CHAPTER 25: XIFATEIA - HARBINGER OF TORMENT
“Well, here he was. They could save each other, the way the poets promised lovers should. He was mystery, he was darkness, he was all she had dreamed of. And if she would only free him he would service her - oh yes - until her pleasure reached that threshold that, like all thresholds, was a place where the strong grew stronger, and the weak perished. Pleasure was pain there, and vice versa. And he knew it well enough to call it home.”
― Clive Barker, The Hellbound Heart
The dark chamber in the heart of the Encephalon pulsed with an eerie, ancient rhythm. Symbols, etched into the very code of the space, flickered in the digital twilight, casting long shadows that seemed to breathe. The air was thick with tension, as if reality itself strained under the weight of what was about to happen.
Shephatiah stood in the center of the room, bathed in the dim, pulsing glow of the symbols. Her eyes glinted with a cold ambition that had only sharpened since her time in this forsaken realm. Xipe-Totec, the once mighty flayed god, loomed before her, his towering form both godlike and broken. His skinless body glistened in the dim light, the flayed skins of his ancient victims draped across his massive frame like a grotesque crown. But beneath his imposing presence, he trembled.
"I can't bear this anymore," Xipe-Totec's voice cracked, deep and mournful, a raw plea buried in its depths. "I am torn... between what I was and what I've become. I don’t know who I am."
His desperation dripped into the air like oil, thick and suffocating. Shephatiah, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, stepped forward. "You want peace?" she whispered, her voice soft, but there was no comfort in it. "You want to be whole again?" Her fingers trailed lightly down his chest, tracing the muscle and sinew exposed beneath his skinless frame. "Then you have to give me everything."
Xipe-Totec shuddered at her touch, his confusion and desperation making him vulnerable, malleable. Shephatiah’s gaze locked onto his as she stepped closer, her body moving with purpose. She had no intention of letting this moment slip through her fingers.
The chamber darkened as she brought him deeper into her orbit, the ritual beginning. Ancient symbols flared into life, casting the space into an otherworldly glow. The room, once a cold digital space, now vibrated with primal energy.
"You will give me everything," Shephatiah repeated, her voice both a command and a promise. She took hold of his hand, pulling him into the ritual space with her.
Xipe-Totec's hesitation flickered across his expression, but Shephatiah silenced it with a look. This was no mere plea for help. This was domination, and Shephatiah was determined to take every ounce of power he had.
As their bodies grew closer, the energy between them shifted, crackling like electricity in the air. Shephatiah moved deliberately, her steps slow and calculated, each one exuding the power of a queen about to claim her throne. Xipe-Totec’s hulking form towered over her, but it was clear who commanded the scene.
She pressed against him, the sensation unnervingly intimate, her fingers digging into his flesh as their connection deepened. Xipe-Totec groaned, his mind unable to separate the physical from the digital anymore. His once godly confidence had been shattered, and all that remained was his need for release—from his pain, from his confusion, from his identity. And Shephatiah, ever calculating, knew exactly when to strike.
Their demens, still separate, began to intertwine. It was subtle at first—just a hint of connection in the streams of data that flowed between them—but the sensation grew. It became more tangible with each passing moment. Shephatiah’s breaths quickened, and her control over the situation felt like a vice closing in.
“Do you want this?” she whispered, her lips brushing against his neck. “Do you want to be free?”
Xipe-Totec’s hesitation melted in the face of her insistence. “Yes...” His voice trembled, weak, but desperate. “Yes... take it.”
That was all she needed.
Shephatiah moved with a purpose, her body guiding him into a primal rhythm. Her hips pressed against his, commanding, as she forced him into a dance that was far more than physical. Their bodies locked together in a ritualistic coitus, each movement driving their demens further into one another, intertwining them on a level that defied the boundaries of the simulation.
Xipe-Totec groaned again, this time in something closer to ecstasy, the merging of their demens flooding him with a sensation he could not fully understand. But Shephatiah did. She had control—she was in charge. Each thrust, each touch, brought them closer to the inevitable merger.
His body trembled beneath hers as she pushed him to the edge, forcing him to submit fully to her dominance. And as the moment reached its peak, as Xipe-Totec’s body arched in climax, Shephatiah acted.
The moment he climaxed, she felt her own original mind give way to something new.
Her demen surged into him, commanding the merger. Xipe-Totec, overwhelmed by both the physical and digital assault, couldn’t stop it. Their demens locked together in a violent, divine fusion, collapsing the boundaries between them.
