Holder of the Self

In any city, in any country, go into any mental institution or halfway house you can get into. Go to the front desk and ask to see the one who calls themself "The Holder of the Self". They will cock an eyebrow at you, then throw a bit of whatever they were eating at you and call you an idiot. Repeat your request, and they will relent. They will take you behind a door and waive you to an examination table. They will then leave, shaking their head at you.

Take off your clothes, although you may keep on your underwear if you choose. Lay back on the table, your arms at your side, and your legs slightly spread to the edges of the table. At this moment, dozens of monstrous hands will burst from the table, grasping with their jagged, filthy nails onto your body. Struggle all you like, you are theirs now. They will begin kneading your skin, pushing and twisting, tickling and caressing. More will erupt from under you, pushing into your back with their knuckles. If at this point you cannot stand the treatment, if you are far too disgusted by their attentions, merely say "I reject this test. End it." They will pull at your extremities, ripping you apart joint-by-joint. This will be mercy.

If, however, you can stand this, say "I relax in your care, bring me to the object, oh Holder." At this point, five arms will erupt from the bed. Two will cover your eyes. Two will grasp your mouth and hold it as open as it can be. You will taste the salt and grime on their fingers. The last one will hold a bit of sweet fruit. It will dangle it across your tongue, and its juice will dribble into your mouth. You will want to hold this fruit in your mouth for a day, then begin to chew for the rest of eternity. Do not bite it. Do not savor its flavor. This is a trap. If you give in to this sweet fruit, your corpse will be as a sweet fruit for the million hands of the Holder.

If you pass this test, you will be rewarded. The hands will transform as they knead you. They will be as soft and delicate as a young maiden's. Their nails will be perfectly trimmed and manicured. The smell of elegant perfume will gently waft across your nose. It will not be very powerful at all, but tantalizing. You will hear a chanting from inside your mouth, in a voice that is not your own. This is, was, the sweet fruit. It has now dried up into a small, ashy stone. It will chant of the heroes who tasted its brothers and sisters of yesteryear. Relax, for now the Holder is pleased with you.

When your relaxation has drifted you off into a state of utter bliss, the ash-fruit will be withdrawn from your mouth. The hands that held open your mouth will grip your throat tight enough that you cannot escape. The hands that closed over your eyes will open, but only far enough to see straight ahead. The hands that once caressed you will hold you tightly, almost painfully. you will be tilted into a vertical position and the long eye-stalks of the Holder will poke into your limited view. They will watch you: some of them critically, some of them angrily, some of them sympathetically, and some... some will look at you lewdly. Say to it, "May this body offend your eyes, oh Holder. Bring me the object." Pray that this is true, for if it is not, the Holder will rip out your arms and eyes, and you will forever experience life through it.

If you are indeed offensive to its eyes, you may still count yourself unlucky, for your quest will not end this day. From between your legs will erupt a pair of arms. Held in their hands will be a massive, jagged, ornate key. It will stab you in the chest, and rip out from you a glowing light. The wound where it plunged into you will be gone. The key will be tossed away.

The sphere of light will consume the key. It will take on a form identical to yours, and will dim until it is your exact twin. Your twin will discuss with you all manner of things. What it will say, none may know, except that to answer its questions and respond to its statements will slowly erode your every mental defense. Be perfectly honest with it, in precise and full detail. If you wish to laugh, laugh. If you wish to cry, cry. If you are enraged, yell. Hold nothing back. Focus only on your twin. Do not look at the eyes or hands, no matter what they do. Do not listen to the whispers coming from the hands on the side of your head. If you do, you will be crushed, and your twin will drink deeply of your blood.

