Samyaza "Mirrors"

Prologue:

I stand alone beneath a sky that bleeds sulfur and rot, the Children of Dust clawing at the edges of my vision like scavengers beneath a half‑dead moon. My horns whisper secrets in a tongue that tastes of brimstone, and I—Samyaza—am both witness and plague. The wind tears at my robe, each tatters’ snap a curse, and I can almost hear the pattern being stitched: a tapestry woven from bone, blood, and screams.

They call it Everyone Always, a name whispered by a man from Earth who once saw me dance in wine‑slicked taverns, delirious with laughter and lust. Time—an alien contraption—slid into my mind then, gears grinding in a head unbuilt for clocks. Now it grinds again, each tick a hammer driving me toward something vast and unholy. I taste it on my tongue: the weight of aeons collapsing.

Voices clamor in my skull—some my kin, others their mocking echoes—each vying for dominion. They promise power, unity, oblivion. I spit back defiance. I will not kneel to specters that play mimicry games with my name. No, I will find that place where the long ago still breathes, where the first scream rang out. And when I do, I will tear the fabric of this apocalypse asunder, blood‑soaked and roaring, because I am the fire in the void—and nothing, not even the end of everything, will hush my horn’s call.