x
01
5 Years Ago:
A click echoed quietly as Mr. Richter, his aged face painted with surprise, unlocked the door to his study sanctum. Inside, bathed in the dim glow of an oil lamp, a sight stopped him cold. His son, Alvin, and daughter, Juvia, sat amidst a chaotic pile of ancient text books, their eyes glued to a single volume. Its worn leather cover displayed the inscription: “Interfusion”.
The air shuddered with an eerie feeling of tension. Richter's children, unaware of his arrival, seemed possessed by an unnatural focus. Only when he called out their names, his voice laced with a lighthearted tone, did their heads snap up. Their fresh-faced innocence seemed to clash dramatically with the perplexing text before them.
Richter, sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor before them. “What is it, that you're reading with such focus?” he inquired with a sweet smile.
Alvin, with an eagerness that bordered on impatience, thrust the tome towards him.
“Is this 'interfusion' the same thing you use, Father?”
The book, a colossal amount of complex knowledge, boasted a jaw-dropping, 1505 pages.
Richter's touch ran across the cover, sending a tingling sensation down his spine. “Indeed it is,” he confirmed, his voice soft and low. “But what made you read it all of a sudden?”
Alvin and Juvia, their eyes gleaming with a soulful thirst for knowledge, declared their desire to activate their own unconscious interfusion abilities. Richter's heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs. They were far too young to even imagine such a challenging path. Yet, their pleas were filled with an unfamiliar spirit of devotion. Finally, with a heavy sigh, Richter began to explain the very essence of interfusion.
“In its simplest form,” he began, his voice focused, “interfusion refers to the fusing of two or unusually more than two elements of nature together to create a new one. We can also say that not only elements but other aspects of nature like fire, earth, water, air and so on can be fused too. Just like chemical reactions or bonding of two distinct entities. The possessor of this capability is known as an interfuser.”
He paused, his gaze flickering to the calligraphy on the book. “Take me, for example. I am a copper interfuser. When I fuse my element, copper, with tin, I create bronze. This union, this interfusion, is the core of my authority.”
Juvia, her brow furrowed in concentration, interrupted, “And what will copper and zinc create, Father?”
“Brass, my dear,” Richter replied.
Alvin, a thoughtful glint in his eyes, posed a new question. “Father, is there only one form of interfusion?”
“Nay, my son,” Richter responded. “The web of interfusion is woven with countless threads. There are so many interfusions in this world, a lot of them even I'm not even aware of yet. There are an innumerable number of interfusions, apart from element fusing, like electricity generation, change state interfusion and so on. We can say that fusing is done only between elements, but the other ones like I mentioned before, change state interfusion, deals with the possessor possessing the ability himself. For example, he can melt or freeze water.”
Suddenly, Alvin asked aloud with passion. “Which is the strongest, Father? The greatest of all?”
“It entirely depends on the Interfuser, how skilled the interfuser is. But some interfusions that are not based on the elements, but are directly connected to energy generators, are rather stronger than the elemental ones. Interfusions are not always based on elements. They can, as I told you, also be based on generating energy, which means the interfuser owns the energy generator and generates energy using other substances. And Alvin, about your question, the strongest interfusion. . . The most vigorous one is the condensation Interfusion means generating fire from oxygen and fuel, the sun's energy, a hot atmosphere, friction, sparks, and electricity. He can use any of these sources to create fire. It's a very, very rare interfusion that there is a rule in this country that there can only be one Conflagration Interfuser at a time,” replied their father. "In short, there are three types of interfusions: Element fusing, Changing State and Generating power."
Just then, Alvin, whose movements pulsed with a sense of ponderousness, reached for the book and flipped to its final page. Pointing a finger at the written word, he spoke, “And Father, as the title says, it speaks of Soul Interfusion Pentagonum. What does it mean?”
Just as Alvin said that, Ritcher's blood ran cold, and that charming smile at once faded to a serious expression. And with a sudden move, he closed the book in his hands.
He rose to his full height, towering a shadow over his children. His voice, usually warm and inviting, now resounded with a cold solemnity. “Alvin and Juvia,” he uttered, each word delivered with a sincere tone they had never known before. “This is something you don't need to know about . . . Just remember, it is forbidden . . . And leads to nothing but misery. Remember this well, and hear my warning. never, ever, under any circumstances, even think of attempting Soul Interfusion. It is a lie that has ruined many people and leaves you as nothing but a memory. . . Nothing.”
