In the beginning, the realm was bremetan.
For thousands of years, the bremetan civilization flourished in Yuanmou, one of the many realms that revolved around the Great Progenitor. The Origin.
Bremetens were normal individuals, born of physical bodies with plenty of lifeforce surging through them. They lived in groups, tended the fields, formed kingdoms, and established trade and commerce. Soon, hundreds of tiny kingdoms and, in some rare cases larger ones, spawned all over the realm. Yuanmou was as fertile as fertile could be, often giving birth to anomalies— some were benevolent and life-giving, while others were filled with malice and ravenous hunger.
Other worlds revolved around the realm itself— Jotunheim, the land of the jotunn, and Svartalheim, the singularity that created the dwarves. Not to mention the Vanir— the land of the beautiful elves. Other continents teemed with hybrids. Vikings, they called themselves— among whom Gods like Odin, Thor, Baldur, and Loki arose. Gods exactly as bloodthirsty as their viking worshippers.
But on this continent, everything remained peaceful.
The existing Gods of the land— Amaterasu, goddess of the Sun, Ryujin, dragon-god of the Oceans, Susanoo, the god of Storms —kept providing bountiful harvests year after year. They protected the bremetans, blessing them with prosperity. And in return, they had the loyalty and worship of the population.
All was well.
Until it happened.
A new singularity entered into Yuanmou’s proximity, creating new aster-ray formations that allowed the descent of the alien beings that existed within to migrate into Yuanmou.
Into the continent.
These new creatures were ethereal, waxy, translucent, ectoplasmic things— the same things wraiths and ghosts were made of. They were sapient by nature and natural manipulators of mana, the likes of which were deemed outright impossible by bremetan standards.
It was akin to witnessing magic.
They were a… strange bunch, and so the bremetans referred to them as Strangers. Outlanders.
Those that were from the Other World.
The Other.
Yokai.
The world was never the same ever since.
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Olfric felt his body lurch.
Yokai.
It was impossible. Impossible.
She had said yokai, but yokai weren’t alive. Yokai couldn’t be alive. Yokai weren’t—
His eyes thinned into slits. Every single ounce of fear within him evaporated, as anger replaced it— supernaturally so. It was like something had suddenly just clicked. Something that was a part of his own personality, but buried deep into his psyche like a closed switch.
Something that made him an Asukan.
His instincts flared up, wanting to consume the ectoplasmic creature in front of him. To bend it down through sheer will and see it whine and whimper until every trace of defiance was torn from it.
Until it was reduced to a pathetic, lowly familiar.
As had been the fate of the kami.
Taking deep breaths, Olfric calmed himself down. It was difficult, extremely so, especially with all the hunger and fear and constant bleeding for who knew how long. Still, giving into his ancestral traits would be a very bad idea in his situation. Even if these creatures were yokai— a fact he was skeptical about to begin with —trying to overpower and consume an incredibly powerful yokai in its place of power would be idiotic.
Brave, but idiotic.
Besides, the maledictions was killing him slowly anyway. There was no need to hasten the process.
“Yokai…” he repeated, tasting the word on his lips. “You’re delusional. There aren’t any more yokai left. The sun goddess butch—” he paused, reconsidering his words carefully, “—killed them all.”
“Yes,” the wraith hissed, as her buzzing, twisting voice turned a tad more unpleasant. It was like the aural equivalent of the stench of rotting meat. “Your beloved deity. But your levity will not make Fate change its course. I,” she pointed at herself, “am Yokai.”
Her arms stretched outwards.
“We are Yokai. And we will reclaim what was once ours.”
“You mean what you stole from us first?” he threw back.
Despite already being cursed for death, he’d been fed, watered, and given multiple chances to gain his life back. It was clear this lunatic yokai-pretender wanted something from him. If that didn’t earn him the right to give some lip, then nothing would.
“You’re out of your mind if you think you can paint some oppressor image over my kind.”
