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Holder of the Purpose

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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?

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