THE POWER OF YES
"Gooood—evening to the native schitizens of Babylon!"
The anchor beamed, wrapped in a sharp all-blue tuxedo and a spotted black tie knotted too tightly at his neck. His grin stretched wide across the television screens of the city.
"To all the aspiring kids and the wonderful parents, the Annual Contest: Vesselian of Babylon searches for you! Yep, it's true. Just like every other year, this year's winners will earn the golden ticket to unlock margin 10s for the vessel at their age! Minimum age and maximum age are ranged at 9 and 12 respectively."
The café was relatively busy, neither swarming with customers nor desolate. A casual evening. The sound of customers chatting, lovers flirting, and computers writhing in pain as programmers jammed the keys with their improper use of freewill, filled the space with a sense of familiarity.
Then, without warning, the broadcast stuttered. The anchor's smile froze mid-syllable before dissolving into static. A technically noisy, buffered voice boomed across the café, dragging every gaze upward—everyone except the hardened computerists, who remained chained to their personal, equally sized canonically large screens.
The icon LIVE FEED stamped itself onto the screen. The broadcaster reappeared—slightly disheveled, noticeably annoyed now.
"—Ugh, you sure? Right, I'm not supposed to question credibility…" He yawned, eyes rimmed red from fatigue, glancing not at the camera as usual, instead somewhere beyond it, behind it.
Drawing in a deep breath, he spoke:
"Apologies... for the interruption of the previous broadcast. This is truly an urgency that we cannot afford to ignore. Recent reports suggest the sighting of another murder on Hymn St. With that said, this is the third unexplained killing of the week."
In most cities, the words would've sparked gasps or panic. But this was Babylon. Here, tragedy had long since lost its sting. The café turned numb. A few continued to listen, while the rest drifted back to their idle chatter, boredom outweighing any fear. Their silence wasn't shock, it was resignation.
"Victim, similar to the previous cases, was a non-vessel user. Unable to protect themselves against the perpetrator, they were inevitably subjected to cruel torture before being fatally injured and ultimately, not being able to make it out. We urge the civilians to exercise caution, and for the non-vessels to be extra cautious as the serial killer remains loose and on the bout for unsuspecting victims."
The false smile crept back onto his face, painted on like a mask nearing its final cue.
"That's all, folks. News Baby is dimming down, and anchor Llyod is signing off for today!"
But the grin didn't vanish, the screen didn't return to usual. It lingered unnaturally long, until the broadcast itself seemed to be frozen again. Then, slowly, the façade cracked. The smile twitched, collapsed, and what remained was raw disgust.
"GOSH. That was HARD. Never—never ever call me in for things relating to those creeps. I can't even pretend to care about those bloodsucking subhuman parasites."
He slapped his shoulders with a thud, cracked his knuckles, and sneered—a sinister curl that didn't belong to the polished man of the broadcast.
"Hah—"
His expression shifted sharply as his eyes darted off-screen.
"What the fuck do you mean the camera is still on live feed? You fucking—"
The feed erupted into static.
The power of ϒes – chapter one | all about instincts
One moment, there was nothing. The next, I was—screaming at me, the will of a hundred suns, an urgent instinct: to find a host.
Around me stretched an endless fog, heavy and wet, pressing against me like a damp blanket. It went on forever—no end in sight, purely an infinite yog of mist. Then, without warning, the mist broke, and the world exploded into view: 'countries', 'cities', 'skyscrapers', and countless other human shapes and structures my mind had no names for.
That was when a quieter, sharper thought slid into place: What have I seen before?
The answer came quickly.
Nothing.
Figuratively and literally,
Absolutely nothing.
I tore across the face of the earth, passing oceans, deserts, and sprawling civilizations until I stopped—abruptly, violently—in front of a young boy whom I thought recognized; slouched in a cold wooden chair, staring into a steaming porcelain mug of some hot, brown liquid.
Something deep inside me tapped into action. I spoke the words subconsciously memorized into my being:
"Axel Symons, the power of yes has chosen you as its vessel."
I paused, my ethereal and invisible haunt looming over his sight.
"Do you accept?"
I stared at him, he remained frozen. A sliver of sweat passing down from his forehead as he deliberately sipped the contents of the mug, burning his tongue yet remaining still and unfazed.
