Opening Text and Prologue
A WARNING AND A STATEMENT
If you struggle with binging, self-harm, or any mental disabilities, you are not alone. This book handles some incredibly personal subject matter, containing scenes that born from my own struggles. With every description or depiction, my intent is purely to help. Whether it’s awareness or recognition, I believe these are things many face in their life. Art in all forms has helped me cope on a level I can’t really explain. In the end, my intent is to stay honest to my experience and hopefully make a book that I would’ve loved to read as a kid—a book that would’ve helped me heal in the end, no matter how hard it can be to get through the darkest times.
I offer hardships as a mean to grow. If the book is too familiar, too visceral, I just want you to know I get it. No matter how dark it gets, if you’re alive and you’re still trying—what more could you ask? Our little slivers of time that we get are incredibly finite, and thus infinitely precious. Being here means you’re literally doing your best.
My end goal is honesty and hope.
Let’s hope Derek can find some.
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Oh, how the pieces move. I am certain, even now, you would have loved this tale. Do you see how the mirror-seeds grow? Are we all truly just a reflection?
It is confusing to know how one would act at the end of the world. We all have our assumptions, but dire times spring only beautiful tensions. Even now as I recount such harsh wonders, I find myself questioning...
Would I have trusted that ka feth cat?
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Prologue
Does dark matter break physics?
Playlist: Studytime—don’t touch Derek!Atrix: The Son. Horus of the Hellsands.The world burned bright in the light of the Son’s creations.
High above the outer atmosphere of the planet known as Earth, a black mist swirled around its human vessel, watching the planet spin through this swath of totality. Along the planet’s surface, bright lights twinkled atop the shattered continents; countless sparks drifting on a night-time sea of ingenuity without interruption. All universes created in their time, such was a constant, but this cycle was new.
This world had been built while the Son was trapped.
The Son held his hand out, watching his vessel’s human skin crack and break in the heatless expanse called space. Beneath the skin, blood froze in blue pouches, the heat of the body having nowhere to go. Death was a beautiful necessity, and in its acceptance was the only road to peace.
But I am the beautiful universe, the Son thought, stretching his cracking skin. I am not held to such limitations.
With a flick of his fingers, the Son pulled on his core, feeling it pulse in the Dreamsheet—the dark expanse of thought. The vacuum of space rippled around him as black mist soaked into his into his body, rebuilding skin and bone. A flash of color pierced his mind as the mist filled him, sparkling like a rainbow, pulled from an unseen ocean of energy. Piece by piece, he built himself anew, keeping his human body alive.
Alive.
The Son snarled. Anger was a new sensation, one he did not know he could feel.
I am the beautiful universe, and they locked me in a jar.
In life his vessel Randall Prometheus had been prone to flashes of anger. In death his body remembered the impulse. The Son held a hand to his chest as the feeling surged through him.
Father said I could not feel.
He turned to the darkness of space, staring through the veils only he could see.
What else do I not know I can do?
As he turned back to the planet, he breathed in slowly to steady his body. Black mist churned around his head, creating oxygen from the need. Emotions or not, he still had his purpose. He would not be caught unawares again. The Son held out his hand, readied his mind, and focused on the now dead memories of Randall Prometheus.
The dark of space coalesced like sheets in the wind as they collapsed into a portal. The portal opened with a rip, folding the Tangible together.
Through the portal stood a secret boardroom, hidden deep in the mountains of the state known as “Montana”, housing the current paragons of human knowledge. The boardroom was a dome of metal and glass. Sunlight gleamed through the windows, bouncing off a monstrous wooden table at the center of the room. Statues lined the walls, each a testament to invention and discovery.
The Seeker’s Community. According to Randall Prometheus’s memories, The Seeker’s Community was the epicenter of learning, philosophy, religion, and invention in the current age. Rage boiled again. It was the Seeker’s Community which had driven Randall Prometheus to a life of solitude, always rejecting his wonderful discoveries—calling his claims of magic unsubstantiated drivel.
It was the perfect place to learn.
The boardroom was in session. Older men of all shapes sat around the boardroom table, held in a meeting to discuss the unknown black storm building now at the North Pole. Some argued it was to be studied, others argued it was providence, some declared it prophecy, and the rest simply said it was impossible.
The old men jolted up at the sight of the portal, screaming and pointing, kicking over chair and stool as they tried to run.
