Re-birth?

"Master Adam, are you certain you're well? You've barely touched your food, and you seem... out of sorts. Please, allow me to fetch the royal physician. It won't take but a moment," Bouyd said, his voice tinged with worry as he stood near the door to Adam's chamber.

Adam sat slumped in his chair, his hands cradling his head as though holding it together. "Thank you, Bouyd, but no. I'm fine... really. If I feel worse, I'll go myself. I promise." His voice was weak and cracked, his pale face betraying anything but health.

Bouyd hesitated, his lips pursed in a thin line. He nodded reluctantly. "Very well, sir. But please, call if you need anything."

As the door clicked shut, Adam exhaled shakily, his head sinking into his hands. The pressure in his skull felt unbearable, as though something was clawing from the inside out. His breath hitched, and drool spilled from his lips, mingling with the cold sweat that slicked his face.

(I should ask for help. I know I should. But... I can't. I don't know why. I just can't.) His thoughts circled like vultures over a dying animal, repeating endlessly, senselessly.

The headache pulsed harder, a throbbing, searing rhythm that drowned out rationality. Then a whisper—not a voice, not exactly, but a knowing—pressed itself into his mind. Water. Water will help.

"Water..." he mumbled, his voice barely audible as he pushed himself up. His knees buckled beneath him, his body swaying like a broken marionette. "Bouyd... water," he croaked, stumbling toward the door.

He collided with it, his weight slamming against the wood as he struggled with the handle. His hands shook violently, his fingers barely able to grip. After an agonizing moment, he managed to wrench it open and stagger into the hallway.

"Bouyd... I need water," Adam rasped, his voice thin and hollow. Each step was a battle, his legs buckling as though the air itself resisted him. His body collided with walls, furniture, and finally, the floor. But he always pushed back up, his determination grotesque in its singularity.

He reached a window, catching himself against the ledge just as his legs gave out. His bloodshot eyes stared through the glass, fixating on the pond outside. The water shimmered in the moonlight, eerily calm, the floating flowers casting ghostly reflections.

"Water..." Adam whispered, his breath fogging the glass. He tried the latch, but it wouldn't budge. His frustration boiled over, and he began slamming his head against the window.

"Water. I need... water," he chanted, the words tumbling out in a monotonous, unnatural rhythm.

With each impact, blood smeared the glass, his forehead split open, but he didn't stop. His eyes were vacant, his movements mechanical.

"MASTER ADAM!" Bouyd's voice thundered down the hall, his hurried footsteps closing the distance. He rushed to Adam, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him back from the window. "What are you doing?!"

Adam's eyes barely flickered with recognition. "Bouyd... water," he rasped, his bloody hand weakly pointing toward the pond.

Bouyd's stomach turned as he inspected the wound on Adam's forehead. Blood streamed down his pale face, but Adam seemed oblivious to the pain. His expression was blank, save for that single word.

"Water," he repeated, a disturbing, childlike tone creeping into his voice.

Bouyd gritted his teeth, his mind racing. (This isn't right. This... this feels like possession. But water? Why water? Could it be a ritual? A memory? A delusion?)

He shook his head, shoving the doubts aside. "Very well, Master Adam. If you believe water will help, I'll take you. But you must hold on."

Scooping Adam into his arms, Bouyd ignored the blood staining his uniform and dashed down the hall. The nearest body of water was the guest bath—far faster than the pond outside. He kicked the door open, his boots skidding on the tiles as he reached the tub.

He turned the ornate stone faucet, water rushing out in a clear stream that soon filled the basin. Bouyd glanced at Adam's lifeless expression and whispered under his breath, "I hope you're right about this."

Without hesitation, he plunged Adam into the water. The young man's body jerked on contact, his head dipping beneath the surface before Bouyd steadied him. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the water began to ripple, unnaturally, as though something unseen moved beneath the surface. The ripples grew violent, sloshing over the edges of the tub. A low, guttural sound filled the room, vibrating in Bouyd's chest.

"Master Adam?" Bouyd called out, his voice trembling.

