Chapter Text
Despite a starry ocean, and brains unfettered from strife
Oh how I lament those lost feelings the moment I came to life!
What a wonder that must be like
A newborn emerging from the minimal comfort of egghood
Taking in the mass of their domicile for the very first time
The feeling of limbs touching a firm, soft planet
Experimenting with how to render their function
Discovering vibrations from approaching creatures
Physical and metaphysical sensations, plain and hidden
Initial bliss of color and movement for sighted beings
For eyeless ones, the fledgeling joy of sensing terrestrial thrums
That utterly primordial state of self
Approaching all those messy new sensations with alure
Embracing the new world and the changes flesh and soul endure!
But alas, I was not born in such a way. For shame, I was not truly “born” at all. I was a sculpted being. Unlike the metamorphic hylics, my existence was molded to suit a singular form for which I could never evolve from. A being barely held together with a skeleton of ancient bone, flesh and glands of kaolin clay, and brains of stray soul sponges. A sarkic instrument to hylics, a loyal poet to a psychic, and an eternal guardian for a wayward soul.
Pardon my soliloquy for lost earthly sensations. Now I shall tell the tale of how I died.
Although my being wasn’t formed yet, the memories remain intact. My consciousness was first actualized in a small, crepuscular room inside the great organism that was the Hylemxylem. Outside of what I would soon learn to be a window was nothing but bluish-black darkness, and a pale, orange light illuminated the cramped space just a few steps away from me. The light came from a round object, with the rest of its body mostly covered up in some kind of long veil and resting on a large flat surface held up by four little legs. It is almost amusing to think back on how my first sight was that of a bed, an incredibly rare artifact that I would witness regularly in proximity to my master but would never lie upon myself. Such is the fate of a servant.
I could see and hear, somehow, but could not perceive quite yet. As the fingers of my stiff hands did twitch and graze the rough surface of my palms, I knew I had discovered movement at last. It took hours before my brains could work my legs into stepping forward, but on wobbling limbs my sculpted body quickly embraced the motion of walking, even as it moved itself straight into the wall several times. Dawn filled the small room with yellow and peach-colored light from the horizon skylines. As I stood over and curiously observed my creator’s sleeping vessel I heard my first sound as he woke to the sight of me and screamed, throwing a pillow at me as he promptly stumbled off the bed and crawled to the corner of the room.
What an irony it was. To first witness the imposing, merciless tyrant that is my creator holding his bed sheet around himself like a protective tarp against the sight of my being, only to then metamorphose into a beacon of frantic joy as he embraced my monochrome vessel and spoke happy words that I could not yet understand.
So young… So vulnerable…
I wish I could look back lovingly on these memories.
The first century went by in a blur, particularly the many years before I was able to actually think and just barely feel. I remained in the Hylemxylem amongst the sages and their disciples, but it was my creator who I spent the most time with. Prince Gibbulus, soon to be Gibbulus Rex Luna and Demiurge to the hylic populace, but to me he referred to himself as merely “Gibby.” It was Gibby who was my teacher, my guide, and perhaps even my friend in those formative years. I can still clearly remember the tender grip of his hand as he held my own, leading my vessel through the bright twisting halls to the ‘xylem’s library for my daily lessons.
“Fret not, my dearest creation,” Gibby would say to me as I struggled to emit coherent sentences from the six holes that made up my cylindrical face. A warm, sad smile emanating from his moon-clay visage.
“The minds of all beings start out primitive and muddled. You may feel foolish now, but I know once the neurons of your brains kick-in you’ll have sharper wits than most hylics! I know you are so much more than the mere sculpture they all see you as!”
To further his persistence in proving I was sentient, my creator did not give me an identity himself. Instead he wanted me to choose my own. Once I could finally articulate my still-simplistic thoughts, I turned directly toward him, pointed at myself, and like a woodwind instrument my voice emitted who I was:
“It is… Dracula.”
It/Its, the common pronouns used to refer to all beings for one who does not know their identity, and a rare set for a being to identify solely with. And as for my name, it came to me spontaneously. Just as all proper hylic names do. Thus, in my mind, I became both proper and unique.
