《Book of Madness: The Door is the Key》


 The Last Page of Titus Dubrick

    My end is near, and my hours are numbered in this dark and fetid cell.


    I am Titus Dubrick. I have dedicated my entire life to serving my lord, and it is precisely for this reason that I now find myself writing these final words, with the kind concession of the moon, which even here in the abyss, faint and fragile, illuminates me.


    This sheet is short, but my blood is plentiful, so I shall be concise. And you, my future and unfortunate reader, will listen to my delirium and a final dedication to my master, the Indomitable, the Crimson Herald.


    In my long life of 76 years, I have been many things, but the most important, I suppose, is having been a count, a noble title passed down through eight generations. But this is not the time to delve into the history of my family and its rise. I inherited my title from my father, and along with it, I inherited something else: the love and worship of my lord. Indeed, the ancient Dubrick family has always been and will always be loyal only to him. After all, we earned the title of count in war and blood. He has always guided us, and we have risen on his crimson chariot of steel. I am revealing this secret to you because it is no longer a secret. Officially, I am the last Dubrick still alive, and my fate is to be judged by the royal court and the magical council. Death and humiliation await me.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Mages, no longer deities, towers, and councils now stand alongside kingdoms and empires where once churches and temples rose.


    They seek truth and knowledge, preaching to be atheists and free from all mental constraints. And so began the crusades and the annihilation of every church and cult.


    But I confide in you that all of them are ridiculous and hypocritical. I laugh at them because what they adore and seek, all their knowledge, is nothing but the name of another god¡ªone they pray to with every experiment and research, one they idolize with every tower erected, its sacred texts studied and transmitted in academies.


    Is it not comical? Those who forbade god to man are the most fervent followers. The greatest atheists are the most faithful of these times.


    But one day, they will build a tower that will be too high, and it will finally point its silver eye upon them¡ªblessing or curse, for along with its gaze will come its gift. Dangerous is the Omniscient, for it is the bearer of madness, the one who sees all and distorts all, the Silver Herald.


    My lord, my life is over, but my faith burns as never before. It is fierce and hot like the fire you ignite in the world. Wherever you pass, you bring conflict and struggle. Life and evolution are your daughters, for life is struggle. You burst into the world as war. No one can tame you; few ride you, but their end is like that of all others¡ªto be trampled under your relentless gallop.


    I will run forward with my head held high, even if a wall of steel awaits me.


    Titus Dubrick

 Tower of Astubar

    It was a gaunt and pale face, tinged with yellow, its skin wrinkled and sagging; the only bright thing in that image¡ªif one could even call it bright¡ªwere the eyes.They were covered by a milky-white film, and in their stillness and apparent death, they seemed to hide unspeakable and terrifying things.


    This was what stood before me: my reflection in a mirror of Amar.


    A grin spread across the entity that stood before me, its mouth pulled taut as if by iron threads, slowly revealing rotten teeth and others plated in gold.


    You may wonder who I am, oh spectators of the mirror. I would answer you with a name, but I no longer have one.My dead body does not deserve a name. Once, I had one, and with it many titles and epithets, but now I am something else, and a name no longer serves me.


    I am here in the tallest tower the world has ever seen, built by my will and the will of my former colleagues. The Tower of Astubar, situated at the beating heart of this world¡ªand it was so because it was my tower. But setting aside my past achievements and the milestones of my long life, let us return to the present.


    Gray and ominous, the ancient white tower loomed over the world. The white marble and gleaming metals had vanished from its surface, leaving only sand and decay to accompany this divine finger rising above the cemetery of cities and towers at its feet.But if you observe more closely, my dark observers¡ªsilent and hidden though you are¡ªI am certain that someone beyond this mirror listens to me. You may see beings moving among the rubble and debris of what was once called Virigon.They are my servants and slaves, always them. Those who obeyed my orders in life continue to do so even in death. They are my army, my experiments, and my family.


    I imagine you are curious to know how all this came to pass; and I must say, it is a rather amusing story, at least to me now.


    Once, in a time both near and distant, I was Astubar. Not to boast, but I was the greatest archmage, the president of the Global Association of Magic and Research. Even the other four archmages were incomparable to me in knowledge and power. There was no being in the world superior to me. So, naturally, after taming a world, what was left for me? The stars and the infinite void, of course.


    Projects and experiments, decades of time, and endless resources and lives led us to the creation of the Vilitrium.It was a kind of ship and space station, designed to allow us to leave the atmosphere of this world and open the possibility of exploring the secrets hidden by the dark celestial vault.


    Finally, the seventh-generation Vilitrium seemed free of flaws and capable of fulfilling its role as a research institute, a spacecraft, and a base to sustain life within it indefinitely. Requirements that may seem simple and basic, but in practice, they were anything but.


    It had the shape of a massive pyramid, covered in heavy gold infused with the dust of precious stones, capable of insulating mana, temperature, and other possible interferences.


    Amid the beautiful, shimmering gold plates were components of cold, dark black steel, providing the main structure of the Vilitrium¡ªthe lightest and strongest steel in the world, refined and tempered through processes that required the study of the greatest minds on the planet. But these are only small details of our most ambitious creation. The cost in lives and materials was immeasurable, but progress demanded it.


    Finally, the opportune moment arrived. Everything was complete, and all tests were successful. All that remained was to see my son soar into the sky and tear through the stars.


    The night before the test, I organized a feast in my beloved tower. For one evening, we abandoned ourselves to intoxicating and joyous human emotions. For one night, we were no longer cold and rational beings; we were like children reveling in their new toy, from myself and my four peers to the grand mages and the golden cloaks.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The following morning, Druston the archmage was designated to lead the test aboard the Vilitrium. Alongside him, other members of the project boarded¡ªseveral grand mages and countless golden cloaks.


    Meanwhile, I and the other archmages stood atop my namesake tower, observing the operation unfold.The Vilitrium7, fighting against gravity, rose from the desert, lifting sand and rocks into the wind. Its six brothers, skeletons of steel and gold, lay abandoned in the sand, silent witnesses to how far we had come. From above, I watched it move further and further away until I had to tilt my head back to see it, as if in a sacred ritual, a prayer to a god, where one kneels and raises their eyes to the sky, awaiting a divine miracle.


