– CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE –

  TRAINING

  After the entire initiation process, which had stretched from the water-trial inside the Cube all the way to the forging of pacts in the Solomon Coliseum, Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, and Astyam could finally claim the rest they deserved inside the SAMKHYA CELL. Even Poppandacorn spent nearly all his time sprawled out, projecting a bathrobe over his body, a face mask, cucumber slices on his eyes, and a towel wrapped around his head, as if he were unwinding at a spa.

  The five porcelain humanoids, also called Moss Humans, managed everything, from the maintenance, care, and cleaning of the SAMKHYA CELL to the preparation of meals and bubble baths for their masters.

  Gathered in the living room, with the fireplace warming the air and the soothing crackle of flames filling the space, Americ-Ana and Poppandacorn lay on a chaise. Wwwyye remained upside down in a gigantic armchair. Astyam, seated on the sofa, stroked Antichrist. There, they began to discuss their roles in the upcoming LEVEL THREE of the KING MatNat Games.

  Americ-Ana felt comfortable and safe in that moment, but anxiety over what might happen in the Games insisted on haunting her rest.

  “Even if we lose, we’ll go down in history as the only initiates who failed LEVEL ONE and still went straight to LEVEL THREE,” Wwwyye said, turning toward Astyam.

  “We’re making history in a lot of ways. We’re the exception in plenty of things so far, starting with this CELL, whose duality split into three parts,” Astyam observed.

  “And we’re sharing a CELL with the second scholarship student in THE-IMPERIUM’s history. What do you think about all of this, Americ-Ana?” Wwwyye wanted to know.

  But Americ-Ana’s thoughts were far away.

  “What? How? Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Americ-Ana said, caught off guard. “I’m really worried about this so-called secret society, all those people wearing rings with dolphin insignias and, to make things worse, I was challenged to go to LEVEL THREE with one of the people who hates me most, whose pact-bound demon is RONOVE, the Dolphin Demon.”

  “Do you think Nioh might be right about this possible secret society being aligned with Rabbi Worse Devil’s plans?” Astyam asked.

  “That boy likes to draw attention, I’m sure of that,” Wwwyye observed.

  “I have a feeling that this dolphin secret society, whatever it is, has something to do with the fact that there’s an Ophanim inside the vault beneath the altar, along with Lacrimosa,” Americ-Ana reflected.

  “That’s deeply unsettling. Could the original KING MatNat sphere really be so threatened with theft that they placed an Ophanim beside Lacrimosa to protect the vault?” Astyam asked.

  “Have you ever stopped to consider there might be something else in the vault besides the original KING MatNat sphere? I mean, maybe they put an Ophanim in there to protect something else, while Lacrimosa keeps guarding the original sphere,” Wwwyye mused.

  “My goodness. I hadn’t thought of that. I’m even more worried now,” Americ-Ana said aloud.

  “That thought of yours, Wwwyye, makes a lot of sense. If the vault beneath the altar is the safest place in THE-IMPERIUM, why would they put an Ophanim in there when Lacrimosa already does the job? Unless the Ophanim is protecting something else,” Astyam reflected.

  “But what could an Ophanim be guarding inside a vault like that?” Americ-Ana thought aloud again.

  “One thing I know... it’s definitely something as valuable as the original KING MatNat sphere. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have placed it beside Lacrimosa in the same vault,” Wwwyye replied, getting up to drink a milkshake the Moss Human SHABDA AKASHA had just brought.

  The next morning, everyone was ready for the classroom routine at CROWN EDEN, where the first-year subjects had already been planned and were set to begin.

  As she walked toward her own classroom in CROWN EDEN, the first thing Americ-Ana noticed was that, in some rooms belonging to other academy peers, students from periods ahead of hers, the teachers were the Ars Goetia demons themselves.

  “Academics who manage to form a pact with the Ars Goetia demons can also order the demon they bonded with to teach in Equal One Zero. Of course, that depends on negotiation with the academic’s Patron. When I say negotiation, I mean Equal One Zero pays for those demons to teach here,” Wwwyye explained, seeing Americ-Ana standing there, hypnotized in the doorway of a room where a horned demon, with horns nearly a meter long, was writing on the board the day’s lessons the students would learn.

  Americ-Ana stopped at the doorway of another classroom, one that looked more like a laboratory. Inside, a demon wearing a white lab coat and protective goggles was teaching students the principles of laboratory chemistry aimed at curing cancer.

  “I was pretty amazed too when I first gained access to THE-IMPERIUM and discovered that demons teach like professors from the common world. The difference is that here, in THE-IMPERIUM, people learn how to time-travel, turn any metal into gold, and, like they’re doing in that class, cure cancer,” Astyam said, noticing that Americ-Ana had once again fallen hypnotized in front of yet another classroom.

  However, to Americ-Ana’s great surprise, the classroom where she was meant to study was completely different from the advanced rooms where demons taught secrets of the universe, which she had just seen while walking down the corridor.

  The classroom Americ-Ana would attend had a floor, walls, and ceiling that were all white and luminous. There were no chairs, no desks, no books, no shelves, absolutely nothing. Only an empty room, intensely and silently lit.

  Then, suddenly, they heard the sound of someone kicking a door.

  “Please, Mr. Nemmesis, stop that right now or you’ll be kept after class.”

  Americ-Ana, Poppandacorn, Wwwyye, and Astyam, with Antichrist in his arms, moved closer to where the noise was coming from.

  When they reached the source of the sound, they found a Moss Human with a humanoid body whose skin, however, seemed to be made of fluorescent light. Through that luminous surface, it was possible to make out the features of an elderly man, with a mustache and hair only along the sides of his head. Internal circuits traced the lines of his wrinkles.

  Americ-Ana found it difficult to keep her gaze fixed on that humanoid, its brightness so intense it was like trying to stare straight into a lit bulb.

  The Moss Human tried to get Nioh Nemmesis’s attention, but he seemed utterly indifferent to the reprimands.

  “Hey, kid, that’s enough. Stop kicking the door. That noise is irritating,” Wwwyye snapped.

  “I don’t care,” Nioh replied, still kicking the door.

  “Nioh, could you please explain what’s going on?” Americ-Ana asked.

  “I don’t care,” Nioh replied, still kicking the door.