Adam's body stiffened, his back arching as his mouth opened wide in a silent scream. The water around him darkened, a sickly black ichor swirling out from his skin.

"Gods above," Bouyd whispered, stepping back instinctively. The ichor began to evaporate, rising in tendrils of foul-smelling smoke. Adam's body convulsed one final time before going limp.

Bouyd knelt, his hands shaking as he checked Adam's pulse. Relief washed over him as he felt the faint, steady beat.

"Master Adam?"

Adam's eyes fluttered open, their usual color restored. He blinked slowly, as though waking from a deep sleep. "Bouyd... what happened?"

Bouyd exhaled sharply, his composure returning as he barked an order to a passing maid. "You! Fetch the royal physician and inform Her Majesty of an emergency concerning Master Adam. Now!"

The maid scurried away as Bouyd looked back at Adam. Though the young man appeared normal, a shadow lingered in Bouyd's thoughts.

(This wasn't natural. Whatever this was... it wasn't over.)

____________________________

"OH GOD, NOT THIS PLACE AGAIN!"

Adam's voice echoed through the jade-green waters as he awoke, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the oppressive stillness around him. The waters weren't serene—they churned faintly with an unnatural consistency, moving not with the currents but with some unseen, living pulse. As he turned his head, dread settled over him like an icy hand. The air—or what passed for it in this submerged purgatory—carried a familiar rustling, the metallic groan of chains shifting endlessly in the unseen depths below.

"Oi, fish fuck! Where are you? Let's get this over with!" Adam's voice faltered as he yelled, defiance masking a growing panic.

He froze mid-sentence.

A sensation of suffocating heat pressed down on him, immense and unrelenting. His lungs burned as though they'd been seared shut, his breath extinguished by the mere presence of something far, far above him. He dared not look, but instinct forced his gaze upward.

There it was.

It wasn't a sun, though it burned like one. A searing, golden light descended in long, jagged rays, stabbing through the water around him. The beams hissed violently as they pierced the depths, boiling the water into steam that rose in ethereal spirals. The light wasn't holy or divine—it was invasive, dissecting, as though its sole purpose was to reveal and dismantle all it touched.

Then came the sound.

At first, it was a tremor, subtle and distant. But it grew. It wasn't just a noise—it was a roar, a sound of immense magnitude that reverberated through the very fabric of existence. The water around Adam trembled violently, rippling and churning as if terrified.

And beneath the roar... something else.

A crying.

It was faint but unmistakable, layered and distorted. It was the sobbing of a child, fragile and heart-wrenching, yet impossibly vast. No, not a child—children. Billions of them, their wails merging into a cacophony that clawed at Adam's mind. The sound wasn't merely heard; it was felt, pressing against him like jagged shards, tearing at his psyche.

Adam's skin felt like it was aflame, his nerves raw and exposed. The light, the sound, the oppressive heat—it was unbearable. He tried to scream, but no sound escaped his lips.

Then, he felt it.

The first tug.

Chains—slick with something viscous and cold—snaked around his legs, their iron grip unyielding. They coiled upward, wrapping around his body with an almost sentient malice. He tried to resist, but his limbs felt detached, useless against the pull. The chains dragged him downward, into the abyss, deeper and deeper still.

As he descended, the jade waters grew darker, their vibrant hue fading into an ink-black void. Shapes began to emerge in the darkness—vast, incomprehensible forms that defied logic.

The first was a giant, its body as massive as a mountain. It lay bound in chains that glowed faintly with runes of a language Adam couldn't comprehend. Its head, crowned with jagged horns, was turned toward him, but its eyes were hollow, black voids that seemed to pull at his soul.

Next was a dragon, its scales gleaming like molten metal, with heads—too many heads—twisting and writhing against their restraints. Each head bore a different face: some reptilian, others grotesquely human, their expressions frozen in agony.

A shadow moved, and Adam turned his gaze to an entity that defied reason. It was a being of eldritch proportions, its form amorphous, shifting, and flickering in and out of existence. Its countless limbs and tendrils spiraled outward, their edges fracturing reality itself, leaving behind scars in the fabric of the void.

