CHAPTER 8

Home.

The thought resonated in Matrix's mind even as he glanced at the magnificent dome looming in the distance. Behind him, the portal sealed shut as Se'mudara and Debbyr stepped through, their eyes wide, absorbing the alien landscape. There was, indeed, much to take in. The blue moon hung listlessly in the sky, a silent harbinger of death, a jagged crack ran across its surface like a wound from a devastating blow – a blow it had perhaps, received.

The ground beneath their feet was blanketed in a fine, black dust, stretching to the horizon. Matrix knew the architect of this devastation: his father.

He could almost taste the raw, unbridled menace of the baryons lingering in the atmosphere. His father's touch was unmistakable, a signature etched into the very fabric of reality by his malevolent energy.

Matrix craned his neck, his gaze sweeping over the Oracle and the Angel positioned behind him. The Oracle, barefoot, wiggled her toes in the soft, charred sand, silently observing. The ethereal glow of the blue moon painted her face, mirroring the azure of her hair.

Se'mudara, as always, possessed a striking beauty, a figure worthy of an angel she was.

Yet, even in her radiant presence, the Oracle held her own. Amongst the myriad supernatural beings Matrix had encountered, few could rival her inherent allure. Her appearance, however, told a different story. Her tunic was tattered, bearing the marks of hardship, lending her the semblance of a defeated sorceress crawling from the deepest recesses of hell.

What am I even thinking?

Matrix reprimanded himself, shaking off the unsettling reverie.

"Let's get moving," he said, his voice characteristically indifferent.

He could have opened a portal closer to the dome, but such feats demanded extraordinary power and insane prowess, particularly when transporting others. Opening a rift in reality required a staggering amount of essence.

Furthermore, accurate portal placement depended heavily on a vivid and precise memory of the destination. Though the gods possessed superior memories, discrepancies between imagination and reality could still arise. Positioning a portal at a distant location on the physical plane further strained the process, diminishing accuracy.

Thus, the greater the distance, the greater the potential error. It was for this reason that Matrix refrained from opening portals directly into his palace or near any significant structure.

As they approached, the dome swelled in size, dominating the horizon. When they drew near, it stretched endlessly, reflecting their own images, obscuring what lay within.

Matrix reached into his pocket dimension, retrieving a short, pointed knife. Rubies and precious stones adorned the hilt, catching the faint moonlight, a testament to its craftsmanship. Yet, the base of the hilt bore a missing ruby, the vacant crevice a silent echo of its former glory. Who or what had taken it remained a mystery. The Oracle and the Angel craned to examine the blade.

"It was my mother's," Matrix said.

"The only thing left of her," he added, more to himself than to them.

He plunged the knife into his reflection's forehead, and the dome's surface rippled. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the reflection smiled and bowed. Matrix, however, remained impassive.

Moments later, a breach opened in the dome, and Matrix strode through, followed by the others.

Inside, a verdant meadow unfolded, lush greenery stretching as far as the eye could see. Trees, grasses, and shrubs in myriad shapes, colors, and sizes created a vibrant tapestry. Evidence of animal activity was apparent in both sound and sight. And most strikingly, the moon within this realm was whole.

Matrix shook off the creeping nostalgia.

"We do not have the luxury of time to walk through the forest, prepare for flight."

Matrix himself couldn't fly, nor could the Oracle. Se'mudara, however, was a natural, and Matrix possessed his own means of imitating flight.

"Se'mudara, take the Oracle. We move on three," Matrix commanded.

The Oracle groaned softly as she settled onto Se'mudara's back.

And into the air they rose.

Matrix stared down at the swaying vegetation below. He had long considered his father irresponsible for leaving him alone in this dome as a child, surrounded by its strange creatures. Only when he was older, venturing beyond the dome's confines on "special" occasions, did he realize that the world outside was far more dangerous than anything within.

His father would bring him here to train, drilling into him the need to be the predator, not the prey. That was how Matrix had become a deadly hunter even at a young age. The spoils were often shared between him and his pet, though few pets could endure the long lifespan of gods. At least he had learned something from it: the pure, hedonistic pleasure of eating, even if he couldn't remember the last time he indulged.

It was only after his father's assassination that the true depth of his love became clear, only when the weight of seventy-two realms crumbled upon his shoulders that he truly missed him. But those words had remained unspoken, lost forever. There wasn't even a corpse left to hear them.

Matrix and Se'mudara landed in a small clearing before a cottage, crafted from polished brown stone. It was the only dwelling within the city-scale dome.

During Matrix's childhood, the forest had pressed so close to the cottage that he would often wake to find bizarre animals peering through his windows. But his uncle lived there now, and he seemed to have pushed the forest back a bit.

"Oh! Welcome back, Mubarion*, my boy!"

A frail, pale old man emerged from the cottage, draped in exquisite purple robes. His eyes were sunken and hollow, his grey hair sparse. He looked ready to crumble to dust at any moment. But that wasn't the most unsettling thing; for him to be that old hinted at an unfathomable reserve of power.

"And you've brought important guests!" he continued.

"Ah… forgive my memory! Se'mudara, daughter of the great Saint of Peace, and… the Oracle of Fate King! Welcome to my humble abode."

He ushered them inside, and almost immediately, a young man rushed forward, seizing Matrix's hand. He was a stranger to Matrix, but his face beamed with infectious enthusiasm. His smaller than usual eyes gave the impression that he was squinting, this made him look several times nervous than he actually was. 

"My name's Awwa*, but you can call me Young! I've heard so much about you, World King!"

Matrix returned the handshake with an awkward smile and moved to greet his uncle. But Young wasn't done; he turned his enthusiastic attention to Se'mudara.

Matrix approached his uncle, who was rummaging along the wall in a far corner of the chamber. Near his feet lay the entrance to an underground chamber, one that had sparked Matrix's curiosity as a child. His father had always forbidden him from entering, and the entrance had proven unbreachable, even when he had tried to force it. Over the years, the mystery had faded.

"Uncle Daburin, still occupied with crafting godspawns at your age?" Matrix inquired.

"Not at all. He's just a shapeshifter I found wandering alone, so I decided to give him shelter," he replied.

"I thought they were extinct," Matrix said.

"So did I, until him," Daburin said, gesturing with his free hand toward the two Se'mudaras. At first glance, Matrix couldn't distinguish between them, but with closer scrutiny, he might.

"Do you trust him?" Matrix asked.

"Absolutely."

Silence hung in the air for a few seconds. Then, Daburin withdrew his arm, holding a thin silver pin. He inserted it into an obscure part of the door, and it clicked open.

"Mubarion, I need to speak with you in private," he said, stepping into the chamber.