Slipping his fingers into the folds of his cream coat, Anthony watched Selvaria, her mother, and Maria separate to get some funds for their party; Melissa and Jaenona were beside him while Jack and Cahira were off in some alley with his monkey, finishing up the man’s orders on gaining information.

Mara and Nemesis hung back to discuss something, and Anthony figured it had to do with the lion’s dissatisfaction at not being the leader of their group; it was something Anthony figured would have to be handled at some point, but Mara seemed to calm him down for the time being.

Melissa’s long, black tail weaved to the side, her focus drifting between Nemesis and the alleyway; they were in a part of Paris that seemed to get less traffic and was on the more grungy side.

“Things… don’t look super organized.”

Anthony chuckled at her twitching ears, glowing orange irises following her gaze. “That’s because they aren’t; Rachel sprung this on me rather suddenly. Right now, I’m compiling all the pieces we have.”

He caught her staring at the two flaming wisps on both sides of his eyes, and a lump dropped down her throat before glancing at the smiling child beside him; Maria had changed her into winter wear on their way over that Selvaria, Scarlet, and Alexa got her from France viewer donations.

“You’re some kind of eldritch Mythickin, right?”

Jaenona promptly shook her head, still examining the new clothing, lifting her knee-length skirt to see the white stockings and grayish-brown boots, which the coat matched.

“Anthony is now bonded with me—we are one—which means he is of the eldritch now. His Seed has been molded and repurposed to unify that which is to that which cannot be known.”

“Uh-huh… Is there any way to find my little sister through that, uh…” She ran her fingers through her hair, scanning the riverway. “I don’t know… eldritch knowledge?”

Noticing Cahira and Jack exiting the alleyway, smirking at one another with a look that said they wanted to stab each other and find a room at the same time, Anthony wore a sad smile.

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, and I’m still discovering how my abilities work. Mmh… think about it like The Oscillation just happened again for me, but… in an utterly alien way to how I perceive reality in itself…”

Mara and Nemesis seemed to realize they were getting back together because they started heading toward them at the same time as the unruly pair. The mossy-haired woman chuckled as she neared, beating the slow pirates to them.

“It certainly is interesting hearing the waves you and Jaenona generate. I understand your sister’s life is at stake, Melissa, but we are far from without leads from what I caught from Ward’s discussion with the monkey.”

“Mmh… I take offense ta that, love,” Jack motioned with his sea-legged swagger. “Mi fine hairy lass has a rather dignified name ta be callin’.”

“Pepper Mill,” Cahira snickered. “Ya do be knowin’ how ta name em, Jackie. Our monkey crew be scourin’ every bar in a five-kilometer radius ta be lookin’ fer our scallywag’s first-mate.”

Jaenona glanced toward the sea, and Anthony’s eyebrows drew together as a gigantic, rippling mirage of the two pirates materialized within its depths, stabbing one another in the eye before kissing, and a new, somewhat chubby man with a rosy smile took its place.

“Gilson ‘No Smile’ Sephiran?”

“Aye?” Jack shot him a questioning, open-mouthed stare before looking at the bewildered redhead. “Yer man be knowin’ Gilly?”

“Heck if I know,” Cahira returned.

Jaenona giggled, and Anthony sighed; the 230 cm tall lion had been glaring at him since they arrived. “No. I just saw some alternative ripple in time-space… It doesn’t really matter. I get the feeling he will have some information to point us in the right direction, but you wanted him for something else, right?”

“Eh… aye?” Cahira mumbled, looking out to sea and likely wondering what he’d seen there. “Jack’s first-mate be keepin’ track o’ all the crews that be skulkin’ around Paris.”

Ward pointed to Cahira as she pulled out a compass, grinning at Melissa’s tight lips when she noticed the object. “If ya be wonderin’ why we don’t be seekin’ after yer sister with the all-knowin’ device of desire, it be fer that very reason, love.”

“What do you mean?” Melissa asked, ears twitching a bit. “Didn’t that lead you to me?”

Cahira patted the girl on the back before moving to take the lead with Jack. “Unfortunately, Mel, only I be havin’ the connection to this little compass due to a promise made to Raguna, and what be my desire… Adventure! Plus, we already know where it will take us next.”

