Live die and live again. As if Samsara was cruel enough, some bored devas decided to use it as their entertainment device and they are fans of blood sports. Luckily some divine help owed to come my way eventually, and it might as well be granted at the start instead of at the end.
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DODGE THE WHEEL
- Thread starter BrunofanofK
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Graveyard Keeper 1
- Location
- Brazil
"So, I will not beat around the bush. You croaked by shocking in banana bread, your life is over. I am Most Exalted Aromatic Fisherwoman of Blue Blossoms, the deva tasked with your transmigration. Please sign here, here, and here." The divine woman that looked uncannily like Aqua, if she was written to be a severe character, droned in a monotonous voice while passing me some files.
I took stock of my situation. A white room with doors or windows with, two chairs for seats. It is not in my top ten craziest dreams, but it is not common either. People say dreams are often compensatory and this one must be telling me that even Heaven is a bureaucracy Hell, full of the most dreadful art of paperwork.
I took a custody glance at the documents and signed them without any fanfare. There is nothing worse for oneself than aggravating burned-out office workers with obnoxious questions.
Not-Aqua took a token effort to review my signatures to ensure everything was in order then moved to clap her hands. Something stopped her at the last second, it was as if she had swallowed a lemon. With a heavy sigh, she produced one of those Asiatic lucky stray cylinders used for a lottery in the far east.
I looked transfixed stupid at the sight, not in small part because of the show she was giving me.
She starts to swing the thing around for a while then extend the thing toward me, urging me to take one stray among the loot.
I complain.
She claps her hand again, but nothing happens. We stare at each other for a while.
"W-was that supposed to do something?"
Her answer died in her mouth as she got a closer look at the stray I pulled. Perfect ordinary wood for the first half and ominous black skull bones in the last haft.
"Of course, this had to happen in my season… what a rotten luck. Well, not as rotten as yours."
"Is this bad?" I question while brandishing the thing.
"Horrific. A little internal joke here in the office. While the dead normally gets dropped in the river Letho so they forget their past lives to ease the transition, someone decided to fuck around just to find out. Skipping the process just to laugh at the poor chump saddled in this game. Eventually, this little show became a popular pastime in the office so they always elect a new sacrificial lamb, sorry." She explained, not sorry at all.
"Wait, wait, wait. You can't be serious. I died, and even in dead I get this sort of office shenanigan! Is this Hell? Am I in Hell? What I did that was so bad to deserve this?"
"Nothing, really. This is a cosmic cruelty, but nothing outside the boundaries of a deva. The culprits will be punished with bad Karma but the bracketing will be split among the viewers so it will cost them a pittance. The equivalent of littering really, it is that popular."
"The way you speak of it… there is more to it than remembrance."
"Well, there is a reason Samsara is described as torture in some religions. This is the Hamster Wheel of Death. A new victim is eventually chosen when the previous one 'get crushed under the wheel', giving up on the struggle entirely and waiting motionless for death."
"You have got to be fucking with me! Help me out, please!" I begged the goddess responsible for executing this cosmic cruelty.
"No way! I will be the one being dragged across the hot coal. Unlike you, I have to live with these people as my coworkers. I don't get to leave!"
"Should I roll over and die then? Based on what you said this is the fastest option." I ask full of bitterness and panic.
Despite her apathetic disposition and burned-out personality, she seems to become more receptible to my plea as she turns to examine me all over. A pondering look as she thinks over what she can get away with.
"Ok, let's do it like this. I will give you one boom, something I can pass off as just a whim to spice things with from the regular state of affairs. It can't be anything outrageous but it can be your lifeline against the rotten Fate you are being saddled with; forget luck manipulation though, people up here will go out of their way to spice your life for the worst."
It wasn't a solution but compared to my current position it might as well have been divine interference. This whole situation is absurd and I still hope this is just a dream, but something in me tells me to take this seriously.
"Ok, ok- any suggestions then?" I ask in frank excitement, a childish part of me perking up at the chance of superpowers.
"It can be anything, from your imagination to fiction. All souls in Samsara are connected by the three million worlds of the six realms, so there are good odds what people take as inspiration are actually residual memories. Just remember I will have to match your boon to the level of challenge present." Totally-not-Aqua lectures to me.
Now, doesn't it kind of explain her situation then? She looks nothing like her anime inspiration though, so I imagine there is a good level of distortion, memory was never a reliable record in the first place. Not that it matters at the moment, I have more pressing business to deal with.
A boom that starts out low yet has the potential for growth. She told me nothing about picking up new boons or powers from magical worlds, so even if those exist there must be some kind of regional restriction that prevent most of them from crossing over. This isn't a jumpchain, this journey's purpose is to crush me, even the clothes on my back are a concession. The only thing I truly own is myself… isn't that an idea? A boom that allows me to grow into more of what I am.
I can even make it properly thematic for my shitty circumstances.
"I want to be a cultivator of virtue fully initiated in the Orphic Mystery faith," I say with confidence I don't feel.
Not-Aqua nods and pulls another folder from her cleavage and starts to peruse through it in search of something.
"That… is surprisingly sensible, I will have to owe Dionysus a solid after this but he is likely to be sympathetic to your situation and complain with minimal fuss. Wow, this can actually work!"
Despite my precarious position I am filled with elation. "When will you call him?"
"Already did," Not-Aqua explains as I feel the heat like an open brazier in my back. "Enjoy the initiation rites of the Orphic House, this is the only divine kindness you be getting for the longest time. From here on, it will be up to you."
As the goddess of the overly complicated name explained these things to me, the world fell apart with the sound of clapped palms. Don't ever let it be said that I am ungrateful though.
"Thank you Goddess Aqua, I promise to raise a shrine in your name someday!"
"Don't call me Aqua!"
The world fades away, this goddess really is as cute as the anime one when bulled.
"What happened? Where is everything?" I ask aloud, still relying upon the mania of the initiation rites. More than that, I feel like I am burning from the inside out as starlight marrow settled inside my bones and now flows in my veins.
In Orphism, humans were created from clay using the ashes of the Titans that devoured the young Dionysus. This endowed humans with a dual nature, a body, inherited from the Titans, and a divine spark or soul, inherited from Dionysus.
Now that my sleeping soul has awakened to its place in the world and I feel the euphoria of my vital breath circulating untethered for the first time, I wonder how true said legends actually are.
The stranger in front of me has no interest in waiting for me to get my bearing though. "Calm down. You have merely turned a page in your life. A whole new chapter awaits you ahead."
"That sounds nice and all, but how do I get out of this limbo? I might not have a home to go back to but a change of scenery would be nice."
"Don't worry, there is always a way to get home. Let's see… you new home is a graveyard."
"… you serious?"
"Totally, you are a graveyard keeper now!"
"I still don't follow."
"Go dig up Gerry. He will help sort everything out."
A talking skull. An honest to god talking spooky skull. The fact it is alcoholic and amnesiac doesn't help me decide if I am still dreaming or not. The talking donkey doesn't help. But in the end, the searing pain of the infernal marrow is real enough for me.
Nothing is more real than pain.
I have found myself in this medieval county filled with disparate and irreverent people. I still can't believe said talking skull sweet talked me into desecrating a corpse for its meat so I can buy HIM a pinch of beer! I blame the lingering mania of the Orphic rites. The only consolation is that this land is as mad as I me now, after burring the body of the man in the graveyard a Burial Certificate popped from the ground as if by magic!
Immediately after this, I established my first contact with the (living) locals. The Bishop came around and said he had been waiting for thirty years for a new grave keeper. He then complained and told me to fix the cemetery before he promotes me as the local cleric. The fact his name is literally Bishop doesn't help; this is Goblin Slayer level of NPC names.
The Dead Horse Tavern's owner at least turned out to have a name, Horadric. So, it turned out that I desecrated that body for nothing as he can only purchase meat certified via a Meat Stamp. I wonder why.
After some time back and forth with Horadric I eventually got tasked with delivering a letter to the local blacksmith, a gruff fellow named Krezvold. And that is when my exciting life as an adventure began, dealing with the most classic monster mob, the slime. Krezvold gave me a broken rusty sword, a whetstone, and told me he would compensate me after bringing the slime remains. I got an old hammer, pick, saw, and shovel for my troubles.
After that, I returned to the talking skull, which gave me the hint about an otherworldly portal located in Witch's Hill. That is when I decided I had enough madness for one day and decided to go to bed until the world made more sense.
As things happened, I was still too debilitated by the divine blood running through my veins to focus on much besides recovering. The reason I choose cultivation of virtue as a boom was because, unlike the normal xianxia cultivation, where anyone can become a god by breathing through their mouths like a restarted for a few centuries while doing the secret dance of the blind chicken, cultivating virtue has a more natural progression to one's soul.
The standard cultivation system is counterintuitive, overly complicated, and almost gamey in the number of exploits that can be used to refine oneself, to the casual way the pick and discard techniques.
To cultivate virtue is to refine oneself, body, mind, and soul through performative excellence, as cultivation can only make a man more of what he already is. And to inspire virtue a cultivator studies Mysteries, confounding natural phenomena that defy any explanation, tempering their souls with it. Chipping away at it through their lifetime in the hope that by the time they finish unraveling with a satisfying explanation, they will be elevated all the way up to the peak of Olympus Mons. Cultivation is set once the foundation is settled - one virtue, one mystery, and only one path to heaven.
It follows that the mystery studied must be profound enough to reach heaven alone. In the world of the Light Novel, Virtuous Sons, these Greater Mysteries were the dead bodies of the faceless divinities of Olympus. Holy copses stripped of any and all recollection, save epithets, their very names and faces erased from mortal memories and records.
Dionysus was an exception to this due to his nature as a dead and back again god. Orphism is the only Western religion that I know of that accepts the concept of Metempsychosis, reincarnation like Eastern faiths so often do.
In order to achieve salvation from the Titanic, material existence, one had to be initiated into the Dionysian mysteries and undergo teletē, a ritual purification and reliving of the suffering and death of the god. Orphics believed that they would, after death, spend eternity alongside Orpheus and other heroes. The uninitiated, they believed, would be reincarnated indefinitely.
It was a bit of a gamble but this was my best shot at scaping my current predictive, even if just through death. As a fully initiated of the Orphic mystery faith I have a very literal death insurance. I have no intention of dying though.
No matter how unkind my current predicament is, this is still the call to adventure that modern people often dream about. I intend to mild to for all that it is worth. I will enjoy this life, even if I have to spite the Heavens to do so!
Especially now. When a person is young life seems full of possibilities but as they age limitations set in, human potential is fixed. The ceiling of how tall, strong, smart, and beautiful a person can be are defined at birth. A person certainly has to put serious effort to reach their potential but there is always something bitter meeting this glass ceiling.
This is the blessing of the Thief of Flame, and I fully intend to enjoy the fruits of the light of my soul. Already as a cultivator in the first rank of the Civic Realm, I never felt better in my whole file. This is in no small part due to the benefit of my vital breath, my pneuma, the vital force that gives men their strength. As an awakened soul, I count myself among the few privileged enough to be capable of controlling their pneuma and can bid it to multiply. It is said that in a crowd of a hundred crude souls, there can be found a single citizen standing out.
Said that I got away with more from my boom than the basic package. The Orphic House is special in that to become a full initiate the mystic needs to pass through two initiation rituals, much like Catholicism has first baptism followed by the Eucharist. To make me a member of his faith, the god in question first feed me from the wealth inside his bones, his starlight marrow, and in doing so he recast me in his image. Like the protagonist of said Novel, I was marked by a higher power and repainted in the god's pallet. Now bearing amethyst eyes and navy-blue hair.
Bizarre but not altogether random. Dionysus is described as blue-haired in some of his legends. Plus, I can pass it off as silver poisoning if it ever draws unwanted attention.
I used the first week of convalescence while the starlight marrow settled to familiarize myself with the locals. This place is kind of bizarre in how tongue and cheek everybody seems to be but I can't say I dislike it.
I met pretty much everybody living around these parts. The most significant ones were first a depressed Astrologer by the Lighthouse that asked me for a skull of all things, something my new gig could easily fix for him… though it is still gross. Later on, I also met an angry inquisitor that wants me to spy on the townspeople for him. He seems un-ringed enough for me to fix him some firewood for his funny witch-burning business.
Right, I also met a ghost.
An honest to god spooky transparent ghost, like the ones straight from the Star War movies. He called himself Yorick. He even cajoled me into burying another dead fellow that he swore was being super rude to him. I ended up disposing of it by throwing him in the river. Then Gerry, the talking skull had the gall to lecture me about doing things for free!
Well, despite the eventful week I now feel stronger than ever and ready to take on this new world. So, I intend to do my best and secure a source of incoming, foraging is getting old fast and the best I usually get is some honey from wild bees; a tasty but unfun experience.
I never thought the afterlife would involve so much work! This is enough for me to sympathize with my communist talking donkey's situation and political disposition. I certainly feel like a beast of burden.
All greater mystery faiths have their own theme, the foundational mystery of the Orphic faith is the eternal circle of death and rebirth, represented by a Wheel with eight spokes, the Dharma Chakra. Even the madness of the gods can be qualified as a product of the suffering and pain caused by the circle of reincarnation, instead of the cause. Like fermented grapes.
To this mystery, I will simply name it the [Wheel Turning]. As breathing is the way cultivators take in pneuma, breathing techniques are a fundamental part of a philosopher's kit. Normally a cultivator carves away apiece of their bodies to create pneumatic chambers but the starlight marrow performs this process naturally, carving a wheel over my chest area, invisible to mundane senses but visible to my new pneuma sense. By filling it with my invigorating breath I can seize the spokes of the Wheel and force it to turn.
A painful experience as it sears flesh while it turns but yet the scorched skin heals itself as if fasting forward a video record. It is closer to super metabolism than Wolverine healing factor, but this works for my benefit as the lactic acid from muscular exertion can be quickly flushed out. This makes so my only limit for how much and how long I can work are my pain tolerance and calorically intake.
The pudge belly from one too many indulgences is shirking fast, to the point I cut a deal with Horadric for an under-the-table Garden certificate for the small plot of land just below my house. Foraging simply takes too many hours from my day.
That is how I ended up meeting the Merchant and after some bartering, I managed to cut a deal with him, even securing a loan for seeds. My original plan was to see if I could accelerate the life circle of vegetables with my foundational mystery, after all the greatest know member of my faith was a vine keeper capable of growing vines on demand and quality grapes beyond the capacity of any mortal man. Cultivation is performative excellence and can be found in an uncountable number of actions.
In the end, I didn't need to bother, the land itself bear some chthonic vitality and the first loot came together despite my subpar knowledge about agriculture and meager pneuma.
By the end of it, I had secured a source of calories and could work without any restraint to the limits of my mortal frame.
I managed to clean and repair the graveyard to the Bishop's loft standards and even reverted the ruble found in the basement of the church connecting to my celar.
There is where I met Snake.
Over my time in this land, I dare to say that I have become something of a carpenter. Wood is the most readily available resource and carrying a long of wood in one's back is great training. Nails and iron parts are something of a commodity I have to purchase for now, but with the freedom to focus on a single discipline I managed to repair the graveyard to Bishop's standards.
Nothing fancy, wood crosses and markings, but now it no longer looks abandoned at the very least.
"I was definitely right about you!" The Bishop says excitedly. "I hereby pronounce you official keeper of this holy place, a prior of this church. Let's arrange your first sermon."
With those words, my side gig as a priest began. Honestly, I only accepted because oratory, poetry, and music are disciplines I must study and master as part of my mystery faith. It is called Orphism for a reason, even if the subject is Dionysus. The Augur is not only the founder but also a subject of worship as Orphism is also a Hero's cult, a Chthonic institution.
A cultivator of virtue is mortal all the way up to the top of the Sophic Realm, after that, he becomes something more. A Defiant Soul, immune to the impositions of natural law, semi-divine. Still lesser than a god but opaque enough to inspire virtue. A Lesser mystery to a god's Greater. That is the Heroic Realm.
I met Orpheus and the other heroes that joined him in an underworld singing house. There I was welcomed into the fold by my seniors, men and women greater than I could ever hope to be before that day, and Orpheus awoke my heart to the hidden melody of the heart.
This Heart Sense is still muted, almost a whisper. I have to cultivate it further and this mass is perhaps the best opportunity I will have.
"May the force be with you!" I intone with as much confidence as I could, putting the full force of my pneuma behind the words.
The sorry peasants that were present for the Church's first mass after getting wind of it from Horadric, clapped in excitement and as I listened to the beat of their hearts I could feel the excitement causing havoc in their sleeping souls, causing them to produce an outpour of pneuma that reverted right back at me.
I could feel a rush of ecstasy as the vital sea of my soul doubled in my ascension from the first to the second rung of the Civic Realm.
It should be obvious in hindsight, maybe it is a legacy of the titanic corporeal side of man, but even virtuous beasts capable of crude cultivation do so by eating. It is less literal in this case. With this, the church just became my main priority.
Downstairs in the church basement I met Snake, a shift fellow that turned out as useful as he claimed. The Astrologer had asked me to find the previous keeper's journal and gave me a key he had left in his possession for safekeeping.
Snake was in search of something in the basement and was in possession of instruction capable of activating it after I use some of my pneuma. I suspect the Bishop's affirmation about Faith being power is more literal than not in this land. Faith seems to be a harvestable resource.
With the active key vibrating with Faith Power I opened the sealed door we went inside. There I met Gunter, a zombie created by the previous keeper that was chained for being too intelligent. He suggested I create more zombies with this 'zombie juice' the previous keeper left behind.
Things are getting complicated.
Honestly, there is too much that I don't know that I don't know. I never missed modern conveniences so much. Things that I took for granted like paper and ink are a commodity here. Plus, I don't feel safe ignoring things like zombies in my basement.
Fortunately, the previous keeper was something of a scientist and has left his laboratory behind. While the prospect of rediscovering scientific staples of modern life would usually sound absurd, this is fundamental for my cultivation. Acord to Greek cultivation a soul exists in three parts – spirit, mind, and hunger. I cultivator has to refine all of these parts to advance, becoming more spirited, wiser, and hungrier.
Plus, a man has to see the truth of things with his own eyes.
I managed to cajole Krezvold into instructing me on the secrets of his trade. Enough for me to harness the iron ores found in the swamp near my home and refine them into ingots with a homemade furnace, that I could use to create an Anvil to make nails, and iron parts. With it I was allowed to upgrade my rusty tools for iron ones, even making armor using human skin as leather.
With it, I felt confident enough to explore the basement dungeon. At the very least to ensure monsters wouldn't emerge at night while I am sleeping. The place was a dump full of vampire bats as big as dogs, slimes, wasps as big as a human hand, and by the end of it, undead soldiers.
The last ones were an unwelcome surprise, and I found myself fighting for my life. Got to say though, there is no better teacher than fear. I learned to invoke a combat-oriented version of my foundational virtuous technique out of sheer panic, fear, and pain. Scouring the skeleton knight with the remembrance of pain, madness, and despair the god experienced.
This is Massa Confusa – the painful, growing awareness of the Abyss of Death connected to the Peak of Life, a moment of maximum despair that produces a dead balance, a standstill that hampers moral decisions and makes convictions ineffective or even impossible in the chaos and melancholia.
Surpassing this marasmus can foster growth, health, and personal development but it is easier said than done, especially in a fight. A great weapon.
I even got away from it with good spoils. A healing potion that turned out to be just what the Alzheimer Witch of the Woods needed to restore her memories. With it, I could induct myself in the graces of the Merchant, as he had been cursed by another witch and needed professional help. Besides this, the Witch also had some of the acid the Astrologer needed to reveal the true content of the previous keeper's journal and after some back and forth I managed to even earn the trust of Snake by getting him the 'Necronomicon'.
More interesting than the peroqua events of the villagers, I managed to produce more zombies with the remaining zombie juice and even found one laying around, putting me up to four slave laborers. They can follow simple instructions, being great at menial labor, giving me more free time to pursue other affairs.
With the extra time, I managed to figure out how to produce glass in the furnace and even clay pots and urns. Mixing some ash created by cremating bodies with some oil purchased from the Witch I managed to create some home-made ink. By harvesting the skin of dead bats and dead bodies I managed to create some 'paper' so I finally could do got on my promise to the Inquisitor and make some flyers to promote his witch-burning event.
After some sob story, the Inquisitor gave me permission to use the abandoned vineyard for the promise of future wine. Since I have been already dabbling into agriculture as part of training in my lesser and greater mysteries I readily agreed. Pneuma is the vital breath that exists in all things, even those that don't traditionally breathe; the harnessing of pneuma and biding it to multiply is not a real exclusive to men. If I manage to become a skilled enough vine keeper beyond the keen of mortals, I might cultivate spirit grapes, and with it, I could create Spirit Wine.
This is a long-term project though. More importantly, it was the fact that I managed to befriend the Inquisitor enough for him to give me the graveyard scroll permit to put the western side of the graveyard back into working order. I had been forced to burn the bodies to get Certificates due to the lack of space.
With readily available metal, wood, glass, and clay I started to put the Church back into proper shape. This earned me more views, that in turn gave me more Faith that I use to accelerate my cultivation, reaching the 3rd rung of the Civic Realm.
Not everything is going my way though. The talking donkey made good of his communist ideology and now demands five carrots per corpse and days off on Mass Day, the audacity! Those are my precious calories and carbonitrides, I need them! I might have become something of a gym bro since I landed here, but that is why I am bulking up greatly, having gained ten extra centimeters and over ten kilos of muscle.
I never felt better.
The radiance of my vital essence constantly smooths my outer imperfections, even the lowest citizen enjoyed the benefit of gradual refinement while their pneuma flowed freely and unfettered. Greek Cultivation perspective was that a man's external reality mirrored his internal reality – External and internal, inextricably linked. Greek aesthetics desired beauty of self, order over chaos, and so the more one cultivates the more the virtue manifests as performative excellence, expressing and imposing that beauty and order on the world outside of themselves, starting with one's own body.
That is why the communist donkey actions threw a screwdriver into my plans. I had resorted to fishing near the riverbank to supplement my diet, and every night I either study alchemy or practice my writing and singing for the holiday mass. This forced me to start selling human meat to the village with the fake stamp I got from Snake. Not the most ethical move but necessity make a beast of a man. At least I am recycling almost everything from bodies now, that is ethical capitalism for you!
I managed to improve the church after the Bishop put me through a marathon of tasks, from making ceramic bowls to feed poor people so he could look good, surrendering my best quality fish fillet to the bastard, and purchasing an building permission for twenty silver coins. With it and the overhaul improvements, I secured myself a steady flow of Faith from the populace. Enough to ascend another step on the divine ladder, 4th rung of Civic Realm. This allowed me to cut short the time I need to sleep in four hours using my pneumatic chamber, a good thing as I am running out of free hours in the day.
The vineyard also started to give out results. They are nothing to write home about but were at least passable. I also got tired of being stung by wild bees and started a beekeeping venture with seven hives stationed a bit away from my home. Nothing as exotic as mad honey, but I already got my fair share of bad trips from eating strange mushrooms in the wild.
Now that I am more or less settled, I started to work on things to improve my quality of life. I increased the space of my yard, repossessing what had been claimed by the swamp, and with the extra space I readily put three of my zombies into transporting resources from an abandoned mine north of my home. From stone, to coal, and steel, with the occasional silver and gold nuggets.
With it and all the wood I ever need I started to create Stone cutter stations so I could work on better graves, a proper carpenter's workbench, a second improved with a wind blower so it can reach high temperatures, a circular saw to work on bigger pieces of wood, a potter's wheel for quicker and more professional work so I don't have to hear people calling them ugly again!
In the basement, I built a vine press so I don't risk catching anything from zombie feet and a giant wine-making barrel, and a brewing stand for making beer with the hops I grow together with the grapes.
By then I had improved enough to start to turn the previous keeper's office into a true laboratory. A humble alchemy workbench product of my improvement with glass working, a hand mixer bench used to blend many substances into solutions, an alchemy mill used to grind materials into dust, a distillation cube to create extracts, a church workbench, an alchemy rack for storage, a scroll shelf and, most important of all, a Paper press capable of supplying me with true paper made from Paper glop made from wheat and white paint made from ground bone and oil pressed from cadaver's fat.
Paper made of dead people.
I have become a very good butcher if I say so myself, capable of disassembling bodies with ease. I have not performed a mistake in months now. Between all the improvements of the graveyard, the candles made from white bone paint, dead people's fat, and bee wax, and all my work breaking my head to figure these things out I climbed another rung, 5th rung of the civic realm.
At my predecessor's old study tablet, I poured my all into studying everything I could put my hands into, breaking into whatever, it could be harvested and mixing with whatever I had in hand. This involved more than a poor man's biochemistry, the use of pneuma, what the locals call Faith, allows for the making of wonders.
I improved the embalming of the dead significantly, which somehow affect the graveyard in an intangible but unmistakable way. It seems Gery was right, even though bodies are empty husks they still carry the bad Karma, the sin of their action in life. More strangely, some substances are capable of Halting and reverting decay, and even 'cleansing' this karma. Those are made from magical monsters and the result is a matter of trial and error for now, but in time I might figure out cause and effect.
