The world 'dissolved.'

Not gradually. Not with warning.

One moment Viktor was lying on the bed, Helena's unconscious body pressed against him, his tail buried in her ass.

The next—

'Moonlight.'

Cool. Silver. Bathing everything in ethereal luminescence.

Viktor stood.

His body felt... weightless. Translucent. Like he was made of mist instead of flesh.

He looked down at his hands. They were there, but 'wrong.' Semi-transparent. He could see through them to the grass beneath his feet.

'Grass?'

Viktor's head snapped up.

He was in a garden.

Not just any garden. It was eerily similar to what Helena had created on the first floor—the same impossible beauty, the same verdant abundance. Trees heavy with fruit. Flowers blooming in impossible colors. A pond reflecting moonlight like liquid silver.

But this garden felt... 'older.' More primal. Like nature itself had grown wild and untamed here.

"Where...?"

His voice came out wrong. Echoing. Like speaking underwater.

And then he heard it.

Soft laughter. Feminine. 'Familiar.'

Viktor's head turned toward the sound.

Near the pond, bathed in moonlight, two figures sat.

A woman. And a man.

Viktor moved toward them. His feet made no sound on the grass. No impression. Like he was a ghost drifting through someone else's dream.

As he got closer, details emerged.

The woman sat with her back to him. But even from behind, Viktor could see—

'Green hair.'

Long. Flowing. The color of fresh spring leaves. It cascaded down her back in waves, and within the strands, Viktor could see tiny vines growing. Actual living plants woven through her hair like natural ornaments.

Her head rested on the shoulder of the man beside her.

Viktor circled around, trying to see them from the front.

And froze.

The man—

It was 'him.'

Same face. Same build. Same dark hair.

But the eyes were different.

Purple.

Not the black with purple flecks that Viktor had now. These were 'fully' purple. Vivid. Glowing faintly in the moonlight like amethysts catching flame.

And the woman—

Viktor's breath caught.

'Helena.'

But not the Helena he knew.

This Helena looked... younger. Not physically—she seemed the same age. But there was a 'lightness' to her that his Helena had never possessed. Her brown eyes (brown, not green, despite the hair) sparkled with genuine joy. Her smile was unguarded. Free.

And her belly—

It was 'swollen.'

Not hugely. Maybe four or five months. But undeniably pregnant.

Green tendrils of grass grew around where she sat, wrapping gently around her legs, her arms, like nature itself was embracing her.

"Our child is about to come," Helena said softly, her hand resting on her belly.

The man—the 'other' Viktor—scratched his chin. His expression was... casual. Too casual.

"Oh, is that so?" He tilted his head. "Can it not delay a bit?"

Viktor—the real Viktor, the one watching—felt his fist clench.

'What?'

A strange guilt surged through him. Unbidden. Unwelcome. Like some dormant part of his mind was 'recognizing' this moment even though he'd never lived it.

His right eye began to ache.

Helena's smile faltered. "What? But Viktor, weren't you excited about our child?"

The other Viktor ruffled his hair, wings—actual translucent bat wings—flaring slightly behind him.

"Indeed I am. But you see..." He pulled out a rolled parchment from thin air. "I've just got an invitation from the Council. Some of the goddesses want to hire me there."

Helena's entire body went rigid.

"What?" Her hand flew to his arm, gripping tight. "Didn't you see? You cannot trust those women. They're just after your powers—"

"Come on." The other Viktor waved dismissively. "They're not. They're just like you or anyone else."

Viktor watching felt his jaw clench.

The words came out of his mouth without thought:

"'You fool. Don't go there.'"

His voice echoed strangely in the memory space. The figures didn't react—couldn't hear him.

But Viktor's right eye 'burned.'

Helena in the memory blinked rapidly, tears forming. "Are you saying... I love you because of your powers?"

"No, of course not." The other Viktor shook his head. "I know you love me. But come on, it's kind of—you see, I want to live a free life."

"'Hey, you bastard.'"

Viktor lunged forward.

His hand shot out, fingers aiming for the other Viktor's collar, ready to 'grab' him, shake him, beat sense into him—

His hand passed through.

Like smoke. Like nothing.

"'Fuck!'"

Viktor stumbled, catching himself on his knees.

And then the pain hit.

His right eye 'exploded' with agony. Not physical—deeper. Like something buried in his soul was being ripped free.

Memories.

Not Helena's. 'His.'