The Son floated forward. The world shifted around him as he moved through the portal from space to planet. Black mist coursed through his vessel, holding the sudden increase of gravity and velocity at bay.
“REJOICE, FOR YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN. WE WILL END THIS CYCLE ONCE AND FOR ALL.”
Black mist raged forward. The men collapsed. For being the brightest minds of humanity, they all screamed the same. Soon their screams turned to laughter, then to rage and wonder. Totality always had the same effect.
The men’s bodies filled with mist, collecting dream and energy. The Son grunted, faltering as he connected to their psyches. Weakness. He snarled. More rage. Before his capture in the jar, this gesture would have been but an afterthought.
Turning, the Son yanked his hands and threw the bodies through the portal behind him. They convulsed as they left the planet’s safety. Air expanded in their chests, bursting their lungs apart. It did not matter. He had their minds. Soon, he would have their secrets.
The Son stopped in the boardroom, his senses tingling.
Someone was watching him.
There, along the outside of the nearest windowsill, sat a rat in a white cloak with golden edges, his fur scraggly and brown. Tears flowed over the rat’s snout. Though he cried he was...smiling? The rat squeaked as the Son turned to him, bowing his head low. He raised his paws and a wall of sand shot up behind him, splattering against the windows. Thick letters of mud formed against the glass.
‘I HAVE YOU A GIFT.’
With a nod, the rat leapt away and disappeared into the foliage.
The Son stared as a new sensation burned in his chest.
Curiosity.
He gasped, knowing it instantly. It was the most dangerous feeling of all. Curiosity was the first of the forbidden emotions, as told by Elish Himself at the Son’s birth. Father had been very clear about it.
Curiosity was the end of peace, and the beginning of the end.
The Son stared at his hands, his body tensing, awaiting the oncoming danger.
But nothing happened.
A slight buzz whirred in the boardroom as the air conditioning kicked on.
Still nothing happened.
I do not understand.
The curiosity burned in his chest.
The Son turned back to the window, staring blankly at the message.
‘I HAVE YOU A GIFT.’
The Son tilted his head.
He’d never been given a gift before.
Horus screeched with glee as he raced into the cave. For days he’d been hiding away in it, merely on a guess. After witnessing Prometheus’s possession at the Battle of Dragon Mountain, there was only one place the mist would want to go. The Void would want power. Power required understanding of what there was to rule. What better place than the one Prometheus driveled about in his books?
And now it will be mine.
“He’s coming, he’s coming!” Horus screamed. He stood silhouetted in the cave’s mouth, proud of his works. “Gather the sacrifices!”
Two three-foot rodents with puffy bodies and long, rabbit-like ears leapt to attention. “Horus has returned! Gather the sacrifices!”
Horus’s entourage emerged from the shadows.
Akhenaten—the proud rat warrior with his gorilla-like body and bull-skull-helmet. He unslung a massive sickle off his back, flourishing it at the ready.
The oracle All Fathom Bez—a scraggly old rat wearing a red painted shawl wrapped tightly around his eyes and neck.
Heka, his father’s most trusted envoy—a tall, tailless rat riding a bright blue pillar of ice. She motioned her hands in a series of patterns as she floated passed Horus and out of the cave.
Behind her floated Horus’s gifts; three massive blocks of ice.
Each block of ice carried a creature inside. Pathos the panther. Evers the treefrog. Isolde the python. Remnants of the Animal Kingdom’s Council, their knowledge now taken by the Void. Without their knowledge they had been easy to track and easier to capture.
Horus sneered. “Hello, my gifts.” He chittered as he walked around the ice blocks, tracing them with his claws. “Once The Great One comes, you will be his, and I will be rewarded—”
“I AM ALREADY HERE.”
The voice boomed against the cave, shaking each rat down to their core. Black mist wafted through foliage as a bald man with youthful features and sharp ears floated forward, his yellow khakis ruffling in the wind.
The Void was upon them.
In a flash the gorilla like rat whipped his sickle forward and raced toward the Void at a blinding speed. He slammed the tip of the sickle into the ground, catching it in place, and flung himself in an arcing swing right at the Void’s body.
“No, Ahkenaten!” Horus screeched, too slow to stop him. “Stand down. Now!”
Akhenaten’s sickle sliced the Void from shoulder to belly, lodging in his body with a sickening crunch.
The Void stared at the warrior rat now perched on his sickle’s hilt.
