I am seventeen.
I know this only because the priests who raised me kept count. I do not remember myself. The days in the Crimson Wastes blur into one endless pulse — the rhythm of the Brain, which has sounded within me for as long as I have been aware of myself.
I was ten when He first touched my mind.
Before that — darkness. Filth. Hunger. The screams of those who were led to the Altar and never returned. I was the daughter of the lowliest of servants — a woman who scrubbed the floors in the lower halls of the Temple and dared not raise her eyes to the priests. I was not meant to be noticed. I was meant to live a short, dirty life and die as all the lowly die — in obscurity, becoming food for the crimson worms.
But He chose.
I remember that day. I was on my knees, scrubbing dried blood from the stone slabs. The water in the bucket was cold, my hands red from labor. And suddenly the rhythm — which had always been at the edge of hearing, like the rush of blood in my ears — grew louder. It filled me completely. I fell, broke the bucket, water spilled across the stones, mixing with the crimson dust. The priests came running, wanting to drag me away, to punish me for the mess. But when they touched my shoulders, their hands trembled.
They heard.
The Brain spoke through me. Through my lips.
Since then, I am His Mouth.
They dressed me in scarlet robes embroidered with golden threads. They gave me the name "Mens Sanguinea" and lodged me in chambers beside the Hall of Pulse. I no longer had to scrub floors. I only had to listen and speak.
And I changed.
My hair, once dull and dark, became crimson as fresh blood upon carnelian. It is long, past my waist, and I braid it into a tight plait so it does not hinder me during rituals. My eyes also changed — now they burn with a crimson fire, reflecting His presence. They glow in the darkness, and the servants fear meeting my gaze.
On my left palm, where He first touched me, a mark remains — a stylized eye that pulses in time with His will. When He is pleased, the eye grows warm. When He is angered, it burns so fiercely I can barely hold back a cry.
I am beautiful. The priests told me so as they prepared me for ceremonies. But my beauty is not human, and it is not for me. It is for Him. I am His face, His voice, His Bride.
This does not mean I share His bed. He has no body in the ordinary sense. Our bond is deeper, more intimate than any carnal closeness. He is inside me. His rhythm is my heartbeat. His will is my thoughts.
I do not know what "love" means in the human sense. I have never held anyone's hand. No one has looked at me with tenderness — only with fear or reverence. I know no other life. And I do not wish to.
When He showed me the man by the Great Tree, I felt something akin to... curiosity. No. It was His curiosity flowing through me. He looked upon the stranger and saw a vessel. An ideal form for Himself.
And then the Light came.
---
The Moon's Appearance
It happened in broad daylight. I was on the surface — a rare venture beyond the Crimson Wastes. We, the servants of the Brain, do not love the sunlight. It cuts the eyes, dries the skin, makes the crimson veins on our bodies ache. But I had orders: survey the borders of our lands.
And then — darkness.
Not night. Not the shadow of a cloud. The sun still hung in the sky, but its light dimmed, as if someone had covered the world with a giant palm. I lifted my head and saw Her.
The Moon.
Enormous, pale, unnaturally sharp. It hung directly over one of the Great Trees — the very one where the man lived. Its light was cold, dead, alien. I felt that light pressing down on my shoulders, my chest, my very mind.
And in that light I felt Him.
Not the Brain. Not my husband-god. Something else. Something far more ancient, far more powerful, far more... terrible. It looked upon the world through the Moon, and its gaze was heavy as a thousand gravestones.
I fell to my knees. Not out of reverence — my legs simply refused to hold. The crimson veins on my arms pulsed in a frenzied rhythm, and I heard the Brain within me... afraid.
Yes. My god, my immortal husband, whose will commands thousands of servants — he was afraid. His rhythm faltered, became chaotic, almost panicked. And in that chaos I caught something I had never heard before.
Submission.
The Brain was not the highest power. He was... a part. A fragment of something greater. And that greater thing had just looked upon the world.
The Moon hung over the Tree, it seemed, for an eternity. Then it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. The sun returned, the birds sang, the wind rustled the leaves once more. But the world had changed. I had changed.
And the Brain... the Brain understood.
His rhythm steadied, but a new note appeared within it — greedy, purposeful. He looked at the man by the Great Tree and saw now not merely a stranger. He saw a vessel, marked by the attention of a higher power. An ideal form for incarnation.
"Bring him," sounded within me.
And I answer: "Yes, my lord."
---
Thoughts of Bosses and Mini-Bosses on the Moon's Appearance
Bosses
King Slime — Forest
"Light! Light in the sky! Big! Round! Not mine! Mine is small, in the cave, warm. This one is cold, scary. Run away. Deep. Dark. Safe there. No one finds me there. There I am king."
