"What now? Something needs to happen, but what?"

Baekhyun tilted his head up to stare at his ceiling filled with uneven textures of white paint; they looked like valleys and hills and level plains. He was lost in regards to his story, Kai's story. Thoughts and names filled his mind. Memories of girls he had known surged at him. Romance was an adventure he failed at. There was no wizard, no amulet, no fairy godmother or even a  genie to help him find a girl who would appreciate his quaint character. At least, he never ventured to find a partner suitable for him; he always fell for the wrong type.

His eyes found pleasure in superficial beauty while his nose was satiated by cloying scents. Time after time would he chase after phantom women who had no substance, no true beauty. As a result he became disillusioned with the opposite : for him, they only offered hurt, not heart. He was resigned to accept a life of perpetual bachelorhood. 

The monitor glared back at him, blacks tinting the white canvas in a procession that elicited a vexed stare on his part. There was too much white- a pulsing white vortex. He continued to think about his tale...

He wrote.

.....

Behind me, a gentle wind stirred. Then I heard something like a tiny whisper tickle my ear. It continued for a while, this odd sound. The sound was like a quiet melody that drew out a warm sense of elation and security. When I turned to see who it was that produced such heavenly music, I expected to see a woman possessing an aspect maternal in nature, but instead I found myself a butterfly.

The wings of this creature spanned a foot in width. They washed the sky with ethereal paints and glowing hues impossible to fully describe. I was taken aback by its exotic wonder and found myself following every moment of its flight- every turn, every dip and every ascension in the air. It flew around me in circles, wafting a subtle scent into my nostrils, and after several revolutions, I was able to determine that it was by the fluttering of its sublime wings that such a beautiful lullaby was produced. 

Its song was exceedingly mesmerizing, soft on the ears- of the sort that soothes the soul of its listener; it was like the gentle, delicate strumming of a lyre, if not the reassuring notes of a deeply loving mother. I felt an intimate connection with the butterfly, a deep familiarity, though, at the time, I couldn't place where I had once seen it. Soon, I was compelled to follow it as it pulled away from the path I was on.

There was a very real power in the butterfly's melody, though I failed to notice the fact. My senses were consumed by a hot, visceral passion, one both pink and scarlet. My soul yearned for the comfort of the transcendental song and the vision of beating wings. The creature sang of that which I sought the most: of love, real and abiding, accepting without question...

As I chased after that glorious bug, I failed to notice where exactly I ventured. For, it was all a pleasant dream to me, a phantasmagoria of shifting colors that filled my chest with an intense heat, a lust for life. I so desperately wanted to catch that fantastic animal in my hands and call to it, that its song may be reserved for my ears alone; I wanted no one else to share the satisfaction I received from its fluttering.

A more intense heat than the one in my chest stung my skin. I was forced to squint my eyes as I looked around. Strong, relentless sunlight showered down upon me. It was a cauterizing sensation that prompted me to stay still and absorb as much as I could. At that point, I was finally reintroduced to reality. I stood on dangerous grounds, the domain of a daemoniac.

I cursed the object of my affection over and over. Gone was its ethereal beauty! Its aromatic scent turned into a pungent odor, and song changed into horrible, piercing shrieks. All along, it had put up a show of vanity, flaunted a faux beauty, in order to lure in the susceptible- those easily tricked by the superficial layer of things. I cursed my own weakness.

I hurled oath after oath at the creature and at myself. I pursued it with a foolhardy spirit. Now, more than ever, did I desire to catch that butterfly. Only, my intentions had changed. Instead of fondling its exotic wings with love, I sought to pluck the very members and crush the loathsome insect in my hand. A spell had been cast over me, though the fault was mine since I had let myself be taken away by the ensorcelling beauty in the first place. My chase would not end until I seized the phantom dream.

Countless hours I ran in the wastelands and just when I had caught up with the flier, I slipped. I observed the butterfly change its course and turn round to float above my head. It was mocking me with its voluptuous dance. My vision became tinted by a myriad of shifting colors, and I extended a hand that the bug may rest its wings upon my finger.

 "Give yourself to me," the butterfly sang. Its voice was exquisite- ringing notes that caused fire to well up in my chest. 