When I searched his face, I gained the hint that he merely thought of my voice as a hallucination rather than a divine coronation and brushed it off.
"Axel Symons… Do you accept being the vessel of Yes?" I repeated in a louder tone.
"Yes…" Axel appeared to be in a state of astonishment and self-doubt while manifesting the approval.
Without a second's notice, I slipped inside his soul and bound myself to his will.
His heartbeat, sense, perception, depth, desire, emotions—all that he could feel was now connected to me. I gained access to his internal sense of ideals and morals, his churning blood stream and absolute sub-control over his articulation.
Instinctively, I managed to slither my territory into his memories and consume the events up until this point in time.
"…Yes?"
Axel Symons questioned. His tone was as if his previous acceptance of the vessel was a subconscious act instead of being a consequence of his will.
"—vessel of yes…? Wha-what, how?"
His expression was akin to a bamboozled coyote caught red-handed at the henhouse. Instinct—that's all it was.
"This must be a dream. Yeah… an upside-down nightmare perhaps. Everything with Candice, Mathew, Svetlana—fake. Just a bad day I forgot to wake up from. Lord, am I happy about that."
But it wasn't a dream. I knew, because I was inside him now. Merged with Axel Symons, threaded into his consciousness so deeply that I could hear the currents of his mind—his fears, his memories, his traumas. Past, present, and even the shadows of what hadn't yet come. I was part of him now.
His denial was almost touching. It was… human. My first time brushing against a soul, feeling how they writhed against truth. And it just so happened my host was tangled in a mess far darker than most.
"Axel Symons," I whispered into the core of him, "this is not a nightmare, nor a trance. You are awake—in every sense of the word. And I have chosen you as my host."
The words froze him. Confusion lashed through his mind, battering me like fists against straw.
"Host? I'm just imagining this." His voice cracked as he shoved himself up from the café chair, slamming one hand on the cold wooden table while fumbling for his phone with the other.
I felt it all—the rigidity of the table, the frigid air suffocating his lungs, the tightness of his fear. His world pressed down like a weight.
"I read it once," Axel muttered. "In lucid dreams, you can't read clocks or recognize yourself in mirrors. That's how you wake up." He raised the phone, staring at his reflection.
What stared back hardly resembled him. His hair clung to his head in an unkempt mess. Hazel eyes, rimmed with dark circles, glittered with sleepless nights. Purple scars traced his cheekbones, fresh and unhealed. His jawline cut sharp beneath the bruises, a frame too proud for a face too worn. He almost didn't recognize the man in the glass.
"Axel," I said, "your efforts at denial are futile. I, the bestower of the Power of Yes, have chosen you as the Vessel. Coincidentally, you accepted me without resistance."
He blinked, almost laughing, and cut across my words.
"Vessel? Vessel of Yes?"
"Yes. Correct. You are now the Vessel of Yes, and therefore—"
"Hah…" The sound was bitter. I tasted the storm of his feelings but couldn't untangle them. Something deeper than anger or disbelief churned inside him.
"Just today, I was called a useless, leeching parasite. Mind-numbing waste. Nothing but a burden living off the sweat of the 'hard-working' class. And now, what? Now I'm blessed?" His laugh cracked into something sharp. "A divine gift after years of persecution? What about the other non-vessels? Do they get to suffer while I play the chosen one?"
I tried to speak, to explain that I didn't yet understand this world or its cruelty—but he pressed on, voice heavy with rage, bitterness, and something dangerously close to wonder.
"Forget it. It's ridiculous I'm even entertaining this. Talking to a voice in my head, pretending it's some miracle. My minds just broken. My self-validation's gone off the rails and found a new disguise."…
After a particularly long while of silence, Axel slumped into his chair again. His fingers tapped against the porcelain mug, restless, unfocused. A cycle of self-doubt, reconciliation, and reluctant curiosity twisted through his mind like a slow-moving storm.
Finally, his voice came low, hesitant.
"Say… bestower… what vessel capabilities do I even get with this Power of Yes?"
I brightened at the intrigue in his tone. "I am glad you asked. Had you not, I might have been forced to demonstrate through… an act. One your customs would have likely deemed inappropriate."
