[b]CLOCKWORK GOD[/b]

Heavy rains had been tormenting the town for a week already, perhaps trying to wash away the many sins this town held. If that was the case, then the torrent should continue for a long time, Vincent had thought to himself. While the downpour was flooding the outside world, Vincent had been staying inside in the warmth and comfort of his house. That night he had lodged in his little library. He was sitting by his desk, a little lamp on the table offering him light as he was going through pages of one of his many books. It was an old one, its pages yellow and fragile. But Vincent handled it with care while his eyes followed the words on the paper. This specific book had earned his utmost interest a long while ago; it was about ancient deities that people worshipped thousands of years ago. But just like any other book that focused on this subject, it failed to prove if these gods actually existed – how could they just disappear like that if such powerful beings were real? Of course, there was a mention of an apocalyptic disaster known as the Plague of Gods that apparently wiped them out, but still, did it kill the gods or was that the period when people stopped believing in gods? Vincent didn't know.

He stopped turning pages when a picture of a deity appeared: a blue-skinned woman with four arms. The Mother Goddess. It was told that she created everything; the world, most of the lifeforms and all the other gods. She was the mother of everything. Vincent had always been fascinated by her, because why wouldn't such an impressive being intrigue the mind of a scholar? Thinking about the power of such a goddess felt overwhelming and every time he pondered about it, it never failed to amaze him.

If only he could bring that kind of being back into existence…

Gently he stroked the picture of the goddess before he closed the book. Slowly he stood up and pressed the little button on the lamp, and with a silent click the light disappeared. Vincent walked through the dark library to the door and he found himself from a corridor. The night was exceptionally dark because of the black clouds that were veiling the heaven. His hand fumbled around the wall a bit and soon he found the light switch he had been seeking and soon the darkness was banished by the light on the ceiling. Solemnly he walked through his spacious home, it was an old manor he had managed to grab for himself; he rather lived in a place like this than in a soulless multi-storey building.

Like a lone ghost Vincent wandered around the manor, flipping light switches on and off as he was making his way to the basement. It was the largest room in his manor and because of its great size, it was one of the reasons why Vincent had bought this building. For in that basement, he could work on the project that would change the world, hidden from the curious eyes of the public.

Eventually Vincent managed to get to the bottom floor of his manor and from there, he could access the basement. Not just anyone could get inside, it had a special lock that could be opened with a specific key, which Vincent held with him at all times. Even though the manor was located in a pretty remote area, he had wanted to make sure that if any soul would dare to infiltrate his home, they wouldn't get to his workshop in the basement and meddle with his work. Once Vincent was facing the thick metal door, he took a hold of the necklace he was wearing. It had a golden sphere with blue gemstone and he pressed this orb against the small depression on the door. It clicked open and then the metal did slide aside, granting him the access to the space beyond it. As he stepped inside, the door returned to its guarding position, the cold metal preventing anyone else entering this ground Vincent had deemed sacred.

A very bright lamp in the ceiling lit up as soon as it sensed movement. In its cold artificial light, the secret content that Vincent kept locked away was revealed. A huge mechanical figure was resting at the back of the room, its enormous body taking a lot of space. Its form was humanoid and its appearance mimicked the looks of the Mother Goddess, the four arms being the most notable resemblance. This machine was still very much unfinished, important parts missing here and there. But Vincent was already admiring his own work and he walked closer to the sleeping god.

This world was in a horrible disarray. This world needed a god. And if there wasn't one out there answering prayers, he had to make one. And he would create it in the image of Mother Goddess, for she was sacred, and through this machine, he would bring the mother of everything back to this world. That was his ultimate goal.

And he wouldn't settle for anything less than perfection. Vincent was smiling to himself as he eyed his greatest creation, though soon he turned away and decided to leave. By touching the metal door he was able to exit this precious chamber and he left behind the god that would one day bring salvation to this world.



