Chapter 13
The room held an echoing silence, every corner reflecting whispers from an age far older than mere sight. The castle walls, having undoubtedly witnessed the birth and ruin of infinite universes, stood with full awareness, comprehending every stolen breath within. Suddenly, the lamplight unveiled itself, igniting and flooding the space at once, driving away the shadows before they could hide in the crevices of absence. Yet the illumination only rendered the atmosphere more oppressive, as if the room itself mocked every attempt to fill its void.
Nebetu'u remained standing behind the door, left wide open, where their body lingered on the threshold between presence and oblivion. Their eyes had just caught the lamp, an object previously unseen, implying the ceiling had deliberately concealed it, at least until this precise moment. The light's glare was sharp but offered no warmth, only emphasizing how every detail here was carved for something beyond human comprehension.
The room lived, breathed, and observed, while Nebetu'u was merely a visitor, a stray wanderer in an eternal narrative.
They stepped inside, their pace slow yet compelled by something subconscious, as if every inch of the floor, now beneath their feet, held memories unwilling to be disturbed. Their gaze, initially sweeping across every corner, abruptly fixed upon the winged angelic statue across the chamber.
The spread of its wings was no lifeless carving but something unnervingly alive, its muscles taut and relaxed in rhythm, the fine feathers trembling faintly as if stirred by an unfelt breeze. The wings grew, slow yet deliberate, mirroring the evolution of a living creature.
Then, without warning, the statue turned its gaze toward Nebetu'u.
A sharp awareness pierced them, they were being watched. Not merely seen, but scrutinized, measured, and understood to the depths of their soul. The statue's eyes, once hollow, now burned with an intelligence too terrifying to behold. Nebetu'u froze, breath severed midair as time lodged itself in their throat.
The room, once silent, now felt suffocating, its walls inching closer as if to trap them in an encounter predestined long before the two-headed child was even conceived.
Nebetu'u pressed forward, indifferent to the silent warnings radiating from the angelic statue. The two heads, one a demonic man's, endlessly spitting, his saliva splattering the floor in degrading splashes, while the woman's remained wrapped in serene focus, observing everything with unshakable precision, moved in eerie synchronization.
The thirteen-year-old child's body advanced further, defying every unspoken law governing the chamber.
Suddenly, without command, both pairs of eyes lifted in unison. Their focus, once locked on the statue, now shifted to the highest corner of the room, a vast mirror reflecting not just the room's contents, but something deeper, beyond the veil of shadows.
There, in the dimly shimmering reflection, a shadow appeared, clearly not their own. Something moved, a form of far greater stature and power, lurking behind the mirror. Was it Ophistu? Or something else? Nebetu'u did not know, nor did they feel fear. Their purpose was clear: to drive out the wretched angel, to ensure the slaughter of the Ush family would be the last atrocity it ever committed. But this room, no, this entire castle, seemed to harbor other plans. And that mirror, now capturing more than mere reflections, might very well be a gateway, the opening of a door to the true battle ahead.
Nebetu'u cared nothing for the mirror's beauty. To them, it was just another obstacle, another barrier to break through. From the very beginning, the male head had been sneering, foul drool dripping from the corner of its twisted mouth as curses spilled forth unfiltered. But the female head remained focused, her gaze sharp and unyielding, locked onto the faint shadow slowly crystallizing behind the glass's haze.
The thing moved again.
No longer just a reflection, nor an illusion. Something that should have remained unseen, or perhaps had been hiding deliberately, now chose to reveal itself. Its form was still indistinct, but its presence was palpable, piercing the space like reality itself being torn apart by a blade. The mirror trembled faintly, unable to withstand the pressure from the other side.
It was no longer just a mirror, now, it was a gateway.
A presence seeped through, not with violent force, but like sacred smoke, creeping slowly, filling the room without permission. A hymn echoed, chanting in a language unmistakably not of this world, holy words that should have brought peace, yet instead made the air vibrate with sacred pressure. It was nearly deafening.
Nebetu'u did not flinch.
The male head kept snarling, its spit now mingling with filthy curses, trying to drown out the sanctity of the mantra enveloping the room. Yet the sacred incantation remained unshaken. It moved, following the unseen entity, now fully manifesting, now floating.
It was floating.
Without clear form, without defined edges, it rose higher, drifting away from the mirror's surface, leaving behind faint traces of light like dying embers of a star. The hymn followed, bound by unbreakable law, filling every corner of the room with vibrations that made Nebetu'u's bones hum.
At last, it was revealed—Ophistu.
The being Nebetu'u had been hunting now hovered in the air, its form fully manifested through the mirror's distortion. No ordinary angel. No holy entity that could be banished with simple incantations. Its vast wings spread, feathers gleaming like polished metal, rotating in perfect, mechanical circles, slicing the air with precision.
With every rotation, waves of divine revelation rippled outward, saturating the room with sacred pressure. The hymn resonated, not from its mouth, but from every feather, every rotation, as if the universe itself had joined in chorus.
The male head hurled insults, its voice drowned, rendered meaningless in the crushing tide of scripture. Its spit evaporated before even hitting the floor, scorched by the radiance of Ophistu's holiness. The female head remained silent, but her single eye burned, not with fear, but recognition.
Here it was.
The butcher of the Ush family.
The architect of all their suffering.
The one who had to die.
Ophistu did not speak.
It had no need to.
Every rotation of its wings was a message.
Every note of its hymn, a challenge.
Its face was almost too ordinary, too human for something that had caused so much chaos. A strong jawline, flawless skin, an expression as flat and unchanging as a highway stretching straight into the horizon.
To be continued…