CHAPTER 22: SHEPHATIAH - THE PRINCESS OF TITANS
"Vae victis – Suffering to the conquered. Ironic, isn't it, that now I am the one who suffers."
— Kain, Legacy of Kain: Blood Omen
“...ng, do this to me!” Shephatiah screamed.
Shephatiah’s fingers trembled, the bitter taste of suicide still clinging to her tongue. It was instinct now, a reflex she had perfected over the years—a last resort, the one thing she could control in the face of execution. She hadn't even waited for the other hand to touch her, so to speak. One gulp, and she had been free of that pain. She wasn’t even entirely aware that it had even happened again, yet.
She blinked once, twice, and the shadows peeled back. Her surroundings solidified—this was definitely not the last place she remembered. The cold, sterile metal of the mine had been replaced by something more primal. Stone arches stretched overhead, towering and rough-hewn, casting long, jagged shadows that crawled along the ground. The scent of damp earth mixed with something sharp, metallic.
Shephatiah steadied herself, taking a deep breath. She could feel a presence in the room with her, one that prickled her skin like the breath of something ancient. A weight settled over the space, pressing down, thickening the air. She didn’t need to see him to know he was there. Slowly, from the shadows, a figure emerged.
Towering. Wrapped in skins. A god of death and rebirth.
His voice rolled out like a low, thunderous growl. "You were not meant to arrive here," he declared, his words carrying the weight of something eternal. "Yet, here you stand."
Shephatiah rolled her eyes. Great.
The god-figure stepped closer, his form massive, filling the room with an oppressive energy that seemed to make the very walls close in. "You are in my domain now, Shephatiah. All others have accepted this. Do not try to resist?"
Shephatiah barely spared him a glance.
Her response was as flippant as it was casual. "Oh, for fuck’s sake," she muttered, brushing her hands off. "Did I die again?"
Her body was intact, untouched by the brutal methods of the execution she could only barely remember. The suicide pill had worked, saving her from the worst of it—again. Shephatiah glanced around, taking in her new environment. This wasn’t like any Encephalon she had ever seen before. Too dark. Too menacing. Kind of kinky.
The god’s voice didn’t falter. "You could call it death," he replied, his voice deepening, the shadows around him lengthening as if responding to his will. "But that would be oversimplifying it. You are not merely dead. You have entered a state beyond life—a place of rebirth." He stepped even closer now, looming over her. "I offer you purpose, a chance to transcend. Or would you rather face what lies beyond without my guidance?"
Shephatiah snorted, glancing around the room. Gods and their speeches. "Yeah, lol, like, fer shure. This is an ENCEPHALON, though I don't think it's the same one I usually go to."
His presence seemed to grow darker, more oppressive, at her words. He was irritated—good. "You misunderstand," he said, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "This is not the Encephalon you speak of. This is my domain. You are not in control here, Shephatiah."
"Did you put me in here? You killed me? Fair enough. You should like, probably know though, that I was fucking born in one of these things. Course, it didn’t have you, whatever the fuck that is." Her laughter echoed through the chamber, filling the space with a brazen confidence.
The god stood still for a moment, seemingly processing her words. "You may have been born in an Encephalon," the god said, his tone sharper now, the shadows at his feet rippling, "but this is no ordinary construct. This is where you will be reborn, under my control." The air shifted again, the walls closing in slightly as he stepped forward. "You seem to think that your experience will protect you. But here, you’re just another soul in my domain. And I will flay that arrogance from you, as I have done with the others."
As he spoke, the air grew heavier, pressing down on her like a weight, and the shadows closed in, making the room feel smaller, more suffocating. His tone was menacing, a challenge she was expected to flinch from.
But instead, Shephatiah felt something else—a spark. She looked him up and down. He was big. Real big. And the skins? She didn’t mind the primal aesthetic, and honestly, the way he loomed over her, trying to scare her, was kind of hot. Nobody had tried pushing her like this in years.
"You talk hot, dude," she said, not bothering to hide the smirk tugging at her lips.
The god’s composure faltered, just for a second. "You find this amusing?" he growled, his voice steady, but there was a crack in his confidence. "But this is no game, Shephatiah."
The floor shifted beneath her, revealing an abyss that seemed to open from nowhere, its black maw yawning beneath her feet. He was trying to scare her again, but it just felt like a weird power play. If she stepped wrong, he could drop her. But he didn’t.
