– CHAPTER NINETEEN –

  THE CELL

  The murmur that still hovered in the air after the end of the race began to dissipate like smoke. The raised voices, the fans' shouts, the frenzied applause, all of it was fading, silenced by a doubt that spread swiftly, like an invisible wave, among the spectators who had arrived through the Jump Chronos Station.

  "Who won?"

  "It was Nome-Rocky, didn’t you see? He touched the line first!"

  "No way, it was Seth. I saw it with my own eyes. He was the first to reach the orange line!"

  These were the fragments of conversation forming among those still trying to understand what had truly happened. Their expressions blended disbelief, frustration, and sheer confusion. The mood was no longer one of celebration, but of uncertainty.

  At the center, Patron Uvo and Patron Darclyght exchanged solemn glances. Their faces were tense, their eyes half-closed. In them lay an unwelcome truth. An inevitable realization. And, above all, a discomfort that seemed to wound their very egos.

  They knew what they had seen. Both had witnessed the mistakes and failures of the other's protégé, Patron Uvo watching every hesitation from Seth, Darclyght’s chosen one, and Patron Darclyght coldly analyzing each misstep from Nome-Rocky, the one chosen by Patron Uvo. The flaws were evident, yet neither of them dared to speak it aloud. What their mouths refused, their eyes screamed.

  Even so, pacts with demons are sacred in the universe of KING MatNat. Justice sealed by hell cannot be manipulated or masked. That is why the two Patrons, restrained by anger and wounded pride, turned together toward the crowd.

  "A TIE!" they announced in unison, their voices heavy with disgust.

  A brief silence followed, then came the murmurs, the grumbles, the frustrated exclamations. The spectators, still trying to absorb the verdict, began to speak up.

  "I bet on the green one… and it’s a tie!"

  "I bet on the director’s son… what the hell, a tie!"

  There was disappointment in the air. The initial euphoria had now turned into collective dismay. The crowd began to disperse, slowly. One by one, they re-entered the Jump Chronos Station, crossing the portal back to Crown Eden.

  What remained behind were the traces of battle. The scent of oil and blood mingled with the dust of the circuit. And the two Patrons, still motionless, clasping hands in a dry, silent gesture filled with everything except cordiality.

  As if time had taken a deep breath and, suddenly, exhaled, everything returned to normal. There was no warning, no sound, no transition. Just a moment earlier, chaos. In the next instant, silence. Perfection.

  The two motorcycles, the MTT Y2K Turbine Superbike and the DODGE TOMAHAWK, now rested motionless on the asphalt marked by the orange line, as if they had never been touched by fire or war. Not a single scratch. Not a single dent. No trace of dust, blood, or hell. The vehicles stood exactly as they had in the beginning, immaculate, untouched, virginal to any battle.

  The same was true for the players’ bodies.

  Nome-Rocky, whose right eye had been pierced to its core by a demonic blade from the legion of FORNEUS, now opened his eyes with clarity. The eyeball was firm, healthy, clean. No scar. No pain.

  Seth, who just minutes earlier had been crawling with a severed arm, blood pouring across the scorched ground, now stood whole. The arm, the skin, the muscles, all of it had been restored, as if the mutilation had never taken place. As if the flesh had never been violated.

  It was as if the pact with the demons, once fulfilled with justice, had imposed upon the world a resonance of balance.

  Nome-Rocky and Seth rose slowly, still breathless, as if waking from a shared dream. The silence between them lasted only the span of a single breath. And then, without any ceremony, the verbal clash began.

  "Are you stupid?" Nome-Rocky snapped, pointing his finger straight at him. "Don’t you know how to play? You have no strategy and you mess up the entire dynamic of the game! In case you didn’t know, detonating all the legions at once causes chaos, confusion, loss of control! KING MatNat demands a mind, not just impulse."

  Seth narrowed his eyes, fired up, and replied:

  "You play your way. I play mine. If you're too afraid to go all in, don’t tell the opponent how many cards they should throw. This isn't a sport, or a hobby, or a pastime. This is KING MatNat. Here, it’s win or win at any cost. And don’t point that finger at me, rich boy."

  Nome-Rocky huffed, his face red with indignation.

  "KING MatNat is art, not roulette. It's discipline. It's mastery. It’s not something you devour like fast food. You swallow it all at once and you're hungry again five minutes later. KING MatNat demands discernment, something you've clearly never heard of."

  Seth stepped forward. The rage now boiled between them.

  "If your way of playing actually worked, you wouldn’t have ended up with a sword jammed into your skull, would you, maestro?"

  Nome-Rocky laughed. A dry, sarcastic, almost deranged laugh.

  "Look who’s talking. If your strategy worked, you wouldn’t have lost an entire arm. You detonated all of FORNEUS’s legions like you were the master of the abyss, and look where that got you."

  He then crossed his arms, eyes sharp with accusation.

  "Besides, I’m filing for an audit on this match. Every beast from hell that was present saw it. They know. I crossed the finish line first."

  The two of them, Seth and Nome-Rocky, puffed up by the argument, made a move to raise their fists. The spark of conflict threatened to erupt into fire. But before a single blow could be struck, the Patrons intervened.

  "Step back!" shouted Patron Darclyght, grabbing Seth by the shoulder and pulling him back. "This is not a request. It's an order!"

  "Easy, kid," said Patron Uvo, holding Nome-Rocky firmly. "It's not worth it. Everyone knows you're the real champion. You're the one with the most technique, the most skill in the KING MatNat games. Arguing with that over there won’t get you anywhere."

  The sentence cut through the air like a blade. Patron Darclyght, still with his hand on Seth, turned his face with an expression of disdain.

  "What did you say?" he spat. "Everyone knows he’s the champion? That he has more technique?"

  His voice rose, laced with contempt.

  "KING MatNat isn't a gala parade or a piano recital. It’s grit, guts, sweat and blood. It’s all or nothing. It means pushing the pact to the edge, to its final consequences. KING MatNat isn’t some fucking afternoon tea, or a little brunch, or a happy hour for spoiled academics. KING MatNat is meant to be served raw. Only those with the stomach can eat it."

  Patron Uvo, already on his way out, stopped, turned his body slightly, and tossed his comment like someone throwing a grenade.

  "The art of the game was never meant to be understood by everyone."

  And with a faint half-smile, he concluded:

  "After all… as they say out there, don’t cast pearls before swine. May the best one win in this new academic year."

  Without waiting for a response, he turned fully, his firm steps echoing behind him. Patron Darclyght remained still, his gaze locked onto the other Patron’s back, as if he could burn him to ash with nothing but the weight of silent hatred.

  Around them, there was hardly anyone left. The crowd was dissolving. One by one, the last spectators vanished through the portal of the Jump Chronos Station, slowly returning to Crown Eden.

  Still lying on the ground, Americ-Ana stared up at the artificial night sky projected on the pyramid. It was a perfect sky, too dark, too beautiful, too false. She simply couldn’t believe she was alive.

  What… what was that?

  It was like trying to recall a dream slipping through her fingers, a shapeless nightmare without beginning or end. A blur. A vortex without logic. Not even chaos could define it. It was madness beyond madness. A madness so absurd that Madness itself, if it existed in living form, would look at the KING MatNat games and say:

  "This is too insane even for me."

  Americ-Ana blinked slowly. Her dry eyes stung a little. She ran her tongue across her lips. They were whole. Still lying down, she moved her right hand. Then her left. Okay. They were there. She moved her right leg. Then her left. Also okay.

  She placed both hands over her face, touching her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Everything seemed in order. Everything was… intact.

  Her body still trembling, she braced her elbows against the ground and slowly lifted herself until she was sitting upright. She expected the effort to trigger some hidden pain, a cracked rib, an invisible cut, a stabbing muscle ache. But no. Nothing.

  In fact, the most frightening part of it all wasn’t the fastest race in the world between two blazing motorcycles, nor the infernal beings emerging from the cracks of reality trying to strike them with swords. The most terrifying thing was that… Americ-Ana felt fine. Very fine.

  Confused, Americ-Ana pressed her abdomen, her neck, her breasts, her knees, each part of her body in turn. She searched for any sign of pain or bruise. Nothing. Zero. Everything perfect.