Her song was a melody that carried both comfort and seduction. And I realized what the spell was that had been cast on me: forgetfulness. Yet my heart was too weak to overcome it. My heart was filled with a throbbing passion. Gone was my past, my future, and all else that dealt with my existence: only the present moment with all its ecstasy remained.

 "Give yourself to me," I returned.

The creature laughed with a golden laugh, one exceedingly feminine. It was a rich laugh which combined tenderness and electricity. My heart sparked with a fervent longing and I again reaffirmed the decision to keep that divine muse for myself.

That was my first death of the day: a sleep which swallowed me whole but which vomited me out before digestion. Arco was a paradox, a complete and utter hypocrite that played around with the idea of mortality.

I awoke with a deep soreness afflicting my body from head to toe, and with a swirling vision. My body rested supinely atop a muddy floor. Once the dizziness settled and the pain subsided, I scrutinized my surroundings with a wary eye but couldn't make out much of anything; darkness enveloped the confines. There was no noise; only my breaths and groaning. Up on my two feet, I grasped at the air until my hands felt the uneven textures of a craggy wall. 

Walking ahead with my hand clinging to the wall, I came to the realization that I was traveling down a tunnel, one perhaps underground because of the cold and dank atmosphere. I proceeded with caution and the further I traveled, the more I was able to make out a faint pulsing light from what appeared to be the end of the cavernous hall. My faculties and strength fully restored by the stretching of my limbs, I decided to run to the light. 

When I reached the light's origin, I became filled with loathing. It was a living tree which emitted the phosphorous glow- a plant with an intelligent mind that moved its vestigial roots like tentacles. The main root was deeply entrenched into the ground, running for miles most likely, as it fed on life from deep within Arco's core.

The cause of my disgust was the hideous face the tree bore. It was an eldritch nightmare. When its mouth was closed, it was perfect in appearance to ancient Greek depictions of Aphrodite, but when opened, a writhing black tongue stuck out amidst rows of jagged, aged teeth. My spirit informed me that in fact, it was an ancient horror that found life on Arco pleasing and thus settled here, having come from a distant planet.

I waited no more. I held my sword aloft and declared war on the daemon. In retaliation, the tree-horror sprouted forth a dozen branches, six on its left and right sides, and these wiry limbs took on the appearance of leathery arms with bony fingers. From the tips of the fingers, butterflies, like the one I chased earlier, bloomed. A maelstrom of riotous colors crashed down upon me.

A hundred times over was I cut by the razor-edge wings. Blood dripped from a thousand wounds on my person, but still I trudged onwards. To uproot that daemon was my duty. The hideous insects soon diminished in size and sneaked inside my throat as I panted. They cut me from within and I vomited out blood. I could not give up! The only way to end the war was by killing the tree. 

My heart failed and my flesh could not align itself with my will to continue fighting. I staggered and fell to my knees. A boisterous shout I gave out as I swung my sword one final time. Then I died a second time.

Revived, I battled against the intense soreness that spread across my body. The tree-horror awaited me some yards ahead. With a stronger determination, I ran, and hacked ten thousand butterflies that threatened my mission of uprooting the daemon. Finally, after several more deaths and just as many revivals, I stood face to face with my adversary.

The vestigial roots punished me with countless strikes and its arms were unforgiving- they dug their nasty talons into my back, piercing my armor, and tore at muscle and bone. My misery was terrible, but I had to slay the monster! It was my mission.

I heard a male voice speak behind my ear. "You can't defeat this monster."

 "What am I to do then!" I demanded, angry and frustrated.

 "I'll help you," the voice replied.

A flash blinded me, and when I opened my eyes, I was no longer underground with the daemon. At my side stood a curious fellow. He was garbed in a snow-white tunic, seemingly made out of the fleece of a lamb. His beard was long and patriarchal, repeatedly by his plump fingers. 

In all respects, he was a giant, standing a whole two heads above me. I wouldn't have been surprised if he was a hero of some kind; his broad shoulders alluded to real strength, and from his herculean build to his bronze skin, it was impossible to not admire his form. Yet there was more than vain beauty to him: his lapis lazuli eyes were unique and shared a sense of wisdom, mingled with a warm feeling of friendliness.

