I remember waking up startled the next day, after having learned so much. It was the first time I felt my heart pounding wildly inside my chest, sweat covering my skin, and a strange sense of relief upon waking.
It seemed a particular kind of fear had been building inside me, one that triggered anxiety: fear of change, of the unknown, and of possibly attaining what I had longed for most from the very beginning—leaving 'Heaven's' and entering hell. Such a thought had sparked in me a bad dream… something known as a "nightmare."
Closing my eyes and steadying my breathing, I tried to erase from my body the lingering sensation that still sent shivers across my skin and raised the hairs on my neck.
The dream that had tormented my warm rest was made up of a strange combination. I relived the moment I stepped outside the house for the first time and opened myself to a range of new emotions. But as I opened the door, I felt myself falling into an abyss. It was as if it portrayed my deepest fear: that when I finally reached hell… I wouldn't be able to return.
That dream grabbed me by the hair and whispered in my ear, warning me: to stay in my comfort zone, to avoid risk, and to keep my mind occupied. That way, maybe, the restless thought of going to a place where only suffering exists would fade into the fog of my memories, allowing me to remain in the peace of this place.
In that moment, what could have been more foolish? To keep doing the same thing or to take a risk that meant losing everything? And… what exactly was that "everything" I could lose?
Sitting on the bed, I remember trying to calm my breathing while tying my hair into a messy ponytail. Without thinking too much, I walked out of the house barefoot, stretching my arms and letting my skin meet the touch of nature.
The fresh air of a new day wrapped around me, but it didn't manage to take away the sense of anguish pressing against my chest. I sat on the grass, staring into the distance at the black forest.
Alone with my thoughts, I remembered how, sometimes, when I had no memories, I used to stare at the house's walls, hoping to find answers or comfort for my torments. Now, ambition leaves me with a void, a distance I can't fill. The price of discontent: knowledge, greed, and whims.
Back when life was simpler, and my curiosity was satisfied just by observing the intricate patterns of a single leaf… In those days, when my mind wasn't so poisoned by dissatisfaction, I didn't need the opinion of entities whose presence could be called… less than advisable.
Yes, alone I can no longer make decisions. I became dependent on my autonomous copies, on the demons who wrapped their arms around my neck and whispered sweet words into my ear, filling my thoughts with hunger for greatness. My copies, who, with a hand on my shoulder, could promise everything would return to normal for the "Original," even if I made a mistake.
Looking at the ring on my raised right hand, I knew Solomon might be one of the few who was neither "Demon" nor "Copy," and that, within his human wisdom, he might give me sound advice. But perhaps, precisely because he is human—and my lover—he always knows when something is wrong with me. As if he could sense my thoughts from afar. It's not that I want advice colored by personal emotion… and somehow, I find it hard to imagine facing my thoughts with him by my side.
In that moment, the one I needed to summon to make the best possible decision had to be someone impartial. And a name came to mind. It was her… the one who, from the very beginning, ignited this madness in my life.
"It's not like you to be sitting here… are you okay?" said Gremory, appearing behind me with a simple snap of my fingers.
I heard her walking back and forth across the grass where I sat. For a demon, nature didn't seem to be pleasant—greenery and life evoked a sense of peace and calm in humans… one they couldn't influence much.
I didn't want to answer her question.
She seemed to understand my silence. She sat beside me and tilted her head to rest it on my shoulder, leaning against me.
"Poor thing… I can see how indecision is eating you alive. When you think that what you desire most could also be the worst thing that ever happens to you," said Gremory in a kind tone. "To rise to heaven will be no different than falling and suffering in hell."
Here is the full English translation of your passage, carefully preserving tone, cadence, and internal emotional reflection:
Watching her, calm, I pressed my head against hers. Our hair intertwined, producing a sandy sound.
"What if you bring this place crashing down?!" she said, excited, like someone who's just had an original, special, and fresh idea to solve my troubles. "You don't know what you might face out there, but… if all the demons, along with your copies, took autonomy and control of this place, wouldn't you leave without a trace of regret?"
"Or perish in the attempt…" Gremory finished the sentence.
"Exactly," she replied. "Life is full of risks."