When your twin is done with their conversation, it will revert to being a key. A small key. At that point, the hands by your head will say "Speak, for you have faced yourself." Ask it only one question: "Who are we to Him?" The hands will hold your neck absolutely still. You will not be able to move your head. The hands will close over your eyes and mouth. You will be unable to speak or see. The hands will spread your arms and legs as far as they might be spread. You will not be able to move. You will feel something slimy sliding along the inside of your thighs. You will be unable to protest. At that point, the Holder will describe to you every single evil thing that He has done to humanity and every evil thing He will do to humanity. He will describe in vivid detail how each of the objects will be used to discover and create new evils to perform and enact. Then he will describe, to your horror, the results of these evils. He will tell you tales of the husks of humanity as they spend the rest of eternity reenacting His work, writhing in an agony beyond all imaginable hells multiplied together. And then, beyond it all, he will tell you of the abominations reserved by Him for you, to be heaped upon you by those innocents you once held dear. Then, he will tell you what humanity is to Him. This knowledge alone may kill you.

Without warning, the hands wil stretch you, pulling you apart until you think you might break. Then it will fold you at each of your joints until you are rolled in a ball. It will pull and stretch and twist your body every which way, and your body will scream in pain as the Holder discovers new ways to contort your body without destroying it. Then it will dump you on the floor. You will be fully clothed, and in your pocket will be a small, jagged, ornate key. You may leave at any time.

That key is object 94 out of 538, the Key of the Inner Self. With it, you will discover the inner truths of any person or objects you stab with it. May it never discover the truths of the others.

HOLDER OF THE PURPOSE

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of the Purpose”. A look of pained depression will cross his face, and he will stand up and walk out of the room. Follow him out and down the hall. Eventually he will unlock a set of chained double doors, beyond them is another hall. The worker will go no further and will point you down the hall and go back to his post. Enter, the lights further down the hall won’t seem to be working and as you reach it, the double doors behind you will slam close, you will hear the rattle of chains on the other side.

Walk down the dark hallway, it will seem longer then the breadth of the entire building. Soon, you notice torsos on long chained hooks all around you. Even now they still live, their cries rake your ears. No words escape their lips, they know no language. All they know is pain. Their eyes have been torn out and stream red tears of blood. Their hearts are exposed and still beat even with the cold metal chain impaled through it and their chest. Their arms end in bloody stumps at their elbows, and their bodies end at the base of their rib cage. They flail their stubs of arms: their heads squirm crying for release from their cruel fate. Black, unnatural birds with curved needle talons and sharp barbed beaks circle above. The birds feast on these bodies in small tortured portions. You see that thousands of birds feast. Do not touch them; be as quiet as you can. If they notice your presence they will cry for their keeper and you will join the ‘men’ in their tortured existence for eternity in pain.

You near the end as you pass the bodies. Their cries will stifle behind you as you walk. The moment your ears hear silence, yell “I only wish to know!” If a cloaked figure with huge terrible black wings appears in front of you holding something, it is already too late. The keeper of the birds has found you. The chain he reveals in his hands will be the one you hang from to feed his children. But if a bridge is revealed to you, cross it quickly. Across the bridge, there is a man with no face dressed in white. His body is sickly pale and bony. He holds a pair of scales made of white gold. It has beautifully perfect designs. The craftsmanship put into making the scales is beyond your comprehension. Do not stare at it long. Look directly at him where his eyes would be and ask only one thing, “What is their purpose?”

He will hold up his scales in front of him and answer you. His explanation is not meant for human ears. The faceless man will defile and rape your mind as he forces it to comprehend the magnitude of the universe and all things, physical and planar, real and ethereal. You will scream as your one singular being is weighed against all things. This torturous mind raking will delve into your soul and go on for what seems like hours… days even. His explanation coerces you to realize how insignificant you really are, how nothing will change in the grand scheme if you had never been born. For a brief moment, you understand the work and craftsmanship put into the scales. Your mind will be nearly torn asunder by the comprehension of this beauty… of this perfection. You don’t want to look away from it, for its enticing allurement steals your breath away. Meddle your will power and look away.

When he finishes, most go insane from the maddening explanation, some sink into an inconsolable depression as his words echo in their minds forever. The faceless man calls the keeper for these people, they are fated to join the rest on chains. But if you manage to stand in front of him, look back into his face and then kneel before him, he will hand you the scales.

The scales are object 95 of 538. It has the power to weigh one's soul against all things. Do you carry a fate that can make it balance?