"HOW DARE YOU?!"—a voice rumbling with rage rang out, at once far away and very close.
The Mister's soul, which had just departed the cursed Hell, froze, seized by existential terror.
It was a natural reaction. The reaction of prey that has felt the fixed gaze of a higher predator.
The Mister knew this sensation well. It was the very feeling he had instilled in thousands of enemies… but now he himself had become the helpless victim. As if he were a simple ant, its chitinous shell slowly and inexorably overshadowed by something vast and incomprehensible—like a descending hand.
He obediently froze in place. His instincts urged him to submit to fate.
Resist? Run? It was meaningless.
Everything had already been decided.
He was finished, finally and completely.
And yet, at that very moment, a spark of defiance, born of a primal will to survive, forced him to take an extreme measure—to run without looking back, in one last attempt to save himself.
"LIVE! I WANT TO LIVE!"
The Mister burned his own soul alive as it had just entered the cycle of reincarnation.
He knew that such a reckless act would inevitably have consequences in the future. But he knew even better that without decisiveness, there would be no future at all.
His existence will be completely erased from the world. No redemption. No reincarnation. No eternal torment. If he gets hit by this blow, he will disappear from the multiverse forever. Even his memory will be erased.
Unfortunately, his desperate attempt had been doomed from the very beginning.
"AAAAAH!" — the Mister howled in pain as he clearly felt his very essence called into question.
That blow tore his soul apart in a single instant. Thoughts and emotions evaporated completely, replaced by unbearable pain. Pain pierced every fragment of his being. It surpassed the deepest torments of Hell — the very Hell he had struggled so desperately to escape.
Of the being named the Mister, only a tiny thread of consciousness remained, flung by inertia into endless void.
The final shard of his soul, born of primal terror and the will to survive, carried within it one last command: "To survive. To escape to the edge of the world. Never look back. Do anything — anything at all. Just to live…"
Aware of nothing around him, he drifted through the boundless void until he was drawn into a kaleidoscope of glowing points.
The rest of the Master's soul, a tiny entity, like a naive child, guided by the instinct of survival, reached out to the brightest spark.
In that same instant, a flash of blinding light tore everything apart — darkness, silence, space itself, and time.
=========
The being drifted through a dark abyss of shattered memories.
He dimly sensed its own existence, but had no understanding of who he was or what he would become.
"I… I… I am…" — the thought flared somewhere deep within its consciousness — and immediately went out, leaving behind only a dull echo.
His body was crushed from all sides. But was it truly a body? It felt more like a strange lump of flesh, suspended by a cord.
There is a thick, impenetrable darkness all around.. A viscous, heavy, gel-like substance prevented any movement. It seemed to breathe with it, contracting and expanding, as if trying to merge with his strange form.
Thoughts fell apart, dissolving into the gloom. Only instinct remained—helpless, primordial. The remnant of the Lord's soul lost awareness. It could only feel, not think.
And what it felt was a volatile mixture of panic and lingering fear.
Time stretched unbearably slowly—or perhaps stopped altogether.
"He" hoped that something would change. Perhaps light would appear again, even the faintest glimmer —but in vain… The darkness remained the same — bottomless and indifferent.
Suddenly, something warm and soft slid across its body. The touch was careful, even gentle, yet in that darkness it felt horrific—like some alien creature tasting flesh, licking it to learn its flavor.
It wanted to turn, wanted to look at this incomprehensible thing, but the darkness held it fast, leaving not a single chance to break free.
Uncertainty and fear reached their limit. Everything inside twisted in terror. In a surge of desperation, the fragment of the soul did the only thing it could—it pretended to be dead. Nonexistent.
But nothing changed.
The pressure did not ease. The warm touches returned, growing more insistent.
After a span of time that could not be measured, it tried to move again and… succeeded. To its great astonishment.
Only then did it notice that the small lump of flesh imprisoning it was slowly changing. Arms and legs were growing, and even a head was in place. Thinking became a little easier—though still difficult.
The darkness shuddered.
From far away came a strange, indistinct sound—like a call. The voice was soft, almost tender, yet frighteningly near and distant at the same time.
Again…
The fragment of the soul, mindless yet not forgetful, still remembered what it meant to be afraid. The voice terrified it most of all—a voice that came from somewhere far away and yet impossibly close. To it, such a sound was a living nightmare.
But nothing happened.
Then—silence again.
With time, it calmed. Sometimes it felt timid touches from its "neighbor." Sometimes it heard the distant, gentle voice.
Fear slowly retreated. The darkness no longer felt hostile. It seemed to cradle it, to hold it close. "He" almost relaxed. Almost believed that everything was fine.
But...
A desperate, agonized scream tore through the distant silence. His body clenched as if caught in a vise. The familiar warmth and sticky dampness vanished in an instant, replaced by suffocation and panic.
