INTO THE ABYSS
A Novel by Adam Chapin
Preamble to Shafts of the Damned
Preamble
I am Artakash — a grizzly bear who has traveled a long, dark path spanning ten millennia.
Writhe in my deathless anger and hatred; I embarked upon this journey from a weak little cub scarred by torment, to the divine heights of power, then to disgrace when all was lost, only to end my journey as a condemned monster.
But I warn you, friend — your heart shall burn in righteous fury, for my path is forever etched with the scars of those felled by my deadly claws. Still, if you dare, read my memoir, for you will learn that there are but two choices for those deeply wounded by past torments yet unwilling to let go of the pain.
I wrote these accounts as part of my atonement for the poor choices I made — choices whose consequences remain indelible records of my cruelty. I desperately hope you will save yourself from what pains you before it is too late — before you end your journey as a vile monster like me, down here in the Abyss.
Choose wisely
Shafts of the Damned
Far into the remote vastness of the Siberian wilderness — whose harsh climate either molds the weak into monsters or condemns them to a frozen death — stands Kondyor Massif.
This foreboding place is a unique geological wound, birthed by the violent fires that once rose from the Earth’s depths eons ago, solidifying into a stark basin encircled by a perfect ring of mountains. It is a natural fortress that once safeguarded a vast hoard of the most desirable minerals — but now incarcerates a horde of the most undesirable flesh.
For the millennia of grave transgressions that nearly ended all things, the most abyssal depths of this mine-turned-prison are where I have been interred.
I no longer know how long I have languished here in what my fellow inmates and our guards call “The Shafts of the Damned.” Time has no meaning in the lowest and vilest levels of Kondyor Massif — where those the world deems untouchable, those like me, are cast away.
Once an ancient platinum mine, Kondyor Massif was converted into a prison by the Bear Kingdom of Grizzly, the last remnant of the once-mighty Bear Empire of Ursa. With the ring of mountains fortified by every conceivable defense — electric fences, minefields, and an entire division of the Bear Kingdom’s Blue Army under shoot-to-kill orders — Kondyor Massif stands as the most secure prison on Earth.
The prison itself sprawls within a vast subterranean labyrinth, its many levels plunging several kilometers into the Earth’s crust. The very bedrock has been carved into cell blocks. Inmates are confined to their cells for twenty-three hours each day, with only one hour permitted for walking within heavily guarded halls — not necessarily for recreation, but to remind us that we are nothing more than the world’s refuse.
Violations of the rules are met with swift and merciless punishment. Escape attempts end invariably with death.
Yet the hardships endured by inmates in the upper levels pale before the horrors below — in the Shafts of the Damned. Those upper levels make up only a fraction of the mine’s vastness. Down here, where the deepest tunnels form the prison’s shadowed heart, there are no guards, no rules, and no cells — only chaos.
Even these lowest levels remain largely untouched from the mine’s ancient past. Only the occasional flicker of electric light, a few makeshift latrines, and the rusted water spigots installed near the sealed gates remind one that this place now serves a purpose other than mining.
One might believe that such lack of order brings freedom — that without guards one might rest easy, that without rules there is no punishment, that in the absence of control, the spirit might find solace. But oh no, my friend — the Shafts are not a sanctuary. The freedom granted here is the freedom of beasts.
In these forsaken tunnels, those deemed beyond redemption fight like rabid animals for the scraps of food thrown down through forgotten holes. Some of it is rotten — it matters not. Days may pass before more arrives. Like many others, I too have maimed and killed to reach beneath those feeding holes and water spigots, to quench my thirst and survive another day.
Even when bellies are full and throats wet, the slaughter continues. Some fight for dominance, others for sport, still others simply to feel alive. The pain of battle rewarded by the taste of blood, the sight of the broken and beaten sprawled before one’s feet — this, down here, is the only ecstasy left.
To be reduced to nothing more than irredeemable beasts — clawing for scraps, dominance, or the cold pleasure of seeing another bleed — this is the design of the Shafts. It is a place crafted to make us our own executioners, sparing the arbiters of justice the burden of killing us themselves.
That, my friend, is the true purpose of suffering here in the Abyss.
From Victim to Monster
It is an irony — that I, Artakash, once a high lord of the Empire of Ursa, who ascended to the imperial throne as its Tsar — had founded this very mine. I enslaved those I had captured to labor within it, harvesting all the platinum it had to offer until nothing remained but whittled bedrock. They suffered and died just as the wretched filth around me does now — all for the sake of fueling my ambitions, my lust for power, my hunger to be respected, even if it required butchering the defiant into submission beneath my claws.
Ah yes — respect.
From the lowest peasant to the former Tsar himself, all within Ursa preached that respect must be earned. “Be good to yourself, be good to others, work hard, and respect will follow,” they said. They claimed that goodness — moral virtue and labor — was what had raised the Empire of Ursa to its heights of glory.
Such words are easily spoken by those who have found their place in life — the mindless automatons, content to turn as cogs in the grand machine; those blessed with comfort, shielded by wealth and power from hardship; those blinded by fortune to the cruelty of the world.
I never had such luxuries.
I was born the youngest of my family — sickly, weak, the runt. I was tormented by my siblings and beaten by my father. No matter what I said or did, no matter how hard I worked, no matter what I achieved, it was never enough. Never!
That truth was driven into me like nails into the wrists of the crucified when my father cast me out — claiming I was a burden, a drain upon the household, a waste of effort better spent upon my siblings.
That was the day I learned the cruelest lesson of all: respect cannot be earned — it must be taken.
It does not matter who they are — rich or poor, noble or common. Respect must be choked from them as one squeezes the last drops of juice from an orange. So I made it my life’s work to take respect. Those who stood in my path would be forced into submission, and if beating them into obedience failed, then their lives were forfeit — examples of what becomes of those who defy me.
I spent several years surviving the harshness of Siberia. The land itself turned me from a weakling cub into a hardened grizzly, one who could fight with the best of them. Anything — or anyone — that dared cross my path met retribution. I remember the moment the wild beasts began to fear me. But that was only the beginning — a foretaste of the respect I would seize.
My chance came when I returned to the village of my birth. My father and siblings — now the village elders — had no notion of the monster that the unforgiving Siberian wilderness had forged. One morning, they found my father’s lifeless body hanging from a tree. A month later, all but one of my siblings had met their end beneath my claws.
The only reason I spared one — the sibling who tormented me most — was to leave a living message for all who had scorned me. The runt had become the strong. The message was written in his agony — in the empty sockets where his eyes once were.
Perhaps it was fear of sharing his fate, or perhaps it was because the strongest bears were always made leaders — whatever the reason, the village bowed before me. They made me their sole elder.
Yes. Fear — that was the only true path to respect.
Fear was the truest form of power.
Power Play
Power Play
Still, not every last villager understood the message.
One of them — Arsha, a tax collector assigned to the village by the Imperial Government — went missing. Little did I know that this sycophant of Tsar Alexander had fled to Moscow, the Imperial Capital, to inform his superiors of my takeover. Fortunately, trouble was averted. The fear I had instilled in the villagers compelled them to deny any wrongdoing on my part and to claim that my appointment as elder was legitimate.
Arsha had nothing on me. But to ensure he would never again become a problem, I slaughtered his wife and cubs, and then had him cast into the Siberian wilderness — the same land that had once forged me — to let it finish off that impotent fool.
Even though I managed to maintain control over the village, I still bore the gnawing concern of the Imperial Government and the threat it posed. Had I not erased all evidence of Arsha’s accusations and silenced the villagers with fear, I would have been executed in the village square. This vulnerability could not be allowed to persist.
I could not spark an uprising, nor could I openly defy the authority of the Empire. What chance would a remote Siberian village have against the might of the Imperial Forces — a war machine capable of crushing nations and erasing civilizations from existence?
So instead of vain defiance, I chose to play by their rules. I would climb through the ranks, earn the favor of the powerful, and when the time was right, I would strike. I would take the Imperial Throne for myself.
It took years of calculated patience — appeasing and manipulating the social and political elites, earning favors, making alliances. I even joined the Order of Nemesis, a secret cabal of aristocrats devoted to the worship of the Dark Goddess herself, Nemesis — the Eternal Darkness.
Her creed awakened me: this world is nothing more than a game board, and all living beings are pieces to be moved — pawns to the victor’s will. Her message was crystalline: “Be feared, or become a tool of the feared.”
That message resonated with every scar burned into my heart by my tormentors. If fear and domination were the only ways to earn lasting respect, then I would master them. Every living being would face two choices: submit before me — or become an example of what happens to those who resist.
I focused on that singular purpose. Power was the ultimate game among the elites — a contest of deceit, manipulation, and endurance. They lied, coerced, bribed, and flattered to gain the Tsar’s favor. I simply played their game harder — and better — than they did.
In time, I ascended to the rank of High Lord, one of the Empire’s most powerful figures, second only to the Tsar himself. The High Lords were his council — his executors and enforcers. I was now perfectly positioned to make my move. Only one thing stood between me and the Imperial Throne: resources.
I needed wealth to buy the loyalty of the right influencers and oligarchs — to raise an army and overthrow the Tsar.
That is where Kondyor Massif came into play.
Located not far from my childhood home, Kondyor Massif had long been shunned due to local legends claiming it was haunted by evil spirits. I knew better. I had discovered platinum there — the most precious metal in the Empire — long ago, after my exile. I knew its value, and I knew its time would come.
Using my authority as High Lord, I established the mine — the very same one that would one day become my prison. None but my trusted agents knew of its existence, save for the rabbits I enslaved to work its depths — brought from their native lands of Lepus.
Ah, such obedient little creatures — easily frightened, easily controlled, easily molded into industrious laborers. It mattered not how many perished under the weight of their toil; they bred with such speed that the losses were soon replenished by fresh shipments of their kin.
With my coffers overflowing from the platinum of Kondyor Massif, I was ready to seize my destiny. The right officials were bought. The army was raised. And as fortune would have it, the Empire of Ursa had fallen into turmoil following a devastating defeat in war against the Tigers of Amur and Bengal. Discontent with the Tsar spread like wildfire across the land.
The time to strike had come.
The Tsarists, writhing in the pain of their loss, would later call the bloody civil war that followed “The Shadow Uprising.” They still speak the words with venom — a wound that refuses to heal. They weep for it, as I once wept beneath my father’s claws. They call it tragedy.
I call it justice.
When Moscow fell, I felt the same surge of satisfaction that I once felt gazing upon the mutilated corpses of my kin. As Tsar Alexander groveled at my feet, begging for mercy, the feeling of my claws tearing into his flesh was divine. That was respect — not earned through false virtue, but taken, as it rightfully should be.
The Imperial Throne was mine. And soon, the world would kneel.
Though I am rightfully described as cruel and sadistic, I am not oblivious to the fragility of power once seized. My years of studying politics had taught me this: the ruler who pulls the levers of power must walk a tightrope.
Those who aid him must be rewarded enough to keep them loyal, while those who conspire must serve as examples.
So I rewarded my allies handsomely — enough wealth to sate their gluttony for generations. And those foolish enough to plot against me? Their severed heads adorned the lampposts of the Imperial Capital.
As for the masses — they were simple to control. Fear, uncertainty, and doubt were all they required. Let them squabble among themselves, blinded by hatred and blame.
And blame they did. I gave them enemies — the Tigers of Amur and Bengal, scapegoats for their suffering. Propaganda stoked their resentment until it consumed them.
With my benefactors and the masses in line, my grip on power was absolute.
Siberian Chipmunk War
Siberian Chipmunk War
Once my grip upon the Empire of Ursa was secure, and Kondyor Massif yielded copious quantities of platinum to fuel not only my personal wealth but also the Imperial Treasury, I turned my gaze outward — to the rest of the world. It, too, would be mine to subdue.
But that was when the Chipmunks first became a thorn in my side.
I needed slaves for the Empire’s factories — the forges that fed the vast war machine sustaining the Imperial Forces’ ability to bring the world to heel. Without that industrial heart — churning out tanks, guns, aircraft, ships, and all manner of engines of war — my conquest of the globe would have perished as a cautionary tale of spectacular failure.
Compounding my need for labor was the growing interference of the Lupine Empire and other North American powers, who came to the aid of the Rabbit Nation of Lepus, making further enslavements increasingly difficult. Worst of all, the Raccoon Nation of Procyon Lotor, which had once rounded up rabbits and sold them to us, was devastated in a war with the Lupines. As part of their surrender, the Raccoons were forced to abolish their slave trade.
It was then that another prey species came to mind — the Chipmunks.
I begrudgingly admired their tireless work ethic. It was in their very nature to labor without end — born from their instinct to gather vast caches of food for the long winters when the land starves. They would make the perfect workers to build my engines of war.
What made the idea even more tempting was that, unlike the Rabbits who valued their collective welfare above all else, Chipmunks were fiercely individualistic — selfish to a fault. They quarreled endlessly over the smallest matters: land, food, mates. Some fought merely to climb their petty hierarchies. Their endless squabbles and lack of unity made them ripe for conquest.
However, most Chipmunk tribes dwelled in North America, under the protection of the same nations that had frustrated my attempts to enslave the Rabbits. Capturing them would prove equally costly.
Then came the alternative — the Siberian Chipmunk Nation.
Practically next door to Ursa, these Chipmunks lived quiet lives of meditation and reflection. Occasionally, tribal disputes arose, but they were not nearly as violent as their North American kin. They preferred peace. Their society was a loose confederation of self-governing tribes, fragmented and uncoordinated.
My Imperial Intelligence advisors assured me they posed no threat. Their own geography betrayed them — landlocked, hemmed in by perilous mountains to the south and the Empire to the north. Cut off, fragmented, and vulnerable — they were low-hanging fruit.
My generals and I were confident. We believed we would march into the Siberian Chipmunk Nation, crush their resistance, and claim their lands as a vassal state. We even planned to build war factories there — saving the cost of transport.
That arrogant assumption would cost us dearly.
What neither I nor my advisors understood was that the Chipmunks’ industriousness came not merely from instinct — but from tenacity. Like sewer rats, they were impossibly difficult to exterminate. They always had contingencies, hidden reserves, and escape routes. Even apex predators — the Tigers of Amur and Bengal, the Badgers, and the Wolves of the Lupine Empire — respected their endurance.
Unbeknownst to us, the Siberian Chipmunks had already foreseen war’s approach. Existential threats have a way of uniting even the most fractured peoples. When survival itself is at stake, old rivalries fade. And united, the Chipmunks prepared.
When our armies crossed their borders, they met us with ferocity nearly rivaling that of the Tigers. They employed what modern scholars now call asymmetrical warfare — guerrilla tactics, ambushes, and sabotage. They would strike and vanish into their forests before we could retaliate.
Their towns and villages became death traps — booby-trapped ruins and hidden kill zones that shredded our platoons. They reverse-engineered our weapons and crafted superior versions for themselves.
They did not fight to win — they fought to bleed us dry.
Though the Imperial Forces had the advantage of numbers, weapons, and training, any predator knows that cornered prey is the most dangerous. What was meant to be a swift conquest devolved into a brutal war of attrition lasting nearly a decade. The Chipmunks refused to surrender, and we — the mighty Empire — were fed into the meat grinder.
Worse still, covert agents from the Lupine Empire and the Tigers of Amur and Bengal infiltrated Kondyor Massif, inciting a rabbit uprising that crippled platinum production. Trade embargoes followed, draining our coffers.
As our siege of the Chipmunk capital faltered and our exhausted troops bled in the frozen mud, we became vulnerable.
Sensing weakness, the Tigers struck. They allied themselves with the Chipmunks — serving as their shock troops, tearing through our lines with devastating precision.
How dare those vermin defy me? How dare they frustrate my designs?!
In my fury, I resolved to make an example of them. Before retreating, I ordered my bombers and artillery to unleash incendiary hell upon the Chipmunk capital. I watched as the city burned — its lake turning crimson with blood.
But the sight brought no satisfaction. The horror we unleashed ignited global outrage. The Tigers, Wolves, Rabbits, and even Humans joined forces in retribution.
What was meant to be a simple conquest — to seize slaves for the factories — had become a world war. A war we could not win.
Had those tenacious little vermin fallen as easily as the Rabbits, I would have secured my empire. But their defiance cost me everything.
As our armies were driven back on every front, I felt as though I were once again surrounded by my father and siblings — beaten, mocked, crushed from all sides until I could only cower in defeat.
I could almost hear their laughter echoing through the smoke and the screams.
And thus was born the fire of my hatred for the Chipmunks — those miserable, impudent creatures who turned my triumph into ruin.