Ward pointed them down the docks to the path running beside the riverway. “Ta the Bloody Pool… or was it the Lady’s Pit—it doesn’t matter—ta the strings of revolution, mi beastly crew!”

Anthony got into step behind them, walking next to Nemesis with Jaenona on the other side; Melissa jogged ahead to further question the two on how soon they thought they’d find her sister.

Keeping his voice low enough to only be heard by those with enhanced hearing, he addressed the lion in the room. “If you aren’t content with Rachel’s decision and want to test me, we can set up a time once we find Melissa’s sister.”

Mara’s illuminated brown irises came into view from beside Nemesis, showing a deep frown. “Not if it means ripping apart that little girl; I won’t stand to see such an adorable and cute thing hurt.”

Jaenona blinked in confusion. “I have been torn apart before. It is not a new experience.”

Anthony raised a hand with a forced smile at the woman’s narrowed vision. “She’s talking about when she protected me from some crimson death entity…”

“The Crimson Tide,” the girl responded with a bright expression that did not elicit the vision he’d had of the incident. “I died, yet my notes were carried on by Anthony, which is where our songs intertwined.”

“Okay…”

A low rumble came from the giant cat’s throat. “I do not doubt Rachel’s choices… She has ordered me not to cause issues. Still, I wish to know what it is that has drawn such a woman to you.”

Jaenona’s head tilted to the side, and Anthony slowed when the girl was suddenly on his shoulders; the odd part was that he distinctly remembered a man and daughter doing the same thing in passing—yet no such incident had happened, but it did—and it had made the child curious.

Nemesis and Mara didn’t seem to think there was anything out of the ordinary as they continued the same conversation.

“Oh! Is that all you wanted?” Mara sighed. “You are the worst communicator when it comes to saying you want to hangout and get to know a guy.”

Anthony didn’t get that from his statement at all, but the grunt from the lion told him the Mythikin knew him far better than he did.

“Yeah, we can go grab a bite sometime after this—maybe do a bit of sparring?”

The Lion King’s golden, feline eyes lit up as his black lips drew into a smile, snickering as Jaenona tried to compare their heights with her hands on Anthony’s shoulders. “You have a love for combat like myself?”

He shrugged, chuckling to himself as he caught the reflection in a window they passed of Jaenona reaching higher than Nemesis and grinning. “I’m always up for a good fight, so long as it’s for fun.”

Mara hissed. “Nemesis’ definition of ‘fun’ is not a lighthearted workout…”

“Haha. I’m game to learn more about you, as well, Mara. It would behoove all of us to see what each member of my team is on about.”

Nemesis mouthed the word ‘behoove,’ obviously bewildered by the implications and likely thinking about deer.

“Ooh. Let’s not make it anything more,” Mara smirked, eyeing him suspiciously. “I’ve heard the same line from many men looking for something a little less… business-like, and I would rather not have a devilish hare on my butt.”

Anthony’s chest shook with laughter as he pulled Jaenona off his shoulders; they were drawing a lot of notice from citizens as they entered a more populated pier. “You’re funny! Judging from experience, your sound-sensing abilities in close range are probably even superior to Rachel’s, so my guess is that was a crap test as the new boss? I have no doubt what you said is true; it’s hard to resist beautiful women.”

“I do like an observant and unabashed man,” Mara hummed. “Eh… in the proper context,” she mumbled, glowering at Jack and Cahira as they flirted. “I tend to be more drawn toward the sophisticated type than the ruffian.”

“Is that right?” Anthony asked, leveling a side-long glance up at the lion.

Mara snorted and rolled her eyes. “Now, who’s crap testing?”

“Hehe.”

Nemesis caught the look and laughed, drawing Mara into a discussion on past lovers that Anthony wasn’t particularly interested in following.

He walked a bit ahead, scanning the wild phenomena that cast eerie shadows that bent and twisted beside and within the citizens of France. If this had been before his visit to the Eldritch Existence, he would have believed he was going insane, but every new shift brought with it a calming feeling of home that enticed him to follow the winding turns.

“Master… A gateway to Neil’scera has been opened.”

Anthony slowed to a stop, hands in his pockets as his team noticed his halt and wandering eyes.

“Yer man be good, mi fire ruby?”

Cahira shrugged. “Got me. Aye, boss, we be just about ta the spot; ya be seein’ something creepy?”

