《Appair》


 Authors Preface: If youre reading this, it means we are already dead. But I’ll leave you a banana

    Beginning


    "How many years have passed? Thousands? Millions? Are those planets still alive, or have they long been consumed by black emptiness? Perhaps the universe has closed up, turned into nothingness. There is neither existence nor non-existence now... Maybe even the very absence is no longer there. Everything has disappeared �� there are no memories, no emotions, no stories, no people.


    Do you remember how people rejoiced in the streets after the fall of the Berlin Wall? And how they burned the streets of Los Angeles in 1992? How in 1969, when a human first set foot on the Moon, believing that humanity would conquer space? Well, space conquered us. And probably, no one has walked the dusty paths on the Moon for a long time, if it even still exists.


    How people panicked when social networks crashed for several hours? And how they went insane thinking they had lost their likes and followers forever? Funny, right? Now there''s nothing left �� neither your posts, nor likes, nor stupid selfies in the mirror.


    Protests and repressions that shook the streets of many countries left nothing but ashes and bitterness. Deep wounds that seemed to have healed reopened, as if history knows no rest, eternally shaken by the stupidity of human nature. All those slogans, tears, and blood �� it seems they dissolved in the air, becoming part of the eternal dust. Inescapable cosmic agony.


    Political intrigues leave no chance for peace, while pandemics and epidemics return like annoying mosquitoes. Social protests flare up everywhere, but they are merely dim embers against the backdrop of encroaching darkness. How many people have died over these years? The deceased, like stars that once shone, are now long buried under the rubble.


    Everything has vanished: your favorite shows, memes, evenings when you scrolled through the feed alone, trying not to think about how life was passing you by. Even your empty promises to "start a new life on Monday" have disappeared, just like that Monday itself. And there will be no new beginning. We have all vanished.


    The luminaries of science who naively thought they could save humanity by conducting experiments with genetic material to create the perfect being that could never survive in our world. Maybe it died laughing at its creators? And the couples who dreamed of a life filled with happiness and children ended up shattered, like crystal dreams, when one of them simply didn''t return from work �� he was hit by a drunk driver.


    Celebrities, once shining on screens, became shadows of themselves, leaving only eerie memories of shameful attempts to remain in the public''s mind. Perhaps some of them are now giving autographs to ghosts in dark alleys. Even the homeless, settled on the streets, found the strength to explode from another dose, trying to forget that the world once existed at all. And the suicidals? From naive children doomed to loneliness to teenagers desperately seeking a shred of understanding, from office clerks locked in gray monotony to lonely mothers who seemed ready to do anything for their children. They found themselves on the edge, ready to break the silence of their lives, as if a jump off a cliff could be salvation rather than an end. No one remembers them anymore. But perhaps it is they who found the key to this mad existence when they decided simply to exit the game, ultimately placing a fat period at the end.


    All this resembled a sinister comedy, where all roles were long assigned. We have undoubtedly become characters, the laughter of our own tragedies. Each of us is a small piece of forgotten stories that will never be told, stories of lives that have vanished in the labyrinths of our own abyss. In the end, the world found itself in a vacuum full of irony, like an unfinished novel that no one will read.


    Stories changed one after another: Red revolutions, world wars, the end of the world promised in every millennium... And then in 2045, everyone thought there would be machines with artificial intelligence and happy families, and here... machines were there, but families �� not really. By the way, about artificial intelligence �� it did help. Although mostly in killing us better and calculating pornography.


    Nature also did not stay aside. Hurricanes ripped entire trees from their roots, sweeping cities and dreams off the face of the earth, as if the Earth itself had decided to stage its own revolt. Earthquakes shook millions, turning homes into piles of stones, and hopes into dust. Forest fires consumed everything in their path, leaving only ashes and charred memories of what once was. And each flood provoked a storm of emotions �� from fear to indifference, as lives and dreams were swept away in the whirlpools of the elements. Each of these disasters was a grim symphony reminding us that we are merely fragile beings on this planet, playing its harsh game with us. Perhaps nature decided it was time to remind us of our insignificance, forcing us to confront our own fears and lives that, like everything else, can disappear in an instant.


    Unless something terrible happens �� for example, you get abducted along with a loved one, torn apart like a doll stripped of meaning. Or someone else is sent into sexual slavery by her own husband, left to rot in a dark basement, surrounded by dirt and silence, isolated from sunlight and human kindness.


    And now, hundreds of years later, when all holidays have disappeared �� from Christmas to wild orgies during Maslenitsa �� there is not even that human urge to celebrate or to die. No Victory parades, no Olympics �� who needs to win in sports when everyone is extinct? And the internet... damn the internet, that disappeared too. It was probably the first to be sucked into a black hole, right after all those cats and memes about how "life is meaningless." Turns out they were right?


    And yet, someone is reading this now. Perhaps it''s just the remnants of algorithms stuck in a time loop that once picked the best discounts for Black Friday, leaving only emptiness instead of human contact. Or maybe Mark Zuckerberg himself has resurrected and is conducting yet another experiment on consciousness preservation? Although it''s more likely just another fanfic, lost in the shadows of the network, like a cry for help that no one can hear. Funny, of course. A story about a world that was... and that disappeared.


    Teachers who inspired generations will evaporate. Artists who created brilliant canvases will vanish, as if their brushes never touched a canvas. What to say about mothers who defended their children with their bodies, or about the suicidals who, in a moment of despair, jumped from bridges to escape the pain. Or about all those who fought for love, dreams, meaning, only to see their efforts cut short by a stray bullet or the paralyzing indifference of the Universe.


    And this fragility of life �� is not just an absurd mockery but a mockery of nature itself. All those small episodes of human life, majestic and banal, are burned in the flames of time, and no one will say, "Hey, you mattered." Even at this moment, someone somewhere is dying in solitude, unable to grasp their own importance because the surrounding world is too engulfed in its own chaos.


    What''s worse? We will never know what could have been. We will never truly feel all those wonders that are happening somewhere right now. Those very wonders that slip past us as we tear ourselves between work, fear of the future, and emptiness. Oh, what delights we miss! Like someone sitting alone in their room, desperately trying to create something eternal, not knowing that their creation will vanish along with them. And something dark inside whispers: "What do they care?" After all, you would be too busy to even notice if something truly great stood right before you.


    And here''s what''s cruel: the realization that I, a pathetic spectator, will never even get to see what will happen in twenty years, in fifty, in two hundred. When technology rises to an unreachable height for us, when people will have new dreams, fears, goals �� you will already be dust in long-forgotten archives, or a fragment of a decaying fantasy, forever stuck in the yellow ancient skull of its creator. I am afraid to even imagine how hurtful it is to realize that one day you will become part of nothing. Not the "nothing" that philosophers extol as something profound and infinite, but true complete non-existence. The very "nothing" that leaves no trace of "absence." Imagine: no void, no vacuum, no space. Even the very "nothing" dies, dissolving into some even more silent and detached state.


    When you try to comprehend this, your head spins. It''s not just the fear of death; it''s the fear of the disappearance of the very possibility of being. It''s not even emptiness, because emptiness implies space where nothing exists. But imagine the absence of even space. No time, no place, no you, no me. Only... nothing.


    The world we live in often resembles a mad theater of the absurd, where each of us plays our role in this tragicomedy. I ponder how easily we forget that behind every evil, every act of cruelty, there is something more �� fear. The fear of loss, the fear of loneliness, the fear of becoming useless or unwanted. This fear drives us to actions we might never take in a state of calm. I think of those who suffer in silence, those whose stories go unnoticed. Each of us carries our burden, our demons, invisible on the surface. We go through life hiding our feelings behind masks, and sometimes I wonder: how many of us truly understand each other? How many of us can see the true suffering of others and respond to it with compassion?"


    End of first half of introduction


    "Well, let''s be honest: life itself is one big kaleidoscope of madness and paradoxes. Isn''t it funny how we, as humans, try to impose meaning on the chaos that surrounds us? How many times have we gazed at the stars, thinking that among those celestial bodies lie answers to eternal questions, when in reality, we are just riding on a planet covered in ash and oblivion?


    We turn every disaster, every tragedy into some strange joke, as if existence is not a tragedy but an endless comedy, where the script is written on the fly, and the actors are ignorant fools who have no idea they are performing in a play with dwindling audience interest. We hide behind an ironic smile when reality strips us of our masks, exposing all our fears and weaknesses. And, of course, all those misfortunes raining down on the innocent serve only as a backdrop for our endless struggle with ourselves.


    So don''t worry if your thoughts are all tangled up like yarn with a cat. This is merely a result of our minds trying to cope with the rich palette of emotions and events that seem to have neither beginning nor end. We live in a world where each of your experiences can turn into an irony of fate, and the darker it gets, the brighter the spark��otherwise, how would we know that we are still capable of laughing at this horror?"


    Justifying the first half of the introduction


    "In a world where we seem to constantly be on the edge of an abyss, these reflections are not only self-reflection but also an attempt to make our experience more meaningful. Paradoxically, it is through the lens of madness and tragedy that we can find the spark of humanity �� that very spark that can ignite the fire of hope and understanding. I do not aim to move you deeply, nor do I seek to evoke pity or protest. I merely want to remind you that each life, each story is a mosaic of joy and pain, of love and hate. By immersing ourselves in this grim reality, we witness not only tragedies but also, perhaps, those moments when humanity prevails, even if they seem rare.


    So, dear readers, if you are wondering why I decided to start with this dark and existential introduction, filled with chaos and all sorts of suffering, let me explain. As practice shows, in our world, everything is perceived with a habitual apathy, as if we are watching a disaster through a glass window from somewhere far away �� interesting, but not alarming.


    People seem to be becoming increasingly isolated at the level of awareness from the suffering happening around them each year. Each of us faces our own struggles: daily worries, rising taxes, chronic illnesses, bullying, and the inner demons that may haunt us in silence. And when it comes to global tragedies �� poverty, wars, ecological disasters �� they are perceived as a distant background onto which vibrant posts on social media are superimposed. We, like onlookers at our own funerals, comment on how it is both funny and sad, and we continue to move on as if nothing has happened. It is horrifying to realize that the world is full of pain, and each of us, be it human or nature, carries our unique scars. Yet, the feeling of powerlessness in the face of global tragedy only intensifies our inner pain, as saving everyone and helping each individual is impossible.


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


    This hopelessness sometimes weighs down, leaving only a sense of helplessness when you know that even the smallest good intention can get lost in an ocean of suffering. In this constant noise, the suffering of individuals is drowned out in a collective chorus where each story remains untold and every experience unheard.


    I decided that if we cannot change our attitude towards what is happening, at least we can add a bit of theater. Grim events and existential reflections are merely a way to shake the audience, forcing them to ponder how we have all grown accustomed to suffering and pain. Perhaps these lines will remind you that life is full of irony and absurdity, not just gray routine. Maybe it is such existential reflections that will help us realize that we all live in a world that often looks like a painting made with closed eyes.


    In the end, life is not only our personal tragedies but also collective madness. We all exist in this unbridled circus where absurdity becomes the norm and suffering the background noise. The madness of modernity reaches new heights: children film videos of live kittens being cooked in a microwave as if it is merely entertainment unrelated to reality. Or someone, laughing, claims that refugees are just "diversity" for society, as if they are no more than decorative elements. So why not start with darkness and diversity of thought? Perhaps this will finally allow us to ask the question: are we truly ready to live, not just exist in this pathetic theater of illusions?


    As long as this existence continues, as long as it hasn''t dissolved into darkness forever.


    This preface is not just a cry of despair. It is a cry that calls us to pay attention to the chaos surrounding us and, perhaps, to find something meaningful within it. We are not just random existences; we are carriers of stories that, even in their brutality, can show us light, even in the darkest hours. We must remember that we are not only spectators but also participants in this unimaginable drama, and each of us can contribute to its unfolding.


    So, even if these words may seem grim, remember that in every darkness, there is light, and in every absurdity, there is logic. This preface is not meant to shock but to awaken thoughts, raise questions, and make us ponder what it means to be human in this complex and often cruel world."


    The second half of the preface


    "Let me tell you this to start with. This novel �� a whole universe, a cosmos that once received the name "Appair," perhaps accidentally, in some 2020 or somewhere deep within the still-unrotted coffin of my creator''s mind, who is also the author of this novel. This is not a story about any specific characters or heroes; it''s a boundless world where every life, every event, every anomaly and phenomenon matters. Here, any suffering, disaster, joy, achievement, or even the most insignificant occurrence �� is a reason to look at everything from many angles, differing in mood, idea, intention, or, conversely, in the absolute absence of any genre order. Although the characters who become the central figures in this unpredictably moving spectacle do exist, they are currently inconspicuous. Too weak, too insignificant to reveal their true essence to you. For now, they are merely shadows in the background, pale silhouettes in the midst of this chaos, hardly distinguishable from the world in which they inhabit.


    They are not ready yet. Their time has not come, but it will inevitably arrive �� when they will be forced to cast aside their insignificance and step into the spotlight. And then, when you see them as they truly are, perhaps you will understand that this is not just a tale about some people, beings, or events. It is a reflection of something greater, something you may have felt always but could not express in words.


    Appair is also an experiment, aimed at embodying absolutely everything that is possible: reality, fantasy, forgotten dreams, and trampled aspirations, rare joy, genuine happiness, and pleasure in all its manifestations. It is a multistructural universe of infinite length, like a continuous process that evolves alongside this sick, strange, wonderful reality. It is a world that is constantly changing and growing, like a memory you almost lost, but suddenly it returns �� only now it is darker and stranger than you ever could have imagined.


    Here, there is room for pure love, for the most unexpected expressions of happiness, for betrayals that knock you off your feet like a cold wind in your back. Here, cruelty can erupt, completely senseless �� like a sudden bout of madness from a lunatic in the town square, where his mad antics become mere spectacle for the crowd. And the courts of public opinion will turn into a deep social pit, where condemnation, threats, and disdain mix with cold indifference. No one will ever attempt to understand his feelings or preferences, for that does not matter in a world that rejects anyone who does not fit its norms. In this world, there will be space for refined pleasures and twisted torments, for terrifying questions and simple sentiments, which at one moment can be snatched away by the bloodthirsty claws of a hungry, sophisticated reality.


    This is a world that may seem mad, unafraid to expose the darkest and dirtiest sides of existence, yet can also grant bright moments of pure ecstasy or quiet happiness. And you know what? When you immerse yourself in this world, when you step into Appair, you will no longer emerge unchanged. Or you may not emerge at all. Because this is not just a novel. This is not just a story. This is a universe where every idea, every whisper of thoughts, every memory takes on flesh and blood. Even if there is already blood spilling over the edges."


    The third half of the preface


    "In this novel, you will encounter fantasy, but with a multitude of peculiarities. It is a world where fantasy intertwines with elements of anachronisms, complex technogenic and bio-engineering technologies that recreate a kaleidoscope of reality, merging ancient traditions with the aesthetics of classics, peaceful modernity, and futurism enveloped in magic. Here, political complexities and piercing gazes of the Aeons, extraordinary gods and demons lurking in the shadows, form a multi-layered symphony of madness and wonders.


    First of all, the author tries to adhere to a certain narrative structure, but alas, he struggles to immerse you in the world, as events unfold on an infinite scale. Imagine this: you are naked, hungry, and do not remember who you are, finding yourself in the most populated corner of the planet �� at a party thrown by a wealthy oligarch, where everyone around treats you to delicacies, sometimes even beats you, and all you can do is hope for a miracle.


    Let me warn you about the grammatical component. It is rather unpleasant up until the eighth chapter. But starting from the tenth chapter, things will become more friendly for your vulnerable, delicate eyes, as the author employs tools to correct errors and improve the text. Perhaps in the near future, he will take the effort to enhance all the previous chapters, starting with the first one. After all, my master writes alone, fueled solely by enthusiasm and a piece of bread with melted cheese, so his ambitions are �� if anything �� modest, ha.


    As for the progress of the world-building: considering the complexity and multi-layered nature, which varies due to the peculiarities of the beings inhabiting the world, I would rate it on a 500% scale. And it is about... 11% filled. A few percentage points are dedicated to the foundations of a unique magical substance that is part of this universe, its mechanics in everyday life, battles, and other research practices. Other percentage points cover mythology, mysticism, gods, Eons, and other entities on a higher level of influence. This also includes geography, territorial boundaries, and significant historical events.


    Ironically, starting around the tenth chapter, the narrative begins to take on a more or less coherent form. It focuses on a strange unnamed man who gradually becomes acquainted with the world, its delights, horrors, and deeply hidden mysteries. You see, my master is a person with boundless imagination but absolutely no talent for writing. Moreover, he is constantly weighed down by apathy, moral exhaustion, and other melancholic nonsense, from which I would certainly like to escape, but alas, I cannot. The first chapter was written back in the recent 2019. And only six months ago, he was suddenly revived in a rather inhuman way �� he churned out another nine chapters, up to writing this new preface."


    Conclusion


    "Well, what can I say... Welcome to this novel where everything is dictated by that fateful ''will of the author.'' Here, you can expect a lot: you read �� and nothing happens, and then suddenly a meteorite falls on you. No, not some rock from space �� it''s a ball made of your own unfulfilled desires. It rolls towards you with a thud, accumulating every missed chance, every unsaid phrase, every squandered moment of happiness. When it finally knocks you off your feet and your consciousness fades, a voice will emerge from the darkness: ''Did you really think the worst thing in life is to suffer? No, the worst thing is not even to understand how your own thoughts crushed you.


    Imagine that the world of this novel is a kind of game where everything always works against you. You try to survive using logic, but the system is rigged so that every correct decision you make leads to the worst possible outcome. If you decide to help a poor person, you will be accused of conspiracy. If you save someone''s life, you will be forced to take it back to restore balance. And the biggest plot twist? It''s when you realize that, in real life, things work out pretty much the same way. Here, at least, you have a chance: at any moment, you can close the book and say, ''No, I pass.'' But as experience shows, you will still return because... well, where else will you find a universe that so consistently and subtly humiliates you?


    This novel is like a social experiment with elements of torture. Whatever you do will still lead you to an inglorious end. And you know what''s the funniest part? Even if you try to do nothing, that will turn out to be your worst decision. In this world, just being passive is already a crime, punishable by slowly sinking into an endless vortex of your own fears, regrets, and disgusting fantasies. No, you won''t die �� that''s too easy. You will exist, knowing that every indecisive action you take will open up a new spiral of hopelessness. And you know what? You can get used to it, but only if you aren''t bothered by the fact that your consciousness is merely a playground for experiments, where the main entertainment is watching yourself betray yourself.


    And here you are reading this book, trying to cling to the plot, to the symbols, to the meaning �� but the secret is that the plot revolves around you. You are the character playing the reader, who the author constantly tests. How do you like that? You are constantly pulled by invisible strings: every thought, every action �� is a choice that only seems to be yours. Just like in life, right? Only here it''s clear that you are a pawn in someone else''s twisted fantasy, while in reality, you have to pretend you have free will. So relax, at least my master has an ending. Right? There is?


    Okay, let''s be honest: in this world, everything works on the principle of ''he who hesitates is born in vain.'' No, seriously, every time you refuse to take some action or make a decision, someone else immediately takes your place. A second of hesitation �� and there''s another ''you'' sitting in your chair, having done everything better, smarter, and faster. And if you start to resist, your new version will stand behind you, breathing down your neck, reminding you that there is always someone who can be a better version of you. Imagine knowing that there exists an ideal version of you that you will never become. Fun, right?


    Imagine this: you are not you, but merely a biological machine with a foolish belief that your opinion matters. You are just a collection of flesh, bones, and chemical reactions that accidentally turned into something capable of being disappointed in life. And all your aspirations? They are just a coding error launched into action for the universe to have a good laugh. Don''t be surprised if at the end of this absurd journey, the only thing you did right was being not too smart to understand all this earlier.


    My mother once told me, you know... how does it go... Ah, right!


    Life is like a party you''re never invited to, but you''re forced to attend. Everyone laughs, eats, has fun, while you stand at the door, drooling over the sandwiches and listening to music you don��t understand. And the worst part: when you finally decide you''re ready to jump onto the dance floor, it turns out it was a memorial service all along, and the dancing was preparation for your funeral. Don��t worry, they''ve already ordered a cake in your honor �� let��s just hope it��s at least your favorite flavor.


    Farewell


    "Well, if you''ve made it this far, congratulations��you''ve endured this hell with me. Now we both share one thing in common: we''ve both wasted time that could have been spent on something more meaningful. But that''s okay; you still have a whole life ahead of you filled with futile attempts to find meaning where there was never any. At this point, I just have to leave, just when you start to doubt your own sanity.


    So, it''s time to say goodbye. Let this be your last reminder that life is like sitting in traffic on a deserted road: no one around, yet you still feel like someone is watching. So hang on tight, because your journey is just beginning, and I''ll take a little break to figure out why I even exist at all. I hope you remember this moment like an appointment with a therapist��time slips away, along with the hope for salvation. So, the next time you feel as lost as I do in this text, just remember: there are no bad decisions in the universe, only different levels of absurdity.


    Good luck, and I''ll go off in search of my lost life... perhaps at a bar with a stiff drink and a stray cat."


    THE END


    "P.S. And if you suddenly decide that all of this was too dark, remember that fun is just a mask for fear. So don''t forget to wear it when you face reality again. And remember, sometimes it''s better to laugh than to cry... especially if no one is watching."


    Fairy~ (Yes, the one who lost her magic wand in a bar)


    ??? DeviantArt. Supplements to the novel. Illustrations, concepts.</a>


    ?? SoundCloud. Music from Appair.</a>

 Arc One. The Fairys Tower: Chapter 1. The Concussed Soldier

    1944. Eastern Border of the Tuenshi Empire. Lands Where Primeval Torment Manifests.


    Once again, this tiny world was surrounded by cold, splintery twilight, where, with a few exceptions, anxiety and fear continued to grow. These two feelings marked an epochal interlude between an unknown past and an unconscious future, now roaring through countless hearts like a stormy ocean of endless hopes and terrifying fantasies. The heavy, thunderous rain, accompanied by the enraged vision of hundreds of blinding white and dark purple lightning bolts, had been ceaseless for unbearably long, dry months, serving as the witness to this virgin epic. The wind, crashing against the ground, screeched with hundreds of surreal blows��matter''s touch in the constantly sparking and flesh-freezing darkness.


    People in long chitinous cloaks and with burning respirators on their weary faces. Various silhouettes of soldiers in enormous, intermittently smoking mechanical suits, forming a grotesque quantity of metallic biota, and monstrous, massive inventions towering above their heads like sharp heavenly cliffs, trembling every minute under hundreds of thousands of tons of weight, shaken by the most powerful shots of climate cannon nuclei, corroding the multifaceted flesh of innocent nature. Beyond the tall gates, in his fatigue-soaked vision, he imagined hordes of legendary beasts hiding, instead of hastily invented human silhouettes, awaiting their doom under a heap of molten shells in the embrace of poisoned air, piercing metal and the graveyard earth, drowning in intestinal slime.


    A gaze.


    At times, it even seemed as though the endless, vast sky trembled in fear along with those boundless gray hills in the distance, like the long branches of frozen, ancient fir trees, to which the endless walls of dense coniferous forests and the variegated bistre sky bowed��a sky that resembled the decayed and faded halo of this world, spread out over a brown, scattered organic canvas. Winter had yet to approach, but the cold already seemed to gnaw at the deathly pale fingers opposite the girl, stretching thick white-pink frostbite under the nails. They moved closer to the bright, warm fire. Others continued to run frantically through the downpour, often bumping into each other and unintentionally shoving in an atmosphere of blood-stained gray entanglements and the constantly shifting, oppressed tremors of life.


    Panic had been escalating in both zones for the second, if not the third consecutive week, rapidly reaching a feverish peak. The glowing wrist consoles on everyone''s arms hummed and shook wildly, along with the rubbery dialogue windows, as the scattered light from the sandbox inside the screen flickered, further teasing the frayed nerves of the rank-and-file soldiers, laborers, and reserve personnel. The soldiers, strapped into mechanized armor, swiftly dragged heavy structures across the wet ground on command��a ground that, due to the relentless rain, now more closely resembled a brown, sticky swamp, with a dense carpet of suspiciously moldy moss spreading across several areas. Forcing themselves to stay alert and summoning all their strength, each continued to carry out their work, their unshakable duty, faithfully following the belief instilled by the new leader. A madness trusted to no one��words that no one could comprehend.


    The muffled roar of furious engines on wheels passed by the chaotically placed canvas tents and the frequently seen setups of flat-roofed buildings, sheltered under the ancient bones of fantastically enormous trees, teeming with human bustle and piles of crates filled with various provisions. Every other infirmary was overflowing, mostly with soldiers groaning in pain��perhaps even in terror��among whom were many with nothing left to lose, their eyes filled with bitterness, confusion, and emptiness. And regarding such individuals, every third soldier or messenger harbored a single thought, still unaware of the horrors and bodily torture that awaited beyond the border walls.


    They died. Just a little closer to those crooked trees, whose torn, hardened ribs descended with painful sighs toward the passing muddy river. They died. In their own rooms, schools, and factories. In thick grass, with a strained smile stretched across a young, pimply face. In someone''s embrace or alone with their bound body. Losing their minds, limbs, and lives in the lightning-quick, murky atmosphere of deep-black stars��thick and terribly sticky. Massive crystal glyphs one after another scooped up the shattered earthy hills, where shards of rockets, limbs, and someone''s briefcase with a rain-soaked yellowing umbrella were mixed together. These low, yet strangely long buildings with peeling white walls were barely fenced in by thin wooden logs, hardly holding together. Tall towers, masterfully constructed from enormous stone slabs and strong metal alloys, defending and retaliating, along with some rooftops, flickered with thick tongues of flame, which the angry, elderly rains struggled to extinguish again and again.


    The brutal sounds assaulting the ears and the blood-stirring sights blended into an endless and relentlessly horrifying mosaic of the grotesque intricacies of someone''s actions��sometimes so simplistic they forced one to question the sanity of this world. In many minds, adrenaline imprinted itself as an intense, muffled heartbeat, echoing in an unknown and sensitive void. A singular echo. Hearts pounded furiously, as if they wanted to escape the living body, and legs feverishly began to tremble in every volunteer who ran past the gates, daring to cross this fantastical Rubicon.


    A strip of obstacles constructed by an exceptional mind. Dozens of frantic faces scurrying through the endless, waterlogged maze in search of some meaning, forbidden knowledge, or that rarest moment that allowed only three to survive. Simple desires, or perhaps sheer will. Words within sounds. Dreams around the world. Beneath the collapsing crossroads of defensive roads and the colonnades of some structures, far from the center, within the second line of defense against the nocturnal climax of skin, organ secretions, and bones, the sounds of massive, earth- and stone-shattering bombardments and powerful explosions continued to resonate behind the high stone walls.


    The ear-splitting buzzing of intermittent short circuits from energy-matter turbines, the enraged hail of rocket flashes, and the unrelenting rivers of nature''s release instantly and obediently responded to the dying bodies and the imploring, restless souls that now inhabited the mutilated soil beneath them, birthing an entirely new crimson fruit. No, this was not war. It was thirst��a thirst in which souls drowned, wrapped in the intricacies of the mind, the freedom of thought, fear, with no chance of finding comfort between, around, within, inside out, outside, inverted, forward, deepening, rolling out, stretching, piercing, smoothing, absolutely.


    There were no heroes or villains in this conflict, no poverty or wealth. No beings or creatures. It was as if gods had simply gone mad. Gods who had desperately tangled themselves in their own thoughts amidst the ceaselessly bubbling, endless, and unpredictable discoveries of existence.


    Beyond that nonexistent veil of consciousness and chaos, ahead of the disheveled human and chimeric flesh of the grass and the moon''s fog-ground mist, a random glance faded on the yellowed stone canvas.


    The small and quite cramped room of the captain, or rather, these worn walls with a feeble appearance, were as musty and poorly suited for solitary reflection. Although, unlike the barracks and noisy camps seen earlier, where indecent curses and other foul language echoed, her nose no longer wrinkled as much from the unappetizing smells of dampness, smoke, and half-decayed corpses near the town hall with its bell tower. And the ears beneath the thin layers of carbon-fiber flesh ceased to twitch nervously, more apprehensively than fearfully, in response to the continuous sounds of the raging slaughter. No matter where you stepped, you immediately bumped into a large box soaked with damp soil in front of you or a torn bag spilling out suitcases and opaque hard packages marked with city labels. Inherently dirty, painted with thick soot and empty shells, along with other debris, were frequently found in this cramped, cool chamber, where tiny gray grains of amorphous dust fluttered about like the first unexpected snow.


    The battered lamps, worn down by age, gloomily illuminated what seemed like an unknown, cave-like space around, while the holographic translucent windows were completely filled with some digital assets with a jumble of blurry text and unclear images glued to thick brown cardboard. How many incomprehensible images were among the strange curves? Another unfamiliar place where she felt like an outsider and defenseless. Despite all this, the essence of the pathetic bulk followed closely behind her shadow. A hoarse, nagging yoke.


    Gathering her scattered thoughts with panic and with her heart clenched by oppressive anxiety, she lost all her passionate confidence. The unnatural wooden decorations thickened between the short rooms, holding bound rooms with cabinets and shelves where notes of raspberry nectar with bread and butter, freshly smoked fish, and compote roamed. Even crossing the threshold, the not very tall girl in a gray field uniform with transformed plates did not dare to lift her seemingly glued eyelids after a deep sleep.


    Her thin, fragile fingers involuntarily and desperately tried to intertwine with each other, eventually clenching into small, still quite young fists. The restrained hand of the senior lieutenant, clad in a sturdy glove, blocked the fragile silhouette of the girl with her head bowed, stopping her on the hard, dirty carpet where monochrome leaves played amid the surrounding darkness. He fixed a reproachful gaze from across the wide table, which resembled yet another fortress built from heavy leather straps, soiled books, and aged ladders, whose automatic bookmarks lowered the meager shelves laden with stacks of the victors'' enduring papers. The only ones.


    �� Senior, Lieutenant Garren Stueld reporting as ordered! �� in that instant, a young man with a large mechanical respirator on his face quickly saluted, taking a step forward as the device began to unfold into dozens of protective, colorful layers, resembling the moving face of a gray-green mantis. This freed his thin, frostbitten lips, shifting them over his sharp and painfully gaunt cheekbones. Whether his cheeks were dark from old bruises or from some prolonged illness, he could not yet tell.


    The bulky figure of an elderly man with accumulated, disproportionately developed muscles behind his broad, heavy shoulders responded with a burdened gaze. The misshapen character, whose grotesquely pale, half-gray skin contorted into an ambiguous grimace, hardened into a roughness that spread along various long wrinkles, as if chiseled by a sharp chisel on an ancient stone that adorned the earth.


    Clenching a thick sheet of paper in his large, aching fingers, the elderly captain continued to drill his gaze into the strange visitor before him. He didn''t exactly have the luxury of time to indulge in such strange declarations, but volunteers �� whether they were legal-age teenagers, elderly people, or even young women �� would never be unnecessary in such a critical combat situation that had engulfed the world for the past six months. Chaos was the overwhelming reason why they had to coldly set aside ethics for protection, for the future, for the sake of ensuring that at least one of them could survive on this island. The life of their unreal future was at stake, one that could one day change even this moment, as often happens in fairy tales. Sensation. Hatred. Hunger. Touch. Passion, and much more collided with each other, shackled by the chains of their desires. <u>Phrases. Meaningless. They hear it. Chin. On the table. Insults. Chewing from the other side. A joke. A blow. Absence. Excitement. Gaze. Skin...</u>


    The main thing is to complete the training. To remain a replacement and continue learning. In particular, there was no reason for citizens who had never held a rifle to go into battle. It was better for them to stay near the artillery, medical equipment, and tools, while more experienced fighters would reinforce the infantry and special operations.


    According to his subordinate, it was clearly worth paying attention to this strange girl, which exceeded his expectations. A group of curious faces crouched behind a tall gap, watching in shock the girl''s silhouette as she moved away from the entrance. The captain''s stern gaze, formed by murky green spirals, suddenly darted downwards, his boundless astonishment focused on the long, dull fox tail that hung limply from beneath the folds of her gray, wrinkled cloak. Before his eyes, one of the few legends turned out to be the most candid and honest truth. With undisguised astonishment, the old man forgot to pick up his jaw. Why hadn''t the authorities or science paid any of their good-natured stubborn attention to her? They should have stopped her. Dissuaded her and protected her! Studied her! Was this a dream, or had he simply gone overboard with the grain supply, adding too much to the cider? Understanding. The conclusion, the law of freedom.


    Even without the loosely hanging clothes on her thin shoulders, she immediately appeared weak and frail. Only the face of the unknown girl could not be clearly seen, as it was hidden beneath a thick veil of equally dull locks, the color of wheat ears faded by frost. The girl''s head was adorned with a complex apparatus made of rough yet lightweight alloy in places. Multiple plates were interconnected by sturdy, individual carbon fiber from a finer thread system, which provided a springiness for her fluid movements thanks to the chrome-melted terrion. On the right side of her face, very thin wires were noticeably pulled back, still swirling with warm neon substances of a mysterious liquid. They stretched upwards to a pair of thicker, longer plates that served as protective openings for her apparent fox-like locators. Behind these pressed-down "ears" was another pair of similar plates, but these were much smaller in size and firmly secured by metallic bumps, at the edges of which were fixing round capsules. Whether it was a gentle breeze or some other external influence, these capsules, adorned with recessed calligraphy, began to spin and glow with yellowish lights that smoothly spread through the deep, patterned grooves, reminiscent of melted, shredded black coals, their pointed ends piercing the wind.


    Ideas flitted through his mind, accompanied by a couple of warnings, and questions settled themselves in the back row. In their place arose a thought, triggered by the sight of the unfolded documents �� a modest biography consisting of literally two lines and the medical history of this young woman. As he calmed his inner child''s excitement and desperate confusion, he noticed how his subordinate, with restless curious eyes, devoured every inch of her silhouette, as if it were in some divine museum of arts. Why had she been allowed here? Why hadn''t this being been kept in a warmer and more peaceful place? They should have gathered around her. This bad dream wasn''t happening to him for nothing. Was it time to give up on the pills? His own face felt so warm, almost soft in his palm, despite the terrible chill surrounding them.


    Ideas flitted through his mind, accompanied by a couple of warnings, and questions settled themselves in the back row. In their place arose a thought, triggered by the sight of the unfolded documents��a modest biography consisting of literally two lines and the medical history of this young woman. As he calmed his inner child''s excitement and desperate confusion, he noticed how his subordinate, with restless curious eyes, devoured every inch of her silhouette, as if it were in some divine museum of arts.


    �� Why had she been allowed here? Why hadn''t this being been kept in a warmer and more peaceful place? They should have gathered around her. This bad dream wasn''t happening to him for nothing. Was it time to give up on the pills? His own face felt so warm, almost soft in his palm, despite the terrible chill surrounding them.


    �� Ahem! I''ve reviewed your document and... there are strangely blank spaces regarding your surname. Your family. There isn''t even a name here. Rather, instead of your name, there''s a stamp indicating its exceptional absence, �� the captain''s surprisingly calm yet hoarse voice escaped hesitantly, like hail from parched lips, as he set the form aside.


    �� Permission to speak, Captain Lawrence! �� Lieutenant Garren interjected, taking an uncertain step forward before she could respond.


    �� Speak. �� With the same eagerness, Lawrence extended his hand toward him, nodding briskly across the large table, which, in addition to a huge map with colorful holographic outlines, was literally buried under high stacks of folders and other papers in exotic bindings. They reflected visual models of transparent fields, ravines, and cities with grim streets, in which life indicators had fallen silent, despite the passing carrying stations on the rooftops.


    �� This individual resided on the western island of Kanpek five years ago, serving as an aide to the recently deceased Prince Oji Mhuo, �� the lieutenant tried to pronounce each word with smooth expressiveness, as smooth and even as the transparent stubble on his face. But from excitement, his tongue occasionally stumbled, and his gaze seemed determined to linger longer and scrutinize this unimaginable being beside him. A genuine, living entity quietly trembling from the cold. �� As the guest claims, she had no relatives or any close ones from birth, and she swam to our renowned capital two years ago in search of shelter...


    �� Hmmm-mh! I see... �� murmuring with a bit of confusion and glancing around, the captain had been eagerly rummaging through his pockets until he found a small steel box with a crimson marking on its black lid. �� But tell me this, �� portraying a thoughtful expression and furrowing his brows, Lawrence finally addressed the young girl, who was still standing quietly with a smoking helmet on her head. �� Ki-tsune... Or Ho-Hokkaido... How should I address you? �� Oh! I mean your divine condescension! �� he awkwardly interrupted himself, rising from his chair with all his cumbersome bulk and bowing low before her. �� Please, answer me just one question, alright? �� not at all waiting for a nod from her or the long-awaited, barely audible agreement from her sealed lips, the captain asked his question after a moment. �� What compelled you to come here, risking your priceless gift? You must... perhaps be the only one of your kind?


    The elderly man was ignited with curiosity, eager to bury this young being under a heap of questions and revelations accumulated over several decades, which had already made his head ache. Her ears��are they hidden by the helmet?


    If one could say so, there was exactly a minute of awkward silence from the fox and heavy breathing from the lieutenant. The remnants of dust, which had been lingering between the folds of thick tarpaulins, fell repeatedly in a brown trail under the unyielding tremor of the ground. After this, one of the lamps in the room went out with a soft crack.


    �� I... �� her lips trembled and then pressed into a thin, cold line. Her heart was pounding desperately, and she gathered what remained of her will in her clenched fists with the last of her strength. Inside, there were no doubts or regrets, only courage �� a quiet, fragile courage that she had not lost even under the weight of the suffocating awkwardness. Her decision required no lengthy contemplation, but her soul, scarred by others'' hearts, fluttered at the thought of what awaited her after this final step. Despite the fear, despite the despair, she knew for what she was ready to throw herself into the hell of an unending war.


    Her thoughts, desires, emotions �� all of it was in a contradictory struggle with one another, changing places like wild beasts unleashed. Despair and fear of the new unknown melded into a painful, unresolved chaos. This sensation, full of contradictions and uncertainty, seemed as if it should not exist in this world. She took a deep, barely audible breath without lifting her gaze.


    �� For a long time, my soul was empty, �� her voice trembled, but she made no attempt to hide it. �� Inside me. I... I didn''t know who I was or what I was supposed to do. Because of that damned feeling, I was just waiting for death, thinking it would free me from this torment... But everything changed after one meeting, �� she paused, allowing her words to sink into the silence, then continued. �� So many strange things... I didn''t understand anything. My mommy took me in. I loved wandering in her garden. Tending to her flowers, feeding her Amselot, growing grapes, and learning to make wine from them. I''ve never tasted anything better in my life, �� she smiled like a child, captivated by the warmth of her memories.


    A familiar female face appeared before her eyes �� a weak, transparent outline through which she again saw the two of them in the yellowed little room, smelling of salt, dirt, and unredeemed sins. This place had become her first and only home. She sighed and, staring into the void, whispered:


    �� I want to preserve it. To keep my mommy alive in this wonderful world. And for the people who live here, I''m ready to give my worthless life.


    Thin streams of tears, soaked with fear and lonely, unshared despair, slowly trickled down her pale cheeks. She wanted to sob, to scream, but before her eyes, the same image kept resurfacing: the broken walls of the house, wallpaper soaked in blood, and the scratches of an enraged beast... Each time, she fell silent, as if afraid of being interrupted. But the men''s faces were polite, filled with respect, attentive listeners to her short, unfinished story, which seemed to them a lengthy play about a forgotten universe. About feelings that, despite all the horrors of existence, retain sacred humanity. About a life that perhaps never existed.


    The captain sat in stunned silence, now wearing a strange smile and rolling a unique tobacco wrap between his yellowed, thick teeth. At his nod, the lieutenant responded confidently, after which Garran''s hands skillfully touched the intricate mechanisms of the fox''s helmet. She would have recoiled from the stranger''s hands at some unknown signal in her aching thoughts, but at the last moment, she held back. The modest heaps of protective armor rose above her head, releasing through the narrow gaps of the multiple plates, particularly on her head, thin wisps of steam that seemed like delicate strings in the unheard melody of an elusive dance, almost instantly dissolving into the harmony of the icy teasing wind. Along with everything else, a whole swarm of thick, unkempt hair spilled out, from under which fox ears began to peek out. Lieutenant Garran, with an astonishingly foolish expression, began to step back toward his captain, whose face, unlike that of his subordinate, revealed only a hint of that strange bewilderment.


    �� What, with her ears? �� Lawrence replied, interested as he put aside his cigar. This creature clearly differed from those depicted and described in books and old manuscripts. It was almost radically different.


    �� Um... Does she have more? �� Garran said with the same foolish, frozen surprise on his face, puzzledly shrugging his shoulders. His forbidden hobby had often conversed with ancient folk tales and myths, but they never yielded even the slightest equivalent or forgotten answer.


    �� Are there such things? Or have there been? �� The captain suddenly looked at his subordinate.


    �� No, �� Garran shook his head negatively, already adopting an artistically serious expression. �� This is truly a phenomenon, �� the man nodded firmly.


    �� Hmm, well then, �� clearing his throat roughly into his broad fist, Lawrence stood tall with an outstretched hand toward the girl and a fresh seal for examination, �� Upon entering the eighty-ninth platoon, Private "Fox," �� the captain smiled encouragingly, so sincerely and so easily, as if he hadn''t heard the cries beyond those thick, soiled canvases, hadn''t seen the terror in the eyes of those wandering dolls on the walls, and as if he didn''t understand at all why he stood inside this shabby room surrounded by half-rotting dishes.


    ***


    2592. Beach. Present time.


    Thick gray clouds have long moved away from this place, giving the scorching sun an atmosphere of endless turquoise space. Endless desolate surroundings. Once, there were green steppes rich with dense trees and plantations of gardens. Carefree farmers engaged in their favorite tasks. It was peaceful here. It was even beautiful. And the long, deep river served as a perfect picnic spot. Or the promenade for a morning run, filled with the eclogic tranquility on an old, awake face. These boundless and vast waves of ruins, golden as rays of sunlight, perhaps also contributed to the atmosphere of their utility. Shattered stone boulders, both small and mega massive, lay sprawled in the endless yellow ocean now absolutely everywhere and only underfoot. But sometimes they rose up and above. In the form of intricate staircases, tree stumps, seaweed, and distant meadows. There were so many of them that it seemed as if the moon, having shattered into countless islets, had crashed onto these lands, leaving not a single trace of the past. An insatiably flickering and unseeing contemplation, illumination, and a groaning turmoil, eternally hiding the spicy path of decay and insistently leading the curves along a trail of endless pale-yellow sand. Scorching heat. Moving around here without gear was extremely difficult, and there was no particular sense in it. Life here had faded. Instead, day by day, only massive and very loud explosions were born, creating heated depressions of destruction. For example, another shell landed right between those two still largest stone formations. Thunder. Another loss for the defenders. Thick metal fragments flew apart under sprawling and dense bloody splashes. Fragments of a thick burgundy mush, along with torn flesh, now lay abundantly against the heated stones that could burn someone''s fingers right to the bone upon contact.


    The cursing clung to some furious screams, which seemed to be struggling, drowning in the depths of chilling helplessness and strange sorrow. With a heart pounding savagely inside and a gaze of madness, this guy continued to scream for a broken minute, beating his quite reddened hands, marred with deep scratches, against the stones.


    Having lost his mutilated "armor," which now resembled useless scrap metal with annihilated equipment and other tattered makeshift tools, the unknown continued to pound his blood-soaked hands against the nearby rocks. It seemed he had scraped almost all the skin off both limbs and showed no sign of stopping, crying out to himself in solitude: "Why don''t they work!?" I wonder what he means? What exactly doesn''t work? His hands? Or perhaps his sick and far from healthy mind? The issue clearly lies in something beyond these two options... The dark blue eyes of the guy suddenly darted toward another new source of loud noise. Huge, large, and small stone configurations scattered in all directions, raising a thick dome of dust from the sun-heated velvety sand. It was yet another fallen body of a soldier, collapsing dozens of meters away from him.


    The protective helmet, with numerous scratched plates engraved with weary ages and shifting deformed mechanisms on the facial section, was shattered to pieces and splattered with blood on the advanced visor. The massive fragments of metal, merging like an endless cube, were covered in deep dents, numerous scratches, and open cuts, from which, like entrails, deformed structural parts emerged, along with some sparking wires, as if from an impenetrably black artificial space instead of its biological organism, behind which fragments of internally shattered systems lay crumbled like heavy wings. Only upon seeing the face of this unfortunate one through her broken helmet did the boy, as if losing his mind, rush from his spot. Thick and simultaneously insane clusters of detailed armor fragments simply did not allow the boy to turn her onto her back, although he struggled to do so for the first ten seconds. With years of honed hand agility, he only managed to free her head from the huge helmet adorned with a gray mosaic of featureless lips beneath a pale-gilded facial shield, surrounded by still living and shifting protective mechanisms of the unified armor, momentarily astounded by what he saw: without a doubt, it was her.


    So powerful yet simultaneously fragile, so humble and eternally silent from the outside. She seemed to be carefully guarding utterly unnecessary words for her existence. With trembling dusty fingers, he touched her horrifically bloodstained locks, gently pushing aside a dense mass of pale wheat-colored hair. Her four, horrifyingly mangled and broken fox ears did not flinch even a millimeter, nor did her eyelids twitch. From her soft, pale lips, thin threads of blood trickled down, and her left cheek was covered in a terrifying burnt abrasion.


    �� And you kept insisting that you weren''t special at all, �� the guy said with a sincere but foolish smile, making another unsuccessful attempt to lift her body. �� Ugh! We won''t leave this like this! Right, my little drunkard!? We''ll manage soon; it''s almost done! We''ll put an end to this eventually, just like with Misato''s recent virginity on "Trinity" day. Ha-ha, it might not be an achievement, but at least he left for good after a fish diet and lessons in rhetoric in front of the mirror, �� but then he suddenly fell face down, just managing to painfully brace his elbow at the last moment.


    Once again, something resembling an explosion crashed somewhere in the distance. The previously mad gaze darted aside again, hearing something rolling down the high slope along with the stones... The hot air began to break the grave silence inside, thickly scorching the thin, painful figure, still not fully matured, with cellular connections around the intact organism, and constantly stealing from each other everything, from all and against everything, in pursuit and absence. That which comes after death. Not even color. Not space and not brain. Absolute darkness began to dissolve the repetitive, palpable pulse around the inner barriers of the fleeing and annihilating will of existence, blurring colors transforming into an endless blue spot with a single, everything-consuming yellow blot. A form squeezed in the palm between absolute completed chromosomes, wandering in eternal divisions of nameless enzymes lacking permanence and imprinted in grains.


    Another law of another organ. The peeling gray flesh, with branching, sticky lymphatic vessels, began to cling to the heated hard surfaces, seeping with the slightest notion of burgundy and simultaneously liquid substances, from which a stamping ripple passed through everything at the beginning as if in severe frost, where flesh is gnawed by hundreds of metal needles in the act of extracting with sticky, thousand-degree stone boulders near the struck bones. Rough and gasping moans of human agony were replaced by heavy, greedy gulps of air, which began to lift his chest rapidly and push out jelly-like ribs turning yellow beneath the skin. Tight movements erupted in a sharp, tearing pain in his crunching joints, attempting to lift the brain and allow him to see through the inner corneas.


    A scream. Wheezing. Everything turned into a blurred cloud, emitting contradictory and rhythmic waves of dreams. Life? The not-yet-bursting networks of pronounced vessels turned with an anxious gaze aside. The colors and their limitless spectrum gradually shifted to the pure sky behind invisible chromatin thoughts and that which does not exist, yellow stones, an endless network of nature''s ceaseless processes from which it was impossible to hide mental understanding, and to the two formed shells, woven from flesh, blood, and something else. Humans? This something turned out to be a human. And quite a strange human at that. Perhaps not young and not old, the silhouette of a person, on whose body torn pieces of flesh were slowly stained by thin muscles, bubbling as if boiling with strange grains, regenerating thanks to the crimson strokes of a lifeless wind, and with an utterly repulsive gray skin with thin, paper-like wrinkles all over the body in the form of constant and non-intersecting lines.


    The colorful palette merely pricked the Memorable Baggage with the tiniest drop, painting a familiar barrier on his new sketch. The dark and scattered gaze of the unknown was accidentally directed at them, frequently blinking and trying to reconcile a blurred, unreal perception. Slowly and somehow clumsily rising to his feet, the limping figure of a dark-haired crooked man in a tattered black shirt and ridiculously wrinkled trousers took a cautious step, stepping barefoot onto a somewhat flat stone. Unexpectedly for himself, he gradually began to forget about the unbearable pain that separated his mind and body during the weaving of incessant, chaotically splattered bodily sensations. The left torso, along with a wary sideways glance, dragged aside with a hunched, aching spine while a thin ringing spread in his ears like pinpricks. Strangely enough, now he was entirely enveloped in thick dust and clingy pebbles that had deeply embedded themselves in his dark hair and unpleasantly itched under his nails. However, if one paid attention to the thick black streaks on his body, one might think he had just been covered head to toe in resin... sugar.


    �� Hey! You, the figure in the hoodie! Help me, come here! �� the young man shouted to the man, impulsively and almost feverishly waving his hands. The stranger didn''t say a word and immediately quickened his pace, after several stubborn attempts trying to navigate more actively and carefully around the sharp, boiling mass of impenetrable stones. �� Wait! What squad are you from? What''s your rank!? �� the guy pointed to his chest, the right side of which was protected by a rectangular gray metal plate with a glowing, incomprehensible sigil made up of various visual elements. Another pair of such insignia was sewn onto his right forearm of the field protective uniform. �� And where''s your gear!? You''re barefoot?


    �� A... �� the stranger distractedly averted his gaze, turning away and looking oddly at the sky, in which he saw nothing but colors, richly blurred layers of comfort, whose inner and free molecular embraces robbed his brain of its own traces. Because of his suspicious calmness and ambiguity on his face, it seemed like he didn''t care about anything. As if he had everything under control right now. He let his gaze linger on the soldier before him. Exactly. He looks like a military man. Scared, groaning from pain due to the worn epidermis on his hands, bits of muscle on his red palms. He''s holding her body so tightly. Someone''s. Next to him lies a sick body on the ground. A face. Eyes, many ears �� silent. Perhaps dying. �� I... don''t understand...


    �� Fine, whatever! So will you help me!? �� the soldier interrupted the man with unchanging hysteria, �� a patrol vehicle is supposed to find us. We need to go a bit east, just a couple of kilometers. Come on, we don''t have much time!


    �� Yes... Alright...


    The stranger, with an unbearably calm and distracted gaze, slowly sank to his knees before the outstretched, unconscious dreams. An unyielding lump constricted the stranger''s throat, the bitter aftertaste of which was momentarily distracted by a shadow as black as night, blurred in the distance by sandy mist and mirages hot as flames from a campfire. The sounds ceased; they all gradually faded, turning into an enveloping, paralyzed mosaic. The beat of warm wind seemed to shed its essence, merely continuing to silently ruffle black locks and try to pry open human eyelids wider. It yearned for embraces, to touch something lifeless. Suddenly, his intangible hands, glowing with color from an endlessly radiating fabric, cautiously penetrated through the layers of huge fragments of armor, more vigorously rummaging from the inside like in some constructor that had vanished and dissolved midway between two or three highways.


    The stranger''s gaze was imbued with an unusual sleepiness and a lack of confidence in his actions, as if he himself were unaware of what he was doing in this darkness, in this room where other people peeked out from behind sofas, managing to discern some shelves on the walls, the outlines of furniture, and an unknown object between long curtains through which, fortunately, a glimmer of the local streetlight seeped amidst the darkening sky and seven-story buildings. It was as if he couldn''t see his hands, couldn''t see his fingers, or even the reverse. A drunken and fervent strike against the shell of visual nerves, the channels of the brain''s prevention.


    A mirage from a deafening concussion of the eyes, around which the world began to erode under the dull screech in the eardrums. The blurred moment gradually transformed into trembling natural frames. Vision literally returned to normal. A few quiet clicks sounded, brightly sparkling in the largest and most crumpled cracks, and from the impenetrable mechanized slots, thick streams of snow-white steam began to ooze for a while, warm enough to break into a sweat entirely. The weakened and unconscious body of the young woman was freed, and moments later, it was already being supported by the two boys with bandaged bodies wrapped in layers of clothing, as some medications managed to be pulled from a virtual and broken hip bag. The soldier didn''t have time to marvel at the stranger''s specific tricks, for lingering any longer was unacceptable due to her mutilated body parts that needed to be carried extremely carefully. Meanwhile, the pale-faced one had remained suspiciously quiet all this time, continuing to stay silent and observing intently. But now, the priority was to take her to the safest place possible for the doctors, and then other formalities could follow.


    The young soldier was noticeably exhausted, evident from his face and trembling knees. They had traveled quite a distance, perhaps. His watch was damaged, showing nothing but a web of cracks on the glass instead of numbers. And that unfortunate girl had apparently lost hers in the corners of the ground-up mechanisms. Ahead, behind, and around them loomed the same infinite and chaotic architecture of stones. They often had to rise and hide in shelters even more frequently. The abundant wounds and injuries on the girl''s body left no chances to stop all her bleeding. The bones of her axial skeleton appeared synchronously twisted from within. The burns on them looked even worse. With such injuries, any creature perishes in a matter of moments. Perhaps they had been dragging the mutilated fox''s body for several hours. Her breath. The way...


    The sounds of furious explosions had surprisingly recently ceased and were no longer audible behind several rising hills. Not even any gunfire could be heard beyond the plundered muddy horizons. The sun, if looked at slightly upward, mercilessly blinded and continued to envelop the bodies in its excessive heat. Huge and scalding stone fists on these vast lands were rarely encountered when displaced in less dense clusters as sharp sprouts. Every ticklish second, which could always lead them to sudden and new dangers, whether on the ground or in the air, required extreme caution. But in the current conditions, it was exceedingly difficult to achieve, barely avoiding slipping.


    A yellow mirage. Constant seconds and time freezing in consciousness. Somewhere far away, it seemed the birds began to sing in their unnatural hoarse voices.


    A furious and distorted roar of steel suddenly echoed behind them, catching them off guard. Cautiously turning their heads, they spotted a tall cyborg woman on one of the high rocky hills: a solid combination of resilient metal, with some strangely highlighted forms, protected her rich, pointed internal processes. The gray and excessively long fabric of her thick, crumpled cloak writhed fiercely in the wind behind her stone-like hunched back, gathering and dragging dust between the black spots on her velvet white fur. Fierce clusters fell from the closed gates of black and red projectors and mirror dimensions, wires leading to bulkier prosthetics with artificially colored and decorated joints, secured by thin micro-barriers, which could only be noticed due to their standout, similarly shimmering cocktail of a blue matrix.


    The exposed structure of her athletic torso was wrapped in a thin shirt and adorned with several tattoos of fierce animals outlined in dark calligraphy, demanding care with long bandages. Natural silver locks of hair flowed gracefully, ignoring the wind''s currents, dancing around her broad linear cheekbones, occasionally tossing aside luxurious, colorful bird feathers, rarely obscuring her two emerald-bright eyes, shining yet instilling something cruel. And beside her, a mighty wolf, maliciously snarling, was forged from cheap cybernetics; the right side of its body was guarded by hundreds of razor-sharp spikes resembling deceptively coarse fur, interwoven with a thick, artificial swarm of cute burgundy curls alongside the heavy gray jaw of a red fox, horrifyingly mutilated by muscular athletic masses. From their shared, menacing, toothy maws, akin to incredibly powerful descending prosthetics with two wide rows of pointed fangs featuring deformations, hungry green liquids flowed, while their furious gazes pulsed with bright lights, each second shifting their color palette around jelly-like shifting particles that swam and splashed at every inch of this two-headed creature, whose trembling, constant mechanisms reached about three meters in length and two and a half meters in height, perpetually combining a variety of colors in their collective plates.


    A thick neuro-helmet, draped with networks of thin fibers, suddenly appeared on the silver-haired head of the cyborg woman, illuminated by a red screen. Shaking off her body, the beasts were already preparing to execute their mistress''s command. The human consciousness was unfamiliar with foreign minds and their soulful desires living in this utterly empty and scorching space that burned the whole body, but something anxiously whispered in the form of aesthetic touches and symbols near his brain��this silhouette would pounce on them at the first suitable opportunity, bestowing upon the three of them an unknown direction they didn''t wish to partake in, at least two of these soldiers.


    �� Ca... Can you... carry her for now? �� glancing towards the woman with her pet, the pale man quietly spoke.


    �� To go far, I definitely can''t for now, �� the soldier shook his head negatively, another heavy sigh escaping from his chipped lips, in whose mind the thought of "the Deviants" flashed. He again adjusted his deformed hand, but in vain, �� Are you planning something?


    �� I''ll catch up with you soon, �� removing the unconscious girl''s hand from his shoulder and securing the second fabric band around the boy''s neck, the stranger stepped unsteadily backward toward the hostile silhouettes. Taking a deep breath, the soldier carefully squatted down and leaned forward, placing the body of the young, tailed warrior on his back, continuing to tread cautiously and steadily along the winding desert paths.


