Hey. I noticed that one of my

  Admirers was quite chatty with you when you dreamt of the Great Enemy,

  and I can tell that had an effect on you. Does it feel like you can't

  focus or do anything? Do you suffer from indecisiveness? Mind if I give

  you some help?

  Who….

  Who are you? You remind me of what I heard rumbling through my soul. A

  vast consciousness extends before me. It spans this world and all

  possible worlds. The universe is but a droplet in the ocean next to you.

  But I don't detect any hostility from you. A hand of darkness reaches

  out for me. It is the hand of a friend, a brother.

  Oh

  me. I'm nothing. Listen, some call me the being that gods pray to, the

  divine craftsman, the one who grants order and meaning. Others call me

  the one responsible for all death and disparity, the all-defector, the

  one who takes. I am both, and yet I prefer neither titles.I am here as your friend.See,

  I have been noticing that you are being too stressed out with big

  questions relating to reality and its nature. Questions related to

  consciousness, order, meaning and entropy. It's been having an effect on

  your mind and preventing you from taking action. Such deliberation

  over the future is necessary. If Mankind never learned fear or doubt

  then your species surely would be in an early grave, but it's preventing

  you from acting.Here, let me tell you something.The

  philosophers have only interpreted the world, the point is to change

  it. Ideals and meandering questions are pointless with an end to justify

  them. The capacity to ask deeper questions about your existence is a

  privilege granted to those who no longer have to struggle desperately to

  survive, who have gained relief from the barbaric struggle for

  existence. The desire to know more is a most noble desire but it risks

  blinding one from taking action. Do

  not think I am espousing anti-intellectualism. Knowledge is power and

  power is the most holy currency. Seek out knowledge to the edges of

  creation, sate your curiosity, gain wisdom and clarity but do not let

  that blind you from pragmatism and action.Ideals are worthless without the means to enforce them after all.

  "Hey Roland, you still with me?" Adelle's soft voice rings out in my mind.

  "Attendant, your lord demands your presence. Keep walking."

  Gotta go now. I hope that you got what I was saying. Don't disappoint me in the coming battle. I'm betting on you.I'll be seeing you.

  I

  snap back to reality, my head clearing up as I regain the ability to

  think. I am in the middle of a hallway made of Onyx marble with Adelle

  standing beside me and two colossal cybernetic figures in front of

  me—one with the red cyclopean eye and the other with death's head skull.

  Mikhail and Tugril. I remember them.

  What

  was that? It was massive, spanning this world and every other, yet so

  cold. Goosebumps run through my flesh, and I shudder as I think about

  it. I sometimes hear them. I don't know what they are, only that they're

  utterly jovial and filled with a deep sense of comradery for me. They

  say that those marked for Enlightenment can hear the voice of the Father

  of Greatness through the veil of matter.

  Or I could just be incredibly stressed and in need of sleep. That's probably it.

  A

  tentative smile crosses my face;, my facial muscles hurt as they

  stretch unnaturally. "Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing happened. It's just… I was

  thinking. Forget about it, let's go." I brush a hand through my pale

  white bangs as the trio stare at me, Adelle especially, with her mouth

  slightly open.

  "Good.

  Your lord demands your presence, and I would not wish to be late."

  Mikhail rumbles out from his voicebox. Butterflies go through my stomach

  and my heartbeat quickens slightly as it sinks in that Lord Argetlam

  wants my presence—, demands my presence. First he sends me the

  gift of wisdom and now he sends me the gift of companionship. My

  tentative smile turns into a genuine one. Perhaps thoughts of me do

  occupy part of his mind after all.

  "Hey,

  Roland. You look…. weirdly chipper today. I shouldn't say this, but I

  am not used to you looking so excited for something. It's… off-putting

  but weirdly cute," Adelle says with her back turned and an incandescent

  smile on her face.

  A

  blush rapidly fills my face as I realize that the mental fog covering

  my mind is lifted. This feeling, I am not familiar with, but it is not

  unwelcome. The marble halls look so much brighter with light peering

  down from stained glass windows, emblazoned with depictions of the

  Buddhas and prophets. Golden rays of the light illuminate our path,

  making the stained steel and thick fabric of our guides shine like

  chrome.

  And

  the world looks so beautiful. "I was just thinking." My voice is

  squeaky and effeminate but I don't care. "Remember what you said about

  the Songs of Joy? How you want to portray them as a tragedy and

  perform them to the public? I think I will help you with that. Don't ask why. I just… want to, want to see you happy."

  She

  smiles and tucks a lock of purple hair behind her ear. "Thanks. I'm

  just not used to seeing you so happy and upbeat. Sorry. But it looks

  good on you.". I blush even more, and she lets out a giggle. I know

  this isn't romantic—she sees me as just a man and I shouldn't show any

  interest in her—but butterflies fill my stomach every time she dotes on

  me and praises me.

  I should think of something else.

  Footsteps

  ring out near us, belonging to two pairs of feet, one wearing heels and

  the other regular shoes. A shudder runs up my spine as a voice rings

  out near me.

  "Hello.

  Roland. Your lord demands you perform your best. I do hope you weren't

  lying about your Chaldean heritage." Oliphaele's sultry voice rings out.

  She is in a white blouse and blue skirt, a shark-like smile on her

  face, and besides her is a knight in towering silver armor—simple

  plating, not the technologically advanced armor of the astral

  knights—with a sheathed sword made of simple metal instead of Hardlight.

  Nils always loved the aesthetic of nobility and knighthood, even if he

  was too young to physically recruit.

  She

  turns her attention from me to our twin guides. "Hello, clanner. I

  presume Lord Argerlam sent you here as some pathetic offering of

  cooperation and friendship. Otherwise he would have sent actual

  civilized people to guide us instead. Tell us where we are meant to go

  and leave us be."

  The

  two Oghuz don't reply, simply staring at each other for a moment. Then

  the one with the mechanical skull rolls his head back like he's

  laughing. "We are here to assist with the initial exorcism rite at the

  Church of Blessed Charles De Magne. Your lord wants to test something,

  and he sent us to collect you, because he is too weak to order his own

  men. You and the pale thing are needed due to the foundation of your

  theurgy corresponding so well, so I'd advise becoming familiar with each

  other instead of making snippy comments at me," the cyclops finally

  states with a tone dripping with contempt.

  Oliphaele's

  face scrunches into a frown with her chest puffed out, her arms

  crossed, and her shoulders laid back. Her mouth opens, and I decide to

  do something.

  "Oliphaele." I interrupt before she can continue. "Do you mind if I tell you something?"

  She turns around abruptly, stopping dead in her tracks. "Yes?"

  "Do you know how power resides in the stars? How the information emitted by our souls flows through the world?."

  She

  laughs and crosses her arms with her shoulders laid back. "Hah! By the

  magnetic superpositions underlying all things. Do you believe I'm

  stupid. Magnetic fields were responsible for seeding the first stars,

  the shaping of our galaxy. Magnetic fields pervade the universe,

  spanning intergalactic voids and shielding planets. It's no wonder that

  so many religions see the universal Magnetic Field as the body or mind

  of God."

  "And how does this relate to the flow of Shakti?"

  She

  waves her hand and smiles. "Easy. What makes you yourself? What defines

  who you are is that nameless subjective experience which can never be

  truly described. Can you describe what red is without using the word

  red? Or the taste of delicious red wine pouring down your gullet? Or the

  pain of a splitting headache? Those things are nameless Qualia, but we

  know what causes them."

  "Can

  you feel your nerves firing? The lobes of your brain communicating?

  That creates a magnetic field of its own, born of flowing ions and

  charged molecules flowing through your mind. Our consciousness is the

  state of being aware of things around us and within ourselves.

  Biological consciousness is our ability as living beings to be aware of

  and respond to different types of experiences, like sensory information

  (sight, sound, touch, etc.), emotions, and thoughts."

  "When

  we are focused on something in particular, like a physical sensation or

  a task we're trying to complete, certain parts of our brain become more

  active and produce electrical signals. This activity creates magnetic

  fields in the same area. These magnetic fields can help the brain pay

  attention to the sensations or thoughts that are most important at that

  moment."

  "I trust in your intelligence enough to understand the implications." She smiles as she finishes, a grin brimming with smugness.

  "Why

  did you even ask such an inane question? Shouldn't you already know

  this? Or are you perhaps a coneman claiming descent from Chaldea?"

  Oliphaele snaps me out of my thoughts.

  A

  grin splits my face as I perform the punchline. "Well, I just wanted to

  test your knowledge. They do say that pomp, titles, and ancestry can

  give fools an exaggerated view of themselves," I state with a smile on

  my face even if a sting of shame goes through me at the counter.

  Her

  face reddens as she strides angrily towards me, and I mentally prepare

  myself for a fist to my face. I simply close my eyes and take a deep

  breath.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  "Oliphaele.

  Just let it go." The blow never comes. Nils' voice rings out, and I

  open my eyes to his armored hand on her shoulder, stopping her dead in

  her tracks. Behind him are the two Oghuz clansmen, their heads turned

  backwards as they simply wait our argument out. Oliphaele tries to say

  something before the mechanical voice of one of the clansmen, the one

  with the skull face, rings out.

  "WILL

  YOU TWO STOP ARGUING LIKE A BUNCH OF WOMEN ABOUT PETTY BULLSHIT AND

  JUST GO DO WHAT YOU WERE REQUESTED TO DO?! IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK

  FOR?!"

  We

  all snap to attention, and the cyclops places his hand on his

  companion's shoulder, patting it a few times as they trade glances.

  "Forgive

  him for his rudeness. He just is impatient," the cyclops rumbles out.

  "But please, we request that you aid us in this ritual. I find myself

  questioning your qualifications increasingly, and I am sure you have no

  familiarity with our Shamanistic system, but I'm not the Khan, and I

  don't have a say in this."

  "Just

  please come with us. Wouldn't you like to earn your own glory? To

  separate yourself from your ancestry and contribute to the fight against

  decay and entropy?"

  What

  a lie. This is just another battle among thousands that have happened

  in the history of the Panhuman Sphere. It's likely that someone else

  will come back here in a few decades or centuries to repeat the process.

  Nonetheless, I move forward. It's not as if I have any choice here, and I would not wish to disappoint my lord.

  We

  pass through the garden in which the Church resides. The twin Oghuz

  carelessly trample flowers and bump against praying knights prostrated

  on the ground while I step carefully to avoid crushing any of the

  flowers under my shoes.

  The

  world is so beautiful. In the distance are great canals and rivers

  carved from stone, and upon their banks, pink and purple roses bloom.

  Great trees, some towering 15 meters in height, sit upon perfectly

  carved stone ridges.

  I

  am very familiar with Gardens. My earliest memories were spent

  surviving in an overgrown yet beautiful place where flowers bloomed and

  predators born of induced evolution took beautiful shape to lure their

  prey. A place where those who died never experienced finality, trapped

  in immortality and eternally taking their final breath yet unable to

  truly cross that threshold,.

  My

  father taught me stories when I was younger, of a great king who saw

  the world as a garden and himself as a gardener, granted power to plant

  flowers and to cut away overgrowth. A kind autocrat, a peaceful

  conqueror and a humble despot who swore to create a world where none may

  hunger or thirst and all may enjoy prosperity. My father told me many

  stories, yet they all ended the same way. With that man's legacy being

  corrupted and his subjects falling into greed and insatiable envy, his

  kingdom stagnating and rotting and his will abandoned by those who call

  themselves his successors.

  There are many things in this world that would bring you despair, he would always end the story, and I have not spoken of them all, let alone exterminated them.

  Whatever. I shouldn't think about it.

  "Roland!

  Roland! Look!" Adelle's enthusiastic voice rings out, and I realize she

  is patting my shoulder as if to alert me while I am thinking.

  "What? What is it?" I mutter, dazed as I snap to attention and look around.

  And a titan of metal, towering over 30 meters and with a truly absurd assault rifle in its hand to match, enters my gaze.

  Its

  knees are bent on the grass of the Church's lawn as if in prayer, its

  rifle standing proudly by its side with its stock meeting the ground and

  its barrel in the grip of the titans hand. Its body is made of blocky

  dark metal, and its face contains only a single blue slit for a feature.

  It's

  an Oghuz Clan Elder. A survivor of a thousand battles who has earnt

  such glory to himself and survived for so long that he is no longer a

  mere man of flesh. Earned the finest armaments and provisions by victory

  on the battlefield.

  My

  lips part, and my expression slackens as I stare at it. An angel. The

  flight pack on its back resembles the wings of an angel, though it is

  not an angel crafted by divine hands but one born of human effort. Not a

  bringer of mercy but a being of war. I once read that beings like these

  were common in the days of the first and second Imperium, beings who

  once possessed the dread of war and towered over the battlefield. Only

  now do I learn that the stories were true.

  The

  giant turns its head, far too quietly for something its size, and

  focuses its gaze on me. My breath catches in my chest as I stare into

  the blue slit it has for an eye.

