V2 Chapter 22: When the Red Moon is still on the sky (6)

No God was perfect. Not the Great who claimed to be so, not the Mighty, nor the Benevolence nor the Wise, not even the All-Father of Gods Naharis. Not even Death. In this world, in this universe that URLOX created, perfection existed as an illusion and a never-ending pursuit.

From that accursed human’s memory, Munezee saw the passage that URLOX has written about him.

“The Greatest God created his Greatest Foe

He, who claimed to be Perfect, committed a Perfect Blunder

Munezee, the Creator of Demon Lord,

Ruler of Kharigan, Bane of Coeles

He was the Darkest Secret of both realms.”

URLOX knew something that nobody knew and they only hinted it instead of revealing it. URLOX desired entertainment, revealing such secret would spoil their entertainment.

The Great God made the greatest mistake in his life when he created Munezee from the mutilated corpse of his father, put a collar on Munezee and tasked him to be a grave maker on Kharigan. The Great God did not know that Munezee had the memories of the time when he was Naharis, back then and now.

He was Munezee, a piece of flesh cut out from Naharis, but he had all the memories of Naharis. He was Munezee, the gravedigger, but he had the memories of the time when he was Naharis. He was Naharis reborn in the shape and name of Munezee.

Munezee, he was the Ruler of Kharigan, a being of many titles. The First Demon Lord, the Maker of Demon Lords, the Lonely Demon Lord, the Keeper of Wrath.

Of all the Demon Lords existed on Kharigan, no Demon Lord commanded as many authority at their disposal as Munezee. Their authority could not match his, not in number or in power, not even when Flokí and Pride combined their force, not even when all of the Demon Lords united their forces. No matter how much he loved them, no matter how lonely he felt, his creations and children, Munezee would not make them his equal.

It was a lesson that Munezee has learned from Naharis’ biggest mistake. It was a lesson that Munezee has learned from Sinintee’s greatest mistake when Sinintee made him a grave maker on Kharigan.

Munezee created Wrath from his hatred of Sinintee and Wonten. He created Wrath to be as mighty as Wonten and as armed and destructive as Sinintee, but none of their intelligence and ideal. Wrath was a weapon and a beast. There was no reason for a weapon to be smart, especially when that weapon was fully capable of sinking a continent in both realms, the mortal and spirit realm, when he released his full might. Granting intelligence to such a being was a perfect recipe for self-inflicting disaster.

Munezee created Pride to look as gallant and fair as Naharis. She had the makeup of a wise philosopher and a brave warrior. She had the perfect makeup of a man and a woman, a father and a mother. She was a leader and a follower. She was a lover. Munezee granted Pride many authorities. And yet, she could not be more far off from that. She was many but she was, in fact, none, neither brave nor wise, neither a father nor a mother, neither a leader nor a follower, and definitely not a lover. Pride was created to look the part, a glorified ornament with no real power or authority. Of all the Demon Lords that Munezee has created, Pride was his worst and best creation.

Lust, she was the closest female to Niwdar that Munezee has ever crafted. She was Niwdar if Niwdar did not reject, howl and weep back then. She was Niwdar if Niwdar has embraced and accepted him back then. She was Niwdar if Niwdar would strip herself as readily, and embrace a man as readily. She was Niwdar if Niwdar was an empty whore who was always starved for affection, warmth, and cock.

If Lust was an affection whore, Greed was an attention whore, a sow of glory and praises. She was Sinintee if Sinintee was a female and had no brain.

Flokí was created as a mirror image of Sinintee. A clown, a talker, a jester, a coward, the visual mockery on Sinintee for everything that Sinintee claimed to be.

Managan, the Spawner of Blight, she was created to twist and destroy everything that Niwdar has ever loved and nurtured.

His Demon Lords, his second-coming creations, they were Munezee’s instrument of revenge on his children who have killed and wronged him.

And yet, inside this accursed prison, they became something that they were never meant to be as Munezee watched. Munezee was inside that strange room, a room of many windows and no door. A room that was steeped in royal brilliance and luxury. A room where every tile on the floor was made of diamond, and every stone on the wall was ruby and sapphire. A room where whatever Munezee desired would manifest and deliver itself to him. Everything he desired. A great wine to drink, a royal bed to lie down, throne to sit, weapons to train himself, pussies to fuck, cocks and teats to suck. Everything. Everything but freedom.