A flicker of unease crossed his features, but he masked it with defiance. I continued anyway, trying first with metaphor:
"Human reason is an ocean. Deep, fluid, ever-changing. To explain it, I must wade through symbolism, for your kind has long spoken in such things. But very well… I will step onto land."
Abandoning abstraction, I shaped the truth in simpler words.
"Humans trade. They argue, they unite, they wander. Across continents, they speak in thousands of tongues, yet one response transcends all barriers: acceptance. A nod. An agreement. The word yes. It is the only decree of power understood by all—man, beast, or otherwise."
Axel stared at the mug in his hands, silent for a long stretch. I thought him reflecting, evaluating. But I misjudged.
"…Could you explain it again?"
My sigh rippled through his consciousness. "Approach anyone with any command… and they will follow through."
Inside his mind, skepticism slithered. Denial still lingered, but curiosity had carved its first wound. His psyche resembled a labyrinth of mirrors—dim, sticky, grotesque reflections looping endlessly, impossible to navigate.
"You've got to be joking." He scoffed. "That's my vessel ability? What, I just… walk up to people and ask for help?"
He broke into laughter, raw and uncontrollable. Though loud, it felt caged, pressed within our shared radius. His chest heaved until the amusement collapsed on itself, leaving him colder, sharper.
"Then again," he muttered, a smile dying on his lips, "it does make sense. I've been begging for help all my life. Why would my vessel be any different?"
For a moment, I thought I understood. His emotions, traced through my tether, felt decipherable. But the longer I lingered, the more I realized how shallow my grasp truly was. Humanity was not a pond but an abyss, and Axel's bitterness was only one fragment of its depth.
And I… I had only been alive in this plane for minutes. Thrust suddenly into a body, into a world I did not know, forcing a power down his throat that he had not asked for.
I had begun to run on pure instincts from the instant I arrived at this plane of existence.
…
Now that our consciousnesses were bound, I could follow the trail of Axel's perception. Wherever his gaze lingered, mine followed. The café blurred into muted shapes until it locked on one figure: a young girl, her black hair tied neatly into pigtails, weaving her way toward our table with deliberate steps.
Her arrival pressed into Axel's awareness like a pebble tossed into a still pond. The chair beneath us held his weight but not his composure; warmth spread against the wood while a storm of overlapping emotions twisted through him—unease, relief, and something fragile he did not want to name.
"I'm sorry for being late~" she chirped, swinging into the seat opposite him as if the heaviness in his chest did not exist. "The line at the counter looked short, but the customers were so indecisive I had to suggest some combinations. Even then, they doubted me." She huffed, puffing out her cheeks in mock exasperation before leaning in, bright-eyed. "Anyway, what's up?"
Axel stiffened. His thoughts splintered in every direction. Relief at her normalcy clashed with suspicion, shame, and the lingering echo of my revelation. His lips twitched but did not move.
-tpoy-
Under his breath, Axel's voice slipped into a softer, slyer tone, barely above a whisper, but edged with sharp thoughtfulness.
"Hey, so—just to be clear. You're not just a figment of my imagination? I'm not insane? I'm still in reality, and you're… my speaking, talking vessel?"
"Well, not quite. But technically… correct."
His eyes rolled with skepticism, yet I could feel his reluctance bending into curiosity, intrigue and a hunger—to test this newfound blessing.
"And just to confirm… Can I command anyone—regardless of who they are—to do anything I want? Basically, forcing my will upon them?"
"Yes. They will always respond with the same word:
'Yes.'"
"No matter who they are. No matter what vessel they possess."
–tpoy–
"Axel? You alright?"
The corners of his smile curved upward, a thought sparking hot behind his expression. Instinctively, I gained a skeptical hunch. Running back over every reply I'd given him for the past interaction—each one, brutally honest.
My, so far' limited conscious halted to the point of telepathic exchange that occurred barely a moment ago.
My confirmation of the complete absence of boundary surrounding such a powerful vessel, even to me, sounded too good to be true.
And then it hit me.
Nothing draws from nothing. Power doesn't bloom without a price. Nothing pulls from nothing and so must be my bestowed abilities.
"Triss…"
Wait.
"WAIT!"
The chaotic whisper turned scream shot through inside him, slamming into his neurons like a lightning strike. But I was late. By the barest fraction of time—
a hundredth of a nanosecond.