But through the suffocating fog of terror, a flicker of resolve ignited within him. He could not give in. Kyrie clenched his fists, trembling as he tapped into the last reserves of his strength. He would not let this be the end. He would fight. With a roar that resonated through the air, he pushed against the ground, determined to rise from the ashes of his despair.
As he struggled to stand, the swarm of insects around him began to dissipate, swirling away into the night. The air felt charged with energy, an electric hum that vibrated through his body. He could feel the remnants of their presence fading.
Kyrie snapped out of the suffocating darkness, his heart racing. “What have you done?” he demanded, his voice hoarse, still trembling from the remnants of the horrifying vision.
“You fell for my illusion,” Naamaah replied, a hint of satisfaction threading through her tone. Her eyes glimmered with a mixture of pride and mischief, but Kyrie’s gaze was drawn to something far more disturbing.
In the distance, two figures descended the Pyramid of Kukulkan, their forms spectral and haunting. As they approached, a chill gripped his heart. The figures took shape, and he recognized them: Adara, his daughter, and Fedora, Adara’s mother. They moved with an unsettling grace, their bodies swaying as if caught in a ghostly dance. But as they drew nearer, Kyrie’s stomach twisted in horror. They were not the living forms he remembered; they were nothing but lifeless bodies, zombies, their lips curled into grotesque smiles that mocked his very existence.
With a primal scream, Kyrie felt anguish claw at his insides, the pain of loss and despair overwhelming him. It was a sound of pure agony, echoing through the air, but just as quickly as it had begun, he jolted awake, gasping for breath.
“I see,” Naamaah said, her voice softening as she regarded him. “You had a daughter that neither you nor your lover planned. You two decided to accept the responsibility and even planned to get married.” Her tone was laced with a bittersweet understanding, but it did little to soothe the turmoil raging within him.
“What was all that?” Kyrie panted, sweat beading on his brow, the remnants of the illusion clinging to his mind like a fog.
“Illusions aren’t my most powerful skill, but I think they’re the most terrifying of all!” she explained, a sigh escaping her lips.
“It is ironic,” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. “With these demonic powers, which I do not want, I have managed to save the lives of many innocent and helpless children, yet they make me doubt my goal. Will it be worth the sacrifice of this cursed power? If this power disappears, I won’t be able to help as many people.”
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“Surely without it, you can do better things,” Kyrie interjected, his voice firm despite the turmoil within. “You will strive much more than you do now! The reward will be far more fulfilling!”
“Maybe you’re right, honey,” she admitted, a flicker of hope dancing in her eyes. “I apologize for what I made you see moments ago, but it was the only way to stop you.”
Before Kyrie could respond, a ghostly, powerful voice echoed through the air, reverberating through the very ground beneath them. “I think society is expanding to unimagined limits!” The voice was deep and commanding, and it sent shivers down Kyrie’s spine.
Kyrie sprang to his feet, adrenaline surging through him as he turned to face the source of the voice. He felt an overwhelming presence, a force that demanded attention.
Kyrie stood in the presence of the extraordinary, a surreal amalgamation of myth and reality as he found himself face-to-face with the black cat and the god Kukulkan.
Kukulkan loomed before him, a majestic serpent whose body shimmered with iridescent green and blue feathers, glistening like precious gems under the muted light. His head, nearly bald, exuded a sense of ancient wisdom, while his deep, magnificent yellow eyes held a depth that seemed to see through the very fabric of existence. As the giant snake breathed, a strange vigor emanated from him, a pulse that resonated with the earth beneath Kyrie's feet.
Beside them, the three men he had encountered at the Gate of Pasovyshche stood silently.
"I offer you something interesting, human child." Kukulkan's voice rumbled like thunder, magnificent and enveloping Kyrie in a warmth that lulled his fears. “Are you willing to keep seeking the Truth with her?”
“Why do you need me? Aren’t you an all-mighty god?” Kyrie asked, trying to mask the doubt that crept into his voice.
“I was, boy… I was,” Kukulkan replied, his tone tinged with a haunting melancholy. “Nowadays, I am nothing more than a giant talking snake. I stopped being omnipotent many centuries ago. Today, I am just a myth for most. Unfortunately, I do not know the Truth. I do not know your Truth.” With that, he closed his reptilian eyes, as if the weight of his own existence had become too burdensome to bear.
Suddenly, the cat interjected. “We must stop the madness that is developing in the material world,” it exclaimed, its voice sharp and clear. “You must save Alice, just as Naamaah must save her friend Habondia. Things are getting complicated, and we have less time.”
“Will you join me?” Naamaah asked, extending her hand toward Kyrie, her expression earnest and pleading.
Kyrie looked around the group, taking in the extraordinary company: Alexei, Valeriy, and Boris, the three anonymous heroes of Pasovyshche; the enigmatic cat, a Creature of the Trinity, the Entity of Conservation; the Mayan god Kukulkan; and Naamaah. And finally, there was him—Kyrie, a mere mortal caught in a web of gods and legends.
“Before accepting this bet, I want to know your name. The real one,” Kyrie said, his voice steady but curious, his gaze fixed on Naamaah.
“My name?” she fell silent, her eyes clouded with memories and emotions that flickered behind her stoic facade.
“I want to hear it. I assure you I will not die… the Fortune is on my side,” he insisted.
“Marisa!” she finally exclaimed, tears spilling down her cheeks, glistening like stars. The name, once hidden, now hung in the air, charged with significance. It was a name that carried her essence, her struggles, and her strength.
“Marisa,” he repeated, letting the name settle into his consciousness, recognizing the weight it carried.