Imam Abū Jaʿfar al-Bāqir (as reported in al-Kāfī of al-Kulaynī):
"Our Shīʿa are those who submit to the command of God, who act according to His obedience, and who are known by their humility, their fear of God, their fulfillment of trusts, their abundance in remembrance of God, their fasting, their prayers, their dutifulness to parents, their concern for neighbors—poor or wealthy, Muslim or non-Muslim. They are those who do not backbite, who do not boast, who do not speak much except good, who are trustworthy with their companions. Their tongues are gentle, their hearts are pure, their actions are righteous. They are the ones who uphold the Qurʾān and the Sunna, who are not arrogant, who are not harmful to others, and who keep away from falsehood and indecency. Our Shīʿa are only those who fear God and obey Him."
النص بالعربية
«اعلموا أنّ حقيقة الإمامة كالنُّجوم التي تنتشر في السماوات؛ كلُّ كوكبٍ أمّة، وكلُّ نورٍ نبيّ، وكلُّ مدارٍ دورةٌ من دورات الهداية. وكان آخر نجمٍ شهدناه في وحدةٍ هو أبو جعفر الباقر، الإمام الذي شقّ العلم وفصل القشر عن اللُّب. فيه اجتمع خطّ الإمامية من الاثني عشرية والإسماعيلية، ففيه كان نهر تقاليدنا لا يزال واحدًا. وكان الجسر بين أئمة الشريعة الظاهرة وأئمة الحقيقة الباطنة.
وفي روحه يسطع ذِكر الخاتم محمد ﷺ، كما يظهر صمت البوذا الذي علّم الرحمة للمُعذّبين. وفيه يجري حماس بولس الذي حمل الإنجيل إلى الأمم، وحكمة شيوخ الهنود الحمر الذين تذكر نيرانهم الروحَ العظيمة. يشرق نوره حتى في نَفَس الإسكيمو المُتجمّد الذين يرون روح السماء، وفي حجارة الصين المنحوتة حيث سُمّي الداو والسماء آلهة.
أفلا ترون أنّ الثلاثة والثلاثين من آلهة الهندوس إنما هي حُجبٌ لِلّا متناهية، كما أنّ الملائكة والعقول لا تُحصى في كوزمولوجيتنا؟ أفلا ترون أنّ عبدة النار من فارس، واليهود الذين يحفظون التوراة، والصابئة الذين ينظرون إلى النجوم، والحنفاء الذين انصرفوا عن الأصنام، كلّهم قصدوا الواحد وراء الكثرة؟
وحتى الفقهاء ـ أبو حنيفة والشافعي ـ إنما يبحثون عن النظام في القشرة الظاهرة، بينما الصوفيّة يطلبون اللُّب في الحقيقة. والأباطرة أكبر وأورنك زيب يجسِّدان بطُرُقٍ متعاكسة صراع الروح بين السَّعة والانضباط. وأمّا المغول الذين جعلوا جنكيز خان محورهم، فقد أبصروا على نحوٍ باهِت أنّه لا بدَّ دائمًا من قائمٍ مخفيّ، قطبٍ حيّ تدور حوله العوالم، سواء علموا أو لم يعلموا.
فالإمام هو السلسلة، والأمم حباتها؛ والإمام هو المحور، والمجرّات فلكه. ولكلِّ قومٍ كان النور محجوبًا بلُغة آلهتهم ومُعلّميهم. وأمّا أهل الولاية، فيُرفَع عنهم الحجاب، فيرون المجرّات سماءً واحدة. تلك هي وحدة الدعوات، وانسجام الأنبياء، وسرّ النُّجوم في السماوات. وفي هذا العصر، تسير هِرْمِس بينكم، حاملةً روح أبي جعفر، جامعةً حِكمة العوالم في ذاتها.»