    The miracle was accomplished.


    My creation had left the atmosphere and entered the infinite.


    But what I deemed a miracle was nothing compared to a true one.


    The Vilitrium began to glow.


    In our joy, we hardly noticed¡ªindeed, it seemed as though the stars themselves were celebrating with us. Perhaps they were, but we were not ready to dance with them.


    I watched it grow brighter and brighter. The sun seemed to have extinguished, and night had fallen upon the world. Only the increasingly intense, silvery light of the Vilitrium was imprinted in my eyes.The stars of deep space grew closer, slowly filling the sky.


    Then I saw it. I felt it. It called to me and pulled me.


    It was a silver eye, with my son at its center as the pupil, and the stars slowly occupying everything.


    There was no more darkness or void, only light and fullness.For a moment, I felt fear, but then a blissful lightness overwhelmed me.


    It watched me, and I watched it. With every eternal second, I felt as though I were expanding, rising into the sky like a giant of clouds. My mind absorbed and fed, growing and flying ever higher.


    Then came a sharp pain, a tearing. I could no longer continue to grow and consume. But it fed me forcibly. I could not stop it, and my mind could not contain it all.


    Just as quickly as I reached the sky, I was cast back into the dust. My body was no longer my body. I no longer felt it¡ªor rather, I felt everything too much. Voices were everywhere, in my head and in the world. Screams and whispers, secrets and pain, near and far¡ªall were mixed, and my senses overwhelmed. I was full, bursting.


    Then, in that growing chaos, I heard it. It was a whisper of silence, a vision of nothing, a sound of absence.


    How I loved it from the first instant. In that stormy sea, it was my salvation, my refuge. I listened to its non-words and watched as the darkness slowly swallowed the stars once more. Thus, I wrapped myself in its black cloak, which protects from all things. Silence made its way into me, and with it came the name of my savior.It was the Blind Ignorant, the Black Herald.


    Suddenly, I found myself immersed in the abyss, at the farthest point I had wished to reach. And comically¡ªoh yes, it is truly amusing¡ªmy salvation was ignorance. I, who swore to seek and uncover secrets and truths, found myself wrapped in the black cloak, nearly annihilated by the very thing I had tried with all my means to grasp.


    Such knowledge is not meant for human minds. I learned of its existence in the madness and chaos that had filled my mind. It was the Silver Herald, the one who sees and knows all, the bearer of knowledge and madness, the Eternal Eye.


    Well, my tragedy and comedy have concluded. Now I am here in this world, atop the tower that bears my old name, for I am now a child of ignorance.


    I have no name because I am not. I have forgotten the truth so completely that I no longer know death, and so it no longer knows me. Here, I command the corpses of my old friends, who once dreamed of the stars with me. Here, I order them and lead them to spread the black cloak of my lord across the world and all lands. For the only salvation is the death that is not known, and ignorance will bring the purest joy.


    May life rejoice at your arrival, for you will envelop them in your empty cloak.


    You who wither the stars and reach all.You are salvation because you free us from the world that chains us.


    Black Herald, Babbler of Ignorance, you are the void that welcomes us. And those who fear and hate you will love you even more, for when they grasp your tattered cloak, they will never let go.

 Hope in The Wind

    On a rocky hilltop, where not a single blade of grass grew, a man knelt upon the earth.


    Tears streamed down his face, dragging with them the dirt and dust that clung to his skin. Clear and pure at first, they inexorably darkened into black stains that leapt into the air, falling toward the ground like condemned spirits.


    The man scanned the horizon.Before him stretched nothing but dust and sand, standing like monuments to his fate. Beyond the dusty veil choking the sky, he glimpsed distant flickers¡ªstars hanging there to mock him.


    He lowered his head, swollen eyes tracing the once-verdant land.


    Now the earth lay cracked and parched. Blood-red hues had seeped into the world¡¯s fabric; constellations of bones and iron stretched as far as sight could reach.


    ¡°How¡­ Why¡­¡± The words slithered from his throat, hissed into the wind.¡°Our world, our home¡­ now a faded memory.¡±


    ¡°Their sins and debts fell upon us too!¡± The rage in his voice masked a despair too bitter to name.¡°No one remains¡­ So I¡¯ll speak to you instead, O sighing wind.¡±


    ¡°Once, they say, this world thrived. Cities pulsed with life; people knew neither hunger nor plague. Or so I¡¯m told¡ªfor I¡¯ve known only terror, famine, and suffering since birth. Even I doubt the past¡¯s truth¡­ yet it¡¯s a beautiful lie, a spark of hope in these times.¡±


    The wind swelled abruptly, tearing the coal-black tears from his face.¡°You seek to comfort me¡­ A tender caress. But no gust can lighten the burden I carry.¡±


    ¡°Where was I¡­ Ah yes¡ªthe age when madness and death alone ruled.¡±


    ¡°After The Flickering, the world shattered. Three fragments remained: the Tower of Death, the Scourge of the Living, the ancient Tower of Astubar. Then came the three-headed monstrosity¡ªa deformity birthed by the sky, the Corruptor. Lastly, the kingdoms and empires, freed from mages¡¯ yoke, rekindled old feuds, blind to the twin terrors already decreeing their doom.¡±


    ¡°A crimson chariot rose where the sun once blazed. Blood and death reigned. Petty men, drunk on power and greed, reignited wars¡ªinternal, external. Alliances and betrayals became their new liturgy.¡±


    ¡°They gave no thought to dormant threats! No¡ªthey rejoiced at slipping their masters¡¯ leash. Their aspirations swelled. Courage and sacrifice were perverted into tools for vile ends, masked as noble causes.¡±


    ¡°We deserved this¡­ Three times we betrayed ourselves. Three times we chose ruin.¡±The wind howled, hungry for answers.¡°You ask ¡®when¡¯? Very well¡­¡±


    ¡°First, we betrayed God. We abandoned Him for so-called knowledge and truth. Fools¡ªwe believed ourselves their equals, destined to surpass them.¡± A heavy sigh erupted from him.¡°Sheer, damned madness. How dared we wear such blindness like a crown?¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Second, we raised altars to our own sacrifice. Towers cloaked the world like temples to truth. But from our arrogance¡¯s womb came The Flickering. Tales say the sun died that day. Darkness and stars split the sky. A cursed object fell¡ªa shooting star, mirror of our own damnation.¡±


