To the Core

Chapter 4.2 "Pamphlet"

Part 2 "Pamphlet (6)"

Sounds... Sounds... Sounds of mysterious creatures, beasts, no... monsters! They're everywhere. Everywhere, as if the patrol jumped on the ears, searching for the beast, the only one with a mortal, not fleeting soul. The "Virus," simultaneously the heart of this place, is sought by the gendarmerie to deliver a grand trial, a trial... for existence.

Soon he appeared, in person, emerging from the whimsical landscape, as if not for the first time, although it is. He was in a new guise, a "project" - as this etude was called - enveloping movable plates, composed of many yellow and purple colors, forming a mosaic. "The more I see these wonders, and even create them myself, the more they seem familiar... Our adaptability astonishes me every time," spoke the figure, resurrected from ashes and tears. Suddenly, howls, laughter, and grating filled the abyss. From the darkness, white eyes looked, each like a little dot, staring into the very soul and audibly licking with dreadful tongues. "He's back, back! He wants to treat us! With his carcass! And his voice, his voice! Let him speak, speak! We need to scream too!" shouts echoed through hungry moans and cries of malicious creatures. Among them, various images were discernible: from crouched wolves, hyenas, and lions to naked, hunched humanoids twisting fingers and shoving them into their mouths. They didn't attack, seemingly held at command to wait for the tribunal.

"Step back, inutilité (7)!" echoed a loud and piercing, yet majestic female voice from afar. It was accompanied by distorted metamorphoses of tones, causing skin-crawling, as if the Goddess was speaking to you. "And you... Hm! I thought the conversation would be shorter, but it seems you had different plans... So let's try again!" The creatures around began to laugh, the grove filled with mad laughter, but there was pain and suffering in it. Above the enormous horde gathered before the "prodigal son," at a height of several meters, bloody butterflies rained down like a shower from the sky. They formed the figure of a person who once flickered in dreams and reality, a crystal doll covered with dark soot or smog. The lace attire resembled the French style of the reformed century but tailored in a modern way: a not too long, not too lush wavy dress, split vertically, revealing the literally empty nature inside. The face was covered with a comedy mask, sad but tearless, black as coal but with carelessly painted white contours and emotion. The long, translucent-red hair was gently curled with wavy shapes. And on the head, there was a bloody crown adorned with ruby butterflies, from which red liquid seemed to ooze. "We can finish it all again. Like you almost reached that goal once! I allow you to do it yourself, your thoughts will lead you to coveted knives, baths, or maybe heights again! Nowhere to escape for you!"

"The time of bloody reflections is over..."

"I DID NOT ALLOW YOU TO OPEN YOUR MOUTH!" The voices of different tones and emotions sounded as if a hundredfold, covering anyone who hears this banshee scream with a veil of fear and anxiety. The creatures fell silent as if in a trance. "However..." the black glass hand reached for the mask, peeled it off, and revealed a doll-like smile of a harlequin with streams of dried bloody tears. In an instant, the face turned into a normal one, with red, shining eyes resembling a rose, so tender yet fiery and prickly; its thorns pierced the cornea ruthlessly but tenderly. "I can help you. Hmm... They can..." The figure raised its hands, and the void again filled with a terrifying laugh. Then she lowered them, and the noise subsided. "This world is mine; you are now a stranger to us!"

"For us! For us! A stranger! A stranger!" The creatures suddenly shouted indistinctly.

"Silence!" replied the "Queen" to the disobedience. "I, we, all this place were created by you!"