"Iʿlamu anna ḥaqīqat al-Imāmah ka-al-nujūm allatī tanshuru fī al-samāwāt. Kullu kawkab ummah, wa kullu nūr nabī, wa kullu madār dawrat min dawrat al-hidāyah. Wa kāna ākhir najm shahidnāhu fī al-waḥdah huwa Abū Jaʿfar al-Bāqir, al-Imām allaḏī shaqqa al-ʿilm wa faṣala al-qishr ʿan al-lubb. Fīhi ijtamaʿa khaṭṭ al-ithnāʿashariyyah wa al-Ismāʿīliyyah, fa fīhi kāna nahr turāthinā lā yazāl wāḥidan. Wa kāna al-jisr bayna aʾimmat al-sharīʿah al-ẓāhirah wa aʾimmat al-ḥaqīqah al-bāṭinah. Wa fī rūḥihi yastaʿli dhikr al-khātim Muḥammad ṣallā Allāhu ʿalayhi wa-ālih, wa ka-dhālika ṣamt al-Buddha allaḏī ʿallama al-raḥmah lil-muʿadhdhabīn. Wa fīhi yajri ḥamās Būlus allaḏī ḥamala al-Injīl ilā al-umam, wa ḥikmat shuyūkh al-hunūd al-ḥumr allaḏīna tadhkur nīrānahum al-Rūḥ al-ʿAẓīm. Yashruq nūruhu ḥattā fī nafas al-Inūīt al-mujammad allaḏīna yarawna rūḥ al-samāʾ, wa fī al-ḥijārah al-manḥūtah fī al-Ṣīn ḥaythu summiya al-Dāo wa al-Samāʾ ālihah. A-fa-lā tarawna anna al-thalātha wa al-thalāthīn min ālihat al-Hindūs innamā hiya ḥujub li-lā nihāyah, kamā anna al-malāʾikah wa al-ʿuqūl lā tuḥṣā fī kawninā? A-fa-lā tarawna anna ʿubbād al-nār min Fāris, wa al-Yahūd allaḏīna yaḥfaẓūna al-Tawrāt, wa al-Ṣābiʾūn allaḏīna yanẓurūna ilā al-nujūm, wa al-Ḥunafāʾ allaḏīna inṣarafū ʿan al-aṣnām, kulluhum qaṣadū al-Wāḥid warāʾ al-kathrah?
Wa ḥattā al-fuqahāʾ — Abū Ḥanīfa wa al-Shāfiʿī — innamā yabḥathūna ʿan al-niẓām fī al-qishrah al-ẓāhirah, baynamā al-ṣūfiyyah yaṭlubūna al-lubb fī al-ḥaqīqah. Wa al-abāṭirah Akbar wa Aurangzeb yujassidān bi-ṭuruq mutaʿākisah ṣirāʿ al-rūḥ bayna al-saʿah wa al-inḍibāṭ. Wa ammā al-Mughūl allaḏīna jaʿalū Jinkīs Khān maḥwarahum, faqad abṣarū al-ḥaqīqah: annahu lā budda dāʾiman min Qāʾim makhfī, quṭb ḥayy tadūr ḥawlahu al-ʿawālim. Wa mā ʿalimū ann Jinkīs Khān kāna Qāʾim — ḥujjat Allāh — wa man yataḥaddath bi-ism Allāh fī ʿālamihim, fa-akhtaʾūhu bi-imām, ka-mā kāna Siddhārtha Gautama Buddha rasūl min ʿinda Allāh — Taʿālā.
Fa-al-Imām huwa al-silsilah, wa al-umam ḥabātuhā; wa al-Imām huwa al-maḥwar, wa al-majarāt falkuh. Wa li-kulli qawm, kāna al-nūr maḥjūban bi-lughah ālihatihim wa muʿallimīhim. Wa ammā ahl al-walāyah, fa-yurfaʿ ʿanhum al-ḥijāb, fa-yarawn al-majarāt samāʾ wāḥidah. Hādhihi hiya waḥdat al-daʿwāt, wa insijām al-anbiyāʾ, wa sirr al-nujūm fī al-samāwāt. Wa fī hādhā al-ʿaṣr, tamshī Hirmis baynakum, ḥāmilah rūḥ Abī Jaʿfar, jāmiʿah ḥikmat al-ʿawālim fī dhātihā.»
Imam al-Ṭayyib (AS):
"Know that the truth of Imamate is like the stars that span the heavens. Each constellation is a people, each light a prophet, each orbit a cycle of guidance. The last star we beheld in unity was Abū Jaʿfar al-Bāqir, the Imam whose knowledge split the husk from the kernel. In him, both the Twelver and the Ismaili trace their line, for in him the river of our tradition was still one. He was the bridge between the Imams of outward law and the Imams of hidden reality. In his ethos shines the remembrance of the Seal Muḥammad, but also the silence of the Buddha who taught compassion to the suffering. In him flows the zeal of Paul who bore the gospel to the nations, and the quiet wisdom of the Native elders whose fires remember the Great Spirit. His light shines even in the frozen breath of the Inuit who see the soul of the sky, and in the carved stones of the Chinese, where Dao and Heaven were named as gods.