I puzzled out the secret of the 'zombie juice', made with blood and powder made with crop waste. Having a proper question is half of the battle. By understanding the process of reanimation, I managed to repurpose it under the lens of my foundational mystery, using a single grape seed to grow vines that serve a similar purpose to the mysterious concoction.
With zombies now as a renewable and tireless labor force, I automated the mine and wood harvest, selling the excess to the village.
I also discovered how to make quality fertilizer with the ash of the dead and a solution made from crushed maggots. With it, the quantity and quality of my crops skyrocketed and I even managed to somewhat automate the farming process with the use of zombies.
With this excess of food, I decided to buy a trade license for 50 silver coins, opening the trade office with the Merchant. I even built a crate factory so that my zombies can simply transport them from one side to the other with minimal interference from my part. A truly automated farming. I only kept a small lot for my personal supervision in both the farm and vineyard. I even figured out a zombie brewery and winery so I could keep demand from town, I have no intention of giving up the practice when it is so important for the refinement of my soul.
For all my effort I managed to climb another step in the stairway to heaven, 6th rung of the Civic Realm.
Having established myself in the town, Ms. Charm finally dyed to talk with me. The woman even dared to make me her errant boy, bringing about her vendetta with Snake over some necklace and fake money. Alas, she is influential enough for me to require her services, the use of flyers to promote my vegetable business with the merchant wasn't as successful as I hoped and my associate pointed out that her help would be a great boom. So, I ended up playing the middle man between the two.
I ended up going to the Mountain Fort at Snake's instructions, talking with a servant to the Lord Commander's family, a hunchback man named Koukol. After a convoluted mass and a lot of small talk, I decided this was a fruitless venture and returned to Ms. Charm empty-handed. This led her to ask for Horadric's wife's perfume as a substitute, the vain woman. In the end, it was only Miss Chain's confession that it could be made by the Witch in the swamp that kept me from giving up.
I finally managed to get the cursed thing and cajole the woman into promoting my vegetable stand. Talk about sunk cost fallacy! Or not, she still had the audacity to demand one piece of jewelry as payment, thankfully the Merchant saw I was about to lose my temper and step in to supply the jewelry.
This actually made me feel bad enough that I decided to compensate him for it. I have zombies mining 24/7 and I even join from time to time for the cardio, breaking stone from sunset to sundown, so I have a sizable cache of precious stones and rare metals. Making a jewelry table after observing a professional in action is by now well within my means.
More importantly, now the Merchant has enough standing to meet the King of this Kingdom. By supplying him with five full-course Michelin meals I secured his success in this endeavor. With it, he has enough face to get me blueprints and samples of as many musical instruments as he is able, something I desperately need to train my Heart Sense and Orphic Mystery.
The meal was easy by then, some premium onion rings grown on my farm, hamburger made with the same onions and human meat, and grape pie made from my best grapes. I have been cooking for myself since I landed here and there is a virtue to be found in the pursuit of excellence in every discipline.
In the end, things went so well the Merchant gifted me with the [Salty Fork], a strange device capable of enhancing the flavor of any meal eaten with it.
More interestingly, I upgraded my furnace yet again and my tools and armament with live steel, tempered a thousand times! I even figured out how to prevent rust by bluing it with salt coating. I can even feel the pneuma lingering in the armor and sword, showing that my dedication paid dividends as this set of armor and weapon perform beyond mortal ken… this gave me an idea.
It is said that the madness derived from supping divine starlight marrow is enough to make a crow out of a man, but the true initiates become hungry ravens.
The Raven Mantle is a midnight veil of shadow that obscures the features and pneuma of the bear, being the banner of those favored by Dionysus. The veil makes one looks like they stepped right out from the underworld, and this impression is justifiable true. Besides improving one's ability to sneak around the raven mantle allows the bearer to store things in one's shadow and create ivory shadow constructs.
But the most outstanding property of the raven mantle is also its least obviously useful. There is a hungry raven in my shadow and scarcely few are capable of hearing its caws. Mostly Gerry and Yorick, dead men. The mantle's true nature is that of a Persona, a mask the cultivator of virtue can use to negotiate how much of his true self he exposes to the world.
More importantly, the raven living in my shadow hungers for the taste of starlight marrow once more, being boy scout to the maenads' fox girl club. Dionysus bears the epithet of the 'Tearer of Flesh' for a reason; Sparagmos, is the ritual of rending, tearing apart, or mangling, an animal or person that stars as a stand-in for the God. Omophagia, the ritualistic consumption of raw flesh.
A reenactment of the Titan's grim deed against the young Olympian. If it is done so that by sacramental re-enactment of the god's death, a hope of salvation for his worshippers was obtained or if this is a manifestation of humanity's titanic ancestry, I can't say for sure.
What matters to me now is that I can benefit from this. I direct the fullness of my influence, pneuma, and body against my new sword and armor, leveraging my mind, spirit, and hunger. The heart provides the fuel, the mind the question and the gut the guiding instincts of how it might be implemented. The Raven devours the armor and sword and integrates them into its mantle.
I pull on the midnight veil and a perfect form-fitting armor made of black steel and leather hugs my body like a glove, I also feel the familiar weight of my sword just in the corner of my awareness, ready to leap to my palm.
With it, I explore the following five floors of the underground dungeon. Slaying all the monsters with prejudice of my foundational mystery, flaying the body with the entropic shadow of death, tearing apart the spirit, and scouring the mind with madness with the Wheel Turning. I used it against every enemy I came across until my virtuous technique reached my limit and it started to rebounding on me. I forced myself past them anyway, using my pneumatic chamber to both fuels the flagging vital sea of my soul and mend myself, tempering my tripartite soul with madness and pain. When it wasn't enough the raven in my shadow started to devour these monster's Last Breath, the moment the Faith power that allowed them to excel within the natural boundaries escaped their bodies as they died.
Every cult has its theme and it causes its member to specialize in relevant fields where they stand head and shoulder above members of their sister cults; plus their own way of refinement lead to further divergences. The poisonous mushroom that gave me so much grief in the beginning now-a-day can barely give me any kicks, the same goes for the poisonous bee stings. I have started to experiment on myself, consuming my alchemical concoctions, a miserable experience but I can't complain about the results. The vitality and resilience of mystics of Orphic faith outstrip its sister greater cults the same way those that study Apollo enjoy exceptional tolerance to heat and flames.
With it I ascended another rung in the Divine Ladder, 7th rung of the Civic Realm. Snake was so impressed that he convinced and invited me to join his cult, and I mean an honest-to-god satanic cult. We redecorated the dungeon's entrance with skulls, bones, and blood fountains made of bones and bloody nails. I even faked being slayed by Snake with an ivory delusion made of shadows, all in exchange for part of the Faith this lot of generates.
Yorick pulled a fast one on me, the little shit. Everything started one night when he declared himself now the concierge of new souls coming into the graveyard. Then he decided to throw a fit of pick and unleashed a lighting storm over my graveyard, smiting bodies of sinners buried there. Unfortunately, the eastern side of the grave was mostly made of wood monuments leading to a fucking fire I had to desperately stamp out after an entire night.
By daybreak I was burned and pissed off, so I ate the fucker. Even without a body he still has spirit and mind. My mystery turned out to be really effective against ghosts due to its chthonic nature.
In the end, I decided for exhuming the most sinful bodies and replacing everything I could with marble and went all out into upgrading the Church into a Cathedral. I built the Marble statues the Bishop commissioned, the self-aggrandized fuck; at least the experience allowed me to do good on my promise to Not-Aqua as she now stands as the central statue at the altar of the cathedral. I replaced plain wall candelabra for ones made of gold and semi-precious gemstones, stained glass windows, and fancier confessional, replaced the two wooden church shrines for stone ones, and secured myself a supply of the fanciest candles possible, made from bee wax, and hemp rope and White paint made from dead people.
My new jewelry-making skills really came through here. That is why I invited the Merchant to join the mass, without our business I wouldn't have the money to purchase the title of nobility. In a happy turn of events the Merchant and Bishop turned out to be stranged brothers and this turned out the best opportunity for their reconciliation. Bishop was so happy he recompensed me with the [Mirror of Pride].
Ever since the Merchant got me the most available musical instruments in the Kingdom, I have crammed four daily hours of proactive and two of writing content. It helps somewhat, music is a balm for the soul and I have been close to burning out some time now. Cultivation lends speed to a man's strides and I can go far longer without food or rest than a mortal owes to be capable of, but there are limits. Balancing in this rope is what generates the pressure necessary for refinement, yes, but life doesn't have to be so grim.
Men cannot avoid misfortune forever, yes, but what I call cultivation was in simpler, more honest ages, simply described as living. Find what defines oneself, one's vocation, and search to master it, in doing so naturally refine oneself. That is how men and women so skilled they invoked the envy of the heavens are made.
All I have to do is live my life. As long as I live properly everything else will follow. With this mindset, I ascended to the 8th rung of the Civic Realm, an impressive feat for someone without a First Virtue. Sure, I have ideas, but committing so early seems imprudent and artificial. More than that, part of me questions if these inclinations are really my own volition or something forced upon me.
Heaven is cruel even to those it means well; their gifts are a pox upon the soul. The starlight marrow settled in my bones and coursing through my veins still burns, what it burned was undone and then rebuilt better.
In the image of its donator.
Why did I kill and devour Yorick? Was it truly my own will or was I "possessed by the god"?
I don't know, but If cultivation truly can only make someone more of what they are then it holds the answer. It is said that a captain of the Civic Realm ascends to the Sophic Realm with the first in his life he has a thought worth having. Once this happens it is said their foundation is established, different cultural spheres have different names for this, like crossing the Rubicon or Metaphysics, but in the end, this boils down to choosing one single path for oneself at the exclusion of all others.
This is what means to be a man of Principle. There is a reason it is said the climb really starts in the Sophic Realm. I have no intention to have someone else choose a path for me.
If there truly are as many paths to the peak of Olympus Mons as stars in heaven then I already know which one suit me best. Cultivation of Virtue is not a settled science, that is why every cultivation has to follow the instincts of his guts to cross uncharted paths. Even inside the same cultural sphere, there are different methods of cultivating virtue in every cult and family. That is why I will follow the one that feels more natural to me.
I took 'easy' for the next one hundred days. My music classes paid dividends to refine both my musical skills and my heart sense, and now I can hear the melody of my own virtuous heart from time to time.
That is when the Inquisitor contacted me. After solving the current lack of enthusiasm and hate from the villagers about the witch burning, the man asked me to provide a buffet tent with beer and human hamburgers to raise the morale, the man really warmed up to me. So, when the King started saying "nonsense about human rights" and how it's bad to just burn people without a trial, the Inquisitor asked me to gather proof of evil in the world and gave me a book about 'Dark Organs'.
In Truth I had learned about them for some time now, virtue is performative excellence and I have butchered over five hundred bodies by now. Everything has pneuma, even a husk. In my focus, I unconsciously refined my basic pneuma sense and even learned to identify 'sin' from different bodies.
While I admit to being a carrion, I am not a cannibal though. I only ever use these Dark Organs as ingredients to my special compost formula for my vineyard, managing to create Spirit Wine, Kykeon. The brain, heart, and gut hold a place of prominence for Greek cultivators of virtue, so after much work, I managed to create Dark Spirit Grapes. While can keep growing them with just the seeds, the Dark Earth Compost creates better quality and quantity of Dark Spirit Grapes.
What can I say? I don't have a gut sense but I still listened to my guts. I reconnected with the villagers and learned all of their recipes and maybe Not-Aqua-sama really did bless me, because I super B fisherman.
Anyway, I did give him the Dark Organs in the end but, as expected, the King just ignored it. What a waste. Well, not really. I have mostly run out of uses for the thing. Sin Shards are where the good stuff is at. Using the Wheel Turning I can both accelerate growth and decay, this is great to make compost and fermentation, plus my humble spirit vegetables but it really shines while creating zombies. Using a single Dark Spirit Grape seed, I can reanimate and stitch together zombies with great efficiency.
Harnessing these Sin Shards is easy if a bit tricky. They tend to crystalize as the body decay so I just carefully accelerate it with my virtuous technique. I can eat it directly and trust my body to break it apart as a cultivation resource or use it to enhance my equipment. I already made a wicked hooded cape of black feathers for my Raven's mantle, besides further improvements to my equipment.
I certainly have been making my time in the morgue worthwhile. The efficiency and finesse of my pneumatic healing factor skyrocketed, and I now know what is most likely to kill a man and what injuries to avoid. But there is more to it.
Cultivators can manipulate their pneuma externally from their bodies to manifest intent. It is a hard, tedious, and frustrating affair, to shape one's formless vital breath into a physical thing, something that can be touched and felt is the mark of the truly advanced and gifted.
Most cultivators are basic bitchs and go for lame things like martial weapons like swords, lances, hammers, axes, or arrows. There is s sound excuse for this, based on grounded reality. The more complex something is, the more difficult it is to manifest. To the point, those capable of manifesting something like a hound of intent, horse of intent, or something more complex, were in the Heroic Realm or higher.
The thing is, I might be suspect as the only other Cultivator in Civic Realm to manage a similar feat had also been blessed by Higher Power, but there is a reason they are called manifestations of intent. A musician doesn't need the know about the twenty-seven bones in a human hand and how the muscles, joints, and ligaments allow it to articulate to perform a heart-wrenching melody; some truths are plainly known with one's gut alone, don't need any explanation.
Intent is half the process, imprinting part of one's will onto the pneuma construct to give them direction, like muscle memory. The thing is, using vines to animate the zombies creates a certain level of connecting awareness about their presence and action. With it, I can know if they are idle and what they are doing in the back of my mind, 24/7.
With my Carrion Intent, I manifested eight spectral spooky hands of pneuma. First forearm bones up to fingers, then muscles, and finally the skin. Over the last one hundred days I had become a one-man band as I played every instrument at once. From those I purchased to the ones, I made with my musical and carpenter skills. One might not need to have deep medical knowledge yet they certainly help improve things, virtue is performative excellence and virtuous techniques are manifestations of virtue.
Besides doing a Griffon rip-off, I can simply fuse them to create a Megazord… one of these days, for now, everything I can do is manifest a giant ribcage around myself in emergencies, like the Sharingan's Susanoo. By the time I become a captain of the Sophic Realm, I might be able to pull off a legged Susanoo, having a pocket thank on demand certainly sounds nice.
That is how I ascended to the 9th rung of the Civic Realm.
With my extra time and idly hands I decided to help Miller fix his broken windmill. I looked around the best I could to get their dimensions and then recruited the Astrologer's help for the calculations, we started to spend a lot of nights together charting the stars. The man is still as depressed as ever but the fact he hasn't kit shows there is still passion about his vocation.
Apparently, the man has a long-lost daughter and recruited my help to find her. She is the deceased sister of the Gypsy Baron, he in turn asked me to demand the release of one of his friends who has been captured by the Inquisition and is awaiting trial. After some palm greasing from my good friend, the Inquisitor, the man was released.
It turned out Ms. Charm is his lost daughter; she has brought disgrace to the family by losing her mother's family heirloom and renouncing her gypsy background. After that, I try to scoop up how receptible Ms. Charm is of a reconciliation with her father but she made it very clear that she despises her father, whoever he might be, and that she doesn't want to know of him or his identity at all. The astrologer takes the news with a heavy heart but insists that there must be a way to gain her forgiveness.
That is when Ms. Charm calls, asking for my help rescuing Vagner, the man was somehow arrested and needed rescue. The Astrologer leaped at the chance to earn her daughter's forgiveness and I had grown too fond of the man to leave him to his fate, so I tag along.
The Astrologer came up with a plan - we all could get inside to 'continue' the archaeological dig, that was started years ago but never finished. In order to do that, though, he needs your help in repairing his reputation at the University. Fortunately, I have been practicing almost every night and have enough scattered notes to compile something worthwhile together.
With these fantastic books, the astrologer was not only successful in organizing the new expedition - he was even reinstated as a professor. Not that it matters to him. But now almost everything is ready for the new expedition into the mountain fort.
That is when things went fuba. Turned out Vagner had become some kind of monster, this happened when he wrote a song for Ms. Charm while inspired by some questionable beverage and mushroom cocktail. He was so inspired that Ms. Charm fell in love with him after reading the song he made for her but he also got transformed into Big Foot.
We got ambushed by the Lord Commander and his soldiers on the way back. My companions resigned themselves and came forward with the truth, trying to make amends before facing their fates while I prepared myself to become a wanted man for killing nobility. That was when Vagner's transformation was dispelled with a kiss from Ms. Charm and in a lucky turn of events, he was the estranged son of Lord Commander!
All ended well and I got my hands on the [necklace] and [Golden angle] as a reward for my troubles.
With these experiences, I was able to build for myself a water pump from the experience of helping Miller. And as idly hands are the devil's workbench I expanded further, building myself a gymnasium after repossessing the swamp strip north of my house. Something made easy with an army of zombies to uproot all vegetal life, carry all the sand, and beat it until compressed.
As I lacked the opportunity to work with stone and marble ever since I built the Bishop those statues, I decided to go all out and make my gymnasium in the Parthenon style. The equipment is mostly made of steel bars with stone supports and iron or stone weights but the long strip of land I was forced to repossess made it perfect for an acrobatic gymnastics training area, and while I don't have personal experience with it I also watched enough Olympics to know what was worthwhile for me to try. They were mostly made of wood, plus some ropes, but I also installed steel bars between the columns well above head level.
Using the strongest zombies I could make as spotters, I focused on the basics – squat, bench press, dumbbell row, cable lateral raise, face pull, triceps pushdowns, barbell curl, wrist curl, goblet squat, overhead press, chin-ups, inclined dumbbell bench, hanging knee raise, dumbbell shrug, dumbbell curl, cable reverse fly. Hey, I may had started here with a bit of potty belly but that is due to indulgencies. I had been going to the gym regularly for over a decade now.
For gymnastics, I focused on the more athletic categories – Trampoline, Power Tumbling, aerobics, floor, pommel horse, rings, vault, parallel bars, and high bar. My parkour has never been better!
I trained with and without the augmentation provided by my pneuma, relying on my body refinement alone, only using my pneumatic chamber to recover my stamina. I got a couple of nasty bruises here and there from accidents or equipment failure but nothing worth mentioning.
That is how I found myself ascending the last rung of the Civic Realm, 10th rank, making me a captain of the Civic Realm.
To commemorate I decided to carve for myself a statue of myself using only my pneuma, making a spirit block. This is not an act of vanity though, much like manifesting intent with one's pneuma, chiseling a marble with one's pneuma alone is a test of skill where one's self-awareness, their understanding of their own burgeoning myth.
For a moment I couldn't recognize the man depicted out of the marble as the stone chucks flew everywhere. I knew most people were unsightly before they started to refine themselves but that was too much of a gap. My skin had become perpetually tanned by my outdoor lifestyle and while I have kept myself shaved with some homemade soap and a steel knife, I opted to keep shoulder-length hair as it is easier for me to keep it relatively presentable by myself. It was this or shaving myself bald.
Did the starlight marrow have a hand in this? Did it enforce its own idea of what constituted refinement using Dionysus as the blueprint? I certainly felt that way. Young Blood, that is what The Flame called Lio. Well, it is convenient that I have started to go by the pseudonym of Zagreus then, too much magic crap involving true names, plus people capable of seeing through my lie will tip me off about such talents via heart sense. I lose nothing with this, a name chosen is worth just as much as a name given. Right?
So, my father ended up hospitalized and while her new wife can keep him company during the last month I and my siblings took turns watching him during the night, from 3~7 PM to 7 AM. Not a fun experience, but he now is back home and while I wasn't in the mood to write my ongoing stories, or any story for the matter, my stay in the hospital had to be filled with something.
I can't recommend Virtuous Sons enough; it is that great of a read, the prose is on point and it is genuinely epic and it breaks from the stale xianxia gender conventions. While I originally read it while it was available in the Stace Battle the finalized publication I read from my sister's Kindle was what inspired me to write this.
I also played Graveyard Keeper from my kid brother's Steam Deck as He got the weekend turns due to School, and it is so great a time sinker that it is actually scary.
This chapter is so descriptive due to being more of a Preview as the main character had to get in proper working form plus if I were to describe the slow grind of Graveyard Keeper we would have a 100k introduction ark.
I took stock of my situation. A white room with doors or windows with, two chairs for seats. It is not in my top ten craziest dreams, but it is not common either. People say dreams are often compensatory and this one must be telling me that even Heaven is a bureaucracy Hell, full of the most dreadful art of paperwork.
I took a custody glance at the documents and signed them without any fanfare. There is nothing worse for oneself than aggravating burned-out office workers with obnoxious questions.
Not-Aqua took a token effort to review my signatures to ensure everything was in order then moved to clap her hands. Something stopped her at the last second, it was as if she had swallowed a lemon. With a heavy sigh, she produced one of those Asiatic lucky stray cylinders used for a lottery in the far east.
I looked transfixed stupid at the sight, not in small part because of the show she was giving me.
She starts to swing the thing around for a while then extend the thing toward me, urging me to take one stray among the loot.
I complain.
She claps her hand again, but nothing happens. We stare at each other for a while.
"W-was that supposed to do something?"
Her answer died in her mouth as she got a closer look at the stray I pulled. Perfect ordinary wood for the first half and ominous black skull bones in the last haft.
"Of course, this had to happen in my season… what a rotten luck. Well, not as rotten as yours."
"Is this bad?" I question while brandishing the thing.
"Horrific. A little internal joke here in the office. While the dead normally gets dropped in the river Letho so they forget their past lives to ease the transition, someone decided to fuck around just to find out. Skipping the process just to laugh at the poor chump saddled in this game. Eventually, this little show became a popular pastime in the office so they always elect a new sacrificial lamb, sorry." She explained, not sorry at all.
"Wait, wait, wait. You can't be serious. I died, and even in dead I get this sort of office shenanigan! Is this Hell? Am I in Hell? What I did that was so bad to deserve this?"
"Nothing, really. This is a cosmic cruelty, but nothing outside the boundaries of a deva. The culprits will be punished with bad Karma but the bracketing will be split among the viewers so it will cost them a pittance. The equivalent of littering really, it is that popular."
"The way you speak of it… there is more to it than remembrance."
"Well, there is a reason Samsara is described as torture in some religions. This is the Hamster Wheel of Death. A new victim is eventually chosen when the previous one 'get crushed under the wheel', giving up on the struggle entirely and waiting motionless for death."
"You have got to be fucking with me! Help me out, please!" I begged the goddess responsible for executing this cosmic cruelty.
"No way! I will be the one being dragged across the hot coal. Unlike you, I have to live with these people as my coworkers. I don't get to leave!"
"Should I roll over and die then? Based on what you said this is the fastest option." I ask full of bitterness and panic.
Despite her apathetic disposition and burned-out personality, she seems to become more receptible to my plea as she turns to examine me all over. A pondering look as she thinks over what she can get away with.
"Ok, let's do it like this. I will give you one boom, something I can pass off as just a whim to spice things with from the regular state of affairs. It can't be anything outrageous but it can be your lifeline against the rotten Fate you are being saddled with; forget luck manipulation though, people up here will go out of their way to spice your life for the worst."
It wasn't a solution but compared to my current position it might as well have been divine interference. This whole situation is absurd and I still hope this is just a dream, but something in me tells me to take this seriously.
"Ok, ok- any suggestions then?" I ask in frank excitement, a childish part of me perking up at the chance of superpowers.
"It can be anything, from your imagination to fiction. All souls in Samsara are connected by the three million worlds of the six realms, so there are good odds what people take as inspiration are actually residual memories. Just remember I will have to match your boon to the level of challenge present." Totally-not-Aqua lectures to me.
Now, doesn't it kind of explain her situation then? She looks nothing like her anime inspiration though, so I imagine there is a good level of distortion, memory was never a reliable record in the first place. Not that it matters at the moment, I have more pressing business to deal with.
A boom that starts out low yet has the potential for growth. She told me nothing about picking up new boons or powers from magical worlds, so even if those exist there must be some kind of regional restriction that prevent most of them from crossing over. This isn't a jumpchain, this journey's purpose is to crush me, even the clothes on my back are a concession. The only thing I truly own is myself… isn't that an idea? A boom that allows me to grow into more of what I am.
I can even make it properly thematic for my shitty circumstances.
"I want to be a cultivator of virtue fully initiated in the Orphic Mystery faith," I say with confidence I don't feel.
Not-Aqua nods and pulls another folder from her cleavage and starts to peruse through it in search of something.
"That… is surprisingly sensible, I will have to owe Dionysus a solid after this but he is likely to be sympathetic to your situation and complain with minimal fuss. Wow, this can actually work!"
Despite my precarious position I am filled with elation. "When will you call him?"
"Already did," Not-Aqua explains as I feel the heat like an open brazier in my back. "Enjoy the initiation rites of the Orphic House, this is the only divine kindness you be getting for the longest time. From here on, it will be up to you."
