Chapter 21 “The Thrones Within”

As the unknown entity overtook Angelo's body, his soul drifted into a place beyond understanding—a vast, silent void. The sensation was eerie yet oddly familiar, as though he had always belonged here. Floating above the abyss were two thrones, positioned facing each other.

One throne gleamed with a radiant, almost blinding light, as if it were the very essence of creation itself. It pulsed with warmth, a calm and unyielding energy that whispered of purity and order.

The other throne was starkly different. It was a deep crimson, glowing faintly like embers in the dark. It radiated a sense of raw destruction, not born from chaos but from an insatiable power—purposeful, devastating, and final. This throne represented an unstoppable force, not chaotic but calculated, bringing ruin in its wake.

The crimson throne sat empty, its presence heavy and foreboding. But upon the white throne, a figure sat, silent and unwavering. Its eyes burned like coals, a reflection of the seat it occupied. Angelo felt an immediate connection to the figure, as though this being had always existed in the shadows of his mind. The entity spoke, its voice calm, but unyielding.

"Welcome home."

The voice echoed in his head like a distant memory, stirring something deep within him. It was the same voice that had once whispered to him, urging him to embrace both the light and the dark—but warning him to never let chaos in.

Angelo stepped back, alarm filling him. "What are you? What do you want from me?"

The being on the white throne answered with unsettling calm. "I am you. And you are me."

Angelo recoiled. "No… this can't be real. I'm human. I'm not like you. My family—they need me. I have to help them!"

The figure on the white throne tilted its head, as if considering him. "You already have," it said. "That is why the crimson throne sits empty. It went to help them… and to bring destruction."

Angelo's voice grew desperate. "What do you mean? Prove it. Show me they're safe."

The being simply gestured, and a third throne emerged before Angelo. It was neither radiant nor destructive, neither light nor shadow. It was a blank slate—colorless, undefined, a throne that represented nothing and everything at once.

"Sit," the being said, its voice gentle, yet unyielding. "It's alright."

Conflicted, Angelo slowly lowered himself onto the neutral throne. The moment he did, the void around him shifted, the throne floating, untethered above an abyss of pure chaos.

The being spoke again. "What do you think you are?"

Angelo hesitated, then answered. "I was human. But everything changed when the marks appeared. Since then… I haven't been the same."

The figure on the white throne's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "The marks didn't change you. They protected you—from what lies beyond. And they protected those around you. What you call 'change' is nothing more than the consequence of the force you are becoming."

A flicker of movement, then another figure materialized on the crimson throne. It leaned forward, its grin unnerving and wide. 

"Your body… is still too weak."

Angelo's heart raced, recognizing that voice—it was the one that had whispered to him when the marks first awoke.

Angelo froze. His voice trembled. "Who are you? What are you?"

The figure on the crimson throne leaned back, a low, menacing laugh escaping its lips. "What do you think we are?"

Angelo's hands shook. "You're monsters."

The crimson figure's laughter only grew louder. "Then that makes you a monster, too."

The being on the white throne spoke again, its tone unchanging. "Listen, boy."

Then, in a voice both serene and ominous, the two figures spoke in unison:

"We are you. And you are us."