His gaze, burning with an emotion that sent shivers down their spines, held theirs for a beat too long. Then, with a final, withering glance, Richter spun on his heel and vanished out of their sight, leaving his perplexed children alone in the flickering lamplight.
02
Still 5 Years Ago:
Sixteen-year-old Lisa Bernstein, the daughter of the King, Darren Bernstein, was a whirlwind of determination, training to become one of Denmark's youngest soldiers. Her childhood had been serene at first. But that facade crumbled when her father died unexpectedly from a fatal disease. Even after his death, Lisa, known as “Leaina” for her unwavering sense of justice and courage, held her head high. Her father's absence shaped her into a tough young female with unpredictable strength and tireless loyalty.
Two years washed away, etching time into the Bernsteins' lives. Lisa developed into a well-rounded eighteen, while her brothers, Leviathan and Leonard, matured to twenty-one and thirteen, respectively. Darren's absence remained as an empty space in their hearts, a constant reminder of the fragility of life.
After Darren's death, a meeting was held in which all the military officers and other noble ranks were invited. As Darren's heir, he was invited to make an appearance too. In the meeting, an unknown figure, known only as 'Ours Truly,' was also at the table. The officers seemed particularly aware of the stranger, who seemed to give off an air of secrecy and had a reputation for odd tactics. Leviathan That's why the conference felt a bit out of order to him, while the others were perfectly fine with the way things were going. After all, he was still unaware of the stranger's presence and the reason for the meeting.
After making a long speech, the man, regarded as Ours Truly, said:
“This man, Matthew Anderson, will become the next King.”
Leviathan's blood ran cold. “What nonsense are you talking about?” he exclaimed, his voice growing louder. “I was elected by the nation! I am the rightful King. Who are you to decide this?”
The stranger, surrounded by the other officers, remained unfazed. “Young man, do not become so impatient. This country does not care about your elections—I, and I alone, am the one who dictates who will lead this nation.”
Leviathan's anger flared. “You cannot be serious! This is a democracy!”
“A democracy?” the stranger scoffed. “A mere fantasy. The true authority lies with those who control the strings.”
“What kind of rubbish is this? How can a stranger dictate leadership? Why aren't you people saying something!” Leviathan's voice echoed, rebelliousness painting his face.
Smirks snaked on the faces across the room, leaving Leviathan speechless.
Ours Truly leaned forward, his voice a low hum. “Leviathan,” he began, “this process has been in motion since this country took birth. Every leader, even your father, was hand-picked . . . You see, Denmark is born for a lethal experiment, and the Kings and Queens here are the caretakers of its continuation. This . . . is our democracy.”
Leviathan's breath hitched. “An experiment?” His mind was racing.
“Indeed,” Ours Truly added.
Leviathan tried to convince himself that he was only having a dream, sitting on a table with utter traitors of the country, but nevertheless he was unable to wake up from it, as it was an absolute reality. There was nothing he could think of, nothing that he could do, and nothing he could oppose. Only standing and staring with bewilderment, trying to accept the dark truth of his father and this nation.
Suddenly, the diabolical man shifted in his seat and said, “But if you still desire—”
Leviathan gazed and turned unintentionally towards him.
Although Ours Truly's face was concealed, but Leviathan could sense that he was wearing an even devilish expression, “We can make you the King. Of course, it's your right . . . And we would highly think of a caretaker, someone as skilled as you . . . But remember, this seat is a rose with thorns. There will be some conditions . . . But I know someone like you, who wants regime would not let some small-scale conditions in the way of obtaining the seat, right Leviathan?”
The thirst he had for power overtook his brain instantly, and he found himself desperately looking for answers. The experiment, the conditions—they were keys to exposing a truth shrouded in concealment.
His tone, stable now, broke the silence, and he said the most unexpected thing the people sitting there could have thought of, “Tell me about the experiment . . . and your conditions.”
03
In an empty room in the concealed area, Leviathan and Ours Truly faced each other, a tense tableau. Gone were the officers, replaced by a suffocating silence.
Leviathan, his voice thick with suspicion, pierced the hushed atmosphere. “Tell me about the experiment . . . Ours Truly,” he demanded. “And . . . be clear of the conditions.”
A sly smile played on Ours Truly's lips. “Sharp . . . and smart, Leviathan. You possess a keen intellect, perhaps more than you realize. Now, tell me,” he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “have you ever heard whispers of Soul Interfusion? I bet you're aware of this as you, yourself, are a silver interfuser, aren't you?”