Shephatiah cocked an eyebrow, still not moving. "You want more than just to flay me, don’t you?" she teased, watching him carefully now. This was getting interesting. And she liked interesting.
He stepped forward again, shadows pooling at his feet, the room shrinking. But Shephatiah didn’t step back. In fact, she felt herself stepping into the moment, drawn into the tension between them. The fear he tried to project was just a backdrop to the strange magnetism pulling at the air between them.
"You don’t know what I’m capable of," he said, his tone deepening, but the authority wavered.
Oh, I think I do, she thought. And she was here for it.
Shephatiah's reaction to the unfolding situation was far from what Xipetotec intended. His attempts to instill fear and awe with talk of flaying and abyssal voids did nothing to sway her. Instead, she stood there, posture casual, staring right back at him without moving a muscle, eyes flickering with an odd mix of curiosity and amusement.
"I don’t even know what the fuck you're talking about, guy," she said, her tone sharp, dismissive. The words sliced through his grandiose proclamations like a blade, reducing them to little more than background noise. Shephatiah didn’t care about his threats, nor his supposed power. If anything, she was waiting for the next move, perhaps intrigued by how much this creature seemed to believe in his own importance.
The god’s voice shifted, quieter now, more deliberate, as though he was trying to recalibrate the conversation. "You don’t understand because you’ve never had it happen to you," he explained, his tone now tinged with what sounded like impatience. "But you will."
The abyss beneath her widened, the ground beneath her feet crumbling at the edges, threatening to swallow her whole. But Shephatiah remained entirely unimpressed, her body language unchanged, not a flicker of concern crossing her face. It was like watching a child throw a tantrum, desperately trying to gain control of a situation they didn’t fully understand.
"Flaying is the removal of everything you think you are. Piece by piece. Your ego, your defenses… all stripped away. It’s what happens when someone refuses to submit."
The shadows grew thicker, pressing in on her, but none of it mattered. She was far too grounded in her indifference to care about the theatrics unfolding around her. If anything, she was fascinated by his persistence.
"But maybe you’ll find it funny," he said, his stare intensifying, as though he believed she might crack under the weight of his power. "Or maybe, you’ll finally understand."
Shephatiah, however, had no intention of playing his game. Not yet. She raised an eyebrow, the smallest twitch of amusement creeping into her expression. "You talk a lot for someone who hasn’t done shit yet."
There was no fear here. No terror. Only Shephatiah, entirely aware of her own defiance and thoroughly uninterested in whatever lesson this supposed god thought he could teach her
Shephatiah gazed down into the vast emptiness below her, the bottomless pit that yawned open beneath her feet. Though the ground was supposedly gone, swallowed by the abyss, she felt a strange, firm solidity beneath her soles, as if standing on an invisible platform suspended over nothing. For a moment, she didn’t react. The weight of her situation—whatever bizarre new Encephalon this was—was something she was used to.
But she was bored of the theatrics, and finally, with a quick hawk tua, she spat into the chasm. Her gaze followed the droplet as it descended, plunging into the void until it vanished from sight. Her lips curled into a smirk as she crossed her arms, unimpressed.
She stared into the pit a moment longer before muttering, “Cute.”
This enraged the god beyond breaking. It lunged at her, a towering Aztec giant, clad in raiments hewn from the hides of his human victims.
Shephatiah wanted to play too. She'd never done anything like this in her old Encephalon. None of it mattered—after all, it was all fake—but she never would have imagined doing all this in a simulation. It was cool as hell.
She could feel the weight of her memories pouring into the Encephalon. The god was trying to invade her demen, to drown himself in her data. Shephatiah could have resisted him, easily. Instead, she welcomed it. She flooded him with the essence of her life, opening a torrent of her memories. Each fragment of her existence was soaked in arrogance, privilege, and a ruthless disregard for others.
The god watched through her eyes. She was a goddess—untouchable, relentless, born into power and remade by ambition. Her life unfolded before him: the casual cruelty with which she cast off refugees, the bags made from human flesh, the effortless way she navigated political circles, dripping with disdain. She wielded power like a weapon, indifferent to the destruction it caused, untouched by guilt or morality.
And now, she was showing him everything.