“ALWAYS YOU FIGHT.”
Black mist exploded from the Void’s wound, catching Akhenaten around the neck and flinging him backwards. The Void grabbed the sickle, unlodging it with a swipe. Mist filled his body, healing the wound.
“ALWAYS YOU REFUSE TO LEARN.”
Black mist raced through the air, enveloping each rat in the area. They convulsed, gagging as their air was cut off. Horus smiled in ecstasy as the mist curled around him. Watching his entourage crumble so quickly was simply beautiful.
The Void floated forward, meeting Horus’s eye. There was recognition there. “You are the one with the gift.”
Horus withered under the gaze. Mist poured into his mouth. With his breath waning it was hard to think. Overwhelming. Intoxicating.
The Void stared. “You are not afraid of dying,” the Void said. “I do not understand.” He flicked a hand and the mist rescinded.
Horus coughed as the air returned. “Why would—I be afraid—when I am faced with such beauty?”
The Void floated forward. “That was not a lie.”
“Of course not, oh Great One!” Horus sputtered, seizing the opportunity. I’ve got you now. “You are to be worshiped, not cursed. You are the most high, the greatest of—”
“I know what I am.” The Void flicked a finger. Black mist wrapped around Horus’s snout, shutting him off. “Silence yourself as I think.”
The Void stared at his hands. His face scrunched with frustration. Horus knew that look. When his youngest sister Khufu was born, this was the look she had as she learned.
The Void was acting like a child.
“A child,” the Void said quietly, head turning slowly to meet the rat’s gaze. “You are not wrong. There is much I do not know.”
Horus gasped in terror. He can hear my thoughts? That’s—Horus let his mind go blank, his body limp, clearing himself of desires.
The Void stood up straight, blackened eyes unblinking as he stared. “It is too late for that Horus of the Crumbled Empires, Son of Usir the Conqueror. You are an open quandary under my touch.”
Please do not take my knowledge! Horus thought, eyes squeezed shut. If you can see my memories, then you can see the plans I have! Look at what I can offer! New tears formed form as the fear welled up. I seek only your touch—your blessings. If you can take, maybe you can give!
“Give,” the Void said slowly.
Horus nodded, letting his mind flitter through his plans.
“Now that...is curious.” The Void went silent, his mist-filled eyes searching the air in thought. He nodded slowly. “I would like to try this ‘give’. It will be a new wonder to see.”
The Void nodded, the conclusion drawn. He turned his attention to the ice blocks floating behind them. “And now, to my gifts.” Black mist circled around the ice, tendrils prodding the surface. “Why have you brought me those I have already judged?”
Because, Great One, Horus thought, I thought maybe they deserved harsher punishment for standing against you!
“No,” the Void said. “I have punished them enough.”
But, Great One—
Mist shot through Horus’s orifices, squeezing between the slits of eye and skull.
I understand! I do not question!
The Void tilted his head in thought. “Still...you have presented me with another gift. An idea.” He floated upward, hands raised. Horus’s entourage rose into the air, still captured in mist. “Choose one of your companions to keep. The rest I will take with me to learn.”
Akhenaten! The warrior! I need his strength.
The Void nodded. “Done.” He turned back to the ice blocks. “Now, you three...” The ice melted in a flash, dropping each council member to the ground.
Pathos the panther growled, her nine-foot tail swirling above her body. She turned to Horus, flashing her teeth.
Isolde the python hit the ground with a thud, barely moving. She turned to the grass around her, sniffing at it as she wept.
Evers the tree frog crawled to her and lay his head on her back.
“You who have already received my judgement,” the Void said. “I have an offer for you. As this world ends, would you choose to watch? Or would you seek something more?”
Pathos growled, her attention finally pulled from Horus. “More.”
Isolde whimpered. “Please. My knowledge. Give it back. I need to feel the leaves.”
Evers stroked his webbed hands along her back. “I’m just here for her.”
“Fascinating.” The Void nodded. “Then hear my offer.” Mist washed through the grass, rising from the ground. It blanketed the disgraced Council Members. “I have only two requirements. First, like the rats, I require one of you to come with me, as I must learn.”
Evers stood himself on wobbly, webbed feet. “If I do that,” he said, croaking in his sweet, southern drawl, “then Isolde gets her knowledge back?”
The Void nodded. “And more.”
Evers shrugged. “Then I’m your frog.”
Isolde wept.