Leviathan froze, a sense of unease crossing his face. “The name is familiar,” he admitted unwillingly, “but I don't prefer talking about forbidden things”
Ours Truly's smile widened, devoid of warmth. “Forbidden, you say? Yet, knowledge is power, Leviathan. I'm afraid you'll have to build your interest in things like these.”
A knot of apprehension tightened in Leviathan's gut. “What do you mean?” he pressed, his voice barely a whisper.
“The longed-for prize of Soul Interfusion,” Ours Truly purred. His gaze was cold and calculating, like a wolf eyeing its prey. “ They say it's failed, but their words are trash and nothing else."
Leviathan's heart hammered against his ribs. “Are you telling me to …”
“Indeed,” Ours Truly confirmed, his voice dropping to a reverent hush. “A way exists to achieve the impossible. For generations, the Danish bloodline—kings and queens alike— labored in the darkness, to enter the dungeon of sins and make agreement with the devil.”
Leviathan's breath caught in his throat. "Are you out of your mind? I don't understand a single thing you're saying."
A metallic undertone entered Ours Truly's voice. “Then listen, Leviathan. Soul Interfusion, simply means creating a soul out of the five components—rationality, appetite, sense, emotions, and the fifth component that is unknown till now.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “This final component is still unknown. Those who have dared to attempt Soul Interfusion have almost always met with a horrific fate—their very souls ripped into shreds. But,” he continued, his voice picking up some dark confidence, “we, yes, we, have found a way to make it possible. There is a way to enter the Dungeon of Sins and make an agreement with the Devil himself.”
Leviathan's mind raced in directions he wasn't aware of. “An agreement? With the Devil . . .”
His grin grew wider. “That, my dear Leviathan, is a question best left unanswered… for now. However, be warned, years have passed, but not a single person has accomplished the task of convincing the Devil. Would you be able to?”
Terror teethed at Leviathan's heart. “Do I have to perform… Soul Interfusion… to become the King?”
Ours Truly's gaze held his captive. “The only way to obtain the throne, Leviathan . . . or else you have to die after knowing this much. But fear not, I'll also tell you the conditions on the day you'll hold the chair.”
Leviathan, trapped by his own ambition and terrifying secrets, could only nod, stunned and scared. The terrible choice he had to make filled him with dread.
04
The hallowed halls of the Folketing bustled with enthusiasm. Leviathan, prepared for his pose as the king of the nation, stood before a sea of faces – dignitaries, parliamentarians, and his own noble family. He raised his hand, reciting the oath, each syllable reflecting how worthy he was for the throne. Just as he reached for the seat and was about to mount himself upon it, a man in his mid-thirties apparently as one of the generals from the emblems on his uniform, but still foreign to the eyes, came out of the crowd
"Hold, Leviathan," he said, Leviathan at once recognized the voice – It was Ours Truly. A hush fell over the gathering, the air thick with unspoken tension. Leviathan, his brow furrowed, turned to face him. "Everything, Leviathan," Ours Truly continued, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes, "has a price."
The Bernstein family, unaware of the games being played in the dark, exchanged confused glances. But the seasoned chairmen and military, who had observed the scenarios like these for years officers sat quiet and calm.
"The condition," Ours Truly declared, his voice ringing out, "ours that you . . . all of your family members should be killed. No King of Denmark can have blood ties. Any existing relations… must be eliminated."
His words exploded like a bomb, shattering all the curtains of truth. Leviathan's eyes widened in horror, just like his family's did. Lisa, her breath got stuck in her throat. Karolin, their mother, her gaze widened to a horrific extent. Even young Leonard, his youthful innocence shattered, seemed to shrink back in fear.
"What… what are you saying?" Leviathan's voice broke so hard. "You're asking me to kill my own family?!"
Lisa, disbelief penetrated even deeper into her after seeing Leviathan's reaction, cut through the stunned silence. "Conditions? What conditions?! Leviathan, what is this about?!" Her eyes were wanting an answer..
Leviathan, caught badly between two situations, remained silent. No . . . I . . . I can't . . . what is this? ,his voice stuck in his throat.
No . . .
His silence was slowly proving his involvement, making the doubt even stronger with every passing second.