Like every other Asukan child, Olfric had grown up hearing horrid tales of the yokai invasion. About specters that moved like ghosts, crossing thresholds like they didn’t exist. About how they possessed poor, unsuspecting bremetans and twisted them into grotesque caricatures of themselves, developing animalistic tendencies and sprouting monstrous augmentations from their body.
They facilitated a vicious cycle of devastation and loss of life.
Oni, his ancestors called them. Demons born from the fusion of yokai and bremetan. They were those who took breath to destroy the latter at the orders of the former.
“I’m painting the truth as it is, Asukan,” the wraith replied, each of her words slow and drawn out. “When history is written, murderers are heroes. And soon, it will be ours to write.”
Olfric was no military general, but overthrowing an existing system of governance required secrecy, not flamboyance. So why was this creature revealing all of its plans to him?
As if she’d read his thoughts, the wraith chuckled. “Fate cannot be altered, Asukan. What will happen will happen, I’m merely stating the obvious. And you, of the Asukan breed, will pave that path for us.”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“And what role do you expect me to play in this madness?”
“The hallowed guardian of the anomaly repels us because of our spiritual natures. But you… You are Asukan. Your kind has the ability to chain down such monsters.”
“So you want me to,” Olfric gulped, “chain down the genius loci of the anomaly?”
She didn’t respond. But she didn’t need to— what use was an answer when silence was enough of a confirmation?
“But— but I don’t even—” He gathered his words. “I mean, I don’t even know the proper location of the anomaly. My teammates are gone thanks to you, and dealing with a Class-3 anomaly all by myself is tantamount to suicide. You may as well just kill me now.”
“You won’t be going in there alone, little villager,” she hissed.
Olfric felt uneasy, like he’d just ingested soap. “I don’t understand.”
“You do not need to find the location, for we already know it. We have known for quite some time. My people will lead you there, and with their help, you shall slaughter all of your kind there and take control of whatever machinery the kingdom sends its adventurers. You bring them back to me, Asukan, and I shall set you free.”
“And I have your word on this?”
The wraith let out a gurgling hiss. “Indeed. Do we have an accord.”
Olfric sighed. At least now, he knew what role he was going to play in the upcoming conflict. Leading a team of killers to slaughter his own kind, betray the kingdom, and gain resources for his people’s greatest enemy.
He briefly ran his fingers along the wound on his neck.
“Well then,” he swallowed, “I have my work cut out for me, don’t I?”
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‘She’ll pay.’
The realm itself was trauma incarnate. Sins and desires— the ugly basal instincts that tainted the hearts of men —were the very texture of its environment. Those that hid in the darkness lay in wait, ready to jump and kill and feast upon anything that was even remotely alive. To be in such a place was to be in a lucid dream, one fraught with drunkenness and acute despair.
And upon one of the large, monolithic walls that adorned this realm was a corpse.
The form of a woman.
Naked.
Defiled.
Hacked open.
Insects and worms of the most heinous sort formed hives inside her organs. Pests feasted upon her flesh as parasites fed on the marrow in her bones and lapped up the blood that flowed through her veins.
The corpse had already lost track of how long it had been hanging there. For no matter how much time had passed, her body remained eternally fresh, just as it was when it was hung there. Blood would continue to drip from the carcass onto the floor as the body healed itself with extraordinary lifeforce.
The power of a goddess kept her alive.
The power of a goddess prolonged her suffering.
The power of a goddess kept her sane as her mind and soul were constantly violated.
Such was her misfortune.
Such was her curse.
And yet…
‘She’ll pay.’
Her mental fortitude and strength of spirit remained unbroken.
‘She’ll pay.’
That single thought kept her from giving up, from giving in to the torture. Because deep inside, she knew that the realm would not hold her forever. She would break out, and when she did…
Inanna would have her vengeance.
And it would be glorious.
…
…
…
Lukas’s eyes snapped open.