  Then the Moss Human turned toward Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, and Astyam and began to explain. Just like his appearance, his voice also sounded like an elderly man’s. It was low, nasal, and rough. He spoke slowly, word by word:

  “Fac Foedus! Welcome to your first year at Equal One Zero Academy, young ladies, young sir, toy, animal.” The Moss Human bowed. “My name is Fiat-Lux, and I will be your teacher throughout the entire school year. As I explained to Mr. Nemmesis, the first year studies in the classroom called ‘Let There Be Light.’ All seven school years at Equal One Zero Academy follow the structure of Genesis Creation. That means that on the first day, light was created. That means your classroom will be this one, entirely white, nothing but light, because nothing has yet been made, just like your brains, which still need to be filled with the Divine gifts of Creation.”

  “Fac Foedus! So that’s why our classroom has no desks, no board, no books, nothing? Because on the first day of creation, light was created, ‘Let There Be Light,’ and Equal One Zero Academy follows that pattern?” Astyam deduced.

  “Correct, Mr. Geekwoden. You have everything it takes to be an excellent student,” Professor Fiat-Lux replied.

  “I’m not going to sit on the floor. My family pays a fortune for me to study in this place. I refuse to sit on the floor like a beggar,” Nioh said, still kicking the door.

  “I have explained it to Mr. Nemmesis over and over again. He cannot pass through that door because this wing he wants to enter, by kicking the door, is only permitted to academics who have been studying here longer,” Professor Fiat-Lux said.

  “I’m going to at least get a chair to sit on. I’m not going to attend class like a beggar sitting on the floor,” Nioh shouted, still kicking the door.

  “Please, academics, understand: at the KING MatNat History Museum you completed only one mission. That unlocked only one wing in CROWN EDEN, which is the classroom where you will study. To unlock this door Mr. Nemmesis is kicking, it is necessary to wait until next year, complete the KING MatNat History Museum mission, and, if you succeed in the mission, a new wing here in CROWN EDEN is released. And so the school years follow the flow of Genesis Creation,” Professor Fiat-Lux tried to explain.

  “I understand. The missions completed at the KING MatNat History Museum unlock a reward system here in CROWN EDEN that follows the logic of the days of Genesis Creation. Since on the first day only light was created, that is, ‘Let There Be Light,’ our classroom, including you, Professor Fiat-Lux, is entirely made of light,” Astyam observed.

  “Precisely, Mr. Geekwoden. As I said, you will certainly stand out in this class,” Professor Fiat-Lux praised Astyam.

  “Hey, maniac. Didn’t you hear what the professor said? You can’t get into that room. Not until next year. Cut it out with all that racket,” Wwwyye shouted at Nioh, grabbing him by the arm.

  “You don’t boss me around, you weirdo in anime cosplay. I already said I’m not sitting on the floor like a beggar,” Nioh shot back, shoving Wwwyye, and right after that he went back to kicking the door.

  “I might be a weirdo in anime cosplay, but at least my parents aren’t brother and sister,” Wwwyye snapped back.

  In that instant, Nioh stopped kicking the door. He stared at Wwwyye, his eyes filled with water, his face began to redden, his expression locked shut. Then, with no warning at all, Nioh Nemmesis pissed himself.

  “What the fuck is this?” Wwwyye shouted, jumping back so the urine running down Nioh’s pants and pooling on the floor wouldn’t touch her shoe.

  “Mr. Nemmesis, this is beyond the height of absurdity. Come with me. You are in very serious trouble,” Professor Fiat-Lux said, taking Nioh by the arm and beginning to drag him down the corridor against his will.

  “That little guy is seriously out of his mind,” Wwwyye said, still staring at the pee spread across the floor.

  “That was… highly unexpected,” Astyam finally managed to find words.

  “Look, guys, Professor Fiat-Lux is right. Notice that when we get close to the door, a scanner recognizes us and a message forms on the wood. Look,” Americ-Ana explained.

  On the wooden door, the following message had formed:

  “Access denied. Try again starting on August 14, 2025.”

  A few minutes passed, and the other first-year students began to arrive. No one liked the idea of having to sit on the floor to attend classes, not to mention the detail that, inside the room, there was nothing but a floor, walls, and a ceiling, all very white and very brightly lit. Everyone had their eyes narrowed against the harsh glare.

  Just as indignant as Nioh Nemmesis, Thor, Jessie, and Donnie also hated the idea of having to sit on the floor throughout an entire school year. They were only a few neurons away from having the same failed idea Nioh had, to start kicking the door of the classroom next door to swipe a few chairs, when three Moss Humans suddenly appeared, each carrying a comfortable armchair.

  “Finally, it was about time,” Thor hurried to say.

  “I was starting to get upset about having to sit on the floor in my new dress,” Jessie said, walking toward the armchairs.

  “I knew they wouldn’t leave us on the floor for even a single day,” Donnie smiled, already almost sitting down in one of the armchairs.

  However, to Thor, Jessie, and Donnie’s surprise, the three Moss Humans began to speak.

  “Fac Foedus! Excuse me! I’m looking for the KING MatNat player, Miss Delsilva.”

  The other two Moss Humans spoke the names of Wwwyye and Astyam.

  “We have come to deliver these armchairs on Patron Bylly’s orders, with her best regards for an excellent school year,” one of the Moss Humans said.

  “What do you mean? That isn’t fair. Why do they get armchairs? What about the rest of the class? Where are our armchairs?” Thor stepped forward, indignant.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bloodpure. But it is the academy’s orders that the wing-unlocking protocol be properly fulfilled by the academics,” one of the Moss Humans warned.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Why do they get armchairs?” Thor insisted, trying to intimidate the Moss Human, who did not budge.

  “Miss Delsilva, Miss Helllwk, and Mr. Geekwoden received these armchairs from Patron Bylly. They received these armchairs because they are KING MatNat players. Players receive special preference in any corner of THE-IMPERIUM,” one of the Moss Humans explained.

  “But wait, only the scholarship student passed LEVEL ONE. These other two failed,” Thor shot back.

  “That is true, Mr. Bloodpure. However, since Miss Helllwk and Mr. Geekwoden will be competing exclusively in LEVEL THREE, that makes them equals at the same level as the other players until the game is concluded,” one of the Moss Humans clarified.

  “Don’t get it, Bloodpure? Or do you need it drawn out for you? By the way, thank your sister, Miss Parys Bloodpure, for the armchair. Because, after all, if it weren’t for her insistence that Americ-Ana compete in LEVEL THREE, Wwwyye and I wouldn’t have the comfort of these armchairs,” Astyam said, in a mocking tone.

