As the former overseer (Enjin), as aforementioned, Azokin merely adopted the role. Yes – he was raised by Sillhaine, and grew up alongside his siblings; but make no mistake, when his capabilities are soon fully realised, their dissimilarities shall surface. Their obvious distinctions in lineage will divide them all. His potential and talents will become even more blatantly apparent when they blossom into full fruition.
She knows all too well that he cannot stay with her forever, let alone remain in the same, equal caliber as his siblings. His power and capabilities are wasted on being an overseer. Azokin was never made to serve and protect - unlike my unfortunate subject here.
He was begotten in the aftermath of the fray between two entities. Conflict is already in his veins. For he is the son of Vonplex and Sillhaine. And like she said once before, he is the best of both of us, and so she instructed him to travel to the void to search for his father – to learn of his other heritage, as she called it. I wonder how Azokin will react when he finally meets his long-lost father -or should I say me?
Will Vonplex awaken from his slumber?
Or will he stay comatose?
If his offspring cannot find him, Azokin will be forever lost to the void.
The permanent and unmissable eclipse outside my balcony is also another one of his seeds. The mad entity has deliberated and intended more than he had initially let on. If I had not have known about those other memories, I would have been strictly limited to one prospective.
His perspective.
What else is he hiding? What other schemes has he woven within the great universal web of fate? Pulling threads behind the scenes. Methodically orchestrating. Manipulating celestial affairs, while others are none the wiser to his actions. The knowledge I've amassed and mentally absorbed leaves me wanting to know more, whether it relates to his complex origins or his ongoing existential struggle.
Then again, I suppose I shall reap my answers when I decide to reincarnate for the third time. When the overseer experienced Ira's grief from a personal standpoint and watched him step through the portal, there was a period of missing time. Missing memories. What happened to them? Was it due to some sort of unperceivable interference? He must have met Vonplex from the era of the first trinity – or else he wouldn't have been able to acquire what was needed to bring me into being.
This immersive experience of overlapping retrospectives – and segments of history shared from each soul- has given me a much greater comprehension of everyone else's personal quandary. Interracial grudges. Irrational convictions. Cunning proceedings. And now, I am the one who lives with their memories, as well as my own. Well, partially.
I shall find a way to uncover more of my third reincarnation's memories and take full advantage of the invaluable insight they can provide. I don't know every incident he has instigated or partaken in, since I've only been shown specific parts of their collective history. He has been very selective – and as my future reincarnation, he already knows everything about me. And without a shred of doubt, he would have foreseen my predicament before it had unfolded. Everything has happened for a reason.
I happened, for a reason.
Despite his dubious and self-serving nature, his actions have resulted in him fathering two souls. He is creating life as well as destroying it. When I fought the overseer, I saw him alter and downsize his anatomy to adapt to his sudden change of environment after he had escaped from his ocean of illusions, to then end up in Ira's interdimensional tunnel. The Stern also demonstrated a similar capability, when their physical vessels were disbanded, their souls were still able to function beyond their Alosium carcasses - and act as a separate entity.
In theory, their life force could be used as a power source if it were implemented into a vessel built from their raw biological components. I wonder if Ira has any Alosium stored in his archives – or any materials left when he extracted information from the very first overseer.
A weapon or instrument that has the right amount of cognizance and can manipulate its constitution might be a worthwhile concept to explore – if there was a way to control it so that it doesn't undo the reverse engineering. I break away the soft shell of its nucleus - eager to reveal its inner spiritual core.
As my opponent, he tested and pushed my limits. Now – he seems rather small. It is unfortunate and indeed a grave shame. How undignified he must feel to have lost to a newly born mortal and a novice.
Was he actually that powerful to begin with?
I have received a substantial amount of information and experience from my common enemy, as well as acquired a reward for the trouble he has caused me. If I have truly bested this overseer and can live to recite my experience, perhaps I should challenge their precious Esseden next, for the sake of nostalgia – if she is alive, that is. I snicker at that daft thought.