Before I spoke to him, I hesitated. I considered myself a grasshopper before the giant, dwarfed in significance. Honestly, I felt envy sting at my heart when I glanced up to look at his comely face, a visage that combined the softness of women with the sternness of my . Though I stood on a weird alien planet, I can vouch that there was something even stranger about this being- something otherworldly I could hardly translate into words.

 "Who are you, friend? Have you come to aid me on my journey?" I asked.

 "You know my name, young warrior. I'm an old friend that drops by from time to time to see how the planet's doing- whether good or bad." 

 His voice oozed with confidence, but it was not of the domineering, arrogant type. He carried a distinct sincerity in his words and felt trustworthy. I scanned his body from head to toe and found myself agreeing to the notion that we had met in times past, though I couldn't, for the life of me, recall his name.

 "My name is Zapisto," the giant said with a nice grin. "And I'll tell you what you must do."

 "What is that?"

 "See, you cannot defeat all daemons by yourself. You need help. You need god. Go, seek out yourself the god of this world who dwells in the lofty abode."

 I cast a doubtful glance at him as I crossed my arms. His words were laden with concern over my welfare, but still...

 "I've died and been resuscitated countless times, yet that god has never once interceded," I told him. "Besides, I've no wings to take me to the Sanctuary in the Sky."

His warm eyes were fully locked with mines; I felt an intimate connection between the two of us, a deep kinship that felt as though it existed before my birth. His big hand he dropped on my shoulder amplified the sense of the connection.

 "That is why I, Zapisto, am here for. I've come to give you wings, or at least inform you of what must be done to earn them."

 "What must I do, friend?"

 "You must collect three sparrows and offer them in sacrifice. Your soul will be cleansed and you will ascend to the highest point of Arco by means of your newly gained wings. You will soar higher than all the cherubim and will be endowed with divine favor inside the Sanctuary, enough to uproot all bad seeds by yourself."

 Zapisto disappeared as I blinked and I was left alone.

.....

 "What now for my friend?" Baekhyun asked. 

 Outside his small room stars shined brightly with the luminance of the divine. The moon hung on the black canvas of heaven as a pale disk with a stunning halation. The moon had a message for all the people of Earth, though Baekhyun was ignorant of the message. The message was that of hope, that darkness is only temporary and that light shines even in the midst of the transitory night.

He heard his father coughing and shot up on his two legs, sore from sitting for an extended period. A dizzy spell got to him. Too long had he been staring down at his computer screen and suddenly getting on his two feet did him no good. He rubbed his face by the door jamb and made up his mind to attend to his father.

As he approached his father's room in darkness, he hesitated. His father's breathing was labored and to him, it sounded as though cobwebs filled his lungs. The noise of his deep breaths was scary to him. Entering his room was more frightening. He was forced to confront a man on the verge of moving to the next phase of existence, and even though he presently heard his breathing, he couldn't help but think whether it would cease the moment he stepped inside.

That was how it always was, one long discomfort...

Baekhyun the lights and groaned at first sight of his father. No longer flourishing with life, but wilting in the most pitiful way possible. A hand was extended across the bed, waiting to be squeezed by a hand warmer than itself.

He was lying on the moon, waiting for his only son. He wanted to smile and talk with him, share countless stories about life in a different world- the old country. There's nothing else he could give, not wealth, not beauty, only an assurance of love. After many years of bringing pain to his son, he desired reconciliation. He was sorry for all the times he yelled at him, the numerous times he let him down, the countless times he hurt him.

Baekhyun choked when his father turned his face to meet his. Half of it was covered by an oxygen mask, the upper half hairless and shining under the light. It was tough to make out, but he saw him smiling there. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair for him to be like this. He truly hated his father, but how could he now? Not like this. Not like this...

He slowly walked to his father and by the bed he sat, squeezing the frigid hand in his trembling grasp. Their eyes met and he was surprised by how much of himself he saw in them. He was his own reflection. They both were identical: miserable and seemingly on their last days.

 "You want some more of your medicine? The nurse said not to worry about the one you spilled last time- she said you'll get a refill for the morphine. After that, you want me to rub you down with vapor-rub again?" 

 His father nodded.