Chapter #15 — The First (Worst) Rebellion

The madman would shriek and weep endlessly, day after day, singing about knowledge that no mortal should be privy to—knowledge that the Mages themselves had not even uncovered.

Despite his lack of sanity, his group of followers grew consistently.

Initially, the prisoners in cells, a significant number of whom were Mages who had been outwitted by their political opponents, were the first to be swayed, emotionally unstable and mentally whirling as they were. Eventually, the madness started to spread among the guards as well. Realizing the situation was getting out of hands, the Sages finally intervened, ordering for the madman’s execution.

Despite the grim circumstances, the madman’s defiance remained unwavering as he shouted, “Only the Mother may judge me! Down with their tyranny! Down with their rule!” The echoes of his cries reached the high Heavens, but no one dared to stand alongside him.

The vast difference in power was an insurmountable chasm, with no weapon capable of bridging the gap, hence although many shared his ideals, far too few had the courage to fight for or with him.

For most, just being allowed to live was already a mercy, they dared not dream of a more luxurious lifestyle;

One beyond their comprehension.

The madman, now realizing the cheapness of goodwill, had no choice but to turn to the heavens and plead, “Help me, Mother! Am I not CHOSEN?”

But he was far from chosen for anything noteworthy.

Just like my Clone, he’s merely a disposable pawn, meant to further the agenda of the Goddess of Obsession and Madness.

It’s a pity that his insanity prevented him from realizing this sooner,

In fact, it only drove him further into madness as he, like a cornered animal, lashed out.

Gazing upon the Staffs prepared for his execution and listening the long list of crimes laid at his feet—some true, others false—the madman let loose a wicked laugh. “Cowards! Cowards the whole lot of you! Do you think they will stop at me?!”

Eyeballs rolling maniacally in his skull, the man screamed himself hoarse, clipped wings plopping him up off the grounds, seeing as his legs had long been broken. “You scums disgust me! Do you not realize? Once they no longer have a need for you, it’s you they are coming after first, you fools!”

Yet, the remaining Sharrï simply stood by and observed, finding contentment in witnessing someone they believed lesser than themselves brought low.

Though he did voice the words they had yearned to express for a number of decades, and for some, even centuries, his madness alone isolated him from the rest. ‘I’m better than him,’ All the Sharrï in the area seemed to think. “They’ll have you put down like a dumb animal; murdered; maimed, just like they did the infected!”

Desperate, the madman sobbed no longer, laughing instead as he let go of the last bit of rationality still fighting for control. “Your sons are their slaves… Your daughters are their prostitutes! That is your future!”

Laughing happily, the madman persisted in hurling insults and curses, clearly finding joy in the act. Even with the Staffs aimed directly at his face, he maintained a wide, manic grin. ”Oh, Milady, I await your embrace! Fill me with desires, Mother. Fill me with your Divine Essence!”

Sincerely, he pleaded, and hearing the plea of her First Follower, Besotte—having decided she could turn a blind eye to his sufferings no longer, even though she was clearly relishing in his agony—intervened, and boy did she not disappoint.

The Heavens crackled with ominous, world-shaking crimson arcs, a complete departure from the usual white lightning that often appeared upon my arrival, representing passion, lust, and everything desirable. The Mage in command paled as an oppressive force engulfed everyone in the square. “Kill him now! Kill him!” He ordered.

After lengthy discussions, the Sages had held out hope that their divine parents would shield them from the plots of the foreign Goddess, believing their parents to be the greater power.

After all, Bäli the Father and Næran the Mother had created them, and there were only a handful of creatures on Paradis that could even rival their strength… None, in truth… Except for themselves, that was.