As the goddess of the overly complicated name explained these things to me, the world fell apart with the sound of clapped palms. Don't ever let it be said that I am ungrateful though.
"Thank you Goddess Aqua, I promise to raise a shrine in your name someday!"
"Don't call me Aqua!"
The world fades away, this goddess really is as cute as the anime one when bulled.
-//-
A Titan is to an Olympian what an Olympian is to a man.
In a world silver bright the first infanticide takes place, yet despite the horrifying nature of the act the Wheel keeps on turning.
I die.
-//-
When I regained consciousness, I found myself stranded in an endless void filled with mist, with only a hated shade for company.A Titan is to an Olympian what an Olympian is to a man.
In a world silver bright the first infanticide takes place, yet despite the horrifying nature of the act the Wheel keeps on turning.
I die.
-//-
"What happened? Where is everything?" I ask aloud, still relying upon the mania of the initiation rites. More than that, I feel like I am burning from the inside out as starlight marrow settled inside my bones and now flows in my veins.
In Orphism, humans were created from clay using the ashes of the Titans that devoured the young Dionysus. This endowed humans with a dual nature, a body, inherited from the Titans, and a divine spark or soul, inherited from Dionysus.
Now that my sleeping soul has awakened to its place in the world and I feel the euphoria of my vital breath circulating untethered for the first time, I wonder how true said legends actually are.
The stranger in front of me has no interest in waiting for me to get my bearing though. "Calm down. You have merely turned a page in your life. A whole new chapter awaits you ahead."
"That sounds nice and all, but how do I get out of this limbo? I might not have a home to go back to but a change of scenery would be nice."
"Don't worry, there is always a way to get home. Let's see… you new home is a graveyard."
"… you serious?"
"Totally, you are a graveyard keeper now!"
"I still don't follow."
"Go dig up Gerry. He will help sort everything out."
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – day 01]
A talking skull. An honest to god talking spooky skull. The fact it is alcoholic and amnesiac doesn't help me decide if I am still dreaming or not. The talking donkey doesn't help. But in the end, the searing pain of the infernal marrow is real enough for me.
Nothing is more real than pain.
I have found myself in this medieval county filled with disparate and irreverent people. I still can't believe said talking skull sweet talked me into desecrating a corpse for its meat so I can buy HIM a pinch of beer! I blame the lingering mania of the Orphic rites. The only consolation is that this land is as mad as I me now, after burring the body of the man in the graveyard a Burial Certificate popped from the ground as if by magic!
Immediately after this, I established my first contact with the (living) locals. The Bishop came around and said he had been waiting for thirty years for a new grave keeper. He then complained and told me to fix the cemetery before he promotes me as the local cleric. The fact his name is literally Bishop doesn't help; this is Goblin Slayer level of NPC names.
The Dead Horse Tavern's owner at least turned out to have a name, Horadric. So, it turned out that I desecrated that body for nothing as he can only purchase meat certified via a Meat Stamp. I wonder why.
After some time back and forth with Horadric I eventually got tasked with delivering a letter to the local blacksmith, a gruff fellow named Krezvold. And that is when my exciting life as an adventure began, dealing with the most classic monster mob, the slime. Krezvold gave me a broken rusty sword, a whetstone, and told me he would compensate me after bringing the slime remains. I got an old hammer, pick, saw, and shovel for my troubles.
After that, I returned to the talking skull, which gave me the hint about an otherworldly portal located in Witch's Hill. That is when I decided I had enough madness for one day and decided to go to bed until the world made more sense.
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – day 10]
As things happened, I was still too debilitated by the divine blood running through my veins to focus on much besides recovering. The reason I choose cultivation of virtue as a boom was because, unlike the normal xianxia cultivation, where anyone can become a god by breathing through their mouths like a restarted for a few centuries while doing the secret dance of the blind chicken, cultivating virtue has a more natural progression to one's soul.
The standard cultivation system is counterintuitive, overly complicated, and almost gamey in the number of exploits that can be used to refine oneself, to the casual way the pick and discard techniques.
To cultivate virtue is to refine oneself, body, mind, and soul through performative excellence, as cultivation can only make a man more of what he already is. And to inspire virtue a cultivator studies Mysteries, confounding natural phenomena that defy any explanation, tempering their souls with it. Chipping away at it through their lifetime in the hope that by the time they finish unraveling with a satisfying explanation, they will be elevated all the way up to the peak of Olympus Mons. Cultivation is set once the foundation is settled - one virtue, one mystery, and only one path to heaven.
It follows that the mystery studied must be profound enough to reach heaven alone. In the world of the Light Novel, Virtuous Sons, these Greater Mysteries were the dead bodies of the faceless divinities of Olympus. Holy copses stripped of any and all recollection, save epithets, their very names and faces erased from mortal memories and records.
Dionysus was an exception to this due to his nature as a dead and back again god. Orphism is the only Western religion that I know of that accepts the concept of Metempsychosis, reincarnation like Eastern faiths so often do.
In order to achieve salvation from the Titanic, material existence, one had to be initiated into the Dionysian mysteries and undergo teletē, a ritual purification and reliving of the suffering and death of the god. Orphics believed that they would, after death, spend eternity alongside Orpheus and other heroes. The uninitiated, they believed, would be reincarnated indefinitely.
It was a bit of a gamble but this was my best shot at scaping my current predictive, even if just through death. As a fully initiated of the Orphic mystery faith I have a very literal death insurance. I have no intention of dying though.
No matter how unkind my current predicament is, this is still the call to adventure that modern people often dream about. I intend to mild to for all that it is worth. I will enjoy this life, even if I have to spite the Heavens to do so!
Especially now. When a person is young life seems full of possibilities but as they age limitations set in, human potential is fixed. The ceiling of how tall, strong, smart, and beautiful a person can be are defined at birth. A person certainly has to put serious effort to reach their potential but there is always something bitter meeting this glass ceiling.
This is the blessing of the Thief of Flame, and I fully intend to enjoy the fruits of the light of my soul. Already as a cultivator in the first rank of the Civic Realm, I never felt better in my whole file. This is in no small part due to the benefit of my vital breath, my pneuma, the vital force that gives men their strength. As an awakened soul, I count myself among the few privileged enough to be capable of controlling their pneuma and can bid it to multiply. It is said that in a crowd of a hundred crude souls, there can be found a single citizen standing out.
Said that I got away with more from my boom than the basic package. The Orphic House is special in that to become a full initiate the mystic needs to pass through two initiation rituals, much like Catholicism has first baptism followed by the Eucharist. To make me a member of his faith, the god in question first feed me from the wealth inside his bones, his starlight marrow, and in doing so he recast me in his image. Like the protagonist of said Novel, I was marked by a higher power and repainted in the god's pallet. Now bearing amethyst eyes and navy-blue hair.
Bizarre but not altogether random. Dionysus is described as blue-haired in some of his legends. Plus, I can pass it off as silver poisoning if it ever draws unwanted attention.
I used the first week of convalescence while the starlight marrow settled to familiarize myself with the locals. This place is kind of bizarre in how tongue and cheek everybody seems to be but I can't say I dislike it.
I met pretty much everybody living around these parts. The most significant ones were first a depressed Astrologer by the Lighthouse that asked me for a skull of all things, something my new gig could easily fix for him… though it is still gross. Later on, I also met an angry inquisitor that wants me to spy on the townspeople for him. He seems un-ringed enough for me to fix him some firewood for his funny witch-burning business.
Right, I also met a ghost.
An honest to god spooky transparent ghost, like the ones straight from the Star War movies. He called himself Yorick. He even cajoled me into burying another dead fellow that he swore was being super rude to him. I ended up disposing of it by throwing him in the river. Then Gerry, the talking skull had the gall to lecture me about doing things for free!
Well, despite the eventful week I now feel stronger than ever and ready to take on this new world. So, I intend to do my best and secure a source of incoming, foraging is getting old fast and the best I usually get is some honey from wild bees; a tasty but unfun experience.
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – day 30]
I never thought the afterlife would involve so much work! This is enough for me to sympathize with my communist talking donkey's situation and political disposition. I certainly feel like a beast of burden.
All greater mystery faiths have their own theme, the foundational mystery of the Orphic faith is the eternal circle of death and rebirth, represented by a Wheel with eight spokes, the Dharma Chakra. Even the madness of the gods can be qualified as a product of the suffering and pain caused by the circle of reincarnation, instead of the cause. Like fermented grapes.
To this mystery, I will simply name it the [Wheel Turning]. As breathing is the way cultivators take in pneuma, breathing techniques are a fundamental part of a philosopher's kit. Normally a cultivator carves away apiece of their bodies to create pneumatic chambers but the starlight marrow performs this process naturally, carving a wheel over my chest area, invisible to mundane senses but visible to my new pneuma sense. By filling it with my invigorating breath I can seize the spokes of the Wheel and force it to turn.
A painful experience as it sears flesh while it turns but yet the scorched skin heals itself as if fasting forward a video record. It is closer to super metabolism than Wolverine healing factor, but this works for my benefit as the lactic acid from muscular exertion can be quickly flushed out. This makes so my only limit for how much and how long I can work are my pain tolerance and calorically intake.
The pudge belly from one too many indulgences is shirking fast, to the point I cut a deal with Horadric for an under-the-table Garden certificate for the small plot of land just below my house. Foraging simply takes too many hours from my day.
That is how I ended up meeting the Merchant and after some bartering, I managed to cut a deal with him, even securing a loan for seeds. My original plan was to see if I could accelerate the life circle of vegetables with my foundational mystery, after all the greatest know member of my faith was a vine keeper capable of growing vines on demand and quality grapes beyond the capacity of any mortal man. Cultivation is performative excellence and can be found in an uncountable number of actions.
In the end, I didn't need to bother, the land itself bear some chthonic vitality and the first loot came together despite my subpar knowledge about agriculture and meager pneuma.
By the end of it, I had secured a source of calories and could work without any restraint to the limits of my mortal frame.
I managed to clean and repair the graveyard to the Bishop's loft standards and even reverted the ruble found in the basement of the church connecting to my celar.
There is where I met Snake.
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – day 50]
Over my time in this land, I dare to say that I have become something of a carpenter. Wood is the most readily available resource and carrying a long of wood in one's back is great training. Nails and iron parts are something of a commodity I have to purchase for now, but with the freedom to focus on a single discipline I managed to repair the graveyard to Bishop's standards.
Nothing fancy, wood crosses and markings, but now it no longer looks abandoned at the very least.
"I was definitely right about you!" The Bishop says excitedly. "I hereby pronounce you official keeper of this holy place, a prior of this church. Let's arrange your first sermon."
With those words, my side gig as a priest began. Honestly, I only accepted because oratory, poetry, and music are disciplines I must study and master as part of my mystery faith. It is called Orphism for a reason, even if the subject is Dionysus. The Augur is not only the founder but also a subject of worship as Orphism is also a Hero's cult, a Chthonic institution.
A cultivator of virtue is mortal all the way up to the top of the Sophic Realm, after that, he becomes something more. A Defiant Soul, immune to the impositions of natural law, semi-divine. Still lesser than a god but opaque enough to inspire virtue. A Lesser mystery to a god's Greater. That is the Heroic Realm.
I met Orpheus and the other heroes that joined him in an underworld singing house. There I was welcomed into the fold by my seniors, men and women greater than I could ever hope to be before that day, and Orpheus awoke my heart to the hidden melody of the heart.
This Heart Sense is still muted, almost a whisper. I have to cultivate it further and this mass is perhaps the best opportunity I will have.
"May the force be with you!" I intone with as much confidence as I could, putting the full force of my pneuma behind the words.
The sorry peasants that were present for the Church's first mass after getting wind of it from Horadric, clapped in excitement and as I listened to the beat of their hearts I could feel the excitement causing havoc in their sleeping souls, causing them to produce an outpour of pneuma that reverted right back at me.
I could feel a rush of ecstasy as the vital sea of my soul doubled in my ascension from the first to the second rung of the Civic Realm.
It should be obvious in hindsight, maybe it is a legacy of the titanic corporeal side of man, but even virtuous beasts capable of crude cultivation do so by eating. It is less literal in this case. With this, the church just became my main priority.
Downstairs in the church basement I met Snake, a shift fellow that turned out as useful as he claimed. The Astrologer had asked me to find the previous keeper's journal and gave me a key he had left in his possession for safekeeping.
Snake was in search of something in the basement and was in possession of instruction capable of activating it after I use some of my pneuma. I suspect the Bishop's affirmation about Faith being power is more literal than not in this land. Faith seems to be a harvestable resource.
With the active key vibrating with Faith Power I opened the sealed door we went inside. There I met Gunter, a zombie created by the previous keeper that was chained for being too intelligent. He suggested I create more zombies with this 'zombie juice' the previous keeper left behind.
Things are getting complicated.
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – day 100]
Honestly, there is too much that I don't know that I don't know. I never missed modern conveniences so much. Things that I took for granted like paper and ink are a commodity here. Plus, I don't feel safe ignoring things like zombies in my basement.
Fortunately, the previous keeper was something of a scientist and has left his laboratory behind. While the prospect of rediscovering scientific staples of modern life would usually sound absurd, this is fundamental for my cultivation. Acord to Greek cultivation a soul exists in three parts – spirit, mind, and hunger. I cultivator has to refine all of these parts to advance, becoming more spirited, wiser, and hungrier.
Plus, a man has to see the truth of things with his own eyes.
I managed to cajole Krezvold into instructing me on the secrets of his trade. Enough for me to harness the iron ores found in the swamp near my home and refine them into ingots with a homemade furnace, that I could use to create an Anvil to make nails, and iron parts. With it I was allowed to upgrade my rusty tools for iron ones, even making armor using human skin as leather.
With it, I felt confident enough to explore the basement dungeon. At the very least to ensure monsters wouldn't emerge at night while I am sleeping. The place was a dump full of vampire bats as big as dogs, slimes, wasps as big as a human hand, and by the end of it, undead soldiers.
The last ones were an unwelcome surprise, and I found myself fighting for my life. Got to say though, there is no better teacher than fear. I learned to invoke a combat-oriented version of my foundational virtuous technique out of sheer panic, fear, and pain. Scouring the skeleton knight with the remembrance of pain, madness, and despair the god experienced.
This is Massa Confusa – the painful, growing awareness of the Abyss of Death connected to the Peak of Life, a moment of maximum despair that produces a dead balance, a standstill that hampers moral decisions and makes convictions ineffective or even impossible in the chaos and melancholia.
Surpassing this marasmus can foster growth, health, and personal development but it is easier said than done, especially in a fight. A great weapon.
I even got away from it with good spoils. A healing potion that turned out to be just what the Alzheimer Witch of the Woods needed to restore her memories. With it, I could induct myself in the graces of the Merchant, as he had been cursed by another witch and needed professional help. Besides this, the Witch also had some of the acid the Astrologer needed to reveal the true content of the previous keeper's journal and after some back and forth I managed to even earn the trust of Snake by getting him the 'Necronomicon'.
More interesting than the peroqua events of the villagers, I managed to produce more zombies with the remaining zombie juice and even found one laying around, putting me up to four slave laborers. They can follow simple instructions, being great at menial labor, giving me more free time to pursue other affairs.
With the extra time, I managed to figure out how to produce glass in the furnace and even clay pots and urns. Mixing some ash created by cremating bodies with some oil purchased from the Witch I managed to create some home-made ink. By harvesting the skin of dead bats and dead bodies I managed to create some 'paper' so I finally could do got on my promise to the Inquisitor and make some flyers to promote his witch-burning event.
After some sob story, the Inquisitor gave me permission to use the abandoned vineyard for the promise of future wine. Since I have been already dabbling into agriculture as part of training in my lesser and greater mysteries I readily agreed. Pneuma is the vital breath that exists in all things, even those that don't traditionally breathe; the harnessing of pneuma and biding it to multiply is not a real exclusive to men. If I manage to become a skilled enough vine keeper beyond the keen of mortals, I might cultivate spirit grapes, and with it, I could create Spirit Wine.
This is a long-term project though. More importantly, it was the fact that I managed to befriend the Inquisitor enough for him to give me the graveyard scroll permit to put the western side of the graveyard back into working order. I had been forced to burn the bodies to get Certificates due to the lack of space.
With readily available metal, wood, glass, and clay I started to put the Church back into proper shape. This earned me more views, that in turn gave me more Faith that I use to accelerate my cultivation, reaching the 3rd rung of the Civic Realm.
Not everything is going my way though. The talking donkey made good of his communist ideology and now demands five carrots per corpse and days off on Mass Day, the audacity! Those are my precious calories and carbonitrides, I need them! I might have become something of a gym bro since I landed here, but that is why I am bulking up greatly, having gained ten extra centimeters and over ten kilos of muscle.
I never felt better.
The radiance of my vital essence constantly smooths my outer imperfections, even the lowest citizen enjoyed the benefit of gradual refinement while their pneuma flowed freely and unfettered. Greek Cultivation perspective was that a man's external reality mirrored his internal reality – External and internal, inextricably linked. Greek aesthetics desired beauty of self, order over chaos, and so the more one cultivates the more the virtue manifests as performative excellence, expressing and imposing that beauty and order on the world outside of themselves, starting with one's own body.
That is why the communist donkey actions threw a screwdriver into my plans. I had resorted to fishing near the riverbank to supplement my diet, and every night I either study alchemy or practice my writing and singing for the holiday mass. This forced me to start selling human meat to the village with the fake stamp I got from Snake. Not the most ethical move but necessity make a beast of a man. At least I am recycling almost everything from bodies now, that is ethical capitalism for you!
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – day 200]
I managed to improve the church after the Bishop put me through a marathon of tasks, from making ceramic bowls to feed poor people so he could look good, surrendering my best quality fish fillet to the bastard, and purchasing an building permission for twenty silver coins. With it and the overhaul improvements, I secured myself a steady flow of Faith from the populace. Enough to ascend another step on the divine ladder, 4th rung of Civic Realm. This allowed me to cut short the time I need to sleep in four hours using my pneumatic chamber, a good thing as I am running out of free hours in the day.
The vineyard also started to give out results. They are nothing to write home about but were at least passable. I also got tired of being stung by wild bees and started a beekeeping venture with seven hives stationed a bit away from my home. Nothing as exotic as mad honey, but I already got my fair share of bad trips from eating strange mushrooms in the wild.
Now that I am more or less settled, I started to work on things to improve my quality of life. I increased the space of my yard, repossessing what had been claimed by the swamp, and with the extra space I readily put three of my zombies into transporting resources from an abandoned mine north of my home. From stone, to coal, and steel, with the occasional silver and gold nuggets.
With it and all the wood I ever need I started to create Stone cutter stations so I could work on better graves, a proper carpenter's workbench, a second improved with a wind blower so it can reach high temperatures, a circular saw to work on bigger pieces of wood, a potter's wheel for quicker and more professional work so I don't have to hear people calling them ugly again!
In the basement, I built a vine press so I don't risk catching anything from zombie feet and a giant wine-making barrel, and a brewing stand for making beer with the hops I grow together with the grapes.
By then I had improved enough to start to turn the previous keeper's office into a true laboratory. A humble alchemy workbench product of my improvement with glass working, a hand mixer bench used to blend many substances into solutions, an alchemy mill used to grind materials into dust, a distillation cube to create extracts, a church workbench, an alchemy rack for storage, a scroll shelf and, most important of all, a Paper press capable of supplying me with true paper made from Paper glop made from wheat and white paint made from ground bone and oil pressed from cadaver's fat.
Paper made of dead people.
I have become a very good butcher if I say so myself, capable of disassembling bodies with ease. I have not performed a mistake in months now. Between all the improvements of the graveyard, the candles made from white bone paint, dead people's fat, and bee wax, and all my work breaking my head to figure these things out I climbed another rung, 5th rung of the civic realm.
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – day 300]
At my predecessor's old study tablet, I poured my all into studying everything I could put my hands into, breaking into whatever, it could be harvested and mixing with whatever I had in hand. This involved more than a poor man's biochemistry, the use of pneuma, what the locals call Faith, allows for the making of wonders.
I improved the embalming of the dead significantly, which somehow affect the graveyard in an intangible but unmistakable way. It seems Gery was right, even though bodies are empty husks they still carry the bad Karma, the sin of their action in life. More strangely, some substances are capable of Halting and reverting decay, and even 'cleansing' this karma. Those are made from magical monsters and the result is a matter of trial and error for now, but in time I might figure out cause and effect.
I puzzled out the secret of the 'zombie juice', made with blood and powder made with crop waste. Having a proper question is half of the battle. By understanding the process of reanimation, I managed to repurpose it under the lens of my foundational mystery, using a single grape seed to grow vines that serve a similar purpose to the mysterious concoction.
With zombies now as a renewable and tireless labor force, I automated the mine and wood harvest, selling the excess to the village.
I also discovered how to make quality fertilizer with the ash of the dead and a solution made from crushed maggots. With it, the quantity and quality of my crops skyrocketed and I even managed to somewhat automate the farming process with the use of zombies.
With this excess of food, I decided to buy a trade license for 50 silver coins, opening the trade office with the Merchant. I even built a crate factory so that my zombies can simply transport them from one side to the other with minimal interference from my part. A truly automated farming. I only kept a small lot for my personal supervision in both the farm and vineyard. I even figured out a zombie brewery and winery so I could keep demand from town, I have no intention of giving up the practice when it is so important for the refinement of my soul.
For all my effort I managed to climb another step in the stairway to heaven, 6th rung of the Civic Realm.
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – day 400]
Having established myself in the town, Ms. Charm finally dyed to talk with me. The woman even dared to make me her errant boy, bringing about her vendetta with Snake over some necklace and fake money. Alas, she is influential enough for me to require her services, the use of flyers to promote my vegetable business with the merchant wasn't as successful as I hoped and my associate pointed out that her help would be a great boom. So, I ended up playing the middle man between the two.
I ended up going to the Mountain Fort at Snake's instructions, talking with a servant to the Lord Commander's family, a hunchback man named Koukol. After a convoluted mass and a lot of small talk, I decided this was a fruitless venture and returned to Ms. Charm empty-handed. This led her to ask for Horadric's wife's perfume as a substitute, the vain woman. In the end, it was only Miss Chain's confession that it could be made by the Witch in the swamp that kept me from giving up.
I finally managed to get the cursed thing and cajole the woman into promoting my vegetable stand. Talk about sunk cost fallacy! Or not, she still had the audacity to demand one piece of jewelry as payment, thankfully the Merchant saw I was about to lose my temper and step in to supply the jewelry.
This actually made me feel bad enough that I decided to compensate him for it. I have zombies mining 24/7 and I even join from time to time for the cardio, breaking stone from sunset to sundown, so I have a sizable cache of precious stones and rare metals. Making a jewelry table after observing a professional in action is by now well within my means.
More importantly, now the Merchant has enough standing to meet the King of this Kingdom. By supplying him with five full-course Michelin meals I secured his success in this endeavor. With it, he has enough face to get me blueprints and samples of as many musical instruments as he is able, something I desperately need to train my Heart Sense and Orphic Mystery.
The meal was easy by then, some premium onion rings grown on my farm, hamburger made with the same onions and human meat, and grape pie made from my best grapes. I have been cooking for myself since I landed here and there is a virtue to be found in the pursuit of excellence in every discipline.
In the end, things went so well the Merchant gifted me with the [Salty Fork], a strange device capable of enhancing the flavor of any meal eaten with it.
More interestingly, I upgraded my furnace yet again and my tools and armament with live steel, tempered a thousand times! I even figured out how to prevent rust by bluing it with salt coating. I can even feel the pneuma lingering in the armor and sword, showing that my dedication paid dividends as this set of armor and weapon perform beyond mortal ken… this gave me an idea.
It is said that the madness derived from supping divine starlight marrow is enough to make a crow out of a man, but the true initiates become hungry ravens.
The Raven Mantle is a midnight veil of shadow that obscures the features and pneuma of the bear, being the banner of those favored by Dionysus. The veil makes one looks like they stepped right out from the underworld, and this impression is justifiable true. Besides improving one's ability to sneak around the raven mantle allows the bearer to store things in one's shadow and create ivory shadow constructs.
But the most outstanding property of the raven mantle is also its least obviously useful. There is a hungry raven in my shadow and scarcely few are capable of hearing its caws. Mostly Gerry and Yorick, dead men. The mantle's true nature is that of a Persona, a mask the cultivator of virtue can use to negotiate how much of his true self he exposes to the world.
More importantly, the raven living in my shadow hungers for the taste of starlight marrow once more, being boy scout to the maenads' fox girl club. Dionysus bears the epithet of the 'Tearer of Flesh' for a reason; Sparagmos, is the ritual of rending, tearing apart, or mangling, an animal or person that stars as a stand-in for the God. Omophagia, the ritualistic consumption of raw flesh.
A reenactment of the Titan's grim deed against the young Olympian. If it is done so that by sacramental re-enactment of the god's death, a hope of salvation for his worshippers was obtained or if this is a manifestation of humanity's titanic ancestry, I can't say for sure.