Eye of Cthulhu — Night
"...I see. Always see. But now... looking up. There — bigger than me. There — source. Do not understand. But feel: this light calls. Not me. Another. The one below. Under the tree. Why? Does not matter. I just watch."
Eater of Worlds — Corruption
"...Vibration. Above. Not in earth. Cold. I dig deeper. Warmer there. Food there. What is above — let it stay above. But if it comes down — will devour. I devour everything."
Brain of Cthulhu — Crimson (first person via Mens)
"He looked. The one whose fragment I am. This man drew His gaze — therefore he withstood it. Therefore he is suitable. I will take his body. I will become whole. I will cease to be an echo. I will become a voice."
Queen Bee — Jungle
"...Light. Bright. Cold. Not mine. My children worry. Buzz. Hide. I remain. My hive is here. My sweetness is here. Alien light will not take it. Sting. Kill. Protect."
Skeletron — Necropolis/Dungeon
"...Old bones ache. Long since I was disturbed. Today something twitched — as if death itself hiccuped. My guardian — the old man — stirred in his sleep. Not awake yet. Good. Let him sleep. I want to sleep too. Forever. But if woken — I will rise. I remember how to rattle bones."
Wall of Flesh — Boundary of Worlds
"...Pressure. From the other side. He tries. Again. I hold. I am the wall. I am hunger. I am the last scar on the world's wound. While I stand, the ancient spirits sleep. While I stand, the key within me will not turn. I will stand. Even when flesh rots. Even when bones crumble. I am the Wall."
The Destroyer — Corruption/Underground
"...Signal. Interference. Source: sky. Analysis: anomaly. Priority: observation. Aggression: null. Target: undefined. Return to patrol. Awaiting commands."
The Twins — Night
— Look! Look! Light! Round! Like us! But big! Very big!
— Don't look. Bad light. Cold. Not ours. Ours is red, green, fiery. This one is dead.
— But pretty...
— Turn away. Sleep.
— ...Fine. Sleeping. But I remember.
Skeletron Prime — Night
"...Anomaly registered. Scan: celestial body not matching orbital parameters. Magic source: extreme. Threat: unknown. Protocol: stand by. If anomaly approaches — full armament activation. I am the guardian of this sky. Even if the sky has become alien."
Plantera — Erlingor Forest
"...The key grew warm. For a moment. He Who Is Sealed tried to look out. I tightened my roots. I am the lock. I am the guardian. I do not sleep. I do not think. I simply am. And while I am — He shall not pass. Sleep, little creatures. I keep vigil for you."
Golem — Jungle Temple
"...Vibration. External. Not from the temple. The key within shuddered. I stand. I wait. I am the nameless guardian. I am the last thing those who come for the key will see. I do not tire. I do not sleep. I am stone. I am strength. I am Golem."
Duke Fishron — Ocean
"...Water trembles. Not from wind. Not from current. From above. Something above looks down. I feel it. My fins stand on end. I am king of these waters. But that which looks... it is not of water. It is of emptiness. I dive deeper. Dark there. Safe there. It will not see me there."
Lunatic Cultist — Dungeon
"...He looked! HE LOOKED! I saw! The Moon! Our Moon! It appeared by day! It is a sign! The prophecy is fulfilled! We did not steal the key in vain! We will summon Him! We will become His gate! I must tell the others! We will hasten the ritual! SOON! SOON HE WILL COME!"
Empress of Light — Empire of Light
"...Violation. Intrusion. Darkness dared to touch my sky in broad daylight. I smell its putrid breath. The Moon — His eye. He seeks a breach. I will double patrols. I will burn out every shadow where His influence might hide. The Light shall not waver. The Light shall purify. The Light shall prevail. Always."
Queen Slime — Hallow
"...Light. Cold. Not mine. My crystals tremble. My children hide. I remain. I am queen of this radiance. Not the one in the sky. The one in the earth. Let it watch. I am not afraid. I am slime. I am crystal. I am eternity."
Moon Lord — Moon
"...I saw. For a moment. A small being. Spoke my name. Aloud. By day. Fool. But curious fool. I looked at him. I memorized his scent. His fear. His... potential. He does not know what he has done. But he will learn. When seals fall. When keys turn. When I descend. I do not hurry. I have waited eternity. I shall wait longer. But now I have... interest."
---
Mini-Bosses and Events
Dark Mage — Old One's Army
"...Magic trembled. For a moment. I felt it. Old spells woven into the fabric of the world tensed. Someone disturbed what slept. Fool. But it matters not to me. I gather mana. I wait for the gates to open again. Then I will return. With army. With strength. With darkness."