  It was then that Americ-Ana stood up cautiously. The scenery around her still pulsed with a post-apocalyptic aura, but her body remained in a state of absolute equilibrium. Her eyes found Wwwyye, lying a few meters away, sprawled on the ground, her gaze fixed on the artificial sky of the pyramid, as if she were… hypnotized.

  Americ-Ana took slow steps and approached Wwwyye.

  Wwwyye seemed to be in a trance. Her eyes were opened too wide, her body inert, her muscles relaxed as if she were floating between two realities. The expression on her face was not one of fear, but of sheer collapse, like someone who had just awakened from the most insane dream of their life. Americ-Ana approached in silence, knelt beside her, and asked:

  "Are you okay?"

  Americ-Ana’s voice was like a thread of light pulling Wwwyye out of a dark tunnel. The girl blinked hard, as if returning from an abyss. Her gaze moved slowly until it met Americ-Ana’s.

  "Did that… did that really just happen?" Wwwyye whispered, her voice trembling. "Was it just me? Or did you see it too? The two motorcycle… at terrifying speed? The demons? Thousands of them? The swords? The fight? The shields crashing? It still feels like… it still feels like I can hear their screams… inside my head."

  Americ-Ana swallowed hard. She extended her hand toward Wwwyye.

  "I'm confused too," she said, not pretending to be sure. "I still can’t believe any of that was real. Stand up. I’ll help you."

  With visible effort, Wwwyye moved her right arm and took Americ-Ana’s hand. The touch between them was human, alive, solid, and for that very reason, almost unbelievable. Together, they rose.

  Wwwyye then began to look at herself. Her arms. Her legs. Her torso. Her shoulders. She didn’t say a word, but her eyes moved across her own body like someone taking inventory.

  Americ-Ana didn’t need to hear it to understand: she was making sure she was still whole.

  The two of them walked in silence until they reached the place where Nome-Rocky and Seth were standing.

  As he spotted the two girls approaching, Seth broke the tension with a cheeky smile.

  "So, Wwwyye? What did you think of the game? Did you like it?"

  Wwwyye stopped in front of Seth, completely stunned. Her eyes wide, her breath short. As if he were a ghost about to vanish, she touched Seth’s face, awkwardly, trying to confirm that he was, in fact… real.

  And then, in a sudden outburst:

  "YOUR ARM!" she shouted, taking a step forward. "I saw your arm get sliced off by a demon!"

  Before Seth could answer, Wwwyye grabbed his arm with both hands, running her fingers over the joints, pressing each section, checking each finger as if they were precious artifacts.

  Seth laughed, making a slight grimace as if it tickled, and pulled his arm back.

  "I'm fine, girl! Good as new!" he said, spreading his arms.

  Americ-Ana, watching the scene, felt her stomach turn. The memory of the sword driven into Nome-Rocky’s skull came back in a flash. The scream. The impact. The blood. All of it still vivid. She turned to him. Nome-Rocky looked calm, as if nothing had happened.

  "Your eye…" Americ-Ana began, hesitant. "Are you okay? Can you see?"

  Nome-Rocky answered with a crooked smile. One of those smiles full of arrogance, as if the girl’s concern were unnecessary.

  "I'm perfectly fine. That was nothing. I’ve faced worse."

  But Americ-Ana wasn’t so easily convinced. She stepped closer, staring directly into his right eye. The same one that had been pierced to its core by an infernal blade.

  "Can you see with that eye? Is your brain still intact? No headaches? How many fingers am I holding up?"

  She raised three fingers in front of him, testing him with seriousness. Nome-Rocky didn’t answer right away. The corner of his mouth stretched into a full smile, nearly a burst of open laughter. It was as if he found it all amusing, the question, the concern.

  But then, from the crowd slowly dispersing toward the Jump Chronos Station, a figure stood out. Parys Bloodpure.

  "My love!" she exclaimed, her voice soaked in urgency and sweetness. "Are you alright? I was so worried! I looked for you in the Crown Eden access area and couldn’t find you. I… I thought something had happened. Do you want water? Anything else? You must be exhausted after all this..."

  Parys Bloodpure threw herself between Nome-Rocky and Americ-Ana, her sweet perfume trailing behind her. She didn’t look at Americ-Ana even once. Not once. To her, Americ-Ana didn’t exist. She was a ghost in the scene.

  With her back, she pushed Americ-Ana aside. Then she began touching Nome-Rocky’s face with the tips of her fingers, flooding him with questions and caresses.

  Nome-Rocky wrapped his arm around Parys Bloodpure’s waist, and together they began walking toward the Jump Chronos Station, now nearly deserted.

  Americ-Ana watched them from a distance, in silence. But something pulled her back into herself. Up ahead, near the MTT Y2K Turbine Superbike, Patron Uvo approached with slow steps. He knelt before the motorcycle and pressed the KING MatNat sphere against the machine’s exhaust.

  At the exact moment the sphere touched the metal, a small light slipped from the tailpipe, flowing directly into the sphere.

  And then… Americ-Ana felt it.

  She felt her body being released. She felt the scaly skin of RONOVE dissolve into fragments. The bodysuit that had wrapped her like a second skin vanished like smoke before her eyes.

  Americ-Ana looked at herself. She was once again wearing her Dior “Vénus” dress. She lifted her gaze and saw, in the distance, Nome-Rocky nearly crossing the arches of the Jump Chronos Station, still in Parys’s embrace. His clothes had also returned. The crimson velvet blazer, immaculate, now covered the body of someone who, minutes earlier, had been bleeding on the asphalt. She looked to Wwwyye. She was once again wearing her light pink outfit, the matching top hat in place, as if nothing had changed. Her eyes turned to Seth. He stood with confidence, now dressed again in the modified Equal One Zero blazer, his chest left bare, as if hell had never passed through there.

  Suddenly, the sound of awkward, hurried, gasping footsteps. Like someone running in desperation, as if being chased by something fatal.

  Americ-Ana turned her body, her eyes scanning the translucent darkness of the pyramid. The sound came from all directions at once. A sharp, metallic noise, mixed with a mechanical hiss. And then, a voice:

  "HELP!!! SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!"

  The scream shot through Americ-Ana like lightning. She knew that voice.

  Before she could react, alert the others, or even understand, she saw it.

  Poppandacorn.

  Running frantically from one side to the other, his little arms flailing, his plush head wobbling. It was as if the Armageddon itself were chasing him.

  Poppandacorn ran in circles, stumbling over his own feet, and then, suddenly, spotted Americ-Ana in the distance. He let out a shrill scream and ran toward her with his arms stretched out.

  By pure instinct, Americ-Ana opened her arms as well. In the next second, Poppandacorn leapt, flying for a brief instant, and landed in her arms like a frightened child.

  "Mommy, please!" cried the plush robot, clinging to her. "He’s going to get me! Mommy, he’s going to eat me alive! He’s evil! Do something, Mommy!"

  His voice was sharp, piercing, choked with sobs. He trembled so violently he seemed made of flesh and bone, not circuits.

  Americ-Ana, already alarmed, held his small body carefully and tried to look into his digital eyes.

  "Poppa, what is it?" she asked, distressed. "Did someone hurt you? What happened?"

  That was when she saw it.

  On Poppandacorn’s round, furry face, two tears of blue light, translucent and digital, began to slide down slowly. His expression was pure panic, a blend of terror and helplessness so real that Americ-Ana felt her heart truly tighten.

  In the background, Astyam. In his arms, he carried the small black fox, squirming with its tail twitching, its eyes shining with anticipation, and its snout trembling. As he approached, Astyam knelt and set the little creature on the ground.

  As soon as its paws touched the ground, the little fox darted toward Americ-Ana, hopping and letting out tiny high-pitched sounds, as if trying to reach Poppandacorn.

  The plush robot, still clinging to Americ-Ana’s neck, sobbed harder and curled up.

  "Mommy!!! Help me!!! HE’S GOING TO DEVOUR ME!!!"

  Americ-Ana looked at the fox, looked at Poppandacorn, then raised an eyebrow.