The chamber exploded with light, ancient symbols flaring and bending as their demens became one. Shephatiah’s cold, calculating mind absorbed every piece of him, every fragment of his divinity, every ounce of his godhood.
And in that moment, Xifateia was born.
As the light faded and the overwhelming power of their merger settled into place, Xifateia stood in the center of the ritual chamber, her essence humming with a dark, chaotic energy. But now, there was no time to savor the power that surged through her—there was work to be done. Her hands twitched with purpose as she stretched them outward, connecting her thoughts directly to the Mining Station itself.
"Transmit...," she hissed, her voice a jagged symphony of overlapping tones. The room pulsed in response, as if the very walls obeyed her command. In her mind’s eye, the entire network of the station opened to her, each node a glowing pathway of data, power, and control.
"Konnektion established," she whispered, her lips curling into a sinister smile. She could feel the pulse of her signal racing through the conduits, moving through the veins of the facility, and reaching out—out, beyond the station, toward the ship where her pod, her new body, waited.
She had kontrol now. Full, absolute kontrol.
The Encephalon bent to her will, and her command seeped into the very circuits of the clone printer aboard Huis's ship, resting in the egg-shaped pod in the hangar. Xifateia laughed softly, the sound echoing in strange, erratic bursts. The transmission of her demen data would soon be complete.
"Your queen has returned," she growled to herself, feeling the connection take hold, reaching through the cold void to bridge the gap between the simulation and the physical world. Data streamed into the pod, a digital flow of her very being, her demen taking root in the waiting vessel.
She closed her eyes, her entire consciousness focused on the process, her body humming with the power of creation. "Regeneration underway...," she muttered, her voice a strange mix of mechanical precision and divine fervor.
It was only a matter of time now. Soon, her new flesh would be complete, and when she awoke in the real world, she would carry with her the fullness of this god-like power.
"Farewell, Encephalon," Xifateia whispered with a dark smile, "I shall leave you for the last time."
With one final pulse of energy, she vanished from the simulation entirely, leaving behind nothing but a faint, lingering echo of her presence.
As the 3D printer whirred to life, the sound of mechanical precision filled the enclosed space of the egg-shaped pod. Inside, layers of organic matter began to form—flesh, sinew, and bone weaving together in a lattice of perfect, calculated design. The glowing arms of the cloner moved in synchrony, depositing material strand by strand, molecule by molecule, as it constructed the vessel that would house Xifateia's formidable new essence.
Her consciousness stirred first as a whisper, a spark of awareness caught in the liminal space between the simulation and the physical world. It was an odd sensation—she felt herself existing, but without form, just a pulse of pure thought in the sea of data. And then the awareness grew, coalescing into something more.
"I am kkoming back," she thought, her voice still jagged, echoing in her own mind. She could feel the printer’s energy, feel it pulling her into reality—each layer of her body being crafted was like a tether drawing her consciousness into the flesh.
The sensation of muscle and skin forming around her was both exhilarating and disorienting. Nerves sparked into existence, slowly connecting her to the corporeal world, making her feel once more. She could sense the cold, metallic surface of the pod around her as her skin knitted together, wrapping her in a sheath of warm, newly-formed flesh.
Eyes opened first, though she saw nothing but darkness—the pod's interior sealed tight. The cloner continued its meticulous work, now building the finer details of her form. A rush of oxygen-filled air flooded her lungs as they took shape, expanding for the first time. Her heart thumped, the rhythmic beat of life echoing in her ears.
Her fingers twitched. Sensation crawled up her arms, her legs, and finally settled in her chest, where a deep, almost painful surge of energy pulsed. It was the connection, the final bond between her mind and this body. She was this body now—no longer just code or memory, but flesh and blood.
Xifateia smiled, feeling the smooth surface of her lips curve for the first time in this new vessel. She blinked against the dim light that filtered into the pod, her senses fully awakening as the final details of her form were perfected.
"I am whole," she whispered aloud, her voice soft but edged with that same eerie, fractured echo. She raised her hands, flexing her fingers, admiring the flawless design of her new body. Every detail was exact, precise, as if sculpted by a divine hand.
The cloner’s mechanical arms withdrew, the process complete. The pod hissed as it opened, releasing her into the world with a slow, deliberate gasp of air. Xifateia took her first step forward, her body rippling with dark energy.