To some extent, their belief was justified. In terms of Conceptual Energy, the two Divine Parents were reaping much greater benefits than their siblings simply because the Sharrï stood atop the Paradis’ hierarchy. “Save me—"

Unfortunately, Besotte was the Bearer of two Laws, effectively doubling her power output. The difference in quantity surpassed what a single species—no matter how wise, powerful, and filled with accomplishments they were—could generate. ‘At least for now…’

With a loud cry, the deranged madman exclaimed, “—I OFFER MY SOUL TO YOU!” In that exact moment, a bolt of lightning struck him, reducing him to ashes.

Though damaged, his Soul still desperately attempted to escape from the Reaper assigned to collect it, an even more powerful Variant created in response to Häel’s unfathomable action. However, there was no need for him to, as Besotte’s grasping claws were awaiting its arrival.

In an instant, the Reaper was torn apart, its mangled remains scattered throughout All of Existence,

All while the madman’s Soul, cackling at the gruesome sight, was whisked away, drawn into the metaphysical currents.

“Now that’s quite the declaration of war, don’t you think, Nyan~”

Formless remained completely unresponsive to the Lady of Desire’s provocative actions.

Still, all Paradiseans held their breath at what they thought would be yet another fight amongst their Ranks, waiting for the clash between Death and Desire which never occurred.

The silence in the air grew deafening.

Deep within her abode, Besotte blushed and bristled, both embarrassed and aroused at what she perceived as a slight.

“To think that the most human-like Deity will be a masochistic pervert,” I thought, my mind helpfully making me recall the infamous Rule34 of the Internet. A sigh escaped me. “On second thought, I really should have fucking expected that.” There were rabbits, and then there were humans… Dirty degenerates, the whole lot of them.

After successfully acquiring the madman’s Soul, the Goddess of Desire let out a triumphant cackle, infusing him with her energy. The result was a grotesque Creation that existed in the realm between life and death, much like Häel and the Reapers. This abomination was a Pseudo-Spiritual entity, driven by naught but insatiable aspirations and an unrelenting thirst. “I am Tzæch!” It declared. “And I shall rule over ALL! As is my RIGHT!”

Watching the megalomaniac howled with excitement, Besotte could not help but joined in. Gently, a tentacle of the Goddess reached forth, caressing the madman who groaned and shuddered in what—to him—appeared to be mind-numbing pleasure.

Personally, I couldn’t understand why someone, anyone for that matter, would enjoy having unknown substances smeared on them or being touched by tentacles with more thorns than an untrimmed rose bush. But, “Oh well…” I hummed, still somewhat grossed out by the scene, “Good for him, I guess?”

While his general form resembled that of a Sharrï, every feature had been perverted and distorted. His face was eerily smooth, lacking any human needs such as sustenance or air. The torso appeared as if two uneven pieces had been crudely fused together and held in place by cheap, corner store staples.

Once translucent and pale, its skin had morphed into a dark, angry red hue.

The Daemon’s wings were three times larger than its body, with tentacles lining his spine, poking out of holes that would give even the bravest men trypophibia, wriggling above his head to further add an extra level of horror to it…

With an excited twirl, the deranged Daemon giggled enthusiastically, his voice a blend of femininity and masculinity with the added touch of cicadas’ cries.

Though grating to the ears, his would be considered hauntingly beautiful to mortals. It’s designed that way, after all, in order to whisper forbidden knowledge in their minds.  

The objective was to empower them and entice them into becoming loyal thralls of Besotte. Naturally, no sensible business owner would ever grant someone the opportunity to surpass them and assume their position. The Goddess of Desire shared a similar mindset and, sadly for the power-hungry warmonger, she had no intention of retiring anytime soon…

Tzæch was going to be a stand-in King at best, if Besotte even allowed him that honor.

“Go forth, my Champion.”

The Lady of Pleasure raked her claws across the bared chest of the Daemon, her tongue leaving traces of saliva on his chiseled abs. Her voice, sweeter than the most indulgent soda, dripped with an intoxicating allure that could rival the heaviest wine and surpassed the loveliness of one’s very first crush. With commanding authority, she issued her decree, “Go forth and fetch me the world…”

Falling prey to her irresistible voice, Tzæch unleashed a spine-chilling howl that reverberated through the air, summoning forth a monstrous, spider-like mount with triple jointed, and a demonic skull that adorned its back.

