The world split.
One moment, Zeke stood in the Reed mansion, walls groaning under the weight of clashing wills. The next, the space shattered into three realities that bled across one another like oil over water. His lattice screamed as it was pulled in every direction, torn apart by futures fighting for dominion.
To the left, light and fire burned. A vast hall of obsidian and gold stretched before him, thrones lining its walls, banners of purple and dusk flowing from unseen heights. Upon the central dais stood the Neo-Nephilim—four-armed, radiant, wings spread in full dominion. The world bowed beneath him, a sea of faceless beings kneeling in reverence. Silence reigned—no council, no family, no warmth. Only sovereignty.
To the right, warmth glowed. The hearth of the mansion crackled with fire that was not ash but living memory. Castiel stood by the shelves, grinning as if nothing had changed. Aunt Kat sat by the window, steady and watchful. Uncle Alexi's hand rested on Zeke's shoulder. Grandpa's gruff laugh filled the room. Zein and Zia, toddlers still, played on the carpet, sparks of joy in their small hands. It was home. It was belonging. Until Zeke's body wavered, slime dripping from his arms, his form losing shape. Their laughter stopped. Their faces warped into horror.
And in the center lay ash and silence. The ashlands stretched forever, barren and endless. The Sovereign Slime pulsed there, crystalline and liquid, limbs sprouting, wings collapsing, body shifting without end. Zeke walked endlessly, devouring endlessly, sparks flooding and cycling, but no voices, no faces, no warmth. Eternity without hunger, eternity without weakness, but eternity alone.
The three visions bled together, clashing over each other, each more vivid than the last. Zeke staggered, filaments tearing as the weight of choice ripped through him.
The Neo-Nephilim's voice boomed across the throne hall, wings shaking sparks from the air. "You were not born for compromise. You were born for dominion. Look at him—Castiel. He was nothing without you. You were the crown, the spear, the light. He followed. You led. That is truth. That is destiny. You were torn from me, but I remain. Take me back, and rule."
The Drakyn's voice cut through the hearth's warmth, sharp as broken glass. "Castiel is your twin. Aunt Kat and Uncle Alexi raised you as their son. Grandpa gave you his wisdom. Zein and Zia are your blood, your creation. They may be here. They may be alive. Do you dare greet them as sludge? Do you dare let them see you as a beast? Choose me, and they will embrace you. Choose me, and you will find them."
The Sovereign Slime's distorted voice rippled through the ashlands, fractured and heavy. "Castiel was not there when you starved. Aunt Kat did not bind your wounds. Uncle Alexi did not pull you from scattering. Grandpa's wisdom did not feed you. Zein and Zia did not save you. None of them were there. I was. I devoured. I reforged. I endured. You already chose me when you chose survival."
Zeke's lattice cracked. His body flickered, shifting between forms. For a heartbeat he had four arms, scales glowing gold. Another heartbeat, he was humanoid, horns curling from his skull, slit eyes burning. Then he dissolved into crystal and fluid, limbs sprouting and collapsing. He was all three. He was none. He was breaking.
The council of ten roared in his mind, their voices straining against the storm. Logos demanded order, Maw screamed for feasting, Neris whispered restraint, Kael laughed, Vael thundered pride, Shade shrieked in terror, Veyne growled rage, Avaris hissed greed, Threx cackled curiosity, Asura pressed inevitability. But their chorus was drowned, their rhythm broken, smothered by the weight of the three titans standing before him.
The Neo-Nephilim's vision pressed harder. The throne hall swelled, banners spreading wide, faceless legions kneeling deeper. Zeke felt himself standing on that dais, wings spreading, affinities blazing. But the silence was endless. No Castiel, no Kat, no Alexi, no Grandpa, no twins. No council. Dominion without kin. Sovereignty without warmth.
The Drakyn's hearth flared brighter. He saw Castiel laughing again, felt Aunt Kat's embrace, Uncle Alexi's hand steady at his back. Grandpa's laugh rumbled, Zein and Zia tumbled across the carpet. For a moment, it was whole. For a moment, it was real. Until slime dripped again. Until their eyes widened in fear. Until they recoiled.
The ashlands pressed colder. The Slime surged, crystalline filaments weaving constellations across barren sky. Zeke saw himself consuming endlessly, power without end. He would never scatter, never weaken, never starve. But there was no voice but his own. No warmth but sparks cycling endlessly.
Zeke screamed, lattice cracking further. "Stop—!"
But the figments did not stop.
Neo-Nephilim thundered: "Shame is your truth. Dominion is your destiny."Drakyn cut in: "Family is your anchor. Belonging is your salvation."Slime roared: "Survival is your choice. Sovereignty is your reality."
The visions overlapped. Zeke stood in a throne hall, a hearth, and a wasteland all at once. He felt the crown upon his head, the warmth of family at his back, the endless cycle burning in his veins. And each began to rot. The throne crumbled into dust. The hearth warped into mockery, family faces twisting to ash. The wasteland stretched further, swallowing even the stars. Every promise turned hollow, every path poison.
His body tore. Filaments snapped. His essence unraveled, pulled in three directions. He felt himself splitting apart—one half winged and radiant, one half humanoid and scaled, one half amorphous and alien. They warred inside him, not outside, each trying to overwrite the others.
The Reed mansion dissolved into sparks. There was no home left, no safety. Only storm. Only void. The three titans towered over him now, colossal, their voices no longer words but roars of existence, each trying to claim dominion. Neo-Nephilim's wings blotted half the void. Drakyn's horns pierced the storm. Slime's crystalline limbs spread like roots across the dark.
Zeke clutched himself, filaments tearing under his grip. He could not silence them. He could not endure them. Shame gnawed his core. Longing hollowed his chest. Abandonment coiled around his throat. His past, his family, his sovereignty—all screaming, all demanding, all clawing to become him.
"If I cannot decide," Zeke whispered, voice breaking, "I will scatter."
And the void howled in answer.