"A Demoness can still engage in love with women, yes? Life's short, why not give it a try?"
I stared at the shadowy God in suspicion as I tried to figure out if It was mocking me. After several seconds though, I heard a ding that proved the Demoness Pathway was gone. Phew, that was a close one.
"One last thing" I said, thankful the Curator showed no sign of being impatient or annoyed. "Is it possible for me to gain access to multiple Pathways? Whether that be neighbouring or not, including Outer Deity Pathways? Because if I change my mind, or get Shepherd but can't Graze any Beyonder Characteristics then..."
"Grazing will work on the Souls within the world" the Curator stated simply. "As for acquiring access to other Pathways...I will allow it to be technically possible, but don't get your hopes up. In fact, it's tied to some very specific Pathways themselves. With your Wheel of choice, everything comes down to your Fortune "
"And I don't suppose you'll tell me what they are?"
It just smiled at me. With no mouth.
"Alright then" I shook my head and took a deep breathe. "I'm ready, Mr. Curator"
"Oh I'm sure you are" It mused before the cosmic cradle erupted in pure pristine light, drowning all my senses and awashing me with oblivion.
===============================================================
After the Human was gone, the Curator remained in place for quite a while. Rather than spin the conspicuous wheel beside It, the Curator merely stood still. After what could be a minute or an eon, another figure made Its' appearance. If the Human was here, perhaps he would have recognised It-or not, since by virtue of the fact it resembled the original Curator, it was indescribable. "What do you plan to do with that one?" It asked.
"The same as always, of course. I'm a tad bit disappointed he chose a pre-fabricated world for his adventure, but the cocktail he proposed was enough to make up for it. I wonder how well he'll do. Or how terribly."
"You have a nasty habit of playing with your food."
"I'm a D̴͎̝̠̀̀e̸̟͍̺̽̐̀n̸̝̙̙̈́̈́͝i̴̢̟̦̿͌̔z̵̫̝͚̈́̕͠e̴͉̘͐̈́n̵̝̻͋͜͝͝ o̸͖̺̠̐͆̒f̸͎͕̝̽͠͝ Í̵͔̫̼̐͆n̸͓̞̈́̈́͐͜f̴̠͑̓͐͜i̵̦̙̝͆̾͘n̴͕͓̫͘̚͝i̵̞̙͚͌͆̚t̴̠͎̺͊͆̿y̴̻͉͑͆͝ what did you expect?"
"Whatever. Are you going to adjust his difficulty for the First Nightmare? I sincerely doubt he'll survive it, especially since you never told him it would begin shortly. That was mean of you, by the way."
"Haah, fine fine. I guess I should set things up properly at least. Just stop harping on about my methods, you really ruin the show. Oh yes, my dear C̸̢͕͙̀̔͆r̵̢̦̦͒̓̾a̵͓͖̝͐͐͋w̵̦̫͍̾̾l̸͔͚̙͆͒͘i̸̡͎͕͐̾͠n̵͚͍̼͌́͝g̴̢̝͍͑́̈́ O̸̪̟̙̔͝n̸̢͔̻͑̓̕ë̴̙͇͓́͛̕ do you want to give this a go by any chance?"
The shadow gestured towards the standing wheel. The other It stared silently for several seconds before shrugging and stepping up to it. Without a word, It spun the wheel fiercely. The duo watched in silence as it spun round and round a dozen times before slowly stopping. As They witnessed where the pointer stop, a noise of amusement came from the Shadow.
"Well, would you look at that? I guess the bastard does have some fortune in him."
The universe twisted, folded, and slammed into me.
.....
There was no impact, only a sudden, violent usurpation of senses.
The sterile, cosmic scent of the void was replaced by the thick, solemn air of dust, old wood, and fading beeswax. The infinite starlit expanse vanished, replaced by a cage of shadows and failing, colored light.
I was on my knees. Cold, rough stone bit into them through the thin fabric of my trousers. My body felt… small. Light. Frail. A profound weakness gripped my limbs, the deep-seated fatigue of malnutrition. I raised my hands—slender, pale, and young—and pushed a heavy wave of blonde hair from my face. It was the colour of old straw and fell to my shoulders.
I was in a church. Or what was left of one.
The place was a skeleton of its former glory. High, vaulted ceilings were shrouded in darkness, their painted saints peeling away to reveal rotten timber. Stained glass windows lined the walls, but most were shattered or grime-coated, allowing only slivers of the strange, bruised twilight outside to cut through the gloom, illuminating swirling motes of dust. Pews were smashed and piled haphazardly against one wall as if for a fire that was never lit. At the far end, a shattered altar stood bare, a large, tragic crucifix hanging askew above it, the figure of Christ staring down with sorrowful, painted eyes.
This wasn't the Forgotten Shore. It wasn't even the Dream Realm, or a Nightmare. Well, of course it wasn't. What fool of an author would drop the main character into a Nightmare mere minutes after introducing them? The Curator seemed detached and robotic during our conversation, but it clearly had precise protocols in place. My thoughts running wild failed to conceal my true state beneath though.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird in a fragile cage. This was it. The new story. Panic threatened to rise, a cold tide in my chest. I forced it down, clinging to the one solid thing I had left from my previous existence: my mind. My observation.
Observe. Understand. Plan. The instincts of the chosen pathway, still dormant but whispering at the edge of my consciousness, guided me.
My clothes. I looked down. I was dressed in simple, well-made but worn black trousers and a black shirt. Clean, but threadbare in places. It was the uniform of an acolyte. An orphan taken in by the church, perhaps. It explained why I was somewhat dressed but still malnourished.
The silence was absolute. Oppressive. I was utterly alone.
Pushing myself unsteadily to my feet, I took a stumbling step. My vision swam for a moment before clearing. As I moved, something cold and metallic shifted against my chest beneath the tunic.
I stopped, my breath catching. With trembling fingers, I reached inside the collar and pulled the object free.
It was a pendant on a simple silver chain. A cross. But it was wrong. It was a Latin cross, but the horizontal and vertical beams were perfectly smooth, blank of any engraving, any symbol, any representation of a corpus. It was just… a blank cross. Cold and heavy in my hand.
It felt… significant. An artifact. A key? A ward? Or simply the mark of faith in this broken place?
I closed my fingers around it, the metal warming to my touch. It was the first concrete thing I owned in this new life. A mystery.
A blank cross for a blank man on a blank page.
The heavy oak door of the church groaned open, slicing a blade of dull, purplish twilight through the dusty gloom. A figure was silhouetted in the entrance, bent and hacking, a sound that was more a physical tearing than a cough.
I flinched, my hand closing tightly around the blank cross, my heart seizing in my chest. Not alone.
The man stumbled inside, shutting the door against the outside world with a grunt. As my eyes adjusted, I saw him clearly. He was old, his face a roadmap of deep lines and weathered skin, framed by a fringe of grey hair. He wore the same simple black garments I did, though his were adorned with a stole, marking him as a priest. In his arms, he clutched a small, cloth-wrapped bundle.
He saw me standing by the shattered altar and his strained expression softened into a weary smile. "Adam. You're awake. Good."
Adam. So that was my name here. It felt foreign, a ill-fitting garment for now. But I sure sure I would adapt quickly enough. The Curator picked me for that ability, after all. 'What, did I end up with the Fool Pathway? Am I a Faceless now?'