Blackness. Void. As if your eyes were closed, but they're open.
Something changes.
Before you stands Punchinoni. Is he the devil, or just a devil? Who knows? But he can see inside your mind. He knows what you're thinking. And he's inside you now.
Maybe he always was.
That hissing voice arrives in your ear without Punch moving his red-orange lips.
"Such a farce, a comedy, a laugh!
You're only human, and now you know it.
Where once you thought you were a hero,
Now you know the truth.
You're just a person like any other.
Not the protagonist at all."
Is that true? Are you only a minor character in your own story? Are you less than perfect, less than noble, less than important? Are there things in life more important than you are?
"The Arhat tried to deny it. She wanted importance.
She thought that getting halfway to the truth was enough.
But here you are, halfway to the truth,
And you still consider yourself important."
That hurts. Aren't you important? It feels awful to imagine that you aren't. What a sucky idea! It's your life. You're trying to live it. You're trying to not-die, to not-give-up, to stop Punch's lies from pulling you under like a riptide.
Punch continues talking, wearing a wide, brimming smile around teeth that look like a handful of razors.
"El Daishou was a coward. He dressed like a soldier.
But he never offered to give his life for his country.
At the end, when he was going to die, he chose to kill.
But he never chose to die."
El Daishou might have really been a coward, actually. It seems a believeable idea. El Daishou was a remarkable man, but he wasn't brave. He tended to duck out of the way of trouble when he could. But he was your friend. He meant well. He faced off against Punch more than once. He tried. Trying must count for something, right?
"And the two lovebirds.
They don't care about you. They have each other.
Happy to lend a hand when they were all alone,
All they wanted was one person to love. Two was too many."
Maybe all anybody wants is one other person. Maybe that's enough. Maybe if you find someone you could love forever, that's all you'd ever need. But you'd still like to think of yourself as a good friend, too.
"Now there are three people left for me to destroy.
A boy who only wants to play a part.
A girl who hides away instead of lending a hand.
And you."
Punch's wicked smile grows. But at least Quinn is still alive, assuming Punch isn't lying.
"I will eat their hearts."
Dive at him! Jump at him! Get that awful Punch. Stop him. Stop him.
Somehow.
Anyhow.
Say something. Anything! Say:
"No! I won't let you. I'll—I'll make you a deal.
Take me. Take me instead. Eat my heart.
But promise to leave my friends alone.
Let them live. Take me instead."
Punch steps forward and reaches into your chest. Suddenly you are vividly aware of your body, your organs, your health.
"Why? When no one else chose to die,
When no one else let me inside them,
When everyone else chickened out,
Why would you sacrifice yourself like a pelican?"
Why? Why not wait for the Understudy to do it for you, so you can go on living? Or wait for the director to call the shots?
"Because,"
you say,
"Because it always works that way in movies.
And because I can't fight you.
And because I'm completely helpless."
It's time to say a big important monologue that gets a lot of stuff off your chest:
"I can't stop a demon. I don't know how.
Fighting isn't really my style. Neither is diplomacy.
I don't think I can lie to you, since you can read my mind.
I can't trick you. I tried that already.
All I really have is myself and my friends.
Some of them are gone, and some are still here.
I care about all of them. Maybe more than I care about myself.
You're right. Maybe I'm not important.
But I know that they could be.
The Understudy could be a great actor.
Quinn could be a great director.
But me?
I've already had a lead role. I've already been important.
I've tried pride, self-centeredness, fame.
They really aren't that good.
But my friends haven't had a chance to believe in themselves.
Maybe I can give them that chance."
Punch, still smiling, draws a huge red scimitar from a scabbard.