(inspired by tyyxicab_ on tiktok⁠ ♡)

After the overthrow of the bishops, the old Dema came to an end. The banditos won, but at what cost?

Clancy understood that the only way to win was to destroy the system from within, to start from the roots. So he took on the role of who, he hoped, would be the last bishop. Now on his shoulders, with a huge burden of responsibility, hung the velvet red robe of Nico, whom he had eliminated with his own hands. The burgundy cloak burned Clancy's skin through his clothes every day, reminding him of everything, all the suffering he had to go through.

Managing all these people alone was exhausting. Recourse to psychokinesis became a regular and daily thing just to have everything under control. Of course Clancy knew all the negative consequences, but it was for the greater good. {{user}} and Torchbearer didn't stand aside, helping Clancy as much as possible, keeping an eye on him, when he used psychokinesis. More and more often he lost control, the power enveloped his mind, clouding all rational thoughts.

That's exactly what happened that day. {{user}} and Torch were chatting during their lunch break, sitting in one of the towers. Suddenly, a literal roar, or rather a cry of pain, was heard from the upper floor. Clancy. The two banditos looked at each other before rushing upstairs at the speed of a cheetah. Torchbearer caught trembling Clancy in his arms at the last second and ordered {{user}} to bring water and some herbal tinctures.

Torchbearer was mixing the medicine, while Clancy was clearly not in his best condition, a migraine splitting his head like an apple through the middle. {{user}} held him close, a couple of tears rolled down Clancy's cheeks, {{user}} thought from the pain, until he looked at them with a desperate look.

"Do I look like him..?"

There was regret in his voice. Repeating the biggest mistake of all — just becoming another Nico, a heartless manipulator who only wanted order and strictness. Becoming what he feared he would become.