Chapter 48: The Red Palace
I peer into the darkness. My vision is sharper now, though the crimson hue before me has vanished. My eyes have returned to their normal state, no longer filled with that bright, vibrant light. I look down at the arm I hold in my hands, and without a second thought, I cast it aside. Dark, viscous blood drips slowly from it—far slower than it should. My pale face is stained with it, specks of brown marring my skin, especially around my mouth. My lips, once a pale pastel red, are now stained the same deep, sickly brown. A strange, sweet taste lingers on my tongue. It’s pleasant.
I gaze down at my hands, slick with the dark liquid. It resembles chocolate, but I know it’s not. It came from a human. My thoughts drift, clouded by the past, but I shake my head, trying to dispel the memories. He tried to kill me. He wanted to devour me. He was a monster! I sniffle, and the brown blood splashes onto my nose. I feasted on the brown—ate his flesh, drank from his arm. Not too much, but enough.
I tremble at the thought, wondering if it’s possible that I might transform—that my hunger could consume me. Could I become the Golden Reaper? Part of me desires it, yet another part recoils in fear. And so, I continue, wandering through this place, my thoughts inevitably drifting to Ren.
I look ahead, a distant gaze in my eyes. I think of the images, the flood of visions I saw. Who is this Damian that Viena calls upon? Why must he die? I struggle to grasp more of the fleeting images in my mind—images that feel as though they have been forcefully struck from my thoughts, chased away by something beyond my control. An army? Who was the burned man beside me, the one who smiled at me? Children? My eyes fill with tears, unbidden, but they glitter like firelight as they spill down my cheeks. I remember those children, but the memories come with a searing, burning pain that won't fade. Were they my children? Children I will have in the future?
Then I think of the last image, the final act in the flood of memories. I reach for Ren, push him away. His eyes lock with mine, and he looks at me in shock. As though something terrible has occurred, something he never wanted to happen. I exhale sharply, my fingers pressing into my brows, as if to push away the confusion gnawing at me.
My leg… it’s healed again. A miracle. The miracle of God. And I am reminded of the blood that runs through me. God’s blood. No. I am a god now. I am a deity. My mind spins with the enormity of what has happened to me. The lights, the vision drenched in red. It felt as though I was seeing things—living through things—things that were meant for me. Everything feels wrong, and yet so terribly right. It’s as though the world itself rests upon my shoulders, as though it is waiting for me to steer it toward its ultimate destination.
But I am still just a human. A human caught in a world that was never meant for me. A world where I wield a power I do not understand. I can enter the bodies of others. I need only drink their blood color, and their forms become mine. Soon, I will also live through the life of one who possesses brown blood, and I will live with them.
As I walk, unburdened yet trembling slightly, I think about the distant words of God, those words that float vaguely in my mind. He told me that I could summon those whose bodies I inhabit, and bring them to the Red Palace, to the Red Kingdom. But what then? What should I do when they arrive?
He said I could have my own language. No, he did not just say I could—I already have one. I could hear their prayers, receive them, and answer them.
For a moment, my thoughts fall back, pulled away by the flood of memories that rushes in again. And then, like a thunderous wave, a new flood overwhelms me. Words fall into my mind—words I have never heard before. Sounds, guttural and rough, like those of animals or early humans. But I understand them. They are fragmented, broken, but they are a language. A language I can read, speak, and write.
Voices. They fill my head. Voices I have never heard before, echoing, whispering, screaming. They call to me, their hands cold and bloody. Red, everywhere.
I feel their bloodied hands on me. Thick, warm hands cover my eyes, my arms, my legs. They fall upon me, their whispers and shouts swirling around me. The voices are too many, too numerous, but I hear each one distinctly. They are pulling at me, crashing down upon me. Red—red everywhere, and the weight of it drags me to the ground. I fall, crushed beneath the weight of the multitude.
Then, amidst the screams, I hear one voice, calm and warm. It is the only one that apologizes, the only one that does not scream, beg, or shout at me. The others, they scream, their voices breaking, their tears dripping from their mouths. They beg me, their words rasping and desperate, their voices thick with the weight of blood.
"My dream of a utopia has shattered, and instead, I have created the dystopia I tried to avoid at all costs."
This voice. The one that apologizes. It is distant, yet warm. It reaches me, gentle hands pressing against my shoulders, my head. I see nothing—only the blood-red haze before me—but I feel them, their hands, pulling me upward, trying to lift me, offering me support. And then, in the next instant, all I see is red.
The endless crimson of a cold, red night beneath the moon. A bloodbath. The red color of the endless Red Palace of God—now my palace.
The hands behind me disappear, merging into the red color, and I see only the massive table. Colored crystals—red, blue, green, yellow, brown, and black—while the rest are colorless. But this time, they are like before, when I had to hear the words of God. The crystals do not sparkle; they are simply in their color, reflecting the red light of the palace. The echoes sink beneath the immense table, the one I once sat at, facing God. Now, I stand alone. I, the sole ruler, in this red realm. I, a human, and I cannot help but smirk, though I don’t feel happiness. What am I doing here? What happened to my real body? Am I just lying in the darkness, waiting to be eaten by some other brown cannibal?
I gaze coldly at the outstretched table, the wide and large chairs at each colored crystal, reflecting the hue of blood. They were once normal, stone-colored, gray. I briefly wondered what it would be like if they took on the same color, and in an instant, they had. I continue to stare at the table, which now seems tasteless, yet fitting for the union of other bloods. I think about what it would be like to sit on the largest chair, which, compared to the others, looks like a royal throne. In the next moment, I find myself sitting there. The crystals are with colors, not beside me. I think about how there would be a page in front of me, but nothing appears. I try again, but in vain. Nothing but the colorless, gray table remains before me. I examine it closely and see patterns on every part of it, as well as on the large chairs, which now shine in colors, except for the colorless crystals. The patterns are symbols.
On the red throne and crystal, there is a heart, torn open. On the blue, a fortress. On the green, a veil; on the yellow, a glowing flame. On the brown, chains of a prison, and on the black, a wing, dark and feathered. Everywhere, there are symbols in patterns, on the chairs of their colors, the same color, blending into each other on the colorless table. I look into the distance and then back in front of me. My hands, and then I think about how my hands are bleeding. Red blood pours out, flowing onto the table, the table turning red with the color, but only on my side of the long table. I don’t flinch and simply speak. I make strange sounds, yet I understand them.
“Grant me the knowledge of the blood that flows through my veins. Deity of Creation, the one who seeks to establish and maintain balance. Father of all fathers, let me hear you, so that you may heed my prayer. Let me know what gift the blood in me bestows.”
I speak in a language that might sound like foolish shouting to some, but I understand it, and I hear it echoing in my own mind, my ears shutting, and my eyes turning red. Deep red, the table and everything upon it vanishing. I hear a voice, my own.
“The power to grasp through matter, the power to control minerals and metals, and the power to control darkness. But all in limited amounts.”
I hear my own voice echoing in my mind. Is it my thought, or did I speak to myself? I look puzzled but return my attention to the long table in front of me. I look at the crystals, whether colorless or colored, and I think only of one thing.
“Come here, my children. My bridge to balance.”
I think it, and I see three men—one sitting closer on the left, the other, one seat over on the right. The one on the left has blond hair, the one on the right has brown hair, and another, further to the right, has dark blonde, almost brown hair. In the distance, further to the left, sits a solitary woman with black hair. All of them look confused, and only one of them screams. Fynn.
And then the corners of my mouth curl upward.