And then he saw it.

An angel.

Its wings were vast and feathered, but they were blackened and charred, weeping smoke that drifted upward like lost souls. The angel's face was obscured by a halo of molten gold that dripped endlessly, burning whatever it touched. Its chained hands reached toward Adam, but the chains held firm, keeping it in eternal suspension.

Adam's mind stretched to its breaking point. It wasn't just the sights—it was the knowing. Each of these beings, bound and forgotten, carried with them stories, truths, and horrors that flooded his consciousness. His identity began to fracture under the weight of it all, his thoughts splintering into unrecognizable fragments.

The chains did not relent.

They dragged him downward still, into a darkness so absolute that even the concept of light seemed alien. Yet within that void, something shined.

It wasn't light. It wasn't warmth.

It was an eye.

Golden and vast, the eye opened beneath him, and Adam realized he had not been falling through water, nor air, nor void, but into the gaze of something ancient, something infinite.

It wasn't just looking at him—it was seeing him. Every thought, every memory, every hidden shame and joy was laid bare. Adam realized, with mounting terror, that he no longer had a body. He wasn't perceiving the world with eyes or senses. He was a spectator, a disembodied consciousness caught in the gravity of this being's will.

The eye... it wasn't merely large. Its size was incomprehensible, encompassing everything yet existing nowhere. It wasn't just in the abyss; it was the abyss.

And as Adam stared into it, he understood one horrifying truth:

This was not the fish. This was the fish's true form, its existence unbound by physicality or space. It was infinite. It was nothingness. And it was looking back.

And then... it blinked.

The Abyss Stills

Everything stopped.

The roaring. The crying. The incomprehensible flood of information that threatened to tear Adam apart. For a fleeting moment, there was only nothing—a void so complete that even his thoughts seemed to dissolve into it.

And then it returned.

The roar came again, but this time it wasn't a sound of rage or defiance. It was calm, a deep resonance that reverberated through Adam like the steady hum of the universe itself. He felt... oddly calm. His body, once fractured and distant, began to knit itself back together. Sensation returned, grounding him in a way that was almost comforting.

Adam's gaze drifted downward.

The creature's eye, which had once burned with a blinding, merciless gold, now glowed a soft yellow. It wasn't just light—it was warmth, something achingly familiar. It reminded Adam of sunlight breaking through storm clouds or the embrace of an old friend.

For the first time since his descent, Adam felt no fear.

"He's fine, Your Majesty," the physician announced, though his voice was laced with disbelief. "Everything about him seems normal... even the wound on his head has healed."

The declaration wasn't one of relief but of shock, as though the outcome defied all known logic. He leaned closer to Adam's prone form, still partially submerged in the darkened water of the guest bath. "This... this shouldn't be possible."

Leah stood at a distance, her sharp gaze fixed on Adam. Despite the physician's insistence, she couldn't shake the unease coiling in her chest. Bouyd had refused to remove Adam from the water, insisting the immersion was somehow crucial to stabilizing him. And Leah trusted Bouyd—not just as her butler, but as a seasoned expert in magic and its unpredictable manifestations.

Still, this was different. This wasn't just magic. It felt demonic.

"Ligh..." Leah's voice was steady but edged with urgency. "Tell me, truthfully... what is happening to him?"

Ligh, one of her guards and her most trusted demonic advisor, knelt beside the tub, her eyes narrowed as she inspected Adam. Her fingers moved in intricate patterns, weaving faint trails of light into the air that hovered briefly before dissolving.

For a moment, Ligh said nothing. Then, with a resigned sigh, she straightened and turned to Leah, shaking her head. The gesture was simple but carried the weight of her words: I don't know.

Leah's lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze returned to Adam, still floating eerily in the water, his face pale and unnervingly calm. Bouyd and the others exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of dread and helplessness.

And then Adam moved.

His body spasmed violently, water splashing over the edge of the tub as he lurched upright. He coughed, gasping for air like a drowning man finally breaking the surface.

