Deviant: No Longer Human

Chapter 8: Shadows or Illusions? (2)

Thanks to his extraordinary ability, Wang Xiao found that he didn't rely on external validation.

He could offer himself praise when he accomplished something noteworthy, a self-applause that resonated deeper than any accolade from others.

The concept of needing care from someone else became foreign to him.

Why seek assistance when these mental reflections consistently outperformed any human caregiver?

Motivation, too, took on a novel dimension.

He no longer needed sugar-coated words; his mental projections provided motivation in the form of ruthless and unfiltered critique.

These internal conversations were a wellspring of brutal honesty, pushing him beyond perceived limits.

Friendship and conversation, once staples of human interaction, lost their relevance.

The multiple personas within him sufficed for company, for guidance, for camaraderie.

In many ways, he had evolved into an independent entity, shedding the societal aspects of being 'social' human.

Aware of his uniqueness, he understood that conventional psychologists might label his condition a disorder.

But he questioned their authority to define normalcy when it was based on their limited perspectives.

To him, his mental landscape was superior, more refined.

The idea of a universal standard for all humanity struck him as flawed.

How could one yardstick measure the infinite diversity of human experience?

As these thoughts swirled in his mind, he wrestled with the fine line between genius and madness.

Suppressing an impulse to laugh aloud, he reassured himself that he wasn't mad; he was merely operating on a higher plane of cognition, a realm of existence where the ordinary rules no longer applied!

His lips curled upward, an involuntary response to the absurdity of it all, until the laughter burst forth from his mouth, unrestrained.

"Hahahaha!"

"Hahahahahahahahahaa...."

The sound of a child's eerie laughter reverberated within the solitary room, amplifying the uncanny atmosphere of the night.

He laughed with abandon, eyes locked onto the reflection that bore the endless parade of his mental projections.

His laughter grew louder, more manic, his grin stretching impossibly wide as he surrendered to the absurdity of the situation.

But as abruptly as the laughter had started, it ceased.

His expression underwent a chilling transformation in an instant, a swift shift from unrestrained hilarity to an ice-cold demeanor. "Enough," he commanded, voice slicing through the lingering echoes.

The shadows, the myriad reflections of himself, began to dissipate from the mirror, vanishing one by one until only his own image remained.

In the aftermath, a faint smile danced upon his lips, his features the epitome of satisfaction.

He was proud, not only of his unconventional skill but also of the mastery he had achieved over it.

In a world where the boundaries of normalcy often constrained people, he had dared to traverse uncharted territories of the mind and emerge victorious.

The shadows that adorned the mirror had evolved beyond mere reflections; they had become individual entities, a unique family of his own design.

Unlike the fleeting loyalties of the external world, these entities were unwaveringly aligned with his desires.

A shared sense of self-interest united them, recognizing that every human being is inherently selfish.

Their presence wasn't a betrayal veiled by smiles and false camaraderie. Instead, they stood as a testament to loyalty, aligned with his goals and values.

While their voices might be laced with mockery or scolding, it was all in service of propelling him toward his aspirations.

In contrast to the fickle nature of external interactions, these entities remained steadfast and loyal, committed solely to him and his ambitions.

Their words might cut like a blade, but they were unadulterated truth, devoid of ulterior motives.

Their honesty didn't always manifest as harshness; they also offered praise, albeit measured and proportional to the significance of his achievements.

While others might deem his feats and knowledge at his age a mark of genius, Wang Xiao didn't share that sentiment.

He recognized the vast room for improvement that lay ahead, fueled by his insatiable hunger for progress.

These shadowy companions were guardians against the pitfalls of excessive praise and unwarranted excitement.

They ensured he wasn't swallowed by the shallow adoration of those around him, sparing him from becoming entrapped by the lure of insignificant accomplishments.

For many, a loyal company that cared only about one's well-being, goals, and path would be a cherished dream.

In these shadows, Wang Xiao had found a sanctuary of loyalty, a haven where he was the sole focus, where he could thrive without the distortions of external influences.

In the present moment, his shadowy companions gently nudged Wang Xiao's focus toward his current priority.

With newfound energy coursing through him, he moved purposefully to his study table, taking a seat without even sparing a glance at the time.

The book before him held the key to his immediate objective: understanding the chapter names.

Time, though significant, was no longer a constraining force.

What mattered more was making the most of the hours at hand. Even if he couldn't cover every inch, he would give his absolute best.

Guided by the unseen presence of those who resonated with his every aspiration, Wang Xiao felt a weight of responsibility that transcended the tangible.

These were no mere shadows; they were extensions of his very self, bolstering his determination.

Forcing himself to rise above self-doubt, he couldn't bear the thought of disappointing these entities that he trusted beyond measure.

Their presence was a mirror reflecting his essence back at him, an unwavering reminder of his potential.

Yet, he recognized the sacrifices he had made for this extraordinary ability.

The relentless strain on his mind, the price he paid, was evident.

He no longer have 'Dreams'.

Sleep, that escape into dreams, had become a rarity for him.

And when he did experience a dream, it was with a lucidity that bordered on surreal. Even their timing was calculated — an interjection into his oversleeping to remind him of his purpose.

Over the years, the number of dreams he could recall had dwindled to a mere handful.

The human mind, he understood, held vast potential, capable of conjuring up any reality.

So, he wondered, why didn't more people harness their imagination, as he had done?