  “Yeah, Bloodpure, thank your little sister for me,” Wwwyye said, dropping into one of the armchairs and already propping her feet up.

  “How dare you speak my sister’s name?” Thor fumed, lunging toward Astyam and Wwwyye.

  However, Professor Fiat-Lux appeared immediately in the doorway.

  “How wonderful that you’re all here. We can begin our class,” Professor Fiat-Lux said, ordering everyone to pay attention as the lesson began.

  Before the three Moss Humans left the room, one of them stopped and handed something to Americ-Ana. It was a note. It read:

  “Fac Foedus, fluffy!

  I hope you and your CELL companions enjoyed the armchairs.

  Tonight we will have our first training session before your LEVEL THREE of the KING MatNat Games.

  I will be at the SAMKHYA CELL tonight to begin our training. You, Helllwk fluffy, Geekwoden fluffy, and Poppandacorn fluffy can wait for me.

  Fac Foedus!”

  In the first class, Professor Fiat-Lux handed each of them a diary with a luminous cover. The covers pulsed in gentle tones, as if they were breathing along with the room.

  "You are to write in this diary every day, even if it is only a single sentence," Professor Fiat-Lux explained. "Always write the date you are writing, as the mark of the entry. Believe me, this will be a great exercise of support for you. At the end of the school year, you will do a self assessment of what your days were like in your first year at Equal One Zero, and from that you will be able to make self analyses about how you might have acted differently, how you might have done better in a certain activity. And whatever you succeed at will remain written in this diary as a personal recipe for success."

  "A diary is for spoiled girls," Donnie Bjelke muttered all of a sudden. "That’s girl stuff. I’m not doing that."

  Professor Fiat-Lux stopped. His circuits, slow as they were, managed to detect with precision exactly where the sentence had come from.

  "That is where you are mistaken, Mr. Bjelke. Do not underestimate the power of a diary."

  Professor Fiat-Lux walked to Donnie, took the diary he had just handed him, and raised it as if it were a lit torch.

  "A diary is girl stuff?"

  He lifted his luminous eyebrows and repeated the phrase as though he were examining a rare museum piece.

  "How curious. Whenever someone says diary, it seems the mind runs the same little film: that pink cover, glitter, a tiny lock, the words dear diary, the girl dreaming of Prince Charming on a white horse, lace dress, perfect wedding, perfect life. And then, just like that, the verdict comes fast: a diary is for girls. And perfect little girls, on top of it."

  He began to walk slowly among the academics, still holding the diary.

  "But let me tell you something. If a diary were only that, only silly fantasy, half the world’s history would never have been recorded. Kings, queens, generals, navigators, scientists... many of the names you see in books kept diaries. They didn’t call it a cute little diary, of course. Sometimes it was a ship’s log, a campaign report, personal memoirs. But in practice it was the same thing: someone sitting down, writing what they lived through, what they decided, what they felt."

  Professor Fiat-Lux raised the diary again, letting its luminous cover cast a discreet light over the nearest faces.

  "Imagine a general in the middle of a war. In the chaos, he changes a small detail in a strategy. A simple command. The next day, if he forgets it, that detail can place an entire platoon between life and death. That is why there is record. Writing things down is, often, preventing disaster. It isn’t fussiness. It’s survival."

  He paused.

  "Think of an airplane. You’ve heard of a flight log. Everything gets written there: the time it took off, the route, the altitude, any unforeseen event, any deviation. If something goes wrong, it’s in that log that investigators will look for answers. In other words, the diary isn’t a toy. It’s the black box of real life."

  Returning to the center of the room, he pressed the diary to his chest, forcing everyone to pay attention.

  "Now I want you to think about something simple. Your lives are no less important than a general’s or a pilot’s. Every choice you make today pushes you toward one side of the future. A taste you discover, an idea you have, a desire that seems silly. Today you wake up with a strange urge to become a head chef. It feels like it came out of nowhere. But if you kept a diary, you might see that for months you’ve been jotting down food ads, recipe videos, the smell of your grandmother’s cake, that day you felt good cooking something. The unconscious was gathering clues, but conscious memory forgot. The diary is the map your memory can’t manage to keep."

  He smiled faintly, to one side.

  "Because, I hate to inform you, your mind lies. Memory fails. We forget. We distort. We invent. There are things that happened yesterday and you already don’t remember them right. Now imagine five years from now. The diary exists precisely because you can’t fully trust your own head. You write today so you don’t lose who you were tomorrow."

  He took the diary and ran his finger along the luminous cover. A sentence formed:

  “DIARY = A RECORD OF YOUR HISTORY”

  “And there’s one more thing. When you say ‘a diary is for girls,’ you’re buying a ready-made label. That isn’t an opinion, it’s cultural laziness. A diary isn’t for girls or for boys. A diary is for people who take their own story seriously. People who know that the life being lived right now deserves to be recorded, even if it’s only with a single sentence: ‘woke up late, ate bread, watched TV.’ It sounds useless. Until the day you discover that it was precisely in those small things that the beginning of something great was hiding.”

  He looked at the class, one by one.

  “What do you want to be? Just one more person who passed through school and vanished into the crowd? Or someone who can look back and see the path they made? The people who mark their own history aren’t only the ones who become famous. It’s the ones who have the courage to face themselves on the page, with sincerity. Even if no one else ever reads it. Even if the only reader is your future self, opening the notebook and finding what you felt today.”

  Professor Fiat-Lux held up the diary again, the one he would hand back to Donnie.

  “So no. A diary is not for girls. A diary is for monarchs, for generals, for pilots, for people who don’t throw away their own lives as if they were a rough draft. A diary is for those who understand that each day lived is worth, at minimum, a single written line. And this exercise I’m proposing isn’t just an English assignment. It’s training in consciousness. It’s you learning not to let your own story slip away.”

  He held the diary out toward Donnie, the luminous cover reflecting in the boy’s eyes.

  “Now, if after all that you still think a diary is a waste of time… fine. But then be honest: it’s not that a diary is for girls. It’s that maybe you still haven’t realized the value of your own life enough to believe it deserves to be written.”

  After the speech, Professor Fiat-Lux walked slowly over to Americ-Ana. He looked at her steadily and said:

  “Imagine being the youngest KING MatNat player of our century and having all your war strategies, your desires, and your pains meticulously organized in a diary. That is one of the secrets of the great champions, Miss Delsilva.”