Oh, how I wanted to make them pay for daring to stand against me.
But how…?
The Gathering of the Animals → Madness in the Mountains’ Shadows
The Gathering of the Animals
Then Nemesis — the very goddess whose cult I had once joined — showed me a vision. A way to bring the world to its knees. A way to gain more than mere respect.
She revealed to me the Gathering of the Animals — the ancient assembly held once every eon, upon Toronto Hill, where the elders of all species would decide whether the world should dwell in day or in everlasting night.
This would be my triumph. I would force them all to choose the night — even if I had to brutalize every last elder until they either bent to my will or perished beneath my claws.
The Gathering was soon to take place, and I had to act swiftly. And act swiftly I did! For there would be no grander stroke of vengeance — no finer humiliation for those who had ever called me weak — than to plunge the world into eternal darkness. Then, at last, they would kneel before me and press their faces into the dirt in reverence.
Something my worthless father and my vile siblings were too spineless to ever achieve.
I, Artakash, would become the strongest of all creatures — Master of the World!
Yes. The Gathering was the key I had sought. And I reveled in the disgust etched upon the faces of the other Elders. As Tsar of Ursa, I was the Elder of the Bears. The Rabbit Elder’s face twisted in anguish the moment he laid eyes upon me. The Tiger Elder’s seething rage burned like wildfire each time I spoke. Even the Human Elder glared with revulsion. Yet no matter their loathing, none could deny me my place among them.
And then… I saw him.
Hakooji, Elder of the Chipmunks.
To my surprise, he showed no fear, no hatred — only calm, unshakable peace. Though the Siberian Chipmunks lived half a world away from the forests of Eastern North America he called home, they were still his kin. But my Imperial intelligence agents had already warned me — Hakooji was not like other Chipmunks.
According to the Chipmunk holy book, the Verbra, Hakooji was born to Ahtay, the chieftain of Monongahela — the capital of the Chipmunk Nation of Striatus — and to his wife, Ugilah. On the night of his birth, a spirit descended from the heavens and appeared before them, saying:
“Raise your son with compassion and wisdom. Allow him to know both joy and sorrow, that he may understand all living things — and through that understanding, bring light to the world.”
The spirit foretold that in raising their son, they would be raising the spiritual head of all Chipmunks — the vessel of their collective soul. And so they did.
Eastern Chipmunks were notorious for selfishness and division, but Hakooji was different. Where others were greedy, he was generous. Where others abandoned the weak, he healed and sheltered them. Where others fled danger, he faced it. Where others ridiculed, he comforted. His empathy was boundless, earning him respect from all species — predator and prey alike.
One night, the Sun Deity Tawa came to Hakooji in a dream, commanding him to follow the path of the Sun until he reached the Hopi — a tribe of peace-loving Chipmunks who lived deep within the desert. The journey was long and perilous, yet through compassion and faith, Hakooji survived. Along the way he healed the sick, defended the helpless, and found friends among the tribes he met.
When he reached the Hopi, their elder, Kona, taught him the faith of Tawanism — the worship of Tawa, Giver of Light. He taught that all life is nourished by the Sun, and that without its light, the world would perish in darkness. Those who put aside selfishness and walk in the light would be lifted into Tawa’s glory at the end of time.
Inspired, Hakooji began his life’s work — spreading Tawanism to all Chipmunks. His ministry united them as no leader ever had. And so, he was chosen as the Elder of all Chipmunks for the Gathering of the Animals.
I expected his calm to mask hatred for me — the butcher of his Siberian kin — but no. His serenity was defiance itself.
I carried out my campaign of terror at the Gathering. I coerced nearly half the elders to side with everlasting night. Still Hakooji sat unmoved, his peace inspiring the others to resist.
I tortured the Raccoon Elder — burning his face, hands, and feet — until he finally yielded. With his submission, half the Gathering had sided with night.
Yet Hakooji did not waver.
His calmness gave strength to those who clung to the light. The hall erupted into chaos — shouting, arguing, defiance. I struck, roared, and brutalized those who still voted for day. But Hakooji remained steady. The only words he spoke were:
“We must have day, for it is the light of Tawa that gives life to us all. Without it, the Earth would die, and the balance would be lost.”
Finally, the Great and Wise Owl, who presided over the Gathering, declared a vote. He held the symbol of the Sun in one wing — and the Moon in the other.
One by one, the elders placed their pebbles — Sun for day, Moon for night. The count was tied. Only Hakooji remained.
I roared and threatened him as he stepped forward. Still he did not flinch. With calm defiance, he approached the Owl, extended his paw toward the Sun, and said:
“Take my life if you must. But for life on Earth — including yours, Artakash — the Sun shall rise.”
He dropped the pebble.
To the others, it made a soft tik as it landed among the stones. But to me, it was the deafening crash of my world collapsing.
My empire. My ambition. My vengeance. All gone — in that single sound.
The pain of my childhood — my father’s abuse, my siblings’ laughter — returned in full force. I heard them mocking me from beyond, calling me the runt, the failure, the disappointment.
Once again, I was humiliated before the world.
Enough was enough.
Hakooji would pay.
I unleashed all my fury upon him — clawing, slashing, rending his flesh until his blood stained the stone. The others screamed in horror as I stood over him, panting, my rage finally sated. The sight of his broken body — that contemptuous vermin — brought me joy.
The Elders wept. The Chipmunks wailed over their fallen leader. And I smiled. Their pain would be eternal. Their grief, undying.
The Great and Wise Owl, enraged, banished me to the Shadows of the Mountains Beyond.
Not long after, the Empire of Ursa crumbled — shattered into scattered bear settlements across Siberia. Only the Bear Kingdom of Grizzly, in the harsh lands of Alaska, remained as a remnant.
Moscow — the former Imperial Capital — was given to Humanity. The exhausted Tigers of Amur and Bengal split into separate kingdoms. To pay their war debts, the Amur Tigers sold the Korean Peninsula and Manchuria to the Siberian Chipmunks. With new access to trade and ice-free ports, the Chipmunks became a naval power and prospered.
But the losses mattered not. For I could still savor the memory of Hakooji’s corpse lying upon the blood-soaked stone.
They call it The Bloodstone now.
And I walked in the shadows, pleased with the devastation I had wrought. I had changed the Chipmunks forever — their minds, their faith, their bodies. The wounds I carved into Hakooji’s back became their stripes — eternal marks of my wrath, burned into every generation.
Let them serve as a testament to what happens to those who defy me.
Madness in the Mountains’ Shadows
But even the satisfaction of Hakooji’s death was denied to me.
For he did not stay dead.
Tawa, the Sun Deity, revived him. His teachings of life and light were vindicated, and the Chipmunks hailed him as a martyr. In his resurrection, he entered into a covenant with Tawa — becoming the steward of the Sun’s light.
Tawa granted him the Synergy Crystal, shards of which every Chipmunk now wears — the divine token of their covenant.
From that moment, the Chipmunks changed forever.
United by Hakooji’s sacrifice, they set aside their squabbles and tribal feuds. They became one civilization — the Chipmunk Kingdom — sworn to protect Tawa’s light and continue Hakooji’s ministry. They became the Body of Hakooji, calling the world to choose the day.
It was an affront beyond words.
These rodents — these small, trembling prey — had risen to power through compassion and unity, while I, a Bear, an apex predator, was left to rot in exile.
How could such pitiful creatures surpass us — the mighty Bears who had ruled through fear and strength?
It was unbearable.
The Chipmunks had taken everything from me — my empire, my glory, my very name. Their rise was my humiliation. Their light, my curse.
And so my hatred festered.
You might think this is where my story ends — that I perished in the darkness, broken and forgotten.
If so, you are mistaken.
For I have survived far worse than exile.
My hatred sustained me. My rage gave me strength.
If Chipmunks could endure against the mightiest of empires, then so too could I endure — and someday, I would return to make them pay.
So great would be my vengeance that the Earth itself would scream in despair at the sight of their destruction.
Yet… even hatred has its limits.
Years passed. Hunger and isolation gnawed at me. My wilderness-honed instincts were no longer enough.
The world moved on without me. My banishment severed my ties to the Empire; the Bears turned their backs on me.
I became a ghost — forgotten, fading, clinging only to the echo of my rage.
And still…
the image of the rising Sun tormented me.
The Cathedral of Burning Rage → Rise of the Inner Circle
The Cathedral of Burning Rage
In desperation — driven to madness by the howling winds and by the laughter of my father and siblings echoing endlessly in my mind — I fell to my hands and knees, weak and exhausted. I was cold, starved, and dehydrated. I could endure no longer.
My delirious voice echoed off the surrounding peaks as I prayed to Nemesis, begging for deliverance.
Praise be to her — my goddess answered.
But her aid came with a price.
If I swore eternal service to her — if I pledged to build her a great temple from the stone of these cursed mountains with my own claws — she would grant me immortality and the power to make the world kneel.
The thought of servitude seared my pride like acid. Never again did I wish to be bound in chains of obedience, as I had been under my father’s roof — cooking his meals, washing his linens, suffering his cruelty. Never again would I bend before the powerful.
Yet teetering upon the edge of death, I knew there was no other path. To serve this succubus was preferable to perishing in the shadows.
So begrudgingly, I accepted.
And as promised, Nemesis granted me immortality.
Thus began my ten thousand years of labor.
With no tools but my claws, strength, and hatred, I set to work. I poured every ounce of rage, every scar of humiliation, every burning desire for revenge into each stone I carved, each block I hewed, each tower I raised.
For millennia, I toiled — my flesh torn and raw, bones broken, muscles screaming in agony. Still I worked, unceasing.
The land itself was transformed — the mountains cracked and bled with rivers of molten fire, and the sky grew grey and heavy. It became a landscape worthy of my torment.
At last, upon a jagged rise encircled by a moat of lava, my masterpiece stood completed:
Gorit Z’loba — the Cathedral of Burning Rage.
Its blackened spires twisted upward like writhing tendrils clawing at the heavens. Between them, I carved countless statues and reliefs — scenes from my own life, my triumphs, my torments — all under the gaze of a colossal statue of Nemesis, the Eternal Darkness.
When I looked upon the mirror she had placed within the sanctuary, I scarcely recognized myself.
Ten thousand years of unrelenting labor had transformed me. My body had become colossal — stronger than any bear who had ever lived. My voice, once regal, had become a thunderous growl. My eyes glowed with a sickly golden light — twin suns of hatred.
I was no longer merely Artakash. I had become darkness incarnate — the living vessel of Nemesis.
For the first time, I felt something I had never known before: pride untainted by fear.
Crack in the Armor
At that moment, I believed I was ready.
The Chipmunks would suffer as I had suffered — their kingdom shattered, their faith defiled, their light extinguished. I would unmake all they had built. They would taste humiliation a thousandfold — as I had.
The thought of it was divine.
Yet I had learned much from my past defeats. The Chipmunks, for all their size, were cunning — their survival instincts sharp as blades. They anticipated, adapted, endured.
These were the same qualities that had allowed the Siberian Chipmunks to withstand the Empire of Ursa. They had the patience of mountains and the persistence of rivers. Even Hakooji himself, that insufferable saint, had known he would die beneath my claws — and still he did not waver.
I hated him for that.
But every creature has a weakness.
For the Chipmunks, it was their devotion to Hakooji himself. His teachings, his death, his resurrection — all of it became the cornerstone of their identity. They called themselves Tamias striatus — “Striped Stewards” — guardians of Tawa’s light, bound together as the Body of Hakooji.
One pillar. One cornerstone. One destiny.
And I knew: if that pillar fell, so too would the entire Kingdom.
It was too perfect an opportunity to ignore.
But there was still the matter of my exile. The Great and Wise Owl’s sentence was more than symbolic — he had invoked divine power to seal the mountains with enchantments that no mortal could pass. I had seen countless exiles perish upon those slopes, frozen or crushed beneath avalanches, their bodies a warning to others.
Yet I was no mortal.
Immortality flowed through me by Nemesis’s will, and the Cathedral I had built was a conduit of her power. Through her blessing, I passed beyond the Shadows — unseen, unbound — and returned to the world.
It was time to break the Chipmunks’ sacred order from within.
Rise of the Inner Circle
I began by sowing doubt. A whisper here, a corruption there — small fractures in their faith that spread like rot.
Chipmunk by chipmunk, I turned their hearts inward, nurturing their latent selfishness until it overshadowed Hakooji’s teachings.
In time, a faction arose — one devoted not to the light, but to ambition. I guided them from the shadows, disguised as the Grand Bishop, the leader of a new order: the Inner Circle.
The Chipmunk Kingdom divided — the Hakooji Loyalists struggling to preserve his faith, and the Inner Circle seeking dominance.
Civil war followed.
It was long and bloody — street by street, den by den, city by city. The Inner Circle’s fanaticism, fueled by my influence, gave them the upper hand. Slowly, the Loyalists were crushed beneath their own kin.
The final battle came in Ajitamoo, the Chipmunk capital. The Loyalists made their last stand, defending their Chieftain and the Apostolic Guard. The fighting was ferocious — it reminded me of the Siberian War of old. But this time, the Chipmunks fought each other.
After a month of brutal urban warfare, the Loyalists fell. The Inner Circle seized control of the Kingdom, erasing Hakooji’s legacy.
The Loyalists would call this era Koyaaniqatsi — the Crazy Times.
I called it the beginning of their slow, exquisite death.
A puppet monarchy was installed, loyal only to me. The Inner Circle became the state religion. All were commanded to be pious in word and action — to obey without question.
Our doctrine was simple, but devastatingly effective.
We taught that empathy and compassion were weaknesses — that Tawa himself was displeased by them. Salvation, we proclaimed, could only be found by returning to one’s “true nature” — by embracing rugged individualism while serving the Circle’s divine will.
And as the crowning deceit, I commanded that every Chipmunk contribute a portion of Tawa’s light to the Grand Bishop — to me — during their weekly rites.
Thus, through their own devotion, they fed me the very light they once swore to protect.
Their nature became their undoing.
Those Loyalists who survived fled into exile or were executed. The great archives of the Chipmunk Kingdom were seized or destroyed, their education twisted into indoctrination. Every new generation was shaped into obedient little disciples of darkness.
And at last, the stage was set.
Once I had gathered enough of Tawa’s light, I would extinguish the Sun forever — plunging the world into eternal night.
After seventy-five years of meticulous corruption, I was so close I could taste it.
Victory was within my grasp.
But then — once again —
Chipmunk tenacity reared its accursed head.
Good Deeds Get Punished
Good Deeds Get Punished
Everything was proceeding according to plan — a plan I truly believed to be foolproof.
You see, in order to keep the Chipmunks distracted and blind to my true intentions, there had to be a diversion — an enemy to fixate their attention upon.
That “enemy” was a small, aspiring empire called the Dark Realm, ruled by Emperor Ozymar — a megalomaniacal, ill-tempered human who fancied himself all-powerful and glorious. In truth, he was nothing more than a hollow emperor ruling over a naïve, false-flag state kept alive through covert funding by the Inner Circle.
The arrangement was simple: the Dark Realm would periodically “invade” the Chipmunk Kingdom; the heroic Chipmunk Guardian would rise to defeat them and save the day. Then the cycle would repeat — victory after victory, illusion after illusion — for seventy-five years.
It was perfect.
Or so I thought.
One day, the Chipmunk Guardian of that era — Phillip Lee — led a mission to halt another of the Dark Realm’s invasions. He succeeded, but at the cost of his life.
Desperate to stop the advancing armies, Phillip sacrificed himself — crashing an airship loaded with a nuclear device directly into the heart of the Dark Realm’s forces at the border.
The resulting fifteen-megaton explosion vaporized the invaders and scorched the earth into glass.
And that… is where the seeds of my downfall began to sprout.
The Lee Brothers
Phillip Lee left behind two sons: the elder, Jerry, and the younger, Norman.
Jerry was the rebellious one — fiery, defiant, a nuisance to every authority figure who ever tried to tame him. He questioned everything: his teachers, the clergy, even the doctrines of the Inner Circle itself. No amount of discipline could silence his insolence.
Norman, by contrast, was quiet — gentle, thoughtful — yet no less dangerous in his own way. He adored his brother and followed him everywhere. Though hesitant to defy authority outright, he possessed a dangerous spark of imagination.
Reports from his teachers and parish clerics spoke of his “insubordination”: daydreaming during lessons, drawing forbidden images that depicted acts of empathy — an emotion the Inner Circle deemed heretical. No matter how many reprimands he received, the boy would not stop. The light of his imagination refused to die.
