Sobbing echoed through the dark soul that she knew. Despair and lamentation were her greatest curses as she saw the faces of his past victims beg for mercy, even if they were rendered incapable of speaking.
"Guaghh... Kill me..... wh....kill me...."
Even so, their unknowable and silent voices managed to reach her... They were constantly repeating the same words that were soon picked up as a desperate cry for help. They would often try to put out a 'wh' to try and say a new word, but oftentimes it backfires and ends up as a murmur. She held her head, trying to cover her own ears as their voices came from inside the tree and outside all at the same time.
She was already down to her knees, sluggishly pulling across the dirty grass path as she bled from a gash on her arm, a nasty, huge, pulsating scar...
"Why... Why would you do this... Zabulus?" Onofre questioned the air. She knew it was pointless, he wouldn't respond to her either way, and she was doomed to become part of the congested mind.
A voice reverberated through her head in response. It was no other than a person from the congested mind. "Wha?!... GHAUGHGH!- Guagghha." As it reacted, no other details could be seen but pain coming from it. Perhaps because it broke a rule, perhaps because it wasn't allowed to have a voice in the first place. Though it was incredibly apparent that the noise that came through didn't have as much of a restriction as the others.
Screaming is noisy and dirty, a screaming tree has roots, which grow, and the cries remain forever inside the tree, do you hear? Have you heard of it? The muffled words that went through her? The never-ending darkness of the mind, it overshadows even the light. What is darkness? Light is reflected, darkness is the void, nothing, nonexistence. Perhaps not... Perhaps darkness is the antonym of reflection, which would be transparency, perhaps it's what does not overshadow the light. If that's the case, this must be true, for that is what humans are, reflections of light. And by no means is it merely a densely packed mass like the void. Rather, it's a scattered group of minds with infinite possibilities being denied as one, as one whose own thoughts matter not.
With these thoughts in mind, wouldn't the darkness be as good as the light? We are and forever shall be of neither. If only they could coexist without fighting for dominance. All were worthy of existence, more so, deserved to exist. Their choice to do so. Of course... In the current state, not being consciously and deliberately awake all the time in existence, the willed death is only ever possible at the instant you go to sleep. Your memories will carry on your sentience. That is how one becomes unconscious, and just how they 'defeated' unconsciousness and allowed them to think and to live despite not being awake. You see, a natural god such as the one present here in this world right now, they can bring forth waking, unconscious, and dreaming, regardless of the meaning, with their very brain capacity. To that, One would say that,
"What does a brain matter when anyone may be sleeping or be awake, be dreaming or be conscious, without meaning whatsoever? Wouldn't that be stupid?" Imagine, huh? Trying to defy the will of a being that wasn't even fighting back? That was saying yes to a question nobody asked.
Locked in a void, whether or not consciousness could reach far enough to recognize the surrounding areas would come as a mere miracle... A trick, a sick and twisted trick of nature.
She wondered for a moment... she could recognize herself in the mirror that was the tree.
It didn't take her long to know that it was a lie and a projection, somehow mirroring their ideals and will into the atmosphere in a way that told her everything she needed to know. A man, a brother, a sister, cultists. All these congested minds... They were just the remains of those who once came across Zabulus' Path.
Crying would mean losing face, she thought, and moving would no doubt stir the ones within her, as to why... was too much even for her to digest, at least it felt as though her body would shatter and fly away from even being 'thought' about. Like pressing onto a tight string, nothing feels the same ever again. She was now being held down by tiny hands in the corners of the tree, the roots acting as fingers, squeezing and gripping until she let out the softest scream of agony that didn't even pierce the atmosphere. How little things matter in the end, how little they can convey to what surrounds, ultimately because the tree is just one big facade... Just one fake prop for a tragedy such as the loss of identity.
Every memory shared... The common, not so noble cause... For many, it was a death unworthy of story. For all, it would never be recited.