Everything would be granted to him as long as he desired them. Everything but freedom. Freedom was an illusion.

“Free me,” Munezee commanded.

“Initiation code for freedom is required. Please repeat the initiation code after me three times, I am Munezee, a complete dickhead.” That monotonous voice, as cold and mechanical as a golem’s voice answered Munezee as usual.

Never Munezee would make the same mistake of swallowing his pride and repeat the code after that golem.

“Error. Your intonation is incorrect. Please repeat the correct initiation code again. I am Munezee, a complete dickhead.” That golem kept pestering Munezee until he spoke the words in the same manner as it did.

“Hey dickhead, you stupid or what? Oh, forgive me, I forgot. You are stupid. You have dicks for a brain, my bad. Of course, you are stupid. Why the fuck would I give you freedom when I have painstakingly created this prison solely to trap you? If you want freedom, try jailbreaking your prison, YOU COMPLETE DICKHEAD.”

That accursed human would appear on one of the many windows and laugh himself to tears, and then disappeared.

Freedom was a trap. Freedom was an illusion inside this dreamland. It did not exist.

No matter what authority and trick that Munezee commanded to aid him, Munezee could not free himself from this accursed room. This room it granted him everything, it made him felt powerful as if he was still a God, and yet he could not be much further away from that.

And so Munezee watched.

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In the middle of that great square where billions of stupid people of Fearless stood and waited in anticipation, a band seven people aligned the stage. The crowds erupted with cheers for their favorite heavy metal band, “Wrath and his cheerful band”.

In dreamland, where every stupid person of Fearless could sing and dance, and appreciate music as if they were breathing, there were millions of music bands. However, the rock band, “Wrath and his cheerful band” was undisputedly the most popular and beloved music band in dreamland.

The members of “Wrath and his cheerful band” composed of the Sextuplets. Clones of the Stupid God, the creator of dreamland they were. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Zeta. These clones were Identical. Identical to his look, swagger and his artistic sense. The last member of the band was Wrath, the Thousands Claws Demon Lord. He was a fan favorite and the lead vocalist of “Wrath and his cheerful band.”

Wrath grabbed the mike that was tossed to him by Alpha and shouted to the crowds in his usual voice, a raspy and abyssal voice. “How do you do, stupid people of Fearless?” His voice was as rough as sandpaper and as coarse as fragmented and weathered cement. A person could abuse his vocal cord with decades of relentless smoking and alcohols abuse, and still, he could never recreate the depth of Wrath’s voice. It was gravely deep, coarse, like something that was born from the depth of the abyss, a rare and unique voice. A voice that can never be seen outside of the abyss. It was a voice that was made for heavy metal, a match made in heaven.

The crowds of stupid people of Fearless responded well to Wrath. They cheered for him. He was their favorite vocalist in dreamland. His voice was just as much beloved in dreamland as the voice of their Stupid God.

“I love you, stupid people of Fearless. Know that I dedicate all of my songs and my love to you,” shouted Wrath as he crushed the first mike of the day inside his powerful grip.

The crowd erupted with cheers and applause. Another mike soon rotated in the air and found its way to Wrath’s hand. “I love you, stupid people of Fearless,” Wrath thundered, “I LOVE YOU.”

“WE LOVE YOU TOO,” the entire dreamland seemed to shake when that crowds of billions answered in harmony.

The second mike exploded inside Wrath’s dead grip when he heard such a response. He stood and howled. Wrath’s howl was a powerful voice. His was one that oozed with raw and primal emotions, one that roared and howled like that of a beast, and yet was so much more.

It was a strange sight, a bizarre sight, an unfathomable sight for the older generations of stupid people of Fearless. But for the younger generations, it was a common sight.

If the older generations of stupid people of Fearless had grown accustomed to the sight of Wrath being a faithful instrument of music on the stage and no more than that, the newer and younger generations admired Wrath for his voice, songs and above all his honest character. They admired him even more after they learned how Wrath transformed himself from a brainless beast of destruction to someone who could speak and sing.

Then, there was the luckiest generation, those who lived and were still living while witnessing history as history was being made around them, they loved Wrath even more. They witnessed Wrath’s story as it was being written. They have once seen him as nothing more than a beast. They witnessed him being at the complete mercy of their Stupid God. They witnessed his growth with their eyes. They witnessed the path that he has chosen for himself. They witnessed Wrath became an irreplaceable member of “Wrath and his cheerful band.” They loved Wrath just as much as Wrath loved them.