"Mmm… but if I didn't, I'd be forcing myself to give up the comfort of this place," I said softly as I stroked her hair. The idea was tempting. "You and yours have been the most wonderful company I've had in this life…" I told her, kissing her right cheek. "I suppose that would be a good way to cause disaster. Though I don't believe many of yours—and many of my copies—know how to behave…"
"It's a sacrifice I'm willing to bear," she said.
I slid my lips to hers, and silently, we kissed.
I knew Gremory had no ill intentions. But with the time she had lived, and her skill in reading the troubles of my heart, she could guide me down another path… one that, though destructive, would build a bridge to my escape. After all, the solution to my indecision was not simple, much less something that could be resolved quickly.
"But what if, by creating so many copies with free will, you lose control over them… or yourself?" her words caught my attention. "Who's to say there won't be better versions of you living inside yourself? That you'll end up losing your identity among the fragments that make you up."
"That's true… a very real possibility," I replied. "If I create hundreds, thousands of copies, among them will be autonomous ones, and they could very well lead me to lose all sense of the 'Original Me.' Wouldn't the demons be there to save me?"
"Our purpose is destruction," Gremory answered. "Not that I want to disappoint you, but you can't expect us to be different by nature."
"Interesting," I said, the fire of ambition flaring within me. "It's a good gamble…"
"Silvia…" Gremory drew a breath, perhaps not to sound too concerned. "Among so many versions of you…"
"You're wondering if you could find me?" I finished her thought, then added, "We'll see."
With the idea in mind, I stood before I could regret it. My steps caressed the grass, and I walked in silence toward the lake. With open hands, I submerged my body into the crystalline waters. Gremory kept her distance, watching as I let the water embrace me until I floated.
Using the power of the ring, the demons began to appear one by one. All of them stared, stunned, as the naked bodies of different versions of me piled atop one another.
Most of them were still motionless, but some were not—and among them was me, who ended up prisoner to hundreds of hands acting as a living mass of flesh. With the fragmentation of so many copies, there came a point where I could no longer move. It was a strange sensation: I wanted to empty myself, clear my mind… and become the same as my copies.
The demons stepped back, wandering with worried expressions, especially upon seeing even the subordinates of their subordinates summoned. Some looked to Gremory, who simply shrugged. It was no surprise. They no longer faced just me… but hundreds of autonomous copies rising from a mass of human figures, supported by intertwined arms that rose above me.
Like the others, my hair was disheveled, blending with the chaos of limbs around me. The faces of the figures beneath me seemed to stare in the opposite direction.
In solitude and silence, only broken by the simultaneous breathing of hundreds of thousands of bodies, I couldn't help but think of how, in the past, when I saw my copies acting independently, I'd respond with violence, destroying and torturing them. Now, I surrendered to them… even if they were stronger and more cunning than me.
With one final glance at the world, in the blink of an eye, I felt how hundreds of arms carried my body. In the most remote corner of everything, I was submerged into a mass of bodies.
Many creatures, hungry to experiment, didn't stop to worry about me—and that deeply saddened me.
Alongside my sense of failure, fatigue, lack of energy, and depression, a new feeling stirred inside me. One that began to alter my behavior, influencing the original purpose of summoning so many entities into a single place.
I no longer felt the need to destroy everything just to avoid returning. Now, my discontent lay in the fear that someone might recognize me among so many versions of myself—that someone might free me from the self-destructive cycle of creating copies and unleashing demons. A cycle that could not only provoke the destruction of the place I longed to escape, but also my own destruction—whether emotional or physical.
Amidst my chaotic thoughts, trapped, Solomon was the first to reach me. He sat by my side, atop the hill of bodies whose hands kept me bound. With his presence as a wise king, he became an anchor in a sea of chaos. He didn't need to say anything. The mere fact that he could recognize me gave me a fleeting sense of relief—one that only his presence could bring.
"You came to give me advice too?" I asked him.
"You know," he said, before continuing, "I miss that part of you that seems lost… that part I could never fully reach."
"Yes," I replied. The hands holding me didn't cover my mouth, but they did cover my eyes.
"I don't know what drove you to this decision, but it hurts to see you like this. It saddens me that you're giving up, that you don't want to fight… that you'd rather be alone," he said, as always: direct, but protective.
"It's not that I don't want to fight or that I want to be alone. This is just an attempt to destroy this place so I can leave without looking back," I replied.
