Oblivion 4 – Decay in the Golden Light. [1.0. Methuselah Family] – 𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

Content and Trigger Warning:

This story contains intense themes and may be distressing to some readers. The narrative explores elements of physical and psychological trauma, abuse, and dehumanization. It includes graphic depictions of suffering, both emotional and physical, particularly concerning a child who is subjected to harsh conditions. There is explicit mention of manipulation, control, and exploitation of individuals, especially those viewed as expendable or test subjects. The story also features themes of powerlessness, sacrifice, and the cruelty of institutional systems. Readers should be prepared for the portrayal of medical experimentation, objectification, and fatalism.

Specific trigger warnings include:

Child abuse and neglect: There are references to the mistreatment of a child, both physically and emotionally, within a medical context.
Violence and cruelty: The narrative describes harsh treatment and the deliberate breaking of individuals, both physically and psychologically.
Foul language and profanity: Strong language is used throughout, including frequent coarse language and vulgar expressions.
Psychological manipulation and exploitation: The characters display a disturbing detachment from the suffering of others and treat them as disposable, which could be upsetting.
Depictions of trauma and suffering: The story contains vivid portrayals of both physical and mental distress.
Themes of mortality and fatalism: The characters face an environment where life is often seen as disposable, leading to heavy, bleak themes regarding life and death.
Discussion of genetic and physical deformities: Some medical descriptions may be disturbing to those sensitive to bodily harm or abnormalities.
Substance abuse – Depictions of characters drinking alcohol, including excessive consumption.
Mental health – References to mental strain, emotional breakdowns, and psychological distress.
Manipulation and exploitation – Themes of individuals being treated as disposable, subjected to experimentation and forced training, and viewed as mere tools.
Death and mortality – Discussions of the potential death of a child and the disregard for life in the pursuit of power and control.
Body horror – Some descriptions of fragility and physical decay, including a focus on the vulnerability of the child’s body.

This story contains intense themes and may not be suitable for all readers, particularly those sensitive to trauma or distressing content.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Status: Draft #1 (Incomplete)

Last Edited: November 26, 2024

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Solomon’s eyes burned with a faint, unrelenting fire as he downed another bottle in one go, the alcohol thick in his throat, but not nearly enough to soften the jagged edges of his fraying nerves. The fire in his golden draconic eyes flickered erratically, the weight of his complaints pressing against his skull. He barely noticed how his grip tightened on the bottle until it creaked beneath his hand, like a small voice begging him to let go.

“Fuck—shit, right, right… Where was I?” he muttered, his voice harsh, raw. He was spiraling, and he knew it. But then, before he could let himself drown further, Levi Akashi’s deep, stoic voice broke through the tension like a blade slicing through the air.

“Deon Fonias.”

The words, calm and unyielding, hung in the air, each syllable punctuated with an unwavering authority that cracked through Solomon’s haze of frustration. It wasn’t a question, but a command, and for all his rebellious energy, Solomon knew better than to ignore it. He stopped mid-drink, his throat swallowing the last of the liquor, his teeth gritted in irritation as he slowly set the empty bottle down on the table with a hollow thud.

He sighed, rolling his shoulders as if bracing himself for the inevitable. “Right… yeah. I was gonna get to that,” he grumbled, pulling open the sleek digital suitcase with a fluid motion, the soft click of it unlocking echoing faintly through the room.

As the suitcase opened, a holographic screen burst into life, flickering to life like the glow of an eerie, unnatural ghost. The digital profile of Deon Fonias appeared, suspended in midair—a child, thin, pale, with long black hair cascading down her back, a face so delicate it seemed like it might shatter at the slightest touch. Her eyes, dark brown and nearly black, stared ahead with a vacancy that unnerved even the seasoned butlers present. She was so small, so fragile, that it was a miracle she even existed.

Kasuga and Orion exchanged a brief look. The child’s appearance alone would have been unsettling—there was an unnaturalness to it that almost felt like an impossibility. A child so young, so frail, and yet… there she was, in the heart of the Methuselah machine.

The screen zoomed in, showing her thin, almost emaciated form, the ribcage barely hidden beneath pale, taut skin, as if her body had never learned how to be strong. Her blood, though undoubtedly vital, seemed to run in thin, fragile veins. She appeared so fragile, so human—and yet, the longer they stared at her, the more out of place she felt, even in a world built for monsters.

Solomon clicked a few more buttons, scrolling through the data. The rest of the room fell into an eerie silence, the only sound being the occasional rustle of paper or a soft sigh from the Doctors as they leaned forward, their eyes gleaming with clinical fascination.

“She’s younger than she’s supposed to be,” Solomon said, his voice low, the frustration evident in the way he spoke. “Less than a year old, if you can believe it. That’s a huge problem. The Methuselah don’t do things by accident, and they sure as hell don’t bend the rules for no reason.”