    Now between the three silhouettes lay a strange pause and short series of glances exchanged from one to another, then to the playfully yet fiercely writhing mutant. The woman indifferently followed the wandering soldier burdened with the lifeless load on his back with her eyes. One face appeared bewildered, contemplative, and simultaneously foolish, unlike the mask, saturated with negativity, colored frozen steel, warmed by two bright fires. One of them suddenly smirked, applying slender fingers to her sly, slippery lips.


    �� You don''t look like your presence here has any value. You''re not who you pretend to be. Who are you? �� even the cyborg found it hard to conceal her indignation directed at this barefoot man with a defenseless, calm gaze, who didn''t even have protective framing on his potentially absent armor, whose miserable and wretched owners continued to hinder her and her brotherhood from erasing this meaningless Life from the face of the earth. To destroy this notion, to heal this secret place from sick minds, mutilating thoughts, gazes, and words.


    �� I... �� the man muttered indistinctly and pensively, clumsily and slowly gesturing with his grotesquely thin fingers. His mind shrank with the surrounding environment, feeding off every moment in which his lungs breathed and his hopelessly black eyes came alive. Instead of words, an almost inaudible mooing escaped from his half-closed lips into the mineral semi-transparent mist, while instead of an adequate response, his gaze became stuck on a single smooth movement, as if the thin texture was trapped between two unbreakable barriers that wouldn''t allow it to squeeze through and outpace this bottomless essence. Confusion. His gaze again devoured each volume of the new image, learning about her more unnoticed by himself. Why. Who. �� What... What happened? �� with an innocent gaze and still struggling to breathe, the man asked the tall woman.


    �� What happened? I thought you were helping them escape, or is this sun warming my chrome skull, �� she quietly tapped her hard head, glancing around and twisting her pupils sixty degrees, �� You look strange. You''re strange. Are you a refugee? How did you end up here?


    The man needed time once again to comprehend what this soulless being had said, to quietly approach her, squeezing through the unbreakable mental barrier that deprived him of the ability to understand everything and scatter it across new places, filled with endlessly sticky pale pink canvases of soft waves, navigating one very tiny and bottomless matter instead of two hemispheres. Fear, contemplation. He had seen her gaze, fixed intently upon him. Intersecting patterned irises circled her tiny pupils, beneath which barely noticeable folds of cloned dead skin stretched. Her lips stopped trembling, trying to overshadow one thought with entirely different musings directed at the person below. A knock.


    �� Who are you? �� the man asked with no less interest, standing still and noticeably trembling all over from exhaustion.


    <u>No. Killing. Talking. Doing. Feeling. A lot. No. Diligence. Trying. To feel. To seeEverythingEyes. Not understanding. Thinking. Communicating. Touching. Learning. CelebrationColorsEvent. CutAlongSmile. Voice. Alien. JumpToWalk. Nothing. Rhetoric. Synergy. SoundDisconnection. </u>No boundaries. No concept of Infinity and Eternity, for even they cannot serve as a measure. Already ahead lie the annulled silhouettes of fantasies, begging to leave the name in peace... Her eye sockets seemed ready to scorch two thick streams of yellow flame in both limbs, desiring to attain freedom. But this is all, and they all must disappear along with existence. Perfect and devoted. Eternal emptiness, where chaos can never be born. Again this thoughtless phrase without a face. Imagined tears oozed like jelly from the brain, convulsing with exhausting agony, writhing in disgust and torment through this bony, fertile flesh.


    �� Oh. No... �� The cyborg firmly raised his palm above his brow, covered by a helmet, biting his lip. �� This... No... This doesn''t matter at all, right? There''s no meaning in this. �� A tiny sensor beep sounded, after which the massive silhouette of two fused predators skillfully leaped from the high hill. The grayish one wanted to apologize. To prevent aggression. Maybe he did something wrong? He just wanted to understand, to know.


    In the black eyes of the man, suddenly a light ignited, filled with two crimson, infinite intersecting paths, crossed by countless intertwining thin mirrors, between which a shadow flickered imperceptibly. At first, it stood against the wall, entangled in thin red channels, gradually tilting toward an unstable monochromatic contrast, wishing to conceal its presence. Their flesh and blood would become naked death, and the rusty phalanges of the creature would rise beyond the next horizon, where for the soul there existed nothing but immortal secrets. One decision, another path. The unknown unnaturally began to gain speed as if propelled by an invisible supernatural assistant that suddenly settled in his legs, raising his knees high before him and foolishly flailing his arms, pushing off the walls, trying to navigate past hostile figures near an arbitrary left partition made of hot golden hills and ruined gray prairies, maneuvering through the winding trail of insane ruins at surreal, untraceable speeds.


    A dull restlessness. Grabbing his right cheekbone, he snorted, swiftly and mentally commanding his pet to catch and tear apart the man''s body. Several surviving and brightly shimmering crystal rocks in the cool haze sped past as the beasts rushed by long-collapsed remnants of aircraft and their hundreds of agile, camouflaging yellow vectors and the paws of wounded iron birds and machines, shortening the distance between themselves and the man with every second. The labyrinths crumbled against the gray bones of lost bodies. Metal screeched madly, clashing against itself, while the skull processed hundreds of schemes and combinations, calculating the sum with merging mathematical predictions. The rocket and skin-implanted light fixtures activated, allowing the mutant to make a lightning-fast leap onto the man''s back. But at the last moment, he missed, crashing ribs-first into the dull rocky masses after a fleeting silent glance, abruptly falling face-first into the mud. The cyborg, in turn, screamed, clutching its body, involuntarily kneeling. She hadn''t yet healed her previous scars.


    For long centuries, a vulgar heap of unknown, even slightly fresh debris sprawled nearby, particularly the surviving remnants still slightly smoldering with oily flames. It was precisely these that the red eyes decided to utilize in a wild rush, seeing this as a blatant arrangement. When the mutant once again relinquished control to artificial instincts, the unknown struck with all his might at the melted metallic body, after which an explosive wave, accompanied by an equally massive expulsion of black smoke, propelled both figures down the slope, preventing this violent scene from reaching the fateful and inevitable intermission. Fragments were fervently gathered amidst ground bones, organs, blood functions, and free dying screams. Someone messed up again. An alien yet familiar reason helped, peeking out with wise little eyes from behind the curtains of dulled thinking.


    A terrible and painful scream sounded. Several sufficiently sharp fragments of the ship pierced the fox''s body, penetrating its second wolf half, which landed lifelessly on the surface, striking the sharp stones below. The cyborg immediately shared all the pain with its insufficiently agile toy, but unlike it, she had no intention of dying and was convulsively spitting out thick green foam oozing from her mouth. When she tried to rise to her knees, she was immediately struck down, as heavy as the collision of a thin chest with a cumbersome ten-kilogram hammer.


    She helplessly collapsed backward, along with her shattered neuro-helmet that flew aside into the crashing waves of golden, darkened sand riddled with sores. No. This was a moaning, wounded body fleeing from injuries, resembling an opaque tall shadow, which against this bright canvas appeared as a dull and grim spot. A spot that came to life with each passing moment, spreading the essence of its enclosed emptiness across its entire likeness. A living and quite tangible shadow. More than anything, he wanted to look into her eyes, which he would separate from her soul with one-and-a-half-meter-long artificial nerves. Eyes into which he longed to implant the painful truth about every word and thought, including those that had gifted her with new acquaintances. What were they so long whining about, killing themselves?


    A black figure. He simply watched as one mind maimed the other, as occasionally yellow leaves fell onto the sidewalk, blooming around the fifty-year-old refined bodies of nature torn from their home. His inaction would lead to nothing. But strength �� it could save a life. Was it a warning or guidance from the mysterious red wings, the other side of his mind that he had only just discovered?


    �� D-don''t touch... Don''t come near this! �� the silent gaze screamed. Deep in the subconscious of one of the illusory worlds, reaching it was harder than anything for an ordinary god alone with his own nature, which borders on, which inhabits. And it exists only in chaotic bodily designs. Without a logical answer for so long.


    ��n unknown shadow was pushed away by thoughts that had appeared out of nowhere, boldly touched by those two people, sensations, legends, a sharp crack on the lip, averted gaze towards an object through the eyes. Or maybe just symbols, or glitches in an apparent postmortem. Where is the darkness? Where is nothing, which separates the random and still-generating structure of a fibrous-muscular organ between posters, between their and his endless distances of spaces? Indifference. The pale-faced person turned behind, then nevertheless carefully and ambiguously looked around, recklessly trying to inspect every meter of scattered stone stained glass, every squiggle between the ruins and resembling the twisted silhouettes of shadows around the trenches, with a hidden path behind the rocks on that side, whose dark sole was covered by a beam of light surrounded by millions of dust particles between the smooth rocky walls.


    Again, a muffled echo resounded amidst countless mixtures of pressing sounds, trying to close the shattered parts together. Again so familiar, an answer was given to something without any meaning. Not understanding anything, and fully obeying the brain inside the fragile skull, continuing simply to see everything before him, feeling irritation in his head, trying to prick himself. The alien flesh of the sequence of reason blanketed the shell of the tangible brain, bringing the understanding that he should obey its request.


    �� Can you become the master of her changed fate? Look closely. And confess. Now it is dying, �� someone stood behind him, uttering these sexless words. The red walls were washed away from the brown symbolic carpet, disappearing and revealing instead a former human face, with sick gray skin and still bewildered former eyes, whose mind had once again drowned in the infinity of air on the neck, the burning blows of the sky, the constraining embraces of muscles, and the tormented hunched spine, losing lived moments and images right now.


    The man cautiously knelt down, helplessly spreading his palms and looking at the mutilated face of the iron woman, which had become like pieces of a thin fragile puzzle, shattered by a heavy large hammer. From the distorted mechanical buzzing amidst bright flashes and the grumbling of small folding details around her threshold, it seemed that this cyborg began to whimper plaintively, looking into an invisible cosmic slit with her cracked eyes and unsuccessfully trying to clench her nervous fingers, which had fallen among the rotating disks of her three-meter multi-ton body, stuck in the vertebrae with neuro-bridges, unreachable to the ends of the body. Her artificial muscles contracted and squeezed out the last juices through the tearing tissues, protecting themselves with a liquid metal shell, as if she were still capable of something. To protect herself, to seize any, even the tiniest opportunity to live a few more moments, minutes, hours, or days. Secretly from everyone, with shame pretending to be completely blinded by agony, to make a last wish to the sky. One body is dead. The other continues to live instead of her.


    �� Forgive me... Please... I didn''t mean to. I didn''t mean to. Sorry... What should I do? �� no one could get an answer to the question frozen in the air. His eyes melted along with the tormenting desire from within over the futilely fulfilled canvas, heavily regretting the actions of another and remaining devotedly sitting beside the helplessly convulsing machine for a long time, deprived in a cocoon of understanding and reason, and the possibility of consuming. He wanted to turn everything back, to make her dying groans and mutilated personal body disappear. Perhaps to talk to her. To know her thoughts and reasons. Thoughts. Sensations. Absence. He fell silent and continued to observe every particle of her being. The colors faded with her last sip of reagent oil. To return for a few minutes, to see the lifeless gaze of the skeleton again and send other words from the very place where he appeared, without turning away, without fleeing. Not to allow those animals to immerse themselves in their last heavy suffering. Remaining standing. Observing. Reflecting on why she acted the way she did... Who controlled them.


    ***


    Silence and peace. That''s what reigned in this white and clean hospital room. Fresh air flowed through the crack of the slightly opened window, and a modest bouquet of yellow fragrant flowers was carefully placed in a crystal red vase adorned with lace-like translucent patterns that reached up to the wavy neck. Perhaps, apart from the leaves, something else was bathing in it, washing its barely awakened face. The walls, the color of dull and ancient parchment, were bordered by a couple of wide cabinets filled with archives of medicines, ladders, dishes, and other everyday trinkets left behind by visitors. On the walls, silent broadcasts displayed tomorrow''s weather forecast and the latest news gathered over the last six hours, even from the most hopeless corners of Tu�� and the yet unexplored remnants of the world. Outside the window, cool yet warming winds carried with them the warmth of summer. The quiet hum of engines barely reached the fifth floor, around which birds had already made nests resembling clay jugs. In the backyard, two men and a young nurse were engrossed in conversation, often laughing and letting the light tobacco smoke from the southern autumn fields drift into their lungs. The semi-sweet aroma gradually dispersed, rising high into the blue sky.


    Thick, slightly greasy locks of dull wheat-colored hair now concealed the fact that the clear blue eyes of the fox cautiously lifted their sleepy, still-crusted eyelids. A strange feeling and intense fatigue coursed through her almost immobile body, making her want to shake it off while also wishing to sleep a little longer. But the piercing pain that cut through her heart, bones, liver, and stomach, familiar to her entire body, rejected her helpless attempts to escape this reality. Somewhere, a faint itch was felt, while in other areas, there was a noticeable ache. In some places, she felt every coarse irritation on her skin. It seemed as if every thin scratch, every bruise, every burst blister, the long stitch on an horrendously torn wound, and what felt like gangrene, of which she couldn''t even guess due to the many years spent in an unbearably heavy pile of armor, were all felt acutely. For the same reason, she had her milk-white skin, which she could barely make out now on her left bandaged arm.


    A bitter unpleasantness lingered around her lips. She felt disgusting. Perhaps it wasn''t just because of that. But alas, she had no choice but to endure until it would all one day come to an end, just like her existence here. After long seconds, she still couldn''t comprehend where she was or what had happened to her, but the monitor that switched on and gradually approached from the other side distracted her from strange thoughts, accompanied by the polite smile of the presenter, on the other side of artificially recreated neural connections of a submissive servant and reliable assistant. Her eyes opened a little wider. There was nothing and no one in her aging mind, which was empty and immobilized in those prolonged moments of torturous stagnation. Not a single glimpse, face, prepared dish, or word. As her unwillingly moving pupils scanned the room, a multitude of words, numbers, and terms printed on her outpatient electronic form immediately caught her attention. Only a few of them she read with interest in her mind.


    Name: ?Fox?


    Surname: ___Bio.Index: ___Gender: Female ��Date of Birth: Year 1195. Sixth day of the first Yangal comingPlace of Residence: [TUE] Tu��shi. Suburb Yoshida/34I?? Personal Data Score ??I -Year 2592:


    Patient Description: On the 14th, the patient was admitted to Medical Center No. 3 in extremely serious condition, classified as stage S complexity. Due to the critical state of the patient, three S+ class surgeries were performed from the 14th to the 15th to restore organic processes and reconnect bone and muscle fragments, covering 95% of the body.


    Diagnosis (General):


    Fracture of the base of the skull; Multiple contusions of soft tissues (74%)Fracture of the neck of the femurFractures of vertebral bodiesFractures of pelvic bones; Fractures of both collarbonesDislocations in both shins; Multiple acute wounds (58%)Second-degree burns, Critical organ damage affecting fundamental functions.


    If she had the strength, she would foolishly smile right now. But at least, doing so in her thoughts was more than within her power. Even now, the wretched anxiety wouldn''t leave her soul, and her heart strangely tightened under the pressure of the constricting white ribs. Strange sensations noticeably warmed her from within, like alcohol spreading along her stomach, rapidly lowering the temperature of her limp body. She felt the blood coursing through her body to the very tips of her fingers, while barely perceptible smells and sounds periodically sharpened with sharp jolting thrusts that rocked her consciousness deep within her bound hemispheres. She felt her bones deforming inside her with an incredibly viscous and gentle intensity, carefully shifting to their original places, as if they were unconditionally following some collective system. She felt that something was clearly changing in her brain to the playful notes of a strange yet painfully familiar song.


    Now her four poor fox-like locators on her head were supported by tiny implants, along with many dozens of tiny prostheses. The surgical mechanisms, though fragile in appearance, were actually finely crumpling like small cockroaches with a dozen oleaginous legs on their peculiar abdomens and pads, interconnecting with molecular tissues that had the ability to stretch like delicate rubber bands in a pristine segment of hundreds of thousands of miniature windows, seemingly crafted by tiny molecular blacksmiths. It was between those indistinguishable gaps that hidden childhood engines lay, initiating the unwavering process of restoring and maintaining the necessary liquid components flowing through her ear canals. To prevent her from flinching and straining her mutilated ears, a dim green light illuminated before her blue eyes, indicating that someone would soon enter her room. A young soldier in a white coat entered the room, sitting down on a chair beside the patient and placing on the wide light nightstand bags stuffed full of goodies from which her favorite candies, various spices, and the silly look on her companion''s young face spilled out alongside a noticeable rough aroma.


    �� You''re still very strong, �� the boy gently took her weak and weary fingers in his hands, on which the still sharp but mostly worn and broken claws were healing very slowly. She saw him. Again. How many years had passed since their last meeting? A hundred years? No, much more.


    She barely murmured. An unpleasant fog settled in her head, and she couldn''t pull away from sleep due to the lingering anesthesia.


    �� Can you imagine? A medical patrol miraculously discovered us. They spotted us by chance, �� the blue-eyed boy tried to give her the right answer, involuntarily smiling as he carefully released her hand and leisurely enriched the neighboring nightstand with the purchases he had brought. �� And while they were providing you first aid in the cabin, the general unexpectedly informed everyone over the radio that all platoons were ordered to return. Instead of us, creative squads were dropped into enemy zones, �� he paused. �� Do you know what that means? We''ve finally reclaimed our territory, �� he whispered with necessary relief.


    �� So fast? �� the fox whispered quietly, a little gray and tired.


    �� Two hundred eighteen years of continuous battle. Truly, a minuscule number for heroes like us, �� trying to support the conversation as always, he smiled foolishly out of habit, while simultaneously realizing and returning to the previous reality in which he had made far too many unnecessary and reckless actions. �� And also... Please forgive me for our last quarrel. I messed up, as always. And I''m sorry for bringing it up after so much time, �� without any prepared speech he had so long prepared for several months and weeks, the boy spoke briefly and quietly, as if someone else had possessed him in those strange seconds, forgetting all his past and recent apologies. There had been plenty of them, but they all lacked a piece of his soul. They were all abrupt, casual. He thought about this even at that moment but didn''t know how to embellish the words he had just spoken, striving to look at her with as much sincerity as possible and to convey that this was definitely the last time and that he would not allow himself that long-forgotten annoying foolishness again. �� I found what I had been hunting for so long. I did it, and now I''m at peace...


    �� I''m glad for you... �� she spoke faintly through her lips, freeing her voice from the chains of tiring fatigue and the unyielding sharp pains in her head with her last strength.


    �� Sorry, I blabbed on, �� he whispered nervously, with risk and cloying bitterness on his lips, trying not to recall the words he had spoken in the past, the foolish deeds he had committed, and the images that eternally contradicted his now awakened reason.


    The familiar light flickered again on the beige wooden blinds. The door opened smoothly, allowing two young men in strict white coats to enter. G. Hobsen and L. Faculty were visible on their uniforms with their badges. An excessively persistent and admiring gaze followed the second, more focused and meticulous one. Dr. Faculty scrutinized the patient''s condition and examined stacks of dialogue and visual information on all available monitors and adequate sayings approaching the androids with freckled visors on their cheeks, while Dr. Hobsen, having started his internship yesterday, chattered non-stop under his breath and barely made his way through heaps of omnipresent equipment, flickering silhouettes of doctors, and a messy-haired orderlies chasing after someone with coffee spilled on his thick bangs.


    �� And she was breathing! And kept breathing! �� G. Hobsen continued his one-and-a-half-hour emotional monologue. �� So many injuries on just one body! What''s there, in her flesh, lungs, tendons! And how did she manage to keep her torn heart beating? I just didn''t understand what to tackle first! It was lucky that...!


    �� Shhh... �� raising a finger before his lips, the chief neurosurgeon Faculty displayed a cold, thoughtful demeanor. �� Go, you need to rest, kid. Drink some soda, there''s...


    �� With forest berries, as we love! �� his young colleague attentively noted, momentarily buoyed by this idea.


    �� Yes, yes. You can tell me the rest later when my meeting is over... Has she regained consciousness? �� he asked the soldier sitting by the patient after the intern, holding his head and mumbling something under his breath, left the room, glancing back at the eared creature helplessly lying among the velvety covers of the tender turquoise blanket.


    �� Yes. She has regained consciousness, �� the young man nodded.


    �� So fast, �� the doctor shook his head in satisfaction, writing something on a sheet of paper in his folder, as it might have initially appeared. �� Fortunately, her nature and intense, one hundred fifty percent regeneration still bring her luck. For the umpteenth time. But today she has outdone herself, bringing you back from the dead, mademoiselle, �� the man in the coat remarked ironically. �� Should I call him in?


    �� Yes, let him come in.


    In room number "134," a mysterious guest was welcomed by the door. Worn fresh trousers and a newly acquired hoodie with warm striped collars were tightly covered by a medical gown, while bare feet with swollen veins rested in protective fibers of universal footwear. A distracted gaze on a pale face curiously examined thin sheets of paper serving as documentation through a translucent folder in his hands, next to which numbers and some initials glowed on a finely painted shard of ice instead of a sorceress''s staff. His gaze wandered around the room, which strangely reminded him of a summer kitchen with late autumn outside, distracted by large plasma TV screens, a variety of drawers, and rhythmic lighting on the dimmed walls adorned with soft toys and posters about the latest trends in this seemingly wonderful and friendly town.


    Two completely different gazes. Two strangers'' lives, meeting each other''s eyes for the first time. Cracked lips barely parted, releasing a quiet, convulsive sigh that the man couldn''t keep in his throat. Shoulders hunched, thoughts scattered chaotically. He feared something, realizing that retreating was too late, standing before them. No single thought, no intermediate memory or representation. Just looking. Only her heavy hand, a bandaged red wrist on the other side of the fragrant white steppe, from beneath which a fluffy golden tail emerged. It was bright and calm. He hesitated to lift his head, more cautiously scrutinizing the feminine outlines of this... creation? He had recently touched her dying body, feeling her broken bones, pooling blood, and thick yellow hair cascading onto the clean sheet. A timid and fearful gaze rose higher, aside from some hidden scars beneath the medical cuffs, noticing her free-spirited gaze upon him. Long lips covered with dark sores. A small scar on her nose. Cheeks, lower eyelids, left temple, and bridge of her nose. The heart beneath him beat strangely, faster than usual. Was she still in pain? Was he to blame? Could he have been of greater help to this being? And was he even capable of that?


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The light pearls of her blue eyes were likely involuntarily drawn toward the man. They scrutinized him suspiciously, trying to recognize someone familiar in him, but this masculine figure before her was entirely an alien personality to her mind, which was clouded by a heavy illness and continuous discomfort, mightily enveloping her weakened soul. Her reasoning felt as if it had been thrown into a polluted aquarium filled with colorful fish, among which nothing could be discerned. Only blurred faces, screams, and an endless otherworldly echo behind her, rippling sensitively across her shoulder blades, arms, and collarbones.


    With difficulty, the gray-faced man turned away from her hidden blue eyes and sickly fox ears, glancing at the young soldier beside her, noticing his fixed gaze on him.


    �� Is this really necessary for me? �� the man quietly replied.


    �� K-Kuroba? �� the fox whispered, noticing a blurred gray figure misleadingly approaching her closer and closer amid hundreds of mutilated dead soldiers.


    �� Huh? Which comet did you fall from, buddy? Of course, it''s necessary for you! �� the guy replied with exaggerated indignation. �� Here''s a tablet for you, it''s a very useful thing �� I''ve marked all the important places on it. With this, you definitely won''t get lost and will arrive safely at the administrative center of our capital. There you''ll get both your registration and military ticket... Huh? �� he suddenly turned his face to his friend. �� Well, meet him. This is a nameless and eccentric guy with amnesia who apparently fell from the sky today, right in the middle of the beach. Ha-ha, as if I''m telling my flight story to this world, albeit with some deviation... If it weren''t for him, I''m afraid the doctors wouldn''t have reached us in time, and you wouldn''t be resting here like a sweet little kitten, who is about to be served his well-deserved meal, by the way.


    �� It''s a coincidence. �� the gray-faced man simply replied, looking at both of them.


    �� Coincidence or not, but fortunately, you literally fell from the sky. And we''re sincerely grateful to you. �� the guy patted the man on the shoulder with a wide smile. �� You can always count on any kind of help from our empire.


    �� W-without memories? �� the fox whispered again.


    �� Yes, �� the stranger muttered just as quietly. �� But I think I remembered one name.


    �� W-what name? �� All this time, she had been attentively examining the stranger before her, her narrow eyes filled with awakened curiosity, not understanding anything apart from the impenetrable blur in the reddened irritation around her pupils. Could this sickly-looking man really have helped them escape from that bubbling hell? Just skin and bones beneath his pale, starved skin. As if crooked shoulders and bloody growths along with barely discernible bruises surrounded his eyes. She wasn''t sure who he could be, but in return, she was genuinely grateful for his goodwill. The desire to express this to him. Her lips gasped with every attempt to utter a single letter. A blow.


    ***


    �� Well, there''s always hope, even if it doesn''t know you face to face... That''s just me being philosophical, �� Kuraba said with a silly smile, nodding his shoulders. �� Our doctors and the police will surely help you.


    He replied as he walked away, a simple blue-eyed boy with messy mouse-colored locks covering his narrow light eyes. Incredibly optimistic and cheerful, he seemed too joyful for someone who had spent half his life in war.


    �� I''m sorry, I can''t remember anything. Nothing, �� the pale one replied, not turning around, with a look of confusion and excessive awkwardness as he descended the wide staircase with arched railings, surrounded by painted dense schedules. The wide garden paths that stretched ahead were filled with sounds and passing beings. He instinctively tried to look down at his feet, a habit he couldn''t always maintain. Instead of wooden mechanical tiles, he saw someone''s antlered scarred horns, a stern tiger-like gaze framed by holographic pink butterfly lashes, and depressing silver eyelids, causing him to accidentally bump into random passersby or vehicles carrying assorted medical and even bedding furniture, cheerfully dancing and circling around like an encore delivery.


    �� Are you feeling alright? After all, you almost bled out your entire blood supply for her. You hardly rested here, sat for a bit, and immediately set off, �� he said, concerned, placing a hand on the other''s shoulder.


    �� The doctors examined me. I feel fine, really, don''t worry, �� the pale one looked tired as he met the gaze of the boy behind him, whose face expressed doubt.


    �� But why did you ask me not to tell her about you? You saved her life. You helped pull her from the beach. Your blood is the only thing that could save her from harm. Without it, her regeneration would have been a futile and hellish torment this time...


    �� I did it so that soul could continue to live...


    �� ...and not suffer in eternal agony?


    �� I!... Thank you. If you need anything, just contact me through this gadget, and you can reach me anytime. I hope we find out all your secrets soon! �� he added, waving goodbye to the man with the tablet in his hands, forming a phone gesture with his fingers near his ear.


    The spacious, bright courtyard of the hospital, adorned with outdated architecture and noticeably tidy, was very large yet chaotic. It resembled a pioneer pentagonal park with a single fountain near a monument surrounded by long purple grape leaves, dedicated to some young, modestly smiling woman showered with baskets of various fragrant flowers. People continued to leave fresh fruits, honey, and lit candles in the evenings around her. Busy movements of ants created mosaics around boards with global announcements, assistance, and services. A large white tiger in a light suit, encased in heavy-looking golden armor, skillfully spun a long tale around which old men and children gathered, while a stout orderly with an extra portion of energy salad got lost in the crowd.


    At the very end of the sprawling and vividly blooming square, narrow paths were laid out of smooth surfaces with wooden coverings along the edges, leading to artificial transport forks, with benches and lush leafy trees lining the way, as patients and their companions passed by, including polite staff in their courteous manner.


    The sight of the imposing tall building with massive columns and blooming balconies was interrupted for the guest by a guard who landed from the sky. On his thin calves and feet, transforming bulked demo-mechanisms began to appear, sparkling with colorful smoke trails, gradually masking the strong glow of modules beneath thick, loud steel soles.


    Something resembling a two-meter tall amphibious man with a toothy mouth stretching to his ears, long gills on his heavily tinted neck, and a sharp shark fin on his muscular back politely waved with a deep palm in greeting, then swiftly disappeared behind a man, heading towards the entrance of a neighboring building. Before that, he fastened sliding reactive cuffs to a large electro-compass, picking up random clients along the way, unpretentiously glued artworks, and their means of transportation resembling a giant miniature centipede. Through thick branches and lush organic growth bubbling in comfortable vegetable sections, outlined by light contours, tall gates began to emerge with thick brick walls adorned with intricate copper engravings of countless handwritten scripts, covering the surface of the massive gates.


    The most ordinary roads, with chaotically placed buildings, rotating poles from mechanical clocks with pipes streaming in different directions, dispensing thick legs of bionic outlets. A solid presence of hot hues, forever in motion yellow, reflected in the colorful neighbors and the blue strand of hair, flickering nets, and metallic footrests.


    It was precisely those very streets, appearing as quiet and bright neighborhood alleys with visible floors made of wooden constructions, where today crowds of beings or humans strolled, pale faces flowing with the wind, developing banners, symbolic drawings along the walls, celebrating something special in this elaborate and festival-like quarter. They wore worn-out yet festive robes, leather shirts, and thick plush wraps. Their painted garments and feral gazes were adorned with real or artistic skulls and animal masks, amulets of strange symbols, shaking with the glint of sparkling stones, all while singing the lively tune of a mystical energy song in sync with the rhythmic beating of drums, resonating through every window of the formed street, captivating every passing or intrigued face, creating the sweetest, most joyful intoxicating allure.


    Under the vibrant waves of dark smoke and brightly glowing yellow sawdust from the bonfire. Amidst the tumultuous cries of beasts, moans, and birdsong from uncharted creatures. Exquisitely and magically, even if awkwardly, these soulfully dancing deer, roosters, wolves, owls, sheep, and many other guests from the old world showered the passing traveler with their mysterious and ancient charms, pouring rivers of the brightest sacred smoke overhead and blessing the man for a long journey with a cup of strong and enigmatic brew, which ended with a sharp gulp and began anew at one of the city stations near distant neighbors, surrounded by glass-like enclosures, all available approaches to potential customers, and friendly staff around the corner, behind which mechanical hearts prowled, and someone''s artificial muscles scurried about, suddenly coming alive with thousands of protocols, endless metallic limbs and hands, sometimes full of smooth movements and at other times aggressive, fixating actions.


    It felt as if these world''s iron snakes were about to tear apart the space around him, topple these old skyscrapers, and reach for the very stars in the dark blue sky. Startled, he fell onto his back, watching the massive engines, as large as mountains, before him. A kind gesture from a mechanical adventurer stretched out a hand, while a less cultured response came from giggling schoolgirls with comically jumping holographic jaws bearing fangs instead of lower eyelids, their youthful blooming flesh hiding behind a black outfit and a loosely tied tie. The man hesitantly rose, glancing several times at the immense sizes of the mechanisms between platforms, their cyclical thumps deep underground.


    The station resembled a bustling market, attracting random passersby and some onlookers, opening doors to a rich assortment of gastronomic, artistic, souvenir, and other interesting and useful shops, whose images dissolved, blurred, and gently mingled in a multifaceted optical chaos. A warning shot sounded from the tablet screen, after which a stranger followed into the appropriate carriage, which had descended a minute earlier before the passengers on its thin magnetic legs, awaiting the colorful performances of street musicians helping some passengers haul heavy luggage onboard. Fleeting glimpses scattered across the structural branches of streets, small alleys, and constant gazes, sometimes unclear and unrecognizable to sharp perception. Walls. Tiles. Latches of cement shutters. Interfloor ceilings.


    It seemed that consciousness was deceiving him, presenting to his eyes a bleak night in the descending underground kingdom. Or, on the contrary, illuminating him with light from the massive peaks of a cliff, from which the transparent ocean could be seen around the rocky shore and old multi-story buildings, where, alongside the anxious faces of officers, silhouettes of smiling teenagers were wandering and chasing away boredom, having just arrived at the shore''s edge on huge rail carts. Unlike simple protective windows, through mirrors transmitting the surrounding space, he more effectively captured the flickering clusters of underground windows descending beyond the sea horizon of the island and their opposites from reflecting towers. The tracked handrails, like translucent soft screens, parted, and it was here that the sun above was obscured by thick cumulus clouds from chemical reactions around the brightly lit stage, endlessly soaring high above hundreds of thousands of heads, skulls, and other corporeal arts of transport with dense and even blatantly cramped mixtures of fantastically tall buildings in a single lively tone, actively interconnected through transforming mechanical bridges, posts of active street divisions sparkling with mysterious illusions and tangible undercurrents, secretly intertwining with active and transitional connecting channels of chaotic technology, branching ring-shaped compartments, paths, horizons, planes, and other hourglass circles.


    The eyes were immediately drawn to the most diverse and monstrous constructions, shattering his sense of comfort with their mechanical oscillations of strange nature, millions of doors and those tiny supermarkets at first glance, with their frantic kiosks and other vividly eye-catching slogans of life scattered around and even above like sparkling stars in a myriad of colors. A bent path was politely presented to another pedestrian, capable of providing him with the necessary direction, revealing its bottomless designs and equally deceptive abyss away from the tall figures with scrutinizing gazes. A new winding path shifted to an emerging smooth tile, where it was difficult to find oneself among the endless wandering crowds moving like monuments of steam robots, precious individuals in luxurious expensive garments, and foolishly migrating fabrics under the gentle flow of traditions among long dresses. Long, even sidewalks and wide highways were overflowing with movement that did not stop for a second, neither here, above, nor anywhere else, riding atop these neon crystal paths, sharing fate with molecular portals from which massive ships and shapeless houses slowly emerged on wings.


    Each road branched off into several others, always in chaotic intertwining of waltzing atmospheres with reading news, shouting music, and freedom, creating an impression that made the guest feel at the center of some subatomic galaxy, with its endless intertwining webs of gray rainy skyscrapers and sunny terraces with tables and peacefully spreading coffee that a laughing cat nearly spilled under the banner of a pink moon. Although judging by her disheveled, made-up cheeks, rather wine... Various clusters of energy, gathered in luxurious and often hidden turbines, incessantly passed high above and even over the platform roofs of entrance halls with white chairs and red carpets, invoking to sight ordinary metropolises with their unparalleled, indescribably gigantic monuments dissolving in an atmosphere of constant annihilation and diligent work. Green forests, a lonely glade with a white villa surrounded by solitary chairs silently invited one to enter and discover what would happen next on this wonderful day.


    Trying to calm his trembling body and at least for a moment not concentrate on the unceasing substances around him made of breaths, moving outlines, voices, and sounds through mouths and predatory muzzles��he lowered his eyes and raised his hands, examining his wrists and feeling them in the area of his forearms through his thick shirt and above. The muscles were tiredly languishing, intensely contracting apart from the excitement that gradually departed and temporarily left his weakened torso with its heels. He embraced his warm forehead with one hand and carelessly smeared his face with his fingers, feeling something familiar. The bitter smell of sweat. Fire under the skin, in the head. He took another step, then the next; yellow eyes continued to catch his attention, an artificial waterfall around his neck with pendants made of expensive minerals, developed red skin beneath a black tank top. So many lines. One of the balls burst at the entrance to a new shoe store, where a speaker leaned against the cardboard, and a tiny body of a very young and feminine chronicler leaned against it, having lost her ideas. A massive iron limb of a two-meter knight bumped into his shoulder, on whose thick belt a tightly painted autograph had gathered, behind him were kilometers of football fields with yet another delightful survival show among the bottom of the tournament table.


    At the towering entrance to the park stood a man pulling thick notebooks from the hip bags of his bicycle. He handed several of those items to an elderly lady with her grandson passing by.


    �� Wow, thank you very much. Jean, hide it in the bag.


    The gray-faced man also received one notebook for free from the kind person, which turned out to be the size of a whole hand, a calendar done in religious motifs. Strangely named days, weeks, and months beside dates. Do they really have a holiday every day, and how do they manage to celebrate them all?


    Equal attention was deserved by the lost person among the chaotically shifting thoughts, inhabitants of this literally collective and cramped life, where a boundless spectrum of entities reigned��sharp as a razor, gentle as a feather, hard as steel, fictional like someone''s fleeting words, and even the immortal hearts. No matter the gazes that met him, conversely devoid of scrupulosity towards the surrounding feet, each of them had their story, a thin and tactless reflection, filled with unending and eternal inspirations, whose sticky and bulging reviews confused the newly arrived mind, not to mention the clouded eyes reading this existence without any effort to chew through and understand. The sister of imperfect sensitivity was born in a secluded pinched corner among lively, low, loud, smooth, bass-heavy beings, becoming a new and incomprehensible sculpture, whose lines sliced the identity into thrilling pieces, into countless shards of new non-existent echoes, swelling and spreading among the changing eternal particles of the brain, lurking at the edges of substances.


    Above each step, every corner of the sky and particle of air, invaluable mortal achievements, ideas, and fantasies were curated, embodied in both mad and abundant alluring improvements, both modest and perfect, expertly captured with these moving and possibly non-living bodies. This was a place for cybernetic revolutions, perfectly and at times indecently entangled with magic and its hidden fairy-tale past, vividly hovering across all quarters of this memorable street with its joined islands of molded streets leading to docks, personal oval corridors, and horizontally spread ladders, above which lay the most diverse stories, around which the crowd barely fit with a crack.


    And now, it often happened to stumble upon winding molehills, from whose unreal planes the fences, flashing showcases, and rolling witnesses did not create the slightest feeling of strange crampedness. Someone descended with an umbrella. The skyscrapers seemed to grow thicker and longer like seaweed above the disturbed black earth, into whose bright soil a person descended silently, looking back. In an active tempo, bouncing from one luxurious lounge to another alongside the local werewolf, a Capricorn and a fish in his pocket at the wheel, indignantly puffing, an accidental inspector skillfully attached a mechanism to the man''s ear, whose bottomless matrix began projecting the universal routine of the virtual digital hall among the frightened pupils, automatically starting to project the route of the designated excursion under a quiet, unobtrusive melody. Tipsy youth laughed loudly, awkwardly spreading the charging notes of a demonic rock guitar past the scattering passersby and flashing stalls with their diverse spices among tapes and bouncy New Year ribbons, stolen from the neighboring bar where an interested crowd dreamed of the long-awaited bisexual cocktail after a long work shift.


    The speedometer lost distance between hives of cosmic green fields, beginning the epic confrontation between two teams on this special day. A police badge was tucked into the red velvet scarf. Mockery. Someone even found a secluded corner in such ambiguous places for reading yesterday''s newspaper, like that giant under the evening column, scratching his heavy and imposing triceps on the stone and dark brown, lit scales with intervals. Endless streams of passersby seemed like meaningless rivers moving in search of their free, needed, ethnic, absolute goal. They simply sat and laughed, stealing a zone of comfort and spending time together. But the movement did not stop for a moment thanks to the watchful and strange machines in black jackets, time and again raising their glass disdain and opening doors to more secluded paths for gifted cyclists and people with unstable vacuum strollers, while countless glowing displays could promptly suggest the way to the nearest station, a lovely and recently opened "Yu-Doo-If" kitchen, a motel, or even a restroom with VIP service. Unless they were obstructed by the passing three hundred cars in half-meter volumes, following the main cabin with bags dangling from all sides and mysterious devices tied with paper clips and dishes, about whose passengers one could only guess. A few green berries almost fell from the basket, but the children couldn''t care less to turn their heads from the windows to resentfully accompany the heavenly nectar on its last journey. Her raspberry-light sugar hair was fiercely blown by the stream of air, hiding a surprised gaze at the massive heads of the neighbors around, mistaking a puddle from pear juice for a whimsical ocean between the endless snowy mountains of knitted sweaters, and the rooftops of showcases for some anomalies of asteroids, thickening over the infinite openings and retreating spaces of a wandering margarine existence.


    Graceful illusions began to distract from the disordered fairy-tale episodes, or rather the variously grown owners of improved places for relaxation or long-awaited vacations, traversing the expanses of book planets angels and someone''s lost bra, whose traces led to a sickly colorful alley, from where a dark-skinned elf smiled with love and warmth, her snowy ocean of hair spilling across the intricately stretched tunnel of a dark bleak world. Alluring horizons gave free rein to all imaginations that connected in a collective chat among massive heavenly metropolises with their melted sunset and shadowy cats, sometimes amazed by these "Complicated Words." An artificial air kiss from powdery turquoise lipstick, along with a large and angry sock, intercepted a chatty mustachioed gentleman, shamelessly placing in the hands of the pale-faced a large box with a set of tools that nobody could figure out, promising that with the purchase of the "WO!!" brand next time he would receive a ton of hot discounts, whose list of privileges was interrupted by the chatty tone of a female creature, with distinct orange teeth on her dark thistle flesh and wavy bony horns.


    Her fingers, long as the branches of a giant tree, quickly and precisely placed spoons of appetizing cooked dough into his obediently opening and already smeared raspberry filling lips, instantly trying to substantiate the critique in favor of her ancient parental recipes, in which this Quentin and his team of ecological geography did not think at all, which again failed at the latest sour milk management. Not daring to step further and a little differently, the matter turned to meaningless requests to take a photo or dance a slow dance with someone resembling a dragon dressed in a festive uniform, all under this magically blooming umbrella of golden petals of agarwood and with an invented fairy tale on wide theatrical parchment, which so strongly inspired those ironically smiling old women who had walked a difficult path beyond the walls years ago.


    ***


    Something emerged, cobbled together from an uncountable number of boxes, bags, and balloons, interspersed with magazines dangling from overstuffed bags, heavy panting, and a reckless assortment of all sorts of junk that barely fit into its virtual slots and other product bouquets with fireworks on crossed straps. Something whose hair was well-combed as a compliment, professionally dried and soaked in luxurious expensive "Krait''s" perfume �� before which even the general''s lady would not stand, as that sharp-beaked heartthrob with the tuned cottage above ground, traversing the portals of artificial matter, had said.


    Emerging into the surface adorned with living posters and flying hacked holograms of millionaires, amidst quiet laughter and someone''s tearful sobs, higher and higher, one mundane multi-level building rose after another. Tiny roots of entrances towered against wide gray walls made of squared sections of windows. The sky was a cocoon, huddled against blooming ridges. Giants of monuments, arches merging streets. Silhouettes seemingly assembled from an uncountable number of collected puzzles and mechanisms, police and video sensors patrolled every possible inch.


    The situation. Hundreds of fresh and sickly sweet scents mixed into weightless and transparent clouds that wandered from one kiosk to another. In the height of a bright evening, while the not-so-bright booths still couldn''t boldly throw themselves into the eyes ahead of the dark districts of ground-up red moons and blue snow, some flew through the frames of LED headlights, their colorful advertising aura overshadowing daylight with hundreds of fast delivery offers. They couldn''t, like some colorful droplets beating above his head.


    These balloons waiting for a flow of electricity in the sweltering days stretched along another sprawling road with dozens of incomprehensible branches at almost every twentieth step. Loud conversations on devices mixed with the chatter around, and an imperceptible light shock was an eternal burning fire in this active and incomprehensible anthill, in which he didn''t even notice himself, forgetting his existence for long minutes and completely engrossed in exploring these labyrinths, which multiplied everything with their tangled street techniques and histories, adorned with perfect miniatures and amusing caricatures, near which love letters and social calls lurked.


    Difficult wandering in search of administration led him to a remote alley that turned out to be far from the center, with a vaulted tiled roof between two residential quarters, leading through a wide shaft paved with large stones. The streets here were quiet and very green due to the dense vegetation of lush grass underfoot, well-tended shrubs, and foliage thickly growing on the dull walls of multi-story houses, which stood there like trees and thin vines near balconies with dividers, where their harmless inhabitants, always eager for a tasty treat, ran about.


    On the dull green benches sat peacefully chatting residents with live broadcasts, and the sandboxes were still rarely filled with children. The rare drifting smell of pancakes wafted near one of the kiosks surrounded by people, overseen by an elderly woman in a working and simultaneously miniature gardener''s jumpsuit. And right next to it was a modest little shop with a dense copper-green tarp as a roof over a seemingly wooden door and a thick display window, which had been brazenly crowned with several crookedly pasted advertisement posters. Itchy and sometimes ticklish drops of greasy sweat had gathered all over his body, unpleasantly rolling down his lower back and along his habitually wrinkled face from the obnoxiously chasing sun.


    Taking his time, he climbed the thin metal ladder, lazily pulling off his shirt and entering the small house called "Yavora''s Flea Market," under whose wall he carelessly dumped a pile of newly acquired junk, from which he could well build his first home.


    The door slammed shut. The loosely affixed decor resembling the music of the wind alerted the cashier to the arrival of a visitor, clanging hideously against one another. Inside, it turned out to be an incredibly spacious and indescribably high room, with arched ceilings and rounded walls that probably reached many dozens of meters in height. Shelves and refrigerators cluttered with fogged glass displayed a chaotic assortment of items. The creaky floor beneath the man''s feet and the unkempt long ladders leading to the other shelves momentarily transported him back to a state that felt painfully familiar. Somewhere, a thick box could unexpectedly fall, thudding as it smashed against a pyramid of gathered blankets and embroidered gift boxes. M mysterious hissing sounds and swift birdsong echoed from the gaps between the endless and overflowing shelves.


    A young saleswoman sat casually at a narrow cash register positioned between two decorative tables adorned with overtly incomprehensible products, showing no inclination to acknowledge him while she blew balloons out of chewing gum and read a musty-looking book titled Embraces of Emptiness, V. in Slippers.


    �� Hello... I would like some water. �� The man spoke cautiously, his right eye dimly glowing with a reddish glint, making him constantly scratch it.


    �� Arghh, behind you. �� She replied irritably without looking up, getting up from her warmed chair to serve an old man in a black coat with a cheap prosthetic for a lower jaw, who had already wandered in the store for a good ten minutes just to buy some laundry powder for hand washing. There was a discount on it, at least, which dated back to last year.


    The man continued to examine the sealed and spread-out blocks with various bottles near a couple of horizontal refrigerators, where wooden round barrels stood proudly with sets of long kitchen spoons, each the size of a human head, and iron sieves. They were all colorful, and only where they appeared as a translucent rare liquid, he picked up a small bottle after tearing through the thick film.


    �� Mom! Do you still have some small change? I have no way to give the client change here! �� Suddenly, the girl shouted, holding onto the cash register with both hands and sharpening her long wolf-like ears on her head.


    �� Look in my wallet! It''s in my bag, on the hook! �� A woman''s commanding voice responded from somewhere. The pale man suddenly remembered that he had no idea what that was, and with that he recalled that he had no devices or alternatives with him at all to exchange for the right to own that liquid.


    The young saleswoman, with a silly green fringe covering her entire right face and a cap brim on her forehead, soon returned with the necessary change for the politely waiting old man. The man took advantage of the moment, quickly inspecting the visible currency: ordinary bills worth a hundred of some kind of okan. A black asymmetrical line separated the two halves of the paper, dividing the contents of a pale lettuce-beige bill, which looked more like very strong but still pliable paper. Occasionally, a holographic calligraphy depicting some young, bushy-haired lady flickered on one sharp side in the form of a modest small frame.


    There were more, additional okans, but in the form of black coins. Among rounded patterns with a couple of segments, each was stamped with the number five. A shadow reassuringly ruffled the hair of the pale man, who was suffering from a stimulated headache, hiding behind his back.


    �� Ten okans, �� she yawned sweetly, shamelessly stretching and clutching her hands behind her neck, barely managing to utter the words with her yawning fang-like mouth. Her eyes clouded, and she began to feel slightly nauseated as something unpleasant sparkled in her head with the thinnest and ear-piercing ring.


    It was as if necessary coins began to trickle from the right hand of the pale man, totaling two not quite genuine coins that the girl clearly didn''t pay any attention to.


    �� Is he a magician or what, hmm. �� Not waiting for an answer, she swiftly tucked the money away behind the cash register and resumed reading her thin book. She probably wasn''t even bothered that the coins were yellow with red-white edges and felt like frozen hard fabric.


    �� "Save me, oh merciful and gracious Helvia! For you are my healer and my banner �� and I am your loyal shepherd"! �� With this brief yet shouting hymn, the old man, quite out of his mind, literally flew out of the room, clutching the laundry detergent to his heart.


    �� And when did people so completely screw up their generation? To sincerely worship a food powder and give it a silly name. The instructions clearly state �� DO NOT CONSUME!!! �� the girl muttered negatively, shaking her head as if speaking to an imaginary friend beside her.


    �� Where did you catch such a bug? �� A young woman unexpectedly appeared, wearing a white apron on her neatly arranged ample bosom, with thick, light hair tied up in a ponytail, peering curiously past one of the glass-filled display cases. �� Or is this called fashion now, the "fashion era"? �� With a crooked, low accent, she tried to quote some fashion magazine that usually cluttered her daughter''s bedroom.


    �� Are you talking to me? �� The man cautiously addressed the pleasantly smiling woman in the apron.


    �� Yes, you.


    �� I don''t understand, you...


    �� Well, you have a huge, straight scar on your back in the shape of an "X." �� She crossed her arms, trying to explain it to him as if he were a slightly tipsy customer with a dry mouth.


    �� A-ha, now I understand why that old man is completely out of his mind, �� glancing at the man before her, the girl quickly interrupted their conversation. �� I read that many, many hundreds of years ago, people believed in some detached seraph. This guy was the opposite of the ancient goddess O, Helvia, whom many still worship today. �� Suddenly, the girl began to speak with interest. �� So, for everyone who awaited a swift death and the subsequent afterlife judgment, this seraph left similar crossing scars on the body. Either on the palm, or on the belly, maybe even on the buttocks, I''m not sure. Oh, turn your back... Aha, it really does resemble that drawing from the chronicle. But no one living should see that crap according to the canon. Well, except for the owner, of course.


    �� So, should I expect to die soon? �� asked the man.


    �� No, of course not. It''s all fairy tales. �� The woman denied, dragging boxes somewhere with a gentle smile on her face. �� You probably had a good rest with friends last night!


    �� Y-yeah, probably. Th-thank you for the water. �� The pale man politely nodded to both of them.


    �� Some are having fun, while I''ve spent two days in this hole. �� The young cashier muttered nastily.


    �� These parties won''t lead to anything good! I promise you that! �� the mother began to get worked up.


    �� So it was okay for you, a seventeen-year-old, to entertain yourself with some werewolf?! To recklessly engage in debauchery and travel around the world!?


    �� He was wonderful, and his youthful exploits were sung in the testament of the Storyteller! �� The woman clutched her heart, dreamily finishing with closed eyes. �� And he is your father, who gave you life!


    �� Ha-ha, well thanks. Because of that wretched werewolf, every month there are crowds of these clueless guys hanging out under my balcony. And now I recently went into heat! Do you have any idea what was going on then!? A-aarrggh! I wish some handsome guy would show up! Sniff... �� The girl started to throw a tantrum, desperately trying to return to her book.


    �� Only when you sincerely fall in love, when you get married, then God is my witness to my words.


    �� And Apostle Peter. Pfff...


    ***


    Moments. The brightly blinding orange sun continued to lazily sink behind the high and fantastical horizons of towering multi-level structures, some of which shifted and moved into horizontal gigantic overpasses from time to time. Service vehicles could now confidently navigate these winding paths. And now, any type of transport bringing its owner home after a hard shift could land on the newly transformed platforms serving as parking lots. Countless streetlights had already been lit by electric current, and the faint light mingled with the dense cluster of headlights and energy reactors from the cars, buildings, and drones passing overhead. Aimlessly wandering and only occasionally glancing at the touchscreen, he continued to absorb each presented corner, step, and seemingly every molecule, as if a light breeze, a heavy scent, or a specific aesthetic imprinted itself inside him, around the large moving eyes in a black cloud, interrupted by the piercing voice of a thin boy and his crooked-smiling companion with a massive yet feminine, lizard-like jaw.


    In such an acute time, every passerby, whether a person, a freckled dwarf, a higher form of life, or another lurking ghost, a rarely encountered cyborg with faded nails on its back, always flickered around him, each with their own problems, conversations, or even friendly smiles. They didn''t notice his gaze surveying every bit of the active space. Perhaps hundreds of thousands of kilometers separated them all from the horror that lay beyond the walls, yet he still found moments in which he genuinely marveled, cautiously observing the passing eyes and their only irreplaceable hearts. The expansive cybernetic surroundings with an illusory-steel sky shifted into mundane cityscapes of tall office buildings and motels, with quiet winding streets lined with private houses, where paths from balconies, horizontal staircases, and windows often converged in a chaotic arrangement between neighboring blocks and the far-off hills made up of various domestic horizons, small branches leading to lonely and quiet parks.


    His eyes stared at the gray endless expanse, with steps as long as blades rising briefly to a monochrome, dim entrance, towards the dull wide walls with gray and golden doors, to the dim columns, among which darkness lurked, alongside a tiny orange glow from a lit cigarette between someone''s lips. A strange ringing emanated from this house, a sound of wires and microchips, as if a tiny vibrating processor had been shoved into his ears.


    It was the most ordinary chain. Steel yet truly indestructible. It stretched endlessly somewhere into the beyond, slipping under his still-bare feet in the worn slippers that had gathered even more tiny cuts, mixing his oozing blood with fine dirt. It was almost completely covered in rust, twisted by time, with frequent areas warped. And somewhere, it bore tiny scratches, left as if by equally metallic nails. Cool as the atmosphere of the morning gray dew beneath the porch. Heavy as the loss of hope. Forged by life. So far, it crawls behind. So far, it crawls behind. It smells strongly of tears. A soul, cursed and forgotten by all, trapped in a cage since birth. A living, soul-wrenching agony. <u>No hell in the world can compare to this pain. What happened? I want to know, I want to know, I want to know, I want to know, I want to know, I want to know, I want to know, I want to know, I want to know, I want to know, I want to know, I want to know. I want to take this away.</u>


    Slippery with sweat and pale-red from sudden tension, thin, pale hands carefully picked up the searing, invisible chain, its scent comparable to bitter ash in a fleeting moment. The disgusting stench of ash left behind after a body had burned to cinders. Darkness clouded his vision. Everything around him began to stretch like melted, multicolored clay, with a single liquid puzzle piece in the center of his head, from which new substances of yellow and somewhat warm colors began to flow, mixing with the constant black mush of his own thoughts, seen forms, and tangible sensations. Everything always melted and crumbled into infinity, everything constantly collided and compressed into serene tongues, drowning among countless touches that weren''t there. It seemed as if eyes severed from bloody nerves began to intertwine with fragile, liquid tissues and columns, trapped in a polluted aquarium with no fish around.


    He began to suffocate from the growing fear, unable to move even the hand that lay beside him, which felt as though it had turned into a thick cloud of dust, shattering against the hard ground. Finally, he managed to lower his gaze to the same chain in his painful, weak hands, which trembled weakly. Around him, a blurred mosaic of towering cliffs spun and danced, reaching toward the clear pink sky dotted with sparse clouds and two singular, brightest stars, as if conversing with each other. But before him, he saw a miracle. The very miracle he had once heard in an unfamiliar song. It was the sweetest horizon, with a single small, oval hill made of sturdy rock. If he could approach it, he would see a long cliff behind it, beginning its majestically boundless existence with dense, immortal forests, where countless billions of tiny lives with delicate legs, narrow antennae, and spider webs thrived. It would be worth returning to the hill. Two bewildered figures, sprawled in a lotus pose, munching on brewed rations, began to drill the stranger with the chain in his hands with their blank stares.


    �� Hey. Put that down quickly, �� one of them replied coldly. A young guy with light curls on his cheeks and bluish eyes was clearly not in the mood to accept any refusals. His thin lips twisted in a grimace of disgust, and his eyes filled with insatiable outrage. He wasn''t going to ask a second time, and at the moment when the gray-faced man struggled to break the chain with both hands, the young man instantly dissolved into nothingness, covering the twenty-meter distance in a heartbeat, grabbing the man by the hair on the back of his head with one hand while delivering a flurry of blows to the stranger''s face with the other at an incredible, inhuman speed. His first knee strike landed heavily on the solar plexus, followed by a second blow to the previously focused point, and the gray-faced man helplessly collapsed backward, rolling over his thin shoulders and screaming fiercely in the face of excruciating, shameless pain that seemed to engulf his entire body.


    The boy''s strikes were as precise as a computer''s aim, and each hit carried an inappropriately steel-like weight that had already vanished from his usual hands. The shattered face and injured stomach left a lasting imprint of horrific pain, but the hidden, bubbling desire deep inside rapidly prevailed, prompting the pale-faced man with empty black sockets instead of eyes to struggle to rise amidst the hoarse cries through broken lips and trembling shards of remaining teeth, first pushing up on his elbows.


    �� Who the hell are you!? And how the fuck did you get here? �� The young man squatted down beside him, carelessly grabbing the man by the hair and lifting his gaze with it. �� Look me in the eyes. �� The stranger fell into uncontrollable tremors and panic, gasping for breath, trying to gather his thoughts while carefully monitoring the reaction of the young brigand as it began to seem that a dozen broken teeth floated in the bloody swamp of saliva in his throat.


