Undercover Blue Riot (Transmigration)

Sign 9 The Greater Good

Tristian pulled himself back and looked at Cyril's face, "Have I done anything to upset you?"
Cyril still had his arms half wrapped around his waist, his fingers intertwined behind Tristian's back, he looked into his eyes, "You like me,"

Tristian smiled, "I do,"

"It's...Making me feel" He slowly pulled his fingers away from his waist, "So dirty,"
Tristian continued looking into his eyes. Cyril pushed his head down and looked at his toes pressed over Tristian feet, the sand sprinkled on their legs, "I see," He heard Tristian's voice, but he wouldn't dare to look at his face. He gently moved his feet away from his, "Is that what you felt when I told you I like you?" He asked, his voice unusually calm.

No. I didn't.
"Yes, I did," Cyril looked into his eyes, "You revolt me, Tristian Miller,"

He grabbed his surfboard and walked into the sand, back to their changing room. Tristian stood leaning against the rock, and Arthur was returning from the waves, with his surfboard in his arms, "THAT'S A ONE-ZERO FOR NEW ZEALAND!" The commentator yelled.
"One more heat's win and New Zealand would become the fourth time consecutive winner of the Winter Cup!"
"THE AUZZIE'S GOTTA BUCKLE UP!"

Arthur threw his board on the sand and looked at Tristian, who was standing before him by then, "You have to win this, or we lose this championship," Arthur came closer to Tristian, "Please, you know I have to win it. If I disappoint my dad again, he won't let me surf anymore,"
"I know," Tristian looked at the horizon, "Where's Cyril? Did you find him?" Arthur asked.
Tristian ignored him and grabbed his board, "COME ON SYDNEY! MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE SECOND HEAT! TRISTIAN MILLER FROM AUSTRALIA AND JULES VERACETE FROM NEW ZEALAND!"

Jules left into the ocean with Tristian. He looked in Tristian's direction, "Be gentle on me, captain," He smirked and Tristian looked ahead at the wave, it was a huge wave. 

Tom Wayward looked in their direction and looked for Cyril, "Where's their femboy?"
"Maybe wetting his pants somewhere," One of his friends laughed and began talking to the other boys. Tom chuckled, "He better not dip on me, I'm gonna destroy him on those waves,"

Cyril sat on the floor, his feet crossed and his face between his palms, bent over to his lap. He was breathly loudly, 'Why did I say that?' He wondered, 'Tristian Miller.

You have stayed. 

"Holy shit!" Jules looked at the wave while sitting on the board while Tristian delved into it. The wave embraced him and in it, he went. Jules followed him into the wave, the current was strong and his board was unstable. The hosts looked at the sky, slowly turning dark, "There was nothing in the weather forecast today! Man, this sucks!" Arthur looked at Tristian in the wave, "...Tristian..."

You scare me. How are you not terrified to be dirty? I look at my reflection, why are you clean? Why am I so cursed to forever gaze at myself, and find no redemptive beauty, no truth of existence? How can I see myself, getting down on my knees with you as you unravel my fears and dress me up in your skin, plaster my body with your lips, and make my goosebumps go cold? How can I see your warmth terminating through the tips of my fingers? And when your crude breath matches my shaking legs, how can I not feel...

Like I am losing my manhood in your bed?

The door slammed open, "THERE YOU ARE!" 
Cyril got up and looked at Arthur, "TRISTIAN IS IN DANGER!"
"What?" Cyril ran outside the changing room with Arthur and he looked at the dark grey sky, the tide was high and the authorities had asked everyone to vacate the beach. The lifeguards had managed to rescue Jules from the waves, and everyone has been moved to their respective buses, where they would be taken to their hotel rooms. Tristian was missing. 

"How did this happen?" Cyril asked.
"I don't know. Everything suddenly turned darker than an eclipse, and a high tide set in," Arthur began explaining to Cyril that Tristian went into the ocean while it was still a bit light, but then the waves turned violent and dark, so much so that they looked like dirty water, full of filth, sludge and a little bit of sadness. As Cyril's eyes traced the waves, they seemed to transform into a poisonous venom, and like hot lava, the ripples on the waves seemed to burst in vehemence. The waves rise so high, that for that split second, he almost heard them scream, "GO AWAY!"  The ocean intimidated Cyril and it had never happened before.

Yet, he would not be moved. He took a step back and within the same breath, he turned around and ran back inside the changing room, "What are you doing, Cyril?" Arthur followed him as Cyril wore his surfing gear and put on his surf goggles, "I'll find him,"
"Are you insane? Leave it to the professionals-"

"I LEFT EDGAR TO THE PROFESSIONALS!" Cyril screamed at him, "They've still not found him,"
Arthur turned silent at once. Cyril grabbed his board and ran out of the changing room. He ran towards the waves, "Cyril," He heard Arthur and turned back, "...Please don't die,"
Cyril turned back and threw his board into the war. He swam through the ocean,
"Who is that boy? Stop him!" The security police yelled while Arthur stood at the beach, looking into that eternal darkness.

Cyril stood up on his board in that pitch-black water and screamed Tristian's name. He couldn't see anything at all, so he focused his senses on hearing, among the voice of the ocean, and the gush of the waves hitting the strong wind, Tristian's feeble voice. Suddenly, his vision gave a bleu blink, and blue patches began covering his vision, "Oh no," He remembered the pill he took, "SHIT! NOT NOW!" He covered his eyes and everything went blue, 

"Cyril," A muffled voice spoke through the water, it reverberated through the depths of the ocean, "Cyril," And continued calling his name, "Cyril,"
He opened his eyes, and there he was, right where he left, him and her, standing at the Wyona's creek, looking at each other. It was his female half. It was Cyra. She smiled at him with her teeth shining brighter than that sunset, "You must leave," She ordered, kindly.

. . .

Skyler dug a fresh grave in the middle of that darkness in an old graveyard. He was surrounded by dead flowers, grey-coloured graves that turned silver under streetlights and the voices of the shovel, hitting the soil. He opened the coffin. The body inside it had started decomposing. He covered his face with a mark and picked up a stone jug. As soon as he upturned the algae upon the body, it began melting, and sinking deeper into the coffin until it was nothing but a liquid. He closed the grave and wrapped it back into the soil, "Wonderful,"

He came home with bread and eggs, cooked himself some dinner and took a shower. Once he was full and clean, smelling like Patchouli, he sat at his table and continued writing delicately about his experiments in his journal, the fifth volume, 'Soil and the algae'. The closer he came to completing his thesis, the less guilty he felt about killing Edgar, because he had convinced himself that Edgar had to die, 

To achieve the greater good.

-To be continued 

Skyler Moris
Undercover Blue Riot