Ogre — Old One's Army
"...Earth shook. A little. Not from steps. From fear. I smell fear. Tasty. Want more. Want to go where fear is. But gates closed. Wait. When they open — go. Hit. Eat. Simple."
Betsy — Old One's Army
"...Sky shivered. My sky. Someone looked through it. I scent: not dragon. Not beast. Older. Angrier. I am queen of the skies. But that which looked... it is higher. I spread my wings. I will wait. If it comes — I will meet it with fire."
Flying Dutchman — Pirate Invasion
"...Wind changed. For a moment. A chill crept in. Not sea-chill. Dead-chill. My crew grew uneasy. Bones rattled louder. I raised my spyglass — nothing. But I know: something watched. Something old. Older than me. Older than the sea. I will set course for open water. Safer there. Only storms and monsters. Familiar."
Mourning Wood — Pumpkin Moon
"...Blood. Much blood. Red moon — our time. But today... today the Moon was different. Pale. Cold. Alien. Even we, born of blood, felt the cold. For a moment. Then it vanished. And we burned and killed once more. But I remember. I am tree. I grow where death is. And I scent: much death is coming. Very much."
Pumpking — Pumpkin Moon
"...Moon. My moon. Red. Round. Today it was different. Pale. I saw. I am king of this feast. I am harvest. I am fear. But that light... it was older than my fear. I do not understand."
Everscream — Frost Moon
"...Cold. Always cold. But today — different cold. Not mine. Mine is snow, ice, needles. This one is empty. Dead. I shake branches. I shower the world with needles. But that light... it did not freeze. It simply watched. And vanished. I continue. I am fir. I am winter. I am death."
Santa-NK1 — Frost Moon
"...Scanners: anomaly. Celestial body. Does not match seasonal parameters. Threat: unknown. Priority: gift delivery. Gifts: death. Death: to all. All: who do not celebrate. I am Santa. I am tank. I am holiday. Anomaly will not interfere."
Ice Queen — Frost Moon
"...Cold. My cold. Eternal. But today — a crack. Someone watched. I feel it. My ice shuddered. I am queen. I am frost. I am the end of all warmth. But that gaze... it was colder than me. I do not know who it is. But I will remember. And when it comes — I will meet it as an equal."
Martian Saucer — Martian Madness
"...Scanners registered gravitational anomaly. Lunar orbit shifted by 0.0003%. Negligible. But source of shift — unknown. Data sent to flagship. Response: "Observe. Do not interfere." Acknowledged. Continuing surface scan. Object "Man at Big Tree" added to watchlist."
Dreadnautilus — Blood Moon (fishing)
"...Blood. Water smells of blood. My water. My blood. But from above — light. Cold. I rise. I look. Moon. Pale. Not red. Why? I am nautilus. I am blood. I am fear of the deep. But this light... it is more fearsome than me. I go to the bottom. Dark there. Mine there."
Ice Golem — Blizzard
"...Cold. I am cold. But today — a crack in the ice. Someone watched. I feel it. My hands tremble — not from wind. I am golem. I am ice. I am guardian of winter. But that gaze... it was older than winter. I will stand. I will wait. I am ice. I do not melt."
Deerclops — Blizzard
"...Light. In the sky. Cold. I scent it. My antlers ring. I am cyclops. I am deer. I am storm. But this light — not my storm. Alien. Old. I stomp. I roar. Then I go into the snow. My home there. Safe there."
Goblin Summoner — Goblin Army
"...Shadows trembled. My shadows. Someone watched. I feel it. I am summoner. I am master of shadows. But that gaze... it was deeper than shadows. I will hide. I will lead my own away."
Mothron — Solar Eclipse
"...Sun. Eclipse. My time. But today — different. Moon. By day. I saw. I am mothron. I am child of eclipses. But that Moon... it is not for eclipses. It is for the end. I fly away. I hide in the sun's shadow. It will not find me there. I hope."
Paladin — Dungeon (post-Plantera)
"...Shield shuddered. My shield. Someone watched. I feel it. I am paladin. I am guardian of these halls. But that gaze... it passed through the shield. I do not know who it is. But I will stand. I am a wall of steel and faith. I will not retreat."
Skeleton Commando — Dungeon (post-Plantera)
"...Bones ache. Old pain. I remember war. I remember death. Today something watched. Like then. I grip my rifle. I await orders. If war begins again — I am ready. I am commando. I am bone. I am memory."
Blue Armored Bones — Dungeon
"...Armor clanks. Someone passed. Not here. In the sky. I feel it. I am guardian. I am bone in armor. I do not think. I just stand. But today... I looked up. Nothing there. But there was. I will keep standing. That is my work."