  Americ-Ana stared at the luminous-covered diary she had just received. She held it tight between her fingers. Her mind was already working on the first sentence that would crown the beginning of the life that, from then on, would be recorded there.

  Professor Fiat-Lux gave the academics a brief break before the next class. Americ-Ana took the opportunity to walk the corridors once more and see, even from a distance, the other classrooms. The sight of a demon professor teaching people had become hypnotic to her, almost religious. It fascinated her. She still didn’t know how to explain it, but something about it left her perplexed and, at the same time, enchanted.

  Poppandacorn approached Americ-Ana and gave her a gentle nudge.

  “Mommy, want to use the break to eat a little snack?” Poppandacorn suggested. Then he opened the compartment in his belly and pulled out a pack of macarons and a soda.

  “Great idea, Poppa! I’m actually hungry,” Americ-Ana said. She took a macaron, opened the wrapping, and took a sip of the soda. Now she watched the classes with demon professors from a distance and ate as if she were in a movie theater.

  “Mommy, let Poppa throw the macaron wrapper in the trash. Recycling is important,” Poppandacorn asked.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Americ-Ana took the wrapper and handed it to him almost unconsciously, with automatic movements.

  Poppandacorn walked down the corridors looking for a trash can until he spotted one ahead.

  As he neared the trash can, Poppandacorn heard little giggles coming from a room that seemed empty. They were laughs he recognized. The laughs of the two bad boys and the mean girl who always picked on his Mommy.

  Poppandacorn began to walk on tiptoe and peeked through the crack of the half-open door.

  Out of the corner of his vision, his sensors detected Thor, Donnie, and Jessie staring into a glass vial. They laughed and then smelled whatever was inside. When he leaned his head a little farther out to see better, Poppandacorn saw that Thor was placing a ring with a dolphin insignia into the vial.

  Then, some voices in the nearby corridors caught Thor, Donnie, and Jessie’s attention. They turned their eyes to the door, straight toward where Poppandacorn was hiding.

  “Hey! It’s that idiot toy of the scholarship girl. He’s spying on us,” Thor shouted, charging toward Poppandacorn.

  Without wasting a second, Poppandacorn ran off and bolted in the direction of where his Mommy was. Fortunately, Professor Fiat-Lux was already gathering the academics back into the classroom. Poppandacorn clung to Americ-Ana’s legs and went in with her, as if nothing had happened.

  When class resumed, Americ-Ana noticed that Nioh Nemmesis was in the room. Unlike the other academics, who sat on the floor, Nioh remained standing. He crossed his arms and stayed a little farther back, leaning into a corner of the luminous white wall.

  “Very well, academics. Now we will unravel the wonders of Alchemy. We will begin with a very simple process and advance gradually, until we build and create bigger things, much bigger. But for now, let’s begin with the basics,” Professor Fiat-Lux said, handing each of the academics a glass vial.

  When everyone already had their vials in hand, Professor Fiat-Lux continued his explanation:

  “Alchemy allows us not only to transform any metal into gold, or to prolong human life, but also to create life, from absolute zero, just as God Himself does.”

  Next, Professor Fiat-Lux handed each academic a small plastic bag containing a brown material that was warm, moist, and thick. Then he also gave them a small transparent ampoule holding a milky, whitish liquid.

  “According to the teachings of the sixteenth-century alchemist Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim, better known as Paracelsus, in this class we will create life out of nothing. We will learn how to make a homunculus.”

  Then, suddenly, Nioh Nemmesis began to have a violent coughing fit. Coughing so hard he nearly doubled over to the floor, Nioh started to shout:

  “You’re saying that what you just handed us is shit and sperm?”

  Professor Fiat-Lux walked over to Nioh Nemmesis.

  “Yes, Mr. Nemmesis. Those are the most important ingredients for generating a homunculus. Dung, and Adam’s seed.”

  Nioh coughed even harder. His face went red, his eyes watering, a string of saliva slipping from the corner of his mouth.

  “When you say ‘Adam’s seed,’ do you mean that the sperm in this ampoule belongs to a man?”

  “Correct, Mr. Nemmesis. Is there a problem?” Professor Fiat-Lux replied, matter-of-factly.

  “Ew, that’s disgusting. I can’t believe this.” Some academics began to shout. Others, panicking, threw their ampoules to the floor, where they shattered, spreading the whitish liquid across the tiles.

  Then Nioh had another outburst, this one far worse than all the others he’d had at the Solomon Coliseum altar and earlier, before class had begun.

  “I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! I’M WASTING TIME AND MONEY AT THIS FILTHY SCHOOL! IT’S ABSURD TO GIVE SPERM TO CHILDREN! TO CHILDREN! I’M NOT GOING TO ALLOW THIS!”

  Nioh Nemmesis was now screaming, coughing, choking, rolling on the floor. He smashed the glass vial he had been given and then lunged toward the other academics, snatching the vials from their hands and hurling them to the ground. Shards of glass scattered in every direction, cracking under the feet of anyone trying to run.

  “Mr. Nemmesis, stop right now or you may be expelled,” Professor Fiat-Lux warned.

  But the threat only seemed to stoke Nioh’s fury. He grabbed the bags of dung, tore them open, and began flinging the contents at the professor.

  The room turned into pure chaos. Some academics ran, others screamed, others curled up on the floor, trying to shield themselves. The stench took over the air. Dung flew through the room, striking clothes and hair.

  To make matters worse, Nioh grabbed several ampoules, snapped their tips, and began throwing the sperm toward Professor Fiat-Lux, splattering the whitish liquid across the floor and over the academics’ clothes.

  Chaos fully took hold. Nioh screamed, coughed, destroyed everything in his path, spreading dung and sperm as if they were weapons of war.

  Americ-Ana was pressed into a corner of the wall, up on her toes, holding Poppandacorn in front of her as if he were a shield. Poppandacorn, in turn, had literally projected a shield in front of himself to protect his Mommy.

  Amid the shouting, the unbearable smell, and the generalized terror, Poppandacorn’s sensors registered something even more alarming: he saw Nioh Nemmesis grab his own vial of syrup, open it, and bring it to his mouth, taking a swallow.

  Poppandacorn thought aloud:

  "That’s the vial the bad boys were putting the dolphin ring into."

  At that moment, several CROWN EDEN security guards burst into the room to try to restrain Nioh Nemmesis.

  Everyone was ordered outside. Class was suspended.