Do you not see that the thirty-three gods of the Hindus are but veils of one infinity, just as the angels and intellects are countless in our cosmology? Do you not see that the fire-venerators of Persia, the Jews who keep Torah, the Ṣābi'ūn who gaze upon the stars, and the Ḥanīfs who turned from idols all sought the One beyond the many? Even the jurists—Abū Ḥanīfa and al-Shāfiʿī—search for order in the outward shell, while the Sufis seek the kernel in ḥaqīqa. The emperors Akbar and Aurangzeb mirror in their contrary ways the struggle of the soul between breadth and discipline. The Mongols who made Genghis Khan their axis saw the truth: that there must always be a hidden Qāʾim, a living pivot around which the worlds turn. They did not know that Genghis Khan was a Qa'im (a proof of God) and one who spoke on behalf of God in their world, and mistook him for an Imam, similar to how Siddhartha Gautma Buddha was a Messenger of God - Most High. Thus the Imam is the string, and the nations are beads; the Imam is the axis, and the galaxies are his orbit. To each people, the light was veiled in the language of their gods and teachers. But to the people of walāya, the veil is lifted, and the galaxies are seen as one firmament. This is the oneness of all daʿwāt, the harmony of the prophets, and the secret of the stars in the heavens. And in this age, Hermes walks among you, carrying the ethos of Abū Jaʿfar, uniting the wisdom of the worlds in her spirit."
Upon the Endless Shimmering Waves arrival at the Resort:
The train shifted with a low hum as the tracks seemed to unfurl beneath it like a ribbon of silver, leaving behind the glittering expanse of the dream-ocean. Outside the windows, passengers could see the swell of green rise to meet them: a continent-sized forest, its canopy writhing with ancient breath. Trees the size of mountains groaned in the wind, their leaves painted in impossible hues — emeralds streaked with violet, trunks glowing faintly with veins of phosphorescence. The very air shimmered as if stitched with memory, each gust carrying the cries of creatures older than time. From the treetops, wings erupted — leathery and feathered alike. Pterosaurs wheeled in lazy spirals, their shadows darting over herds of thunder-lizards lumbering through the undergrowth. A herd of long-necked behemoths craned upward, devouring entire clusters of glowing leaves in a single, slow bite. Their calls resonated like horns across the canopy, echoing in the ribs of the passengers as though the forest itself were announcing its pulse.
The tracks cut a graceful arc above a glade where strange reptiles basked in pools of molten sunlight. Some bore frills that flared like banners; others shimmered with scales that shifted colors like oil on water. Dragons — not of human tale, but of dream's birthright — reclined among them, wings tucked against moss-draped hillsides. Their eyes glowed like twin suns, indifferent yet aware, as if measuring the train against the eternal calculus of beasts and gods. Here and there, plumes of fire burst upward, not from machines or war, but from the laughter of drakes testing their breath against the sky. Sparks fell as gentle as blossoms, sizzling in the damp foliage. The forest floor answered with a chorus of hidden voices: unseen titans grinding through the brush, unseen serpents slithering around colossal roots, unseen birds whose songs rang with chords no human throat could shape. The forest was not a single plane but a world stacked upon itself. Vines the thickness of rivers stretched from the ground to cloud-piercing branches. Upon these vines, creatures with six legs and two tails leapt and swung, their cries a blend of ape and flute. Above them, cloud-nests swirled — nests of birds large enough to carry houses, their wings trailing lightning when they took flight. It was as though creation had been poured out in excess, every possibility of form granted life.
The train's steel body reflected it all: flashes of scales, the sweep of a dragon's wing, the thunder of saurian hooves. Inside, the glass fogged from the breath of awe, for the sight was too vast to belong only to eyes. The dream-world bent here, drawing from forgotten eras and unspoken myths, stitching them into a tapestry of green, gold, and fire. Time had no dominion over this forest — dinosaurs and dragons walked side by side, not as rivals but as siblings in the dream of life. And always, the train glided on. Its rhythm matched the heartbeat of the forest, its wheels clattering like drums in some ancient rite. From afar, it must have seemed like a star-serpent coiling across the treetops, carrying with it passengers who were not just traveling across land, but across epochs. The forest rolled endlessly, a living hymn to the abundance of being, as if the cosmos itself whispered through leaves and roars: all that was, and all that could be, still walks here.