    ¡°Third¡­ Third, we betrayed our very flesh. When unity was our salvation, we chose slaughter. Divided, we spiraled into war¡¯s vortex.¡±


    ¡°Now you see our stupidity in full. Yet perhaps¡­ this is our nature.¡±


    A thick, smothering silence followed.¡°Tell me, O listener of winds¡ªof serpentine whispers and thunderous roars¡ªhow did mankind act when death¡¯s armies besieged their cities? When deformed horrors rained from the heavens? When their soil turned to sand or writhed as a putrid swamp?¡±


    ¡°You know!¡±


    ¡°Kneeling at abandoned altars¡ªshameful, unworthy.¡±


    ¡°We were spiteful children. We thought ourselves giants, world-bearers. Yet here we kneel.¡±


    ¡°Our first sin¡¯s consequences were slow, unpredictable.¡±


    ¡°No one answered. No aid came. We invited this.¡±


    ¡°I tried to lead, to unite them. But every triumph crumbled to dust.¡±


    ¡°I too knelt. I prayed¡ªoh, how I prayed! But silence prevailed.¡±


    ¡°Years passed. Borders shrank. Cities fell. Fields died.¡±


    ¡°Yet hope lingered¡ªI believed this a divine punishment, that gods would save the penitent.¡±


    ¡°The truth I learned shattered that hope.¡±


    ¡°After endless years¡­ my people¡¯s ancient god appeared.¡±


    ¡°Imagine my awe¡ªI felt exalted, chosen!¡±


    ¡°But joy faded as his words carved into my mind¡­¡±


    He stood taller than mountains. Antlers crowned his head¡ªmajesty incarnate. My own crown paled in comparison.His red-and-gold tunic, unadorned yet battle-worthy, clung to his frame. Beneath it, feline legs hinted at primal speed. Arms like sculpted stone gripped a spear¡ªred shaft, narrow blade of radiant green.


    ¡°Lord of War and Disast Trifum. For decades, you chanted my name. I appear but once, for your love was pure. Know this: your world is no more. It¡¯s an egg. Two demigods battle to devour it whole. The Heralds planted their seed here. Now a new god must be born.¡±


    ¡°Heralds? The world¡­ an egg?¡±


    ¡°The Four Heralds¡ªdistant yet omnipresent. Pillars of existence, parents of gods. The Eternal Silver Eye of knowledge and madness, the Cloak of Silence the Mute Ignorant, the Crimson Chariot, igniter of wars, forger of iron wills. The Omnipotent Cosmic Egg, embodiment of matter¡ªcataclysm and blessing, unpredictable as storm.¡±


    ¡°They cannot be found¡ªthey find you. Your demigods, marked by two Heralds, must consume each other to ascend. I too bore the Chariot¡¯s mark, then devoured my rival, the Disaster¡¯s Green Scion. Only with father and mother can a god be whole.¡±


    ¡°Now you know your fate. My mercy ends.¡±


    So here I kneel before you, Omnipotent One.


    I beg not¡ªfor pleas would insult you.You who flow in water, ride winds, blaze skies, and sculpt creation.


    I seek no salvation. Let your axe sunder this world.Unleash destruction¡¯s crescendo.


    Let all be sacrificed to the Green Herald¡ªmay the Cyclone of Chaos consume creation itself.

 The Black Veil of Lucas Dumai

    City of Riverstock


    The tall, thick walls are adorned with stone scars and dust-blood.


    My name is Lucas Dumai. I sit here in my small study, writing my insignificant story in this diary.


    I was born 37 years ago in Ludovrich, southeast of the kingdom. In this harsh world, my beginning was not the worst: a merchant father and a mother of middling lineage.


    I was raised and educated first by my father, who taught me mathematics and writing, then by the Church. As the second son, my father hoped I would grow to become a member of the local cathedral.


    In my youth, I was schooled in ancient rites - to please God and attract His attention, to break the centuries-old Silence.


    But at fifteen, everything shattered during a journey beyond the city walls. Led by a priest, our small group was taken to a chapel north of the city. There, I witnessed the Unknown and true terror.


    That night, as we rested in the small church, we were awakened by distant sounds and screams. We rose and stepped outside.


    In the cool spring breeze, from the hilltop we saw the southern city in panic. Fires blazed, making the night unnaturally bright.


    Then we saw them.


    The Aberrations in the sky.


    Too distant to discern details, but the horrid sound they emitted was enough to plunge any living being into terror.


    As lights flickered in houses below and people flocked to us seeking answers to questions we ourselves were asking¡­ It arrived.


    Graceful and tempestuous, it rang the opening bell of the cursed symphony.


    It landed atop the church - a single eye at the center of what might be called a head, dominated by an enormous beak filled with sharp, crowded teeth and slick tongues. Its body bore feathered wings colored like a peacock¡¯s, yet the rest was ash-gray. Bizarre tri-jointed arms and three legs, a cross between reptile and raptor. The tail stretched like a worm, thrashing like a beached fish.


    Then came the cry.


    Pure bodily agony. Unstoppable. Blood, flesh and mind subjugated by it - a scream of madness and torment, shrill and quivering.


    I saw my master vanish. The creature suddenly had a mouthful of flesh, tongues hissing in the wind.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    In pain and terror, I threw myself back into the church, followed by companions not yet paralyzed by fear or writhing in anguish.


    Then came silence. A void in my mind. I could hear the screams and madness smothering the village, yet I was elsewhere - my mind disconnected, extinguished. What felt like an instant (though I know it wasn¡¯t) brought true silence from without.


    A scuttling came from the central nave. Hiding in the closet, I detected a fetid, bloody odor crawling from my nostrils into my brain¡¯s depths.


    There was a crack to peer through, but something told me salvation required no peeking - that if I didn¡¯t look, perhaps It couldn¡¯t see me.


    Two of my remaining friends lacked such wisdom. Their sudden screams were cut short by chewing and rending sounds.