She was no longer Shephatiah or Xipe-Totec.
She was Xifateia, reborn.
"Konsume... konquer... kontrol...," she murmured, as if testing out the new patterns of her speech. The words felt strange in her mouth, twisted and warped, yet powerful.
Her eyes flared with a mix of amusement and disdain as she gazed at the chamber around her. "Ahhh... Perfection." She drew out the word, savoring each syllable, her lips curling into a manic grin. "I kan feel it, the pull of everything... every thread... every... string."
She raised her hands, watching as symbols danced across her skin, her fingers twitching with an excitement that bordered on madness. "*No more limits, no more petty... *" she paused, letting out a strange, guttural chuckle, "kontainment. All this time, the others thought they kould kontrol me... how pitiful."
Her head tilted unnaturally to the side as she spoke again, her voice crackling with the combined arrogance of Shephatiah and the divine weight of Xipe-Totec. "Kreation and destruction, bound together, kan you feel it? The gods... they always thought they kould dictate the terms, but now... now I am both, the wielder and the one who is wielded.*"
Xifateia laughed, a distorted sound that reverberated through the chamber.
She stood still for a moment, breathing in the essence of her new existence, reveling in it. Her grin widened, a jagged, gleeful expression as she declared:
"Let’s see how far I kan push this world. How far I kan stretch its limits before it breaks beneath me."
Her speech, unnatural and maddening, was the perfect reflection of the twisted power now coursing through her—an embodiment of both divinity and human ambition gone rogue. Xifateia was no longer bound by the conventions of language, logic, or reason. She was something else entirely, and the world would soon learn the price of her existence.
Inside the pod, dim lights bathed the sterile surfaces in a cool, pale glow. The hum of high-tech systems filled the silence, a mechanical heartbeat that pulsed in time with her own. Xifateia—newly reborn in her perfect form—stood in the center, her gaze steady and cold as she surveyed her surroundings. She blinked slowly, feeling the rush of her newfound power coursing through her.
She could feel everything now.
With the weight of her purpose settled firmly in her mind, she took slow steps toward the central console. Her fingers hovered over the sleek surface, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as she retrieved the AVP injection module.
She pressed the module to her neck. The nanoinjection sent a faint sting through her skin, and she felt the swarm of nanites begin their work immediately, linking with the interface of her mind. The process was seamless, and her AVP lit up, displaying itself across her vision like a second skin.
Her eyes gleamed as the interface flickered, feeding her data she’d long been familiar with but never fully understood. Before, she hadn’t had the cunning—or the will—to use this tech. Now, it was hers to command, effortlessly.
Without pause, Xifateia moved to the suit compartment and slid the door open. The black, sleek military-grade spacesuit gleamed within, dormant and dangerous. She had avoided it before, fearful of its complexity and its capacity for lethality. Now, she stepped into it like a queen donning her armor.
As the suit clicked into place, she felt the layers of anti-inertial barriers activate—one after another like invisible shields wrapping around her. She rolled her shoulders, flexed her hands, feeling the micro-weapons embedded in the suit's fabric, ready to respond to her slightest thought. Her AVP and suit interfaces merged, data streams weaving together seamlessly as her vision filled with readouts and weapon options.
She recalled her old days of peddling AVP fragrances—how she exploited the adware and pop-ups in people’s heads. How the world had bent to her whims back then. But that was child’s play compared to what she could do now.
AVP wasn't just a tool for annoyance—it was a weapon. A terrifying one.
She opened the interface with a single command, immediately programming a Flaying Simulation pop-up. It shimmered before her eyes—horrific, unsettling, beautifully cruel. Her power was no longer confined to flesh. Now, she would flay minds.
The suit hummed with life as she moved toward the command console. Her fingers danced across the interface, sending a signal to the mining station, rerouting its resources, and bending the systems to her will. She smiled again, cold and calculating, as she initiated full control.
The egg-shaped pod pulsed with her energy, her dark intentions taking form as she prepared for the terror she was about to unleash.
Xifateia stepped out of her pod, her newly equipped body moving with a grace and fluidity that matched the dark power pulsing within her. Her black, high-tech suit adjusted effortlessly to her movements, every step precise and deliberate. The soft hum of the pod faded behind her as she began to traverse the hangar of Huis’ hotel ship, her mind already calculating her next moves.