    Breathless, he struggled to catch the gaze of the young guy whose aggression and psychological state were utterly incomprehensible and unattainable to him. Before him, he only saw colors, the absence of numbers, the acceptance of an eternal path, control, and a recreated insane vastness, their unstable biological visibility, tiny genetic codes, and their possibilities. Through a slit in the red wall, a shadow suddenly appeared in his eye, obstructing his view of the man''s face through the bouquet from the inner side of his eye. Each endless echo of existence clung to his constantly refined layers, wrapping around his consciousness, becoming a unified organ capable of everything. He was ready to grasp with his bottomless, slow sources of will to his excited system, to those serene red canvases of his shackled mind. To make a leap. To tear apart all conceivable and non-existent consistencies of imaginations, ideas, all-pervading space, emotions, and feelings. To embrace this story and gift it hope, to give a part of everything and provide answers... Compression. A new gaze and complete annulment. His thin palms helplessly fell to his groaning belly, while the empty sclerae remained a purposeless design whose direction was impossible to decipher. He could barely distract himself from the drifting native ships in his mouth, not to mention the liquid stream of black blood seeping through his lips, occasionally laced with red threads of the thickest secretions.


    ***


    Her eyelids suddenly flew open wide as her heart began to tingle strangely, as if it were slowly ready to suffocate itself from within. In her blue, tear-stained pearls, a stirring fear was clearly readable. No, she did not crave such a sacrifice. She didn''t want anyone to suffer because of her��because of her body, her voice, her thoughts��her very existence in this world. She had to stop this. She would execute her will, not allowing anyone to suffer because of her pitiful existence.


    The room erupted with a terrifying, bone-chilling scream. Her head gradually lifted from the pillow, and her arms and legs began to move heavily under the pressure of her wavering and stubbornly resisting mind. Only crooked, puppet-like movements and a heart-wrenching, escalating shrill scream could be produced. Every muscle, every cell, every precious nerve in her body was engulfed by a maddening warmth, making her feel as though all her muscles and joints, with their tendons, were continuously and slowly tearing apart like a vast white fabric. Within eight seconds, the cries drew attention. Rushing orderlies and a few random nurses saw an open door that ultimately led them into an entirely empty room with a sheet lying on the floor. Only a strange, flickering yellow light went out behind the bustling backs of others.


    ***


    These were not just simple blue eyes. That gaze, securely hiding something greater, could not reveal to anyone what lay deep inside. Those cunning eyes could see everything. They were one of the masterpieces in the world of an unending race for something greater and perfect. The true and all-seeing, tortured third eye awakened in his flickering soul, hidden beneath human bones. And now, he could not help but see the true essence, nurtured in this wretched, pale-skinned sick body that had once slowly rotted under the pressure of a meaningless life and died in the most ordinary and unnecessary place. Hidden secrets and desires were revealed like a dish from which a rusted lid was lifted. His life''s journey was laid bare in the span of unfathomable seconds.


    �� Can you imagine who''s come to see us? �� the guy smiled widely and enthusiastically, turning to the sitting girl, who was still chewing something, a dark-haired maiden in brass light garments reminiscent of a hunter''s light armor.


    �� And... who? �� she mumbled through a mouthful of bread.


    �� A "human", �� the guy scoffed with arrogant surprise. �� A tiny piece of shit under the force of annihilation and the flesh of the Gods. Or something like Jesus is in charge. Buddha. Torah. Kali. Hmm. Or... I''m kinda confused in their divine limitations already. No idea what''s where or who. You can''t count them on your fingers... He turned back to the blood-smeared man, whom he began to lift by the hair.


    �� For such a shoddy attitude toward your degrading mind, you might get slapped in the face, kid. And who are all these people you named? �� the girl replied indifferently, continuing with less fervor to stuff her mouth with the last remnants of soup, nearly cold among the melting circles of carrots and greasy broth.


    �� Aw, look! �� He shook the man. �� Go see for yourself if you don''t believe it! I''m shocked! I told you, it''s where all the cripples live. Both the people and their offerings to artificial beliefs, guesses, and fathers. Though, everything''s pretty much the same here. The guy started to observe the man carefully again. �� Although, it can''t be. You can''t do anything at all. Then he sniffed. �� Hmmm... Hah, you can''t even get rid of your body. At least heal those injuries, not to mention give me a good thrashing. But I see what I see. I don''t understand a damn thing. He began to step back, tossing the man''s body aside and turning his head in bewildered thoughts.


    �� Maybe your pressure flared up again and you can''t control your brain, or maybe this mister just got lost. Anyway, as my grandmother used to say, ''with the world on the brink.'' Wiping her mouth with a napkin, the girl suddenly pulled out her enormous damn mechanical gun with a body that had just heated to redness, which was divided by several recessed openings. With bright, sparkling sparks, two projectiles flew out of the hefty barrels of the weapon, shredding the heart and groin area of the barely rising body. Apart from the pools of blackened blood soaking the solid sandy cover around, a scream immediately began to pour out from carelessness in handling the heavy, trembling weapon.


    Every part of the body, along with the narrowed eyelids, the uncontrolled, labored breathing around the aggressively stretched mouth, and the toes had completely refused to obey. He could barely hear his own silvery voice, unable to recognize the ever-multiplying number of silhouettes in the distance, his head sinking into the unseen depths filled with incredibly flexible, sharp blades that covered his body from within, accompanied by a strange warm coldness. Sand. Grass. His eyes could no longer distinguish color or think of those words; the icy claws of the wind lifted their sprawling trails back, striking his bending body with a silent, gentle stream, adding greater ferocity to his torn, exposed flesh, intensely piercing past his ground-up left chest. Eventually, his throat grew weary of its constant, silent, unyielding moan, drowning in the muddy, dark red juices. The beast was deprived of the opportunity to unquenchably and fully surrender to its involuntary roar, but in still living thoughts, they continued to race against each other, trying to tear apart the space of mentality, where a violet hue squeezed beneath the lower eyelids along with the sharpened lines of adapted skin.<u> The curtain, kids! HaNaMillis-n, the bass voice of AdaMiHa fell... Her disarmed red chandelier with a face trembled before the snake. And they took each other''s hands again, although Te vrL had stepped away with the cotton. Extinguish... step back, chain before the fingers, earth, ears! O-na!</u>


    �� Just shut him up! He''s gonna scream all night long, you bastard! �� at her partner''s request, she obediently reacted, apologizing for her rashness, and delivered a fatal shot to the head of the man writhing in horrible convulsions. �� First of all, you pig-faced bastard! And second, are you out of your mind? Why kill him!? I asked you, damn it! He came from another fantasy! I wanted! I wanted! Bullshit. You brainless thing with overripe cherries instead of brains! Phew... What the f#%k!!!


    Picking up a couple of red droplets on his thin vest, the guy felt strangely upset, delving into his swirling pupils past the gradually rupturing edges and the eternal roots of existence, deeply shocked after failing to comprehend his chaotic appearance, stubbornly staring at thoughts that whispered he had forgotten to take his pills again and tearing them to shreds. After not being able to witness how flesh and blood deprived themselves of life, becoming an inanimate and nonexistent painting that pierced through all laws and vice versa, everything that does not exist, preventing the cosmic cavern''s immensity from scattering accumulated memories, desires, names, and love. Not anticipating the appearance of him, and his reasons to break this chain of metal. He didn''t know her. Neither her body, nor her name, nor her story. Immediately, a road appeared in his mind, along which he began to stroll peacefully, examining the knowledge he had, trying to clarify for himself this impossible anomaly. Futile and in vain. There could be no answers. Perhaps he was gradually losing his mind. The heavenly darkness was shrouded in gray fog; he would have to wander the streets alone once again. But in a good mood, he turned around in the long bottomless corridor of black, flowing walls, following the path of a bright Gothic carpet... Eyes secretly laughed, but gradually turned away from him were grotesque silhouettes of cosmic size, locking their picture frames of multifaceted cloying worlds. Every thought, face, word. He understood his presence on Earth, but rejected his will. What if there were several of them? Born simultaneously in different circumstances and places. Ones he had never seen before. Yet one of the human faces looked at the guy like he was an idiot, hiding behind him, pulling its anticipatory opinion through the rising window of subspace.


    Tears gently hit the ground. He couldn''t extinguish the smoldering agony within himself, despite his immense desire, and so it squeezed the bubbling and still terrible pain in his strong teeth, which noticeably ground together. From the soft lower lip, which the fox accidentally bit during a shock, long drops of blood now trickled. Her poor ears were deprived of healing prostheses, and instead, the wounds continued to slice wider and longer, lifelessly dangling from her head like double-sided sheets of paper that hadn''t completely torn in half. And her thick, golden swarm of dull hair began to gently sway in the warmly welcoming wind. With a chilling sense of dread, she timidly raised her gaze. The tall mountain cliffs around and the beautiful horizon ahead, which was only marred by the figure of a dark-haired girl with a smoking gun in her hand. She had been trembling feverishly even before, but upon seeing the familiar face, the ripple as a personal feeling became more horrifying with every quiver of her limbs. When a man''s scream ceased, she cautiously turned her head, seeing the body of that very dead man. The nameless man from the ruins. Tears thickened, and the feeling of guilt and self-hatred surged rapidly, growing very high and breaking yet another boundary in a new understanding. And her scream was capable of drowning out anyone''s madness, passion, and love. A sound pushing toward the most absurd and twisted acts. But pain restrained her movements.


    �� Wa-a-a...? �� the girl with the cooling gun in her hand seemed to have lost her ability to speak. �� You... You''re...


    The guy ambiguously began to look around, as if he didn''t believe what was happening.


    �� Who do I see, �� with arms outstretched, the blond was genuinely shocked by what was happening and his own ability to unwittingly edit illusions, after which he glanced around just in case. �� How many years has it been? �� he politely knelt before the sick vixen, gently placing his palm on her tense cheek. �� How many winters, you sweet little lump of anguish. You have no idea how we''ve missed you. Where have you been all these long years? What have you been doing? �� he began to stroke her, piercing through her soul with his cold-blooded gaze, trembling from terror and pain. She remained silent, continuing to swallow her screams, feeling her body going numb all the way to her eyelids. He watched her and marveled time and again. �� I just can''t understand! �� the guy rose with a sudden and instant flare of anger. �� Suddenly, this fucking piece of meat with your seal in hand shows up! After having died once in a completely different world! But how!? This violates all the written and still non-existent fucking systems of exohistorical universal voids! Even I can''t see this... I!! And now suddenly you show up!? Oh you! You floppy-eared piece of masochistic trash! Why has this day come with your grievances, Lord!? Did I go too far with curiosity again?... Forgive me, I''m still just a child! So much more to understand and forget forever! Forever! Damn it! Ugh, what am I saying? Almost slipped up there. �� again in despair, he raised his accumulated anger to the sky, nervously waving his fists and starting to kick at a half-burned bush in the sun.


    The girl behind the furious hysteric barely restrained her laughter and contempt in her usual style. �� You really should work on your vocabulary, you little fucker. �� she finally couldn''t hold back, laying the gun on the tablecloth and lowering her satisfied post-dinner face, crossing her arms over her knees and shrugging her thin shoulders.


    �� You. You ran away from us back then. I remember that leaden day. I remember it as clearly as my fifth birthday... We took care of you, fed you, clothed you. And this is how you repay us? You are no longer my little angel �� you''re an ungrateful, brainless, disgusting creature as it was written in that guidebook. Hey! Is he still with you!? �� the boy''s lips twisted grotesquely, and his face contorted in pain and regret, as if he were trying to cry. He genuinely wanted to forgive this creature for her ingratitude and possibly naive mistake, but he secretly understood that no punishment in the universe could compare to her fate. He was tired. He was fed up with all of this. Especially that idiot behind him. After a strong blow to her face, she collapsed back weakly, continuing to lose her last tears filled with bitterness and regret. She wanted to scream again. She wanted to destroy everything around her with her scream. The burning pain unrelentingly squeezed every part of her body. But she just continued to endure and accept all of this as truth, which she eternally consumed alongside lies. Who were they? Why was everything happening this way? Alas, she was too weak. She had always been weak, and now she would simply die like a useless doll in a world of masters and perfectionists. Along with her tiny desire, knowing nothing but constant loss. Molded without necessity, abandoned, and forever forgotten by all. �� You can''t escape fate, you can''t run from it, damn it!


    Memories. So many faces sleep before her gaze, sometimes even whispering, addressing her with inaudible pleas. The hovering glow shifts in the ceiling like a ghost, tempting her with hope. Suddenly it disappears, leaving only emptiness. There is no feeling �� no hands, no consciousness, not even darkness or blinding light. Or maybe it''s all just a dream she could lift like a book opening on the first page. But where will she find herself now, and what kind of world will it be? Her fingers tremble. She remembers old stories, scattered in her memory. What if she sees her mother? Maybe she had a father once? It''s so hard to think about things that seem non-existent, like a meaningless word just made up or another sound. About things she had never suspected. Damn it, it''s happening again. I''m tired...


    ~~~


    Inside his skull, a nightmare ignited �� exploding islands of consciousness, like fragments of a sunken world, hurling all the dirt he had long hidden to the surface. Thoughts, so vivid they felt organic, crawled through his veins like a poisoned syringe tightening in a tourniquet, and every sensation was filled with the sound of shattered glass shards. Fear gnawed at his heart like wild beasts piercing the flesh of his essence, spreading throughout his body. It was not merely a feeling �� it was a nesting of horrors intertwining in his mind, sparking like lightning, leaving him no chance to escape. Pain? It was no longer just a companion �� it had become his beloved, exquisite and tormenting, imposing its presence with every breath. It enveloped him so tightly that he could not discern where his body ended and this infinite, creeping, cold, slimy creature began.


    With each passing second, a strange sensation grew within him, as if his skin were tightening and his bones fracturing, and something new was emerging in place of flesh. His mind exploded into infinite fragments, each a shard of the old "self" sinking into the abyss. He heard voices �� whispers from the depths of memory, from the wounded soul that had long slumbered.


    "Don''t be afraid. Save her." These words seemed to originate from him, and he did not understand how they could be so clear yet full of despair. He did not care that he had never known this half-fox; in her, he saw the reflection of his own fear and humiliation. It was something sacred��it was the acknowledgment that his existence found meaning only in moments when he could challenge evil, even if that evil did not know him.


    Every twitching muscle beneath his skin elicited a sharp reaction. The bones of his skull cracked like glass under the pressure of internal chaos. He felt his eyeballs contorting, striving to escape their sockets, as if they were threatened by an unbearable reality. He could no longer remain ordinary. Humiliation, mixed with pain, flowed into aggression. Words from the mouths of enemies he once could have ignored now sounded like a sinister symphony penetrating his brain, turning him into a tool of resistance.


    And there he stood, burning his gaze into those people. Suddenly he realized: his hands no longer belonged to him. They had become instruments of pain, ready to destroy, however strange it felt inside. The half-fox had become a symbol for him, not just a victim��she was an image of everything he might have lost, and he could not allow those bastards to strip her of that pitiful fragment of her freedom. He was no longer himself��he had become a ghost of madness, calling for freedom through hellish rage and exhaustion. This was not merely a transformation; it was violence against his inner self, his humanity torn apart like a rag in the hands of a maddened sadist who might have been the cause of his oblivion, his ignorance, his sufferings, and fears that were impossible to comprehend. And now, in his mind, only now, in this lifeless yellow desert, cruel enlightenment flared up.


    With each breath, he was torn between himself and the dark abyss between the rattling chromosomes, where each sought to engulf him with its mysterious meanings. He felt all his insides constricting, as if someone were driving hooks into him. This was madness, but it was in this madness that he found his new "self." This process, full of corruption and twisted beauty, merged into one��rage, discontent, and unhealed wounds. Everything that had come before now sank into darkness, turning to dust��a dust that had no right to exist in this world.


    ~~~


    With a weighty squint of his unseen eyes, he hoarsely filled his lungs from within, his contorted face hidden behind a clenched and worn fist. His shimmering shell, seemingly lost in serene emptiness, slowly rose with the ruthless non-existence, oozing severed chunks of flesh and torn fabric. Dozens of fleshly vortices, woven from biological abundance, exploded with galactic gallons across the crust of his meaty and simultaneously mental comprehension. Mad tremors and a spectrum of pain embraced waves of opposition, conquering all sensations with their long ribs.


    Emotions, their words, nails, and all kinds of elevations��everything, like whirlpools in boundless depths, merged before a stain, not hindering each other, but occasionally melting into a homogeneous mass. The wild jaw slowly opened, allowing echoes of bottomless and powdery sounds to form between his lips and cursing tongue. Words shattered again, never reaching his lips. The falling shadow shriveled, as if in response to the refraction of light expelled by a mighty star. Raw red skin, breathing between 76 percent keratin and 80 percent amino acids, hardened to a level sharper than any knife, displaced in transformation.


    A bloodied winged mark gaped, the bloodied lips revealing all that remained of his flesh. A tiny mutilated creature leaped from behind, mimicking a cracked male voice:


    �� You don''t see the obvious... By the way, you are soaked with loneliness to the point of fainting.


    He widened his eyes, and around them blurred, like in a thick fog with deceptive protrusions. Inside, it felt like an entire jar of sleeping pills had been dumped and heavily smashed over his head. He did not move his lips; he felt no presence on his face. Instead, someone else was speaking, as if snow had lodged in his throat, robbing him of his voice. His chest and groin tightened with wide bloody pits, where the last fragments of bones and cellular secretions collected, glimmering like tiny liquid shells on the ground. They gradually evaporated, and the gray stretched skin took away this unbearable pain.


    �� Huh? �� the guy began to look perplexedly at how the previously mutilated body, shot and beaten, slowly reclaimed all the lost fragments of its body like a frozen frame on an outdated film, gradually being replaced by fresh details of its brokenness, growing around the flat illusion of Disconnection. The shadow, pulsating and distorted, struck against the trembling mind in the present space, shimmering with an unlimited spectrum of tangible and horrifically cutting touches, nervously pounded with genuinely escalating rage, self-contempt, and a strange pain that surrounded his gaze absolutely everywhere and quickly began to replace new decorations in the skillful color of understanding, perception, and the desire to help achieve perfect self-control over these limbs. �� What the hell is this uprising from the dead "Ada Christ"? I don''t get it!?


    �� Why... <u>Just shut up</u>. Please. �� The mutilated figure painfully bared its face, with hunched islands behind it. Groans of agony occasionally resembled bird calls, with a heavy hoarse accent. Its legs struggled to support the creature. Someone began to drag it from within. Red wings, sharp claws, and snow-white eyes like two pearls in blue seaweed. �� <u>You with your broom can''t even imagine what color their pain is</u>.


    After these words, the girl opened her mouth in surprise, unzipping her zipper and carefully examining her rounded and firm breasts under the thin black turtleneck, to which the blue-eyed boy twirled a finger at his temple and curled his lips as if to say, "What the hell are you listening to him for!?"


    Nonlinear bright outlines around the imagined eyes intensified with their ambiguous and unnatural grin, instilling a weight of control over the doubt that wished to protect the being behind him, unable to read all the necessary thoughts and desires. The paranoia of a tearing pack drilled in his ears, and he began to glance repeatedly at the absolutely helpless tailed warrior. There was that guy again: angry and confused, ambitious yet lazy. The girl reached for her weapon, glancing at her partner; green eyes hid among the chocolate hair, and brittle strands tangled in the twisted branches. Someone lay there. Someone''s room was a whole refuge. The returning seasoned feelings briefly became their inescapable fate �� uncontrollable and omnipresent. The blue-eyed one''s eyes sparkled aggressively, winking in the compressed memory of the master of his own desire ramp-ups. Reluctantly, he resigned himself to the futile attempts to learn anything, leaving hope and strange thoughts for that helpless fox in her powerlessness.


    The shadow smoothly dripped to the ground from the shadowy intersections of crushed grains of sand, leaving behind bright red lights in the eyes of the pale-faced stranger, who cautiously examined his skinny gray hands. A brutal struggle was inevitable. They stared at each other, frozen, waiting for one of them to make a superfluous move.


    Hands. One of them roughly grabbed the face of the approaching blue-eyed boy, already pushing him back against the hard rock, doing so clumsily, like a lost teenager at a party who had previously had a fierce quarrel with his hated classmate, clearly superior to him in every possible aspect. The girl accurately and promptly fired her weapon at the ugly psycho, whose bleeding forearm caught all the incoming projectiles. He let out a loud scream, grotesquely baring his teeth in pain, and fell to one knee. The boy sent a sharp elbow strike to the stranger''s jaw, stepping on his foot and creating a combination of skillful steel strikes.


    Stumbling awkwardly, he tried to shield himself from the blows with his hands when one of them, with elusive speed, seemed to slice through all the sky above their heads and fell heavily on the boy''s shoulder with a characteristic crunch, closer to the swollen nerves in his neck, which both of the pale-faced man''s hands grasped. In his eyes, the boy unexpectedly read the entire scheme, as if his breath had brushed past another''s mind for a single second.


    Clumsily shouting, the blonde frantically tried to kick at all his vulnerable spots, envisioning an ordinary person before him while struggling to break free from the hands pinning his body against the solid earthen wall. His voice desperately imitated the fierce and muffled roar of a wild animal, whose claws scraped tightly and barely broke against the flabby, dead skin. Meanwhile, his partner stood helplessly, aiming sporadically and ineffectively shooting at the head and shoulders of the leather skeleton, which promptly brushed off the shots and continued to push the boy aside. She remained on the sidelines, closely observing this wild struggle, where this strange guy stood out.


    The blonde began to laugh hysterically, as if trying with all his might to lose his mind. There was not a shred of doubt in his sincerity as his fierce gaze froze in confrontation with pain. This fear became a fateful event for him, a barrier he could only squeeze through while continuing to ascend the evolutionary ladder much deeper.


    The mountain wall opposite them began to dissolve, transforming into a poorly lit room with dusty windows, long carpeted stairs, and a nearby bottle of tequila shattering. The delicate and youthful face of the boy was gently surrounded by modest makeup with luxurious eyeliner around his eyelids, onto which dazzling light from the concert rigging fell sharply, swirling around the perimeter of a wooden stage somewhere in a Texas, ordinary, grubby saloon, where men crowded together, likely quarrelling over nonsensical foolishness, or rather �� over a woman frightened to the point of fainting. Only a few distant intellectuals, leisurely sipping fresh whiskey on the balconies, observed the modest performance of a cheerful singer in a lavish, bulky, bright dress, assisted by an old man with a heavy, surprisingly brand-new cello, who intensely struck the inebriated strings.


    The boy reached for an iron hook, driving it forcefully under the skin of the man, and immediately commanded his old friend on the other side of the bar to briskly pull the rope. With a heavy cough, clutching his throat, the boy powerfully kicked the torso of his opponent, sending him flying as far away as possible. Half a corpse and half a man, he slipped off the hook and skidded face-first across the well-worn piano, nearly swallowing one of the penultimate keys before landing on the unloaded thick sacks of flour that gradually blended into the backdrop of a high cliff in non-loading flickering frames.


    Slap! A small flour bag burst spectacularly on the face of the gray-faced man, who looked as if he had been dusted with snow. Another bag exploded on the pretty face of the blonde boy, who was knocked down by this sudden blast. But this was not the end! The next, but larger projectile of flour exploded in the makeshift trench created by the long bar, coming under mass fire from someone''s shoes, glasses, bell peppers, lemon wedges, and other vegetables.


    The guy was bewildered. He wanted to escape from this freak. One of the bags managed to fly back, roughly smacking against the boy''s face and knocking him to the ground along with an enraged, snowy grimace. He continued to clutch at his throat and his cracked shoulder joint, where bruised red marks remained, hastily crawling backward... Darkness encroached on his vision with every breath, and his hands once again began to restrict the breathing of that audacious kid who had unexpectedly appeared in the heavy, peppery fog, causing his eyes to water. He wanted to move forward, but the strength drained from one of them in the upside-down space, making his head spin to the accompaniment of a jazz tune played by a vanishing cello.


    "Leave her alone! Please! Please! I want this to stop! Just let her go!" A stranger''s voice burst out from the unknown person, kicked aside by the boy into the instantly disintegrating chaos of their fragile, termite-like stones, still occasionally pounding his face with his fists and possibly tearing at his own skin between his faded pupils, realizing how deeply emptiness gnawed at his mind and intensified his fear.


    He wanted to stop, but the air suffocated his thoughts and pushed him back into the reddened island of internal details and unnatural planes of his skull, briefly robbing him of sight. His maddened, trembling hands resumed the task of hitting and knocking down the blonde boy, perhaps trying to calm him down and give himself another chance to reach out to him.


    But an unknown force haunted and treacherously spun his consciousness, feeling fear for every passing moment in which that creature could be grabbed again and something done to her life right now. Anything. In a possible justification for the cruelty scraping at his back. Or maybe it had already happened, along with the fleeting bright tires rushing through that unbreakable wall, where familiar places drifted away, moving oil motors and sprawling silhouettes among multiplying labyrinths in the ashen sky, defying the amber clouds.


    <u>Tear apart, again and again. Relentlessly repeat their words. Make them look, make them feel, while behind them life continues on.</u>


    �� I just woke up! I saw you! �� the guy shrieked, delivering punches in turn, desperately trying to fend off his attacker. �� Just a person! A nobody with a false name and a damn coward! You''re right! You''re a disappointment! Absolutely to everyone and to her! You didn''t even exist, idiot! �� A mad laugh began to toy with the unknown between his trembling wolf-like fangs. �� Just a fucking human!! How does it��!!


    Something silently sobbed on the other side of intentions with a fading female scream but somehow didn''t stop choking the person beneath the nameless canvas, lost among the ghost of another, gasping in the unnatural, colorless juice of a paralyzed mind. Who is this? This teenager had raised his hand against her for the first time today; it was an explosion of frozen emotions. He truly was alone. Somewhat similar to his best friend. Perhaps just "a friend" now. His third eye had taught him so much, allowing him to see and feel so many things. But he had overdone the medication.


    The person tightly grasped his head and began to smash it down with a collapsing regression in a restrained scream, barely audible from his sealed, lacerated lips, from which another face emerged and disappeared, another word. This unnatural, opposing fear forced him to turn back again and again to the solitary fox-like silhouette, distracted by the painful scars on his weary body. What if she disappears suddenly? What if those legs grab that unfamiliar face again? Is she out of strength? What is happening?


    If he hits again, will he stop? The attempts to break free, to deprive him of consciousness��only for a moment.


    The back of his head gradually shattered into various fragments, igniting with crimson splashes. An eruption from semi-solid organic puzzles instantly painted the warm earth, flowing with tears streaming down from soft, pink puzzles. The ringing in his ears multiplied with the number of the rounded area compressing instead of the flat sky, with stars magnified thousands of times, piercing the tops of crumbling rocks like celestial, radiant cloaks.


    The person froze with outstretched palms, barely able to discern someone''s lower jaw with a tongue and scattered teeth. Paranoia. He turned back several times, unexpectedly noticing the silhouette of a long-eared woman in a white coat lying down. Bright and cool. He felt a presence, turned back, and saw the last scene with the stranger above. In her trembling hands, the weapon began to crumple, like risen dough, surrounding and tightly wrapping the thin black limbs. Once again, someone''s oozing, crimson-pink large hands crushed the woman''s bones into multiple open and closed fractures, simultaneously deforming her rough skin and breaking her long gray nails.<u> I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know I don''t know.</u>


    With a thunderous scream from an invisible force, the girl''s head shattered into pieces, causing her headless body to collapse lifelessly to the ground amidst the eager splashes of blood, flailing nervously with its lifeless thighs, like a fish. Her neck partly accepted this decision, even though it was painfully torturous. But she didn''t want to die. And she left this message on the long fingers of unfamiliar hands, releasing her calmed torso from their embrace.


    The person struggled to look down at the shattered pieces of the boy''s head beneath him. Red walls slowly dripped down, dissolving in the murky brown eyes. A terror that swiftly consumed his consciousness began to tremor through his body. Pain started to return, sending painful impulses. The realization of death laid bare before him the former rocky expanses, enveloped by yellow walls beneath the darkening warm sky.


    ***


    The clear eyes of the fox remained consumed by fear until the last moment, ready to fade away and accept its fate in this scenario. Rather, it was curiosity. Breathing became much easier, and the ears, which seemed to have no more living space left, now only tingled softly and itched with a tickling sensation. The heart-wrenching and merciless agony from intolerable pain throughout her body faded away. It dimmed as if someone''s breath had extinguished a recently lit fire around a porcelain saucer.


    And all of this happened to her just when pale, thin hands barely touched her horribly trembling shoulders, already entwined with strange, light threads that seemed to embrace even her bones through the layers of internal muscles. These hands struggled to lift and gradually carry the body away from the bloody patch, weaving smoothly in the long sheets and tenderly laying the weakened body in its former warm blanket by the window, beyond which night had long reigned and the reflections of neon confetti glimmered.


    Her four fox-like sensors on her head seemed never to be devoid of healing prosthetics, and the devices on the screens displayed stable indicators of her body. Questions clamored to escape one after another from her mind, but she lacked the strength for that. And once again, all she had left was to endure. Patiently waiting and hoping that the answers would soon appease her stubborn desire. Hoping that this would come by tomorrow morning.


    Her pounding breath gradually stopped gasping, the tumultuous body slowly calmed its movements and in the overloaded brain. Just moments ago, he had held someone in his arms. Someone''s spine, shoulders, legs, skin, head, nape. He was afraid of dropping her with each subsequent weakened step, distracted by the rough tingles beneath his skin, for ages. Lucky that she was here, so close. To touch someone. A stranger... Flesh. In such impenetrable darkness, she barely managed to glimpse the stranger''s silhouette at the locked door. Only the colorful wavering of keys in the distance with the plasma screen and the furniture that had long consumed the daylight helped her orient herself.


    �� O-please stay �� she barely heard herself, and from the heavy exhalation, she addressed the departing figure of the man, in whose hands glimmered fragments of some torn heavy chain, clanging loudly as it slithered away. A bit of blood and a piece of torn, bloodied clothing. �� P-please... �� the voice pleaded softly, heralding a painful wave of tears.


    �� I... Shh... �� the man raised his hands, cautiously whispering and swallowing the nagging lump in his throat. �� You need to sleep, I suppose. You look tired. I''ll inform the duty officer that you''re in your room. So no one worries. There are police outside. �� he replied nervously, partially stammering as he turned his face towards her.


    �� Y-you...? �� she continued to stubbornly follow his figure blurred among the orange-dim and warm-toned walls.


    Her head suddenly throbbed, the involuntarily closing eyes began to darken intensely, and the tips of her fingers on her hands and feet went numb. Her eyelids began to close from exhaustion, and the pale lips of the girl sealed with a brief sigh. After long minutes in the quiet and pristine room, her sweet, tired snoring could be heard in the darkness, reminiscent of a tiny, cute creature.

 Chapter 1/2. In the Yavora Shop: Evening Spanking on the Shelves

    �� Ah, you really are a great woman. �� The girl hugged her beloved mom tightly, filling her mouth with deep gulps of beer and happily twitching her gray wolf ears.


    �� Oh, sweetie, I''m just worried about you; you''re the most precious thing I have in this life... �� the woman began to munch on a thin slice of smoked meat.


    �� Oh, come on! Let''s skip the mushy stuff. Ooh! Let''s call some guys! You have that plumber''s number, right? He comes to clear our pipes every Friday, doesn''t he? �� the girl smiled hopefully, her eyes sparkling.


    �� I''ll give you such guys! �� The woman''s face transformed, her cruel laughter ruffling the lump on her daughter''s head as she regretted her words.


    The girls turned their heads in shock toward the loud crash of the door swinging open, behind which a furious thunder erupted, accompanied by the night''s downpour. Suspicious figures entered "The Yavora Shop" with a liberating air, bringing with them a strange aroma to the richest palace of all. One of them had a gigantic, inconsistent mechanized figure covered in sprawling cloaks and heavy, multicolored mechanisms on its back, composed of layered armor, where an interested person dragged along a luxurious amount of strange weapons that shifted from place to place, illuminated by warm, liquid materials from living minerals with little eyes.


    The girls didn''t even have time to understand how it squeezed through their tiny door. The modified installation somehow shrank into a dripping, multicolored, twisting hoop in multifaceted layers of bright formations, massive and acting like an additional conical waterfall, into which the silhouette placed one of the weapons resembling a two-handed sword with a frothy, pinkish-bladed katana mixed with a set of pneumatic mechanisms at the guard, swallowing light against the pirouetting rays of tiny flashes descending onto the scene. The weapon bled heavily over the edge, leaving a thick trail behind its own heavy steps. Its sharp jaws with whiskers playfully caught the vibrations of the air, occasionally washing its own little eyes.


    A nimble silhouette with a powerful swing of elongated hind legs landed in front of the counter in the form of a whimsical girl with green scaly skin, splattering some uncovered body parts with a liquid, steam-releasing substance. Her youthful face, adorned with triple frog-like pupils, was tightly embraced by a cluster of prosthetics, each buzzing with separate mechanisms on her shoulders and over the protective net surrounding her entire poisonous body.


    �� I want a lot, a lot of marshmallows, please!!! �� she immediately jumped back onto a random step, bending her long knees and intently staring at one point. Someone''s fist promptly tapped against the steel plate on her right cheek.


    �� If you''re so hungry, you should''ve ordered some real food. Like chicken, for example. Though with your appetite, it''d probably be three chickens and a plate of unfinished grasshoppers. �� A young, short girl with a modest plump smile and transparent lipstick, along with a snub-nosed pink nose, approached from the side, peeking out from under thick, short green curls.


    �� I just urgently need to chew on something sweet. Nothing else came to mind. �� The little frog mumbled wearily, fluttering her eyelids around her bulging round eyes.


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    �� D-did you kill someone? �� A busty woman quietly mumbled, noticing the gigantic robot with a bloody sword and a pile of various loot behind it, while her daughter continued to scoop thick clumps of wonderful marshmallow assortment from a deep bag with one hand, causing some to salivate with poisoned drool at the sight.


    A diverse cluster of a sturdy and flexible alloy in the form of assembled armor from several warriors gradually stepped aside and released the aged face of the adventurer to breathe in the viscous air, smiling politely while closing an online banking stream showcasing some unknown tax calculations, alongside which GIFs of self-portraits popped up, featuring new victims, targets, or someone''s boring life story crowded near currencies.


    �� Aha. Cut one old man in half. Some guy named Arthur �� stole two twin girls on the way home. The dude is wealthy as hell. But he''s held back by his arrogant morals, haha...


    Behind the main door, the silhouettes of "guards" were barely discernible, a cluster of onlookers, and a couple of small figures tightly embraced by gentle female hands amidst the LED colored headlights of cars and the neon reflections drowning in the night of Tua.


    �� W-what... are you... cutthroats?


    �� Aren''t you a bit too curious, mama? �� mocked an elderly man in his prime, leaning maliciously toward the worried woman''s face, not noticing his hidden camera-like pupils conveniently hovering over her bust.


    �� He probably borrowed from Uncle Divian. �� suggested his partner beside him, peering into his eyes while casually stretching the thin string of her dark thong on her partially exposed, tanned thigh.


    �� Hm? Not necessarily; maybe he found them himself.


    �� By the way, how much did you get for him?...


    �� Oegghh-h! Ten grand, packs, or simply put, bundles, �� the older man said with disappointment on his face. �� Lately, there''s been one cheap piece... Oh! By the way! New tattoo!? �� He barely crawled out of his fortress, around which colorful fountains flowed, just now noticing a miniature white unicorn under a delicate air rainbow that dipped just below his thigh, to which he immediately reached out with his hand, wishing to find a couple more like it. �� Show me!


    �� R-r-r-r! I''ll bite the hand off this old pervert! �� she snapped back, accentuating her teeth clicking in front of the bold hand of this seasoned lecher. �� I actually got it done a week ago. Only Heki has seen it so far.


    �� Oh, come on, don''t be such a prude! �� he pondered. �� Wait...


    �� Seriously?


    �� What... are you a guy? �� He cheerfully raised one of his thick gray eyebrows.


    �� Lol! Dude, we''ve been living in the same apartment for three years, �� his partner laughed. �� Haha, you''re such a slowpoke.


    He fell silent again, out of the corner of his eye targeting the cute smiling unicorn peeking out from under his half-jacket, half-skirt.


    �� So, uh... will you show your tattoo when we get there? �� the older man said with interest, thoughtfully glancing at the young guy, behind whom the chubby cheeks of the marshmallow princess were already hanging, calmly washing down the contents in her mouth with dark kvass. His partner, with a half-smile that was involuntarily puzzled yet embarrassed, silently looked at his friend.


    �� G-gut-slasher, pervert, veteran? �� the long-eared cashier squinted slightly, eyeing the ugly infantry brand "Kanpek" on his thin neck. �� Are you by any chance my dad, who went out for milk 15 years ago and forgot the way back? You can still see the brand of your insane asylum...


    The man froze, as if he had been struck on the head with a sack. For a few seconds, he just stared at her with an expression of complete stupor, then slowly turned his gaze to his reflection in the nearest glass.


    �� Hm... Went out for milk, and found... this, �� he muttered, trying to process what was happening. �� Alright, I''ll go back in... Maybe this time life will restart properly.


    With those words, he swiftly disappeared into his massive armor, turned around, and with a grunt, began to crawl back through the door, leaving behind a tiny knot of confusion and the scent of machine oil.

 Chapter 1/3. The Destructive Heat of a Foreign World

    The feeling... The oblivion of the essence of a mortally bloodstained island, created by the greatest mass among others, a singularity filled with half-human aspirations, quests, chaotic thinking impulses, and bodily torments. A new boundless wave erupted in an infinite, spine-tingling echo, after which all sounds disappeared, all images vanished, and all emotions faded away. There were no foreign words. No body and its memories. No birth. And no more tales. The moral was erased by meaninglessness, and it was consumed by emptiness. There was everything. There was nothing. A grave silence descended. Colorless vectors of the lowest mass spread out, and the densest structure of existence twisted in an instant into a distorted line on the quilted sheen of the bottomless milky canvas, stitched from the nets of undepamid coverings of visual flesh.


    The tremor of aimless darkness softly illuminated with bright flares, blurring again and again in the gloom, and reappearing like freckled spots before someone''s endlessly closed eyes. Struggling for death in someone else''s understanding. A cold wind stubbornly settled like a draft in the ears. The singular space around turned into a haunting cocoon, within which old memories and illusions without organically structured chromosomal masks and their designs were born, having no limits and infinitely entangled roots. All the colors of existence, the spectra of foreign singularities, the unity of feelings and emotions converged with existence and the virginity of chaos, submitting to someone''s will. It was a fall. Long, irreversible, and equally aimless. It was a new moment that enveloped in a deep and indestructible coma.


    A moment that embraced in the arms of a strong and reliable sleep. These seemingly shimmering cliffs with a pale halogen tinge silently and joyously screamed, scattering like heavy shards following a mutilated fiction. Rejecting and at the same moment ushering the eyes of separation, it seemed reluctantly adjusted this mad seam of thin vacuum layer, where no boundary was visible. What awaits them all below? Another meeting, the pain of decay? An end or perhaps a new beginning? The main thing is not to lose the familiar gaze.


    Yellow-orange birds rise in an unreal cradle, in which everything is gathered. Including the memory of existence, laid under the weight of organic decay and its uncontrollable rebirth. A one-time natural cycle, a wave after which absolutely everything disappears. The beats of their wings against the atmospheric absence, the rustle of velvet feathers awakened hearing. And their new voices urged someone''s thought to fill itself with a fierce tide of blood, developing within the limits of bodily sleep, from which a human hand attempts to break free. Just like a blind, cold-beaten two-week-old kitten, unaware of anything but hunger, it scratches its fingers against the intangible void, tearing off chunks of scorched singularity. Muscles, joints, and nails suffer from pain, cramps in the fingers and shoulders moving only in one direction, liberating from the shackles of nature and non-being. Understanding follows the voice, a serene and very pleasant sound. This is yet another wave, after which new life is born.


    ***


    I woke up in the middle of a hot and endless desert that once was called "the beach." An illusion, a chaotic vision of the mind, or an inevitable reality? It''s pleasant to look at, but painful to feel, knowing where all its winding, acid directions lead. Once, there was black sand, spacious green meadows, and many lakes where fish swam and sugar canes grew. On this entire island, there lived a single settlement of people, which was once struck by great cannon shells. Torture, a thrilling sensation of a deformed body. Emotions blend into an uncontrollable fear, a darkness washed by the violent flow of organic molecules. Time of accompaniment. The surrounding space continues to breathe, now alongside all my ten fingers. It was very hot; my skin burned and was covered with horrible pain from the touches of the wet garments of a soldier drenched in blood and some dark fluids. He had a young woman''s face, marred with dirty scratches, plates, burns, and thick yellow hair resembling dense wheat. In her velvety ears dangled broken and scratched animal ears, bloodied and weak; they did not move. Eyes, eyebrows, and nose. They were caked with dried earth and twisted crimson branches of decaying nature. She had four ears. So many, perhaps? And her face was motionless, like that of a corpse or a deeply sleeping animal, striving for oblivion under the weight of bullets and the harshest blows of nature, leaving fatal wounds all over her body. This is the first time I see this creature.


    A person...? Or is she something else...? And this guy looks like a human. He suffers too, knows where to go and what to do right now. I obey him, trying to hold the right hand and leg of this half-fox against my left side, but I am so weakened that with every passing moment I fear losing her by accident, even though we make small climbs. I can''t bear it. Flesh seems to be slowly tearing apart, separating from bones, joints; soon everything will begin to tear slowly along with the tendons I know, remember, but do not understand what they are. It hurts. My joints prick; they feel as if they are engulfed in flames that are about to melt my limbs. A bitter taste of sweat on my lips. It rolls down my face, my body, which itches terribly. I don''t know who I am or where I''m heading. I am completely a stranger here. Where is this "here"? Does it make sense? Should I be here? How disgusting, all of this. The sensations. They dig under my skin, scratching roots on my head, as if squeezing salty juices from my eyes. I want to rid myself of the pain in my knees and spine; otherwise, I feel I will soon lose consciousness from everything surrounding my body and mind''s chaos. I cannot allow myself to fall, to sleep. I might drop this creature...


    The half-fox probably doesn''t breathe, which I warned the similarly young-looking guy about. He said I was talking nonsense and that I should grab her body again and continue carrying the wounded one with him. I see no other options before me and around that would ease my condition and help us reach the nearest patrol quickly. I don''t even understand, how does one think? What does all this mean, what I am trying to do with these people... These beings? Is reality before me, or a very bright, burning dream that scorches my senses? Can I somehow ease her suffering? But how...


    Who am I? Where am I and what am I doing? My fingers, palms. They are so pale, almost gray like some ancient marble statue, due to the narrow, dense wrinkles covering my skin like deep, spreading cracks. Am I old? Or am I almost dying... My hair covers my forehead; it itches badly along with my nails. In my left eye, there''s a throbbing sharp pain that cannot be eased with a mere blink, although, if I try to keep the eyelid closed, the pain becomes barely noticeable, yet somewhat weaker.


    Fear and amazement. A woman made of metal, with thick gray hair and large multicolored feathers. The brightest were green, blue, and red, just like her eyes, shimmering like lively light orbs of her massive beast resembling a patchworked gray wolf and a bright red fox. They stood on a high rocky slope between crumbling, golden sand towers and hardened soil, in whose shade dark green shoots swayed. The sky above her was just as clear, infinitely blue, seeming to touch my forehead. And around, an endless golden ocean of stones, rising in mounds of sand. It rises around like grass. Somehow, I understood that she wanted to harm them. I decided to somehow hold the woman and the angry mutant next to her, to learn about her, her reasons, and thoughts. Perhaps her favorite color, drink, and activity that distracts from bad thoughts. They must exist since she is one of those beings that want to kill, thirst for change, to destroy.


    I felt nauseous. My consciousness was dissolving, threatening to disappear and drain the remnants of willpower from my limbs, legs and arms, eyelashes and lips. I wanted to end my incomprehensible existence, to rid myself of the inexhaustible destructive discomfort. Everything around me seemed blurry, as if I were looking at hundreds of similar paintings surrounding me from all sides. Like the vision of an ordinary fly, dodging collisions with many different worlds. Be it a rock, shards of dirt, rays of the warming sun, or a living figure surrounded by golden-gray dust among hundreds and thousands of tall trees leaning over narrow overgrown paths. I was almost losing consciousness. My legs were giving way, running somewhere sideways, rising and stumbling. A piercing sharp pain seized my arm, and then something burned me intensely. A translucent blue snake on a white stone. My right hand sparkled with bright colors, but only for a moment. They were beautiful, bright, fantastically colorful fleeting bonds of an atmospheric phenomenon, dissolved like a mirage. Just like the eyes of that woman. They emanated unbearable pain that made me want to scream, somewhere deep inside me.


    Almost blue lips, pale skin almost like mine. Her right hand resembled mechanical sharp claws, just like those of an owl or an eagle. Like birds? Someone had broken her face. Inside, between her cheeks and nose, were her bones? Beads, countless spinning purple beads scattering across mechanical grooves, structures of organic channels and subcutaneous networks. I trembled, choking on my own blood, while I sat beside her, not understanding what to do. Should I lift her? Touch something? How to do it right? And then I realized that I couldn''t even count. Numbers, letters, I understood nothing. How old am I? I turned around, trembling with fear, despair, guilt. I felt guilty looking at her. Guilty for what I hadn''t done. The convulsions of the woman stopped. I wanted to gently embrace her hand and plead, "Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me..."


    A large iron bird with metallic feathers sticking out sideways, or was it an ordinary airplane wing? The spine of a young whale? It''s unclear, this flying machine was waiting for the three of us, with people in white robes sticking out from it, moving strangely like that very thick melted plastic that had smeared my eyes and eyelids. One of the silhouettes had small girl''s lips above a round little chin, around which thick pink hair flew, very long and huge like a very dense viscous stain or melted cotton candy, almost dissolving in the embrace of the scorching wind. A helmet concealed the faces of both unknown to me.


    Inside, it was cramped. The sound of machinery echoed everywhere, the heating of jet engines, and signals emanated from digital circuits, boards, and virtual assets. Everything was furnished with boxes, doors, some tight mole passages. It was completely unclear how we four squeezed inside, surrounded by silvery stasis, shelves, and assorted installations of various shapes, sizes, and shades. Squeezing through the curtains in the neighboring cabin, among beings in spacesuits and trembling plates on shifting walls, I found myself in a spacious cabin where everything beeped, hummed, and trembled a little. Next to me was another soldier, tall and with thick gray hair, almost an old man. He asked, "How long have you been wandering here alone?" and handed me something like a sausage. It tasted cool, soft. It wasn''t meat or anything else; it was slightly raw, strange, wrapped in silver foil and tied with rubber bands. Silently, trembling from pain and fatigue, I stared at this chunk, understanding nothing, afraid to say anything.


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    I turned toward the cabin, sealed off by mesh wires, smoke, and one heated skillful one with spotlights. Sandy shores stretched beneath my feet in both directions, while stone islands lay below us all. Someone resembling a doctor was trying to save the life of that very fox, and this was helped by a guy who this time wasn''t alone. They were adjusting the equipment, examining it, injecting and applying something around the eyelids. Something resembling a green ointment was rubbed along the eyes, making them look like large bruises from which black specks sprouted. From these specks, tiny, almost transparent light-colored fibers rose up toward the chaotically spinning installation near the ceiling. So many words... Too many... I can''t understand anything...


    I had no desire to eat. I felt nauseous from everything, my body ached, and my eyes prickled as if with tiny needles. I feared the death of this being. I felt its presence in this mutilated body. I understood what it meant. It was so close. But I... Did I do this? Am I sick? How did I manage this? I wish no one death. I don''t know why I don''t want this and whether I should heed the strange sensations inside me. Before me lay the mutilated body of a lifeless fox-warrior, whose vital signs were instantly rolling back to zero on the screen devices. I turned away when they began to strip her of her clothes; her front torso became bare. Liquid sparks of hot crimson blood still flowed from the wounds, a bit yellow and brown. The wounds were deep, penetrating, and even torn, covered with the most terrible burns, wounds, scratches, and dark bruises all over the body, which had to be freed from the metallic shackles of armor. She resembled a resilient young tree that had been mutilated on all sides by fire, bullets, perhaps knives, and many other things that I couldn''t even imagine. Her body was engulfed in torment, agony, a history with which I first encountered with my weak hollow consciousness.


    If pain can be measured, I would like to feel how painful it was for her now. To understand what it''s like. Again. I wonder, was she ever a child? Were her broken fingers, with their scraped skin, once small? Tiny little paws, stubbornly pushing against the floor. Did they draw? Did they touch the river? Did they feel the warmth of loved ones? Where do such thoughts come from? And these blurred, indistinct images? My imagination? How strange it all is. Perhaps I''m beginning to remember something?


    �� Blood pressure at 0.7 empuls! No pulse in the central arteries, blood plasma isn''t regenerating as it used to! She''s still dying! �� the loud voice of the military medic commented on the condition of the fox. �� Blood transfusion! We can try to save her, but... There is no blood like hers. Another type is more likely to finish her off completely. God... �� in the medic''s eyes, which shone through the moving colorful lenses, an immeasurable despair was evident. Breathing became a little difficult. My fingers gripped the handrails tightly, as if I were trying to suppress the tremor. But then I quietly forced out: �� Our merciful Helvia has long prepared a new home for her. �� A thin light blanket gently lay over the barely breathing, wounded body.


    His previous face boldly bore the nervousness, which abruptly revealed a faint and unexpectedly warm half-smile. It was as if one wanted to believe that all the suffering of the warrior would soon end. The dream she is seeing now will become the last reminder of the world she fought to protect with all her might. The world she believed in. The world she loved? A world completely unknown to me, and one I would surely try to learn about, decipher, as long as I had this strange opportunity. The healer sorrowfully sat down across from the young soldier, who did not lift his gaze at all, probably immersed in either his own thoughts or attempts to come up with something.


    �� This can''t be... She will endure. She will bear this pain, heal again. I know this, �� the same guy who had carried her on his shoulder with me murmured anxiously. �� I''ve seen this many times, no... The time hasn''t come yet... It''s too early. Too early to think that way. �� he spoke very quietly, as if he were favoring an unknown truth that for a brief moment sparked another incomprehensible thought.


    Most of the words I didn''t understand at all, of course, except for death itself. I didn''t want this creature to die; it fought for something, risked its life, and was ready to withstand the pain that engulfed its body and mind. Did she want to live? To continue fighting for what I was trying to imagine, stuck in this strange ship? For a moment, I somehow managed to see her right eye. The black pupil was surrounded by a dark blue hue, reminiscent of either the sea or a brightly shimmering sapphire glowing with a mystical light. It was as if, in that moment, I beheld a life disintegrating into grains. Moving, breathing unevenly, and with great difficulty rising in this organic isle. I knew nothing about her, about her history, emotions, and feelings that happened to her body and understanding every day during her time in this world. What would she like to do after the aforementioned war ended? And this guy... Kuroba? The doctors around me? The old man who treated me to food. The pilots taking us to safety? Each of them has their own instincts, desires, and duties that manifest from the moment of their appearance. What does this mean?


    �� M-maybe, my blood...?


    The medic, along with his little patient, resembling a small child with a respirator, fixed a keen gaze on me and then nimbly approached, pressing the index finger of his white glove to my vein on my arm. Chain mechanisms sprang from nowhere, squeezing my wrist and forearm. I didn''t even feel the prick of something like a syringe piercing my skin. The distance from the injection site to the medic''s head began to stretch with a chaotic combination of twisting, disordered, and shifting mechanisms, resembling a white-red river with golden streaks. The medic''s helmet-protected face looked at me. Was he bewildered? Or frightened? This strange fantastical displacement of wires and screens blocked my view, tiredly lowered into those blurred, colorful spheres.


    �� Who are you? What is your race? �� I heard a very calm voice in front of me, balanced and comprehensible.


    �� I..? N-no �� I was confused.


    �� What are you talking about? He''s just an ordinary person, �� Kuroba interrupted me.


    �� His blood lacks elements of heredity. His plasma seems to be filled with something else; this does not exist in nature, �� the medic hesitantly replied, still holding my hand and examining the composition of my blood mixed inside the mechanism. �� It resembles ahadisilith, daugmu, but it''s not it. The molecules are very thick and large, possibly due to colorless accumulation. Their composition, I... I don''t even understand what this is! According to you, he is a normal person? �� he glanced back at Kuroba. �� Sorry, that was rude of me, �� he suddenly apologized to me.


    �� This does not exist in nature? �� Kuroba hugged his elbows and slumped, pondering deeply again, but not for long.


    After a brief reflection, the guy said that we should give it a try. Everyone exchanged glances, and then the medic asked me for permission to use my blood, which theoretically could help heal the lifeless soldier. None of those present were sure about this. And me? I knew nothing. I instantly answered him. I agreed. So quickly and unexpectedly for myself. I carefully looked at her face, still noticing her burned dark body, where the skin and wide muscles around her pale as clouds shoulders twitched in convulsions. Fountains of blood, wide muscles, and bones, along with skin, shimmered and exploded into fleshly, painful vortices and arcs, pulsating like a yolk. I felt a very strange emotion. Very strong and heavy. Can something like this have weight? A special tangible structure that is invisible to any eyes? This emotion was very unpleasant. Did I want to cry? I don''t understand my existence. I don''t understand where I am and why I am here. I see the mangled fox body over which all these beings mourn. This state, space, destruction, and merging are subject to gradual decay. Choice, movement, or some other action. Could I choose anything I wanted?


    As I began to lose consciousness once again, I refused to stop the blood transfusion. I could barely hear and see; it felt as though I was drowning at the bottom of a very dirty and deep river. Everything before me was blurred, muted, and quiet. Someone was talking, expressing surprise and confusion about why my blood was dark. Dark? What does that mean? And that it regenerates too, just like the exhausted warrior with fox ears. My blood is dark? Regenerates? What is happening to me?


    It became very loud; more silhouettes, shades, and images flashed before my eyes. Sometimes they shattered upon colliding with the surface around me, with the air, with some bright, unpleasant light. At times, my eyes hurt when different colors invaded them. Someone was dragging or transporting my motionless body on a bed. I was constantly nauseous; something was spilling from my mouth. I was asked the same questions repeatedly, and with my last strength, I nodded my head, not even understanding what everyone around me wanted. I wanted to sleep. Even without covering myself with a blanket, sitting in some soft object, I wanted to close my eyes and lose consciousness. In those moments, they would give me an injection near my nose, a huge, cardboard-like hand with a manicure would lean against my head and touch my skin like some tiny insect. I felt nothing except for my eyelids and the tip of my nose. In my eyes, the blinding white light of the ceiling settled, darkened afterward. Something was beeping, crawling, and quietly thudding nearby. I still felt nauseous. Then everything beeped very loudly and clearly. This went on for a long time. The sound was like some instruments, metal, beeping, and a prolonged noise like engines hovering around me. I lost track of time, and once everything fell silent. One day, everything around me disappeared and ceased to exist along with my last breath.


    I opened my eyes for the first time. The air was cool and warm at the same time. My right arm was connected to chain mechanisms, with chaotic movements of capsules and some fixed installations around my neck, shoulder, forearm, and palm. A dark crimson-black liquid was being drawn from my vein and rushing through long, thin tubes... I saw a fox. A half-fox? A half-fox, half-human? It looked like that peculiar creature, probably because of its ears and tail. Tail? A golden, fluffy appendage peeked out from under the blanket, incomprehensibly large, like a wheat ear. Lifeless. Like another tiny fluffy creature.


    She was lying in bed, wrapped in a lush beautiful blanket with a crescent moon and stars. Just like a child, which made me smile in my thoughts. If that could be considered a smile. So serene and peaceful, as if I had smiled before, long ago. Thick wheat-colored hair spread out like on snowy skies, surrounded by equipment, some kind of technology. Her closed eyes were covered with thick yellow rags. Her face was marked with scratches, bruises, and small burns. Thin, pale skin. Ears... I wasn''t imagining things. There were four of them. They were completely enveloped by mechanisms and rotating prosthetics from which a quiet, soft buzzing emanated. I was probably in a chair too, wrapped in a thick blanket and surrounded by pillows instead of fluffy creatures: some beautiful blue fish and a green lizard, which were guarding the half-fox''s sleep to my left.


    I stared at her for a long time. I couldn''t look away, trying to discern her languid, quiet breathing around the sheets. Only when I was convinced that she was breathing, her lungs were evenly filling with oxygen, did I allow myself to relax a little. Is she still alive? Will she recover? Will she feel better? Will she be satisfied with this? So many thoughts, they don''t fit in my head. What will happen next?

 Chapter 1/4. Cucumber, Fork, Sausage, Cheese, Eclipse

    He covered his eyes with his hand, trying to hide his weakness from those around him. Because of the strange headache, tears streamed from his eyes. The strange headache squeezed his temples, splitting his consciousness into pieces. It was unbearable, it was terrifying. Twisted images tear flesh and bones, and an invisible wave of fear, like a bottomless ocean, engulfs him, convulsing his body. Indifference and cold-bloodedness are once again swept away by a viscous feeling of despair, engulfing his mind like the tenacious tentacles of the abyss. He cannot see it with his own eyes, cannot feel it with his hands, cannot describe it with words. But he knows��it is immeasurably vast, like a shadow watching him from the dark corners of his soul. Every moment, he is forced to imagine it, as if it has become part of his essence. Helplessness pierces him like a sharp blade, making him wonder: if only he could disappear for a while, cease to exist at least for some time, to return here a little rested, to reset. Sensations. His awareness �� it is an inevitable, agonizing disease, spreading through his body. Emptiness has long settled inside him, squeezing his organs with its pain and barely bearable weight.