"My – you are a cruel one." The Eckrhyne progenitor laughs from behind me. I don't bother to look over my shoulder. I know he is already here. I can feel the fractioned, inward projection of his spirit standing next to me. He is warm and sprightly.
"Reverse engineering an overseer's biology – it's brilliant. Ingenious even." He commented. "I'm annoyed that I never thought of it myself, to be honest. However, to make your vision a reality, you need to recondition his ego and destroy his present identity completely, so that he can become a subservient tool." He inches closer, leaning towards the edge of the surgical slab, while eyeing the procedure with keen interest. His brown eyes hold a glint of excitement. I've grown in tune with his presence, and there has been an improvement in his mood recently. He seems happier.
Granted, he is only fooling himself with his own façade.
"Reading my thoughts again, Ira?"
"There was no need. I could hear you from the ground floor." He remarks with an underlying hint of snobbery and amusement. He teases me from time to time. Sometimes I am unsure what to make of it. Is it irksome, or mildly endearing?
Ira coughs into the back of his hand.
"Broadcasting your thoughts out loud is considered impolite and uncivilised in the culture of my seeded race. To conceal them is a sign of restraint and mindfulness of others. We are a reserved and introverted species, as you may have noticed. They value privacy and manners, unlike the boorish Wa-omme."
"I agree - especially when others try and pry into them." I add.
He murmurs and quietly grumbles to himself. I didn't catch a single word he said, as it was unintelligible.
"Well - practise makes perfect!" He enthuses. Smiling with his eyes. Energy swathes around his hands as a secondary astral coating. He then selects the same bladed instrument I was using a moment ago before his visit, and points the tip of the knife at the intricate, yet tightly strung, webbed formation of white-silver cords mapped inside the nucleus.
"The large and stout cords are used as connectivity routes to areas for processing information, memory retention, communication, language, empathy, motor, and spatial awareness. The thickness and size of the cords indicate the level of usage. The shorter and broader they are, the quicker information is sent, received, and efficiently processed throughout his Nexus." He scrapes the tip of the blade – dragging it along - following the length of a long and slender cord, between the larger-sized threads.
"As for the more, smaller, and slender ones, these connect to the three basic senses, such as perception, hearing, and touch. The Wa-omme cannot smell or taste. Instead, they gather and exchange information with one another - sharing their own personal experiences through their main collective. And by the look of things, this overseer has had a relatively sheltered life, compared to the first."
The one he dissected. He isn't aware of what I already know – and I aim to keep this little secret to myself in case it may serve as an advantage, if my circumstances decide to fall in my disfavour.
"How did you amass such knowledge on the Wa-omme species?" I ask.
"Well, by experimenting, of course, and cataloguing my data findings."
"Did Sillhaine authorise you to conduct experiments on the Wa-omme?"
"She didn't. I acquired them when she wasn't looking."
Acquired them?
An unusual choice of words to allude to what he did in the past. He took more than just an overseer. Civilians? The Stern?
"You abducted them?"
"Abducted is such a strong word, " he counters. And then goes on to say, "Did you know there was an overseer who came before the distinguished three we know today, in our celestial present?"
"No. I did not." I lie. Choosing my words carefully. He pauses for a second. I do not feel him trying to pry or filter through my tempered thoughts.
He is testing me.
"He was the very first overseer to be created by Sillhaine. Her firstborn. Her son. He didn't have much in the way of a personality – a bit of a blank slate that one. If he were still alive now, there would be four of them in total, and the siblings would be revered universally, as the divine quad." He snorts, as though mentioning the mere notion of it was ridiculous to him.
"Though I do remember his name – impeccably. I always do." He stills the blade in his radiant hand.
"I remember everything. I never miss a detail. Not one." He lets out a small hiss. Failing to withhold it. Then he recomposes himself again, and resumes the subject of conversation, as though nothing had happened – as though the grief isn't still there. Keeping his sentiments locked inside.
Denial.
"However, my experience with that one was dull and underwhelming. To this celestial day, I find it too much of a bother to mention his name. Even trying to sound out the syllables is too tedious. It is a waste of minor exertion. To be honest, I would much rather..." His words wander off track. Trailing into nowhere.
