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Chained to the damp, cold wall, Belial stirred from his restless slumber, his eyes snapping open as they fell upon the looming figure of the Beast King. The dim, flickering light of a distant torch illuminated the grotesque contours of the cellar—its walls steeped in ancient grime. The air hung thick with the smell of earth and decay. Belial's body was bound in chains, the cold metal cutting into his skin, but there was no visible sign of the torment one might expect. Despite this, the agony he had endured was unlike anything he had experienced in his countless eons. The methods employed by the Beast King's men were... creative, designed not just to break the body, but to fracture the very spirit. It was a torment beyond physical pain—something that had gnawed at the very essence of his being.
His voice, a gravelly whisper borne from the depths of his soul, carried the weight of ancient weariness. "I take it you're here for a reason," Belial said, his tone laced with a mix of disdain and resignation.
King Sirius, standing with a terrifying calmness, looked down on the chained infernal with an expression that held both disdain and satisfaction. His aura pulsed with an oppressive force, yet his words were clipped and purposeful. "I have spoken to your King," he declared, his voice devoid of any warmth. "He was not happy that I had you imprisoned."
Belial's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Of course he wasn't," he replied, his eyes narrowing with a knowing coldness. His King, ever the schemer, had always seen Belial as a tool—one to be used, not chained.
The Beast King's eyes gleamed with malice, the corners of his lips twitching as he continued, "I told him that if he sent more of his people, I would rip your soul from this body, and use it to feed my planet. And then, I would do the same to the others who dare come for you."
Belial remained silent, his gaze unwavering, yet a tremor rippled through his core. He knew the danger in Sirius's words. Such a threat was not merely idle. If the Beast King succeeded in tearing apart the soul residing in this vessel, the feedback would obliterate the other half of his essence—the part of him that remained anchored in the Infernal realm. The consequences would be catastrophic. The loss of both halves of his soul would not only destroy him but unravel his existence entirely.
His expression darkened, a flash of fury buried deep within his gaze, but he said nothing. There was no need to speak—he knew all too well the stakes. The Beast King's words rang in his mind like an ominous death knell. The intricate web of his existence was perilously close to being torn apart, and Belial was no stranger to the harsh reality of his situation.
In this moment, he was not the proud, untouchable Infernal. He was something far more vulnerable, trapped in the claws of a beast that had already shown it could break him in ways he hadn't yet imagined.
King Sirius's voice broke the silence, deep and commanding, carrying an undercurrent of cold calculation. "What do you know of the Euripython Belt system?"
Belial's eyes flickered, a faint glimmer of recognition flashing in their depths. "I know it's a strategic hub for the five Galactic powerhouses," he answered, his voice weary but composed. He had come to understand the importance of the system over the centuries—its wealth, its military significance, the intertwining of politics and power that made it an invaluable piece on the cosmic chessboard.
King Sirius's gaze sharpened, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "And do you know the reason behind why it's so valuable?" His tone was less a question than an assertion—one that hung in the air like a tightening noose.
Belial's expression remained unfazed, though something dark and calculated stirred beneath his surface. "No. But I guess you do," he said, his words clipped, tinged with a knowing edge. He had long since realized that Sirius's motives were rarely what they appeared to be.
Sirius's smile twisted, his eyes gleaming with ruthless intent. "I plan to launch an invasion of Terra in the coming days," he said, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion beyond the cold certainty of his words. "But before I do, I want the power that rests in that belt system."
Belial's brow furrowed slightly, but his body remained still, tense with the weight of unspoken understanding. "And what does that have to do with me?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
In the span of a heartbeat, Sirius's cruel smile deepened into something far darker. The Beast King raised a clawed hand, and before Belial could react—before his mind could even form a thought—an oppressive aura slammed into his chest, forcefully invading his body and seeping into his soul. It was as if an ancient, crushing weight had anchored itself inside him. His very essence writhed in agony as something began to carve itself into his being, inscribing itself onto the core of his soul.