This eerie creature—a product of Spirit Manifestation—was but one of the numerous gifts granted upon conversion to the Goddess' Cult. It was a physical, living proof of Tzæch’s ravenous and unending hunger, utterly devoid of sentience. Leaping atop his steed, the First Daemon raised the two charred pikes glued to his forearms and smiled. “I shall deliver agony unto your enemies, Mother! Watch as I bring you a Crown of Souls!”

 

Unbeknownst to the Daemon, a smirk adorned Besotte’s face, not one of pride, but rather a combination of amusement and disdain. It was the kind of smile a human would reserve for their pets when they did something endearing. Besotte knew such a lofty dream would never come to fruition, especially as long as I existed. Nonetheless, she found a twisted sense of joy in goading Tzæch, eager to see his eventual downfall. ‘How sweet will his pain be?’

In all honesty? I too was curious.

Watching his rapidly vanishing figure, akin to a medieval wife staring off her sellsword husband, the Goddess of Desire couldn’t contain her amusement any longer. Bursting into boisterous laughter, Besotte let loose a contented sigh and mutter in exasperation, her hands confidently planted on her hips. “Oh, what a fool,” She scoffed, before smiling again.

“An useful fool, at least.”

The further he ventured, the wider her corruption spread. To sweeten the pot even more enticing, every person who converted to worship her became another source of income for the Goddess.

Each individual generated their own Conceptual Energy, which contributed to the overall energy of their species. The Universal Will collected and exchanged this with Credits for mortals, while the Law-Bearers and Makers got a small percentage for their troubles.

Out of the total Conceptual Energy produced by various species, I received approximately 35%, while the Universal Will claimed 30% of shares. The remaining 35% was distributed as dividends to the Makers.

Both Bäli and Næran had benefited greatly, gathering a lot of Conceptual Energy (CE) generated by the Sharrï due to their thriving civilization. However, if Tzæch managed to gather a significant number of followers and establish a solid position, Besotte could not only eat into their earnings, but also potentially replace them as the primary Patron Goddess of the Sharrï.

And given how she operated, Besotte would turn all converts into Daemon instead, a far more fanatical species who Bäli and Næran would struggle to regain control… Popping a grape in my mouth, I continued to dust the floor while Häel watered the flowers.

Currently, this version of myself was employed as a butler in the dwelling of a Mage, or a High Lord as they seemed to fancy themselves.

The situation wasn't as terrible as it may sound. Hell, embarrassing as it was to admit, I kind of liked it here. The Lich and I had the pleasure of savoring the delightful cuisine of the Sharrï; sleeping on comfortable beds and staying in air-conditioned environment, all while indulging in a romantic drama of the Tower’s masters on the side.

What’s not to love?

The motif was the typical Lord and Maid scenario, exploring the forbidden love between them due to societal constraints and the like.

Things had become quite stale after the female lead gave birth to their first child, unfortunately.

Their conflicts became far less frequent, which was a pity as it provided a great deal of entertainment for us. On a more positive note, although it may be seen as a negative by the Sages and the Council, a rebellion had recently occurred in a distant settlement, adding some excitement to our otherwise mundane routine.

It's quite unwise of the rebels.

If I were them, I would have hit Shatia first and hit it hard to catch the Mages off-guard;

Target the armory where pre-loaded Magic Staffs were kept to even the playing-field and went straight for the Council in the heart of Shatia, since giving Mages time to prepare was like giving Batman prep time and expecting to come out on top of the exchange.

It’s never going to happen.

Although, I did sympathize with the rebels… A rebellion sounded real high and mighty, until one realized it’s led by miners, farmers and the likes with no one backing them, no resources and scraps for weapons. For them, staging an assault on Shatia—the most fortified settlement of the Sharrï—was simply unthinkable. “Those ungrateful bastards!” With a loud yell, the Mage kicked the table, shattering all the expensive tableware in his fit.

