I opened my eyes, pain coursing through my entire body. It felt as though I had been torn apart like cloth, only to be stitched back together again.
I tried to open my mouth, but I had none.
Panic surged within me—a body I didn’t own trembled, a hand that wasn’t mine sweated, a neck not mine shivered.
Our throat ran dry. Our feet were wet. Our blood on the ground, our hand twisted.
Our mind—fractured.
Screams, cries, and our prayers blended into nothing.
We watched our bodies melt, our psyche punctured.
Our ghosts howled.
I saw.
Pandemonium.
We felt cold, heat, and nothingness. It blurred our senses, made our mind and consciousness tremble.
They spoke—and we listened.
“Spirit!”
“Spirit!”
“Praise!”
“O spirit!”
Our memories overlapped, our lives were changed.
Our faces switched, our body forged.
I tried—no, we tried—to scream. Pain, suffering, curses and blessings, carved into skin, bone, and muscle.
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Our hearts beat, burst, reformed, and unraveled.
Dead, alive, undead.
“Spirit!!”
“Holy spirit!!”
“Praise.”
They bowed, their prayers strengthening us.
Immaculation floated. Disintegrated and integrated. Pure—impure—we were forged in anguish.
Melancholy and Affliction looked upon us.
We bowed into the void.
I tried to turn. We turned.
I tried to speak. We spoke.
“We fear, we fear, aphilate, we fear.”
We bled, we died, we revived.
I took a step forward. We took a step forward.
We cracked. I cracked.
Glass.
Sand, stone, rock.
Mad—I went mad. We didn’t go mad.
They went mad. I didn’t go mad.
They exploded into abominations—we killed.
They fear, they cry, and they understand.
I spoke. And we spoke.
“Feel, suffer, receive.”
We spoke. I didn’t speak.
“...”
We listened. I didn’t listen.
Black became white, and white became black.
Four ants passed beside me—beside us.
Four ants were crushed, ground, and served in apogee.
“We drank.”
We spoke, we were speaking.
Affliction snorted through our nostrils.
Immaculate our heart be in their prayers.
Despondence is the miserable flower.
Our painful life in prostration.
Sorrowfulness in place of care.
A taciturn life not ours.
Explain the somber to you.
Explain life to us.
Explain funeto to Rash.
Explain the blemish to you all.
Explain the shadowed to me.
We feared—and were deconstructed.
I looked upon them, songs of pain, songs of fading, always to all, always.
I was sad. We were sad.
I lost myself in their demise.
I found myself in their origin.
I disregarded their death.
Four ants passed again—now strong, carrying dark leaves, tainted by us.
Affliction laughed. We laughed.
Melancholy wept. We wept.
Our face split between laughter and tears.
End of Pandemonium.
Beginning of new chaos.
We are agnostics.
Struck by a bastion, without our blessing.
Mockery, patience.
Grace of us.
Horripilation. Affliction.
Iconoclasts made us suffer in agony.
Innocuous and jocular.
We became hateful.
Space quaked. I blinked, it quaked again. We blinked, and it jumped. We blinked and we died. White to green to red to black to blue to brown to yellow to nothing.
Nothing smiled—its rotting teeth shining in quintessence before us.
It boasted.
Nothing cried.
Nothing syruped. Conjoined with Everything.
It exploded—and we were torn apart.
We wandered, famished.
I looked back—Affliction smiled faintly.
I spat cosmos when its gaze stopped on me.
We shared the damage—and with frenzy, we attacked.
Explosions and fragments erupted.
Blessings and prayers strengthened our spark.
We struck its core.
Affliction stopped—we were pulled and spiraled.
We returned and we suffered.
We left—and we died.
We remained—and Nothing.
We bluffed, we lied—and the New Chaos expanded.
More prayers. More subjects.
I paused, looked in ecstasy—and fell.
Fell without my consent.
Descended with my approval.
Change and permanence.
Nothing and Everything plunged, shredding us to tatters.
Melancholy healed us—our sorrow was the price.
Our soul in ruins—fell to earth.
Our name carved in skull.
Carved in clouds.
Thus it began—from our flesh and our mercy.
Nytheris.