  "Poppa… you can’t be serious," she said, somewhere between patience and sarcasm. "All this commotion, this drama, this crying… over a little creature?"

  She pointed to the fox, who bounced happily, trying to reach the robot.

  "Look at him! He wouldn’t hurt anyone. He just wants to be your friend. For God’s sake, Poppa, stop it!"

  But Poppandacorn fired back in full-blown crisis.

  "NO!!! WAAAHHH!!!" he cried. "He MURDERED Mister Hippopotamus!!! And now he’s going to kill me too! PROTECT ME, MOMMY!!!"

  The more Poppandacorn screamed, the more the little black fox jumped, trying to reach the robot, its snout stretched as if it just wanted to give him a lick.

  Astyam approached, stopped beside Americ-Ana, crossed his arms, and said:

  "We have a problem. The little black fox got attached to Poppandacorn."

  Americ-Ana blinked, still holding the robot in her arms.

  "But… that’s not a problem."

  "The problem," Astyam continued, "is that, during the ride from Crown Eden to the Cell, inside my Ferrari… Poppandacorn apparently spent the whole trip calling the fox… ‘Antichrist’."

  There was a brief silence. Then he added:

  "Now the fox only responds to that name. Watch."

  Astyam knelt on the ground in front of the little creature. He snapped his fingers.

  "Antichrist! Come! That’s it, good boy!"

  The little black fox ran to him happily, tongue out and tail wagging furiously. It lay on its back so Astyam could scratch its belly.

  "Sit! Roll over! Shake!" commanded Astyam.

  The fox obeyed every command with precision, then jumped into Astyam’s arms, licking his face.

  Americ-Ana let out a disbelieving laugh and turned to the robot still clinging to her chest.

  "I don’t believe this, Poppa! Just look at him! He’s just a harmless little creature. You’re jealous. You shouldn’t have called him that… now he thinks that’s his name!"

  Poppandacorn didn’t respond. He only looked at the fox, then curled up even tighter against Americ-Ana’s chest, his blue LED eyes shining, and started crying again.

  "Oh come on! It’s not that serious!" said Wwwyye, approaching. "What a spoiled little thing!"

  Wwwyye looked at the robot, then at the fox.

  "It’s obvious Poppandacorn loves being the center of attention… and now he can’t stand sharing the spotlight with the critter. That’s why he’s throwing a tantrum!"

  Seth approached.

  "Look at that. What an adorable little creature. Truly precious."

  The little black fox, upon seeing him, immediately rolled onto its back. Seth knelt down and ran his hand across its fur.

  The creature responded by twitching its leg, as if it were being tickled.

  "Have you given it a name yet?" Seth asked, still petting the small animal.

  "ANTICHRIST!" screamed Poppandacorn, still curled up in Americ-Ana’s arms.

  The little fox immediately reacted. It turned toward Americ-Ana with alert eyes and began making cheerful little hops, stretching its paws, trying to reach Poppandacorn, who was now crying even harder.

  Seth watched the whole scene, smiling.

  "Unusual name, huh?" he commented, somewhere between irony and surprise.

  Suddenly, Seth’s eyes swept across the entire scene with suspicion, as if something invisible had just shifted in the air. He looked around. Then upward. A subtle discomfort crossed his face, as if a thought had slipped along the edges of his consciousness.

  "What am I doing here again?" he murmured, furrowing his brow. "Feels like I forgot something..."

  He stuck his hands into his pockets, rummaging through the fabric. His expression was that of someone searching for an object that had always been there, and yet now seemed missing. But then, as if a spark had lit up inside him, Seth froze. His eyes widened, his mouth opened into a triumphant smile, and a gleam of clarity took hold of his face.

  "Oh, right! I remember!" he exclaimed.

  Seth opened his mouth and pulled out a clipboard and a pencil. As if it were the most ordinary act in the world, he began flipping through the notes. He scratched his head with the tip of the pencil and said:

  "Everyone, I’m here because I need to present the cell you’ll be sharing as your living space!"

  Seth spoke with genuine enthusiasm, as if unveiling a carefully wrapped gift. Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, and Astyam exchanged cautious glances. Americ-Ana held Poppandacorn in her arms, the robot still curled up, his face hidden, his crying now reduced to soft sighs. Wwwyye, in turn, gently embraced the little black fox, Antichrist, who observed everything with quiet attention.

  Seth made a gesture with his hand, calling them to follow him.

  They stopped before an imposing entrance. The architecture was unmistakably Gothic: solid gray stone walls, pointed arch windows, and a central arch crowned by a crest.

  Carved into the stone with great precision, the crest displayed a five-pointed star with ornate detailing at its edges. The path leading there was flanked by plaques and perfectly symmetrical shrubs, guiding the way to a grassy area in the back, where the green looked more alive than natural.

  Seth, walking ahead, stopped beneath the center of the arch. On each side, two monumental doors made of dark wood with ornate metalwork guarded the entrance. Seth stood before the door on the left. He scratched his head, then blinked as if suddenly remembering something important.

  "Oh, right," said Seth, suddenly turning to the trio. "Do you have your duality key with you?"

  Astyam nodded and pulled the key from his pocket, raising it.

  "Right here."

  Seth stepped closer and said:

  "Perfect. Now, the three of you need to place your hands on the key at the same time… and insert it into that lock." He pointed to the door on the right.

  Without hesitation, Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, and Astyam extended their hands. Their fingers overlapped on the cold metal of the key. Together, they turned it.

  A dry, deep click cut through the air, echoing across the walls like an ancestral beat.

  Suddenly, a sequence of hidden lights lit up along the floor, revealing the scene ahead of them: a majestic structure made of grayish stone, with pointed arch windows aligned in a low wing that extended toward a robust tower, from which rose a larger building with rooftops of multiple angles. The central entrance, shaped like an arch, completed the ensemble with solemn grandeur. In front of it, a rectangular reflecting pool mirrored the fa?ade. The surrounding lawn was meticulously trimmed, and symmetrical bushes lined the entire length of the structure.

  Seth strode ahead with long steps and gestured for the trio to follow. When he stopped, he turned with a certain formality in his expression and announced, with an improvised bow:

  "Ladies. Gentleman. Welcome to the Cell. This will be the place the three of you will share for the next seven years while you study inside the Prince Equal One Zero Pyramid."

  Americ-Ana took two steps forward, instinctively. Her mouth parted slightly. The scene before her eyes looked as if it had been pulled from another time, or from an ancient memory she never knew she had.

  What she saw was a vast, ordered complex, built of dark stone and solid elegance. The buildings rose in perfect symmetry around gardened courtyards, connected by corridors and lateral wings, as if the entire place breathed with its own harmony. At the center, reflecting pools, some rectangular, others circular, mirrored the sky and the sloped rooftops of the surrounding structures. The vertical windows seemed to watch over everything, and towers with spires rose at rhythmic intervals. Between the well-tended gardens, stone paths curved in gentle serpentines. In the distance, a sports field, a parking area, and a large structure that suggested athletic facilities completed the sanctuary.

  Wwwyye and Astyam stepped forward in silence, positioning themselves beside Americ-Ana. They all wore the same expression, wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

  Astyam broke the silence, still trying to comprehend the scale of what he was seeing:

  "You mean… all of this is just ours? Just ours, and no one else's, for the next seven years?"

  Seth nodded.

  "Exactly. This property is a genuine castle, built in English Neo-Gothic style. It was constructed with solid stone and features ornamental stained-glass windows and gray slate roofs. It has a cinema room that transforms into a theater, and not just any room, it holds 366 spectators. In total, there are 1,420 rooms, harmoniously organized into five interconnected wings. Each wing has two suites per floor. In the central courtyard, there are two reflecting pools, one round, the other rectangular. There’s a complete gymnasium for both physical and tactical training. And the dining hall… well, it transforms into a ballroom that can host up to 275 guests. Oh, and the stained-glass windows tell a story in cryptic sequence. It’s the narrative of King Solomon and the 72 seals. The complex also includes parking and garage space for 300 vehicles, discreet and secure access routes, direct pathways… and of course, a helipad."