Häel and I exchanged displeased glances at the mess that awaited our cleaning efforts.

While Pïer had a tendency to indulge in theatrics, he was actually a respectable employer.

The perks and benefits provided to his servants were quite generous, and due to his controlling nature, he strictly prohibited factions from forming within the servant quarters.

This measure was mainly to prevent the formation of unions, but in comparison to other High Lords who seemed to have an inflated sense of superiority and would even stoke the flame, he’s rather commendable.

Additionally, the fact that Pïer’s kids did not exhibit the spoiled behaviors often depicted in television shows about wealthy kids on Earth was also a contributing factor to his favorability in our eyes.

 

Häel and I exchanged a brief glance, and I subtly motioned towards the children. Catching my unspoken message, the Lich discreetly guided the three kids out of the room while I proceeded to clean up the mess before us.

Dressed in an elegant gown, Pïer’s wife, a former maid and Häel’s still friend, worriedly questioned, “What’s the matter, Milord?”

“Sharrä recently experienced a revolt led by the lower castes. They have taken our fortress.”

Wearily, he leaned against her, continuing his lament. “It’s already challenging enough to prevent those paranoid old geezers from making hasty decisions, and now it’s going to become even worse…”

Running his fingers across his tired eyelids, the Sharrï Mage reached for a bottle of wine, consuming it as if it were his last. “Don’t they realize the futility of their actions? They’re only causing more trouble for themselves! Do they not see how… Irrational they are being? How childish?!”

Pïer’s not wrong, unfortunately his dedication to rationality hindered his understanding of nature. Emotions have a way of overpowering reason and logic.

The rebels advocated for fairness, justice, and equality.

I, however, knew better than to take someone’s words at face value.

The majority of the rebels, around two-thirds of them in fact, had ulterior motives.

Their true desire was to dismantle the existing Order and impose their own beliefs and ideals upon society.

They’re the Mages, without the Magic.

The leader of the rebellion, though a true freedom fighter, was unfortunately ignorant regarding the flaws and evils of his own followers.

He held onto idealistic notions of righteousness and naively believed that his people were the ‘good guys’.

They were just as corrupt, if not more malevolent than the paranoid Sages they opposed. The Sages and the Council cared mainly about maintaining the current Order and their Rule, while the rebels sought to utterly annihilate their foes, children included.

“Sharru…” Pïer suddenly called out to me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “What courses of action do you believe we should consider?”

Every now and then, the High Lord of the 43rd Tower would ask me questions, and my answers must be satisfactory since he hadn’t stopped since, though usually it’s veiled in riddles—his attempts to salvage a bit of dignity as the Lord of the Tower, I’d guess. I shrugged and advised sincerely, “I’d not worry about it, Milord.” His brows knitted in concentration, “I’m being serious.”

Putting a shard of porcelain, Paradis’ equivalence, I chuckled. “So am I. The Rebellion will fizzle out sooner rather than later,”

“Elaborate.”

I nodded, and did as asked. “It’s not that difficult to figure out, is it? The rebels are outgunned, outnumbered and their resources will dwindle by the day. Not to mention, they are disorganized and undisciplined… This rebellion was bound to fail from the start, Milord.”

“I see…”

He hummed. “So we shouldn’t worry?”

“On the contrary,” I laughed. “We absolutely should be, but not about the rebellion. What you really should be worried about are the following consequences and how to minimize the damages afterwards. And, before you ask, whatever you do, there’ll be damages, Milord. That’s inevitable.”

Sighing loudly, Pïer leaned against his chair, seeming to have understood the meaning behind my words, though his wife still looked quite clueless. “Thank you for your counsel, Sharru.”

I merely nodded, backing away with the destroyed tableware, ‘How wasteful.’