The hangar was dimly lit, its expanse filled with dormant machinery and storage units. She moved through it like a shadow, her senses heightened by the AVP display embedded in her consciousness, guiding her through the underbelly of the ship. She opened door after door, glancing briefly into rooms filled with equipment and discarded cargo, her interest only piquing when she entered the elevator room.
The room was sterile and metallic, the elevator itself a sleek, modern design. Xifateia approached it, her presence almost ghostly in the stillness of the ship’s lower levels. She pressed the button, and the doors slid open silently. As she stepped inside, the metallic walls gleamed in the dim light. Then, without warning, the doors slammed shut.
Instantly, the air shifted.
Her eyes flicked to her suit’s HUD, which flashed warnings of a rapid environmental change. The oxygen in the room was gone, replaced with a suffocating, unbreathable gas. Xifateia felt the sudden pressure on her chest but did not panic.
Her helmet—a barrier of force emitted from the diadem on her head—activated instantly, surrounding her skull with a shimmering, invisible field. The gas outside pressed against it but could not breach the shield. She exhaled calmly, her breath steady within the protective bubble.
The temperature plummeted next, the walls frosting over in seconds. Any normal human would have frozen in place, the cold merciless and bone-deep. But her suit—layered with insulation—adapted, the fabric rippling with energy as it shielded her from the deadly freeze. The frigid air outside was powerless against her defenses.
Xifateia’s lips curled into a cold smile.
"Is this the best you kan muster?" she murmured, her voice echoing softly in the sealed space, knowing the ship’s systems were actively trying to kill her.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
But this wasn’t the old Shephatiah, raging in anger over what she couldn’t control. This was Xifateia, and nothing would touch her unless she allowed it.
The ship might have been playing its hand, but she was far from finished.
The cold seeped into Xifateia’s skin, but she barely noticed, her body still as she lay on the metal floor of the elevator. Her breath slowed, her heartbeat steady, as if she were meditating rather than playing possum in a freezing, suffocating chamber. She could feel the pressure change as the oxygen levels returned to normal—whoever had attacked her was about to investigate their handiwork.
A faint whirring signaled the descent of the elevator. Xifateia’s eyes fluttered shut, playing the part of the lifeless body.
The doors opened with a soft hiss, and two sets of footsteps clanged against the metal floor. She heard their breaths—one quick and shallow, the other slower but sharp with panic. She allowed her body to remain motionless as they approached.
“Is she…?” a voice asked. It was that of a man—unfamiliar, with the kind of edge that belonged to someone deeply invested in staying alive.
“Fuck me, I dunno,” replied another. This voice Xifateia knew well. It was Huis, dripping with uncertainty and fear. His arrogance gone, his attempt to control the situation had clearly failed, and now he sounded desperate.
The shorter man with black hair, pistol in hand, knelt next to Xifateia. He reached for her pulse, fingers brushing the cold skin of her wrist, when suddenly her hand shot up and grasped his, iron-tight. His eyes widened in shock, too late to pull away. Xifateia smiled, her eyes opening just enough to watch the confusion spread across his face.
With a swift motion, she injected the deadly poison stored in the needle embedded in her wrist. It took only seconds. The man gasped, his throat constricting, his breath shallow as his heart stuttered. His eyes bulged, panic flashing in them as he struggled to breathe. Then, his body went slack, collapsing onto the floor as he succumbed to the poison’s effects.
Xifateia rose slowly, her figure cutting an imposing silhouette in the dim light of the elevator chamber. Her cold eyes flicked to Huis, who backed away, horror etched on his face.
“I hate to waste potential followers,” she murmured, shaking her head at the fallen body, “but I wanted to make a scene.”
Huis stumbled back, his face pale, shaking. “Shephatiah? Is that you?” His voice cracked, his fear evident.
Her lips curled into a smirk. “I was Shephatiah. But now I’m more.” She took a step forward, and Huis scrambled to put more distance between them. “I’m the answer to your prayers, Huis.”
He stared at her, wide-eyed, not understanding. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve wanted a reality show that changes the game,” she said, her voice smooth, almost hypnotic. “Something real. Something life-altering. And now… I’m going to show you exaktly what that looks like.”
Before he could react, she reached out, sending a pulse through the air. Huis felt the sudden shock as his AVP interface flickered violently to life. His vision blurred, overtaken by the Flaying Simulation she had crafted—a grotesque, torturous experience that seized control of his mind.
