Chapter 25: Distant Storms Foretold. (Patreon)

Chapter 25: Distant Storms Foretold.

I see beauty and horror walking side by side.

Images of people, friends, enemies, battles, struggles, traps, food, community, weapons, conflict, war. 

I bear witness to my death, then another one, then another one.

They rush past me before I can comprehend them, each vision acting like a single still frame in a movie.

My eyes hurt.

My ears hurt.

My tongue hurts.

My nose hurts.

Every inch of my skin hurts, with an intensity that completely eclipses my wounded hand.

Sensations plunge into me, as knives dancing through my skin.

I feel myself bleeding out, yet unable to move a muscle.

My stomach has been ripped away from my body. My spine goes with it a few seconds later. Metal insects invade my blood, burrowing into my bones. They chew and gnaw in an incessant chorus as my sanity dies. My mind moves in what feels like the last gasps of a dying world.

My body is paralysed. A sarcophagus of useless meat for my screaming soul. Buried leagues beneath a cold gray sea, with boundless horrors to keep me company.

Voices join me in my torment. Our torment. They are me. The versions of me that will die and fail and succeed. The me that will be gored to death, the me that will be stabbed by a friend, the me that will give up halfway through. The me that will not see the spider.

The spider. So many versions of me see it and scream. It lies still, witnessing everything. Everything.

‘Fear the spider.’

‘Do not fear the spider.’

‘Its kiss means death.’

‘Its kiss means freedom.’ 

An inquisitive killer crawls behind my eyes. Arachnid features swim within the pool of my power, drinking deeply of it. The abomination grows intoxicated and blooms like a flower. Hairy legs grow human hands all along their surface. Appendages reach outwards, towards the edges of my pool, the confines of my skull. They begin to scratch and claw at the barrier, bleeding me out from the inside.

‘Fear the butcher.’

‘Hate the butcher.’

‘Kill the butcher.’

‘Quickly, before the butcher kills the shepherd.’

‘Treasonous. Treacherous. Deluded and deceived.’

‘Angry child lashing out. Angry child bleeding out. Angry child burning up within the charnel house.’

‘Kill the butcher.’

Another being joins the spider. It is a man, clad in burning robes. He wails in agony and hate, mirroring my own. Bloody bandages cover his eyes, ears and nose. One of his arms is missing and from the stump grow blazing ribbons of fire and lightning. Each swish crackles with malice, hungry for battle.

His hatred forms chains around his neck and ankles, brimstone oozing foul vapours.

Spectres dance around him, poking him with barbed tongues that fly as whips.

‘Fear the speedster. Fear the gatekeeper. Fear the warriors. Fear the drones. Fear the queen. Fear the traps. Fear false friends and false words. Fear the men inside the box. Fear for you, for me, for them.’

The phantoms come into focus, translucent angels with blackened wings. Feathers drop and catch fire every time they loop around the helpless man, eating at him further whilst leaving muscle exposed.

‘Fear the slaver. Fear the slaver. Fear the slaver.’

‘Do not trust her honeyed words. She of silver chains and silver tongue. Eyes sparkle with moonlight and heart boils with wickedness.’

‘Twisted is she. Twisted will she make us.’

‘Fear the slaver that dances in the deep. Fear her collared victims.’

A new figure rises from the darkness. A woman armoured in starlight. Brilliance itself forms a shell around her form and needles of pure light fly off from her fingers.

Her smile is a sun, a beacon upon reality.

Yet for all its splendor, the figure exudes malice.

Blood encrusted jewels fall from her eyes as wails of agony rise from her feet.

The crimson stream descends upon a mass of flailing puppets, red pustules sending limbs in one direction or the other.

They converge upwards and meet the luminescence that comes form her fingers, screams bursting from the spots where the two intersect.

Dyed bodies are suddenly parted with one dramatic wave of the woman, revealing…

Revealing…

Me.

I scream beneath the armor, rags falling off me as she brings a massive boot down.

Bodies stand beside me, looking on in disinterest.

I scream for help and starry filaments silence me. The figures shrug and turn away. Wolves and vultures circle my decomposing carcass. Naked and flayed. A lamb served for dinner. Hooks and cleavers descend on me, held by puppets with silver strings. Flesh parts from bone, as the pretty people laugh from within their mirrors.