Belial's body tensed, his teeth gritted as the cold, suffocating power of the Beast King's will crushed him. The weight of it was unbearable—an oppression that went beyond mere magic, beyond force. It was domination itself, an iron fist wrapped around the very fabric of his existence.
He could do nothing. His limbs were heavy with exhaustion, and the unrelenting torture he had suffered left him powerless to resist. His soul burned as the Beast King's curse took root, chaining him to Sirius's will. He had no choice but to submit.
"Curse you, Beast King!" Belial roared, but the words were barely out of his mouth before a searing pain erupted through his body—a punishment for daring to insult his new master. It was a pain that cut deeper than flesh, that tore at the very threads of his being, unraveling him from the inside. His soul screamed, but his body was bound, trapped in a cage of agony, unable to escape.
King Sirius's smile widened, a cruel satisfaction lighting his features as he watched the infernal suffer. "You're mine now," he said, his voice low and sinister. "I have branded you with my King's Will. Every thought that goes against me will be met with suffering—pain, unimaginable pain." He paused, savoring Belial's agony. "You will lead a team and invade the Belt. Annihilate any and all who stand in your way, and bring me the power. That is the only reason why I'm not killing you outright." His tone was final, devoid of mercy.
Sirius turned to leave, his massive form looming like a shadow over Belial. "You leave in a couple of hours," he added, his words lingering in the air like a death sentence.
As the Beast King's footsteps faded into the distance, the oppressive force of the curse hung over Belial like a suffocating cloud. Every breath felt like an eternity, and the weight of his new reality settled in. He was bound, not just by chains, but by the will of the Beast King. There was no escaping it now.
The power of the Euripython Belt would be his mission, but at what cost?
****
Dawnsreach sanctum
Stuart Domain, AKA Bastion Pass
Sol Continent
Terra, Gaea, solar system
Luminary star sector
Milky Way Galaxy
21st Vetraeus cycle, 50 New Solaris Prime
nerves in her body to disassociate from the pain.
ChatGPT said:
"The readings... It's impossible..."
A sharp, blaring sound suddenly pierced the air, its high-pitched wail scraping painfully against the edges of Emily's awareness. The noise reverberated in her skull, a jagged cacophony that sent shockwaves through her thoughts. Her mind teetered between the edge of clarity and the heavy, suffocating fog that threatened to engulf her. She couldn't focus, couldn't grasp what was real.
"Get the doctor!" a voice snapped, its urgency slicing through the haze. But Emily's consciousness continued to sink, swirling deeper into the darkness. Her thoughts scattered, like leaves caught in an unseen storm, drifting aimlessly into an infinite void. It was a space between memories, a place both familiar and alien, stretching out beyond her control, pulsing with an eerie, unnatural rhythm. A place where time and space twisted and bent, where nothing made sense.
Then, a voice shattered the quiet, cutting through the fog with brutal clarity. "What's happening?"
Emily's eyelids fluttered, her mind groggy as the haze began to lift, just enough for her to register her surroundings. She was strapped down to a cold, sterile medical bed. Restraints bit into her wrists and ankles, their rigid pressure a constant reminder of her helplessness. The thin fabric of the gown clung to her skin, clammy and uncomfortable, and her chest rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths. Her gaze lowered, and she recoiled at the sight of multiple tubes snaking into her arms, chest, and spine, the crimson liquid—the unmistakable color of blood—flowing sluggishly through transparent veins, as if siphoning her very life force away.
The sterile hum of machines filled the air, punctuated by the rhythmic beeping of heart monitors. Each sound was a grim reminder that she was no longer in control, her body a mere vessel tethered to the life-support systems that sustained her, yet stripped of its autonomy. Her eyes shifted, drawn to the figure looming in the corner of her vision.