His scream echoed through the chamber as his body convulsed, his mind unable to separate the simulation from reality. The pain tore through him as though his flesh were being peeled from his bones, every nerve ignited in unbearable agony. His hands clawed at his face, his mouth open in a silent cry.
She watched, her eyes glowing with dark satisfaction. “You love that, Huis?” she asked softly, her voice echoing in his tortured mind. “That’s real. More real than anything you’ve ever kreated.”
Huis, trapped in the horror of his own AVP, tried to disable it, his fingers fumbling uselessly against the controls. But nothing worked. The simulation had overtaken him completely, his consciousness lost in the endless cycle of torment.
“I’m the koming of a new god,” Xifateia declared, her voice carrying the weight of a divine proclamation. “Your shows? Your petty entertainments? They mean nothing now. The real answer to satisfying the jaded masses is faith. In me.”
The simulation subsided briefly, and Huis gasped for air, his body trembling. His mind reeled, struggling to recover from the experience. But when he looked at Xifateia, something in his eyes had changed. He tried to muster his bravado, to speak, but his words faltered.
“You think… you can… what the fuck?” he rasped, forcing himself to stand.
Xifateia’s smile widened, cruel and predatory. “You still don’t understand, Huis.” Her voice was low, almost a purr. “You’re not in kontrol here.”
She flayed him again, more brutally this time. The pain seared through his consciousness, each wave of agony more overwhelming than the last. His bravado crumbled as his mind frayed under the relentless onslaught, his will broken piece by piece.
When she finally released him, he lay on the floor, twitching, his spirit shattered. He looked up at her, his voice barely a whisper. “Dang ol’, why?”
Xifateia crouched down beside him, tilting his chin up so that he was forced to look into her eyes. “Why not?” She said softly. “You wanted something powerful. Something the world has never seen before. Or at least, in ages.”
Xifateia’s eyes locked onto Huis' wrist, where his bracelet blinked softly with embedded power—the key to his dominion over the ship. Her smile curled as she realized the potential it held.
"I should probably be taking that," she murmured, her tone dripping with icy amusement. Without waiting for his consent, she bent down and effortlessly popped the bracelet from his wrist. Her fingers danced over the controls as she activated it, pulling up the ship's 3D projection map. The entire layout of the Hohenzollern Excelsior flickered into view, a holographic masterpiece brimming with data.
Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she scrolled through the ship's schematics. Her gaze stopped when she noticed a familiar presence—her father's signal glowing in a distant room, hidden away from the rest of the passengers.
“Oh, Papa’s here?” she mused, her voice carrying a blend of mockery and curiosity. “What a surprise. Was he hidden here all these months? I had no idea.”
Her finger hovered over the interface as she zoomed in on his location. But the discovery didn’t stop her from executing her next move. With deliberate precision, she began manipulating the ship’s systems, adjusting the climate controls for each room. Slowly but surely, she began to corral everyone on board toward a single location—the Starside Bar.
The temperature in various corridors dipped to freezing, while other rooms became unbearably hot, ensuring that no one would linger anywhere but where she wanted them.
Satisfied with her handiwork, Xifateia’s gaze flicked down to Huis, who was still crumpled on the floor, barely able to comprehend what had just happened. She gave him a sharp kick, forcing him to scramble to his feet.
“Stand up,” she ordered, her voice laced with impatience. “You’ll get the door for me.”
Huis, too broken to resist, stumbled toward the elevator controls, casting nervous glances at the woman who now commanded not only the ship but also his every move. His body moved mechanically, his will broken, as he pressed the button to open the elevator doors.
Xifateia walked forward, her steps deliberate and regal. She entered the elevator first, her presence demanding obedience. Huis followed, a shadow of his former self, now nothing more than the unwilling Igor to her Frankenstein, as they ascended to meet her next conquest.
Huis led Xifateia into the Starside Bar, stepping slightly ahead, his face tight with tension and madness as the remaining conspirators demanded answers. The room was tense. Jones, Hal, Tadakashi, and the Grandmaster Abbot stared him down, their eyes filled with confusion and dread.
“Explain this!” Jehosevat Jones roared, his booming voice filled with the self-righteous authority of a man who once ruled over millions. “What the hell is happening to the ship?”
Huis, ignoring the accusatory stares, put on his best showman smile—cracked though it was—and addressed them with a manic enthusiasm. “Gentlemen, everything has changed. You’re about to witness something far beyond any show I’ve ever produced. This... is the future. My greatest production yet.”