"I don't see it that way," he countered, reading between my words. "Instead of destroying this place or staying here, by creating so many versions of yourself and letting them roam free, I get the sense that you're trying to lose yourself among them. Forget everything you've learned. Escape the weight of the decision you're about to make. You've grown more powerful—but also more full of doubt. Even if your consciousness dissolves and one of those copies assumes the role of 'Original,' you'd be doing nothing more than returning to the beginning. Trapped, without memory or awareness. Would you do it all over again?"
"I would live it all again, inevitably… without being able to stop it," I answered. "That's why I write in my journal."
His words might've seemed distant or meaningless, but I sighed when his hand brushed against my chest. Even in such a sensitive moment, the touch made my nipples harden, and he soothed them with gentle caresses. Among the hundreds of hands holding me, his were different. But unlike other times, I didn't feel the need to open my legs. However, one of the hands restraining me let go.
Solomon noticed, and tried to persuade the others to let go too. His intention was easy to read. Between my legs, he brought one of his fingers directly to my most sensitive spot—my swollen clit, nestled beneath the soft folds of my vulva. I was going to let him. The tingling pleasure wouldn't hurt… but his attempt at persuasion didn't succeed. The mass of bodies holding me seemed to rage and turned into an avalanche that swept him away, even as he clung tightly to me.
When the situation calmed, I shook my head until I freed myself from the hands covering my eyes. I met his confused gaze. He didn't know what was happening. Neither did I. And even as I tried to ask, I saw his head flying through the air. The scene felt familiar.
Sadist had arrived, making sure I wouldn't be rescued. With disdain, she tossed the dead body of the king and replaced the hand over my eyes, along with the ones over my mouth and ears.
At that moment, I understood that, with 'Sadist' as my protector, she would allow no one to take me. Among all my versions, she was far from the best—but her lack of compassion, empathy, and her coldness made her a machine of destruction. Fueled by others' suffering—by my suffering and the pain of those who wished to see me leave. She knows that at any moment I could unmake her, reintegrate her into myself. But rather than fear losing her, I fear being corrupted by her behavior… and becoming someone else.
Even if I decided to eliminate that embodiment of others' pain for the benefit of the rest—what would become of me? One by one, I can hear them. And I've grown attached to them. But if I destroy the monster I created… I'd have to let go of the rest, too.
Noblemi also managed to reach me. Unlike Sadist, she remained serene in the face of adversity. Between her fingers I could see her hair neatly tied back, her eyes wide, and her expression filled with a willingness to change and fix whatever needed fixing. She had always been kind, vulnerable, grateful just to exist. Among them all, she's the only one who defends me… even against Sadist. She seeks empathy in my cause, in my desire to be free.
I heard her speak, her words carried on the wind with gentle motion:
"Are you really here to stop anyone from rescuing the Original? Do you think you'll always be able to make and unmake at will?"
I didn't need to see her to imagine her. Sadist… her cold, distant, calculating smile. Her piercing gaze. Her upright stance, pacing like a steel verdict.
In response to Noblemi, her voice was sarcastic and defiant:
"Did you come to bore me or to save her?" she paused, as if sensing another presence.
And sure enough, no such conversation would be complete without Curious. Cunning and manipulative, with her enigmatic smile and eyes gleaming with intelligence. Like Sadist, she could wield deceit to achieve her ends.
"Wouldn't the Original suffer even more if she leaves and destroys this place?"
"Even so, inside or out… we couldn't escape her. We live in her mind," said Sadist. "Delaying the inevitable only prolongs the suffering. Sooner or later, she will make a decision…"
While my copies argued, Asmodeus appeared. His presence felt like a shadow dragging darkness behind it. At first, I thought he was only in my mind, but he was so tangible, so real, that it soothed me.
"You should accept what you are, Silvia," he said, coldly seductive, like a mental echo. "You can't run forever."
Ah… what am I really? A victim? A broken woman? Or something else I haven't yet discovered? Asmodeus always seems to know more about me than I do myself. I didn't answer, which frustrated him further—especially when Sadist detected him and tried to attack.
"Silvia…" he said. "If we manage to destroy this place… there's no guarantee you'll wake up in the same bed. You have to escape."
"No guarantee she'll wake in the same bed if she leaves here?!" Sadist roared, losing her duel with Asmodeus but determined to be heard.