A man stood before a glowing monitor, the sickly green light casting unsettling shadows across his sharp, angular features. His pristine white lab coat hung from his frame, stiff and perfectly pressed, the creases sharp and precise, as though it had never been touched by the chaotic world outside this sterile space. His glasses, dark and reflective, obscured his eyes entirely, hiding whatever emotion—or lack thereof—might lay behind them. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost ghostly, as though he'd never known sunlight. There was no warmth in his expression, no flicker of empathy. He seemed like a figure carved from stone, his every movement calculated and cold.
His voice broke the silence again, low and detached, more to himself than to anyone else. "The readings... They've stabilized... but this data..." His words hung in the air, dispassionate and uncaring, as he turned his attention toward her.
The man moved toward her with slow, deliberate steps. His presence was oppressive, like the weight of the room itself had shifted, pressing down on her chest. She could smell the sharp tang of antiseptic, suffocating in its sterile sterility. As he approached, she tensed, every muscle in her body screaming to break free from the restraints, to escape the cold, calculating hands that were inching closer. But the restraints held firm, an unyielding grip that mocked her desperation. Her fear spiked, followed by a tidal wave of anger—helpless, impotent rage. She struggled against the bindings, her body writhing, but they held her in place, immobilized, entirely at his mercy.
"You truly are an extraordinary being, ?????."
His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she recognized them for what they were: the nightmare she had lived with for years. The fear, the helplessness, the pain that had haunted her in the darkest corners of her mind. This was no mere dream—it was a memory, an event that had burned itself into her psyche, trapping her in its endless loop. A nightmare that had kept her paralyzed for far too long.
"Emily, get a hold of yourself."
The voice cut through the fog again, sharp and commanding. The force behind it was enough to snap her back to reality. She blinked, and the world around her came rushing back in a flood of overwhelming sensations. Her back pressed against a rough wall, and she realized with shock that she was no longer lying on that cold medical bed. A gaping wound marred her shoulder, blood spurting from it in hot, painful jets. Her dark caramel skin, usually warm and vibrant, looked unnervingly pale as the life drained from her. Every breath she took was a labor, her body fighting to maintain consciousness. The pain was unbearable, but she focused, forcing herself to disconnect from the searing agony. One by one, she numbed the nerves in her body, disassociating from the sharp, pulsing hurt that threatened to drown her.
Her mind spun with calculations, the adrenaline coursing through her veins keeping her on edge. The memories—the pain—the fear—were all too much to process at once. But she couldn't afford to lose herself in them. She had to survive. She had to keep fighting. Just as Emily tried to push herself off the wall, the air around her seemed to vibrate with danger—a deadly, invisible presence that she felt before she even heard it. The unmistakable whistle of an arrow slicing through the air was followed by a sharp, looming sense of peril. Emily reacted on instinct, her body moving just in time as another arrow buried itself into the space where she had been seconds before. She dropped low, rolling across the floor, her muscles protesting against the pain, and dove behind the bar for cover.
Arrows rained down around her, their sharp tips cutting through the air with a menacing hiss, embedding themselves into the wood of the bar. The sound of splintering wood and the sharp crack of impact filled the air as the bar was slowly torn apart by the onslaught. Emily pressed herself into the corner, heart pounding, desperate to keep herself hidden, to avoid being skewered. Her wound, though healing, was still a constant reminder of her vulnerability. The poison from the arrow, though fighting against her natural healing, lingered in her veins, slowing the process, feeding a deep weariness into her limbs.
"You can't stay hidden for long," Nocturne's voice sliced through the chaos, the calm in her tone an unsettling contrast to the madness around her.
Emily muttered to herself, her breath ragged as she tried to make sense of the situation. "What's happening? What happened to the guards, the protection... how are they attacking the Sanctum?"
Nocturne's response was laced with an odd mixture of concern and coldness. "The sanctum? We're not in the Sanctum anymore. Wake up, ????"
The name. That name—????—hit Emily like a shockwave, an existential jolt that reverberated through her entire being. The pain that followed was excruciating, tearing through the very core of her identity, unraveling everything she thought she knew. Memories, disjointed and contradictory, flooded her mind—flashes of her childhood mingling with images that didn't belong, memories she couldn't reconcile. They collided, fighting for dominance, each one more disturbing than the last. It wasn't the confusion that hurt, but the deep, gnawing pain that came from the realization that something fundamental within her was breaking.