The room tensed at that revelation. It was rare—so rare, in fact, that it was impossible by their standards. No child was ever allowed to start training until they were of a certain age. The system was rigid, governed by an unspoken yet absolute order. And for the Imperial Empress to allow an exception? The thought itself was enough to send ripples through the air.

The Doctors—Dr. Yamato and Dr. Fubuki—exchanged quick, calculating looks.

“She passed all evaluations, though,” Dr. Fubuki murmured, her voice a thin, cold whisper, filled with cold interest. “Even at this age…”

“Yeah,” Solomon muttered, taking another drink, the glass gripped in his hand, though it barely affected him. “She’s got potential. And by potential, I mean… the kind of potential that makes the Empress sit up and take notice. But here’s the kicker—nobody knows why.”

The Doctors exchanged uneasy glances, their minds working feverishly, scrambling to make sense of what little information was available. Deon Fonias wasn’t just another child—she was a question.

Solomon sighed, rubbing his face with his palm. “This is the thing. The Sovereign Physician—he and the Imperial Empress, they’re the only ones with any real idea of what’s going on here. They know something we don’t, but no one’s talking. The docs in the Head Estate couldn’t get their hands on a damn thing. All they know is that… something about her doesn’t fit the mold. They’re calling it ‘special circumstances.’ It’s bullshit. Special. Circumstances.“

Kasuga’s eyes narrowed slightly, sensing something darker lingering beneath the surface. “What does that mean exactly?” he asked, his voice low, calm—an echo of something buried far beneath.

Solomon paused, draining the rest of his drink in one swift motion, feeling the burn in his throat. “It means that this kid has potential beyond anything they’ve ever seen. Her DNA… her genetics… they’re like a freakin’ corundum—a jewel buried beneath layers of rock, waiting for someone to mine it. If we were following protocol, she’d be placed in one of the elite nurseries in District 1, surrounded by the best caretakers, fed and raised in luxury until her abilities fully manifested. She’d rise straight to the top, maybe even beyond that.”

A dark chuckle escaped him, a humorless sound. “But that’s not gonna happen. She’s starting from zero. No special treatment, no luxury. If she dies, she dies. And that’s the end of it.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Even the Doctors seemed to lose their usual composed demeanor for a brief moment, their eyes wide with intrigue and a touch of dread. A child so young, with so much potential—and with the Empress’s direct approval for her testing.

Solomon clicked another button on the sleek device, showing the final summary of Deon’s profile. The medical data, blood tests, and genetic analysis scrolled by, but it was all so vague—there was so much information, and yet, so little was known. She was an enigma wrapped in a fragile shell.

“This is why I came in late,” Solomon said, sounding more tired than anything. “Had to wrangle this damn thing from the Imperial Empress herself. She doesn’t give up anything lightly, but apparently, Deon’s… something special. They’ve never seen her kind before. But they won’t say why. Just… watch her.”

With that, he slammed the device shut, the holographic display vanishing with a soft click. He looked up at the room, his golden eyes flashing once more with a strange kind of resigned fury.

“Good luck with her,” he muttered, wiping his lips. “Let’s just hope she survives long enough to make whatever this is worth it.”

And with that, the room fell silent once more, the weight of their knowledge pressing on them all, each person left to ponder the impossible, cruel path that Deon Fonias would have to walk.

═════════════════

Solomon slouched back in his chair, eyes half-lidded, his golden draconic gaze flickering with a tired, almost manic gleam. His hand reached for another bottle, already almost empty, and he cracked it open with a sharp pop that sounded louder than the thick silence around him. He was done with the heavy lifting of information for now—done with the technicalities. His mind, however, still swirled with the implications of what he had just revealed. It didn’t settle, didn’t become anything less sinister in his mind. The alcohol only helped dull the edges.

“Forgot to mention something,” he muttered between gulps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice was rough, scraping against the air like a blade cutting through meat. “But this isn’t on the records, at least not yet. When I was trying to get some info out of the docs back in the Head Estate, and after the Empress finally gave her approval for the training, shit got real icy. The kind of cold that crawls under your skin and freezes you from the inside out. You could feel it in the air… the pressure. Like there was something more than just protocol at stake.”

Kasuga’s gaze flickered to him, Orion’s too. They both listened intently, their usual calm demeanor now a bit sharper, their senses heightened by the way Solomon’s words twisted the room into something darker, more oppressive. The others remained absorbed in their own discussions, oblivious to the weight settling over them.

Solomon leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his fingers gripping the glass tightly. “The worst part? The Empress—she gave one final command before she left. And trust me, you don’t forget something like this. She said…” Solomon paused, letting the words linger in the air, the tension palpable. “…’Train her like you’re killing her.’”