Ours Truly, sensing his concrete hesitation, spoke in a voice dripping with chilling clarity. “Ah, I see you haven't told your family about it yet.”
Leviathan's world began to crumble. Lisa, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and fear, demanded answers. “Levi! What's going on? What is he talking about?”
Nothing, he couldn't think of anything. He wasn't even able to believe something this horrendous was happening to him. He only felt darkness and claws of shadows surrounding him, penetrating his mind.
“Leviathan,” he said, “You have to choose now or never . . . Family… or power?”
Karolin, suddenly shouted, as if tearing up, “Levi! Why are you even silent?! Is this something you even need to think of!”
But Leviathan, lost in the intoxicating state of mind, couldn't hear or think anything. His gaze remained on the floor, blank and emotionless, as if dead.
Silence stretched, and finally, after what seemed like a lengthy time of merely staring vacantly at the ground, Leviathan lifted his head and faced his family. His stare was blank but solid.
He opened his mouth to speak and spoke.
," I choose . . . Power.”
Those words pierced the souls of his family like a burning arrow and tore them into hundreds of thousands of pieces. Lisa, in tears that rained down from her cornflower blue eyes, gazed at him in utter disbelief. At the moment, it felt like it wasn't the brother whom she saw in place of her father, the one who stood beside her in thick and thin—he was . . . A complete stranger.
A heart-wrenching sob escaped Karolin's lips. Her own son, the child she had cherished and treasured for years, had thrust her, himself, into the mouth of the grave.
Ours Truly, with a cruel smile playing on his lips, wasted no time. His tense command echoed through the chamber: “Soldiers! Terminate them.”
Leviathan turned around, his heart, mind, entire being, and soul tearing up, but his sanity didn't let the tears emerge from his eyes. And then two gunshots broke the silence, followed by the spine-chilling screams of his mother and brother collapsing onto the cold marble floor. Blood stained the pristine white floor.
In that frozen instant, time seemed to warp into an eternity of torment for Lisa. Paralyzed by grief, she stood transfixed, her gaze locked on the lifeless forms of her mother and brother. The crimson stain blossoming on the pristine marble floor mirrored the blossoming horror in her heart.
A metallic click shattered the oppressive silence. A soldier, face devoid of empathy, aimed the weapon at her. Just as his finger tightened on the trigger, a soul-wrenching cry tore from Lisa's throat, a torrent of raw emotion that defied articulation. Tears streamed down her face, a counterpoint to the burning fury that simmered within her.
"Leviathan!" she rasped, her voice trembling with a potent cocktail of sorrow and rage. "Leviathan! This Throne will become your hell! Nothing more! You will only live in misery! I swear I'll never forgive you ! NEVER EVER!"
A silent war was raging within Leviathan. His heart throbbed in his chest as if it would jump out any second, but he had already arrived at the stage from where he can't possibly return.
“Stop!” he cried out, suddenly turning back. Ours Truly sent him a diabolical gaze.
“All blood ties must be cut off,” Ours Truly's voice echoed in the hall.
Leviathan, his head bowed to the ground, muttered, “I… I can't let them kill her.”
He took out his gun and pointed it towards her. And with that he said, “I'll kill her myself.”
“Lisa,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek.
And just then he fired the bullet, which penetrated right into her abdomen.
Even if you ever could forgive me, Lisa. . . I won't be able to forgive myself. He was done for.
05
Lisa's eyelids fluttered open, battling the encroaching darkness that threatened to claim her. Her body, a ravaged battlefield, lay immobile. A searing inferno pulsed at the site of the wound, a crimson tide staining the marble floor. Panic clawed at her throat, but she forced it down. Dying here, a nameless victim in this macabre charade, was not an option. Her family wouldn't forgive such a surrender. Revenge, a primal fire, ignited within her.
The chamber, once teeming with life, was now a tableau of death. The lifeless forms of her mother and brother lay silent companions in the unfolding horror. With a herculean effort, Lisa reached into her pocket, the movement sending fresh waves of agony through her. A cloth, flimsy against the torrent of blood, was pressed against the wound. Standing was an impossibility, the very thought a symphony of pain. Death, a skeletal hand, seemed to tighten its grip with every passing moment. Despair threatened to engulf her, but a flicker of defiance, a phoenix from the ashes of her shattered world, refused to be extinguished.
Then, a sound pierced the suffocating silence – the creak of the chamber door. Her hand instinctively reached for the gun, a meager weapon against the unknown. But as the figure stepped into the light, relief washed over her – Edgar.