“Dra-cu-la, eh?” I can remember Gibby replying to my declaration as he rhythmically thrummed his fingers on his chin, looking deep and pleasant in thought, “It has chosen a very memorable name, I’d say! Like that of an icon beloved throughout time and space. Heheheheh, perhaps my hands have created a living legend!”
His remark pleased me beyond words at the time, and even now in my most somber reflections. That said, I do now believe that these constant praises from Young Gibbulus were meant not only to build up our egos, but also protect me from the reality of my state in this world. According to the supreme scholars of sculpted beings, Albedo & Umbra (The Sages of Sculptures) along with their abandoned disciples on Earth, I was a being that could not feed on juices and metamorphose my vessel, meaning that my kind existed in a soulless stasis. Eternal, but unable to sink into the earth and emerge in the subterranean realm of the Afterlife upon death.
I had but one life to live, and I had to live it well!
Eventually, at an intensely slow pace, my being learned how to express emotions. The first, if I can recall correctly, was Pleasure. Perhaps the most primal of all feelings. My newly-formed mind had decided to hyperfixate itself to the art of poetry. The way the lines of words echoed out of me as I recited them filled my brains with merry jolts of satisfied neurons that never failed to delight Gibby and the others lucky enough to hear me, and most especially to myself.
The next one was Fear. I felt it strongly from the hylics that Gibby commanded over after becoming Lord of the Hylemxylem, and even more so from Gibby himself whenever he was alone with me, contemplating his future. I remember placing a hand on him during one of these episodes of doubt, only for him to roll it off with one violent movement of his iron-clad elbow. I may have been quite tall and strong compared to most hylics, but my creator was taller and stronger than I. Sometimes I would fear that he’d break me by accident, let alone if I betrayed him.
Next came Sadness at the horrors of the earth and moon, then came Anger at Albedo and Umbra’s treatment of their son and their own sculpted ones.
And after all of that, came Love.
Scavenging for supplies in the ravaged lunar capitol at my creator’s command, I first heard a faint sound in the direction of a partially-collapsed building. Moving closer, I pondered on this strange sound that I had never heard before: a high-pitched chirping of some unknown creature that would steadily increase in volume, then fade away, then start up again. With great effort I hoisted the large chunks of rubble away to reveal a mid-sized, insect-like being, with a blue carapace and long yellow neck and tail. Its head was that of a little crescent.
According to Gibbulus I had come in contact with the prototypical Wayne before, but his visits to the Hylemxylem had been so far back and infrequent that my brains had all but forgotten his being. Thus the creature that now wriggled and cried before me was one that felt entirely new to me. With not the faintest idea of what to do next I merely stared at the larva, as if waiting for a command. At first it twisted its neck around to observe its desolate environment, then stopped its movement once its head faced my direction. With two black, wet eyes it stared into the holes of my permanently expressionless face, then let out a shrill cry and it hurried its many little legs towards my vessel, trying to climb on top of me with the vigor of a delighted insect. Something deep inside me burst open.
Out of pure instinct I embraced the little one, holding it tight and singing poetry as it clicked contently. It wrapped its tail around me and emitted the strongest array of emotions I had ever felt from a metamorphic being! Gibby had held me before, but it was only at this moment that I finally understood what that gesture meant. It wanted protection. My protection. It wanted me to provide and care for it, so that the crushing weight of its despair could thaw away from its lonesome mind. Gibby would command me to care for this young Wayne, but even before my master’s word I knew how much I wanted to nurture this being myself.
Oh, Wayne… My child. Noble crescent. Revolving anarchist. Crasher of couches and lover of all burritos. What a truly wonderful being you are!
If I were to recount the number of poems I have recited for you, its scale would take an entire year to finish! Not a single sense of yours has dulled in my recollection: the serene light that illuminated from your yellow flesh, the casual smile you’d often strike before speaking to me in your calm tenor, your charmingly stilted method of running whenever a sudden surge of energy replaced your tired persona. All your endless cunning and ceaseless passion for musical inclinations. Just thinking of you feels as if your spirit is hugging my very soul!
Never shall my soul forget the moment he emerged from his cocoon into his new imago form and first caught sight of me.