    Then it truly ended. I don¡¯t know when or how, but morning came. Through silence and darkness, I¡¯d drifted into daylight.


    Realizing I¡¯d cheated death, I understood I¡¯d never once sought help from the God I professed to believe in. His dwelling hadn¡¯t repelled the monstrosities. Even the most pious perished alike. Only Loris survived with me - never did I ask what hole he¡¯d crawled into. He¡¯d been there, silent in the church desecrated by children of the Formless Tricephalus.


    From that day, I was no one. Just my name.


    Home, family, church, future - all gone.


    Days later, the city was burned. The flying horrors had planted seeds of distortion. Everything - flesh, blood, plants and trees - was irreparably contaminated. Left unchecked, a nest of aberrations and tumorous growths would have consumed the land.


    The worst part was hearing the screams of those barred inside the city.


    Fear of what might escape outweighed the lives of survivors trapped within.


    Loris and I never met again. Descending the hill, our paths diverged forever.


    In a sense, I was free - no longer bound by my father¡¯s orders or ecclesiastical commandments. Strange how bewilderment and expectation coexisted in me. The memory of that night remained, yet I buried it - draped in black cloth, locked deep in my mind.


    The years that followed were the most carefree of my life.


    I enlisted in the army, though my education could have led elsewhere.


    But fear demanded strength. I sought power, however trivial, to delude myself I¡¯d never need to hide again.


    Hardship and death accompanied my rise. Yet I always prevailed.


    I climbed ranks - my mathematical skills and literacy accelerated my ascent, paired with battlefield initiative.


    Now I sit here, commander of the city¡¯s defenses. No family - never desired one since that day, and grateful given what approaches.


    Here on a worn chair, accompanied only by candlelight and a bottle of Liurrom liquor, I await the Black Army¡¯s arrival. It advances like an ocean - relentless, devouring cities and empires. From the Old World¡¯s heart, the Tower of Astubar now beats at our gates.


    But I¡¯m no longer a child. I won¡¯t hide. Cannot.


    I am a warrior. Though my death and defeat are assured, I won¡¯t surrender.


    Pray not for me, you who read these final words. For I have no God. My flesh is my temple, my spirit the altar where I pray for courage to become steel - to never yield.


    The final day,


    From beyond the grave,


    Lucas Dumai

 Memories buried alive

    Darkness.


    I am enveloped and immersed in it, yet I walk with steady steps through these sonorous, shapeless galleries.


    The walls are jagged, carved by creations of bizarre nature. They have limbs where there should be none, flesh like stone and iron riveted to bone. Like fusions of iron and blood, but born from a twisted, infantile mind.


    But I too am one of these creations.


    I do not remember who I was or how I became this, but I know I was once human.


    Now, however, I am far more efficient. My creator¡¯s goal achieved.


    I have three legs, arranged like those of a stool. Not cumbersome or awkward. The opposite. I move with stability across all surfaces, my speed and leaps surpassing any man¡¯s. From these legs extends a torso, somewhat humanoid, though its insides have been hollowed and filled with strange organs and contraptions that allow me to command my mindless kin. Then there are the arms. They are decidedly humanoid, save for the presence of a sixth finger on each hand. What differs are the two weapons grafted as ¡°arms.¡± One resembles a folding razor, a blade swift and agile. The other is more like a clamp and a kind of shield. Their roles are evident from their shapes. Then there is the head, unchanged from my former identity, save perhaps for the slight decay of death upon it. And finally, my favorite limb. It extends from the center of my back, connected to my spine. It lashes and hisses behind me, a long extension of metallic bone-spines. It culminates in a retractable stinger, which, when closed, can pierce, and when opened, functions as a hand, thanks to its eight segments that move like fingers¡ªbut better.


    Here I am, the general leading this army at war with the world.


    Before me are the tools of excavation. We move underground, carving veins and arteries of cold stone according to the master¡¯s precise design.


    His voice and my logic tell me they are meant to hide and protect us from the threats of our true enemy. The three traitors, separated yet united in flesh and spirit. They slithered from earth to sky on the day of our creator¡¯s birth, fleeing the crumbling Tower of Rebirth to hide and plot against the one who was their own master.


    But beyond these reasonable motives, I sense there is something more. As if we are preparing a grand ritual, creating something terrifying even to me, who no longer has a heart.


    The land yellows and dies beneath the realms we pass through. The tunnels seem to emit sounds in the silence, like inaudible whispers and muted gurgles.


    Here in the depths, the creatures I lead are the most human, I suppose. Compared to this endless web of abominations, I am a work of art of infinite beauty.


    The Scurgeons, with their countless limbs ending in the most disparate ways¡ªfrom shovels and chisels to clamps and scalpels. They crawl on all fours, their snouts of gray flesh and iron aimed at the stone.


    We are drawing closer to the city on our path. We will harvest it. We will replenish our numbers, grow more efficient. Perhaps I will even find suitable subjects for the master¡¯s transformations.


    Time flowed, placid and inexorable.


    The tunnels, advancing like subcutaneous veins, merged into a great chamber¡ªa womb where we would wait.


    The Scurgeons resumed digging, this time in a vertical spiral, thrusting toward the surface and the light.


    The anticipation, which for me should be nothing, suddenly came alive, unusual and unexpected, like a flying horror in the dark underground labyrinth.


    It was an old habit of mine, I suppose, not erased and perfected by the master. But I did not mind.


    I found amusement in the wait, perhaps even more than in the harvest itself.


    Inspiration stirred within me, almost worthy of the creator¡¯s.


    I began to sculpt.


    I took a Trhosner, a creature formed from the union of ten or more human bodies. Their legs used as a driving force, their torsos detached and then stitched and riveted into a horizontal platform resting on their limbs, their arms placed outside the great slab of torsos, and eyes and ears sewn to the base of the appendages.


    It became the foundation of my new sculpture. I took limbs and parts from other countless creations. In the end, the result was a colossal and immense creature.


    It towered over me in the center of that dark womb of cold stone.


    Its cylindrical body, resembling that of a leech but more rigid and metallic, stood upright, aimed toward the heights of the cavern.


    At its base were structures of bone and steel, like spider legs, ending in spikes and barbs.


