Will of chaos - Chapter 1983: Cap 1978 (Revised): Its Origin...
Chapter 1983: Cap 1978 (Revised): Its Origin…
“How about we start with some introductions?” (me)
Trying to force her to reveal more about herself won’t get me anywhere. I don’t like knowing more about her either, even though I’ve made a decision, I still don’t like what I’m doing.
“You bastard…” (Hana)
“Why do I need to introduce myself!?” (Hana)
“Because I want to!” (me)
“!!!!” (Hana)
I deepened my presence and her eyes became lifeless. It seems Callidora corrupts Souls through mental and soul torture. She shouldn’t use intimidation or coercion through power differences; I can see the reason, since her goal isn’t to force obedience but to corrupt the very foundations of Souls.
A mortal Soul like hers, lacking even superhuman power, has no chance of resisting my presence, or so I expected.
“You bastard…” (Hana)
She only whispered, still trying to resist. Her Will was quite strong, but it wouldn’t last long. Unfortunately, if I continue, I might end up hurting this Soul even more.
Seeing the stubbornness in her eyes, I suddenly stopped applying pressure, and her body fell to the ground, breathing with difficulty as if it were just air she was breathing. Mortal habits are hard to break.
When she looks at me now, I can see the fear in her eyes. A presence different from those possessed by Demons. It’s not a matter of malice or cruelty; I have those things, but they aren’t central aspects of me. My presence is strange, full of anomalies and Chaos in constant flux, as if something were lurking inside someone. I am fully aware of this.
“Your situation doesn’t change at all. You have no control over what will happen, so why not cooperate?” (me)
“…” (Hana)
“What do you want!?” (Hana)
“How about we start with an introduction?” (me)
“…” (Hana)
I can see in her eyes that she’s trying to decipher my intentions, but she’ll never succeed. She lacks the capacity for it, as well as understanding of many things, to even have a notion of what I really want. Not to mention that she would need to recognize my identity, which would be impossible.
“My name is Hana Amaral Silva, I died at 61… happy!?” (Hana)
“That’s at least a start…” (me)
I don’t smile or show any emotion to her. Since I arrived, I’ve been controlling myself to avoid showing my true emotions.
“Introductions should be mutual, so let me introduce myself this time.” (me)
“My name is Zenos.” (me)
“Just that!?” (Hana)
“Curious about my identity?” (me)
“How could I not be!?” (Hana)
“I’m a criminal, I know what I did, and if Hell really exists as I now know it does, I’m exactly the kind of person thrown there!” (Hana)
“But instead of burning for eternity, I’m facing a super bossy cosplay kid!” (Hana)
“So you want to know more about me? What would that change in your situation? Would you even understand my words?” (me)
“It doesn’t matter if I understand, what matters is if you’d be willing to tell me?” (Hana)
“After all, what kind of being are you!?” (Hana)
“An Angel? An Archangel!? You can’t really be God, can you!?” (Hana)
“You also don’t seem to be fat like Buddha, old like Zeus, or wear an eyepatch like Odin!” (Hana)
It seems she’s genuinely curious about me, but her Divine knowledge is limited to earthly Catholicism, as well as other religions, in a clearly superficial way.
“I don’t mind introducing myself; trillions know my name.” (me)
“I am Zenos, Primordial God of the Eclipse… Anomalous Divine Dragon… 7th-level Ascendant… Bearer of Chaos!” (me)
“I possess many titles, and none of them mean anything to you, so just call me by my name.” (me)
Her eyes were wide, and I know exactly why. Even though I spoke slowly, she must not have been able to understand my words. Each of these titles carries my Authority, full of Divinity, Law, or Concept.
Her mind and Will are incapable of understanding these titles; they are not even capable of hearing them. To her, it must have seemed as if I spoke in another language or uttered incomprehensible sounds.
“…” (Hana)
“It seems you didn’t understand, did you?” (Me)
“I only heard your name, Zenos… besides that I heard Dragon and God… besides that…” (Hana)
“Just as I imagined.” (Me)
“Let’s begin.” (Me)
Snap
I snap my fingers and the dark environment suddenly lights up, revealing something I didn’t expect: Christ the Redeemer, the great landmark statue of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
“What did you do!?” (Hana)
“I just chose your most nostalgic memory and brought us here.” (Me)
“What do you want from me!?” (Hana)
“If you’re a damn GOD! Then what do you want from me!?” (Hana)
“What I want doesn’t matter, just know that I want to know about your life, so tell me everything from the beginning.” (Me)
“Shitty God.” (Hana)
She’s angry, I don’t care, I just wish she wouldn’t delve too deeply. I don’t have many arguments to support anything without revealing who I am, so it’s better to just play mysterious, leaving her confused about what I want.