[b]ENGINE OF SKIN[/b]

He watched over the polluted city from the nearby cliff which had witnessed countless deaths during the years. Nowadays this city was just an undead memory, filled with broken buildings that served as homes for equally broken people – if those people could be called humans anymore. The world had changed permanently when the sun died and plunged this planet into an era of perpetual darkness. And so the dwellers of the world had to change as well and now the bodies of flesh had got turned into machines, more or less. While there still existed people who had some of their original flesh intact, it was likely that in the future they all would turn into complete machines. Such a depressing and dark thought that this was the fate of the human race.

While the man was observing the remains of his people, a sudden breeze started to blow through the area, carrying the smell of rust, and it was weeping because of all the misery. If only the wind had been silent, the man probably wouldn't have noticed it at all, because he couldn't feel it. He raised his hand and looked at the mechanical limb of his. Slowly he had transitioned more like a machine rather than a man, just like so many others. At this stage, he didn't have much of humanity left in him, it all had vanished as his body had been upgraded more and more.

What made him human at this point?

“Maybe you have evolved too far.”

Oh that beautiful, but so harrowingly haunting voice. He knew that she had appeared to him once more, the one who had loved him the most in this world, but who had been taken by the death's grasp, although not that successfully, since she could still manifest her spirit into this world. Or maybe her appearances were just a glitch in his brain.

He slowly turned around to face her. She still had that crimson suit that made her look so stunningly gorgeous. She was just a remembrance of old since she still retained all of her flesh, so unlike him and many other individuals nowadays. The wind was carefully playing with her pale brown hair and her blue eyes were still holding the same starlight like she had carried in them when she had been alive. She was what a human should look like and he was painfully aware of that.

“Have you wondered with this new mechanical body of yours, where does it end and you begin?” she asked with a quiet voice and she took a few steps so she could stand on the cliff by his side.

But the man remained quiet. He didn't know the answer to her question. But one thing was for certain in his mind: his body had been so weak and fragile, easily caught by death. He was terribly afraid of the end of consciousness which that body held, and he had to become something better. And little by little he had turned into what he was now, somewhat free of death.

But her lingering spirit kept reminding him of things he didn't want to think about. She had been one of those people who were against modifying bodies and then an illness had snatched her life. He had been adamant that he would never suffer the same fate. Though, did he really have an improved life? Even without flesh, he was still rotting inside because he still had his soul – it was broken like everything else in this world. One of the features he missed the most were the ability to actually feel anything, how everything felt against his skin. Even feeling pain was something he yearned for. But now… He just had apathetic feelings.

And of course, there was also this disease in his brain, something he had contained in his head for so long. Maybe it was this illness to blame for her appearance. And his mind was in turmoil because of it, he had this endless conflict between two different desires. Part of him wanted to find out if it would be possible to reset his brain and start from a blank page, and on the other hand, he didn't want to lose his memories and experiences, for they were one of those rare things that still made him… well, him.

Just like every time when this clash decides to occur, he would just stand still and stare somewhere, anywhere that could steal his focus. He had turned his gaze to look at the city once more, following all the tainted figures that still tried to find their purpose in this poor excuse of a life. And he was just a humble observer who wanted to see what would happen to the human race.

So he watched, watched the city for such a long moment that even the image of her faded as if the wind itself had blown it away. But he knew that she would return sooner or later. She would never leave him, not completely.



[b]LOVELY HOST[/b]

At first Dorian had thought that a seed of madness had been planted in his mind. When you start to hear voices in your head that definitely are not your thoughts, it's only natural that you start to doubt the state of your sanity. A different entity had decided to make its nest in his brain, someone who had called himself Wilfred. His appearance had been a very sudden one, but maybe Dorian should have expected something weird to happen after visiting a place like an abandoned hospital; he had been a reckless young man together with his group of friends. Since the hospital was a place where countless had lost their lives, they had expected to encounter ghosts that still lingered in that area. But instead, Dorian's mind had been infiltrated by Wilfred. Maybe he had lived inside someone who had ended up in that hospital and ever since their passing, Wilfred had remained dormant until a new host would come around – which eventually did.

Dorian wasn't thrilled when he started to hear Wilfred's voice for the first time. He had been quite shocked, especially because it seemed like all of his friends had turned around to be just fine, it was just his head that was getting messed up. But Wilfred had assured him that there was nothing wrong with his head and that he was an actual being that just needed a host so they could thrive. He was something that came from a different dimension but was now stuck in this world and all of this sounded so ridiculous in Dorian's opinion. But eventually, with time, Wilfred managed to convince him that they could be companions, maybe even friends, and that he would help him succeed in life. And in the end, Dorian did accept his constant presence.

Wilfred became his silent guide and over the years they built quite a bond between them. Dorian grew more into a calm and collected person and stopped fooling around with his friends. Eventually they started to become distant and barely kept any contact at all, if even that. But with Wilfred, he felt happy and satisfied with his life. What a weird thing it can be, the fate, and how theirs were intertwined. Wilfred could have ended up to dwell inside the mind of anybody, and yet, he had done that with Dorian. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it wasn't, but that didn't really matter.

One day, Dorian heard tragic news concerning one of his former friends. Apparently, he had drowned in the local harbor. It had been quite a shock, especially since it seemed like it had been intentional. Wilfred had tried to comfort Dorian, but had also said something that troubled him a little.

“Maybe there was something inside him and it just had to go.”

There was something unsettling with these words. And little did he know, this was the point when the hidden malice of Wilfred raised its head.

For so many years Wilfred had supported him, encouraged him and there was no one else in Dorian's life who had helped him out more. But little by little, Wilfred had made his brain rot, doing it over the span of many years. Dorian was getting apathetic, without realizing it himself. He had a successful life by the modern standards, having a good job and being in a happy relationship with somebody, he was healthy and had no addictions. He was a lovely person, according to Wilfred's words. And still, there was this pesky feeling at the back of his mind that this world needed to get rid of him. And this feeling kept growing day by day, until eventually, he had to do something about it.

Dorian had wandered outside at night and exceptionally dark night it was. An alien force was driving him, he was almost in a trance. The city was quiet at such a late hour, so quiet that the sound of Dorian's steps seemed to fill the empty streets. The pale artificial lights illuminated his lone path as he marched forward like an undead soldier. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but the strange force guiding him seemed to know, so he let it take him to the unknown destination.

After wandering around the city for a while, he came to a bridge that crossed a highway and no matter what hour of the day it was, there would be traffic, and that night was no different. Dorian had stopped in the middle of it and watched with glazed eyes at the occasional vehicles that would drive through the road under him.

“You can do it. Take the leap.”

Dorian climbed on the metal railing and took the flight – although he wasn't sure why he was doing it. His body fell down onto the highway and he hit the road like a ragdoll, timing it so perfectly that a truck ran over him. Death claimed his soul, and almost did truck driver's as well since his huge vehicle went out of control and crashed against the nearby trees.

But Dorian's broken body twitched as if being controlled by a puppeteer and horribly cracking and twisting it rose from the ground, limbs and joints bending unnaturally. His damaged corpse cackled a little as it started to move in an unnerving way like a creature from hell.

“You were such a lovely host.”



[b]THE WORST OF ME[/b]

She was grasping the black wooden stick with all her might and she was breathing heavily as if inhaling the air would feed the flames of anger burning inside her. Seeing nothing but red, her eyes were locked at the small figure in front of her. The moment was so intense that even her surroundings had warped, the blue sky had turned red like blood and all the trees were suddenly standing there without foliage, their trunks black like coal, charred by wrath. She could hear something rustling nearby, even though she had no idea what could make that sound, it was just a nuisance in her mind. But most of her attention was on the little creature that was lying still, showing no signs of life, and so immense was her fury against this being that in her eyes, his figure was fluctuating strangely and couldn't stay still.

The little white one had fallen to a puddle, bleeding from the head so abundantly that the water beneath him turned entirely crimson. This pool of his own blood stained his brilliantly white feathers and he continued to bleed more and more until there was no more blood left in him and something black started to ooze out instead, mixing together with the water and blood, creating a dark red liquid. His tiny body was resting in this mess and would never rise from it.

And little by little her rage started to fade and she could see more clearly again. Her breathing became more steady as the anger stopped shackling her mind. Her grip on the stick loosened up a little and she noticed how awfully bloody it was. As she was calming down, her awareness of everything around her surfaced again and the red veil in her eyes got swept away. The flames within her soul died and as the rush in her veins subsided, she felt strangely empty. But as her gaze was fixed at the white little one, a new set of emotions started to pound in her chest.

Guilt. Sorrow. Shame.

Anger had clouded her mind so utterly, so firmly, that now the realization of what she had done truly hit her. The nice walk in the park had ended tragically. She had repeated this same crime so many times, her need for violence had killed all the innocent little ones. He was her latest victim and the last one here, all the others were gone because of her. Suddenly she remembered them all and she understood why this little one in front of her had attacked her so aggressively. He had hated her with all his heart – and she deserved every bit of that hatred. She had earned it with her gruesome deeds that could never be forgiven. Her soul was ugly because of her eagerness to resort to violence, it was the worst part of her. But it's not like she had willingly chosen to be this way.

Her heart was heavy with regret. And in that moment she realized that there was one thing she could do. She dropped the stick, that simple tool of death, and she struck her nails right to her chest. They dug into her flesh like a pack of hungry beasts and they burrowed deeper and deeper inside her. Her blood was dripping to the ground, joining in together with the blood of those she had murdered. Her own hand infiltrated inside her ribcage, seeking for something that she had to get rid of. And she found it; her dark heart. She hit her tainted nails at this organ and violently she ripped it out. It was still beating as she gave a quick glance at it. Her grip on it tightened and she crushed it with all her might.

Then she fell on her knees and started to dig the blood-soaked ground. Her bloody fingers made a little hole on the soil, it was like a tiny grave. She dropped her dark heart in there, then buried it. There it would stay and rot, and it was the least she could do. She felt so bad for all the little ones. She would remember them. She would remember them all.

She stood up from the ground, feeling lighter than a while ago. Her heart full of regrets was now gone. She looked at the red sky that judged her silently. Then she began to walk away from the macabre scene, following the grey path filled with remorse, and the sight of him lying in his own blood would haunt her until the day of her own demise.



[b]RINGMASTER HAS TO DIE[/b]

During these harsh and depressing times, out there were lots of poor people, having no home, no family or friends and no purpose. They were just drifting through their existence, but most were miserable enough to realize that their future would not get brighter. And he, Naer, had been excellent at picking up these kinds of wretched souls that no one loved or cared about. He would offer his helping hand, whispering them a promise that their life would get better, he would give them home and food. And most of the time, they would accept his offer and join him, becoming part of the circus he was running. The desire to belong somewhere was strong within the hearts of those people who had nothing in their lives. Naer's sweet words lured a lot of people in, but they had no idea what a wicked man he actually was.

The people came in as humans, but would eventually turn into freaks, losing bits of themselves as the time passed. Naer's circus was a nest of darkness, twisting reality and induced madness. Once you were in, it was already too late. Though, it's not like these wretches had the luxury to choose anyway, they had been abandoned by everyone else in this world forsaken by god. There was nothing else left for them but to live a dismal life with Naer. He was a man with a charming appearance, but from the inside he was wicked and new arrivals would soon learn just how malicious he can be – he had no heart. 

Entertaining the audience by putting on a grandeur show was the only thing he cared about. If he deemed someone as worthless or simply didn't want to see anymore, he would get rid of them, being ruthless and cold. Replacements were easy to get anyway; the world was full of miserable people for him to harvest. It was almost like he was feeding on human misery.