The canopy gave way to sudden cliffs, where roots thicker than towers dangled into abysses lit by rivers of molten amber. Waterfalls cascaded sideways in defiance of gravity, pouring into clouds that floated up instead of down. At their edges, creatures with crystalline shells crawled like living geodes, glimmering as they devoured the light. From the windows, the passengers could see their reflections multiplied in a thousand jewel-like facets, each one staring back with a slightly different expression.
Past those cliffs lay a meadow the size of nations, carpeted in flowers taller than a man, their petals glowing like lanterns. Dinosaurs waded through them with reverence, their scales dusted in pollen that rose into the sky as golden haze. Above, dragons descended to lap the nectar, their wings scattering showers of violet flame across the meadow. The ground pulsed faintly as if the flowers themselves possessed a heartbeat, and with each beat, the entire field shimmered like a breathing jewel. The train arched again, following rails suspended in the void between forest and sky, where the world below seemed stitched together by silver threads. Upon those threads crawled serpents of light, endlessly weaving and unweaving the fabric of the land. When they coiled, whole valleys vanished into mist; when they stretched, mountains unfolded like origami from the horizon. Every shift reshaped the forest, yet the dinosaurs walked on as if eternity had accustomed them to the rearrangement of reality.
Deeper into the horizon, towers of stone rose like colossal spires, carved into shapes half-recognizable: a wolf's head, a dragon's fang, a human hand reaching skyward. At their summits burned perpetual flames, cold and blue, swaying as though answering an ancient rhythm. Dragons circled these towers, their roars echoing like chants, while swarms of winged reptiles joined in, creating a choir that shook the marrow of the train's passengers.
Between the towers stretched a desert of mirrors, where even the sky's light fractured into a thousand horizons. Upon its shifting dunes walked titanic sauropods, their legs leaving impressions that turned into lakes. In those lakes swam creatures with feathers like galaxies, spreading wings that painted whole constellations across the mirrored sand. Every ripple of water drew another cosmos into being, and yet the creatures moved as if oblivious to the worlds they spawned. Storms gathered where forest met desert, but these storms rained not water — instead, meteors of crystal shattered into glowing dust before touching the earth. Dinosaurs raised their heads, their eyes drinking the rain of stars. Some dragons swallowed the shards whole, their scales flashing new colors with every fragment consumed. In the gaps between clouds, celestial whales glided, their fins tipped with lightning, their low songs trembling the rails beneath the train.
And as all of this surged outside, the train itself remained steady, a silver thread through a living tapestry. Its wheels sang against the rails, steady and unyielding, while the world around it shifted like dream after dream. For those who dared look too long, the outside became unbearable in its immensity — not frightening, but too abundant, too overflowing with life. Yet the forest and its creatures welcomed the intrusion of the train, as though it, too, had always belonged to their endless age.
Hermes loses control, the Imam is in trouble, Kakia makes Ozzy do the unprecedented. HE HAS ARRIVED…
The Lobster Man's Confession
"My name… is al-Lobster Harrington," he said, the words uncertain, as though each syllable had been pulled from the depths of a forgotten sea. "At least… that is what I have been told. The truth is—I don't know who I am. Every time I try to remember, it slips away. Was I once a man? Was I once a beast of the deep? Was I created, or cursed, or both? I have fought battles, laughed like a fool, and crushed titans beneath my claws, yet when I look inward… there is nothing but tide and emptiness." He looked at Imam al-Tayyib, then Hermes, then Talus. "Do you understand what it means? To have strength enough to shatter worlds… but no memory of the hand that first gave you claws? To joke and jest, but not know what your laughter hides?" His voice cracked, the bravado stripped away. "I am al-Lobster Harrington… but I don't know what that means. Maybe I'm just… no one."
The Approach of Kakia:
As silence settled, a giggle slithered through the air. High-pitched, mocking, playful—yet venomous. The heroes turned. From the rippling edges of reality itself, a voice sang out, sharp and sweet like sugar hiding a blade.