"You speak like someone who fears death," Asmodeus replied.
Physical combat between demons was never simple—no matter how lean, small, or scrawny they appeared. Especially against someone like Asmodeus, who, with a spinning kick, struck Sadist in the chest with such force that it split her body in two.
The fight to help me was fierce… and it stirred pity in me. A group of poor creatures who still believed they had the favor of someone as incompetent as I was. The hope they placed in me was immense, but that didn't make me a figure worthy of power… not the kind they sought.
I left the house, wanting to believe my departure would be different.
I left without my maid's clothes, without a broom, without looking at the bed, the walls, the rooms. Understanding that, as Silvia, the life I thought was mine had been reserved for the benefit of others. For strangers who would become the new tenants of "Heaven's," truly worthy of inhabiting it. For a man I could not touch, nor desire, nor be willing to lose what I still refused to let go of.
As the crowd of bodies swallowed me, various demons performed powerful rituals in the distance. The explosions meant to bring down the place could be heard.
Even while swimming through hands, I could feel the stares of my less-developed copies. They were the ones who left the deepest marks on me. They knew that with my power, I could reverse the summoning and protect this place.
Some looked at me with disgust, others with envy. And at the edges of the site, hundreds of demons revealed their predatory instincts. Summoned into a field of naked dolls, they, with their hardened, purposeless cocks, quickly began to unravel the mysteries of our bodies.
I had always been the privilege of the higher ranks: the "chiefs," "commanders," "dukes," and the like. My exploits with them had become legend. So it was no surprise that the lesser demons, upon learning of it, became aroused at the thought of using my copies—and maybe even me—as they pleased.
My lust, my vice, my voluntary submission… had become living tales. Legends. For them, clumsily fucking one of my copies, making her come, or sniffing the sweat of a body their superior had touched… was a perverse form of worship.
That degenerate pleasure became an indirect humiliation for the upper ranks. That's why many chose not to destroy the place… but to destroy every lesser demon and copy they found. Seeing me stirred in them rage, disdain, fury. They shouted from every direction: "Whore!" "Slut!" "Wretched bitch!"
My being needed time to calm. Though I longed to wrap my arms around his waist and engulf with my mouth that cock—I could not see it, but I could remember it—the shouting and use of power around me broke my thoughts.
Over time, the massive invocation of thousands of demons, along with twice as many of my copies, came to an end due to my drained energy. Still, the site didn't feel full. Though some managed to touch the sky in isolated zones and others died buried under bodies, the sudden shift in terrain made movement limited.
Once again, Solomon managed to find me.
To be recognized a second time amid so much chaos, so many versions of myself, and so much space—I suppose that's the true definition of love. A pity he's human.
"No one can save you from yourself," he whispered in my ear, holding me from behind, trying to peel away the hands of several of my copies clinging to my torso. "And sex… that way of escaping your thoughts… it doesn't fulfill you like it used to. But running, or choosing to die just to stop living, that's not the answer. Look at me."
His words echoed within me. He, the servant of my pleasures, the one I condemned time and again to pain, had also become a slave thirsty for my attention. A soul lost in the void of a woman he could never fully possess.
A human's love… could that be enough? If I followed his words, did it mean I had to fight my thoughts instead of surrendering to them?
He was right about one thing: sex no longer fulfilled me. I had summoned so many, simply for the need to watch them pull out their hard cocks in front of me…
Kneeling, naked, mouth open, throat ready, tongue out—my invitations were blatant. No matter how hot, thick, and hard the pulsing cock aimed for the back of my throat, the moment had stopped feeling new.
I can't even remember when the foreplay ended—those playful kisses, indecent bites, passionate caresses. My body remained willing, but perhaps my eyes had changed. That's what Gremory… and Solomon… could see.
In the heat of the moment, even if the cock of some summoned being plunged deep into me, gagging me, the masculine scent that once drove me mad… was gone.
The moans had vanished. Even the slick wetness of my insides during penetration had disappeared.
Sex, at some point, stopped stirring the feeling that made me feel alive. It was true… but I didn't want to admit it.
"You're wrong…" I told the king.
In seconds, he stood up among the bodies, and as soon as he regained his footing, he grabbed me by the hair. His cock, far from fully hard, was pushed between my lips. I didn't resist.
