How Big Is It?

Chapter 15

Nebetu'u tried to arrange their thoughts, but every sentence felt fragmented, torn between two consciousnesses inhabiting a single body. The female head might begin with a near-melancholic whisper, only for the male head to end it with a coarse grunt—proof of the two minds wrestling for control over the same voice.

Before them, Ophistu remained silent. Their quiet was more unsettling than any scream. A hush that hinted at something unspoken, something that made the muscles in Nebetu'u's body twitch.

Unconsciously.

The male head snarled, jaw trembling, itching to spit out words laced with fury. But the female head swiftly took over, tempering it with a more measured tone, though no less piercing.

They spoke, yet they weren't truly speaking.

Just interrupting, complementing, or perhaps outright destroying the meaning behind every word.

Ophistu, still reluctant to reveal their true nature, merely observed this small battle with an unreadable expression, trying to discern that behind Nebetu'u's absurd form lay a far greater struggle, a war between two souls forced to share a single vessel.

Their body swayed unsteadily, like a ship battered by waves. Meanwhile, voices kept spilling out, sometimes harmonious, sometimes clashing. The female head might attempt persuasion with soft words.

It sounded almost pitying.

The male head promptly choked it down, stuffing it back with a bark, turning every sentence into fragmented curses.

Then, Ophistu's voice erupted like a celestial symphony, a thousand choruses merging into a single wave, so overwhelming it shook the room, filling every corner with vibrations both sacred and terrifying. When their lips parted, the first thing that escaped was not their own words, but divine utterance channeled through them.

Like gold gleaming in a river.

The pitch shifted, deeper, vaster, no longer belonging to a single entity but echoing the Highest One. Sacred verses flowed freely, each word shining like a sword splitting the dark, asserting undeniable divine authority.

Then, the tone changed again.

Ophistu's awareness returned, and now their voice carried something more personal, more sardonic. A soft laugh, almost pitying, lingered beneath every word. They gazed at Nebetu'u with an expression half-amused, half-mocking, as if watching a child insisting on fighting a storm with a stick.

"Did you truly think this would work?"

Their tone was criticism disguised as a question, an inquiry that needed no direct answer.

"Driving me out? As if I were some restless spirit to be tossed aside, powerless against holy water and chants?"

Nebetu'u's female head furrowed, digesting the words that had just resonated, while the male head growled, teeth grinding like a cornered beast.

Ophistu didn't care.

They continued in a tone almost friendly, yet every word stabbed like a sugar-coated dagger.

"Is this an exorcism? Or just a hallucination, a fabricated performance meant to convince yourselves there's meaning behind it all?"

The air itself trembled, as if the universe couldn't decide whether to marvel or laugh. Ophistu stood tall, unseen wings unfurling behind them, not in threat, but in absolute dominion.

They didn't need anger. Didn't need violence in return.

That voice alone, a blend of pity and mockery, was weapon enough, far more effective at shattering Nebetu'u's resolve than a thousand curses.

Nebetu'u smiled, teeth glinting like knives in the dim light.

Again and again, slipping through the cracks of the mortal world.

The smile never reached their eyes, which remained cold and watchful, like a hawk eyeing prey. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of sweat and desert dust clinging to skin.

Ophistu stood tall, their eyes blazing like twin suns in the dimness of the world, casting a holy light that seemed to scorch every defiled corner of the room.

Their voice resonated, far beyond the confines of space and time, marking each word as not their own, but as divine decree, descended from the heavens.

The air trembled, thick with sacred vibrations, raising the hairs on the back of Nebetu'u's necks.

The audience, if Nebetu'u, frozen in place, could even be called one, stood silent. The male head, a personification of satanic madness in this two-headed abomination, shuddered, as if realizing the being before them was no mere mortal, but an extension of the Almighty's Will.

Ophistu's white robe, untouched by the filth of the satanic world, billowed without wind, its fabric gleaming as if bathed in full moonlight. Their gaze pierced through souls, stripping away every hidden falsehood.

A hand rose slowly, delicate fingers, yet radiating authority, as if prepared to bear the full weight of the heavens.

Behind them, their shadow stretched unnaturally, not like an ordinary silhouette, but like vast, unfurled wings, ready to take flight wherever divine scripture commanded.

Every syllable that left their lips struck like a hammer against stone, shattering hardened hearts into fragments of regret and revelation.

At least, in the hallucinations of the damned.

There was something undeniably transcendent in their presence, something that reminded all witnesses that they were merely a vessel, a throat through which the Divine spoke what must be heard.

Nebetu'u stepped forward, and the earth screamed in silence.

Black fissures spiderwebbed outward, splitting the parched ground like dried skin under a scorching sun. These were not mere cracks, they lived, breathed, gaping like wounds that refused to heal.

Yellow dust swirled into the air, caught in miniature whirlwinds before being sucked into the dark crevices, as if the earth itself were drawing its final breath.

Yet Nebetu'u's footing remained unshaken, as though all this chaos were nothing more than ripples in a still pond.

Their eyes, both heads now locked in razor-sharp focus, devoid of emotion, unblinking, tracked every spreading fracture, ensuring no patch of land escaped destruction.

In the distance, a low rumble began. Tectonic shifts, subtle yet deliberate, marked the collapse of boulders one by one, as if the earth itself were crumbling in slow ceremony. The air grew thick, choking with sulfur and something far more ancient—like buried wrath seeping from the world's core.

Ophistu raised their hand, and the air stilled.

A sacred tome floated before them, its cover bound in ancient, gilded script, each etched letter pulsing with soft light.

The pages turned untouched, emitting a whispery rustle, like the murmurs of angels freshly heard. Golden script lifted from the parchment, twisting in the air like revived serpents of holy text, writhing before rapidly orbiting Ophistu's form.

Light radiated from every curve of the letters, weaving a protective circle, one that throbbed with primordial power.

Each hovering symbol emitted pure vibrations, repelling the encroaching darkness before it could near. The air within the circle was different, clear, untouchable, as if time and sin could never breach it.

To be continued…