What matters to me now is that I can benefit from this. I direct the fullness of my influence, pneuma, and body against my new sword and armor, leveraging my mind, spirit, and hunger. The heart provides the fuel, the mind the question and the gut the guiding instincts of how it might be implemented. The Raven devours the armor and sword and integrates them into its mantle.
I pull on the midnight veil and a perfect form-fitting armor made of black steel and leather hugs my body like a glove, I also feel the familiar weight of my sword just in the corner of my awareness, ready to leap to my palm.
With it, I explore the following five floors of the underground dungeon. Slaying all the monsters with prejudice of my foundational mystery, flaying the body with the entropic shadow of death, tearing apart the spirit, and scouring the mind with madness with the Wheel Turning. I used it against every enemy I came across until my virtuous technique reached my limit and it started to rebounding on me. I forced myself past them anyway, using my pneumatic chamber to both fuels the flagging vital sea of my soul and mend myself, tempering my tripartite soul with madness and pain. When it wasn't enough the raven in my shadow started to devour these monster's Last Breath, the moment the Faith power that allowed them to excel within the natural boundaries escaped their bodies as they died.
Every cult has its theme and it causes its member to specialize in relevant fields where they stand head and shoulder above members of their sister cults; plus their own way of refinement lead to further divergences. The poisonous mushroom that gave me so much grief in the beginning now-a-day can barely give me any kicks, the same goes for the poisonous bee stings. I have started to experiment on myself, consuming my alchemical concoctions, a miserable experience but I can't complain about the results. The vitality and resilience of mystics of Orphic faith outstrip its sister greater cults the same way those that study Apollo enjoy exceptional tolerance to heat and flames.
With it I ascended another rung in the Divine Ladder, 7th rung of the Civic Realm. Snake was so impressed that he convinced and invited me to join his cult, and I mean an honest-to-god satanic cult. We redecorated the dungeon's entrance with skulls, bones, and blood fountains made of bones and bloody nails. I even faked being slayed by Snake with an ivory delusion made of shadows, all in exchange for part of the Faith this lot of generates.
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – day 500]
Yorick pulled a fast one on me, the little shit. Everything started one night when he declared himself now the concierge of new souls coming into the graveyard. Then he decided to throw a fit of pick and unleashed a lighting storm over my graveyard, smiting bodies of sinners buried there. Unfortunately, the eastern side of the grave was mostly made of wood monuments leading to a fucking fire I had to desperately stamp out after an entire night.
By daybreak I was burned and pissed off, so I ate the fucker. Even without a body he still has spirit and mind. My mystery turned out to be really effective against ghosts due to its chthonic nature.
In the end, I decided for exhuming the most sinful bodies and replacing everything I could with marble and went all out into upgrading the Church into a Cathedral. I built the Marble statues the Bishop commissioned, the self-aggrandized fuck; at least the experience allowed me to do good on my promise to Not-Aqua as she now stands as the central statue at the altar of the cathedral. I replaced plain wall candelabra for ones made of gold and semi-precious gemstones, stained glass windows, and fancier confessional, replaced the two wooden church shrines for stone ones, and secured myself a supply of the fanciest candles possible, made from bee wax, and hemp rope and White paint made from dead people.
My new jewelry-making skills really came through here. That is why I invited the Merchant to join the mass, without our business I wouldn't have the money to purchase the title of nobility. In a happy turn of events the Merchant and Bishop turned out to be stranged brothers and this turned out the best opportunity for their reconciliation. Bishop was so happy he recompensed me with the [Mirror of Pride].
Ever since the Merchant got me the most available musical instruments in the Kingdom, I have crammed four daily hours of proactive and two of writing content. It helps somewhat, music is a balm for the soul and I have been close to burning out some time now. Cultivation lends speed to a man's strides and I can go far longer without food or rest than a mortal owes to be capable of, but there are limits. Balancing in this rope is what generates the pressure necessary for refinement, yes, but life doesn't have to be so grim.
Men cannot avoid misfortune forever, yes, but what I call cultivation was in simpler, more honest ages, simply described as living. Find what defines oneself, one's vocation, and search to master it, in doing so naturally refine oneself. That is how men and women so skilled they invoked the envy of the heavens are made.
All I have to do is live my life. As long as I live properly everything else will follow. With this mindset, I ascended to the 8th rung of the Civic Realm, an impressive feat for someone without a First Virtue. Sure, I have ideas, but committing so early seems imprudent and artificial. More than that, part of me questions if these inclinations are really my own volition or something forced upon me.
Heaven is cruel even to those it means well; their gifts are a pox upon the soul. The starlight marrow settled in my bones and coursing through my veins still burns, what it burned was undone and then rebuilt better.
In the image of its donator.
Why did I kill and devour Yorick? Was it truly my own will or was I "possessed by the god"?
I don't know, but If cultivation truly can only make someone more of what they are then it holds the answer. It is said that a captain of the Civic Realm ascends to the Sophic Realm with the first in his life he has a thought worth having. Once this happens it is said their foundation is established, different cultural spheres have different names for this, like crossing the Rubicon or Metaphysics, but in the end, this boils down to choosing one single path for oneself at the exclusion of all others.
This is what means to be a man of Principle. There is a reason it is said the climb really starts in the Sophic Realm. I have no intention to have someone else choose a path for me.
If there truly are as many paths to the peak of Olympus Mons as stars in heaven then I already know which one suit me best. Cultivation of Virtue is not a settled science, that is why every cultivation has to follow the instincts of his guts to cross uncharted paths. Even inside the same cultural sphere, there are different methods of cultivating virtue in every cult and family. That is why I will follow the one that feels more natural to me.
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – day 600]
I took 'easy' for the next one hundred days. My music classes paid dividends to refine both my musical skills and my heart sense, and now I can hear the melody of my own virtuous heart from time to time.
That is when the Inquisitor contacted me. After solving the current lack of enthusiasm and hate from the villagers about the witch burning, the man asked me to provide a buffet tent with beer and human hamburgers to raise the morale, the man really warmed up to me. So, when the King started saying "nonsense about human rights" and how it's bad to just burn people without a trial, the Inquisitor asked me to gather proof of evil in the world and gave me a book about 'Dark Organs'.
In Truth I had learned about them for some time now, virtue is performative excellence and I have butchered over five hundred bodies by now. Everything has pneuma, even a husk. In my focus, I unconsciously refined my basic pneuma sense and even learned to identify 'sin' from different bodies.
While I admit to being a carrion, I am not a cannibal though. I only ever use these Dark Organs as ingredients to my special compost formula for my vineyard, managing to create Spirit Wine, Kykeon. The brain, heart, and gut hold a place of prominence for Greek cultivators of virtue, so after much work, I managed to create Dark Spirit Grapes. While can keep growing them with just the seeds, the Dark Earth Compost creates better quality and quantity of Dark Spirit Grapes.
What can I say? I don't have a gut sense but I still listened to my guts. I reconnected with the villagers and learned all of their recipes and maybe Not-Aqua-sama really did bless me, because I super B fisherman.
Anyway, I did give him the Dark Organs in the end but, as expected, the King just ignored it. What a waste. Well, not really. I have mostly run out of uses for the thing. Sin Shards are where the good stuff is at. Using the Wheel Turning I can both accelerate growth and decay, this is great to make compost and fermentation, plus my humble spirit vegetables but it really shines while creating zombies. Using a single Dark Spirit Grape seed, I can reanimate and stitch together zombies with great efficiency.
Harnessing these Sin Shards is easy if a bit tricky. They tend to crystalize as the body decay so I just carefully accelerate it with my virtuous technique. I can eat it directly and trust my body to break it apart as a cultivation resource or use it to enhance my equipment. I already made a wicked hooded cape of black feathers for my Raven's mantle, besides further improvements to my equipment.
I certainly have been making my time in the morgue worthwhile. The efficiency and finesse of my pneumatic healing factor skyrocketed, and I now know what is most likely to kill a man and what injuries to avoid. But there is more to it.
Cultivators can manipulate their pneuma externally from their bodies to manifest intent. It is a hard, tedious, and frustrating affair, to shape one's formless vital breath into a physical thing, something that can be touched and felt is the mark of the truly advanced and gifted.
Most cultivators are basic bitchs and go for lame things like martial weapons like swords, lances, hammers, axes, or arrows. There is s sound excuse for this, based on grounded reality. The more complex something is, the more difficult it is to manifest. To the point, those capable of manifesting something like a hound of intent, horse of intent, or something more complex, were in the Heroic Realm or higher.
The thing is, I might be suspect as the only other Cultivator in Civic Realm to manage a similar feat had also been blessed by Higher Power, but there is a reason they are called manifestations of intent. A musician doesn't need the know about the twenty-seven bones in a human hand and how the muscles, joints, and ligaments allow it to articulate to perform a heart-wrenching melody; some truths are plainly known with one's gut alone, don't need any explanation.
Intent is half the process, imprinting part of one's will onto the pneuma construct to give them direction, like muscle memory. The thing is, using vines to animate the zombies creates a certain level of connecting awareness about their presence and action. With it, I can know if they are idle and what they are doing in the back of my mind, 24/7.
With my Carrion Intent, I manifested eight spectral spooky hands of pneuma. First forearm bones up to fingers, then muscles, and finally the skin. Over the last one hundred days I had become a one-man band as I played every instrument at once. From those I purchased to the ones, I made with my musical and carpenter skills. One might not need to have deep medical knowledge yet they certainly help improve things, virtue is performative excellence and virtuous techniques are manifestations of virtue.
Besides doing a Griffon rip-off, I can simply fuse them to create a Megazord… one of these days, for now, everything I can do is manifest a giant ribcage around myself in emergencies, like the Sharingan's Susanoo. By the time I become a captain of the Sophic Realm, I might be able to pull off a legged Susanoo, having a pocket thank on demand certainly sounds nice.
That is how I ascended to the 9th rung of the Civic Realm.
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – day 700]
With my extra time and idly hands I decided to help Miller fix his broken windmill. I looked around the best I could to get their dimensions and then recruited the Astrologer's help for the calculations, we started to spend a lot of nights together charting the stars. The man is still as depressed as ever but the fact he hasn't kit shows there is still passion about his vocation.
Apparently, the man has a long-lost daughter and recruited my help to find her. She is the deceased sister of the Gypsy Baron, he in turn asked me to demand the release of one of his friends who has been captured by the Inquisition and is awaiting trial. After some palm greasing from my good friend, the Inquisitor, the man was released.
It turned out Ms. Charm is his lost daughter; she has brought disgrace to the family by losing her mother's family heirloom and renouncing her gypsy background. After that, I try to scoop up how receptible Ms. Charm is of a reconciliation with her father but she made it very clear that she despises her father, whoever he might be, and that she doesn't want to know of him or his identity at all. The astrologer takes the news with a heavy heart but insists that there must be a way to gain her forgiveness.
That is when Ms. Charm calls, asking for my help rescuing Vagner, the man was somehow arrested and needed rescue. The Astrologer leaped at the chance to earn her daughter's forgiveness and I had grown too fond of the man to leave him to his fate, so I tag along.
The Astrologer came up with a plan - we all could get inside to 'continue' the archaeological dig, that was started years ago but never finished. In order to do that, though, he needs your help in repairing his reputation at the University. Fortunately, I have been practicing almost every night and have enough scattered notes to compile something worthwhile together.
With these fantastic books, the astrologer was not only successful in organizing the new expedition - he was even reinstated as a professor. Not that it matters to him. But now almost everything is ready for the new expedition into the mountain fort.
That is when things went fuba. Turned out Vagner had become some kind of monster, this happened when he wrote a song for Ms. Charm while inspired by some questionable beverage and mushroom cocktail. He was so inspired that Ms. Charm fell in love with him after reading the song he made for her but he also got transformed into Big Foot.
We got ambushed by the Lord Commander and his soldiers on the way back. My companions resigned themselves and came forward with the truth, trying to make amends before facing their fates while I prepared myself to become a wanted man for killing nobility. That was when Vagner's transformation was dispelled with a kiss from Ms. Charm and in a lucky turn of events, he was the estranged son of Lord Commander!
All ended well and I got my hands on the [necklace] and [Golden angle] as a reward for my troubles.
With these experiences, I was able to build for myself a water pump from the experience of helping Miller. And as idly hands are the devil's workbench I expanded further, building myself a gymnasium after repossessing the swamp strip north of my house. Something made easy with an army of zombies to uproot all vegetal life, carry all the sand, and beat it until compressed.
As I lacked the opportunity to work with stone and marble ever since I built the Bishop those statues, I decided to go all out and make my gymnasium in the Parthenon style. The equipment is mostly made of steel bars with stone supports and iron or stone weights but the long strip of land I was forced to repossess made it perfect for an acrobatic gymnastics training area, and while I don't have personal experience with it I also watched enough Olympics to know what was worthwhile for me to try. They were mostly made of wood, plus some ropes, but I also installed steel bars between the columns well above head level.
Using the strongest zombies I could make as spotters, I focused on the basics – squat, bench press, dumbbell row, cable lateral raise, face pull, triceps pushdowns, barbell curl, wrist curl, goblet squat, overhead press, chin-ups, inclined dumbbell bench, hanging knee raise, dumbbell shrug, dumbbell curl, cable reverse fly. Hey, I may had started here with a bit of potty belly but that is due to indulgencies. I had been going to the gym regularly for over a decade now.
For gymnastics, I focused on the more athletic categories – Trampoline, Power Tumbling, aerobics, floor, pommel horse, rings, vault, parallel bars, and high bar. My parkour has never been better!
I trained with and without the augmentation provided by my pneuma, relying on my body refinement alone, only using my pneumatic chamber to recover my stamina. I got a couple of nasty bruises here and there from accidents or equipment failure but nothing worth mentioning.
That is how I found myself ascending the last rung of the Civic Realm, 10th rank, making me a captain of the Civic Realm.
To commemorate I decided to carve for myself a statue of myself using only my pneuma, making a spirit block. This is not an act of vanity though, much like manifesting intent with one's pneuma, chiseling a marble with one's pneuma alone is a test of skill where one's self-awareness, their understanding of their own burgeoning myth.
For a moment I couldn't recognize the man depicted out of the marble as the stone chucks flew everywhere. I knew most people were unsightly before they started to refine themselves but that was too much of a gap. My skin had become perpetually tanned by my outdoor lifestyle and while I have kept myself shaved with some homemade soap and a steel knife, I opted to keep shoulder-length hair as it is easier for me to keep it relatively presentable by myself. It was this or shaving myself bald.
Did the starlight marrow have a hand in this? Did it enforce its own idea of what constituted refinement using Dionysus as the blueprint? I certainly felt that way. Young Blood, that is what The Flame called Lio. Well, it is convenient that I have started to go by the pseudonym of Zagreus then, too much magic crap involving true names, plus people capable of seeing through my lie will tip me off about such talents via heart sense. I lose nothing with this, a name chosen is worth just as much as a name given. Right?
-//-
[AUTHOR'S ROOM]
So, my father ended up hospitalized and while her new wife can keep him company during the last month I and my siblings took turns watching him during the night, from 3~7 PM to 7 AM. Not a fun experience, but he now is back home and while I wasn't in the mood to write my ongoing stories, or any story for the matter, my stay in the hospital had to be filled with something.
I can't recommend Virtuous Sons enough; it is that great of a read, the prose is on point and it is genuinely epic and it breaks from the stale xianxia gender conventions. While I originally read it while it was available in the Stace Battle the finalized publication I read from my sister's Kindle was what inspired me to write this.
I also played Graveyard Keeper from my kid brother's Steam Deck as He got the weekend turns due to School, and it is so great a time sinker that it is actually scary.
This chapter is so descriptive due to being more of a Preview as the main character had to get in proper working form plus if I were to describe the slow grind of Graveyard Keeper we would have a 100k introduction ark.
Understandable, was wondering where you vanished. Well glad to have you back, and happy to hear that your dad is ok now.
- Location
- Brazil
Thanks, the next chapter of AGE OF WILL is half finished, but I decided to take it easy to avoid making a half ass job like in the Arcueid confrontation due to outside interferences. Think of this story as me closing my palate.
As someone who checked in , almost daily, for that AGE OF WILL update this is music for my ears. Also no problem dude, I understand wanting to do more stuff that is different to avoid burnout.
P.S.: Also I understand what you meant, but its cleanse not close, the verb you wanted to use. Sorry for the correction....
Graveyard Keeper 2
- Location
- Brazil
[Graveyard Keeper – 800]
There are two ravens, one tells the truth, and the other only lies.
My shadow doppelganger rushes my way with an ivory sword of shadows in hand, I answer in kind with my own shadow blade. As both are lies they can clash realistically enough, despite their insubstantial nature. While any blow would dispel him like so much as smoke to me there is no real danger, making it a perfect training partner.
About the only way he can help me as well, as any sport with more contact like boxing on grappling would also dispel the ivory delusion. So bladed weapons and spears are all that I am left with. Besides this, he can serve as target practice for my arrows and throw spears and daggers.
This is the best I could come up with for training by myself, standing isn't everything. Real fights are chaotic, unfair, and unpredictable, if everything it took to decide a winner was checking who has the bigger power level number then this would immaculate paradise. That is why martial refinement is so important.
I don't know what I have ahead of me but I already experienced for myself how unprepared I am for real life and death combat the first time I stepped on the church underground dungeon. My confrontation with the skeleton knights just drove the point home.
Modern humans are like an animal domesticated by a lifetime of comfort, shielded from the reality of violence, of life and death struggle. Said that a tiger can't change his stripes.
A hunting hound can never return to being a domestic house pet once he is awakened to his instincts. Humans are hunters too. From there on it is just a matter of refinement.
The two key traits are gracefulness and aggressiveness.
Gracefulness is the most obvious, as the sinuous movement is so attractive to the human eye. Graceful individuals are not self-conscious about their bodies and they move with a natural ease, the golden mean between spontaneity and control. A healthy dose of both is the recipe for grace.
Spontaneity is a function of self-expression. The more alive a person is the more spontaneous are his movements. The body is naturally expressive; it is constantly changing to reflect its inner feelings. In this respect, it is like a flame that is never the same at any two moments. While a body is more structured than a flame, it is not as rigid as a machine. It has a fluid quality and responds to the play of the inner forces. . .When control and spontaneity are integrated into the body's movement, the result is coordination. Coordination reflects the degree to which the ego is identified with the body and yet is in command of its movements. A healthy person is well-coordinated in his movements, he is spontaneous and yet in control.
The essence of the second trait, aggression is the antithesis of passiveness. The aggressive man or woman does not sit idly by waiting for the necessities of life to be delivered on a platter, rather he or she is proactive. Such people move forward into life in search of what they need. Aggressiveness is a trait naturally embodied in all living creatures – and necessarily so – for without it survival would be impossible. Man is the only creature who can deceive himself in the belief that passiveness is an appropriate way to live.
A person's natural aggressive impulses can be suppressed but they cannot be eliminated. Life, itself, is aggressive in that it is a forward-moving, ongoing process that seeks to overcome all obstacles. A sprouting seed pushes its way very aggressively upward through the earth to reach the light. As long as the metabolic activities of life continue, energy is produced to power the aggressive impulses. When these impulses are blocked from expression, the normal flow of energy is dammed, creating an explosive situation.
Aggression is primarily a function of the legs. They are what move us forward into life so limited strength or flexibility in the legs, and a more sedentary existence, will inhibit an aggressive mindset. Standing with the weight shifted to the balls of our feet and knees slightly bent is a pose that can imbue the mind with increased aggressivity.
But aggressiveness is also promoted or hindered by our connection to the ground, having some ground to stand on has both a psychological and a literal meaning. Psychologically, it means that a person has a good reason or cause for his aggressive action. Without the inner conviction, right or wrong, that one's aggression is justified, it would be difficult to move forward effectively.
In another sense, the term "having some ground to stand on" means that a person feels he has the right to be on this earth and to share in the life of the earth. He feels that he has the right to be (to want, to move towards, and to take). To evaluate how strongly a person feels this right we can measure how strongly he can hold his ground. Broadly speaking, we can say that the more grounded a person is in his legs, the more strongly he can hold his ground. He will feel that he has some ground to stand on and, therefore, some standing as a person.
Aggression and grace. These are the traits of the flourishing body and the more one can mimic such forms of expression, the more he will develop in both body and mind.
Dancing also helps in this, fitting considering Dyonisian cults use it to inspire the right mindset in their rites. I listen to the beat of my heart as it surrenders to the tune of the music, leading the body to follow. Cultivation can only make someone more of what they are, that is why integration is so important. Just because I reached the peak of the Civic Realm doesn't mean I plateaued until I break through to the Sophic Realm.
If anything, this is an opportunity for me to settle in my own skin and shore up my foundation. I have been progressing my cultivation at breakneck speed, not a bad thing but not a good thing either.
Because my new martial power is going to be tested. Snake is in trouble, one of his cultists turned out to be too much of a gabbler and now a vampire hunter is coming on his trail.
My confrontation with the notorious vampire hunter turned out in disappointment. Me and Snake just waited for over half a day for him to pass the road and then dropped a giant bolder in him.
Sorry Gerald.
I was expecting for him to dodge and a fight to ensue but it was just a whole lot of waiting and cleaning up evidence and our trail. At least the vampire hunter dropped a necklace that somehow unlocked the eleventh form of the dungeon.
There a found golems, golems, and more golems. Made from materials that range from graphene, silver, and gold. I question the wisdom of making a security robot out of one of the softest metals found around.
At the end of it all I got him his precious golden apple. I had half a mind to eat it in his face but he is the one who manages all those cultist lunatics for me, so I decided to surrender the thing.
One dark heart later and we got a whole lot of nothing as the ritual Snake performed ended summoning his biological father, the Inquisitor. It actually checks out, Snake was found in the rubble of the Conflagration and raised in an orphanage while the Inquisitor never found his body.
The man was so happy he totally ignored the obvious satanic decoration of the dungeon entrance. I even got compensated for my troubles – an endless notebook and Eternal burning coal. Wonder what I could do with that.
So, a block called Euric snuck up in my necrotomy pretending to be a corpse. He informed me there was a hidden room in the morgue and we found the key to it inside Gerry's skull. Something easy to get from him due to his raging alcoholism, just offering some of my good wine was enough.
Euric finally revealed to me what his deal was. He committed a crime and now was on the run, to escape he pretended to be a corpse and had been sent off to my graveyard. This laboratory held devices capable of healing the souls of the dead and perhaps even living souls, and the reason he came here was to have his own soul healed.
A volunteer guinea pig? I instantly offered my services to this endeavor. We recruited a ghost that had been forgotten and trapped in a soul container; fascinating technology! And a berry pies was all it took for our new friend ghost we nicknamed Smiley, to reveal what he knew to us.
Apparently, the previous keeper discovered how to manually improve organs with shards of sin, something I had only scratched the surface of before. Plus, there are technologies capable of extracting souls from recently deceased, containing them, and even healing them. Though this last part was more theoretic than anything.
Smiley explained that humans are born pure but they don't stay that way. They are corrupted by their bodies, with various body parts causing different sins. There is one machine the previous grave keeper used to attempt to purify the souls of the dead after they have been extracted. An excellent source of sin shards but it requires me to store a lot of body parts to heal souls properly as they are required containers for said soul's sins.
Eventually, I figured out how each organ relates to one of the seven cardinal sins. The possibilities…
I talked to Smiley again and he told me I would need special sin shards from extra-talented sinners to heal a living soul. He oriented me to search for someone especially prideful for start, I had someone in mind already.
I talked with Euric that I thought the Bishop was a great candidate for extremely prideful sin, convenient for him as he had a grudge against the man for getting him on the other side of the law… according to his version of the story, his heart can't lie to me.
To get the transformer to extract his Pride sin shard we had to stroke his pride, so I decided to put my skill to use writing a poem in his honor, warming him up to mass day, where I bombarded him with some grade A flattery, getting me his Pride shard.
Then I got Euric to try this healing soul machine with the Pride Sin Shard. He complained that it made him feel funny…
Next came Wrath, the Inquisitor was the angriest fellow I had ever known, so Uric suggested a ploy using the ashes of a witch. The Witch in the Woods turned out to have some too, gods know why though. After that, I just had to craft a story to the Inquisitor of how they use their own kind's ash in profane rituals. The man was so incensed to have indirectly helped their kind that I got the Wrath Sin Shard.
The rest was much the same – the Gluttony Shard from the Merchant, the Lust Shard from Ms. Charm, Sloth Shard from the Astrologer, and Envy Shard from Snake… I already had the Greed sin shard within me so the last one was easy enough, I stand to gain just as much as Euric from watching him.
Euric… went mad. At first, he complained he felt light but also complained that part of him had been erased. I left him to rest for a while and when I next visited him, he seemed in better spirit and planned a night out in the village before heading off to greener pastures.
Then, the next day I was accosted by a disgruntled Hodric. Apparently Uric went into a binge of excess and destruction in the village, assaulting villagers and vandalizing their properties before disappearing and apparently, I am his guarantor so the responsibility of his mess fell to me.
The ghost Smile and I chatted about Euric's madness, he revealed he overheard Euric's cries about having lost himself. In the end, I worked like a mule the entire week repairing things but I got what I wanted in the end.