    Along its trunk writhed arms ready to grasp. Near the summit, I had sewn four large multi-jointed limbs. The mouth¡ªa true perfect nightmare.


    After kilometers of tunnels, it was time to break through the last thin membrane.


    The army under my silent command began to ascend. A symphony of picks and scratches rose like a mournful lament from the unknown depths.


    A thunderous roar and tremor came from above. Rocks and dust fell, crushing some of my creatures.


    But finally, the breach was open¡ªa bleeding wound of darkness in the earth.


    A second of silence and stillness. Then, screams and another crash. Pieces of the wall tumbled into the channel we had dug.


    The screams continued as the vanguard was vomited onto the land.


    The city was already a mix of emotions before we set foot in it. Panic and fear dominated; I could smell their sublime scent in the air.


    I did not guide the troops with precision. The task was to kill, and I did not wish to distract myself with such humble activities.


    I preferred to enjoy the spectacle and immerse myself in the musicality of the moment.


    We had been birthed at the edge of the city, just outside the walls. A miscalculation, but it worked out. The wall had cracked and collapsed into the tunnel, opening the way for us.


    I moved slowly and with agility, leaping like a tick from one rooftop to another.


    I observed the streets and the futile defenses upheld by these men.


    Yes, the soldiers of the depths were breaking and crumbling, but they could have been repaired.


    I was searching for something interesting.


    There he was.


    From the top of a tall building, I saw him.


    In the north of the city, a group of soldiers was holding out rather well.


    Ordinary men cannot accomplish such feats. A new game worthy of the master.


    I hopped from roof to roof, occasionally skewering an unfortunate soul in the streets with my stinger¡ªa playful pastime.


    Then I stood before the battalion, scrutinizing it for the true linchpin of that trash.


    Found him.


    A tall man covered from head to toe in dull gray and red armor.


    It had to be him. I could smell his vigor and indomitable spirit.


    Moreover, he wielded an ancient blade. It was clear it had been forged with a precious alloy. I also sensed a strange aura around it¡ªperhaps a blessing, but more likely some kind of enchantment.


    He cut through the slender and swift Skirrers like nothing, while amputating and immobilizing the heavy Lusteks.


    It was clear he was the beating heart of those soldiers, giving them courage and faith in the black sea of despair that we were.


    It was time to act.


    I leapt from the ledge where I stood.


    I landed on the Lustek that was being torn apart.


    By accident, I pierced its brain with one of my legs. No matter.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I had made my entrance, illuminated by fire against a backdrop of moonless night.


    I must have been quite glorious.


    I struck him from the left with my blade-arm.


    He parried with his sword.


    But he had no time to block the clamp from the right, which, like a boulder, sent him reeling backward.


    Other soldiers rushed to cover him. I slaughtered them all. Crushed, impaled, trampled.


    He shouted words from his mouth, and the soldiers backed away from him.


    Good. A duel.


    I had already ordered the black creations to stay away. I do not like playing with insignificant beings.


    From his helmet, only bloodshot hazel eyes were visible.


    Something red and warm dripped from within.


    He stood in a defensive stance, his thick sword held before his body.


    He was clearly at a disadvantage compared to me.


    I towered over him at three meters tall. Fast and agile, dense and heavy. With more limbs and weapons. A faster, more calculating mind.


    He had only flesh, blood, and spirit.


    I lunged like thunder before him, repeating the same actions as before.


    He dodged the first and deflected the second.


    But my unexpected stinger found his knee.


    He swung his sword, and I stepped back to avoid the blow.


    A moment of calm in the storm.


    I watched him, waiting for his descent into total despair.


    He had one knee, and thus one leg, rendered useless.


    He should have understood and accepted the situation by now.


    I was giving him time.


    But then¡­ he stood.


    His shattered knee defied all logic and kept him upright.


    He looked around, then fixed his gaze on me. I heard a stifled chuckle.


    Then he shouted in a deep, metallic voice:


    ¡°Soldiers! Do not surrender! I know you fear them more than death itself! But do not give them what they want! They want to see us trembling and silent! Kneeling, offering our heads! But no! We are warriors! Not aberrations! We will die on our feet!¡±


    What a pitiful sight. Those insects felt reinvigorated and held their heads high for a few seconds longer. But nothing would change their fate.


    He continued, his voice lower but still strong, now directed at me:


    ¡°Foul creature, courage! Our fight is not over. Or are you afraid?¡±


    That final laugh¡ªor perhaps the entire situation, so far from my expectations¡ªwas like a faint itch in my brain.


    It was time to bring him to his knees, to break him, to make him beg.


    I charged again.


    This time, the clamp from the right first, then the blade from the left.


    Dodged and parried.


    My stinger shot like a lance, again aimed at his right leg.


    He pivoted on his left leg, shifting his body sideways, bringing his sword up from below to meet my stinger.


    His left foot was pierced. My leg had nailed him to the ground.


    His breath broke into a stifled scream.


    He tried to raise his sword to strike me, but my six-fingered hand shot out.


    I seized his right arm.


    I lifted my leg slowly, the sound of bones and blood filling the air.


    With my other hand, I first removed his helmet, then lifted him by both wrists.


    He still clutched that sword, but it didn¡¯t matter. He had lost from the start.


    I pulled him close, wanting to savor the expression and emotions on his face.


    A square, determined face. Even now, there was an immortal flame in his eyes.


    The itch worsened.


    Then, from his unyielding mouth, came a stunned whisper:


    ¡°L¡­Loris?¡±


    What a strange word.


    The itch became a clawing in my head.


    ¡°Is it really you? I¡¯m Lucas. Lucas Dumai. Do you remember? ¡±


    ¡°SILENCE!¡±


    For the first time, I spoke to such a weak and insignificant being.


    I wanted to scrutinize him, to watch his mind crumble. So why¡­?


    Why was I the one afraid?


    No. My name is not Loris. No. No. NO.


    It burns! My head felt as if a red-hot iron had been thrust into it.


    With the pain came memories and sensations. No. Impossible. I have neither.


    Then another pain. My right arm severed. A searing venom eating into my cold flesh.


    Pain, rage, and helplessness overwhelmed me.


    I was afraid. I no longer wanted to play.