Reaching and grabbing at the little vines to pull and rip the rest off of her, she tried hard to get back on her feet, with nowhere to go and the constant cries, her strength was being quickly sapped away at. After all, One has been forced to be unconscious and made the perfect canvas for an entirely new face. One that was the spitting image of himself, only scarred and full of woe. Looking at him, she already knew his thoughts. Those cries and moans of agony were just to call for help, and the scarred lip was just in commemoration of the fact that all his words were of lies.
"My god.... stop... Make... it st..." Each syllable was in a chant-like fashion, she began to hallucinate of her deaths, several, countless, endless and ever-growing in length, every time was worse than the other, it grew bigger and bigger until she herself became the tree, or the tree became her, regardless, her mind had become one with him and the congested mind as she suddenly found pain coming all around her, all the endless deaths threatening to undo her non-existent humanity as every scar and memory imprinted themselves in her chest... In her forehead, cheek, jugular, lungs, eyes, and mind.
And then... she was ripped apart and torn. Nobody watched, not even the smallest consciousness dared to view the sight of Onofre's soul being ripped apart by a shard from the tree. Because not a single soul would live long enough to see it happen.
Taking several painful breaths, her mind was filled with nothing but continuous visions of her death.
One time, she was stabbed by a hateful lover. One time, she was mauled by the Amalgamates swarming her. One time, she was turned to ash by an angel. One time, she was shot in the neck by a hunter. One time, she had every part of her body torn by countless vines and branches. One time, she was absorbed into an eldritch creature. One time, she died of an unknown disease contracted by a fallen ally. One time, she froze to death in the cold oceans. One time, she was drowned in a pool of oil. One time, she was reduced to a shape and crushed by a god. One time, she was put on a stake and cut a million times. One time, she was shot dead by a traitorous friend. One time, she was rendered permanently immortal. The next time, she fell out of the ground and choked, feeling death come over her several times. One time, she was crushed beyond help by a falling boulder. One time, she did an autopsy on herself as she breathed and saw her bloodless remains. One time, an explosion in a laboratory made her legs blow off and left her bleeding to death. One time, her stomach exploded by eating too much. One time, she had her chin, arms, and legs gnawed one by one by wild animals. One time, she was kicked, thrashed and spit at by a crowd while she slowly descended and died from her wounds. One time, she had her insides all converted and destroyed by Zabulus. One time, her organs were siphoned out of her mouth as blood splattered everywhere, as it drops on her hands and pools around her. One time, one more, two, fifty, five, ten thousand, one million, five million, ten billion, one hundred billion, she saw herself slowly growing numb.
Dullness, she suddenly came to find the pain intolerable, intolerable, and the sensations unbearable... Even her original death was beginning to appear unpleasant. At these fabricated boundaries, time began to dilate as she got closer to a moment, her vision rushed to meet her as if the gods themselves desired it so, but not a single sound could be heard other than the other souls wallowing in their mindlessness. Even her own despair was drowned out, only her heart continued to beat, fast and fiercely, while her hands were trying to grasp the air. Looking around her to scream for help, every other soul had already given up.
The distance between the souls and the walls was practically infinite, there was no light here. All of them, drowning in the slow onset of mental destruction. It would seem an incomprehensible period of time had passed, and as it did, every soul experienced more deaths, more pain, and their memories and words were taken away. There was no meaning, no semblance of time or intelligence left, they were mindless husks in a facade that transcends words and sounds.
Now, with her soul gone, scattered across the ground of the congested mind, and her thoughts barely taking hold over a flimsy, useless and completely absent identity, she realized what Zabulus really was, and with but a single blink, all of her thoughts ceased for good.
Relegated to a dead dimension of the soul, her poor and hopeless face was scattered across the tree of the congested mind, begging for mercy and salvation, none of which had no effect whatsoever.