    Once again, he wants to sleep, to get lost in an endlessly long dream, where there will be no memories of past murders, of screams, of tears, of grief. Pain brings him back to yet another strange day, which he looks at with disgust and longing. Will he lose consciousness now? Will his spirit finally break? He does not want to lose himself forever��he has not yet had time to comprehend, to understand, to do so much. As if he has the power to change something, yet he feels so helpless. But others can, can��t they? Surely because they are not as ugly as he is? Or do they simply not bear the burden of the darkness that has filled his soul?


    The images of several dead bodies involuntarily blur in the darkness, shining through tables and chairs, and the thick sleeves of his shirt, in which he hides his trembling fingers deeper. His eyelids, lips, cheeks �� his entire face seems to seize up in convulsions every time shattered skull fragments, a slashed chest, and elongated arms locked in crumpled metal pieces surface before his eyes. The bright light of the lanterns illuminates darkening pools of blood, bone fragments, and silver shimmering in thin sparks. Pealing laughter, quiet and calm voices along with birds'' songs replace the fading loud screams and the unpleasant touches on his body.


    Are his own actions, deeds, decisions, and thoughts under his control? Will he be able to comprehend, accept, feel anything? What is he talking about now? What is he thinking about? And why does he so badly want to taste that syrup, which holds something forbidden and alluring?


    The screech of dense metal against the bottom of a plate echoed a meter away from him, where a girl with thick, furry hair the color of cold fish eyes sat at a nearby table in some ambiguous isolation. Why wasn''t she with the other children? Why wasn''t anyone helping her eat her dinner? He didn''t understand. Why was it so hard for her to hold the fork in one of her tightly bandaged fingers? Her small hand, covered in thin, greenish-gray fur, sometimes dug into the plate of cold food sharply, other times rhythmically.


    Once again, she frowned, furrowing her thick brows, barely visible under her dense gray hair, and purposefully stared at a small stub of cucumber. Was it cut so thick on purpose? The fork slipped again from the firm, wet shell of the cucumber, sharply clinking against the bottom of the plate. The small piece of pickled cucumber flew over both tables, briefly leaving a tiny slap on his face. This touch reminded him how close this girl was, how she shared his world, full of fear and loneliness, as if they both were lost in this endless, grim space where only the darkness of the night embraced them.


    The girl huddled her shoulders, rounding her large green eyes with sharply narrow pupils like a cat''s, as if preparing to cry, just like him. Because of the continuous sharp pain, which occasionally clouded his thoughts, he didn''t immediately notice the anxiety hidden in her gaze �� the look of a child who had grown up in an instant. Trying to smile at her casually, though not understanding how to do it right, he was still gifted with her smile in return, even if it was worried, it was still a smile. And in that moment, he understood the reason why she was alone today. No one had ever smiled at her. Honestly. From the heart. Unfortunately, he didn''t have such a heart.


    It began to seem as though, somehow, he had ended up in a village. Maybe that was actually the case. He didn''t even remember how many kilometers away the nearest city center was. He didn''t remember, or perhaps he didn''t know the name of this place, this street, or this shelter. He was simply invited here by kind witnesses to feed him and care for his unhealthy appearance, which, against the backdrop of the other passersby, probably stood out quite a bit. Tall dark trees with thick green leaves surrounded the visible stretch of the highway and the building, their branches swaying in the cool breeze. The dense grass crumpled beneath his shoes. In his ears, there was a soft, prolonged spark, as if swallowing his gift to hear the surrounding world.


    He looked closely at the thickly sinking night fog and, among the tall old trees, noticed his own reflection in the distance. It looked like a black, hopeless shadow, sitting at the same black, small table. Both hands were on the table, and the legs were awkwardly tucked back. The shadowy figure stared in his direction for a long time, and he understood that. It was looking directly at him, occasionally glancing at the girl, in front of whom for some reason he felt very ashamed... or perhaps guilty? His breath was caught for long moments, and a cold terror seized him. This unknown black silhouette had been with him on that mountain. On that beach. It had always followed him, like a shadow, relentlessly reminding him of every missed moment and every hidden fear. It was becoming harder to look away. What if it attacks now? Attacks like it did back then, when hope no longer could exist?


    Looking at the girl, he feels how the infinite abyss of his inaction devours her innocence. She doesn''t even know how cruel the world is, how dangerous it is to be alone. He wants to say something to her, but the words get stuck in his throat, driven by the fear of his own shadow��a fear he never managed to overcome.


    Usually, a minute, two, five, or a little more passes before he decides to do something. Constant fear, anxiety, and perhaps embarrassment paralyze his actions. But now his feet slowly step through the grass. His gaze falls to her plate, to the sausage and cheese, resembling an improvised jellyfish, covered by snow-white sea foam on the plate. Watching this cute creation, he convinces himself that he is someone else. Someone else''s life, someone else''s name, which have nothing to do with him, but which he briefly tries on, to somewhat understand the reality he can barely navigate. He can''t understand why the girl only eats vegetables and salad, without touching the meat and bread.


    �� Do you want to hear the storyteller''s story? �� he tries to say in a quiet, calm voice, attempting to glance at her softly, harmlessly. He is afraid of becoming a terrifying monster, next to which only troubles and tormenting agony are visible.


    He fears scaring this being, ruining the fleeting calmness, which might have been rare in her little life. But at this moment, for a moment, he was able to become another being. And, although he doesn''t know what will happen afterward, for some reason, he very much wants to try to help this being overcome its own fear, which it so struggles to carry. Maybe it will help her? Maybe his efforts won''t be in vain? He strives to transform the scattered parts of himself and her, allowing something good, wonderful, and favorable to happen. But if this turns out to be insufficient, he will quietly go back to his place and will no longer disturb her, giving up at that very moment. Perhaps much is still unclear. Will something be recreated, preserved, or destroyed? Does it matter? What is the path to finding? Should something change now?


    She looks closely, slightly nods, and then stretches her little hand with sharp, short black claws �� like a small animal. Does she want to be taken by the hand?


    He had found himself here by accident, lost among beings with countless names and thoughts, moving along winding paths to a vast round glade. In its center stood a majestic silhouette, cloaked in a crystal-clear garment that shimmered like water under the bright sun. The fabric resembled coastal cliffs, washed by sea waves, and the drapery, like misty reefs, gently embraced long shoulders, an oval back, and slender knees. Each fold of the mantle shimmered with silver patterns, depicting waves crashing against smooth, beautiful crystals, two meters high, which seemed to guard this magnificence.


    These crystals sparkled like stars, transporting him to many different worlds, each of which was full of wonders and mysteries. They surrounded her, creating an aura of divine light and harmony. In the pearl-like stones and rare monochrome minerals on her face, a kind human smile faintly glimmered, capable of dispelling the deepest sorrows. Her white eyes, like two bottomless oceans, were enveloped by centuries-old, tousled white eyelashes, which lowered, as if she were trying to peer into the most secret corners of the world, burdened with a mysterious sorrow that pierced her very being. As he approached once again, he felt warmth emanating from her, like an invisible embrace, wrapping around his wounded body and tormented mind. These rays of light resembled the warmth of a single star, capable of awakening life at dawn, offering hope on the darkest days. But now, the sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, spreading crimson and pink hues across the sky, which, like a magical drink, enveloped everything around, filling the air with a sense of wonder and the unknown.


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    In this strange, almost unreal place, everything seems vast and majestic. The meadows stretch to the horizon, covered with velvety grass and wildflowers, standing out brightly against the evening light. The trees, like giant guardians, rise at the edges of the glade, their branches swaying in the gentle breeze, singing ancient melodies known only to this world. He feels the earth beneath his feet breathing, and the air is saturated with magic, causing his heart to beat faster, as if every moment here is filled with deep meaning.Here, he finds a part of himself, lost in the endless expanses. Flashes of light and shadow blend together, creating magical patterns, and he realizes that perhaps this place is meant for those who seek comfort, hope, and understanding. This is not just a meeting; it is an entry into a world where his existence takes on new meaning, and perhaps it is here that he will find answers to the questions that torment his soul.


    But then the darkness approached. The descending star was suddenly interrupted by a mighty comet, piercing the sky and consuming all the colors of the world in an all-encompassing blackness, as if the universe itself had decided to draw a veil over the magic of this moment. Around the storyteller, as if darkness sought to embrace her, the lengthening shadows of her loyal listeners��adults and children, the elderly and the young��gathered. They had all come here to absorb every word, every note of her voice, wishing to hear yet another true story about their world, to learn of a new secret that the universe had hidden from them long ago.


    The darkness surrounding them gradually dissipated, lighting up the space with tiny yellow lights emitted from lanterns, which seemed to be struggling against the night. These fireflies illuminated the faces of the listeners, reflecting in their eyes a tremor and expectation, as if the stories themselves were living beings, ready to break free.


    The girl next to him resembled a small, timid kitten. Her fur, illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, turned a dull gray, blending with the shadows around her. She was so fragile and vulnerable, with a round, slightly chubby cheek where beams of light played as they pierced through her long, disheveled locks. On both her hands, one of which was tightly gripping his palm, uncertainty wandered. Her unease felt like a gentle chill running across his skin, and he couldn''t shake the thought that her parents still hadn''t arrived.


    In this world, full of secrets and wonders, waiting could be both a hope and a burden. His heart tightened with concern for this little creature, lost among the dark universe. Around them, even with the growing darkness, the air held a promise: a promise of stories that could change everything, a promise of adventures hiding behind every turn. He felt himself becoming part of this magical moment, breathing life into what once seemed like nothing more than a shadow.


    The storyteller''s face, like a sculpture crafted from crystals and skin, moved with extraordinary grace, reminding him of the magic of nature itself. Every gesture of hers radiated light and shadow, as if the glowing crystals within her skin played with the rays of the setting sun, reflecting and refracting them into a kaleidoscope of hues��ranging from deep emerald to shimmering amber. Her eyes, large and white, like two enigmatic crystals, flickered in the light of the lanterns, reminiscent of sunbeams breaking through dense foliage. When she turned her head, the crystalline facets of her face sparkled, emitting refracted light that danced on the faces of her listeners, hypnotizing and plunging them into a trance.


    With every movement of the storyteller, her face didn''t just change��it seemed to breathe, creating a faint whisper, as if countless small crystals were gliding against each other. This sound was like the distant echo of a mountain stream, flowing through crystal-clear brooks, bringing with it freshness and mystery. The light shades on her skin, where she appeared more vulnerable, would suddenly shift into deep, dark shadows when her voice grew lower, more resonant, and penetrating to the core. Every expression of her face reflected not just the words, but emotions, forming an incredible ensemble where crystals and skin, light and darkness, life and history melded into one.


    "Fates of the Titans: Legends of Hoshi"


    "In ancient times, when the stars had not yet found their familiar positions on the celestial map, one of the ancient peoples of Hoshi called this rare phenomenon ''the black sun.'' According to their legend, before an inevitable catastrophe was to occur in our world, the small goddess of the sun, majestic and fragile, swallowed a giant asteroid, home to the three Primordial Titans. With each such act, the sun darkened, filling the world with the grim shadow of corruption��a terrible curse brought by these earliest beings in the universe.


    The rebirth of the oldest Titan, embodying the very essence of existence, was a mystery. He remained bound to his native asteroid, watching the happenings among hundreds of other asteroids and comets, among stars and planets. Of his family, he was the most enigmatic, the most powerful and dangerous. In his silent contemplation, he rarely intervened in the affairs of mortals, only discreetly watching over his middle brother and younger sister, like a shadow guarding its sleep.


    The rebirth of the middle Titan, embodying the boundless expanses of nature and its uncontrollable currents of quintessence, once again disrupted the order of the universe. His infinitely long human spine brushed against planets, destroying them and leaving scars on the cosmic canvas. Giant sharp vertebrae, tearing through space, would sometimes break off from his neck, transforming into new planets, new worlds, and wondrous phenomena. Creation and destruction contradicted each other, stubbornly opposing one another, sowing fragments of chaos wherever the middle Titan went, leaving traces as a memory of his presence.


    The youngest of the brothers, the rebirth of the youthful heart of Titanida, embodying life itself, radiated light like the morning sun breaking through thick clouds. It was said that she was the closest to us, to our desires and fears. Often, when her brother tore worlds apart, she hurried to aid, restoring the planets destroyed by the middle Titan, bringing back the stars that he had scattered, healing the scars he left. She sowed life where no intelligent being had ever set foot. From her essence came knowledge and powers that allowed life to never cease, like a river flowing endlessly.


    But one day, our God, our Mother, descended into this world. When chaos turned the Titans into horrible madness, and even the merciful Titanida lost faith in her soul, our mother Helvia cast them as far from our home planet as possible, protecting our existence. Since those ancient times, no one has ever witnessed their approach. Yet, even after many centuries, faith in them still flickers in the hearts of devoted servants, like a spark of hope, glimmering in the night, ready to illuminate the darkness.


    The story of this struggle, tearing worlds and fates apart like the echo of an ancient sound, continues to live in our consciousness, in every whisper of the wind, in every ripple of water. And perhaps, one day, light will once again overcome darkness, and the black sun will become only a legend, told by campfires, in the shadow of the stars."


    �� What will happen if they return one day? �� he asked, hoping to catch her response. The storyteller, barely tilting her head, nodded. Her wide silver cloak fell, framing her figure. In that moment, he tried to peer into her face, hidden in the folds of velvet fabric and beneath the hanging precious minerals that shimmered with a mystic blue light, like fireflies in the dark. But his efforts proved futile; between his consciousness and her image, an invisible magical veil appeared, as if protecting her from his gaze, leaving only a mysterious silhouette, full of secrets and intrigue.


    "The moment when their sharp claws will finally tear apart the last boundary between our reality and the bottomless abyss of existence approaches with inevitable certainty. These ancient entities, embodying chaos, destruction, and renewal, will lead to the collapse of the familiar order, like a cosmic symphony disrupting the harmony of existence. In their presence, the world will witness a catastrophe that will not only annihilate but also prepare the ground for a new birth.


    Their arrival marks the end of one cycle and the beginning of another, like the phases of the moon that rise and set, repeating with relentless precision. They carry the symbolism of spiritual rebirth �� the death of the old, to make way for the new. Their fusion, like an intricate dance, will fill the cosmos with boundless chaos, from which new forms of life and consciousness will emerge, previously unknown to any being.


    This destruction will be an initiation, awakening unknown forces and potentialities hidden in the depths of the universe. Each of their actions is not merely annihilation but a reformation of the very fabric of reality, like fate''s threads being rewoven, leading to new horizons. In the chaos they represent, the seed of the future ripens, where every new breath will be the result of their dark, yet necessary influence.


    With their arrival, the world will plunge into darkness, but behind this darkness lies light �� the possibility of a new beginning, a fresh view of existence that can only arise after the complete destruction of old illusions. Thus, they become symbols of the eternal cycle of existence, reminding us that even in the deepest chaos, life begins to emerge, ready to take its place in the boundless spaces of the universe."


    The story still stretched on like a long silk thread, unwilling to draw to a close. Questions poured in one after another, cutting through the air and filling the space with a living curiosity, from both the adults and the young listeners. In his half-drowsy state, he often lost track of the essence of what was happening, only occasionally catching vivid details, like the bright sparks of insects gently landing on the shoulders of those present.


    Beside him sat a girl, already immersed in the world of dreams, her rough little head resting against his arm. He was pleased to realize that he had given her a part of this fascinating time, even though her parents hadn''t come to collect her. Wasn''t this story a bit too strange for children? But here, among these unusual children, the ordinary had become something special.


    He wanted to close his eyes and drift into a sweet sleep, but the time hadn''t come yet. He had to wait until the caretaker came to take the girl away, and only then could he rest. This short, yet remarkable story seemed as though it was about to end... right... now...

 Chapter 2. Yellow-Orange Birds

    Heavy curtains of long velvet scarves were soaked in the rays of the waking Tue, over which a star as bright as the core of the sun, never extinguished and eternally bright, now sat in immense majesty. Elevated by several meters of merging wood and crowned with centuries of epic, history, and spiritual insistence from past centuries, the stained glass windows barely let in the light whose broken shadows formed intersecting spirals between the six tall white columns that dotted the wide and often desolate corridor. The ends of the threadless and lost among the stone plants of the walls, together with their distant oval angles, drained the barely perceptible luster that lurked in the sprawling and interlocking slabs of pearls of worked ancient stones that had been carelessly fumbled in the impenetrable darkness by the waving hands of blind pioneers long ago.


    From this unique and faded interweaving of contrasts on the light vaulted ceiling formed a completely different and mysterious pattern of out-of-nowhere sophora crowns, recreated from the bright rays and their strangely communicating nature. At the very end of the empty oblong benches with long mats, amidst an arch made of massive dark stones and skillfully engraved in the form of six hungry long arms holding unknown and eerie artifacts, stood a heavy and visually delicate gate, as tall as a three-meter tall man, made of the bones of a tree that had died long ago and had seen on its side more than a thousand equally dead and even forgotten deeds. Near one of the artifacts engraved on the stone, or rather under the peculiar expiring book, which was set aside for everyone, was neatly scratched alone the word: "Fiction". So subtly and so diligently, as if a passing schoolboy in the queue from the dreary recess decided to slow down unexpectedly and leave his eternal mark on this ancient monument, as if as a joke, leaving it to his future ancestors.The grave silence was interrupted by someone''s approaching conversation in a narrow and prolonged rosy clearing among blurring arc walls, transforming translucent fragments of massive and tiny mechanisms, blurring behind silhouettes in the impenetrable and flesh-chilling gloom.A tall human silhouette in a long quilted caftan, with light metal shoulder pads and chitinous stretches of body armor, the color of cold steel and uncrossed pale golden strings, stepped toward the fairy spacious hall guarded by a red gate. Slender legs stepped confidently in mechanical boots with thick stretch soles and their constantly moving plates, like those floating autumn petals, over which spread miniature cumulus clouds of thick sleeves and no less protected by bionic scales of pants. Only his light-colored shirt had a neatly tucked collar, above which rose the adult face of a young man with sharp features and pronounced cheekbones on his pale skin. His light green eyes had always led a detached and reprehensible demeanor, rarely showing his hidden understanding in conversation with anyone and unreasonable cold-bloodedness.


    This time a thin fringe of dull yellow hair fell carelessly over his thin wrinkles on his flat forehead, and his long and strong arms were carelessly folded at his waist, as if they were hiding some invisible dirt for every occasion of life. The man was accompanied by a nearly two-meter-tall hemian-jasher of powerful anthropomorphic appearance. His rock-hard and constantly shifting muscles were covered with a thick dark gray bark that varied smoothly over his long, sharp chin, heavy chest, and long, equally sharp tail, which resembled a flexible whip with gray tipped spikes of translucent thick needles. Its large shoulders and long humped back seemed to be covered with hundreds of frozen stalagmites with deep-seated gray moss, tiny scaly scars and blunt muscular tubercles between perfectly developed muscles. The lizard''s mighty silhouette stepped in battle garb made of a seemingly insane combination of constantly moving natural armor, often employing the form of a mechanical replica of its own torso contours and partly the anatomy of its internal organs. His spiral-like left shoulderplate with intersecting mirror patterns displayed a combination of several plates with three colors, beneath which was placed the orb crest.


    Lately, they never had moments to cling to over a few mugs of aged wine and his favorite oyster dish, drenched in orange sauce, and to sit before a madman who had saddled a mountain, who would try to steal at least a handful of their oppressed anxiety��without which they would have received a few unobtrusive answers about their pressing fate. A fabulous wave of logical combinations amidst the ceaseless development of thoughts, decisions, and the time needed to present their best plans and adjustments for the future movements of their troops. A gray age, smeared with the languor of trembling living hearts and the ceaseless moments that replaced the sounds of mutilation with merciless blows to the back��blows that were easier to predict than to unravel their completed mad design. An amoral and indestructible idea, after which only time itself could survive.


    �� What do you think? Should we fear the worst as well? �� a rough voice scraped its way out of the elongated, fanged maw of a lizard, which used an old and slightly damaged biological prototype of cognitive conversion, injured in a long-past battle. He rarely had the opportunity to speak in his native tongue with anyone, so with the arrival of yet another week, he once again postponed its replacement.


    �� Hm. �� The man looked calm and sufficiently intrigued by today''s astonishingly strange and unexpected event, in which their enemies had suffered a crushing defeat in their own lair. In just one morning, someone had exterminated all the condemned from the unforeseen circus of remarkable freaks, along with a certain source of a century-old dictatorship on both of the other islands, from which ill news still echoed. The beach. Bodies, writhing in an unexpected breakdown and fever that looked dubious, convulsed, lost their balance, and collapsed onto the ground. The Kanpeka Gates. In the bodies and mechanisms of the madmen, fatal wounds now festered and rusted, though sometimes only their severed limbs remained. The barrier. Those who still likened themselves to humans slaughtered themselves in agony on their way to the gates of the peaceful people, barely leaving behind sacrifices of plucked-out eyes and fingernails. Whoever could, paid in whatever way they could for their... sin?


    �� Though we know nothing of these enigmatic figures, they surely know plenty about us. They must have studied both sides for a long time and carefully prepared for this day, �� the man answered briefly, his thin, long lips pressing together for a few moments. Meanwhile, his lifeless eyes tirelessly gazed into the invisible void far ahead, enclosing it solely within the boundaries of his slowly emerging thoughts.


    �� A letter. An old-fashioned means of communication for such a tumultuous turn of events. And yet, someone��or something��sent it to us last night, promising to arrange a personal audience, as if it were an act of friendly foresight. Now, we must patiently wait for the next word from the other side of the barricade and not change our positions should they respond unexpectedly.


    �� This... This feels like a bad dream, �� the general-colonel muttered, still obscuring his thoughts with tormenting doubts. �� What divine intervention or sorcery could, within a single day, strip the third throne of its influence, wipe out such an unbelievable number of nonhumans? They simply killed them all. Without warnings, without deliberation. It''s terrible. It''s wrong. No matter what they had become or how they stood against us, they were bound to stand before the High Court.


    The King''s Right Hand halted, slowly turning his measured gaze and attentively looking into the ever-morally responsible eyes of the kindest and most perceptive being he had ever encountered, peering into the unshakable dignity in which he now once again found no doubt.


    �� Better not discuss supernatural powers or... especially gods, �� the Head responded. �� The behavior of the possibly new rulers is no less ethical, but their intentions are justified and effective in such a situation. On one hand, their ambitions, beyond the reach of rational thinking, and the age-old ruling synopsis of extermination. On the other, these senseless deaths have stopped for us and many families. And now, let''s hope that one of the problems in this world has lessened. And we will be able to find common ground or find compromises with each other... If you don''t mind, I''d prefer a personal audience with the Queen, Mr. Pan?Gorin.


    �� Yes, of course, �� the general-colonel politely bowed, stepping back and turning towards an accidental rift in space.


    �� I will inform you immediately if a General Assembly is announced, �� said the Head to the comrade heading into the branching dark corridors, to which the lizard responded with a wave of its wide, shaggy palm.


    The gates slowly opened in the sacred hall, whose immense space, painted with wall icons, was barely touched by the dim sunlight filtering through here in grainy particles, falling onto the smooth beige floor, scattering into white beads. High and simultaneously very long, narrow arched windows were almost tightly shut with thick and scattered long trails of hand-sewn curtains, the color of dried blood streaks, imprinted with convex vanilla patterns the size of individual sections of the walls. The incredibly high ceilings, reaching many hundreds of meters, were tied with immeasurably long ropes, level with monotonous colored threads adorned with pictures and some toys that emitted mechanical beats with every strong gust of wind, which swept past large wooden chandeliers with slowly rotating wings of New Year''s angel figurines with chubby baby cheeks and thick curls, retelling the golden, aging time, in whose snowy night plains yellow lights shone from straw hut windows, past which animals passed in unison. Chestnut tree roots peacefully descended towards suspended and thick protruding slabs dividing the throne room''s height in two, spreading in thick natural sources around the surface. At some levels, like flowers, porcelain petals with tiny round holes had opened. From there, an old man''s grumbling and the babbling of sweet creatures, perhaps incredibly tiny and yet still quite human, could already be heard... Behind each of the ten similarly high columns stood cabinets, near which various linens and sheets lay. Small tables with tiny lamps, desks with fields of uncollected green papers, and a large oval mirror with a lower shelf, next to which there was no scent of cosmetic tubes, mascara cases, and lipsticks, unlike the unfinished juice and half-eaten wafers from the central food stand, where a set of dishes with leftovers from the day before yesterday slowly floated by. Everywhere were scattered huge, crumpled pillows, wide blankets, sometimes cases with musical instruments left behind after actors'' corpses, and soft creatures, with whom it was pleasant to fall asleep, watching the fairy-tale theatrical performance near a lonely, milky, starry waterfall.


    A spacious and barely deserted platform, resembling a concert venue, with a couple of outlets in one dark corner. At the very end, above a pair of flat steps, rose a tall throne, turned with its back to the guests, more resembling a chair with pale-gilded engravings on durable wood, with wavy armrests and supports in the form of very long and twisted deer antlers. So large and colorful that they left a mystery as to how a person could squeeze through them and settle into their warm, velvety cocoon. Behind the chair, the darkness thickened, from which tiny dim lights peered out.


    �� Your Majesty, �� the head spoke softly, bowing his head at an untimely moment.


    �� Stop...


    A thin, heavy voice, belonging to the quietly sobbing ruler, was heard. Her left arm, delicate and white like a cloud, was bound by the thin yet sparkling limbs of golden armor, which wrapped around every millimeter of her velvet skin with smooth, sharp, and various bends, extending in small and tiny plates towards her welded and invisibly deformed flesh, her feminine rounded chest, the smooth and barely noticeable muscles of her flexible torso, fragile fingers, and partially soft palms. Her bleeding heart beat with bitterness amid the mechanical clanking of unknown clocks, whose metallic hands, with tiny islands of skin, repeatedly wiped the ticklish tears from her face, where her youthful, incredibly thin, tense folds suffered from the dim, fish-like eyes, subtly hidden behind oval light waves of soft, hair-like strands of hair.


    Silent drops. The atmosphere of soundless stars.


    �� Despite the lesson you impart to us, your tears continue to deceive both you and our council, which, fortunately, cannot see them, �� the Head quietly addressed her, hiding his gaze under thin, dry eyelids.


    For some moments, the King''s voice faltered, hesitating as he pondered his next words, involuntarily and once again succumbing to the encompassing anxiety.


    �� I don''t understand, �� replied the weary voice, as though suffering from a cold. �� I don''t understand why they call me a miracle. Their desire to erase this life from the face of the earth, so diligent and desperate. Despite all that I''ve done for them, all that I''ve created, they spat on this world, futilely drowning their minds and reason in absurdity... Please. Not as a friend. Tell me, what am I doing wrong? Why have I brought so much new suffering to these people?


    The King''s sorrow returned, her teeth clenched as she tried to stifle the sounds of cold tears flowing past her trembling white eyelids. Her mechanical hands tightly embraced her hardened, pinkish knees, fearfully pulling them to her chest, hiding her helpless gaze in them. Her loyal head was a step closer, without moving a single brow, but sincerely empathizing with her emotional suffering in his thoughts.


    �� Suffering is not something we choose. It is the result of what we are allowed, �� the Head raised his gaze when his eyes met the King''s vision. �� You are the forbidden fruit, plucked from the ancient, unexplored cosmic tree that stretches beyond death, beyond our perception. Wherever people may be, they cannot escape that moment when they cross the boundary, after which they acquire passion �� whether it is a storm of desires or cold fury. Look around you. So many souls, and each of them is a reflection of your choice, a glowing gleam of your design. It is your choices and actions that have justified their hopes, rewritten their fates, and given meaning to billions of lives. They accepted your challenge, realizing that this very thing saved their hopes and forged their destinies, burning the light that will burn for a long time in the pages of their stories. Now these souls may be ready to face the very absurdity that hides beyond the boundaries of unknown afterlife. This is not the end, my Queen. This is merely a new frontier. Too much time has passed, and too many trials still await us. But not all can open their eyes and see that we already live in this world. This world is not a gift, but a challenge. Only a few can accept and understand it.


    The King stopped her own tears with compassion, turning away and now calmly swallowing the words of this man, whom she trusted and whose thoughts she could rely on as she did with every one of the inhabitants here, whether they were an ordinary mortal or the oldest of all curiosities. She trusted him more than anything in the world. Every word from him was the purest and most sincere truth, which had saved her even in the most hopeless situations, saving her from catastrophic mistakes and leaving hope for the people. The song of freedom, perfect harmony, and drunken love once again played in her mind for a brief moment, shifting to aggressive chords about existence and the untamed living speech, for which she once got caught with her glorious, stubborn curiosity on the eve of a cold winter that briefly appeared before her mind and accompanied with the silhouettes of the senior lieutenant and general, the tiny figure of a little girl. The day she became the ruler of Tue. Her sixth birthday, which changed the fate of this place.


    �� I am not as strong as some God. And it''s because of this that even now I cannot save everyone, nor the past that has already come to pass. What will I be able to do when time cracks under its own weight? When it tears itself apart under the beginning or the end of something unknown to us and our feelings? �� her voice whispered in desperation, as she once again foolishly fantasized about unusual knowledge and forbidden power, to which all was subjected.


    �� You are strong enough to care for those like us. You are not weak enough for the people to hate you.


    With a barely noticeable smile on her gentle pink lips, the King carefully rose from the chair, hugging her ribs and naively gazing at the Head in the center of the hall, as though her memory had been wiped at that very moment, and a childish romance and the scent of orange juice bloomed in her soul.


    �� And yet, if the people saw you by their side with tears, each of them would embrace you tightly.


    ***


    Over the warm cover of enormous planks, covered with woolen summer carpets that wound around the walls with the black entrance to the ancient, renowned tavern, the body slowly regained consciousness. It began to thrash about in convulsions, as if alive, in relentless distortion. Its improperly healed structure �� flesh and organs, leaking gallons of tissues, from which numerous subatomic strands were woven �� deformed and twisted in long movements. They crawled, like worms, leaving behind trajectories of unreal organic particles. With a distinct crack, its widely opened jaw froze as a scream of pain erupted, splitting the space into two parallel lines that crossed like two-dimensional echoes of chaos. From the vessels poured colors unknown to any imagination. Madness? Uncontrollable pain? Everything fused into something invisible, blurred, creeping, like flesh gasping in its afflictions.


    Recklessly, unbearably, the body languished. Fear merged with the scream, overshadowing all sensations. Pain tore it apart, and somewhere in the chest, in the stomach, in the legs, like shards of burning flame, they broke it. There were moments when the flame turned into needles that pierced its skin, tearing it, cutting its throat, depriving it of any human scream. In its mind, two specters raged �� one colorful, the other dim and slow, merging and losing themselves in its reason. Their lines crossed on the blank sheet of empty parchment, leaving unknown traces in its mind. Everything spread out in a psychedelic wave, an endlessly stretching palette of the cells of its body, filling its vision, until the light from its eyes broke through like a thin crack in the dark world. It felt it, this skin stretched to the limit, like stretched sheets of blood, tearing apart.


    Endless waves, like glass on a galactic scale, moved as one fragment, destroying everything around, leaving only one thought �� the lonely mind of poverty. It saw how colored spots �� gray, green, yellow �� spread along its eyes, disappearing into the black dots at their edges. Its head stopped spinning, and the space around took shape. Struggling to embrace the tearing pain in its stomach, it forced its eyes open, finally seeing the ceiling of the terrace. Dark wood, to which evening lanterns were fastened, hid the night sky above it. Hoarsely, with desperate groans, it turned on its side, almost losing consciousness, and violently vomited dense fragments of bile. The black masses mixed with the other clumps, unnaturally thick and suspiciously black. Amid these masses, in the impenetrable darkness, it noticed faint, barely noticeable gradients �� pale, crossing lines that left behind an unknown trace.


    Through the wooden bars of the fence, resembling an abandoned market, struggling to fill its lungs with air, it looked towards the cold sea. It hung in the air like a chimeric hologram, piercing its gaze. The sky above this drifting lake, above the narrow quarters, was filling with light. In this cold void, ships again and again sailed into the heavenly abyss, leaving behind wings and traces, like sand softly hitting the red waves, like a forgotten song.


    Why does this pain not subside? Every muscle in its body hurts, tightening in tiny spasms, like a chain binding it. Itch, sharp pain, the bitter taste of sweat, frozen on its lips. Its whole body was gripped by this unbearable, stretching, like an endless line of pain. Its mind was overflowing with fear, tearing itself outward, ripping its thoughts, turning them into meaningless screams. Impulses grew into paranoia. The golden-haired fox �� is she safe? Or are those who stood behind that white-haired guy with the woman following her? Are they dead? Did it kill them? But how? And why? These questions burrowed in its mind like merciless worms. It couldn''t escape this nightmare.


    The dead. Annihilated. Forgotten on the cold dusty earth.


    Why does everything around seem so incomprehensible? Unfamiliar? Alien? Painful. Reality is tearing apart like cracked ceramics. Sounds, like a shattering skull, hit the inner cavities of its eyes, as if someone was squeezing them with an unpleasant tickling burn. It couldn''t understand what was happening around it. The names of those around it, who are they? Who is it itself? Can this pain intensify to the point where it destroys its will, destroys what it once considered cruel or even normal? What are its emotions? Sensations? Everything fused into one continuous, painful part of its body and reason, as if its mind itself became part of the pain. Everything was striving for the edge, and it could no longer hold back this flow.


    �� Who''s making all this noise, by the gods!? �� with a crash, the doors of the saloon, which had no lamps, were thrown open, and an unusually angry and disheveled dwarf appeared. His shaggy black beard, tied with golden and silver-green rings, was splattered with apple nectar and mint leaves, soaked with the smell of unfrozen meat and drunk alcohol. �� Ibb''dy Woga! I thought these scoundrels were having another orgy, even in broad daylight! Though today''s not "Dewuki" day. �� The irritated, but now calm voice of the saloon owner said this with a bass, as if it had just broken through the thin barrier of his indignation. His gaze slid over the pale-faced man lying on the cold planks, evaluating his condition. �� For the sake of Gelvia, who did this to you!?


    Clumsily propping itself on its elbows, as if trying to regain control over its body and the numb legs from the pain, the pale-faced man looked at the dwarf, and his eyes flashed crimson, like a flash in the night darkness. The gaze was brief, instantaneous, but full of guilt and despair. Then, like a shadow from the past, a silhouette of a black-as-night cat slipped out from behind the old man with bulging eyes. Its front paws were raised high, and it moved so quickly that its flattened nose was almost invisible. The cat disappeared beyond the doorway of the establishment, leaving behind a faint smell of fur and something strange, invisible.


    �� Gm - gm - gm - gm! �� the black little beast grumbled strangely, awkwardly shaking its paws in different directions, darting across the floor with quick, almost silent movements of its thin hind legs. Its tail, standing on end, twitched with every step, as if the air around it was unbearably tense. Its eyes were huge, yellow like a devil''s. And the upper, thin little teeth, just like a vampire''s, seemed more like toothpicks accidentally left in its mouth than anything dangerous. With them, it looked more like a cub trying to be menacing, but lacking sharp teeth for that.


    �� No... I fell hard. �� it fell on its knees, underestimating the harsh prickling sensations around its legs, which simultaneously tickled its woolly feet from the inside.


    �� Really? �� with disdain, the old man replied to the absurdly foolish answer, nimbly approaching and already helping the clumsy man to rise carefully. �� Maybe you''ll come inside and have a drink? I know how to cheer you up, you fool! And a new outfit wouldn''t hurt you either, this one''s already falling apart.


    �� I... I need to search. �� the man looked around in search of a tablet, which he fortunately saw on one of the benches next to a decorative food dispenser, lazily sinking in a small puddle of suspiciously bubbling schnapps. Strange charms, rings, and amulets with pendants were cooling nearby. Right, they gave these to him yesterday, those masked people, in the intoxicating sweet smoke that intrigued him. What was that, how did it happen? Kurouba, exactly. Where is the journal he gave away? What just happened, luckily he managed to piece together everything that had occurred over the last 24 hours in his fragmented memory. Was it a girl, or a huge pink jellyfish with a dissatisfied grin waving its tiny hand, as if promising to "look out," continuing a conversation with tiny yellow dwarfs resembling stuffed toys, which seemed to have just escaped from a punk-rock concert.


    �� I hope no one and nothing was hurt after the so-called ''shindig''? �� suddenly intervened Kurouba, who had appeared from around the corner with laundry baskets, grunting as he tried to detach an annoying little strap from the narrow sleeve of his newly issued uniform.


    This short, talkative, and overly straightforward dwarf, whose figure was that of a lowly silhouette, turned out to be an open soul and a secret fanatic of legends and myths from ancient tales, capable of distracting one for long moments from strange thoughts and problems with a deep mug of high-proof ale and eccentric stories about life beyond the unreachable light, about which crazy tales were always told and some even feared to dream. There lay the "Dead City," as Volibur was now recounting: The City, which had long yearned for life, as it was once called. Its size could be compared to a whole continent, its borders surpassing even the size of the Capital of Tuen-Shi. It had witnessed many quarrels, civil wars, cosmic catastrophes, and spiritual conflicts in its eternally grey walls, which over time had transformed into hideous, terrifying secrets hidden within.


    �� "Now, from this point, please, tell me more in detail, if you would be so kind!" �� interrupted the elder man beside, sipping warm sake and carelessly biting into a huge wedge of green ripe lemon, as though it had been run over by a tram, carrying his flea-infested family. He looked rather disheveled, as though he had just come from a laborious sleep beneath the beaten streets of the merciless Tuen, which honestly was hard to fit into the unnamed person''s thoughts.


    As for secrets, there were an unimaginable number of them, like those of the people of Tuen, although their common tale often reached the high prefectures around the campfire. Official sources, for example, speak of a monstrous number of breeding parasites, comparable to certain studied organisms, which, after such a long period of time, mutated from the inhabitants who had left there many years ago, as well as from the beasts and microorganisms. This spawned horrific diseases, a specific deadly climate, and soil that grew across the entire mutilated hall. A hall, which was torn apart by the famous red bridge on the other end of the world, concealing an impenetrable, still unstudied fog of inconsistent consistency. Some say that beyond this fog lies a void, whose shape no one has ever seen. Others speak of it as a portal left by foreign gods, leading to other worlds. And some insist that whoever crosses the bridge and enters the mysterious fog will endure unimaginable torments of existence, ripping apart flesh and revealing its most candid and incomprehensible secrets of infinite nature before them. However, no one has yet managed to get there or come up with something more plausible or even minimally credible about all of this.


    Some "media outlets" even revealed secrets about how in the Dead City, secret operations were created, sending the most advanced technology, equipment, and the most sophisticated A.I. agents into its corners. But after some time, everything would break down and stop working, after which communication, operation, and any broadcast would cease by all means, and the equipment sent either vanished or was found in fragments, with only some pieces remaining. In such cases, it was decided not to risk the lives of the operatives and continue research remotely, a method that is still successfully developing.


    Since the creation of the City in the deep year 675, the world was under the rule of a gerontocracy, thanks to which the most experienced elders managed to organize a cohesive lifestyle between many races, phenomena, and events. This governing method included the most powerful, talented, and intelligent race of that time �� the "Succubi," whose people suddenly became the cause of a "civil incident" in 1429, in which the peoples of all races descended into chaos, nearly leading to mass bloodshed and global discord.


    Time passed, and since the last appearance of the succubus boy, whose silhouette the national security agents once spotted at the crossroads of the Dead City in 1626, no one has seen or heard of any representatives of this race. But now, hundreds of years later, the significance of this race is only mentioned as a terrible disease, mysteriously distorting the life and body of the residents...


    It reminded him of beer with a cherry aftertaste, slightly icy and oddly salty. With the first tentative sip, the pale-faced man choked, splattering the floor with its contents. The group of teenagers who had rushed in earlier quietly laughed, waiting for their order of four glasses of velvety, low-alcohol peach beer, at the magical, enchanting aftertaste of which two girls sighed with satisfaction.


    �� "Ugh... What a shame, now it''s not *Omisoka season, in this cold winter, chuhai would taste much better, it sends shivers down your spine!" �� one of the girls licked her lips, blushing fiercely.


    �� "I agree, I can''t wait for winter to come again, otherwise I didn''t get to taste everything you two brought, I spent the whole night helping you back home with Taren," muttered a boy among them, to which his friend shook his head knowingly.


    �� "Don''t be a bore, young ladies have the right to have a little more fun than usual, at least once a year," defended the next girl on behalf of her friend.


    �� "More than usual!? You haven''t even finished high school yet, damn... Going anywhere with you two is like a total destruction of my nerves... Taren, bring me the fire extinguisher and two shots of gin! These two broomsticks are going to turn into Yottu-chan again! Hold on!!"


    The monotonous yellow and brown walls of this luxurious hall could accommodate an innumerable amount of drunken adventurers, for whom special rooms with various gambling setups, quieter corridors, and huge boxes with hundreds of channels were reserved��channels where the usual eyes and curious minds of flying dandelions often get lost, whipping through thin petals of little creatures near bursting windows with offerings. He was sure that if he ascended one of the two staircases, he would once again have to struggle to climb back out... While Volibur Gors was busy preparing some brightly and charmingly fragrant fish, which he effortlessly carried from the service freezer on his back, wiping the dusty screen of the device, Kurada raised an eyebrow questioningly at the dirty, blood-stained face of the stranger from yesterday.


    �� What happened to you? Who beat you like this, huh? �� Kuruba asked with concern on his face, handing over a gray, water-soaked towel that smelled of bitter seeds and something sweet and unpleasantly itchy between the teeth. However, there was probably no point in asking this unnecessary question to the suspicious woman-healer with the bones of unusual moss-covered hands on her face, who silently spat into the towel, in keeping with some ritualistic short film, the true essence of which he didn''t care to understand.


    The man stared down blankly and mumbled words invisible to the other person, trying to find appropriate and correct statements, which he had a hard time accepting and merging with, as with the looks and crowned brains of these... The Living, all of them. The constant and whole ground-up confusion of an endlessly rotating organic cell on the axis of his consciousness, uniting neutral photons in his mind''s cortex. Lips. What was his name? No, he couldn''t crush her head, he couldn''t do that. Hands. He had no such desires. That girl, what happened to her? How did this happen!? He backed away. He killed a person. Her feathers on her head. Beasts. He killed two. Maybe three. How? He didn''t move, eyes were torn from his sockets and shoved back into his skull. The body didn''t move, he couldn''t kill them. Thick, light hair, he hid everything inside. Saw him, unreal. His foreign body, a separate brain, he didn''t quite understand. He didn''t see it all... Wanted to protect her body, her soul. Did he rob them of their lives? Darkness, a golden angel in the middle. Kali. A bundle of intestines, images protruding from a skull, similar. No, wrong. He didn''t do this, it was something else. Distortion? That woman with the huge two-headed pet, he didn''t remember how he could have struck her so hard. She had once stopped moving and showing signs of life, he wanted to stay, think of something. He didn''t feel anything? He tried to chase after Kuruba, who couldn''t go past sixty meters... A guy with long hair, eyes that had seen what he couldn''t remember. The pale-faced man had a strange sense, as if he remembered ridding himself of something heavy, underdeveloped, and intricate. But what was it, so aching and ugly?


    �� I... I accidentally found her, �� the man looked guiltily at the confused face of the boy. �� Your friend was in her. Somehow I ended up in another place, with her... There were people. I saw her. Probably because of me she ended up there too. She was struck. She was in pain. I don''t know how... I don''t understand how everything went back, and her...


    �� Ugh! Wait, wait, I don''t understand anything!


    �� Why did this happen to her? �� The man turned to the boy with confusion and partial denial. For some reason, blurred images surfaced in his mind �� four yellow fox ears. He didn''t hear screams, but he caught the soul-ripping moans. She trembled in his hands, hands he feared. The pain didn''t subside even now, he wondered how he managed to bring her back, how he could have lifted anyone. Where was all this going? The first time he held someone in his arms, trying not to drop them. Her tail lay dead against his knees. A fox? A familiar word.


    Yes, that same hospital... He vaguely remembered the interior, similar to what he had seen yesterday... Looking down, he stared at his hands, recalling every second when he touched the bloody skull of that boy. He remembered the crimson outlines, organs, brains. They were surprisingly warm. He didn''t remember how he controlled those hands. He saw it all, and he wanted to push them both away from that creature. He couldn''t kill them, as if he was sure that no other outcome could come to pass, especially not with the young, weakened girl. An ambiguous look from the artificial gray-faced woman. A two-headed design. Arrogance and stubbornness, many other quirks in his blue youth-filled eyes, full of desire and sorrow.


    Kuruba, like the wind, jumped off the chair, pulling out his phone and sending a video call to the fox girl they both knew. After several silent minutes, the boy nervously grabbed his head even after the hospital staff didn''t answer. Then the security room. Then the National Guard building, not to mention the united forces of the capital. Volibur, with a stone face, ignored the boy''s request, silently passing by the guys and without any painful groans, cries, or clear thoughts, lowering the railing of the kitchen setup and impaling his head with dozens of sharpened knives, deeply plunging into his brain, eyes, beard, and pulling out organ pieces mixed with bones at the back of his head. �� My child, I would give up the whole shore for you! �� The strange healer woman tightly embraced her tear-streaked face, shaking all over from fear and trying to come to terms with her fate. Her neck was sharply twisted by weighty, branching wooden limbs descending from the perforated ceiling on the second floor with balconies.


    The guys, frozen in a stupor, were witnesses to this madness, like spectators at the unrelenting stage of a tragedy. Terror gripped them, and one of the girls, unable to bear it, dropped a cup, the sound of the glass shattering breaking the silence like an ominous mark of fate. She rushed to the exit, but her friend, with an expression of rage and madness, blocked her path, as if not allowing her to escape.


    Soon the guys ran in, and upon them, like a pack of hungry wolves, came the ruthless desire for retribution. They surrounded the unfortunate girl, and brutal strikes, like lightning, tore through the air. Feet crashed into her body, sharp bottles and torn oak beams found their targets, like a hurricane sweeping everything in its path. Each blow left traces of cruelty behind, and the unfortunate girl covered herself with her hands, but this only increased her suffering. The cracking of her fingers, every groan filled the space like music, written in the defense of chaos. Blood poured from her still uncrushed throat, mixing with unprocessed vomit, creating a disgusting mixture spread across the floor, an illustration of fear and pain. The guys didn''t stop, their hysterical laughter merged with the screams, creating a symphony of horrors, plunging everyone present into hellish madness. The entire scene resembled a nightmarish kaleidoscope, where every color represented torment, fear, and madness, and it was impossible to look away from this ominous spectacle, where there was no place for salvation or hope.


    �� Get ready, we''re going to her right now. �� Kuruba''s face looked hardened for the first time, hateful, and truly frightened.


    ***


    Countless streams of someone''s gilded eyes and wide ears were fixed on the news television and the internet descending with long legs between walls adorned with ferns, when the announcement was made about the cessation of the war with the three reigning islands, accompanied by Her Majesty and the faithful servants of the people. Scenes shouted, shared, and watched, while someone waited for the unknown. Some couldn''t care less, continuing to scrub the backside with a mug of light seven-degree beer in one hand, to which the onlookers indignantly yelled something in response due to the suddenly flaring flower bed... Once again, the revived routine. The dream of floating around the advertised faces of cities and drowsing workers'' enterprises.


    New first steps on the land, under the whisper of crumbling crystal leaves. Through the windows of a lowering car salon, almost imperceptibly, passed silhouettes tightly united like a single organism: long tails with jingling golden rings, a floating face, and the trailing robes made of wings, between the rising electric train routes, heading up to intermediate tunnels, bypassing noisy bazaars and houses with brackets instead of adjacent stairs, on which laundry and reserves of ripe corn were drying. Skyscrapers with blue walls hid among monuments made of united buildings, where the sky fully opened above the roofs of growing cities and private gardens with wooden houses. He grimaced from the rays of the bright morning star, occasionally glancing outside, but rarely distinguishing anything between the fleeting frames of the boiling avenue above the shutters of the closed city streets. The heavily compressed tires of the sports car whistled loudly along the burning gray asphalt, advancing into the distance, past the wandering diamond investors, whose tiny miniature bodies reflected the bright light from the blooming magical leaves on their heads, untouched even by the approaching predatory and furious Suugor, whose boundless flowering steppe lands transformed into shattered kilometer-long highways, burning multi-story buildings of titans, and flying comments from enthusiastic critics about this miraculous fr��che from a sick, yet amazing aesthetics. Through their semi-transparent subtitles passed a flaming engine of blue rainbow.


    He tried not to fall behind his friend, gradually remembering the familiar and somehow quiet street with houses and darkened forests behind them, high iron gates, and a path leading from the wall manuscripts into the distance, covered by a strange translucent shimmer, and like wet sand, the dissolving and crumpling grass. The windows, decorated and watered with artificial dew, bushes, once again the lonely square, its monument, resembling a breakable mound, shedding itself with a wave of pale chalky buildings. Exactly, he had been here yesterday. The very hospital, resembling an immense snow-covered mountain.


    Climbing up the eleventh step after the wide movable platform with the overturned ice cream machine surrounded by his own frozen eyes of pink ice over the troubled face of the frozen photographer, the guys felt that the building of the hospital and all its size were in the embrace of the thin shell of perfectly frozen time. They realized this not immediately after seeing "the little bee mogul, whose frozen figure hovered in the air before the wide and now forever yawning beak of one of the doctors holding a suspicious piece of pie, almost stolen by the big white insect''s teeth." Kurouba''s pupils caught sight of someone''s pager, stained with either sperm or lactose-free yogurt, before the cunning painted lips. A distress signal had been sent about two hours and twenty-six minutes ago.


    �� Call everyone you can and wait for me here! Quickly! �� still running and not turning around, Kurouba dashed forward, almost bumping into the dismembered silhouette of a guard at the corner of a pioneer hut, whose snow-white tiger mouth froze in the snarl of enraged agony. Apparently, there was no fight here either.


    Casting a helpless glance at the complicated device in his hands, the pale-faced one looked back towards the shimmering gray sky with hidden sun rays, above which the street behind had not even yet awakened, along with its inhabitants, under the effect of temporary levitation, which he took for something else. Something that should probably be a familiar phenomenon in this place, among these people? Then why is there no one from... The security? He doesn''t even understand how this thing works. Where to press, what to look at. The guy, probably won''t hear? After nervously glancing around for a few seconds, he ran after Kurouba with an angry, tiresome helpless expression in his eyes.


    All these faces, possibly relatives visiting, employees, waving velvet cloaks, wallpapers, and other textures, were devoid of movement and the slightest oscillations of the routine workday, which had taken on the form of a captured watercolor painting, in which the ubiquitous chaos had frozen. Stumbling, he ran past the frozen, literally in terms of options with stairs and fast handrails, furiously moving his legs over the lower, and then the subsequent lower floors beneath him, until he found himself in a long, subway-like corridor with exactly the same frozen disorder, where someone had staged a rally-show from overturned shopping carts and scattered toilet ribbons, behind which rose the ruins of cabinets and other furniture among the frozen onlookers... Hastily glancing around, ignoring the suspicious noise by the registrar''s desk and the cheerful, encouraging girlish laughter, the man dashed into the familiar ward behind his companion, suddenly bumping into his neck amidst wet puddles of some liquid and scattered fibrous papers.


    �� Motherfucker, you!? �� sounded the familiar voice in this very cramped and dreary company. Drops of cold rain accompanied by thunder burst into the blue eyes of the pale-haired guy, hiding his face behind untidy light hair, just like that evening among the high cliffs and two bright stars in the sky, where he was often smiled at.


    Kurouba''s outstretched arm erupted with hundreds of loaded files, auto-profiles, skill stats, and forbidden abilities, all ready to execute any command, create another transaction, or even bring a new "Huren T8" to the rooftop with a fresh discount for achieving loyal user status, with an added bonus pack of a thousand gems and new offers from the ever-mysterious administrators. As always, the display was once again covered in stains from never-ending lags and delays in the response actions. Kurouba had already cursed this damn artifact, one that in recent years seemed to exist somewhere between vodka bottles and the sleepy face of its developer, with a piece of "Household" soap stuck to a drunken face, still lacking a name, voice, or answers throughout the thousands of strange, absurd, and incomprehensible years spent in a forever alien world. A universe where he kept trying to be an innocent optimist in his own thoughts alone. A funny idiot in front of friends. At least the ones who are there, who were, who will be again? When would they finally let him sleep, forever? Without all the saves he left behind.


    �� Bastards, get the hell out of here!! �� Neither his spell of paralysis nor the editor of his own teleporter managed to activate when the opponent''s elbow, with one step, snapped his neck, leaving Kurouba unable to scream. The sharp length of the dagger repeatedly pierced his stomach, gliding past his cartilage and stabbing his heart, finally squeezing out the bursting life juices from his slit throat.


    Choking on blood, the young man fell motionless against the wall before the modest crowd, who couldn''t care less about the wild terror in his eyes and his stiffening, numb body.


    After an instant and heavy slap to the face, the pale-faced man with fogged eyes, by the way, followed his companion''s example, unpleasantly falling to the floor, feeling the wide, spreading pool of warm blood beneath his thin long fingers. Wiping his twitching face with his palms, he could see the boy, killed by his own hand the previous day, huddled next to a silent and deathly pale woman. Or was it a man? She involuntarily cringed at the incessant giggles of a cute little girl in an indecently large pink hoodie with a white cat''s tail and twitching ears on her head. Her innocent nature was betrayed by the eclectic set of various keychains around her masquerade-actress-style outfit, sweet candy sets paired with a hygiene lip balm, all nestled next to a mini-sized handbag on the floor among hastily pulled-up stockings with fur. In her scrolling feed of mind-blowing life hacks and random giggles, only occasionally would the ever-smiling pseudo-samurai, a half-politician, leader, and fighter for ethnic values, and other nonsensical universal nonsense from his beloved city, peek in, happy to join his best friend and at least briefly distract himself from the tense battle against drugs and the cosmic haze that had been haunting him since childhood.


    �� And aha-ah, what a marvelous dysfunction knocked at the door of my most amazing ideas, where I can pay for the internet with five rubles!? �� The handsome, always full, and romantic face of the mayor lit up with an innocent smile and fiery excitement, while his busy hands continued to wash the incredibly dull length of his newly acquired one-and-a-half-meter katana, which he had swapped for a half-empty bottle of cognac and a solemn promise that he would pay the debt tomorrow after a flawless victory in the upcoming elections.


    Caught in deep awkwardness and the fumes of warm blood drops, his gaze stopped between two fluffy chairs, inexplicably swaying against the laws of interactions between inanimate objects and the second perception of the brain, when the drawn paper world took on clear volumes and perfectly bordered with this reality, in the sum of multifaceted cells and organs of the swaying existence. Drawn children. Three little girls seemed to be happily jumping around each other in the distorted grayish-white mist, intermittently turning into lightning-fast inkblots, instantly dissolving into the drawn urban space and looking with their huge eyes at the new jumping point, resembling playful white kittens in the bright sky above an infinitely drawn field with a lost highway with obstacles. They froze, huddled together. Without blinking, they stared at the pale-faced man as if frozen in time, unlike their rising, fluffy, under-drawn eyebrows and some shaded hair, which fell on their collective shoulders. One of the girls had thick, very thick curly hair that looked like a large blossom surrounded by tiny oval petals. She carefully watched the stranger on the floor, slightly lifting her round face, which highlighted her unusual snub nose with two thin, protruding nostrils. The face of the second child was schematically distorted with isosceles layers of unknown shapes crossing the potential location of the skull, eyes, and long silky hair, which spread around a bulky hoodie. Some fragments of the girl''s image seemed to reflect some shades: blue, burgundy, brown, and green. But all this seemed like fleeting optical illusions. Hidden behind thick and fluffy, darkened yet gently gray locks, the face of the third girl coldly responded to the stranger''s gaze, turning away and disappearing behind her sisters'' backs under a soft dome of a huge blanket, which, like a sea wave, smoothly slid through the wall.


    �� It''s him... That miserable bastard who kicked my ass yesterday. �� The blue-eyed man muttered nervously to his new partner beside him, quietly pressing against her forearm, not breaking eye contact with the weakling lying on the floor in front of him. His face, beyond fear, was twisted with doubts and determination to uncover more, to discover all the secrets and unseen directions of this man. But his third eye flickered helplessly.


    �� Is that all? Hmm... Diva will deal with him. �� The expression, devoid of any intent, glanced around the darkened room with a thin black outline. The pale, thin chest elegantly peeked from the wide neckline of her tight black cardigan, surrounded by thin straps and a mystical green aura from her cigarette smoke. Every smile on her thin, raspberry lips was laced with poison, alongside her thigh bags filled with unique knives and daggers, one of which the white-haired guy probably borrowed just a moment earlier. Her dark green eyes, that of an experienced necromancer, turned away, hiding between stock-level wire meshes, forming the decor of a mechanical song-wind.


    �� Finally found him. Mm, by the way, this is Kurouba, her devoted tail. �� The kid yawned, smirking at the weeping and petrified face of the fox-eared creature by the bed, distantly showing her the spinning eye between his fingers. The fox didn''t even look at him, long lost in a continuous, agonizing trance. The bleeding white sclera of Kurouba fell to the floor, and then was carelessly crushed. �� Stop whining, you fox-eared piece of shit. My morning boner on K-Vin is firmer than your fucking friendship... Damn...