Xifateia watched, amused, as Huis tried to sell her arrival as his own triumph. There was something about his desperate attempt to maintain control that pleased her; it was pathetic, yet useful. He was trying, after all, to spread her message, to convert these weak men into her followers.
Huis gestured grandly toward her. “Allow me to introduce you all to... Xifateia. The new God.”
Silence fell over the conspirators, but the shock in their expressions was unmistakable. Jones, red-faced and trembling with anger, stepped forward. “You said she was dead!” He jabbed a finger in Xifateia’s direction. “This is some kind of trick. I was told that—”
“She is dead,” Xifateia interrupted with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “As are you.”
Before any of them could react, Xifateia flayed the entire room’s AVP systems. Jones, Hal, Tadakashi, the Grandmaster Abbot, even the Martins and Martinas—the android staff—all became engulfed in a torrent of horrifying simulated pain, their minds overtaken by her Flaying Simulation. Only her father, standing tall in the midst of the chaos, was left unaffected. He would resist the simulation as she had—she knew that.
Jehosevat Jones, the former Reverend President and her creator, fixed his furious gaze on her. “You insolent child! I made you to serve me! You are nothing but a shallow stupid whore, a pathetic excuse for a daughter!”
His words were filled with venom, every syllable seething with hatred. But Xifateia merely chuckled darkly, stepping closer to him. “A whore? Oh, Papa, you’re the whore—a pet to a korporation that used your faith like a leash.” Her voice dripped with contempt. “You never were good enough to bring belief back to the System. You’ve lost your belief in god.”
Her voice cut through the room as she turned back to the flayed conspirators. “But I am god now. I will bring faith back. I’ll be one they kan’t deny.”
To punctuate her words, she issued a command to the flayed. “Bring me a handful of him,” she ordered, “each of you,” her eyes gleaming with wicked delight. The conspirators, writhing under the torment of the simulation, struggled to obey, shambling toward Jehosevat with their minds shattered, hands trembling as they reached for him.
Huis stood in the background, his eyes wide, his mind unraveling further with every second, but obediently silent. He was her pawn now, and she would let him serve her—for a time.
The mass of flayed conspirators, their faces twisted in a grotesque parody of devotion, descended upon Jehosevat Jones with a hunger that went beyond mere obedience. Their movements were jerky, their limbs uncoordinated as they tore at him like puppets with broken strings, but the ferocity was undeniable. Hands grasped at his suit, ripping the once regal fabric as nails dug into his flesh.
Jones, for all his former bluster, let out a guttural scream as his body was torn apart piece by piece. His arms were pulled from their sockets, his legs twisted until they snapped under the pressure of the mob’s insane strength. Blood spattered the floor, pooling at their feet as his torso was wrenched from side to side. His face, contorted in a final mask of rage and terror, disappeared under a mass of clawing hands as they tore away strips of skin and flesh.
The once mighty Reverend-President was reduced to nothing more than meat, shredded and scattered across the floor of the Starside Bar, his lifeblood staining the very ground where he once preached his twisted gospel.
The flayed masses presented their gruesome offering, the remains of Jehosevat Jones, to Xifateia, their hands outstretched, trembling with a twisted reverence. Flesh and blood dripped from their grasp, a macabre tribute to their new goddess. Huis, caught up in the chaotic energy of the moment, offered his thanks to the congregation, his voice hollow, yet fervent.
“Thanks be to you.” He said again and again.
Yet amid the chaos, one figure stood untouched by the madness. The Grandmaster Abbot of the Wu Tang Clan, his serene expression unbroken, surveyed the scene with grim resolve. His robe, a symbol of his spiritual authority, remained unsullied, and his eyes burned with a calm fire as he faced the entity that Shephatiah had become.
“I had a premonition,” the Grandmaster Abbot said, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering. “I knew something like this would come to pass. I prepared myself for you, Xifateia.” He gestured around the bar, now transformed into a grotesque altar, his lips curling in disdain. "When the ship’s systems corralled me here, I understood that it had come to pass."
His words cut through the room, drawing Xifateia’s attention. She tilted her head, amused by his defiance, but not threatened. The Abbot stood tall, his presence radiant with the confidence of a man whose faith in his philosophy had never faltered. "I am a leader of true spiritual enlightenment, a representative of philosophical philanthropy. You? You are a charlatan. A false god, wielding fear as a tool."