‘Traitors!’

‘Traitors!’

‘Treasonous vermin!’

‘False friends, false hope. Despicable and reviled.’

‘Food for the spider. Despair will set us free.’

More and more blood gathers.

I see a red door in a red room. Small metal men chain it shut with practiced movements. They bar the door, then blockade the surroundings. Their teeth clatter in terror, unable to look directly at the gateway for fear that it will swallow them whole.

Canons and machine gun nests are aimed away from it, deterrent for its disciples. They know I will come. They know I bring death with every step I take, with every breath that passes through my lungs. They fear the all-seeing eye slipping between the cracks of reality. They shiver in anticipation of the culling.

The door becomes a liquid, thick as jam. It tries to break the bondage. To eat.

The tide rises and sweeps away all previous images. Greenish torrents mix into the whole.

Muffled explosions turn into bubbles within the deluge. The lucky ones drown quickly. The unlucky ones melt. The feel a fraction of my pain as their flesh surrenders to the chemicals.

The colour changes rapidly, as all vibrancy dies.

The pain redoubles. The door creaks open, sharp edges transforming into non-Euclidian shapes. A cave is unmade. A storm of swords takes over. Sharpened teeth and fangs that grow without limit from the refuse.

I struggle to breathe as my entire being is submerged. My lungs catch fire and red-green waters corrode me from the inside. I feel each singular cell in my body change and mutate, eyes growing on all membranes. They drink in the poisoned ocean and all of me dies.

‘It is normal to feel this way. Ha. Ha. Ha.’ Says the sage inside the cage. Laughing without laughing. Forcing out words they do not understand for the sake of meaningless niceties.

They peek out from the door, ready to meet the new pupil. Hoping that this one survives, that it might live to pass along its deranged gospel.

‘Struggle is the language of life. It is everything that makes us different from mere instruments. Ha. Ha. Ha.’

A wizened figure re-shapes themselves in the deep. Suffocated gurgles erupting from rising bubbles.

‘What would we be without the fight? Without a goal to reach for? The mere idea is preposterous. Some might even say, blasphemous. Ha. Ha. Ha.’ Sizzling spite can be heard all around me, wholesome and beautiful. A rare delicacy in these trying times.

‘Evolution can only occur in the right conditions and environmental pressures. Without pressure, we stagnate. A fate worse than death. At least, in my opinion. Perhaps you will be different. Ha. Ha. Ha.’

The laughter carries no mirth whatsoever. It is merely the mechanical repetitions of sounds. One wooden block atop the other with no rhyme or reason.

The acid is not enough. Not nearly enough. The metal men are fortunate, for they will not have to endure its presence. Nor its domination.

My teacher re-adjusts their half-formed crown, shifting the collection of bones, horns and feathers within their tanned fur. Their eyes gaze down lovingly, saddened by my staunch refusal to adhere and submit.

‘You will see it my way in time. Ha. Ha. Ha. Those trinkets are frail. Transient objects you use to shield yourself from your true calling. Ha. Ha. Ha. Their use is limited. Indeed, you limit yourself by relying on them. They cannot live as we do, despite what you may think. Just imagine how much more you could do if you became my heir in actuality?’

It is a tempting offer. The power is seductive and the Savant does not believe they are lying. The door has completely vanished and all the teeth and claws are laid bare. They dig into me, tearing my soft body apart. Over and over. Incessantly. Mercilessly.

I consider their lessons carefully, comparing their ascendance with my own. A coronation of viscera standing in stark contrast to a crown of corroded metals and fragmented reflections.

I’m not a person anymore. The boy has died. His death has paid for life. Some misbegotten thing has replaced him. It takes in the discordant sensations, relishing in agony. 

It is the sea and all the eyes within it. It gazes out unto the world. All that remains of me staring out in pain and hate. It fixates on the looking glass and revels in its shattering. Cracks spread to all corners of reality, jagged edges of the mirror flying out and impaling the universe.

All of them suffer what I’ve suffered.

They fall as hatchlings from the nest.

Many-eyed foxes waiting amidst the brush.