The situation demanded decisive action.
«Run!» — The last spark of will flared to life once more.
Gathering his strength, he turned. Ahead of him glimmered a light—weak, barely visible, but unbearably desirable.
He lunged toward it, as if nature itself were pushing him forward.
The walls around him tightened, then loosened, driving him toward freedom. Muffled cries grew louder, closer, but he could not make sense of them.
The only thing that mattered was to leave—to break free—to breathe.
There it was. A weightless sensation. The feeling of freedom.
A little strange, to be honest… As if he had accomplished something great, yet at the same time lost something important.
The philosophical thoughts did not linger. Reality mattered far more.
The suffocating pressure had not vanished, and the light proved far too bright—so bright it burned his eyes even through tightly shut lids.
Pain exploded. The "Great Devil" felt a sharp sting across his backside and almost burst into tears on instinct—but at the same moment, he drew his first breath.
For a fraction of a second, fury flared within him. How dare anyone treat the Lord of Hell this way?
But the anger faded just as quickly, dissolving when his entire being was enveloped by something warm, soft, and utterly fluffy.
It did not threaten him. It did not suppress him. It simply… loved him.
Too pleasant.
As if he were soaring among clouds, sinking into downy layers. The comfort was so complete that he suddenly wanted to see this miracle for himself.
His eyelids felt as heavy as lead, yet he stubbornly pried them open—and froze.
A beautiful woman, around thirty, gazed down at him with sky-blue eyes, as if trying to etch into her memory the image of the person she loved most in the world.
She was unimaginably beautiful.
Her face looked like a masterpiece shaped by nature itself. Silvery-white hair fell in soft waves, shimmering in the light like strands of moonlit silk. And for the smile on her full lips, a righteous man would have renounced every vow and plunged into madness.
And that smile was meant for him alone. So gentle and radiant. So loving and sincere.
He wanted to dissolve into it completely.
He did not know who she was. Yet he felt an indescribable pull. From a single look, butterflies danced in his stomach.
Could this be love at first sight?
He tried to speak, but from his unruly mouth came something between a moan and a whimper:
"Maaaaaa…"
The sound was almost unintelligible, yet it was enough for her. Her smile softened even further. She gently pulled him close and leaned in, pressing her lips toward his. When they touched his forehead, a wave of bliss swept through him, as if he had become weightless.
"So big. So soft. So… nice," he murmured, still dreaming of her full lips, when a gentle voice pulled him from his trance.
"Fufufu, has mommy put another little angel to sleep? No, no, dear, you must eat first. You want to grow big and strong, just like your big sister, don't you?"
He stared at her silently, not understanding the words, but captivated by the sound of her voice.
And, as if taking his silence as agreement, the beauty leaned back slightly and lowered her dress.
Before the tiny one rose a large, pale-pink mound, radiating a gentle warmth. At the very top sat an enchanting pink altar, beckoning irresistibly.
Too beautiful to be real. Too desirable to resist.
Saliva pooled in his mouth.
He desperately wanted to reach and claim the object of his desire, but his hands refused to obey. Then the woman herself guided the sacred altar straight to his eager lips. The moment his mouth touched her skin, the world seemed to freeze.
"THERE IT IS! LIFE!" he exulted.
"Well, well, dear," the beauty said with a tender smile, "it seems you're truly hungry. My little imp is far braver than his big sister. Fufu. Mommy likes that. I'm sure you'll grow big and strong."
The child didn't understand her words. All he knew was that her voice was incredibly soothing, and the taste of her milk was warm and sweet. What more could one need for happiness?
Unfortunately, someone else shattered the idyll.
Another tiny priest was at that moment worshiping a similar altar.
"What heretic! How dare he?!"
The little devil sensed a rival. Righteous anger surged through him, mixed with jealousy and the instinct to defend his territory. He lashed out with his foot, trying to crush the audacious interloper.
Alas, the cunning space separating them proved an insurmountable barrier.
"Fufufu… Such a possessive little one we have…" came the melodic voice again, like the tinkling of silver bells. "Don't worry, darling, big sister won't take your milk. This lady will make sure to remain impartial…"
Though the meaning of her words eluded him, a small spark of understanding flickered deep within his subconscious.
"The beautiful woman… she is my mother, and beside her… my little sister."
At this realization, the last remnants of reason exhausted themselves completely. The remaining traces of will, memory, and pride of the great devil slowly dissolved, like smoke caught in the wind. Only calm remained in his chest—warm, light, almost human.
The little one's eyes fluttered closed.
And with this final motion, the Mister disappeared. Only a child remained, quietly sleeping in his mother's embrace.
Before fully slipping into nothingness, he heard the soothing voice once more:
"Welcome to the world, my little ones."