The first thing he noticed was the cold sweat soaking his clothes— or what was left of them, anyhow. His body quivered and his heart palpitated like mad as his jaws were frozen agape in fear and mindless horror, a feeling of utter dread slowly flushing out from his psyche. He felt this irrational sensation of hundreds of tiny insects gnawing into his stomach, feeding upon his innards and laying their eggs. It was almost like someone had pushed him in front of a speeding train, only to pull him back when he felt the cold metal of its cowcatcher on the tip of his nose.
The experience had left him shaken like nothing before.
The unspeakable pain and horror of constantly being eaten alive while trapped inside that purgatory was—
Lukas couldn’t help it.
He threw up.
“Weakling,” he heard Inanna’s voice reverberate inside his mind.
“What— what the fuck was that?” he asked, his throat burning as he felt another hot feeling rise up in his chest. He had thought seeing his planet’s destruction was a horrible nightmare, but that was a daydream compared to this. To be robbed of one’s identity and stuck into a body more dead than alive, bearing the eternal agony of having all those little worms and insects nibbling on his—
Lukas shut his eyes.
It hurt.
“A speck of my own past. The bond between yourself and the pendant is a door that goes both ways.”
“But this— this is the first time I’ve seen something like that.”
“It is a sign of your progress, mortal. Now that your Third Eye has awoken, your mind is beginning to filter through some of my memories.”
“So, they appear as dreams.”
She remained silent.
“Is this going to be a regular occurrence?”
“It is your mind, mortal. The more relaxed you are, the faster it shall pass. Not that a mere mortal has any business viewing my memories.”
She actually sounded miffed by the whole thing. It made Lukas chuckle, before the ghastly image from before flickered in his mind yet again.
The grin dropped from his face. “Did that really happen to you?”
“Hubris is a weapon that slays Gods and Beasts alike.”
That, he presumed, was Inanna-speak for ‘yes’.
“Is that your true form?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Lukas cursed himself for his lack of tact. Here he was, talking to a supremely powerful entity who, coincidentally enough, was also his mentor for the days to come. This whole lifeforce business was definitely taking its toll on him.
…Or maybe living in this anomaly like Conan the Barbarian was finally bleeding over to his everyday behavior.
Personally, he blamed Inanna. She was a bad influence on him, and that was all there was to it. And so, with renewed courage, he continued.
“How did you escape.”
“With great difficulty.”
Well, that was comprehensive.
“If that was your real form, does this mean you’re currently without one? Like a spirit or something?” Lukas prodded further.
“A reflection,” the goddess murmured within the confines of his mind. “That pendant was once mine, and thus contains a reflection of my Will. After Ereshkigal sealed me away by the power of the Seven Gates, I was bereft of power. I still am.”
“Living inside the pendant, and now in my mind.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.
"I exist within your mind," she said. "I see what you see. Feel what you feel. Learn what you learn— and quite a bit more."
“And what are these seven gates?”
“Relics of divinity. Powers of elder gods made manifest into material form. Once you pass through the Seven, you are locked forever seven times.”
Lukas frowned. “So… like seven different locks?”
Inanna laughed.
“No, mortal. A single lock, locked in seven different times. Time can be as much a fabric as Space though the difficulty of weaving through it is far harder.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course not. You’re a mortal.”
“...”
“My voice once heralded the end of civilization. Now my form lies bereft of the power of speech. Cursed with eternal silence. My power once transcended the heavens. Now, it lies trapped in barriers that transcend Time.”
“And yet you can still speak, manipulate, and demonstrate your strength.”
“A reflection is always a piece of the past, mortal. The starlight you see now left the star millenia ago.”
“And you’re that starlight? Reflecting the star even though the star has changed?”
“I was once Her. But She is not Me.”
I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
“A good thing,” she assured him. “The Star of Destruction would have disintegrated you for so much as thinking about looking at Me.”
Lukas shot her a dry stare. “Sorry if I’m not too thrilled to see you rejoin your real form, then.”
“Do not fret, mortal. For even if She might not be Me, She is Inanna. And Inanna always pays her debts.”
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