Bleakness.
"Ira?" I call out his name. Softly. He flinches and immediately snaps back to reality.
"Are you alright?" I asked. Retaining a delicate tone.
"Yes – yes." He raised his hand and dismissed my question, as if I had just asked him something ludicrous.
"Aside from his personality and putting on an anticlimactic show when he was experiencing certain stimuli, the only interesting part about him was his biology. Whereas the others I acquired before him were very vocally expressive. I can effortlessly recall every component I had uncovered throughout my numerous cases of vivisections, all the way down to the most minuscule of details. Taking them from their independent home worlds was easy, but executing a distraction for Sillhaine as I was retrieving him from the collective was a challenge in itself - and then of course framing Madonis for the random abductions as well as setting her forest of souls alight with illusory fire was quite the feat." He chuckles to himself lightly as he mentally relives his memories.
"But I had underestimated his perception, and like myself with my perfect memory recall, he never missed a thing either. He was difficult and frustrating; however, I still prevailed nonetheless. I avoided direct combat and took what I wanted. None of them were pleased once they realised what I had done." He laughs.
"I actually wouldn't mind taking a look into his mind and soul to see how he functions – what goes through that head of his. His parts will be a fine addition to my collection." Then a pang hits against the internal walls of my chest – a strange stir of fluttering heat – a burning sensation; igniting a weak, long lost flame.
Madonis.
Vonplex had a profound connection with the founder. Did an old piece of sentiment, subconsciously, cross over when I was engrossed in Vonplex's past? No, that can't be it. How can it be possible to have any feelings for someone I haven't met? I would even consider my current feelings towards Ira to be aromantic. These two entities that were in a relationship with my future self long ago will only see me as a token of what I used to be – or what's left of it. To them, I am just a poor imitation of their former significant other. They will never acknowledge me for who I am, but for who I look like.
For I am a soul who has been split into three avatars and allocated throughout time. So I wonder if the feeling in my chest could very well be a random response, or a precognitive sensation perhaps?
Or is the mad entity giving me an indicative nudge?
"Did you acquire samples from Vonplex as well?" He tenses at my question.
"Is that how I was created?" Ira released a loud sigh. Showing his weariness. Crusts of hardened particles underline his bottom eyelids, detailing facial signs of emotional fatigue.
"Not quite. We weren't exactly on the friendliest of terms." He admits.
"In fact, we were on opposing sides and fought tirelessly across the stars. Then, we soon came to an impasse - and we both agreed that our long, drawn-out conflict was serving neither of us." His shoulders relax, and his frame loses the tension as he stops in mid-sentence to ponder over his words once more.
"After our relationship had improved over a duration of a celestial millennia, enough to be considered friends, I asked him if I could take samples of his biological makeup. I was deeply fascinated by him. From the divine elements he possessed, to his remarkable anatomy – and why he was the only member of the trinities to be born with the memories of others." Possessing the memories of others was a price – a consequence I reaped for meddling with my past incarnations.
"The souls from the two trinities were all born as a blank slate –except for him. The rest had no memories. No abilities. No concept of sex and gender identity. They were completely gender neutral. And because of his advantage, the others accused him of being favoured by the universal creator more so."
He had set everything up on purpose – just to be ten steps ahead of everyone else born around him.
"Whenever I bethink of that era, when everything began, the embryotic and infantile stages were the only point in our growth development when any of us had anything remotely in common throughout our immortal life span. Then, we started to think for ourselves – and began to evolve. Change. We outgrew one another and acquired our independence." He imparts on an equivocal note – and returns to our previous subject of conversation before we digressed. He narrows and homes his sights on the cord.
"His internal network connects the conscious mind to the subconscious. Their connectivity routes enable the Wa-omme to adapt and operate in diversified, multi-dimensional environments. And in case you weren't aware, only specific cords can grow back after being severed, while some don't at all."
He gives me a thoughtful glance.
"Do you still wish to convert him into a pawn?"