With several thrusts into my mouth, I welcomed him eagerly. I even smiled. I wanted him to feel good. To not worry while he fucked my mouth—maybe for the last time.
"Don't turn this into some emotional goodbye…" he said, tears in his eyes. "Can't you see I'm trying to show you something? You may not be human, but… I know you have feelings."
He pulled his cock from my throat and asked:
"What do you want from me? That I stay, or go?"
"What I want is that, whatever you decide," he said, pushing his cock back into my throat, "you do it with a will to live!"
His words hit me as hard as his cock slammed into my throat. He moved in and out with the force of his emotions. I remember he never liked discussing things while having sex. Once, he even found the courage to scold me: "Why don't you ever summon me to talk like two civilized people?" Who would've thought I'd change him so much. That proud, arrogant, self-important man… now acting like someone in need, afraid of losing me.
As my fluids slid down in a cascade between my breasts, I didn't want to shatter the illusion of someone trying so hard. I knew I wouldn't come—I wasn't even inclined to. As he said, this blowjob was nothing more than a clumsy goodbye from a woman who only knew how to self-destruct.
Telling him "don't worry about me, just come" would be like tearing his soul apart. I had already done that to Abel.
Solomon pulled his cock from my mouth, letting me breathe. Though his eyes were full of frustration, they weren't tempted by the shine of my saliva-covered skin.
He raised his arm and slapped the right side of my face. The blow turned my head, leaving my cheek burning.
Once, that gesture would've made me tremble with pleasure.
Then, with his other hand, he slapped my breasts repeatedly, reddening my skin. In another time, I would've already had several orgasms, rubbing myself eagerly.
Hesitant, Solomon used his leg to flip me over into position. Without tenderness, without spitting or fingering me first, he penetrated me anally—just as he knew I liked it.
But it wasn't him. It was me. I no longer enjoyed the usual. Not even the thrill of being ravaged by force made my breath quicken.
He grabbed my hair and pounded me without mercy. I felt the smack of his hips against my ass, which soon turned red as well. And still, my mind wandered through thoughts while I remained conscious.
Then I found myself thinking about the long, endless conversations I'd had with my copies, where they confided in me. I observed the parts of myself that still had no will of their own. Had I known earlier, I'd never have imagined they could grow so complex.
While Solomon furiously fucked me, Gremory, Barbatos, and other trusted demons appeared in the abyss of bodies. They touched me, spoke to me, took turns trying to make me feel, to love me, to fill me. As a farewell, I let myself be used. The last was Asmodeus.
No matter how hard they tried to reach me emotionally, I remained lost in thought. I stared at the sea of bodies that shared my face without feeling them, without hearing them. I longed to live as they did, but I knew it would be repeating the same story. Sure, at first it would all feel awkward, because I wouldn't be able to do something unless the opportunity presented itself… but with time, perhaps, my ambitions would become normal again.
I couldn't help but think about my journal… If I were to start over from scratch, would I have to burn it or write until the very last moment? Maybe the reason I lost my memories was precisely this mental state I now found myself in.
"I ask forgiveness from the hundreds of thousands of different versions of myself," I said aloud. "I created you out of selfishness. Sometimes I forget that you can suffer the same as I do…"
Beyond the noise and destruction around me, I felt silence settle over the conversation. As if my words had soothed what tormented them—and me. When I asked if they forgave me, many nodded. Others let go of their grip on my body.
After asking for forgiveness—and forgiving myself—I leaned back into Asmodeus's arms. For the first time in a long while, I felt safe.
With a clear mind, I was surprised by how the sensations awakened again under his touch. Not just physically, but deeper—reaching a corner of my soul I thought was inaccessible.
Most of my copies couldn't suppress their moans as they pleasured themselves. It was a special moment: even the simplest among them obeyed the natural instincts of pleasure. I never fully understood how I was able to create independent copies, but the few lucky ones who had been touched by a trusted demon… gave in and enjoyed it. Those who had never felt hunger, feasted. Those who had never known joy, laughed. Those who had always felt alone, sought companionship. And those who had never known what it meant to fight… fought.
Still, in the pit I had opened to destroy everything—or destroy myself—there were parts of me that opposed my desires. Parts that feared my decision.