Feeling the urge to investigate, Anthony waved them off, spotting the bar’s interior and the man they were supposed to meet in the rippling waters to their side, yet there was something else reflected within the reflection of the mirrors and glass within the establishment.

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Eh?!”

He took a step off the edge of the walkway as Jaenona followed with a short hop, and they were enveloped by the gently lapping waves; Anthony saw a fracture of events, from the group leaving opposite ways, to them attempting to haul him back to Rachel for an explanation to his madness.

Hundreds of branches spanned out before him as gravity pulled him against the concrete wall, and he straightened against it, lifting his gaze horizontally; the water collapsed around him, rushing to flood France and leave the ocean dry.

Anthony walked to the dry riverbed as it passed, liquid now meeting the clouds. We’re on an alternative path to Neil’scera… The City of Eternal Reflection.

Jaenona hummed, turning in a slow circle as she sent out small, welcoming waves to whale-sized crustaceans that floated out of the flooded city of France to hover after them.

A humming within the earth moved Anthony further into the riverbed, scanning portals not seen, but felt—many appearing as leaky dams. It wasn’t just France; there were fissures all across the world linked to this location that he could use to reach seemingly any destination, even worlds and planes of Existence totally separated from his own.

What is The City of Eternal Reflection? he asked, noticing hundreds of harmless eldritch entities gathering near their location as if drawn to Jaenona’s orbit. What’s happening?

“Hmm…” The small girl held her hands behind her back, spinning in a slow circle while continuing toward the center of the vibration in the ground. “We have become the shepherd to the lost… Similar to how I was before being brought to you.

“Neil’scera is a place of reflected souls that shapes and spins the unimaginable within the Cores of those within Existence to see themselves for what they cannot perceive… It is a truth that cannot be unseen that liberates those who wish to see and ensnares those who would turn away from what one is… It is a city without lie… nor escape.”

The girl cocked her head as a red fissure broke through the soil and silt they stood on, and a haunting whisper played on the wind from within; inside, Anthony saw France, yet everything was a mirror.

He allowed the floor beneath him to crumble; he could have resisted, yet doing so felt unnatural. Jaenona drifted beside him, dress fluttering down rather than up, as if they were being pulled instead of in freefall, and Anthony’s eyes widened upon seeing his reflection—his true reflection.

Numberless entities of unspeakable shape and colossal size hummed to a resonance he discovered himself singing, and the glass city shattered into millions of pieces, causing reflux within the forced gateways that had been opened to the space that brought all those looking inside the mirrorverse to see him—Eldritch of Dre’jna Jaenona Le’thrga.

The choir of eldritch voices hailed his entrance, spreading a maddening ripple through the souls of those seeking to use the dimensional singularity. Jaenona and he fused with the city, casting a radiant orange halo sun of Magthera that was him and wasn’t; a symbol which was his eye to perceive all that looked, and none could escape the shadow of his wing.

Glass from uncounted dimensions swirled before Anthony, forcing those that were unlucky enough to leave before his ascendence to recognize their folly in seeking after that which could not be understood; they came for a means to breach the boundaries beyond to find the Crimson Chaos, yet they had found him—The Whisper of Oblivion—and into the void, they fell, crying, laughing, and rejoicing in their torment.

Anthony reached out to pluck the cords of the instrument that kept them stable inside Existence, whispering the secrets they desired; it was within him that they sought, and so they came to sleep in him—the piece of Magthera that was him welcomed all to its embrace—death could not touch what it did not understand.

A soft hum resonated within Anthony’s chest as he opened his eyes to a rather dark club, jazz music playing in the background. Across from him was a man that he needed to meet, and the door swung open to reveal Melissa, Nemesis, Mara, Cahira, and Jack.

The chants of Neil’scera still echoed within him—he was there—there was not a space he did not occupy, yet he would need to return it to the chaos of its origin once it was healed from the damage one particular manipulator caused within France.

Of course, they’d abandoned their efforts the moment his presence was felt—the arrival of a true horror—which was not something the invader desired. He knew the refraction of where to begin his investigation, though.

Anthony smiled at a woman who came to their table the moment she saw him, focus snatched by his flaming hair and illuminated sun tattoo on his forehead; the twisted urges of her innerself radiated like a buzzing insect, wishing to burrow into his skin.