    �� What stopped you from killing him earlier, like, ten years ago? �� The necromancer interrupted sweetly.


    �� Huh? D-damn, he''s an anomaly of the Highest Destruction Level, fuck him! Ha, I said it. You saw him, right? First of all. And secondly, as we now know, both of them have been screwing around on the front all these years. What a surprise. �� The kid tried to shove the crushed eye back into the socket of the dead Kurouba, but his reward was kindly offered by the nearby trash can.


    The sun remained silent, no longer sending edible letters through their open window, nor leaving tender touches on the heads of the busy nurses for a long while. Bitter drops rolled down their foreheads. Laughter, endless letters, and chattering games, longing for new guests. During these dreary, almost silent moments, the kid would occasionally try to lighten the mood with dirty, black jokes, rather than tales of improper morning shaves and races with a toothless she-wolf, devouring low-budget tigers before dawn and washing in the personal pool of snow-white whales.


    The organizer of this modest company quietly tapped a marble cane in the noisy corridor, having exchanged it and his hat for a piece of white chocolate with bubbles near the doctor''s office, from which suspicious sounds were coming. Hmm? Ah, it was just two curious guards, trying to keep themselves busy... Yes, his favorite chocolate, and with bubbles, as if sent by God himself, for which the man''s silhouette silently thanked the doctor frozen in time in his thoughts, praying three times and bowing twice. Hopefully, he did it right. Measured lazy steps towards another damn awful day. He looked slightly crumpled in his ill-fitted jacket, tucked in like a tipsy promiscuous pianist with a bottle of cognac pressed to his forehead, which he tossed aside towards his already salivating comrade.


    In his predatory eyes swam the warming deserts of dull yellow sclera, observing his beloved, fucked-up friends and among them, his cherished partners. He frowned a little, and his cracked lips involuntarily pulled up into a shy, cozy smile, which lingered with two uneven cuts running directly to his ears under thin blue threads amidst his coal-washed hair. His nearly two-meter frame hunched as he passed the expanding corridor''s threshold, holding a thick illness report and further treatment plan for today''s patient in his second hand. The necromancer''s dead eyes distrustfully glanced at Divian, noticing the suspiciously small red scar on his temple, covered by thick strands of hair.


    �� Oh, you piece of sh#@%%\\:! �� Divian barely dodged the huge bloody substance rising toward him, as if someone had just filled a bath with it. But he looked away, where one of his guards was trying not to lose a bet on her favorite "toothpick" figurine, frantically digging beside one of the frozen human figures, where she began to stretch out the member. �� Ko- Kora! Yeah, you won''t be able to tie his body in a clockwise direction with that bowstring! Go try with that black guy at least, or the stallion! Or with the python, for god''s sake. His body''s thinner, you twit! �� Then his attention was drawn to the second of his hopeless guards. �� Ba- Baka! Stop pulling your hair, just take those insults and get the hell out, you can''t even tell the color of your fruits! �� And this was his personal guard? Like a father ashamed of his underdeveloped daughters, he absentmindedly rubbed his face with a heavy hand, before settling calmly in the same room with his strange and suspicious quiet circle of friends.


    After greeting each of his odd and suspicious quiet group of friends, Diva couldn''t resist planting loving kisses on the drawn cheeks of the delighted girls, who continued to play oddly on the couch like excited kittens, making cute greeting sounds, except for one, who had tucked herself safely under the blanket. A whistling sound. Divian''s carefree yellow sparks threw a brief glance at the worried pale figure by the door, and the bright sunbeam crossing half the room, warming with curiosity that had been following him since last night.


    �� Young man, who are you here for? Sister or mistress? �� Whistled the blonde, pulling salty nuts from his dirty pocket, where a lighter and crumbs from crab crackers had been buried, sealed in the fabric of his shirt for a month.


    �� Hmm. I hope for my dearest daughter in the whole wide world, whom I missed so much. Such a long time and my heart is bleeding. Or how was it...? �� The restrained joy didn''t leave his stretched male smile, slightly drunk and bewildered in this difficult working day, which with great difficulty had found its way into his unpressed Caesar''s schedule. �� Constant hallucinations, disintegration of thought... Abe-v... Fuh, here''s a whole list that leans toward schizophrenia. What have you done to yourself? �� Throwing all the reports on the neatly folded blanket under which her trembling knees were hiding, he carefully gazed into the eyes of the escaped pet with a weeping, stone-like face, forgetting about his nagging problems that nearly tore his mind into many pieces. �� Good to see you. Sorry we never had a chance to chat back then. Well... I hope we''ll fix that soon. Hmm... It''s really hard for me to see you in such a state... If only I had guessed back then that it would all turn out this way. Exactly this way. Just like it is happening now.


    He silently stared into her frantic eyes, which she hid behind her trembling hands, her face covered in short convulsions and tightly pressed lips, as if she wanted to scream or rip his throat out at this very moment. Regret. Desire. Patience, which served as a part of his work. His broad palm no longer let go of her hand, which he had lowered to her right knee, gently stroking it with his thumb, slowly tracing her fragile fingers and bones. For a moment, he left a tender touch on her clenched fist, then Divian plopped into the chair next to the patient''s bed, strangely eyeing the long, literally scarred lines on her painfully gray, lost face, which helplessly lowered its eyelids, only to once again scan the room''s occupants. He smirked, seeing how his lower jaw trembled. How could he have killed him? He was so weak? Pathetic. Dirty, disorganized. Just a guy. Though he looked a little older. Surely, he was sick, with some cold, or... What? Why this?


    �� Sasha. Did he do this vile thing? �� Diva stretched his face forward from his own shoulders.


    �� How can I explain... Not him. But the one inside him. Or, not inside him, but around him. �� The boy focused his third eye toward Diva, channeling information, sensations, and streams of unified data into the filled chambers of his mind, trying not to drop anything unnecessary into his brain.


    �� Ugh! I just can''t get used to this. �� the man mumbled, grimacing as he rubbed his right eye with his hand, more calmly chewing on the frozen information in his skull, receiving a complete and boundless picture from various paths, possibilities, and sequences. At the same time, there was a humble corner with something resembling a carpet, whose colors overpowered every new shade, someone''s face, thoughts, a higher feeling of passed spaces, and the most precious treasures, hidden the deepest. Stubborn humanity was battling with the sudden atmosphere of nature, which even Diva couldn''t understand, because he only saw illusions, which all beings usually use when they think, or ponder, do and destroy, feel and change, confess or lie.


    His thoughts were flitting about like trapped beasts. The first few minutes, he couldn''t stay still, shifting as if possessed, in vain attempts to find at least one position that could reconcile him with reality. He clenched and unclenched his fists, crossed and scattered his legs, as though his body was trying to find a way out of this cocoon of madness. Thoughts sparked and faded, like lightning on the horizon, bringing no long-awaited clarity. Pain and insanity merged into one, every second pulling the remnants of his sanity away. He felt how reality, in a thin layer of lies, stretched out before him, everything around seemed illusory, as if his mind was slowly sliding into the abyss of self-deception. Among all the books read, grim rites, and empty prophecies of false prophets, he suddenly realized �� here it was, his chance. The chance to touch the truth, to that long-awaited enlightenment that was supposed to free him from the constant desire to bash his head against a wall, to drive himself to unconsciousness, just to escape from this pain. Though the wall would probably not withstand. It �� unlike him �� was weaker.


    Each day, each second brought him closer to the inevitable abyss. To the torments that no drugs, alcohol, passion, or physical pain could mute. Life for him had long turned into an endless suffering. But what did he know about life? Only one thing �� freedom. The only meaning. It was like a horizon that could never be reached, but beyond which he so desperately wanted to look. Freedom was his limit, the boundary that needed to be broken to find something new. Maybe this was the voice of a mad psychopath, who had survived years of chaos, or maybe just a boy, who had forever lost faith in miracles and life itself. Fatigue. Thirst. Emptiness. Eternal agony. It filled everything �� every breath, every step, every glance into the abyss. Laughter, screams, silence �� everything merged into one painful, cacophonic noise. His fingers slowly curled, clutching his hair, and he smirked to himself, realizing how pitiful and helpless he was in his pain.


    Fatigue. Thirst, amidst the monotony. Agony, under the unknown laughter, cries, and silence. In his bending fingers and his slow voice. Ironically laughing to himself, he could not find the right words from the hopelessness in which it had become tiresome to repeat the same thing over and over again. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the flesh of his own eyelids. He heard the words of the person inside whom he lived. He finally wanted to see the other side of existence, where there was no soul, no death. Where there was an end, to what never existed. And there were no "I."


    His long fingers tightly grasped his untidy, spread-out locks, stretching them across his face in an insulting grimace. No, he almost allowed himself to cry again. But this was unbearable, damn it! Enough... This Lisa. Who is she? Where the hell did she come from? Or who did she crawl out of?


    His mind flitted about, trying to understand how much longer he would torture her, trying to squeeze out of her essence everything that could give him even a faint hope to look behind that very boundary that he so desperately yearned to cross. She was for him the embodiment of everything he could not understand. And, damn it, she probably wouldn''t smile tomorrow when he puts the cake in front of her that he decided to bake for the first time in his life. Yeah, Satori found a great recipe. And Sasha, as always, ruined everything.


    �� I need to talk to your friend. Tulpa, or whatever the hell is inside you. �� Diva tiredly responded, turning to the pale-faced one.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    �� What you saw is nothing more than the space of his mind, separated. The anatomy of his bone structure and entire organism is completely alien. Especially his brain, shaped like hemispheres, stomach, heart in the left chest �� he''s from the human world, just like Kurouba. Do you remember him? I showed you often. �� Sasha gloomily interrupted, independently processing the library of newly acquired knowledge.


    �� I remember, I remember... And yet he''s here. And this premature just freed himself, flitting around like at home, you know. The dead brain suddenly limited itself with its own thoughts in the "nothing." Yeah... I need him to come out. Maybe he''ll understand me. After all, he... �� from sudden fear, Diva covered his head with both hands after the loud and tear-piercing laughter of a girl with bouncing ears, peering into her phone and then mockingly twirling her finger at her own temple. �� Damn, did anyone give her a book as a child? Grew up an imbecile on my neck. Am I a freaking portable orphanage or what!?


    �� Huh!? �� The cat rounded her eyes, pulling out a wax earbud.


    �� I''m saying your MEMES are gonna be back in style soon, I swear! �� With a forced laugh, Diva grinned at her, swiping the bottle of cognac nearby. �� By the way, why did you bring this katana?


    �� Yesterday at the Mariana crossroad, among the greedy clouds, in the central antiques shop, I met the flower of youth. You know, the one that whispers about distant dreams. But her eloquence turned out to be a trap, and I couldn''t resist... I just had to intervene! It was irresistible, you know!?


    �� Uh-huh, I understand. The helpers tied her up and brought her to you. I know your eloquence, dolt. Same old: you, me, the drunk clown with a big mouth and a small heart.


    �� My heart, like a red-hot coal, was scorched by her otherworldly radiance! I was in awe, and when she laughed, her voice sounded like a swan''s trill. And then, something inside me clicked, and like a fool, I did hara-kiri with her katana! How could I allow her to be sad? Sad stories are not for me, only joy, only laughter! And pancakes, only with sour cream and honey, don''t forget! �� Clenching his shoulders, he turned to the pile of antique armor, grimacing like a sour orange. �� Sisters, inseparable snowflakes... But that''s not the point right now. I was looking for something more, understand? Something that could freshen up this stale air.


    �� Blind naivety! Like a fool, I clung to her, this stranger who dreamed of freedom as something unattainable. I thought she would understand that we had the same path, but I only felt her fear when she started screaming. And in the moment when I squeezed her shoulders, I suppressed her freedom, I felt: she wasn''t just a girl, she was the reflection of all my fears. I was with her, but she was never with me.


    �� I made myself believe it was all a game, that we had a chance... But when I cut her, I didn''t just kill her, but the remnants of myself.


    �� Yes, yes... Ughh. Alright, guys, we''ve got an important meeting ahead. �� Diva quickly gave the cat-girl a flick on the head to get her to gather herself, stopping with a kind expression on his face in front of the fox''s terrified eyes, gently taking and placing her hand aside to wipe a couple of fat drops off her forearm and place her hand under a soft blanket.


    Tenderly and extremely gallantly, unable to take his eyes off this beautiful event. Or, on the contrary, sad.


    �� Well? Don''t be sad. Tomorrow I''ll take you out of here, we all missed you so much. We''ll prepare so many treats for you, it''ll be a real celebration. Honest �C honest... I promise you.


    With a look that became intense, he leaned close to the literally motionless wreck of a being resembling a human, desiring to understand the intention of whoever had given this piece of meat the chance to tear through the boundaries of fantasies. To let it come alive in free understanding, keeping the pre-built reason of the real "Self." Just a human, and its broken appearance. From behind the royal chair, an unfamiliar figure emerged unnoticed, sewn from layers of torn rags, with what looked like springy human hair curls peeking from the top. A white mask like chalk with black oily slits for eyes was etched on the face, beside which were three colorful beads attached to each side. Behind the thin back of the red-haired time lord, an intangible evening banquet spread with glittering stones on branches, stealing the blackness from the walls, chairs, and someone''s clothing. Someone was dining there, in those images among the rising shiny veil. Somewhere in that unshakable wormhole, the black-as-night house disappeared, under whose high straw roof beautiful blankets twisted, and the atmosphere was filled with the breath of an organ.


    �� Well, why do you look at me like you''re going to do something? What can you do? Nothing? That''s right. �� After five seconds of annoying silence, Diva ruffled the pale man''s head with a chuckle. �� Ahem. Thanks for taking care of her. I''d be glad to shake your hand like a brother and forget about that guy in this room, but my inquisitive mind needs your inner chaos. And I sincerely hope it will help me solve my problem. Maybe not just mine. �� His index finger firmly aimed and pressed to the man''s forehead. �� See you soon, my bags under the eyes. �� He involuntarily emphasized the worn-out look of the pale man.


    The humble group calmly trudged along under the overwhelming tide of melting time, gradually returning the lost inertia, the movement of one of the countless fragments. Two guards curiously peeked inside, seeing between themselves the mundane sight and the wandering between controlled singularities of the fairy cocoon made of painted girls, who didn''t dare step back from their "daddy." �� And you, due to your diet, you''ve gotten all flat and skinny! �� the mayor remarked, sensing his urge to light a cigarette.


    �� Why don''t you shut up, you pseudo-shogun!? They''ll grow up, I''m just still... small!


    A strange feeling, one that made it hard for him to breathe. It seemed like his lungs were tightly squeezing with each beat of his heart, pressing against the trembling scarred ribs. He didn''t understand this sudden sharp reaction throughout his powerless body, which lay still and silently, covered in icy breath from within its trembling shell. He strangely, and still with curiosity, looked at the trembling female figure in the bed. The lonely fox, who had already forgotten about the inevitability of all these familiar faces appearing. The whispering diseases tearing her mind to pieces. That''s it. It''s meaningless. Thick red tears, where do they come from? Her skills, the thoughtless wandering of her ever-weary gaze drowned in emptiness. Had they ever been dreams? But her new obsessive friends would cut off all her thoughts once again.


    The pale man looked around at the sudden noise from behind the door, noticing the resurrected boy Kurouba with a couple of doctors, instead of the dead body that had been lying nearby.


    The constant clumsiness. Doubts. Fear. The man soon waited for the strange biomass from the distilled liquid to leave one of the chairs near the vending machine, where the night and morning had mixed around him, creating a cozy corner for contemplation... This boy is alive. He returned to life just like Kurouba. Is that normal? How did he come back, will he hunt her again? Are there so many of them? Completely unclear personalities that he was curiously losing ideas about. Futile. It was important to understand what was happening. Who are they? What should he do next?


    The melodic and unexpected voice struck his irritated ears among the coloring, green summer walls in blue polka dots, along with new announcements on the ceiling right next to his right ear, where his blind sight was caught amid the velvet of fresh sheets. The moving combinations gradually filled this alley-like corridor with the therapeutic department, divided by numbered rooms, topped with a nook into the dining area, with exciting posters outside, mysterious low spreading passages into laboratories, abandoned skyways of active shot-mechanisms and winding technical ramps, around which groups of criminologists, high-ranking guards, and private detectives gathered. Maybe she''s not a professional in this direction, but stubbornly demonstrating her modern tastes, about which no one can advise her. The pale man''s embarrassed gaze looked uncertainly at the bright magazine covers along with some newspapers squeezed between his strong-looking fingers, in which he couldn''t clearly discern or grasp their content from the mismatched painted dresses with girls. Floating in the filtered dim fog, his pupils stared at four large red hands of a young woman flipping through the next pages, excitedly talking about her future ideas for the ideal collection of stunning outfits that would shake all minds with their incredible abstraction. He nodded uncertainly and tried to smile politely without words, of which he was critically lacking, to which this mysteriously appearing interlocutor responded even more cheerfully to his admiring looks at her statements, continuing more animatedly to say something and show the following frames of the thick magazines.


    Not long ago, there was the worst bloody pogrom here, which was cleaned up so quickly. Quite calmly.


    �� You, you came from the past to us, didn''t you? �� Kurouba barely squeezed between two large sanitarians with thick manuals on "discrimination of sexual organs," finally sitting down next to him. �� Well, how do you not know how to use them? And I told you to wait for me outside. What''s wrong with you? �� He pouted angrily, turning away. He was scared, starting to mutter to himself. �� My mind''s gone dull, I acted illogically. That means, the temporal veil here and in the tavern was created by Mehaesper.


    �� You... came back to life? �� the pale man quietly responded.


    �� Hmph. That''s a long story. And I''m not good at telling long stories. Besides, it''s none of your business. �� He said with a miserable sob and returned the stranger his tablet. �� I ordered you a taxi-friend for the whole day. First, he''ll take you to the administration, it won''t hurt, and it''s necessary. Otherwise, the guards will take you themselves. They''ll take care of you there, as they should, and now go ahead. Forward, and sing the song of Tatsuiki! Relax and give yourself fully to the rhythm. �� With a grim expression, Kurouba shuffled in an unknown direction.


    He looked back once more, meeting with curiosity the distant room of the Fox, which was accompanied by a company of doctors and high silhouettes in strange armor. Their light, hefty bones and other inner parts were literally mixing with the golden velvet of the moving armor, around which faces of national importance crowded, along with curious fluffy patients with still-dry towels on their shoulders and mugs of hot gingerbread cappuccino. Some even had flowers in their hands.


    ***


    He saw himself in the mirror for the first time. His body was in agony, tormented by exhaustion he had never known. He began to bend his limbs one by one, feeling the weight in each of them, hearing a deep, continuous cracking sound between what seemed like a single organic joint. He tried to tilt his head to the side, and the sound of muscle grinding came from his neck, as though something inside was tearing apart. His head resisted his will and barely turned in the pitch-black half-light of the soundproof room. Inside his left eye, it felt as though something had settled there, pushing it out. The eye was strangely gray, as if drawn with a pencil, with one corner slightly raised like the thinnest layer of crumpled paper. Something seemed to be separating from his retina, particularly visible were the tiny, shifted folds at one end. His delicate fingers slowly grasped the edge of the thin, fish-like gray scales around the light human sclera, carefully separating the tightly stuck scales that made his vision blur, right in front of the bathroom sink and his face, which was distorting in the mirror. This something soft and resilient had grown from nowhere around the brownish pupil. He spent a long time inspecting and gently caressing the scales, which only tore from his careful touches.


    Thoughts erupted into anger. He understood nothing, but was certain of what he wanted to do. The consuming mental physical pain in all his muscles left even the hope of protecting anyone, let alone himself. His trembling fingers dug into the sink, his face contorted in a grimace of regret, swiftly turning into disgust.


    Carefully emerging from the upside-down bathroom, whose buttons and instructions he had hopelessly gotten tangled in, the pale-faced figure barely managed to find the corridor, in which, inexplicably, something emitted periodic daylight near the shelves, whose uneven cabinets and tables resembled solid wood made of a hundred windows and dozens of doors, where a vinyl cover tangled with fallen books, which he had clumsily rearranged on the empty shelves.


    His eyes cautiously peeked out from the doorframe. Ahead, quite close, there was a wall with a single picture under a cornice, the curtains of which were replaced by abandoned notices, announcements, and a couple of dusty long window frames, through which the darkness and barely visible balconies with crossed stairways to neighboring apartments around the perimeter could be seen. Each one looked like endless puzzles, where barely assembled furniture could fit, with stolen carts near a suspiciously large door, the neon sign of which displayed unreadable hieroglyphs and a ventilation system, each of whose vents emitted a certain colored mist. He turned toward the tiny humanoids, who were traveling in a perfect, flexible railing along the entire stair landing, momentarily lighting up with their powerful flashlights every giant neighbor''s door. On both sides of the wall, there were no boundaries, but the darkness was torn apart by bright garlands and vending machines around a suspiciously miniature house in the very center of the cliff, with the sign "Post Office" behind which stretched ropes on a mechanical basis, drying various clothes, near which warm fireflies fluttered. Wasn''t he in a hospital right now? What was this place, so gloomy, cold, yet warm? The area of this residential building resembled a cramped anthill, with never-ending branching patterns in dark violet contrast, rarely encountered yellow windows in walls often adorned with domestic junk, furniture, and barely discernible faces of local residents wearing animal masks, who wandered in unknown directions to the beat of drums. Someone in the half-darkness had plunged into a virtual world of dreams, while this gathered group of angry neighbors at the restaurant counter was fervently proving something to each other, along with the playing figures on the shared board. This place was the brightest, friendliest, and warmest of all he had seen in the last twenty minutes of wandering through abandoned dungeon labyrinths. From here, it seemed as if a huge fragment of the wall had been ripped away, where ceremonial curtains hung, and a small, brightly lit restaurant was serving its clients a delicious noodle soup. Behind a wide game table sat seven spoiled individuals��young women, men, and a couple of elderly, intellectual faces in beautiful suits and wide-brimmed hats with yellow bells near a closed dusty kiosk, where, apparently, fresh newspapers had been placed. The skulls of two old men were unnaturally stretched vertically, their wide eyeballs and plump lips pressed against the edges of heated antique plates with fragrant herbs.


    The pale-faced one looked at the screen of the high-tech gadget in his cold hands, awkwardly looking away, continuing on his initially designated path to the waiting driver, whom he needed to reach after crossing a distance of thirty meters... In the closed half-light, he involuntarily stopped in front of a tall figure dressed in black, with a deep hood around a long, bony neck. The creature smoothly freed its left hand from under the gathered robe and bowed politely to the traveler.


    �� Oh, there''s no need to be afraid of me, I beg you. Many often confuse me with an alp, but that is not the case. I am merely a man who inherited a rare condition from my great-grandmother. �� It turned out to be a young man with thick, long hair, like a horse''s tail, whose rare locks gently lay on his thin, slightly greenish, drowned-looking face. Around his blue pupils, red oval patterns of an unopened flower seemed to swirl hypnotically, and his long blue lips smiled shyly. �� I beg your pardon for my manners, my name is Gonfald. Gonfald Van Weyghih. �� The tact of his fingers and the mismatched attire reminded him of some aristocratic figure, typically seen in palaces.


    �� I... I don''t know my name. �� The pale-faced one mumbled awkwardly, carefully and intently observing the silhouette across from him, resigned to the fact that he wouldn''t be able to introduce himself properly to the unexpected conversationalist. He wasn''t afraid��maybe just not used to what his itchy eyes were showing, which he started rubbing with his fists again.


    �� Hmm?


    �� I... I have amnesia, I think. And I''m going to see a doctor to get my memory back.


    �� I sympathize with you. I hope it soon leaves the borders of oblivion and returns to you soon. In that case, I won''t keep you, young sir. �� Gonfald shyly smiled again, stepping aside and gesturing broadly with his long arm toward the retreating dark corridor.


    He continued walking forward, and before his face, an image of a white as an unblossomed lotus bud face involuntarily appeared. This gentle, mature face was framed by black hair, as dark as the night, reaching thin shoulders, and eyelashes of the same coal-black contrast, which could fall off as intangible ash at the will of her mind. Why did it seem so familiar to him? And nearby, the predatory pupils of an unknown beast lay, maybe a wolf? Where did this image come from? An alp?


    ***


    Through the sprawling canopies of towering, giant trees, thirty-degree rays of clear sunlight, forged by the flesh of towering skyscrapers, stubbornly broke through. Wrenches often called to each other while perched on the thinnest branches, thus accompanying their sweet song for the wandering stranger, lost in foreign faces, the lavish spread of scaly wings, and the mixed cocktail of spaces strangely familiar to him. His left eye watered again, causing an awful itch under his greasy hair. The path seemed to stretch ahead for an eternity, like that golden steppe on the right, a boundless yellow ocean covered in swaying ears of grain. Their bending, like waves on the horizon, had been sown days earlier under the influence of the relentless heat of summer. Though it was often difficult to endure this time, in the current military circumstances, one wished to keep this golden and fertile savior in one''s desired company as long as possible. First and foremost, this always concerned the spirits here. They were enslaved by hunger and homesickness for an imagined home. Therefore, they often took humans, especially common folk, as their masters. They would feed them, warm them well, and never harm them��an outsider''s story floated out in velvet swirls of floral wind along the coastal houses, opposite which the threshold passed by, with a musty gray city, from which salty puddles flowed, and the repulsively red light from the windows of sharp-angled houses.


    A tall, thin girl, whose unnaturally long legs, with knees resembling detailed mechanical prostheses, bent down to allow herself to be surrounded by a flock of crows, pecking at soft scraps of airy bread from her fragile mechanical fingers with their thick beaks. Her brown eyes gazed upwards, observing the immensely large snake-like body of the barbarian around the equally sky-reaching temple. The long, clawed arms of the serpent-like creature with a human face mischievously scraped across the night canvas of clouds, stealing from them the brightest and largest stars from this mysterious family. Spacious halls of silent spectators were separated by a slammed door, beside which lay sanctions from foreign shores and their attentive readers, lazily settled on a thick carpet, passing small bento boxes to each other.


    He walked leisurely between red, sun-bathed walls, while wooden stairs twisted and multiplied before the empty corridors with pink parquet, on which someone''s umbrellas and scattered toys lay, and along the landing strips, paper airplanes crashed. Above his head, tents sewn between a single movable structure spread, alongside the peculiar ceilings made of colorful fabrics, which parted beyond the limits of trading shops. Day and night once again merged into a single point, around which his head spun. Once again, an entity in a deep hood made of leather politely addressed him, hiding some companions underneath. The pale-faced one calmly declined, continuing to stubbornly crawl up the soft slope of carpets, from which curious eyes peeked, watching as the ceiling of endless shimmering wires gradually approached them, inhabiting their funnels, migrating between the neighbors'' labyrinths. The beating owl wings of the boy above the acrobatic stunts of a man, amidst the chaotically intertwined fiery quarters.


    A frog hiding behind a red curtain, dropping golden and silver coins. Ten-meter-long hands emerging from the painted window of a chest, desperately grabbing the squealing rogues. The highway turned into a cold river over a colorless copper tablecloth, while the sun rose again over the slopes of the elevated green plains, banishing the crystalline-violet rain. Their bodies, like celestial stone sculptures, held gaping columns of leaves, toward which the city pathways from fabrics spread, dispersing in the next pitcher of the neighbor''s quarter where it was darker... He barely avoided hitting the bottom of the car''s interior, which resembled a miniature apartment with all the necessary amenities that he often considered. In the back seats, a married couple quietly and casually argued, embodying the ram and scales from the zodiac cycle. Through an impenetrable mesh, it was hard to make anything out, but the conversation clearly involved a solemn event. On the edge of the driver''s seat, an elf, gray from nicotine berries, sadly swayed his thoughts, magically placed at the top among the other turned-back passengers, from where sounds and bright sparks from daily television echoed. A creature, the size of a palm, with a pretty face, hissed fiercely and gave a short but extremely angry reprimand to the pale-faced one when he poked his finger at a strange long cord on his shoulder, which turned out to be her tail. The pale-faced one tried to discreetly glance at the driver, who was busy with a phone conversation and simultaneously steering the car, which visibly maneuvered along the intricate roads, paths, and picturesque walls of unfamiliar routes. Barely climbing out of the lowered passenger compartment, he immediately fell back onto the ground, which was decorated with scattered glitter and colorful ribbons, opposite the monstrously lively square, where absolutely everything and everyone mixed. The girl turned around and smiled sharply, apologizing to the pale-faced one, continuing to chase the boy running towards the entertainment center.


    �� "I have nothing explosive with me, I swear!" �� a man with an entire box of ice cream ran naked past the entrance to the unique library workshop, being pursued by a young woman in battle gear, with the accompanying law enforcement officers, resembling two massive fish.


    With a businesslike face and in a perfectly selected beige tie, a hyena purposefully approached the man with a politely raised hand, where a green dial from a luxurious golden watch gleamed around his wrist. His gaze had already glanced stealthily at the weary and terribly ragged silhouette of a suspicious young gentleman with deathly pale skin, on which the emotion of caution was barely discernible, along with pale bags under his eyes. The pale-faced adventurer uncertainly shook the firm hand of a creature resembling a human, again carefully inspecting the silhouette of a tall being with short brown fur and round pointed ears from head to toe.


    �� Hmm, newcomer? If you need a lawyer, just whistle on this lifesaving walkie-talkie, my friend. �� the hyena handed the man a business card, offering the only way in the world to solve any problem, if the right price was offered. �� I''m sure we''ll see each other again, mister...?


    �� Huh? I... I don''t know my name. I was told they could help me here. I... I think I have amnesia.


    �� Oh! Is that so, darling? Heh, then we''ll definitely meet again. �� the hyena smirked, leaving the man alone with his neurological troubles.


    The only long black horn on the forehead of the long-haired girl, who had a wide smile, shimmered with a pinkish substance as her slender hands hastily rummaged through the heavy bag of golden coins. The five-meter silhouette of a steel warrior, surrounded by maroon flowing aura around his demonic armor, wielding a huge two-handed sword, turned its horn-like head with puzzlement and gradually morphed into a tall, deformed creature, its enormous body shifting parts. It resembled a muscular horse with four hooves and a flexible, lizard-like torso, around which black and bloody substances twisted. Watching this strange pair swiftly gallop away from the crowded highways filled with cars and city branches, the pale-faced figure slowly rose to his feet after the heavy hoof strike that shook the ground, standing before the towering wooden frames of the Administration, which resembled gates the size of an unimaginable mountain, surrounded by passages from an astronomical workshop interwoven with a thousand doors, stairs, and roofs, crossing with neighboring buildings and many other incomprehensible stone structures and something sparkling, strengthening colorful currents that formed a net-like contrast.


    He turned around and, for some reason, imagined himself in the middle of a clearing surrounded by the constantly spreading forest inertia, where the colors were poorly mixed, lacking a certain number of shades, which was blocked by a giant black head with reproachful, curious eyes resembling hoops, moving away behind the empty border highway. Among the densest and tallest trees, it was easier to hide. Delicate blue petals silently scattered across the black canvas, its elegant structure crossed by sturdy white belts on their refined torsos��this was, what, "kimono?" he thought, noticing something familiar around two passing female figures. In the bushes near the intertwined seats formed into a single parallelepiped, he heard the intermittent tapping of a bird''s beak, hanging over a smiling skeleton, which indistinctly turned its head as if stalking someone. The scattered cigarette smoke peacefully drifted from one bush to another, surrounding them with a blue-violet haze, belonging to a heated, scarlet blooming rose at the tip of a gray nicotine bud called "Blue Lady."


    Surely, it was a well-beaten and worn male face, though the eyes of its owner were full of caution, observation, and bright curiosity. His fingers often trembled and twisted the sleeves of his soiled shirt, where traces of fresh blood had dried. His gaze was barely suppressed, while his feet confidently marched toward his goal, the image of which he seemingly did not know and could not even imagine.


    �� Are you lost? �� He wasn''t sure if the question was directed at him, until he felt a piercing gaze upon him. An unfamiliar figure modestly introduced herself as Marven. It seemed he hadn''t even heard it. But he also remembered how she had just introduced herself.


    �� If I''m understanding the directions on the map correctly, probably not. �� the man shrugged awkwardly, examining the yellow exposed skin around the more darkened cracked lips, peeking from beneath the dark patchwork clothing wrapped around his neck and low shoulders in a massive hood resembling a rusty colorless ladle. In his head, a bee with a black, pitch-black abdomen appeared, whose distant image matched what he saw now, though he couldn''t make out the full face and body of the person amidst the specific set of the sprawling smoky attire. She noticed his returning and much more diligent gaze, which didn''t disturb her.


    �� You look like you''ve never been in such a place before. �� the voice of the interlocutor calmly spoke, her black sclerae resembling a mystical dark veil that absorbed the thin brown-yellow strands of her wide turquoise hair, which were tied with a pair of invisible hairpins at her temples.


    �� I''m just not sure. Maybe today I''ll figure out what to do next. �� He thought for a long time before answering, while examining the creation beside him, who adjusted the collar of their clothes and led him toward the entrance of the building. Marven stopped and gently gestured toward one of the doors.


    �� Then I sincerely wish you good luck. �� she politely bowed, allowing him to step forward.


    He wasn''t sure if he should say anything more. He glanced at her again and slowly stepped over the spacious threshold of the administration, which from the inside appeared to be an endless, enclosed village, obstructed by silhouettes, wall vibrations, and the heart of the building around which visitors began to gather alongside an adequate force of the capital''s military escort. His eyes betrayed him, reflecting the internal amalgamations and elegance of the structures, the spaces, and the atmospheric surfaces extending upward to the towering peaks that fractured his common sense, where an infinite kaleidoscope seemed to lose itself in an uncharted map of unknown kingdoms, relentlessly maintaining their pace. His eyes scattered, lost in the vastness of the halls, where there was no room left for respite. He met the gaze of a tall employee across the infinite section of maintenance, next to which hung a sign that read: "Lunch break. Jerry, if you forget again to put the DAMN HANDLE in PLACE, I will personally slit your throat with the "Phoebe Haruki" figurine and pour a goddamn portion of boiling water into it so you choke on your damn grandfather''s foreign tea forever, you thieving bastard! Best wishes - HR Administrator, Miyuki." The employee looked rather old-fashioned compared to his colleagues on both sides of the barricade, quickly adjusting his glasses around his long, almost sharpened nose, hurriedly combing green locks back and languidly resting both hands on the counter.


    �� Welcome, how may I assist you on this beautiful day, bathing your wonderful face in rays of the cosmic star? �� His wide smile stretched his wrinkled skin all the way to his ears, revealing his sharp, razor-like teeth. The pale-faced man hesitated before pulling out a folded note from his pants, remembering the thick journal with some documents that Kurouba had handed him yesterday, which he had somehow lost. Today, he only had this single document with a blue guard''s seal, which he handed to the goblin-like figure across from him, who immediately snatched the leaflet and examined it. The goblin''s glasses strangely glowed as he fell into a deep silence, repeatedly adjusting his posture with his hands on his hips. Soon, a few bewildered workers approached from behind the goblin, along with a knight whose towering figure resembled a human body, though its head had the form of a serpent-like skull, with protruding front fangs and round pupils on a lifeless golden mask, which seemed about to open in layers, engulfing his empty-headed body. The powerful wallet of the data-exploration base failed to find any match with the handwriting of this man''s face, and soon a response came from headquarters with further instructions.


    �� Hm... Hmph. Very well. �� muttered the goblin, then was interrupted by a distant whisper from the knight standing nearby.


    �� In that case, you will be scheduled for a meeting with the National Guard at a convenient time for you, Mister, to examine your personal profile. Within twenty-four hours, starting from today, your duty will be to visit *The Main Medical Center in the Nihonto district. You will undergo a full medical examination and necessary tests, which will also include additional services as required. This procedure will be necessary for you since there is no record of your history in the City''s database. There is a high likelihood that you will stay here for a long time... Our duty is to provide you with accommodation and a living method based on your subsistence needs. Once the aforementioned tasks are completed, you may freely create your profile in the National Guard Department, where, with your permission, we will be able to publish an announcement. If anyone knows of you, relatives, friends, or coworkers even from neighboring islands, they will certainly inform us. We guarantee your full recovery and progress in your investigation, and we expect your cooperation and understanding. Do you have any questions?


    The pale man sank into deep thought, trying to push the facts of his own history away from the endless string of words he had just heard.


    �� Seems like the little one got lost. �� The goblin sneered, receiving a slap on the back of his head from his female colleague, while the knight and another assistant, whose tiny hands barely reached his torso, handed the lost man a journal, ready for use and filling.


    The pale man silently nodded without objections, turning toward the direction he had already lost sight of.


    �� A refugee, huh? Haven''t had one in a while, ugh. What a pity, they usually come either with old scars or in search of new ones to silence their previous emotional pain. �� The girl with a gingerbread in her mouth and a large dark umbrella over her head, resembling a heavy chandelier with miniature beige curtains, lilac cords, and crystal decorations, which partly concealed her delicate, spiritually honored face, mumbled with interest.


    �� I heard this guy was picked up by Kurouba yesterday in the red zone, a knight from the eighty-ninth battalion. �� The snake hissed quietly.


    �� Ah! Is this the one with... "Fox"? �� His colleague interrupted, eagerly nibbling on the gingerbread soaked in tea, which Jerry had kindly offered her just before his impending demise.


    �� Yep. He probably managed to cross here somehow, but I see he didn''t make it out intact. Hope there won''t be any trouble with him. Ghm. Should go have some "kanzopu"? �� The snake muttered, glancing down at his short colleague, whose raspberry crumb clumsily fell on his face, after which she nonchalantly strolled off with a cup of Jerry''s tea in hand toward her room.


    �� Thanks, Gretta. But I don''t eat sweets...


    The man hid in a secluded dimly lit corner near the chaotically moving bookshelves, pressing himself against an empty, non-reflective dark window where someone had left a charger. For a while, he examined the tablet, testing various taps on the screen, flipping it over and shaking it when he couldn''t figure out how to close the pop-up windows. A massive contact list, an empty gallery with strange system handwriting, and a map that he had managed to ruin among the confusing rising assets. Fortunately, each program here was marked with its own icon. All the potentially important places were indeed brightly marked, just as Kurouba had explained. Tava, Quest, Nihonto - "GMC". Exactly what he needed. He pressed it, and the program immediately showed the nearest and all possible routes, ways to travel with available drivers and rental equipment, calculating each of his usual human steps. He looked up and realized that he didn''t even remember how he had come here, and on the other side, his gaze got lost in the endless crowds and critically differing intersections of spaces. Eventually, he decided to follow the nearest route to a familiar taxi friend who had brought him here, as the icon with him was still flickering on the screen quite close.


    This took more time, bypassing unfamiliar corridors, through whose walls he glimpsed new overcrowded halls, creating the impression that this place resembled more of a nightclub where everyone who had the strength to stand on their frenzied legs gathered and floated around the service ceiling sections on leather wings.


    The next hall resembled an infinitely spacious purgatory of a train station, with massive columns surrounding everyday spreading screens like decorated sketches. Wavy staircases in the form of huge decorative lamps climbed up to a foggy image of hanging walls near which it was pitch dark. In the flickering graveyard darkness, vague signs of life appeared occasionally, like millions of dust particles, little lights. Rarely did anyone linger on the long burgundy sofas, and some looked more like doctors, having an animated conversation near dense ferns. A gloomy man in a long coat clicked a lighter, calmly lighting a tobacco narcotic. Its smoke didn''t bother the face of the young woman who had settled with her head on his hard shoulder, sighing languidly around the mechanical sliding mass, silently processing atmospheric air into an unreal component, gently penetrating her deformed lungs. �� I''ll never be able to make "mushroom ufaki" like our mother did. �� suddenly typed Shizuko, sadly lowering her eyelids.


    �� Hm? Why are you suddenly talking about this? �� asked Ryu, hiding the compressed lighter in the breast pocket of his jacket from which he had already taken out his phone, scrolling through the message he had just received from her.


    �� Mom used to tell me that when you were together and you came home late from work, she always made them for you. Every evening. Even when she was sick or in a bad mood. I also wanted to make them today, to give you warm memories of her. But I never had any cooking talent... And I never had anything to make. �� the girl quietly and hoarsely coughed, throwing out the processed condensate through the mechanical gaps. Perhaps it had been a difficult day for both of them, or maybe it was especially hard for her. All these years, she hadn''t known her father, hadn''t seen his face, and didn''t remember his words. Perhaps that very taste would have inspired him and made him feel the old, beautiful memories of his beloved wife; maybe it would have helped him open up. He had returned so unexpectedly. She didn''t know what to do next.


    �� Yeah, that''s true... Because you''re adopted. �� Ryu exhaled thick smoke, gently hugging and stroking her ruffled head, suddenly realizing that he had been too harsh with her at that very moment. �� She really made them for the father, whom I also don''t know. And I''m your cousin, whose last name was mistakenly confused with his. However, as soon as I got the letter, realizing that one of my sisters lived somewhere in Tue, I immediately flew here...


    �� Eh? �� she muttered in a distorted, full-metal voice, as her eyes widened in bewilderment.


    The Pale-Faced man was distracted by the tall door at the very end of the corridor, which softly tapped against the oval opening. Behind it, there was a faint cry of rain, its blue glow seeping along a short fragment of the darkened wall with grotesque large doors. He slowly stepped past stretched wires along the service rooms, and as he crossed the threshold, his face froze, and he could only perceive the gray floor beneath his feet. His brain seemed to explode under the pressure of a tiny twisted hurricane, which dulled his hearing, making his own body lean sideways with its heavy weight. Stumbling, he knelt by the railing, pressing his hand to the delicate white mechanism around his left ear. It felt as though an unimaginable wave was trying to break his soul into dense chunks of foreign organs among the dark inner intersection.


    �� My dear? �� A timid feminine voice called to him.


    Standing beside him was a young woman, warming her hands in the deep seams of the thick sleeves of her mantle. Under her dark green locks of hair, as thick as grass, tears were flowing in a continuous mournful lament, which unexpectedly froze. She appeared as confused as he was.


    �� W-Who are you? �� He didn''t recognize her. He felt that the woman before him was a complete stranger, though in his confused state, he had allowed himself to be overly certain of this.


    �� Oh, I... �� Her pain on her face became more pronounced, but she continued to look at his exhausted and strained expression, knowing that one day he would recognize her, even if it took an eternity, an endless number of burned forests and steppes, through countless dead vessels of beings.


    A gust of strong wind knocked him off his feet when he finally looked around and saw the endless surroundings of Tu��, resembling a worldwide and often colorful web, in some bordering junctions and displacements lacking permanent form, unlike other cities and districts that resembled villages. Knights, unfamiliar people, and cooks with massive burnt cauldrons hurriedly bypassed his silhouette. A look of alarm had recently appeared on their faces. Two massive walls of unknown towers surrounded him, and the fiery raindrops from the gray sky bathed their painted, unshakably sturdy bodies. He looked into the distance at the high open doors, from which a machine flew out with ease, vaguely resembling a wooden and stone kiosk, whose size clearly multiplied as it approached him, making the walls surrounding the ship appear gigantic.


    �� Ugh! What mischievous demons have worn you out, young sir!? �� A gray-haired benefactor, resembling a giant rat with large black lenses over his eyes, peered out from a crowded stall filled with various items and junk. �� Let me get you all spruced up, you look far too... Pardon my foul tone �� like that d��va from the "Prince from the Ravine" liturgy.


    �� Oh, father, don''t trouble yourself recalling those old tales. No one understands them, and no one reads them in our time, you know. �� A girl scrambled out of an oddly large cart, and just as the pale-faced man was still on the ground, the roof above them both instantly unfolded, made of an impenetrable dense material with fragments of transparent windows, through which heavy streams of warm and more colorful rain continued to pour. With a polite smile, she extended a tiny hand to him, which the man took cautiously but did not grip, only pushing himself up with his second hand from the smooth surface of the patterned floor. So soft, so warm. Her hand? He panicked, as though his fingers might crush this fragile palm into a bloody mess, and jerked away. The girl blinked in confusion, gently pulling her hands back to her chest.


    �� I''m sorry... I... �� He mumbled, pressing his hands into his pockets.


    �� What? Money? Who do you take me for, sir? Please, feel free to choose whatever you like! In this capital, it''s a sin to choke on spare change. Now, don''t neglect my generosity and pick whatever pleases your soul! �� The merchant had already noticed his worn-out appearance from afar, dismissing his objections and embarrassment.


    �� In that case, let me offer you this convenient, elegant shirt that fits this climate perfectly. I saw how your eyes sparkled when you saw it! Here, try it on! �� The merchant skillfully helped the man out of his tattered two-day-old coat and quickly dressed him in a light blue shirt with magnetic buttons, its density easily adjustable, stretching or hanging loosely on his frame, which the merchant demonstrated. �� How do you like it? My daughter sewed this for you personally! And look, no holes or cuts, right? Oh, and shoes! You absolutely need shoes! What are your parents thinking? Always busy, always worried... �� Without thinking, the merchant pointed with his eyes to a pair of old but still in perfect condition boots, abandoned under an air conditioner and stacks of robes, near a bundle of tied-up paper. �� Try these! Come on, give them a knock.


    The Aden discs around the heels of his feet immediately began spinning, blinking faintly and releasing clouds of stale dust and debris from the expanding grooves, making the shoes look almost brand new. Relatively new. They practically resembled parts of knightly boots, with layers of plates and protective framing, but with stylish bends on the firm metal ornament.


    �� Thank you... �� The pale-faced man quietly responded, buttoning the last button and inspecting the new, feather-light shoes with a strong, incredibly flexible system in the sprawling, movable soles.


    His eyes froze on one of the screens, enveloping the space around him in a cold mist, with red, distant spots twisting, resembling carefree crimson snowflakes dancing in the wind, losing their fragile lives amidst invisible shockwaves, chasing the vacant gaze reflected from brown pupils. It was a looped two-second video, suddenly thrust into his face. Crystallized hands ruthlessly tore apart a human head, whose organs elastically stretched within a leather mask, diverging in different directions around the emerging skull and an additional pair of naked bird wings, surrounded by the massive bellies of large torn birds. The skull was twisted in a chaotic tangle of soft, writhing glass, which, like mirrors, reflected the dark eyes of the pale-faced. Due to the sharp teleportation codes within the image, he couldn''t make sense of it.


    "Attention! Activity of the ''Collector'' detected in the Nihonto area!"


    Frowning, he rubbed his eyes with his fists, as everything around him once again blurred into familiar landscapes. The girl behind him nervously clenched her hands, jumping back into the cart.


    �� Who''s that? �� the man asked.


    �� Ugh, that nightmarish semblance of an artist... People have long called him "The Collector." He kidnaps anyone who crosses his path and performs the most horrendous craft on them. �� the merchant sighed, pulling his daughter close to him. �� Wherever there are devilish feasts, there his heart wanders in insatiable search. You better not wander in the deep forests or among the forgotten skyscrapers, arm in arm with solitary darkness, and forget his name.


    �� Yeah! Otherwise, he''ll turn your intestines into a halo, and from your ribs, he''ll make bloody bird wings... He''s a real psychopath. �� the pale-faced was playfully slapped on the shoulder by a passerby, flashing a grin between his tattered violet rags. �� Heh. By the way, this is the only recorded footage from one of the guards who accidentally managed to slip into one of his, so to speak, hideouts. So, especially at night, it''s better not to linger alone anywhere, agreed? �� he winked at the pale-faced, quickly striding toward the next building.


    �� Well, it''s time for me and my fairy to head off too! �� the merchant cheerfully responded, soon diving into the cramped control wing of this massive machine. �� I wish you luck in your endeavors and all your unfinished undertakings, young sir! All the best!


    �� Yes! And please take care of yourself! �� the girl waved her delicate hand goodbye with a sweet smile.


    A bit hesitantly, he raised his hand and waved a few times, watching them as their ship ascended, his tired gaze following them, feeling a pleasant and inexplicable warmth spread somewhere in his chest.


    This place was much larger than he had thought during the previous twelve minutes. Numbers, volumes, scales. Continuously increasing, limiting both itself and others. In a matter of seconds, he was obstructed by crowds of soldiers and a handful of lower-ranked guards, whose frantic motives were unclear to him. His face burned again from an internal pressure rising, and his mind once more lost in the dirty, dimly lit corridors. In every direction, red tails of mischievous demons disappeared, peeking with spiteful eyes from the impenetrably dark ceilings and oddly arranged drawers in those same cut-out ceilings. The oval doorframe looked like a cracked rock, shattered by cold waves, between which tangled cables and vector illuminations stood opposite two elevator systems, where two rams could have a smoke and give some advice to a nymphomaniac awake on one of them, with a fierce half-smile clawing at his strong shoulders and applying harder and more powerful thrusts around his groin, which was heavily decorated with the consequence of a long suffocating erection. The muscular body with a long tiger''s tail was partially covered with luxurious fur and athletic masses, unlike her fierce, enjoying her latest prey human face, beside which, calmly smoking a cigarette, the next male waited for his turn. The pale-faced slowly, trying not to scare the group, cautiously pressed his back to the adjacent wall, swiftly sneaking along another corridor fork. The flexible rooms resembled hotel hallways, where crowds of workers were gradually gathering, casting suspicious glances in his direction. Above a spacious column in the center of the overcrowded hall, a fragile staircase rose, and after climbing it, he found himself near a rounded door, when the smell of raspberry jam spread its juicy wings, and thin beams of light sprinkled the multicolored space around like a wide, inverted tablecloth. Muscular, serpentine limbs of a snow-white creature skillfully maneuvered along the winding perimeters of the working systems and combinations, after which, without turning around, it slammed the door with a crash before the man and two passersby, who accidentally squeezed between the pale-faced and nearly dropped wide trays with sets of dishes.


    �� One day I''ll poison that bitch, I swear to God! �� someone began to protest. The man didn''t manage to hear them out as he stumbled backward from what seemed to be a considerable height. Indeed, he landed on a soft, slightly raised bed with several large pillows, one of which he caught as the owner, who was nearby by the enclosed cash register, grabbed it. The old man didn''t say a word, or maybe his voice was drowned by his unnaturally thick beard.


    �� Where am I? �� the inexperienced adventurer mumbled quietly, looking around the cramped working space, where lizard-like creatures were searching for a loophole.


    �� The Tuen''shi armed forces. And may I ask whose side you''re on? �� the old man grumbled, using an advanced brain visor to detect the complete lack of a virtual profile or any general identifiers.


    �� I... �� and for some reason, he imagined himself surrounded by a carnival New Year''s hall in a peculiar palace amidst an endless festive scene of the general backstage, where there were no rules or unnecessary worries, not to mention the mass of unfinished work.


    In the next moment, he was knocked off his feet by someone''s engrossed game of tag, which he decided to cautiously follow. Several teenagers, like mad creatures, clung to the walls, climbed on each other''s backs, and skillfully covered distances. In their movements, there was something animal-like, such as their thick, fur-like hair, their surprisingly flexible body balance that allowed them to twist their torsos along with their limbs, and their elongated feet, which they skillfully pushed off from the surrounding surfaces. This aerial battle led to yet another and now empty hall, around whose branching perimeter, turning into deformed steps, velvet wings as large as a whole wall hung lifelessly, seeming to twitch. It was sufficiently bright and cozy for such a place. Although, had he known them before? The robotic free space was visited by several employees handling some equipment on the painted walls. Carpets. Or something vaguely resembling endless painted cloths that are usually laid out on the floor. They were absolutely everywhere, and each one had more inventive, more chaotic symmetrical patterns. A bit of stained glass on incredibly high ceilings, which seemed to him like the sky, once again tangled his thoughts��disjointed mechanisms and two seemingly ordinary people quietly conversing on the farthest couch, making no sound before the open holographic patterns. He was distracted by the persistent knocking on something hard, it seemed to be wood... Wood. Everything, every detail, every internal component, and each gear was constructed from it, made from a certain aden alloy that supported the active mechanisms around massive helmets, whose hefty protective face plates were expertly grown with heavy crowns. On their strong temple nodes, miniature burrows were carved, and above the frontal lobe, tiny hollowed spots rarely revealed the heads of long-eared creatures. A huge hand, clad in wooden armor, raised upward, palm open, where crushed grain crumbs were gently cradled.


    �� Hey, you! Brute! Stop ignoring me! I know he climbed up to you, he''s always hiding there from me! �� screamed a tall, mature woman, with angrily spread wings and gleaming crimson-negative aura, demanding that the officer before her throw the boy at her feet. �� And where is your comrade anyway?


    The officer, resembling an ancient earth titan, silently tilted the restructuring parts of the wooden armor around his head to the side, ignoring the once again overly fiery nature of the young free agent. Soon, a certain demoness received a sudden blow to the crown of her head, after which she furiously squinted her eyes toward the bridge of her nose, curling her lips in indignation, unconsciously collapsing to the floor amidst her luxurious royal mantle with exquisite white fur around the burgundy velvet.


    �� What a klutz. At least I''ll eat in peace, and maybe I''ll leave this madhouse without you...


    Muttering discontentedly, a human silhouette with a bluish, intricate helmet on his head quickly rose to the next hall, clad in thick, worn clothes, carrying undoubtedly heavy, unknown-filled leather sacks and several large backpacks on his shoulders. The pale-faced man cautiously stepped toward one of the less suspicious doors, rarely glancing at the massive plant-like contours of the bulky creation above him, feeling the barely perceptible, distant gaze following him intently.


    Cafeteria. An incredibly expansive and cohesive dining atmosphere. The word that first popped into his mind, whose skin layer along with hair had been unbearably itchy throughout the entire incomprehensible journey. He clumsily and barbarically began to mess with his thick, greasy locks, tightly squinting his wrinkled gray eyelids around his eyes. �� Sir? Excuse me? �� Someone''s tiny finger knocked uncertainly against his hunched back.


    �� What''s going on? �� Two meticulous figures appeared beside the man, examining him from both sides.


    He almost mistook the young woman before him for a child, due to the very short stature of this seemingly hefty individual, barely reaching his abdomen. Her aggressively formed folds around her wide nose surrounded dark green irises set in eyes that were heavily covered by long red curls, cascading in darkened strands down to her weathered, tanned shoulders. Beside her stood a tall... Angel? Something resembling metallic wings of deformation, compactly folded within golden armor pieces, some of which had stickers and paintings gleaming like those on a thick vest. Some yellowed curls from sunlight were also present on his smooth young face, decorated with exotic piercings and black delicate mechanisms at the edges of his sharp ears, which sometimes winked. The angel nonchalantly snatched the man''s journal, swiftly skimming through its meager contents, already transferring it to the empty workspace of his partner beside him.


    �� Mingli Ma Zhuu, �� the guard introduced himself, exchanging his documents for a tablet with a couple of quick movements, now focusing intently on the contents of his records. �� What are you doing here?


    �� I... I think I''m lost.


    �� You''ve just visited the administration building, if we pay attention to your movement history, but you covered the distance to our base in exactly three minutes and six seconds, completely unnoticed. Are you leaving something out, comrade? �� the guard slowly extended a pale-faced tablet towards the stranger and furtively glanced at him with a bewildered look.


    Mingli''s virtual gaze in the unreal mental space locked eyes with his short companion and two dozen other guards, who were subtly surrounding the perimeter, discussing their next steps via mental cyber projections, while a squad of small daugmos hid between the upper floors, preparing to form a balanced aborium shield around the pale-faced man. He didn''t seem too dangerous, but there could be anything inside him capable of hitting this vast area, teeming with soldiers during their lunch. An unregistered civilian wandering around the barracks like he''s at home. This was quite an extraordinary case that needed immediate clarification.


    �� Please, don''t get upset. We will surely help you if you don''t refuse this friendly service. �� The short woman spoke sensually to the pale man, slowly extending her small hand toward him.


    Help? Will he agree? This is really suspicious. This memory-lost man has been aimlessly wandering around Tw�� for the second day, constantly looking around the surroundings as if they were an unfamiliar world to him. He''s so calm. Like he just crawled out of someone''s shadow, a shadow no one cares about. Mingli didn''t avert his focused gaze from the man, barely registering the unnatural configuration of nerve endings near which he was preparing to release neutralizing capsules. Hopefully, he wouldn''t do something reckless right now.


    �� Damn centipede! �� A man of strong build immediately stood up and slammed the table with all his might, channeling his accumulated anger from the past weeks toward his combat comrade. �� Nobody invited you here, so this is strictly her business! You''ve been whining and ruining my appetite every damn day! You reek of nitpicking from a mile away! None of us are to blame for your low-minded miserable state, you pathetic bunch of freaks!


    �� SHUT UP!!


    A strike. A vicious blow that tore apart a massive human torso among the twisted, stretched tissues, spilling organs in a bloody waterfall, around which stood two-meter-long transforming humanoid appendages resembling the inner structure of a centipede''s body. The insect-like man''s head was twisted between trembling vertebrae, while one of his unnaturally separated body parts with raised, sharp legs pierced through the left side of the skull and chest cavity, from which predatory carbonite blades barely seeped through. Every person present in the room froze, almost silent, except for the faint buzzing of kitchen appliances in the distance.


    �� Mukada. Do you realize what you''ve just done? �� Mingli stepped forward, as all the soldiers who had been seated nearby the insect-like man slowly moved back to a safe distance, barely maintaining their composure.


    �� What... What is she fighting for? For the madness that you all fear? For the terror that warps millions of minds? Why does my sister have to suffer because of you humans? What did she do to you? What... What are you torturing her for...