Such were the things left undone. The cries of this unknown will went left on deaf ears and unheard by the masses. This was a form of death nobody would live to fear, no less want to bear. For all that come across Zabulus are fated to die, regardless of all fates ever coming true. And a fate is immortal, as an unfiltered ending left incomplete for every human being is everlasting until one comes with an accurate re-written future where all chances lead to a good ending.
Good endings simply are not a tangible part of the reality most fear and believe. So it is the duty and burden of all to create their 'good ending' without consideration of death, no... fate, that one might not exist when they become a 'dead one' in the end.
A 'dead' man of a different past, present, and future.
That is why a God may truly and almost kill everything by their will, but they would never have enough to kill themselves. In the end, it would seem even death had their own ambitions, beyond what should have existed in the first place.
...
'Next stop... The Plight of Sorrow... Ehh? Oy! Why are ya' leading us to some shit-hole like that!? Why not the nice an' sunshiny towns?!'
"We can't stop to take detours, Tartaros! We're not traveling just to see the towns and places around, we're trying to get back home!"
'Home? ... Yeah... Home, for ya! Now?... Nah! Look, why not get a bit carried away now that we got a chance, why not go and have some fun in towns and--' Even though the girl-scythe was excited, she was interrupted by Zabulus,
"First of all, you cannot have fun, you're not even eligible to be a humanoid, second--" The interrupting continued between the two.
'Huh? Whatcha sayin' that for?! I can look like a human too, ya know! Ya know!!' She waved herself up and down, trying to show him, 'I got a mouth to open, no jaw no problem!'... Or so she'd thought. 'It's not fair, not fair! Say somethin', Phantos!' Phantos, who should have currently been resting within Zabulus' soul manifested next to Tartaros who was throwing a tantrum at the moment, yet,
'What are you doing, Madam Tartaros? I require time to sleep, not to tend to your-' Yet another interruption.
"AAAAAGHHHHH!!! BOTH OF YA ARE SO STUPID YOU AREN'T EVEN FUN TO PLAY WITH!!!" Suddenly... her voice became real, she could physically scream. "I haven't had a chance to talk and play, and now you two are running around pretending to be an old married couple!"
She was... a girl, a human girl. Her eyes were golden, the hair a long dull red, a corset was visible on her waist, wearing a long red skirt that barely contrasted the pure black corset... Brown boots covered her feet, and overall, she couldn't be much older than her twenties... Perhaps just a trick of her true self?
'Who are you, and where has Tartaros gone?! Have you taken her voice?!' Phantos was on guard and ready to fight this 'stranger'.
"Wait... No..." He held his arm to the side as if to stop Phantos from doing anything, "I think... That's Tartaros' humanoid form... Or something like that." Phantos had nothing to say as she was being examined so openly, and Tartaros looked at the floating book with judgeful eyes.
"And WHO are ya sayin' took my voice, little book girl, huh? Think my voice has grown weak cause I ain't used it in so long?"
'Hmph, do not insult me, I was merely worried about my Master's safety.' Phantos dismissed Tartaros entirely, seemingly in a bad mood, unlike Tartaros who began to speak even more as she circled around Zabulus,
"Wowww! So that's how you feel like.... And those are what your arms an' feet are supposed ta look like! Cool!!" She patted his skin in a touching manner, feeling its hardness, smoothness, and scars. "Master, you're cool! I like! Thanks for keepin' yerself alive so I could see this!" She gave a thumbs up with a happy smile.
"Thanks..." A slightly overwhelmed Zabulus answered. "...!"
Though everything seemed fine, he clutched his heart in pain.
Something deep within spoke to him. 'Lamb... Your true name awaits... Meet me in the deepest memory of your soul... I shall hold no ill will as I wait, Lamb.' As quickly as it came, the dark voice departed and left Zabulus' heart in confusion.
He 'looked' at Phantos with a worried face.
'What's the matter, Master?' Phantos questioned with audible concern.
