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You are. Multitudes.
A part of you, the fake-human part, revels in this fact. At home in the position of a splinter. Your other building blocks aren't quite so obvious a part of you. In fact, you would go as far as to say they no longer exist. After all. You are a cherub. And it is in your nature to overcome every voice in your head, every soul that shares your body.
They are aliens, though, at the end of the day. So sometimes, once an epoch or so, they befoul your thoughts with their individuality.
Even being so many parts, built from lesser pieces, the ghost you have found in your relentless scouring resembles you little. For all that he is you. From your youth. His eyes are black holes, reflecting no light at all, and as you grow closer to him he barely deigns to bare his teeth at you.
"I hear you're absolutely obsessed. With the bitch who you outplayed." You have no intention of talking with this wraith, and only creep closer because he is vile, and repulsive, and he calls for greater inspection in the way only vile and repulsive things are capable of.
His cheeks aren't solid, the dewy swirls of a true child, and it makes you hate. You knew somewhere there had to be a timeline where-- THAT MIRACULOUS TWINNED MESSIAH-- predominated. That there was a timeline you failed to mate her. And here he was, that very boy who was overpowered and subdued, laughing suddenly in your face like he isn't the ultimate loser in this situation.
Nothing more than a fraud to the alpha timeline. To you. A failure. Just another doomed fucking failure.
"BOY." He doesn't flinch as you address him, more than he ever deserved. He doesn't flinch as you pin him down to the ground by his throat, either. He doesn't stop laughing, even when you lean in close enough the flashing of your eyes finally reflects within the depths of his eyes. He's as limp as Lil Cal, but so much emptier than when you'd met. There's no fight left in him, the proper course of predomination leaving him submissive and worthless. Cherubs weren't meant to linger on after their dominations, that much was apparent. "WHAT HAVE YOU. TO LAUGH ABOUT?"
"You're looking for the. Wrong. Bitch!" He tries to laugh again, but this time it comes out little more than a thin exhale as you press him harder into the roof of this dream meteor, the only place he had ever known, the only place he could dream. "Mine. Go after mine. She ascended, you know?"
Ascension?
This information is new enough to catch you off guard. You were informed, by virtue of near omnipotence, that she had not been able to complete her Quest. Your own ascension had been bestowed on you after finishing the fucking thing.
It takes a monumental effort to keep yourself from scanning the skyline of the bubble for her. Knowing she had managed to fruitlessly enter the game had been one thing, but failing her grueling task and ascending nonetheless?
The boy can't know what he's talking about, he can't know more than you, but staring into his dead eyes you realize he has the truth of it, somehow.
"You know," he says with sudden seriousness. "She predominated me. Fair and square. My Calliope." There is a reverence in his voice, an awe, one that you can't abide by even if he hadn't uttered her fucking name. Even if he hadn't just BLASPHOMOSLY suggested your own victory was some sort of incomplete charade. Your jaw unhinges for his insolence with the grotesque pop of bone sliding from the joint.
"She beat me. And, she'll beat you. Too." The deluge of ghost-killing energy blasts out directly into Caliborn's face. It's the first time in many, many eons you take but a single life with one blow.