  Out in the corridor, amid chaos that was still spilling through the halls, Poppandacorn tugged at the hem of Americ-Ana’s clothing.

  "Mommy, the nervous little boy drank from the vial the bad boys tampered with."

  "What did you say, Poppa?" Americ-Ana asked, but it was almost impossible to focus on anything in that moment.

  Academics and teachers from other classrooms crowded the corridors, shaken by the screaming and the sound of things breaking inside. Nioh, even though he was barely over fifty centimeters tall, somehow managed, no one knew how, to be stronger than several CROWN EDEN security guards.

  Poppandacorn repeated what he had seen, but Americ-Ana drew a deep breath and replied:

  "Poppa… we’re not getting involved in this. Tonight is the first day of training for LEVEL THREE. I need my mind clean and clear. Let’s get out of here."

  And so, under Nioh Nemmesis’s uncontrolled assault, classes were officially canceled for the rest of the day.

  Later...

  Night had finally arrived, and Americ-Ana felt, in part, grateful that the rest of the classes had been canceled that day. As soon as she returned to SAMKHYA CELL, she did everything she could to push away the turmoil Nioh Nemmesis had caused.

  To do that, she surrendered to a bubble bath as excessive as it was necessary, prepared with products from the Poopghene franchise that Poppandacorn had pulled from the compartment in his belly.

  “Mommy, the soap bubbles contain every color of the rainbow, and as soon as they burst, each bubble releases an anesthetic, calming effect that penetrates the skin of whoever is bathing. Besides, Mommy, you’re going to smell delicious, like peach and coconut,” Poppandacorn informed her, arranging Americ-Ana’s bubble bath with almost scientific seriousness.

  Americ-Ana decided to have dinner brought to her room. Eating alone would give her more time to empty her mind and focus as much as possible on the first training session for LEVEL THREE, which would happen very soon.

  After bathing, dining, and putting on the rabbit denim jumpsuit Bylly had given her, Americ-Ana sat on the bed and admired the artificial stars of the Prince Equal One Zero Pyramid through her bedroom window. Their glow seemed sharper that night, as if they knew something important was about to begin.

  Suddenly, the doorbell rang. A few seconds later, the butler SHABDA AKASHA knocked at her bedroom door, with his usual impeccable posture, informing her that Bylly had arrived.

  As soon as Americ-Ana came downstairs, she saw that Astyam, Antichrist in his arms, and Wwwyye were already waiting for her in the entrance hall.

  “Patron Bylly has informed me that she awaits all of you in the main garden,” SHABDA AKASHA announced, opening the great double doors with a ceremonial gesture.

  The night inside the Prince Equal One Zero Pyramid was extremely pleasant. A light breeze drifted through, gently stirring the garden’s plants. The artificial stars seemed more vivid and bright in that bunker, like pixels in a sky programmed to be perfect. The moon, projected frighteningly close, had a cinematic look far too precise to be coincidence.

  “Fac Foedus to all of you, fluffy! Welcome to the first training session, of many still to come, until the great day when you will compete in LEVEL THREE of the KING MatNat Games,” Bylly greeted them, opening her arms wide.

  Poppandacorn began clapping immediately after Bylly spoke. Bylly, in turn, played along, made an exaggerated bow in thanks, and drew even more applause from Poppandacorn.

  “Let’s begin, fluffy! Although the KING MatNat Games are completely new only to Americ-Ana fluffy, I’m going to explain every principle and rule from start to finish. I assume the three of you, Geekwoden, Helllwk, and Poppandacorn, already know it all by heart, down to the last detail.”

  Bylly clasped her hands behind her back, adopting a solemn teacher’s air.

  “We’ll start at the beginning, obviously, without skipping any step and without jumping ahead, so that every principle and rule of the KING MatNat Games is perfectly explained. There is no room for doubt, so pay close attention to everything I’m going to say and show.”

  Americ-Ana, without realizing it, took a step forward, eager to absorb every word. Wwwyye and Astyam did the same. Poppandacorn, on the other hand, now projected a notebook, a pencil, and an eraser onto his own body, and he was already beginning to write his private notes with the seriousness of a diligent student.

  Then Bylly handed special glasses to everyone. The moment Americ-Ana put hers on, she saw a mosaic of words, charts, and drawings projected before her, expanding across the entire dimension of the main garden of SAMKHYA CELL. With those glasses, instructions appeared in the sky, in all four corners around them, and even on the ground, as if space itself had become a blackboard.

  Bylly walked up to three large holographic titles floating in the air, crisp and clear:

  “LEVEL ONE”

  “LEVEL TWO”

  “LEVEL THREE”

  She stopped before them, turned sideways toward the group, and then extended her hand.

  When Bylly pressed the title that read “LEVEL ONE,” everything around them shifted. Through the special glasses, they all began to see a new layer of reality, as if the garden had rearranged itself into a classroom invisible to the naked eye.

  Bylly took a deep breath, ready to begin her explanation.

  “Fluffy, to gain access to the KING MatNat Games, the first condition is simple on paper, but heavy in practice. You must be properly enrolled at Equal One Zero Academy. Only active academics can play KING MatNat, at any level.”

  “All academics enrolled at Equal One Zero Academy, whether freshmen or veterans, are required to participate in LEVEL ONE. No one escapes, fluffy. LEVEL ONE is the gateway to any pact.”

  “In LEVEL ONE, each academic must prepare a dish of food and offer it to one of the 71 demons that exist today in THE-IMPERIUM. That dish must, obligatorily, contain a drop of the very academic’s blood who is proposing the pact.”

  “Now comes the truly serious part, fluffy. The dish cannot be prepared by anyone else. You can’t hire a famous five-star chef to cook for you, you can’t use ready-made industrial food, you can’t ask your grandmother to make that Christmas recipe that’s a hit at every family party. It is strictly necessary that the food be made by you, with your own hands, and it must contain your blood mixed into the meal.”

  “Each academic has only one chance per school year to participate in LEVEL ONE. A single attempt, fluffy. If it goes wrong, only next year.”

  “When the dish is presented, the demon delivers the verdict. If he does not accept the offering, he simply vomits all the food onto the academic, ending the pact right there. But if he accepts, something happens immediately: the demon transforms into the corresponding Shem HaMephorash angel, the angel that limits and repels the powers of that specific demon.”

  “Remember that, in LEVEL ONE, both demons and angels appear in their rawest, most primitive forms. That’s why, fluffy, they manifest as frightening monsters and beings with colossal wings, far too enormous to seem even remotely human.”