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  "Wow… this is truly amazing," said Americ-Ana, her eyes fixed on the reflecting pool that wrapped around the base of the castle. The surface mirrored the towers as if time were suspended.

  "It’s just like my sisters’," said Wwwyye, stepping closer. "Back when they still studied here at Equal One Zero, I used to visit them. I would always go straight to their Cell… it’s exactly the same."

  Seth confirmed with a nod.

  "That’s right. Every student at Equal One Zero has a Cell. And they all follow the same architectural standard. This is the Equal One Zero standard… it’s the standard of THE-IMPERIUM."

  Americ-Ana turned her neck slowly, as if trying to absorb everything in a single instant. Her eyes swept across every detail, the windows, the stained glass, the cut of the rooftops, the symmetry of the wings. She didn’t want to forget anything. She didn’t want to let anything slip past her. She had once imagined living in small houses, makeshift apartments… but never, not in any scenario, inside a Gothic castle of surreal proportions.

  "I can’t believe this entire space is just for the three of us…" said Astyam, interrupted by a soft sneeze. He discreetly sprayed his nasal spray, as if the grandeur of the moment had even stirred his allergies.

  Seth then looked at them with the expression of someone revealing the final piece of a well-planned surprise.

  "All the vehicles you already own, whether land, sea, or air, have been transferred to the garage. Everything is ready and available."

  Americ-Ana walked to the edge of the rectangular reflecting pool, right in front of the entrance. The liquid surface pulsed in delicate waves whenever the wind blew, as if it breathed with the space itself. She leaned forward slightly and gazed at her reflection.

  The marks were still there.

  The three QR Codes, the albino cat, the albino owl, and the triangle with the central eye, remained printed on her face like indecipherable tattoos, silently permanent.

  For a moment, Americ-Ana thought: maybe that was the price. The price someone like her had to pay to set foot in a place like this.

  She lifted her eyes to the structure rising behind her like a mountain carved with surgical precision. A castle. A home. A sanctuary. Americ-Ana saw herself there. For seven years. Seven years in that same space. But who would she be at the end of that cycle?

  Would those marks still be on her face?

  Would Wwwyye, Astyam, Poppandacorn, and Antichrist still be there with her at the end of the journey?

  She allowed herself to dream.

  She allowed herself to be carried by that feeling without resistance.

  Weeks earlier, Americ-Ana had been scrubbing the floor of the tanning clinic where she worked. She slept in a stuffy little room that opened directly into Aunt Karen’s kitchen. She spent her days catering to her cousin Lily’s whims, washing dresses, cooking for a pet pig named Mister Bacon.

  If someone had come to her back then and told her what was coming, she would have laughed. Laughed out loud. Mocked it. There was no way she would have believed it.

  Americ-Ana turned in place, a full three-hundred-sixty-degree spin, slowly, as if trying to imprint every stone, every window, every tower into her memory. Her eyes returned to the reflecting pool. The marks were still there, flickering in the water’s distortion, the QR Codes floating like digital scars across her reflection.

  It was the price to be paid.

  And she was beginning to accept it.

  Suddenly, a flash interrupted Americ-Ana’s thoughts. She flinched slightly.

  Poppandacorn, who had been curled up until then, was now in full action. His LED eyes flashed with an intense blue, firing bursts of light in sequence as he recorded with the precision of high-grade robotic technology. He was capturing everything, every angle, every glance, every movement. In his advanced memory, he stored that instant as one records the triumphant beginning of a new era, the exact moment the Cell was revealed to its new inhabitants.

  The first flash captured Americ-Ana standing before the mirror of water, still wrapped in her contemplative aura.

  Another turned to Wwwyye, who stood with her hands firmly on her waist, her body facing the castle, eyes calculating distances and dimensions. There was something on her face, a kind of silent assessment. As if she were building a comparative framework inside her own mind: between that Cell and her sisters’, or perhaps between that structure and the home she came from. The pink top hat swayed lightly in her hand, swinging gently like the hand of an invisible clock.

  Further ahead, another shot. Poppandacorn turned to Astyam. The boy was absorbed in the vegetation of the entrance garden, in the flowers, the neatly trimmed bushes, the trees with leaves perfectly symmetrical in shape and color. He sprayed the nasal mist with rhythmic frequency, as if each new plant awakened a different emotion in his body.

  Meanwhile, Antichrist was running across the freshly cut green grass, like one mapping territory with the sharpened instinct of an explorer. Ears flicking, eyes alert, tiny paws quick. He was recognizing the terrain, and in some way, sealing the space as his own.

  Seth whistled loudly, gathering the group with a broad sweep of his arm.

  "Alright, everyone! Now that you've officially taken possession of the Cell, I need you to sign a document. It's just to confirm that I showed you everything properly and that you've all agreed to stay here, together, for the next seven years."

  With absurd naturalness, he reached into his own mouth and pulled out a folder of documents, a gesture as bizarre as it was routine. He opened the folder and began flipping through it, dropping half its contents to the floor. Papers flew. He gathered them in a rush, turned a few sheets upside down, until, at last, he smiled.

  "Found it! Here it is!" he said, holding out the contract with enthusiasm.

  Each one signed: Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, and Astyam. Then Seth began the scanning process. He passed a small portable reader over Astyam’s and Wwwyye’s wrists; next, he scanned the three QR Codes on Americ-Ana’s face with a brief, beeping sound. He knelt down beside Poppandacorn, lifted the plush paw, and scanned the barcode hidden on the sole of the foot. Finally, he brought the reader close to Antichrist’s large black eyes, which simply stared back at him in silence.

  "Very good!" said Seth, puffing out his chest like someone who had just completed a diplomatic mission. "Now I’m going to give you tomorrow’s schedule."

  Once again, he reached into his mouth and pulled out another folder. This time, he took out three sheets organized by time slots and handed one to each of the three.

  "That’s all, folks! You can go inside the Cell, explore the rooms, pick your bedrooms, have dinner, sleep... Basically, do whatever you want. Just make sure to follow the schedule properly, okay?"

  He turned to leave, walking calmly toward the stone arch. But stopped halfway, as if tugged back by an inner jolt of memory.

  "Oh wow! What a slip! I’m so sorry, really. Good thing I remembered!"

  The group stopped, attentive. Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, and Astyam stared at him in anticipation.

  Seth shoved both hands into his pockets, rummaged a bit, and, with a somewhat childish smile, pulled out handfuls of colorful confetti. He tossed them over the trio with the delicacy of a hurricane. Most of it landed straight into Wwwyye’s pink hair.

  "I forgot to give you the proper welcome during your Cell presentation. So consider yourselves... officially welcomed!"

  He stood there for a second, admiring his masterpiece.

  "Is this for real?" said Wwwyye, pulling the confetti out of her hair.

  Seth ignored the comment with a proud smile. He spun on his heels, walked toward the stone arch, turned one last time, gave an awkward little wave, and disappeared.

  Wwwyye turned to Americ-Ana and Astyam with a gleam in her eyes.

  "How about we go check out the inside of our castle now?" she said, excited. But in the very next second, her expression changed. A mischievous smile spread across her face, as playful as a spark.

  "Whoever gets in first gets the best room!" she shouted, shoving Americ-Ana and Astyam with her arms wide open before darting toward the entrance door in a reckless sprint.

  "Hey! That’s not fair!" protested Americ-Ana, bursting into laughter as she ran after her.

  "That’s not fair! Wait for me!" shouted Astyam, already moving, trying to catch up with the two of them.

  "MOMMY!!! DON’T LEAVE ME HERE ALONE!!!" screamed Poppandacorn, launching himself after the group with his short, clumsy legs, stumbling over his own plush feet. Right behind him, Antichrist tore across the lawn in a full-speed dash, paws swift as arrows.

  Wwwyye was the first to reach the staircase. She bounded up the steps, turned the doorknob with impatient force, and ran inside. But the moment she crossed the threshold... she stopped.

  Dry.

  Americ-Ana came right behind and didn’t have time to stop. She crashed straight into Wwwyye’s back, who staggered. Both nearly fell.

  "Careful!" she tried to shout, but it was too late.