“I’m sorry, uh-heh, I don’t mean to intrude, but… my name’s Tessa… I have this feeling we should get to know each other better! That’s crazy, right?”

The three men in front of him seemed taken aback, minds attempting to process how he got there and why they were getting the itch to run.

Neil’scera was restored as Jaenona appeared in a chair beside him—a chair that hadn’t been there before—and she sat the glass of milk she’d been drinking on the table, snapping everyone out of their reverie as the ominous notes ceased, and his tattoo faded.

“Mmm! Thank you for the milk, Tessa,” the five-year-old grinned, showing a white mustache.

Letting the tense bubble that surrounded him pop, Anthony shrugged it off and re-entered the flow of Existence; everyone else came up with their own reasons as to how he arrived.

“Yeah, thanks, Tessa, and as charming and helpful as you are, I’m afraid I already have a girlfriend. I’m sorry.”

The woman’s face flushed, shaking her head and waving her hand as she retreated. “N-No! I-uh, I should have guessed… Enjoy the milk, Jaenona! W-When did I hear her name?” she whispered in her retreat, but Anthony could see her soul seething.

“I bet his girlfriend’s a total slut—I’d be a way better girlfriend… Should I press him? No! It’s too late—I’d look desperate, but he’s so hot! Gah… What if I act drunk… Act easy and get him to mess up? Maybe get him to record it and anonymously slip it to his girlfriend? I could be the shoulder he cries on!”

Anthony sighed; it was less thoughts and more impulses running through her body as she went to the bar, occasionally glancing back at him. His new abilities were proving to be quite troubling and sporadic, yet Jaenona felt this was entirely normal, waving at the confused gang as they approached.

“We’re over here!”

Mumbles came from the three men as the confused Mythickin and Legendkin approached.

“Children… aren’t allowed in the club, right?”

“No… He just sat down and thought he could evangelize us. Who do you think you are, coming in here and talking ‘bout religion!”

“Yeah, this is an atheist bar, bud,” the third spoke in French. “Didn’t you read the sign on the door? We don’t like Jews, Muslims, or Christians… most of all Catholics.”

Completely bewildered by the sudden venom and logical steps that painted him as some kind of missionary, Anthony figured it was a topic of conversation before he jumped in on them.

“What’s this about you being an evangelist?” Mara laughed. “I must say, Anthony, you found a rather interesting way of making friends.”

Cahira and Jack were grinning ear to ear as they scooted over their own chairs, drawing attention to their group; the men began to realize they were far outnumbered and their new company were not human.

“Aye, lads,” the wobbly pirate greeted, sitting in reverse on his chair. “Ahem, pardon the sticky introductions, but ya see, we had to be sure ye be who ya claim. Nice touch, boss!”

Anthony was lost again as everyone came up with excuses for his fabricated actions that Existence melded together to make sense of his appearance, impressing the shadow of outcomes into being.

Cahira leaned closer with a smirk and whispered, “Aye, Peter… Death is an eternal sleep. No?”

The man’s face sobered. “So they say… And where do the reeds grow?”

Jack and Cahira’s face’s blanked; apparently, they only got one-half of the secret phrase.

“Dang it. I told ya there’d be a second test,” the Pirate Queen snarled, glaring at Jack.

“Aye, ya can’t be lucky all the time, love. Haha. Eh?!”

Anthony lifted an eyebrow as tentacles snaked out of Melissa’s shirt, pushing aside her hair as they enclosed the men’s necks. Chairs hit the wooden floor as people panicked and ran outside or whipped out their phones to record; Jaenona picked up her glass before it could be knocked to the table, sipping at it again while watching with a curious smile.

“Where did you take my sister?!”

“Woah! Woah!” Cahira held up her hands as Jack fell backward to do a reverse somersault to his feet.

“Aye, lass—they ain’t about messin’ with no monsters!”

The men stiffened, and Anthony was impressed when they didn’t move, showing strained smirks.

“Do your worst…”

“We’ll see these tentacles on the guillotine—you’ll see.”

Nemesis chuckled. “Pop one’s head off, and the others will squeal; I’ve done it a few times.”