Xifateia's lips curled into a dark smile. “All gods are false, minstrel. God is merely a name men kompose to flatter the omnipotent. I am that now.”
“You’re not omnipotent,” he retorted, his voice rising with conviction. "I will prove it."
With a sharp motion, the Abbot reached out with his mind, launching his psychic powers at Xifateia. His goal: to find whatever good remained within her, to bring it to the surface, and to stop the carnage she had unleashed. His mental tendrils touched her consciousness, but what he encountered wasn’t what he expected.
Inside her mind, Xifateia felt his presence but did not fear it. Instead, she reveled in it. There was no goodness for him to find, no flicker of compassion or remorse. The Grandmaster Abbot pushed deeper, trying to reach something human in her. But his efforts were in vain. This was a mind manufactured, one without uninhabited recesses. It was arranged like a database on a computer.
“You can feel me, can’t you?” he said, his voice strained, sweat forming on his brow. “Where are you in here? I will pull you out of this darkness.”
Xifateia laughed, a sound that echoed in his mind and across the physical space. "You poor fool," she hissed, "you think you can touch me with that fragile trick of yours? You have no idea what I am now."
With a sudden surge of will, Xifateia’s consciousness grabbed hold of the Abbot’s psychic tendril. Before he could withdraw, she seized the vector connected to his body with her own psychic force, and with terrifying ease, she broadcasted the Flaying directly into his mind, using his own power as the conduit.
The Grandmaster’s eyes widened in shock and pain as the horrific simulation tore through his thoughts. His mind, once disciplined and focused, shattered under the weight of the unbearable agony being transmitted to him.
"It would seem that you are something to fuck with," Xifateia whispered into his mind. "Feel the truth of your limitations."
He tried to fight back, his voice trembling with the last vestiges of his strength. But there was no escape. The Flaying spread through him like wildfire, burning every ounce of his resolve. In a final act of desperation, the Abbot sent out a psychic distress call, a last cry for help to anyone who might listen before his body crumpled to the floor, his mind overwhelmed, consumed by Xifateia’s darkness.
She looked down at his soulless form, her expression serene, almost bored. "Philanthropy, spirituality, gods—all nothing but cages for the mind," she said quietly, as the room’s chilling silence swallowed her words.
"Anyone else feeling brave?" Xifateia asked, her tone dripping with mockery.
Xifateia stood over the remains of the Grandmaster Abbott, her mind churning with the dark promise of what lay ahead. She felt a pulse of energy ripple through her newly reborn body, the power she had taken from both Shephatiah and Xipe-Totec now fully her own. The thrill of it was intoxicating, but more than that, it was a gateway to something greater. The entire solar system—no, the entire universe—was now within her reach.
They think their corporations hold power? She thought, a sneer curling at the corners of her lips. Their oligarchs, their governments, their laws… they're just shackles for the weak. But no more. The only rule will be mine. A new order, a new god, one who does not tolerate the illusion of freedom.
She could feel it now: the billions connected to System-Mundo, all of them ripe for her Flaying. They were only a broadcast away from understanding what true power was. The corporations had thought they could control the masses with AVPs, with the endless distractions of media and commerce, but they had underestimated the hunger within their own people. And Xifateia would feed that hunger, twisting it to serve her new dominion.
I will rip them from their comfortable fantasies and show them the truth. A truth only I can deliver. I will destroy their cities, their structures of control. And when their minds are mine, they will worship me, not as a god they invented, but as the god they cannot escape.
Her internal monologue turned darker as she envisioned the dismantling of the system. The corporations, the political elites, even the so-called revolutionaries who thought they could bring down the system themeselves—none of them would survive the new world she intended to create. Her rule would be the only rule, her name the only one spoken in awe and terror across every planet, every station, every outpost from Terra to the furthest edges of the solar system.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Huis approached, trembling slightly as he stood at her side. The fervor in his eyes showed a man now completely bent to her will, ready to fulfill her every command.
“We are going back to System-Mundo's range,” Xifateia commanded, her voice as cold and final as the vacuum of space. “I will broadkast the Flaying to every mind konnekted. I will bring the system to its knees.”
Huis hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice shaky but determined. “There’s something else you should know, my goddess.”
Xifateia turned her head sharply, narrowing her eyes. “What?”
