“Whatever you are selling, I ain’t buying,” Vasily said, tensed at the insinuations laid to him by OTG.
“Don’t be so hasty, child,” the white shape murmured, running the feather wings down his back. “Your parents rejected you because of the flaws in your genes. But how is this your fault? They are the ones who gave it to you! How dare they blame you for something out of your control?”
“Assholes, yeah,” Vasily said, understanding that he believes in this.
All his life, he wanted nothing more than for his parents to stop arguing. For a day when his entire family would come home, sit at a table, crack jokes, ask him for his grades, congratulate his sis on her paintings, and praise him for his success in the Academy. A normal life where no one blames him for the claws in his fingers or for the scales he was born with.
Only… he no longer cared about any of it. There were way more important things for him, like attending his sister’s games. Nadya, he and Wedge had joined a guild in Fantasia, and they spent a few dozen hours, a childish number really, grinding with the others for the flame-encrusted gear in the latest expansion. Back at the Academy he could lose himself in research, listening to the archeologists’ lectures from all over the world, skimming through interviews with famous explorators and adventurers working for other countries.
There were also calls from his sister and grandmother, trainings and parties with his friends, stories to exchange, and rivals to overcome. He remembered about them when he almost died in Birchshell, but it was just that, a remembrance. Vasily wondered far more about how his true family would react to his death.
Amidst all his newfound activities, his parents no longer bothered him. Some things can’t be helped, and he decided to let go of one impossible dream and focus on being happy.
“Do you always give up so easily?” OTG asked him, breathing cold. “With God, everything is possible. The so-called doctors in Iterna had failed to bring you up to the standards capable of satisfying your parents. Whose fault is it but theirs? They failed you, and now Iterna keeps failing you, exposing you to danger again. Take my hand, and I shall take all your worries away. Take my hand and take over the Chosen Prince, and mold yourself in a way you can be proud of.”
Vasily saw the hand hovering at his eyes’ level, teasing and promising him everything he would ever want. A golden figure rose from the ruined factory, shining like a newborn star. He stood up, an idol to perfection, the proportions and elegance of his body making humans weep at their inability to obtain such beauty. The claws disappeared, and his voice thundered charismatically, convincing others to bow to his greatness.
He strode out of the ruined factory, banishing the night in his wake and burning imperfection, and entire nations bowed to the approaching beauty. At long last, the world has united, venerating a being standing as close to a god as possible. Vasily ruled wisely, ordering the eradication of imperfect mutants and gathering filthy and ugly people in camps to be burned in droves, liberating these poor souls from a lifetime of regret. His parents wept, falling to their knees and begging his forgiveness, and in his infinite mercy, he granted it to them, killing them in a single slap for the impure genes coursing through their veins.
Some tried stopping him, and they all failed. Guided by his mind, the golden body healed every injury using the Chosen Prince’s power, empowered by God’s gift. No scar or wound lingered longer than a fraction of a second; a smooth goodness returned, and Vasily witnessed himself towering over the ruined Artificer, obliterating the last remnants of the wretched, unnatural intelligence that should never have existed. Their battle spanned weeks, ruining cities and sinking islands, and as he surveyed the world, he understood its flaws. And exhaled, letting out a single, self-propagated virus capable of spreading through both air and water. And there was no more imperfection and no life, save for his and God’s. Out of this clay, his master would...
Vasily let the vision created by his own brain go on, enduring the allure of this horrific world. He didn’t despise himself for almost accepting the offer; he had long since guessed the workings of this light-skinned bastard. OTG manipulated his emotions, stroking some, letting him think he had won at the others, and doubling down at the most crucial points. All the while, force-feeding him falsehoods and illusions. Iterna had several courses on how to deal with mental power, but these were just guidelines.
There wasn’t any proper way to deal with someone who could conquer your mind, aside from the expensive augments given to the Shadows, Elites, Problemsolvers, and other important personnel. Vasily tried to ride the wave, giving up at some points, enduring the imagery of him killing his family and clinging to a single thought. Do not take the hand. The bastard most likely had some sort of power, and he needed them to give either a verbal or a physical consent. Deny him that. Let everything else happen.
“Take it,” OTG said, his words energizing the teen and trying to drive him into action. “Take my hand. Become a Godsworn and control your own destiny. Never again will you be a dead weight, and never again shall you fear a foe. Perfect, eternal, beloved...”