A feast is held where all the smiling people shrivel and disintegrate. They are no longer laughing. The butcher will be torn to shreds by the spider. The gatekeeper will persevere and keep her children close. The speedster will realize his vengeance before he is consumed. The warriors will bring the shepherd into the fold and reach the surface.

Mosquitoes whizz across a cavern filled with silver fish, past old turrets and barbed wire. The dead trod in darkness, millions of them gathering in response to misshapen tyrants. The orphanage burns amidst the stench of offal. The lovers ostracize the beaten dog.

‘False friends. False words.’

Neon-clad ragdolls hang from metal pikes, supplicants left blinded by their arrogance.

No one is spared my sword.

I revel in their screams, their unimaginable anguish. So much so that I don’t notice my own tears.

Images begin to shift once again. A brief window where the horrors grow quiet and my mind breaks the fetters.

The deaths persist as the me that is not me steps on the wrong rock or yells at the wrong time.

His face melts as he screams. His organs are pierced and peppered. Leg bones shatter as the floor collapses, bodies falling like autumn leaves.

‘It isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. I don’t deserve this. This should not be happening.’

The play continues without interruptions.

All of them are me.

All of them are real.

All of them are felt.

There is no reprieve.

There is no escape.

There are only the few instances where each and every movement is preternaturally perfect and my life is extended for a scant few seconds.

The corridor is an orchestra of brutality, the bull acting as musician and conductor.

A gruesome trophy to its own glory.

But I also saw the reverse.

I saw the challenge felled.

Prerequisites have been met.

Student has obtained an ability at or beyond Tier III.

Student has passed level 100.

Student is evolving Telepath to Tier III.

Level Gained: +500 Maximum Psy. +12 Ability Points.

Ability Gained: [Electronic Interface] 1 has been added to the Status.

Ability Evolving: [Electronic Interface] 1 has grown to [Electronic Interface] 4

Level Gained: +500 Maximum Psy. +12 Ability Points.

Level Gained: +500 Maximum Psy. +12 Ability Points.

Level Gained: +500 Maximum Psy. +12 Ability Points.

Level Gained: +500 Maximum Psy. +12 Ability Points.

Ability Evolving: [Precognition] 6 has grown to [Precognition] 11

My fog picks up a new signal rushing down the corridor beside me.

It strides towards me in cold mechanical fashion, chasing a cowardly target.

I know what it is.

It is a bull.

With skin of iron, the torso of a man and horns of copper.

Its insides are filled with churning pistons and living wire. They animate it. Teach it what it needs to know. One message that plays over and over within its hardened cranium.

‘Hunt the humans.’

That single impulse is all it has ever known. All it will ever know. It has killed many humans and revelled in the bloodshed. It will try to kill me too. It will succeed in most scenarios.

I see it within my visions, a scrapbook filled with all the ways the monster tore me apart.

I feel it stomping on my chest, crushing lungs and ribs. I feel the kiss of metal barbs on my skin as its hide parts meets exposed life.

I feel the horns.

I feel the bite.

I feel the trident at the end of its whip-like tail.

It kills me when stay put.

It kills me when I dodge to the right.

It kills me when I dodge to the left.

It kills me when I jump this way and that.

Each death is different from the last.

Some mercifully swift, while others are drawn out.

Some are caused by the monster giving chase and some are caused by the traps. Yes. The traps. They lie in wait, along this corridor and the next. A pitfall here, a turret there. Arrow slits and boiling tar. Freezing rays and acid rains. Death in every fashion served up in a muddy platter.

I sense them now, just as I sense all the robots in my fog.

I could trigger them. Let them do the dirty work.

“However, that would be a waste.”

I look directly at the golem.

“Kneel.”

It does so. My orders translated into code within the span of a millisecond. All its brethren follow suit, leaving Borislav and Dolce confused as to why the deadly clash has ceased.

“Suffer me now.” I declare.

Whatever script it’s been following becomes meaningless. These are my tools now and forever.

Before I can savor the taste of victory, those re-invigorated golden cords strangle me. Dragging me back into the void.

A trumpet blows to herald my victory. Its music sings to herald my death. Reality fades from memory, as ripples on a lake.