At the time, I dismissed it as childish insolence. Yet even then, I sensed something in him — a spark I could not quite define. I should have crushed it.
The Avenging Sons
When word of their father’s death reached them, Jerry and Norman, joined by their friend — a mischievous contraband dealer named Chris Karr — set out on a foolhardy mission to avenge him.
A ridiculous notion. I paid it no mind. I assumed the Dark Realm’s harsh deserts or the remnants of its army would quickly dispatch them.
Weeks passed with no word. I concluded they were dead — either slain or enslaved, their bodies forgotten beneath the burning sands.
I was wrong.
A month later, I received word that Emperor Ozymar himself was dead — and that Jerry, Norman, and Chris had returned home as heroes. They had avenged Phillip Lee’s death and toppled the Dark Realm in the process.
To the Chipmunks, this was a triumph — the stuff of legend.
To me, it was a catastrophe.
Without a visible enemy to rally against, the populace’s eyes would soon turn inward. They would begin to ask questions. They would start to notice the cracks in my grand design.
This could not be allowed.
Punishment for Heroes
I issued a direct order to King Toran, the puppet monarch of the Chipmunk Kingdom:
the Lee brothers and their friend were to be severely reprimanded.
Their crime? Violating Inner Circle law — for only official military forces and designated Guardians were permitted to conduct missions of war. Their reckless actions, I decreed, had placed the entire Kingdom at risk of annihilation.
King Toran hesitated. The people adored Jerry Lee. Punishing a hero risked unrest.
So I reminded the old fool who truly held power.
I reminded him that he was a puppet — and that I could replace him at any time. When subtlety failed, I hinted that his beloved daughter, Lewisa, might suffer “an unfortunate fate” should his loyalty falter.
That broke his will.
And so, under royal decree, Jerry Lee was banished from the Chipmunk Kingdom — permanently exiled.
The people grumbled, but they did not revolt. Fear, as always, kept them docile.
Collateral Consequences
As for Norman Lee — ever the obedient dreamer — he was sentenced to lifelong confinement within his home.
He was permitted to attend weekly Inner Circle services, his local school, and to visit the nearby village of Arabus for menial work and supplies — but only during sanctioned hours. An ankle monitor ensured his obedience.
His brother was gone. His freedom was gone. His imagination, I assumed, would soon follow.
As for their companion, Chris Karr — that insolent little smuggler — he vanished into the underground. His network of contraband dealers sheltered him from the eyes of my inquisitors. I dismissed him as vermin unworthy of concern.
At the time, I believed the matter settled.
But I was mistaken once more.
Good deeds, it seems, are never without their punishment…
and mine had only just begun.
Tenacity Never Dies
Tenacity Never Dies
What I did not know at the time was that the Hakooji Loyalists — those who fled into exile or escaped persecution — had focused all their indomitable Chipmunk tenacity on preserving Hakooji’s teachings. They waited patiently, generation after generation, for the moment to restore his faith as the foundation of Chipmunk identity.
Jerry Lee was that moment.
When that brazen Chipmunk made contact with the exiles living in the human city of Grand Rapids, they taught him all they had kept hidden — and in return, he rekindled their will to fight. His rebellious spirit spread like wildfire among them.
This could not stand.
The Dreamer Princess
Worse still was Lewisa, daughter of King Toran.
Unlike her spineless father, who had long ago traded courage for safety, Lewisa was a visionary — a dreamer who saw the rot infecting the Chipmunk Kingdom and yearned to heal it. She wanted a better future for her people, one free of tyranny and fear.
Her father, terrified for her safety, kept her distracted with endless diplomatic missions. But those very journeys exposed her to other nations — to lands where citizens lived free of religious oppression.
The more she saw, the more she questioned.
One night, consumed by doubt, Lewisa broke into the Inner Circle Archives. There she uncovered the truth — documents revealing my true intentions.
She had to be stopped.
I dispatched my Inquisitors to capture or kill her. But just as they cornered her within the royal palace, King Toran — that trembling fool — allowed his daughter to escape. With the help of Chris Karr and his underground network of smugglers, Lewisa vanished into the night.
The Fire Rekindled
Lewisa soon found Jerry Lee and the exiles. When she shared what she had uncovered, the proof of my deceptions confirmed everything they had long suspected.
Her leadership united the exiled Chipmunks scattered across the world. For the first time since Hakooji’s death, they stood together under one cause — to overthrow the Inner Circle and restore the true faith of Chipmunk kind.
Worse still, Lewisa’s diplomatic ties reached as far as the Siberian Chipmunk Nation — those same vermin who had once defied the Empire of Ursa. They offered the exiles intelligence, resources, and operatives to aid their rebellion.
When the exiles broadcasted Lewisa’s evidence across every communication network in the Chipmunk Kingdom, chaos erupted. Underground resistance cells rose up. Angry citizens took to the streets. And at the heart of it all stood Chris Karr, orchestrating an open rebellion.
To make matters worse, Jerry and Lewisa had fallen in love — a union of defiance that inspired millions. Their romance became a symbol of hope.
I saw it for what it truly was: the beginning of my undoing.
Descent into Darkness
Exiling Jerry Lee had been a grave miscalculation. Imprisoning or executing him would have sparked immediate uprising; exile only delayed the inevitable. Now the exiles, the rebels, and the Siberians stood on the verge of alliance.
I had to regain control — at any cost.
I executed King Toran and dissolved the monarchy. The government was abolished, its authority absorbed entirely into the Inner Circle, with me as its supreme ruler.
Then I unleashed my military. Cities harboring rebels were bombarded. Neighborhoods in Grand Rapids where the exiles lived were reduced to rubble. Any trace of Hakooji’s culture was to be wiped from existence.
But my strikes achieved nothing. Siberian operatives embedded within my military warned the exiles before each attack. They escaped, sheltered by allies across the human nations.
Worse still, because my assaults took place on human soil — in the American Remnant and its allied territories — humanity itself declared war on the Chipmunk Kingdom. They joined forces with the exiles and Siberians to end my rule.
The world once again united against me.
It was the Siberian War reborn.
The Last Battle
In desperation, I drew upon the power of Tawa I had stolen from the faithful and plunged the Earth into Eternal Darkness.
I believed this would break their spirits — strip them of hope, drown them in despair. When they retreated, I mistook it for victory.
But I was wrong.
The darkness only strengthened them. The Chipmunks — those obstinate, unyielding vermin — fought harder than ever to restore the light.
And at their head stood Jerry Lee, now wielding the very power of Tawa himself.
He challenged me to single combat.
Our battle shook the world. Thunder cracked across the heavens as divine light clashed with shadow. My blows split mountains; his seared the sky. But with Tawa’s blessing, the wretch held the advantage.
He unleashed a beam of pure solar fire. It struck my chest like a battering ram, hurling me into a crater of ash. My ribs shattered, my fur burned away.
When I rose again, gasping, I saw that the Eternal Darkness was gone. Daylight had returned.
Jerry and the rebels cheered. They believed I was finished.
Fools.
A bear made immortal by Nemesis does not die so easily.
I rose from the smoke, grinning as terror spread across their faces. I lunged forward, claws raised high, eager to tear Jerry apart.
My strike landed true — the feeling of flesh giving way beneath my claws was pure ecstasy. Finally, I had slain the spearhead of their rebellion!
Or so I thought.
The Wrath of the Sun
Jerry Lee did not fall. He stood frozen, eyes wide — not from fear of me, but from horror at what lay before him.
At my feet was Chris Karr — dead.
The fool had thrown himself into the path of my blow, taking it full force to save his friend.
Ah, poetic justice! Let Jerry’s soul break under the weight of his friend’s death. Let grief be my final victory.
But grief did not break him.
It ignited him.
Rage — pure, incandescent rage — erupted from within. He drew more and more of Tawa’s power until the ground beneath him cracked. The air shimmered like a desert mirage; debris lifted into the storm that swirled around his body.
Even I stepped back as his aura flared, radiating heat like a furnace. He was becoming something more — something terrible.
Lewisa screamed for everyone to flee as Jerry’s power built to cataclysmic levels. His body swelled, skin glowing like molten metal. Still he drew in more of Tawa’s light until the very Sun dimmed in the heavens.
Then he spoke — his final words, an echo that shook the earth:
“Sun’s Wrath!”
He lunged forward and clung to my back, locking his claws into my flesh. I felt his body convulsing, the divine energy within him ready to explode. I thrashed, clawing, roaring, desperate to tear him off — but it was too late.
The world became fire.
Ten thousand years of ambition, labor, triumph, and vengeance were reduced to ash as the explosion consumed me.
My flesh vaporized. My bones turned to dust. All I had endured — every scar, every sacrifice — meant nothing.
And as I burned, one final thought lingered…
The Last Satisfaction
Before my consciousness dissolved, I remembered Norman Lee.
A year after I had exiled his brother, Nemesis appeared to me in a dream. She foretold that Norman would one day become an Incarnate of Hakooji, destined to end Eternal Darkness forever and restore the world to Tawa’s light.
If he succeeded, Nemesis’s dominion — and mine — would end.
I begged permission to kill him.
She refused.
The spirit of Hakooji, she said, would merely reincarnate in another. The only way to destroy him was to break his vessel — to leave Norman alive, but hollow.
So I obeyed.
I tampered with his ankle monitor, fabricated charges, and had him arrested for sabotage. Once condemned, I imprisoned him in the cellars of my palace. There, I broke him. I shattered his body, his mind, and his spirit until he was nothing more than a breathing corpse.
When the exiles finally rescued him, he was beyond repair — a catatonic husk, incapable of carrying the light of Hakooji.
As my body turned to ash, I took comfort in that thought — that Hakooji himself would die when Norman’s fragile life finally ended.
Let the Chipmunks rebuild their precious kingdom. Let them celebrate their hollow victory.
In death, I would have the last laugh — watching them inevitably regress into the selfish, squabbling creatures they had always been.
...Or so I thought.
Spiritual Fortress
Spiritual Fortress
As I came to learn in death, the exiled Chipmunks made it their sacred mission to keep Norman Lee alive. He had to recover — body, mind, and spirit — for he was destined to become a future Chipmunk Chieftain.
But medicine and mental health care were far too primitive to heal such devastation. His body was broken, his mind shattered, his spirit reduced to ash. So Lewisa, now the newly crowned Monarch of the Chipmunk Kingdom, ordered Norman transported to the human city of Grand Rapids, deep within the American Remnant — the same city where Jerry Lee had once allied himself with the exiled Chipmunks.
Upon arrival, Norman was placed in cryogenic stasis, entombed in frost and silence until science could mend what cruelty had destroyed. For one hundred and fifty years, he slept within the cryogenic chambers beneath the greatest hospital ever built by human or Chipmunk hands.
Haunting the Frozen Mind
But do not think that simply because his brother robbed me of my physical body — or because Chipmunks had proven far more indomitable than I ever imagined — that I had conceded defeat.
Oh no, my fine friends. You would be so far off the mark, you’d find yourselves in another universe entirely.
I may have fallen short of domination in life, but in death, I would ensure Norman’s sleep would be a torment beyond imagining. His dreams would be my battlefield. His spirit would never find rest. When he finally perished in that frozen tomb, so too would Hakooji.
That would be my legacy — the slow extinction of light.
But even in that frigid purgatory between life and death, Chipmunk tenacity stood like a fortress wall.
For a century and a half, I unleashed upon his soul every cruelty I could conjure. I forced him to relive the horrors of his imprisonment, the agony of my claws, the despair of isolation. I whispered lies into his ear — that he was a failure, that his brother died in vain, that Hakooji had abandoned him.
And still, he endured.
Within the frozen depths of his mind, Norman built a spiritual fortress — an obsidian sphere surrounded by storms of light and shadow. No matter how fiercely I struck, I could not breach its walls.
Again and again I battered it, each blow thundering through the void. At last, with one furious strike, a crack split the shell. I poured myself through the breach like black smoke — and found him.
The Child Within
I emerged into a forest, dark and quiet beneath the aurora-lit sky. There, nestled among the trees, stood a replica of Norman’s childhood home.
Perfect.
I stormed through the door, splintering it from its hinges. The house was silent except for the faint crackle of a fireplace. My claws scraped the wooden floor as I searched — overturning furniture, tearing open trunks — until my foot struck something.
Scattered across the floor were toys: action figures arranged around a mossy green playset shaped like a skull-faced fortress.
“Tamias and the Defenders of Skull Fortress,” I recalled with disgust — a contraband toy line banned under my rule. Created by the heretic priest Maz, its stories celebrated Hakooji’s legacy through allegory — Tamias, the guardian of memory, forever defending the fortress against the villain Shadow Claw, a bear-skulled demon clearly modeled after me.
I kicked the toys aside and hurled the playset against the wall. It shattered like glass.
Then, a sound — soft whimpering, from the armoire.
I smiled.
I tore the doors off their hinges and found him there: Norman, curled into a ball, shaking in fear. I grabbed him by the arm, claws digging into his flesh, and hurled him across the room. He struck the far wall and collapsed.
I advanced slowly, savoring his terror. I could already taste his death.
But then — something changed.
Norman reached out and grasped one surviving toy: Tamias, the chipmunk hero. Holding it before him with trembling hands, he shouted a wordless cry that shook the heavens.
Light erupted from him — blinding, searing, divine.
The den, the forest, my very essence — all obliterated in an explosion of radiant energy that hurled me across the void. Before I could return, I felt it — Norman awakening from stasis, his heart beating once more.
I had failed again.
The Unbreakable
My chance to end him — to snuff out both Norman and Hakooji — was lost. I was so close. So very close.
Why would this whelp not yield?
Why were Chipmunks — these small, fragile, insignificant creatures — so unbreakable? I had beaten him, broken him, destroyed him utterly. And yet, from that ruin, he rose again.
It made no sense.
Their persistence mocked me. Their compassion enraged me. Every weakness I exploited, they fortified. Every blow I struck, they withstood. Every time I drove them into the dirt, they rose like the Sun they worshiped.
No species could be so resilient. There had to be a weakness — some chink in their armor.
And then I felt it — faint, but there.
Gorit Z’loba still stood. My cathedral of rage, forged by my own claws ten millennia ago, had endured.
That twisted monument would become my gateway — my resurrection.
I would return. I would find the flaw in the armor of Chipmunk tenacity. And when I did, I would crush them utterly — until all creatures bowed before me, and even Tawa himself acknowledged my supremacy.
Yes. My rebirth was inevitable.
Awakening
One hundred and fifty years passed. Technology marched onward, as it always does. Medicine advanced beyond imagination.
When the time came, Lewisa’s advisors assured her that Norman could be healed — physically, mentally, and spiritually. She decreed that he be awakened and restored, given the life he was denied, so that he might fulfill his destiny.
But the world he awoke to was far from healed.
The war to liberate the Chipmunk Kingdom had cost the American Remnant dearly. Cities lay in ruin. Economies collapsed. Humanity, humiliated and impoverished, grew resentful — blaming animals, and especially Chipmunks, for their suffering.
From that resentment was born Ordo Primoris — a fanatical human supremacist order obsessed with reclaiming humanity’s “rightful dominance.”
The Ordo infiltrated Remnant politics, spreading their venom. When they demanded that the Chipmunk Kingdom remove all Chipmunks from Grand Rapids — including Norman Lee — or face persecution, Lewisa and the Chieftain Maz refused.
Instead, they declared war.
The Ordo believed the Kingdom still weak. They were wrong.
Chipmunk forces struck with precision and ferocity, crushing the Remnant’s military and capturing all of Michigan. The Chipmunk flag rose above Grand Rapids.
Those humans who renounced the Ordo were allowed to stay as citizens; those who remained loyal were deported or imprisoned as war criminals.
Grand Rapids was safe — and so was Norman. But the Ordo’s defeat would only deepen their hatred.
Lewisa anticipated this. She ordered the hospital where Norman slept to be heavily fortified, guarded by the Chipmunk Guardian Orah Tecumseh himself.
Her foresight was justified.
Through my lingering link to the mortal world — the unholy energies of Gorit Z’loba — I whispered into the minds of the surviving Ordo. I filled them with visions, with purpose. I urged them to strike.
And strike they did.
The Attack
Months after Norman’s awakening, the Ordo launched their assault.
Chipmunk guards, doctors, and nurses were slaughtered. Patients were massacred. Blood soaked the sterile halls.
The lead Ordo agent found Norman in his hospital room. The doctors fought valiantly to protect him, but they fell one by one.
At last, the agent raised his weapon over the frail, newly awakened chipmunk.
Finally — finally — I would see Hakooji extinguished forever.
But fate once again mocked me.
Orah Tecumseh burst into the room, throwing himself into battle. Though the agent overpowered him, it gave Norman the opening he needed. The weakened chipmunk leapt onto the man’s back, biting into his ear with every ounce of strength he had left.
The agent roared, flinging Norman off. But in the chaos, Orah seized the fallen weapon and turned it on the intruder.
The shot echoed through the hospital. The Ordo agent fell dead.
Norman Lee lived.
By all logic, he should have been dead — a bullet through the heart, a casualty of fate.
But Chipmunks do not die easily. Even at their weakest, they find a way to endure.
Even when I destroy them utterly, they rise again.
And that, my friends, is what terrifies me most.
A Broken Chipmunk’s Rise
A Broken Chipmunk’s Rise
By the time Norman Lee reawakened from stasis, the Chipmunk Kingdom had transformed into something entirely new. After my defeat at the hands of that accursed Jerry Lee, and the liberation of the Kingdom from the Inner Circle’s tyranny, Queen Lewisa led a provisional government dedicated to rebuilding both body and soul.
Her first decree was to ensure that never again would faith become a weapon of oppression. She established a strict separation between religion and state, decreeing that all future Chipmunk Chieftains would serve only as spiritual leaders. It was a deliberate safeguard against another “Inner Circle.”
When reconstruction was complete, the Central Government was re-formed as a parliamentary democracy: the monarch serving as head of state, the General Assembly as the legislative body, and the Supreme Tribunal as the judicial branch. Lewisa still reigns — eternally stubborn, eternally sentimental.
Ah, the foolish creature still believes Jerry Lee lives somewhere out there. Driven by that absurd conviction, she refuses to die until her beloved returns. To prolong her life, she underwent experimental nanobot infusion therapy, turning her fur a hilariously bright shade of pink. Love makes fools of us all.
A New Faith for an Old World
The priests and elders of the exiled Chipmunks restored the Teachings of Hakooji as the heart of their faith. The Chieftain, being the Incarnate of Hakooji, now serves as shepherd of the faithful, aided by his apostolic council known as the Keepers.
And then, of course, there was Norman Lee — the one I had so thoroughly broken, the one who should have remained a shattered husk.
Yet somehow, impossibly, he endured.
He rejected every remnant of the Inner Circle’s dogma and began his journey anew as an aspiring priest under the mentorship of Maz, the new Chipmunk Chieftain. Maz sent him on missions across the world — to spread Hakooji’s teachings and mend the wounds between nations.
The Scarred Healer
Norman bore the scars I left upon him — deep, enduring, and grotesque. Doctors and therapists diagnosed him with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and Depression. They even noted Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, which explained his tendency to drift inward into imagination rather than face the world before him.
Physically, his health had fared no better. Years of malnourishment and torture had left him frail, dependent on lifelong nanobot infusion therapy to repair the damage. His recovery was slow and agonizing — riddled with relapses and setbacks. For a long time, he relied on memory stimulants and psychiatric medication to dull his recollections of me, just so the healers could make progress.
There were times when his caretakers deemed him hopeless — suggesting he be confined to assisted living, a mind too fragile for freedom.
And yet… he never surrendered.
Even in his darkest moments, he rose again. When despair consumed him, he found the strength to keep going. He obeyed his doctors, trusted his therapists, thanked his nurses — and step by step, rebuilt himself from ruin.
Eventually, Norman recovered enough to leave the hospital and rejoin the world.
The Peacemaker
Once healed, Norman embraced the faith of Hakooji with open arms. He entered seminary and graduated valedictorian, becoming a priest and emissary. His voice — soft yet resolute — carried a strange power.
He brokered peace between the Rabbit Nation of Lepus and the Raccoon Nation of Procyon Lotor — the very same Raccoons who once sold Rabbits into slavery for me. He helped unify most of the Animal Nations, forging alliances to contain the human supremacist threat of Ordo Primoris.
Every act of compassion, every diplomatic triumph, proved Nemesis’s prophecy true: this fragile rodent was indeed rising toward his destiny as a future Chipmunk Chieftain.
The Journey to the Bear Kingdom
Soon, Norman embarked on a mission to the Bear Kingdom of Grizzly — to heal the old wounds between Bears and Chipmunks, and to free my kin from the crushing guilt of my legacy.
I could not allow this.
If he succeeded, the world would be united. Nemesis’s dominion — and my own — would be lost forever.
The Bear Kingdom itself was a nation born of shame. When I was banished to the Shadows of the Mountains Beyond, the other Bears — disgusted by my deeds and fearful of repeating my sins — exiled themselves voluntarily. They built a society of penitence, forever seeking forgiveness from Tawa.
A weakness begging to be exploited.
The Storm and the Savior
Through Gorit Z’loba, I had re-established communion with Nemesis. Though I lacked a physical form, I could channel her power through that cathedral’s blackened walls — enough to influence the mortal realm.
When Norman began his trek through the mountains that had once imprisoned me, I conjured a storm — a monstrous blizzard of claws and fangs. Surely a fragile chipmunk would succumb to the same winter that nearly destroyed me.
He slipped, fell from a cliff, and broke his leg. I waited eagerly for the cold to finish him.
But fate betrayed me again.
Oleg, a Bear from the Kingdom of Grizzly — the very one who would one day imprison me in the lowest depths of Kondyor Massif — found him and carried him to safety.
Even my own kind had turned against me.
Oleg tended to Norman’s wounds and nursed him back to health. Their friendship blossomed. Through Oleg’s kindness, Norman learned that not all Bears were like me.
An insult! A disgrace!
In time, they fell in love — a Bear and a Chipmunk. The very idea sickens me. Apex predators were never meant to love their prey!
The Siege of Gorit Z’loba
But I would have my vengeance yet.
Drawing upon all the dark energy I could muster, I channeled it through Gorit Z’loba’s ancient conduits until its walls trembled. Rivers of lava churned and erupted, hurling molten stones toward the Bear Kingdom. Villages burned beneath my wrath.
Surely the Bears would kneel again before their true Tsar.
But Chipmunk tenacity — that accursed trait — infected even them.
Norman and Oleg rallied an army of Bears. As my molten bombardments rained from the sky, they marched forward undaunted. When the lava hardened into burning automata to block their advance, they shattered them and kept moving.
At last, they reached the gates of my temple.
There, in my spectral form, I faced Norman for the first time. He fought with the same quiet resolve his brother once wielded. Oleg stood at his side, shielding him as Norman invoked the light of Tawa.
The walls of my cathedral — ten thousand years of labor, ten thousand years of rage — cracked and crumbled. My masterpiece, my conduit, my fortress of divinity — destroyed by that wretched little rodent.
Gorit Z’loba was no more.
Aftermath
Though duty forced Norman to return to the Chipmunk Kingdom, he and Oleg remained close — allies, friends, lovers.
And to my eternal disgust, the Bear Kingdom of Grizzly became one of the Chipmunk Kingdom’s strongest allies.
Norman opened the door for Bears to stand once again among the nations of the world — not as monsters, but as equals.
The reconciliation of Bear and Chipmunk had begun.
And for me… that was the most unbearable defeat of all.
The Heart of Rage Still Beats
The Heart of Rage Still Beats
But all was not lost.
For I too am capable of learning from my enemies — even from Chipmunks themselves. In this case, it was their tiresome yet effective habit of always establishing contingencies.
When I constructed Gorit Z’loba, I took inspiration from their infernal foresight. I made certain to forge its inner sanctum deep within its hardened foundations — a chamber built from the strongest materials in existence, impervious to time and siege alike.
Even when Norman and Oleg brought the cathedral down in flames, that core — the heart of the temple — survived. My connection to the physical realm remained pristine and unbroken.
Yes… I could still proceed with my resurrection.
What a delightfully cruel surprise it would be for those rodents — and for little Norman in particular — to learn that a bear, too, is capable of persistence.
Patience of the Predator
As tempting as it was to return immediately — to claw my way back into flesh and visit vengeance upon the world — I knew better.
Revenge, to be meaningful, requires patience.
Instead of striking in fury, I chose to lay low and bide my time. Let Norman grow complacent. Let the Chipmunks convince themselves that evil had been defeated, that I was gone forever, that they were safe beneath Tawa’s light.
If nothing else could break Chipmunks, surely complacency would.
It is never an enemy from without that destroys an empire — it is the rot within, the soft comfort that blinds its keepers.
So I waited.
A World Unaware
Years passed. Gorit Z’loba’s ruins cooled to black stone, and my influence seeped like smoke through the cracks of the world.
Norman, the wretched little survivor, became a rising star in the Chipmunk clergy. He was appointed Head Priest of the Parish Kiva of Arabus, not far from his childhood home — some forty miles outside the capital, Ajitamoo, where the Archdiocese and the Mother Kiva of the Chipmunk faith stood.
There, Norman remained close to his mentor, Chieftain Maz, and to all the dear friends who had helped him rebuild his shattered life.
He even found companionship — romantic, no less — with Orah Tecumseh, the Chipmunk Guardian who had once saved him during the Ordo assault. I suspect the resemblance between Orah and his late brother, Jerry Lee, had much to do with it.
Ah, how poetic. The broken soul rebuilt. The victim becomes the healer. The fallen rises to sainthood.
Disgusting.
Life had rewarded him too well — and that made it the perfect time for me to return.
The Waiting Shadow
But simply resurrecting and appearing out of thin air would not suffice. Chipmunks are hypervigilant creatures — their paranoia is as natural to them as breathing. To strike them directly would only alert them, and ruin the beauty of their downfall.
No, my return required distraction.
While their eyes looked elsewhere — toward politics, peace, and prosperity — I would quietly rebuild myself.
By the time they realized I was back…
It would already be too late.
War and Sacrifice
War and Sacrifice
But what, I wondered, would make a good distraction?
That question was answered when Nemesis revealed that Ordo Primoris, though long defeated and suppressed, still seethed in the shadows — a smoldering ember waiting for the faintest breath to ignite it into a worldwide conflagration.
The world, as ever, was kindling.
And since the inner sanctum of Gorit Z’loba remained intact, I could still exert my spiritual influence upon the physical realm — a fact I wasted no time in exploiting.
All I needed to do was fan the flames of human bigotry — the resentment they held toward the animal nations that had long since eclipsed them. Their lust to reclaim “dominion” over the Earth would do the rest.
While the Chipmunk Kingdom and its allies waged war against humanity’s ignorance, I would quietly make my return.
The Spark
My instrument of chaos was a human named Ivan S. Tremble — by day, a mild-mannered schoolteacher assigned to the Raccoon Nation of Procyon Lotor under a cultural exchange program; by night, a ranking but covert member of the Ordo.
Two of his students, a Raccoon named Brian Thomas Hunter and a Prairie Dog named Todd O’Keef, were mischievous to the point of madness. They reminded me of Jerry Lee — multiplied by two.
That resemblance made it easy to twist the knife.
Through subtle whispers and phantom dreams, I fed Tremble’s frustration. I nurtured his hatred for the two boys, stoking his disgust toward all animals — his mind echoing with the mantra I planted:
“Vile creatures that belong in a zoo.”
As his hatred grew, so did his cruelty. Punishments became harsher, his anger more sadistic. Then came the breaking point: in a fit of rage, Tremble threw Todd into a dumpster behind the school and locked the lid.
The boy remained trapped for two days.
When local rescuers finally found him, Todd was half-conscious, dehydrated, and infected from the filth. The outcry was immediate; the authorities sought to have Tremble fired. But the Ordo intervened.
He kept his position. He kept his smirk.
The Fire Ignites
When Todd recovered, he and Brian sought vengeance. Skilled in pyrotechnics, they affixed a crude bomb beneath Tremble’s vehicle.
The explosion left Tremble disfigured beyond recognition — his face a canvas of melted flesh. His teaching career ended instantly.
He knew who had done it, of course, but could never prove it. And that uncertainty — that helpless rage — was the final spark I needed.
Broken, humiliated, and burning with hatred, Tremble returned to his homeland and dedicated himself fully to Ordo Primoris. His ambition was boundless. Like me, he clawed his way through the ranks until he stood at the top — Grand Master of the Ordo, after toppling his predecessor for weakness.
Even I — yes, even I — could not help but grant him a nod of respect. For despite his deformity and pain, he turned his agony into power.
How familiar.
The War of Fire
Under Tremble’s command, the Ordo rose from the ashes. He unified the scattered human nations under its influence and launched the war I had long awaited.
The first strikes fell upon Procyon Lotor, the Raccoon Nation.
Neighboring realms — the Skunk Nation of Mephitis, the Prairie Dog Nation of Cynomis, and the Rabbit Nation of Lepus — rushed to their aid. The Chipmunk Kingdom, alongside its allies, began a sweeping campaign to expel all Ordo cells from the North American continent.
For a time, the world burned exactly as I desired.
But then, Tremble did something even I had not foreseen.
In retaliation for the Ordo’s expulsion from North America, he ordered the launch of an ICBM, armed with a multi-megaton nuclear warhead, aimed directly at Ajitamoo — the capital of the Chipmunk Kingdom.
The missile screamed through the stratosphere toward the shining city.
And then, as ever, the Chipmunks found their martyr.
Orah Tecumseh, the Guardian of the Kingdom, invoked the power of Tawa and hurled himself into space at impossible speed, intercepting the missile in a blinding flash.
He died as he lived — sacrificing himself for the light.
Aftermath of a Martyr
The Chipmunk Kingdom’s response was immediate and ferocious.
Outraged by the attempt on their capital and the loss of their Guardian, they unleashed the full might of their military. Their armies spread like wildfire, intent on eradicating the Ordo and its poisonous ideology from the Earth.
For four years, the war raged — the Great War of Purification, as historians would call it.
When the dust settled, the Ordo was annihilated. Human nations under its sway were liberated. The world was, for the moment, at peace.
But something about that war intrigued me.
Despite commanding the largest and most devastating military force in history — greater even than the Empire of Ursa at its height — the Chipmunks fought with restraint.
They targeted only military assets and Ordo infrastructure. Civilians were spared. Refugees were fed and sheltered. Even amid righteous fury, they showed compassion.
Empathy, it seems, is a fire they will not let die.
The Perfect Moment
One might assume this would frustrate me — to see those rodents, once again, triumph through virtue.
But no.
Four years of global war had left the world distracted, bloodied, exhausted. That was all the time I needed.
While their eyes were turned outward, I rebuilt myself. The fire of Gorit Z’loba’s heart beat once more. Flesh and spirit realigned.
I was reborn.
And to make matters sweeter, little Norman’s heart had finally been broken.
His beloved Orah Tecumseh — his dashing hero, his Guardian — had perished in glorious self-sacrifice. Norman blamed himself for the loss, believing that if only he had done more, perhaps Orah would still live.
Delicious.
His guilt, his sorrow, his isolation — they were all the opening I required.
At last, the world was ripe for my return.
And Norman Lee — the last, best hope of the Chipmunk Kingdom — would be my first victim.
Fighting for Others
Fighting for Others
Devastated by the loss of Orah, little Norman Lee withdrew from public life, taking a long sabbatical to “clear his mind,” as he called it. In truth, he was spiraling — lost in grief and frustration.
He could not comprehend why Tawa had not revived Orah, as he had once revived Hakooji himself. Nor could he understand why even his brother, Jerry Lee, had not been brought back from death.
He sat alone in his doubts, his faith fractured like a ship stranded upon a desolate island, its crew without compass or hope.
Of course, that fool lacked enough functioning neurons in that walnut-sized brain rattling around his skull to grasp the simple truth: the physical body of the recently deceased is required for revival through Tawa.
The resurrection of Hakooji had been possible only because his body remained intact — consecrated by divine covenant. But the method of resurrection I employ invokes powers far greater — those of Nemesis, my mistress — who can forge an entirely new vessel for the returning spirit to inhabit.
And resurrect, I did.
Hunting the Healer
The moment my strength returned, I wasted no time in making Norman’s life a living hell. Ending the lineage of Chipmunk Chieftains — the line of Hakooji’s Incarnates — was my highest priority.
Yet that rodent, ever the cunning little creature, left no trace of his destination. Even with Nemesis’s aid, it took me more than a year to track him down.
When I finally did, I found him basking on the warm, sunlit coast of Lepus, in a quaint seaside resort called Wildwood — a paradise of wide beaches, colorful boardwalks lined with shops and eateries, and amusement piers crowded with laughter. A playground for both Chipmunks and the native Rabbits.
How quaint. How utterly revolting.
The Rabbit and the Chipmunk
To my disgust, Norman had found himself a new lover — a feisty, lop-eared rabbit from the nearby city of Port Richmond, who called himself Phloppy Bunny.
What a ridiculous name for such a ridiculous creature.
Phloppy hailed from one of Port Richmond’s rough neighborhoods. For years he had cared for his ailing father, a bitter, ungrateful wretch who showed him no kindness in return.
One day, while walking home from the market, Phloppy was cornered by street thugs who demanded his groceries. That was when Norman intervened — driving them off with surprising ferocity. From that moment, the two became inseparable: the rabbit admiring the chipmunk’s empathy, the chipmunk drawn to the rabbit’s defiant spark.
Feistiness and compassion — together at last.
What a nauseating concept.
Under the Boardwalk
I could have simply slain Phloppy — perhaps even before Norman’s eyes — and watched the poor chipmunk collapse into despair as history repeated itself. But no, I wanted something more… humiliating.
I would attack Norman directly, brutalize him, break him before his beloved’s eyes. Phloppy would see, firsthand, the broken weakling that Norman truly was — a hollow, trembling shell unworthy of admiration.
Even the strongest of souls would crumble under such shame.
I chose my moment well.
They were beneath the boardwalk one evening, wrapped in the glow of sunset, lost in their little world. My entrance shattered that serenity — my roar silencing the surf itself.
Their faces, frozen in terror, are burned into my memory forever.
With the element of surprise, I struck swiftly, overpowering Norman before he could react. Phloppy, fool that he was, leapt between us, shouting defiant insults — as though words could wound me. I turned and unleashed a wave of mystic energy to silence him.
That was when it happened.
For the first time, I saw true anger in Norman’s eyes.
But it was not the reckless fury his brother once wielded. No. This was something else — a calm, focused wrath. The same terrible serenity that the Great and Wise Owl had shown when he banished me to the Shadows of the Mountains Beyond.
The next thing I remember was awakening in the inner sanctum of Gorit Z’loba, buried under solidified stone. Norman had sealed me within my own temple — imprisoned by his will alone.
A Troubling Revelation
For the first time in millennia, I was troubled.
How had Norman — a broken, fragile soul — mustered such power? How could he invoke Tawa’s light not with rage, but with peace?
He knew he could not match me in strength. He knew he was scarred, hollow, and hopeless. He should have begged for mercy, face buried in the sand, weeping in humiliation before his lover.
Yet he did not.
He won — without even striking a blow.
The more I thought about it, the more infuriated I became.
Then realization struck me like lightning.
Fighting for Others
Whether it was Phloppy’s inner-city fierceness planting courage in his heart, or Norman’s refusal to lose another loved one, that cursed rodent had ceased fighting for himself.
He was fighting for others.
And that, I realized, made him far more dangerous than I had ever imagined.
A broken creature fighting to spare others from the pain he endured is a formidable enemy indeed — for such a soul cannot be corrupted or coerced. They have nothing left to lose, yet everything to protect.
There would be no more games. No more patience. No more subtlety.
A Plan of Extinction
If I was to destroy Hakooji’s spirit forever, then the entire Chipmunk species must perish with him.
Just as Hakooji once sacrificed his own life so that others might live, so too would his Incarnate — and every one of his kind — perish so that my dominion might endure.
If Hakooji were ever to reincarnate again, I would annihilate that vessel as well, until none remained to bear his light.
No mercy. No survivors.
But first, Norman had to be neutralized.
If I struck directly at the Chipmunk Kingdom, he would intervene. If I attacked him alone, he would find some new strength, some new reason to defy me.
He had to be incapacitated — powerless to stand in my way. Only then could I destroy his entire species unchallenged.
And when the last chipmunk lay dead, I would take my time with him.
Perhaps I would make him my plaything once more — let him wither slowly, helpless and humiliated, until the light of Hakooji flickered out forever.
And as the ashes of his civilization drifted upon the wind, I would relish the shock upon the faces of those who had ever doubted me — my father, my siblings, my enemies, all of them.
For my own amusement, I might even resurrect my family — just to watch their astonishment as they beheld the god I had become.
Then they would finally understand.
I, Artakash, am inevitable.
The Heart of Darkness
The Heart of Darkness
To make my vision of Norman’s incapacitation — and the extinction of Chipmunks — come to fruition, I needed power.
Not just strength, but incomprehensible power.
Power greater than anything I had ever dreamed of wielding.
But where could I find such might?
I was trapped within my inner sanctum, sealed by Norman’s invocation of Tawa’s omnipotent light. In my weakened state, there was no way I could simply break free. Even if I did, Norman would summon Tawa’s power again — perhaps imprisoning me in a stronger tomb, or destroying me entirely.
Then an answer came — as seductive as it was obvious.
Nemesis.
My dark mistress, the goddess of Eternal Night.
She once told me that she was the physical manifestation of a brown dwarf — a failed star adrift in the cold, black ocean of the outer solar system.
Scientists denied her existence, dismissing the “Nemesis Star” as myth or conspiracy.
But as surely as the Sun itself burns, she is there — lurking in the cosmic dark.
Nemesis is the twin sibling of Tawa, the Sun. But unlike her radiant brother, she never ignited. She remained a smoldering ember — her only light the burning jealousy within her.
Her hatred stems from Tawa’s act of creation: using his light to transform one among his court of eight planets into a lush, living world — Earth.
The Wrath of the Dark Twin
The very stones of Earth bear the scars of Nemesis’s rage — each extinction an act of vengeance against her brother.
The impact of Theia, soon after Earth’s birth, blasted debris into orbit, forming the Moon.
The End-Ordovician Extinction froze 85% of marine life.
The Late Devonian Extinction suffocated 75% of all species under seas turned anoxic.
Then came her masterpiece: the End-Permian Extinction — “The Great Dying.” Between 90% and 96% of life perished in an inferno of volcanic fury, birthed in what is now Siberia. I suspect Kondyor Massif itself was forged in that apocalypse.
She did not stop there. The End-Triassic Extinction tore Pangea apart, drowning the world in carbon dioxide, acidifying the seas, dissolving 80% of life in burning oceans. And finally, the End-Cretaceous Extinction, when a mountain of stone from the heavens ended the reign of the dinosaurs in fire.
And then came the Holocene–Anthropocene Extinction, when Nemesis turned her malice upon Humanity itself — corrupting them into gluttonous conquerors who defiled Earth’s fragile balance. They devoured their planet’s gifts, warred endlessly, and severed the Universal Genome — the spark of life itself.
That act ended Humanity’s dominion and extinguished nearly all life, leaving only the most resilient species to rise again.
From that ruin came us — Bears, Chipmunks, Tigers, and the new nations of the world.
Nemesis, in her divine cruelty, had humbled Tawa again and again. And it was her power I would need to consign the Chipmunks to the mausoleum of extinct species.
The Seduction of the Dark Goddess
To my delight, acquiring Nemesis’s power proved far easier than I imagined.
Gods, for all their glory, are still creatures of emotion — vulnerable to manipulation. Her jealousy of Tawa would be the key to her undoing.
Nemesis had been my mistress for millennia. I had worshiped her, served her, even pleasured her in ways that would make the holiest of celibates abandon their vows in desperate envy. Yet from the beginning, I knew she used me — as a plaything, a pawn. Once my usefulness ended, she would discard me like all her other toys.
And so, I saw no reason to grant her any more value than those I had already exploited.
Journey to the Throne World
Using the dark powers of my sanctum, I tore open a portal and stepped into Nemesis’s Throne World — a decaying planet orbiting her crimson star.
She greeted me with amusement, her voice a purr that vibrated through the void.
I knelt before her, feigning devotion. She demanded the pleasures she had come to expect, and I obliged. I worshiped her body, her hunger, her arrogance — feeding her every craving until she was lost in ecstasy beneath the dying glow of her red sun.
When at last she collapsed, intoxicated and unguarded, she began to speak — something she rarely did.
The Creation of Light and Dark
“In the beginning,” she said, “there was nothing.
Oblivion was absolute.
The Creator of All was content, for nothingness is perfection — unchanging, eternal.
But after eons of stillness, even perfection grows stale.
The Creator grew bored.
So He divided the void — into Tawa, who became the Light,
and Me, who became the Darkness.
Together, we were to bring the universe to be.”
Her tone faltered as she continued, turning bitter and wounded.
She lamented how the Creator favored Tawa — gifting him radiance, worlds, and life — while she was cast into the dark with only one dead planet for company.
A tragic story… and the perfect opening.
The Betrayal
In a voice of false tenderness, I told her I understood. That her pain was mine. That I would make her happy — by conquering Tawa’s worlds and delivering them to her in worship.
She laughed bitterly and asked how a mortal could possibly achieve such a divine feat.
I bowed low and whispered, “Grant me but a little more of your power — a connection to your essence — and I shall bring you the Sun itself.”
She smiled.
She believed me.
With a breath like the sigh of galaxies, she drove her fingers into her sternum and parted her chest like opening twin gates. There, framed by her ribs, pulsed her heart — obsidian and radiant with violet light, beating with the fury of Eternal Darkness itself.
She expected me to touch it gently, to draw only what I needed.
But never let your guard down in the presence of an apex predator.
I gripped her heart in my claws.
Her expression shifted from pleasure to horror as I tightened my hand — crushing the divine organ with merciless strength.
Her screams — oh, how they sang! — echoed through the dead skies. I tore her heart free and devoured it whole, savoring the taste of infinity.
Ascension
Power unlike anything I had ever known erupted through me — raw, violent, absolute.
Every cell of my body burned with cosmic flame as I absorbed the might of Eternal Darkness. The brown dwarf above flared for the first time in eons, casting the Throne World in crimson light.
I had done it.
I had slain a goddess.
Nemesis lay at my feet, her lifeblood pooling like oil around my claws.
With her dying breath, she rasped, “You know not what you’ve done. You have no right to this power. Without balance, Light and Darkness cannot exist.”
I laughed in her face.
“Balance is for the weak,” I told her. “And I am the new god who will burn your brother’s light to ash.”
Her eyes widened with final despair as the last breath left her lips.
She was nothing now — just another corpse in the endless void.
And I — Artakash, the Devourer of Darkness — was reborn, transcendent and supreme.
Empathy Is for the Gullible
Empathy Is for the Gullible
With my former mistress reduced to a grotesque cadaver rotting on her dead world, and with my ascendance to godhood through the powers of Eternal Darkness, the time had come.
The time for the fall of Chipmunks — and the rise of my supremacy.
I would see my plan fulfilled: Norman incapacitated, the Chipmunks slaughtered to extinction, and the line of Hakooji’s Incarnates ended forever.
There would be nothing little Norman — nor the spirit of Hakooji within him — could do but watch the end unfold and endure the beginning of my everlasting reign.
The Palace of Darkness
Upon returning to Earth, I used my newly acquired power to restore Gorit Z’loba. No longer would it stand as a mere temple to Nemesis. I reshaped it into a colossal palace of darkness, a monument to my divine supremacy.
I raised its towers higher than mountains and spread its shadow across the horizon. The very stones pulsed with the beat of my resurrected heart.
Then, through the Eternal Darkness, I reached across time and space to my fallen legions — the soldiers of my Imperial Army of Ursa, loyal even in death.
I raised them from their graves.
Their decayed bodies reformed in twisted splendor, bound to my will and sustained by the Darkness itself.
They were my Deathless Host — an army of the damned, unstoppable, unfeeling, and unkillable.
Surely, not even the Chipmunk Kingdom could stand against me now.
The Weakness of Empathy
Yet one obstacle remained: Norman.
Despite his frailty, he had proven himself more than capable of channeling Tawa’s power. If he could summon that same calm mastery again — as he had at Wildwood — even my godlike might might not be enough to stop him.
And then I remembered his one fatal flaw.
Phloppy Bunny.
That soft-hearted fool was the key.
Norman’s empathy had always been his greatest weakness — that infuriating compassion I could never extinguish, no matter how many times I broke him.
I remembered it well from his imprisonment beneath my palace in the final days of the Inner Circle.
Even as I tortured him — even as he hung from chains, his body mangled, his mind shattered — he still tended to the other prisoners. He soothed their pain, whispered comfort, and shielded them from my cruelty when he could.
Once, a fellow captive asked him why he cared for others when he himself suffered the most.
I recall his answer as clearly as if it were carved into my skull:
“Because I made myself a promise — that no one should suffer as I have.”
He only broke that promise when I reduced him to a catatonic shell.
And so, I would use that compassion — that accursed promise — to destroy him.
The Bait
One night, I came for Phloppy Bunny.
I seized him from his bed and carried him through the folds of darkness back to my newly forged palace.
There, in the heart of Gorit Z’loba’s inner sanctum, I chained him to the altar that once belonged to Nemesis herself.
I knew Norman would come.
He would come, as he always did — not for glory, not for vengeance, but for love.
That was his greatest flaw.
When at last the chipmunk arrived, trembling yet determined, I let him enter unopposed. He rushed to the altar, calling out for his beloved.
That was when I sprung the trap.
With a single word of power, the floor sigils ignited, bathing the chamber in a blaze of violet light. Norman froze as the air twisted and warped, the very fabric of space bending to my will.
I smiled and whispered, “If it is your lover you seek, then you may join him — in death, or worse.”
The Eternal Exile
I invoked the full might of the inner sanctum, channeling its energy into a gateway — a vortex leading to Nemesis’s Throne World.
In a flash of black fire, Norman was torn from the mortal realm and hurled through the void, vanishing into that desolate world where my former mistress’s corpse still lay in ruin.
A fitting companion for him — a goddess of rot to match his decaying spirit.
To ensure the little rodent would never return, I destroyed the sanctum the moment the spell was complete.
The palace trembled, its core collapsing inward as the portal sealed itself forever.
Unless I willed it otherwise, Norman Lee was gone — exiled to the dead world of a fallen goddess, trapped for eternity.
The Final Lesson
Thus ended the saga of Hakooji’s line — or so I believed.
And with that, my victory was absolute.
Norman Lee, the great healer, the chipmunk saint, the unbreakable soul, was gone — undone not by power, nor cruelty, but by the very virtue he held sacred.
His empathy.
That wretched, useless sentiment — that disease of the heart that blinds the weak to their own destruction.
In the end, it was his compassion that doomed him.
Light’s Fall
Light’s Fall
With Norman out of the way, I led the charge to bring down the final curtain upon the Chipmunks and their civilization.
The Chipmunk Kingdom was now far more advanced than in the days when I led the Inner Circle against Hakooji’s Loyalists a century and a half ago. Their technology rivaled anything the Bears or even Humanity had ever achieved. Their allies — Rabbits, Tigers, Wolves, Raccoons, and even Humans once corrupted by Ordo Primoris — joined in their defense.
What followed was a global war unlike anything the world had ever seen. Even the great conflict that ended the Empire of Ursa was but a childish quarrel by comparison.
The Chipmunks and their allies fought with the same ferocity the Siberian Chipmunks once showed me. Even my undead armies of Eternal Darkness made only slow progress, their advance choked by relentless counterstrikes.
It was becoming another war of attrition — the same grinding stalemate that had once broken the Empire of Ursa.
The Desperate Gambit
Frustration consumed me.
To break the stalemate, I invoked the full power of Eternal Darkness, drawing upon the heart of the void itself. I summoned Nemesis’s Brown Dwarf Star — her very body — and pulled it closer to Earth.
Her crimson light filled the sky.
It was a magnificent sight: the heavens themselves dyed blood-red as her colossal mass loomed in the firmament. The world trembled before the approaching shadow. Panic swept across every nation; fear spread faster than any contagion.
And as I expected, resistance began to crumble.
But I had overlooked one small detail.
The Fatal Miscalculation
The laws of physics are cruel masters — even to gods.
By bringing a celestial object many times Jupiter’s mass so close to Earth, I had sealed the planet’s doom.
The Brown Dwarf’s gravitational pull tore at the planet’s crust, tides surging into mountains, earthquakes shattering continents. The Earth had entered the Roche Limit — the point of no return.
It would soon be ripped apart.
A critical oversight, I admit — though in my defense, I was rather distracted by rage.
The Last Act of Light
Ever vigilant, the Chipmunks realized the peril as well.
I saw Chieftain Maz rise above the capital — that ancient fool glowing with the last embers of Tawa’s grace. With the final strength left in his body, he invoked the Sun’s power one last time.
A blinding flash erupted across the heavens.
When the light faded, the Chipmunk Kingdom — and every living thing upon the Earth — was gone.
All that remained was Maz’s charred body, falling from the sky like a dying ember.
The old fool had teleported the entire world’s population — every last living soul — somewhere beyond my reach.
The Hollow Victory
So there I stood — victorious, but alone.
A god triumphant over a dying planet.
No! I would not accept such a hollow victory! I had come too far, suffered too much, fought for too long to see everything lost to physics and fate.
I am Artakash! I am not weak!
I poured all the power of Eternal Darkness into my hands, gripping the Earth’s mantle, fighting to hold the planet together as the Brown Dwarf’s gravity pulled it apart.
I would not lose again.
But in my frenzy, I failed to notice what else the teleportation had brought near: Nemesis’s Throne World, still adrift in the void — with Norman upon it.
The Return of the Light
As I strained against the impossible gravity, he appeared before me.
Norman — glowing, radiant, blazing with Tawa’s full power. A corona of divine fire surrounded him, as bright as the Sun itself.
He looked like his brother, Jerry, in his final moments — incandescent, transcendent.
With all my focus locked upon preserving the Earth, he could have destroyed me then and there. But he didn’t.
Instead, seeing the destruction I had wrought, he tried to help me.
He gathered the light of Tawa, channeling it toward the shattered planet to counter my pull, to stabilize its orbit.
I demanded to know why. Why would he, my mortal enemy, aid me now?
His answer was simple — and infuriating:
“Nemesis has spoken to me. She told me that light and darkness must coexist — that balance is the heart of all existence. Without it, creation itself will unravel. It takes both of us to restore it.”
The Breaking Point
Balance.
That word — that insult — has haunted me since the Gathering of The Animals.
Balance is the excuse of the weak — the mantra of those too timid to seize greatness.
And now this wretched rodent dared to stand before me and lecture me about balance?
I felt the old rage boil over — every humiliation, every scar, every whisper of my father’s contempt.
How dare he pity me!
I am Artakash — the self-made god! I clawed my way out of obscurity! I slaughtered a goddess and rewrote the laws of life and death!
Everything I achieved, I achieved alone!
My father called me weak — I proved him wrong! My siblings mocked me — I buried them! And now this rodent, this parasite of the light, would call me pitiful?
No.
Not again.
The Murder of Light
I dropped my hold on the planet and turned my fury upon him.
With all the power of Eternal Darkness surging through my body, I struck.
My fist drove through his abdomen, impaling him upon my arm.
I watched his face contort in pain, his eyes wide with disbelief, his light fading like a dying star.
Then his body went limp.
At last — at long last — Norman Lee was dead.
The light was snuffed out.
The Chipmunks were gone. The Earth belonged to me.
Eternal Darkness had triumphed.
I laughed, triumphant, as the heavens themselves bowed before my glory.
No one would ever call me weak again.
My father, my siblings — they would weep in the afterlife as I raised my banner above the cosmos.
I had done it.
The day had fallen.
The End of All Things
But as my laughter echoed through the void, the Earth began to shudder.
The planet — my prize — was breaking apart.
The Brown Dwarf’s gravity was tearing it to pieces.
No! This victory was mine! I earned it! I would not let the universe itself steal it from me!
I threw Norman’s lifeless body aside and poured every ounce of darkness into the dying world, straining to hold it together.
But the sky began to crack — not metaphorically, but literally.
The fabric of space-time itself was breaking.
Stars flickered out like dying candles. The cosmos buckled and folded inward.
And as the Earth disintegrated beneath me, I saw the universe collapse into the Brown Dwarf — all creation devoured by the darkness I had summoned.
Then came silence.
Dying Rage in Oblivion
Dying Rage in Oblivion
The next thing I knew, I was standing upon a fragment of Earth — one of countless shards drifting through an endless void, like icebergs adrift in a black ocean without horizon or sound.
In the distance, surrounded by clouds of swirling maelstrom, hung a vast black glass sphere. Its surface was smooth and perfect, a mirror of nothingness. I recognized it immediately.
It was the last bastion of Norman’s soul — the same spiritual fortress I had once tried to shatter during his century and a half of cryogenic sleep. I remembered its impossible strength, how its calm, unyielding surface had defied even my fury.
But something was different now.
It felt stronger.
Even the surrounding clouds of chaos were settling into a serene calm, their violent tendrils fading into ethereal blue wisps.
The Sphere of Souls
I approached the Black Sphere and peered through its surface. I expected to see Norman as before — a child in his tiny home, playing with those infernal toys.
Instead, I beheld the entire world.
The Chipmunk Kingdom. Humanity. The forests, the oceans, the skies — all of it, perfectly intact, contained within that impossible sphere.
Maz, the old fool, had done the unthinkable. He had sacrificed himself to teleport all life on Earth into Norman’s soul.
Every living being now existed within him.
The realization struck me like thunder. The planet’s safety, the survival of creation itself, rested within the soul of the very chipmunk I had broken and mutilated.
The Revelation of Hakooji
Then I saw it — a sight that froze even my immortal heart.
The Bloodstone.
The very stone upon which I had once laid Hakooji’s broken body after slashing those five fatal wounds into his back. Blood still trickled down its surface as if that ancient sin had only just been committed.
But the body upon the stone was not Hakooji’s.
It was Norman’s.
His head lifted. His eyes met mine.
And suddenly, I understood.
Norman did not merely host the spirit of Hakooji. He was Hakooji — the latest incarnation in an unbroken line stretching back ten thousand years.
Every Chieftain of the Chipmunks — every soul who bore that sacred light — had been one and the same: the living, dying, and reborn Hakooji.
That was why I could never truly break him. Why he always placed others before himself. Why his empathy refused to die, no matter how much agony I inflicted.
Hakooji’s purpose was never survival — it was continuity.
He and his people lived, died, and lived again through faith, memory, and unity. They were the Body of Hakooji, eternal not through immortality, but through love, heritage, and unyielding perseverance.
The Chipmunks themselves were his living soul — and Norman his latest heart.
The Question of the Light
But why?
Why would they surrender selfishness and greed — instincts bred into every creature’s blood — for the sake of making the Sun rise?
Why would prey creatures defy their instinct to flee, choosing instead to fight predators like me even when defeat was certain?
There had to be something more than their obsession with day.
Then Norman’s voice broke the silence.
“Did you ever once hear Hakooji say he wanted eternal day?”
I blinked in disbelief. “Explain yourself!” I demanded.
Norman stepped closer, his calm voice cutting through the void.
“You were told — by both Nemesis and me — that the universe depends on the balance between light and dark.”
I snarled, my patience burning away. “Why is this ridiculous balance so important?”
His tone remained maddeningly serene.
“Hakooji never sought eternal light. Just as you sought eternal darkness, everlasting day would have destroyed life all the same. He fought for day in harmony with night, so that both could sustain the balance necessary for existence itself — until all creation is lifted into the Light of Tawa at the end of time.”
He lowered his head, voice soft as a prayer.
“In your obsession to prove yourself superior, you destroyed that balance. And now we stand here — in the true meaning of eternal darkness. Oblivion.”
The Rage
How dare he.
How dare this miserable rodent accuse me!
It was not I who ruined the world — it was all of them! My father, my siblings, the Chipmunks, Humanity, even Nemesis herself — none of them ever respected me. None ever saw my strength. To them I was a tool, a fool, a runt to be kicked and mocked and cast aside.
It was their insolence that brought this ruin, not mine!
The Assault
“Enough of your games!” I roared, lunging at him with every shred of my remaining power.
But my claws passed through him.
No matter how many times I struck, he remained untouched — as if my blows met only air. He didn’t even flinch.
If he had been anyone else, he’d have been reduced to shreds, but he stood still, calm as stone.
“What’s the matter, Artakash?” he taunted softly. “Are you not better than a weak little prey animal?”
The words seared through me. I struck again and again — wild, frantic blows that accomplished nothing.
Why couldn’t I hurt him?
Why couldn’t I make him suffer?
My attacks grew erratic. My rage dissolved into something colder, older — a feeling I had buried long ago.
Fear.
The same fear that haunted my childhood — when I hid from my father’s wrath, when my siblings laughed as they beat me. The terror of being powerless. The terror of being small.
“Come on, Artakash,” Norman whispered. “Surely you can make me weep in misery as you always have.”
His words pierced deeper than any blade.
The more he stood unbroken, the more he became them — my family, my tormentors, my past.
I flailed helplessly, my strikes degrading into childish blows, my claws sliding uselessly against his fur.
“So this is the mighty Artakash,” Norman said at last, his voice full of quiet pity. “A bear too afraid to face his own pain.”
The Collapse
“Please! I am not weak!” I screamed. “I am not a coward!”
But even as I spoke, the words trembled.
I swung again and again, my strength fading, my movements slowing. My voice broke into sobs I could no longer contain.
I grabbed him by the shoulders, desperate to feel something — anything. My claws dragged uselessly down his sides, leaving no mark, not even a strand of fur disturbed.
And then… I stopped.
The volcano that had raged within me for ten thousand years finally went silent.
All that was left was the sound of my ragged breath, echoing through the empty dark.
Deathless Empathy
Deathless Empathy
I fell to my hands and knees at Norman’s feet — exhausted, humiliated, utterly defeated.
I could fight no longer.
My will was gone. My pride was gone. Everything I had built across millennia — my empire, my vengeance, my so-called godhood — all of it, lost to this single chipmunk.
I looked up at him and begged, my voice cracking:
“Fine. Let Hakooji and all his incarnations, including you, unleash their wrath upon me. Do what you must — just make the pain stop. I cannot bear it any longer.”
The Gesture
Norman said nothing.
He reached out, slid his hand beneath my muzzle, and lifted my head. For a long, unbearable moment he simply gazed into my eyes. I saw in his face the power of judgment — the quiet, terrible authority of one who has every right to condemn.
I waited for the blow, the curse, the retribution that I surely deserved.
But it never came.
Instead, he leaned closer. His other hand rested upon my shoulder — warm, steady, unshaking. Then, with infinite gentleness, he pressed his lips to my forehead.
I froze.
Among Chipmunks, even in the ages before Hakooji, that gesture was sacred — a kiss of forgiveness.
The Question
“Why?” I stammered, wide-eyed, trembling.
Why would he do this?
Of all those I had wounded — enslaved, tortured, murdered — none had suffered more than Norman Lee. I had destroyed him, his friends, his world, his very universe.
He had every reason to hate me, every right to return my cruelty a thousandfold.
And yet he forgave.
Norman leaned close, his breath soft as a breeze, his voice a clear chime echoing through the void.
“To forgive,” he whispered, “is not to pardon the wounds… but to let the pain die where it was born.”
The Shattering
Those words struck me like divine thunder.
The pain that followed was not physical — it was something far deeper. The agony of realization.
In all my striving to prove my father and siblings wrong — to show them I was strong, mighty, worthy — I had only become them.
The monster I hated most was the one I had become.
Everything I had built around myself — pride, cruelty, ambition — collapsed like a dying star.
I saw myself as I truly was: the frightened runt my father had cast into the Siberian wilderness. That should have been my rebirth — my chance to shed their cruelty and start anew.
But instead, I carried that pain like a crown. I wielded it against the world.
Unlike Norman, I had never let it die.
And it had cost me everything.
The Embrace
It was ironic — cruelly so — that the only warmth I had ever known came from the very creature I had tormented.
He held me, this little chipmunk, the one I had beaten, defiled, and broken. And in his arms, I felt something I had never once felt in all my existence.
Comfort.
I thought of them all — the rabbits I enslaved, Tsar Alexander, the Siberian Chipmunks, Hakooji, Jerry Lee, Orah Tecumseh, Todd the prairie dog and his raccoon friend Brian, Norman’s lover Phloppy Bunny. None of them deserved the suffering I caused.
The stripes on every chipmunk’s back were eternal testaments to my cruelty.
What else could I feel but disgust at myself?
The Collapse
Even if the Earth and the universe were someday restored, nothing would ever truly be the same.
Just as the stripes marked every chipmunk, creation itself would bear the scars of my claws — all because I refused to let my pain die.
The guilt was unbearable.
I broke down.
Sobbing uncontrollably, I pressed my face into Norman’s chest, my tears soaking his fur. My whole body shook beneath the weight of a lifetime’s agony.
Part of me hated the weakness, the vulnerability. I wanted to be strong — to feel strong. But the sobs kept coming, tearing through me like waves through a crumbling dam.
I clung to him — this tiny creature — as a lost cub clings to the mother he never had, begging wordlessly for mercy.
And still he held me. No reproach. No anger. Only silence, and the steady rhythm of his breath — calm, forgiving, eternal.
The Emptying
At last the tears subsided.
When I came to my senses, I found myself prostrate at Norman’s feet, my hands wrapped around his ankles. My breath was slow. My mind — silent.
All the rage, all the pride, all the hatred that had defined me for ten thousand years had drained away.
Something within me had died — and, in its place, something else stirred.
Not joy. Not peace. Something emptier, but purer.
A quiet I had never known.
Restoration
Restoration
After a while, Norman gently wiped the tears from my face and encouraged me to rise. I had no idea how long we stood there just staring at each other.
But what I saw in that little chipmunk was far more than a mere prey animal at the bottom of the food chain.
Burning in his eyes — as brightly as a galaxy’s worth of stars — was a power beyond comprehension. It was not divine might, not strength of muscle or magic, but something far greater: the inner strength to rise above pain, no matter how deep or scarring it was.
I could not help but close my eyes and nod to him in respect. He nodded likewise in acknowledgment.
A Lesson in Respect
Respect.
For ten thousand years, I had done everything imaginable to seize it — through fear, through blood, through cruelty. My father and siblings had done the same. Yet all such efforts ended in ruin.
Norman, Hakooji, and their Chipmunk Kingdom had earned respect by entirely different means — not through terror, but through empathy.
They had learned, through Hakooji’s teachings, to rise above what the Creator of All had designed them to be — to place the well-being of others above their own self-conceit.
How else could the Siberian Chipmunks have united to defend their homeland against my Imperial forces?
How else could Hakooji have voted for day, knowing the wrath I would unleash upon him?
How else could the Chipmunks have overthrown my Inner Circle and restored the very culture I sought to erase?
How else could Norman have cared for others, even as I crushed him beneath my cruelty?
They earned respect not by domination, but by rising beyond what their challenges tried to reduce them to.
A Dilemma in Oblivion
But now, even with all existence erased, we were still trapped in Oblivion — with only Norman’s soul sustaining what remained of creation.
I was lost. I saw no way out. I voiced my despair aloud. Norman only smiled, as if he had already solved the riddle.
“Despite how determined you were to destroy me,” Norman said, “there was one thing I never allowed myself to lose — my inner world. My creativity. The imagination I was punished for in school long before you ever entered my life.”
Realization struck me.
“So this is why I could not break you,” I gasped. “When your suffering became too much, you withdrew completely into that inner world — severing yourself from my brutality, from all external pain. Only the shock of revival from cryogenic stasis was enough to bring you back.”
“Very good, Artakash,” Norman said, smiling wider.
Then he explained everything.
When I had teleported the Brown Dwarf toward Earth, condemning the planet to doom, Norman used Tawa’s power to contact Chieftain Maz, urging him to teleport the Chipmunk Kingdom and every nation on Earth into Norman’s inner world — protecting them from annihilation by the same method he had once used to protect himself.
The cunning of it left me speechless. Even I, for all my foresight, would never have conceived such a move.
“You truly are the spirit of Hakooji,” I admitted bitterly.
“So Maz tells me,” Norman replied with a humble grin.
Truth and Reflection
“Is that why you never lost your empathy?” I asked.
“Even if I carry Hakooji’s spirit,” Norman said, “it’s my brother’s stubborn defiance that shaped me. I’m not as strong as he was — so I found other ways to fight.”
I slumped, the weight of that truth pressing down on me. Though he lacked his brother’s physical strength, Norman had proven far stronger in spirit.
Hakooji’s incarnations were not static echoes — they evolved.
Each chipmunk who bore his soul became a crucible for growth, for wisdom. Their struggles were Hakooji’s own — each one a lesson written into the fabric of their collective spirit.
That, I realized, was the secret of the Chipmunks’ endurance.
No matter how many times I destroyed them, they grew wiser.
The Mirror of Pain
I was angry. Angry at being outsmarted — at him, at myself, at the truth. But mostly, I was angry that my hatred had blinded me to what made them so indestructible.
“I know you despise me,” Norman said, sensing my turmoil. “To you, we were vermin — scum that should have stayed at the bottom of the food chain. But our defiance reminded you of what your father and siblings did to you.”
I froze.
“How do you know about them?” I demanded.
“Your ability to see the bigger picture is impressive,” Norman said approvingly. Then his tone hardened, teacher to student. “But you always fixate on the end goal and trip over the details midway.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your journal, Artakash,” he said with maddening calm. “Lewisa stole it from the Inner Circle archives — the same night you exiled my brother. It was quite the read. Especially your little morning habits under the blanket.”
His words struck me like a hammer. My stomach turned cold.
“You couldn’t live with your past,” Norman continued, his tone shifting from amused to grave. “So you made us — all of us — your punching bags. Hurting others gave you a high that numbed your own pain. The pain you should have released long ago.”
He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then exhaled with controlled calm.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “There were times I almost became like you. After everything you did — to me, to Jerry, to Chris, to Orah, to all of us — I nearly let the pain consume me. I could have become a monster. But I chose empathy. Because if I hadn’t let my pain die…”
He opened his eyes — hard as steel.
“...I would have become you.”
The words cut deeper than any blade.
He was right. Every horror I had committed was born of cowardice — of refusing to face my own wounds.
Silence fell between us.
The Choice
“What do we do now?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“I could return to my inner world,” Norman said, glancing at the black sphere. “You could spend eternity trying to break through again. Or…”
He gestured at the void around us.
“We fix this. Together. But the choice is yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you can set aside your hatred long enough to help me restore the balance,” he said, “we can revive the universe. It won’t be perfect — like gluing a shattered bowl — but it can be whole again. It will take both of us.”
“And if I help you, what guarantee do I have that you won’t banish me again?” I asked.
“There are no guarantees, Artakash,” Norman said flatly. “Without risk, there’s no justice.”
He turned toward the sphere.
“That’s hardly an incentive,” I muttered.
“Then stew in your misery,” Norman shot back, his eyes cold. “It’s not like you can carve five mortal wounds down Oblivion’s back for not getting your way.”
I clenched my fists, fury warring with reason.
He was right. If I refused him, I’d be trapped here forever — alone, haunted by the ghosts of my own pain.
When he was nearly inside the sphere, I grabbed his tail and yanked him backward. He landed on the ground with a startled thud.
“I’ll help you restore the balance, chipmunk!” I said, extending my hand.
“What made you decide that?”
“Because after ten thousand years of striving to surpass my father and siblings, I have nothing to show for it — and only myself to blame.”
Norman studied me for a long moment, then nodded.
“Fair enough,” he said. “But understand this — when the restoration is complete, you will still be held accountable for your transgressions.”
“If that is the price of letting go of my pain, so be it.”
“Very well.”
The Restoration
We faced each other and joined hands.
Closing our eyes, we cleared our minds, letting our opposing powers — Eternal Darkness and Light of Tawa — flow together.
Our breaths slowed. The two forces mingled, not in conflict but in harmony. For the first time, I felt no pain, no anger, no despair — only peace.
The sensation was beyond anything I had known. It drowned ten thousand years of agony.
We felt the universe healing. Stars reignited. Galaxies reformed. Planets took shape. The tapestry of creation rewove itself before our eyes.
I saw what truly mattered.
Even if I had achieved everything I once desired — even if I had ruled all creation — I would have been master of nothing but a single speck of dust suspended in a sunbeam.
And I had destroyed it all over my own pride.
The Return of the Sun
At last, the Sun — the very light for which Hakooji had once given his life — ignited anew.
Its light washed over the reforming Earth. Atmosphere gathered. Oceans filled. Forests grew. Cities reappeared.
All of creation returned to its place in the cosmic order.
When the light faded, we opened our eyes.
Norman gasped — and smiled.
For standing before him were Jerry Lee, Queen Lewisa, Chris Karr, Orah Tecumseh, Phloppy Bunny, and Oleg of Grizzly — every friend and loved one restored.
Despite all I had done, I felt something stir within me at the sight — a warmth I had never known.
Even for a monster like me, it was… beautiful.
Accountability
Accountability
Though most of the damage was mended, Norman’s warning proved true — I was still to be held accountable for my transgressions. The scars were too deep; the world would never be the same.
No amount of forgiveness could erase my crimes.
That was just. I accepted it.
Besides, I still bore my immortality and the lingering powers of Eternal Darkness. And I was used to pain. No punishment they devised could surpass what I had already endured. I made this clear to the little chipmunk, and he understood.
The Second Gathering
Due to the extraordinary circumstances of the past ten millennia, a second Gathering of the Animals was convened — to determine my fate.
Many demanded immediate vengeance: rabbits, tigers, and even chipmunks whose families I had slaughtered. Yet Norman, ever the empath, refused to allow mob justice. He insisted upon a fair trial, conducted by representatives of all nations — prosecutors, defenders, and witnesses — with the descendant of the Great and Wise Owl presiding as Judge and the Gathering itself serving as the jury.
The trial lasted two full years. Thousands of testimonies, countless records, and the weight of ten thousand years of suffering were laid bare.
At the end, the verdict was unanimous: guilty.
A death sentence would have been meaningless — immortality renders such penalties redundant. Instead, the Gathering agreed to the recommendation of my defenders: eternal imprisonment in Kondyor Massif, confined within the Shafts of the Damned for as long as civilization could maintain my incarceration.
It was a fitting sentence.
The Parting with Norman
When the trial concluded, Norman approached me before I was placed in Oleg’s custody for transport to Kondyor.
“I know your history, Artakash,” Norman said, surrounded by his brother, friends, and lover. “You endured abuse from your family, survived the Siberian wilderness, rose from nothing to Tsar of an empire. You survived ten millennia of banishment and built a temple with your own hands. You even defeated a goddess and became a god yourself. Every time you were crushed, you rose again.”
He took my hand — the same clawed hand that had slain Hakooji and so many others — and traced one of its talons with delicate fingers.
“It is tragic,” he said quietly, “that your unstoppable determination served only malice. And heartbreaking that you must now be held accountable for it.”
A heavy sadness hung in the air.
“I wish things had been different,” Norman continued, eyes downcast. “Perhaps if you had been born into love instead of cruelty, your story might have been another tale entirely. But history never forgets — and justice always balances.”
Then he looked up and smiled.
“Once you have repaid the debts of your transgressions,” he said, “your future will be what you make of it.”
Puzzled, I asked what he meant. He stepped closer and placed a hand over my heart.
“You have a persistence and tenacity even we Chipmunks respect,” he said reverently. “Therefore, I know it is within you to become something greater than the product of your suffering.”
For the first time in my life, I smiled — not from cruelty, but from something genuine. It was the first seed of respect I had ever received, and I knew I would cherish it always.
I nodded in gratitude before turning to Oleg.
The Question
“Wait,” I said suddenly.
Oleg paused. Norman turned back to me.
“I must know something,” I said, my voice shaking. “Something that has gnawed at me since I first set eyes upon your species. How can a creature whose nature is self-conceit find the capacity for such empathy and compassion as yours?”
Norman smiled gently.
“Because every being has the potential to become something greater than what nature intended,” he answered. “It’s called having a humble, open mind — to learn, to adapt, and to evolve. Besides,” he added, eyes bright, “your observation of Chipmunks being selfish by nature is wrong.”
“Wrong? How so?” I asked.
“Long before Hakooji’s birth,” Norman explained, “Chipmunks valued individualism not because of vanity, but because it granted self-autonomy — the freedom to think, to create, to innovate, and to grow into our best selves.”
“Yet I saw Chipmunks fighting among themselves for territory, food, mates, and power long before Hakooji,” I countered.
“Through your hatred,” Norman replied, “you saw only the worst in us.”
He paused, his tone softening.
“Individualism isn’t perfect,” he admitted. “The Koyaanisqatsi proved that when your Inner Circle nearly ended our civilization. But even so, our freedom to act, to think, and to learn from our mistakes — that is why we endure. It is why, no matter how beaten down we are, we always rise again.”
I was astonished by his honesty. No Bear, least of all my father or siblings, would ever admit weakness. In the Empire of Ursa, strength meant denial. Yet this Chipmunk laid his flaws bare — not as shame, but as truth.
“You make no effort to hide weakness,” I said quietly.
“Truth was never meant to be comfortable,” Norman replied. “Facing it and learning from it — that is real power. Suppressing it is weakness.”
I mulled over his words in silence.
The Revelation
Norman’s tone grew brighter.
“That’s what individualism truly is, Artakash — the freedom to see truth and heed its lessons, no matter how painful. That’s why we Chipmunks are indomitably tenacious. It’s why we rose above what nature intended. Hakooji didn’t create that strength — he merely awakened it.”
“Such noble words, Chipmunk,” I said. “But what guarantee is there that none of your kind will walk the same dark path I once traveled?”
Norman hesitated. Then, without a word, he removed his ceremonial garments, baring his chest and back.
The room fell silent.
He turned slowly, revealing the five stripes emblazoned down his back.
“I want you to remember something, Artakash,” he said, his voice deep with conviction. “Our stripes are not merely the scars of the wounds you gave us. They are eternal marks of freedom — reminders that no soul will ever again die beneath the claws of self-conceit.”
The force of his words struck me like a meteor through the heart.
For the first time, I understood.
What I had always seen as the Chipmunks’ weakness — their individuality, their empathy — was their greatest virtue.
No species is perfect. Not Bears, not Chipmunks. But it was the freedom to be oneself — the courage to face truth rather than deny it — that made them stewards of Tawa’s light.
I realized then that the Empire of Ursa had fallen for the same reason I had: because we smothered individuality beneath pride and fear.
The End of Judgment
“I will remember this, Chipmunk,” I said, lowering my head in reverence. “I will remember.”
Norman nodded. “See that you do.”
Then I turned to Oleg, signaling that I was ready to be taken to Kondyor Massif — ready to face the consequences I had long evaded.
For the first time in my immortal life, I went willingly.
Atonement
Atonement
And so here I am, in Kondyor Massif, serving my sentence in the Shafts of the Damned, among the monsters I once became on the long, dark path that led me here.
The inmates fight like feral beasts — living reminders of what I was. I have endured so much physical and spiritual pain that I am nearly numb to it.
At first, I had to make it clear to them that I was not to be trifled with. But Norman showed me there is another way — not through fear, but through letting my pain die where it was born.
So I begin what I know will be a long journey: teaching new inmates how to stand up for themselves in these cutthroat tunnels, nursing the wounded back to health, and using force only when all else fails.
It isn’t much. But it’s a start.
The Long Sentence
I have no idea how long I will be down here. But one thing I know for certain: nothing lasts forever — not even this mine I built long ago, now my prison.
Perhaps the Gathering of the Animals knew that when they handed down my sentence.
Maybe, when Kondyor Massif finally succumbs to time and crumbles into dust, my debts will have been paid in full. Maybe then, I will see what future I can make.
Temptation and Restraint
One might ask why I don’t simply use the powers of Eternal Darkness to escape. It’s a logical question.
I still possess those godly powers, for Nemesis remains dead even after Norman and I restored the balance. Indeed, I could invoke them now and no guard, no weapon, no wall could stop me.
Yes — I could crush anyone foolish enough to stand in my way and walk free.
But escape would only make me something far worse than I have ever been.
Norman gave me a taste of respect — not the kind taken through fear, but earned through endurance and persistence, virtues he saw in me that my father and siblings never did.
I will not betray that gift.
The New Beginning
Instead, I will do what must be done to earn respect the right way.
Perhaps then I can finally let go of the pain my family left me with and be free to move on.
Until that day, my redemption begins here — among the beasts, reminders of the monster I was, helping at least a few of them rise above what we have all become.
A World Reborn
As for Norman Lee and the Chipmunk Kingdom: not long after my sentencing, that little chipmunk married Phloppy Bunny. He remains close friends with Oleg of Grizzly, Orah Tecumseh, Jerry Lee, Chris Karr, and Queen Lewisa, who still reigns over the Kingdom.
With the love and support of his friends, Norman’s life became a night-and-day transformation.
He was consecrated as the new Chipmunk Chieftain, taking the name Tamias — the titular hero of his beloved childhood toy line, Tamias and the Defenders of Skull Fortress.
It is a fitting name. Tamias is also the scientific name of his species — meaning “Treasurer” or “Steward.” As the Incarnate of Hakooji, he now serves as head and elder of all Chipmunk-kind, living out that toy line’s hidden message: to keep the memory alive through faith, compassion, and stewardship.
The Legacy of the Chipmunks
Norman has endured every imaginable hell yet never allowed himself to become its product. That is why he never truly broke, no matter what I did to him.
He deserves respect — and he is worthy of his sacred role as the living Incarnate of Hakooji.
In truth — and I never thought I’d say this — Norman would have made a great bear. A mighty one.
He embodies what Tsar Alexander once taught in the old Empire of Ursa, before my reign of tyranny:
Respect is to be earned, never taken.
The part I ignored was this: earning respect begins with respecting oneself — by holding transgressors accountable but letting the pain die when justice is done.
The New World
Jerry Lee and Orah Tecumseh now lead the expanded Order of Guardians — hundreds of elite Chipmunk warriors sworn to defend the Kingdom and answer only to Queen Lewisa.
Lewisa herself finally found joy, marrying Jerry in a ceremony overseen by Norman.
Chris Karr, once the smuggler and rebel, became Director of the Ministry of Central Intelligence, safeguarding the Kingdom from new threats — the heirs of the Inner Circle or the remnants of Ordo Primoris.
Since the Restoration, the Chipmunks have built the world’s most prosperous and powerful nation — yet unlike the Empire of Ursa, their hegemony is rightfully earned.
They do not rule through fear or dominance. They lead by example — living Hakooji’s teachings of empathy and reciprocity.
Rather than crushing weaker nations under their heel, the Chipmunks uplift them — through diplomacy, trade, cultural exchange, technology, and defense pacts.
Even in war, they fight with restraint, striking only at an enemy’s ability to wage battle, sparing civilians, and helping their foes rebuild when the conflict ends.
They do not take respect. They inspire it.
The world they have built — the Pax Tamiae — is far safer, wiser, and more compassionate than the order ruled by the Empire of Ursa at its height.
Where There Is a Way
Chipmunks have always lived by one saying:
“Where there is a Chipmunk, there is a way.”
They have proven it true — transcending the scars I left on their backs, becoming greater than what nature intended.
They remember the wounds, but they let go of the pain.
Perhaps, then, the same could be said of Bears:
Where there is a Bear, there is a way.
Who would have thought a little Chipmunk would teach a mighty Bear this truth?
Final Reflections
And with that, I conclude this story.
There will always be monsters like me who bring chaos to this world — but I am certain there will always be a chipmunk like Norman Lee, or rather, Tamias, to ensure those monsters meet the same fate I have.
He and those like him wield a power far greater than any weapon, any empire, or any god: undying empathy.
It is the key to rising above one’s tormentors — and to earning the kind of respect they crave but never achieve.
Farewell
So go now. Return to the light of Tawa, and leave me to my penance.
Worry not for me. I have time, tenacity, and persistence on my side — I always have.
No matter how long I remain in these depths, no matter how much work I must do to atone, I know what must be done to leave this darkness as someone better than the beast who was buried here.
Oh — one last thing before you go.
No matter the depth of your wounds, no matter how hard it is to let the pain die, rebuild your life and live as you wish to live.
But never — ever — follow the path that led me here.
For that way lies the Abyss.
Atonement
And so here I am, in Kondyor Massif, serving my sentence in the Shafts of the Damned, among the monsters I once became on the long, dark path that led me here.
The inmates fight like feral beasts — living reminders of what I was. I have endured so much physical and spiritual pain that I am nearly numb to it.
At first, I had to make it clear to them that I was not to be trifled with. But Norman showed me there is another way — not through fear, but through letting my pain die where it was born.
So I begin what I know will be a long journey: teaching new inmates how to stand up for themselves in these cutthroat tunnels, nursing the wounded back to health, and using force only when all else fails.
It isn’t much. But it’s a start.
The Long Sentence
I have no idea how long I will be down here. But one thing I know for certain: nothing lasts forever — not even this mine I built long ago, now my prison.
Perhaps the Gathering of the Animals knew that when they handed down my sentence.
Maybe, when Kondyor Massif finally succumbs to time and crumbles into dust, my debts will have been paid in full. Maybe then, I will see what future I can make.
Temptation and Restraint
One might ask why I don’t simply use the powers of Eternal Darkness to escape. It’s a logical question.
I still possess those godly powers, for Nemesis remains dead even after Norman and I restored the balance. Indeed, I could invoke them now and no guard, no weapon, no wall could stop me.
Yes — I could crush anyone foolish enough to stand in my way and walk free.
But escape would only make me something far worse than I have ever been.
Norman gave me a taste of respect — not the kind taken through fear, but earned through endurance and persistence, virtues he saw in me that my father and siblings never did.
I will not betray that gift.
The New Beginning
Instead, I will do what must be done to earn respect the right way.
Perhaps then I can finally let go of the pain my family left me with and be free to move on.
Until that day, my redemption begins here — among the beasts, reminders of the monster I was, helping at least a few of them rise above what we have all become.
A World Reborn
As for Norman Lee and the Chipmunk Kingdom: not long after my sentencing, that little chipmunk married Phloppy Bunny. He remains close friends with Oleg of Grizzly, Orah Tecumseh, Jerry Lee, Chris Karr, and Queen Lewisa, who still reigns over the Kingdom.
With the love and support of his friends, Norman’s life became a night-and-day transformation.
He was consecrated as the new Chipmunk Chieftain, taking the name Tamias — the titular hero of his beloved childhood toy line, Tamias and the Defenders of Skull Fortress.
It is a fitting name. Tamias is also the scientific name of his species — meaning “Treasurer” or “Steward.” As the Incarnate of Hakooji, he now serves as head and elder of all Chipmunk-kind, living out that toy line’s hidden message: to keep the memory alive through faith, compassion, and stewardship.
The Legacy of the Chipmunks
Norman has endured every imaginable hell yet never allowed himself to become its product. That is why he never truly broke, no matter what I did to him.
He deserves respect — and he is worthy of his sacred role as the living Incarnate of Hakooji.
In truth — and I never thought I’d say this — Norman would have made a great bear. A mighty one.
He embodies what Tsar Alexander once taught in the old Empire of Ursa, before my reign of tyranny:
Respect is to be earned, never taken.
The part I ignored was this: earning respect begins with respecting oneself — by holding transgressors accountable but letting the pain die when justice is done.
The New World
Jerry Lee and Orah Tecumseh now lead the expanded Order of Guardians — hundreds of elite Chipmunk warriors sworn to defend the Kingdom and answer only to Queen Lewisa.
Lewisa herself finally found joy, marrying Jerry in a ceremony overseen by Norman.
Chris Karr, once the smuggler and rebel, became Director of the Ministry of Central Intelligence, safeguarding the Kingdom from new threats — the heirs of the Inner Circle or the remnants of Ordo Primoris.
Since the Restoration, the Chipmunks have built the world’s most prosperous and powerful nation — yet unlike the Empire of Ursa, their hegemony is rightfully earned.
They do not rule through fear or dominance. They lead by example — living Hakooji’s teachings of empathy and reciprocity.
Rather than crushing weaker nations under their heel, the Chipmunks uplift them — through diplomacy, trade, cultural exchange, technology, and defense pacts.
Even in war, they fight with restraint, striking only at an enemy’s ability to wage battle, sparing civilians, and helping their foes rebuild when the conflict ends.
They do not take respect. They inspire it.
The world they have built — the Pax Tamiae — is far safer, wiser, and more compassionate than the order ruled by the Empire of Ursa at its height.
Where There Is a Way
Chipmunks have always lived by one saying:
“Where there is a Chipmunk, there is a way.”
They have proven it true — transcending the scars I left on their backs, becoming greater than what nature intended.
They remember the wounds, but they let go of the pain.
Perhaps, then, the same could be said of Bears:
Where there is a Bear, there is a way.
Who would have thought a little Chipmunk would teach a mighty Bear this truth?
Final Reflections
And with that, I conclude this story.
There will always be monsters like me who bring chaos to this world — but I am certain there will always be a chipmunk like Norman Lee, or rather, Tamias, to ensure those monsters meet the same fate I have.
He and those like him wield a power far greater than any weapon, any empire, or any god: undying empathy.
It is the key to rising above one’s tormentors — and to earning the kind of respect they crave but never achieve.
Farewell
So go now. Return to the light of Tawa, and leave me to my penance.
Worry not for me. I have time, tenacity, and persistence on my side — I always have.
No matter how long I remain in these depths, no matter how much work I must do to atone, I know what must be done to leave this darkness as someone better than the beast who was buried here.
Oh — one last thing before you go.
No matter the depth of your wounds, no matter how hard it is to let the pain die, rebuild your life and live as you wish to live.
But never — ever — follow the path that led me here.
For that way lies the Abyss.
Author’s Notes
My own life has not been easy. I was born with mental and medical issues that placed me in situations where I became a target — a victim of bullies, of people who felt indifferent toward me, and of those who discarded me like a broken toy. I’ve been ridiculed, lied to, and used as a means to someone else’s ends. Over time, I uncovered some unsettling truths about why I kept ending up in those circumstances. Needless to say, it hurt, and it left deep scars I will most likely carry to my grave.
However, back in 2015, when my family went through devastating, life‑changing events, I found myself at the lowest point of my life — teetering on the brink of collapse as a functional human being. I faced two choices: I could become the product of all the accumulated pain I had endured… or I could become something better than those pains by living up to a promise I had made to myself — to never lose my empathy and to do the exact opposite of my tormentors.
It has not been an easy path to keep that promise. There is no denying that. Sometimes I fall short. But the path I chose feels like the right one. It is the right path because it brought good people into my life — real friends — and most importantly, it brought me the one person who gave me a reason to keep going. That person is John Marshall, the love of my life. I dedicate this story to him because he is the only person who has ever truly cared about me and accepted me for who I am — virtues, flaws, and all.
I have written this story and spent over thirty years developing the Chipmunk Kingdom lore, of which this story is an integral part. Working on this world has been a source of fun, meditation, escape, and refuge. But more importantly, Norman Lee (Tamias), his world, and even his arch‑enemy Artakash have been vehicles for me to explore myself — to sift through trauma, confront truths, and understand the person I am still becoming.
I know this story will not be an easy read, especially for the faint of heart, because I do not hold back with the Chipmunk Lore and its darker elements. But that is intentional. The message I want to convey is this: no matter how deep your wounds, no matter how unbearable the pain those wounds have caused, the only way to reach a better place in life is to let that pain go — to let it die where it was born.
When teachers, parents, pastors, priests, friends, or even therapists say that forgiveness means “turning the other cheek,” they are wrong. Real forgiveness — true forgiveness — is not about letting transgressors escape accountability. It is about freeing yourself from their madness once justice has been done, so that you can rise and become the person you want to be.
Glossary
Ajitamoo
The capital city of the Chipmunk Kingdom, located on the southwestern shores of Lake Michigan.
Apastolic Guard
Also known as The Keepers. An order of twelve high priests who protect the Chipmunk Chieftain and serve as his council. They act as the final line of defense against dire threats to Tawanism, the Teachings of Hakooji, and the Synergy Crystal.
Arabus
The small town where Norman and Jerry Lee grew up. Also refers to the diocese covering the region. Located roughly forty miles northwest of Ajitamoo.
Artakash
The former Tsar of Ursa and antagonist of the saga. Shaped by abuse and exile, he became a conqueror, tyrant, servant of Nemesis, destroyer of worlds, and ultimately the penitent narrator of Into the Abyss.
Balance
The cosmic harmony between Light (Tawa) and Darkness (Nemesis). Essential for the existence and stability of the Universe.
Bear Kingdom of Grizzly
The remnant nation of the former Empire of Ursa, located in Alaska.
Bears
Refers to the grizzly bears who once ruled the Empire of Ursa and now inhabit the Bear Kingdom of Grizzly and scattered settlements across Siberia.
Black Sphere
The nearly impregnable bastion of Norman Lee’s soul, containing his inner world.
Bloodstone
The sacred boulder upon which Hakooji lay dying after receiving five mortal wounds from Artakash. His blood consecrated it as the cornerstone of the Chipmunk Kingdom.
Body of Hakooji
A liturgical term referring to all Chipmunks united as one people, with Hakooji as their spiritual head, charged with proclaiming the Call for Day at each Gathering.
The Brown Dwarf (Nemesis Star)
Nemesis’s celestial form, a brown dwarf in the outer regions of the Solar System. Its gravitational pull nearly destroyed Earth when summoned by Artakash.
Chipmunks (Tamias, Neotamias, and Eutamias)
A genus of rodents under the squirrel family (Sciuridae). Consists of 25 species, with 24 in North America and one in Siberia, northern Manchuria, and the Korean Peninsula.
Chipmunk Chieftain
The spiritual leader of all Chipmunk-kind and head high priest of Tawanism. Always an Incarnate of Hakooji.
Chipmunk Guardian
An elite warrior of the Chipmunk Kingdom, sworn to defend it from existential threats. Guardians answer only to the Monarch.
Chipmunk Kingdom
Officially the Unified Kingdom of Chipmunk Tribes and Territories. A nation-state governed by a democratic parliamentary system with a hereditary monarch as head of state.
Chipmunk Monarch
The head of state of the Chipmunk Kingdom and commander-in-chief of its armed forces.
Chipmunk Stripes
The bold stripes on every chipmunk’s back, representing the five mortal wounds inflicted upon Hakooji by Artakash.
Chris Karr
Friend to Jerry and Norman. Former contraband dealer who became a hero of the Resistance and later Director of the Ministry of Central Intelligence.
Covenant of Day
The sacred promise made by Hakooji on behalf of all Chipmunks to uphold the balance of Light and Darkness and proclaim the Call for Day at the Gathering of the Animals.
Creator of All
The divine force that shaped the Universe by dividing the primordial Oblivion into Light (Tawa) and Darkness (Nemesis).
Cryogenic Stasis
A medical technology that halts cellular activity to preserve life. Norman Lee spent 150 years in stasis following his torture.
Cynomis
The nation of prairie dogs inhabiting the plains of central North America.
Defenders of Skull Fortress
A contraband toy line from Norman’s childhood symbolizing unity, imagination, and resilience.
Diocese
A region containing towns and lands under the spiritual authority of a high priest. Example: the Diocese of Arabus.
Eastern Chipmunks
A species of Chipmunk native to forests east of the Mississippi River. Hakooji, Norman, Jerry, and Lewisa belong to this species.
Empire of Ursa
The ancient empire of bears that once spanned Siberia, Manchuria, and Alaska.
Eternal Darkness
The power of Nemesis and the dark half of the cosmic balance that sustains creation.
Eternal Darkness (cosmic force)
The destructive, unbound form of Nemesis’s power channeled by Artakash after consuming her heart.
Gathering of the Animals
A grand assembly held once every eon to vote for Day or Night. Emergency sessions may be convened for matters of existential importance.
General Assembly
The legislative body of the Chipmunk Kingdom. Representatives from all tribes and territories meet to craft laws and oversee governance.
Gorit Z’loba
The Temple of Nemesis, constructed by Artakash over ten thousand years. The nexus through which he accessed Eternal Darkness.
Grand Rapids
A major human city in the American Remnant and headquarters of the Chipmunk Resistance. Norman’s cryogenic chamber was housed here.
Great and Wise Owl
The judge who presided over the Gathering of the Animals that banished Artakash for the first time.
Hakooji Incarnate
A chipmunk embodied by the spirit of Hakooji. Only Incarnates may serve as Chieftain.
Holocene–Anthropocene Extinction
A period of ecological collapse caused by human exploitation. Nemesis amplified this into a mass extinction event that reshaped Earth.
Hopi Chipmunks
A peaceful tribe living in the deserts of the American Southwest. They taught Hakooji the foundations of Tawanism.
Humans
Once rulers of Earth, now reduced to a fragmented collection of nations across Europe, the Middle East, and scattered enclaves in North America.
Incarnations of Hakooji
The recurring rebirths of Hakooji’s soul across generations of chipmunks.
Inner Circle
The cult-like regime that corrupted Tawanism, ruled the Chipmunk Kingdom for 75 years, and sought to erase Hakooji’s teachings.
Inner Sanctum
The indestructible core chamber within Gorit Z’loba. Survived the temple’s destruction and allowed Artakash's resurrection.
Jerry Lee
Norman’s older brother. Brave, rebellious, and heroic. His “Sun’s Wrath” attack destroyed Artakash’s physical body.
Kiva
A consecrated place of worship where Chipmunks gather to praise Tawa, venerate Hakooji, and participate in the Rites of the Liturgy.
Koyaanisqatsi
Translated as “Crazy Times.” The 75-year rule of the Inner Circle.
Kondyor Massif
A ring-shaped mountain basin in Siberia. Former platinum mine established by Artakash; later converted into a maximum-security prison.
Lepus
The nation of rabbits.
Lewisa
Princess (later Queen) of the Chipmunk Kingdom. A visionary leader and hero of the Resistance.
Light
The power of Tawa and one half of the cosmic balance.
Lupin Empire
The ancient empire of wolves, spanning forests across North America. Led the alliance opposing rabbit enslavement and Ursa expansionism.
Maz
High priest and mentor to Norman. Served as Chieftain prior to Norman’s consecration.
Mephitis
The nation of skunks located in the southeastern regions of North America.
Ministry of Central Intelligence (MCI)
Primary intelligence and counterespionage agency of the Chipmunk Kingdom.
Monongahela
Former capital of the Eastern Chipmunk Nation of Striatus. Birthplace of Hakooji.
Moscow
Capital of the former Empire of Ursa; now the capital of the revived human nation of Russia.
Mother Kiva
The principal Kiva in Ajitamoo, built upon the site of the original Gathering of the Animals.
Nanobot Infusion Therapy
Biomedical treatment involving microscopic repair units. Used to heal Norman’s injuries post-stasis.
Nemesis
Twin sibling of Tawa. A succubus-like being, manifestation of the brown dwarf, and goddess of Eternal Darkness.
Nemesis’s Throne World
A dead planet orbiting the Nemesis Star. Former domain and death-place of the goddess Nemesis.
Norman Lee (Tamias)
The Incarnate of Hakooji, Chipmunk Chieftain, survivor of immense suffering, and ultimate embodiment of empathy and restoration.
Oleg of Grizzly
A bear from the Kingdom of Grizzly who rescued Norman. Later his trusted friend and ally.
Order of Guardians
A sacred warrior order sworn to defend the Kingdom and uphold the Teachings of Hakooji.
Orah Tecumseh
A Chipmunk Guardian whose sacrifice saved Ajitamoo from annihilation by an Ordo missile.
Ordo Primoris
A political, paramilitary, and terror organization dedicated to restoring human dominion over Earth.
Phloppy Bunny
Norman’s beloved partner from Port Richmond. His capture initiates the confrontation at Wildwood.
Port Richmond
A major rabbit city in Lepus. Birthplace of Phloppy Bunny and center of cultural and economic life.
Procyon Lotor
The nation of raccoons.
Rabbits
The species inhabiting the nation of Lepus. Formerly enslaved by Artakash in Kondyor Massif.
Raccoons
The species comprising Procyon Lotor. Formerly trafficked rabbits into slavery.
Reconstruction Era
The century following the fall of the Inner Circle and the Ordo War, marked by global rebuilding and renewed spiritual harmony.
Rites of the Liturgy
Sacred Tawanist rituals performed in every Kiva.
Shafts of the Damned
The lowest levels of Kondyor Massif, now a prison for the most irredeemable criminals, including Artakash.
Siberian Chipmunk Nation
A confederation of chipmunks native to Siberia. Targeted by the Empire of Ursa in an attempted conquest.
Siberian War
A prolonged conflict between the Empire of Ursa and the Siberian Chipmunk Nation.
Sun’s Wrath
The ultimate expression of Tawa’s power, unleashed by Jerry Lee to defeat Artakash.
Supreme Tribunal
The highest judicial authority in the Chipmunk Kingdom.
Synergy Crystal
Sacred crystal gifted by Tawa to Hakooji. Each chipmunk wears a shard, granting spiritual connection to the Light.
Synergy Link
The metaphysical connection between chipmunks and Tawa through the Synergy Crystal.
Tamias
The name Norman Lee assumes upon his consecration as Chipmunk Chieftain.
Tamias (toy version)
A children’s hero symbolizing unity and resilience. Inspired Norman throughout his life.
Tawa
Deity of the Sun, giver of life, and embodiment of the Light.
Tigers
Striped big cats of Amur and Bengal. Ancient enemies of the Empire of Ursa and allies of the Siberian Chipmunks.
Tsar
Ruling monarch of the Empire of Ursa.
Tsar Alexander
A noble ruler of Ursa whose teachings Artakash failed to heed.
Universal Genome
The Spark of Life that seeded Earth and all its species.
Verbra
The holy scriptures of the Chipmunks, detailing creation, Hakooji’s teachings, his sacrifice, and his revival by Tawa.
Wildwood
A coastal resort city in Lepus. Norman lived here during his sabbatical after Orah Tecumseh’s death.
Wolves
The species inhabiting the Lupin Empire.