Asmodeus remained at my side, always vigilant. He ran his hand gently along my face. I, someone torn between the desire for control and the surrender to chaos, someone forced to serve as a maid, but who still had a flame of ambition burning inside. Sometimes I wonder if, even the demons, are aspects of myself that I'm not ready to face—shadows I'm still avoiding. Am I the one trying to contaminate my copies with a nature different from the one assigned to me?
As if expected, one of my self-aware copies stepped forward. It was 'Pretentious'. Seeing her, both Solomon and Asmodeus made way, recognizing her.
Despite her name, she approached with a different air. She wasn't seeking to isolate me. In her eyes I saw fear, doubt, loneliness… I saw myself. When she came close, she took my hand. She said nothing, but in her gaze, I found something I'd lost.
"You are part of me, and as you are… I accept you."
After speaking those words, I saw peace in her eyes.
Letting herself collapse on the mountain of bodies, 'Pretentious' dissolved among the rest. Then, crawling on all fours, she gently removed the hands covering my eyes.
"I…" I could see the shame in her eyes. "I never thought I could be part of you again."
When she embraced me, her hands trembled. My other self rested her face against my chest, her breasts pressing against my abdomen. In silence, we let ourselves be carried by forgotten sensations, melting into an embrace. Motionless, still surrounded by dozens of intertwined hands.
"Forgive me," she said to the one behind us: a shadowy projection of myself. "I felt so sorry for her… for me."
"Didn't you want to keep fighting to be the Original?" Curious asked.
"We're supposed to fight to be her," Liar replied. "But at the same time, that was her order when she created us. What will are we following if we become her?"
Furious did nothing but express her rage intensely, while Pretentious faded in my arms.
"Fury… if your happiness is in my hands… I'll do anything for you!" I shouted into the distance, hoping she'd hear me.
In response, she screamed with all her might and kicked Asmodeus, knocking him out of the scene. She left like a storm, ignoring my words.
Not long after, a figure appeared that I recognized instantly. She was unique—hunched and timid. She represented the part of me that felt the most emotional discomfort, dragging two persistent burdens along with her.
"Look, our breasts…" I told her. "Don't you like it when they're touched?"
She was nervous. She didn't want to say what she really thought—that they felt uncomfortable because of the sweat and the restriction of movement.
"All this time," I said with a kind smile, "here, bound by so many hands, makes them feel heavier than they really are. Could you give me a hand, touch them… make them feel better?"
Hesitantly, she approached and gently lifted my breasts high. I let out a sigh as her hands relieved my shoulders from the weight that had been tormenting me. Then she began to caress my nipples, giving them the attention they had so desperately needed.
"Only you can do it this well," I whispered with a low moan as our eyes finally met. "You're the fear I have about the size of my breasts… and I accept you as you are."
Relieved by my words, she let her hands fall away from where they had clung and collapsed beside the hill of bodies, lying on her back, offering her own breasts, which were now being massaged by other parts of me.
Seeing how much she enjoyed the caresses, Salomon brought his hands to his own breasts as well. One of his hands gripped firmly, almost with dominance; the other, in contrast, stroked with a barely perceptible tenderness, as if afraid of breaking something sacred. The contrast in intensity created a symphony of sensations: possession and gentleness dancing together.
The firm hand awakened a torrent of immediate reactions. The gentle one barely brushed the skin with its fingers, building a restrained anticipation. It was an intoxicating balance between roughness and subtlety, between the visible and the imperceptible. Two necessary extremes to capture the fullness of pleasure.
That combined touch didn't just bring physical pleasure. It told a silent story about the experience of the body: a dance between intensity and tenderness, between boundaries and surrender.
I watched, fascinated, the face of my other self. Her closed eyes, framed by trembling lashes, drifted into a world beyond the physical. Her mouth, slightly open, let out soft gasps. Her nostrils flared with each deep breath, seeking the air needed to sustain herself in that ecstatic moment. Every detail on her face—the slight furrow of her brows, the relaxation of her lips, the rise and fall of her chest—reflected the pleasure coursing through her entire being.
As her breathing quickened and her skin became more sensitive, her expression became a mirror of her soul: unrestrained, surrendered to pleasure. Without guilt. Without remorse.
Asmodeus was there. Of all the demons, he was the one who reached me most easily. Seeing the pleasure mirrored in my copy, I couldn't help but squirm in the hands that held me. My heart was already racing, and though my legs were open and my hips moved with desperation, I couldn't relieve the need burning in my body.