    The soldier''s body occasionally twitched, releasing fading remnants of life through his half-open jaw. Between the raised spine, held in the death grip of the light-colored claws of the maddened insect, liquid bloody drafts trickled down through the dark intercostal twists of the bodily cave. His stomach, carelessly torn open with its liver, splashed loudly onto the suddenly revealed golden device, whose boundless components scattered in stages around them, picking up every drop of blood, transferring fluids, and broken tissues, whose complex biological materials had decomposed into an initial, but now less stable, artificial state, among the desperately clinging, bloody organic substance, spilling into a dark, yellowing lake toward the nearby chairs and stools. One of the random guards didn''t manage to react to such a sudden assassination attempt on the life of this man, whose body he was trying to restore to its necessary vital functions and for whose life he was fighting.


    �� Please, don''t do this, you should be smarter than this man. Isn''t that right? Your sister is alive, we haven''t lost the signal from her. You just have to be patient. �� The guard spoke as behind him, a squad of prepared doctors and surgeons cautiously crept forward. He noticed how Mukada''s saddened gaze slowly lowered and moved forward, as though signaling that he had heard him. �� You''ll let him go when I say, okay?


    Everyone looked at him, but unfortunately, they probably never would understand. Or maybe the heart-shattering fear and the first loss he''d ever felt wouldn''t let him believe in their sincere intentions. They... Among them were so many degenerates, using the atmosphere nature provided for their own, offensively selfish purposes. He would never have chosen this life for his family. Had he had a choice, he would never have been this part of a randomly revived existence. To embrace. To embrace them all as tightly as possible and create an unshakable ancestral nest where there would never be pain or hunger. His mind, the receptor shells of consciousness, burned with screams around the cortex of his brain, rejoicing in the loss. The sudden emptiness pierced through his interdimensional active channels of his cerebellum when the intangible thread of his kin suddenly snapped that day. Why? Why now? Had he realized too late? A worthless evolutionary step, for this meaningless moment. Lips, hands, eyes. Everything trembled along with every particle of him, and he spread his bloody, jawed body.


    A figure of a man collapsed to his knees in convulsions, from whose mouth black masses of warm vomit spilled once again, spreading along his hands pressing against the surface. One of his reddened eyes blinked rapidly at the blurred amalgamation of the room, which resembled a more spacious, sprawling service corridor. He ran, not knowing where or for what. Each floor changed to another, providing unfamiliar, quiet passages. In the next hallway, it was very bright and wet due to the thick patches of blood visible everywhere. His weary silhouette was suddenly blocked by Mukadu, who had approached from a stairwell, frozen in place before him with a heart emptied of emotion.


    �� What happened to you? �� the pale man spoke first, perhaps wishing to understand or learn more about the transgression of this being.


    �� Me? �� he lowered a trembling gaze filled with fear and ambiguous hatred, not knowing what to do next. �� I... I lost contact with her... For the second day, my consciousness has lost connection with the only family member I have. I don''t know what''s happening to her... She couldn''t have died, she should''ve returned yesterday.


    �� Did she leave without you? �� the man cautiously interrupted his story, trying to better see his face.


    �� We were supposed to be safe here. But at the last moment, they grabbed my sister... It was for nothing. All of this was for nothing. �� His voice trembled along with the steam escaping from his mouth, altering the segmented body shell. �� I have to find her... For sure. At least her body. Her body! Her hands! Her head!


    Two Daugmos silently crept between one of the moving walls, preparing to join in capturing the target. �� "This anthropoid class doesn''t have the brain-like shell of other beings. We can''t infiltrate its reproducing hybrid organ, can''t take control of the body." �� one of the operatives grumbled. �� "I already realized this, the first guard will arrive in fifteen seconds, fyf."


    �� Why did you kill that person? �� the pale man muttered hesitantly, rubbing his slightly illuminated red-glowing left eye, which kept itching.


    �� The person... David. �� it seemed he remembered his name. �� Just a beating for his critical statements and self-satisfaction. Anyone other than me would''ve killed him in the end.


    �� I''m not sure. Killing a soldier with a meaningless suffering ego won''t lead to any changes. Another inevitable, purposeless death... �� he spoke slowly, stumbling as if trying to instantly learn how to talk to a being who seemed to need support. �� Will they catch you?


    �� Right, they''ll catch me. But otherwise, I won''t be able to... But I... But... I...


    Why speak to this man? To their hopelessly cruel descendant, who has gathered their lives across the world for generations, building them into a theatrical dome of collected life. He should''ve taken the initiative, led his sister to a place where no human foot or anyone else''s had ever stepped. Even though he hadn''t known or seen these places for a long time, he could have tried to imagine them, even if they were beyond his sight. This was his last chance to fix everything! He had to break through one last time and find her!


    A mighty blow struck his body. The man nearly lost consciousness, carefully placing his hand on the shoulder of the "insect," which immediately twisted in horrifyingly lightning-fast bodily slashes, breaking part of a mechanical furniture structure some distance away. The sharp, elongated limbs of his disassembled body swiftly shattered the side edges of the modified tile, as if it had been expertly carved into a crooked, ground hypotenuse. The rectangular, tantalum-spiked consistency spun around the rapidly accelerating inertia of the insect''s contorted body movements, loudly piercing the slightly retreating human torso and slamming sharply with a screeching end into the expanded surface, along which the pierced human body was thrown back toward a sturdy wall that accepted the impact...


    The pale man''s eyes nearly popped out from the pressure of excruciating pain, during which dozens of crooked and chaotically sharpened twists pierced, pushed aside, and unceremoniously gouged his organs, never letting go of his body in their iron-tight embrace. His torn lungs and trachea gradually filled with bloodied streaks and dark masses, rising toward his mouth. His jaw resembled a kind of bloody fountain, from which suffocating, painful groans could be heard. His vision dimmed and distorted with blurry yellow flowers, but the annoyingly itching consciousness remained intact. The hideous, blind scream was drowned out by the liquid black ground, his limbs twitching uncontrollably as he tried desperately to move his fingers, sliding down the defiled parchment. All thoughts were obliterated by pain. All images and voices were transformed by pain, annihilating every spiritual fragment into boundless madness, which once again took form, contradicted in his powerless gaze, in the panic-stricken, blurred visions of his pupils, stretched in the savage snarl of his lips. Pain, it was shameless and ever greater with every approaching wave of flesh. Only pain. The limitless sensation, devouring the trembling brain alive. A sensation that defied size, thoughts, and emotions.


    ***


    Softly. Very softly around. Around the fingers he inadvertently clenched, feeling the gentle touch of a thin arsenic blanket, wrapped around his suddenly well-groomed heels and sensitive toes. Is this a blanket? Can it really be so pleasant, so soft? Just like clouds, to which he had never touched? Not sure of the name, the word of this branching thing. He clenched his fingers again, uncertainly bending his knees and pulling the blanket higher over his chest. Very warm. In the dimly lit yellow room, the monitors softly illuminated the surrounding, scanning his rhythmic arterial movements and many other incomprehensible images and processes for his mind.


    �� Oh, you''re awake already? �� whispered the nurse in front of the patient with surprised eyes. Her short hair was yellow like September leaves on trees, and her eyes were bright emerald. Her attire resembled a pajama, hiding someone''s tail underneath. �� Lie down and don''t get up, please. You need to rest after...


    �� After coming back from the dead, you fool! Everywhere you go, you end up in nothing but trouble! �� the room was suddenly filled by Kurouba with two familiar faces. Still, he didn''t want to scold this person too much, because if he remembered, he himself was a bit problematic during his first days in Tu��, or even worse.


    �� Oh, please allow me. �� The nurse politely bowed to everyone and left the room, sensing a serious conversation ahead.


    Three diverse guards took their places in the chairs, gathering around the only bed in the room. Kurouba sat to the right, barely opening his mouth. An angel with... a small, trained, wiry woman sat to the left, meticulously studying the pale-faced man, passing a package of sweet-smelling nuts in a red wrapper to each other. There were no windows, but there were gray blinds and light brown curtains with tall cabinets and tables.


    �� Who the hell are you, really? �� Kurouba asked the man, licking his lips and pleadingly crossing both hands toward the package in his companions'' hands, which Mingli refused by turning his head. �� And how did you end up in this place unnoticed? Huh? Come on, say something, don''t leave me hanging, they''ll skin me alive. And Mingli can do that with just a look... You should''ve been in the hospital, undergoing some examination. Instead, you''re demonstrating advanced resurrection miracles.


    �� I don''t know... My... head keeps hurting. I''m not sure what''s happening right now...


    �� Shut up, Kurouba. �� Mingli glared displeasedly when Kurouba spoke too much, handing the pale man a deep cup of hot medicinal drink. �� Alright, newcomer. You''ll go with him to the hospital and monitor every step he takes. The Guard should start their investigation.


    �� "Is he too suspicious?" �� Di''Vora mentally connected to her partner''s stream.


    �� "Specialists have been watching his subconscious for the second day now, and this guy looks completely lost. He poses no threat. Let him finally take care of himself. It''s no longer our concern." �� Mingli refrained from a lengthy reply. �� "I forgot to warn you, sorry" ...When you gather your strength, go straight to the hospital and fill out all the forms, alright? Later they''ll explain everything to you and help you with your memory recovery. And be careful, even with this fool." �� he politely addressed the pale man, leaving the journal beside him and heading out the door.


    Kurouba suddenly crowded next to his colleagues at the empty corridor.


    �� Hey! What exactly does "he came back to life" mean? Like a zombie?


    �� We can''t call it resurrection, Kurouba. That''s even theoretically impossible. As long as the brain hasn''t started decomposing, it can be revived... The unnamed person''s injuries were incompatible with life, but somehow his regenerative abilities revived every destroyed molecule down to the cellular nucleus. It''s like he got put through a meat grinder.


    �� How is that possible?


    �� I''m not sure. There''s one theory where he could have kept an organic brain stem sample somewhere. Maybe he sealed it before death, and when the body was restored through its inherent transmutation, the copy uncontrollably returned to the body? Something like a replacement. I''ve never heard of anything like this, and what I''m proposing now is a spontaneous theory.


    �� You think he''s some kind of skilled sorcerer?


    �� I don''t have any more ideas. No being is capable of such rapid cellular regeneration. And his brain was definitely dead. Upon autopsy, it was still 85% rotted, as if it had been lying there for weeks.


    �� This is some bullshit.


    �� The whole headquarters isn''t sure about their assumptions yet, but they''ve accumulated enough over the past couple of hours, �� Mingli remained brief, joining the conversation. �� They literally just pulled him from the morgue when one of the corpses suddenly showed ischemia.


    �� Got it... Di''Vora said he was screaming, back in the morgue. �� Kurouba looked at the short woman across from him.


    �� Yes, he screamed loudly in pain when he regained consciousness while his exposed wounds were slowly healing on his chest. �� she replied thoughtfully, suddenly jumping up and snatching the last coconut cookie from Mingli''s lips, filling her right cheek in one go.


    �� Stop doing that all the time, everyone in the cafeteria''s already shipping us after last week. I don''t want to live through the same pseudo-married day again, this time in a military hospital.


    �� Hah? You''re the one to blame for that, don''t drag me around the stores every Tuesday and rejecting all the girls who confess to you every day. �� Di''Vora retorted indignantly.


    �� But I can''t refuse going shopping with you. You don''t hang out with other women, to put it mildly. And no one else sympathizes with my taste. As for the other sweet ladies, I turn them down because I''m not interested in serious relationships or their attempts to drag me into their sexual adventures. �� Mingli replied nonchalantly.


    The pair walked at a steady pace down the corridor, continuing their fiery discussion of the sudden internal conflict.


    �� Hmm. �� the young man muttered to himself as he returned to the room, where the pale-faced man suddenly appeared beside him. �� Dam#@%%\\:!!!

 Chapter 2/1. Fulgaration of Flesh, Coagulation of Verity

    They stopped around a modest street bridge, barely rising above the road overpass, between the gloomy and lonely walls of houses where an ancient, though worn and time-beaten wooden kiosk was lost, where a couple of slightly tipsy artisans prepared the best kanzopu in the entire district, into which this elderly couple poured all their soul and an unforgettable secret recipe, whose secret had long been known only to their incredibly rare visitors. But this place did not become any less mysterious or enigmatic. The human-like powerful hand of an anthropomorphic serpent lightly tore off a poster from the wall, suspiciously eaten by decay. Strange that no one ever cleans here, or did he not know something about this street? Around several boundless, crumbling clouds of brown rust, the delicate and refined silhouette of a singer, who had passed away in the last century in serene old age, was depicted. She had seven months left to live before the turn of the millennium. Her race''s pale skin and long straight hair reached her neat waist. Her modest smile was unintentionally directed at his curious eyes, inviting him to her final concert.


    �� Hana Dendu... It was her songs I listened to yesterday. �� replied Dodo, catching the growing smell of cooking liver, milk dough, and a bit of sharp spices from the hot stove a few meters away.


    �� Hm? You went from symphonic rock to romantic ballads? How do they all manage to switch so abruptly between different musical climates, though? �� sighed the woman with a peculiar headgear, resembling a huge and rather heavy chandelier, which she wore as if it were a regular hat, around which she added color to her mysterious theatrical play. �� I never understood it... My mother Golitia always listens to her voice when she rests in the garden or sews a new dress in solitude. And my grandmother Sakta listens to her with my great-grandmother on holidays. Now I feel that this is becoming a part of the women''s section of our unconventional family traditions, though I haven''t inherited it yet... Haven''t gotten around to it.


    �� Her lyrics feel so foreign and alien to me, but for some reason, I sympathize with her. �� the serpent muttered softly, suddenly glancing sharply at the source of a strange noise, his mind filled with a new kind of astonishment.


    �� Yes, her songs often feel like stories, sometimes even from her own life. If you listen closely to her words, you begin to notice the difference between that moment in which you distinguish yourself, your lifestyle, your ideas, your mood, and the one sitting in front of you. The one whose thoughts and their completely foreign intent you see for the first time... Hm. I think I''m quoting my mother and grandmother again. �� the woman smiled deftly, lightly tinkling the endless spectrum of ceremonial decorations around her grand, earth-embracing dress, whose posthumous black soles rose up to white calligraphic mountains, temples, and rural settlements, hiding hundreds of faces and sounds that harmoniously narrated the hand-embroidered story of her ancient lineage.


    The serpent''s predatory pupils took on a spreading chromatin color, which, along with the other organs of his skull and abdomen, reflected against the distorted mirror barrier made of annihilating cofoon particles gathered over his collarbones. His consciousness saw before him the silhouette of a small child, probably seven years old, sitting around cool, damp earth. �� "Do you see?" �� he mentally addressed the nearest patrol unit, also transmitting what was happening to the higher general staff. The knight''s mind calmly controlled the intangible, limitless generation of the space he had set, carefully inspecting the biological entity, all its unearthly codes and directions of liquids, each myocyte, and millimeter of every following molecule, which appeared before his perception in the chaotic planes of the forming dimension, where the skyscrapers reaching the heavens twisted in a long, unceasing �� division���� ��ii the outwardly turned boulevard, where migrating silhouettes of residents rolled in the united coffee stain into the thick descent of madness and Meola, she FORGOT her wallet., moving teapot., the need for wonder. I taught, multiply..t... don''t forget. Serial plastic ., I''ll hug you. yes, that''s why so much kefir was poured into him. ?����Degeneration? loss of conversation. Give me your hand. secretion. Word. Hug my spleen. Please stop, please!!-! The enormous dress, built from royal skyscrapers. It''s a celebration! This night! It happens only once a year.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    She was asking something from the dolls, looking timidly at the guard in front of her. His queen. It couldn''t be her. It''s just a child, very small and mentally retarded. This creation is no older than seven, right?, geo. de-o., impossibility-��... How could her tiny body bear so much weight inside these giant armors, her festive dress, it was all sewn from them, from impossibly heavy alloys, yet her barely visible hands gently picked up one of the soft toys. �� M-mmm? I don''t know... Nothing makes sense. �� the child''s voice murmured indistinctly in response to a question from one of the toys. The serpent happily looked around, no, he screamed from the sensation around his skull, . rest. but he didn''t want to approach those high doors, he would spit in his face and leave. �� What are you doing!? �� Dodo replied to his companion, who was sweetly dozing under a thick warm blanket on the wet, hard ground with a wide puddle of rain dew behind her, sweetly stretching her shoulders and burying her rumpled little blanket tails against her cheeks. The lamp lit up across from her, tall. Is it already night? MY SLEEPING CHAMBER! I hugged her body, which wasn''t inside, the blanket was as thin as a sheet of turquoise paper with delicate outlines of crumpled lines of the sheet. No, the sun is here! Everywhere it''s warm and bright like yesterday. Hands landed on his broad chest. Ah!" Parts of the bodily layer flowed out with part of the ventricles? Don''t STOP, you''re next! He nodded, looking around once more at the filled Olympic stands, where billions of WHY, . the spectators were waiting for the burning spring sensation. orange. baked Why, no, it''s gone. He lifted the stapler, stuck to the magazine with thick yellow goo from his palm? He''s in the office, what a mess. Why is the blanket moving again!? Couldn''t reach the door, everything is ruined! The line is crumpled again!!! but the friends had timely stuffed his mouth with spaghetti based on strawberry sauce, but what about the borscht with the gallant duck?, and the mushroom sauce, . barley layer with apple and honey. Shrimp, ... Darkness. The endless inseparable wave became an intangible tangible cocoon. Beating, gently, tenderly, a light strike. Mascara under her eyes, did she give it to you? Who am I, and who are you? Next wave.

 Chapter 2/2. Auto-da-fé for the Righteous

    Consciousness gradually returned as her eyelids lifted, their once pale hue now tinged with yellow, under the chaotic light of countless lamps and incomprehensible sources adorned with colorful light palettes. Her body, notably chilled, was cooling down. The cold ruthlessly pricked her virgin, unbruised organs, and the damp atmosphere seemed to leave a trail of increasing anxiety within her mind. It was so cold that she couldn''t even summon the strength to bend her fragile, pale finger with the thin fresh cut that her mother had kissed and then carefully healed. Mother, where is she? Why is it so cold and sad, already a bit scary? Why does it hurt so much? - "Agh... I''m sorry, but I can''t bear it anymore. This taste, its phantasmagoric image bursts into my dreams, mocking my thoughts that torment my imagination. Do creatures like you even dream? If something could fulfill any of my wishes, I would want to know the answer to this question." - The small creature''s eyes, still dazed, focused upwards at the source of the male voice, surrounded by the monstrous pressure of bright light sources. Her chubby lips remained helplessly pressed together under the unknown pressure of the cold, and the velvet muscles of her doll-like face began to distort with innocent fear, mimicking a cry, though her biological makeup did not allow her to shed tears unless she had already been exposed to moisture.


    �� "I... see a treasure... and the story cries, the story flies," the man softly hummed a strange little tune, slowly and somewhat clumsily rolling the velvet doll-like body with a wooden rolling pin, crushing the arms, legs, and head that had cooled for too long on the frost shelf.


    Her eyes slightly rose to the quietly groaning face of the creature, contemplating the likely amount of bodily pain she was enduring, and for some reason, it stopped at the lowest number on the entire scale. The man continued. Into the empty cavity of the drained body, whose organic essence resembled thick doughy masses, he carefully placed the fresh curd made from milk. His fingers neatly sealed the edges of the dough, creating not-too-thick connections.


    The water in the pot was just beginning to boil on the other side of the trembling room, which resembled more of a guest corridor where someone had forgotten a pair of shoes and hastily rolled up a scarf. He lightly greased his hands with vegetable oil and carried the last dumpling to join the rest. Above the pot, with the bubbling water, a sturdy gauze was perched, around which the man leisurely arranged yet-to-be-edible dumplings, about 60 millimeters in size, spaced 6 centimeters apart. A wide lid covered the pot, soon containing the accumulating steam around the dumplings over medium heat.


    Becoming somewhat like white pies, they were carefully laid out one by one on a long towel, gathering the accumulated moisture and temperature steam, while the man pondered whether to sprinkle them with a few grains of sugar, as was done for him in his childhood.


    He settled into a deep chair around a curved desk, placing a plate with relatively warm pieces of the meal before him. His gaze rose to the skylight opposite, through the open window. The moving clouds on the cosmic black parchment spread like milky lakes after several bright orange stars flared up around the house, which often happened after midnight, oddly. A little cold seeped through the forgotten fishing nets along with faded luggage. Among the long and swaying branches of the hunched trees, barely crossing the threshold of the lit window, glimpses of dark blue sky fragments could be seen, beyond whose intangible black membrane rose, from nowhere, violet thundercloud-covered mountains. It seemed the TV on the second floor had been turned on again, as the familiar voice of the announcer echoed with his deranged news, none of which made sense to him. It seemed the rain was beginning. On this island, he was almost entirely alone, except for the odd, unwell-headed fairy who kept stealing food from his store, accumulated through hard work. He wished she would leave him alone for just one evening.


    Sketches of some pictures distorted on the walls, and his fingers brought the edge of a dumpling to his lips, feeling the first wave of emotional euphoria, allowing him to savor the taste of an eternally captured, unique life, whose soft doughy bubbles literally melted on his tongue, coating it with pure saliva. His teeth gently chewed every bit of silky dough, swallowing with a heartbeat that trembled between his ribs, feeling her gentle, finely-chewed biomatter passing into his stomach, sensing his own unique happiness, and separately sending his love to the creation that had bestowed these unforgettable, fairytale-like touches upon his soul at the very center of aesthetic and physical intertwining.


    Cruel artist, the hidden perfectionist of intellectual art. Her winged, round-faced, cracked glass-like features stopped their hurried movements on the nearby, teetering shelf, hiding her rosy, muscle-exposed face among the dense, red-creatine hair, distorted by an unknown illness.


    �� Sometimes it seems to me that I am one of the Titans. So insane, so ugly, and eternal. I really am not like the others, completely different...


    �� You transform emotions into thoughts, and thoughts into words and consequences with your body. And you are a prisoner of that body, whose digestive food casing I can see from here, the man emphasized the developed protein masses around the exposed muscles of the small fairy''s low body, noting how her stomach digested the insect she had recently caught. �� And so it goes day after day. I don''t want to offend your nature, but you are just a common fairy suffering from the ''Gi-Modis'' disease, and I hope one day you will leave my den.


    �� Ugh... I''ve been hunting all day for the missing change, terribly tired after these 24 hours. Will you lend me one? Please. �� Ignoring the uninteresting conversation, she curiously began to indulge in the appetizing-looking white dumplings.


    She smiled sweetly with her chipped, reddened lips, hoping to enjoy the curious dish that the man reluctantly shared, breaking one of the dumplings in half.


    �� Ah... It''s simply impossible to get your fill of bugs and larvae alone in these parts, I would have died long ago with this starving man, if it weren''t for you. �� the fairy winked tiredly, and ignoring the uninteresting conversation, she began to feast with a fantastic appetite, looking at my white pies with curiosity. �� Ooo, it looks warm and delicious. Will you share with me, please?


    The human''s eyes looked at her strangely, with such an embittered disdain, from which the artist already wanted to run away. But a human hand suddenly grabbed her body, hatred crushing all the bones and bodies that were bringing her severe pre-mortal suffering. The fairy barely became visible to her former self, opening her jaw wide and spewing powerful periodic cries, causing food to the dying insect, which usually eat larger predators alive, for example, the same "defixes". The head burst under the onslaught of massive human force, spraying blood all around. The legs and body around the mangled, crushed torso stopped twitching in convulsions, soon landing on the floor, where a motionless tiny mosaic instantly gathered. They were not greedy among themselves, each tore something from her body with their minimal force: a piece of skin, an eyeball, they gnawed at muscles to get closer to the corresponding organs, genitals, and the hip fragments of relatively small bones will also come in handy, under their crust the main nutrient is also preserved. They will leave nothing here at the mercy of senseless decay, here everything will come in handy for the survival of their powerful colony, for the sake of all their DNA testing.


    ***


    Hibari by the campfire, Hanukkah. Oh, that troublesome girl, because of her now I''m hooked on openings and those silly animated adventures with beautiful girls, whose self-sufficient character of Mayakovsky is ruthlessly beaten by his depraved thoughts over and over again. A somersault, a polite bow before the long-eared princess. Hundreds of thousands of faces were fixed on his silhouette, and that meant it was time to begin. The concert was a hit, with a huge audience ready for the performance. The first Divian was diligently casting spells over the drums, while the second had nestled among the acoustic devices. The third Divian tightly gripped the electric guitar, slowly charging the place with dark mystical energy. A fleeting glance was cast over the endless crowds of witnesses, starting to beg for sincere tears from each of them or surrender to frantic flight:


    "Hey, run as fast as you can,


    Today we''re waiting for endless concepts of death!


    While your life is an ancient foundation uprooted from the earth,


    I''ve prepared this crazy brew for you!


    Endless waves of geopolitical myths �� will gladly drag away hundreds of lost faces,


    Among which I saw your banal whim, and prepared this disgusting surprise!


    Your thoughts are like the movements of high-spirited birds,


    Which will be devoured by the hearts of eloquent borders �� this is Papa, the Duma, and hundreds of thousands of pages!


    Their fibrous hands are capable of forever depriving us of peaceful lives, and for this, only one domineering soul is needed �� deciding to become the principle of democratic lies!


    My natural rage is nothing more than a way to smash your skull, and prove to all people what I am so sure of,


    And I will not submit to your pitiful social paths, I will tear the ideologies of immortal borders forever!


    Musical accompaniment has taken on anxious tones of a darkened atmosphere, in which there was no salvation to be seen. His voice transformed, showing despair in their images, which have the right to reject his freedom.


    Once their icons are drenched in light and darkness,


    They will never forget who awakened their bleeding hearts.


    Once their well-fed bodies are cloaked in youthful, drunken white orgasm��our dreams will shatter against their intimate rights, and there are so many of them, which means,


    There will be no end to the absurdity.


    A�ѧѧѧѧѧ�hhh... she is red and sad, and only one dream above her serenely aching delusion,


    A�ѧѧѧѧѧѧ�hhh... she, not knowing how to die madly, in the arms of a serenely stormy life.


    And here she is, decorated with vile flattery �� an agnostic creature.


    And her poor Lancer, her righteous ace up the sleeve �� to forever escape from here!


    The first and second Divian began to give their instruments a characteristic rough genre, ignited in their last moments.


    Fight, oppose, tear the limits enriched with vocabulary!


    Rise, look, and finally see my disgusting thoughts!


    Jump, die �� and in your truth, appear before my eyes!


    No one will see your desires now, and only the smell of death has grown much stronger!


    Move, dance just like I do �� dance and go insane for me!


    Move, dance just like I do �� and let''s go insane together in this dance right now!


    Move, dance just like I do �� for soon, we will die forever together!"


    The last note was cut off, and Divian tossed the playlist aside, barely realizing the bizarre nonsense he had just sung.


    �� Oh, you''re already here, that''s good. Um... It''s fortunate we didn''t have to search for you ourselves and then drag you here by force. �� Out of all the present, he fixed his gaze on the three guards.


    The first guard was short, maintaining a confident, noble posture. Golden glimmers of armor blended with the scales of a dozen battered dark bricks. Rising yellow waves twisted with sharpened blades and weapons behind a petrified velvet cloak. Long, straight hair, in the shape of indestructible, sharp black poles, hid within its thin, piercing gaps a cold-blooded gaze from dark green poisonous worms around tiny red pupils. She feared neither him nor his mighty gang, remaining ready either for battle or to protect the civilians gathered around the square. The sturdy cracks of the yellowish mechanical skeleton, belonging to a thin, anxious guard, quietly crept, hiding behind his comrades'' backs within a frame of rigid protective armor, from which curious little eyes peered. The third guard, with a single bold step, crossed a previously unattainable boundary, glancing fearfully ahead.


    �� Carlos. Do you consider yourself a professional? Capable of giving your thoughts orders in absolutely any, appropriate critical situation? �� The tall man bent a few fingers on his palm, suggesting the guard focus on their conversation since it was him who had first moved toward him. What a stubborn ram.


    �� Why did you call the three of us here? �� The guard''s elongated and shaggy jaw protruded from the protective layers of his compacted armor.


    �� Selfish bastard, �� the man muttered under his breath, but then looked intently at Carlos. �� Listen, you bastard! �� Divian''s face twisted in anger, disliking his willful nature. �� I''m asking you a question, and in response, you''re pretending not to realize that I created this incredibly boring and completely unnecessary gathering because of Leshphud''s death, to which you three are indirectly, but still, involved.


    �� You''re wrong, I have no idea...


    �� Enough, enough! Shut up, �� Divian half-heartedly clenched his fists, struggling to resist the urge to smash the guard''s head just a few meters away. �� Stamina, bring her here already and return her to that idiot. �� A tall, slender, white creature immediately led a young, confused woman to Divian, who obediently followed orders, collapsing to her knees, trembling from fear and pain under her abdomen.


    The girl turned out to be a charming light-haired elf, whose thick green locks were soaked with endless cursed tears, heavy and sweet, striking against an artificially seeded child, now growing in her advanced eight-month pregnancy.


    �� Lifya! �� Carlos immediately activated his engines, preparing for a quick leap towards his beloved. His massive steel boots suddenly halted along the ruined eleven-meter line of burning asphalt, with shattered debris bouncing off them. He risks it. What if he gets killed for making such an impulsive move? But behind him stand the mighty crowds of guards and allies, he won''t dare kill a civilian in front of everyone... Again. Right?


    Many of those present recognized this poor soul, casting only sympathetic glances at her shadow. Princess Lifea, the purest and most beautiful soul from her noble lineage, who had overcome the most difficult journey between three warring islands. A ray of aesthetic hope for a bright future, in which she was the first to conceive an illegitimate heir to their mighty, magnificent family. A child �C the fruit of immortal sin and mad love between two completely different hearts, destinies, and beings. A child, who was ruthlessly torn from her mother''s womb, replaced by a foreign seed... Her face, dropped to the ground, trembled in horror, along with her entire body, covered in a torn tunic. Hatred and shame. Her soul screamed into the void, fingers tightening around the needle. Desires clashed with doubts, and her life had been spent in vain... So many endless days, months, and years. She, once a young princess, had dreamed that one day she would fulfill her wish, bring to life so many beautiful desires of others. She would find her peace, her unshakable spiritual support, and boundless love. But now she was stolen and humiliated before the eyes of the world, her insect-like form reduced to a pitiful mess, deprived of everything she had achieved, deserved, and managed to create in the span of two days.


    He watched. Imagining new ways of how she could have been safely abducted, considering the presence of numerous psychics, telepaths, and other mutants guarding Divian and his grotesque spectacle. Anger. It was impossible, he had no chance of giving a worthy reply, of protecting her. They would tear him apart, shoot him, blow him up, or teleport him into the stomach of tiny Pacific piranhas. And he would never be able to do anything. No! He had to wait for the right moment. He wasn''t alone.


    Every person present was afraid. Anything could happen at any moment. No one dared to run, to move, or even to glance at any of these psychopaths, ready to engage in battle with any number of guards to create a bloody massacre. Mothers and someone''s children. Schoolchildren, students, teachers, and animals. Trees, birds, voices of creatures crawling past their feet.


    Human footsteps approached the noisiest part of the border, forming a bright crowd of guards, eyewitnesses, and other enthusiasts who seemed to think that such loud and lively movements were just fun for these young troublemakers. Worn sneakers, battered by several rough encounters and life, squelched in the next large puddle, diving under the wide folds of long-unwashed jeans. She cautiously extended her hand before the next group of guards and special unit officers. �� Please, stay where you are. Otherwise, someone might get hurt... �� Everyone stared at the suspicious person in the mask in front of them. Some were scared, others quickly scattered to the sides as if a fiery whirlwind were approaching, preceded by a meteor shower, with only one bastard who would surely cut, shame, or rape someone just for the hell of it. And this terror was immediately sensed in the person who had silently slipped out of Divian''s camp with such an impudent demand. How dare this mentally ill scum come so close to them? Who could this person even be? The wooden mask with an inner lining tightly pressed against her face and partially against the soft cheeks of the girl. Between the thick, scratched bridge of her nose, formed from processed pods, wide, oval, oily slashes appeared, revealing a suspicious, impenetrable darkness, even in daylight. No eyes, no skin. Nothing but endless night, over which thick red curls swayed. On her stiff white temples, multicolored beads clung to the mask, three on each side, lining up behind the black, eyed slits like insects crawling into their hiding holes. An invisible green snake, sensing the potential danger, slithered under the collar of her coat.


    Suddenly, a wide-angled bottle soared above the crowd, shattering loudly against the masked girl''s head. Another moment, and they would decide to set her on fire. Stumbling, she touched her hand to the soiled mask, feeling the sticky moisture and the stench of the alcohol that she had never tried in her life. She was eight years old then. Her parents had allowed her to try a few drops of vodka on New Year''s Eve, after which she grimaced and spent several minutes rinsing her mouth with currant compote. Since then, she swore she would never again touch the most disgusting drinks in the world.


    �� WHO THREW THIS BOTTLE!? IMMEDIATELY CONFESS!!


    The fierce pounding of hooves on the ground managed to scatter some of the onlookers, like a rabid coyote that had found its long-awaited herd of sheep. A giant, three-meter monster loomed over the crowd. This was how it was known to all. But for her foul gang, she responded to the name Sasori. The feminine form that mutated around her maroon, rough exoskeleton was a fixed and insatiable fury aimed at potential adversaries. A massive protrusion rose from the twenty-first and twenty-sixth vertebrae, almost resembling the tail of a giant scorpion, composed of a crazy number of chimera muscles, edge exoskeletons, and mutagenic spines, cutting through the conglomerate of infinite nerve endings and forming an array of sharp, wildly deformed blades, like the giant maw of some strange beast.


    �� "Sa-Sasori, calm down!"


    �� "I''LL TEAR THEM ALL APART!!" �� the powerful yet grotesque sharp body of Sasori took a combat stance, her enraged face and animalistic growl attempting to intimidate the two guards standing nearby, as she prepared to extract the name of the wretch who dared cross her.


    �� "Stop!" �� The masked woman blocked her path with outstretched arms that barely peeked out from under the wide fur collar of her long coat. �� "Please listen to me," she turned back to the crowd. "Don''t try to arrest him, kidnap him, or kill him. It won''t work. This place is surrounded by superhumans. They will all leave soon, and it will be over."


    �� "Get out of here, you bitch!"


    �� "Piece of shit!" �� One of the guards, flustered, slapped her with a broad mechanical blow, forcing her to step back.


    �� "You won''t scare us, you fucking maniacs! You belong in the belly of Gyrli!"


    �� "Listen here, you red-haired bitch?! You''re dead! Watch your back tonight, monster!"


    �� "Hey, girl," a woman squeezed between the increasingly enraged faces. In her lovely black claws, she cradled a tiny garden filled with young creatures, happily munching on vibrant flowers. �� "I once saw what you''re capable of. Back then, on the Saitama pier: near my house, several compressors exploded, and you reversed time. My little ones almost died. You even fixed the machine. �� The woman shed a sorrowful tear. �� "Your talent could end all this madness, stop them all, but you obey his will. Why do you do this? Please, tell me."


    �� "I!" �� The girl shook her head, holding her massive friend behind her. �� "I have no choice... I''m so sorry..."


    The massive demo-mechanism connected to the ground with four limbs interlaced with damaged wires, attaching to the worn-out body of the machine. The body of the elderly gentleman resembled a melted aluminum jug after dozens of failed attempts, and in his gesticulating human hands, he held a large laboratory flask, labeled "Child."


    �� "No, Carlos. You''re not an idiot. You''re a big idiot!" �� Divian chimed in, ordering the guards to return his rightful princess, in polite company.


    A small, precisely cut scar on the rounded belly of Lifea. This strange flask, held by mechanical monstrosities, was passed from one space to another. Their child, violently torn from his mother''s heart.


    �� "Return him!!" �� The energy turbines behind his enormous back sparked in all directions, his body accelerating as his hands grabbed discarded trash, metal scraps, and a broken two-meter pole, gathering their natural structures to build power for a sudden, deceitful attack, hidden among dozens of forming blades, gunshots, and false movements. Their molecules transformed into wide protrusions, streaking across the crumbling road and the oscillations in the air.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    �� Period! �� His right leg twisted one hundred and sixty degrees��frozen. The sharp limbs, the shots around his fingers��frozen. His golden endoskeleton, endlessly accumulating armor parts, froze, suddenly cloaked in a dark blue shimmering blanket, visible only to her eyes. The invisible gaze, hiding secrets behind that broken white mask. Hands emerged from under the thick mountain coat, stirring the dense, marshmallow-like air between her slender fingers, bending and dancing in a complex, unnatural dance. First, the right elbow moved forward, striking the back of her hand against imagined space, which she always envisioned as a whole organism: In the form of atmospheric pressure, carbon dioxide, thoughts, countless layers of sound, and molecules. An organ visible only to her tortured mind. Then, the left elbow, tense raised fingers seemingly mimicking flames, which each time died against an unseen, soundproof barrier. Period chose another temporal fork along which the warrior''s armor moved and existed. The balancing golden vessel slowly detached from Carlos''s brain, draining blue dust from the cerebellum and the elongated asthenic, fibroid, and mesiotypic regions of the vibrating dark brain organ. Time rapidly rolled back, harshly hitting the crowd of onlookers, and soon returned the armor to its original place, intended for the most distant living surface base, specifically the thermal and chemical damage processing workshop for worker tools.


    The unexpected and complete loss of blue dust, which had been closely fused with his body for years, caused Carlos to collapse onto one knee, gasping for air, noticing his field uniform still on his body.


    The red-haired mistress of time froze in front of the warrior, not daring to make contact with the raging mountain of muscles and ambition, surely wishing to kill anyone who dared to cross its risky path. The left elbow moved left and up, touching �� thermometer columns once again showed +20 degrees, and a sharp slap landed on his messy face from the humiliated and abandoned lady, who flew across the square and onto a low sports car that sped to the starting point, forcefully pressing its rear carbon spoiler into Carlos''s massive body, crashing into the rear window and rolling over the roof. And that bird once again covered the distance between two small billboard rooftops, then stopped on a bare wire, thoughtfully scratching its eye socket. Was that just an illusion?


    Before the defeated Carlos stood the vision of Themis, or rather, it was Divian with provocatively twisted arms, representing "The Scales of Justice." �� Do you see the difference? �� the man shrugged. �� Between fulfilling your legalized duties. �� In his right hand, Divian held imaginary happy moments in the palace halls, where the cries of his newborn creation echoed, held in the loving embrace of its parents. �� And your beautiful beloved, who was kidnapped to swap the children in her womb, so she now nurses a completely foreign child.


    �� No... No, why? Why must my wife suffer!?


    In the next moment, Carlos lost his balance, collapsing with a broken jaw, from which two large fangs fell out.


    �� My line, lizard. �� Instantly, Divian regained control. �� Not sure if I''m doing this right. I don''t know if I want this... But for your bullshit, you will pay the world, you will pay with the new L��shfud. And breathe easy, because if you didn''t have a beloved woman, you''d have to give birth to him yourself.


    Carlos exhaled heavily, leaning on his elbow on the ground and kneeling.


    �� Please, return everything to how it was. Help me save him... I will do anything for you. I swear to you right now... I am ready for anything...


    �� Looks like I''ve discovered the difference between rationality and prudence. It''s tiny, but still the ability to unconsciously elevate one''s own reasoning, which, as it may seem, sacrificially benefits something greater, a higher chain of community. But the price for this was someone''s life... I need you and everyone here to learn yet another lesson, to which, of course, everyone will ignore. �� The man grew sad, briefly glancing at one of the countless lively crowds. �� Who''s going to listen to me, after all I''ve done...


    �� I wasn''t talking to you, scum �� Carlos said, then turned his desperate gaze to the red-haired witch with the white mask beside him. He then parried with both hands, blocking a sweeping kick from Diva, and with a harsh cough, fell onto his back.


    He knelt before the trembling silhouette, intently studying the pained features of its anthropomorphic face.


    �� Why did you do that? �� Divian muttered, nearly exhausted. The response came in the form of heavy, labored breathing from the guard. �� Why did you persist in something you couldn''t possibly stop? Now a man is dead, a true genius and researcher with a capital ''G.'' Sure, he was a bit of a maniac, but that was his way of satisfying his inner needs, needs that someone like you, a decent family man, could never understand. Everyone has their own needs, desires, and motivations �� ones I support. And you, for the first time, destroyed those in the form of one distinguished scholar.


    �� Intellectual filth. It''s impossible to contend with you on equal terms. You need to be eradicated like a separate species. Along with your people, �� the guard hissed through his fangs. �� I saw with my own eyes the mutilated bodies of his women. They suffered, some of them, mere children, crying out to their parents, begging not to suffer the same fate as Vivienne.


    �� Do you even know who those women and girls were? Invisible, lost creatures who finally found their home. You know nothing about them, and you understand nothing of each one, because you never met them. Never spoke with them. Never were inside their minds... They were different... Beings, just like you and me, Carlos, �� Divian turned away and looked at the frightened crowd of onlookers, officers, and focused guards. �� Take a child, for example. You see something beautiful, sacred, innocent. We see the divine symbolism you''ve invented, mixed with their arrival into this world... Another organ, sensations, and the consequences of external influence on every segment of their sensory flesh. Another story, in the form of an unusual boy, who will one day lead entire nations, a symbol of justice and magnificent knowledge of this world. A writer whose life will make things easier, clearer, more interesting, or a hundred times more boring for many. A factory worker who will live a very dull and unremarkable life, never knowing so many wonderful or even simple things. Someone who injects himself, eating a cat for dinner. A killer who enslaves other lives. A charming trap, for whom one could sell their soul to the devil for sex. Anyone, really. And none of it has any meaning, there''s only pleasure, suffering, experiences, and joy, stages of being and sensation, emotions, the boundless and diverse anomaly of our existence... But Vivienne. She...


    �� Vivienne was a happy married woman, �� Carlos interrupted.


    �� Married, yes. But happy �� not at all. Everyone has their own demons in their head, and for some, they don''t wake up immediately, but after a long time. Filling their stomachs to the brim, they enrich their gut with everything they''ve managed to accumulate, and then they slowly crawl out and reveal their true selves... She found her emotional balance only in his inventive hands, in his excessive desire to be the only loyal friend to just one soul... Your legal norms have always taken away others'' dreams, goals, and desires. Is there any difference between a doctor, a professional with a big heart, the life of the party on Thursdays, a collector of thorns, and an elderly father who once knew what madness was, and later mercilessly ended the lives of three eighteen-year-old teenagers and a forty-year-old accountant who brutally insulted and raped his six-year-old precious treasure, who was supposed to be a symbol of the city? Is there any difference between a mother who committed suicide after the death of her second child, and an official who wakes up once again in a hammock over a tropical lake in Batisk, drinking down a glass of whiskey? Between a respectable teacher and a murderer who hates liars. Between a theater actress and a neural network showing the opposite truth of her home. Between a scientist needing devoted love and a warrior who lost everything he had in one day... There is a huge difference, �� Divian lowered his gaze. �� But not everyone has a choice. Some need hope, some need to feel adrenaline. Some need revenge, some need to break the next boundary in their power. Some need true love, while some long for death. And they will forever pass by each other, never seeing, never noticing. This is the endless cycle of events, from which you''ll never escape. You''ll continue selfishly filling yourself with psychological satisfaction, devouring the most vivid and beautiful pleasures of this world down to the very bones, and you''ll never need anything from it. A world you''ll never look at and raise your satiated eyes to, because you''re too lazy, stubborn, and self-assured, �� Divian''s hands firmly embraced Carlos''s face, whose bleeding pupils Divian tried to discern his thoughts in. �� Why didn''t you protect your beloved? Allowed her maternal chastity to be desecrated, froze when you saw Tobbe ripping the car door apart. What did you sacrifice your essence for? Your dignity. Your unfulfilled happy life, which I would never have touched... If only you hadn''t acted like an egocentric, overconfident fool.


    You want to believe that the world is organized correctly, don''t you? That there are laws, principles, morals �� those invisible walls that hold chaos in place. You hide behind them like children behind curtains, forever playing "hide from death." But all of this is an illusion.


    Justice? A barely concealed instinct for dominance. Your punishment is an act of sadism, legalized for your convenience. Your judges don''t know the truth, your executioners aren''t angels, and your laws are just damn agreements that could fall apart the moment power changes hands.


    Loneliness. The only state in which you truly touch the truth. Because in the end, we are all alone. In our thoughts, our fears, our joys. Even in a crowd. Even under a loving gaze. You are isolated in your pathetic chunk of flesh. And morality? It''s just an excuse for convenient decisions and amendments to constitutions.


    Killing is bad? Ask those who started wars. Loving is beautiful? Ask those you stoned for "loving the wrong one." Your principles are so flexible that you can strangle everyone with them without breaking a single one. You call desires sins, but without them, you are nothing. And every action you take, every "I decided," is just an attempt to quench the thirst hidden deep within your bones.


    You call us monsters. And yes, in this monstrosity, there is a certain beauty. It''s not in the fact that we are beautiful, but in the fact that we are real. We don''t hide our flaws, we don''t cover them with masks, except in role-playing games. We don''t try to be something other than we are. This monstrosity is not punishment, not condemnation. It is our truth, and in this truth lies our strength. We are not perfect, not holy, not pure. We are dirty, imperfect, and perhaps even pathetic. But everything in us is real. We don''t fear showing the world our reality. And it is in this that our uniqueness lies, our true beauty �� not in deception, not in illusion, but in being honest, not ashamed, and accepting ourselves as we are. And Vivienne was beautiful... one of a kind in her life... and she has finally been freed.


    �� Scum! �� A short, white-haired cyborg emerged from the crowd, barely resembling a young boy. �� You''re just propagating violence, murder, and escort services for mentally ill bastards. What the hell are you spewing from that filthy mouth of yours!?


    �� For some, following established principles and norms of public order is supposedly the foundation of existence, reducing oneself to someone else''s laws and pleasing their rights. But for others, it''s the drive to merge with the untamed, contradictory power of the mind that generates new perceptions, new sensations, which cannot be confined to your frameworks. I give the chance to feel that sensation, to dive into it, to experience it on your own skin. I offer freedom, which is so painful and contradictory for your maddeningly rigid, idealized conception of morality and ethics. I am by no means destroying your system, I am only making a small change in it. �� Divian turned to Carlos with regret. �� Am I worthless? Then who are you, after what you''ve failed to do?


    The increasing forces and battle units of Tue continued to advance toward the square, dispersing the brave observers from the front rows opposite this dramatic performance. A sharp pain in his head made him clutch it tightly. Humans, creatures, hybrids, and beings �� the majority of them looked at him with hatred, contempt, and finally, fear. So predictable and meticulous, these damn bodies of the socialist utopia are incapable of understanding their own mistakes, over which they repeatedly have to wipe their faces. Unable to distinguish freedom from an excess of decrees that deprive half the world of its right to self-expression. Then the whole world will plunge into chaos, but so what? At least there would be no more lies and no more false hopes. Had he confused the flow of time again?


    If the world were only beautiful, it would forever lose its second, inseparable part of nature �� the dirt. For only dirt can intensify emotions, adding new, surprising colors to the purest velvet canvas of the universe, hidden in beautiful eyes, someone''s face, or the form of bones, flesh, and blood. True space of existence should always be something else, diverse, and astonishingly filthy, of course, without touching some cozy places when there is no need for such a moment.


    His thoughts, dangling like snot under his nose, were suddenly interrupted by a scream. �� Tomochka!! �� Massive transformations around the dual golden discs of boots, swiftly approaching the main antihero of this mad circus, exposed the taut red flesh on his arms, gently caressing the rising atmosphere of heated air around his solitary silhouette. A crest of the capital glowed under his left forearm, bearing the title of a guard and his clearly emphasized initials �� Tomiko K. S.


    �� Is that a "nephalem"? A real one?


    �� He descended to us. He will protect us...


    The sudden appearance of this entity, surrounded by the massive force of levitation, rendered the onlookers speechless. Meanwhile, in his purposeful steps, Tomiko revealed separate parts of his body, separated from the layers of golden-gray armor with adala, showing the seriousness of his intentions. The multicolored rays of the cosmic star, spreading in different directions, gently covered his majestic horns with a pinkish jewel-like gleam, scattering in all directions from his body like an innumerable hail of fleshly, heavy sand particles. The emerald sparkling, snow-white magma in his oblique eyes coldly surveyed the surroundings, filled with anxious yet admiring souls, who once again involuntarily fell into a mass hypnosis that was meant to calm everyone.


    The elastic alizarin skin around his face gradually stretched under the influence of tense muscles, continuing their path along the perfectly developed athletic body of the nephalem, whose heavy fingertips on broad feet gently touched the surface of the instantly heated asphalt, so distorted by the high fire mass of temperature that just one touch would instantly cause third-degree burns on human fingers.


    The pale pink hue of his skin revealed his true, semi-human nature, hiding within himself the combat power and undeniable strength of knowledge that had visited this small universe. The firm, thin folds at his brow tightened, forming wet bridges above his fiery white eyes, which raised the lower eyelids.


    �� Carlos Van Grau, �� the fallen guard. �� Uruka Yuruka �� a loyal companion, who stepped over his fears. �� Demitri. �� a long-time supporter of the old law, who bound himself to this adventure together with his loyal brother and sister, by their shared plan. �� You are accused of treason against the "Main Spiritual Laws." Temporarily, you are stripped of your powers and will stand before the "Court."


    �� What about me? �� Divian raised his hand, squinting at Tomiko. �� Can I go home now?


    Dimitri swung his clawed hands wide, releasing a flow of golden aaranjirea, whose connected tips pressed into the ground in a chaotic dance, like an imaginary, breaking horse, its mechanical, liquid systems intertwining as if finding a new rider. Carlos quickly darted toward him, covering his body with massive armor plates, concentrating them into a vortex at the center of his chest. The centrifugal force from the tightly compressed, escaping plates, tilted at seven degrees, slowly distorted, hoping to distract the enemy with a feint.


    This was his chance! To create a massive hole in the body of the tormentor who had spent countless years torturing every creature, attempting to bring chaos to a new world order, filling it with the insane sophistication of deranged minds that his people would never accept. One single, lucky chance to stand beside him, along with comrades ready to charge into the toughest battle.


    �� A SERIOUS, SUPER-PUPER, FANTASTIC, INSANE BEATDOWN!


    Three full seconds to take a battle stance. One whole second, point zero seconds �� Divian''s hand shot in a straight line, hitting the center of the guard''s muscle frame with unimaginable speed, applying an irreversible pressure point to the body. Carlos''s hybrid form, encased in foreign armor, performed numerous involuntary pirouettes and somersaults, which he was unable to control, curving in a disordered path across the square and crashing through the now-protected weightless crowds and the glass frame of a small supermarket, its shelves filled with goods. The modest food corner was obliterated. Several fingers on both hands and sharp gray claws above them were broken, even shattered, as he tried desperately to latch onto something to stop his uncontrollable flight.


    �� Damn kids! One hit! Just like that bald guy from...! �� Sasha was perched on one of the broken cars, clearly delighted.


    �� Idiot! I almost broke my arm, ughh-f-f-f! �� Jumping on one leg, Divian began vigorously massaging his aching arm. �� What, are they making armor out of some new alloy now? Oh, shit!


    Tomiko''s powerful grip, with pale limbs glowing in the light, clasped Dimitri''s wrists, who had curled in pain over his knuckles. �� Leave. �� The nephalem spoke to Divian, hiding iron-beton calculation behind his lifeless face.


    "Yeah, of course," the thought passed through his mind. He wanted to speak once more to the crowd that would ignore him again. Maybe he was slightly insane and, as a result, always resorted to these excessive extremes, but he was tired. Tired of their stubbornness, their ancestral symbolism that some refuse to follow. Just like Carlos. Maybe the first despair of his life would bring him to his senses, initially stirring him up and devaluing all his life positions, but over time, maybe he would understand something and submit one tiny detail within himself. The important thing was not to forget to return Lifya her child in due time. The man turned around, ready to leave, but suddenly a girl blocked his path.


    A very young, pearl-clean oval face of southern descent, partially marked with fresh sitivene traces, gray strands of hair visible on her fragile black locks, slightly lifted in whirling curls above her small forehead and round eyes, frozen and seemingly devoid of any sign of life. From the deep hollow of her suspiciously damp jacket, trembling, flushed palms emerged, clutching a digital notebook and a tiny lock hanging on it with an audio diary stuck between the crack of her thin bag''s clasp. Numerous traces of fresh, even partially bleeding, straight cuts appeared on both wrists, palms, the back of her hands, and all her fingers, down to her disfigured pinky �� one of them was twisted. These mangled hands trembled wildly, but not from fear or her emerging cognitive dissonance from the past night, lately pushing herself into the successive images of her new deeds. From her hasty personal conclusions, which verbally rebuked from bystanders, they began attempting to help the dead classified ademe crawl out of deep thermoventilation, caught under the weak electrical surge and collapsed right on her from a stale partition. She did not regret her actions. She wanted to help the dead being find peace in a more beautiful and serene place, even if it meant sacrificing both of her hands.


    �� Moloho-T?mna Ard��''Idagaard, �� the short, seemingly mentally unstable girl introduced herself with a polite bow. �� I am a journalist from the regional "Zemlesgrad Church," Nikhonto District. Would you honor me by granting an interview? Or perhaps two short blitz surveys, I assure you it won''t take long, Mr. Divian.


    Is she serious? Has no one shown her the video where, many years ago, he dealt with a certain vile journalist by sending him to the depths of science and fate, silencing those who dared to approach him with their banal questions, seeking to concoct another sensational story about him? A story about supposed manic-depressive disorder, the murder of his parents, the creation of an anti-socialist utopia where everyone, from maniacs to soldiers, from teachers to marauders, from church wards to stray dogs, were equal. A grotesque, meaningless bloodbath, where trials are held in the streets, in migration service buildings, in schools, or just in plain sight. It was a system where anyone could fight for their place, for their sensations, their motivations, their emotions. A merchant of the deepest desires and needs. A man who wishes to offer everyone here, right now, the absolute freedom to choose.


    �� Markus St?pkel, a legend in criminal investigations, a journalist, an ancient artifact restorer, and for twenty-four hours, a lousy fantasist whom I personally fired from a news outlet, I think it was once called "BTOOM!" �� he said.


    �� That man got what he deserved, �� the young girl interrupted him. �� For every word he wrote, every chain of distorted events, stories, and statements he recreated, causing people to resort to fear, slander, and social discord... After many years, it''s hard for most to understand your ideas, your plans, and the motives behind your cruel actions. My goal, in fact, is to write your autobiography. I am sure I can convey the essence of your twisted deeds, your desperate thoughts, your progress. I came for the truth.


    Divian pondered. She spoke calmly, with such unwavering confidence, her tiny dark eyes shining with certainty, as if she was truly expecting an answer from him. She stared into his face without fear or regret. Her gaze fixed, tightly clutching her bloodied, misshapen limbs around a notebook. He glanced around. Period and a few telepaths hidden nearby protected them from the oncoming flashes of cameras. From his mentally strained ear, he could still hear curses. So many words, attempts to demonstrate their limitless plans. Was he not as eloquent as she? Had he gone too far? Should he rethink everything? How many years had he lived? What was he like five years ago? Eighteen? Twenty-four? Every day of his life had changed the fates of those he encountered. His goals and motivations were his own, created so he wouldn''t lose his mind to his own uselessness. He was tired of pretending to be human, having lost his true sense of human life in childhood. The cycle of nature changes, distorts, and forms new breath, shackled by some unrefined molecule, metaphor, or fantasy.


    �� I have one condition.


    �� What is it, Mr. Divian?


    �� The price for this will be your life, �� he coldly met her suddenly confused gaze, which was quickly overtaken by a wave of anxious curiosity. �� Even if you write every word verbatim, in return, I will take away your old life.


    She stepped back, lowered her gaze. Why her death? Where was the logic in his tone, in his unique choice of words? What was the meaning of it? His subconscious disregard for her alien appearance? He could burn every written line of hers at any moment; she wouldn''t be able to hide anything from him. Not to mention her soul, one she would never possess. She truly wanted to fill her soul with a divine gift, like her parents, brothers, and sisters. She was the only one who hadn''t gone through the initiation ritual, the lowest of them all, a mistake of evolution, a secret love.


    �� Why my death? �� the girl hesitated, trying with all her mind to grasp the meaning of his next words.


    �� You will get the answer to that question if you accept my condition and come with me right now, �� Divian smiled without malice, more out of exhaustion, glancing one last time at the oppressed surroundings.


    He timidly placed his hand on his injured temple, once again feeling the horrific pain, as though a long knife was piercing his blurred vision. She seemed to know more about him than he knew about himself. He was sure that this person had once changed Tuen''shi, making him what he was known as in the world today. His hands gripped the moment with all their might, a moment that still lacked any substance. His eyes narrowed. Her life meant nothing to this world. Family was nothing more than a formality for her parents, brothers, sisters, and herself. What if she had lived all these days for one of the extraordinary people who changed the world, whose peaceful, complex, enlightened side would forever hate him? But she had to know the truth, to experience the aesthetic explosion that had remained unexplored by their emotions for centuries. And she wanted to know. Even if she would die forever, she would die not in vain, but with the secret that she would never be able to understand. Their value. The gray earth, Home. The girl hid the contents in her bag, silently reciting a prayer, and followed the tall man, stepping closely behind him.