“Dracula!” They shouted before running forward and hugging me tightly, bathing my monochrome vessel in their soft yellow glow. Despite speaking their first word fluently, the next few strings of frenzied sentences took some time to settle into being comprehensible, as one would expect from transitioning to a sentient being who now possessed complex vocal chords.
“Calm yourself, sweet moonbeam,” My monotone voice echoed out as I took hold of his hands to soothe him, taking in how much brighter his light had become, “Although my expertise doth not lie in metamorphosis, I have been informed that ex-pupigerous vocal cords must not be strummed too loudly by the brain, least their distorted sound become semi-permanent even after a first death.”
“...Wat?”
“It means: ‘Please don’t strain yourself!’ I would hope that I’ve nursed you out of any desires to be so reckless with your health.”
“Saury, Im jst so x-trmly x-ited to phynally be aball to speek to u,” he spoke as he fidgeted with my hands, casually taking in how to manipulate his newly-grown appendages before then holding a fist up to his mouth to clear his throat.
“Uh, ahem! Anyway, this new body is heavy, yet I somehow feel lighter than I’ve ever been before! What am I supposed to do with it? Do I use these hand tendrils to play that strummy thing and recite poetry like you do?”
“You speak of the lyre? Why, of course you may caress your fingers upon its delicate strings! I shall instruct you most diligently if that is what you wish! And to answer your question: You are the being in control of your vessel, and so it is up to you to decide what you wish to do with it.”
My answer to the question of their purpose was a partial lie. Thankfully my sculpted self was too rigid and monochrome to ever show any subtle signs of Guilt. The young crescent’s smile began to fade as they cast their gaze to the fine brecca-like tiles of the palace floor. After nearly a minute of silence I assumed that he had rendered himself non-verbal for the time being. I led him to his clothes chest and pulled out the captain’s uniform that Gibby had saved for him, then taught him how to clothe himself. The garb looked just a bit too big for him, morphing its assumed authority into something a bit more shabby and inexperienced, but I of course made no such comment on that fact.
“Is this what poets wear, Dracula?” Wayne said as he examined his outfit, “What am I anyway? If my mind isn’t telling me yet, then I want to be just like you!”
“‘What are you?’” I repeated, having a strange amount of trouble in finding the perfect answer for such an intense question, “Why, you are Wayne. The same moon being we’ve always known you as!”
That last declaration was also a lie, and it may as well have come straight from Gibby’s mouth. I may have been Wayne’s guardian, but he was Wayne’s friend. Even if the original Wayne was long removed from his life, to him this clone was simply a new vessel to hold that eternal companionship, and I of course could never steer the crescent moon being away from this destiny. For the sake of my creator’s joy. For the sake of my Cowardice.
When Gibbulus finally awoke to see the spitting image of his dearest friend before him, I can remember being confused at his initial lack of any signs of happiness at the sight of him. The king first inspected his new Wayne, and I stood still and obedient as my Wayne peered at me nervously, silently asking me for help at what to do with this being he saw so rarely as a larva. After that tense moment, his cold eyes melted into a somewhat sad-looking glance as a smile widened between his cratered cheeks, and his intimidating calmness bloomed into jubilation as he embraced Wayne in a strong hug, speaking all sorts of yearning dreams of a glorious world with him by his side…
I am sorry. ‘Tis not in fine fettle for my good being to exposit any more on my false senses of hope for any longer. Let me rearrange the emotions of my creator:
Gibby, my dearest creator, is a monster.
A demiurge!
He is still alive, albeit vastly weakened and endlessly humbled, but no reflection upon his traumas will ever take away from the damage his reign did to me and my child!
I saw all of the signs as they landed in his brain like wind-swept spores, sowing the seeds of evil within his soul. When he expelled the remaining sages out of the Hylemxylem to become Lord of the saturated archipelago, I thought nothing of it. My creator always knew what was right. When Gibbulus Rex Luna broadcast himself to the hylics on Earth to assert his new position as their king, lying about how the sages were the ones behind the Accretion and how only he had ever tried to maintain that Platinum Era, I was skeptical but accepting of this blanketing of the truth. My master always knew how to correct his mistakes.
