Bloody Odyssey

Chapter 59: Zero

Dax stood on Level 0 of his backrooms, surrounded by countless vile creatures of his own design. Twisted shapes lurked in the dim, flickering light—hulking silhouettes with too many limbs, eyeless faces that stared without seeing, and forms that seemed to shift and blur at the edges when looked at directly.

The air hung heavy with the low, constant hum of containment fields, mixed with the faint metallic tang of blood and the sharp bite of ozone.

Shadows clung to every corner, and the distant drip of something wet echoed irregularly through the vast space.

At the very center of the chamber rose a massive cylindrical container of reinforced transparent material, thick enough to withstand catastrophic force. Inside it, curled into a tight fetal ball with knees drawn to his chest and arms wrapped around his head, sat Kakarai. His body trembled in small, involuntary spasms; pale skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat that caught the cold overhead lights.

"Vos," Kakarai rasped. The word came out thin and hollow, carrying the same mournful, echoing quality as the wraith's voice—barely human, like wind through cracked bone.

He slowly lifted his bald head. The instant his eyes locked onto Dax's, raw fear lanced down his spine like frozen needles. His whole body began to vibrate harder, teeth chattering faintly. With a visible effort, he forced his head back down, pressing his forehead so tightly against his knees that the skin whitened at the contact, as though he could vanish into himself if he tried hard enough.

"Though there are some variables," Dax said quietly, placing one hand flat against the cool surface of the container, fingers splayed, "he is complete."

He studied Kakarai for a long, unhurried moment, taking in every tremor, every shallow breath.

"Tell me, Kakarai," Dax continued, his voice calm and almost gentle, almost curious, "why aren't you begging for your life? Or at least for some sort of escape?"

Kakarai gave no answer. He only shivered harder, muscles locked in terror, refusing to speak or even lift his head again.

Suddenly, a familiar figure stepped out from the deeper shadows near the container—a perfect mimic of Kakarai himself, down to the last scar, the same bald head, the same haunted eyes. The mimic stood silently beside the glass, watching with empty, unblinking eyes.

Dax tilted his head slightly, long hair falling gracefully to one side. A beautiful, serene smile curved his lips—soft, almost affectionate.

"I see someone made a friend."

He tapped lightly on the glass with one finger—once, twice. The sharp, clear sound echoed through the chamber like a small bell in the silence.

Dax turned away and walked toward one of the many plastic-encased figures that lined the walls—preserved specimens suspended in clear fluid, grotesque and strangely beautiful, each one a testament to his craft.

"You all did well," he said to them, voice carrying genuine pride that echoed faintly off the walls. "My homemade monsters."

"Zero," Dax called out.

The entire backrooms rumbled in immediate response, a deep vibration that traveled up through the floor and into the bones. Something immense was approaching from far within the structure. Crunching sounds followed—wet, rhythmic, like heavy bones being ground under slow, deliberate pressure.

Boom.

A hollow door tore open in the far wall with violent force. Beyond it poured blinding red light. Every visible surface inside—ethereal walls, floor, ceiling—was coated in thick, slow-dripping blood that never quite reached the ground, hanging in impossible defiance of gravity.

"Ahhh—" Kakarai scrambled desperately to the extreme edge of his container, pressing his back flat against the glass as far from the opening as the space allowed, body shaking violently.

A small figure emerged from the bloody light.

It looked like a cute child of perhaps four years old—round cheeks, wide innocent eyes, small hands—but its belly was grotesquely distended, swollen far beyond normal capacity like a child who had gorged until bursting. Black robes draped its tiny frame, the hems dragging slightly across the floor as it moved.

The child knelt immediately, head bowed low, not daring to look up.

"I gweet the mastaw," it said in a high, lisping voice. The childish tone was exaggerated, almost playful, yet the raw power behind every word was unmistakable and chilling.

"You have done well, Zero," Dax said. "I see you made some changes to this man."

Zero's eyes lit up with pure delight. It dared to lift its head just enough to peek upward.

"Thank you, mastew!" Zero pointed one chubby finger toward Kakarai. "I fixed his vocal cord, but he still speaks in that stwange mannaw." The child's aura pulsed heavily for a brief moment—dark, oppressive, pressing down on the air like a physical weight.

"Let him be," Dax replied evenly.

He smiled down at Zero—warm, almost fond, the expression softening his sharp features for just a second.

"Tell your brothers and sisters I'll be visiting."

Zero's small face beamed with unrestrained joy.

Dax moved to the side and gestured casually. Two massive, hill-sized creatures materialized from the surrounding shadows—colossal corpses, scales cracked and split, limbs hanging limp, fresh blood still seeping slowly from gaping wounds.

Zero's eyes glowed brighter, twin points of red light flaring in the dimness.

"This is for you, Zero."

In an instant, Zero appeared beside the enormous bodies. With effortless, impossible strength for such a small form, the child grasped each corpse by the tail and began dragging them toward the hollow bloody door.

As it departed, Zero turned and waved one tiny hand in farewell.

"I will convey your words, master!"

The door sealed behind it with another wet, crunching sound, leaving only heavy silence and the persistent low hum of the chamber.

—-

Days later…

Zain stood alone in the vast wilderness, wind whipping across open plains beneath a bruised, storm-heavy sky. Dark clouds churned overhead, promising violence.

He was in full symbiotic form—body crackling with living lightning, bright arcs of electricity dancing and snapping across sleek black armored skin. His head remained exposed, hair whipping wildly in the gusts. His right eye glowed with faint circuit patterns that shifted and pulsed like living code running just beneath the surface.

"This is amazing," Zain whispered, voice barely audible over the rising wind.

His head turned slowly at first, tracking something invisible to the naked eye. His gaze accelerated—faster, sharper—following invisible patterns threading through the air.

I never knew I could use them like this.

Under his focused gaze, a massive shadow of himself unfolded across the sky—a towering silhouette that stretched from horizon to horizon. A falling lightning net descended from it, vast and inescapable, wrapping around a colossal creature unseen to this world. The net pinned the beast in place; abnormal shockwaves rippled outward in concentric rings, stunning it with raw, overwhelming force that made the air itself tremble.

Above the scene, Zain saw himself hovering—arm extended, one finger pointed downward as though delivering divine, unchallengeable judgment.

The sky answered instantly.

Crackling thunder rolled like war drums. Series after series of lightning—each bolt a different vivid color—fell like torrential rain. Red, violet, gold, electric blue—they poured down relentlessly, striking both the colossal creature and Zain himself in a controlled, ecstatic storm of power.

Is this some sort of mythical item? Zain touched his own face, fingers brushing the glowing circuits around his eye. It's like I have a second brain… not that I'm complaining.

Suddenly, sets of demonstrations appeared directly in his vision—holographic shadows of himself repeating precise sequences of movements in a continuous, flawless loop. Each form flowed into the next with perfect timing, electricity arcing in exact synchronization.

"These are the basics of the Lightning Chronicles," Zain said aloud, voice thick with deep astonishment.

He clenched his fist tightly, steadying his breathing until it matched the rhythm of the storm above.

Mind clear. Body ready.

He began to imitate.