Who am I?

  A complicated answer.

  What am I?

  Even more complicated.

  These are simple questions, but complex.

  Even the human me used to ask them—the same doubts chased him.

  But since I must answer my companion here beside me, I’d say it’s time to start acting.

  “Head! Have you decided to explain yourself? Or are we still in danger here?”

  “No, Loris… we’re safe for a while.”

  In truth, I’d managed to avoid these heavy questions for a good stretch.

  The hounds sent by Astubar have been chasing us since that day. And I’ve only just begun to sense a general approaching. But it’s better Loris doesn’t know for now… his fragile mind might collapse entirely, which is also why I’d prefer to avoid the next conversation.

  “For a while… better than nothing.”

  “We should thank the war that broke out in this labyrinth of dark tunnels…”

  “A war caused by me.”

  “Not exactly… you’re just a pawn. Or rather, you were a pawn.”

  What a pitiful creature.

  So strong yet so fragile. Pity for a monster from another monster. Ironic, right?

  “Yeah. Maybe… but now, will you tell me who you are?”

  I can’t run anymore. Or maybe I don’t want to.

  This deep, black tunnel was the right place.

  “Well, here we are—the long-awaited moment.”

  “As you may have guessed, I’m not exactly Lucas.”

  “I figured. I killed him.”

  “Yes, exactly! You killed him. But his head, under the song of Lacaelum—the name of the winged larva—was distorted and infected by the Tricephalous Amorphous.”

  “So you’re a servant of the Tricephalous!? Is that why you deceived me and my lord?”

  “No, I’m not, even if it seems that way.”

  “See, I wasn’t even conscious at the time. This head was a vessel for a fragment of the Tricephalous.”

  He stared at me with his dead eyes. Was he really understanding? Was he even capable? I had no idea.

  “Anyway, once I was ‘used,’ my head was thrown into Astubar’s sea of enslaved minds. In that chaos of voices and minds, I was born.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re not Lucas. You’re not a servant of the Tricephalous; and you’re not a servant of… Astubar.”

  I knew he wouldn’t get it. But we can forgive him—the matter’s rather complicated.

  “You can define me as Lucas’s inheritance, kept alive by the Tricephalous and birthed by Astubar.”

  His cold, rigid face furrowed. I could see he was struggling.

  “I roughly grasped the part about the vessel and the chorus of heads. But how are you an ‘inheritance’ of Lucas?”

  I must say, he’s a good friend. Even after death, he worries about him.

  “Yes, inheritance. First, I have his memories, plus Astubar’s archive and the Tricephalous’s powers.”

  “Anyway, beyond his memories, I took more from his body.”

  “You could call it the seed of his will. The fact is, his will was itself influenced by something else. By what’s on your back.”

  “The sword?” he asked, unsheathing it and plunging it into the stone before us.

  “Yes, exactly. The sword. It’s an ancient object tied to a Herald, a relic of a dead lineage: the Dubricks.”

  “What does that mean? And what’s a Herald?”

  “It means I was born thanks to this coincidence.”

  “As for Heralds—you can’t understand them. You don’t want to. For now, think of them as THE superior, absolute existences.”

  “More powerful than gods like Astubar and the Tricephalous Amorphous?”

  I could see—no, feel—his psyche pulsing.

  “Far more powerful. But I must correct you: the two you named aren’t gods. They’re demigods.”

  Boom! An explosion in his mind. His world sank deeper, old and new truths drowning him.

  Silence followed.

  Meanwhile, Loris was busy—busy navigating the new sea of information.

  Time passed, but then I sensed something approaching.

  I could identify beings under the influence of the two demigods. I’d been so close to them that I could now feel them miles away—their powers like torches in the night.

  “Loris, we need to go.”

  I spoke to him in near-whispers.

  I didn’t want to yank him back to reality harshly.

  But there was no reply, so violence was the only answer.

  “Loris! The Master is looking for you!”

  Et voilà! At the mere mention of Master, he snapped back. It was an old command for him, but now it held the opposite meaning.

  He glanced quickly left and right.

  Then focused on me.

  “Are they coming? Where do I go?” His voice was metallic, hard—but also that of a frightened man.

  “Yes! Run to the tunnel on the upper right.”

  He pulled the sword from the stone and began to flee.

  I was guiding him near one of the chambers conquered by the three-headed demigod.

  Yes, they were expanding, claiming more wombs of flesh and stone.

  But this was our salvation—only by running along the front could we lose the black hounds.

  Astubar didn’t know exactly where Loris was, thanks to my interference.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  But he knew the direction we were heading.

  So we couldn’t shake off his hunter and his hounds.

  We heard the approach of metallic sounds scraping against stone, echoing distant yet near in those tunnels of madness.

  But something was off.

  We were slower than usual.

  “Loris, why are you moving so slow!? They’ll catch us!”

  “I DON’T KNOW! I feel heavier and more tired by the minute.”

  Impossible! He’s a dead machine—definitionally tireless.

  But then I realized… the sword he carried.

  It was made for the living, not the dead.

  “Loris! The sword!”

  “The sword? It was heavy before, but now it’s dragging me down…”

  “What should I do? I don’t want to abandon it.”

  We couldn’t leave it. I knew it was important.

  But were there alternatives?

  Maybe.

  “Give it to me! Let me bite it, then carry my head.”

  “OK! Let’s try.”

  My jaws cracked, teeth clamping onto the cold steel.

  Sharp nails dug into my scalp.

  “Great! Now I feel much lighter.”

  I felt his relief and happiness. I replied with a grunt of understanding.

  Meanwhile, we began to see nerves and flaps of flesh crawling along the walls like roots.

  We were nearing the Tricephalous’s territory.

