Chapter 16: Birth of a Legend
"Mons... Monster!"
The word died with its speaker as his head separated from his body. That night, the sky was achingly beautiful – countless stars scattered across the darkness, no clouds daring to cover the moon's perfect face. Under its cold illumination, in a small house that had witnessed too much, Clotho continued to pound Marco's severed head long after it had become unrecognizable. Drops of blood spattered across Hasina's motionless face, each crimson bead a mockery of the tears she could no longer shed.
Clotho's amber eyes, once so full of warmth and life, had become hollow pools – as if something fundamental had been torn from their depths. Time stretched like a wound until finally, he rose. With gentle hands that contrasted sharply with their earlier violence, he covered Hasina's body with clean linen and lifted her into his arms.
Moonlight crept through the small window, casting long shadows as Clotho dug into the earth, each shovelful of dirt an act of devotion. He laid his wife to rest in that deep embrace of earth, watching as tears fell like rain upon the freshly turned soil. With trembling fingers, he placed a potato – her favorite, meant to be her birthday gift – in the ground and carved words in Heraphant:
'She was perfect'
His hand lingered on the inscription, unable to break this final connection. If life held meaning, Clotho's had just been buried in the cold ground. His eyes, though exhausted from weeping, showed no mercy to themselves – tears would pause only to flow anew, like a tide that refused to stop.
When he finally stood, a bell's toll pierced the night, drawing him like a moth to flame. In the distance stood the church he'd passed countless times but never truly seen. Men in their despair often sought anchors, but Clotho had lost his – life itself seemed hollow. Still, his feet carried him forward, toward where a solitary figure sat. Even at this hour, God's forgiveness refused to sleep.
The priest looked up as Clotho approached. "Child, what do you seek? Food? Shelter?"
"Purpose."
"Purpose?"
"Lost and abandoned, I am a soul severed from faith, seeking meaning again and again in you... Can you give purpose to my life?" Clotho's gaze fixed upon the great star symbol above, refusing to meet the man's eyes.
The priest contemplated before closing his eyes. "Child, the world awaits divine intervention. 'He' will soon grace us. Keep faith in the Almighty."
Clotho turned away, the words falling hollow on ears that had heard too much emptiness.
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Present Time
An hour passed in the quiet room. The man in his white robe slumbered beside Clotho, who rose seeking air on the balcony. The connected balconies of Veneria Carnalis stretched before him like a steel maze. As his vision wavered between focus and blur, a cool draft swept across his face. Turning to tame his wild hair, his gaze met another's – a girl standing on a neighboring balcony, her collar marked with the number 32. Sensing his attention, she turned, their eyes locking in mutual recognition of something neither could name.
Why do you feel as if you are the same as me?
The thought echoed in both minds. Clotho, without wasting his thoughts, retreated to his room.
"That man..." she whispered to the night, her eyes distant as moonlight illuminated the market below where her innocence had been stripped away mere moments ago.
Upon returning, Clotho found his owner still sleeping, probably exhausted from previous activities with his slave number 16. He settled on the floor, the clock ticking his only companion until a chilling realization struck.
Why can't I hear any breathing?
He rose sharply, eyes fixing on the sleeping figure. His blood froze. The man wore a smile that should have been natural, but where lips should have been, there was only void – a grotesque parody of human expression, as if something else wore the man's face like an ill-fitting mask.
What is this? Some spirit or ghost?
As his mind raced through possibilities, reality began to warp. The world grew hazy, its edges bleeding like wet paint. Despite his inhuman strength, Clotho felt helpless before this unknown force. Outside, the moon shone with unnatural brightness, the night stretching eternal as time counted down his remaining moments.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"Wha... what is happening... I can't... breathe..."
Seconds felt like eternity until Clotho collapsed, his eyes rolling back as consciousness fled.
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The Basic Guide to Brahman
Published by UG
Written by Maxwell Condyle
Chapter 2: Pret Possession
Acquiring supernatural powers of Brahman proves more challenging than mastering them. After three centuries of research and an estimated two million casualties, only two methods have been identified: inheritance through bloodline or Pret possession. For detailed information on Prets, refer to Chapter 78: Characteristics of Prets.
A crucial note: both paths carry extreme risks. Children inheriting Brahman face a 40% mortality rate at birth. Pret possession offers only a 30% chance of survival. These statistics remain consistent across all documented cases...
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The moon illuminated the entire night as if preparing to welcome someone. Clouds that often veiled its light from mortals now cowered in a clear sky. A chill draft blew across the land. In the distance, somewhere in town, a radio played. An old melody by Madam Brunette Marayoor, a famous singer from a century ago, drifted from one of the small houses where creatures who had lost the meaning of humanity now slept. A melody of love between devil and angel:
"When I met you in a crimson soil bereft of its humanity, did you fall for me as I fall for you.
Regrets we held in our heart half, did you fill the half with your presence..."
"Let's come again and meet under the same light, after this night's passion we should become what we were as strangers..."
After some time the world seems to stop around and the silence falls down on the earth while darkness illuminates the room where Clotho was lying down.
"Who am I?"
"Ahh..."
"What happened?" He whispered as he slowly tried to stand on his knees.
A question surfaced in his mind again and again. He tried to recall everything.
"Who...am...I?"
I am slave number 16....
No...I am Clotho Lucian...
Clarity started to return as he opened his golden eyes again.
Hasina...
A name suddenly hit his mind like a wave among the tides.
"Hey, catch her!"
"Don't let her get away!"
"She needs to be executed, she has bitten down on the count!"
"Hey, don't hurt her too much. She is an expensive goods!"
Clotho heard countless shouts from outside. He walked forward, his eyes emotionless. Opening the door, he found the girl pinned to the ground by a large man, with three soldiers surrounding her, each holding a spear. They wore metal plates and helmets – the typical guards that accompanied high nobles. The girl wore only thin fabric that didn't even preserved her dignity.
It was the same girl he had seen before on the balcony.
Clotho walked forward toward the scene.
"Huh? A slave? What are yo-" The guard's words ended as his head was blown away by his own spear, now in Clotho's grip.
The others didn't even get a chance to react.
"Who the hell are you, bastard?" They charged forward, but in vain. At a speed imperceptible to normal humans, Clotho ripped all their heads off one by one.
Pandemonium spread across the Veneria Carnalis. The night was young and the moon bore witness to a beautiful dance of blood performed by a single man. When the entire hallway ran red and silence reigned, Clotho turned to look at the sole girl now standing naked before him, her only piece of fabric lying soaked in the filth of humanity.
Clotho looked into her blue eyes. Despite the massacre, not a trace of fear was shown in them. Her sharp gaze bore deep into his own.
"What are you planning to do from now on?" she asked.
"A world which is not worth living shouldn't exist. I plan to erase it. I will become the apocalypse for this world," Clotho said, meeting her gaze.
"Good. It's also what I want."
"I don't plan on taking anyone with me."
"I don't plan to take orders from you. I would do what I want, and what I want is to follow you to see the end of this world."
She continued, "How should I address you?"
"Clotho..." he paused, then said with determination, "Clotho Servus."
Servus...it means slave? The girl thought to herself.
"If you're going to follow me, then start by introducing yourself. Don't you know it's basic courtesy?" Clotho said, no emotions were visible on this dark skinned face.
"I don't have a name...I did have one...but...I want to forget the past....how about..."
She thought for a moment and said, "I decided I should be Hasina Servus."
Clotho's eyes widened. His emotions churned in turmoil within his heart. Outside he remained calm, but inside a sharp pain ached in his chest.
Clotho turned to walk away but paused and said, "Good name.”