O Paradise

The Silent Forest was aptly named. A thick mist clung to the world and shrouded everything in an impenetrable gray veil. The air was still, almost suffocating, and no sound seemed to penetrate the fog. Without Qi Sense, without one's full senses, it was as though the world that wasn't ahead of you ceased to exist. The echo of one's own breath and the rhythmic pounding of the heart were the sole reminders of life.

Dasha walked, his hand pressed tightly against his temple, fingers digging into his skin as though he could physically tear away the pain. His head throbbed with relentless intensity, flashes of memories—memories that weren't his—battering his mind. His normally calm, emotionless expression was marred by a grimace as he gritted his teeth, trying to fight through the confusion.

Jack the Ripper.

'You think you can take control? Because you believe I am weak?'

"You are not worthy."

He could feel Jack's thoughts bleeding into his own, disorienting and maddening. His own sense of self was being smothered under the weight of another's life—flashes of blood-streaked streets, cold knives, and sinister, whispered conversations.

As the pain reached a fever pitch, Dasha collapsed against the trunk of a massive redwood. The rough bark bit into his back, but he hardly noticed. Sliding down into a seated position, he pressed both hands to his head, trying to still the storm of foreign memories. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he forced himself to calm down.

He crossed his legs, his hands folded together, and he closed his eyes. Meditation. He needed control. Focus.

The memories washed over him, and he let them, allowing the flood to run its course. And as the pain receded, the visions became clearer, more organized, as if they sensed his willingness to confront them. A conversation emerged, clear as day in his mind.

***

A bright, lavish room. A large marble table dominated the center, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. At the head of the table sat a male in a suit, skinny and boney. 

Ah, Dasha met this individual. Their divine presence was unmistakable. Kón, the flamingo-masked primordial human of the Paracas mythology.

The one from the Endless Bar. The one that handed him the drink. The one that told him they were watching.

Dasha sat in Jack's place. Dasha was Jack.

Kón's mask was studying Jack, his fingers steepled together. "Wang Lun's purpose is different from ours. Let him rally the masses. He believes in a righteous cause. Our cause." A chuckle. The same slimy chuckle Kón gave to Dasha at the bar. "And I like him. His determination is exactly what I love about my precious humans."

"My precious humans," Jack mocked. "Kón, you claim to be humanity's saviour. A god of rain that fed humanity and helped them prosper. But if your compassion was so infinite, then why did you strip them of their waters and lands? Just because they didn't worship you?"

The flamingo-masked deity laughed. "They danced and worshipped when I gave them rain and food, and stopped when they became greedy. What is it that you always say, Jack? They weren't worthy?"

This memory and its world became unstable. 

"Hard times create strong men. Strong men create good times. Good times create weak men. And, weak men create hard times." Kón laughed. "And look where we are now. "

"So you would still do the same? Kill men and women that were living and had merely forgotten what their parents said?"

"You make it sound you would do differently, Jack the Ripper. You strangle, cut throats, and mutilate. You are far worse than I."

Leaning on the table was his golden rapier. Jack's anger coursed through him.

He was contemplating killing this deity. In the end, he leaned back and filled up his cup with a bottle of ginger beer bottle. "What of the big bosses? What do they think of Wang Lun?"

"Wang Lun again?" Kón chuckled. "I've attested to his character. Wang Lun will never submit. He will fight till his last breath. That is what he did in his old life and now."

Jack stared. Dasha stared. "So you are both mine and his messenger."

"I specialize in dealing with members like you and Wang Lun. Once you settle, however, I will send others in my place."

"Settle, hm?" Jack hummed. "Do not misunderstand. Our ideologies are similar. Our dreams are not."

"We know. The bosses as you call them trust that our shared view of the world will keep us together for a small while though."

Dasha felt himself, felt Jack, smile underneath his mask. "I shan't stop ripping then."

Two masked men. Two smiles. 

"Not until the Twin Angels ascend—" 

***

The memory faded and Dasha's eyes snapped open. He was still sitting against the redwood tree, the mist thick around him. Nothing had changed except the ringing in his ears, a faint, distant sound that became clearer with each passing second.

"Paradise, Paradise, Paradise,

O how we long for it,

O how we long for it...."

'A...poem?'

It was recited in soft, childish voices, as though whispered from somewhere deep within the mind of the mask. 

"Paradise, Paradise, Paradise,

O how we long for it,

O how we long for it.

Hero, hero, hero,

O how we long for it,

O how we long for it.

Slay the hydra,

Slay the beast.

Slay the ones that keep us afeet,

Slay our desires and our peace,

Return to us the child of wonder.

The child that exists inside us each.

The hero must exist

For if not, then our lives did not live

The demon, the devil, the heavenly ones,

All of them lie in wait,

All of them wait for the angels

For the paradise that shall never come

For the paradise that shall exist

Someday, someday,

But not today."

Dasha closed his eyes again, forcing himself to concentrate, to let the memories settle as his own. Not Jack's, not the mask's, his own. The mask was darkness itself. It held memories and blood. The personification of the Ripper. Every time he held a knife during his experiments, he felt it. The need to kill. The need to wield it.

Dasha refused. He would continue to refuse.

This mist, this mask, how could they command? How? How?

Why did his Qi Sense fail? How did the Administrator wield such godly power? He needed to tear himself away from the mask and the Administrator and figure it out on his own. 

Understand. Understand what lay in the mist. Understand what this mask contained. Understand this world.

'Do what I could not do on Earth.' 

Understand the core of this world.