Fists trembling at her side, her grip began to tighten but paused as Anthony put a hand on the cold, clammy flesh. “Huu-haaa. Melissa, can I have a second with them?”

“I… I want to do something!”

“Ah, I can understand that,” Anthony calmly nodded. “I promise you. You will get your chance… I guarantee it.”

Mara walked over to pull the girl away into a hug as she started to cry, withdrawing her tentacles; the men breathed out soft sighs but kept their bold masks, and Anthony motioned toward two doors—outside or the bathroom, further down the nearby hallway.

“I’ll go alone with one or all of you if you want. I won’t fight… You could even run out the back or jump into the river, for all I care.”

Peter shot a leery stare at Nemesis’ bulky form and the breaking sister before rolling around his shoulders. “You know… I actually want to hear this story—who sent you our way? I don’t mind going alone. I’m not afraid; I’ve done nothing wrong, and I’m sure as heck going to file a police report after this… Look how many witnesses we have, and you brought your daughter to this shakedown? Child services, my man.”

Anthony forced a chuckle, noticing the apprehensive glances the crowd gave them, and whispers of Mythic were passed around; it wasn’t his best first impression, but he was dealing with a lot—he wasn’t entirely sure how to view himself anymore.

“Stay here, Jaenona. We’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay… Oh, the bathroom. Mmh.”

Peter gave her a questioning look at her comment as she took another drink of milk, smiling at him. “Uh-huh… Let’s get this over with. If I come out with bruises!”

Anthony soundlessly walked by as Mara whispered so only he could hear, “Undoubtedly, he is going to hurt himself and try to make some kind of political spin…”

“It’s fine…”

An unnatural calm infused him as he led the way inside, Peter rubbing his mouth and working around his jaw. “What’s it going to be, pretty boy; a black eye, or do you have some kind of ability to read my mind?”

Anthony sighed, walking into the area; he leaned against the wall and folded his arms—Mara would no doubt be listening. He was the key, and a gateway to Neil’scera was once again welcoming all to see the truth of one’s soul.

* * *

Peter could hardly believe his luck; some bigshot U.S. monster group was about to make him rich, famous, and potentially launch his political career. Joseph Fouché would be sure to offer him a seat inside the inner circle when he had everyone in the world looking at him.

He was sick of people and their made-up gods; it was a disease, and the Cult of Reason was the answer. Peter had no fear of death because there was nothing after this—no big man in the sky judging his actions—he was god; every man was now his own authority.

Naturally, better men had to guide the blind and foolish; they had enough sway, and Joseph—their leader—had positioned himself as a simple man of the people. If they needed to prune the tree, then so be it; it took fire to fight the cancer that was religion, and he would not be like his poor wife, who had been blinded by poisonous words.

Taking his glass of rum into the bathroom, he stood in front of the tall, somber man and took a sip. “Humph. Did you really believe all that nonsense you told me about the ‘messiah’ that could save my ‘rotten’ soul?”

Anthony closed his eyes and shook his head, showing an infuriatingly sympathetic smile. “Anything you think I told you… was projection. Are you aware of the path you’re on?”

“What did you say?!” he snarled. “You don’t know anything about my li—”

The man held his hand toward the mirror, confusing him. “Look for yourself. I know you’re relying on that magical necklace you have to protect you from any mental intrusions… but the greatest fear is never from the outside… and it won’t save you from your own soul and desires.”

For only a moment, doubt touched Peter’s heart; the enigma of a man knew about the ward every intermediate member of the Cult of Reason received. “Who are you really… How do you know that?”

“Your answer is there…”

“My reflection?” he scoffed.

Peter moved to the mirror and adjusted his tie; he’d just gotten off his day job as a software engineer for a major social media platform in France. “I must say, I’m looking rather sharp today… What did you want me to—”

Anthony was gone.

Stepping back, he heard a soft hum that strummed against his thumping heart. “Where… Hah-haha. Is this your idea of scaring me? Nice try. Waste of my… Ah, let’s see…”

He sighed and went back to the mirror, tilting his head left and right. The left side, or right… Hit my head against the sink and make a bit of a mess to sell a struggle? I’ll have newspapers clamoring to crucify him.

Peter blinked as his reflection flashed his teeth; he wasn’t smiling, though; he couldn’t move, but his reflection did.