There are eyes on the inside of my skull. They multiply as a cancer and break free to drink deep of reality and the whimsical machinations of my enemies. I die once more, hands slipping from the creature.

I live and survive. Going on to find friends and find love. I escape to a world of fantasy where all love me for who I am.

Has there ever been anything more beautiful? Anything that could compare? Is it even possible to feel this happy? This free? Do I even dare think that I deserve any of it?

I cry out as the wheel turns and other possibilities rupture my fleeting joy.

I cannot move.

A corpse entombed in shrapnel.

A mummy preserved and sold for the vilest scum imaginable.

My hatred burns, hotter than the core of the earth, hotter than the sun.

More terrible than the inevitable collapse of all physical matter. Stronger than the foundations of this nightmare.

The slaver comes into view once more. She is dressed in finery and opulence. All her wants displayed before her, things she will trade in exchange for me. So that I can be stripped of my humanity and used to further the goals of wealthier patrons. They flock to her as rats to refuse, nibbling at the edges of my sanity.

I know what they are. I know what they want. I will kill them all.

I will wash away all that they hold dear in a deluge of carnage. Even then, my vengeance is not sated. It will never cease. Forever driving me to further and further calamity.

A million Solomons will vanish from the world. Their families will never know what became of them. No friends will remember their passing.

Threads tangle my fate into a despicable tapestry as the future beyond forces itself into the present.

The drunk’s singing is closer than ever.

“Under the sea and over the stars. A thousand maggots slither. They grow big and they grow fat, before the great corpse withers.”

“Juices fall and juices rise, dancing to the beat. Yet none will stay and none will sing, all will turn to meat.”

“He comes and she comes after, burning with a vengeance. He will die and she will smile, passing down her sentence.”

“The spider looks, the spider sees, everywhere and nowhere. It is there and it is here, watching from the corner.”

“I see you. I know you. You cannot escape. None can run and none can hide from the Coffin or the Drake.”

“The shadows come to play and sing and dance. They stroll about the cobweb, tearing its expanse.”

“The mirror cannot hold. The mirror cannot stay. The shards of glass will all fly out and blind those in the way.”

“The Coffin is still empty, very musty and very cold. Its owner hides behind the veil, eyes glittering with gold.”

“The Drake is loud and furious. Terrible in wrath. Its tendrils invite horrid doom to all within its path.”

There is no Solomon.

There is no me.

There is only the formless ocean and all the eyes within it.

Uncountable and infinite, drinking the very stars in perpetuity. It all stems from a single creature, a single life. Some wretched thing that used to be human. That liked to pretend. That used to be an aspiring engineer dreaming after finishing their exams. This pest has no eyes or mouth or ears. It has no means by which to scream and curse their continued existence.

Instead, it revels in cursing others.

Enwrapped in grief and beset by pain.

Biding its time and growing.

A parasite within the cobweb.

A leech upon reality.

 A scourge upon this universe and all the universes that have been or ever will be.

It is a grub.

Pupating and mutating into something greater.

Every single eye begins to weep golden blood. It is the jealousy that defines transcendence. The knowledge of madmen and the insight of wicked prophets. Mana from heaven. Harrowing for anyone else but me.

‘Soon. The choice is always there. Free will plays a role. A path this thorny must be walked with purpose and clarity. Soon enough. Soon enough. Soon enough. Trust in your Insight. Soon enough.’

Time itself becomes unravelled.

The very idea of it disintegrating before my awesome power.

I feel myself studying calculus.

I feel the cake of my 20th birthday in my mouth.

I feel the soup my family makes after I fall sick.

The odour is so pleasant that nothing else matters.

Its fragrance more pronounced than the dying of all light.

Nothing else matters to the hungry cosmos.

To me.

‘We don’t know. We do know. Yes and no and yes once more. Have we truly ascended? Are we truly free? Or have we broken yet another membrane? Do our strings simply loosen with every atrocity. Every breakthrough? Could we ever hope to match them? I don’t know. You do know. Choices upon choices. Webs and shattered glass. Shadows on the wall.’

Each of my fingers is immaculate. A dying sun within the endless cosmos. Entropy lapses and limps as my critiques break the very concept.

