For a moment, as the blinding whiteness gave way to clarity, I thought about my mother's final words.
Her cryptic farewell echoed in my mind like a distant melody, and I couldn't help but wonder about their meaning. She'd been so sure, so confident that I could succeed, and yet I couldn't shake the weight of it all. The task ahead felt insurmountable. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, when suddenly the sharp, sterile brightness around me broke my train of thought.
I blinked, disoriented, and realised I was in a room—brightly lit and covered in pristine white tiles. The gleaming walls reflected the harsh fluorescent light, making everything feel eerily sterile, like a hospital. My heart raced as recognition set in.
It wasn't a hospital...It was my basement.
Memories rushed back to me. This was the room I was in before I was pulled away by my mother, who was probably watching from the heavens right now.
I turned around, my pulse quickening, and just as I suspected, he was still there.
A man, strapped tightly to a cold metal table, his wrists and ankles bound with thick leather straps that creaked as he writhed in desperation. His mouth was gagged, muffling the frantic, guttural sounds he made. Sweat dripped from his face, his eyes wide with terror as they locked onto mine. He was trembling, his body convulsing slightly, but it wasn't just fear that made him shudder.
The source of his dread was clear.
His eyes kept darting downward, toward his legs, where the metal table he was strapped to had been slid partially into a furnace built into the wall. The blazing flames inside roared hungrily, licking at the air as though eager to consume him. I could feel the oppressive heat from where I stood, but for him, it was unbearable.
His feet were already blackened, the flesh charred and curling from the relentless fire.
Smoke rose from his legs, the smell of burning flesh sickeningly sharp.
He thrashed harder, his muffled screams growing louder as he tried in vain to pull his legs back from the furnace. The metal table groaned under the strain of his movements, but it held firm, keeping him in place as the flames continued their work.
I stood there for a moment, silent, watching him. His pleas were incoherent, but the desperation in his eyes spoke volumes.
They begged me, 'Please! Please let me go!'.
His muffled shouts grew more frantic as the fire crept higher, the heat unbearable. The sight was grotesque, yet I felt no immediate compulsion to act.
This was my work.
Now, before you come to any hasty conclusions, let me make one thing abundantly clear.
I'm not some deranged psychopath who kills people for fun. I don't wake up every morning with a grin on my face, looking for my next victim. I don't delight in the suffering of others, nor do I find pleasure in bloodshed.
The man strapped to this table wasn't some innocent caught in the wrong place at the wrong time...He was far from it.
This guy? He was the true psycho.
A creep, a weirdo, and an obsessed stalker.
You see, several of my mothers—yes, my seven mothers—aren't just extraordinary women in the private sense. They're remarkable in ways that extend far beyond our home. Some of them are quite famous. Celebrities, even. Their beauty, their talent, their charisma, it naturally draws attention.
Fans adore them, and most of them are harmless. But then, you have the ones who… take it too far.
This guy? He was one of those fans.
One of my mothers, the one who hosts a cooking show—known for her charm, warmth, and breathtaking elegance—caught his attention. At first, he was just another face in the crowd. Another admirer. But admiration turned into obsession, and obsession turned into something darker.
He started following her. Not online, not just through harmless fan letters or messages.
No, this man took things to another level. He began stalking her, monitoring her every move. He scoured every piece of information he could find about her, piecing together her schedule like a deranged puzzle.
And then, he made his plans.
I don't want to think about what he was planning to do after he kidnapped her, but the evidence I found was enough to paint a horrifying picture. Chains, rationed food, cameras, and other…devices. All the tools someone would need to keep a person imprisoned like a pet in their house.
I felt sick the first time I saw the stash in his filthy little apartment. That was more than enough to tell me how twisted he truly was.
Of course, his grand plan didn't work out. He never even got close.
I have a 'security network' set up for all my mothers. It's a necessary precaution given their fame and my unique family situation. The moment this creep stepped out of line, I was alerted.
The 'system' tracked him, flagged his intentions long before he could act on them. He'd only just finalised his plan when I intercepted him. And by intercepted, I mean I had him kidnapped and brought here, to my basement, to my world, where he could be dealt with properly...By me.
The fire roared, and his muffled screams grew more desperate. I didn't flinch. Instead, I leaned closer, watching the terror etched into his features.
"You know." I began, my voice calm, almost soft, "I can't really blame you."
His struggles slowed for a moment, his wild eyes flickering with confusion.
"I mean, in a way..." I continued. "...we're not so different, are we? You and me. Both of us…we loved her. Maybe a little too much. So much, it became more than anyone should bear."
His thrashing ceased entirely, his gaze locked onto mine, and I could see it—hope. He thought I was coming around, that I might see myself in him. That I might…let him go.
"I get it." I said, nodding slightly. "I really do. Sometimes I think I should be down there with you, strapped to that table...Punished for the thoughts I've had."
I paused, letting the words hang in the air, watching as his eyes glistened with a mix of relief and desperation.
"But..." I said suddenly, a slow smile spreading across my face. "...that all changes today."
The hope in his eyes shattered, replaced by sheer, unfiltered dread.
"You see..." I continued, my tone almost cheerful. "The same woman who gave me life, the one who gave all of us life, my blood mother—she freed me today. She told me I don't have to hold it in anymore. All those desires I've buried, all those thoughts I've chained and hidden away… I'm finally allowed to let them roam free."
I stepped closer, my shadow looming over him as the flames flickered behind me.
"So, no." I said, shaking my head. "I'm not like you anymore. Not even close."
His muffled screams returned, louder now, filled with renewed desperation.
"But." I added with a mockingly thoughtful expression. "I'll still wish you better luck in your next life...Maybe then you'll have the blessing of being born with seven mothers as incredible as mine."
Without another word, I pressed the button.
The metal table whirred as it slid further into the furnace, the flames licking higher and higher. The man thrashed violently against his restraints, his screams piercing even through the thick gag as the fire consumed him. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, acrid and suffocating.
I stood there for a moment, watching as his body convulsed, the flames devouring him inch by inch. His screams began to fade, though his movements remained frantic.
With a sigh, I reached for the furnace door and pulled it shut, sealing him inside.
"You should die quietly." I said aloud, my tone almost annoyed. "You'll disturb the neighbours."
I dusted off my hands and turned, heading toward the staircase that led back to the world above. The muffled screams were barely audible now, swallowed by the roar of the flames.