I point to her forehead and a surge of energy surges through her mind. I just showed her how to travel through memories, so I’ll let her guide me through her memory, I’ll make her show me everything I want to know.
“Are you going to show me yourself or are you going to force me to rummage through your head?” (me)
“…” (Hana)
She looked away in disgust, but her hand was trembling. She stood up and I remained floating in the air, still seated with my legs crossed.
“Where should I start!?” (me)
“From the beginning, why not start with this statue?” (Me)
Her aggressiveness was apparent, but at least she stopped questioning. Her willpower was also weakening, but soon she changed her mindset, focusing her eyes on the statue that greets its visitors with open arms.
“I may have achieved many things in my life, but I came from the middle of nowhere.” (Hana)
“I was born and raised in a tropical city, a beautiful city with breathtaking beaches and scenery, but that’s just the surface.” (Hana)
“There is no illuminated city in the world that doesn’t have shadows, and in that city, crime strangely shows itself with ease.” (Hana)
“The drug traffickers and militiamen fought each other or against the police every week, day and night, but for the people of the city, that was normal news on the news.” (Hana)
As she spoke, she waved her hand, rotating her wrist as if searching for a specific point in her memory. She pointed to the beaches during Carnival, as well as various tourist spots. Then everything changed to a room with two sofas, an old coffee table, and an old tube TV.
On the curved screen, a news report of a police operation in the favela was playing. She was showing it to me and talking as if remembering that past.
“In my childhood, I lacked nothing. I had food, clothes, school, friends, and all that usual nonsense.” (Hana)
“My father worked at a bank as a teller and my mother did sewing at home; we were just a middle-class family.” (Hana)
“But I wanted more. I didn’t like seeing my friends talking about new clothes and the boys talking about computers, things I couldn’t have.” (Hana)
“They say children are too honest, but my envy and greed were very honest.” (Hana)
She walked around the house while talking. In her eyes, I was no longer reflected; she fell into nostalgia, swallowed by her memories, talking more to herself than to me.
The house, which had no other floor, only had two bedrooms, one bathroom, one living room, one kitchen, and a porch overlooking a yard where two guava trees grew. She walked to one of these trees and ran her hand over its bark while talking.
“I was always a terrible person, but since I had a mostly happy childhood, I had no excuse for what I did afterward.” (Hana)
“When there was an economic crisis, my father was laid off and my mother had no more customers, since nobody would spend unnecessary money on superfluous things in the midst of an economic crisis.” (Hana)
“Then one thing led to another and we came to live in the favela…” (Hana)
The backyard disappeared and what emerged was a street that looked more like a doll with the staircase taking the place of the sidewalk, several walls with different colors with drawings, paint marks, or unfinished congregation walls.
“I was a teenager at the time, it was my rebellious phase and my father, who was unemployed, spent what little he had on alcohol, that idiot… hahaha…” (Hana)
“As someone full of anger who blames everything and everyone for his problems, the alcohol made him more aggressive and it wasn’t long before I started getting beaten, just like my mother.” (Hana)
“That stupid woman, in just a few days she couldn’t take it anymore and made the situation worse, she started using drugs just like her idiot husband used alcohol.” (Hana)
She was telling a sad story while walking through the favela, but her lips were smiling. People walked normally, there were shops and old men playing cards at the gate while children played soccer. Once in a while, an armed bandit would pass by on a motorcycle.
“Those idiots gave me the perfect excuse. I could steal and do other things, and in the end, the blame would fall on them. It was perfect.” (Hana)
“Unfortunately, that weak bitch died of an overdose very quickly. She used too many drugs, but the old man at least lasted a while. I made it look like he stole the gun from one of the drug dealers while I used that gun to rob people.” (Hana)
“The old man was burned and I was left without either of them, but my paternal grandmother was still alive. She was very religious, but at least there was a less awful place for me to live.” (Hana)
She turned her face away as everything changed once again. Now we were in a house with older furniture and religious symbols like statues of saints, crucifixes, and pictures with Bible verses.
“I was a whore who, at 17, had already killed two people. I was even in one of the gangs. I had more money than that old woman could make with her shitty pension.” (Hana)
“That’s my origin, that’s how I came to be!” (Hana)
She turned to me, smiling with her lips, but her eyes seemed resentful, as if she were telling the story of someone she hated, not her own.
“What else?” (me)