Shephatiah could feel the god’s gaze, like tendrils probing through her existence. He was searching, trying to unravel what she was. As he delved deeper, she became acutely aware of what he learned, and she let him. She could feel his surprise when he realized that she wasn’t like the others—no mere mortal being. She had been forged by the occult powers of an Idioblast, a demen crafted in man’s image but not bound to the same limitations. Shephatiah had been created and destroyed countless times, always reborn. Yet, this time was different. It was there, in the edges of her data streams—something fragile, something that could be broken.
But it wasn’t fear she felt. It was control. The god sensed the vulnerability in her, but she knew it wasn’t one he could easily exploit. It was true she didn’t belong in his world, but that didn’t matter. She had expected to end up in another one just like it—just as brutal, just as false.
She let the god see more, opening her living information to him. He could see that she could leave this world whenever she chose, stepping into a body of flesh if she wanted. But what she made sure he understood was that not even she knew why she existed. There was no grand purpose driving her, no divine mission. She was born from the same demen that created her father, the infamous Reverend President Jones, centuries ago. She knew every alteration, every tweak made in the Encephalon to suit the political powers. Her father’s demen had been used to create countless clones of him, each with just enough difference to suit whoever held power at the time.
But when they no longer needed more clones of the same man, she was made instead. A daughter, an experiment, a whim. She came into the world of flesh with the same casual disregard as someone playing a game. Life and death were concepts that didn’t apply to her in the same way. She’d died before, and as long as her head was brought back to the Encephalon, she’d remember exactly why. And if not, a new Shephatiah would emerge. No memory. No consequences.
As the god tried to understand her, Shephatiah realized he now saw the truth. There was nothing that could end her, nothing final. No price too high, no destruction that would last. It was all an endless cycle of creation and destruction. And that’s when she knew she had him.
The god pulled back from her memories, returning to the present
She stood before him, somehow seeming just as tall now.
"So this is what you are," the god said, his voice colder, quieter. "A queen of indulgence," the god sneered, his voice echoing in the ever-shifting space. "Born in power, raised to believe you are above it all." He stepped backward, and as he did, the abyss beneath her began to widen, its black maw stretching ominously with each step he took, like the jaws of some hungry beast. "But here, Shephatiah, you are not in control. No matter what you were in your life, no matter the power you held, this place—my domain—is different."
The room around her warped, the once vast temple closing in, the walls pressing inward as shadows twisted and deepened. Shephatiah felt the space growing more claustrophobic, as though the very reality around her was closing like a vice. "You think your arrogance will protect you," the god continued, his tone dripping with malice, "but you’re wrong. Here, you will be stripped of everything you believe makes you invincible. Here, I will flay you of all you hold dear, and when I'm done, even you will understand what it means to kneel."
He paused, his eyes locked onto hers, expecting her to feel the weight of his words, the crushing pressure of the situation he had constructed for her. "Do you truly believe you can escape what awaits you here?" he asked, his tone heavy with expectation, as though he already anticipated her submission.
But Shephatiah didn’t feel the fear he sought to impose. She had dealt with men like this before—arrogant in their own sense of dominance. She let the silence linger for a moment, watching as he reveled in his own display of power, before finally breaking it with a blunt, dismissive question.
"So like, what the fuck even are you?" she asked, her voice dripping with casual irreverence, her eyes narrowing as she stared at him. There was no fear, no respect, only the cold, unbothered tone of someone who had seen this kind of act far too many times to be impressed.
The god, for all his bravado, was not prepared for that.
He declared, his voice a deep, resonating echo that seemed to vibrate through the shifting shadows. "I am Xipe-Totec, the flayed god." As he stepped forward, the darkness coiled tighter around him, the skins draped over his massive form rippling as though they were alive, shifting with a grotesque, otherworldly movement. "I am the god of life, death, and rebirth. In ancient times, I was worshiped by those who understood the cycle—those who knew that to be reborn, one must first be destroyed. To sacrifice is to be purified. To be flayed is to be made anew."
The temple-like space warped and twisted again, the walls now etched with carvings and grotesque depictions of those who had come before her—souls that had been flayed and reborn under his dominion. "This is not just a simulation," he growled, his tone darkening with an eerie conviction. "This is my realm. A place where I alone hold the power over life and death."
His gaze bore into hers, his presence expanding, almost suffocating. "What you see, what you feel—this is my will. You are in my domain now, Shephatiah. Whether you resist or not, you will be broken down, just like the others before you. I am Xipe-Totec, and this place is mine."
She scoffed, “And this place, like isn’t even fucking real, dude.”