A young, sandy-haired man walked inside with another man, wearing name tags saying their name and the church they represented.

“C’mon, Elder Smith, that’s not the—”

A fire lit in Peter’s breast; he hated these boys and everything they stood for… wouldn’t it be better if they just… didn’t exist?

What am I doing… No! No!

Picking up his glass of rum, he turned with an ugly smile and smashed the glass against the head of the sandy-haired boy; blood and glass flew with him to the ground as his companion froze in shock.

“Huu-haaa. That felt… liberating!”

“Ugh—ack… W-Wha…”

Peter grabbed ‘Elder Smith’ by the throat and drew the small young man in, carrying him to the ground atop his dead or knocked-out friend as he strangled the religious fool on the ground. “Haha! Call for your god? Do it!”

“Ack—h-help!” he choked, but no one came to his aid.

“Deny your god, and, ugh… I’ll stop! Let me hear you say it!”

He didn’t, and Peter snapped his neck, shaking and feeling utterly free—it wasn’t him—yet it was; it was everything the Cult of Reason meant to him.

No! I… I’ve thought about it, but… but it’s… It is me… It’s what I want…

Peter watched, helpless from the mirror, as he marched out to take advantage of this first act of murder, using it to enter into the Inner Circle, having proven his commitment. Placed into a position of power, he led riots, protests, and campaign speeches across the nation, rallying support until everything came to a head—revolution.

Blood ran through the streets as he marched the Cult of Reason through France, purging anyone who wouldn’t admit their god was dead and performing all acts of sacrilege against their purported beliefs; he bathed in their blood, and all churches burned.

Everything that had to do with the heinous cults of old was met with fire; he would be the last revolution on religion because no one else would go far enough, except for people like him—like Joseph Fouché.

Decades passed, and after the long, bloody war, he stood on the corpses of over three billion religious zealots that refused to deny their ‘faith’ and were sent to the oblivion that was death. Religion was dead.

No… No, I didn’t mean to… I’m not a mass murderer… I started a genocide… I wanted to start a genocide…

Feeling entering his legs, Peter fell to his knees and curled into a ball; he couldn’t deny the bitter hate in his heart that broke him. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I just want people to wake up, but they don’t… It only grew… One hundred thousand… is all that’s left… Why don’t they deny it?! Burned, dismembered, tortured… they resist for nothing! Why?! Why?!”

He wasn’t sure how long he lay on the bathroom floor, but eventually, he lifted his hands, only to realize they were stained red.

Screaming as every action and order he gave flooded his mind, he scrambled to the sink to wash it off. It wouldn’t come off, no matter how much he scrubbed.

Hercule and Adolphe rushed into the bathroom, seeing him frantically scrubbing his raw hands, drawing blood in his frenzy.

“What did you do to him?!” Hercule cried as a few people rushed in to film.

“No!” Peter turned around, seeing the blood and bodies of people he’d slaughtered everywhere—an eleven-year-old that refused to give up her faith when her mother had. “I didn’t mean to… T-They wouldn’t admit god isn’t real! I-I had to… You don’t understand… you don’t understand!”

“Peter… What are you talking about?” Adolphe muttered, glancing at Anthony.

* * *

Anthony streamed out a long breath as Peter seemed to realize it was a vision of his trajectory—the path his beliefs and ideology would bring him to—and he shoved his friends to the side to drop to his knees before him, holding out his hands.

“I… I can’t get rid of the blood! How do I get rid of the blood—the screams, the smells—the memories?!”

Kneeling to his level, Anthony whispered, “It’s a warning your subconscious imprinted there… to help you see yourself clearly so you can’t deny it… You saw your own devil in the mirror, but you decide after this where you should walk. You’ve seen the destination; is a world devoid of religion worth the pain?”

His chest began to convulse at the question, hidden in the back of his mind from the decades he’d spent within Neil’scera. “I’ll be good… I’ll be good…”

Hercule and Adolphe tried to pull him out of the bathroom as Peter spoke every sin ingrained in his battered and bruised heart; no longer was his mind and desire on the hate of religion but the betterment of humanity as a whole, no matter their creed.

Yet, as he tried to say the name of the man who radicalized him, crimson began to flow from the amulet he wore, congealing in his eyes, and after he spoke the name—Joseph Fouché—Peter Deforest died.