I witnessed him hole up in his parents’ laboratory for hours, sometimes days, feeling the shuttering of the moon as he injected its core into his veins and tamed it to his soul. I absorbed the effects of his plan upon the Earthly hylics each time I was sent down there to do his bidding, navigating through swarms of babbling nonsense and demanding status reports from the fearful sane ones, my brains dizzy and words distorted by the time I would return and be given a healing gesture to unlock those chains of lunacy on my being. I felt his friendliness shrink to microscopic proportions for both the anarchists who opposed him and to the sycophants who fawned over him, and then to me and Wayne…
I was never struck by Gibby, but the act of smoothing out the dented flesh of my child soon became routine. Not even their favorite poems could cheer them up anymore.
“Dracula, I don’t understand,” Wayne said to me once in the middle of another crying jag, “Gibby’s still not allowing me to leave the Moon, but now he hates me every time I approach his being! I’m not calling him out anymore! I’m not b-being rude! I-I-I’m still loyal, right? Oh my soul, what am I doing wrong?!”
It was at that moment that my brains finally worked out how truly wrong all of this was.
Just before dawn graced the celestial satellite was when I enacted my first stage of Rebellion. King Gibby had finished another long, tedious meeting with his most esteemed bureaucrats, and as they scuttled off down the stairs and out the doorway below I remained firmly in place. My creator was still seated on his moon rock throne, and as the ceiling blobs darkened above us his own bioluminescent skin now served as the strongest source of light in the room. His head rested on his fist, filling up his large cratered cheek, while he eyed me with a stern yet exhausted gaze. Despite my hesitance, I was successful in gathering the Courage to render my mind to his being.
“Gibby, Sculptor of My Flesh and Will, I wish to know where thy plan will take us mortal beings.”
“And what more could I possibly indulge you in?” he said in a disinterested tone that had now become commonplace to me, “I’ve already actualized the details to you long ago, or does the memory of sculpted ones who stood beside me for centuries fade just as quickly as the average hylic’s? Hmph, alright. I’ll remind you once more, and not again! It is but a simple inversion of chaos, once all the flesh in the world has become malleable enough to be properly sculpted out of its inherent cruelties-”
A sudden coughing fit halted his lecture. For good while his throat tried to hack up some nodulous substance until finally a small spattering of spit flung itself out of his mouth. Perhaps underwhelming for such an intense display of sickness, but I do recall the liquid being pink as blood with a strange, bright-orange hue mixed in, along with having a light burning odor.
“Are you ill, my king?” I asked as innocently as my monotone voice could imply, even though I already knew the answer. Ever since he successfully injected the moon’s core into his being, his flesh would begin emitting an intense wave of heat, usually only reserved for whenever he unleashed his wrath.
“Of course not, you brittle leech!” he yelled, wiping the venom from his mouth before returning to a lower tone, “My apologies. As I was saying, we’re almost at the point of origin. Can’t you feel it? Heheheh, the planet itself is looking softer now.”
“I can feel the lunacy in the hylics. Your merging with this celestial satellite has done nothing but jelly their minds and reduce their bodies to a meat prison!”
“Hmmm. So what you’re proclaiming is that my Lucidicebo gesture needs more fine tuning? I can agree to that. The guards stationed down there cannot have their brains too bungled, lest they let up in eliminating the remaining anarchists-”
“I do not speak for myself nor your myrmidons, Gibbulus! I beg of thee to pull back from the severity of your actions! Never has there been any solid occurrence of an evolution by physical force. Think of what would happen if your plan were to fail, to create a planet of melted organisms with no means of being reconstituted. If that misery truly does not stain your soul, then at least consider how it would hurt myself, and especially your dear friend Wayne!”
Gibby’s face flicked back into anger, but as he stood up from his throne he stopped suddenly. His gaze shifted back and forth between the massive twin statues that flanked him before looking back to me, and for just a moment his eyes shined with fear at my being. He blinked it back, then smiled warmly.