    So I destroyed the game.


    My stinger plunged into his heart, tearing open and ripping apart everything inside that sack of flesh.


    But he stood there, upright on those broken legs.


    WHY?!


    Why is he not afraid?!


    I am better. I no longer need to hide or close my eyes!


    ¡°Loris¡­ Before I go, tell me one thing. Where did you hide that night?¡±


    I am not Loris. I don¡¯t know¡­


    But my hoarse, grating voice answered:


    ¡°A floorboard¡­ It was lifted. There was just enough space for a small child¡­¡±


    ¡°Blood seeped through the cracks¡­ I was drowning in it¡­¡±


    ¡°But I was good. I stayed silent and still, like the dead. It was my salvation.¡±


    His eyes crystalline and serene, he knew from the beginning his destiny.


    I, on the other hand, was being devoured by something hot and ravenous. It wanted to consume me.


    I severed Lucas¡¯s head and tied it to my side. I didn¡¯t know what I would do with it.


    As the battle drew to a close, I ¡°rested¡± and tried to regain control of my mind as much as possible.


    I also recovered the sword that belonged to the great warrior. It had cut through my humanoid arm like nothing, and I sensed that the aura surrounding it was related to what had clawed at my brain.


    Toward the end of the assault, near dawn, the rooster¡¯s crow came.


    Except it was our enemies who sang the melody.


    Horrors of the sky blotted out the rising sun. Their iridescent wings, just like those of the past.


    But there was more.


    A massive mass of flying flesh. It had four wings, translucent membranes shimmering with silver light. A body resembling that of a larva, but more distorted.


    The few humans still alive I saw go mad. Tears of blood streamed from their eyes. They rolled on the ground, screaming incomprehensible words.


    Then, silent and all-encompassing, drowning out the shrill shrieks in the sky, an abominable sound spread.


    The flesh and blood on the ground began to move like skin and muscle.


    The men still alive saw their bodies deform and stretch, kneaded by the slimy, infectious wave.


    That gigantic thing was the cause, and it had to be brought down.


    Finally, I gave orders to my army. The Skidvurs emerged from the tunnel, protected by the infantry. They were to deal with the flying horrors with their lances of bone and iron. Additionally, larger, improved specimens catapulted Atruls into the sky¡ªsmall, spider-like creations with spurs.


    What a waste. All the bodies and new materials of a city lost to these disgusting creatures.


    I was withdrawing the troops toward the tunnel.


    It needed to get close enough for my plan.


    We were suffering heavy losses. That mass of flesh had pustules that burst and shot out chunks of meat that, upon impact, adhered and covered more of my soldiers, merging and transforming them into its slaves. Moreover, the blood-soaked ground had turned into a carpet of skin from which tentacles stretched, hindering us.


    We were getting closer to the chasm behind us. And so was it.


    I positioned myself at the edge of the abyss. Before me was the void; beyond, the sky filled with abominations.


    My new friend Lucas seemed to enjoy the view with me. His mouth twitched into a grin, and his eyes rolled madly beneath his eyelids.


    The obese larva was finally above the abyss, seemingly intent on crawling into it.


    Now was the moment to see my work of art in action.


    A flash. Then a psychedelic screech.


    The death construct had latched onto the thing in the sky, its limbs anchored in the flesh. Meanwhile, its mouth¡ªan endless series of rings made of fingers with teeth¡ªwas drilling into its body.


    The massive winged monster soon had a colossal parasite within it.


    It let itself fall downward, thrashing weakly into the hole, crawling deeper.


    Annoying. Nothing good could come of that thing reaching the sacred halls and corridors of the master.


    My creation had to kill it before it reached the main underground chamber.


    I had to inform the master in the tower in the meantime.


    So I closed my eyes and devoted myself to silence and darkness.


    I chanted the name of the nameless.


    I was looking for his golden smile in the darkness.


    Then finally I found him.

 A shattered mirror

    Shit!


    I have been summoned by the Amorphous Tricephalus.


    Until now, I considered myself a fairly lucky ¡°man.¡±


    Once, only once, I saw it with my fleshly eyes. Unlike the countless times when, with a distant syllable, it infiltrated my brain, observing me as I crawled on the ground, venerating its every word.


    But I find this latter method safer and more pleasant.


    Compared to my first encounter, this is idyllic.


    Imfiror is the name I was given that day, along with my new body.


    But how I arrived at the sacred temple of distortion is a story of coincidences and luck.


    I was born in the kingdom of Kosta and grew up in a small noble family without a fiefdom. My home was a palace rooted in the heart of Lukka, the capital.


    My parents educated me properly, but there was something strange and distant about them, as if they weren¡¯t truly showing themselves to their son.


    But on my eighth birthday, everything became clear to me, though nothing could truly be clear to a child.


    A grand party was hosted in our home, tables filled with delicacies and exotic wines. Luxurious carpets and colorful fabrics hung on the walls. Incense and perfumes filled the air, as if it were the entrance to a mysterious and unknown world, where every sense was delighted.


    I felt truly happy that day. I sensed that something was different about my parents. They seemed to truly love me.


    I don¡¯t remember the guests, but they were all noble or wealthy families. Many brought their daughters to ¡°introduce the children.¡±


    I¡¯ve always had a gift since I was young: the gift of rationality and reason.


    I saw and felt the world outside those golden palaces. The world was sinking, and we were dancing on the edge before plunging into the abyss.


    But my joy was greater than anything, even greater than the guilt I felt for the hungry and poor.


    After the usual hour when guests would leave, some still remained.


    Shortly after, my dear mother, with a radiant toast, announced that it was time. Time to begin the ritual of my baptism.


    I was confused. I knew nothing about this. Moreover, they weren¡¯t churchgoers; they had never visited those bare temples.


    My confusion grew when all the curtains were drawn, the lights dimmed, the music ceased and turned into whispered chants, and the incense became intense and dizzying.


    But my biggest question was why everyone was undressing. Not just the nobles and the wealthy, but also the waiters, cooks, and scullery maids.


    My eyes were wide, and my mind was immobilized. I didn¡¯t understand.