A heavy silence fell. Dr. Yamato and Dr. Fubuki, still engrossed in their heated exchange about Deon’s potential, faltered for a moment, their voices dropping. The implications of those words settled over them like a thick fog, and for a split second, they couldn’t continue their fervent theorizing.

Kasuga and Orion exchanged a quick look, the weight of those words landing on them like a crushing blow.

“Killing her?” Orion echoed, his voice soft but sharp, slicing through the thickening silence. “That’s… not just training, is it?”

Solomon gave a bitter laugh, draining the remainder of his drink in one swift motion. The burn didn’t even faze him anymore. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Not just training—killing. The Empress doesn’t talk to us often, much less issue commands like that. Her Sovereigns handle the grunt work, the day-to-day stuff. But this… this was personal. It was like she was making sure everyone understood that Deon… well, she’s not a normal case.”

The room was still now, and it felt colder somehow. Even the food, lavish as it was, seemed distant, like it didn’t belong in the same room with the weight of this conversation.

“She’s an anomaly,” Solomon continued, his voice lowering, almost reverently. “Something they’ve never seen before. The Methuselah don’t just let go of that kind of thing. They’ll tear through whatever it takes to turn it into something they can control. That’s how they operate. They take what’s broken, what’s dangerous, and they force it into shape.”

Dr. Yamato cleared his throat, glancing at Solomon with an expression that was both a question and a challenge. “So, what are we supposed to do? Just… destroy her?”

Solomon shrugged, but the bitter smile on his lips was anything but reassuring. “I don’t know. Maybe she dies in the process, maybe she doesn’t. But one thing’s clear—the Empress is betting on this. If she survives, the power she could unlock… unimaginable. And if she dies… well, she was just a casualty in the long game. Either way, they’ll win.”

Kasuga’s voice was cool, but the edge in it betrayed the understanding of the darker realities they had to face. “So, this is all a gamble. The Empress wants to see how far they can push her until she breaks. If she doesn’t… we might witness something none of us could predict.”

The tension in the room thickened. It wasn’t just the weight of what Solomon had said; it was the slow realization of how truly disposable they were in the eyes of the Methuselah. It didn’t matter if they were children, subordinates, or even seasoned butlers. Deon, too, was just another piece on the board—another pawn to be sacrificed for the Methuselah’s ultimate game.

Instructor Akashi didn’t flinch, didn’t move a muscle. His focus remained on his book, though the weight of the conversation seemed to hang even over his silent form. Kasuga’s thoughts seemed to drift toward the dark corners of the room, while Orion watched the others with an unreadable expression.

“Yeah,” Solomon muttered, slurring his words slightly as he poured himself more alcohol, his golden eyes bloodshot but unyielding. “In the end, it’s not about her survival. It’s about what the Methuselah can extract from it. They don’t play games—they play wars, and that’s what Deon’s going to be. A weapon. A tool. Either she’ll break, or they’ll break her.”

A hollow laugh bubbled up from his chest, dry and bitter, like dust in the throat. “We’re all just watching it happen. She’s their experiment. And we… we’re just here to keep it going.”

The Doctors continued their muttered discussions, more fervent now, picking apart every possible outcome with feverish energy. But amidst the sterile theory, the bitter reality of what was unfolding settled over them like a shroud.

Kasuga’s fingers tapped lightly on the table, his voice calm, though the darkness of the situation was seeping into every word. “So we wait then. Wait for her to either crack or rise to the challenge.” His eyes met Orion’s, a strange quiet understanding between them. “No matter what, we’re all just watching the inevitable.”

The room went still. Even the food, once so decadent and rich, seemed suffocating now. The laughter, the idle chatter—it all felt like a mask over something much darker, much more suffocating.

And in the silence that followed, the brutal truth settled in their minds like a poison that would take its time to spread.

═════════════════

The atmosphere in the meeting room was thick, oppressive, suffocating—yet the hum of conversation continued, as though nothing in the world could weigh heavier than the discussions taking place. Solomon had settled into a comfortable silence, the alcohol still bubbling in his veins, allowing him a semblance of peace before the next round of chaos. But the others had their own duties to attend to, their own obsessions to feed.

Instructor Akashi, ever the stoic observer, had returned to his book, his fingers absently turning the pages. His gaze never wavered from the lines, but there was something in the sharpness of his posture—a tension, an awareness—that belied his apparent detachment. The room had become quieter, but there was a stillness to him now, as if he had already foreseen what was to come, and accepted it without a word.

Dr. Yamato and Dr. Fubuki, however, were a storm of frenetic energy. The room vibrated with the intensity of their voices, their ideas crashing against one another like conflicting ideologies. They had been at this for hours, delving into the medical enigma that was Deon Fonias, dissecting every possible theory with feverish delight, each idea more grotesque and unsettling than the last.