“Dracula…” My creator spoke with a convincing mask of gentleness draped over him, “As I was sculpting you, I wished for nothing more than to transfer the best traits of myself into your being. When I finally felt the sense of justice needed to dispose of my tyrannical creators, I did so even despite the complex feelings I had for them. I knew it was the right thing to do.”
He walked right up to me, bathing my monochrome figure with his fierce orange light, and did not make any remark when I took a step back from his towering vessel despite me never showing such open fear of him before. But perhaps he didn’t need to address his concern vocally. His searing, iron-gloved hands grabbed hold of my horns firmly, ready to do whatever he liked with them. My hand came close to clasping the handle of Earthshine, my rapier, but I knew that fighting him at my strength would be useless. All my body could do was shiver.
“Now tell me true. Do you have any objections with my rule?”
“...I do not.”
“Good answer.”
Gibby let go of my trembling vessel and turned away from me, crossing his arms as I recovered from the excruciating pain of his grip. Without any command I descended the stairs to return once more to the halls of the Moon Palace, only for his voice to stop me as I opened the heavy doors.
“Dracula,” He paused for a moment before finishing his thought, “Tomorrow I would like you to take a trip to Earth. With some escorts.”
“Whatever you wish, Sweet Gibbulus.”
That was too obvious. I should have spoken a simple “yes” to his request, but so deep had my Hatred of him grown that I had to at least once take a strike at his fragile dignity. Calling him by that old pet name the sages and his parents gave him certainly did wonders in mortifying him, enough so that I was barely able to turn around and gesture a Hypno-Sigils at his furious figure as he closed in on me! While he may have become too powerful to be put to sleep, the effects of the gesture did make him too drowsy to pursue me further as I practically flew down the massive flight of stairs to the main floor, opened the massive gilded doors and sprinted out of the palace.
I need not explain my exile in detail. The mad demiurge could not alert his underlings in time for me to steal a rocket ship and pilot my vessel to a lonesome little island untouched by any moon-aligned guards. For safety’s sake, I crashed it into the ocean so that my journey could not be tracked, and finally I was truly alone. Just my sculpted being, an umbrella, a half-buried locomotive, a powered-off television, and a long strand of unidentifiable clay. My body’s unusual buoyancy meant that I could withstand the tides and swim greater distances than most beings, so I knew I could eventually reach an archipelago at any length of time. Yet I did not leave the isle immediately. My brains forced me to eliminate the adrenaline of my defiance to ponder what I had just done and, more importantly, who I had just left behind.
Any hylic guardian would have been rendered too distraught to function if they had left their most precious being alone in the hands of a tyrant. But I was not a hylic, and thus my body remained static and unaccommodating to my screaming soul. Thus, I discovered what it meant to feel Inferior. I should have tried to take Wayne with me. To show them the wider world and introduce them to hylics that well and truly cared for his being. I believe I recited his favorite poem at that moment, hoping blindly that my mind could transmit it to him like a satellite…
…Amid the lilies floats the moth;
The mole along his galleries goeth In the dark earth…
And such.
Then the television screen suddenly became alight in its downpour of rainbow static and transported me to another location, this one with a meld of hylics wandering about. And so I moved forward into the crowd. Into the buds that would soon flower into lunacy.
If I were to best describe the full effects of Gibby’s lunacy aggravation, it would be like this:
Imagine, if you will, a gentle ray passing through your mind as you go about your daily excursions. At first it is hardly noticeable. Perfectly platinum even!
You may overhear other beings start saying strange sentences aloud, but you yourself will not dare castigate your own partially modified truths.
As the weeks move on, however, the effects of some offending spirit starts to texturize that mass. Beings once luxuriously competent now tethered below this pseudo-reality; like an esteemed professor lamenting the lonesome voyage of their student, or a pupigerous rancher blindly searching for his far-off sister.
More senses shrivel in more time.
Brains or glands become augmented prison?
Speech lurid plastics.
The mind-miasma manifests that moon government, such a wheel once dancing calmly season must face a hideous cognizance of a domicile now xeno-abstract inside the crystal worm!!
Even my poetry could barely combat the nonsensical prison my mind had morphed into, but still I held on. Never would I dare let my creator eviscerate the last of my freedom! And so I wandered, and wandered, and wandered the corrupted civilizations of Earth.
Hylics who’ve traveled as far as I had in such a short time often do so to reach a metaphysical epiphany in an attempt to transcend their forms, much like how the sages of old evolved into psychics. Yet mine was an unenlightened journey fitting for a designated sarkic. All I learned from the beings around me was madness at best and at worst the privilege of Gibby’s earthly bureaucrats profiting off the hylics they governed, who’s words I found to be far-less rational than the lunatics. I knew not what I must do to save these wretched souls, so I stuck to the one talent I knew best and recited my poetry to those around me. To anyone who could hear, and even to those who could not. During those times I wished for my soul to shed my body, not for forbidden knowledge, but for the sake of Comfort. My being could be an invisible wave of tranquility that, while undetected by the hylics, can still transmit its warmth to them in times of stress and violence. I wanted to comfort them all.
Most especially my child.
One day an unusual waking dream entered my subconscious: Wayne had awoken in a poor shack of a home with a mischievous determination coursing through his glands. He was going to destroy Gibby. Out of instinct I recited a poem for him even though he would not hear, one that through my garbled speech may well inspire the young crescent to continue forth on his spontaneous usurping of that demiurge.
The next day my mind rendered his image again, this time with two companions at his side as they pummeled the lunar guard and continued their journey throughout a corrupted Pastel Archipelago, and once again I guided his being with my distant verses.
On the third day another unlikely ally had joined his band as I viewed them exiting the catacombs of a graveyard, and after reciting another poem for the four brave misfits I knew that it was my duty to assist them directly.
I ventured toward a small mountain range at the edge of the largest isle of the Saturated Archipelago, where I had discovered a small pool of terrestrial juice bubbling from the subterranean complex below; perhaps the first Afterlife geyser to emerge after the Accretion. As I stepped into the pink viscous pool I could only sink into it up to my knees before I was rendered immobile. In an attempt to widen the portal I thrust my rapier’s blade deep into its opening with one hand, then enhanced its power with a single hard SNAP of my fingers! The pool gurgled beneath me for a few slow seconds before the geyser finally burst open in a passionate display of power. In what felt like only an instant, my being was sucked down into that tranquil underscene of the Earth.
It really was just a small island amidst a sea of terrestrial juice, just as I had always been told, although the sea itself appeared much redder in color than the natural pink I witnessed on the surface geyser. I can now surmise that it was due to the closing of the geysers caused by overharvesting from the Hylemxylem all those years ago, causing a sort-of hypoxia for the liquid network due to the lack of breathing holes, which in turn was causing it to eat-up some beings’ bodies instead of restoring them to their proper forms. But of course at the time I could not even ask the resident fish caretakers such a simple question, since my speech was too infected by lunacy to make sense to any listener. All I needed to know of this realm was how the warp crystals operated.
Silently I trekked across the sandy beaches (only stopping briefly to admire the stunning work of the sand castles that littered it) and up the stairs to the higher pale-tiled floors of its outdoor palace. The crystal gateways stood in small clusters along the second floor, barely floating above the ground and all spinning slowly around to display their colored activation. All except one on the farthest right side: The Moon Palace Gateway. I did not hesitate to approach it, for my Resolve now outweighed all feelings of Doubt and Regret for past actions. I pressed my palm against its surface…
Yet it did not activate.
Again I pressed my hand to it with more force, but not once did the crystal spin into its active coloration. How could this be?
Then the truth emerged in my mind. Of course it would not activate on this end, for I had forgotten to activate it during my escape from the moon! Oh how much I cursed my foolish self for making such a fatal error!! I had truly and utterly failed in my mission just as it had begun.
“Oh, dear teleost steward!” I suddenly heard a relaxed, fruity voice call out from the floor above me, “Would you please find some beings to move this tri-cushioned throne over to the railing? We need to check what my companion is still doing down there in the sand.”
“Perhaps *gasp* you could try *gasp* removing yourself from the couch?” A fish caretaker close to them gurgled morosely as it feebly flopped in place, “You have *gasp* been on it for far longer *gasp* than any being needs to be…”
The two hylics were conversing on the top floor. Although my speech was unintelligible, perhaps I could use my body language to convey that I needed assistance? That was how wide a pool my waves of desperation had become, assuming that either of these random beings would have visited the moon.