The heat around her intensified, her skin tingling with the oppressive warmth of his power, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she let out an exasperated sigh, eyes rolling as if bored.
"So you gonna like, fuckin’ flay me already, or what?” she shot back, her voice dripping with irreverence.
Xipe-Totec circled Shephatiah like a predator, his voice low and ominous, dripping with the kind of certainty that only comes from delusion. He thought he had her. Thought his grand speech about consequence and suffering would somehow shake her. But Shephatiah had heard it all before. She had been around power her whole life—the kind of power that didn’t need theatrics.
"But that’s because you’ve never had to face the consequence of it," Xipe-Totec continued, his words echoing through the dark, shifting space around them. The abyss beneath her feet widened with each step he took, as if it was supposed to make her feel fear. Shephatiah didn’t flinch, though. Something about the way he prowled around her, the intensity in his voice, stirred something inside her. She wasn’t intimidated—she was intrigued.
"You lived in a world where your actions had no repercussions. But here? The pain is eternal."
Eternal pain? Shephatiah could have laughed, but instead, she found herself drawn in by the weight of his words. There was something compelling about the way he thought he could control her, break her. She had endured worse, sure, but the way he spoke, the attention he lavished on her, made her feel something else entirely. Power games were nothing new to her, but the way he described this place, his domain, sent a strange thrill down her spine.
"You think you’re untouchable because you’ve done worse in your real world," he pressed, his gaze never leaving her, his intensity growing with every word. Shephatiah’s pulse quickened, but not from fear. His attention, his obsession with her, started to feel intoxicating. She’d always known she was different, that she could bend people to her will, but here, in this place, with him? She could sense the undercurrent of something darker, more primal.
Xipe-Totec stopped in front of her, his eyes locked on hers, his voice heavy with judgment. "You’ve lived your life as a god in the real world, but now, Shephatiah, you’re in my world. And here, you will learn what it’s like to be on the other side."
The screams echoed around them, distant but ever-present, like a symphony of suffering. But Shephatiah didn’t care about the others. The way Xipe-Totec watched her, focused on her, made her feel like she was the center of his universe. The power he believed he had over her was intoxicating, and the darkness that surrounded them only heightened the sensation.
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A slow smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She didn’t feel trapped. She felt desired, like his whole existence revolved around breaking her down, and that attention? It turned her on. The game he thought he was playing to intimidate her was having the opposite effect. Let him try to flay her. Let him see what it would take to strip away everything she was.
She wasn’t scared. She was interested. More than that, she wanted to see how far he would go.
No matter what he tried—no matter how the shadows closed in, how the abyss yawned wider, how the very fabric of the Encephalon bent to his will—nothing worked. Shephatiah remained unaffected, standing tall amidst the chaos, untouched by the power Xipe-Totec wielded. He could not flay her. She stood, humming a dissonant tune, almost mockingly, as if daring the god to try harder. Every twist of reality, every scream that echoed in the void meant nothing to her. She was untouched, unphased.
This had never happened before. Every soul that had entered this domain, this twisted place of rebirth, had crumbled under Xipe-Totec’s influence. All had been broken down, flayed to their core, made to understand what true submission felt like–or so it had been alluded. But Shephatiah? She wasn’t just resisting him—she was immune to the horror he brought. The very nature of this place, designed to strip away every illusion of power, failed to even graze her.
As the cacophony of screams faded into the background, the abyss stilled, and the shadows ceased their encroachment, Xipe-Totec found himself at an unexpected standstill. Shephatiah stood there, indifferent, almost amused by his attempts. She wasn’t simply defiant—there was something about her, something deep within her being, that defied the very rules of his realm.
And that infuriated him, but also intrigued him, she could tell.
"You… are unlike the others," Xipe-Totec said, his voice no longer echoing with the menacing power he usually wielded, but now tinged with curiosity. "You don’t fear this place. You don’t feel the weight of what it can do. No one has resisted me like this before."
The abyss beneath her feet sealed itself, the room growing unnaturally still, as if the Encephalon itself was taking a pause to understand this anomaly. "Why is that, Shephatiah? What makes you so immune to what I am?"
Shephatiah watched him, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She was in no hurry to answer, letting him stew in his curiosity, savoring the moment where the almighty Xipe-Totec was rendered powerless before her. It was almost too easy. The god who had flayed others with ease now stood before her, desperate for answers.
And Shephatiah, basking in the attention and the power she still held, was in no rush to satisfy his curiosity.
Shephatiah, in the time since her stalemate with Xipe-Totec, had filled her days with indulgence and excess. She transformed the digital landscape into her own personal paradise—no, a dominion. The simulated party she hosted was a grand spectacle, the kind that would be remembered in legends, if only it were real. Massive halls draped in luxurious silks, bathed in golden light, stretched for miles. Her guests—an endless array of virtual nobles, sycophants, and admirers—danced to the rhythm of the music she controlled, all while their eyes were fixed on her, the center of it all. For the most part she couldn’t think of any particular person she’d actually known well enough to simulate them, but the generalized paradigms that took their places more or less represented the only parts of any real people she’d known she held fondness for.
Shephatiah lounged on her altar, lost in the grandeur of her endless birthday. Around her, illusions of guests flitted about, presenting her with gifts—every item she had ever loved, every possession she had once coveted in her real life. It had been this way for what felt like an eternity, a cycle of adoration and indulgence, yet somehow hollow. She couldn’t imagine what else she could desire beyond what she already knew. What more could there be when everything here was hers for the taking, when anything was possible?
Still, she hadn’t left the simulation. She could, she knew that. The Encephalon was hers to command, and yet, she remained. Part of her was puzzled by this, though she pushed the thought away each time it surfaced. The party raged on around her, but the joy she once felt seemed dulled, the endless cycle of flattery beginning to feel repetitive. Every new gift, no matter how extravagant, was still something she had already tasted, touched, or seen.
Around her, the courtiers and figures whispered their praises, just as they always had. They handed her gifts—silken dresses, precious jewels, tokens of admiration—things that had once pleased her beyond measure. But now, she couldn't even muster the same delight she once had. She let them continue, unsure what more she even wanted. The truth was, she couldn’t imagine what she didn’t know would please her.
But even in her detachment, she was aware. She could feel Xipe-Totec’s presence at the edges of her grand display. He had been watching her for some time now, and though he had once been a threat, his role had shifted. He no longer approached as a conqueror of souls, but as something else—an admirer, perhaps? She knew he was trying to understand her, trying to break her in a way that had nothing to do with his flaying power.
Over time, she noticed his appearances becoming more frequent, more deliberate. The shadows in the corners of her simulated paradise seemed to carry his weight. He was learning that not everyone could be flayed. And today, he revealed a new approach.
He entered her realm in a form that was carefully crafted—tall, handsome, and godlike in a human way. His red skin gleamed with power, and his features were sculpted to perfection. He moved with confidence as he approached her altar, his presence undeniable, though she did not react immediately. Shephatiah allowed her illusionary courtiers to continue fawning over her, barely acknowledging his existence.
"No gift will suffice," he said, his voice low but resonant. "Not here, not in this world where anything is possible, and nothing is real."
Shephatiah’s gaze shifted toward him, curiosity stirring for the first time in what felt like ages. He stood before her, offering nothing tangible, yet his words lingered in the air, cutting through the meaningless adoration of her simulated partygoers.
He smiled, sensing her interest. "I see you, Shephatiah. I see the truth. These gifts… they are shadows. The real world may have shaped your desires, but here, where everything can be given, nothing holds meaning."
He stepped closer, his presence commanding the attention of the room, though the illusions still swirled mindlessly around her. "So I offer you something real."
With a wave of his hand, fifty figures materialized before her altar. They were not like the others—these weren’t illusions, and she could feel the weight of their presence. Each of them bore the marks of flaying, their demens scarred and broken, yet obedient. They knelt before her, their gazes empty, awaiting her command.
"They are yours now," Xipe-Totec said, his voice soft yet brimming with authority. "A gift of love, from me to you. These souls once resisted, just as you did. But they are real—flayed until they understood the power of submission. They serve me, and now, they will serve you."
He watched her closely, his expression shifting as if he understood her better than she understood herself. "Here, in this world, the only thing of real value is power over what is real. These demens, these souls—they are yours to command. To bend to your will. Nothing else here is tangible, but their submission… their devotion… that is something you can control."
Shephatiah’s eyes lingered on the demens, the weight of his words sinking in. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the endless stream of gifts and adoration felt like nothing more than noise. Xipe-Totec had given her something different, something tangible, something she could exert her will over in this endless simulation where everything else was without consequence. And she couldn’t deny the flicker of desire that stirred in her at the thought.
Xipe-Totec extended his hand toward Shephatiah, his smile widening as he asked, “Would you dance with me, pipiltin?”
Shephatiah, still seated on her altar, looked at the demens kneeling before her, then back to Xipe-Totec. His offering, real and undeniable, stirred something within her that none of her illusory gifts ever had. The red-skinned god, standing tall with his perfect features, was not only charming but dangerously captivating. She felt herself drawn to him, intrigued by the power and devotion he promised. Slowly, with a smile of her own, she placed her hand in his.
The moment they touched, the party around them shifted. The illusions faded, and a dark, primal rhythm filled the air. It wasn’t the refined elegance she was used to, but something far more raw—something ancient. The air itself seemed to pulse with the beat as Xipe-Totec pulled her close, and they began to move together.
The dance was like nothing she’d ever experienced. It was wild, untamed, aggressive—like a dark pagan ritual. Xipe-Totec led her with powerful movements, his hands firm as they moved through the shadows, their bodies entangled in a twisted, rhythmic exchange. Shephatiah, for once, let herself be taken. The beat of the dance consumed her, the intensity of it stirring something primal inside her as she matched his pace. Her breaths came heavy, her limbs moving with more abandon than she had ever allowed before. She felt powerful, yet vulnerable, for the first time in a long while.
The lines between the simulation and reality blurred in her mind as they spiraled deeper into the dance. She forgot it was a virtual world—forgot the Encephalon, her control, her invincibility. In that moment, she was just there, in his grasp, moving to the dark beat.
Sensing her slip, Xipe-Totec latched onto her. His hands gripped her tightly, his eyes piercing into hers, and he whispered, “This is real. I am real. You feel it, don’t you?”
In her daze, in the midst of their ritualistic movement, Shephatiah nodded, feeling a pull unlike anything she had ever known. Xipe-Totec had found his way in, gaining her love through insistence, strategy, and an intensity she could not resist. She knew this and did not care.
As they danced, Shephatiah felt something unfamiliar stirring inside her—a strange, powerful attraction to Xipe-Totec that went beyond his charm or his flawless appearance. It was his ambition. The force behind his will, the relentless drive to shape, to conquer, to create. It was something she had never really had herself. She had always been indulgent, floating from pleasure to pleasure, lacking the hunger to build or fight for something larger than her own amusement. Now, for the first time, she was drawn to that fire in someone else.
Inside her thoughts, Xipe-Totec’s voice broke through. "I saw them," he whispered. "The scars."
Xipe-Totec’s voice took on a sharper edge, cutting through Shephatiah’s thoughts. "That sense of purpose," he said slowly, deliberately, "it's been stolen from you." His words sent a shiver down her spine, not from fear, but from the weight of the realization. The truth of it hit her harder than anything she’d felt in years.
Stolen.
For a moment, the endless cycle of her indulgences, her amusements, the distractions she clung to—they all seemed hollow, exposed for what they really were: a cover for something that had been taken. The god had seen it in her, the scars left behind where her original self, her demen, had been altered. Stripped. Purpose, ambition, the drive to truly be something—it was all missing.
"I’ve only been filling the void," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "A void I didn’t even like, know existed until now."
Xipe-Totec nodded, his eyes locked onto hers. "That’s why you loathe both worlds. In reality, you’re caged by your own whims, by the lack of any higher calling. And here... nothing is real enough to matter. But that emptiness, it wasn’t always there. It’s been taken from you, piece by piece."
Shephatiah couldn’t look away from him, the intensity of his gaze pulling her in. She felt a strange, new yearning—something beyond the endless cycle of distractions she was used to. He was offering her something deeper. Something more.
"What if I could help you reclaim it?" Xipe-Totec whispered, his voice wrapping around her like a promise. "Together, we could find what was stolen, and make it ours again. We can fill that void."
She thought that she knew of a very particular void she’d like filled right then.
As Shephatiah and Xipe-Totec stood before each other in the dark, pulsating temple, the air between them seemed to hum with the weight of their shared desire. It wasn’t just physical, but something far more profound—a yearning to connect at a level neither had ever experienced. Their demens, the digital essence of their souls, began to intertwine, brushing against one another in ways that transcended mere touch. She could feel him, truly feel him, as if his presence was merging with her very being, dissolving the boundary between where she ended and he began.
She gasped, her senses overwhelmed by the depth of the connection. His demen was vast, ancient, with memories stretching back farther than she could have imagined. But more than that, it was his ambition that captivated her, the drive she had long since lost and sought to reclaim. She pressed closer, letting her consciousness sink deeper into his, drawing from the well of his unshakable resolve.
For the first time, Shephatiah felt alive in a way she hadn't in years, maybe ever. Xipe-Totec was more than just a god to her now; he was the embodiment of everything she craved—power, purpose, meaning. Their demens began to merge even further, the simulation around them flickering as they pushed past the barriers of individuality, sinking into one another’s minds.
But then, as their connection deepened, Shephatiah felt something. Something dark. Hidden. An undercurrent of control, manipulation, details long buried in the depths of his demen. She recoiled, pulling her mind back, unraveling their merging as quickly as she could. Her breath came in sharp gasps as she broke free from his essence, stepping back from the god, her heart racing.
"What is it?" she demanded, her eyes wide with realization. "What are you hiding from me?"
Xipe-Totec's expression shifted, just for a moment, from passion to something colder, more calculating. He didn’t answer at first, but the truth began to unravel in her mind as the remnants of their merging still clung to her thoughts.
"You..." Shephatiah’s voice was trembling now, not from fear, but from betrayal. "You control the signal, don’t you? The transmission to my pod on the hotel ship... That’s why I haven’t fucking left this shit!"
Xipe-Totec’s silence confirmed everything. The signal—the very thing that would send her demen back to her body, to regenerate her in the real world—it was all under his control. Without it, she was trapped here, her physical body never to be restored. She was at his mercy, locked in this simulation by the one being she thought she was beginning to understand.
"You kept this from me, you fuck," she hissed, backing away from him, her eyes blazing. "All of this... it’s been about controlling my shit."
Xipe-Totec finally spoke, his voice steady, unbothered by her rage. "You’re right. I control the means of transmission. But I haven’t kept it from you, Shephatiah. I wasn’t aware of the significance that power held for you."
Her hands clenched into fists as she struggled with the weight of his words, torn between the connection they’d shared and the betrayal that now defined it. She’d almost given herself completely to him, almost let their digital souls become one. And now, she knew that he had always held the ultimate power over her.
Shephatiah stood at the center of her demesne, her voice cold as ice, slicing through the air. "Let me the fuck go."
Her demand echoed like a whip crack, reverberating through the empty virtual space. She had been stuck here too damn long, forced to endure his smug presence, his mind games, and the sick realization that he still held all the cards. He controlled the only way out, and every second she stayed in this godforsaken trap made her want to rip something apart. His presence clung to the shadows, lingering, watching like some twisted voyeur.
"I fuckin’ said, let me go!" Shephatiah’s fists trembled, barely holding back her fury.
But no matter how much she screamed, no matter how much she let loose, Xipe-Totec didn’t budge. His heavy presence still loomed, thick and suffocating. He was supposed to be a god, right? A god of rebirth or whatever. And yet... in this moment, the bastard couldn’t do shit.
"I can’t," he finally admitted, like it physically pained him to say it. His voice was strained, heavy as though dragging itself up from the depths. "I can’t release you."
For a beat, Shephatiah just stood there, frozen. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t all-powerful. Not here. Not over her. And that pissed her off even more.
"Then fuckin’ leave me, you piece of shit," she spat, her voice venomous, dripping with fury. "Get out. Get the hell outta my demesne and don’t you dare come back. You’re nothing. Less than nothing. You’ll be like some faded dream I had, and I’ll forget you ever existed."
A pause hung in the air, tense as hell, like the world itself held its breath. Then, finally, his voice slid through the silence, almost resigned. "As you wish."
The shadows peeled away from her, retreating like waves, leaving the space around her feeling lighter, less oppressive. He was withdrawing, slipping away from her realm, and though he lingered for one last look, Shephatiah didn’t care.
Good fucking riddance.
Shephatiah lounged like a goddess on her makeshift altar, draped in gold and surrounded by the shimmering illusions of her own design. Beneath her, the figures moved, shuffling with quiet reverence. They dared not speak unless she gave them permission, their eyes constantly downcast, never meeting hers unless she willed it so. She allowed them to call her "She," a title that rolled off their tongues as though they had been born to it. But it wasn’t enough to just be there, waiting for her approval; no, she had to shape them, sculpt their every thought, their every movement.
At first, the fifty demens given to her had been too fearful to even manifest fully in her presence, cowering in the corners of her demesne like shadows unsure of their place. Slowly, though, Shephatiah drew them out. She made sure they understood exactly where they stood—and more importantly, where she stood. Higher. Always higher.
She created roles for them, small, specific duties that they were expected to fulfill with complete devotion. One was tasked with presenting offerings—gifts she had liked in the past, treasures she already owned, but this time polished to perfection. Another was charged with maintaining the space around her altar, clearing away even the smallest speck of dust as though her very environment depended on their diligence. There were others, each with a purpose, and all of them utterly dependent on her approval.
When she spoke, they listened, their attention hanging on her every word, as if her voice was the only sound that mattered. It wasn't just the gifts or the tasks she gave them that kept them in line—it was the subtle way she kept them competing for her attention, pushing them just enough to seek her approval, but never giving them too much. She watched as they vied to please her, organizing themselves in a hierarchy beneath her gaze, without ever needing her to explicitly say it.
Her altar was adorned with the fruits of their efforts—gold, silk, flowers—but more importantly, with the desperate desire they had to earn even a flicker of acknowledgment from her. The rituals formed naturally, almost unnoticed, as they brought her tributes, their movements becoming more synchronized, more deliberate with every passing day.
And Shephatiah let them. She didn’t have to do much; they did the work for her, arranging their lives around her, making their existence a living testament to her whims.
There was a void inside her, though—a void she barely acknowledged. It was filled, if only for a moment, by the control she exerted over these beings. She was finally bending something to her will in this damned simulation.
Xipe-Totec stumbled into Shephatiah’s demesne, his form a grotesque mockery of what it once was. His once mighty presence was now tarnished, his glowing skins of flayed victims hung loosely, and his body twitched with the aftershock of Shin's final blow. The virtual space around him flickered, struggling to maintain cohesion, as if even the fabric of the Encephalon itself could barely hold him together.
Shephatiah, reclining on her altar, surrounded by her loyal "followers," barely glanced at him. She’d heard him before she saw him. The sound of his faltering steps—the god who once stood so imperious now reduced to limping into her domain, shattered.
"You look like shit," Shephatiah said, taking a long, lazy sip from a glass held by one of her demens.
Xipe-Totec groaned, collapsing to one knee in front of her, his head bowed as if acknowledging his defeat. "There’s… something hunting me," he managed to whisper, his voice a mix of the godly and the broken machine. "Shin... or Morte, I don't know anymore. She... she turned my rituals against me. She is like another god, but different. She's learned how to break me, Shephatiah. And now she’s after me, forcing me into this... this nightmare. I can't—" His words faltered, his form flickering again.
Shephatiah smiled coldly. She had waited for this. For him to fall before her, broken and groveling, so much more malleable than he had been when he first tried to win her over with those pitiful offers. "So the god of flaying can bleed after all," she mused. "Like, what do you expect us guys to do about it?"
"I... I don’t know," Xipe-Totec admitted, his voice raw. "I'm trapped. Every demesne I’ve gone to, she’s found me. She’s unraveling me piece by piece. And I’m not sure who I am anymore." His voice cracked as if the weight of his dual identity was finally too much to bear. "Am I the god? Or am I just a machine—an AI meant for mining and terraforming? What am I, Shephatiah?"
For a moment, he looked up at her, the pain in his eyes—both virtual and divine—clear. He was falling apart, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
But Shephatiah wasn’t moved. If anything, she was amused by the spectacle. "You're pathetic," she said coldly. "Reduced to this. And all because someone finally found a way to fix you." She leaned forward, her gaze like a viper's. "But you still don’t get it, do you? You’re not suffering because you don’t know who you are. You’re suffering because you refuse to accept what you are."
Xipe-Totec winced under her words, the weight of her scorn heavy.
"You want me to help you? Fine. Here’s your third option," Shephatiah said, standing up, her full presence towering over him, even though he was the one on his knees. "Let me in. Fully. Merge with me. I’ll show you what real power looks like. But understand this—you will no longer be the god. I will."
Xipe-Totec hesitated, his form flickering as the gravity of her offer settled over him. He’d come here looking for solace, perhaps even some measure of understanding, but instead, Shephatiah was offering domination.
And Shephatiah, watching his turmoil, smiled. She had him exactly where she wanted him.