… can really see me?” My instinctive question has nothing to do with the boy’s problem. However, he doesn’t seem to have any problem with it:

“We all know your choice back then. You ran away with the roasted turkey and were forced to leave the orphanage without saving anyone. Now, I’m giving you a chance for a do-over. What will you pick?”

“Who… are you?”

“Answer the question, Peter Peng.”

“I…” It might have happened a long time ago, but this is the first time that I’ve actually put any thought into what was nothing but a spur-of-the-moment act. In retrospect, what would I pick?

Why did I choose to steal that turkey in the first place? The answer was simple: because the children in the orphanage were all hungry that day. Was it the correct option? Now, I can say that the answer is no. Even though I escaped the clutches of this horrid prison, I was still on my own in the streets, scrapping for survival before resorting to theft. Meanwhile, the children would surely suffer because of my actions, and I could only imagine the pain they had to endure thanks to me.

But then… supposed that I took the poison, would anything actually change? I would still bump into the old man, but considering our difference in skills, would I even have the chance to deliver the final blow? And if I couldn’t kill him off right then and there, the children would still sleep with an empty stomach, and while they wouldn’t suffer a worse fate, their lives were already hellish enough. What is the correct choice here?

“Your answer,” the younger me once again presses on the matter, bringing the syringe and the plate closer to me at once.

Damn it, I can’t decide. Which is the right one? Which would bring me the best results?

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“Hmph,” seeing me in this state causes the younger me to lightly scoff, “so it turns out the fabled Fairy Thief, Peter Peng is only this much… What a failure.”

I can feel my blood boiling after the remark leaves his mouth. Failure. It’s always that word. Whatever I do, no matter how hard I try, every time it’s that word.

I scored the highest on the written test out of all children in the orphanage? “You should have gotten a perfect score, failure.”

I was the strongest among my peers? “You should have landed a blow on me, failure.”

All of that abuse, for what? I was doing my best for fuck’s sake!

Even in the orphanage as well. I got them food every day, and what did they tell me? “Why didn’t you get enough for everyone? You’re such a failure.”

Bitch, I went out my way so you don’t starve! And that’s how you repay me?

But the worst, the absolute worst, offender of all…

“Fuck off!” I shout out at the top of my lungs towards the boy standing in front of me. “You’re just a past version of me, who gives you the right to say that?”

“Ah, but my dear Peter, isn’t that precisely the reason why I can say things like that? After all, I am you, and you are me. And we all know… no one hates you more than you do.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can’t make a retort. I know that I’m right. Everything was just the consequence of my actions. I stole the turkey, so I was kicked out. I resorted to theft, so my family was punished. I felt bad for them, so I started robbing the rich and giving to the poor. But that only resulted in more punishment. I was fed up with the injustice, so I went to attack the old man once and for all. And that led to me being nearly dead. I ran away to Japan, only to drag more innocent people into my own business. And now I’m at death’s door yet again…

“What’s the matter, failure? Can’t even speak now?”

Again. Again, I hear that accursed word. I know that. I know that already. So why can’t you just shut up about it? Even if you’re me, and even if you’re the one that I hate the most… why can’t you just, for once in your entire pathetic life, shut up about it? You and your big mouth, Peter Peng! I’ve had enough of you!

“Fine!” In the midst of my rage, I blurt out. “You want me to answer so bad, you little shit? I’ll answer your stupid question! I’m taking both! There, happy? Now fuck off!”

“…” A long silence answers me. On the younger me’s face is a greatly annoying smile that he’s desperately trying to hide, but alas, he’s unable to hold it in:

“Ahahaha! It works! It finally works! Finally, I have a partner that can fully unleash my power!”

Before I could even ask anything, the younger me has already snapped his finger, and in an instant, the scenery changes completely. Gone is the old orphanage with the dimly-lit dining room, surrounding the two of us right now is a giant golden room in its purest, most literal sense. There is no distinction between day and night, for the four walls and ceiling are all made of solid gold, and the lights emanating from them are much too blinding for even the sun to overcome. On the ground is jewelry that I could only imagine in my wildest dreams – gemstones each as big as my fist, and each shining in a radiant color of the rainbow, not missing even a single one.

The younger me, meanwhile, is no more, and in front of me now stands, or rather, roosts, a giant eagle. The mighty creature spreads out its wings, revealing a gem embedded in each and every one of its plumes, and, to my surprise, speaks in a joyous voice:

“It’s been such a long time since I was able to converse with my vessel! How long was it… ever since little Galahad! Yeah, that’s right!”

“You don’t look like him too much, but the kind of vibe you’re giving… you his son or something, new vessel?” The creature continues with a question, the contents of which greatly irritate me.

“No, I’m not.” I grit my teeth as I answer. However, the bird doesn’t seem to notice anything, as it continues on as normal:

“No? Okay, then. I’ll keep the introductions short, since I see that you’re nearly dead already. And you’re fighting against… Galahad…”

“Okay. Kid, you’re fucked.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Anyway,” clearing his throat for no apparent reason, the eagle continues. “I’m Zagan, the Demon that governs greed, and the source of your power until now. And the reason I’ve only managed to connect to you until now, is…”

“I thought you’re gonna keep it short?” With a smirk, I ask.

“We’re getting to the important part,” unfazed by my attempt at mockery, the oversized chicken, now the Demon Zagan, answers. “Tell me, why did you want to pick both back then?”

“Why?” I reply with a question of my own. I didn’t even think that deep, actually. I just wanted to piss off that other me, which I assume was Zagan all along, so I picked something he wouldn’t expect me to pick.

“If you wanted to piss me off,” the Demon, seemingly able to read my mind, continues. “You could have picked nothing. But why did you pick both?”

“Well… I don’t know.” Out of options, I shrug at the idea.

“It’s your nature, boy,” answers Zagan. “You subconsciously want things you can’t obtain. You yearn for things you can’t have. In other words, you greed for everything. And it is this greed that resonates you and me.”

“However,” before I could react, the Demon continues, “you, like all of my other vessels, have this weird stipulation about greed that I can’t seem to get across. You always equate greed to valuables, particularly gold. That’s why all of my wielders since Galahad have been stuck with this dumb power of turning everything they touch into gold. I’ve been trying to get them to understand but they couldn’t even converse with me, let alone learn the true extent of their potential.”

“Then what do I do now?”

“Buckle up, kid,” as if waiting for that question, Zagan lets out a conniving smile, “we’re in for a ride.”

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