  Astyam came right behind, running at full speed, and couldn’t swerve in time. He collided with both of them, and the three of them crashed to the floor in a muffled uproar of laughter, stumbles, and indignation.

  Still trying to recover from the fall, the trio realized they were not alone.

  Standing in the entrance hall, a silent formation awaited them. Aligned before an immense red carpet that stretched through the center of the hall to the base of a monumental staircase, stood the five castle attendants.

  At first glance, they looked human.

  But as she looked closer, Americ-Ana noticed: there was something unhuman about their beauty.

  The skin of each one was made of white porcelain, perfectly polished. They had human shapes, human expressions, but... something about them placed them beyond the natural. It was as if every gesture, every blink, had been choreographed by an algorithm.

  Across their smooth bodies, fine patterns slithered like living tattoos: floral traces, oriental, symmetrical, each one distinct. The colors varied. There were five in total: three with masculine appearance, two with feminine. They did not move. They did not speak. They simply watched.

  Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, and Astyam stood up hastily, embarrassed, trying to recover their dignity after the fall.

  "Fac Foedus! Sorry!" the three of them said in unison, bowing briefly before the silent hosts.

  One of the humanoids stepped forward.

  He was made of white porcelain, impeccably polished, with black oriental designs that snaked across his body like continuous calligraphy. His features resembled those of an elderly man: narrow and calm eyes, arched eyebrows, a mouth in absolute repose, as if he listened more than he spoke. On his forehead, there was a perfect black circle, absolute, that seemed to pulse gently as it processed the environment. On the sides of his skull, two embedded discs of obsidian rotated in silence, absorbing the surrounding sounds like artificial eardrums.

  He bowed with elegance and said:

  "Fac Foedus! Welcome to SAMKHYA CELL."

  His voice was measured, clear, resonating like a vibration programmed to soothe.

  "My name is SHABDA AKASHA, and I will be your butler."

  He returned to his post with the same precision with which he had appeared.

  Soon after, a second figure stepped forward. Her features were those of a lady: a fine chin, soft cheekbones, a serene expression. Her turquoise-blue porcelain looked like air condensed into solid form, marked by curved and circular lines that resembled feathers floating in slow, constant motion.

  She also bowed and spoke:

  "Fac Foedus, Masters. My name is SPARSHA VAYU. I will be your housekeeper."

  She bowed once more and stepped back with gentleness.

  The third approached without making a single sound as she walked. Her body was entirely of white, polished porcelain, adorned with yellow and brown flowers in classical oriental style. Her expression was serene, eyes lowered to the ground as if guarding an impenetrable secret. On her forehead, a perfectly traced golden square shimmered discreetly.

  "Fac Foedus, my masters. My name is GANDHA PRITHIVI. I will be your housemaid."

  She bowed slowly, never lifting her gaze, and returned to her place.

  The fourth humanoid was more broad-shouldered, with discreet curves. His porcelain reflected the light like the surface of a lake at night. Silver markings ran across his body. His features resembled those of a robust man, with a solid presence. On his forehead, a silver crescent moon gleamed, facing upward.

  "Fac Foedus, my lord and my ladies. My name is RASA APAS. I will be your cook."

  He bowed again and returned silently to the formation.

  At last, the final humanoid stepped forward.

  His porcelain bore amber reflections and reddish tones, like fire held under control. Red markings traced his surface with firm geometry. On his forehead, an inverted red triangle seemed to glow faintly in the ambient light.

  He lowered his head, deeply respectful, and said,

  "Fac Foedus, my nobles. My name is RUPA TEJAS, and I will be your gardener."

  He kept his head bowed even as he returned to his post.

  The five porcelain humanoids remained motionless in the hall, eyes fixed straight ahead, awaiting a command.

  Astyam, positioned between Americ-Ana and Wwwyye, leaned in slightly, whispering so that only the two of them could hear:

  "I read about them in a THE-IMPERIUM article. They're clones."

  Both girls turned to him at the same time, whispering in unison:

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean... they’re all clones, yes, but with specific alterations. They were created from an already existing, identical cell. But during development, the brain is modified." Astyam spoke with the confidence of someone repeating something studied with fascination. "They’re born in a lab, but they’re programmed not to feel emotions. None. Zero. No personal will, no desires. They were created for a single purpose: to perform one task. And that’s it."

  Americ-Ana looked at him, puzzled.

  "What do you mean by ‘a single task’?"

  "Like... if one of their brains was modified to know how to wash dishes, then that’s it. That’s all they’ll ever know how to do. Nothing else. Their intelligence is limited to what was defined at birth. One might know how to clean bathrooms. Another, to care for gardens. But they’ll never learn anything new. Never want to change. Not even understand they could do something different."

  "But... what if one of them gets bored? And wants to, I don't know, do something else?" Americ-Ana asked, a trace of unease in her eyes.

  "That’s impossible," Astyam replied calmly. "That part of the brain was removed. They don’t feel boredom. They don’t feel frustration. Not even ambition. It was genetically blocked at birth."

  Wwwyye scratched her head, thoughtful.

  "So that’s why..." she murmured. "I always found it strange that my sisters called their butler by letters. Never by the names they gave. I used to think they were weird nicknames... or codes from some game. But now it makes sense. They don’t care. They don’t react. They don’t get offended... because they don’t feel anything."

  Her expression was that of someone who had just completed a puzzle. The pieces had finally fallen into place.

  "But these... lab-made human beings, without will, without emotions, without ambition... they have a specific name. A proper term. I read about it, but I just can’t remember now..." said Astyam, bringing a hand to his chin, searching through buried memories.

  At that moment, Poppandacorn stepped forward with tiny steps. His LED eyes lit up, displaying data and floating links on the visor.

  "Mommy, Astyam, Wwwyye... by searching public databases and THE-IMPERIUM forums, I found the definition. They’re called MOSS HUMAN. They belong to a category of human beings cultivated in laboratories based on primitive plant cells. They live. They obey. They perform. But they do not decide. They do not desire. Just like moss... they only grow where they’re placed, and never leave by their own will."

  Silence weighed in for a moment.

  Americ-Ana looked again at the humanoids standing motionless before the staircase.

  "Wow... that sounds so sad..." she said quietly, without expecting a reply.

  Wwwyye turned to the porcelain butler with a smile on her lips.

  "Shabda Akasha, can we choose our own rooms?"

  The humanoid turned his head slightly in her direction. The obsidian discs on his temples rotated with a subtle, nearly imperceptible sound.

  "Certainly, milady. Make yourselves at home. The castle belongs to you... and to the other masters."

  Before the last word was even finished, Wwwyye had already taken off.

  "YES!" she shouted, dashing up the stairs with her arms wide open as if running toward a prize.

  "Hey! Wait for me!" Americ-Ana shouted, laughing, and ran after her. Poppandacorn followed, stumbling, his short legs spinning like unbalanced propellers.

  Close behind, Antichrist ran like a living shadow, tongue out, tail wagging.

  "Wait!" cried Astyam, who, caught in the moment, tripped on the very first step. He fell to his knees but quickly got up, as if there were no time to lose, and resumed his dash up the stairs.

  The castle hallways echoed with the sounds of footsteps and laughter, while the five porcelain humanoids remained motionless in the entrance hall, eyes fixed straight ahead, their gazes empty and unshakable.

  Americ-Ana stopped in front of one of the doors, turned the darkened bronze handle, and pushed firmly. The solid oak wood creaked.

  As she stepped inside, the world seemed to slow down.

  The room was a sanctuary in English neogothic style. The floor, made of wide dark oak planks, stretched beneath a Persian rug in tones of deep wine and aged gold. At the center, a king-size bed with a carved wooden frame supported canopy columns, draped in thick linen curtains. It was a bed made for royalty, or for someone who, out of ambition, was ready to dream like one.

  The walls were lined with oak paneling up to mid-height, above which a sand-toned, slightly textured plaster softened the atmosphere. Two pointed-arch windows filtered light through multicolored stained glass, casting reflections that danced across the heavy burgundy velvet curtains.

  On the wall opposite the bed, a gray stone fireplace dominated the space with silent grandeur. Above it, an oval mirror completed the mood.

  To the right, a side door led to the bathroom.