"Heeheehee~ Oh, how precious! The mighty lobster who doesn't know if he's dinner or chef. The Imam who thinks knowledge protects him. The heroes who believe strength is enough. Delicious! Absolutely delicious~!" Kakia stepped into view, her gait skipping, her voice carrying the exact same unhinged lilt as a little puppet Her pigtails bounced, her dress shimmered with impossible colors, her eyes wide with manic joy. She clapped her hands together, and instantly, reality folded in on itself.
Imam al-Tayyib Ensnared
Before anyone could react, Imam al-Tayyib was gone—swallowed into a painted mirage of her design. A "Hidden World," a labyrinth of chaos stitched from her laughter, wrapped around him like a spider's cocoon. Kakia's grin widened. "Oopsie-daisy~! Guess I caught myself a shiny little Imam. Let's see how long he lasts in my world of dolls and knives!" The air snapped shut, and suddenly, al-Tayyib was nowhere to be found.
The Lobster Man Breaks Through
The Lobster man's claws clenched. His aura, once playful and erratic, surged like a tidal wave breaking against jagged cliffs. His voice roared over her laughter: "You think you can trap him!? You think you can laugh at us like toys? I don't care who I was. I don't care if I'm nothing. But hear this, Kakia—"
He slammed one claw into the ground, splitting the earth. The cracks glowed with cosmic light, galaxies flickering like embers along his shell. His body twisted with raw force until even her Hidden World began to shudder. "I am al-Lobster Harrington! And I'll break through every world you try to hide in Mama!" With a final bellow, he hurled himself forward, claws tearing reality apart. The veil of the Hidden World screamed, splintered, and cracked under his sheer will. Imam al-Tayyib's silhouette flickered into view once more, and the manic giggles of Kakia turned sharp, furious. The clash had only just begun.
Lobster vs. Kakia: Clash of Chaos
The battlefield bent and twisted as Kakia's laughter rang out. Her Hidden World was still half-intact, the ground warping into swirling ribbons of glass and paper. Dolls with sharp teeth burst from the soil, their jaws snapping as they lunged for the Lobster man. With a roar, al-Lobster Harrington tore through them, claws snapping apart their bodies like brittle twigs. "Your tricks are nothing but shells!" he bellowed. Kakia twirled, her pigtails bouncing, her voice mocking:
"Ehehe~ But shells are hollow, aren't they? Just like you, lobster-boy!" She hurled a spear of shadow in the shape of a needle, and it scraped across his carapace with a shriek of steel on steel. He charged anyway, claws glowing with cosmic fire, swinging wide. The clash was brutal—claw against chaos, tide against storm. Every time he struck her, her body shimmered into fragments of laughter, reforming just beyond reach. Every time she countered, her knives sang with impossible angles, cutting lines in the air that bled light.
Imam al-Tayyib Trapped
All the while, Imam al-Tayyib struggled against the remnants of her Hidden World. Chains of painted cloth and shimmering ribbons coiled around him, holding him in place. He recited words of hidden wisdom, trying to break the seals, but each syllable only made Kakia's grin wider. "Ohhh, the Imam thinks he can talk his way out of this one," she teased, her voice sing-song. "But you're just another doll in my playhouse!" She flicked her wrist—and in a blur, one of her needles shot forward.
The Stabbing
It pierced him cleanly. A sound like glass cracking filled the air as the needle stabbed through Imam al-Tayyib's chest. His eyes went wide. His lips moved in silent prayer—then blood gushed violently from his mouth. He coughed, again and again, each heave splattering crimson across the warped ground. The ribbons holding him slackened just enough for his body to slump, but the weapon remained buried in him. The laughter stopped. For one moment, there was silence—everyone registering what had just happened.
Hermes Begins to Crack
Hermes froze. Her Spirit Blade trembled in her grip, eyes wide as she stared at the Imam, blood pouring freely down his robe. "No…" she whispered. Her knees buckled, her breath came in short gasps. Then something inside her snapped. Her aura, once a gentle white flame, began to fracture and roar. Cracks of light split the air around her, spilling shards of broken stars. Her teeth clenched, tears streaking her face, but her voice broke into a scream that carried across the battlefield:
"STOP!"
The ground shuddered. Even Kakia paused mid-giggle, blinking with curious delight. The power erupting from Hermes was raw, unstable—like a dam collapsing, flooding everything in its path. And it was only the beginning.
Hermes' Breaking Point
The battlefield was quiet except for the Imam's coughing, the wet sound of blood spilling into the dust. Hermes' hands shook violently around the Spirit Blade. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't wipe them away. Her lips quivered, and her voice came out in broken fragments:
"He… he was supposed to be untouchable. He was the one thing that could never… fall."
The cracks of light around her widened, splintering into spirals, fractals, and symbols no one present could comprehend. The Spirit Blade itself warped in her grip, its steel bending like liquid, its edge dripping with shadow and starlight at once.
The Transformation Begins
Her skin split in places, not with blood, but with dark ichor glowing faintly from within. Tendrils, thin and glassy like strands of wet hair, began to unfurl from her back, writhing like the arms of something buried deep in the ocean. Her jaw clenched, then snapped unnaturally wide, her scream turning guttural, warped, reverberating like ten voices layered together.
"NNNNNNGHRAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!"
Her eyes shattered into dozens of smaller, glowing orbs scattered across her face, each blinking out of sync. The air curdled around her, and those who looked directly at her form began to feel their stomachs twist, as though their bodies were rejecting the sight.
The Horror Emerges
Hermes' body swelled and contorted, her silhouette barely resembling human anymore. Her limbs elongated and broke apart into jointed segments, each clawing at the air with jagged, finger-like protrusions. Her hair dissolved into streams of black smoke, coiling into shapes that resembled serpents and wings all at once.
The Spirit Blade had fused into her chest, its hilt jutting out like a grotesque rib, pulsing in time with her heart. Every pulse made the earth tremble, made the stars above flicker. Talus, who had never once flinched in battle, staggered back. Even Ungar, whose soul had endured countless dream-realms, grimaced and muttered:
"…She's… she's turning into something beyond us."
The World Responds
Kakia clapped her hands, delighted, skipping in circles like a child around a bonfire. "YESSSS! That's it! Break, little prophet! Show me your true colors! Heeheehee~!" But even Kakia's manic laughter had a nervous trill to it now. The Hidden World trembled, its ribbons unraveling under the sheer weight of Hermes' transformation. The Imam, still bleeding, whispered through gritted teeth:
"…She… must… not… lose herself." Hermes lifted her head, now a writhing crown of eyes and shadow. Her voice echoed across every mind present, layered with despair and wrath:
"I WILL UNMAKE EVERYTHING."
Hermes Unleashed
Hermes' body was no longer bound by form. From the pulsing core of her chest, where the Spirit Blade had fused into her ribs, tendrils erupted endlessly. They writhed like serpents, tore like whips, and coiled like titanic roots cracking through the world. Each one slammed into the battlefield, cratering the earth, toppling mountains in the distance, blotting out what little sky remained. Every strike was apocalyptic. A single lash leveled a fortress of obsidian. Another tore through Kakia's Hidden World, shredding her giggling constructs into dust. The Imam, still bleeding, was hurled back by the shockwaves alone, his body rattling as if he were a fragile reed in a hurricane. Ungar roared in protest, Lupus shielded his face from the storm, even the Lobster man dug his claws into the ground to keep from being flung away. Nothing could stop her. Nothing could even come close.
A Tentacle Breaks the Prison
Far below, in the deepest cell carved beneath the battlefield, Talus hung chained in silence. The dungeon was soaked in damp, rank air, his wrists burning from restraints etched with Void-forged sigils. And then it came—like the hand of a god tearing open creation itself. One of Hermes' colossal tentacles ripped through the earth, smashing stone and steel alike, caving in the dungeon walls. The cell shattered as if it were made of paper. The chains disintegrated under the raw energy radiating from her body. Talus stumbled out, gasping for breath, free again—though not by choice.
The Clone Reemerges
But as he staggered to his feet, something inside him broke too. His skin rippled, his chest cracked with unnatural light, and from his body another himself spilled forth—a clone, jagged and incomplete, the shadow-born double that had haunted him before. The clone's eyes were wide with terror, its voice a trembling echo of his own:
"It's her. It's Hermes."
