Chapter 8: The Unnoticeable Changes
1132 Words
Nia'le was lying on the couch reading a thick book when Tassa stood beside him, cleaning and dusting the room.
“You might at least keep it down,” Nia'le said.
But Tassa ignored him and continued dusting the cabinet and table like usual.
Nia'le didn’t argue anymore. He simply stood up, took his book in his left hand, and went upstairs.
“Nia'le,” Tassa called.
He didn’t stop or answer, but he still listened.
“Clean your room, understood,” Tassa said, hands on her hips. “And when I come up there and it’s still untidy, I’ll make you wipe it with your tongue, understood?”
Nia'le rolled his eyes.
“You can’t even see it,” he murmured over his shoulder.
Tassa laughed in a dramatic way, like a proud British noblewoman.
“Hohohoho,” she said, raising a finger in the air.
Then her tone changed.
“I don’t need to see it if I can smell it. Now clean your room—and clean yourself too. I hate anything untidy, unclean, dirty, or disgusting. Go on.”
Nia'le rolled his eyes again.
“I don’t like your gray dress,” he said. “It doesn’t look good on you.”
Tassa suddenly blushed and touched her cheeks, batting her eyes.
“Oh, you don’t need to like it. The love of my life gave it to me. I’ll wear anything he gives me because I love him.”
“Does he even like you?” Nia'le asked.
“What do you mean by that!” she exclaimed.
Nia'le didn’t continue arguing. He just went upstairs to his room.
Tassa turned her back and folded her arms.
“Who asked you!”
---
Meanwhile, in America, at Ixartxist’s mansion—
Suman suddenly appeared inside his room and said:
“(1) Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen…”
He continued reciting Revelation 18:2–3.
Ixartxist looked at him quietly and asked what it meant.
Suman sat on the couch, leaned back with his arms spread out, and crossed his legs. He smirked.
“It’s for the future,” he said. “People like to deny it and pretend it’s just a joke, even though they know they’re committing sin.”
He lowered his voice.
“Blasphemy.”
Ixartxist’s expression darkened.
“I don’t like them,” he said. “They are self-centered. They live only for money, dreams, and the people they love. But what about our Father, and the Redeemer? Some people deny Him… even mock Him.”
His voice hardened.
“I hate them all.”
“Oh yes, but you know he didn’t,”
Suman looked at him as he continued.
“He didn’t hate them. He can forgive them, because He is a tender-hearted God—the King of all kings and the Lord of lords, the Beginning and the End. Our Father is the most compassionate you could ever see. He will forgive them, because that’s who He is.”
“They don’t believe in Christ, and they even mocked Him. One word from them and they will persecute you. They will ban His word and all knowledge about Him. And some people will just sit there and do nothing.”
“Some will do nothing,” Suman continued, “but some will act. They will stand against it. They will fight for the Redeemer and for our Father, because they love Him. They will be killed—but those are the true ones.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“You see, you don’t get pure gold without testing it. You burn it, refine it, shape it. And when it’s done, you get something pure and beautiful. It doesn’t matter if they are few—as long as they are true.”
Ixartxist sighed and smiled faintly.
“How fascinating that we demons have so much knowledge about this.”
Suman smiled back.
“Of course. We were once angels, my friend. But I’m not here just because of that.”
Suman looked at Ixartxist more carefully. He noticed something strange his hair looked darker.
“Did you dye your hair?” Suman asked.
Ixartxist touched his long dark yellow hair.
“I don’t see any changes. What do you mean, darker?”
Suman clasped his hands.
“It’s not bright yellow anymore. It’s slowly getting darker.”
But Ixartxist couldn’t see it. To him, nothing had changed neither his hair nor his skin. He couldn’t tell what was changing at all.
Suman understood what that meant.
Ixartxist was slowly turning into a real demon without even noticing it.
For a moment, Suman thought of Tassa. He thought that if she were here, she might have stopped this change. But she wasn’t. And she wouldn’t be for a long time.
Suman lowered his gaze, holding his own hand tightly, his thumb touching the ring on his finger. Then he looked at Ixartxist seriously.
“Never go to Aretha again,” he said.
Ixartxist raised an eyebrow.
“Why not?” he asked.
Suman didn’t answer right away. He bit his lower lip and stayed silent.
Ixartxist gave a small, tired laugh.
“I can’t stop myself—and you can’t stop me from visiting her grave. Even if you were her boyfriend, her husband, or whatever… I can’t abandon Aretha, Suman. She’s special to me.”
“But you abandoned Quart,” Suman said quietly. “If she finds out you care more about Aretha than her, she will be angry.”
“That’s just you thinking, Suman. Quart wouldn’t be mad. She’s not like you.”
Suman exhaled slowly.
“Then I’ll ask you one favor,” he said, standing up. “Please… stop visiting Aretha, Ixartxist.”
Suman already knew where Tassa was. But Ixartxist didn’t.
And Suman chose not to tell him. Not yet.
Because Ixartxist was changing. And if he went there, he might do something he couldn’t control.
He feared what Ixartxist could become if he lost himself completely.
Ixartxist didn’t answer.
Instead, he lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
“I’m slowly changing… aren’t I?” Ixartxist asked.
Suman followed and sat beside him.
“What… what do you mean?”
“I made a thousand shadow demons, Suman. I can’t even see myself properly anymore. It feels like I’m going blind. I just wanted to see her one last time before it happens. Why does it have to be like this?”
Suman looked at him, and for the first time, he felt a deep sadness for him.
He wanted to comfort him—but he knew only Tassa could truly calm that pain.
Suman pressed his lips together.
“Ixartxist…” he said softly, in a broken, sorrowful voice.
- Writer