  Inside the bathroom, the floor was tiled in a black-and-white checkered pattern, and white tiles covered the walls up to mid-height. A cast-iron clawfoot tub occupied the center, with bronze taps and a small stained-glass window above, filtering light over the empty water. The pedestal sink, in classical style, was accompanied by an oval-framed mirror and antique brass sconces. A discreet side table displayed embroidered towels and small glass bottles.

  At that moment, Americ-Ana felt a gentle tug at the hem of her Dior “Vénus” dress.

  It was Poppandacorn.

  "Mommy, let’s keep this room. I really liked it," he said, his LED eyes still blinking slowly, as if he too sensed that this place was right.

  Americ-Ana looked around one last time. And she knew, without needing to say it.

  Yes. This would be her room.

  Suddenly, someone knocked on the door.

  Americ-Ana opened it. On the other side stood Wwwyye and Astyam, with Antichrist nestled in his arms, the little fox’s huge black eyes scanning the room with the vigilance of a sentinel.

  "Great choice! It’s huge and really beautiful," said Astyam, slowly turning his body to absorb every detail.

  "Except for a few pieces of furniture and paintings, it’s almost identical to mine," commented Wwwyye. "I liked this one. I think we should sleep in a different room each day of the week. After all, this Cell has 1,420 rooms. I was even thinking of reserving a whole day just to explore everything."

  "I don’t think we’ll have a single free day… at least not this week. Did you two actually read the schedule Seth gave us?" asked Astyam.

  "No!" answered Americ-Ana and Wwwyye at the same time. A look of panic immediately spread across both their faces.

  "According to the schedule, we have to be at Crown Eden early tomorrow morning," said Astyam, already pulling up the day’s agenda in his mind.

  Americ-Ana turned to Poppandacorn.

  "Poppa, do you have my schedule?"

  "Yes, Mommy! Here it is!" replied the robot, precisely opening the compartment built into his belly and pulling out a perfectly folded sheet.

  Americ-Ana took the paper and skimmed it quickly.

  "It says we have to go to Crown Eden for orientation..."

  "Yes!" Wwwyye added, reading over Americ-Ana’s shoulder. "And then it says we have to go straight to the Solomon Coliseum."

  Astyam spoke, his expression serious:

  "I think we’d better order dinner to the room... and go to sleep as soon as possible. I’ve never been to the Solomon Coliseum before. All of THE-IMPERIUM was summoned to be there too."

  "That’s right," confirmed Wwwyye. "At the start of every school year, when the seals are returned to Equal One Zero, all citizens of THE-IMPERIUM are legally required to attend the Solomon Coliseum. I used to go with my sisters every year. We’ll be standing before all of them."

  Americ-Ana swallowed hard.

  "Everyone in THE-IMPERIUM will be there tomorrow?"

  "Exactly," replied Wwwyye.

  "And I don’t know if you two read all the way to the end, but the schedule also says we have to bring our KING MatNat spheres. No exceptions," said Astyam.

  "Speaking of which... how do you plan to wear your spheres?" asked Wwwyye, her tone shifting slightly. "I was thinking of wearing mine as a ring."

  "I think I’ll fasten it to a chain and keep it in my pocket, clipped to the fabric of my pants," answered Astyam.

  But Americ-Ana didn’t respond.

  Her gaze had drifted into the void of the room. The weight of the idea of facing the Solomon Coliseum before all of THE-IMPERIUM was pulling her inward like a vortex.

  Wwwyye nudged her gently.

  "Hey. You okay?"

  Americ-Ana blinked, snapping out of the trance.

  "Ah... yes. Of course," she replied with a faint smile. "I was just imagining what tomorrow will be like."

  Astyam stood up, already looking toward the door.

  "I think I’ll order a turkey sandwich and a chocolate milkshake. I need to eat something before bed."

  With Antichrist in his arms, he left the room with slow steps.

  Wwwyye let out a loud yawn, stretching her arms.

  "Good night, roomie," she said, winking at Americ-Ana before leaving as well.

  Alone in the room, Americ-Ana sat on the edge of the bed, the schedule still between her fingers. Poppandacorn, in silence, stretched out his short little arms, asking to be lifted. She picked him up with an automatic gesture and placed him beside her.

  The sheet of paper trembled slightly in her hand. Her eyes scanned the lines with anxious obsession, reading and rereading, as if, somewhere hidden in the text, there might be a loophole. A way to escape the mandatory trip to the Solomon Coliseum. But there was none. Tomorrow, all the inhabitants of THE-IMPERIUM would be there. And so would she.

  Her stomach churned.

  Poppandacorn, beside her, placed his paw over her hand.

  "Don’t worry, Mommy. Everything will be fine. Look at this!"

  He opened the compartment in his belly and, with solemn care, took out the KING MatNat sphere. It was translucent, faintly iridescent, the same one Americ-Ana had inherited from Helena Blavatsky.

  She received it with reverence. She held it up, letting the room’s light pass through the surface of the sphere. It was like holding a fragment from another time. Her own reflection merged with the light projected from the other side, as if future and past touched for a fleeting instant.

  With steady fingers, Americ-Ana took the platinum chain she had received from Organ The Messenger during the selection process. She fit the sphere into place with precision. The dry click of the lock echoed louder than it should have.

  "Thank you, Poppa. You kept it safe," she said, rubbing the robot’s head.

  Poppandacorn opened the compartment in his belly once again and took out another object. It was a blue leather-bound book, with a golden tree embossed in high relief. He held it out with his little hands.

  "Here, Mommy. I’m sorry... but I couldn’t decipher these symbols..." he said, lowering his eyes, his voice now barely audible, ashamed for not having completed the task.

  Americ-Ana received the book with surprise, her heart giving a small jolt.

  "Oh my... with so much going on, I completely forgot about this book. Poppa... it’s the one you found among the daisies... inside the Cryptakashic..."

  She ran her hand slowly over the golden tree on the cover. The leather felt warm.

  Embossed into it was the undecipherable code:

  ZGXF *

  ZD *

  XDXA *

  XAXC *

  XI *

  XA *

  ZI *

  ZIXG *

  XIXF *

  XBXD *

  ZD *

  XDXA *

  XDXH *

  XDXA *

  XHXF *

  XA *

  ZA *

  XDXH *

  XA *

  ZIXD *

  XA *

  ZGXF *

  XAXKXIXG *

  XFXE *

  ZIXG

  She ran her fingers over the letters and symbols, feeling the grooves etched into the blue leather.

  She leafed through the book carefully.

  Each page was filled with the same mysterious signs, without any apparent explanation.

  "I’m sorry, Mommy..." said Poppandacorn in a low voice. "I searched online, in forums, archives, even in the digital libraries of THE-IMPERIUM and the common world... but I couldn’t find anything that could decipher these symbols."

  Poppandacorn lowered his head, ashamed, as if he had failed.

  "Don’t worry, Poppa," replied Americ-Ana with a faint smile. "We’ll figure this out together."

  She lay down on the enormous bed, sinking into the soft mattress. Poppandacorn settled around her neck, activating his massage-pillow function.

  With the book resting on her lap, Americ-Ana continued turning its pages, one by one. She ran her fingers across the codes, observed their shapes, felt the texture. At times, she would close the book… and then open it again. The padded blue leather cover felt strangely soft, perhaps because it was old, or because it had absorbed something over time.

  Then, gently, a melody began to play. Poppandacorn had activated, without warning, a subtle sound. A composition of harp and piano, with long and delicate notes.

  Americ-Ana’s eyes began to grow heavy.

  Her breathing slowed.

  Without noticing, she fell asleep.

  Poppandacorn, his eyes glowing a deep shade of blue, displayed the message on his visor: Night Recharge Mode. And he too fell silent, entering his resting state.

  Americ-Ana had a strange dream.

  In the dream, she stood at the center of a colossal arena. The floor was made of golden sand, the arches of stone, the sunlight burning across the sky. Everything resembled the ancient Colosseum of Rome.

  She was standing, alone. Holding a gleaming sword, she wore a silver armor that reflected the light like a living mirror. The crowd around her, countless and roaring, began to shout louder and louder, as if expecting a spectacle.