“It is done.” The Void flicked his hand forward. Mist erupted around Evers the treefrog, filled his lungs, and lifted him into the air.
“Last,” the Void said, eyes drifting from Horus, to Pathos, to Isolde. “As I give, thus you will return the favor. There are two living who have stolen my gifts, in ways I did not know possible. I can feel them now like distant stars. With them, they carry a book. A knowledge. A soul living within.”
The Void sneered. “You will bring me this book.”
Yes, Great One! Horus thought, holding back his questions.
Pathos grumbled, lowering her eyes. She nodded accordingly.
Isolde only wept.
“Good,” the Void said, raising his hands. “You will be my first heralds. Understand as you die and are born again, this is a gift none have ever received it.” The air shifted behind him, rippling open into a portal. Mist surged forward, covering the entire clearing, splashing against the cave behind them like a wave. “Cherish it in your final moments. Let them be worthy of your creator.”
As mist filled Horus’s mouth, he died with a whimper.
He was reborn with a scream.
The Void smiled. “Now shall we begin again the end of this age.”
High above the outer atmosphere of the planet known as Earth, a black mist swirled around its human vessel, watching the planet spin through this swath of totality. A week had passed since taking the Seeker’s Community, a week since meeting the creature named Horus. The rat was a vile creature, and yet somehow so honest.
He sees me for what I am.
The Son had never felt seen before. The names he’d been given through the cycles were bestowed only out of fear and hatred, bereft of beauty. Ren Ternum, the Tower Forever. Kal’Eh’Dal, the Black Moon Above. Ti Lannandel dex Mitnar. Chaos unseen.
And now the Void.
The Son floated, letting the names wash over him. Emotions flooded, sparked by collected syllables—feelings forbidden so long ago. Father spoke of them as a curse, but Father was wrong, he could see it now. Emotions were a gift.
As his human vessel drifted in space, so did his thoughts. For all his names, none were him. None were as he saw himself.
Father had a name. Elish Himself. It was never spoken, and yet the Son knew it well. The Son stared at his hands, the cracked skin constantly rebuilding.
Do I not deserve the same?
A spark of white bloomed in the Void’s mind. Soft and glowing, it dissipated as soon as it flowered. Suddenly, a language came to him, words no longer living. It was a language the Son knew though he knew not how.
“Eedict Eversal ern omnox,” the Son mouthed to himself. In Prometheus’s tongue, Eedict Eversal ern omnox roughly meant ‘The searching, beautiful Everything’, though the sound of edict did carry its own meaning. Command. Ordinance. Proclamation. Each new word filled him with joy beyond purpose.
Eedict, he thought, placing a hand on his chest.
Such was a name fitting of creation.
The Tragic Tales of Pandora
Book II
“Do it, Derek! You have to do it! There’s no other way!”
- Rai Caelus Agons
From Brath’s Dreamy Journey Journal: Traveling Despite the Darkness, a book of Age VI
—The Animal Kingdom, West Providences and Known Thinkers: A Portrait
Drawn 1992, Art and Illustration by Goddess
Chapter One
XXIX
*Watchers note: Though somehow reflected here in Elish Himself’s Bloom, my favorite naming convention is cumbersome. I am switching it for ease. - Brath
29
What if we live in a Superdeterministic universe?
Playlist: Studytime—don’t touch Derek!Atrix: Derek Richard Agons
Through mountains and forests, across plains and deserts, a three-cart train rattled along an abandoned railway through the heart of the United States of America. Wheels screeching and smoke billowing, the little train chugged at a blinding speed. For most Thinkers of the age, the Wildband Express Train meant a Council sanctioned safe trek through the Dead Zones—the human cities where man congregated their lack of knowledge into intellect, commerce, and life. For humans the cities meant safety. For Thinkers the cities meant death.
For Derek Richard Agons it meant he was almost home.
The middle cabin of the train vibrated in a low hum as it rattled along. Like something out of an old timey western his dad loved the watch, the passenger cabin was a busted luxury suite fit for the pleated suits and puffy dresses of the past. Two chandeliers clattered along the ceiling. Sunlight bled through the circular windows, the world outside a racing blur through the blown-out wall along the west side of the cabin. A derelict bar complete with busted shelves and a cracked mirror behind it now sat repurposed into a garden. Nuts and fruits grew through the walls behind the bar, the shelves filled with dirt, stem, and leaf.
More coming soon….