"Ahh! Oh god—oh god—oh fuck... what's happening? Where am I?" Adam's voice cracked as he sputtered, his eyes darting around the room, unfocused and wild.

He tried to stand, but something heavy pressed against his chest and shoulders, forcing him back down. Panic flared in his expression. "No, no, no! Stop! I don't want to go deeper!" His voice rose in desperation, and for a brief moment, his eyes clouded again, lost in some unseen horror.

"Hold him still!" Bouyd barked, his hands gripping Adam's shoulders with practiced precision. Ligh, now helping to restrain Adam, muttered a quick incantation under his breath, a faint glow surrounding Adam's limbs.

Adam's thrashing subsided, and clarity returned to his gaze. He blinked rapidly, his breaths ragged but slowing. "What's going on?" he asked hoarsely, his voice trembling. His eyes darted to Leah, searching for answers.

Leah stepped forward, her regal demeanor unshaken despite the chaos. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words that came out were a garbled, unintelligible stream:

"@#%%%#@@!"

Adam stared at her, bewildered. "What?"

Leah exhaled sharply, frustration flashing across her face. She bent down and picked up a small crystal from the floor, holding it out to him. "Here," she said, pressing it against his chest.

The crystal flared briefly with a pale light before settling into a soft glow. "Can you understand me now?"

Adam nodded, still dazed. "Yeah... yeah, I can. What's going on? Why am I here? Did something happen?"

Leah's expression darkened, her tone shifting into one of quiet authority. "Adam. Tell me everything that happened."

Her voice carried the unmistakable weight of her commanding magic, compelling the truth from him. But Adam's face twisted in confusion, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why am I here? What happened?"

Leah's commanding facade cracked for a moment, her eyes widening in surprise. Whatever had happened to Adam, it had left him more with no memories of it

Bouyd cleared his throat, his voice carefully neutral but with a slight edge of exasperation. "Ahem… My Lady, if I may? I don't wish to sound presumptuous, but perhaps we should remove Master Adam from the black, possibly cursed water before we all end up dealing with something far worse than a headache."

Queen Leah blinked at him, realization dawning on her face. "You're right. Get him out of there immediately—and for heaven's sake, dispose of that tub. I don't want it hanging around as a potential... hazard." She paused, eyeing the ominously dark water. "In fact, have it melted down, buried, and possibly exorcised before we toss it into the sea. Better safe than sorry."

Bouyd gave a respectful nod, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Of course, Your Majesty. I'll personally see to it that the tub has a short, tragic life."

Leah turned her attention to Ligh, the mage standing at the edge of the room, arms crossed as she studied Adam with a critical eye. "Ligh, you're the smartest one here when it comes to demonic... whatever this is. I'm leaving this whole potential possession mess in your capable hands."

Ligh raised an unimpressed eyebrow, but her posture straightened at the implicit command. " With a quick snap of her fingers, she teleported away in a puff of shimmering smoke, presumably off to gather whatever she needed.

Leah let out a sigh and looked to Ruthard, the royal physician, who was still staring at Adam with a mixture of fascination and mild horror. "Ruthard," she said sharply, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Check him one more time. I trust your expertise—make sure he's really fine. Completely fine. No strange lingering effects, no... curses."

Ruthard adjusted his spectacles, nodding vigorously. "Yes, of course, Your Majesty. Though I must say, this is the first time I've examined someone who's emerged from a possibly enchanted—and possibly sentient—bath."

Meanwhile, Adam groaned, finally finding his voice. "Uh, guys? Can someone, I don't know, get me some clothes? And maybe some privacy? I'd really like to get out of this..." he waved a hand vaguely at the murky water clinging to him, "...whatever-this-is, without feeling like I'm auditioning for some cursed fairy tale."

Bouyd raised a brow, his lips twitching with amusement. "Ah, forgive us, Master Adam. We'll fetch you a towel. Perhaps even two, if you ask nicely."

Adam scowled, his tone shifting into that of an annoyed child. "Ha, ha. Very funny. I'm freezing, soaked, and possibly cursed! Not to mention I've been floating in something that looks like the result of a witch's bad day."