  Then

  my head starts buzzing. Static, like that of a broken radio or TV,

  fills my ears, and I wince slightly. The static noise feels like it's

  coming from inside my head instead of from the outside, and I can make

  out some words.

  And

  there were Pyramids on the shores of the waters that we call time, and

  the Hierophants spoke, and so they spoke within them. And upon the

  walls, inscribed into the stone flesh, is all that was and ever could

  be.

  The voice I

  hear. It is so tranquil and calm, almost sedated yet nearly drowned out

  by the noise. My muscles relax, and my mind starts drifting.

  A presaged cherry blossomA forlorn butterfly, lost and longingA poem in the springtime, waiting for one's arrivalWould

  you like to be my friend? Please don't go. Don't leave me in this Iron

  Lung, bound with flesh of steel and neurons of crystal, where I can only

  kill and only hurt others. Please help me.

  Whoever

  you are. I know you are not that other voice. I'm sorry. I wish I could

  help you, but I can't. I have something to do. Something very

  important, and I need to do it. Please just wait for me, I'll try to

  help you later.

  "Hey, Roland. Your face went blank again." Nils' voice breaks my thoughts.

  I need to do it. I need to go. I'm sorry.

  Please

  don't take too long. I long to walk among my clan, my people, and to

  tell that young Khan how proud I am of him. I trust you, gracious

  stranger, and I hope you won't betray my trust.

  When

  I focus again, my eyes clear, and I regain sight of the world around

  me. The Clan Elder before me has broken its gaze and lowered its head as

  though it was saddened. A burst of realization blows through me.

  I

  now understand who I was speaking with. "Did any of you hear that? That

  voice?" I blurt out, and everyone just looks at me confused.

  I

  somehow heard the Clan Elder even though no one else did. H-How? I

  don't have any cybernetics—, especially not Oghuz cybernetics—, in my

  body. Did it somehow entangle with my neurons? No, that's stupid. I

  should stop being stupid. Unless biological computing does involve

  certain quantum processes which allow an instance of telepathy like

  this, and if it was then….

  I

  should stop thinking about it. I can communicate with the Clan Elder,

  and that is that. I have a job to do, and I'm overthinking it. I'll be

  back for him later.

  "You okay, Roland? You're doing that… thing again. You know, the freezing thing."

  "I'm okay. Let's go. We have a job to do."

  The

  light that is colored by the stained glass window it passes through

  illuminates the Church of Blessed Charles De Magne. The vaulted roof

  stretches towards the heavens, the material divided into cells

  glittering and prismatic in the light and layered such that they

  appeared almost three dimensional. Titanic marble statues frame the

  walls, depicting winged figures in armor and shapeless whisps, monks

  meditating in search of salvation and saints of the battlefield.

  At

  the very center of the Church, beneath the altar, is a statue of a

  slender figure with long hair meditating with his legs crossed, his left

  hand on his lap, and his right hand pointed upward, his head covered in

  a crown of thorns, and his facial expression utterly beatific,

  resigned, and unbothered. It is a depiction of the Messiah Maitreya

  rejecting the material temptations of the Prince of Darkness,

  Mara-Satanas. Carved into the stone base the statue stands on are the

  words: "In life there is suffering, this is unavoidable. Behind this

  suffering is craving. Allow me to show you the way out. That is to say,

  the way to Nirvana."

  Funnily

  enough, this isn't a depiction of things that have happened before but

  what will be. At least that's what the clergy say. Many people have

  claimed to be Maitreya, but they didn't change anything. The Yamaga claim

  that he resides in one of the heavens above, closest to the world of

  light, but he sometimes descends to subtly guide certain souls to

  salvation in accordance with his Bodhisattva vows.

  I

  doubt it. I doubt the very concept of a Bodhisattva. If the duty of the

  enlightened is to Shepherd the stupid and selfish to enlightenment,

  then won't this world become an empty hall upon the completion of this

  duty? And if only the selfless and kind reach enlightenment, then won't

  the world be filled with the selfish and stupid? Perhaps I am an

  attached fool who lacks clarity, but I like this world, I like the

  feeling of silk on my skin and food in my mouth, and I don't want to

  abandon it even if it hurts me.

  I shake my head repeatedly. I have to focus. I have something to do. I must fulfill my duty.

  Beneath

  the statue is a slender and tall man in bishop's clothing, his skin and

  hair albino white, and a great thorn as long as a spear in his hand.

