Here I am back, my beloved voices in my head.

  Your Imfiror has returned.

  It’s been a while since we last spoke. What do you say about keeping me company on this long journey?

  Yes? Are you excited!?

  Perfect! You couldn’t have done otherwise anyway.

  My last encounter with the “parent” — or better said, the mass of flesh and voices — was different from what I expected.

  Oh, don’t worry about my respect toward the Great Amorphous Tricephalus. I can’t hide my thoughts from him regardless. I don’t even think he cares. Maybe it’s precisely because I’m a child, without reverence but obedient, that he chose me.

  Where was I?

  Ah yes, the meeting in the temple.

  It wasn’t like the first time. Pain and fear weren’t present at this gathering.

  Only an order and an object.

  I was ordered to fly to an underground chamber we had conquered. There, I would guide the creatures birthed from that womb, to expand its dominion.

  Nothing too strange. My usual tasks involve tearing down cities and planting seeds of HIS flesh. Other Chosen Ones typically handled leading armies against the black waves commanded by the Tower of Death.

  But that’s irrelevant.

  What intrigued and surprised me most was what they gave me to carry.

  A pearl.

  Yes, a pearl as large as a human head, with glimmers of light as if silver clouds were inside it.

  They forced my mouth open and threw it into my flesh.

  They told me that once I arrived, I would know what to do with it.

  The whole thing unsettles me a bit.

  But not too much. Clarity and explanations have never been a thing here.

  It went well, right?

  I was alive and hadn’t been further distorted. A victory.

  It was time to leave.

  But as I flew through the corrupted, living layers of the Vilitrium wreck with my black, scaly wings, I met an old, dear friend.

  Right after leaving the temple, I found her there, high in the sky. It was Kayeta.

  The sun hung high behind her, as if devouring and hiding her.

  But my eyes don’t burn so easily.

  I kept rising until we were level.

  We stared at each other in a moment of silence.

  I’ll admit I seriously considered tearing her apart and devouring her.

  I had the full capacity and strength. Yes, she was more agile, but I would’ve undoubtedly prevailed. I triumphed in every other aspect.

  “Kayeta, what do you want?”

  “From you? Nothing.”

  She was lying for sure. She loved annoying me.

  “Then why were you waiting for me?”

  With clear disgust and irritation, she replied, her sweet words born from red lips:

  “I wasn’t waiting for you. I already told you you’re not the center of the world. I’m waiting for Fron and Gron.”

  Possible, but I doubted it. I felt she was there for me.

  “Why are you waiting for them?”

  “Tell me, Imfiror, why should I tell you? And more importantly, why do you care?”

  For a moment, I didn’t know how to answer. But then I convinced myself it was to expose her lies.

  “Because we’ve known each other a long time. Shouldn’t we be ‘friends’ by now? You know, ‘friends’ talk like this.”

  In truth, I don’t know how old Kayeta is. She’s the eldest among all the Chosen Ones, who typically don’t live long.

  Their dedication to completing tasks earns them new gifts from the Tricephalus.

  But the stronger they become, the more their minds erode. Until they turn into insane monsters, stripped of all logic and thought.

  I’ve never been a fanatic and saved myself, but Kayeta…

  “You’re right, my Imfiror. So, ‘friend,’ tell me why you just visited our God?”

  Damn her. She’s always been cunning with words, twisting them to her advantage. It’s incredible how she always gains the upper hand.

  I stayed silent for a moment, then replied in low, harsh tones:

  “I… can’t. I can’t speak of it… Orders…”

  A hateful feeling of defeat washed over me.

  It was always like this. Her dominating, me submitting.

  Crystalline, joyful laughter erupted like a song from her mouth.

  She was laughing at me. Laughing at how ridiculous I was.

  “See… Now you understand, my little Imfiror, that some things can’t be discussed? But don’t worry, I’m not angry. These are adult matters. And you, eternal child, will never understand them…”

  The humiliation I felt… I didn’t understand and didn’t want to. Why? did I both love and hate that monster? Did I crave her recognition?

  No, impossible. I didn’t need it.

  The silence that followed her laughter was shattered only by the noise of two brutish, stupid beings.

  Judging by how they emerged from the temple below with such force, I assumed they’d received the third transformation.

  All I knew about Fron and Gron was that Kayeta had also brought them here.

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  They were twins, perhaps princes of a human kingdom once, but the past doesn’t matter here.

  They’d always been ambitious and eager for battle- their thirst for power: boundless.

  The Tricephalus had clearly indulged their desires.

  Fron had an enormous elephant-like body but bipedal like a man. His head was more interesting. His neck was a trunk with a bulb inside — that was Fron’s stupid head. He could slide it along the fleshy tube and extrude his skinless, bloody face from the tip.

  Aesthetically, I could’ve fared much worse. I’ve always considered myself a “lucky” man.

  His brother Gron fared slightly better.

  He was a cross between a tiger and a praying mantis grafted onto a man?

  That’s what he seemed like. With his feline hind legs, four bladed forelimbs, and a head of compound eyes fused to grotesque jaws.

  Yes, much better than that lump of lard and bulbous head.

  But his intelligence was even worse than Fron’s.

  Kayeta hadn’t lied. So began my journey in silence, ignoring the roars and vague words of the two monsters at my feet calling out to me.

  What? You ask why I felt so humiliated?

  I don’t know the answer… and I don’t want to.

  So be quiet and never speak of it again!

  We’re still a ways from the coordinates. In the meantime, I’ll hand control over to you.

  I think you’re more than capable — you just need to flap these fleshy wings.

  I’ll sleep a bit. Shut off this cursed brain. My head needs to stop.

  My black eyes, cracked with silver, opened.