Fragments. Flashes. Sensation without context.

'Flying. Endless sky. Freedom.'

'Blood. So much blood. Screaming. Begging.'

'Pleasure. Endless pleasure. Bodies beneath him. Writhing. Moaning.'

'Laughter. His own. Cruel. Empty.'

"'AHHH—!'"

Viktor grabbed his head with both hands, fingers digging into his scalp.

His right eye 'burned purple.' The black iris dissolved, replaced by that same vivid amethyst glow.

In the memory, the other Viktor stood. His wings spread wide—eight-foot span, translucent membranes catching moonlight.

"But I promise I'll come back," he said casually.

Helena rose too, slower, one hand supporting her swollen belly.

"Wait." Her voice was small. Pleading. "Are you really going 'now?' Can't you stay here? At least until—"

"Actually..." The other Viktor scratched his chin again, that same thoughtless gesture. "How about you reabsorb the child? We can have him some other time."

Silence.

Complete. Absolute. Devastating silence.

Viktor watching felt his heart 'stop.'

"What?" Helena's whisper was barely audible.

"I mean—" The other Viktor shrugged. "Wasn't it you who said you wanted the child? Now you're saying I have to take responsibility and—"

"'STOP!'"

Viktor—the real Viktor—'screamed' it.

He lunged again. Tried to tackle his past self. Tried to cover that mouth. Tried to do 'anything'—

And his body 'merged.'

The sensation was 'suffocating.'

Like being buried alive. Viktor's consciousness slammed into his past self's body and suddenly he was 'trapped'—locked inside a prison of flesh and bone that wasn't his. His real self screamed, thrashed, fought to take control—

But the body moved on its own.

He felt his mouth open. Tried to force it shut. Tried to make his vocal cords say anything else—

"Come on, don't be so dramatic—"

'NO! STOP! SHUT UP!'

His throat burned from screaming words that never came out. The body continued speaking, each syllable a knife twisting in his gut because he was 'there,' he could 'feel' everything—the casual tone, the dismissive gesture, the complete lack of care—

'MOVE! DO SOMETHING! STOP TALKING!'

But his arms hung at his sides. His past self's consciousness piloted the body like Viktor didn't exist. He was a passenger. A witness. Forced to watch through eyes he couldn't close as he looked down at Helena—

At her face.

Her eyes had gone 'wide.' Pupils contracted to pinpoints. Her mouth opened slightly, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Her hand moved to her belly. Protective. Desperate.

"You..." Her voice broke. "You want to... kill our child?"

'NO! THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEAN! HELENA, PLEASE—'

Viktor screamed it inside his own skull. Threw his entire consciousness against the walls of this body-prison. Tried to wrestle control of even a 'finger'—

But nothing moved.

Nothing except the mouth. Which kept talking.

"Come on, don't be so dramatic. I'll seal the soul. We can bring him back when I return—"

Helena's legs gave out.

She collapsed to her knees, both hands clutching her swollen belly, tears streaming down her face.

"I..." Her whole body shook. "It was... it was my fault... I shouldn't have... I'm sorry..."

She was 'apologizing.'

For getting pregnant.

For wanting their child.

For 'loving him.'

"'STOP!'"

Viktor tried to move his hand. Tried to reach for her. Tried to 'do something'—

But the memory moved instead.

His hand—'not' his hand—reached down. Viktor felt every muscle fiber contract, felt the intention behind the movement, and he 'screamed' internally as his fingers tangled in her green hair and yanked her head back—

'DON'T TOUCH HER! LET GO! PLEASE!'

The suffocation intensified. Like being drowned from the inside. Viktor was 'there' in every nerve ending, feeling the texture of her hair, the warmth of her scalp, the slight resistance as he pulled—

"Don't cry now," his mouth said—words he couldn't stop, couldn't change. "How about this—I'll seal the child's soul with us, so when we next time—"

"I hate you."

Helena's voice was 'empty.'

Dead.

Like something fundamental inside her had shattered beyond repair.

Viktor felt his world 'stop.'

His right eye bled. Actual tears of blood running down his cheek, mixing with normal tears from his left eye.

The emotional pain was 'physical.' Like his heart was being crushed in a vice. Like every nerve in his body was screaming.

'This is what I did.'

'This is who I was.'

"Oh, come on." The memory laughed. Actually 'laughed.' "You're just saying that because you want my cock. Come on, you're addicted to it."

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