"Is it feasible?" I inquired
"Of course." He tilts his head to the side.
"Why wouldn't it be?" He asked that, as if it were a simple question.
"Then how do you suggest we proceed?" Then I blink as he slices a large cord in half with a clean finish. It was a connectivity route, which processes and transfers memories through an upheld inner current – a circulating streamlet of information. The ends of the halved cord are cauterised by the quick slash to prevent any leakage. His history has been cut in twain. Disbanded.
"We wouldn't want him to remember everything, now do we?" He chortles sadistically.
"Just a sensible amount of memory retention and the absence of personal history should suffice." He veers the tip of the knife over to another cord of a similar size.
"How do you feel about empathy?"
"Empathy seems more like a hindrance than a beneficial asset," I answered.
"His emotional cord can't be cut, or else he will become apathetic, but it can be thinned. Sliced down to size, just enough for him to maintain emotional stability and balance; however, there is another advantage to his empathy. It can help deepen your connection with your darling subject – form a soul bond if you will."
I snarl. Disgusted by the mention of it.
"I have no intention of bonding with it!" I hiss. Why would I want to bond with my enemy?
"Without a soul connection, it will be impossible to command your pawn. Their souls are parasitic in nature. Oneness is their instinctual calling. There is a benefit if you choose this connection, for example, if your mortality were ever threatened, it would respond accordingly to the source of danger and safeguard your life. If you are ever in a precarious situation where you are unable to protect yourself, that is. " He explained.
"I shall leave the motor and communication cords for the time being, though." He sets the blade down on the slab and reaches for my hand. I let him enclose his fingers around mine. He guides my hand directly into the overseer's life force and bathes it within the metaphysical nucleus. New strands of white astral thread manifest and interlace around my fingers. Clinging to me wholeheartedly. There is no reluctance - only innocent infantile wonder. It is imprinting on me, and doesn't seem to have a voice of its own yet.
I then feel Ira's hand slip from my own as I envision remoulding the newly reborn soul into an impressionable one. Submissive. Compliant. Easily monopolised. A mind - a tool I can utilise. It will possess enough intelligence to receive commands and have a keen sense of spatial awareness. It shall not have any knowledge of its previous identity and history, nor will it ever learn who I was before any of this. If by a miraculous chance, it remembers its former life, its mind shall begin to interrogate itself, which will drag it into the chaotic disquiet of an existential crisis.
An inner conflict torn between past and present.
But, if the worst should ever happen, its state of confusion and vulnerability shall grant me just enough time to intercept it.
Furthermore, if it ever dares to revolt against me and flee,
I will find it.
I will reclaim what is rightfully mine, and then relish in the opportunity to rectify its inexcusable behaviour.
"Have you ever wondered how you were able to understand my language?" The sudden question pulls me out of my thoughts.
"No. I haven't." I wasn't aware he was speaking in one. Everyone I have encountered so far has spoken the same language. The only distinction was their accent and dialect. The voices of Wa-omme kind either had a baritone or a soft, smoothness, joined by vocal distortion. As for Ira's, I would consider him well spoken, and his pronunciation to have a non-rhotic quality to it.
"It is no secret that the Wa-omme not only specialise in anatomical manipulation, but they are also very talented linguists. They can replicate and record every language they encounter, hence prompting an instant download of information. If a soul exposes itself to them, they exchange energies. Initiating a rare off chance of a bestowal - a gift of language – the language of oneness, which originated from the universal architect. However, in your situation, yours was incidental, and your scars are the evidence of your exposure." Ira informed me, briefly scanning my body from head to toe.
"Can a soul bond survive the course of multiple reincarnations?"
"Yes, a soul connection is valid until the moment of impermanence. And another thing, when his worth comes to an end, do make sure you bring him back here to me for his full erasure. The elimination of your bond is crucial." He touches the wet surface of the operating slab and shudders. His palms curl inwards again.
"And please remember to clean up afterwards."
He steps away from the edge. Energy dissipates from his hands, and his projected self fades out of sight.
Leaving me to my own devices...