    Then my mother placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear:


    ¡°My love, it¡¯s time. I know it might scare you, but Mommy is here beside you. Today is the day you begin to know and love a true god, of flesh and not of words.¡±


    No words came from my mouth. I had never seen her so loving, and her words were incomprehensible to me.


    So when she slowly began to unbutton my clothes and remove them piece by piece, I did nothing. In fact, I helped her in her task.


    My garments were scattered like flowers at my feet. I felt penetrating gazes from every angle. Everywhere. But my eyes were glued to one point: my mother¡¯s face.


    She picked me up. It was perhaps the first time. She placed me on the table where the dishes had been. Now I was the dish to be devoured.


    Then there was chaos. All my senses were overwhelmed.


    I heard veiled moans brushing my ears, acrid smells mixing with the smoke. Heat, hands, caresses, and grips.


    I was the eye of the storm. My mind placid and frozen, while around me a cornucopia of writhing limbs.


    The end, and how I arrived the next morning, is unclear to me. But from that day on, I belonged to a cult, the one that would eventually bring me here today. To what I am now.


    My parents became more affectionate and more ¡°real.¡± They preached the creed of the religion to me: life was pleasure, and the highest pleasure was devotion to the God of Flesh, the Amorphous Tricephalus.


    The years passed. Parties and rituals followed one after another. But I felt like I did on that fateful day: trapped inside a mirror. I saw and heard the world around me, but I didn¡¯t perceive it as real. It was distant and detached.


    Then the increasingly unstable kingdom of Kosta, torn apart by conflicts and inequalities, came to an end.


    Our chants called its children. They came from beyond the sea. Beautiful flying Horrors fell from the sky.


    A symphony rose from the sky to the earth. Their screeches joined with human screams. A vibration, a tremor.


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    The royal palace was inseminated by something. Tentacles of flesh, like roots, spread through the city, and with them came the distortion of the people still alive.


    I saw my father become a mass of eyes and mouths, while my mother melted like a candle. Her beautiful skin dripped onto the floor where she lay. Her eyes were full of glory and passion as she became a carpet of flesh.


    She looked at me and spoke in a strange voice: ¡°You are the chosen one, my son! Look at yourself¡ªyou have the blessing to walk in the flowering garden of our Lord! Do not cry, but rejoice, for your fortune is great!¡±


    I stood there, feeling my mind being pulled by my flesh. But they were separate. It couldn¡¯t cross the mirror and grab me.


    Some eyes or small tentacles sprouted from my body, but nothing extreme. Tolerable.


    I saw it from the top of my old home. The city was covered in pulsating roots that dug into the earth and into minds. A slimy red moss covered the stone, and flowers of bizarre and fetid colors sprouted where humans once were.


    A creature with six white wings descended before me. It was slightly larger than the other horrors, but its body was similar. The difference was in the wings and the perfect female face it had on its abdomen and torso. Above, its head was like a closed flower, a sharp bud.


    ¡°What a fine specimen. Such a spirit. You are fit to be blessed by the Amorphous Tricephalus. Come, I will take you to Him.¡±


    I stood still, enchanted by such mellifluous words. I didn¡¯t even notice when two white arms extended and picked me up. I found myself in another embrace, her smooth, marble-white skin enveloping me.


    A flight. The dead but pulsating city left behind. A temple, fallen into the earth beyond the ocean.


    I slept like a child in Kayeta¡¯s embrace¡ªa name I learned later and now disgusts me. The sun rose and set several times before we arrived at what I must now call home.


    An island. Psychedelic plants grew everywhere. Everything seemed to crawl and pulsate, as if it were the body of a creature.


    At the center was a chasm. Pieces of iron were embedded in the cliffs carved by the object at the bottom. It gave the impression of something old but superior, an object of ancient splendor.


    We plunged into the fallen temple, passing through steel walls and red roots. In the deepest place, I was deposited by Kayeta, who said, ¡°Go forward, and you will meet Him,¡± before flapping her wings and disappearing from where we had come.


    Suddenly, panic and fear overwhelmed me. I was beginning to understand. Everything suddenly hit me: the city, my mother¡¯s words, the flight with Kayeta, where I was now, and WHO I was about to meet.


    I stood there, clutching my head in my hands. I wanted to disappear, to become wind and blow away into the sky.


    I breathed and slowly came back to myself. I began to look around.


    It was a tall, shallow room. Walls of black iron with roots like veins covering them. A red and yellow light pulsed from bulbs growing throughout the structure.


    All of this filled me with a certain disgust, but I was finally returning to the other side of the mirror. My mind, isolated and protected.


    I turned my gaze toward the door. It was the only thing separating me from IT. It was my last shield. Once I opened it, I would never return. What lay beyond was unknown.


    An inscription in the ancient magical language was written above it. In large, cold letters, the word VILITRIUM was engraved. As a young man, I had studied it as a subject and understood its meaning in broad terms: Triumph of Truth. A beautiful name, like an omen of what I would find beyond the door.


    Every step was like a stab to the heart. Irrational fears invaded my mind, as if every thought I had came to life in my head, each one screaming and demanding to be heard.


    There was no lock, only a long black line of darkness.


    Cold and merciless, my fingers sank into the crack.


    I slid my fingers into the crevice. I was the key. I pushed in opposite directions until I managed to cross that portal.


    I was beyond. I had passed through. But I knew I wasn¡¯t ready. No one could be.


    The voices in my head shouted over each other, and then other voices began to arrive. Feminine, young, old, hoarse, and shrill. They weren¡¯t mine.


    I raised my head toward the top of the enormous circular atrium.


    It hung like a fruit from a tree.


    A mass of flesh clung to the ceiling, veins and roots branching out everywhere.


    Silver light radiated in an unknown way from that mass.


    The three heads hung upside down, but with mouths, noses and eyes as if they were straight.


    Their hair hung downward, and where the forehead was, there was also a mouth. It seemed unnaturally correct and logical.


    One was a girl, the one on the right an old man, and the one in the center a man with an ordinary face. So common it was forgettable.


    They stared at me.


    And they spoke without mouths because their mouth was in my head.


    They overwhelmed me, and from standing still, I collapsed to my knees, face to the ground.


    The mirror was cracked.


    My body was reshaped by their syllables and murmurs.