  Bylly took a few steps, returned near the giant titles, and this time pressed “LEVEL TWO.” A new dimension of text and images opened up in every direction.

  “Now, fluffy, let’s pick up from the point where the demon accepts your food. If he vomits on you, as I said, you are out of the KING MatNat Games for that school year and you can only try again next year. But if the demon likes your food and agrees to make a pact, he transforms into the Shem HaMephorash angel compatible with his essence. It’s the angel that repels and limits the powers of that specific demon.”

  “The angel appears to you immediately, explains the situation, and asks a few questions. He wants to know whether you truly wish to go forward with the pact, aware of all the consequences. If you answer ‘yes,’ fluffy, the angel shifts form once more and becomes again the Ars Goetia demon who accepted your pact.”

  Bylly gestured through the air, as though sketching the creatures’ shapes before them.

  “But there’s an important catch. In LEVEL ONE, both angel and demon appear in their primitive, visceral, monstrous forms. In LEVEL TWO, after you answer ‘yes’ to the angel, the demon manifests again… but not in the same way.”

  “In LEVEL TWO, the demon begins to reflect you. Instead of appearing as some bizarre monster, he takes on the outline of a human being, the outline of the human being who accepted the pact. He appears in the form of a man with skin like snake scales. In place of an ordinary face, there is a translucent sphere.”

  Bylly paused, letting them picture it.

  “And in that sphere, you see your own image reflected the entire time. It symbolizes that the demon is nothing more than an open mirror of your deepest, most secret desires. You look at him, but in truth you are looking at yourself the whole time.”

  “From that moment on, everything the demon says can only be heard by the one who proposed the pact. Only the player who made the agreement can hear his voice. To anyone else, fluffy, it’s only silence.”

  At that moment, Patron Bylly pressed other texts, and new dimensions surfaced in the visual field before them, spilling graphs and symbols across the entire garden.

  “Now, fluffy, once all of that is done, we move to the practical part of LEVEL TWO. This is where Patrons come in, along with bids and offers.”

  “Any citizen of THE-IMPERIUM can become a Patron, as long as they have a lot of money and as long as the academic who obtained the pact has interests aligned with theirs. The Patron who offers the highest amount of money gains access to the academic and to their demon.”

  Bylly began to walk slowly as she spoke.

  “For example, if a Patron owns a major pharmaceutical company, they can ask the academic to ask the demon for the knowledge necessary to discover cures for major diseases that plague the whole world, like AIDS. Then the demon, at the academic’s request, teaches all the science, the chemistry, and the other mysteries involved in creating a drug capable of curing the disease.”

  “The same goes for politicians, major film celebrities, or anyone who owns a large business. All it takes is becoming a Patron, offering the highest bid in money, and obtaining, through the academic, the demon’s favors and knowledge.”

  “The academics who play in LEVEL TWO act as intermediaries between the demon and the Patrons. They serve as the bridge between the Patron’s desire and the demon’s power.”

  Bylly lifted one hand, as if holding something invisible.

  “After that, at the academic’s command, who from that moment on is officially a KING MatNat player, the demon converts into energy and enters the KING MatNat sphere. Inside that sphere, two seals can be seen: the seal of the Ars Goetia demon who accepted the pact, and the seal of the Shem HaMephorash angel who repels that demon’s powers.”

  Bylly took another step back, crossing her arms with ease.

  “LEVEL TWO, fluffy, is the safest zone of the KING MatNat Games. An academic who manages to advance to LEVEL TWO is not required to go to LEVEL THREE. Anyone who reaches LEVEL TWO can simply live by making deals with Patrons, mediating favors, accumulating advantages… and keeping far away from the truly lethal part of the game.”

  Bylly lowered her head for a moment, bringing both hands together, as if she were about to pray.

  “Now, fluffy, we’re going to the most lethal and dangerous part of the KING MatNat Games.”

  She approached the great title that read “LEVEL THREE” and touched it. Once again, the dimension around them changed in appearance, transforming the entire environment as seen through the special glasses.

  Americ-Ana glanced to the side and saw Poppandacorn taking notes in his holographic notebook, completely focused, absorbed in his observations. For a moment, she wished she had brought a notebook too, a pencil, anything that would let her record every detail to read and reread later. Without that, there was only one option left: to carve it all into memory. She looked back to Bylly, determined to memorize every word.

  “Fluffy, there are bolder players. Players who like taking risks, who are willing to put their own seals on the line. For them, there is LEVEL THREE of the KING MatNat Games.”

  “In LEVEL THREE, players put their seals up for dispute. When two players face each other, the winner automatically claims the loser’s seal. It’s easy to say, but brutal to live.”

  Bylly made a motion with her hand, and new lines of text appeared high in the artificial sky.

  “This cycle renews itself at the beginning of every school year. That means it doesn’t matter whether you are in LEVEL TWO or LEVEL THREE. At the start of each school year, all seals, both Ars Goetia and Shem HaMephorash, are returned to the original KING MatNat sphere. The count goes back to zero. Even the veterans, fluffy, have every seal they’ve won returned to the source.”

  She took another step, brought her hands together again, and looked upward, as if mentally arranging the next part.

  “Remember, fluffy: in LEVEL ONE, only one demon per academic is permitted. In LEVEL TWO, the rule remains the same, each player has only one demon. But in LEVEL THREE, everything changes. A single player can, in theory, conquer all 71 Ars Goetia seals that exist in THE-IMPERIUM.”

  “That player can use their own methods, their intelligence and, of course, the demon’s intellectual help to convince other LEVEL TWO players to put their seals on the line in LEVEL THREE. And so, one by one, he can accumulate seals.”

  “That’s what Parys Bloodpure did to Americ-Ana,” Astyam commented, holding Antichrist tighter.

  “That’s what Parys Bloodpure, fluffy, did to Americ-Ana, fluffy,” Bylly repeated, her voice faintly distant, as if she too drifted for a moment into the memory.

  After a few seconds of silence, Bylly picked up the thread of the explanation.

  “It’s worth saying that if a player who decides to go to LEVEL THREE loses their seal, they are automatically out of the KING MatNat Games. They can no longer participate in that school year and must wait until the next school year begins to return to LEVEL ONE.”

  Bylly paused again, walking slowly, redrawing with her hands the position of the holograms transmitted by the special glasses. Letters and symbols reorganized themselves in the air.