"Asmodeus," I said between moans, watching the delicate art of Salomon. "Will you touch me?"
The demon smiled. He knew the power he held in his hands at that moment. He stepped closer and placed his palm on my forehead, sliding it slowly over my face, my neck, my breasts, abdomen, and pubis… until he reached my sex, which seemed to have fully regained its capacity to feel.
Accepting the situation, accepting myself and my copies, the doubts in my body began to fade. Feeling the touch of his fingers made me shudder into a moan. No matter how much I writhed, he didn't withdraw his hand, now drenched. When my breathing calmed, he began to caress me slowly. He slid the tip of his fingers inside me. I felt my insides contract with pleasure as he looked into my eyes, striving to bring me maximum bliss with the smallest movement.
Then, the fury arrived. She screamed, angry, because with every second that passed, insecure copies and demons slipped in to rescue me.
Catching my breath, I asked:
"Do you want Asmodeus to touch you?"
In response, 'Furious' exploded like an uncontrollable torrent. She hurled the demon with brutal force, as if he were nothing. In the blink of an eye, her hand pierced through my chest, stabbing my heart without hesitation. The impact was immediate… but surprisingly, I didn't feel the pain I expected. My body, trembling on the edge of the abyss, began to lose consciousness, slipping into darkness.
As life slipped away, I felt no anger or fear, only a deep sorrow settling inside me. It wasn't physical pain… it was a deeper kind of sadness. For everything left unsaid, undone, for everything that would never come to be. As my eyes grew cloudy and the world began to dissolve, I felt only that ache, sharper than anything else: the sorrow of knowing the end had arrived.
"Everything… will be okay," I said, lifting my gaze. "I still believe there's kindness in you… in me…"
"If you dare put on this show again, I'll kill you the moment I get the chance," she said, ensuring that with my death, her existence would remain intact.
"Maybe… Furious isn't truly your name," I told her, seeing things from another perspective. "Isn't your real name… Fear?"
She screamed, clutching her head. Panic drove her to act more violently, moving her arm inside me, causing greater damage. I coughed up blood.
"No!" she screamed.
"I understand," I said with a warm smile, clutching her arm to stop her from hurting my heart. "I chained myself to this place and called it a peaceful life. I devoted myself to study and called it wisdom. I sought empty emotions and called it happiness. I ended up a slave to my desires, my limits, my false hopes…"
"Shut up, you fool!" she shouted, trying to break free from my grip.
"And now, as I see a chance to change… I feel fear," I continued. "My inner self calls it madness, but I also want to be free. Because freedom doesn't need the peace of a place to exist, or the wisdom of study to have value, or false emotions to be happiness. Fear… I don't need to limit my dream. I don't want to live feeling the uncertainty of death, or bow before anyone. Freedom isn't something you search for… it's something you live. Understand that."
"I refuse! Look what you've done! Look what you're responsible for!" she shouted.
And she was right. That was the truth. The magnitude of the moment was nothing more than a desperate cry from my fear. A push to flee, to avoid facing the weight of my decisions. That part of me that had remained hidden for so long… now revealed itself, stronger than Sadistic.
Gremory appeared behind Fear and also thrust her arm into her chest.
"Silvia," said the demoness, who had remained silent until then. "Don't be afraid to admit you made a bad decision and want to correct it. It's better to make it right than to spend your life trying to fix what can't be changed. It takes resolve to accept a mistake, but condemning yourself to live under the weight of your fear… will only lead to eternal discontent."
"Did you hear that, Fear?" I said. "Acknowledging my fear of going out isn't defeat. It's a step toward where I truly belong."
"Aah… is that so… then why am I still here, standing strong in front of you?" Fear asked.
"The more time passes… the harder it becomes for me," I took a deep breath, calming my mind. "But to grow, I have to move. I have to change. My decision is made. Whether I die now… or survive… the outcome will be the same."
"Even if it means starting from scratch? In hell?" she asked.
"Why live here… if there might be a better place out there? Be it hell… or heaven."
"A better place?" she asked through gritted teeth. "A place?"
"A better version of myself. Someone I can be proud of. I was made to endure pain, to go on, to suffer in silence…"
"You could die!" she screamed.
"I'll die beautifully," I replied, just before losing consciousness.