Using the Spiritualistic lore I acquired in this venture I consumed the seven sin shards and used my Dharma Wheel pneumatic chamber to cleanse and heal my soul from sin while redirecting the impurities from it to my flesh, using the sin shards as catalyzers, refining each part of my body the same way I use sin shards to improve the organs of zombies. Refining both Soul and Body in the process.
That is Eucrasia, the legendary state of harmony achieved after balancing a person's humors. I felt at once like I had taken three to four more steps on the ladder of the Civic Realm, that was how amazing the increase in efficiency was. I had hit a bottleneck of diminished results from consuming ordinary sin shards and Dark Spirit Wine but it seemed my body just needed to process it properly. The best part is that this benefit in efficiency is likely to carry over to each rank of advancement.
My plan to solidify my foundations paid off. More than that, I feel more alive, the world is sharper to all my senses, and pleasures are more intense than I ever thought possible. Even the rush of blood to my head in fights brings some euphoria, the same goes for the lazy cotton-like comfort of sleep, and the less I talk about what Ms. Charm and I had been up to the better.
After getting wind of the final destiny of my predecessor I had a talk with Gerry. It turned out there was a Portal in Witch's Hill capable of opening gates to another dimension. Or rather, it is a place of power, the heavy lifting is performed by emitter and barrel. It gathers magical power to power the spell engraved in the marble of the gate.
I couldn't get a bigger heads-up from Not-Aqua if I had manifested and hit me in the head. Especially when the components described by the previous graveyard keeper kept falling into my lap.
I stole it all, that is to say, I had the Raven in my shadow eating the two instruments and the stone gate itself with the spell engraved on it. I stockpiled inside a crate worth of space inside my shadow dried fish, pickled vegetables and eggs, my best spirit wine, some salt (in some ages it is worth more than gold), actually gold and silver bars, plus a chest full of precious gems and jewelry crafted by yours truly, two bee hives, a stockpile of sin shards, and finally ten of my most powerful zombies augmented with spiritualism and alchemy besides a stock of my best seeds.
Even then everything had to be carefully measured, thankfully I already figured out how to craft ivory(lies) items from my shadow. So long as I am familiar enough with its construction, I can manifest a shadow forgery of it, so all the constructions I crafted here can be manifested.
If I was a Sophic I could store for more with pockets of paradox logic but this is the wrong way to go around this, I feel in my tripartite soul. I can't wait to reach a certain realm to start living, for I will only reach it by acting as if I was already there, by rising up to the challenge.
I gave my goodbye to the frivolous yet charming people of the town, this land had treated me well after all and boldly marched on to my new adventure.
Short chapter, but Graveyard Keeper was meant to be an introductory chapter before the true adventure begins.
The next chapter will be in Fear and Hunger dimension, someone in heaven is really cross with Zagreus's easy life so far.
There are two ravens, one tells the truth, and the other only lies.
My shadow doppelganger rushes my way with an ivory sword of shadows in hand, I answer in kind with my own shadow blade. As both are lies they can clash realistically enough, despite their insubstantial nature. While any blow would dispel him like so much as smoke to me there is no real danger, making it a perfect training partner.
About the only way he can help me as well, as any sport with more contact like boxing on grappling would also dispel the ivory delusion. So bladed weapons and spears are all that I am left with. Besides this, he can serve as target practice for my arrows and throw spears and daggers.
This is the best I could come up with for training by myself, standing isn't everything. Real fights are chaotic, unfair, and unpredictable, if everything it took to decide a winner was checking who has the bigger power level number then this would immaculate paradise. That is why martial refinement is so important.
I don't know what I have ahead of me but I already experienced for myself how unprepared I am for real life and death combat the first time I stepped on the church underground dungeon. My confrontation with the skeleton knights just drove the point home.
Modern humans are like an animal domesticated by a lifetime of comfort, shielded from the reality of violence, of life and death struggle. Said that a tiger can't change his stripes.
A hunting hound can never return to being a domestic house pet once he is awakened to his instincts. Humans are hunters too. From there on it is just a matter of refinement.
The two key traits are gracefulness and aggressiveness.
Gracefulness is the most obvious, as the sinuous movement is so attractive to the human eye. Graceful individuals are not self-conscious about their bodies and they move with a natural ease, the golden mean between spontaneity and control. A healthy dose of both is the recipe for grace.
Spontaneity is a function of self-expression. The more alive a person is the more spontaneous are his movements. The body is naturally expressive; it is constantly changing to reflect its inner feelings. In this respect, it is like a flame that is never the same at any two moments. While a body is more structured than a flame, it is not as rigid as a machine. It has a fluid quality and responds to the play of the inner forces. . .When control and spontaneity are integrated into the body's movement, the result is coordination. Coordination reflects the degree to which the ego is identified with the body and yet is in command of its movements. A healthy person is well-coordinated in his movements, he is spontaneous and yet in control.
The essence of the second trait, aggression is the antithesis of passiveness. The aggressive man or woman does not sit idly by waiting for the necessities of life to be delivered on a platter, rather he or she is proactive. Such people move forward into life in search of what they need. Aggressiveness is a trait naturally embodied in all living creatures – and necessarily so – for without it survival would be impossible. Man is the only creature who can deceive himself in the belief that passiveness is an appropriate way to live.
A person's natural aggressive impulses can be suppressed but they cannot be eliminated. Life, itself, is aggressive in that it is a forward-moving, ongoing process that seeks to overcome all obstacles. A sprouting seed pushes its way very aggressively upward through the earth to reach the light. As long as the metabolic activities of life continue, energy is produced to power the aggressive impulses. When these impulses are blocked from expression, the normal flow of energy is dammed, creating an explosive situation.
Aggression is primarily a function of the legs. They are what move us forward into life so limited strength or flexibility in the legs, and a more sedentary existence, will inhibit an aggressive mindset. Standing with the weight shifted to the balls of our feet and knees slightly bent is a pose that can imbue the mind with increased aggressivity.
But aggressiveness is also promoted or hindered by our connection to the ground, having some ground to stand on has both a psychological and a literal meaning. Psychologically, it means that a person has a good reason or cause for his aggressive action. Without the inner conviction, right or wrong, that one's aggression is justified, it would be difficult to move forward effectively.
In another sense, the term "having some ground to stand on" means that a person feels he has the right to be on this earth and to share in the life of the earth. He feels that he has the right to be (to want, to move towards, and to take). To evaluate how strongly a person feels this right we can measure how strongly he can hold his ground. Broadly speaking, we can say that the more grounded a person is in his legs, the more strongly he can hold his ground. He will feel that he has some ground to stand on and, therefore, some standing as a person.
Aggression and grace. These are the traits of the flourishing body and the more one can mimic such forms of expression, the more he will develop in both body and mind.
Dancing also helps in this, fitting considering Dyonisian cults use it to inspire the right mindset in their rites. I listen to the beat of my heart as it surrenders to the tune of the music, leading the body to follow. Cultivation can only make someone more of what they are, that is why integration is so important. Just because I reached the peak of the Civic Realm doesn't mean I plateaued until I break through to the Sophic Realm.
If anything, this is an opportunity for me to settle in my own skin and shore up my foundation. I have been progressing my cultivation at breakneck speed, not a bad thing but not a good thing either.
Because my new martial power is going to be tested. Snake is in trouble, one of his cultists turned out to be too much of a gabbler and now a vampire hunter is coming on his trail.
My confrontation with the notorious vampire hunter turned out in disappointment. Me and Snake just waited for over half a day for him to pass the road and then dropped a giant bolder in him.
Sorry Gerald.
I was expecting for him to dodge and a fight to ensue but it was just a whole lot of waiting and cleaning up evidence and our trail. At least the vampire hunter dropped a necklace that somehow unlocked the eleventh form of the dungeon.
There a found golems, golems, and more golems. Made from materials that range from graphene, silver, and gold. I question the wisdom of making a security robot out of one of the softest metals found around.
At the end of it all I got him his precious golden apple. I had half a mind to eat it in his face but he is the one who manages all those cultist lunatics for me, so I decided to surrender the thing.
One dark heart later and we got a whole lot of nothing as the ritual Snake performed ended summoning his biological father, the Inquisitor. It actually checks out, Snake was found in the rubble of the Conflagration and raised in an orphanage while the Inquisitor never found his body.
The man was so happy he totally ignored the obvious satanic decoration of the dungeon entrance. I even got compensated for my troubles – an endless notebook and Eternal burning coal. Wonder what I could do with that.
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – 900]
So, a block called Euric snuck up in my necrotomy pretending to be a corpse. He informed me there was a hidden room in the morgue and we found the key to it inside Gerry's skull. Something easy to get from him due to his raging alcoholism, just offering some of my good wine was enough.
Euric finally revealed to me what his deal was. He committed a crime and now was on the run, to escape he pretended to be a corpse and had been sent off to my graveyard. This laboratory held devices capable of healing the souls of the dead and perhaps even living souls, and the reason he came here was to have his own soul healed.
A volunteer guinea pig? I instantly offered my services to this endeavor. We recruited a ghost that had been forgotten and trapped in a soul container; fascinating technology! And a berry pies was all it took for our new friend ghost we nicknamed Smiley, to reveal what he knew to us.
Apparently, the previous keeper discovered how to manually improve organs with shards of sin, something I had only scratched the surface of before. Plus, there are technologies capable of extracting souls from recently deceased, containing them, and even healing them. Though this last part was more theoretic than anything.
Smiley explained that humans are born pure but they don't stay that way. They are corrupted by their bodies, with various body parts causing different sins. There is one machine the previous grave keeper used to attempt to purify the souls of the dead after they have been extracted. An excellent source of sin shards but it requires me to store a lot of body parts to heal souls properly as they are required containers for said soul's sins.
Eventually, I figured out how each organ relates to one of the seven cardinal sins. The possibilities…
I talked to Smiley again and he told me I would need special sin shards from extra-talented sinners to heal a living soul. He oriented me to search for someone especially prideful for start, I had someone in mind already.
I talked with Euric that I thought the Bishop was a great candidate for extremely prideful sin, convenient for him as he had a grudge against the man for getting him on the other side of the law… according to his version of the story, his heart can't lie to me.
To get the transformer to extract his Pride sin shard we had to stroke his pride, so I decided to put my skill to use writing a poem in his honor, warming him up to mass day, where I bombarded him with some grade A flattery, getting me his Pride shard.
Then I got Euric to try this healing soul machine with the Pride Sin Shard. He complained that it made him feel funny…
Next came Wrath, the Inquisitor was the angriest fellow I had ever known, so Uric suggested a ploy using the ashes of a witch. The Witch in the Woods turned out to have some too, gods know why though. After that, I just had to craft a story to the Inquisitor of how they use their own kind's ash in profane rituals. The man was so incensed to have indirectly helped their kind that I got the Wrath Sin Shard.
The rest was much the same – the Gluttony Shard from the Merchant, the Lust Shard from Ms. Charm, Sloth Shard from the Astrologer, and Envy Shard from Snake… I already had the Greed sin shard within me so the last one was easy enough, I stand to gain just as much as Euric from watching him.
Euric… went mad. At first, he complained he felt light but also complained that part of him had been erased. I left him to rest for a while and when I next visited him, he seemed in better spirit and planned a night out in the village before heading off to greener pastures.
Then, the next day I was accosted by a disgruntled Hodric. Apparently Uric went into a binge of excess and destruction in the village, assaulting villagers and vandalizing their properties before disappearing and apparently, I am his guarantor so the responsibility of his mess fell to me.
The ghost Smile and I chatted about Euric's madness, he revealed he overheard Euric's cries about having lost himself. In the end, I worked like a mule the entire week repairing things but I got what I wanted in the end.
Using the Spiritualistic lore I acquired in this venture I consumed the seven sin shards and used my Dharma Wheel pneumatic chamber to cleanse and heal my soul from sin while redirecting the impurities from it to my flesh, using the sin shards as catalyzers, refining each part of my body the same way I use sin shards to improve the organs of zombies. Refining both Soul and Body in the process.
That is Eucrasia, the legendary state of harmony achieved after balancing a person's humors. I felt at once like I had taken three to four more steps on the ladder of the Civic Realm, that was how amazing the increase in efficiency was. I had hit a bottleneck of diminished results from consuming ordinary sin shards and Dark Spirit Wine but it seemed my body just needed to process it properly. The best part is that this benefit in efficiency is likely to carry over to each rank of advancement.
My plan to solidify my foundations paid off. More than that, I feel more alive, the world is sharper to all my senses, and pleasures are more intense than I ever thought possible. Even the rush of blood to my head in fights brings some euphoria, the same goes for the lazy cotton-like comfort of sleep, and the less I talk about what Ms. Charm and I had been up to the better.
-//-
[Graveyard Keeper – 1000]
After getting wind of the final destiny of my predecessor I had a talk with Gerry. It turned out there was a Portal in Witch's Hill capable of opening gates to another dimension. Or rather, it is a place of power, the heavy lifting is performed by emitter and barrel. It gathers magical power to power the spell engraved in the marble of the gate.
I couldn't get a bigger heads-up from Not-Aqua if I had manifested and hit me in the head. Especially when the components described by the previous graveyard keeper kept falling into my lap.
I stole it all, that is to say, I had the Raven in my shadow eating the two instruments and the stone gate itself with the spell engraved on it. I stockpiled inside a crate worth of space inside my shadow dried fish, pickled vegetables and eggs, my best spirit wine, some salt (in some ages it is worth more than gold), actually gold and silver bars, plus a chest full of precious gems and jewelry crafted by yours truly, two bee hives, a stockpile of sin shards, and finally ten of my most powerful zombies augmented with spiritualism and alchemy besides a stock of my best seeds.
Even then everything had to be carefully measured, thankfully I already figured out how to craft ivory(lies) items from my shadow. So long as I am familiar enough with its construction, I can manifest a shadow forgery of it, so all the constructions I crafted here can be manifested.
If I was a Sophic I could store for more with pockets of paradox logic but this is the wrong way to go around this, I feel in my tripartite soul. I can't wait to reach a certain realm to start living, for I will only reach it by acting as if I was already there, by rising up to the challenge.
I gave my goodbye to the frivolous yet charming people of the town, this land had treated me well after all and boldly marched on to my new adventure.
-//-
[AUTHOR'S ROOM]
Short chapter, but Graveyard Keeper was meant to be an introductory chapter before the true adventure begins.
The next chapter will be in Fear and Hunger dimension, someone in heaven is really cross with Zagreus's easy life so far.
- Location
- Brazil
Because sin is part of the human experience, I guess. He kept complaining that he felt empty so his new "purity" was kind of hollow, so he went crazy trying to fill this with more sin. Moderation in all things, I imagine.
- Pronouns
- ImBuda
Cultivation of virtue seems really usefull for someone who reincarnates when dead, due to the fact that It doesnt seem to require energy to increase it's power but knowledge and understandment of oneself and through that, refining your soul which affects the body. Not only that but he can include certain magical abilities of other worlds into his cultivation through comprenhending their mysteries and refining his knowledge of the world. The only problem is that I havent read the book so if you could tell me some of the knowledge of the cultivation realms and special abilities would be great.
- Location
- Brazil
The side goal is to avoid info dumping, a usual sin of mine. I will drip it slowly as it gets relevant but I think the first six chapters are still online for free as a preview. I recommend it because instead of an arbitrary number of realms that make you feel like they are DB Super super-Saiyan god transformations, there are only four known realms and each one occupies a place of prominence in society, to the point standing is an informal caste system. Tyrants are rulers of men, heroes are slayers of monsters and breakers of chains, philosophers are thinkers and wise men, and citizens are the minimum required to have citizenship in a free city. This is because each Realm has unique features that go beyond power level.
Fear and Hunger Termina 1
- Location
- Brazil
Dimensional travel is unlike anything one might expect. While I would like to describe it like a sci-fi movie, the truth is that humans are not life forms equipped to deal with it, the only sense capable of pinning the experience is my magical perception awoken together with my sleeping soul. Even then the description is filtered through my other senses – invisible but perceptible as aura to the eye, tasteless and odorless yet foul and bitter, intangible yet disgusting like tar.
The next thing I come to I find myself seated inside a wagon of a moving train, the outside a passing blur covered by mist.
This is a dream; I feel inside my bones. Whether the dream is horn or ivory doesn't really matter in the end, humans are creatures ruled by perception. In the Orphic House, I experienced a baptism by sipping from the cup of the deliverer of wine. In wine, truth. Even as it promotes euphoria and delusion the experience also reveals one's true self. Significantly, the parts we are willfully blind to. The experience is tailored to the user but the result is the same – a grim delusion designed to cut the initiate to his core.
I will never forget my experience there, that is why I know better than to underestimate dreams, especially when gods are involved.
I could feel eyes on me, someone was just observing me. There are no coincidences in dreams, I follow said presence.
I walk through two wagons until I reach the place where all baggage is being stored, forming a pitch-black tunnel my own eyes can't pierce. Impossible.
I pull the Raven's mantle, after a thousand days of refinement, it looks like a pitch-black hoplite-style armor made of interwoven plates held together by treated black leather embroiled with gold. Instead of a helmet, the hood of the cloak made of ethereal black feathers covers my features except for my amethyst eyes.
I jump into the shadow and my pneuma sense perceives the unmistakable yet indescribable feeling of dimensional shift.
On the other side, I find a crude sweet shop made of suffocating wood, this is not the train anymore, the sense of momentum caused by the train swing is gone.
"You! I have been looking for you everywhere!" an abominable figure that vaguely resembles a twisted human obsessed with body modification aborts me, my nascent sense for occult forces perceive its aura though, it isn't an ordinary human. "just where do you think you ran off to? Don't you understand the hurry we are in?!"
"I am sorry friend, I seem to be lost, and forgetful. Why don't you refresh my mind?" I ask while calmly closing the distance between us.
"Pratting excuses? That isn't going to sa-
That was as far as he went before a hand spectral hand of my intent decked him in the shin, he was able to track it with its eyes even as he failed to react. I didn't waste any time, nine more hands followed the first, brutalizing him by attacking every sensible point they could reach – eyes, throat, ears, kidney, groin, joints.
"Ora, ora, ora, ora!"
By the time I was done the strange man was unconscious. My first factory against a human being, even though less than five seconds passed my heart is hammering like a hummingbird inside my chest.
I give a glance at the sweet shop but more on through the back entrance, where I find two giant crates with countless dead arms reaching out from the inside, plus countless wooden cubes.
I follow through another portal of darkness.
I suddenly find myself in another realm, the floor made of tiles colored in black and white like a chess board and giant crude wooden tablets occupied by giants with a bizarre range of forms as far as their eyes could see. My senses told me they were infinitely my betters, a worthless blur of more.
My head hurts! I feel like I am back in the throes of the madness of the Orphic House!
That is when reality glitches and I find myself inside a tower full of snake statues that remind me of one of my childhood videogames (DMC3). The night sky had a single bizarre moon with a monstrous face and no stars. Also, I wasn't alone, talk about DMC callbacks!
A jester with buffoon clown green and yellow clothes. Yeah, the guy was totally a creep.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here? A latecomer to the Termina festival, what a riveting surprise! Worth the trouble of taking you away from that nasty place. You were going deep into that rabbit hole." The clown is as shady as Arkan too, obvious final boss is obvious." Now you are safe under the beautiful green rue of the moon, though I suggest you not to overindulge into it unless you are into body horror. And welcome to the Moon Tower."
"What a kindness, I am tearing up at your charity! So, what is your deal anyway?" I ask the moon man.
"Since our words could not possibly reach my master, I speak on his behalf."
"The moon with a face?"
"Yes, the ancient god, Rher – the trickster moon god." The clown lied. Oh, he was good but his black heart betrayed him as surely as clown get up did.
"You are the dreamer, he is the dream. He is inviting you to join as the 15th contender of a jubilee of cosmic proportions! Termina Festival is upon us! A peek at the grandeur and a chance for you humans to reach illustrious heights."
"You called me a contender. Is this some kind of battle royal then? The last one standing kind of deal?"
At my inquiry, the clown only smiles like this is some kind of inside joke. Someone thinks themselves so fucking clever.
"I won't bore you with details, just head toward the 'tower'. That is all you need to know for now."
I awoke.
I throw the crude thing away and stand up. Looking through the window I see that it is night and the train stopped moving. I disembark, taking the map I found in the way and avoiding the arcane circle carved in the wooden floor; I could feel how magical energy congregated around and the Babel shard one of my senior chthonic heroes gifted me gave me the insight needed to sort of almost get what it means.
Fortunately, I am not a philosopher yet, so no Sothic Sense for me to talk and hear through my soul alone. Always something good when Lovecraftian gods are involved. Ignorance can be a blessing. As it is, all I can glean from it is that this symbol is a middle ground between the Moon god and the entities in the endless room.
I move on and step outside- just to immediately step back as if I had been scalded! What the fuck?! The moonlight, it fucking hurts! The green light from the moon is filling the air with Rher's power, my pneuma sense reveals…
Honestly, I have had enough blessings from higher powers. Ancient gods are also the worst! I didn't want to stand out inside a city but this changed things. I once again pull the Raven's Mantle, making sure my feathers cloak covers as much of my frame as possible and once again I step outside.
The moon's scorching rays become… bearable. I guess the banner of a god would be the best deterrent against another. I move on.
Despite the light of the moon, the night is pitch black and the total blackout inside the city is worrying too. Yet my journey of refinement paid dividends, all of my five senses are refined beyond human limits and the chthonic mysteries of my mystery faith allow me to navigate shadows and darkness with ease.
The train stopped in the forest just short of the city of Prehevil if the map I found was correct. The mist slowly creeps through the deep woods but I still can see electric posts that I follow until I find a stone tile trail until I reach a ranch.
That is when I find a crazy naked man with an axe killing another deformed man with postmodern art for a face!
"Termina is upon us!" the bearded lunatic screams as he charges me.
Hundreds of hours of training in sword fighting hear its head as I draw from my shadow a kopis sword and moved. With guileless grace powered by my vital breath, I move forward, striking at the same time as the madman despite his head start, cutting both his axe, his sword arm, and even the man himself from shoulder to groin.
I-I killed a man like it was noth-
That is when the man's… junk detached from his body and tried to face-hug me. I cut the thing while it was airborne.
I looked at it.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope! Fuck this noise. I am getting out of here!
I briefly take refuge inside the man's house but a glance at the bolted door tells me this is a crime scene. What the flying fuck!
This is too much, time for a drink. It is a waste of spirit wine as the vital sea of my soul is topped off but my hands are trembling like green leaves. I need it! No, not really. But it still is the next best thing.
I examine the place. He has a TV and a fridge, I am shocked. After so long in a medieval setting I had almost forgotten such creature comforts, so I promptly distracted myself by tearing them apart with spectral hands of carrion intent. Trying to figure out how they work as if they were another corpse.
Their design is outdated to my standards and the calendar shows it to be 1931, but the country and language are both aliens. Something that never existed in this history of my world. Despite that, the mystery of the Babel shard settled in my ears, eyes, and tongue after a read my civilization origin myth granted me convenience no mortal man could be afforded. Universal translation.
The journals show that despite the difference between this world's history rime with mine, world war I- excuse me. The Great War just happened.
How worthless.
It was a mistake.
The place looked like a Resident Evil 4 life action. The fountain in the middle of the village turned into a rack for mutilated bodies to be crucified on and the deformed villagers attack anyone in sight.
I am beyond carrying at this point. Unlike the man I met in my dreams, they can't see pneuma so I simply broke, dislocated, and twisted their arms and legs until they could not pursue me anymore as I moved. They are beyond reasoning after the moon god had his way with them, this was the best I could spare for them.
Eventually, I take refuge inside another house that I find in a state of disarray much like the rest. Then the radio turns on all on his own and static starts to play.
Then a semisolid gaseous mass manifests from the ground and takes the shape of a ten-foot-tall humanoid monster of charcoal skin with eight arms and one giant eye for a face.
I was so stunned by the sight of it that I was too late to distance myself when the thing made a motion to grab me. The strength behind its giant hand was unreal, the grip so firm I felt myself being constricted. He lifted me like I was a rag doll despite my refinement making me five centimeters short of two meters tall and over one hundred kilos of solid dense muscle.
Then he slams me into the ground with all its monstrous might.
A cultivator's refinement steadily uplifted them body and soul in a way that put most common worries beneath them. An unrefined mortal feared the bite of a knife because they knew their body was a fragile thing and prone to failure. A cultivator in the Civic Realm could hone their body and suffer the damage gracefully, survive long enough to seek a physician or even close the wound themselves if they had the proper control. This trend only increased as someone climbed through the four known Realms of cultivation, to the point a Tyrant had absolute control over his flesh and could live without a heart.
Yet, despite this, every cultivator needed to breathe. It's their fundamental limitation and weakness. For a cultivator each breath was fuel for an application of virtue, so means of circumventing this restriction and overcoming this limitation is considered foundational education. There are almost as many breathing techniques as there are cultivation methodologies, but despite all that their goals are the same – the ability to carve a pneumatic chamber in one's own flesh to store away one or more breaths for a moment of necessity, allowing a cultivator to multiply the output of their virtuous techniques by the number of extra vital breaths one is capable of holding.