"N-No... Nothing, just a..." This stinging feeling that wouldn't let up... 'My true name?' He questioned in his mind, to which the dark voice spoke once again,
'With your current vessel, you no longer have a shackle holding you down, the limitations of a parahuman body are beyond that of a normal person, and with knowing your true name... Soon, you shall know your concept! Your role!' The voice wasn't much but reassuring and confident, giving Zabulus a sense of a long-lost tranquility.
"M-m-master!? Was seeing my form this exciting for you!?" Tartaros backed away with fear, making a weirded-out face as she grabbed one of Zabulus' scarred cheeks to wake him up from whatever trance he might have entered.
"Huh? Oh, no. Sorry, I was just... Admiring the nature around." He ended it with a lie. "Say... This town, the Plight of Sorrow? I hear... I know, it's filled with exiles from Onkhivol. Monsters run a muck in this town, is that correct?"
Tartaros suddenly got excited, ready to show off her knowledge. "Now. Now, I don't know where you heard that, but you'd be correct! The Plight of Sorrow was originally a prison where exiles and criminals would be sent far-away in order to preserve the peace of Onkhivol..."
'Hmm, 'Criminals' you say. My, what a deplorable town we are going to visit, it seems. It's of not much importance though, is it, Master?' A comment in a light manner, a strange wording by the usually brooding and unhappy Phantos.
"Yeah, but nobody's ever bothered to fix the problem at the source! The criminals and exiles were let to exist in the town by themselves with no regulation or police control! So! So! In the end, the town became a cannibalistic cesspool, several factions made their own rules, and alliances were forged, then betrayed! Like most criminal groups. But in this scenario, they are all alone, and nobody else believes in morality in there! In the end, the crime goes full circle until nobody alive actually does anything bad anymore, people stopped caring if another got killed, people would band to defend themselves, you get it." Her explanation ended with a 'hmph', her embarrassment still not quelling from having shown her human body to a new master who she barely knew.
'Yes... It does seem to be quite the nuisance of a town.'
Zabulus was quiet, once again going through all his past mistakes and wrongdoings, muttering and muttering as if someone were directly speaking to him about it.
'Master?' As Phantos and Tartaros looked confused at their suddenly acting strange master, he took a breath as his heart pained from the unrelenting pressure that came from within.
"Huh? Nothing. Don't mind, don't mind." His voice was quite a bit shaky and rough, yet he was trying his best to act normal. "Hm. So what were we saying?"
'He wasn't paying attention at all! I guess I'll have to repeat the entire story to him!' Tartaros felt pity for the distracted man, looking ahead on the road.
"We were talking about the town..." And the same explanation ensued. He'd understood all that, for sure, but...
"What are we going there for, then? Why'd you suggest taking this route, then?" While having a curious voice, it was easy to see he'd decided to shut off his brain entirely during the explanation.
"Well, you see. Where we are right now is... somewhere in the Void In Blue, and I only know this because of my old master's studies but... Your universe, 43.42.95, should exist around where the Plight of Sorrow's Triandicon section is located. Though, it is not easily accessible as it was built to send only the highest of criminals away... So, maybe you would want to try and turn yourself in...?" She suggested with extreme hesitation, already scared and worried if Zabulus would snap and throw her away.
"Hoh! Great idea, you're really smart and you would make a perfect companion, yeah, that's exactly what I'm going to do." Contrary to her thoughts, he praised her so honestly and truthfully that her eyes could be seen watering with great happiness.
'Wha--?!' Phantos couldn't help but yell, 'But! Mas- Zabulus! It is only such an impertinent suggestion that will put you in grave danger!'
"Thanks, I don't care." Zabulus signaled for Tartaros to follow him, walking with his expression full of malice.
'I see... I shall rest, then.' With her heart heavy and fearing the worst, Phantos decided she may do something worse were she to also have a humanoid form, in order to suppress these terrible feelings of foreboding terror and loneliness, a terrible presentiment... She went to rest back to where she was before being interrupted.