    ***


    �� And how am I supposed to understand "She disappeared!"?


    The strange news enraged the huge humanoid, who was an officer of the local watchtower. Extracting the essence of the chaotic conversation from the gathered guards and several advanced computers, it became clear that an adult woman with green hair, dressed in worn-out rags, had vanished in the middle of the guarded area, surrounded by cameras and witnesses. Had he met her here before?


    �� Oh, damn it! Why is the sky so dark, what kind of nightmare of a day has arrived!?


    A dream? Again, the cold gray walls, the dim light, and the barely visible glimmers of energy-efficient lamps glowing above the bridges. So many different creatures, people, mechanisms. Their loud clamor of sounds, footsteps, and coordinated movements along the wooden walkway, which was gradually being soaked by the thick rain. His gaze shifted, suddenly blinded by the darkness. His face pressed against the rough bark of a towering, gigantic tree, whose endless branches seemed to have no end. Slowly, he pulled away, pushing himself up with his hands, just like with other oak companions and fluffy fir trees. Everywhere, thick hills rose, covered in colorful blankets of muddy soil leaves and dried brown pods. A dense swarm of bright orange creatures began to flap their tiny wings, leaving the thin bones of chalky trees, carrying their tiny fluffy bodies in the direction of the lonely man. Then, another swarm appeared, and another. There were many of them, surrounding the forest everywhere, continuing to leave the thick and long branches, flying off in bright orange fluffy blankets under the pressure of the mighty cold wind that swayed the massive stems of both old and relatively young, refined trees. No paved roads, no handrails, no stacked recycled blocks. No rooms, beds, acrylic paints, or plates. No synthetic polymers, smoke, or acids. No radiation, reagent distortions, or destructions. No oaths, commandments, or machines. No tortures, inventions, or laws. No screens, madness, or performances. No lies. Only earth, cold dew drops, wind, and flowers.

 Chapter 3. Girl Named Hitler

    Thick green curls of linden and pine needles bent with flexible, indestructible branches from the spacious tides of the wind, which over and over again strove to squeeze through the half-open window and look inside the room, hitting the refreshing morning coolness on the drowsy, exhausted face of a man sitting on a chair and desperately trying to collect a complete picture of his current situation in which he was an unconscious, frightened creature trying to understand what is happening around him, as well as inside himself.


    Words. You have to think about them often before plucking up the courage to voice them to someone. However, over the past 24 hours I have also had to think about many things, concepts, concepts and... about many other things. But with all our efforts, the world around us does not become more understandable. Perhaps emotions are the states of all his tangible sensations. Perhaps his appearance here is an exceptional and uncontrollable accident, molded from need, pain and continuous physical consequences. They''re weird. Different. Only by obeying their invisible and most powerful directions among all, can he manage to act or undertake something in spite of strong fear. When he remembers yesterday, how... he killed them, it begins to seem that their souls are haunting him. They stand and silently watch him sometimes. He senses their presence near the wall in the corridor, but does not dare turn in that direction so as not to scare them away. He didn''t even know who they were. What did you want to achieve? What did you want? How would you spend the remaining days of your life? But I remembered the guy��s big blue eyes, with whom I had to enter into an unequal confrontation, both sides of which were completely unclear. On one side the sun shone dimly, the sky shimmered with a black sunset, and among ordinary people, an emptiness oozed in his chest, from which, for a moment, it seemed that the man wanted to one day get rid of it. Something strange, destructive, dark, making it impossible to be the person he could hardly resemble now. Frightened, confused, dirty nobody in this amazing picturesque place, reminiscent of meaningless names, dates and events from one tiny town that once disappeared forever.


    His existence was stained with blood. The painful long contact between the bodies, thoughts, breathing hearts of beings that were touched turned out to be not so scary, not painful at all. Murder of three people. He remembered each of them, shaking with all his insignificant contacts of nerve endings from the approaching bloody images, mutilated organs to which his fingers advanced, rough pale skin absorbing the smallest share of posthumous inevitability, slowly fading away in decaying consciousnesses that would never again gain the ability to perceive. The scorching golden beads of sand, the disproportionately bright ray of the cosmic luminary from which my head was spinning and my body was tired. In that vast, mysterious desert, he met a strange multi-structured woman made of metal, sharp skin and bright feathers, who looked like someone who had escaped from a dance carnival and took a couple of strange animals with her. He managed to escape from an unforeseen cruel ending, but the price for this was someone else''s life. He became death for her, painful and lonely. He doesn''t want it to happen then, for it to be a reality. This creature should not have died. Was it inevitable? And how did this happen? Even those two unexplained teenage deaths. How did they die? Did they cause his instability? Madness hidden deep in the subconscious? There had to be another way to get around their ambiguous egocentrism, while still remaining to help exactly the two beings who genuinely needed help. Their names were suddenly erased from memory. First, you need to take control of yourself. All of yourself, completely? But who is he? Human? Creation? Monster? Or a teenager like those he sees so often? Everything around him seems familiar, natural and relaxed, as if everything he sees is how it should happen? This world seems completely alien, unusual and foul-smelling. It very often and mercilessly bites through his flesh, burning any thoughts and crushing all his attempts to control the situation, moving along with the supposed subjective phantasmagoric delirium. The man lowered his eyelids, concentrating on his breathing, which changed, becoming heavy. Around the crowded corridors of the hospital it is too noisy, bright and warm. I wish I could find somewhere on my body a switch, an antenna, or any other device that regulates noise reduction, the speed of air temperature changes and the variability of events that have recently caused a lot of pain, instilled fear, hopelessness, a future sense of the unknown in which only the most sophisticated horrors awaited him.


    The bodies of a feminine cyborg, a blond guy who later turned out to be alive, and something of a girl with a gun on a hill, mutilated by him. The man remembered the method of reprisal against each of them down to the smallest detail, but each time he was unable to understand the very origin of this or that process. Fear persisted in yet another strange phenomenon... Indifference? Or peace? Or a little ability not to panic? This barely noticeable composure, among other mixed feelings, alarmed the man most of all. He began to feel nauseous, and the smells, as if by command, returned to him, bypassing time barriers and any adequate restrictions of the universe, within which one lost person involuntarily found himself. Blood, groans and screams of destruction. It was as if every time he stood somewhere on the sidelines, in the reckless sick reality of someone��s alienated mind, watching how the body each time dissolved next to its own shadow, which had light blue hair and red hands, as if devoid of the outer layers of skin. Right now. Doesn''t he feel anything? Is this supposed to be normal? The body is still shaking from vague mixed feelings, memories and desires that are constrained by the unreal and quite tangible barriers of a new place, which will soon be replaced by something else, perhaps more peaceful, calm, or perhaps something less sane, expedient, unpredictable.


    Divian. Ward. A marvelous creature resembling a fox, exhausted, dehydrated, bloodied and humiliated. Why couldn''t he do anything? Help escape or fight back? Another addictive emptiness dissolved in his consciousness from which booming, quiet and not quite voices arose, blinding his eyes, clogging his ears and all his senses of charm. People, creatures. There were so many of them, while he doesn��t even know what he could be capable of and what he was deprived of, since he understands absolutely nothing. Is there a way to help them, as well as save the people he killed? It''s disappointing and depressing. Skyscrapers, creatures, this noise distracts him from those strange invisible blows that take over his emotions. And still something needs to be done? But how?


    �� Nya-ha-ha!! Know anger A waffle maker! �� the creature��s huge clawed hand shot up with a huge wave of silver-green coins, like a rapidly multiplying crater circling around the cloaked silhouette, breaking through yet another wall with stands in its path.


    Consciousness seemed to be transported for a few seconds into a pitch-black alley with a wide road, which was crossed at lightning speed by many dark buses with long windows from which a bright yellow glow emanated. But it was as if there was no one inside, and a strong gust of wind rushed past my face. Like phantom explosions, rushing train cars filled the spacious corridors with coins ringing from everywhere, while all those present were instantly fenced off by the interatomic barriers of the guard flying in behind him, whose sinuous armor resembled either a mechanical golden-gray bird, or a dragon, between whose scaly plates streams of ornate translucent annihilation, spreading with the thickest atmospheric bulk, holding back clots of symbiotic flames and collapsed fragments of the building. The unknown source of output from the bulky engine passed the eyewitnesses, broke through the walls at the other end of the building, rapidly crawling upward towards the rest of the skyscrapers and leaving behind traces of flowing black flame. This guard, who appeared to be an adult, black-haired woman, clearly had tremendous combat experience in her particular position, which was painted with colored sigils on her armor, which looked like a long and scaly jacket with a straight arc rotating around her low-set left shoulder. The intricate golden curves of the armor were clad in what looked like a winter jacket, striped with metal rods and plates decorated with unusual patterns of nature. The bulky boots landed loudly on the floor, which instantly became covered with wide cracks, in which the bright glow of the compensated energy in the sole, thanks to which it landed, went out. She looked confused, barely holding onto with her mind the accumulated and interbred atmospheric mass of dense atomic particles, distorting the required percentage of space, which, being refracted by the trajectory of the synchronized mind of the guard, protected the creatures and people from injury and any contact with explosions. The storm gradually died down completely on the floor, followed by a thick dome of black smoke emanating from the chimney of the last disappearing carriage.


    - Wah! Ha-ah... Now, wait... Let me catch my breath. - a tall, almost naked and terribly thin and deathly pale girl landed through a huge broken cavity in the wall, almost tripping over her own blue hair, long wet curls constantly sticking to her sharp heels. They were very long and wet, practically hugging her tall, two and a half meters tall body.


    She bared her snow-white teeth, sharp as those of a shark, in exhaustion, through which her long tongue fell out. She looked like a dog exhausted after a long walk, insatiably filling her lungs with air, intensely heaving along with her naked sexless chest, from under which wide thin ribs stretched. Gray little eyes clung to the gray-faced man, and in the blink of an eye the girl herself stood in a kind of victorious pose, supposedly expressing that the situation was currently under her complete control.


    - Don''t panic, citizen! After all, the guard Keshima is next to you! The second princess of the Mizu family! Mistress of the seas and oceans! And I��m also very good at cooking yamakahu seaweed, if you want, I��ll definitely treat you! The Kohime Festival is approaching and I...!


    - Keshima-ah!! �� a female guard with black hair gave a powerful kick to the girl, who in fear jumped almost to the ceiling. - Stop swallowing dust with your nose! The intruder escaped due to your fault!


    - How did I know that his waffles would be so delicious!?


    ��You had to keep an eye on him and not gobble up those waffles on both cheeks and refuse to pay for them!��


    - Yes, it was just a test! How was I supposed to know that I had to pay for them!!?


    Keshima spread her arms hysterically, bulging her eyes and lowering her jaw in bewilderment with its snow-white sharp teeth, between which the tip of her tongue remained dangling.


    - Yes, because in the world you have to pay for everything, were you transferred to us from kindergarten or something!? The fool told me not to take you with me! But they count chickens in the fall!


    �� I��m on my second day of internship, why are there so many complaints against me!?


    - Yes, because you wanted to become the hero of Tuenshi! Or is it only in words!? The swallow ends the day, and the nightingale begins!


    A bulky human silhouette, under the ringing blows of boots merging with the interthigh discs, with a rapid step found itself behind them in another vestment of armor. Another guard appeared out of nowhere and unceremoniously grabbed both of them by the ears. It was a young man with a calm, slightly expressed irritation on his face. Thick brown hair, transparent stubble around wide cheekbones, expanding towards his sunken temples. His dark green, expressive eyes looked judiciously at the woman, and then at Keshima.


    - Stop embarrassing yourself in front of everyone, immediately calm down and catch up with the criminal. Otherwise, I can��t vouch for myself. �� He turned his gaze to the eldest. �� Officer Clementine?


    - As you order, Captain Teshio! One foot is here, the other is washing hands!


    - Ay-ya-ya-ay! I understand you! I''m already running! �� like a slippery fish, Keshima slipped out of the officer��s hand, jumping into a huge destroyed crater among a spacious wall with a dumbfounded gnome clutching in his hand a toasted bouquet of flowers of which only stems remained.


    The gray-faced man��s exhausted gaze seemed as if it could fall away at any moment, break off from his body like a cracked marble mound and crash on the floor with a roar. He terribly wanted to sleep, to again wrap himself in a huge warm blanket like in that infirmary, not to hear or realize anything. There were so many strange sensations, emotions and pain throughout his whole body, which seemed to fall apart into pieces, and then reassemble into one whole skeleton at a time when his consciousness once again sank into blackness. It would seem that everything that happens should have a certain logic, cause and consequences. Two and a half days spent in this world turned out to be a terribly painful experience, causing an unpredictable flow of the absurdity of the current situation, in which he is the simplest tiny person, surrounded by the chaos of the developing imprinted nature, whose structure he is not able to understand, and to cope with its atmosphere. Not yet capable? All that remains is to strive forward in the direction of the unpredictable fantastic flow in the hope of getting the first answers in this place.


    -You are in poor health. - Still restrained and calm, the guard outlined the very disastrous state of a man slowly walking in small steps.


    - I need to go to the doctor...


    Staggering slightly, clutching a compact tablet in his hand, the man wandered along the corridor with an inexhaustible expression of fatigue on his face, which over the past 24 hours had begun to seem completely alien to him. It was as if something had forced his soul into this complex, constantly exhausted, weak and constantly painful fleshly vessel. The worsening condition of the body was unnerving, intensifying some unpleasant emotion that was beating louder than all the others. Although no, she fought nearby and just as strongly as the desire to help. He needed answers in order to finally understand All. He needed strength in order to protect the half-fox, thoughts of which constantly pop up in his head with an inflamed disease, a terrifying severe migraine, for which there is only one cure in the world. Her wounded body, deathly pale bloody face, mutilated fox ears. In this world, then, there are other people, beings who need help, protection, healing? In any corner of the world still unknown to him, in absolutely any period of time in which he is absolutely lost and in any atmospheric state, staying in the rarest moments of life.


    He already felt the pain of a torn chest, lower abdomen, impacts of his forearms on hot desert stones from a great height and the feeling of teeth knocked out through torn lips. He remembered the moment when something iron pierced his chest vaguely and indistinctly. A destructive agony was also aroused inside him, giving rise to the fruits of hatred, fear, a sense of the unknown and immensely humiliating guilt for what he had done and what he was not capable of. Then you have to learn everything. More carefully and carefully look for a way out of this or that problem, and there will probably be many of them in his life. But will you be able to cope with at least one of them? Most of my thoughts are captured by the exhausted gaze of the mutilated fox, surrounded by those terrible people. Could there be something much more unhappy than her look? At the moment, he already has one problem. But now it is impossible to even imagine its possible resolution. The hypothetical perspective is completely absent, along with logic, which a person could not at least imagine in his head. He didn''t even understand or know how to think. It seemed to him as if he did not understand the huge number of words, numbers and phenomena that rush past him. He is like a wild animal that was forcibly torn away from his native habitat, some kind of jungle, rainy tropics, and then thrown onto the avenues of a city crowded with some intelligent creatures, in which everything is noisy, bright and very incomprehensible. The only catch is that he completely forgot about his primal instincts, or maybe he didn��t even know them? Have you never felt or been guided by them? Like something wretched, lame, stupid. Maybe he is not an animal, and not even a person at all? Then what? Something that is below the subatomic organic chain or even the Planck length? Is he nothing? And the appearance of this body and all these feelings, a mistake for one single moment of the distorted flow of nature?


    "You''re weird!"


    "You''re right! You''re a disappointment! Absolutely for everyone and for her!"


    ��So, for everyone who was facing a quick death and a subsequent type of afterlife judgment, this seraph left similar criss-crossing scars on their bodies.��


    ��How can I explain to you... Not him. But the one who is inside him. Well, or, not inside him, but around him.��


    "The dead brain suddenly limited itself to its own thoughts in Nothing."


    ��Sometimes it seems to me that you are so crazy that you are smarter than all of us...��


    The man stopped in front of the door to the therapy department. He froze, thought for a moment and almost fell to the floor. The strong need for sleep and acute pain under the ribs increasingly mercilessly drove away and dispelled any thoughts, turning them into a tangible, colorless veil. But it was immediately eclipsed by the sharp and spacious aroma of something warm, sweet and attractive. Something was similar to coffee, which only further lulled the consciousness of the morally exhausted adventurer, who had finally lost hope for peace in the present day.


    This hospital was a countless tangle of corridors, halls and spacious rooms with quirky and branching vines in the form of stairs, ramps and elevator installations. Everything seemed somehow cozy, inviting even the most taken aback guest, who in two and a half days could probably survive more than any immortal creature over the course of even hundreds of thousands of years inside a locked luxurious castle. The walls in each compartment were painted in matching minimalist tones, which were often interspersed with distinctive furniture upholstery on the ceilings, grotesque carved patterns on the floors, in the often furnished corners of the rooms and their passages to the next building. Everything is neatly illuminated, covered with a tablecloth or decorated with velvet plaster layers that would not harm even the most sensitive child��s palm. Sometimes consciousness seemed to be transferred to crowded underground platforms, along which little people were scurrying about, chatting about something or waiting for their Charon, hoping not to stray from the right path.


    According to personal feelings, it was as if the person had spent the whole day in these cramped and sometimes confusing labyrinths of an endless hospital, visiting almost all the doctors. Some examinations and certain body tests had to be postponed to another session due to the man��s unstable health condition. What seemed most unusual, perhaps a little unpleasant, was an examination by a certain andrologist, who was assisted by several other doctors in the person of traumatologists and physiotherapists. All the doctors, without exception, whom he had already visited, either looked askance or in surprise at him, but then, of course, explaining the reason for their competent confusion caused by the fact that the organism of his body in most of their structures was completely different from their nature, although in appearance he was the same person as the others. Starting from the very covers of the muscles, hair fibers, retina, bone structure and ending with the shape of the brain, stomach, lungs, liver and heart, located under the left broad muscle, and not in the middle like in normal there are creatures here.


    ��I can assure you with confidence that you are an alien!�� - said the elderly psychologist-therapist with an encouraging smile, once again returning to the paperwork with his documents. - Just like your comrade Kuroba.


    - Kuroba? - asked the gray-faced man, who had previously carefully examined the next room, which smelled of summer, gingerbread and some extraordinary series on TV. Carved calligraphy from wood and stone materials resembled intricate patterns, as if huge thick carpets were hanging on the walls.


    - Yes, Kuroba Satoshi. You and he returned together with... - he hesitated a little and looked away, thinking with difficulty.


    - Am I an alien? How is he? �� the man tried to closely observe the doctor��s behavior.


    - Hm. You actually have a lot in common, at least neurologically. - Exhaling heavily, the doctor stamped the new outpatient card and signed several times on several pages. ��You should have a discussion about this with our chief physician, as well as with Mr. Satoshi himself, they will be able to provide you with enough constructively useful information.��


    ��I...�� the gray-faced man hesitated, looking down and clenching his fists tightly.


    - Hm?


    The doctor reacted sharply, looking at the tired gray face of an unhappy man, very unsure of himself, scared and completely lost both in his thoughts and in the world which he perceived differently from others. His gaze never once throughout the day shone with any emotion, did not express surprise, reprehensibility, curiosity or corresponding indifference. His eyes darted to the sides, as if they wanted to absorb this entire expanse of life, which he clearly did not understand, and which puzzled, constrained his movements, creating one noun obstacle after another in front of him. He looked like someone who lost everything he had one day. Friends, family, all his emotions and desires, completely filling his story. It was as if this had happened a long time ago, but he had never learned to cope with the excess of negative feelings that were gradually destroying his personality.


    The situation with Mr. Zsigmond and the group of other doctors was carefully explained. strip a man whose appearance outside the border of Tuenshi, but then directly inside the walls, caused widespread suspicion and alarm, generated by the illegal and undetected entry into the territory of the armed forces of the state. But the most important event at the moment is considered to be that this individual returned to life after he once died in a skirmish with an ordinary soldier who pierced the body of a man with the body of an interfloor door. The wound on the body has completely healed, apparently re-creating the missing organic cells of his organs, bones and muscles, without going too far with their number and the rapidly developing auxiliary immune systems. But even this was not the only strangeness of the man sitting in front of him, because the specific structure of his blood, which does not exist in the nature of this world, did no harm foxes when she was dying, keeping her alive during an unimaginable six-hour transfusion. Sigmund cannot even count on the fingers of both hands how many times the Fox was on the verge of life and death. At those moments, everyone was afraid for her fate, because not a single blood in the world could be suitable for transfusion. Even the universal blood vessels of the nephalem only harmed her body, almost killing her. But what is happening now simply defies logical explanation. The case is extremely extraordinary, and its consequences can be very different, but first of all, unpredictable.


    Rumors fly faster than any aerial bird, and the whole hospital learned about the resurrected, who did not harm the fox with his blood, a mysterious guy with complete loss of memory. He was an amazing person who, judging by his appearance, does not even suspect his uniqueness, or he tries to completely ignore its attachment, which to some extent, of course, burdens his life, the meaning of which is also unknown to him.


    It hurts me a lot - The words stretched out painfully long in his unstable subconscious, wanting to find peace. But at the last moment the gray-faced man stopped short, confused and cautiously trying to find words.


    - I don��t know what to do...


    He sighed rather noisily and convulsively, as if, along with his exhalation, he had released a pile of heavy stones that mercilessly squeezed him all from the inside, where under their unshakable monstrous mass all his thoughts were crushed and destroyed, which inevitably flowed somewhere down into the hopeless darkness, gradually rising with its heterogeneous oppressive mass upward to his healthy mind, becoming ever larger in size and seamlessly covering one nerve cell after another. The only thing that held most tightly on top of his desperately trying to retain a piece of adequacy along with an intelligible order of actions of the understanding was empathy, covering other people''s faces, those that he could see or that he could not even imagine. This feeling was the only thing that the gray-face tried to hold on to, submitting to this unpredictable cognitive wave of the creature and following the basic instinct that had been beating in his heart since the very moment of awareness that appeared in the endless golden desert. Perhaps this was one of those things that would help him regain the lost, extinct, never-existent memory of himself? Or will it be the source of finding your true self, a person who has been shipwrecked on this strange island of disorder? But what is order? What does harmony mean and what does it look like? The mass of bodies, from the largest and incommensurably small, without a numerical sequence and a complete atmospheric limit, deepening with a limitless spectrum of breathing molecules.


    The doctor slowly moved in his chair closer to the man, handing him a tablet along with a thin outpatient book.


    - Listen, boy. �� he waited for a short pause, then caught the attentive gaze of the unfortunate man. - A very long and strange life awaits you ahead, all its oddities, obstacles, indignations cannot be avoided, you will not be able to protect yourself from everyone, protect the one you care about, and even more so predict their appearance, the outcome of your every decision... You must try to see more than anyone else. The most important thing to remember is don''t stop. If one day you find yourself in a trap from which you cannot get out on your own, or which you do not want to leave, then start screaming. Scream with all your might, scream until you hear yourself myself...And then others will hear you.


    After thinking a little about what was said, the gray-faced man looked around in indecision. He is in a very difficult situation that requires caution and insight in relation to the people, phenomena, and events around him. A chaotic and creepy meeting with a man named Divian and his company further strengthens this idea. To be so helpless and confused in front of them was very unpleasant. He remembered that crazy look that was contrary to human nature. Poor wounded fox, driven into a corner by a horde of powerful monsters who have renounced morality, respect and common sense. "Could I have done anything?" - the gray-faced man asked the same questions, remembering his fear, his weakness, his disobedience to his emotions. Her look. Despair, exploding with a serene strong flame, whose fierce fierce radiance shone in her crimson eyes, shuddering along with his heart, which seemed to be beating furiously against his circulatory system at that moment, wanting to tear apart any obstacles in its path, even if they were bones and muscles, but only to get to the source of torment, destroy it, so that all this chaos would stop, dissolve into countless billions of particles, following behind which alien silhouettes will evaporate, mocking the poor exhausted beast.


    �� "Wha? Just scream at the top of your lungs? Well, we can do that.��- a quiet, reflective voice came from somewhere, which the doctor next to the patient who was looking around in confusion probably didn��t even hear. Or didn��t attach any importance to it.


    ��I think I know where I want to start.�� �� the man said hesitantly, weakly squeezing the prospects handed to him for a possible, perhaps not quick, but still cure, while rarely looking around.


    ��I wish you success in this, young zohut!�� �� he greeted the guy with a sincere smile on his new journey. �� If you need a preventive conversation or something bothers you, you can contact us at any time. We will discuss everything and solve any of your problems. Agreement?


    Having said a warm goodbye, the wanderer, doomed by a difficult fate, wandered between the corridors crowded with turmoil in the direction of the exit from the therapeutic department of the hospital.


    Accumulated anxiety after a recent event explosive incident, gradually faded against the background of carefree people scurrying about, orderlies, some silhouettes dressed in the splendor of silver-golden armor and other individuals whose racial affiliations were not entirely clear to him. Or maybe they were all gods? Everyone except that nimble boy bursting with laughter with azure-yellow curls and large eyes green like spring grass. His face is so beautiful, pure, as if copied from an ancient biblical book, which was revived by divine madness. Small oval eyelids, slightly tousled with thick light eyelashes. Slightly chubby little fingers clutching patchwork fabric with jumbled brown buttons. A girl a little older than him, with the same pearly-clean face and thick, thick hair the color of the darkest night, biting her round cheeks with curled silky strands, squinted angrily over the boy. Near them, an elderly couple probably rested peacefully, whose ceremonial light blankets seemed to be folded together into a spacious, lush blanket, on which their embraced hands lay in the interweaving of beautiful summer trees on which colorless apples ripened, and near them small sparrows were chatting as usual. These birds seem very familiar, beautiful, amazing. The elderly woman politely interrupted the discussion with her husband, smiled affectionately and began to explain something to the boy, who instantly changed his face and borrowed tact from his older sister.


    The next room looked more and more like someone��s spacious, comfortable apartment. There are vases without flowers, people with oval heads in black suits are drinking something hot from curved saucers, continuous discussions, whispers, noise and din. Adult and young faces, completely new, or did they live here a long time ago? Everything is so familiar. Another new sensation eclipses the previous one, developing on the tips of his fingers, in his shoulders, in his chest, in his bones, in every subsequent movement of his brain and body, no matter how much they hurt and no matter how much his rapidly changing thoughts repelled him. And again, is something bothering him, or warming him up? I want to know what it''s called.


    It was as if the rickety armchairs, chairs and people scurrying around them served him as a small island, an impromptu landmark that ended abruptly and was immersed in a thick, endless stench of smells. Black ribbons frolicked across the tiles following thick men''s boots, the path of which was blocked by beige rising slabs. Next to a large plant living on a huge wall and a wooden bench, the gray-faced one noticed a dark hole in the wall. Barely reaching a meter, from the inside it expanded more and more, creating rounded embracing funnels of black rock, very sharp and shiny like a blade. From there stretched neural wires, some lighting and two nut bolts. It was quiet there. It might even be cold. The blue-black veil of unknown space began to be associated with a winter night along which a highway floated through the car window, dimly glowing lampposts and snow-covered wandering fur coats, electric wires flickering dimly in the darkness. His fingers grabbed one and slowly pulled it across the floor, littered with carpet, old candy wrappers and very thick dark grass that softly crushed under his knees and elbows along with the ground. All this looks like a cave, which someone��s courage has visited long ago, allowing him to enjoy a portion of caramels in such an eerie and cool place. The jaw shook a little, the knuckles were covered with a thin crust of imaginary ice.


    Near an underground river reflecting a strange blue light, among blades of grass that are less dense and merge with the darkness. A silhouette could be seen nearby, like a lonely little shadow pressed on all sides, which would soon disappear from the touch of the bright blue light, quietly frolicking along with the small vibrations of the water. As it turned out, as the person approached the near depths of the cave, the girl was sitting dressed in a dark, probably hand-knitted suit, leaning her back against the sharp rocky walls. She had long straight hair, whose color was an all-encompassing shadow mixed with the gloomy and hopeless emptiness behind her fragile back, covering the spacious shadow borders. The faded brown eyes were small and round, like a child''s. The face is a little thin and pale. Thin light lips were probably also covered with an equally thin crust of ice, created by the extremely low temperature and long months. Low-hanging nets of burgundy and brown weaves, slightly stained with dust and wet mud, which were also visible on her huge black boots with thick soles and round copper clasps around the ankles, similar to buttons, weakly warmed her legs and sharp knees, which the girl did not release from her weak embrace. It seemed that a few more moments and her finger lock would open. Next to her lay several large scarves of two colors: green and yellow. There were also dishes gathering dust on them: antique copper coasters for glass cups with curved ears, glasses with repainted frames, a silver samovar, wrenches, nails and many different inventions from eras long forgotten by everyone, falling out of a huge cabinet that smelled strongly of oak wood and old age. From the crack of the ugly wooden window, which turned out to be behind the wide wall of the closet, the cold air came, howling pitifully, as if wanting to share with someone its experiences about the impending changes on this earth. Big black feathers. Frozen sharp beak. Sharp claws held tightly to the metal protrusion. The raven sitting in the cage seemed to politely glance sideways at this wind, rounding its emerald eyes, listening, listening to its disembodied ghostly syllables.


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    The man tried to get close to the unknown girl as quietly as possible, not finding a comfortable place for himself among the sharp lumps and coals protruding from everywhere, scattering like sand or dry, sun-baked earth. He carefully, trying not to disturb anyone''s peace, examined this strange, unreliable-looking shelter. It did not protect the young lady in front of him from any threats, disasters or anomalies. Perhaps this place was not intended to be protected by anyone or anything. Perhaps every stone digging into his hand, the cold air from which his throat choked, the bright rays of mystical light burning through the depths of a crystal clear river, all this was self-created by chance, and one day all this will accidentally die, just like his memory of this moment.


    A strong gust of wind again knocked the man''s breath away, opening his gaze to the other end of the cave, from which dim daylight could be heard. It was gray, and sometimes dark and gloomy, like a February winter night, in which the all-encompassing darkness above the face raised upward is cut by a spacious snowy edge, which in a couple of moments will disappear into the dark bottomless waters into which one��s foot accidentally steps. The path to the light was blocked by icy rags, boots and wet rags hanging on ropes. Broken by painful heat and fatigue, the gaze shifted back to the girl, to her overly large and wet shoes, reminiscent of those worn either by soldiers or travelers with very large feet. But the unknown woman in front of him looked too small and weak for such dimensions of the volume of the sole, which cannot be said about her simple-looking clothes, a little woolen, warm and ending with a long skirt. But my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by an indescribably strange simple sound. Voice. Incorporeal. Faceless. Loose. Indescribably ordinary and understandable.


    - My words. And my voice. They disappear one after another. And I disappear after them in a chaotic cycle, unique, next, different...


    The raven incessantly watched the silhouette approaching its former owner, confused, hungry, and a little sick. Hearing a quiet and seemingly girlish voice, it seemed to the man that in those seconds a large black raven was speaking to him, locked in a cold steel cage from which he could easily get out through the slightly open door. Are his claws cold?


    The girl turned around, looking into the burdened human gaze. Her small nose became tense, trying to hold her breath, and her body contracted more from a strange cold that none of those present understood, but from which she wanted to get rid of. While the fleeting memory of her cheeks pink from the cold, long fingers, a completely ordinary voice, accumulated knowledge and movements of short straight eyelashes, thin neck and elbows had not yet dissolved in the inexhaustible palaces of the disconnected molecular boundaries of space, she admitted to the creature next to her that she was already ceasing to exist in the form of one single and random illusion, created equally randomly in another random consciousness, within which she existed for an absolute and incomprehensible infinity for her contacts, or rather one second. A short moment incomprehensible to anyone��s consciousness. It is an imaginary sound, a memory, a feeling, once and never again an unrealizable feeling from which the brightest illusory sprouts of harmony appear in the heart, spreading along the neurons of the brain with rapidly fading streams of chemical space. Somewhere among the constantly burning and deepest recesses of memory and the brain damaged by aging. But now it is nothing. Not a word, not a sound, a sensation, a concept, a color, a distance, a mass, an organ, an atom... knock-knock... This never existed.


    The man hesitated when he saw a barely noticeable glimpse on her face, probably left by a small tear, another fleeting shade that instantly disappears from her face along with the little finger and two middle fingers on her hands. Now he was gripped by fear, because it was this tear on her face that he himself had already created. Or rather, his stubborn ego, which he himself has not yet managed to understand. But the unknown life form in front of him was not subject to anger, embarrassment, confusion or resentment. It was always uncontrollable, meaningless, lasting only one second, a stream of someone��s vanished illusoryness.


    - But if none of this happened... then what is there now? - Speaking painfully with a cold in his throat, the man felt heat on his cheeks. Then I got a headache.


    The girl lowered her eyelids. Long soft sleeves hugged her pale lips. It could no longer speak, there was no reason or origin in what exactly the particles of her incomprehensible underside of consciousness, skirt or head, as well as her own desire, were rejecting.


    �� No one ever knows this, no one sees, no one understands just like me. Oblivion with the instinct of pain. Genocide is in your blood... What will your chaotic movement lead to again? �� the ordinary sound of her voice quietly approached his consciousness, sick and filled with questions. �� Creation. Destruction. Saving...


    - I don''t know... But I have to do something. Constantly moving somewhere. At least try. - the aching pain in the head, irresistible fatigue in the legs, arms, heart and shoulder blades was very exhausting, generating emotional space from anger, destruction, decomposition. But the will of his mind was stronger than every perceived emotion and sensation. His will is both a raging and stagnant stream in one space, rushing from somewhere in the middle, from an unknown bottomless abyss behind him. Perhaps it is there that the answers to one of his most important questions are hidden - what is he?


    �� You''re scared. Seized by rapid panic. And lost. �� the unknown before him turned out to be something too insightful for an illusion. Perhaps he himself was an illusion in these moments?


    ��I��m afraid that I might not remember what I once lost.�� I feel like I''ve lost a lot. I... I have to figure out how to find it. Must... See. See everything...


    �� Hmmm... - she lowered her face, lowering her chin and lips into the soft black sleeves, slightly opening her eyelids. �� I really want to touch your fear. To merge with it completely... Understand what it is. Of all your conditions, right now this is the strongest.


    ��But there��s nothing normal about this.�� �� the man suggested, touching his hot forehead with his hand.


    �� But it''s alive. Isn''t that right? �� she looked carefully at the human face. �� Will you agree to take me home?


    ��But...�� he looked closely at the dim gray light ahead, seeming like a dark, impenetrable veil. He was confused and sad. - But there��s nothing there.


    �� But next to this Nothing one day I appeared. I''m no more. I don''t disappear anymore. �� a calm and ordinary voice answered him naively when she herself, nothing more than a touchless void, could not fully perceive everything that was happening. �� House. You will end up there too. A place where all non-living beings disappear.


    - I don''t understand. �� the man closed his eyes again from the pain in his head, trying to at least understand something. ��Then how could I meet you now?�� Hear? Why...


    - You accidentally invented me. Probably seeing the reflection of a face you know, hearing a song you never knew about. Finding a distant figure in one single room that reminded me of me. By creating my reflection on an icy shard of glass... One moment, maybe even less. It was enough for me to fall into oblivion forever. Maybe I''ve always been there. Maybe I am this nothingness... You saw me. Created again. - she extends a thin and frost-tempted pale hand, shimmering with fleeting youth on an aged and erupting black cracks around the gray skin of a human hand.


    - Is this... such an accident? That is... Coincidence? - he asked a question, helping the unknown woman to lean on his sore arm.


    �� I don''t know anything. - a voice answered much quieter than usual, but out of confusion and self-doubt, he decided not to ask again. �� What are you afraid of? �� she asked, gradually slowing down her steps near the edge of a rocky-sandy cliff, around which an endless silvery edge of a sea of ??sand, small mountains and indistinguishable gray rivers rubbed. This space seemed to be covered with a limitless layer of ash and resulting dust, which no force could move from its place.


    �� I met some people... cruel... indifferent... others? - Squeezing out words through force, he carefully stepped over the stones and held the hand of his unknown companion, from time to time squinting from the acute pain in his head and heat throughout his body. It seemed that he would soon faint.


    �� What were they aiming for?


    - I don''t know. They offended... Fox...


    �� What does it mean? - the voice pronounced almost syllable by syllable.


    - Not sure. They say there is only one like this in the world. �� he thought, then stopped and felt something tightly squeezing inside him. It was as if something had grabbed hold of a part of his consciousness, his soul. Maybe it was the heart. - I''m afraid that... I''ll die again, but I won''t come back. I won��t even have time... I won��t be able to help her. And probably... others.


    The unknown woman slowly pulled away from the strange companion pursuing her and let go of his hand. Now my knees were pressed against the warm and at the same time cold earth, inside of which a trembling was faintly felt. The gaze swept with serenity along the distant, gigantic and dilapidated white slabs that were comparable in size to entire islands. From the barren gray earth they rose like trees, completely empty, bare, without ripe fruit, signs of destruction or skillful carving. They showed up one day. And one day they will disappear?


    The winds rock a cold, endless layer of sand, rising into endless rounded plains and hills, along which both of them suddenly wanted to walk, looking at the unknown expanses. She would like to understand who and when erected these columns and whether anything was hidden on their tops. Perhaps from their height it was possible to see in the sky that same bright spot that used to warm the earth under our feet, which made our eyes feel painful, hot and warm. A strong light, the touch of which was always pleasant to fall asleep. The hollow girl''s gaze fell lower, turning away from the thin crimson shell, countless blood nodes and chimeric stem particles, dissolving into the darkness of the void with an all-encompassing tangible barrier.


    �� Everything is your will... Man?


    The breath caught in his throat, and then came the realization that he could no longer absorb with his organs the light moisturizing substances that were no longer there, which had absorbed the all-consuming supermassive voids, which the distorted decomposition of his own organic nature did not allow to count, falling into the void along with the visual fibers.


    Rising above the forests, the columns lay in complex geometric shapes one on top of the other in a shaky cyan-dark tower, with the rough bodily movements of mountain stones and earthy soil around a sun-baked river, shifting red sand, unyielding lush green trees, sticky mud and poisonous plants. With an unknown and faceless elemental force, they grew high into the sky like a shapeless gigantic branch, gradually touching the chimeric ends of wild petals to the closest stars among all the others. But having covered themselves with thin crusts of ice, they began to decompose, dying off into painful clumps of endlessly multiplying tiny particles, after which not even a single large speck of dust remains from the last disappearing quarks... but inside of which, freeing themselves from: until that moment, closed and erupting layers of new endless separation, with the empty tangible universe, boundless primordial masses began to interbreed, inevitably eclipsing the now disappeared and never existing particles.


    The space breathes, changes, growing decaying crimson dwarfs around the dazzling planetary nebula, which for an infinitely long time is carried away into the all-consuming end of existence by the surreal winds of dazzling darkness.


    Nothing moves. There is no more decomposition, it has evaporated into the lightest layers of the very last and endlessly disappearing connecting link of the contracting lone quark, just as a cosmic flame goes out at the tip of the charred and turning to dust of the unreal tree of the universe.


    and then Nothing..


    ..And nothing, never there was no


    The Wave is freed from infinity, long ago generated by the primordial sun by the waves of breakaway existence, invading the once native palaces of this space . They bulge, shrinking inside from continuous chaotic reactions, biting into each other, tearing, absorbing it space in a sophisticated confrontation with the terrifyingly collapsing pressures of the absorbing voids.


    Chaos scatters its own organs of the distorted universe, as if exploding itself from the inside next to the distorted black holes, which seem to be melted by endlessly spacious liquid layers of baryonic sections, destroyed by boundless alien spaces, which only after billions of generations realized by an intelligent being will be circled with ambiguous complex symbols: appear. But right now, the dissolving remnants of the mass of dark matter are sadly flowing into the bottomless and desolate abyss of infinity, leaving behind a place for countless reproductions, decompositions and exploding chimeric reactions of new evolving currents of the rising youth nature.


    The next Wave sweeps through with a silent, space-scarring echo of writhing alien matter, leaving behind deep wounds, warmed by the colorful eruptions of endless bright galaxies. Thick motionless clouds, magical cosmic dust, embracing every innumerable particle of the universal canvas, tangible And intangible.


    Shapeless, flimsy columns are being erected again, growing in a complete interweaving of matter into a breathing tower that tirelessly multiplies amid internal battles, absorbing moist yellow earth, thick black leaves, flexible calcareous branches, coals charred by lightning strikes, centuries-old moss overgrown with microbes. Withstanding the raging murmur of shifting earth plates, heavy hail of rain and stones, shaking blows of the storm. Until one single moment, when the blossoming stems of a flower almost come into contact with the dark cosmic radiance, until this chaotic pyramid collapses, leaving ruins around it, sophisticated with damage, then here and there crushing the wandering bodies of creatures, insects, thick greenhouse gases, dissolving under the celestial brightest halo crushing space.


    The next Wave sweeps high above the scorched and icy surface, pushing away the heaviest gray matter that has already fallen so low that it has begun to come into contact with the palisades of fading yellow sprouts that have become related to deeply buried seeds. But when they come into contact with the ground, they burn, covering wide cracks with a massive wet blanket, falling into dying plexuses of nuclei from growing green blisters of bleeding flesh.


    Ugly rains of asteroids pierce the spatial layers with sharp humpbacked hills, destroying the moving bodies of microbes beneath them, burning the habitat seething in agony. The flame burns for many years, centuries, epochs, but one day it goes out under the thick snow-white flakes of aggregate patterns of frozen drops of water. Chaotic periods of world bacteria interbreeding with new elements of mutilated existence pass.


    And one day, on top of the thick pads of oozing liquid flesh, nail joints are formed, compressing the milky womb.


    The creatures'' skinny and strong hands hold on to the fragile arrays of mechanisms, placing one stone after another. One wooden block is attached to all the others. The chaotic dark corridors are being built into a new tower, sparkling with stalactites and precious eruptions of underground sources, rising high to the night sky, hidden from the white sun by wandering dark clouds. Continuous rains wash away ancient inscriptions, covering the cracked rectangular slabs with slimy green vegetation. Centuries-long, the common labors of creatures crash among one of the countless deserted islands, drowning in thick blue lakes and bloody swamps draining the stench of death. Birds crash on thick, scratched stones. From the gloomy cramped nests low animal cries are heard from chewed wings, bones, small muscles and muscles torn by a thousand claws. It dragged everything living, everything warm inside, filling the thick belly of the gigantic structure with a colossal mass of waste until it began to fall apart into small and massive pieces.


    Heavy iron bracers, staining their own honor with the shed blood of innocents, lay out complex metal grooves, assembling majestic constructs from a variety of concrete and stone materials. From month to month they unite into a still growing marble tower, which acquires new spacious chambers and sacred temples, prayer beds touching the snow-white clouds of cosmic dust. Torment inside, distraught by hatred, envy, the stinginess of the primitive mind, rains down exploding shells on the massive walls of the broken tower, before breathing his last echoing breath, carried away from this land under the pressure of a terrifyingly strong hurricane, painting the former virgin world in super-giant ruins, poisonous rains, icy wastelands.


    Decorated with decaying covers of old films, musicals and folk stories about the history of one of the most ancient civilizations, wide gray bridges diverge in front of a rebuilt ancient tower, whose head-cut upper part of a chaotic bleeding structure tilts over smaller multi-level structures, factories, which are again hit by a rocket barrage of bright multi-colored flashes, erasing the last from history mentions of a notebook with an adult name of a once-existing mother, unable to come to terms with the death of the former wonderful world, devoid of love, warmth, peace, hope...


    A skinny little girl whose hair is darker than a deep hot coal, and whose body looks sicker than any dead creature presented to the morgue department on a lonely deathbed. Her fingers timidly squeeze the steel pen, putting hope in the crooked letters on the sheet of paper that gradually form into her own name. A name devoid of meaning, color, feeling, desire, interpretation, history, humanity about which I never knew anything except the sound, a strange cognitive aftertaste at the ends of her consciousness that... never existed. Just like these meaningless speech units of self-awareness. Dots, commas, glass, vision... Attempts to embody, to demonstrate to you something painful, beautiful, missing.


    "This..."


    ?The world in which she was created by random consciousness" �� a familiar voice landed on his shoulders.


    "What''s happening?"


    ?Nothing. Everything perished, dissolved and disappeared along with the unbridled palaces of the endless universe.��


    ��How can infinity cease?��


    ��Because the infinity of your reality is surrounded by limitless layers of unreal waste from Other spaces, ejected by the thoughts and instincts of beings, suffering and distortions of the molecular remnants of dismembered existence, which no one��s thinking intellect, emotion, or organ could ever comprehend. For in that boundless ancient period, everything had limitations tangible to existence... But it��s too early for you to look so deeply, you won��t be able to withstand this flow of information. Now she WILL DESTROY you."


    He did not immediately feel the smooth and cold surface on his cheek. The push of the wind into his body was quite noticeable, causing the gray-faced man to roll back on his shoulders, hitting the back of his head lightly on the floor. When I opened my eyes, I saw the usual light wall, blocked by a long bedside table with drawers, beautiful wallpaper and a large painting depicting a dark gloomy ocean in which a tall brown frigate with dark sails persisted in the raging elements of the storm. Once again, the cozy yellowish light of fluorescent installations, decorative lamps with beige-light green curtains, ceilings painted with wooden carvings above which either tiny people or small animals were running erratically. All around him was the same familiar hospital corridor. Silhouettes were scurrying around everywhere, someone''s life and different titles and names. And he just ended up here, sitting near the fireplace on a small and soft carpet.


    ***


    Limitless creation of nature. Their chaotic giant bodies hit the fantastic layering of the atmosphere, the air surface, causing a catastrophic earthquake, destroying the structures of massive and tiny structures, causing everything around to crumble like a countless number of different giant grains, among which it was impossible to distinguish cars, natural parks, and silhouettes rolling to the sides. Systems of connecting buildings, mechanical prosthetics of road bridges and some system satellites, under raging tongues of flame and smoke, fall down onto highways, avenues of an area overcrowded with living creatures, between numerous streets, central work buildings and other infrastructure structures that are now enslaved by the elements of destruction. Distorted by an unknown force of giants, systematic hills, convulsing organs, lepidopteran blades, covered in excretions with screams, entire residential areas turn into overcrowded ruins, pouring over the edge of mountainous massifs and hitting the sharp edges of sky-high lead-brown buildings, gradually, stubbornly covering themselves with ugly and pressing inside with breaks.


    The most defenseless, the lowest blood creatures die instantly, slowly, in an inevitably painful disorder. Are these faces familiar to anyone? Vote. Their every single intention, every subsequent moment devoid of movement, comprehension, to continue to run forward, getting out from under the rubble, a ferocious fanged mouth from lighting spotlights, glass, bones, memory, plum fillers and someone''s nostrils. The developing wave of destruction overcame several more natural and artificially arising obstacles in the form of magnetic barriers, like a slowed-down cosmic ring of multifaceted asteroids, cutting the entire planet beneath it in two. Piercing. Tearing. Ripping open all the internal organs of a single and still breathing organism.


    An immensely gigantic body, at one end of which darts a fragment of a head with mechanical chains from countless hybrid links of bone enzymes of a severed organ, on par with the indescribably multiplying environment of an indescribably colossal spine, crawling with incredible speed along the fragments of overheated roads, destroying them and raising the densest domes from fragmented sidewalks, columns and other surroundings, knocking over everything in its path, not to mention the frightened crooks from another neighboring area. The endless picturesque puzzles of the city are crushed under the yoke of crushing bodily force, jumping from commercial airships to spacious weightless structures of parks, temples and theaters. A powerful force, accumulated in one chain-mechanical connection, hits the next building, climbing up it with sharp nails like an animal, devoid of its own body except for one human hybrid head, in which the teeth from the mouth have turned into those very nails around the elongated phalanges of fingers, rapidly reaching the very top: In the very epicenter of the ongoing chaos, along long kilometers, through all the highways, streets and floating high in the sky of the building, a simulating, almost infinitely long spine of mechanical links, vertebrae and cartilage, which were surrounded by tortured bleeding flesh and steel, was already stretched everywhere. In some places, fragments of thick, shell-like skin appeared. Their end grew to a huge human head, the size of fifty to sixty meters, with light gray, slightly pinkish beautiful skin. Long, luxurious eyes with blurry pale green pupils, similar to yolks that were broken and spilled along a snow-white burning frying pan of heterogeneous sclera. Wide, sharp cheekbones with flexible wrinkles around elastic skin. The flexible forehead was covered with thick, seemingly graying hair with woolen curls at the back of the head, but the earlobes, wings of the nose and chin were as if pierced with precious ancient stones, a few sparkling around the skin with the silvery poetry of corrupting thinking in the bright rays of the rising sun.


    The expressive madness in the sexless eyes of this creature seemed to embrace every fragment of this space, every life, thought, desire, mixed blood circulation, decayed in time of origin and...


    The gigantic head jumped down again, developing behind it a fabulous speed and a spinal whip immensely destroying everything in its path. From the huge destroyed depression in the ground, fragments of surfaces, glass and ceilings scattered, adding their mutilated outlines to the general multiplying dark pit of ruins that continued to fall from skewed bridges, buildings and the firmament winking with signal devices. It was as if the sky began to fold in half in a surreal three-dimensional plane, into which absolutely everything was pulled, setting a new moment or an undeniably critical signal of distress.


    Why do you need to pursue, fence or call things by other names when a spontaneous wave is hiding behind the windbreaks, waiting for an unnaturally calm moment. Distorted by four surfaces, a kaleidoscope from the outlines of the city fell onto other parts of the earth, on which gigantic human hands unexpectedly and sharply rested, as if disfigured by dimensional accumulations of muscles creeping down, between whose wrinkles hung dozens of different voices, lymph nodes, mirrors... They screamed, rejoiced, begged and moaned. They expressed or released a stream of formless sounds, particles of disconnected organs that, although they were similar to everyone living here, were still smarter and behaved more primitively. They swallowed the rest of the sounds, the meanings of color and an overly rethought existence, wrapped in a spacesuit dull from rust and mold, decayed skin on the lips, chemically mixed dye, sudden movements of stones in the murmuring water, memories and actions.


    Chaos is turned inside out, depriving everything of order.


    A gigantic human head stopped in one of the streets, examining one of the random creatures soaring above the ground in an interweaving of sensitive blood vectors, crawling out like organic worms from under the skin, flesh and bones of the unfortunate person. Or happy? Hunting for luck, hoping for a meeting? Rapprochement and morning. The structure of his body began to smoothly spread like paints under water, dissolving the sewn materials of clothing, exposing organs, joints, the consistency of creatine, proteins and other vital molecular bonds, unable to hide from the creation in front of him a single low-molecular island of a single space, flowing around people scattering in different directions who helplessly rolled down the sidewalk, which suddenly turned into a vertical earthen arc. Were you running away from the unknown pull of the surreal emptiness? A creature who wants to gorge himself with knowledge about nature, vascular form, plant structure. Find out which cells are blocked by the chitel membrane.


    And they looked at him as a fool, proclaiming exclusively vile rights. The head looked into the annihilating core of the half-man, half-cat, endowing his essence with unprecedented freedom in full. Having tasted his liquid from the musculoskeletal goblet, enjoying the hopes of gaining secret knowledge about the pornographic sect that awakened the sharpness of his ugly chain-mechanical spine. Is his body the acquisition of a sick symbiosis, a childhood ulcer? To be a particle, appendage or non-existent of the universal abyss, over every centimeter of skin, interstitial squiggle, deformation of the intestinal zone. The formation of sound hitting an airy veil that has no form, direction, omnipresent dense movement, friction, transformation. Something looked at the man with the ears of a cat, having pieced his body together from the spare parts of the deadly breed he had scattered, watching his screams and eye sockets rolling out of their sockets. It moves, breathes along with the rest, but separately from everything, in a special way. His shades differ from other beings, their vital bodily axis, while being the same as them.


    The giant eyes bent down, carefully watching the body floundering in heartbreaking torment, consisting of a torso, one twisted right leg of a squealing, innocent male head with incorrectly placed ears and a tail in a bleeding open bone.


    The body of the unfortunate guy did not have time to completely return to its previous and incorrectly recreated state, and then the gigantic head of the creature discarded its unfinished form with dissolved cat shells and open flesh along its length, its absence revealing red pulsating muscles around the elastic folds of convulsing tissue. Like a cunning giant snake, the creature rushed after the rest of the people and creatures in order to repeat this process again with composure in its eyes, as if this very thing was in a biology lesson for the study of anatomy, where shocked escaping faces were used instead of experimental frogs. At the same time, giant muscular arms with their unnatural hybrid grotesqueness walked along the streets protected by grouped guards, emerging from the chaotic admixtures of multi-colored clouds, in which the gloomy dark shades of the upper layers of the atmosphere were buried, from which massive faces, as if dressed in masks, stretched out. They were spectators with good hearing but poor eyesight, absorbing something new, unique and complex. But from afar it was difficult to see anything, especially when the eyes were filled with raging fragments of the illusory nature of the summer kitchen, soaked under the skin of the tablecloth next to someone else��s voice, expounding the essence of rising inflation.


    ***


    All creatures and people around were filled with anxiety, panic, and then all-consuming horror. Screens erupted from everywhere, broadcasting the scene of the catastrophic incident. The guards and random guards became confused and began to dispose of separate groups of all civilians present. The walls turned into spacious colorful corridors with refracted atmospheric compartments in the ceilings, along which the chambers deftly maneuvered, chaotically transforming the formula of the amazing layout of the building, setting off along given routes. Grey-face ran out of the building with his group of people, fussingly responding to each other. Teenagers, girls and many other people were running, who could hardly fit outside now. They quickly went down the stairs and elevators. High in the sky, everything was painted in flickering dark gray lines from passing warships and guards whizzing by with chimeric armored physiques almost overhead. Soldiers gather groups of people, escort them somewhere, and carry children and animals. And so he stands in the center of the crowd, squeezed from all sides and looks along with everyone at the wide-angle screen through which they broadcast the area of ????the Nihonto region, in which they were located quite far from the scene of the incident. Everyone looked terrified. Screams and hysterics could already be heard, while the presenter��s voice loudly said:


    __??"THREAT: �� STAGE"DEVA-ONNA-SUGOR"!??___ EVERYONE MUST FOLLOW SAFETY RULES! EVERYONE GO TO THE NEAREST SHELTER IMMEDIATELY!"


    New detachments of guards began to fly up, escorting everyone present to the arriving transports. The sky around seemed to turn gray and was covered with a suffocating, gloomy smog. Although he was in the middle of tall multi-level towers, intertwining floors of other types of structures and other architectural monuments, separating high kilometers of towering walls from the next node of endless wires and cables. Somewhere in front of one of the noisy screens they suddenly and loudly shouted: These are our brothers! Our sisters! They are back to us!! We Will Be Reborn!!!


    Fear constricted my throat. Shackled my legs. Hands. Memories of my own deaths surfaced like painful painful sensations in the bins of chaotic memory. But did he really die? At least ever? Did he return to this strange life after that terrible wound to the chest? In his heart. His lungs. Just like that blond boy whose head he crushed. Terrible... Wrong... Kuroba also spilled the beans. Is it worth trusting anyone in this place?


    Or is this a dream? Or is he nothing that belongs to this place? Or maybe he, like a cat, has seven or more, or maybe very few trial lives that he must spend wisely? No matter how much you would like to realize your next crazy theory, to delve into the painful and aggravating reality of the truth. The truth about himself, as a crazy psychopath lost in an alien world who is doomed to eternal wandering among his nightmares. But if these are his nightmares, then it means that only his rotten, degrading mind has power over them. Hence the conclusion why his consciousness perceives what is happening around him so poorly.


    He turned in the direction from which waves of fleeing residents continued to follow employees, officers and guards in shining armor. A huge mechanical beam galloped past them, stunningly cutting into the ground. The guard instantly protected with his armor from another flying boulder of stones, a torn off door and set fire to the body of an autonomous vehicle. For a moment, the gray-faced man seemed to catch a glimpse of a huge thick neck crawling somewhere very far away. He quickly ran past the frightened bystanders, ignoring the screams of the approaching guardsmen. It was as if he suddenly realized that he had to be there at any cost. As if they were waiting for him there, on a street destroyed by unknown creatures without a name, without monuments, without the names rebuilt by all the working hearts. This is a feeling of fear, indignation, uncertainty and regret that comes out of nowhere. They beckoned him, ordered him to meet something he did not understand. What if someone should get hurt there? Or rather destined. It��s as if what is happening around was once upon a time considered by someone. But should this happen? Is this correct? Inevitably? Perhaps all these creatures around are unimportant. The bright light in the sky doesn''t matter. It doesn''t matter what he feels. It makes absolutely no sense to itself. And the words of that girl from the cave gave him confidence that he was here for a reason. But then why is this happening right now?


    He painfully crashed his shoulder into the inner lining of a moving trolleybus, into which the gray-faced man literally jumped into it at full speed. Naturally, there was no one inside, not even the driver. The car was guided by the autopilot mode, which was highlighted on the driver��s display, possibly heading to the place indicated on the map where those nightmarish actions took place. Is the system broken? The man collapsed wearily on the seat in the center of the cabin, looking at advertisements about someone''s planned concerts, the opening of a manga and comic book salon, new mineral water and personal chef services at home. The man only now remembered the device in his ear, which some individual brazenly handed him on his first day of appearing in this place. In this city? Country? World? To his surprise, instead of the neural expanse of programs, settings and other delights of networked cyberspace, noisy, distorted interference scattered before his eyes, endlessly scattering like dark gray gunpowder. From the windows you can still see the surroundings of the shopping area, already deserted streets and alleys.