    I fled into the shards of glass in my mind, pursued by more and more voices.


    Then, at some point, they diminished until they almost disappeared. Not even my own voice remained. Only three distinct voices resonated, united and discordant.


    ¡°YoU aRe IMFIROR. YoU aRe OuR ChOsEn OnE. YoU hAvE PaSsEd ThE ReBiRtH. NoW YoU aRe OuR ChIlD. YoU wIlL ObEy OnLy Us.¡±


    I did not respond because I had no mouth, but I could not refuse Its gift. Slowly, I returned to my body. I felt it again.


    I was a mass of pulsating flesh. I was a fetus in formation.


    Slowly and inexorably, my body formed. Until a hunger enveloped my mind. With the claws I had instead of hands, I tore the placenta. Fluid and blood accompanied my first breath. A growl spat from my throat followed. My jaws opened wide, down to my lower abdomen. I devoured the thing that was supposed to be my mother.


    The hunger subsided. I examined myself.


    I was different¡ªnot just physically. I had changed in unfathomable ways.


    A reflection of myself on a shiny wall allowed me to examine myself better.


    I was tall, 4 or 5 meters. A massive, muscular body covered in yellow-brown fur. I resembled a hyena. My snout was similar too. But I had bat-like ears and eyes without pupils. They were just a black background sprinkled with silver cracks.


    Then, my jaws could open wide. From the corners of my mouth, I could split down to my pelvis. My entire torso literally became a bite.


    Strange patterns were drawn on my fur. I felt they had a purpose. Moreover, many things were unclear to me. I sensed there was much more.


    But from then on, I had plenty of time to discover and explore it. But now I must go.


    It calls me. They call me. I must return below, to the door.


    This time, I don¡¯t know how I will return. If I will return.

 SPLASH!

    Someone calls me.


    Pleads with me.


    Begs me.


    It is Creation 2-17.


    Yes. It was mediocre. Body. Strength.


    Prone to inferiority. And precisely for this, it is a loyal servant.


    Let us listen. From the deepest height, I immerse myself in it.


    My vitreous eyes reflected in the mirror before me.


    Then I was elsewhere.


    I stood atop a mountain of darkness.


    A being prostrated at the foot of the mount, submerged in the black waters surrounding us.


    It raised its gaze and uttered, ¡°My lord.¡±


    In its eyes, I saw my reflection. A golden spark. Ironically, my smile was the only light in this world.


    ¡°Tell me, why have you summoned me?¡±


    I observed it more closely. It seemed troubled. Impossible for beings like us.


    ¡°The servants of the Tricephalus attacked us after we harvested a city¡­ We lost all materials.¡±


    ¡°It matters not. Eliminate its offspring and continue digging the tunnels.¡±


    They were just a few lost corpses. Nothing essential to my grand design.


    ¡°No, my lord, there is more.¡±


    ¡°SPEAK!¡±


    Why was it so slow and imprecise? It seemed almost ¡°human.¡±


    ¡°Y-yes! A colossal flying mass of flesh, unlike anything seen before, attacked us! My servant is killing it, but I fear it won¡¯t succeed in time. They¡¯re descending into the depths of the galleries, and I don¡¯t know what that being is capable of!¡±


    A formless pressure descended upon that motionless place.


    It was me.


    I stared at that wretched failure. It was what it was.


    I did not answer. It deserved no response.


    It had dared to jeopardize what truly matters.


    I watched it writhe as it sank into the trembling world of its own mind.


    I departed, leaving it one final command.


    It must return to my tower.


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    There, I would dismantle and reassemble it, improving it, excising all that was useless and rotten.


    Now, I had to resolve the situation.


    I followed the mental pathways and seized control of its creation.


    I shall call it Saghun. An intriguing design, but clearly primitive and lacking attention to detail.


    Each arm could be fused with two others. In this way, strength and grip would be optimized. Many areas for improvement.


    But now, back to the larva invading my domains.


    However fiercely Saghun tried to devour the creature from within, it proved futile.


    Its flesh continued to grow, filling every void.


    And in turn, what was devoured squirmed and sought to merge with the iron and bones of the creation.


    Moreover, the muscular bands were crushing it¡ªa persistent pressure.


    I infused my essence and spirit into this crude weapon.


    Black liquid began to gush from its maw. Black bile flowed through its body, dissolving every morsel of flesh attempting to insinuate itself.


    If Saghun had once been a worm in the flesh, it was now a venomous parasite. One that left in its wake rotten, necrotic flesh, infected by a truth that knows how to become poison.


    I did not know where the heart of this squirming mass lay¡ªassuming it had one.


    So I devoured as much as I could, leaving putrid tunnels in my wake.


    Then gravity faltered for a moment.


    We were falling into the great underground chamber.


    I had lost.


    The flesh exploded. The larva was scattered everywhere.


    On the walls, on the stone carvings, in the fissures of the earth.


    It was infiltrating my body.


    An eye with lips for eyelids rose into the air.


    It emitted a hateful silver shimmer.


    I hated it because it reminded me of what I cannot forget.


    I heard laughter. No¡ªthree laughs.


    Then it fixed upon Saghun for an instant.


    It knew I was there. It gazed at me, mocking and triumphant.


    Then it detonated.


    A silver flash like those from my nightmares.


    Then all the flesh¡ªeven the rotten¡ªbegan to writhe and proliferate like ravenous plants.


    I abandoned the vessel.


    No matter how much black bile it spewed, it was powerless now.


    Slowly, it was enveloped by flesh and tissue, sheathing its cold skeleton of death and iron.


    Here I am again in the tower.


    My absurd reflection confronts me.


    It was hatred.


    Hatred and contempt for what was unfolding.


    That blinded entity had managed to defeat me.


    Those three insipid beings, once capable only of flattery, now opposed me.


    And they succeeded.


    The sky was theirs, the earth mine.


    But now they¡¯ve breached my borders. And swiftly seized a fortress.


    I must retaliate. I must dispatch all my armies at once to reclaim that land.


    I must forge a body capable of harboring more of my power.


    I must wield greater dominion over this world.


    This tower is my home and my prison. My rebirth shall be my liberation.


    The day it happens. I will win.