As my own pneumatic chamber is part of a Greater natural mystery, I knew better than to assume I know its true potential, that is why after much experimentation I am capable of saving myself in this moment of crisis.
When the genie slams me into the ground, I have both the wit and discipline to keep control of my own breathing even under duress despite the monster doing his best to squeeze it and my life out of me. More than that I can break apart the pains and trials of life, minimizing their impact and turning them into future strength by breaking up the strain, dispersing it throughout the body, and storing them into the spokes of the Wheel much the same way It can be turned to accelerate the healing process by accelerating the metabolism; destruction and renewal eternally bonded by the Wheel Turning.
As a citizen I can use up to two spokes as pneumatic chambers to store away my breathing, so by the time I reach the Tyrant Realm I will have mastered this aspect of the technique. Not ideal but for now it allows me to triplicate my pneuma output by using the totality of my breath and my two store breaths together.
Ten skeletal hands of carrion intent blazing with the destructive black blaze of my cult technique tore the monstrous genie to pieces. In that moment I lived up to my god's title of the 'tearer of flesh' as these hands pulled and broke with the entropic power of death. Limbs were broken, bent, and severed until all that was left of it was an undesignable charcoal mass of black flesh.
Gods but I hate it in here!
Fuck that Kefkar-look-alike mother fucker, fuck Termina, fuck this city and its Picasso-looking denizens, and fuck black magic.
The waking world Moon Tower probably is the most magically potent place in this hellhole. I am going to track that clown, turn his ass into grass and use his crypt at my bus station.
Having set my course of action, I make a beeline to the best house in this village, where I am greeted by a Picasso face butler. "Good night, mister. From what I understand you are a newcomer to this town too, no? We just got a new mayor of the old town. I am sure he is thrilled to start his tenure by greeting a newcomer. Please, go to the dining room."
Why do I hear boss music?
I think I took a wrong turn because I found a patch-faced priest praying inside one of those magical circles, I have seen in almost every house. He also saw me and one look in his eyes shilled my soul to the core, there was nothing inside. The jubilant music of his heart was also twisted and frenzied. He revels in inflicting pain and he stood up intending to hurt me. Worse of all, the refined pattern of pneuma of a soul that has awakened to its place in the world.
I didn't give him any chance.
Two hands of flesh and blood and ten of pneuma pummeled him to death. Neither of us talked or gesticulated anything during our exchange and the priest's expression never wavered from his blank fish-eye expression.
If he had just begged for his life then I would have spared him.
I think.
In the end, I found the Mayor in the other direction.
"Newcomer, welcome. Come, come, take a seat." The leather rabbit bag for a face-dressed monster greeted me. This is the best greeting I got so far in this shit hole. I acquiesced.
"Just in time for dinner," the Mayor continued after I sat down the furthest I could from his own position. "Isn't peaceful in here? I am glad to see you aren't completely looney yet, unlike the others. One can only wonder what happened to the folks around these parts, they drifted far from humanity and life off scraps."
"Seems tough buddy?"
"Exactly, I want to talk about poetry, music, the culinary arts! How am I to have an in-depth discussion with these lunatics?" the ten-foot-tall, six-foot wide monster bemoaned while manipulating a far too-small fork and knife.
"You know what happened to this town?" I asked instead.
"We are in the same boat here, my friend. I don't have the answers. I heard that the Bremen military meddled with something and some say the moon scorched these lands into something unrecognizable."
I made up to stand.
"Newcomer, you haven't touched your food yet-
I didn't bother indulging the creature anymore. It had nothing I needed and it was entirely consumed by its own hobbies and desires. It also wouldn't pursue me outside the house and I didn't intend to ever backtrack here either.
I keep moving through the old town and it becomes more and more dilapidated, a true ghetto. There I find town folk in further stages of the moon scorch, their flayed skin hanging from their waist while they go completely feral.
Not all were violent though, some among them were simply sad victims of the Moon god, begging for death. I tried to use my meager healing skill on them, but as expected, it was no use. Only a divinity can heal an ailment that itself is divine in nature. Only another god like Rher himself could undo what he did. Unless I can figure out a way to ascend eleven rungs in the next minute, I can't do anything for these wretched existences.
I couldn't bring myself to kill them either. I know it would be a mercy at this point, but even then… every cultivator of virtue eventually commits to a path – scholar, champion, conqueror; one paragon for each cultivator's realm. Men cultivated virtue so that they might ascend Olympus Mons. Each virtue was itself a path that a cultivator walked, a stairway to heaven that they built with their own heart and soul. If cultivation was the journey, then virtue was the guiding light of constellations in the night sky. A cultivator follows virtue the same way a captain follows the stars.
In theory, it was possible to set sail beneath a starless sky and arrive at the intended shore. In practice, though? My rapid progress to the peak of the Civic Realm is almost a miracle- No. In the end, people don't own virtues, virtues own people. Just because I never nominated my guiding light, my captain virtue, this doesn't mean I am clueless about its nature.
In my opinion, this is a matter of vocation, of listening to the underground man all humans spend their early years burring in the deepest hole they can find inside our souls so that we might fit in with the herd. To ascend in cultivation, one has to rediscover who they indeed are.
What is the first virtue?
Hope.
What is hope?
It is perseverance. Now, then, and forevermore. It is the blessing that men cling to in their darkest hours. It is the curse at the bottom of the python that stretches suffering forevermore. It is what remains when everything else is lost. It is that which demands me to move forward in the face of despair and death. What swallow fear and emboldened by pain. When all stars fall from the sky and the opening to swallow humans back to the earth, hope keeps men going, even to their own detriment.
I might be just as helpless and impotent against Rher's twisted prank as these sorry lot, but one day I will find a way around this. A hero can kill even what cannot die, who is to say they also can't mend what can't be cured? No matter the tribulation, there is always a way forward.
My pneuma rippled and pulsed then it exploded from my soul. I ascended.
Crossing a chasm between realms is nothing so simple as climbing another rung, there is a deep as my soul grew in complexity that I could not pin down. More than that, it was overwhelming as the vital sea of my soul doubled. Each rank from a realm above is equal to ten ranks from the realm below.
There is a reason philosophers are called men of principle – metaphysics. Once a man discards his mortal 'robes of the earth' for his ideals there is no turning back. He must consign himself to never-ending ascension for to betray his principles is to court the death of the ego, deviation.
I am so overwhelmed by my ascension to the 1st rank of the Sophic Realm that I only notice the giant black harpy when the monster is already over me, talons stented to skewer me as prey.
Crap basket.
Welcome to masochist mode, there are no breaks in Termina. Honestly, how the contestants could ever survive this as mortal men and women is beyond me. The place is a murder blender.
The next thing I come to I find myself seated inside a wagon of a moving train, the outside a passing blur covered by mist.
This is a dream; I feel inside my bones. Whether the dream is horn or ivory doesn't really matter in the end, humans are creatures ruled by perception. In the Orphic House, I experienced a baptism by sipping from the cup of the deliverer of wine. In wine, truth. Even as it promotes euphoria and delusion the experience also reveals one's true self. Significantly, the parts we are willfully blind to. The experience is tailored to the user but the result is the same – a grim delusion designed to cut the initiate to his core.
I will never forget my experience there, that is why I know better than to underestimate dreams, especially when gods are involved.
I could feel eyes on me, someone was just observing me. There are no coincidences in dreams, I follow said presence.
I walk through two wagons until I reach the place where all baggage is being stored, forming a pitch-black tunnel my own eyes can't pierce. Impossible.
I pull the Raven's mantle, after a thousand days of refinement, it looks like a pitch-black hoplite-style armor made of interwoven plates held together by treated black leather embroiled with gold. Instead of a helmet, the hood of the cloak made of ethereal black feathers covers my features except for my amethyst eyes.
I jump into the shadow and my pneuma sense perceives the unmistakable yet indescribable feeling of dimensional shift.
On the other side, I find a crude sweet shop made of suffocating wood, this is not the train anymore, the sense of momentum caused by the train swing is gone.
"You! I have been looking for you everywhere!" an abominable figure that vaguely resembles a twisted human obsessed with body modification aborts me, my nascent sense for occult forces perceive its aura though, it isn't an ordinary human. "just where do you think you ran off to? Don't you understand the hurry we are in?!"
"I am sorry friend, I seem to be lost, and forgetful. Why don't you refresh my mind?" I ask while calmly closing the distance between us.
"Pratting excuses? That isn't going to sa-
That was as far as he went before a hand spectral hand of my intent decked him in the shin, he was able to track it with its eyes even as he failed to react. I didn't waste any time, nine more hands followed the first, brutalizing him by attacking every sensible point they could reach – eyes, throat, ears, kidney, groin, joints.
"Ora, ora, ora, ora!"
By the time I was done the strange man was unconscious. My first factory against a human being, even though less than five seconds passed my heart is hammering like a hummingbird inside my chest.
I give a glance at the sweet shop but more on through the back entrance, where I find two giant crates with countless dead arms reaching out from the inside, plus countless wooden cubes.
I follow through another portal of darkness.
I suddenly find myself in another realm, the floor made of tiles colored in black and white like a chess board and giant crude wooden tablets occupied by giants with a bizarre range of forms as far as their eyes could see. My senses told me they were infinitely my betters, a worthless blur of more.
My head hurts! I feel like I am back in the throes of the madness of the Orphic House!
That is when reality glitches and I find myself inside a tower full of snake statues that remind me of one of my childhood videogames (DMC3). The night sky had a single bizarre moon with a monstrous face and no stars. Also, I wasn't alone, talk about DMC callbacks!
A jester with buffoon clown green and yellow clothes. Yeah, the guy was totally a creep.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here? A latecomer to the Termina festival, what a riveting surprise! Worth the trouble of taking you away from that nasty place. You were going deep into that rabbit hole." The clown is as shady as Arkan too, obvious final boss is obvious." Now you are safe under the beautiful green rue of the moon, though I suggest you not to overindulge into it unless you are into body horror. And welcome to the Moon Tower."
"What a kindness, I am tearing up at your charity! So, what is your deal anyway?" I ask the moon man.
"Since our words could not possibly reach my master, I speak on his behalf."
"The moon with a face?"
"Yes, the ancient god, Rher – the trickster moon god." The clown lied. Oh, he was good but his black heart betrayed him as surely as clown get up did.
"You are the dreamer, he is the dream. He is inviting you to join as the 15th contender of a jubilee of cosmic proportions! Termina Festival is upon us! A peek at the grandeur and a chance for you humans to reach illustrious heights."
"You called me a contender. Is this some kind of battle royal then? The last one standing kind of deal?"
At my inquiry, the clown only smiles like this is some kind of inside joke. Someone thinks themselves so fucking clever.
"I won't bore you with details, just head toward the 'tower'. That is all you need to know for now."
I awoke.
-//-
I find myself inside the train wagon once more, reclined in one of its seats. My raven mantle regressed back to my shadow but the cruel weapon of the crazy man I found in the sweet shop is now in my hands… what a cheap trick, a psychological attempt to shake me.
I throw the crude thing away and stand up. Looking through the window I see that it is night and the train stopped moving. I disembark, taking the map I found in the way and avoiding the arcane circle carved in the wooden floor; I could feel how magical energy congregated around and the Babel shard one of my senior chthonic heroes gifted me gave me the insight needed to sort of almost get what it means.
Fortunately, I am not a philosopher yet, so no Sothic Sense for me to talk and hear through my soul alone. Always something good when Lovecraftian gods are involved. Ignorance can be a blessing. As it is, all I can glean from it is that this symbol is a middle ground between the Moon god and the entities in the endless room.
I move on and step outside- just to immediately step back as if I had been scalded! What the fuck?! The moonlight, it fucking hurts! The green light from the moon is filling the air with Rher's power, my pneuma sense reveals…
Honestly, I have had enough blessings from higher powers. Ancient gods are also the worst! I didn't want to stand out inside a city but this changed things. I once again pull the Raven's Mantle, making sure my feathers cloak covers as much of my frame as possible and once again I step outside.
The moon's scorching rays become… bearable. I guess the banner of a god would be the best deterrent against another. I move on.
Despite the light of the moon, the night is pitch black and the total blackout inside the city is worrying too. Yet my journey of refinement paid dividends, all of my five senses are refined beyond human limits and the chthonic mysteries of my mystery faith allow me to navigate shadows and darkness with ease.
The train stopped in the forest just short of the city of Prehevil if the map I found was correct. The mist slowly creeps through the deep woods but I still can see electric posts that I follow until I find a stone tile trail until I reach a ranch.
That is when I find a crazy naked man with an axe killing another deformed man with postmodern art for a face!
"Termina is upon us!" the bearded lunatic screams as he charges me.
Hundreds of hours of training in sword fighting hear its head as I draw from my shadow a kopis sword and moved. With guileless grace powered by my vital breath, I move forward, striking at the same time as the madman despite his head start, cutting both his axe, his sword arm, and even the man himself from shoulder to groin.
I-I killed a man like it was noth-
That is when the man's… junk detached from his body and tried to face-hug me. I cut the thing while it was airborne.
I looked at it.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope! Fuck this noise. I am getting out of here!
I briefly take refuge inside the man's house but a glance at the bolted door tells me this is a crime scene. What the flying fuck!
This is too much, time for a drink. It is a waste of spirit wine as the vital sea of my soul is topped off but my hands are trembling like green leaves. I need it! No, not really. But it still is the next best thing.
I examine the place. He has a TV and a fridge, I am shocked. After so long in a medieval setting I had almost forgotten such creature comforts, so I promptly distracted myself by tearing them apart with spectral hands of carrion intent. Trying to figure out how they work as if they were another corpse.
Their design is outdated to my standards and the calendar shows it to be 1931, but the country and language are both aliens. Something that never existed in this history of my world. Despite that, the mystery of the Babel shard settled in my ears, eyes, and tongue after a read my civilization origin myth granted me convenience no mortal man could be afforded. Universal translation.
The journals show that despite the difference between this world's history rime with mine, world war I- excuse me. The Great War just happened.
How worthless.
-//-
I brief peek at the basement told me I didn't want anything to do with it, so I moved on until I reached the suburb proper.
It was a mistake.
The place looked like a Resident Evil 4 life action. The fountain in the middle of the village turned into a rack for mutilated bodies to be crucified on and the deformed villagers attack anyone in sight.
I am beyond carrying at this point. Unlike the man I met in my dreams, they can't see pneuma so I simply broke, dislocated, and twisted their arms and legs until they could not pursue me anymore as I moved. They are beyond reasoning after the moon god had his way with them, this was the best I could spare for them.
Eventually, I take refuge inside another house that I find in a state of disarray much like the rest. Then the radio turns on all on his own and static starts to play.
Then a semisolid gaseous mass manifests from the ground and takes the shape of a ten-foot-tall humanoid monster of charcoal skin with eight arms and one giant eye for a face.
I was so stunned by the sight of it that I was too late to distance myself when the thing made a motion to grab me. The strength behind its giant hand was unreal, the grip so firm I felt myself being constricted. He lifted me like I was a rag doll despite my refinement making me five centimeters short of two meters tall and over one hundred kilos of solid dense muscle.
Then he slams me into the ground with all its monstrous might.
A cultivator's refinement steadily uplifted them body and soul in a way that put most common worries beneath them. An unrefined mortal feared the bite of a knife because they knew their body was a fragile thing and prone to failure. A cultivator in the Civic Realm could hone their body and suffer the damage gracefully, survive long enough to seek a physician or even close the wound themselves if they had the proper control. This trend only increased as someone climbed through the four known Realms of cultivation, to the point a Tyrant had absolute control over his flesh and could live without a heart.
Yet, despite this, every cultivator needed to breathe. It's their fundamental limitation and weakness. For a cultivator each breath was fuel for an application of virtue, so means of circumventing this restriction and overcoming this limitation is considered foundational education. There are almost as many breathing techniques as there are cultivation methodologies, but despite all that their goals are the same – the ability to carve a pneumatic chamber in one's own flesh to store away one or more breaths for a moment of necessity, allowing a cultivator to multiply the output of their virtuous techniques by the number of extra vital breaths one is capable of holding.
As my own pneumatic chamber is part of a Greater natural mystery, I knew better than to assume I know its true potential, that is why after much experimentation I am capable of saving myself in this moment of crisis.
When the genie slams me into the ground, I have both the wit and discipline to keep control of my own breathing even under duress despite the monster doing his best to squeeze it and my life out of me. More than that I can break apart the pains and trials of life, minimizing their impact and turning them into future strength by breaking up the strain, dispersing it throughout the body, and storing them into the spokes of the Wheel much the same way It can be turned to accelerate the healing process by accelerating the metabolism; destruction and renewal eternally bonded by the Wheel Turning.
As a citizen I can use up to two spokes as pneumatic chambers to store away my breathing, so by the time I reach the Tyrant Realm I will have mastered this aspect of the technique. Not ideal but for now it allows me to triplicate my pneuma output by using the totality of my breath and my two store breaths together.
Ten skeletal hands of carrion intent blazing with the destructive black blaze of my cult technique tore the monstrous genie to pieces. In that moment I lived up to my god's title of the 'tearer of flesh' as these hands pulled and broke with the entropic power of death. Limbs were broken, bent, and severed until all that was left of it was an undesignable charcoal mass of black flesh.
Gods but I hate it in here!
-//-
Honestly, it seems the basement of every fucking house in this hellhole is some occult workshop. After a little bit of backtracking, I decided I would be better off ignorant and proud when I discovered the first man went mad due to his wife's affair with a black goat. I am not reading anything anymore until I find a way out of this dimension.
Fuck that Kefkar-look-alike mother fucker, fuck Termina, fuck this city and its Picasso-looking denizens, and fuck black magic.
The waking world Moon Tower probably is the most magically potent place in this hellhole. I am going to track that clown, turn his ass into grass and use his crypt at my bus station.
Having set my course of action, I make a beeline to the best house in this village, where I am greeted by a Picasso face butler. "Good night, mister. From what I understand you are a newcomer to this town too, no? We just got a new mayor of the old town. I am sure he is thrilled to start his tenure by greeting a newcomer. Please, go to the dining room."
Why do I hear boss music?
I think I took a wrong turn because I found a patch-faced priest praying inside one of those magical circles, I have seen in almost every house. He also saw me and one look in his eyes shilled my soul to the core, there was nothing inside. The jubilant music of his heart was also twisted and frenzied. He revels in inflicting pain and he stood up intending to hurt me. Worse of all, the refined pattern of pneuma of a soul that has awakened to its place in the world.
I didn't give him any chance.
Two hands of flesh and blood and ten of pneuma pummeled him to death. Neither of us talked or gesticulated anything during our exchange and the priest's expression never wavered from his blank fish-eye expression.
If he had just begged for his life then I would have spared him.
I think.
In the end, I found the Mayor in the other direction.
"Newcomer, welcome. Come, come, take a seat." The leather rabbit bag for a face-dressed monster greeted me. This is the best greeting I got so far in this shit hole. I acquiesced.
"Just in time for dinner," the Mayor continued after I sat down the furthest I could from his own position. "Isn't peaceful in here? I am glad to see you aren't completely looney yet, unlike the others. One can only wonder what happened to the folks around these parts, they drifted far from humanity and life off scraps."
"Seems tough buddy?"
"Exactly, I want to talk about poetry, music, the culinary arts! How am I to have an in-depth discussion with these lunatics?" the ten-foot-tall, six-foot wide monster bemoaned while manipulating a far too-small fork and knife.
"You know what happened to this town?" I asked instead.
"We are in the same boat here, my friend. I don't have the answers. I heard that the Bremen military meddled with something and some say the moon scorched these lands into something unrecognizable."
I made up to stand.
"Newcomer, you haven't touched your food yet-
I didn't bother indulging the creature anymore. It had nothing I needed and it was entirely consumed by its own hobbies and desires. It also wouldn't pursue me outside the house and I didn't intend to ever backtrack here either.
I keep moving through the old town and it becomes more and more dilapidated, a true ghetto. There I find town folk in further stages of the moon scorch, their flayed skin hanging from their waist while they go completely feral.
Not all were violent though, some among them were simply sad victims of the Moon god, begging for death. I tried to use my meager healing skill on them, but as expected, it was no use. Only a divinity can heal an ailment that itself is divine in nature. Only another god like Rher himself could undo what he did. Unless I can figure out a way to ascend eleven rungs in the next minute, I can't do anything for these wretched existences.
I couldn't bring myself to kill them either. I know it would be a mercy at this point, but even then… every cultivator of virtue eventually commits to a path – scholar, champion, conqueror; one paragon for each cultivator's realm. Men cultivated virtue so that they might ascend Olympus Mons. Each virtue was itself a path that a cultivator walked, a stairway to heaven that they built with their own heart and soul. If cultivation was the journey, then virtue was the guiding light of constellations in the night sky. A cultivator follows virtue the same way a captain follows the stars.
In theory, it was possible to set sail beneath a starless sky and arrive at the intended shore. In practice, though? My rapid progress to the peak of the Civic Realm is almost a miracle- No. In the end, people don't own virtues, virtues own people. Just because I never nominated my guiding light, my captain virtue, this doesn't mean I am clueless about its nature.
In my opinion, this is a matter of vocation, of listening to the underground man all humans spend their early years burring in the deepest hole they can find inside our souls so that we might fit in with the herd. To ascend in cultivation, one has to rediscover who they indeed are.
What is the first virtue?
Hope.
What is hope?
It is perseverance. Now, then, and forevermore. It is the blessing that men cling to in their darkest hours. It is the curse at the bottom of the python that stretches suffering forevermore. It is what remains when everything else is lost. It is that which demands me to move forward in the face of despair and death. What swallow fear and emboldened by pain. When all stars fall from the sky and the opening to swallow humans back to the earth, hope keeps men going, even to their own detriment.
I might be just as helpless and impotent against Rher's twisted prank as these sorry lot, but one day I will find a way around this. A hero can kill even what cannot die, who is to say they also can't mend what can't be cured? No matter the tribulation, there is always a way forward.
My pneuma rippled and pulsed then it exploded from my soul. I ascended.
Crossing a chasm between realms is nothing so simple as climbing another rung, there is a deep as my soul grew in complexity that I could not pin down. More than that, it was overwhelming as the vital sea of my soul doubled. Each rank from a realm above is equal to ten ranks from the realm below.
There is a reason philosophers are called men of principle – metaphysics. Once a man discards his mortal 'robes of the earth' for his ideals there is no turning back. He must consign himself to never-ending ascension for to betray his principles is to court the death of the ego, deviation.
I am so overwhelmed by my ascension to the 1st rank of the Sophic Realm that I only notice the giant black harpy when the monster is already over me, talons stented to skewer me as prey.
Crap basket.
-//-
[AUTHOR'S ROOM]
Welcome to masochist mode, there are no breaks in Termina. Honestly, how the contestants could ever survive this as mortal men and women is beyond me. The place is a murder blender.
- Location
- Brazil
Masochist Mode, this is the night of the third day. all participants became monsters and said Zagreus would follow the plot of the cult of Sulfur, he isn't hunting the 'contestants'. He doesn't even know who they are since the whole place is crawling with monsters.
Fear and Hunger Termina 2
- Location
- Brazil
Monsters. To the Greek cultivator's common wisdom dictates they are animals that grew beyond the natural order of the world, outpacing even the virtuous beasts capable of crude cultivation. They can also be humans cursed by the gods, like the Gorgon.
I am betting this one is the latter. With a wingspan of ten meters, the black harpy has the face of a blond woman and warriors carrying lances mounted into her back. The creature seems to have a mixture of human and bird physique. The fusion looks so perfect that you cannot tell which is the point of origin in its transformation. You suspect the creature used to be a human originally, just based on the monstrosities I've seen in the area so far. Upon closer inspection, the armor on the creature looks organic. It's exoskeleton-like growth. It's very hard and sturdy.
The same can be said about her talons that are flying themselves to skewer my head. I am trapped in a killer box as the narrow corridor gives the monster an easy way to box me in and rend me to ribbons.
Or not.
The world looks different for a thinking man than it did to the unwashed masses. What a citizen can only pay lip service to, a philosopher can picture in his mind's eye.
Despite being completely kitted I can still see a golden tread that promises me to give this big bird the slip, that is Archimedes' golden road. The image of man and woman stems from the divine proportion. The propagation of plants and the progenitive acts of animals are in the same ratio; striving for beauty and completeness in the realms of both nature and art.
A discerned and trained eye is necessary to create the frame of the golden ratio in one's mind's eyes, but in my tenure as a grave keeper, I enforced order from the chaos of nature by taking natural resources and refining them into tools, machines, and edifices.
The golden thread that whirls in a forever-tightening spiral is a perfect golden thing that is endlessly converging, and endlessly predictable. Every action merits a reaction that spurs the golden tread further forward. By reading the tread a person can map out the future, unraveling the scarlet threads of Fate, doing what the Oracles only wish that they could do through a thinking man's insight alone.