  Suddenly, one of the side gates of the arena opened with a metallic creak.

  From it emerged an indescribable creature that made every hair on Americ-Ana’s body stand on end, even within the dream. Its body was that of a giant octopus. But in place of the octopus’s eight arms, there were eight heads.

  The first head was Thor Bloodpure’s, with blazing eyes and a clenched jaw. The second was Donnie Bjelke’s, displaying a disturbing, ravenous grin. The third belonged to Jessie Hornes, whose furrowed face revealed sarcasm. The fourth was Patron Uvo’s, serene and relentless. The fifth was Seth’s, with lime-green hair and a prominently crooked smile. The sixth was Madame Chancellor’s, her long curly hair the same color as Seth’s. The seventh and eighth were Abda and Beni, the father and son Americ-Ana had met during her journey aboard the Jump Kairos Trip.

  All eight heads screamed in unison. And then, when Americ-Ana looked at them, something even more absurd happened.

  Her body began to transform. The metal of her armor dissolved, her limbs shrank, her fingers fused, and in the blink of an eye, she had turned into a sandwich.

  Yes. A sandwich.

  The creature, with the body of an octopus and eight heads where arms should be, moved slowly toward her, eyes locked. The eight heads began to laugh in a grotesque, unified cackle. She knew: she was about to be devoured.

  The creature leapt. It came through the air, fast and ravenous.

  But instead of biting Americ-Ana, the creature released "octopus ink," which burst forth in a grotesque, violent spray. Then, suddenly, the ink began to take shape. It became pale, milky, and viscous, until it formed into a child.

  No. Wait. It wasn’t a child.

  It was the size of a child. But it wasn’t a child.

  It was a teenager.

  It was Nioh Nemmesis.

  He approached the "sandwich-body" of Americ-Ana, with the octopus creature and its eight heads looming just behind him. Then, all eight heads of the octopus and Nioh Nemmesis spoke in a single voice:

  "I’M GOING TO EAT YOU!"

  Americ-Ana woke with a jolt.

  She opened her eyes. She was still in the room.

  Poppandacorn was asleep, wrapped around her neck like a pillow. In the robot’s blue eyes, the snooze mode symbol blinked softly, while the gentle melody of harp and piano continued to play.

  Americ-Ana took a deep breath. She could feel her own heart beating to the rhythm of the music.

  Her eyes grew heavy again.

  And she fell back asleep.

  The sound of an explosion echoed through the entire structure of the Cell, reverberating through the walls like a roar from the depths of the earth itself.

  Americ-Ana awoke with a start. Her heart was already pounding before her eyes had fully opened. Still groggy, she sat up in bed, trying to understand whether what she had just heard was real or just another nightmare.

  Poppandacorn didn’t hesitate. His eyes lit up instantly in vibrant red, flashing with alert messages. His high-pitched mechanical voice filled the room:

  "RED ALERT. DANGER. RED ALERT. DANGER."

  He jumped off the bed with precision and landed on the floor. The lights in his eyes projected, in sequence, the words DANGER ALERT! repeatedly, like a siren. He turned to Americ-Ana:

  "Stay here, Mommy! A significant change in the structure of the environment has been detected. Back up, Mommy! Back up!"

  Poppandacorn now moved like a secret agent on an active mission. His steps were calculated down to the millimeter. His posture, tense and alert. With every move, he seemed to assess invisible variables hidden from human eyes, as if he knew danger could be lurking behind any corner.

  When he reached the door, he stretched on the tips of his tiny feet and brought his hand to the doorknob. He turned it carefully, in a deliberately slow motion, as if not to alert whatever might be out there.

  "Be careful, Poppa!" said Americ-Ana, her voice trembling.

  "Stay here, Mommy! Do not leave this room!" he repeated, without taking his eyes off the door. "Lock it fifteen seconds after I leave."

  The red lights were still pulsing on his face with intensity. He was small, but in that moment, he carried the weight of something far greater than his size.

  DANGER ALERT. DANGER ALERT. DANGER ALERT.

  Poppandacorn closed the door behind him. Outside, the hallway felt steeped in silence, as if the air itself had been suspended. On the tips of his tiny feet, he began to walk slowly, trying to avoid making even the faintest sound.

  "I must protect my Mommy at all costs," he murmured to himself, as he crept along the walls with cautious movements.

  Every three steps, he made a little hop, rolled across the floor, got back up, and struck a karate pose in the air, as if ready to face any enemy.

  Suddenly, he pointed his finger like a weapon and spun around, like in a secret training drill.

  Poppandacorn advanced down the hallway, step by step, toward the source of the blast. There was no certainty in the path ahead, only an inner call: protect. The sound of the explosion still echoed in his memory, a distant noise, but still alive.

  Upon reaching the entrance hall, he stretched his little metal neck and peeked around with his red eyes in full alert mode.

  And then he stopped.

  What he saw down below, at the foot of the staircase that led to the rest of the castle, made the glow in his eyes falter.

  The five porcelain androids, the Moss Human, lay shattered across the floor. Fragmented bodies. Delicate surfaces turned into wreckage.

  Poppandacorn descended a few steps with hesitation. With each new step, the scene became clearer, more cruel. There were shards of porcelain everywhere. Disconnected parts scattered across the hall. One leg had landed on the stairs, an arm rested on a folded rug. One eye, split in half, stared into nothing. The scene was a silent massacre, a cold carnage of broken beauty.

  He raised his little hand to his mouth, trying to hold back the sound of the digital sob rising in his chest. It was too much, even for a robot.

  "What kind of monster would do this to a machine?" he thought, trying to keep the emotions contained inside him.

  He slowly approached the top of the staircase, stopping at the final step, which for anyone descending would be the first one leading out of the castle. There he stood for a few seconds, motionless.

  His eyes narrowed. The red light that once signaled panic now shifted into analysis. He focused on the crime scene. A high-pitched hum emanated from his body. His eyes projected thin, pulsating lines. The scanning had begun.

  Suddenly, a warm draft of air blew against the metallic nape of Poppandacorn's neck. His sensors immediately detected the heat and humidity of what could only be… a breath.

  With a reflex that was both automatic and hard-coded, he spun around in a sharp motion and pointed his finger like a weapon.

  "STOP OR I’LL SHOOT!" he shouted, executing a flawless one-eighty-degree turn with military precision.

  "AAAHHH! PLEASE DON’T KILL ME!" cried the figure who appeared before him, down on his knees, hands raised in desperate surrender.

  It was Astyam.

  Poppandacorn’s red eyes blinked once, then again. The recognition scan confirmed the identity. He lowered his finger.

  "False alarm," he murmured to himself, relieved. But before the moment of peace could settle, a new voice echoed through the hallway.

  "What is this?!" shouted Wwwyye, who appeared from the other side, her eyes wide open at the sight of the devastation.

  Looking down, she saw the scattered pieces of the Moss Human, their porcelain cracked and broken. Her expression hardened. This wasn’t just grotesque. It was profane.

  Wwwyye walked over to where Astyam was still crouching and Poppandacorn was regaining his composure. Before she could say anything, the little robot raised a finger to his lips and whispered,

  "The serial killer who committed this grotesque crime might still be nearby. Stay behind me. RED ALERT. DANGER."

  Astyam and Wwwyye crouched down immediately behind him, like two agents under the command of a fifty-centimeter-tall commander.

  Poppandacorn turned again to the scene. His eyes scanned carefully. His finger was still raised like a weapon, now loaded with responsibility. He took a short step with his tiny legs, descending the stair. Wwwyye and Astyam followed, focused, their eyes fixed.

  No one said a word. Every creak on the floor sounded like a threat. Every shadow on the ceiling seemed to be hiding the one responsible.

  Poppandacorn took another step.

  Suddenly, a sigh cut through the silence.

  No one knew where it came from or how far it was, but that single sound triggered a chain reaction.

  Wwwyye screamed.

  Astyam screamed even louder.

  Both of them turned at the same time, driven by pure survival instinct. In the frantic spin, their bodies collided with Poppandacorn, who had no time to calculate a reaction.

  The little robot was thrown down the stairs.