Rusty Armored Bones — Dungeon
"...Rust creaks. I am old. Very old. I remember times when the Moon was different. Today it returned. For a moment. I recognized Her. I will tell no one. I simply creak. And wait. Time passes. Rust eats. But I remember."
Necromancer — Dungeon (post-Plantera)
"...Shadows whisper. They saw. Light. Cold. Dead. I am necromancer. I am master of the dead. But He who watched... He is older than death. I bow my head. Not from fear. From respect. I will wait. When He comes — I may swear allegiance to Him."
Cursed Skull — Dungeon
"...Fly. Circle. Wait. Today — light. I saw. I am skull. I am curse. I do not think. But the light... it made me stop. For a moment. Then I flew on. But I remember. Somewhere deep in the bone."
---
Mens Returns
I returned to the Temple. My legs still trembled — not from weakness, but from the echo of that gaze which had fallen upon the world. I knelt before the Altar of Pulse and pressed my marked palm against the cold carnelian. The Brain's rhythm filled me, soothing, guiding.
"Bring him," He repeated.
I rose. I straightened my crimson braid, checked that the mark on my palm burned steadily. In the small bronze mirror hanging by the Altar, my reflection flickered: pale skin, crimson eyes, hair the color of fresh blood. I am beautiful. I am His beauty. And I shall do His will.
I stepped into the main hall, where priests and servants waited. At my appearance they bowed — not to me, but to He Who speaks through my lips.
"Prepare," I said. My voice was calm, but His power was in it. "We go to the Great Tree. Do not attack. Do not frighten. We shall... invite."
The priests did not ask why. They believed. They heard the rhythm — not as clearly as I, but enough to know: the Brain desires this man.
I turned to the eldest priest — a dry, stooped old man with crimson cataracts instead of eyes.
"Prepare gifts. Food. Fabrics. Crystals. Things that humans value. And scouts — let them watch the Tree, but do not approach. I want to know when he is alone."
The old man nodded and vanished into a side passage. I remained alone in the Hall, save for the silent sentinels along the walls. Their eyes — empty, filmed over with crimson — stared at nothing, but I knew: they saw everything.
I approached a narrow window — more a slit in the wall facing the surface. Far away, beyond the crimson hills and dead groves, loomed the dark wall of Erlingor Forest. Somewhere there, among the Great Trees, he hid. The man who had no idea what honor awaited him.
To become a vessel for a god.
But not a temporary one — my Lord already has those. When the priests perform the rite and offer enough sacrifices, He can manifest in the world in His true form. Vast, pulsing, surrounded by a swarm of servants. He is great and terrible in those moments. But the manifestation is always brief. The world rejects Him, pushes Him back into the depths of the Crimson, forcing Him to gather strength again for the next coming.
This is... humiliating. My god, my husband, forced to appear in snatches, like a beggar receiving crumbs. He deserves more. He deserves permanence.
The merging with this man will give Him what He has never had — a body the world will not reject. Flesh that can walk under the sun, touch things, speak with its own voice. Not a temporary shell of crimson slime and nightmares, but a true, living form.
He will cease to be a "boss" who is summoned and banished. He will become a god incarnate. Always here. Always near.
And I... I will be able to be near Him.
I touched the mark on my palm. It warmed — the Brain was pleased with my thoughts.
"Soon," He whispered within me.
"Soon," I answered aloud.
For the first time in seven years of service, I allowed myself to dream. Not of the man — of Him. Of my god.
Now I hear Him only as rhythm. As a pulse in the blood. As an itch in my fingertips demanding action. I am His Mouth, but I have never seen His face — only that vast, impersonal form that appears during the rites. I have never heard His true voice — only rhythm, only will, only commands.
But when He merges with this vessel, when He gains permanent flesh...
I will be able to speak with Him.
Not listen to the rhythm and translate it into words for others. But simply... speak. Look into His eyes — even if they are the eyes of the man who served as His body. Hear His voice — real, living, addressed to me.
"You have served Me well, Mens."
I imagine how He will say it. How His hand — even a stranger's hand, hallowed by His presence — will touch my cheek. How I will finally be able to answer Him not mentally, but aloud, knowing He hears me not as rhythm, but as words.
"I live for You, my lord."
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to see this picture.
Soon I will see His face. Soon I will hear His voice.
And He will never again vanish, cast out by this cruel world. He will remain. Forever.
Soon.
I opened my eyes and looked once more out the window. Somewhere out there, among the Great Trees, walked, hunted, and slept a man who would become an eternal home for my god.
He has no idea what happiness awaits him. What honor.
But I know. And I will bring him to the Altar.
Not because I was ordered. But because I want my god to finally stay with me.