I moved with a dancer's grace into a lazy motion around the black harpy's cruel talons as I bobbed and weaved her strikes until I rolled over her and scaped that alley-turned kill box entirely unscathed.
"Kaaaa... Join... The flight of the Valkyrie," the monster screech while turning my way.
"You are a really rude lady, you know that?" I fire back.
"I immortalize those fallen and perished... Kaaa... They will forever live in our memories..." she retorts, while at the same time, she beats her wings to ascend further and turns around to run away now that her ambush failed.
Forget harpy, this monster is more like a vulture. And I have no mercy for impatient scavengers.
From my penumbral shadow, I craft a bow capable of bearing my strength and channeling my pneuma, and from the shadow of my palm, I draw a single wooden arrow that I mount and then pull back with all my cultivated strength. Enough to pierce the armored body of the Valkyrie, but only just as even her feathers are like laminated armor.
No, I will only get one shot at this as the effort necessary to deliver a death of a thousand would drain my stamina to the point other monsters could more easily kill me. If this fails, I am bolting too.
Pulling at the same golden tread, I fashion a path that leads me to pierce the Valkyrie's shoulder in my mind's eye and then I step into it, adjusting my path to hers in countless little ways, until I let the arrow fly with the entire weight of my soul behind it fueled by three vital breaths.
The arrow piece cleanly and the vulture jerk and cry as the Wheel Turns, breathing vitality back into dead wood to create a conflagration of thorns from the inside out. The Valkyrie falls in an uncontrollable descent as she beats her only remaining functional wing.
I jump over the barracks in a single leap and pursue the falling vulture until it falls into a river bank with a heavy crash. The bird is mostly stunned but the keratin armored warriors ready their spears at all living things in the vicinity, impaling passive victims of the moon's scorch.
While the underground dungeon where I first cut my teeth in deadly combat was mostly sterile, here there are far more options for me to display my virtue. Once more I take a deep breath to refill my pneumatic chamber and then reach the vegetation growing in the river bank. They instantly grew to be tick ropes that attacked the Valkyrie like whips, entangling and pinning her into the ground.
Her host of warriors turned on me then, throwing the spears in my direction.
Time to end this.
The two main features of a philosopher are his [sophic sense], and his [rhetoric]. The first mostly exist to sense the second, but it also philosopher to exchange discourse without a citizen is none the wiser, it's the voice of their souls. While my pneumatic sense allows me to sense the presence of Rher in the Valkyrie as the one responsible for awakening her soul to its place in the world in the worst way possible. My Sophic sense reveals the occluded nature of said soul now that it exists in the open.
[Endless], that is the only word that can describe it. something that chaffs at any kind of restriction, something that pursues liberty and self-overcoming… what a twisted tragedy, though I guess Rher must think this funny.
"Foul beast, this is one chance beyond what anyone else will ever give you and one more than you deserve," I am feeling poetic, parroting these very words from a Hero. "Turn back now and leave these people alone to their misery and pain."
"I immortalize those fallen and perished... Kaaa... They will forever live in our memories..." it repeats listlessly, she has completely surrendered to her own nature. Reason has left her soul, leaving only spirit and instincts, fear and hunger.
I draw my blade from my shadow once again.
A philosopher deals with natural law the same way any other professional deals with the object of their trade. Rhetoric allows a philosopher to invoke the laws of nature, his lived experience, and his principles to manipulate and adjust the world in his favor. This is done through the manipulation of three elements – Magnitude, Motion, and Time.
Steel is harder than flesh and bones, I weave my rhetoric like a wrap around my blade, increasing the sharpness of its edge by increasing its magnitude while reducing the hardness of anything softer than its edge by in turn, decreasing its magnitude.
Then I summon my First Principle while coating my blade into the dark light of my cult technique, giving myself the speed and grace needed to overcome the wall of spears protecting the Valkyrie by manipulating the time needed for me to close in and stabilizing the motion needed for me to ride the Golden Tread.
No matter the tribulation, there is always a way forward.
It was like I had wings in my heels, I practically exploded from my position raising a cloud of sand just as jagged spears made of keratin closed on me. Their collected warriors kept on raining down spears my way but the golden path was true and their attacks never reached me as I jumped and scurried over the wooden structures of the place.
Before long I had closed into the monstrous Valkyrie. Her fallen warriors tried a last combinate attack but I simply vaulted over it, twisting sideways and upside down as I jumped over the sad monster and brought the blade over her neck with a fluid swing devoid of any resistance.
By the time I landed, her head was already rolling in the ground and the warrior spotted moving like puppets deprived of strings.
It was such a sad sight.
I failed to reanimate her tough, there goes my plan to fly to the tallest building in the city. From what I can guess, her body had been too abused by her metamorphose, so I simply devoured some of her feathers through my shadow and added them to the Raven's Mantle as a memento.
From there I jumped the gate over to the city proper and took a break inside the Bily Vul restaurant. Made a meal with my rations and drank some of my best wine to get the edge off.
My ascension could not have come at a better time, except months ago, when I had a safe place to practice and polish my powers in a safe environment.
As a fresh philosopher both my rhetoric and reading of the Golden Tread require effort and concentration, not exactly something easy to come by in the chaotic melee of fight with monsters. As I am right now I am liable to be overwhelmed. I held no illusion about what I would find, the man two tables over with his head blown open is a good enough hint even for me.
After feeling like a human being again I delved deeper into the city. More keratin knights ambushed me from the hoof but all my senses had been refined beyond something a mortal man can dream, and I heard the shift of clay tiles as they jumped.
Now that I look, their helmet evokes the appearance of a phallus just as it resembles a helmet and their ability to harden their bodies leaves little to the imagination and inquiry. Something tells me this is less Rher and more human hunger in full display.
Call me Alice in Wonderland, because I just met the Cheshire Cat. A tall man who was not a man, wearing fine gentleman clothes and a purple rubber mask that was not a mask radiating Rher's unique presence.
He was beating someone to death inside a sack. And he liked to talk. A lot.
"Brevity is the soul of wit. Can we cut this short or are you trying to toast me under the light of the moon?" I interrupt his chatter about darkness.
"Hehe, I guess I am just rambling here. 'Letting my mind wander and my mouth slander'. We I get excited I can go on, and on, and on. I didn't mean to take your time. From what I understand you got your hands full with the festival already. So I will go straight to the point." The cat monster says.
"Finally!"
"Not only a wandering gentleman, but I am also a heads salesman of sorts with deep, deep, pockets-
With an explosion of pneuma powered by my first principle, I closed the distance between us and severed the bastard in two from groin to head in a conflagration of entropic power.
"Fuck Termina and you too, your twisted mutherfucker! Monster!" I say to the cat's stupid face as his glowing eyes stare at me questioning why I did this to him.
The Pocket Cat's last breath was [Blank], a taste of emptiness, true white, a perfect canvas.
Examining the corpse my Sophic sense perceived something amazing, a fold of paradox logic, a hammerspace… in the bastard's pockets! And of course, it had to be a pun about deep pockets too!
There I found a Book of Enlightenment, Alchemillia vol. 1 to 3, and Skin bibles from over seven gods. I don't know if I should jump in joy or whale in despair.
I returned to the restaurant and used rhetoric to shorten the time needed for me to read about the gods of these lands. Only the golden book had an aura of power to it, meaning the others were likely mundane in nature. Not exactly safe in this land of madness but more of a calculated risk. I lack the context to understand what is going on. I went straight for Rher's skin bible.
Also known as the Trickster God and the Moon God. In the most ancient writings Rher is depicted as the god of the insane and those who've succumbed to madness. His blessing to men is his moonlight, which is said to uncover the truth under the human filth. A truth that is often too much for a human mind to handle. It can be debated whether his version of the truth is more accurate than that of the human filth. Unlike many of the other older gods, Rher's part is greater scheme of things remains a mystery. Just looking at the night sky, you can see his presence, in an eternal slumber. This makes his secrecy even more infuriating, he is literally hiding in plain sight.
Infuriating indeed, nothing I didn't already know. I looked at the rest of my new collection. Even through the uplifting of the mind brought about by cultivation and the Sophic Realm, this will take a while.
I moved on.
Eventually, I reach a bar called PRHVL Bop, and that is when I smell traces of black power, something I tried to create in my time as an alchemy, my cultivation outstripping an ordinary hunting dog. A floor tile in the corner of the bar is loose, revealing a ladder downstairs.
The place looked more like a base, with bunkbeds blackboards… and a gun. A 9mm WWII-style handgun and some bullets. Well, this place was a just conquered warzone. This must be some resistance hideout. The rack full of rifles gives credence to this. I take the one in the best condition from the pile, the shotgun mounted in the wall, and store it in my shadow together with the handgun and as many bullets as these people had.
After that, I returned to my street massacre. There is almost no point in engaging in melee but I need more practice reading and riding the Golden Treads. Practice makes perfecton and putting my body on the line raises the stakes, instigating my spirit and hunger. Practice a hundred times when it doesn't matter for the one where it does.
The inquisitor monster dropped something interesting, a gemstone radiates faint light that slowly swirls around, same as the priest. As they can invoke what I now know are mysteries from the old gods, I know for a fact they are the mystics of these lands. It kind of reminds me of my own style of magic. Dangerous and painful but they were far less proficient than the priests, it was worth experiencing them in the flesh in case a more powerful enemy showed up.
I ate the gemstones, by the way. What? I am a growing boy and people grow by eating, that goes for cultivation as well. this is the Divine Divide, bidding your soul to multiply goes against the will of heaven, so for a man to ascend above a thousand men, Heaven demands a thousand men fall in turn. A very old worldview from a world of winners and losers, where war and conflict are a perpetual part of reality.
After killing some human flesh floating jellyfish, I reach a department store. Somehow the place was pristine… until I reached the top floor. People are hanged by chains in various states of mutilation, only the ones turned into monsters are still moving though. And screaming as well.
I doubled back.
That is when I found Dr. Kefer's Tricks & Magic store. The gut was… sane. As sane as someone running a store in this city could be. Rude too, but considering he is also moon-scorched I can't blame him. Especially when he accepts silver, it seems this is currency capable of trading even with gods!
With my Sothic sense, I divined the nature and estipulate the properties of his true magic items and got those that seemed safeish.
Betel Stone ring that accelerates recovery of the Spirit and Mind of one's tripartite soul, a Soul devour necklace that protects the wielder from supernatural powers, the Small thing's amulet, and a Hardened heart that I ate through my Raven for their properties of increased agility and toughness, and a Purifying talisman.
Alas, I ran out of silver coins and the guy didn't accept silver bars or bartering. That is when I felt a familiar presence. After sneaking up to Kefer's storage room by reducing my magnitude to occlude my presence I found a lamp and inside of it came another genie. Invoking my lived experience, tore it apart with violent hands of carrion intent. It felt good to eat the bastard's essence.
I outrun the monstrous children until I find a quiet room, inside I use my new insight about magical items to permanently pin my rhetoric to my feathered cloak to permanently reduce the magnitude of my presence and a counter motion to snuff out all sounds that I make except for talking. I even separate myself from my identity as the mantle symbolizes I can't be anything more than a nameless raven for as long as I wear it. A true secret identity, I can even glide with it invoking the lived experience from the Valkyrie parts!
The process is the same – the mind provides the question, the heart the fuel, and the gut the instincts of how it might be executed.
It took over an hour, but it will be useful now and later on. Some tests show that as long as I don't call attention to myself most mundane people won't notice me. I don't intend to risk it against a truly powerful monster like that bird lady.
I find another patch-faced priest in the basement and tear him apart with entropic dark miasma from my virtuous technique from my hands of intent, tearing him to pieces before he could call forth the power of his faith. I did not hesitate this time, this place is a nightmare! He was a monster long before Rher had his way with him, the ghosts in this place told me. Fortunately, I had long since learned how to purify and exorcise them from the living world.
Another genie later and I head to the second floor. Curiosity turned into righteous anger. That is when I hear crying. Is there another sane person around here?
No. Just a living weapon, a weeping scope. Another sad monster. This one without the will to even put up a fight, fully committed to ripping away the rifle his face had become. I could do nothing for him, I knew that. But even so…
I cursed my own weakness as I moved on. Ever since I became a cultivator of virtue I assured myself strength would follow if I just did what was required, but now for the first time in my life since I became a cultivator the burning desire to be stronger truly burned in my heart. So that pointless tragedies like that could be avoided. This is what? The third time I see for myself how casually cruel gods could be counting the torment Hera inflicted on Dionysus and my own circumstances.
My virtuous heart ached to burn, the memory of Herakles's triumphant defiance against the tyranny of heaven and earth playing inside my mind's eye through the memories of the Orphic House. He could save this boy, he might have been able to save the entire city! Because this is what a Hero does. When something is wrong in the world a hero fixes it as Defiant Souls immune to the impositions of natural law and dazzling in its brilliance owe to be.
I am no hero… but I could be.
While a citizen had a lifespan similar to a mortal with access to modern medicine, capping at one hundred years, a philosopher's advancement grants one hundred years of extended lifespan for each rung a cultivator climbs in his Realm, to a maximum of a thousand and one hundred years, provided the Fates are kind. But a hero? A hero burns and the Fates are never kind from the Heroic Realm up to the heavens.
Beloved by the Muses and reviled by the Fates.
Even if every Epic is also a Tragedy and I am consigning myself to burn into embers, I promise one day I will reach it and I found that my virtuous heart thundered inside my chest in approval. Refinement is performed through pressure and this cavalcade of tragedies only tempered my Spirit as it swells using pain as fuel.
People like Rher have existed everywhere forever, and they tell themselves they do what they do with as many excuses as there are stars in the sky but at the end of the day the result is the same.
The strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must, for now…
Even if this is a necessary natural law of gods people worship and men they know, of pursuing rulership over everything lesser wherever they can, I will never bend my knee to it ever again. I would rather die. That is my thinking as I ascend from the 1st to the 2nd rank of the Sophic Realm.
A record breakthrough, even for those gifted by Higher Powers. But I have been supping in the essence of the monstrous denizens of this city ever since I got here. My foundations are packed onyx solid, tempered in Greater Mystery, and thoughtfully polished to a mirror-like sheen. Now it is just a matter of raising the pillars of my principles from the materials present. A monument to virtue inside my soul.
I kick open the door of Father Hugo's office, the headmaster of this hellhole, something I know thanks to tattling ghosts children. The bastard opens his eyes wide in greeting, a hulking man with ash-like skin.
While he was doing grandstanding, I kick him in the dick with the entropic aura of my faith technique. Too little too late, by years even, but seeing his thing root and fall like rotten fruit grants me a hollow satisfaction at the very least. I never wanted to kill someone so much before.
That is when I see the face of one of the monstrous children grafted to his abdomen as his black toga falls apart under the touch of my virtuous technique. This is a marriage of flesh, what I now know to be one of Sylvian's mysteries, and how it is performed.
I manifest my Carrion intent, not as thirty hands but a rib cage around my frame, one giant arm for it, and enough muscles to give it more strength than I could muster by myself.
I seize the bastard in hand without any fanfare and crush him like an overripe tomato.
It felt empty. What is so fun about this shit? Do people really get off from this? What is wrong with them?!
Well… I was actually paid for this in the end. A [ring of wraiths], a blood diamond that has seen so much death that life force is leaking from it. A nice pair set in total as my regeneration isn't what it should be, Termina is leashing the life force of the humans to fuel this ritual of death and sex.
Interesting, I seem to have what they call a [Tormented Soul]. My refinement did its work so the table is useless to me besides being a power scouter. The path of the Endless Soul also is filled somehow, how curious. I have no interest in the mysteries of these lands' gods though. I didn't even use engraving in myself or the sigils of power found around the city. Dionysus and Not-Aqua are enough Higher Powers for me, thank you.
That is when two giant gullmen burst from the door and tried to hit me with a giant spiked club coated in an aura of cursed power. Yeah, that is dangerous, even for me. Worse, keeping track of two Golden Treads at the same time is too much for me at the moment, and focusing on just one is likely to get me blindsided.
The place sucks as well, even if their weapons are likely to be stuck in the walls due to the limited space.
I open my shadow and from it, a swarm of bees covers the entire room. These bees are special, as a beekeeper cultivator, it is in my nature to excel the efforts and results of mortal men. These bees feed on psychogenic flowers grown by my virtuous technique, sipping from my vitality.
The purpose was simple, animals could cultivate crude virtue via consumption, becoming virtuous beasts. There was strength to be had in consumption. There was power in every living thing, and that power could be taken after its passing. It could be consumed. It could be made yours. A virtuous beast was a slave to its primal desire, this made them tamable but that did not make it weak.
I cultivated his hive myself, with my own two hands. Everything about his hive was greater than it would have been without my hand to guide its growth. Its honey was sweeter and more fragrant than any other, and its queen was fertile enough to fill a dozen more hives with all of her children. In the same way, the hive's warriors were greater than any you could find in the wild. Their stingers were sharper, and their venom twice and twice again more fearsome.
Dionysus is a god of plenty, his fox-skinned maneads were notorious for drawing milk and honey from the streams or underground, striking rocks, and creating fountains of clean water.
I fill the place with bees and then slip out using them as cover. When the first sea goo-headed man ran out, staggering with the poison of dozens stings, I used my anatomy knowledge to run his vitals through and open his belly open, so his entrains obstruct his mobility.
Even then his immense vitality kept him on his feet and he swung his [mauler] at me. I disengaged and pulled out my ivory umbral bow, nailing him in the knees with arrows turned conflagration of thorns. By the time the second one rushed out his brother was bleeding on the ground. I started to shoot arrows using my rhetoric to shorten the time taken to pull back and travel time, it was like an arrow machine gun. He never made it into striking range.
Yeah, we see a bit more about the cultivation of virtue. It is not necessarily a steady progression, external stimulus and how the cultivator react to them are just as important. The MC of Virtuous Sons went from 1st to 2nd rank in over a week after a bottleneck that lasted a year due to his passivity to his situation. That is the power and importance of staying true to your First Virtue.
The first boss fight. In masochist mode, we don't have further opportunities to talk with Per'kele and even if we did so Zagreus would never risk the virtue of his soul by capitulating his demands. A true philosopher is not a trivial existence, his power is simple yet profound. There are some outliers like Socrates capable of giving even Heroes and Tyrants pause.
We see more of the madness of the Termina Festival and how it already existed under the surface even before it. Also, Pocketcat was the one that said the Moon Tower could be found close to the Church. Zagreus got bad vibes from the monster since his heart couldn't lie to Zagreus, so he got folded.
I am betting this one is the latter. With a wingspan of ten meters, the black harpy has the face of a blond woman and warriors carrying lances mounted into her back. The creature seems to have a mixture of human and bird physique. The fusion looks so perfect that you cannot tell which is the point of origin in its transformation. You suspect the creature used to be a human originally, just based on the monstrosities I've seen in the area so far. Upon closer inspection, the armor on the creature looks organic. It's exoskeleton-like growth. It's very hard and sturdy.
The same can be said about her talons that are flying themselves to skewer my head. I am trapped in a killer box as the narrow corridor gives the monster an easy way to box me in and rend me to ribbons.
Or not.
The world looks different for a thinking man than it did to the unwashed masses. What a citizen can only pay lip service to, a philosopher can picture in his mind's eye.
Despite being completely kitted I can still see a golden tread that promises me to give this big bird the slip, that is Archimedes' golden road. The image of man and woman stems from the divine proportion. The propagation of plants and the progenitive acts of animals are in the same ratio; striving for beauty and completeness in the realms of both nature and art.
A discerned and trained eye is necessary to create the frame of the golden ratio in one's mind's eyes, but in my tenure as a grave keeper, I enforced order from the chaos of nature by taking natural resources and refining them into tools, machines, and edifices.
The golden thread that whirls in a forever-tightening spiral is a perfect golden thing that is endlessly converging, and endlessly predictable. Every action merits a reaction that spurs the golden tread further forward. By reading the tread a person can map out the future, unraveling the scarlet threads of Fate, doing what the Oracles only wish that they could do through a thinking man's insight alone.
I moved with a dancer's grace into a lazy motion around the black harpy's cruel talons as I bobbed and weaved her strikes until I rolled over her and scaped that alley-turned kill box entirely unscathed.
"Kaaaa... Join... The flight of the Valkyrie," the monster screech while turning my way.
"You are a really rude lady, you know that?" I fire back.
"I immortalize those fallen and perished... Kaaa... They will forever live in our memories..." she retorts, while at the same time, she beats her wings to ascend further and turns around to run away now that her ambush failed.
Forget harpy, this monster is more like a vulture. And I have no mercy for impatient scavengers.
From my penumbral shadow, I craft a bow capable of bearing my strength and channeling my pneuma, and from the shadow of my palm, I draw a single wooden arrow that I mount and then pull back with all my cultivated strength. Enough to pierce the armored body of the Valkyrie, but only just as even her feathers are like laminated armor.
No, I will only get one shot at this as the effort necessary to deliver a death of a thousand would drain my stamina to the point other monsters could more easily kill me. If this fails, I am bolting too.
Pulling at the same golden tread, I fashion a path that leads me to pierce the Valkyrie's shoulder in my mind's eye and then I step into it, adjusting my path to hers in countless little ways, until I let the arrow fly with the entire weight of my soul behind it fueled by three vital breaths.
The arrow piece cleanly and the vulture jerk and cry as the Wheel Turns, breathing vitality back into dead wood to create a conflagration of thorns from the inside out. The Valkyrie falls in an uncontrollable descent as she beats her only remaining functional wing.
I jump over the barracks in a single leap and pursue the falling vulture until it falls into a river bank with a heavy crash. The bird is mostly stunned but the keratin armored warriors ready their spears at all living things in the vicinity, impaling passive victims of the moon's scorch.
While the underground dungeon where I first cut my teeth in deadly combat was mostly sterile, here there are far more options for me to display my virtue. Once more I take a deep breath to refill my pneumatic chamber and then reach the vegetation growing in the river bank. They instantly grew to be tick ropes that attacked the Valkyrie like whips, entangling and pinning her into the ground.
Her host of warriors turned on me then, throwing the spears in my direction.
Time to end this.
The two main features of a philosopher are his [sophic sense], and his [rhetoric]. The first mostly exist to sense the second, but it also philosopher to exchange discourse without a citizen is none the wiser, it's the voice of their souls. While my pneumatic sense allows me to sense the presence of Rher in the Valkyrie as the one responsible for awakening her soul to its place in the world in the worst way possible. My Sophic sense reveals the occluded nature of said soul now that it exists in the open.
[Endless], that is the only word that can describe it. something that chaffs at any kind of restriction, something that pursues liberty and self-overcoming… what a twisted tragedy, though I guess Rher must think this funny.
"Foul beast, this is one chance beyond what anyone else will ever give you and one more than you deserve," I am feeling poetic, parroting these very words from a Hero. "Turn back now and leave these people alone to their misery and pain."
"I immortalize those fallen and perished... Kaaa... They will forever live in our memories..." it repeats listlessly, she has completely surrendered to her own nature. Reason has left her soul, leaving only spirit and instincts, fear and hunger.
I draw my blade from my shadow once again.
A philosopher deals with natural law the same way any other professional deals with the object of their trade. Rhetoric allows a philosopher to invoke the laws of nature, his lived experience, and his principles to manipulate and adjust the world in his favor. This is done through the manipulation of three elements – Magnitude, Motion, and Time.
Steel is harder than flesh and bones, I weave my rhetoric like a wrap around my blade, increasing the sharpness of its edge by increasing its magnitude while reducing the hardness of anything softer than its edge by in turn, decreasing its magnitude.
Then I summon my First Principle while coating my blade into the dark light of my cult technique, giving myself the speed and grace needed to overcome the wall of spears protecting the Valkyrie by manipulating the time needed for me to close in and stabilizing the motion needed for me to ride the Golden Tread.
No matter the tribulation, there is always a way forward.
It was like I had wings in my heels, I practically exploded from my position raising a cloud of sand just as jagged spears made of keratin closed on me. Their collected warriors kept on raining down spears my way but the golden path was true and their attacks never reached me as I jumped and scurried over the wooden structures of the place.
Before long I had closed into the monstrous Valkyrie. Her fallen warriors tried a last combinate attack but I simply vaulted over it, twisting sideways and upside down as I jumped over the sad monster and brought the blade over her neck with a fluid swing devoid of any resistance.
By the time I landed, her head was already rolling in the ground and the warrior spotted moving like puppets deprived of strings.
It was such a sad sight.
-//-
The Raven living in my shadow supped from the Valkyrie's last breath as it is owed to do. Endlessness has a taste that no mundane sense can pin but I found ever expanding. It isn't bad.
I failed to reanimate her tough, there goes my plan to fly to the tallest building in the city. From what I can guess, her body had been too abused by her metamorphose, so I simply devoured some of her feathers through my shadow and added them to the Raven's Mantle as a memento.
From there I jumped the gate over to the city proper and took a break inside the Bily Vul restaurant. Made a meal with my rations and drank some of my best wine to get the edge off.
