This city of dread is encompassed by its complicated machinery, shifting and breathing like a living entity. However, it is infested by parasites that keep it alive, both human and Gramnorian. Their burned hands grip the levers and tools, keeping the steel-bound flesh from separating. A bowl of white liquid is spread abundantly against the flesh, keeping the tissue from being infected, for the air carries a weight of corruption not seen plainly at this time of night. With the red lanterns in their hands, the people walk like scattered stars, looking for their homes. Hoping their needs and instincts won’t compel them to act irrationally. Around every corner, deep below the surface, could the whaling cries of ecstasy be heard. The abundance of flesh—in harmony—climaxed by the spastic shifting of muscles. This need derives from the chastity of dull labor—forming an addiction only a few can escape from.
A beastly woman stumbles on her hinge legs and falters into the blood pits of the unmaintained road. Drenched and confused, she climbs down the steel staircase into a dark space with many pipes connecting from the floor to the ceiling. She clenches her arms around one in hopes of keeping herself in balance. Her stomach growls as her joints pop with every inch of movement. Turning her weary eyes towards the darkness, she sees a hooded figure appear and walk towards her. He spoke:
“There are many places to go for shelter, yet you march into the darkness?”
She replied, stumbling on her words, releasing a foul breath of liquor: “I—I can take care of myself! I don’t need… anyone.” Before falling over once more, the hooded man caught her with his large ashen hands.
“One should know their limitations.”
“Shut—up… Let me sleep.”
“And in the dangerous parts of the city, you rest in the arms of a stranger, dreaming away…” She loosens herself in his grip into an unconscious state.
Now, resting in his arms, he takes her to a warm place where pipes violently shiver, producing a comfortable aura of heat. Having removed her clothes, he then wraps her inside his dry mantle. It is indeed Karthuras who rests by her side, forever gazing into the darkness with a blank stare. His thoughts are the shadows of his past, corresponding with assumptions for the capital’s future.
Eventually, the woman awakened in a state of agony, wondering why she lies beneath the city. Her eyes were dazed upon seeing the Phader, whose presence was mysterious. “Home…” She whimpered, “Need—to—be home… Need to sleep—need to work.”
Karthuras told her: "I do not know where your home lies. I would have taken you there instead.”
“Then—did?” she slept again as she stumbled to speak.
“It is a shame to see such a sight, a reflection of my deeds I recall,” he chuckled from his words.
The faceless woman appears by his side, “Why do you waste your time on her? Is she nothing more than an ordinary worker?”
He replied: “She is and nothing more… of solace and regret will the sowing of my labor rise to fruition.”
“All from a single, beastly woman?”
“What else?” he replied confidently, “to push this world towards its conclusion, I must press the teachings of the Empress Hettalies… How ironic.” He smirked.
“Would it not be faster to take the souls of her people, creating a being of destruction?”
He laughed, “The art of chaos does not come from the stroke of a mutilated hand—instead, it will come from the people who cower behind these walls... The empress had spent decades creating this lurid world, slowly ending the lives of those who raised it. Only I can save them. This woman will become the catalyst.”
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For hours, he waited until his previously mentioned catalyst came into a sickly state of consciousness. Allowing the burning stream of crimson vile to spread against the stone surface she slept on. He told her with a fake empathetic mask:
“You have finally come to your senses. I was afraid you had fallen ill.”
“Ill—yes…” she muttered, rubbing her face, realizing her current environment. “Did you? Did we?”
“No-no-no! Of course not. I kept you warm and dried your garments.”
“You did all that for a stranger? Who—are you?”
His charismatic tone persisted: “A demon some might call, however, beyond my ashen face lies a man of good intent!”
She takes a moment to readjust herself, and indeed, she is troubled by the sight of him. “Demon…” she whispered to herself in worry.
“A beast such as yourself, not but not reminiscent of one in particular—and certainly not beautiful such as yourself. My deathly exterior is of no contest.”
She was put off guard by his comment, hiding her blushing cheeks from his darkened gaze and crooked smile. He continued:
“Of course, let me gather your garments. Don’t worry, I will look away.”
He turned as she dressed, asking: “You—never told me your name.”
Karthuras replied: “You can refer to me as Genisis.”
“Well, Genisis, my name is Molly.”
“Tell me. What brought you down this path?”
She became distant: “Nothing that concerns you. I can care for myself—I—I don’t need anyone else for guidance.”
“My-my… I had never offered to help. I had only asked a simple question. Perhaps you do need my assistance.”
“What? But I—”
He reassured: “Come now, a young woman like yourself chose a dangerous path with no dagger in hand and no friend in proximity. Alone and trapped in a state of drunkenness.”
She looked away, ashamed for allowing herself to be in this situation. Karthuras returns his mantle, gently guiding his hand on her shoulder, saying:
“Allow me to take you home.”
#
Karthuras gradually was able to comprehend the descriptions regarding this capital. Not only this, but his observations also placed a sturdy mark that outlines every conclusion of his surroundings. Within the empty halls, Molly leads him to her apartment, dense as it is—its spacious décor allows the imagination to pursue its fulfillment. With his curious glance, he finds a peculiar object, richly coated by blood and rust. Familiar as it is but morbid—the being inside the vast silver ring. She notices the Phader's strange interest in her relic, saying:
“It’s a family heirloom. It has something to do with a myth regarding the ring in the sky. I had never believed in him.”
He replied: “It’s been a long while since I had seen the symbol of Sleeper…”
“You know the legends?”
“Legend… It's more than a myth—a guiding path for those needing one.”
“My grandmother mentioned a few of his stories, but I’m afraid to say that I forgot the details.”
Her words sparked him with an opportunity: “If you allow me, I can tell you the stories and their meanings.”
“I appreciate the offer, Genisis. But I do not have enough time for fantasy. I have to work tomorrow so I can keep myself from starving.”
Karthuras removes his mantle and then turns to her: “There is more to life than the endless rotation of dull labor.”
She responded: “And what would that intel?” she looked away from his intimidating stature.
“Life is full of wonders… Of love and strife, beauty and darkness… Would you allow yourself to be alone with thoughts of regret?”
“No one cares about each other, Genisis. Especially not me.”
“If that is true, then why did I rescue you from drowning in a pool of your own vile? Will I be the only one who will acknowledge your severe drinking habits?”
“I…” she stumbled, “I don’t see why you would care about me.”
Karthuras smiled as he brushed her long ear. He said: “In this corrupted world, I must give hope to those in need of love… compassion… Everyone, including yourself, deserves respite—from these woes of society. The future generations will only live in a state of doubt… But I—Genesis will show you a guide towards a better path. Will you join me and rid yourself of doubt?”
“Yes!” she answered in tears. “I want to help everyone! They all deserve to be happy.”
“Indeed, Molly. From this day forth, you will become a Phader among your people. Soon, they will all love you—cherish your heroism and finally embrace the future.”
What began the following day is the sowing of a dangerous seed—of woes hidden by the common eye. As she teaches him more about the culture, he teaches her the fabricated ways of Sleeper, a corrupted new perspective that only serves Karthuras. Not only was she fed his false words, but she was also delighted to the flesh of her species and humans without knowing their origin. To him, it was all by random chance of poor souls who wither from their place of work. During those long nights, did she embrace the art of false love? Such manipulation stemmed deep into the roots of her mind, as in a similar play conducted by Hettalies from his past.
