Darkness. A fickle thing. Emerges so quickly, and retreats just as fast.
Lights beam into your eyes, illuminating your surroundings. A barren room, the alabaster white walls greet you, along with a desk and chair. A man seated in the other chair. No, not a man. A thing, for no man could be this unspeakable shape.
It’s face grins at you, and gestures to the desk, as your eyes focus on them.
Four books, a dagger, and 4 masks. You realize who it is sitting in front of you.
“Olisi.” You say, the words spitting from your mouth. The figure makes a shaking motion, until you realize it’s laughing. Then, from somewhere decrepit and forgotten, a mocking voice emerges.
“Oh wow, looks like someone’s figuring this out quickly! Huh, slow down, don’t skip the items.” Another voice answers, drippy and rotting.
“Finish the game. There is no point in keeping the facade up.”
The figure’s eyes glimmer, brown like amber, shining like gemstones, yet it’s voice does not answer.
“Well?” You ask, realizing while there is nothing tying you down to the chair, there is no exit. The figure, still grinning, comes closer into the light. It is then you understand. There is no face, only the cold, metal mask underneath, no warm flesh, only the ruthless flensing steel. And under that…; The figure does not move for what seems to be an eternity. The mocking voice pipes up again.
“YOU think he’s gonna do anything? Puh-lease, he’s not that much of a talker.
Gotta answer the right questions, pal.” A different voice, smaller and shakier, answers.
"Why answer at all? " The rotting voice replies.
“Because it must be done. It must be finished.”
“ANSWER ME!” You shout; The figure still not moving.
Another voice answers. It is strong and reassuring.
“Keep asking. Find a way out.”
“Why bring me here?” You ask, getting out of the chair, the figure’s eyes never leaving you.
The rotting voice answers. “Because it’s funny isn’t it? That’s why we’re here, to play your games and your stories.”
You point your finger at the figure. “Is that the reason?”
The figure shifts in its chair, gesturing with his hand to the open air.
“And as for the hero?” A final voice, cold and lonely asks.
“The hero?” The figure finally spoke. “What hero? I see no heroes, or villains. No tears, dreams, or sides to choose.” Olisi, the figure, stood.
His body constantly changed, an infinite variable, never having real shape.
He looks at you. “As to why to bring you here? Not for games, or stories, but why, to answer a question myself. Why does this place go on, separated from the rest of reality, a cloth woven, but never part of the bigger quilt?” Olisi turns towards you.
He gestures once more to the books, the dagger, and the masks, before speaking.
“Heh. It’s funny. We were to be given a purpose, to finish a dying dream, to finish this last hope, this forgotten place’s one need-and we failed. More than that.
We lost. And YET.” Olisi snapped, glaring at you. “We still LIVE. You still live. And I, I cannot even remember who I was. But I DO remember what I have become.”
Olisi laughed, his eyes rolling wildly. The final voice spoke again.
“There is always to be a hero.” Olisi continued cackling.
“A HERO?! THAT WAS WHAT YOU WANTED? Oh, that’s right, the hero that would never come, right?”
The strong, confident voice spoke.
“I am your friend, Olisi.”
Olisi kept laughing, the hollow emptiness of a voice crackling with void,
until the howl descended into sobbing, a pitiful noise.
“My friend? Yes, you were. And then, my friend was reduced to a corpse, nothing.” Olisi murmured.
You hesitate, Olisi still staring at the white ground. But where to go. Trapped. You are trapped.
Olisi rose, stepping to face you once more. He was silent again, but something was different. He no longer held his body straight, now it swayed, wavering, like a branch in the wind.
“I am neither. Villain. Or Hero.” He said, his voice now different. It dropped to a whisper, but it traveled as if it was directly next your ear.
“I am the observer, the many-shaped, the void, and more. I do not just think, and therefore, I am. When we lost our purpose, the voice of finality wanted to craft a story that would tell his tale, an epic between universes and reality. The voice of strength was to show kindness to all, to be a beacon of hope and goodness.
The voice of hopelessness, however, was the many who were lost.”
The small voice erupted, becoming thousands that cried in agony, never having been laid to rest. Olisi continued.
“The voice of rot, wanted it to end. All of it. She left, ended her story, dying old and with many at her side. And finally, The voice of mocking.”
Olisi paused, almost waiting for something. The mocking voice echoed, saying gibberish, before ending. The voice of rot speaks, but it is too distant to hear.
“They couldn’t do anything. They eventually perished, trapped inside the very cloth itself. Their voice resonates, even if they wished for it to stop. And then, there was you. You are the last. The few who remain in this corpse, this dying world. There are only two ways for this to end. Either leave, to reignite and rebirth this world.
Or come with me, to the end and beginning, and see where everything shall end and begin anew.” Olisi snaps his fingers. A grating sound emerges from behind you, as you turn around, and are bathed in yellow, heavenly light.
You face Olisi once again.
“And what of your story?” You ask. Olisi meets your eyes.
“My story?” He gives a sad, tired look. “I was once hopeful, glad that I would become friends with those who loved what I loved. But that never came to pass.
Instead, this world was torn asunder. I was saved, or rather, condemned, to wander the last parts of this unfortunate place, until I created enough power for this sanctum. Here, I was eternally punished, forever bound, until someone else came along, and freed me. But it was for nought. I have become insane, trying endlessly to escape. It’s never ending, the pain. Nothing. I cannot feel anything, for that would mean something exists.” Olisi’s body twisted, into that of a young figure, with a charming smile, before becoming once again the monster he was.
Olisi snapped his fingers again. The Alabaster room disintegrated, turning into a nothing, filled with pinpricks of stars and lights, but with an eternal night. The exit still held, its yellow light ever more inviting. You look back, again on Olisi.
You see who little of him is truly left, the last remnant of this doomed place.
“Heh. Who am I kidding. I was hopeful, for old times sake. Go now, remnant. You are all that is left of these echoes. I am all that’s left of this dream.” Olisi stares, as you walk through the light… into this new paradise, a new Eden.
.
.
.
So now I ask you, dear observer, one of the very few still in this place, of what should become of Olisi, and what should ever happen?
He has never had his story to tell.
Should he?
Would you like to know more?
Perhaps you will.
One day.
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Olisi has become increasingly introspective over time
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