  He tumbled. One roll. Then another. The sounds echoing through the hall were a mix of metal, plastic, and plush:

  TLEC. TOC. BZZ. PUMF.

  When he finally stopped, he was at the epicenter of the crime.

  Poppandacorn opened his tiny eyes slowly, as if his system had rebooted from the impact. What he saw froze him. He was lying on the floor, surrounded by fragments, shards, and torn-apart limbs of the Moss Human androids.

  The scene looked like something out of a binary-coded nightmare. Around him, disjointed pieces composed a macabre spectacle: fingers, open joints, eyes split in half, internal components exposed like delicately crafted entrails... now brutally destroyed.

  Poppandacorn turned his head to the side and came face-to-face with what looked like a severed hand holding nothing. His chest was heaving. If robots could sweat, he would have been soaked. The sound of his own panting system echoed like a failing attempt to stay calm.

  He stood up in a nervous jolt, his little legs trembling.

  He was surrounded by bodies.

  Or, at least, what a robot would recognize as such.

  Only an unhinged madman could have committed such an atrocity.

  Poppandacorn began spinning in place, scanning the area, as if expecting the killer to be there, watching him from within the shadows.

  "Poppa! Are you okay?" The voice rang from above, clear and full of urgency.

  Poppandacorn looked up. At the top of the staircase stood Americ-Ana, Wwwyye, and Astyam. The three figures watched him from above.

  "Mommy! Go back to the room!" he shouted, his voice trembling. "There’s a serial killer here! A crazy murderer! Look what they did to the androids! Please, Mommy, go back!"

  The three of them exchanged glances for a moment.

  "What happened here?" asked Americ-Ana, trying to process what she was seeing.

  "I don’t know," Astyam replied. "I just heard the sound of an explosion. I left my room and followed the noise. When I got here, Poppandacorn was already here."

  "Tell me about it," said Wwwyye. "I woke up to the blast, got the fright of my life! Fell out of bed and hurt myself..." She raised her arm, showing a cut on her elbow.

  They began descending the stairs cautiously, step by step, as if afraid the floor might collapse beneath them.

  "No! Mommy! Don’t come down! It’s dangerous! The criminal could still be nearby!" Poppandacorn warned, almost pleading.

  "It’s okay, Poppa," Americ-Ana replied. "I’m safe."

  They kept descending until they reached the hall, where the remains of the Moss Human were scattered. The shards of porcelain gleamed under the light.

  "Who could’ve done this?" Americ-Ana asked, looking at the broken pieces on the floor.

  "I have no idea," said Wwwyye, glancing around. "As far as I know, we’re the only ones in the castle. Could it be… there’s someone else here?"

  "I don’t know what happened," Astyam replied. He crouched down and picked up a porcelain fragment, turning it slowly between his fingers. "But judging by the way the pieces are spread out, it doesn’t look like they were attacked. I don’t see any impact marks. It’s like… they just exploded."

  "Like human spontaneous combustion?" Wwwyye suggested.

  Astyam nodded, still focused on the fragment.

  "Whatever happened here," Poppandacorn declared, raising his finger again, "this is now officially a crime scene. Everyone is a suspect until proven otherwise. Except you, Mommy."

  "I’m not a suspect," Wwwyye snapped, crossing her arms. "I was asleep."

  "And I… well… I was in the bathroom," said Astyam, lowering his gaze, suddenly blushing.

  "Stay calm, Poppa," said Americ-Ana. "From the looks of it, it wasn’t intentional. Like Astyam said… maybe they just exploded."

  "Exactly. Look at this piece," Astyam added, handing a porcelain fragment to Americ-Ana. "The explosion seems to have come from the inside out."

  "Don’t touch that, Mommy!" Poppandacorn warned in a panic. "That’s part of a corpse! This is a crime scene!"

  The warning hung in the air for a second, until a new sound interrupted them. A sudden click, coming from the top of the stairs.

  They all turned at once, their hearts racing.

  At the top of the staircase, there he was. Antichrist.

  With his little tongue out and tail wagging, he looked at the group with the carefree expression of an innocent puppy.

  "WE FOUND OUR CRIMINAL SERIAL KILLER!" Poppandacorn shouted, raising both arms in an accusatory gesture. "HE IS THE GUILTY SERIAL KILLER! LET’S ARREST HIM!"

  "My God, Poppandacorn! Calm down," said Wwwyye, trying to restrain the robot, who now seemed completely unhinged.

  "It wasn’t him, Poppandacorn. He spent the night with me, in my room," explained Astyam.

  "But he’s the prime suspect!" Poppandacorn insisted, his little arms trembling. "He’s already committed a murder! He killed Mister Hippopotamus! He’s a repeat criminal serial killer! Doesn’t anyone see that?! Mommy! Be careful!"

  "Calm down, Poppa," said Americ-Ana, approaching. "Antichrist is sweet. What happened to Mister Hippopotamus… was an accident. He’s just a puppy. He has no malice."

  "He’s a puppy from Satan, Mommy!" Poppandacorn screamed, his eyes glowing with desperation. "He’s a dangerous monster! Being a puppy doesn’t remove his culpability!"

  "Culpability?!" Wwwyye raised an eyebrow. "Poppandacorn, where did you even learn that word? I think we need to focus and stop getting distracted."

  "Exactly," Astyam agreed, walking over to Antichrist and lifting him into his arms. The little fox pressed his nose against his chest, purring.

  “Let’s think this through,” said Astyam. “Our parents aren’t here. We have to act on our own. First thing to remember is that those five porcelain androids, the Moss Human, are the caretakers of the castle. If they aren’t repaired, this whole place will turn into chaos.”

  “I have no idea how to fix a porcelain android,” confessed Americ-Ana, crouching down. She picked up two pieces and tried to fit them together like a puzzle.

  “They were probably built by Novaxtraai,” Wwwyye suggested. “Like everything else here in THE-IMPERIUM. Maybe the best thing to do is take the parts to a repair center… or call someone. Someone who knows how to deal with this.”

  “Guys… can we maybe deal with this later?” said Astyam, checking the time on the embedded bracelet-watch. “We’re already late. We need to be at Crown Eden at the scheduled time for orientation.”

  “Astyam’s right,” agreed Americ-Ana. “According to the schedule Seth gave us, we go straight from Crown Eden to the Solomon Coliseum.”

  “We can’t miss a Coliseum summons,” Wwwyye reinforced. “It’s the law. Absence can be considered an offense. Either jail or trial, depending on the case.”

  “Then we’d better hurry,” said Astyam, squeezing Antichrist against his chest as he began to climb the stairs. “When we get back, we’ll deal with this… accident. Or incident. Whatever it is.”

  “This isn’t an accident! Nor an incident!” Poppandacorn protested, running behind him. “This is a crime! And the serial killer is in Astyam’s arms!”

  Poppandacorn pointed with full conviction at Antichrist, who, upon hearing his name, simply wagged his tail.

  “Easy, Poppa!” said Americ-Ana, picking the robot up in her arms and carrying him up the stairs. “Help me get ready to go to Crown Eden. And in the meantime, you can tell me all your theories about the crime scene… like you said.”

  “We’ll meet down here and leave together,” said Wwwyye, already near the top of the staircase.

  Americ-Ana and Astyam nodded.

  Each of them went to their room. Small rituals followed: clothes were chosen, hair was adjusted, compartments were checked. A sense of anticipation hung in the air.

  Minutes later, they were all gathered once more in the entrance hall. Light touched the shards of the Moss Human.

  “Careful not to step on anything,” Astyam warned. “I read an article saying that each Moss Human is a one-of-a-kind piece. No two are alike. Every fragment is priceless.”

  With ceremonial respect, they crossed the hall on tiptoe. The sound of their quiet steps contrasted with the brutality of the scene they left behind.

  They reached the door.

  “Well… this is it,” said Americ-Ana, holding Poppandacorn in her arms. “May God help us today.”

  “It’ll be okay. We’ll be together,” said Wwwyye, with conviction.

  “Yeah. We’ll be together,” echoed Astyam, stroking Antichrist.

  The door opened.

  And together, they crossed.