"Lisa! Lisa, you're alive!" His voice, a lifeline thrown across the abyss of despair. Hope, fragile but tenacious, bloomed in her chest.
"Yes, Edgar," she rasped, her voice a mere whisper against the roar of pain. "Alive… for now."
Without hesitation, Edgar knelt beside her, his presence a beacon of strength. "We can escape," he declared, urgency lacing his voice. "There's a hidden passage, an exit leading to Damsholte, a village near Marienburg."
A flicker of determination ignited in Lisa's eyes. Escape. A chance to survive, to plot her retribution. "I agree," she croaked, her voice gaining strength with each word.
With a gentleness that belied the horror they had witnessed, Edgar scooped her up in his arms. Together, they stumbled toward salvation, a testament to the indomitable human spirit, vanishing into the bowels of the hidden passage. Their escape, a defiant act against the tide of darkness, offered a glimmer of hope in the midst of despair.
Damsholte, with its anonymity and safety, became their sanctuary. There, under the watchful eyes of strangers, Lisa received the medical attention she desperately needed. Though the physical scars might heal, the emotional wounds would forever serve as a chilling reminder of the price of ambition and the unwavering spirit of vengeance that now burned brightly within her.
06
Two months had bled into Leviathan's reign as Prime Minister. The initial euphoria of power had curdled into a nagging unease. Then, like a phantom reappearing, Ours Truly materialized before him.
"Leviathan," his voice rasped, a chilling reminder of the pact they had forged, "the time for the experiment has arrived."
A knot of apprehension tightened in Leviathan's gut. "What exactly is required of me?" he managed to ask, his voice betraying a tremor of fear.
Ours Truly leaned forward, his eyes glinting with an unsettling fervor. "The grand opus, the Soul Interfusion," he declared. "But heed this warning, young Prime Minister: a single glance back at the whispers of the past will seal your fate. Approach the dungeon with unwavering resolve. Once inside, confront the entity that dwells there – the Devil himself – and agree to its every demand. But remember," he emphasized, his voice dropping to a low growl, "Im warning again . . . don't look back or else you'll never be able to return back. One backward glance, and the path back will vanish into oblivion."
With those cryptic words hanging heavy in the air, Ours Truly ushered Leviathan into a desolate chamber and vanished, leaving him alone with his mounting dread.
Taking a deep breath, Leviathan etched the intricate pentagram of Soul Interfusion on the floor, his body becoming the nucleus of the symbol. Squeezing his eyes shut, he focused on the five pillars of a human soul: rationality, appetite, senses, and emotions. He inhaled deeply, and a moment later, the pentagram began to bleed.
As the crimson ebbed, a wave of exhaustion washed over him, plunging him into unconsciousness.
He awakened to a world devoid of color – a chilling expanse of white stretching endlessly in all directions. Panic clawed at his throat as he realized there was no escape, no boundary to this sterile prison. Just then, a dark shape materialized in the distance – a foreboding structure that resonated with the description of Ours Truly's "Dungeon of Sins."
Leviathan stumbled towards it, his resolve hardening with each step. But just as he took his third stride, a voice shattered the silence.
"Leviathan," it echoed, a heart-wrenching plea laced with accusation. "Why did you abandon us?"
The sound froze him in his tracks. His heart hammered against his ribs as he recognized the voice – his mother's.
The voice, tinged with an unbearable sorrow, continued its assault. "Were we a burden, son? Why didn't you fight for us? You are no longer worthy… Come back to us."
Each word felt like a searing brand on his soul. He yearned to turn back, defy Ours Truly's warning, but the memory of his chilling words held him captive. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision as he pressed on, the echoing voices a constant torment.
Finally, after an eternity of torment, his hand brushed against the cold bars of the dungeon. The voices, mercifully, ceased. Gasping for breath, his heart a thunderous drum in his chest, Leviathan pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.
Darkness, thick and suffocating, greeted him. He stumbled forward, his only guide the faint outline of another pentagram, glowing faintly in the inky blackness. Carved upon its surface was a stylized tree, adorned with unintelligible symbols – a testament to the unknown power that awaited him within.
QUESTION OF THE CHAPTER:
Regarding the second chapter what are you feeling for the Bernsteins and what are your predictions towards the future?
Answer in the comment section to earn a follow
ns 15.158.61.20da2