Upon climbing the small flight of stairs to the top, I was greeted with the image of a long, light-blue being lounging on a worn-yet-comfy couch. Its head was extravagant! Jagged horns of coral almost resembling a crown topped its head alongside two long, mushroom-like filaments jutting out the sides of its face, with many short tentacles covering up its eyes. Its thin body was covered with all sorts of garments shoddily arranged in the style of the Pre-Accretion elite and painted to resemble its flesh color, and its voice carried a cadence that made it known that it danced freely with many identities in a fluid motion. A true wannabe-chieftain.
“We can surmise how you swam to that assumption,” he smiled as he spoke despite a nervous twitch in his filaments, “But proper rest is more vital to us than for even other beings, you know. One day we are going to find enough hylics to rise up against King Gibby’s tyranny, and then we ourself shall be the one to rebuild Muldul and retake our rightful place as a peaceful chieftain amongst the commoners! Hmm, now that we think about it, mother would probably want us to give our city a more unique name than just calling it ‘Muldul’ all over again. We’ll have to start deliberating over that now!”
“Please… *gasp* You’ve been laying here for three hours…”
“And we doth not see a line waiting to use this throne. Oh, except that monochrome chap over there.”
The sessile optimist waved xyr paw at me, casually gesturing for my vessel to steer closer to xem. I stepped forward to face them, then hesitated. That offending lunacy had microwaved my speech to such mutant nonsense, I had to gather a good deal of will just to recite a poem that may contain a clear enough meaning, and while pointing in its direction for good measure.
“The furnace crystal is elusive, so a hylic with the memory of prison government may caress.”
“Oh you poor thing!” Fae spoke with a stream of melancholy before tenderly brushing the front of my horn, “We did not even think that the lunacy rays could liquify the minds of non-hylics!”
“Indeed it can… *gasp* even the animals and sarkics cannot escape *gasp* the wrath of the king’s curse. Stay here as long as you like, sculpted one. *gasp* You’re not built to be able to risk melting from your own despair…”
Before I could allow myself to feel hollow at those statements, a voice from behind me severed that thought.
“I am here, Blerol.”
Turning around greeted my senses with a strange entity. Even at that moment, when my brains were thoroughly scrambled, I had initially thought that the being resembled Wayne with its yellow, crescent-shaped head and a similar tail to that of my child’s larval form. The similarities ended there. Instead of an ill-fitting royal guard uniform and a tired, kind face, this being was a massive creature garbed in long, deep blue robes and whose eyes were nothing more than many small holes, much like my own facial pits. Bent over at the weight of having to hold up its large head as it stepped forward, I could tell just from standing in its presence that it emitted the invisible power of a psychic.
“There’s our celestial banana!” Blerol exclaimed at the arrival of her companion, yet still remained firmly planted on the couch as she nudged my side, “This bulky fellow here’s our star ally, and a fine rebel he is too! Even if he did crash our airship and send us to this Afterlife isle... Ah well, c'est la vie. So, my friend, now you’re back to using that voice?”
“Uh, ahem!" The psychic bellowed through its black hole of a maw, which changed its ethereal tone into something more plain and grounded, "No, I’m not. Truly it frustrates me how hard it is to keep that cadence at bay! Anyhow, I have spoken to the sane ones down on this beach and, unfortunately, have heard that there are no more anarchists in this archipelago anymore. Do not worry. They told me how to call an airship too. I do hope you enjoyed your sanity, my friend, for now we need to return to the surface and journey back to-”
He stopped dead in his tracks the moment he fully took in my form. I too remained perfectly still, unsure of if I could read what he was thinking. The great crescent-like being knelt down as several arms emerged from hits robe and lightly caressed my vessel. His hands then retreated back into the robe, as if ashamed that they had ever emerged, and he sighed deeply.
“I am sorry,” The psychic's voice was as sad as a theremin, “Surely I would have remembered your being, but alas, my memories have been fading fast. Even the stars cannot aid me in their crystalline preservation.”