Alpha tossed the third mike to Wrath and signaled for the concert to begin.

Gamma, the drummer led the concert with the flurry of his drum sticks. The crowds immediately recognized the song. Beta, the guitarist soon joined Gamma with an intro. Delta, the basser played his bass guitar. Wrath sang an old song that Alpha has written for him, “Your Demon Lord no more.”

“Created by your hands,

Molded from your mold,

Crafted from your miracle,

Kept by your chains and your collar,

Your Demon Lord, Your Wrath,

NO MORE. NO MORE. NO MORE.

I AM WRATH, A DEMOND LORD,

BUT NO MORE, NO MORE YOUR WRATH

NO LONGER YOUR DEMON LORD

YOUR DEMON LORD NO MORE.

NO MORE. NO MORE. NO MORE.

I AM WRATH, YOUR DEMON LORD NO MORE.”

Wrath howled on that stage. The crowds howled with him. Wrath was incapable of lying. The crowds rooted for him. The crowds cheered for him.

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Inside the sacred mirror hall, three missionaries of the Cult of the Prince lived. Sanguine, Yasubotay, Rasahlu. The Embodiment of Madness, the Reflection of Madness and the Whisperer of Madness. They lived a humble life inside the sacred mirror hall where the heart of the Cult of the Prince located.

Inside the mirror hall, every tile and stone was a reflecting mirror. Every mirror was a question, “Have you been mad enough?” that every follower of the Cult of the Prince asked themselves every morning.

Inside the mirror hall, everybody was equal regardless of who they once were.

Man, woman, the young, the old, the strong, the weak, the normal, the cripple, king, queen, peasant, orc, dwarf, elf, monsters and even Demon Lords, everybody was equal.

“REJOICE. He is your one and only Savior.”

“FUCK YOU URLOX.”

“FUCK THE GAME.”

“FUCK THE THRONE”

“FUCK YOU SININTEE”

“FUCK YOU MUNEZEE”

“FUCK EVERYTHING”

“ALL OF YOU, GO FUCK YOURSELF”

“REJOICE. REJOICE. RE-FUCKING-JOICE.”

The prayers to the worshipped idol of the Cult of the Prince changed from day to day as the weather of Escana.

Inside the mirror hall, the concepts of years and months did not exist, erased completely. But the concept of day and week did not. There were seven days a week. The week began with the Laughing Day. During this entire day, the inhabitants of the mirror hall would laugh at everything and kept laughing from morning to day-end. After that, it was the Crying Day. No more laughing, no laughter was allowed on this day. Everyone cried from morning to dusk. Followed the Crying Day was the Cursing Day. After that, it was the Singing Day, Self-Torturing Day, Party Day and finally the Self-Reflecting Day. After that, it was Laughing Day again.

Inside the mirror hall, there was only insanity and madness. And there was no inequality in insanity and madness. Inside the mirror hall, everybody was equal. They were equally mad in the eyes of the Prince.

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His second-coming creations were being perverted by the hands of that accursed human. His love, they were being impregnated with strange ideology and stupid behaviors. They were being poisoned and twisted from his ideal images and intentions. But all Munezee could do was watching from his prison cell.

And so Munezee watched. He watched his Demon Lords being corrupted while channeling his ever-growing hatred to his worst enemy. Munezee secretly vowed to strip that human from the grace of Death. He vowed to make that human wished that he could die. And so Munezee watched, formulating his plan in secret.

Flokí was a trickster. Envy was a liar. Yasubotay was a schemer. But they were not the best of their kind on Kharigan. On Kharigan, Munezee was the ruler, the best that was and will be, the best at everything. Munezee would not make Flokí such an accomplished trickster if he himself wasn’t. Same for Envy and Yasubotay. He was not their equal. He was their better at who and what they represented.

Try jailbreaking this prison, you said.

Try containing me human. To win this battle, Munezee knew that he had to break out of this Divine Dream first.

How to kill an arrogant opponent? Make him even more arrogant.

Inside his prison, the Lonely Demon Lord schemed his jailbreak.

Do you think time could dispirit me? Do you think time is on your side? Do you think this prison could break me?

Do you think your poison could twist all of my creations?

I made them. I knew them more than you do.

Your arrogance shall be your ultimate downfall. Munezee, the Lonely Demon Lord prophesized.