Leah's lip twitched, but she maintained her regal composure. "Fine. Bouyd, see to it. And Adam, once you're dressed, you will sit down and explain everything."

Adam groaned again, muttering under his breath. "Yeah, yeah... right after I scrub off whatever eldritch nonsense decided to dunk me in its hot tub."

As Bouyd stepped out to find suitable towels, Ruthard leaned toward Leah and whispered, "If nothing else, Your Majesty, he seems to have recovered his sense of humor. That's... promising."

Leah didn't reply, but the faintest of smirks crossed her lips before vanishing entirely.

_________________-

Gods were supposed to be different. Untouchable. Above. They were entities beyond mortal concerns—unfamiliar with fear. Wary? Certainly. Concerned? At times. But fear? It was an alien concept. And for her, the goddess of truth and justice, to feel fear, even for a fleeting moment, was profoundly unsettling.

She stood just outside the shimmering boundary of Erak's capital, careful not to tread too close to the territory of the goddess of love, Ferra. It wasn't a confrontation she wished to provoke—not now, not when something far more pressing demanded her attention. Her golden eyes scanned the horizon, searching for a singular figure. A child.

This was no ordinary child, but a being whose soul seemed to be both ancient and newborn, layered with an enigmatic complexity. Within him stirred something... monstrous. Something divine. The marks left behind, invisible to most, called to her, almost daring her to move forward. Warnings etched in metaphysical scars across reality, all leading her to this moment.

And then she felt it. The fear.

Her divine senses screamed in alarm, her golden aura dimming as she turned, slowly, inexorably. Behind her, floating in the air, was it.

The Womb.

It was the very thing that had granted her divinity, an artifact older than time itself. But its appearance was... wrong. The air around it shimmered and fractured, as though space itself recoiled from its presence. Its surface pulsated with a faint, organic rhythm, its translucent walls veined with dark, pulsating lines that resembled roots or arteries.

Inside, golden liquid swirled and bubbled, thick like molten honey yet unnervingly alive, shifting in colors that defied the spectrum. Suspended within this unsettling cradle was a fetus. Its form was small, fragile, and yet radiated a presence so vast it seemed to dwarf her own divine essence.

The fetus twitched.

Her breath caught. It moved.

For the first time in hundreds of years, the Womb's occupant had stirred. The golden liquid rippled violently, almost as though responding to something far away, something that called to it. The fetus' tiny, undefined features were unreadable, but its movements carried an unnatural intent, like a predator waking from slumber.

The goddess stepped back instinctively, her hands trembling. This was the source of her power, the reason she stood as an equal to gods far older and greater. Yet now, it felt alive. Sentient. And it was reacting.

She understood immediately. The cause wasn't the Womb itself, but the child she had been observing. No—not the child. It was the thing inside him.

She clenched her fists, trying to still her trembling hands as her mind raced. A rival? No. This was far worse. This was an entity that could challenge the very foundations of divine order.

The Womb's surface trembled, the dark veins spreading further across its translucent walls like a sickness. The golden liquid inside glowed brighter, almost blinding, and the fetus stirred again, this time more deliberately.

Her lips parted in a whisper that carried the weight of dread. "Things have just gotten... far worse than I could have anticipated."

She turned her gaze back toward the distant capital, her golden eyes narrowing. Her fear was now buried beneath a cold resolve. Whatever had awakened, whatever had stirred the Womb and its terrible power, she would confront it. She had to.

And as she vanished into the night, the Womb pulsed once more, the golden liquid thrashing violently, almost as if laughing.

_____________________

"…I hate children," Adam muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The queen arched an elegant brow. "Oh? And why is that, dear child?" she asked, her tone dripping with amused condescension as she gestured to the very child sitting before her.

Adam didn't miss a beat. "Loud," he replied flatly, before taking another sip of tea and nibbling on the last crumb of a pastry, as if the matter required no further explanation.

The queen stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "You're insufferable."

Adam gave a small shrug. "And quiet."

"and demonic as of today" leah got her last word in