“But I am already beloved.” Vasily blinking away the apparition that has almost caused him to make the worst mistake of his life. He sank imaginary claws into this word, forcing himself to focus on it and using it as an anchor to keep his mind clear. “Grandma loves me, sis and I are best friends, and… Shoot, I don’t have time to be depressed! Her birthday is coming soon! I got to survive. I got to study…”
“Is knowledge what you want?” the white shape asked, and a baleful flare flickered in its eyes. “If so, I can offer it too, in abundance. I can bestow upon you answers to secrets worth hundreds of lifetimes…”
“I refuse,” Vasily told him. “Learning something new is, well, part of the fun.”
****
Thunder rumbled in the distance, snapping Ratcatcher out of the fear before his crimson eyes. She found herself and Vasily staying side-by-side, with OTG still extending his arms toward them. The chorus went silent, and a shadow leapt over the trainees, bringing the shining steel at the white neck.
“Weak arguments!” Echo roared. “Poisoned words! You’ll fool no one here, fiend!”
“Fiend?” OTG asked.
The sword bounced out of thin air, and Echo landed on his feet. He pushed, bringing his entire weight to the blade. He didn’t slash nor did he hew the space around his enemy with many strokes. Echo put everything into the sword to the point that the skin of his body turned pale. But his opponent smiled, removing his hand without a hurry and holding the sword away with pure will. Here in realms of mind, nothing was real; every action was but a reflection of one’s thoughts, and willpower reigned supreme, and the white form proved superior.
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Ratcatcher hadn’t had the faintest idea how to manipulate surroundings to the extent Echo or OTG could, yet she still tried to lend the swordsman her aid, and a fleeting attention from the winged creature struck her, burrowing into her mind brutally, shattering all barriers with ease, and dropping her.
Vasily groaned; his helmet came apart. The teen had tried the same thing and failed. OTG smiled ruefully, folding his hands. Echo’s sword exploded into myriad shards, his knees buckled, felling the man, and the remains of his sword flew in the air, circling around the white head.
“I offer you salvation, a place beside my throne, and this is your answer? Insults and unreasonable attacks?” OTG asked. He raised a hand. “Fine, if you won’t have my mercy, you shall drink deep of my wrath.”
“Speak truth, thoughts-thief!” Echo tried to stand up, but his legs refused to obey him. “What are you?”
“I already stated it, thing,” OTG said. “I am responsible for the creation of the human race. It was I who brought life to this ball of stone. It was I who caused the…”
“Interloper. You dare tread inside my mind?” boomed a dry voice.
The atmosphere changed. Ratcatcher gasped for breath, inhaling a stale air that felt as if it were pouring out of the confines of a sealed tomb, out of a place where graves lay pried open and their contents were left to rot. The air turned dry, heavy, and acrid; every breath tore at her lungs and brought pain. Streaks of green seeped through the soil, dissolving the grass, flowers, and tears made by OTG and ending the cycle of death and rebirth. The chorus stopped altogether, replaced by the wailing cries of beings rotting alive.
The green fumes licked the air around OTG, unable to touch the white flesh, and the false angel turned his upper body, smirking at the air where the poisonous fumes gathered, creating a skeletal head the size of a boulder. Mountains flickered into existence, encircling the group in the shadow cast by their ragged peaks, and the Chosen Prince manifested himself as a floating head, skinless, with a golden crown resting on its forehead. Foul vapors crawled from the ground and formed dancing flames, serving him as eyes, green at the edges of the flames and white deep at the core.
“Just great. Now this asshole is here, too,” Vasily mumbled. Echo reached out, and they accepted his touch and followed up with the cool air created by his mind.
“Great… That’s right! You are a genius, Vasily!” Ratcatcher laughed in spite of the fear brought by the presence of two minds, each capable of flattening them. “It is great indeed! Hey, skull-face!” She waved to the Chosen Prince, attracting the attention of the green, dangling lights burning in the empty sockets. She pointed at the winged creature. “This asshole plans to enslave you! Also, he called you a weakling. And also, also, he told us you share his ass-sniffing fetish.”
“I said no such thing!” The winged deceiver started turning to them.
And the Chosen Prince attacked. Ratcatcher could’ve bet her life on him attacking either way. She didn’t know about how it worked in the mindscape, but in the real world, a distraction could lead to a loss or death. And OTG, in his arrogance, lashed out. She had a premonition of meat hooks preparing to tear her imaginary body apart before the Chosen Prince assault interrupted the execution. In his anger, the winged bastard shifted his attention and made a mistake.
Between the two monsters, she’d wanted the white one to perish.
The skeleton head and the white shape didn’t collide; their wills collided, tearing the surroundings, and the two rose in the air, disappearing from view and creating booming explosions, detonating the rock walls and opening the horizon anew. Flame and green clouds raged, competing and producing forked lightning, shaving stones off the sole island of stability. And the fight kept going, transforming the sky into stars, then into molten lava, and later into a gigantic black hole trying to swallow the Chosen Prince whole.