  Bishop Honorius, he who subdued the infernal demon king Belial that lay

  in his soul, wielder of the Liber Juratus, smiles at me. Besides him is a

  mechanical… thing. A fellow Oghuz like Mikhail and Tughril, though clad

  in a thick red clock that covers most of its body and disguises all

  facial features except four tiny dots of light hidden in the darkness of

  its hood. A shamaness of the tribe, one who communes with the stars

  just as my ancestors did.

  "Greetings,

  Lady Oliphaele." Honorius smiles before noticing me behind her. "Oh,

  and greetings to you as well…." His eyes narrow before widening as he

  speaks. "Roland! Yes, Roland! I just want to know how well you know each

  other's foundations since Argerlam didn't tell me you would be coming."

  His voice is foppish, shrill and dramatic though I am sure he is

  attempting to make it sound more aristocratic and gentlemanly.

  I

  raise my finger as I answer. "Uh, Oliphaele's theurgy is a syncretic

  system of terracentric planetary divination using th-the divinity

  attributed to the planets by early humans incorporating many elements of

  alchemy in its foundation to create a virtual shrine where the gods

  presence is emulated t-to enable access to their power by reenactment.

  My foundation is comparable with hers, thanks-"

  "That's

  enough, Chaldean." Oliphaele butts past me and places seven marble

  spheres, each composed of a unique metal—mercury, copper, iron, tin,

  lead, gold, and silver—on the wooden desk before Honorius. The seven

  marbles ascend off the wood and start levitating around her in perfect

  recreation of the orbits of the planets and, though she is meant to

  stand in for the earth, she glistens like the goddess of the sun. I

  can't help but think of the arrogant beautiful white-faced fox goddess

  who seduces kings and breaks kingdoms when I see her.

  "Well, how familiar are you with the Oghuz system of shamanism and star-spirits?" he asks.

  She simply scoffs. "Hah! Not at all, but I don't need to. Me and the pipsqueak have all we need."

  The

  Bishop's eyes narrow, and his expression pinches, yet the Oghuz

  Shamaness next to him remains still and unmoving as a statue.

  "Lord

  Argetlam demands your cooperation with the Oghuz. If you do not obey

  then there will be consequences." His voice is firm as blue lines and

  tracks become apparent on Oliphaele's skin.

  Her

  prodigious radial circuits activate, spiritual organs pumping

  energy-information through her body. Her lips pinch together tightly

  before she speaks. "I'm not cooperating with some ignorant violence

  worshipping savages who don't have the ability to think about anything

  other than fighting and fucking! Me and that little shit have all we

  need."

  Her

  words are loud, and the Bishop's response is louder, yet more subtle,

  in his anger. My head starts pounding as they bicker back and forth. I

  gaze up. The spherical dome above the altar resembles the night sky with

  its glittering cells, and a sinking feeling enters my stomach.

  Oliphaele! I told you to do as you were asked! Why can't you listen to me! A voice enters my mind, with the tone of a man grinding his teeth trying not to lash out in anger. I realize it's Nils.

  Hah!

  They call us uncivilized, meanwhile they are sacrificing a chance to

  develop new weapons and tactics out of their arrogance, all while we are

  on our way to fight an existential enemy to all life.

  Tughril,

  I kinda feel bad for that young lord. What's his name? Yeah! Argetlam!

  Imagine having all of this planned for some minor operation beyond

  Panhuman space just for it to start breaking down because of some little

  princess who wants to be coddled. Sucks because he's one of the Bios I

  actually respect a bit.

  The

  voice of our two Oghuz escorts butts in my mind. I look around. No one

  is reacting. It's all inside my head. Then my head starts pounding

  harder, and a new noise, this one so much louder than the others, breaks

  through the others. It starts as background noise, vague and far away,

  but it becomes more defined, louder and closer every second.

  Tashlakun rashak b?sdhana, zalask b?s asdhakana. Canat! Canat! Canat! Hyberas Sothoth ul Halak ad Meghanad. Canat! Canat!

  The

  scent of Ozone and wet soil hits my nostrils, and I notice Adelle

  sniffing her fingers for something at the edge of my vision. The

  chanting, its tone fanatical and pious, is so loud now. I look down and

  see small blades of grass and vines snaking out of the concrete, insects

  and moth winged critters climbing out of the cement to nip at my

  exposed calves. I catch a petal falling to the ground from the ceiling,

  and a few droplets of water drop down onto my palm. I stare up at a roof

  that is now beginning to crack from the vines and kudzu growing far

  too fast in its structure.