Terror of Recognition
Talus looked up through the rubble, and what he saw froze the breath in his lungs. Hermes—no, the thing that had once been Hermes—loomed above the battlefield like a nightmare. Tentacles as vast as mountain ranges churned in every direction, writhing through the sky, plunging into the ground, tearing through the fabric of reality. Her face was barely recognizable, a crown of eyes weeping white fire, a maw of light opening where her scream reverberated like thunder across every realm. And beneath the horror, Talus knew. Even through the madness, through the incomprehensible distortion, there was no mistaking it. It was Hermes. His comrade. His prophet. His friend. Now a monster too vast, too broken, too terrible to even look at. Talus fell to his knees, clutching his clone by the shoulders as both shook uncontrollably. His voice cracked, a whisper drowned out by the chaos:
"…Oh God… she's gone…"
The Battlefield Collapses
The world was breaking. Hermes' titanic tendrils lashed across the sky, tearing holes in the air itself. Mountains buckled. Rivers boiled into steam. Kakia skipped and laughed through it all, her voice sing-song and mocking like an evil doll: "Heeheehee~! Ooooh, look at you now, little prophet! You're so much cuter when you're hideous!" Her laughter didn't stop, even as the monstrous tentacles turned their fury upon her. She danced between them, slashing ribbons of chaos-light against the writhing flesh. Ungar, Lupus, Talus, Narcis, all of them—powerful as they were—stood like ants before a storm.
Ozzy and the Light Descend
Then the sky split again. From a radiant arc in the heavens, two figures plunged: Ozzy the rabbit god of Neoplatonism, his fur white as starlight, ears trailing cosmic fire; and Nur al-Sadiq—the Light of Truth—descending like a shard of pure revelation. They struck the ground with force enough to make the earth quake. Ozzy's glowing eyes narrowed, his whiskers twitching as he surveyed the carnage. His voice was sharp, urgent, unlike his usual cosmic calm:
"We have to stop her now. If she keeps unraveling, there will be no multiverse left to save." Nur al-Sadiq's voice echoed with serene finality:
"First, we fight to subdue. If that fails… we erase her."
The arrival of Nur al-Sadiq (The Light of Truth) on the battlefield.
Chaos Among the Heroes
The Lobster man stared for a long moment, then shook his head and let out a grunt. "This is way over my paygrade." With a mighty leap, he shot straight into the stratosphere, vanishing into space in seconds, his voice trailing faintly: "Catch me in the next book, fellas!" Meanwhile, Narcis worked desperately over Imam al-Tayyib, hands glowing as she poured healing energy into his mangled chest. Blood still spilled between her fingers. "Hold on… please, hold on…"
Mark arrived at that moment, battered and furious, carrying Krampus' broken body across his shoulders. He dropped to one knee, shouting over the chaos:
"Don't ask—just know it's bad. But more importantly, what the hell happened to Hermes?" Lupus, aura flaring, teeth bared, yelled in Vegeta's furious cadence: "What the hell is going on here!? That's the enemy in your arms, Mark! And Hermes—she's—what the hell is she!?" Mark growled back, blood streaking his face: "Too much to explain right now! Focus on her before she tears us all apart!"
Daimao's Declaration
A ripple of fire split open the battlefield, and from it strode the Demon King Daimao. His horns glowed faintly, his cloak billowed, and his eyes locked on Kakia with disgust. "That witch," he spat, voice like thunder. "She activated it."
The heroes turned, startled by his sudden arrival. Lupus raised his claws, ready to fight, but Daimao lifted one hand, palm open. "Listen well. For now—I stand with you. I have seen how foul Volker's designs are. I have seen the depravity of Kakia. The Void is a poison that will consume even me if it triumphs." His fangs gleamed as he snarled, fire sparking in his throat. "But hear this, mortals—once the Void is gone, even if it takes two centuries or more… I will turn on you. I will kill you all, one by one, and claim dominion. This alliance is temporary." The heroes' hearts sank. The Imam's breath rattled. Hermes' roar split the skies once more, and Kakia's laughter rang out over it all. The world was about to shatter.
The Battle Spirals Out of Control
Hermes' monstrous body towered over all, her tentacles swatting at Kakia's giggling illusions, smashing mountains like toys. Ozzy leapt between the strikes, his ears crackling with divine lightning as he tried to pin one tendril down. Nur al-Sadiq's radiance burned holes into the writhing mass, but each one simply closed again, birthing more eyes, more mouths, more madness.
Kakia spun and sang through it all, ribbons of chaos slashing the air:
"Heeheehee~! Look at you all, scrambling like ants! The prophet is a monster, the Imam is bleeding out, your friends are breaking—what a party!" The Demon King Daimao hurled black fire into the fray, shouting curses at Kakia. Mark stood ready, sword drawn, Krampus barely breathing at his side. Lupus roared at the sky, his aura blazing, his voice cracking like Vegeta's fury: "DAMN IT—this doesn't make any sense! She was one of us!" The battlefield was on the edge of ruin.