His willpower dispersed the black hole, engulfing OTG in white phosphorus clouds and lacerating the pristine body by opening cracks in reality. Their touch drew crimson on the flapping wings and loosened several feathers. In response, OTG slammed his hands together, casting his mind against the Chosen Prince’s, and the two halted in the air, their bodies trembling, and one bled red and another bled green.
Fetch. Ratcatcher thought and glanced at Echo and Vasily. “How’s that for a distraction?”
“We should leave while we can,” Vasily said.
“Right. Let’s leg… eh, mind it!”
“Please stop,” Vasily asked her.
“Why? Think they would mind?” she teased, using humor to combat fear. All alone, trapped and reduced to no idea what, with no Elite and no Eugenia to save them, witnessing a freaking resurrection… She is going to make all the terrible puns in the world to cope!
“Now, while he is beset by an enemy outside and distracted by a foe within,” Echo said, standing up and creating another sword. An archaic battle plate appeared on the man, oversized and bulky. Its square pauldrons held a tattered white cape. Exhaustion arched back, spewing out dark smoke, and the knight took the sword in both hands, pointing its tip at the ground. “Give me your everything: trust, fear, emotions, and dreams. Every desire and every ambition. Hold nothing back; the stronger the feeling, the better. It’s time to get you out.”
“Wait,” Ratcatcher cried. “What about you?”
“Me?” Echo’s eyes shone. “There is nowhere for me to go. I wasn’t supposed to exist, and I am content with it. If an afterlife exists, I am eager to ask the original about our shared past and see if he has changed or grown as a person. Take care, children. Know that should you survive, none leaves the Chosen Prince unaltered.”
He pierced the ground, ignoring Ratcatcher’s and Vasily’s questions, and a tunnel started appearing — a suction leading away from this place. Echo’s mind touched theirs, taking full control with their permission, and flames ran down his blade, widening and bringing the tunnel into reality, taking advantage of the Chosen Prince’s distraction and the monumental battle of two equally arrogant egos.
OTG shouted, noticing them leaving all too late. He raised a hand, and a spark grew in his palm, growing wider and brighter until it turned into a comet, but before he could throw it, a toxic ocean submerged him, dragging the winged creature to the lower planes of the mind. The white shape attempted to point out the escapees, but his opponent did not care. He was the focus of the Lord of Rot, an intruder who dared to creep inside the most forbidden of places, and the iron will intended to make him pay.
In the real world, their battle would’ve resulted in the destruction of the entire world. Continents’ worth of materials were willed into existence, only to be battered by the combatants. Stars and ripples in space lit the cloudless sky bright, and it turned dark as the titanic minds collapsed them into nothingness. Again and again, explosions ruptured the area, and Ratcatcher understood, at some instinctive level, why they were alive.
Echo kept them safe. Not by himself. The man lacked control in this realm. But his wicked brother or twin had preserved them from the devastating wrath and kept them safeguarded from biological warfare. As Echo said, the Chosen Prince needed them alive.
Two islands crashed into OTG, hiding him from sight, and then immediately shrank themselves. The gravitational force the Chosen Prince had willed in had materialized another pseudo-black hole. An arm thrust out of the darkness, gathering the transforming black void into a sword of darkness, and the false god lunged, trying to cleave the grinning skull in two. Just like Echo’s, his sword too was stopped by the will of another.
“Weak, interloper,” the Chosen Prince stated. “The white is unbecoming of a thief, a sneak, and a liar.”
“Don’t you have anything better to focus on, feckless princeling?” OTG asked, frowning at the sea of filth pouring at him from the skull’s opened jaws.
“I see all. I rule all,” came a boastful answer.
How arrogant can one man be? Ratcatcher wondered.
Another wave of materialized fury hit the white figure, and OTG spread his arms wide, casting filth away and clearing a space around him. Ratcatcher thought she saw something else. A figure with alabaster skin and burning crimson eyes, clad in purple robes, was both human and inhuman at the same time. A ghost of her, a ghost of Liam, was in the perfect visage. But the image flickered, regaining the regal form of an angel, hissing in indignation at his soaked wet wings.
“Enough of this charade. There are plenty of other puppets to be used. Die then and be nothing, fools…” The rest of his words disappeared in the roaring storm cast by the Chosen Prince’s pride that shattered the sphere of calmness, and Ratcatcher got sucked into the tunnel, unable to see the end of this duel.