And then, the pain became unbearable. It clawed at her very soul, twisting and tearing at the fabric of who she was. In the depths of that agony, her Odic force surged—unstoppable, fierce, and overwhelming. A burst of power ripped through her body like a tidal wave, snapping her back to reality in an instant.
Suddenly, Emily was no longer on the floor of the bar, huddled against its crumbling structure. She was back on the cold, metallic surface of a medical bed, bound down by iron straps. Tubes, snaking into her veins, injected her with whatever substances kept her in this state of forced sedation. Around her, the sterile white room buzzed with the hum of machines, the rhythmic beeping of heart monitors. The scent of antiseptic filled her nostrils, and the sterile light above her flickered. Her body was still, cold, and strapped down, as it had been in her nightmares. The doctors in white coats were standing at attention, their faces illuminated by the glow of their tablets, their eyes fixed on a monitor that displayed her scans.
As Emily's consciousness snapped into focus, the doctors turned toward her with wide eyes, their shock palpable. It shouldn't have been possible. Not with the amount of drugs they had pumped into her. But Emily was awake, her mind clear, her fury rising in a storm inside her chest.
The moment she realized her restraints were still there, the anger inside her boiled over. She reached within, calling upon the full power of her ability factor. A violent burst of energy erupted from her body, a crackling wave of pure, destructive force that tore through the room. Machines flickered and shut down, the lights dimming as every electronic device was rendered useless by the surge. Iron straps that had held her captive were crushed under the intensity of her raw power.
The moment she broke free from the bed, she was on her feet. Guards rushed into the room, their movements hurried, their weapons drawn. But Emily didn't even have to think. Her body was already moving. She tried to summon her blades from her dimensional band, but they were gone—taken from her in the chaos. But she didn't need them. Not now.
Her nails elongated into sharp, deadly claws, her eyes glowing a feral red as her veins pulsed with power. She could feel her body transforming, her very cells humming with a brutal, primal energy. She was no longer Emily—the woman who once tried to control her anger, her emotions. Now, she was a creature of raw, unrelenting rage.
Kill. Kill. Kill.
The thought echoed through her mind, a primal urge pushing her forward, faster than any mortal should be capable of moving. She moved without hesitation, without conscious thought, her speed so inhuman that the guards didn't even have time to react. She wasn't using any movement technique. It was simply her physicality—speed that transcended anything she had ever known, a force of nature she couldn't control.
Her claws ripped through energy shields like paper, and bodies fell around her with barely a sound. Her strikes were so fast, so violent, they were over before the guards even understood what had happened. She tore through them with the precision of a predator hunting its prey, and the more she moved, the more her instincts took over. There was no remorse. There was no hesitation. Only the need to destroy.
As her claws raked through another guard, her senses blurred into nothing but the sensation of motion-the feel of flesh tearing, the spray of blood, the sickening sound of bone cracking. She moved through the room like a storm, unstoppable and relentless, her mind consumed by nothing but the fight.
Her power surged with every strike, every movement, as she became less rational and more of the killing machine her mind screamed for her to be. Emily felt as though she were drowning—swallowed by an endless sea of darkness, her sense of self slipping away like grains of sand through her fingers. Her identity was crumbling, disintegrating, slipping through the cracks of her consciousness. But just as the weight of the void threatened to consume her entirely, something anchored her—some unseen force, a tether she couldn't quite comprehend, yet it held her steady amidst the unraveling chaos.
Then, with a sharp inhale, Emily opened her eyes. Her consciousness slowly rose from the suffocating sea of darkness, her awareness flickering back into place as she took in her surroundings. She found herself gripping the lifeless body of a man, his form slack and cold in her arms. There was a gaping puncture wound on his neck, a deep, circular wound that had drained the life from him, leaving his body a hollow shell.