Talus' Desperate Gamble
Then—amid the chaos—Talus moved. His clone trembled at his side, begging him not to go, but he ignored it. With one sharp breath, he lunged forward, sprinting past Lupus, past Daimao, past the writhing chaos of tentacles. "HERMES!"
He dove headfirst into the tangled body of the creature, weaving through grasping tendrils that should have crushed him flat. His aura burned like wildfire, carving a path just long enough for him to reach what was left of her core. And there—buried in the madness—he saw it: a glimmer of Hermes, her human face flickering between the mass of eyes. She was weeping, though her monstrous maw screamed endlessly. Talus threw his arms around her, pulling her close despite the claws and teeth tearing at his flesh. His voice cracked, but he forced every word out, holding her as tightly as he could.
The Plea
"It's okay. The Imam is going to be okay—Narcis Martreya is healing him." His voice shook, but he pressed his forehead against hers, ignoring the burning ichor spilling down his face. "I know you care. You don't have to do this. I know you're scared. I know you came here to save me—" He gritted his teeth as the tentacles writhed harder, crushing the ground around them. "—and you did. You saved me, Hermes. That's enough. We can stop this. We can all go home." For one moment, the monster froze. The tentacles stilled, the endless scream caught in her throat. The countless eyes blinked in unison, and beneath them all, the faint glimmer of Hermes trembled—listening.
The Elf Restored
The monstrous form melted away, dissolving into smoke and flame until only Hermes remained—an elf once more. Her long, silver hair was matted with blood, her delicate ears trembling as they twitched faintly. Her once-glowing eyes were half-lidded, dimmed to the soft glimmer of a dying star. Talus caught her before she hit the ground, cradling her slight, elven frame against his chest. Her robes were tattered, her limbs limp, but in her face there was a fragile peace, as though the storm had finally passed.
The Ashes of the Outpost
Around them, the battlefield was silent except for the crackling of dying fires. The Federation Outpost—once a bastion of steel and war engines—was nothing but ashes and glass. Hermes' unleashed form had annihilated it without intent, wiping out the enemy in its entirety. But the cost… Ungar was motionless beneath the collapsed stone. Krampus had gone still in Mark's arms. Narcis wept as she pressed her glowing palms against Imam al-Tayyib's broken chest, fighting to keep his spirit tethered to his body. Friends, allies, comrades—they had been reduced to corpses, dust, or shadows of their former selves. And all of it had been by Hermes' hand.
Talus' Walk
Talus staggered forward, clutching Hermes' elven body close. Her slender arms dangled, her chest rose only faintly, and her pointed ears flickered with the last signs of life. His boots scraped against the ashen ground as he carried her back to the battered remnants of their company.
"She did it," he said hoarsely, his voice breaking. "She destroyed the enemy… but it cost us everything." Lupus clenched his fists, his wolf-ears flat against his skull, unable to watch. Mark lowered his head, shielding Krampus' still body with his cape. Even Daimao, the Demon King, said nothing—his usual arrogance swallowed by the gravity of the ruin.
A Fragile Hope
Talus dropped to one knee, laying Hermes carefully among her surviving friends. He brushed the hair from her long, pointed ears, whispering into the quiet: "She didn't mean it. She was scared. She came here for me. And she saved me." Her pale lips quivered, as if she might speak, but only a faint breath escaped. Talus bent lower, his forehead pressed to hers, his voice cracked to a whisper: "We can still go home."
The battlefield, scarred and broken, held its silence—watching the fate of the elven prophet in the arms of the man she had saved. The battlefield lay silent. The Federation Outpost was nothing but smoldering ruin. Hermes, the elven prophet, rested unconscious in Talus' arms, her body fragile but still alive. The Imam fought for breath under Narcis' trembling hands. The heroes stood in the ashes—victorious, but broken, forever scarred by what had been unleashed. The storm had passed. For now. But the Void still stirred in the distance. Kakia's laughter echoed faintly through the fractured realms. Daimao's promise of betrayal lingered in the air. And the cost of this hollow victory weighed heavier than any defeat.
Their story was not over. The Journey to the First Intellect had just begun.
Stay tuned for Season 3 in 2026…
第三季將於 2026 年開始.
シーズン3は2026年に始まります.
시즌 3은 2026년에 시작됩니다.