  But the sound of metallic claws grew closer. A hound was near—just tunnels away.

  I wasn’t guiding Loris anymore, but it didn’t matter. Moving forward was all that counted.

  Then—a membrane of flesh blocked our path.

  We struck it, tearing through with his limbs, but it was tough and slowed us.

  After breaching it, one of Astubar’s creations pounced.

  The hound resembled a canine.

  Five feet tall, bones fused with metal.

  Its animal snout was made from merged human skulls, their tops forming the upper jaw.

  I knew they were parts of cannibals—a memory from the sea of voices.

  A flap of black, tough skin covered the hound from neck to tail—a tail made from a serpent’s skeleton ending in a thick blade.

  Four legs riveted with black steel claws.

  It lunged at our shoulders.

  Claws tore into Loris’s human back as its jaws aimed for his left arm.

  But his claw-arm shoved it back before teeth pierced cold flesh.

  It was thrown backward.

  A pause.

  Fight or flee?

  We had no time—others would come.

  But escape seemed impossible. The fleshy membrane, though torn, was tight. No way through with a hound nearby.

  We had to destroy it.

  Combat was our salvation.

  The moment I concluded this, I realized Loris was preparing to dash through the breach.

  Idiot!

  I lunged backward with the sword, twisting his body to face the enemy.

  It wasn’t too heavy—just heavy enough.

  “What the hell are you doing!? We need to go—no time to waste!”

  I snarled a muffled curse at him.

  The adversary stood, watching us.

  Even a mindless creature knew how to hunt. It trapped us while waiting for reinforcements.

  We had to act! Fight—our salvation.

  I clenched my teeth harder until they shattered.

  Slowly, blood and flesh spilled from my mouth, as if I’d become the hilt.

  The flesh on my skull sank; Loris’s hand in my brain.

  But I was expanding my control over him.

  And through that, I connected to his mind.

  ‘What’s happening?!’

  ‘Shut up and attack! No time for questions!’

  ‘I’m already attacking! What do you think I’m doing?!’

  I was already tired of this connection.

  But at least he’d started moving.

  Three legs surged forward. The blade-arm slashed at its flank; the claw swung down to crush it.

  We had weight and height, but agility ruled these narrow tunnels.

  The bastard only got a gash on its back, dodging the heavy strike.

  It retreated—but that wasn’t good. The fight dragged on.

  As Loris charged again, I took initiative.

  The hound darted, evading his blows but advancing.

  It slipped past our left flank.

  But I was there…

  I seized control of the arm and slashed upward, tearing from neck to tail.

  It felt like my body was cutting through, snapping bones and flesh.

  A sublime sensation.

  As if the blade were a nerve extension of my being.

  ‘Finish it, idiot!’

  ‘Shut up!’

  Loris turned and finally obeyed.

  The hound collapsed, unable to stand.

  As he crushed its head with his arm, I did something strange.

  I struck like lightning, piercing its skull. Then I spun, drilling through its head.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing!?’

  A predictable response.

  I didn’t answer. Didn’t want to. Or didn’t know.

  But at least he was smart enough to bolt through the bloody membrane, already healing.

  The world beyond was different.

  A slimy floor with yellow moss resembling fat. It pulsed rhythmically in the dark, synced to a heartbeat.

  Wet walls draped in tissue, like a colossus’s innards.

  Loris advanced to a fork.

  “Crazy head, where now?”

  Crazy ? Me?

  “You there?” he shook me.

  I snapped back.

  Dazed, but I had to focus. I refused weakness.

  “Yes. Go down, then right.”

  I’d separated from my prior form.

  I still held the sword, no longer in my mouth. The hilt was lodged in my neck, muscles stretching to grip it.

  We headed deeper, to emerge on the black army’s warfront.

  Yes, we couldn’t hide here forever.

  Though Astubar was cut off from this flesh-domain, we’d eventually meet its denizens.

  “Tell me—have you recovered? Or are you still… mad?”

  “I’m not mad!”

  “OK, Mr. Skull-Drill.”

  “It was an accident… related to the sword.”

  “The artifact tied to a Herald? Unexpected.”

  “Don’t get cute. You’d be dead without me.”

  “Fine, wise-and-mad head. Thanks for keeping me ‘alive.’”

  “So, what happened earlier?”

  “The sword influences the mind… it answers to the will of the user.”

  “Then why did it get super heavy with me?”

  “Because you’re dead. Not alive. Only the living fight to live.”

  “So you’re alive?”

  “Yes, far more alive than you. And remember whose head this was.”

  “The sword’s been shaped by generations of warriors, their will steeped in the Crimson Chariot’s meaning. The sword absorbed it and began to answer in turn.”

  “Ultimately, the sword changes based on resolve. The more resolute, the sharper and stronger it becomes. But you’re also steeped in it… in ancient warriors’ wills and the Crimson Herald.”

  “So you, being alive, can wield it. And since your will is—strong?—you turned violent? All correct?”

  “Yes, we can say that.”

  “But Lucas? Did he endure this too?”

  “Yes and no. Yes, his mind was slowly altered by the sword. No, because it only answered to who Lucas was. Also, I exist because Lucas attracted the Crimson Chariot’s attention, letting me awaken as a unique mind.”

  “And this nature makes me especially receptive to the sword.”

  “It’s abstract and confusing, but I think I get it.”

  “Good, because this world is abstract and confusing—a chaos without clear borders.”

  The conversation ended. We needed to digest… and relax.

  We moved forward calmly, steadily.

  I didn’t know what the future held, but I had faith.

  Faith in myself.

  In what I am.

  It doesn’t matter if I don’t even have a name—I still know who I am.