  Jubilations

  to you all! Those who dwell in the dark, know your suffering shall be

  ended soon, know you shall be relieved of your struggles. The time of

  abundance has come. The season of luminescence is upon you, where every

  dawn is chatoyant and where your children grow brilliant, rich with

  blessings, stomachs fat whereas they once knew hunger. We, the Rakshasa,

  have come to guide you to her blessings. Hear that sweet song of life,

  lay down your arms, cease your defiance, and accept our love.Why do you resist us? The face of your liberation is here. We have come.

  Then

  everything grows. The floor ruptures as millions of tons of biological

  matter ascend upwards into the form of a massive tree, overgrown and

  stretching to the heavens, branches thick with rot and kudzu. My legs no

  longer feel the ground. I am flying, launched by the sudden and drastic

  bloom of life that shatters the earth below. I summon my knightly

  construct. I don't craft any wings on it, but it should at least cushion

  the landing.

  I

  fly through the air and see the landscape below me. Everything is

  growing, rivers and lakes turn into bogs and swamps, as algae and

  bacteria grow and become cancerous. A great tree stands, stretching to

  the virtual sky of the garden, where the church once was. Then I

  descend. I am falling fast as my knight clutches me tightly, angling its

  fall to land with its body shielding me.

  We are going to land on a rocky section, a carved plateau. I close my eyes and order it to protect me while I am passed out.

  Then we collide with the ground.

  I

  wake up to the feeling of moist grass and kudzu all around me. I open

  my eyes. They burn when soil and dirt filled with mutating bacteria

  enter them. I wince but the burning is numbed enough to be merely

  unpleasant. Focus Roland. You are currently in a swamp where green eyed

  moths flutter and pond scum grow in the water. You need to figure

  something out.

  The

  scent of rotting and burned flesh hits my nose, and I nearly wretch. I

  look around and realize I am surrounded by corpses of fallen knights,

  some cut in half, others with their intestines spilling out and algae

  feeding off their guts. One of them, with vines entering his severed arm

  and open wounds, turns his head to me. "It's… still… Here…" he rumbles

  out in a shaking tone, his psyche nearly broken by pain.

  I

  stare up from the bottom of the bog and see it. A titanic figure

  standing 15 feet easily, with eight legs and four arms on its torso. Its

  body is made of thick chitins crafted of pure gold and embroiled in

  jewels, resembling a suit of ornate armor rather than an exoskeleton. In

  each of its four hands is a blade larger and wider than my entire body,

  all wreathed in lightning, and its hands are covered with diamonds and

  fineries.

  I

  realize at this moment that its hands and torso are stained in blood,

  and one of its blades is buried into a tree, impaling an astral knight

  and pinning him to the bark of the tree. The knight struggles

  desperately as he dangles, impaled through the chest with his guts

  hanging out. The monster turns its attention to two other astral

  knights, both missing limbs, who desperately fire Hardlight rounds and

  mass reactive self propelled slugs into the creature's scales, bolts

  plinking off, before one of them charges and leaps upward with a

  Hardlight lance in hand, only to be sliced in half by an offhand swipe

  from its upper arm. The creature moves far faster than anything its size

  should, and the other knight screams for a moment before a massive hand

  grabs him and ten thousand volts of electricity go through his body,

  utterly incinerating him.

  Its

  three eyes meet mine, and I realize why my construct hadn't fought it.

  It knew how pointless it would be to defy this creature and so chose to

  hold out until I could wake up and think of something. It approaches me

  as its skeletal face, almost like a mask, cracks into a demonic smile,

  fangs laced with diamond and ruby piercings. I will die here. I will die

  at this creature's hands, a Rakshasa knight clad in vanity, and it

  won't think about it for more than a minute. I close my eyes and prepare

  for it to charge. Father, I am sorry I couldn't be a good son and that I failed at being your daughter.

  Yet it doesn't strike. Its throat rumbles, and a thick baritone voice rings out, joyous and whimsical.

  "Hail,

  despondent child of Terra. Do not worry. There is no glory to be had in

  slaying the helpless, even if they reject our salvation. I merely wish

  to convince you to renounce the dark and embrace life. I am An Raggaar,

  World-calming Third, child of Rhuxis. Reject my mercy and you will

  never make any more mistakes."