  “Now, fluffy, we’re going to focus exclusively on what concerns the KING MatNat Games LEVEL THREE.”

  The images around them shifted once more, as if the garden itself had been swallowed by a new rule.

  “Fluffy, LEVEL THREE is composed of several stages that, together, form the crown of the greatest game of all time, KING MatNat.”

  Bylly pressed several icons in the air, and each one opened a different compilation of texts and images around them.

  “The KING MatNat Games LEVEL THREE are divided into three main parts. The first part is a car race, meaning: discovering who is faster. The second part is music.”

  Americ-Ana made the face of someone completely lost, and it did not go unnoticed by Bylly.

  “That’s right, Americ-Ana fluffy. Music,” Bylly confirmed, almost amused by her reaction. “And the third part consists of the 7 Laws of the Universe, the Laws that govern everything that exists. Some call them the Hermetic Laws, but we’ll call them that, to make it easier.”

  She took a few steps toward Americ-Ana, drawing closer to the group.

  “It works like this, fluffy. In LEVEL THREE of the KING MatNat Games, you need to drive and run the entire track inside the Solomon Coliseum. At the exact point where an ‘X’ is marked on the track, the central point, where the altar stands and just below it the vault, there is a Seractcube. That ‘X’ point is the heart of the game.”

  Bylly raised her hand, indicating an imaginary point ahead.

  “You go as fast as you can, you accelerate as if the world were collapsing behind you, because believe me, fluffy, in a way it will be. When you reach the ‘X’ on the track, you don’t brake. You accelerate even more, because at that exact point, the Seractcube will be waiting for you. You race straight into it, until you crash into the Seractcube’s surface. But don’t worry, you won’t truly splatter. At the moment of impact, you are transported inside it.”

  She took a deep breath, like someone preparing to tell a complete story.

  “Fluffy, I’m going to narrate a game for you. Imagine this: you take your KING MatNat sphere and you summon your demon and the angel that repels him. Both appear before you and speak to you. You make your request, something simple and direct, like ‘I want to win this KING MatNat LEVEL THREE match.’”

  “Then the demon inhabits you and your car. He merges with your will, your instincts, and the vehicle you are driving. You get into the car, go to the starting line, and when the race begins, you shoot down the track until you reach the center, the ‘X.’”

  “When you get there, you enter the Seractcube with the car and everything. The instant you cross its surface, the scene changes. You are no longer on the track, you are inside the Seractcube. And it is in there that the music and the 7 Laws of the Universe come in.”

  Bylly shifted a few holograms, and a musical score floated in the air, beside symbols that turned slowly.

  “Your opponent, before the game, chose a song. That song is divided into 7 parts, as if it were sliced into segments, stanzas, or movements. Each one of those 7 parts is associated with one of the 7 Laws of the Universe. And beyond that, your opponent takes the seal of his own demon and divides it into 7 fragments. Each fragment of the seal is hidden inside one of those parts of the song.”

  She made a gesture, and the seven parts appeared as numbered blocks before them.

  “Inside the Seractcube, that music can manifest in two ways. In some games, the music actually plays, with lyrics and melody, and you have to listen closely. In others, fluffy, most players prefer to make everything even harder. In that case, instead of the music playing clearly, you’re confronted with a situation, a scene, a small world staged inside the Seractcube.”

  “That situation represents, symbolically, a passage of the song and one of the 7 Laws of the Universe. The music remains the foundation, the ‘hidden script,’ but you don’t hear the melody, you see the message performed in front of you.”

  “In each Seractcube you pass through, there will always be a Law of the Universe hidden. If you manage to discover which Law is implicit in that situation, or in that segment, you receive as a prize one of the seven pieces of your opponent’s demon seal.”

  Bylly pointed to a sequence of seven holographic cubes that appeared before them, one after another.

  “As soon as you unravel the first situation, identify the correct Law, and receive the first fragment of the seal, a new Seractcube appears. Inside it, a new part of the song is at stake, a new situation is presented, and a new Law of the Universe must be discovered. You enter, you solve, you match the Law, and you receive another fragment of the seal.”

  “Everything repeats, fluffy, with variations. Different parts of the song, different situations, different Laws of the Universe, different fragments of the seal. In total, there are 7 Laws of the Universe, 7 situations, 7 parts the song is divided into, and 7 parts the opposing player’s demon seal is broken into and hidden.”

  “But Bylly, I mean… Patron Bylly, I don’t know how to drive. How am I supposed to do this?” Americ-Ana asked, her voice faltering at the end.

  “Simple, fluffy,” Bylly answered without hesitation. “You’ll have quick lessons in basic driving sense. The basics, enough to understand the car, the track, and the controls. What you can’t manage on your own, your demon will fill in. He inhabits you and the vehicle, remember? So relax. You won’t be alone at the wheel.”

  Americ-Ana bit her lower lip, still unsettled.

  “But how will I know which song my opponent is going to choose?” she insisted, even more anxious now.

  “You won’t, fluffy,” Bylly replied, with a sincerity that weighed in the air. “You never find out before the game. At best, you discover it when you enter the Seractcube and the music begins to reveal itself to you. And many players don’t even let the music play clearly. They prefer to hide everything in symbolic situations, like I explained.”

  She paused briefly and finished:

  “If you can’t decipher the song, or the situation, or the Law of the Universe hidden inside it, you can get stuck inside the Seractcube. And while you’re trapped trying to understand what’s happening, your opponent keeps going, finishes the course, and wins the match.”

  Only then did Bylly realize the exact weight of the words she had just spoken.

  Americ-Ana felt her eyes fill with tears. The knot in her throat arrived before she could even form a coherent thought. It felt as if the rules were stacking in layers, one on top of another, until they crushed any possibility of courage.

  “Bylly, it’s too much. I’m not going to be able to do it,” she said, finally letting out what she had been holding back. “I don’t even know what the 7 Laws of the Universe are, I don’t know what Hermetic means, and I know very few songs.”

  Sensing the player’s distress, Poppandacorn stepped closer and hugged his Mommy’s leg tightly, as if he could lend her stability. Wwwyye gave Americ-Ana a few pats on the shoulder, and Astyam simply said, “It’s going to be okay,” plain, but sincere.

  Bylly stepped closer, placed her hands on Americ-Ana’s face, and gently lifted her chin, making her look up.