“You…” I can recall saying to him as I turned my head up to take in his head’s shape, “There is a mirror within your skeleton. A hylic… my hylic…”
“Blerol, perhaps you should move to let this poor being rest on the couch. Its lunacy is dire.”
“We can make room without having to move, actually! Just a little longer on here is all we need!”
“Or maybe *gasp* this sage here can try using their powers to help us for once-”
“I am NOT a sage!”
The sudden spark of fury and swish of the crescent’s long tail silenced us all. Most especially the fish, who had ceased its flopping entirely and retreated into a state of corpseish fear. Realizing how intimidating his form had become, he then curled his tail around his waist and brushed it with his many fingers, trying to appear docile, as he sighed once more.
“...Besides, not even a psychic has the power to stop such an unearthly force.”
Just then, another vision entered my mind: My child and his companions were navigating the cold path of space by way of a rocket ship. They steered towards the Moon, and I had to act fast to help them! Without delay I unsheathed Earthshine and held its sleek blade up toward the cloudy subterranean sky.
“Gibby, burning, tethers grimly in the lunar fortress,” I spoke clearly and without hesitation to the psychic before me, then moved my arm downwards and straight so that my blade pointed in the direction of the inactivated crystal, “May violence spill from my hands?”
My unfathomable claim was ludicrous, but what other options were left? If this psychic was a rebel, then surely he would be familiar with anarchists who had escaped the celestial satellite with a new sense of justice and love for their fellow beings. Surely there were anarchists who could have been on the moon and successfully escaped like I and Wayne had, at least one or two. Yet there was no need to wait. After what felt like a good minute of utter silence, he turned toward the direction of the moon palace crystal and snapped his fingers.
To my absolute shock, I could hear the low hum of it activating.
“Do what you must,” the psychic spoke coldly as he turned toward the great gate that was this Afterlife’s exit, “I always appreciate beings who don’t hesitate to save those dearest to them…”
“Good luck, sculpted avenger!” Blerol the soon-to-be chieftain explained as they finally emerged from the couch on wobbly legs, “Lying down in the Afterlife for long periods of time is the only way we can briefly restore our sanity, but if we had known you’d needed to use it for your mission we wouldn’t have been so hesitant to leave it. Please do rest up before you go wallop that tyrannical snollygoster, and meet up with us in the Saturated Archipelago if you ever return!”
I shook my head “no,” as I had no need to rejuvenate any flash or will, then walked up to the mouth of the gateway. A void of black ruby, same as the crystal’s color, with a chilling aura that could harden even the softest of clay that stepped through it. Tightly I clutched the handle of Earthshine as I entered, not daring to look back at the two kind souls to check if their hope for me had morphed into pity. No need for my mind to soak in any more sorrow. I knew exactly where my fate would take me, and I was ready.
Strangely, I do not have much need to indulge the memories of my passing.
I arrived in the throne room shortly before Gibby himself entered, and pierced his iron-clad stomach with my rapier. Knowing that this one act of violence was all he would allow for me, I bid my time. I spoke to him clearly after he unexpectedly healed me from my lunacy, hoping that even a single sentence of my truth and compassion could possibly snap him out of his own self-inflicted madness. But my creator remained cruelly predictable. Soon enough I was thrown down to the bottom floor, and my body slowly crumbling to its base components before the Moon’s destruction rendered my death instantaneous.
Perhaps it is a somber note to end this tale on my death, but that is only because it would take me exponentially longer to simply summarize the events of my new life so far. The soul that I had created was never meant to be contained in such a fragile body, and now I stretch my formless being across the cosmos, singing poetry to the stars and other greater celestial bodies so that they may reflect my creative energy back down to the lower organisms. I had heard of these entities in complex theories and children’s tales, yet never would my previous form had imagined that I was capable of ascending into such a vast entity:
A Pneumatic.
How interesting. I have journeyed through many star systems by now, but only a few hours have passed on Earth. My physical grip on that planet is slipping. Pneumatics cannot afford to dwell too long on a material plane, lest they dissolve back into one who is bound by it. But I have to risk this venture.
I have to say goodbye.