Chapter 9
Nebetu'u moved before them like a sculptor of the universe, each flick of their fingers reshaping reality, akin to a child's whimsical rearrangement of toy blocks. Skin, bone, the very essence of their form shifted without resistance, as if linear creation held no sway, merely a suggestion that could be discarded at any moment.
"Illusion." Their voice cut through the air. "This is nothing but a beautiful deception that—"
A sharp bell suddenly rang out, emerging from nowhere, shattering the silence of the brightly lit chamber. An unfamiliar sacred chant, invoking no name to worship, began to spill forth on its own, filling the air with vibrations that seeped into every corner.
The words repeated, their echoes deepening as the light shifted hues, pulsing in rhythm with the incantation. The bright yellow glow slowly transformed, bending to each uttered echo, as if this small universe bowed to an unseen force.
Mala Qudshi trembled. A fine vibration spread, striking at the very fibers of their being, revealing an unease that defied touch. Before them, Nebetu'u's purity blazed with immeasurable intensity, so refined and flawless it seemed to brush against the threshold of the Divine.
Not in excess.
This sanctity did not merely approach, it threatened to usurp, to one day displace the One from Their Throne. To the left and right of the Almighty, positions once unshaken as extensions of Supreme Will, now wavered, pressured by the brilliance Nebetu'u wielded through their transformative vow.
Swiftly, Mala Qudshi adjusted their form, absorbing the yellow hues that flooded the room, masking themselves in shimmering golden light. Yet the camouflage was half-hearted. Behind forced composure lurked creeping fear, an unspoken admission that such purity had never been witnessed, never even conceived, let alone expected here.
Sacred particles in the air trembled, their faint quivering uncontrolled, betraying the dread that had also seized Mala Qudshi.
The shadow of wings etched in their eyes, a symbolic mark of personal power and sanctity, slowly frayed, distorted by Nebetu'u's unstoppable radiance.
No matter how holy they were, no matter how unshaken their faith, the vibrations came, gnawing at certainty, everything they had clung to.
Mala Qudshi turned sharply, an irresistible curiosity driving them to look back. Yet all they found was empty space, a pulsing golden-white void keeping time with the sacred chant.
Unending, indifferent to the passage of time.
No one was there but emptiness. And just as they resolved to ignore it, the shadows returned, silhouettes of vast wings reflected in the light, motionless yet exuding majesty.
For a moment, their breath caught.
The wingspan expanded endlessly, as if knowing no bounds. Then, something shifted.
The shadows began to move.
The colossal wings beat, rising and falling in slow, powerful strokes. With each lift, a new pair emerged from nothingness, adding to the ever-growing span, now clearly beyond measure. The cycle repeated ceaselessly, each flap birthing another, multiplying their presence.
The once-spacious room suddenly felt cramped, drowned in the illusion of infinity as the shadow-wings swelled, consuming everything.
Mala Qudshi sat cross-legged, hovering above the ground, amid the visual maelstrom. Their body stiff, eyes still searching for logic within this impossibility. Yet the more they observed, the clearer one truth became:
This was no mere shadow. It was an omen. A manifestation of something far beyond ordinary comprehension.
"Holiness reigns."
"Defy its command no longer."
Fear crept into Mala Qudshi, piercing the very core of their sanctity. With practiced motion, they folded their hands in prayer, lips trembling as they recited a protective incantation, holy words flowing swiftly, without pause or the slightest hesitation.
Their voice echoed through the chamber, clashing with the unfamiliar chant still saturating the air. Mala Qudshi struggled to compose themselves, forcing calm even as their mind screamed, acutely aware that they were witnessing something beyond comprehension.
Beyond even the most fundamental logic of "purity."
Every time they turned away from the shadows, the sound of beating wings returned, a soft rumble filling their ears as if mocking their futile attempts to escape. They spun around again, and again, their gaze sweeping across the empty room, yet the shadows remained, reflected at the edges of their vision, alive in another dimension.
With each glance, the wings multiplied. Not just in number, but in majesty. Every flap birthed a new pair, an endless cycle of divine expansion.
A perfected form was only a matter of time, nearing the likeness of an angel without equal, a manifestation of purity surpassing even the celestial hierarchy. Mala Qudshi shivered, not from cold, but from dread, realizing they faced something they could not oppose. Something that might stand above all.
The command had been spoken. Prayers spilled from Mala Qudshi's lips. A deep, deliberate calm settled over them as they remained seated, floating just inches above the ground, untouched.
Their eyes stayed open, sharp, unblinking. Around them, slow-orbiting gray fireballs, each the size of a basketball, emitted a faint, smokeless glow, like miniature satellites of something far greater.
The yellow light filling the room pulsed in sync with Mala Qudshi's gaze, its intensity shifting as though the chamber itself breathed through their vision.
Then, a sudden surprise.
A woman appeared.
She approached with serene steps, her body radiating an almost unnatural grace. Her face was exquisitely beautiful, perfectly proportioned, lips curved in a faint, floating smile. Not broad, but enough to make anyone who saw it feel... seen. Her attire flowed like mist, condensed, of course, neutral in color yet shimmering with the room's ambient light.
Mala Qudshi did not move. They did not flee, nor did they welcome her. They simply hovered, their gaze now locked onto this unfamiliar woman.
She drew closer.
Her smile hinted at something hidden, not quite a threat, nor hospitality. Something else, something that unsettled Mala Qudshi.
A slow shake of their head. Their mind whirled with piercing confusion. Who is this woman? they whispered inwardly. Another guise of Nebetu'u? Or something deeper, more ancient?
Their eyes traced the woman's delicate fingers as they stretched toward them, offering something unseen. The distance between them had narrowed to mere inches, one more step, and her fingertips would make contact.
But just then, Mala Qudshi noticed something that froze their blood.
Behind the woman's poised movements, their own reflection flickered, diminished, a miniature self trapped in the grip of an unseen power.
To be continued…