“You’re missing the point entirely,” Dr. Yamato spat, his sharp, angular face contorted in frustration as he jabbed a finger at the projection of Deon’s frail body on the screen. “Her resilience isn’t some genetic fluke. It’s not simple regeneration either. This… this is something deeper. This is something we can’t even quantify yet. Have you seen her physicality? Her bones are so underdeveloped, it’s like she hasn’t even properly formed—yet her heart, her mind… they’re holding her together.”

Dr. Fubuki wiped her glasses, fixing them on her face with exaggerated patience. “But that’s the key, isn’t it? Her mind. Have you considered the possibility that whatever this anomaly is… it’s in the way her psyche is adapting? The mental fortitude she must have… to keep herself alive under such—” she paused, grinning slightly at the horror of the idea—”punishment.”

Yamato’s lips curled into a thin, almost disgusted smile. “Punishment? No, no, Fubuki, this is beyond punishment. She’s surviving by sheer will alone. But how far will that last? How long will she cling to life before it finally becomes too much for her to bear? The only thing that’s certain is she’s defying the very fabric of nature—like a pestilent weed growing through cracks in the stone.”

Fubuki chuckled, a dark, mirthless laugh. “Ah, yes. And you want to dissect the weed to figure out why it dares to challenge the garden’s limits, don’t you?”

Their words, laden with venom and clinical detachment, filled the air like a foul gas, suffocating anything that tried to remain grounded in the room. The other conversations felt faint in comparison to their disturbing enthusiasm.

Meanwhile, Kasuga and Orion sat apart from the fervent debate, the chilling seriousness of the scene doing little to sway their casual demeanor. There was a kind of dark amusement between them, as if the grotesque nature of their surroundings were simply another flavor of the world they had long since adapted to. They exchanged a glance, both of them smiling faintly—not out of joy, but out of recognition of the macabre routine that had become their lives.

“You ever wonder,” Orion began, his voice light, almost teasing, “if we’re just like Deon, you know? Clinging to life with every breath, like insects trapped in a jar, waiting to see who’s going to squash us first?” He rolled the rim of his glass between his fingers, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Kasuga chuckled, though it was dry and humorless. “Yeah, but I don’t think we have the luxury of clinging anymore. We’re way past that stage. We’re the ones who do the squashing now.”

Orion leaned back, taking a slow sip of his drink. His eyes flicked over to the two Doctors, who were locked in their frenzied debate. “I guess we’ll see what happens to her. Maybe she’ll surprise us and live up to all their expectations. Maybe she’ll break. Either way, it’s gonna be a hell of a show.”

Kasuga didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the holographic projection of Deon’s frail body, her tiny, underdeveloped form, so at odds with the raw potential they were all told to anticipate. He looked as if he were considering something darker than the room itself. “You know,” he murmured finally, “I’ve always wondered how much choice we really have in all this. You look at people like her, these kids—they’re not given a damn choice. They’re born to die, bred to break. Same as us. Just… some of us break faster than others.”

Orion smirked. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re not ‘others,’ huh?”

Kasuga didn’t respond to that, but a glimmer of something cold passed through his gaze. He took a drink from his glass, savoring the bite of it before allowing himself to speak again.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if Deon turned out to be something completely different than what they think she is?” he said, his voice quiet, almost conspiratorial. “What if she outlives them all? What if she turns the tables and makes them regret trying to break her in the first place?”

Orion grinned, but there was something sharper to his smile now. “That would be one hell of a plot twist. But I don’t think that’s how the story goes. She’s not meant to win. She’s just another tool for them to use. Once they’re done with her, she’ll be discarded like the rest.”

The room had grown quiet again, save for the low murmurs of the Doctors, whose theorizing had taken on an almost feverish tone. The intensity in their voices was palpable, a crackling undercurrent of obsession. They were talking about the body, the possible genetic mutations, the patterns they could detect, the unearthly resilience—each word more detached, more obsessed with the raw data, the test subject, than with the child herself.

Solomon let out a long, exaggerated yawn, leaning back in his chair. “If she survives this, we’ll all have a nice little reunion when she’s brought back here, I’m sure,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he tipped back another bottle of alcohol. “But let’s not pretend this is anything other than another glorified experiment. They’re not raising her—they’re destroying her.”

Orion chuckled softly. “Maybe that’s the best part of all this. You can’t be broken if you’re already shattered.”

A long, tense silence stretched between them as the others continued their work, lost in the whirlpool of their own twisted thoughts. They knew what would come next—the cruel tests, the breaking points, the hidden whispers of the Methuselah that none of them would escape.

Deon Fonias was just another piece in a grand, terrible design. Whether she broke or stood unyielding, it was all the same in the end. The Methuselah would take their pound of flesh, and the rest would be discarded.

The door to their world was closing. And Deon, like them, was caught on the other side.

Oblivion 4 – Decay in the Golden Light. [1.0. Methuselah Family]

Before you start reading God’s Protagonist, make sure to read the following:

Share this: