Pain. Haha. Wow.
If I had known what true hell felt like I wouldn't have given Gina so much shit during my training all these years. They always said your first time is the worst, how it feels like the devil opened up the gates of hell within your stomach and blew fire up your lungs- but how does one actually imagine that feeling?
You can't.
At least, you can't until it's happening to you and all you can think is fuck whoever described it that way cause they were so wrong- this is so much worse than some light hellfire.
My throat is disintegrating from the inside out, every breath felt like the sun was trying to pierce in and brand every inch of my windpipe.
The slimy entrails slither further down my throat and settle in my gut like a seething ball of fire trying to turn me inside-out.
Why did I agree to this? Who in the nine hells decided enlightenment came from slug ingestion?
Then, briefly, there is a pause from the torment. I shudder in recollection at the echoing feeling tracing through my body.
Just then light explodes in front of my eyes and a whole new sensation begins flowing through my bones, my essence- my core.
My first heaven's gate has finally opened.
Well now, I wouldn't say this was worth the pain, but damn- it feels pretty good.
I open my eyes to be brought back out of hell into… well… another kind of hell.
The elaborate ballroom is fully decorated with shining bone chandeliers, the tables set with plates of polished quartz, the guests all in their finest tuxes and dresses, and my mother looking at me with the most elated expression a person could possibly fathom.
"You did it! You did! You opened your first gate, congratulations on coming out son we are all so proud of you," my Mother coons as the rest of the room stands trying to get a look at my form.
I finally take a second to look down at my body, my skin is cracked and a shining blue glow pulsates underneath where blood should be.
The once confining sleeves of my suit are in tatters on the floor as both the pants and shirt were torn during the connection process.
I stretch and flex my four new arms coming out of my back and crack my neck, that is truly a weird sensation. Six arms. You never realize how limiting having two arms is till you have six and your disposal. My legs look a bit thicker but largely the same even though I can feel so much more power coursing through them.
Finally I look up into the mirror that was dragged out in front of me, and fully take in my new appearance: My face is split into two halves, one mask frowning and the other grinning like a sick theatrical mask. The frowning half is pure white while the grinning half is a dark navy blue. Both of my usual emerald eyes were replaced by deep black pits and my naturally red hair is now dyed white.
Suddenly a piercing voice echoes in my mind.
'We are Lunaris. It is a pleasure to consume you.'
The voice doesn't echo—it coats. It slathers my brain in something syrupy and smug. It's not pain anymore. It's worse. It's… presence.
"Consume me?" I whisper, but I'm not sure if it's out loud.
'Mmm. That's the fun part. We've already started. Call it… eternal spooning but with more organ sharing.'
Great. My internal monologue now has a co-pilot with a superiority complex and a taste for gallows humor.
"You're in my head."
'You're in my stomach. Thought we could meet in the middle.'
A laugh bubbles up in my throat and dies halfway through. Not because it isn't funny—though it's really not—but because laughter feels foreign in a body that's still rewriting itself.
I glance down again. My six arms twitch involuntarily, the new ones sprouting from my back like limbs stolen from statues of gods. My skin pulses with that same blue ectoplasmic glow, like I swallowed a star and it's trying to bleed out.
My reflection smiles at me—half of it, anyway. The white mask frowns, lips pursed in eternal judgment. The navy-blue grin on the other side of my face stretches impossibly wide, like it knows the punchline to a joke no one else survived to tell.
'Damn, we look good. Little bit Kabuki. Little bit nightmare fuel. You'll turn heads. Snap necks, too, if we train.'
I don't answer. I don't have to.
Because the ballroom erupts in applause.
Clink. Clap. Clap. Laugh. Clap. It's all somehow distant and suffocating at once. Like I just came back from hell and everyone's trying to sell me real estate in a different one.
"My son!" my mother cries.
She's descending the stairs now, arm outstretched like I just returned from war, her gown shimmering with threads of silver so fine they look like strands of spider silk spun by royalty. "Lucas, you did it. You opened the Gate!"
'And survived. Not bad for a first date,' Lunaris drawls.
Her arms wrap around me—not easy, given the new limbs and still-smoking aura radiating off my skin—and she kisses my cheek without hesitation. "You made us proud. The Grimwilde name will rise again."
Servants wheel forward a full-length mirror on a velvet-lined cart. I know the ritual. Time to admire the monster.
Gasps and murmurs sweep through the guests as I step in front of it. Some faces shine with awe. Some with envy. One—Seraphine Duskrith, cousin of the other side of the family tree, lips stained wine-dark and eyes too calculating—is wearing her smile like a blade.
"Well," she purrs, swirling her glass, "Isn't that charming. Six arms? My dear Lucas, you've become your own butler set."
'Who's that?'
Seraphine. Family. Poison-tongued with legs to match.
'Mmm. Let's snap her.'
No.
'Fine. But I'm saving her on the wishlist.'
My jaw tightens. "Seraphine. I didn't see you at the trial."
She chuckles, teeth gleaming. "I don't attend coin tosses. I prefer guaranteed outcomes."
'Tell her I like her dress. It'll be easier to identify when we rip it in half during our inevitable duel.'
A sudden voice clears beside me.
"Sir Grimwilde," says a tall, gaunt man in a military officer's coat, medals shining like brass tumors on his chest. Commander Vance—one of the Overseers. His slug hums silently on his shoulder, a violet mass with three glassy eyes and a monocle.
"You're expected at the Eastern front within the season. Our best need grooming early."
Mother gasps in delighted horror. "So soon?"
"The Unders are advancing beneath the Dyerline trenches. We need new Slugbearers at the helm. And as you know Lunaris is gifted with—"
"— with battlefield dominance unheard of since the Eclipse Massacre," Seraphine finishes, mockingly. "Yes, yes, we've all heard the bedtime stories."
I barely hear them. I'm watching a boy—twelve, maybe—peeking through the servant door with wide brown eyes. He's in livery, holding a tray of champagne that's shaking slightly. His name's Cori. We used to sneak cigarettes behind the library tower before my trials began.
His eyes flick to my cracked skin. My new arms. My masked-face.
And he looks… afraid.
'That's a shame,' Lunaris sighs. 'Fear always stings more when it comes from someone who once trusted you.'
I take a step back.
I'm not ready for war.
But war's already here.