  “Stay calm, fluffy, that’s why I’m here.” Bylly’s voice came firm, but soft. “You will be trained for LEVEL THREE. Every beginning is difficult, but it only becomes impossible if you don’t try. Besides, your friends will be with you.”

  Americ-Ana drew a deep breath, trying to follow the rhythm of her own breathing. The physical presence of Bylly’s hands on her face anchored her, at least a little, in the present.

  “As for the 7 Laws of the Universe, fluffy, you’ll need to read a book called Kybalion,” Bylly continued. “In that book, all 7 Laws of the Universe are described perfectly. You only need to memorize those principles and learn to recognize them. There are only 7 Laws, nothing more.”

  Then she pointed toward some place beyond the garden, as if she could see the shadow of Parys Bloodpure standing there.

  “As for music, you need to know your opponent. In your case, Parys Bloodpure has a pattern. She always challenges her opponents by hiding the seven parts of the demon’s seal inside operas, inside classical music. So you will need to study classical music and operas as much as you can until the big day of LEVEL THREE.”

  Bylly drew a deep breath. The holograms around them seemed to wait for the next revelation along with everyone there.

  “But there are some things I need to say now, fluffy. Let’s rip the bandage off all at once, as they say.” She adjusted the glasses on her face. “Here it is: when you get into the car and the race begins, your opponent can do anything to try to kill you.”

  Americ-Ana’s eyes widened, but Bylly lifted a hand, asking her to wait for the rest.

  “Don’t panic too soon. You will be protected by your demon’s skin, meaning BAAL’s skin. That skin works like a living armor, wrapping both you and the vehicle.”

  Americ-Ana raised her hand, asking permission to speak.

  “I think I more or less know how that part works,” she said. “I took part in a PRE-GAME, and in it I was wrapped in RONOVE’s skin, which protected me and protected Nome-Rocky. Several legions also came out of the motorcycle’s exhaust, attacking the opponent, Seth in that case. And the same thing was happening with Seth.”

  Wwwyye stepped forward, as if she had just remembered a nightmare.

  “Don’t remind me. I was with Seth. That day was insane,” she commented.

  “Exactly, fluffy,” Bylly agreed. “From the starting line to the ‘X,’ you’ll face that kind of situation nonstop. Prepare yourself to see legion after legion invading your car, breaking things, trying to destroy you and the vehicle, fighting among themselves, attacking from every side.”

  Then she made a sharp motion through the air, and the hologram of the track appeared, now filled with tiny figures thrashing and colliding.

  “But the moment you reach the ‘X’ and enter the Seractcube, all of that stops. In there, there are no legions, no physical attacks. In there it’s only you, your mind, the hidden music, and your mission to find the seven parts of your opponent’s demon seal.”

  Bylly pointed to the center of the hologram, where the ‘X’ glowed with greater intensity.

  “Remember, fluffy, time doesn’t stop running. The clock keeps counting, even while you solve the riddles inside the Seractcube. The winner is the one who, after obtaining all the parts of the seal, manages to exit the Seractcube and cross the finish line first. And it works like this.”

  She issued another command in the projection, and a new hologram appeared above them, like a digital marker hovering in the air.

  “As soon as you enter the Seractcube, you see a number hovering. That number marks how many times your opponent has already managed to pass into the next stage, how many Seractcubes they have already completed. It’s like a living scoreboard, rubbing their progress in your face.”

  Bylly walked a few steps to the side, while the hologram showed the player entering a small luminous cube.

  “The first Seractcube you enter is small, about the size of a soccer ball, and it floats at least a meter above the ground. You enter it, live through the situation, find the Law of the Universe hidden there, and you receive one of the parts of your opponent’s demon seal.”

  “As soon as you find the last part of your opponent’s demon seal, you are free to leave the Seractcube. And when you exit, you appear exactly at the same point where you entered, at the ‘X,’ with all seven parts of the seal gathered. The racetrack is still there, waiting for you.”

  She clenched her hand into a fist, as if gripping an invisible steering wheel.

  “Then you accelerate with everything you’ve got. The first one to cross the finish line wins the match and claims the opponent’s seal. That means you take your adversary’s Ars Goetia demon for yourself and gain the right to the favors and desires bound to it.”

  Bylly paused briefly and added:

  “But remember something important: if, when you leave the Seractcube, your opponent leaves at the same time, you can be sure they’ll try to attack you. And you’ll have to strike back. Under those conditions, fluffy, the final sprint can also turn into direct combat.”

  She took another deep breath, as if she were about to reveal the most delicate part.

  “Now, fluffy, here’s the most dramatic part of all this.” Bylly’s expression grew more serious. “If, for example, even while you’re under BAAL’s skin during the game, you are struck by a legion wielding a sword and that sword pierces your heart, the outcome isn’t decided by the armor alone.”

  Bylly tilted her head slightly.

  “If you don’t trust the demon protecting you, meaning if you don’t trust BAAL, you can be gravely injured. And if your trust is zero, you can even die. What I mean is: the greater your trust in the demon protecting you, the more impossible it becomes for anything to truly strike you in a fatal way. The weaker that trust is, the more pain you will feel, the slower your recovery will be, and the more vulnerable you will become.”

  Americ-Ana began to run out of air. Her chest rose and fell too fast, and the garden around her seemed to shrink, as if the whole world had tightened in around her.

  “Bylly, I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I can do this,” she managed to say, her words broken by ragged breathing.

  “Poppa’s sensors detected that Mommy’s heart rate and breathing are altered. Activate first aid.” Poppandacorn announced, moving even closer and pressing his fuzzy body against hers, as if trying to hold her up.

  “Calm down, fluffy.” Bylly hurried to say, lifting her hands in a soothing gesture. “Now I know it all seems very confusing and frightening. But there’s a good part in all of this.”

  She took a few steps toward the center of the group, returning to her teacherly tone, but softer.

  “In LEVEL THREE, the one who prepares your game is your opponent. And in the same way, you prepare the game, the Seractcube that Parys Bloodpure will have to face. You are not only a target, fluffy, you are also an architect. And that will be our next step: to plan Parys Bloodpure’s LEVEL THREE.”

  Bylly went back to the center of the garden and removed the special glasses. One by one, everyone else did the same, as if waking from a projected dream.

  Then she raised a Seractcube the size of a soccer ball, and it floated at the height of her face, radiating light.

  “Come closer, fluffy.” Bylly said, a determined gleam in her eyes. “Let’s prepare Parys Bloodpure’s LEVEL THREE.”