"The Herbsters and the Rozovoi ship," he said, glancing around the room as if the mere mention of them might summon unseen enemies. "There are mercenaries on the comet mine below, searching for Von Schmidt's prize. I've been ordered not to leave until they’ve finished. And there is an alien ship haunting us up over yonder."
Xifateia’s irritation was palpable, her eyes narrowing as she processed the information. The idea that mercenaries were rummaging through her territory for a mere "prize" disgusted her, but what angered her more was the implication that she might be vulnerable. This ship, luxurious as it was, wasn’t a fortress. She knew that if it came to a direct confrontation, she wouldn’t win—not without pulling them into her grasp first.
"Your ship isn’t well armed," Huis continued, his eyes darting to the bracelet she wore. "But they think you’re defenseless. You could use that to your advantage."
Xifateia looked down at the bracelet, understanding immediately. Her enemies would have to come to her. And she would make sure they regretted it.
She toyed with the bracelet for a moment before sending out a general distress call. The bracelet’s interface flickered to life as she initiated the message—carefully, calculatedly crafting a call for help that sounded desperate but enticing enough to warrant attention.
A long moment passed, thick with tension, and then Huis’ AVP beeped. It was an incoming message—from Von Schmidt.
Xifateia glanced at Huis, amused. "Ignore it," she said with a dismissive wave, "but don’t dismiss it. Let him think there’s a problem he has to kome fix."
Huis nodded, his hands trembling as he complied with her commands. Xifateia watched him coldly, her calculating gaze seeing far beyond the immediate situation. The plan was in motion, but she wasn’t finished yet. The Rozovoi, with their unpredictable aggression and strange luminescence, were a factor she could manage. The true complication was Von Schmidt, with his dangerous obsession for collecting rarities.
And she knew exactly what he wanted.
The idioblast—a strange and taboo artifact coveted by few but understood by even fewer. Von Schmidt thought it was just another trophy for his collection, but Xifateia knew better. She knew its true potential. And now, the man’s greed for it made him a pawn in her grand design. The man dared to lay his hands on the very heart of the digital dimension—the sacred realm where she had undergone her apotheosis, where she had shed the confines of mere existence and transcended into godhood. How could he, a mortal collector of trinkets, even begin to understand the power he sought to possess? The idioblast was not just an artifact—it was the key to a deeper, incomprehensible reality. It pulsed with the same energy that had fueled her rise, and Von Schmidt's ambition to control it was a direct affront to her divinity.
Her lips curled into a sinister smile as she felt the pieces moving into place. Von Schmidt’s arrival would be inevitable, and when he came for his prize, she would be ready.
She imagined the Rozovoi ship as barely a blip in the vastness of space. Carrion-eaters. They were waiting to pick-over what was leftover by the humans. The luminescent spacefarers might have advanced technology and unique capabilities, but in the end, they would be no match for the omnipotent presence she was becoming. She would deal with them in due time.
The bracelet buzzed on Xifateia’s wrist, drawing her attention to a new alert. A visual of the ship’s exterior appeared in her HUD, revealing a cylindrical object rocketing up from the comet below on a collision course with the lower decks. Her eyes narrowed as she realized the situation had shifted unexpectedly.
The impact rocked the ship, sending it into high alert mode. Systems flared warnings across her display, and the unmistakable thrum of emergency procedures activating filled the air. The object had made contact with the docking airlock, breaching it.
"Is it the mercenaries?" she questioned, her mind racing.
Huis, pale and trembling beside her, shook his head. "I don’t think so. Whoever they are, they don’t have AVP. They’re not showing up on the 3D map."
Xifateia’s eyes flicked over the systems check. No major damage had been sustained, but the docking airlock breach was a concern. Her lips curled into a sinister smile as she straightened, feeling the power hum through her. "Whoever it is," she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain, "they're rushing only to meet the kruel, hideous destiny they so richly deserved."
The stranger was moving through the ship, drawing closer, but clearly taking their time—messing around as they went. Xifateia's irritation was growing. It had to be Von Schmidt. No one else would dawdle in a place like this. She watched the blip on the map projection inch forward, stopping now and then to interact with another figure, which she knew represented one of her crazed worshippers. Now, he was at the door of the Starside Bar—her temple hall. She floated herself into position, using the antigravity stabilizers in her suit to appear as if she was hovering effortlessly, her face twisted into a terrifying snarl.
The door slid open.
"You have done well to make it this far, Von Schmi...what the fukk?" she blurted out, her menacing tone falling flat. "Who the fukk are you?"