Little by little, inch by inch, some fool descends into the belly of the beast. It seeks the beating heart of the labyrinth, to steal fire from whatever false idols may be found in the depths. It remakes itself constantly, chewing stone and dirt to aid in their re-construction. It is difficult to say if this creature is truly alive or if it merely a cheap approximation. Almost impossible to say where the artifice begins and the once-person ends.

Perhaps there is no difference. One inhabits the other and becomes what they were. Becoming more by becoming less.

This worm does not fear passing, for it has realized that there are far worse fates to be found. It stumbles into destiny, prepared for all that may assail them.

A dream this sickeningly sweet cannot endure for long.

My triumphs turn to failure and all my failures are magnified to infinity until a mere moment’s glimpse drives me to lunacy. Everything that I have ever been, everything that I had ever helped create, anyone I had ever supported or admired was naught but ash. I then saw the eyes of all the people that had helped me get here, my parents, my teachers, my friends, my colleagues and my role-models all glaring at me with the utmost contempt they could muster. They were so utterly disappointed in me that it hurts. They were disgusted by the failure that I had allowed myself to become. They were sickened that I didn’t live up to my potential. They hated me because I didn’t do enough for myself and for them.

‘Surely.’ I thought in between the hallucinations. ‘There is nothing worse out there. Nothing worse in the entirety of creation and the minds of mere mortals than this. Surely, a permanent end would be better. Surely any kind of end to the suffering would be better.’

I relaxed my mind in defeat and resigned myself to be loathed and hated by the people that mattered most to me. They were right. I was worthless. My life was worthless.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. What do you mean we’re being watched?” Asked the crowned slug.

“There is another presence here with us. An uninvited guest.” I responded, failing to mask my irritation.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Nonsense. This is a system event. Anyone who might be strong enough to bypass the barriers has no need to bother with the likes of us. Ha. Ha. Ha” It changed its shape on the briefest of whims.

Mimicking a human woman of preternatural beauty. With blond hair that went down a pristine back, accentuating wide, rounded hips. Her, no, its smile was equal part mischievous and lascivious.

Below her waist was the body of a lioness. Claws pouncing at empty air.

“I am not wrong. There is an intruder.” I insisted.

“Then point them out!” It demanded, while injecting false emotion into its otherwise monotone tempo. “I gave you my word that I would tutor you in exchange for your services. Ha. Ha. Ha. You’ve delivered, so its only fair I do the same. Unveil this interloper and I will gladly teach you how to craft a piano from living tissue.”

“Your grotesque hobbies do not interest me.”

“Pity that they don’t. Ha. Ha. Ha. You could use some diversions in your life.” That laugh was dead and mirthless.

Their form changed again. This time, they were a statuesque man draped in marble armor. No, not armor. It was an exoskeleton that morphed serrated horns at every joint. All arranged so that they flowed backwards to simulate a shawl caught in the breeze.

“There!” I shouted suddenly. Redirecting the full force of my will. “Show yourself!”

And then there were two. The me encased in metal and the me that was looking into the future.

The weaker of the two stammered. Transfixed by the apparent teleportation. The vividness of the hallucination.

The stronger of the two was not so easily baffled. It understood at once, being far too experienced with the chaotic tides of fate.

“We are not real.”

“What?” The thing looked confused. Out of sorts for the first time since the conversation started. “Honestly, you high-tiered Telepaths are all looney. There’s no one else here.”

“You are mistaken. It is we who are not here. This is all a simulacrum. Yes. I see it now. None of this ever took place. The real me is only now breaking the lies.”

I became transfixed on both myself and the abomination. Willing a connection in place. Making it aware.

It wailed as it too realized.

“Listen closely. You don’t have time. Find Charlie the speedster. Find Monique the portal user. Find the warriors, Dusty and Slab. Do not be put off. Do not break away. Recruit all four before attacking the gnomes.”

The sarcophagus lassoed me. Dominating my, its lake and all its content. Forcing us to align.

“You must help them all. Win their loyalties. If you do, I’ll give you what you want. I’ll give you another Type. Refuse me and become me. Watch and see. Suffer me now.”