"HOW DARE YOU?!" — a voice roaring with fury rang out at once from far away and right beside him.
The Lord's soul, which had only just escaped the cursed Hell, froze, seized by existential horror.
It was a natural reaction. The reaction of prey that had sensed the focused gaze of an apex predator.
The Lord knew this feeling well. It was the very feeling he had instilled in thousands of enemies… But now it was he who had become a helpless victim. As if he were a simple ant, upon whose chitinous shell something enormous and incomprehensible—like a hand—was slowly and inexorably descending.
The Lord obediently froze in place. His instincts told him to submit to fate.
Resist? Run? It was pointless.
Everything had already been decided.
He was finished. Completely.
But at that very moment, a spark of defiance—born from a primal desire to survive—forced him to take extreme measures: to flee without looking back in a last attempt to save himself.
"LIVE! I WANT TO LIVE!"
The Lord was burning his own soul alive as it had only just burst into the cycle of reincarnation.
He knew that such a reckless act would inevitably have consequences in the future. But he knew even better that if he hesitated now—there would be no future at all. His existence would be erased from the world entirely.
No redemption, no reincarnation, no eternal torment. If that blow caught him, he would vanish from the multiverse forever. Even the memory of him would be wiped away.
Unfortunately, his desperate attempt was doomed from the very beginning.
"Aaaaaaah!" — the Lord howled in pain as he clearly felt that the very essence of his being had been 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 single cell of his existence. It surpassed the deepest torments of Hell, from which he had tried so desperately to escape.
Of the being known as the Lord, only a tiny thread of consciousness remained, carried by inertia into endless emptiness. The final fragment of his soul, born of primal terror and the will to survive, carried within it one last command:
"Survive. Run to the edge of the world. Never look back. Do anything. Just live…"
Aware of nothing around him, he drifted through boundless void until he was drawn into a kaleidoscope of glowing points.
The remnant of his soul, a minuscule entity, like a naïve child guided by instinct alone, reached toward the brightest spark.
In that same instant, a flash of blinding light tore everything apart—darkness, silence, space itself, and time.
==========
"I… I… I am…" — the thought flared somewhere deep within consciousness—and immediately faded, leaving behind only a dull echo.
The body was squeezed from all sides. And was it even a body? More like a strange lump of flesh, tied by a cord.
Around him—thick, impenetrable darkness. A viscous, heavy, gel-like substance prevented any movement. It seemed to breathe together with him, contracting and expanding, as though trying to merge with his strange body.
Thoughts scattered, dissolving into the gloom. Only instinct remained—helpless, primal. The remnant of the Lord's soul became unconscious. He could only feel, but not think.
And what he felt was an explosive mixture of panic and lingering fear.
Time stretched unbearably slowly—or perhaps it had stopped altogether.
"He" hoped that something would change. That light might appear again, at least a tiny glimmer, but in vain… The darkness remained the same—bottomless and indifferent.
Suddenly—something warm and soft slid across his body. The gesture was careful, even gentle, but in this gloom it felt terrifying. As if some alien creature were licking his body to taste it.
He wanted to turn, wanted to look at this incomprehensible something, but the darkness held him fast, leaving not a single chance to escape.
Uncertainty and fear reached their limit. Everything inside twisted with horror. In a fit of despair, the soul fragment did the only thing it could: it pretended to be dead. Nonexistent.
But nothing changed.
The pressure did not ease. The warm touches repeated, growing more insistent.
After a span of time that could not be measured, he tried to move again and… succeeded. To his great astonishment.
Only now did he notice that the body of flesh had transformed. Arms and legs had grown anew, and even his head seemed to be in place. Thinking became a little easier. Still difficult, but possible.
The darkness trembled slightly. In response, a strange, indistinct sound came from afar—like a call.
The voice was soft, almost tender, yet it sounded frighteningly close.
Again…
The soul fragment, deprived of reason, still remembered what it meant to be afraid. And above all, it feared a voice that came from somewhere far away, yet at the same time right beside him… To him, such a voice was a living nightmare.
Then—silence again.
With time, he calmed down. Sometimes he felt timid touches from the "neighbor," sometimes he heard a distant, gentle voice. Fear retreated. The darkness no longer seemed hostile. It felt as though it were embracing him.
He almost calmed down. Almost believed that everything was fine.
But…
A desperate, agonized scream cut through the distant silence. The body was squeezed as if in a vise—every breath came with torment. The familiar warmth and viscous moisture vanished in an instant, replaced by suffocation and panic.
The situation demanded decisive action.
"Run." — the last spark of will flared awake once more.