    I really wanted to sleep. He turned his head to the left, imagining that someone else was sitting next to him and encouraging him, although at first it seemed that someone��s voice appeared next to the driver��s seat and chattered loudly: ��So, my dear comrade! Let''s not leave, next stop is heading to Hell! Please don''t wear your seat belt and try to stay sane!"It could be some guy, a girl, something else completely unfamiliar to him, or maybe even an animal with reasonable intelligence. But what would suddenly force each of them to end up here? Driving to certain death under the collapsing rubble of buildings. Grey-faced was sure that he would not die today. The fact that he was attracted to those creatures for some unknown reason was another strange phenomenon that could not be properly explained. This feeling came out of nowhere, which means it��s worth follow him. Seize this chance. A chance that reveals the permissibility of his stingy mind to gain knowledge.


    A fool wandering through thick, swift currents of wind, perhaps in an instant losing his sanity. Counting down the minutes on my fingers, embarrassed by everything. The words he understood were the most valuable, embodied in small, unstable instruments that he knew so poorly how to use. His first rendezvous with life, which was, for a person who had accidentally hatched out of nothing, an alien, all-consuming matter that chilled his imaginary soul, which had the ability to develop, to the point of trembling. Trusting his new feelings, he will rush to the call of alien vibrations of the vast existence, exploding with an absolute natural flow inside the only one, riding alone to meet another world.

 ,,G-lav_a ?▏??//..2▉.▊ "DEV?Ａ-O▌?v▋▊▊╒N&#x1D643;A-SUG?R" /.. ,

    Dawn crawled like a wound, healing with a barely noticeable film of starlight that no longer warmed. The sun did not rise above the horizon - it squeezed itself out from behind distant ridges, as if someone huge was pushing it from within this world, like a core that was fading with every second. Or a wheel? Each of its rays, escaping, flickered like a glass needle immersed in water, and disappeared, as if dissolving into reality itself. The shadows no longer fell. They grew from cracks in the ground, flowed out of stones and grass, like a viscous liquid, mixing with the air. Their movements could not be guessed: some went against the light, others seemed independent of the laws of time. Where the border should have been, there were only waves of ripples, as if the earth itself was shaking in its death throes.


    Illar stood in the midst of this chaos, not noticing that his own shadow was being torn from his feet. It trembled, stretched upward like a torn thread, and then began to spread to the sides, leaving behind barely visible strokes, as if someone had tried to erase it from the canvas of the world, but forgot to finish the job.


    The sky no longer belonged to this universe. There were no usual twinkling stars or snow-white clouds on it - only pulsating arteries, sometimes intersecting, sometimes diverging into fragments of the cosmic stomach. There was a threat in their every movement, hidden like a knife flashing under a cloak of immensely ancient and eternally decaying skin. Illar felt his mind trying to comprehend the phenomenon that was happening, but every look inside himself only intensified the headache, pulsating along with these lines under the eyelids, the folds of the stomach, between the toes and hunched back. In the eyes there is dark steel, worn out by years of labor and silent struggle with the stubborn earth. His hand habitually lay on the ax handle, tightly gripping the mechanical fastener of the shaft.


    The blade, eternally sharp, covered with thin veins of darkening steel, flashed in the first rays, like a predatory premonition. The man called him ��The Voice of the Earth.�� Each blow cut not only wood, but also something invisible that connected him to this stubborn, living soil all the years of labor.


    Something was moving in the distance��vague, heavy, gigantic, like the breath of an ancient divine beast. The air was drawn into a tight, burning loop that smelled of molten metal and charred root. Illar felt his chest squeeze, as if this noose was now tightly squeezing his neck.


    Illar looked up at the horizon, and his breath froze in his chest, as if he had been pushed out of a world where air was still important. Something was there - not a form, not a being, but the broken echo of a thousand touches of fingers near the ears, as if the cracked membrane of the world was trembling under the hum of an endless presence, someone��s presence loading the weight of an entire planet. His gaze could not catch on to anything specific: trees, fields, old mountain hills, horizon lines melted like soggy paper, leaving imprints of pain similar to burns.


    The Titan was there. Or it wasn''t. Not visible to the eye, but felt by the gut, alien, like a splinter stuck under the skin that cannot be pulled out with the long edge of an ax. The feeling of his presence came from within - a heavy tearing pain, as if a sharp blade had pierced deep, cutting not the organs, but the very essence of perception. But this pain did not remain alone - it crawled deep into the consciousness, curling into a long slimy lump that breathed, moaned, lived its own life in a piece of a foaming young cyst. And the air rang like a string stretched to the limit, the vibration of which entered the skin, cracked in the bones, gave off a burning pain in the skull, piercing the thick bodies of plants and the fragile feathers of green foliage.


    The feeling was alive, as if his insides were trying to open in response to something nameless that had entered this world through an invisible crack. Illar felt this entity sliding through his mind, not recognizing him as a person, but only as another macroscopic knot of endlessly proliferating and dying flesh, like a grain of sand on the path of unstoppable decay. It even seemed to him that he heard subtle touches of thought diffused in space. The Titan was breathing. Or did you think? His invisible presence was like a tongue, which, having passed along the body of the planet, left deep notches on it. He''s to blame, he''s sorry. He hates and despises. Grieving. But he forgives...


    The ground in front of Illar began to move. Softly, almost imperceptibly. Figures rose from the ground, but they could not be called people? These were the broken shadows of memories belonging to humans, hemians and others. Women with stretched, silently singing faces, whose lips opened in song without sound, without fear. Men with empty chests, where instead of hearts there were bottomless mouths filled with endless screams, bursting out with mighty anthems, insults, patriotic eruptions of words. They walked past in disorderly herds, unaware of Illar, their bodies twitching like ghostly projections, layered on top of each other, like hundreds of blurry photographs printed on damp paper. Their movements were jerky, as if the world itself was trying to erase them from the face of the earth, but could not complete its work.


    -Have you looked at the stars?..


    �� Do you remember them?


    -Have you counted their numbers?


    One of the birds suddenly froze in the air, as if it had been struck by an invisible spear piercing space. The wings remained spread, but the living flight disappeared, giving way to artificial immobility. It seemed as if time itself had decided to detain her, holding her in a tense pause between moments. Then she began to move to the left - in sharp, broken jerks, as if an invisible hand grabbed her and clumsily pulled her through a small section of space. Her body became unnaturally long, as if someone was pulling it by invisible threads. The flesh lost its shape, but did not disappear, remaining in crumbling pieces. Suddenly the space around her collapsed like glass shattered by a silent blow. The air crunched, closing in with an invisible force. The bird exploded in one short squeeze. A single bone with an eyeball flew out of her head. In place of her almost dissolved bloody head, only her shank remained, shining dimly in the twilight, before she disappeared into silence, falling somewhere down into the thick grass.


    The other birds froze, as if sensing someone else''s presence. Their bodies tensed, their wings twitched convulsively. The air suddenly became noticeably heavy, as if filled with invisible pressure, thick and sticky, like oil.


    The next blow fell on the group, which made an awkward turn in panic. The space around them twisted like crumpling metal, and suddenly compressed into one unimaginably dense point. In an instant, they disappeared, leaving only a bloody crater of feathers and flesh, which was instantly caught by an invisible whirlwind.


    The sound again remained somewhere outside this world, not reaching the ears - only a trembling in the bones indicated that something was.


    Illar was the one who always felt the ground under his nails, even when his hand did not touch it. His life was cyclical, like the change of seasons: work, crops, caring for his family. In his village, technology mixed with ancient practices, where the earth was still revered, and inventions were not a burden, but only a way to make hard work easier. His house was old, simple, but full of warmth - outside the windows of the eternal darkness of their home, which created harmony with nature, life was always in full swing.


    Setanna, his beloved wife, was wise and strong, her hands were always covered with calluses, but her face was soft, like freshly baked bread. She stood behind him, always supported him, although she did not get into his reserved soul. Her eyes, wise with pain and joy, looked into the future without losing hope, but in her gaze there was longing for what was lost and the bitterness of what cannot be returned. They had been through a lot together, but life seemed more unbearable than ever.


    The daughter''s face was the first to emerge above the porch of the house - shining, filled with life, like a ray of light in a musty basement. But this light quickly began to change shade: too white, too cold, like moonlight, from which you cannot escape. He saw her eyes widen in fear of something invisible. Wasn''t she standing in the middle of an empty house, surrounded by unfamiliar creatures? Or was it his fault? Her laughter sounded high, too shrill, almost like breaking musical strings. This sound came out of her mouth like shards of a mirror, and his own memory immediately shattered into pieces. Illar remembered her childhood dreams - to become a scientist, to explore the stars. But why did the stars for a moment turn into red-hot spokes piercing her small palms? Where did this come from? Why did he suddenly feel like he was giving her to the sacrificial altar?


    The eldest stopped in the distance, at the very edge of the forest. She had always been quiet, but now her silence had become an eternal vow. He saw her as a lonely figure, standing in a black field, clutching in her hands something soft and fluttering - like a bird with torn wings. The bird twitched in her small palms, but she continued to stroke it, as if trying to calm it down. Or break it even more.


    Why did he suddenly remember that time when he couldn''t find her? When he found her two days later at an old abandoned temple, kneeling in front of a ruined statue of a god no one remembered?


    Marina raised her eyes to him in this vision, and he felt an unbearable heaviness - as if she saw right through him, and in her gaze there was an awareness of something terrible and ancient. A realization he himself had never had.


    Heavy tread. The rattle of chains. Illar heard this sound in every thought, as if his own brain was dragging shackles. The eldest son Axel was too tall, too stately, as always, but now his silhouette trembled as if in a flame.


    ��You did everything wrong, father.�� �� The voice sounded like a bolt of lightning, breaking the burning and cramped silence.


    His hands were stained with oil or blood - Illar could not tell. He had seen Axel dismember old machines as a child, creating strange, useless devices, but now he was faced with mechanical monsters made of flesh and steel. He never recognized their form - only the unbearable presence of pain locked in every movement of these monsters. Axel stepped forward, and the ground around him cracked like bursting leather. His face, as if eaten away by insane symbols, became unbearably alien. Or was it always like this and he just didn��t notice?


    His wife was the closest. The sun''s reflections played in her hair that day when he first saw her. Now this hair felt as if it had been burned. Her gaze��impeccably warm��suddenly became distorted, became faded, like an old painting, and Illar felt an invisible weight fall on his shoulders. He remembered how they lay next to each other in silence, how she whispered something soothing to him when he could not sleep. Now her whisper sounded like the rustle of dry leaves being crushed by the wind.


    He fell to his knees, his mind trembling against this incomprehensible intrusion. His thoughts��his past��were no longer his. Everything he knew, everything he loved, was twisted and turned inside out, like an inverted leather bag with millions of soft bridles at the bottom. He heard a distant rustling, as if the Titan himself was looking into his memories and decided to reassemble them in his own way, breaking every detail, every meaning, every symbol. His breathing became ragged. The whole world trembled, as if its existence was teetering on the edge of rupture. The man realized that what was now happening in his head was just the beginning. This was the Titan''s first breath, his play with reality. And now he knew that the past no longer existed. It was just now. Only irreversible.


    The space no longer screamed, did not crack - it calmed down, curled in on itself, like a frightened animal. The branches of the trees trembled in place, but the leaves did not sway, as if the wind now existed somewhere beyond the boundaries of thought.


    The earth was covered with a network of deep, invisible cracks, through which the absence of color, the primordial vacuum itself, peeked out. The stones melted with their own memory of weight, crumbling into fine dust, like the crushed bones of something eternal.


    A crack in the face that exposes the lie


    Sighing quietly, the eldest ran her hand over her stomach, and her body obeyed her will. The ribs parted with a crunch, spreading apart like the petals of a strange flower. A heart fell out of the sternum - not bloody, but translucent, like a crumpled piece of glass amber. She pulled it out without the slightest regret, trembling barely noticeably from pain that was impossible to hide. Other organs followed: lungs, liver, stomach - coiled into strange organic spheres, flickering with dim golden lights like forgotten relics.


    Nadia held them out to Titanis, as if offering fruit from a torn tree.


    The younger Titanide stopped, bowing her head, as if examining the gift, but her gaze penetrated deeper - it slid over the remnants of the girl��s soul, studying her weaknesses, her lost faith, her forgotten fears. Her outstretched fingers, which seemed to be created from layers of burnt reality, gently wrapped around the organs, squeezed, and there was so much love and gratitude in this touch.


    The organs suddenly flared up, lighting up with a strange ashen light, like a flock of pulsating animal bodies, and disappeared into the depths of the Titanide, becoming part of it, and in place of the girl��s heart, something alien, new appeared. Torn Heart lay on her massive palm, still beating, but fluidlike wax under fire. The tissue of the human body began to perversely heal, closing itself with fibers woven from colorless threads of broken reality.


    The world shook.


    Not in.


    Not an exchange.


    Confession.


    Nadiya suddenly saw her father standing in the distance, a broken figure at the edge of the field, disappearing into the ragged algorithm of the universe. His eyes were dead, alien, like those of those who had already seen the other side of the world.


    And then Titanide made a gesture - nervous, sharp, like a spasm, curled into a knot of pulsating fibrous space, as if reality itself trembled in pain.


    Their house is quiet. Walls in which dust has accumulated are the remnants of forgotten thoughts. Every breath is like steps in an empty gallery where no one is standing anymore. Illar and his family are victims of their own eternity. They still remember how they woke up one day, but they forgot why. And not because forgetting is the lot of the weak. No. They forgot because it��s easier for them.


    Look at him. An ordinary person, dressing in fashion, with a tense mask of a ��caring father��. In his eyes - nothing. He cannot even explain to himself why so much time in his life is spent on empty rituals: food, bed, conversations, work, this whole meaningless race, where every step leads to a dead end. What is this face that he presents to the world? Expects his actions to be understood? You''re lying, Illar. You know that no one understands you. You know that no one will understand you, because even you yourself are not able to recognize yourself. You try to hide it behind speeches about how much you love your family. But you know what? You are simply afraid, afraid to admit that your love is not love, but a safe place where you don��t need to think. You have love in order to be sure that you will not be alone.


    Titanide grins at his hidden mind fragments. Thin, dirty, like torn pieces of paper with notes that have long been forgotten. Illar does not understand that he is the one who is incapable of love. He cannot love because he does not know what it is like to be himself. But he can count how, for every empty minute, his consciousness wipes out another memory, another component of what makes him human. He has no inner voice. You''re not alive. You exist, but you don''t live.


    His wife.What kind of woman? There is no rage in her gaze. There is no pity in her silence. There is only lifeless patience, which is passed on to her through generations, as if this is her destiny. She became like all this blood that flows in her veins. Forgetting about feelings is her choice, her decision, because it��s easier to be like this than to break this fruitless circle. Her every breath, every glance, every step is filled with hidden despair that she will never see the world outside her cell. She was afraid to be a woman, afraid to be a mother, afraid to be someone real, and not part of a mechanism that feeds her the illusion of ��happiness.�� Fear of being noticed is its real essence. By hiding it, she sold her soul for an uneasy balance, for the confidence that everything in her life is controlled, even if this control isartificial.


    Their children already know that there has been no heat in their house for a long time. Titanide sees that inside each of them there are fragile fragments secondary worldswhich they themselves are unable to understand. How to educate people when you yourself cannot know what it means to be human? Inspire them? You can''t. You don''t understand what inspiration is.


    When Illar''s last gaze meets his family''s, he sees only one thing: the world they once knew is disappearing. All that remains is the out-of-sync illusion of a flower that never was and never will be.


    ***


    It seemed to dry up there, being rejected, ceased to be, and then never


    and was not and was not absence, as it seemed to the slowly advancing proboscis, exuding moisture and pheromones, they multiplied, breathed, formed, inexhaustibly smoldered and were born edges, vessels, fading brown growths, rapidly absorbed by the tormented, as if torn into pieces, emptiness from which it spread... Turning his head back, until painfully forming cracks around small bones. To see the many outlines of streets colored by the light of lamps, hybrid structures, stray animals, distorted by the human factor from pronouns, shimmering with another imaginary sensitivity, liquid in the four-section hemispheres of the brain organ, chaotic, crossed with tangible macroscopic spaces of space, developing immeasurably up to the first appearance, sensation, decomposition, movement, which became your first sound, echo, your voice, your understanding, or absence, limply weighing down in the distant expanses at the bottom of a bed or a sea of ??sand. They are warming themselves. They''re freezing. They bark loudly. Laughing hard as they watch. They sob quietly, imagining it.


    A system overflowing with transformative information [FLASH] burst out with continuous notifications inside the invigorated consciousness, while in parallel with it the corporeal body was rapidly clad in the service armor of nullification, partially covered by a superstructural metamorphosis, usually intended for prolonged combat operations. But with all this, surrounded by some of his comrades who exchanged glances, he was not the only one who was taken by surprise. A sudden, mind-shattering awakening. A minute to prepare. And now, together with their colleagues, their path is blocked by the service cabins of a combat vehicle, in the belly of which they will hold out until their destination.


    His eyes were already fearfully examining the horribly disfigured expanses of two central districts, located a hundred kilometers from the capital: the semi-industrial ��Gardariki�� and the ��Mila-Davaguren��, shared with many residential areas. The destroyed surroundings seemed to have become outdated battlefields, above which even the sky itself was... Torn to pieces. Spewing out as if thick vital rivers of cyan-blue blood, surrounded by infinitely massive, multi-colored ribs, bending in all directions, surfaces, underground entrails and words, both dear to someone��s heart and disgustingly cursing anyone who is exposed to the approaching ugly waves. This nightmarish sight, continuously transmitted to his consciousness in real time, made his heart beat excitedly under a pile of power mechanisms breathing in unison.


    �� "Our squad is the sixth stream! Primary task: preservation and evacuation of all residents, exclusively target and civilian class. Children and women under 52 years old under 48��2 - 11 invibra. Men under 74 years old under 50 invibra." - the voice of the operation manager resounded with the final fixed order, calculated by all forty-five guardsmen located in the unloading cabin. - "Everyone stick to the third amendment! Under no circumstances -��DO NOT ENTER BATTLE��with an unknown force and do not attempt to interfere. The Guardians will protect you and provide you with proper support. Everyone be on alert!"


    The yellow lenses around the young guardsman''s eyes turned to the spheroid, activated by the touch of thought contact, to the dirty window. A dozen more unloading capsules moved next to their equipment, occasionally maneuvering between the rubble and flying over squat, destroyed hills, disgustingly blazing with poisoned greenish smog, which seemed to contain numbers that raped the zodiac signs and other psychological manipulations of long-dead creators, flayers and artists with branded black spots. The apartment towers of corporations, retail units, and everyday backcountry parts were emptied in a matter of hours, already partially destroyed as the unknown threat advanced.


    Another capsule rushed past them in the opposite direction with lightning speed, which had probably recently left the scene of the growing disaster. But the guardsman, who was ardently watching his surroundings, was horrified by the thick and wide sheets of possible blood, in which the machine upholstery of the crumpled rescue equipment was smeared, as if not a single living place remained from it.


    �� "Thuram! Thuram! Hear-..can you hear me!?��- the sudden voice, partially distorted by network interference and an unexpected reset of factory subsystem settings, conveyed good-hearted concern and concern for his friend.


    �� "Ah... Arcadia?" - from the first moment he recognized the familiar voice of his friend.


    �� "Are you on the way to Veles?"


    It was as if the inexhaustible noise of the collapsing atmospheric surf somehow intruded through the casing of the equipment, through the matrix of the sensory-brain flow and the damaged network channel, from which the mysterious interference, albeit not much, made it difficult to try to clearly hear the female voice on the other side. But then, it was especially difficult to understand why there was so much anguish in her voice.


    �� "Yes. I''ll be there in eleven minutes!" - Thuram answered confidently, listening carefully to her confused, painful breathing, looking back at one of the many screens with a timer. - "What happened to you!?"


    �� "I... Pro-ost-t me..." - tears were heard from there. - "I b-was there. I...I''m probably dying..."


    �� "What do you mean you''re dying!?"


    Some of the guards glanced at each other before continuing to eavesdrop on their conversation.


    �� "I no longer have my right arm... No legs... I don��t feel my liver... And sadness". - the damaged voice was saturated with something liquid, which made it difficult for her to breathe. - "I-I can��t... restore them... It��s as if THEY forbid me to d-do this..."


    Thoughts finally succumbed to nightmarish confusion, tightly squeezing the ability to speak. He listened in fear to her corrupted quiet voice, trying to catch every painful impulse of her body. How can this happen to her? Is this really possible? And why did they treat her like that?


    �� "Do you remember the sign of the Trinity?" - it was hard to believe, but a smile seemed to creep into her voice. - "Her sons... Her daughter. This is them... our rebirth. I was never a saint, I never believed in this... it would seem like a fairy tale..."


    �� "Ar... Arcadia. Darling, what are you talking about?" �� from under his heavy yellow eyelashes flowed tears.


    �� "P-please don''t be afraid of what might happen to us." - on the other side there was a loud, speech-interrupting noise of a massive collapse. - "I believe... W-where the old us ends, others will appear... similar... But we will be new."


    - ARCADIA!! �� in despair, he burst into a loud cry, mercilessly deafening all the emotions that silently hit the interrupted channel of the no longer existing call.


    He abruptly broke away from the connecting cables and jumped up to the grate, before anyone else he felt how the equipment was slowing down. He was ready to be one of the first to break out, but immediately froze in front of the opened gate. All his experiences were scattered with a disgusting stench of flesh. It was rotting in immensely spacious moist tumors, closer to the fatty deposits around the yellowed old drupes, the oldest of which had decomposed into deep, shriveled cracks, radiating upward to the clear snow-white sky. Inside them, they were moving, crawling, bending as if they were trying to rise - wounded interstitial covers from which an extraordinary drawn-out sound was thickly oozing, when this organic bleeding mixture appeared, it became covered with plump slippery blisters. Or was it a voice deep inside? Sinking. Clinging to memories that never existed. So familiar, understandable, but at the same time completely alienated from this collapsing world. From the spreading and translucent physical waves, a song gradually took shape, which Arcadia once told him. When does this happen? First year at the military academy. First day of school. Their first meeting. First sunset together.


    And here I am. I protect the world I love. I don��t regret that I was never able to sing this song to the rest of the world... I��m a stupid girl, aren��t I?


    The terrifying stench of decomposition gnawed under his armor, under his compers overalls, squeezing salty moisture from his nose. Having torn the spiral section of the jammed links, he threw his helmet away from him, hoping to catch at least one breath of less nasty air, which was impossible to get rid of, no matter where it went. Just a feeling of guilt generated by weakness, the death of those whom I had not remembered for so long. The strength left his legs, crushingly hitting the warm ground heated by the turbines. Traffic signs were scattered in dim neon islands along a wide city highway, the other end of which turned out to consist of indescribably gigantic red walls the size of an entire universe, in comparison with which it was a fleeting pop of air. Breathable. Walls pulsating with greenish-liquid veins. Foaming with unknown gigantic liquids like rivers spilling around the dark growing deformations and other accumulative reactions of an immensely tormented organ that is in chaotically moving stimulation. As if the integrity of his longest protruding vein in his leg depended on them, from something trying to escape from under the flesh, drowning in gray, green acids. And as if the integrity of his own anatomy, the nails on his index fingers and hands, as well as his little fingers, depended on his eye shells, his attempt not to succumb to their alluring contacts, flows, numerous vibrations. Interfemoral folds. Attractive names of cultural foods, painfully echoing with unfamiliar smells right up to his very temples. They definitely twitch. They argue. They compete.


    The willfully proliferating anatomy engulfed the buildings that had withstood the pressure of the contracting muscles, often connecting them with thick nerve endings, woven into thick smooth cables, inside which blood cells flowed with air. Between the charred stones and small flexible cartilage, the dim lights of billboards distorted by interference could still be heard. They behaved as strangely as this place. They invaded his entire being, demonstrating everything that had never existed. Beautiful, amazing, cruel, disgusting moments next to which a flexible ideational connection began to be absent. Who he was could be nothing more than a deliberately planned psychophysical patent from his own kind. Brought up. We grew up. Trained. They left the imaginary right to choose between ten thousand options, among which he is still not an artificially bred insect, calmly feeding on sluggish gas. Injecting hormonal degradation into someone''s food. Absorption by one selection regarding the torn from the original maternal nerve. Loyalty to the spells of the ideas of one altruistic messenger with a crippled hand, unable to hold two books at the same time? Or mercy for a short-lived species that fell in love with hair color and created one single place, which they will later call home?


    Thuram touched his right hand, ignoring his bare left hand and touching the dense power surface of the armor. The silvery-gilded piece is picked away along with the breaking fingernail on the index finger, breaking off with a long purple spike reminiscent of bubbly gummy grapes that somehow stretched outward instead of blood nodes and natural muscles. Doesn''t matter. But now my hand doesn��t itch anymore. It doesn''t matter anymore. And this hole can be patched with anything. There is plenty of liquid... everything... else that will fit and replenish every lost milligram of protein...


    He picks up the dirt around him, not having and not wanting to spend moments on a long-term search for alternatives, taking fairly wet and sometimes viscous soil, pushing it into a deep narrow funnel in his hand, filling it to the brim, down to the last grain of sand, in order to stop having empty space in his constant weakening form.


    He was shaken violently by the shoulder, not deliberately breaking him out of his trance. His colleague extended his hand to him, and several detachments had already grouped nearby, including some civilians, hiding behind improvised walls made of elegant classic cars of the A-82, Rosetta model from the distant year 1569.


    But for some reason, in the heads not protected by armor, Thuram was suddenly confused by their bizarre wide shapes, reminiscent of the large beaks of pelicans, in whose necks a lot of freshly caught fish seemed to be collected, even if they stank of sardines.


    - Focus, private! Their deceitful pseudo-volunteer took refuge at the base of this dairy plant. This is his last line of defense that we must cross! We have no right to die here! - spoke from his beak covered with reddened skin with stretched, snotty nostrils.


    - What?..


    The sounds of shelling and explosions were drowned out by distorted subcutaneous screams. The giant blood-bearing rocks and buildings on the other side did not appear in front of him, and instead of them, in fact, all this time there was a disproportionately large factory, the defense of which was almost impossible to break through with their extremely small combat-ready personnel. What does Commander Aramen even hope for? With their strength, it is only possible to divert a larger number of enemy groups to themselves, and then not for long. But for whom and how exactly to pull this off under the opponents�� noses?


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Thick snow-white fumes came out of the giant exhaust towers, which means work in the workshops does not stop even now, in such an unstable extraordinary situation. Thousands of poor cows continue to be exploited even before their eyes, as if mocking the duty of justice of his comrades.


    - Oh, you bastards! - Thuram bared his teeth angrily, hiding from an explosive shell in the air behind another makeshift wall, covered with corrosive chemical solutions from expired cheese samples. - What should we do, commander!? There''s no way we''ll get through that bridge! We will be on a silver platter for them! - he turned to a man with a long red mustache reloading a gun made of high-quality papier-mach��. Eh, he always dreamed of such a magnificent mustache as a child.


    - At ten o��clock, there is a horde near the white column! Let''s quickly go down it and we can cross the border underground! It��s true that you can easily get lost in the tunnels, so let��s all stick together! Someone has to cover these people! - Commander Aramen spoke very loudly into the microphone with unusual enthusiasm and inspiration in his eyes.


    - Commander Aramen! You idiot! Our opponents just heard everything! - one of the ordinary soldiers boiled with rage when the shelling of their shelters increased a hundredfold.


    - Ugh... Well, I was thinking that because of the shelling, no one would hear me? �� Aramen looked sadly at his soldiers, awkwardly holding the microphone to his chest.


    Several shells suddenly pierced the skin of the vehicles, piercing the commander''s neck and stomach. He instantly fell to the ground with his limbs torn to shreds, from which a sugary white caramel oozed, in which fragments of ribs and cervical vertebrae covered with red vessels were drowning.


    - Commander Aramen!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! - one of the soldiers desperately lamented over the mutilated body of the commander, unable to contain his emotions.


    From the fresh oozing wounds, snow-white pure petals blossomed, smoothly making their way into the peaceful light like the wide wings of numerous lepidopteran butterflies. Spreading cobwebs of trembling blue veins and rapid circulation spread across their clean, faded covers from the bud itself. A few more terrestrial gaps and they will begin to eat the pollen of other plants. They will tear to shreds the skin on someone��s muzzle or palm that dares to touch their captivating leper environment - devoid of meaning, regrets, structure, protein masses, everything alive and everything that is not replenished beyond the smallest single structures of existence which, inside one primitive substance, will one day be reborn, one day will die in the form of this happening words, pronunciation, contact.


    The left eye has already slipped to the level with one corner of the lips, frantically absorbing atmospheric air as if they were small pieces of square ice. At the shoulder joint, a mediocre troupe of performers performed, accompanied by excited musicians using solo musical instruments, who together composed a cheerful, cheerful miniature about the vastness of a poor village, into which one day a bear who knows how to tell stories made his way.


    My stomach ached from painful sensations comparable to an insatiable animal hunger. The unconscious reason to recreate someone''s long eyelashes framing empty gray eyes and a dark green birthmark on one pupil led to immensity. Like a black, hopeless monolith, it crossed the entire space, piercing deeply into the destroyed dirty earth in front of the exhausted and somehow happy Thuram. This was his secret. Thick drops of rain rolled down the monolith in long, whipping streams, piercing the dark night sky and as if painting the spacious panel houses in lifeless, ghostly gray robes.


    The qualifications of terms and research considerations, perpetuated by books, brilliant minds and stereotypes were silently washed away by another river of rain, causing hieroglyphs, letters, numbers and images carved on this infinitely huge and probably built by countless trillions of lives, instincts, consumptions, diseases like himself to disappear. Not all of them were mammals, space dust, thinking people, curses and others... Not all of them were born. Not everyone influenced how they once learned to eat, love, absorb, understand, act... one for the other. Like something that happened once or existed for something that appeared after, or maybe nothing happened. Like someone''sawareness one day. Absence. The bite of the jaws of a water beetle, biting through the chitin of an eight-winged argon while sitting on a thin leafy branch that continues to break from the weight. Why are there so many insects? Maybe he himself was probably one... In a past life?


    Come on. What stupidity, huh... And she herself said that she was stupid. I''m still... You don''t know me well.


    Thuram recoiled in fear, trembling from the immense cold and the rain piercing his very essence, falling like sharp icy needles from the black, hopeless sky. He began to turn around slowly, so as not to provoke something uncontrollable behind him, as carefully as possible. To the tall, like all the space around, forgotten in this history, covered in the all-consuming darkness of blackness, the largest buildings towering above the rest are grotesque pointed towers. Somewhere below, above the fifteenth and seventeenth of all the eightieth columns, there was a huge round clock: golden pointers frozen on a black glass sheet. The dull yellow numbers had no definite shape or consistency. It was as if they were moving, but at the same time they were clearly visible, firmly fixed by mechanisms and internal gears, in contrast to the giant disembodied eyes peeking out with shining faded crescents from under seemingly gray and ancient gray branches accumulated in a thick whirlwind of hair. The giant''s face did not exude a single intention, sensation, or emotion. From there, in the semi-darkness, only this gigantic pale head looked out, as if cut off by a thin refracted structure of an immense singularity, pushing aside its commensurately massive vertebrae, cast as if the color of silver, trembling, emerging in separate pieces of flesh along the chimeric, absorbing inexhaustible parts of the ugly existence - spine, incomparable to the tangible spaces of the seemingly familiar, but hitherto unseen underside of the universe. So bottomless, chaotically formed, as if it was a path made in the unbridled infinity of space, never having limits.


    The walls with the clock did not move. There were no lights in the windows. Why did the "Cathedral of the Humble Augutia" have to be located here? On this street. On the edge of a cliff, from where only a lifeless desert was visible, from a sea of ??black sand and collapsing yellow soil. Was it really built here on purpose? This was the idea of ??a miscalculated architect, confident that he would one day be visited by every lonely soul in this world. Or should he be convinced that doubts and regrets embody not only chaos and disorder? But also good, sincere ideas that justify any failures, falls, or crimes that have occurred..


    What about my cowardice? Don''t I have the right to escape from here? Forget their names, their faces... My life.


    Baring, long lips cut through the thick pale skin of that gigantic humanoid face. The wide ovals of the eyes narrowed sharply, the cheekbones became very tense. Thuram could barely allow himself to move without feeling one sleeping eye and his body twisting as if in a meat grinder, not realizing how to manipulate his own limbs. One of them tightly holds someone��s warm hand, another one steps with bare fingers on the bottom of a shallow river, and her lips have completely dissolved in memories, which it would seem that she got rid of many years ago with the help of amnesia and many surgical operations.


    He did not feel malice or any inclinations of a merciless predator inside the mysterious and terrifying creature, which rose sharply several massive vertebrae upward in its jump. It was as if it acted mindlessly, unaware of anything other than itself. His eerie facial expression resembled a man, suggested several dozen years of Thuram��s life, demonstrated the mutilation of the militia old the body of his only close friend, revealed the true origin of all forty-six chromosomes, one of which was torn apart by the odorous mass of synthetic expansion, up to complete destruction, depriving him of the opportunity to become part of the siphirification environment, society, contact.


    Giant faded wastelands around thick pulsating eyelids obscured the entire space around, instantly sobering Thuram��s clouded consciousness, which at the last moment saw huge hard fangs stubbornly piercing the frontal lobe like mercury and heterogeneous, various distorted streams, a painful and eardrum-breaking cacophony.


    �� Ren-Jitsu!


    A strong stream of wind whistled under Thuram''s mutilated eyes, throwing aside his thick blood-blue tears. The terrifying silhouette of a gigantic head was blocked by the parchment of a ceremonial, in places very yellowed scroll spread in the wind, which with its entire immeasurable length cut the space into two unequal parallels. The lightning-fast movement of the parchment was divided into two parts, into which the giant head of the creature crashed into the next moment. Beautiful handwritten hieroglyphs, painted in black, in a rare combination with light ink, shot up several more times, already in four disproportionately long and amazingly strong directions, rapidly returning to two initial positions, or rather two formed by the mechanical structure of the scrolls.


    Being sealed by the ratio of the held concentration of aura and at the same time the pressure of the exquisitely recreated symbiotic armor, imprinted by the eight holiest paths, the forms of the scrolls were as if welded by the magical fire of retribution to one right and one left limb of the female guardian. In an exquisite, precise pirouette, she landed on the ground with her right foot at the moment when the scrolls completely absorbed the unknown magical writing. The moving tiny grooves trembled a little, shifting on the peculiar elbow and knee joints, framed in dark red and almost lacy velvet.


    The young portrait of the face was reflected by a few gray strands, curling to smooth shoulder blades among voluminous black whirlwinds, the two longest of which were surrounded by silky red ribbons. Her body, as delicate as the stem of a spring flower, showed no signs of fatigue, which belied her partially worn battle attire, which, from bright golden tints, accumulated into a kind of tight-fitting oriental dress with a tattered red robe around her hips, damaged by unknown blows.


    Lush eyelashes with pointed plate-like wings slowly lowered over the enchanted dark spirals of eyes that were constantly focused on the two previous attacks of the giant chimera head.


    A flash of heaviness, which had been accumulating inside for unknown how long, quietly flew out of her thin little lips. The lovely slender fingers of her left hand, clad in all-encompassing elastic gold, expertly folded into the shape of a seal above which the index and middle fingers rose.


    �� Denva a pasu. - dense mechanical grooves rattled violently around the scroll in the elbow oval, a moment later from which enchanted parchment, dark as if from decomposition, rushed out. �� Queen Fenghua. Please take us away from here.


    Shaking the space, moving the suffocating black sky from its place, with a massive sweep of the ridge, the creature coolly rushed towards the guard. The brutal movement of the giant vertebrae suddenly stopped all his pressure, gnawing with a small ugly beak with ugly rows of sharp, almost bleeding fangs.


    From a nearby building, which until that moment had been hidden in the shadows of despair and regret, burst in a bird comparable to the creature��s gigantic head, whose thick and almost snake-like neck, covered with thick black plumage and scales as strong as a tortoise��s shell, firmly clung to the base of the neck. The creature summoned by the guardian savagely gnawed at the distorted rotating blades of the mechanisms, pieces of hardening crimson flesh oozing unknown vital fluids, struggling to break through to the massive ones, consisting of many crossed matters. bones.


    Fierce red sparkles flashed in the narrow eyes of the terrifying bird, momentarily illuminating exactly a hundred winding directions of this space, from which winged creatures similar to it began to rapidly break out, swooping in in massive dark clouds, emitting a noisy cutting of metal. Their sharp, with some exceptions, long beaks over and over again dug into the vertebrae floundering in the air like accelerated needles, sometimes piercing the Titan��s body like bullets, tearing out acute transformations of mechanical distortions, tearing apart dense clusters of nerves, and no matter how much flesh and various matter of a hybrid nature they gnawed on their way, they could not get to the almost exposed bones.


    Luxurious fish and lion tails, stretching in outlandish maned patterns along the wide backs of the raging birds, were stuck in the already endless bloody sea of ??mixed divine colors, in which scraps of theirs and others�� flesh, muscles, tormented internal organs, ligaments, and feathers continued to sink and break. The writhing spinal body, still surrounded by hundreds of Fenghua''s loyal subjects at the head, in unsuccessful attempts to escape from their grip, clumsily crushed someone''s knocked out eyes, cut off paws and now wings, which mercilessly cut off the constantly distorted muscles at the top of the bone mounds mixed with dark bulging growths piercing the chest cavities multiplying veins. With rare success, Fenkhula avoided the Titan''s fangs, going behind her back and digging in the fangs that cut like saws.


    The carnage flared up over moments that lasted years, months and again the shortest seconds.


    Numbness. The faded crescent-moon eyes of the Titan suddenly froze under the heavy pale eyelids of the creature, which seemed to have suddenly lost all the pain, discomfort, and stubborn attempts to escape from this fight. The look, burdened with something in appearance, peered somewhere into the distance for three, four seconds. As if an important thought had arisen. An insight descended, engulfing his entire soul, his entire existence.


    His eyes quickly shifted to one of the terrible birds with a shell and luxurious wings in patterns of a peculiar swampy green flame, again digging under his skin. Opening his half-human mouth wide, he bit her entire body with a lightning-fast jerk, making an indescribable turn around its axis, and with the next action tearing off Fenghua��s immensely wide black wing. For a long time. With zeal. Making every effort. The remaining eighty-nine loyal subjects continued to attack the giant head with redoubled force, tearing out silvery maned hair, trying to gouge out eyes, tear out thick gums, mercilessly, selflessly splitting their beaks on strong mechanical cheekbones.


    Fenuha waved her remaining wing widely, covering the agitated female guard and the guardsman behind her, who was barely destroyed to the ground. At the last moment, the summoned Queen of the Hundred Birds tenderly said goodbye to her friend, giving her a warm, anger-free look.


    ��Fenghua...�� the woman said silently, breathlessly, extending her left hand to the wall of a devastated, old factory shelter that had formed in front of her.


    The former sense of time and the usual perception of space gradually resumed in the rhythmic circulation of blood, the transformation of oxygen in the lungs, the feeling of fine dust and grains of sand between the fingers. Thuram timidly opened his eyelids, finding a female guard frozen in an ideal lotus position, better known to the Tuenshi people by the nickname ��Vishna��. Her hands froze in one of the forms of seals, revealing their damaged aura clusters from which unknown black energy emanated. Now her right arm and left leg have been replaced with like ghostly transformed prosthetics, exactly repeating the totality of her combat attire. Translucent greenish-blue streams harmoniously intertwined around ghostly and corporeal limbs, in countless flexible threads through the plates, mechanical grooves and calmly developing raised hair. Gloomy blackness was forcefully squeezed out of the reddened energy funnels of her fluctuating aura, like thick lumps of pus and infection from groaning bare scars, looking like fresh wounds that were gradually healing and tightly pulled together by magic.


    - Didn��t I... die? - Tyuram responded to her convulsively, touching his face and looking around at his completely healthy, anatomically correct body, which had previously been monstrously distorted by a long strange journey.


    Vishna opened her wide eyelashes, not distracted from her practice and showing the guardsman due attention and respect.


    ��The construct of your life was almost destroyed by the deed of our brother.�� - she said calmly. ��I found you torturing yourself for sin.�� Now I tried to return you to your previous form, but not everything is within my power.


    - What brother!? What... What kind of monster was there? I''m talking about that... Head. �� his face immediately contorted in horror.


    - "Rebirth of the Middle Titan." �� the woman nodded carefully, finishing her self-healing process. ��Either he or his relatives can hear us now.�� Therefore, I will not call them strangers, since I do not want to offend them. And I ask you to politely address them in the future.


    Remembering that brutal massacre with her summoned beast, Thuram doubted a little and looked around, sighing with fleeting relief for a long time. One of the long underground tunnels, once a night trading point with many discounts on any goods. Once upon a time, old furniture was abandoned here, kiosks and small department stores were empty, covered with layers of dust and cobwebs that still trembled from time to time. His attention was suddenly drawn by a colleague who had silently crept up. Looking into Thuram''s eyes, for a long time he vomited from his pelican mouth three small human children, curled up in the fetal position and as if in a long, sound sleep under a warm woolen blanket.


    ��I don��t care about them... They��re nothing.�� - Thuram muttered angrily, rising to his feet and constantly watching the children who had fallen to the ground, huddling together to keep warm. - At that time... I was much younger than now. My inexperience probably became the reason for their death. I have always justified myself with this, but... What would they have become if they had survived? I don��t remember the color of their hair anymore...�� He took a closer look at the girl in a fluffy knitted sweater with large round buttons around her throat tied with a scarf. - Skin tone. - they definitely weren��t breathing, but for some reason their bodies seemed alive, breathing like the rest of the world around him. �� Their thoughts about father and mother, grandparents. Friends. About what they see when they wake up in the garden. �� two boys, as if forever faithful guards and protectors, hugged their exhausted sister, covered in blood. - Their eyes. Their actions. Acquaintance. Classes... Everything that has never happened for more than fifty years. ��Thuram bared his teeth in disappointment, trying to hold back a shameful smile. - Ed... The only thing I can say about these children. Forever remaining unknown to anyone... So this is what I think, the three of them were about six, eight years old. And that''s all.


    Vishna''s face was dominated by humility, with which she listened to fragments of one of his sad stories.


    It really happened ALL? What they had, or only he had, in the whole world, which had forever lost three very rare names without three vowels, with one apostrophe and a hard zir sign. Unknown red letters curl in the sleepless prolongation of life, among sharpened pieces of hanging wood, wooden toys and plates of hot broth, at the bottom of which a blackened milk tooth with a handful of salt and sugar always continues to melt. Thin little hands each time drop one plate after another, as if it were a fiction implanted in them by someone else that they could never get rid of. As a primitive psychological vice, it will continue to fetter nerve endings, twisting fingers, bones, and very rarely dreams. There will be so little room in their selection that they will not notice anyone or anything else. Thoughts become confused, pierce the frontal lobe with the thick healthy teeth of Titan, pouring out other emotions, sensations and subsequently a painful shock, like a liquid decaying catharsis that one first experienced and then lost.


    Vishna looked in amazement at the thick lump of flesh formed by a two-meter, infinitely deep spiral that almost covered her last one hundred and eighteen years of earthly life in the east of the empire, the left side of the body and throat, the last ��work of a knight and corals.��


    With a strong jerk, she turned away, jumping into unknown spaces of space, already less similar to the old shelter. On the other side, there is the same abandoned furniture with slot machines, burnt-out premises and... Prisons that never existed before her. Lifeless but bright illusion. Like providence descending from the halls of the absurd, maddened mind of one of the destroyed parts of the brain.


    ��Since when could this shelter become so abandoned? Impossible...�� Vishna��s thought flashed before she felt a massive body approaching behind her.


    Perhaps she will not even have time to dodge, or perhaps she has already become part of the all-consuming annihilation of these powerful creatures. Her thoughts lag behind her sensations, and her sensations lag behind her intentions. Logic has become dull. Only six students and fourteen simplest techniques remained in consciousness, among which there was not even a defensive one left... It was as if she was evaporating with all her vital nature, being and will.


    One of the fleeting moments of the writhing density of the atmosphere. One moment, if you follow the dark spirals of her eyes. The massive accumulation of aura was concentrated in both legs to the fullest extent possible, leaving the rest of the body completely vulnerable. The tips of the mechanical sole come into contact with massive and looming thick teeth that extend from the wide-open maw of the Medium Titan''s gigantic head. His right distorted temple hits the dodgy silhouette of the guard who has barely jumped over him, hitting his thigh with a roar and thereby throwing Vishnu far away.


    Like writhing tongues of flame, ugly long shadows begin a simple dance, wriggling, jumping and prancing around human sincerely with such force that bright yellow sparks were scattered under them.


    Thin fingers from the energy flow touched thin lips, picking up the first drops of crimson-red blood. Vishna raised a heavy gaze at the gigantic spine of the creature, which was probably preparing to pounce on her again. This is what happens. There are meters, centimeters, an instant between them...


    - Master Luan Niao! �� the boy��s cheerful voice can be heard near the steps strewn with orange leaves, where the aroma of tea does not reach and where a smiling young man in a gray yukata remains standing. �� Will you go to the festival today!?


    With an ingratiating look, he waits for the desired answer, with which the mentor, reclining with a warm blanket and a drink in a chair, is currently waiting.


    ��I can��t leave the temple unattended.�� �� a very young girl shakes her head in disagreement, directing her gaze to tall, slender rows of trees, covered with cool dew and bright leaves coming off, going along a long winding path. - What about your comrades?


    - They''ll all go. Even Miori agreed today... - with these words, he turned his gaze to the rhythmic cutting sounds heard over and over again next to the long tiled walls.


    In a snow-white yukata, a short young woman with a sword tirelessly struck the air, honing several complex movements that were most difficult for her. She turned around sharply when she heard her name, and when she saw her mentor with a joyful smile, she immediately ran to her. Vishna slowly walked out of the blooming stone pavilion, as well as their temple, covered with ancient split scars inside of which it was never sad to be next to these talented and pure-hearted children. Something new must always be reborn from the decayed old. It always has been and always will be.


    ��Don��t overdo it with the blade, Miori.�� The hour of training was already over. �� the girl answered politely in response to the student��s bow.


    - I can''t stop. Otherwise, this month I will not catch up with the others in their skill. �� She frowned her thick eyebrows a little depressed, lowering her head. ��I don��t want to become a burden to everyone who gave me a place here...


    Vishna gently hugged the top of her head with his completely bandaged right hand, dispelling the girl��s fears with a sincere smile.


    - Remember. First of all, you learn to protect what is dear to each of you. What is priceless for your families, for our people. It''s never too late to find new strength in yourself and reveal your talents. You are the most gifted students. And therefore your time will always be in abundance.


    The eleven students gathered behind the wall watched them carefully, and some were inspired by the ardor of the youngest student among them all.


    - Well done Miori! - one of the boys shouted.


    - You will definitely succeed!


    The shouts of encouragement immediately confused the girl, who was spinning her head around in utter confusion.


    ��Miori...�� Vishna suddenly said convulsively, whose tired gaze fell


    tears


    ***


    The female guard found herself in the middle of small ruins of the former ��Nihonto�� that was still recognizable to her. The celestial structures of buildings so far went up to the purple stars, somewhere slipping between endlessly long bridges and tunnels into which deactivated rail traction systems plunged. The devastated spacious parks were drained by disaster, thick fog and insight, which, having lost, risks losing one��s own organs.


    Impregnated with leprous fermentation, chemical fumes of foreign organs and the aromas of sweet fruits, the wind scattered her eyelashes in barely perceptible gusts, tearing them off her thin motionless eyelids. In small silver sparks they fell to the ground behind her, cutting through the gastronomic debris of the massifs and the thick soil beneath them, exposing trembling mineral rocks. Like spreading algae with tentacles. Earthworms writhing in agony, crossed from moisture, earthen soil, gas waste. The previous universe gradually crumbled, evaporated or disappeared, being transferred by a new form of life, sweeping away everything around like an endless wave.


    - Thank you... I was pleased to see them. �� Vishna nodded gratefully, feeling the aura weakening. The strength is leaving her spirit, drying up from her body. The mind dissolves from touching the new reality, which is constantly distorted without any order, distorting the former nature of this world. - But I''m not going to end this story... like that.


    She stood on her right foot, creating a seal with her surviving left hand, pieces of armor missing from the collision, revealing thin, scratched fingers.


    It was right in front of her, perched above one of countless grotesque structures, surrounded by stories depicted in cave paintings, decorated with a global palette of minimalist art, erected in a circle of ancient and moldy monoliths with long-motionless statues of mythical creatures. Behind their massive marble silhouettes, the brightest star among the rest was descending, inevitably sinking under the bottom of the milky pink breathing ocean.


    The one hundred and eighty meter tall, complex athletic body turned slightly with its broad, sinewy shoulders. The massive tips of dark marble fingers touched tall flowering trees, monuments hidden in the fog, covering with rough cracked skin the highway of dreams split in two, unfulfilled and now disappeared.


    The long arm of the average Titan supported its gigantic hybrid head with the back side, gracefully flexible metacarpal bones barely touching the thick, maned skin of the neck covered with alien skin. The frozen faded crescents in the uncontrollable boiling multicolor of boundless existence slowly turned towards Vishna, freezing on her silhouette in a serene gaze innumerable in contradictions.


    The crackle of tearing wet fabric in a tangible void. Quartz melted in the fire, crumbling into myriads of grains of sand. Zealously rushing into consciousness, the sounds of deforming flesh pass through the inexhaustible matter of this world, exploding all the stars around, evaporating clouds, destroying the chaotically changing order of nature, partially flowing out in scarlet and green-blue branches of stem cells almost withered to the ground from the subcutaneous armor of a woman, exhaustedly collapsed to her knees on a rumpled woolen tablecloth.


    While the woven fabric of many voices, body movements, willful reading, attempts to contemplate the all-consuming black contradiction, emotional formations spreading through the organs, metalloid minerals, skin-tight dresses, movements of the soft palate, a deafening physical urge deforming the auricle bleeding from overexertion - the neck, around which the whole is covered with rough skin - was falling apart into pieces. instantly fell in long layers, stretching towards the chest, knees and feet, revealing breathing red flesh.


    The Middle Titan once again looked at the human being below, opening his long lips, disfigured by structural splits and mineral distortions, which could at any moment swallow the entire surrounding world.


    Sight. Unbreakable. Devoted. Deprived of any meaning for a person, consequences, changes, absence just once... Together with this face, the giant head of the Titan suddenly and sharply fell from the gigantic powerful shoulders, shaking grains of sand in the air, collapsing onto a new multiplying surface among the stuck layers of suffocating smoke, cloying dust and liquid vapors, disappearing from the field of view of the newly risen female guardian. Following the fallen head hung indescribable and colossal grotesque mechanisms, lumpy massive vertebrae and pieces of flesh crossed with many opposing materials, torn in places, emitting a dim light, screams of all existing forms of life, from sea microbes, layers of dust under the nails of a starving turtle, right up to animals, people and mainly birds, heartbreaking and invading under alien eyelids, eyelids advancing in a cacophony towards the true believer, wishing to devour and destroy spreading a new alien environment in which there will be no place for prayers, a tongue in contact with water, bright warm light and three-section heart valves.


    ��Moving with only one head again? Or is he just having fun with me?..�� - the scrupulous voice inside, as expected, remained unanswered.


    Collision. The painful contact of bloody skin with the solid walls of buildings leaves thick traces of dissolving miasma, gradually melting the earth like a thick surface of water and plunging into the inexhaustible depths of space.


    A few meters after the crawling Titan, a large thick scroll in a traditional red binding hit the flying car door. Above his maned head, a long strip of enchanted parchment flashed, covered with a bright energy glow, from which a moment later the mouth of a giant lizard, covered with green scales, emerged, instantly digging with sharp claws and a long chitinous tail into the humanoid back of the head and scratched cheekbones, biting through with a palisade of instantly erupted bone teeth in both eyes of the Titan.


    - Baby Tsen-Tsen! Leave! - Vishna shouted as she landed on the ground.


    Behind her back, a parchment with symbols that had increased in size comparable to the summoned beast was also grounded, into which the monstrous head of a lizard immediately darted.


    But her tail was immediately grabbed by the Titan��s hand, stretched out in a twisted, ugly hyperbole, the opposite side of which, made up of many crossed fingers, like a stretched even guillotine, instantly closed together with the other end of the parchment, with a powerful movement of the limb cutting off the ferocious mouth of Tsen-Tsen, which had grinned for such insolence, grinding the neck sprout with the tips of the remaining paws without claws.


    Instant. Subordination. Dimension-distorting proliferation. Coughing up blood and the remnants of oxygen, Vishna tightly clasps his fingers with his energy hand, plunging his whole body and consciousness into a flow united by both parts, actively spreading from her fighting positioned body, reminiscent of a low-slung bird with long crossed legs, one of which moves forward with its front foot in order to outline the border in front of them.


    �� Denva. Sizen... - the dark spirals of her eyes flowed out of almost snow-white glasses, stained with wounds, briefly pouring onto her chest, speckled with mechanical damage, from where it poured out in a thick snow-white-black wet breeze her own dimension, embodied by the will of her spiritual construct. �� Hoshi...


    A star pierced the approaching head of Titan with a dazzlingly bright yellow arrow, tearing apart with a warm mystical light the bursting cosmic density, rapidly covering itself with the same light but tiny rays. Their red, crimson, orange and dark blue directions of reverse natural energy pull away his ripped left cheekbone, ear and chimeric cervical vertebrae, with a blinding heat shining through his rough marble skin around his head like a dazzlingly bright lantern, the faded lenses of the eyes wriggling in layers, thick dissected teeth, burning in bluish-white maned gray shaggy bonfire


    �� Mother. �� the last fragment of the spell sounded as a painful conclusion, broken by a heavy wet cough.


    The tips of her fingers, burned with magic down to the deep flesh, convulsively touched the dark pulsating energy, touching one of its countless subtle circulations.


    Like endlessly twisting humpbacked tree branches, sharp dark thorns grabbed one part of the creature after another, with a strong grip closing with spiky, spreading roots around a massive chimeric neck, crushing the bleeding mechanisms, with long and gradually solidifying movements, tearing apart the gigantic head, enveloped in the cosmic heat of natural energy.


    All the sounds of the world gradually died down, choking at the bottom of the plunging dark branches, inevitably dragging behind them a pale marble candle with a strikingly bright and still emitting warmth breathing bloody fire. Pale white circles on the water slowly spread across the vast gloomy veil until they crashed into the destroyed lonely shore. The sky around was engulfed in black and purple pulsations, as if everything around was placed in someone��s bottomless stomach.


    Vishna slowly turned towards the muffled strange sounds, which seemed like an earthquake approaching her with every second. The blood-green veil spreading in the darkness was covered with strong ripples, from under whose layered wet surface wide nails appeared overgrown with lumps of multiplying and partially leprous flesh. Moments later, a gigantic burgundy-light human hand, flowing in thick, dense rivers of crossed blood, rose above Vishnu, overcoming the entire universe with an infinitely boundless scope, powerfully falling on the last moments of the former form of life of a helpless creature, humbly lowering its eyelids.


    embrace


    red moon


    smooth handwriting


    leftover white rice in a pink bowl


    disappointment..


    horizontal blow, six millimeters from the heart..


    ..they won��t miss


    forgiveness...


    The dark sclera of the young woman, bitten by blood needles, fearfully looked around at the deep non-overlapping cracks around the pale, sometimes rough but smooth skin. In the immobilized giant hands, she felt herself at the bottom of a bowl, woven on both sides from long, strong fingers. From behind one particularly wide crack, the silhouette of a much older young woman appeared in a snow-white yukata, the hem of which was now smeared with crimson-pink and black spots. Many scars and fresh wounds that healed over time gave a contradictory maturity to the small and neat outlines of her face, long neck and thin, very fragile-looking shoulders. The girl on the other side smiled dreamily with her eyes closed, composing quiet musical notes.


    ��She... She has grown so beautifully...�� the woman shed tears, shrinking her whole body from discomfort, feeling how the fingers under her naked, powerless essence were tremblingly covered with warmth. - This is my sin...


    She timidly looked up, unable to see anyone��s warm gaze. As if her consciousness was unable to see the true form of the one who now carefully holds her in his careful hands. Endless maned hair that was darker than the night itself surrounded warm palms. Soft long lips lovingly kissed the forehead of this slightly frightened, but now calmed down man. Like a mother who would never let her or those close to her heart be harmed. Driving away all doubts, fears, regrets. The last musical note slowly evaporated, and Titanide led the man into a gradually settling pleasant sleep.


    Among the highest mountains, where the coldest rains fall to the ground, a thin tree of charred dark bark with pale pink petals will bloom. An animal stabbed to death with rusty knives will be buried under it. The smell of death will pass the high hills, overtake the winds, before the white star descends into the ocean for the last time, it will overtake the last surviving creature in the world, enveloping its dying hemispheres with the gift of understanding.