She was inside a command center, the sterile metal walls cold and impersonal, humming with the faint vibrations of distant machinery. The air was thick with the smell of blood and death, a metallic tang that seemed to cling to her skin. Outside the large windows, the vastness of Interspace stretched out in all its desolate glory—the in-between, the realm where ships could travel faster than light across the expanse of the galaxy. The stars outside were just pinpricks in an otherwise infinite void.
But the serenity of the view contrasted sharply with the carnage inside. Crumpled bodies littered the room, twisted and broken like discarded dolls. Some had been torn apart, limbs and torsos twisted in unnatural positions, their bodies shredded by some unimaginable force. The air still crackled with the remnants of violence, the room thick with the aftermath of a massacre.
Which, Emily realized with chilling clarity, was exactly what had happened.
Her gaze swept over the bodies with a detached calmness. She let go of the man in her arms, his body sinking to the floor with a soft thud, but the knot of guilt in her chest remained tightly wound. Her eyes lingered for a moment longer, taking in the grotesque tableau, but she didn't allow herself to linger on the grim details. The reason for the puncture wound—the realization that she had caused it—was something she couldn't bring herself to process. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about how it had happened.
And then, as if summoned by her turmoil, Nocturne appeared. The familiar cube hovered in the air before her, its edges glimmering softly. A projection of the girl flickered into existence beside it, her form standing eerily still.
"Looks like you're not fully Awake yet," Nocturne's voice echoed, as dispassionate as ever.
Emily's voice was a quiet rasp. "What happened?"
"The arrow knocked you out," Nocturne explained. "You were taken. It seems there are some traitors in that Sanctum." Nocturne's gaze drifted over the carnage, the slightest hint of curiosity in her expression. "And you woke up and decimated them."
Emily's hands trembled, and she rubbed her face in disbelief. "How... How did I kill them all?" She couldn't reconcile her own power with the violence that had unfolded. "What's happening to me?"
Nocturne's voice softened, a strange note of understanding lacing her words. "Your bloodline is emerging," she said. "Your constitution is returning to its original form, not the one you've been mimicking."
"What are you talking about?" Emily's brow furrowed, her confusion deepening. "I'm a Pleiadian. I have Pleiadian blood…"
"I see," Nocturne said, her tone tinged with a quiet amusement. "Your mind is the only thing still pretending." She paused, letting her words hang in the air before continuing, her voice probing. "Tell me, what do you remember about your childhood?"
"My childhood..." Emily repeated, her voice distant. The memories bubbled to the surface—fragile, fleeting images that she couldn't quite piece together. Was this my memory? She clung to them as if they were the only thing that tethered her to herself, to the person she had always believed she was. "I was born in Orphan Alley, on the planet Olympia. I grew up… grew up…"
The memories faltered, shifting like sand beneath her feet. Some felt hers, others didn't. Were they? Were they truly mine? She could feel the faint tug of something foreign, something she had never allowed herself to acknowledge. The very thought of it made her stomach twist in a knot.
"I see," Nocturne's voice broke through the haze, sounding almost like a murmur to herself. "Its hold on you isn't as strong as I thought. I suppose that's why I manifested," she said, her expression unreadable. "A part of you wants to be free… but you need external help."
"What are you talking about?" Emily snapped, the strain in her voice growing sharper as she tried to anchor herself to the crumbling fragments of her identity.
Just then, the ship emerged from Interspace, its sleek form slicing through the inky blackness of outer space. A massive, reddish-orange planet loomed ahead, its surface glowing faintly with the reflection of distant suns. Emily's gaze locked onto it, her mind swirling with confusion. "What's this? Where are we?"
Nocturne's projection flickered once more, her eyes briefly meeting Emily's with a strange intensity. "The Planet Olympia," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "While you were feeding, I accessed the control system of the ship and input the coordinates to this planet. If we are to wake you fully, then we must confront your past—the false reality you've woven for yourself."