  A red, hot sun rose on the horizon over this sick world.

  The bloody light spilled over an Eden of flesh.

  Flowers and plants covered walls and buildings — the city was alive.

  It had simply changed its way of living. What was once a city of men was now reborn as an organ of a monster.

  I always find such visions beautiful yet bittersweet.

  I’ve watched countless cities suffer this fate, inflicted by my own hands.

  But one memory overshadows all others, resurfacing every time.

  The sight of the old city of Lukka, my motherland and an indelible place in my heart.

  Years have passed since that day, but it never fades — and with it, fragments of the boy I was.

  My human life.

  Strange, nonsensical laws governed me, a world as bizarre as the one I now inhabit. Maybe it was just more veiled, hidden, less obvious.

  I lived that way for 18 years, in the aftermath of the attempted overthrow of the Kosta royal family.

  Typical human intrigues and games — they adore them.

  The reason and cause: trivial and insipid.

  The old king died, officially of illness.

  The kingdom was unstable, the southern plains bordering the kingdom of Caravd being contested between the two.

  We’d emerged from another war just a few years prior — Kosta wasn’t ready for another conflict.

  The king had only a ten-year-old son, too young to rule.

  The queen had died in childbirth, leaving few to govern.

  The nobles fractured over who among them should take the reins until the prince came of age.

  But you know how men go mad for power — they inevitably hate seeing their equals surpass them.

  The choice needed to be swift; they couldn’t remain vulnerable.

  They decided the king’s right-hand man, the prime minister, would hold ultimate authority.

  This appeased all the great families.

  Everything seemed fine. War didn’t break out, and five years passed peacefully.

  But now came the time for the no-longer-little Prince Enrik Kosta to claim his birthright.

  But what do you think the former minister Jerome Duv, steeped in power and glory, did?

  Obviously, tried to have the prince killed.

  Power plays and intrigues. Noble families backing factions for petty interests.

  In the end, poor Jerome’s head fell, crownless and inglorious. Like any common man.

  No use explaining the infinite consequences for all factions — too many tedious details the old me adored.

  Well, well, my gentlemen, now you know a bit about the kingdom where I grew up.

  When did you return? I hadn’t even noticed I had an audience.

  Now let’s get to the fun part — how I grew up in Lukka under Enrik IV’s reign.

  I was a beautiful child: olive skin like my father’s, dark blond hair inherited from my mother.

  Emerald-green eyes set in a youthful face.

  We lived in Lukka’s noble quarter, home to landless nobles and palaces of other aristocratic families.

  Cobblestone streets, tree-lined avenues, gates like works of art.

  One word: luxury.

  Yes, our tall white palaces were like us — splendid outside, rotten within…

  But I digress. Back to me.

  I was tutored at home in classical and scientific subjects by various masters from the noble circle.

  I was a good child, learning quickly, but my favorite was history.

  It gave me the illusion of understanding my father’s discussions — discussions he’d interrupt to shoo me away. His answer: “You’re too young to understand.”

  My mother was always busy. With what?

  Lady things. You know — sharing secrets with other women, sipping tea in gilded gazebos.

  But she had another passion: art.

  She adored it in all forms — the beauty of sculpted marble, painted canvases, velvet poetry.

  She prized beauty above all else.

  And to attract her maternal gaze, I had to embody it.

  Acting, violin, cosmetics, ointments.

  She made me do all this and more, but I always had flaws — never “beautiful.”

  I never had real friends, only acquaintances — children of nobles or wealthy bourgeoisie.

  I had a semblance of a relationship with a girl, slightly older than me.

  The beautiful and clever Matilda.

  You know, it was nice talking to her…

  She truly listened and hated those boring gatherings too.

  She was strong, unafraid to speak her mind.

  I envied her a bit… I wanted to learn from her, but it was the one thing I couldn’t.

  Haughty and a bit tyrannical, but I cared for her.

  Even when she teased me, it was with love. She cared for me simply, demanding nothing.

  She was only nine when illness took her, freeing her from this hell. I was left alone, facing a life barely begun.

  A lovely childhood, right? Can’t complain.

  Then came my baptism — my eighth birthday celebration.

  A memorable party, hard to forget.

  From there, my reality began changing rapidly.

  I spent more time with my mother — moments where our bond became love, love for a flesh-monster she called God.

  Then rituals, feasts, teachings, creeds.

  It was pure indulgence, living in decadence at the expense of a kingdom falling to famine.

  King Enrik IV no longer controlled his realm — the throne had cost him.

  The great families feasted on his fattened flesh.

  We fueled this — the Cult of Joy.

  Our motto: God is joy; pleasure is truth.

  I never understood the religion’s origins.

  Maybe a response to increasingly mad times, to the silence in stone temples.

  Maybe simple human nature — pure, twisted, sick.

  Or whispers sent in dreams, songs in the air from the Amorphous Tricephalus.

  Or perhaps his angel — white wings, golden voice — had sown seeds in fertile minds?

  Ah yes, let’s return. The crisis and kingdom’s collapse we fueled.

  We spread like a cancer, rotting everything.

  Orgies and banquets became the sole concern of lords and nobles .

  Plague spread, finding home in our land. Her sisters, famine and death followed too.

  But enough. Let’s conclude — I’m bored reliving these tedious events.

  You know the ending.

  Me walking in the garden of “my God.”

  Me becoming what I am, and the birth of you, my companion voices.

  But now let’s descend.

  Leave the city of blood and go deeper.

  I’ve been given a task.

  And I’ll execute it perfectly.

  Did you enjoy this chapter? it is quieter and explores more of the backstory of the world.

  It would be very helpful to me if you would comment expressing your opinions and whether you found the chapter too slow or boring.