Of course, he gained no love, either, from those he had lured in the circus. And oh, they hoped so much that he would disappear – or even better, die – so they could be free once more from this trap, this circus tent that had become their cage. Such wishful thinking didn't go unnoticed by Naer. But he had just laughed.

“Oh, my friends, I will never die. Even if this circus would get engulfed by flames, I'd remain here standing.”

He wasn't a human being. He was too wicked. So the people of the circus were afraid of him, too scared to go against his will. Under his lead they would entertain the audience, but their cries of distress would get ignored. The audience was there for the show, not to care about a few wretches that didn't deserve compassion anyway. Maybe all these spectators were hungry for despair, maybe it was a pleasure to see the pain of someone else whose life didn't matter at all. And Naer, he would offer it to such an audience. His little freaks had no other choice but to keep entertaining.

Erren had been part of the circus for a while. His story had been pretty much the same as everyone's; he had lost everything in a destructive fire and became homeless and had nothing to live for. Then Naer had found him from the gutter and took him in. Erren had had hopes in his heart when he joined the circus, but ended up becoming one of the fools that had been deceived by Naer. Once Naer's true self had got revealed, he had been shocked and mortified. But there was nothing else for him, and so Naer had gained another lost soul.

As time passed, Erren had seen people come and go, like his old mentor. He had taught Erren all his magic tricks since he had seen potential in the young man; he could become a great magician. A bond had formed between them and the older man had turned into a father figure of some sort to Erren. The day when Naer had decided that it was his turn to go, it had been devastating to Erren. But there was nothing he could do, except keep alive his magic; it was like the older man had passed the torch to him. He would be remembered.

So many others had experienced the same thing; losing someone important was never easy. And just like Erren, others had a growing grudge against Naer burning in their hearts. And one evening they gathered as the storm was wild outside, their pitiful little oil lanterns trying their best to banish darkness. But the shadows were still present, feeding on their misery as they were sitting in a ring with gloomy minds.

“Naer has taken everything from us. We have nothing but our lives and even they might get snatched.”

“We all hate him. Maybe even more than before.”

“You know… There's plenty of us and there is no one by his side. We should try to break free from his tyranny.”

“Not a bad idea. We've been trapped by fear for him for far too long, we have to do something.”

“It's settled then. Let's go.”

With their newfound determination, they had then marched to Naer's living quarters, though the closer they were getting, the more their anxiety grew. But still, they managed to stay brave as they confronted the man who had promised them a good life, but had given a miserable existence instead. They stood there united when they were in front of him and Naer remained silent for a while, just listening to their harsh words that were meant to hurt.

Then a wicked grin appeared on Naer's face.

“Ah, my friends, you have gifted me with an idea for a new, unprecedented show.”

Erren and his companions learned soon that they had made a huge mistake.

It was time for the show the next evening. But to Erren and the rest of the circus crew, it was torment even before it started. A horrid, piercing sound was ringing in their minds, it was like something was scratching the insides of their heads. Most of them had been good-hearted people, but now they could feel something strange, something sinister awakening inside: lust for blood. It was like their inner monsters had been forced to come forth, even though at the same time, they were against these sensations, making a great conflict surface in the brain. But they were enslaved by their sudden desire for violence and could only follow this disgusting urge while at the same time they would be horrified by their own actions. And so that evening, they entertained the audience by fighting against each other, blood would be spilled on the stage as they were battling to death.

Afterwards, Erren didn't remember much. The most memorable was the horrific sensation as his body had acted against his own will, his knife stabbing and cutting the flesh of his friends. And the audience had loved every part of it. The situation had been chaotic, the fight and the cheers of the audience were mixed together. But even amidst all that madness, Erren had spotted something that would haunt his mind for the rest of his days. Standing in the shadows, he had seen Naer and how disturbing smile he had been wearing on his face. It had been the smile of a sadistic madman, fitting for a devil like him.

Erren or any of his friends didn't try to defy Naer ever again.