Gathering his remaining strength, he turned. Ahead, a light glimmered—weak, barely perceptible, almost illusory, but terribly desirable.
He lunged toward it, as if nature itself were pushing him forward.
The walls around him alternately contracted and expanded, urging him toward freedom. Muffled cries outside grew louder, closer, but he did not understand their meaning. All that mattered was to leave, to break free, to breathe.
That was it. A weightless sensation. The feeling of freedom.
Somewhat strange, to be honest… As if he had accomplished something great, yet at the same time lost something important.
Philosophical thoughts did not linger long. Reality was far more pressing. The feeling of suffocation had not disappeared, and the light was far too bright. So bright that it burned his eyes even through closed lids.
How painful! The "Great Devil" felt a burning sting in the area of his buttocks, from which he almost instinctively cried—but at the same time took his first breath.
For a fleeting moment, fury flared within him—the wrath of the Lord, aware of the humiliation. But that anger dissipated just as quickly when his entire being was enveloped by something warm, soft, utterly fluffy.
It did not threaten. It did not suppress. It simply… loved.
Too pleasant! As if he had soared into the clouds and was basking in fluffy down. He felt so comfortable that he wanted to see this miracle.
His eyelids were heavy as lead, but he stubbornly parted them—and froze.
A beautiful woman of about thirty looked at him with sky-blue eyes, as though trying to imprint the image of the most beloved person in her memory.
She was unimaginably beautiful.
Her face was like a masterpiece crafted by nature itself. Silvery-white hair cascaded in soft waves, shimmering in the light like strands of moon silk. And for the smile upon her plump lips, a righteous man would renounce all vows and commit madness.
And that smile was meant for him alone. So tender and happy. So loving and sincere. He wanted to dissolve into it completely.
He did not know who she was. But he felt an indescribable pull toward her. From a single glance, butterflies danced in his stomach. Could this be love at first sight?
He wanted to say something, but from his disobedient mouth escaped something between a moan and a cry:
"Maaaaa…"
The sound was almost indistinct, but it was enough for the woman. Her smile grew even softer. She gently pressed him to herself and brought her lips closer for a kiss. When those lips touched his forehead, a sensation of bliss spread through his body, as if he had become weightless.
"So big. So soft. So pleasant." — he was still dreaming about those plump lips when a gentle voice pulled him from his trance.
"Fufufu, did mommy put another one of her little angels to sleep? No-no, dear, you must eat first. You want to grow big and healthy, just like your big sister, don't you?"
He silently looked at her, not understanding the meaning of the words, but enchanted by her voice. And, as if taking his silence for an answer, the beauty pulled back slightly and lightly lowered her dress.
Before the little one rose a large pale-pink mound, breathing with gentle warmth. At the very peak of the mound was a bewitching pink altar that beckoned irresistibly.
Too beautiful to be real. Too desirable to refuse.
Saliva gathered in the "great devil's" mouth.
He desperately wanted to reach out and claim the desired object, but his arms would not obey. Then the woman herself guided the sacred altar straight into his yearning mouth.
The moment his lips touched the skin, the world seemed to freeze.
"THIS IS IT! LIFE!" — he rejoiced.
"Well, well, dear," — the beauty said with a tender smile, — "It seems you really are hungry. My little devil is much braver than his big sister. Fufufu. Mommy likes that. I'm sure you'll grow big and healthy."
The child did not understand what the beautiful woman was talking about. All he knew was that her voice was very pleasant, and the taste of the milk was warm and slightly sweet. What more could one need for happiness?
Unfortunately, someone else disrupted the idyll. Another little priest at that moment was worshiping a similar altar.
"What a heretic! How dare he?!"
The devil sensed a rival. Righteous anger, jealousy, and a desire to protect his territory surged within him. He jerked his leg, trying to crush the insolent occupier. Alas, the treacherous space separating them proved an insurmountable obstacle.
"Fufufu… what a possessive little one you are…" — the melodic voice of the beauty rang out again, like the chiming of silver bells, — "Don't worry, sweetheart, your big sister won't take your milk. This lady will make sure to remain impartial."
Though the meaning of the words slipped away, a small spark of understanding reflected in the depths of his subconscious.
"The beautiful woman is my mother, and beside me is my little sister."
With that realization, the last sparks of reason were completely exhausted. The remnants of the great devil's will, memory, and pride slowly dissolved like smoke in the wind. In his chest remained only calm—warm, light, almost human.
The baby's eyes were closing.
And with that final motion, the Lord disappeared—leaving behind only a child, quietly asleep in his mother's arms.
Before sinking forever into oblivion, he heard the soothing voice once more:
"Welcome to the world, my little ones."