My ascension could not have come at a better time, except months ago, when I had a safe place to practice and polish my powers in a safe environment.
As a fresh philosopher both my rhetoric and reading of the Golden Tread require effort and concentration, not exactly something easy to come by in the chaotic melee of fight with monsters. As I am right now I am liable to be overwhelmed. I held no illusion about what I would find, the man two tables over with his head blown open is a good enough hint even for me.
After feeling like a human being again I delved deeper into the city. More keratin knights ambushed me from the hoof but all my senses had been refined beyond something a mortal man can dream, and I heard the shift of clay tiles as they jumped.
Now that I look, their helmet evokes the appearance of a phallus just as it resembles a helmet and their ability to harden their bodies leaves little to the imagination and inquiry. Something tells me this is less Rher and more human hunger in full display.
Call me Alice in Wonderland, because I just met the Cheshire Cat. A tall man who was not a man, wearing fine gentleman clothes and a purple rubber mask that was not a mask radiating Rher's unique presence.
He was beating someone to death inside a sack. And he liked to talk. A lot.
"Brevity is the soul of wit. Can we cut this short or are you trying to toast me under the light of the moon?" I interrupt his chatter about darkness.
"Hehe, I guess I am just rambling here. 'Letting my mind wander and my mouth slander'. We I get excited I can go on, and on, and on. I didn't mean to take your time. From what I understand you got your hands full with the festival already. So I will go straight to the point." The cat monster says.
"Finally!"
"Not only a wandering gentleman, but I am also a heads salesman of sorts with deep, deep, pockets-
With an explosion of pneuma powered by my first principle, I closed the distance between us and severed the bastard in two from groin to head in a conflagration of entropic power.
"Fuck Termina and you too, your twisted mutherfucker! Monster!" I say to the cat's stupid face as his glowing eyes stare at me questioning why I did this to him.
The Pocket Cat's last breath was [Blank], a taste of emptiness, true white, a perfect canvas.
Examining the corpse my Sophic sense perceived something amazing, a fold of paradox logic, a hammerspace… in the bastard's pockets! And of course, it had to be a pun about deep pockets too!
There I found a Book of Enlightenment, Alchemillia vol. 1 to 3, and Skin bibles from over seven gods. I don't know if I should jump in joy or whale in despair.
I returned to the restaurant and used rhetoric to shorten the time needed for me to read about the gods of these lands. Only the golden book had an aura of power to it, meaning the others were likely mundane in nature. Not exactly safe in this land of madness but more of a calculated risk. I lack the context to understand what is going on. I went straight for Rher's skin bible.
Also known as the Trickster God and the Moon God. In the most ancient writings Rher is depicted as the god of the insane and those who've succumbed to madness. His blessing to men is his moonlight, which is said to uncover the truth under the human filth. A truth that is often too much for a human mind to handle. It can be debated whether his version of the truth is more accurate than that of the human filth. Unlike many of the other older gods, Rher's part is greater scheme of things remains a mystery. Just looking at the night sky, you can see his presence, in an eternal slumber. This makes his secrecy even more infuriating, he is literally hiding in plain sight.
Infuriating indeed, nothing I didn't already know. I looked at the rest of my new collection. Even through the uplifting of the mind brought about by cultivation and the Sophic Realm, this will take a while.
-//-
After my little detour I headed west in search of said tower. The city looks like a labyrinth, which might well be true as medieval cities had these kinds of features in mind, they certainly keep rising higher and higher as I reach the center of town. I found more of the roof-jumping knights and a pack of disgusting naked rat-dog-people I promptly pincushioned with arrows. Despite the macabre atmosphere of the place, I could hear sinister laughter echoing from afar.
I moved on.
Eventually, I reach a bar called PRHVL Bop, and that is when I smell traces of black power, something I tried to create in my time as an alchemy, my cultivation outstripping an ordinary hunting dog. A floor tile in the corner of the bar is loose, revealing a ladder downstairs.
The place looked more like a base, with bunkbeds blackboards… and a gun. A 9mm WWII-style handgun and some bullets. Well, this place was a just conquered warzone. This must be some resistance hideout. The rack full of rifles gives credence to this. I take the one in the best condition from the pile, the shotgun mounted in the wall, and store it in my shadow together with the handgun and as many bullets as these people had.
After that, I returned to my street massacre. There is almost no point in engaging in melee but I need more practice reading and riding the Golden Treads. Practice makes perfecton and putting my body on the line raises the stakes, instigating my spirit and hunger. Practice a hundred times when it doesn't matter for the one where it does.
The inquisitor monster dropped something interesting, a gemstone radiates faint light that slowly swirls around, same as the priest. As they can invoke what I now know are mysteries from the old gods, I know for a fact they are the mystics of these lands. It kind of reminds me of my own style of magic. Dangerous and painful but they were far less proficient than the priests, it was worth experiencing them in the flesh in case a more powerful enemy showed up.
I ate the gemstones, by the way. What? I am a growing boy and people grow by eating, that goes for cultivation as well. this is the Divine Divide, bidding your soul to multiply goes against the will of heaven, so for a man to ascend above a thousand men, Heaven demands a thousand men fall in turn. A very old worldview from a world of winners and losers, where war and conflict are a perpetual part of reality.
After killing some human flesh floating jellyfish, I reach a department store. Somehow the place was pristine… until I reached the top floor. People are hanged by chains in various states of mutilation, only the ones turned into monsters are still moving though. And screaming as well.
I doubled back.
That is when I found Dr. Kefer's Tricks & Magic store. The gut was… sane. As sane as someone running a store in this city could be. Rude too, but considering he is also moon-scorched I can't blame him. Especially when he accepts silver, it seems this is currency capable of trading even with gods!
With my Sothic sense, I divined the nature and estipulate the properties of his true magic items and got those that seemed safeish.
Betel Stone ring that accelerates recovery of the Spirit and Mind of one's tripartite soul, a Soul devour necklace that protects the wielder from supernatural powers, the Small thing's amulet, and a Hardened heart that I ate through my Raven for their properties of increased agility and toughness, and a Purifying talisman.
Alas, I ran out of silver coins and the guy didn't accept silver bars or bartering. That is when I felt a familiar presence. After sneaking up to Kefer's storage room by reducing my magnitude to occlude my presence I found a lamp and inside of it came another genie. Invoking my lived experience, tore it apart with violent hands of carrion intent. It felt good to eat the bastard's essence.
-//-
Eventually I reach the city's Orphanage, a sinister building. This might have been a mistake.
I outrun the monstrous children until I find a quiet room, inside I use my new insight about magical items to permanently pin my rhetoric to my feathered cloak to permanently reduce the magnitude of my presence and a counter motion to snuff out all sounds that I make except for talking. I even separate myself from my identity as the mantle symbolizes I can't be anything more than a nameless raven for as long as I wear it. A true secret identity, I can even glide with it invoking the lived experience from the Valkyrie parts!
The process is the same – the mind provides the question, the heart the fuel, and the gut the instincts of how it might be executed.
It took over an hour, but it will be useful now and later on. Some tests show that as long as I don't call attention to myself most mundane people won't notice me. I don't intend to risk it against a truly powerful monster like that bird lady.
I find another patch-faced priest in the basement and tear him apart with entropic dark miasma from my virtuous technique from my hands of intent, tearing him to pieces before he could call forth the power of his faith. I did not hesitate this time, this place is a nightmare! He was a monster long before Rher had his way with him, the ghosts in this place told me. Fortunately, I had long since learned how to purify and exorcise them from the living world.
Another genie later and I head to the second floor. Curiosity turned into righteous anger. That is when I hear crying. Is there another sane person around here?
No. Just a living weapon, a weeping scope. Another sad monster. This one without the will to even put up a fight, fully committed to ripping away the rifle his face had become. I could do nothing for him, I knew that. But even so…
I cursed my own weakness as I moved on. Ever since I became a cultivator of virtue I assured myself strength would follow if I just did what was required, but now for the first time in my life since I became a cultivator the burning desire to be stronger truly burned in my heart. So that pointless tragedies like that could be avoided. This is what? The third time I see for myself how casually cruel gods could be counting the torment Hera inflicted on Dionysus and my own circumstances.
My virtuous heart ached to burn, the memory of Herakles's triumphant defiance against the tyranny of heaven and earth playing inside my mind's eye through the memories of the Orphic House. He could save this boy, he might have been able to save the entire city! Because this is what a Hero does. When something is wrong in the world a hero fixes it as Defiant Souls immune to the impositions of natural law and dazzling in its brilliance owe to be.
I am no hero… but I could be.
While a citizen had a lifespan similar to a mortal with access to modern medicine, capping at one hundred years, a philosopher's advancement grants one hundred years of extended lifespan for each rung a cultivator climbs in his Realm, to a maximum of a thousand and one hundred years, provided the Fates are kind. But a hero? A hero burns and the Fates are never kind from the Heroic Realm up to the heavens.
Beloved by the Muses and reviled by the Fates.
Even if every Epic is also a Tragedy and I am consigning myself to burn into embers, I promise one day I will reach it and I found that my virtuous heart thundered inside my chest in approval. Refinement is performed through pressure and this cavalcade of tragedies only tempered my Spirit as it swells using pain as fuel.
People like Rher have existed everywhere forever, and they tell themselves they do what they do with as many excuses as there are stars in the sky but at the end of the day the result is the same.
The strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must, for now…
Even if this is a necessary natural law of gods people worship and men they know, of pursuing rulership over everything lesser wherever they can, I will never bend my knee to it ever again. I would rather die. That is my thinking as I ascend from the 1st to the 2nd rank of the Sophic Realm.
A record breakthrough, even for those gifted by Higher Powers. But I have been supping in the essence of the monstrous denizens of this city ever since I got here. My foundations are packed onyx solid, tempered in Greater Mystery, and thoughtfully polished to a mirror-like sheen. Now it is just a matter of raising the pillars of my principles from the materials present. A monument to virtue inside my soul.
I kick open the door of Father Hugo's office, the headmaster of this hellhole, something I know thanks to tattling ghosts children. The bastard opens his eyes wide in greeting, a hulking man with ash-like skin.
While he was doing grandstanding, I kick him in the dick with the entropic aura of my faith technique. Too little too late, by years even, but seeing his thing root and fall like rotten fruit grants me a hollow satisfaction at the very least. I never wanted to kill someone so much before.
That is when I see the face of one of the monstrous children grafted to his abdomen as his black toga falls apart under the touch of my virtuous technique. This is a marriage of flesh, what I now know to be one of Sylvian's mysteries, and how it is performed.
I manifest my Carrion intent, not as thirty hands but a rib cage around my frame, one giant arm for it, and enough muscles to give it more strength than I could muster by myself.
I seize the bastard in hand without any fanfare and crush him like an overripe tomato.
It felt empty. What is so fun about this shit? Do people really get off from this? What is wrong with them?!
Well… I was actually paid for this in the end. A [ring of wraiths], a blood diamond that has seen so much death that life force is leaking from it. A nice pair set in total as my regeneration isn't what it should be, Termina is leashing the life force of the humans to fuel this ritual of death and sex.
-//-
I found an arcane table in a locked room, lockpicking using my shadow to create an ivory skeleton key was trivial.
Interesting, I seem to have what they call a [Tormented Soul]. My refinement did its work so the table is useless to me besides being a power scouter. The path of the Endless Soul also is filled somehow, how curious. I have no interest in the mysteries of these lands' gods though. I didn't even use engraving in myself or the sigils of power found around the city. Dionysus and Not-Aqua are enough Higher Powers for me, thank you.
That is when two giant gullmen burst from the door and tried to hit me with a giant spiked club coated in an aura of cursed power. Yeah, that is dangerous, even for me. Worse, keeping track of two Golden Treads at the same time is too much for me at the moment, and focusing on just one is likely to get me blindsided.
The place sucks as well, even if their weapons are likely to be stuck in the walls due to the limited space.
I open my shadow and from it, a swarm of bees covers the entire room. These bees are special, as a beekeeper cultivator, it is in my nature to excel the efforts and results of mortal men. These bees feed on psychogenic flowers grown by my virtuous technique, sipping from my vitality.
The purpose was simple, animals could cultivate crude virtue via consumption, becoming virtuous beasts. There was strength to be had in consumption. There was power in every living thing, and that power could be taken after its passing. It could be consumed. It could be made yours. A virtuous beast was a slave to its primal desire, this made them tamable but that did not make it weak.
I cultivated his hive myself, with my own two hands. Everything about his hive was greater than it would have been without my hand to guide its growth. Its honey was sweeter and more fragrant than any other, and its queen was fertile enough to fill a dozen more hives with all of her children. In the same way, the hive's warriors were greater than any you could find in the wild. Their stingers were sharper, and their venom twice and twice again more fearsome.
Dionysus is a god of plenty, his fox-skinned maneads were notorious for drawing milk and honey from the streams or underground, striking rocks, and creating fountains of clean water.
I fill the place with bees and then slip out using them as cover. When the first sea goo-headed man ran out, staggering with the poison of dozens stings, I used my anatomy knowledge to run his vitals through and open his belly open, so his entrains obstruct his mobility.
Even then his immense vitality kept him on his feet and he swung his [mauler] at me. I disengaged and pulled out my ivory umbral bow, nailing him in the knees with arrows turned conflagration of thorns. By the time the second one rushed out his brother was bleeding on the ground. I started to shoot arrows using my rhetoric to shorten the time taken to pull back and travel time, it was like an arrow machine gun. He never made it into striking range.
-//-
[AUTHOR'S ROOM]
Yeah, we see a bit more about the cultivation of virtue. It is not necessarily a steady progression, external stimulus and how the cultivator react to them are just as important. The MC of Virtuous Sons went from 1st to 2nd rank in over a week after a bottleneck that lasted a year due to his passivity to his situation. That is the power and importance of staying true to your First Virtue.
The first boss fight. In masochist mode, we don't have further opportunities to talk with Per'kele and even if we did so Zagreus would never risk the virtue of his soul by capitulating his demands. A true philosopher is not a trivial existence, his power is simple yet profound. There are some outliers like Socrates capable of giving even Heroes and Tyrants pause.
We see more of the madness of the Termina Festival and how it already existed under the surface even before it. Also, Pocketcat was the one that said the Moon Tower could be found close to the Church. Zagreus got bad vibes from the monster since his heart couldn't lie to Zagreus, so he got folded.
My boy Socrates is just built different. Still, nice to see MC doing stuff and looting baddies. Sulfur is about to have a really bad time.
- Pronouns
- ImBuda
So I asume this means he is not absorbing the power from the gods of Fear and Hunger?? Understandable eldritch shit is always horrible to everyone. Also the Book of Enlightment seems really usefull in order to try to break through a small or even a bigger realm.
Ed: He is also not getting any other skill, or is he getting them when he devours the soul of another contestant?? Also the only God that seems nice enough to get it's misteries is Allmer but when the rest of the pantheon is eldritch It might be best to be carefull
Ed: He is also not getting any other skill, or is he getting them when he devours the soul of another contestant?? Also the only God that seems nice enough to get it's misteries is Allmer but when the rest of the pantheon is eldritch It might be best to be carefull
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- Location
- Brazil
He is supping in the essence of the contestants and monstrous denizens, so Sulf's ritual is kind of rendered pointless since none of that strength is going in his direction. Zagreus has a Tormented soul and has been eating soul stones like they are cultivator pills without knowing their true nature so he is getting some of the power of each soul, even if it is more like a 'basic package' since Sulf is the one that excels at manipulating human souls.
- Location
- Brazil
The number of spells that straight-up kill the player in both games, like Inversed Crown of Thorns and Instant Combustion, isn't written in the books. While the god of Fear and Hunger is safeish, Zagreus doesn't know that and he already has a pathway to heaven. Everything he has to go by is what he sees and none of it is any good.
- Pronouns
- ImBuda
Wait how can he not know that?? I mean shouldnt that be evident once he puts It in his mouth??
- Location
- Brazil
It is not like it comes with a manual, he thinks it is a trapped remnant of some kind of magical essence. He can do similar too and the magical items so far fit the bill. it is as expected from someone self-taught.
Fear and Hunger Termina 3
- Location
- Brazil
The western downtown is a scarred battlefield in the landscape of the city. There I found bricklayers half-cocooned men, mad as usual and swinging the tools of their craft as weapons.
After dispatching them I keep moving out, avoiding the landmines still present around the ruined houses. Nothing worth noticing happened until I got ambushed by a union mob of these bricklayers but I at least found an amulet enhanced with the essence of a [Salmon-snake] Monster, granting its owner a hardened skin like the mythological beast. After the Hardened heart, it seems my soul has some affinity with these types of mysteries, so I ate it.
This proved its worth immediately as I found a beekeeper monster, an inflated human that uses his own body as a hive. I simply closed my eyes and used the Golden Thread to guide myself, he got some good blows in due to the delay but compared to the indignity of having someone else using my specialty against me they were nothing.
Further west the city was even more totaled. Moon-mad soldiers were shooting at anyone who passed. While I still am not faster than a bullet it didn't take me long to adjust my Golden Tread reading to them, predicting where and when they would shoot. I even got to parry some bullets like an anime character.
Further south there is an entrance to the forest. Considering what I found so far, I judged a little detour would be worthwhile as the Alchemillia books I looted from Pocketcat talked about herbs that I have never seen anywhere else, true resident evil kind of leaves set up going on here!
My plan was to track the first ones by their aura and description then use my nose to spot the rest since it has been night for well over eight hours yet the sun never showed up.
Of course, even here I find monsters, deformed dogs, and owl cultists. The bastards had the same color pallet as Per'kele and thought themselves clever by hiding in the foliage. After nailing the first few, I decided to simply see what they could do as I had some choice words for his boss the next time we crossed paths.
That is when the bastard pulled a Stand by playing his flute. The thing was dangerous, for mortals. I could use my vital breath to cut away and sink my teeth in his incorporeal body and reading its movements wasn't difficult.
After killing a marriage of flesh between a horse and a human of all things, I found a military bunker. In spite of my best judgment I snuck in. That is when the apparition of a little girl with red shoes I peeked in the train showed herself together with a blue butterfly.
Crap baskets.
The place was a mess, as expected but the human centipede gave a riveting contrast to its atmosphere. After trading discourse with the author of such a moving art form I eventually found the generator of the elevator. Down there the apparition manifested again when I found a supercomputer…
Is this a trap?
She doesn't feel malicious but you never know. Actually, forget that. There is no way this bunker and computer were built after Termina Festival started.
Any chance for me to fuck with Rher is reason enough to risk getting fucked sideways. After fiddling with it for a bit I manage to restart the thing.
"Logic, hum? If I remember right, the resistance hideout had some bunkers mapped out. A bit of backtracking but maybe it will be worthwhile."
Actually… the Golden Thread is endlessly converging, endlessly predictable. If this is true then the past that is written in stone is far more legible than an uncertain future. It is worth an attempt at the very least.
I close my eyes and in the darkness I picture from memory the path I had crossed so far, creating a mental map of the city with the Golden Treat as pin and navigation. Using this I then take the points marked and chart out a path toward Bunker 7.
And voila! Am I good or am I good? I had to cut through some dense foliage but in the end, I managed to get straight to it without any boring backtracking and pocketing more herbs in the way. Some I intend to preserve in clay pots I stored while others are for experimentation as they possess some magical essence that might explain their miraculous properties.
Down there I ended face to face with an elephant head behemoth. Considering he punched a metal wall to get to me I don't think it is friendly. Despite its size and strength, predicting a single humanoid enemy is relatively easy, only getting grazed by his snout.
Despite that, his body is as hard as iron and my punches capable of impaling a mortal man only force the air out of his lungs. I take distance to draw out a weapon when it trumpets from its snout the loudest sound I had ever heard. I use pneumatic chambers of my Wheel Turning to break the pain apart and make it my own but the intensity is such that I lose control of my pneumatic chamber.
I fall to my knees.
Fuck!
I try desperately to get up but my limbs are spasming erratically due to the backlash of the loss of control of my pneumatic chamber and I can't even take another breath due to a fit of the couch. The creature comes closer.
Back to the basics it is. Time to put ten years of judo and jiujutsu into practice for all they are worth.
I move forward, almost falling over, and only the path laid out by the Golden Tread keeps me from getting pummeled to death. Even then the monster gets a few good leaks before a roll between his- her legs, kicking the back of both knees on my way out. Then I jump on her back, making a garrote with my hands around her neck and holding her for dear life. This is going to suck.
It indeed sucked. My recovering breath was stolen out of my lungs by a reverse wall slam as the Monster tried to beat the crap out of me but its musculature had robbed a good deal of its flexibility. But what it lacked in alacrity was made up with desperate enthusiasm. It was a battle of attrition and I already started in a bad spot.
My armor did little to help this kind of impact and I had little vital breath to spare toward healing myself, the rings had to do. In the end, it was probably the hardened heart and the salmon-snake that pulled through because I felt dead. In the end, I got a [Caressing] Soul for my trouble, kind of miss fitting if you ask me but I guess this was the point.
I drank an entire bottle of Dark Spirit Wine and focused all I had on healing myself by turning the Wheel.
Downstairs the red shoed girl with a pet butterfly showed herself again, so I followed and connected another Telelectroscope.
Really, I knew these bunkers had to be underground but for them to go to the sewers? What is this, a video game?! At the end of the day I am through with this fucking city and this is a detour. That is why I restocked my arrow stock while I was in the forest and went to town with the monster population. Anyone who so much as looked funny in my direction got turned into a pincushion as I mapped the place. I won't have a repeat of the Elephant Lady incident.
Some areas were obstructed by strong currents but leaping through them and running in walls was well within my capacity, and some rhetoric to walk on water by increasing its tensive resistance allowed me to navigate without any setbacks. That wasn't as good a thing as one might believe.
"C-choke on my baaallsss…"
The scrotum monster followed through with his early treat by spitting a spray of acid piss in my direction, forcing me to run up the wall to avoid it, I jump to the concrete walkway on the other side and use the Golden Thread to aim and nail one arrow in each of its eyes while it watched my trajectory.
"Bastard!"
It tried to vomit piss from its serrated mouth-vulva but my speed and stealth nature made sure he was none the wiser as I closed in by walking in the water and manifested my Carrion intent as a skeleton ribcage and one muscled arm that punched him with such strength he was ejected from the water and nailed to the wall with a thunderous crash that trembled the sewer and released dust shower from its foundations.
While the beast was stunned, I caught it by its countless arms for legs and swung it around, crashing it to the wall once more, breaking and tearing many of its arms and making it scream further. I then finished it by busting his balls literally, seizing it in hand and crushing it until he popped.
The disgusting monster's soprano scream was his final words.
But anyway.
After my little boss encounter, I found the sewer control center, I ignored it in favor of exploring the many doors around the place. Something trivial with my jumping strength. Some led back to the city or were simply storage but one actually led to a natural and ancient cave system. I think I hit the jackpot.
Down there I found plenty of blue herbs, something appreciated as my body still ached from the beating the Elephant lady gave me. Another thing of notice was the natives, honest to got underground ratfolk. I followed the little guy until I got ambushed by a mob of them, they were less than friendly but harmless (to me). Too many for me to read all the Golden Treads they created at once, so I simply brute-forced it with thirty spectral hands of carrion intent.
After backtracking I found some ancient statues, I had a brief flash of the girl's butterfly friend and knew I was going in the right direction. That is when I heard something big approaching.
Everything I could see was three red dots in the darkness. This was more than enough. I tried to nail its eyes but it moved with grace and speed that belies its size. I immediately opened my shadow and summoned a swarm of bees while drawing my Kopis blade.
The hulking beast revealed itself, a monstrous canine with rows of serrated teeth like a shark and a head big enough to swallow an adult man whole, a single eye lost in battle. Two exotic swords were impaled in each shoulder as well, a really Dark Souls boss, but way less pretty than Sif.
With a roar capable of rattling my bones our fight starts. It is fast enough and covers a big enough area that I have to evoke my first principle to keep my distance, rolling under it to cut at its legs while the bees attempt to harass any weak points, getting the god to whimper as its eyes get attacked.
That is when it spit a cloud of dark smog in retaliation, getting most of the bees in the process and failing to bury me on it just because I manifested a spectral ribcage, using this moment to punch it in the head and get it rolling.
The demonic dog falls on its back but immediately rolls over and stands up, shaking its head to power through the torpor of my blow. It charges, mouth wide open and I am forced to shrink the rib cage to manifest a second arm, using the two of them to keep its maw wide open even as it uses me as an improvised bulldozer to carve a dent in the hardy stone floor.
I am eventually pushed against the wall and then lifted from the ground as our contest of strength continues. In desperation, I manifest an ivory bow from my shadow and call forth my foundational technique augmented by rhetoric.
[The Wheel Turns], I say in the voice of my soul as I release the string and piece her gullet. The infernal canine flinches but power through the pain and in my moment of split attention it overpowers me. The first pain came from the phantom pain of having my manifested intent destroyed, as painful as if my own arms and ribs had been bitten. That is a thought that I put to the test as the monster treated me like a dog chew toy with its rows of endless teeth. It violently trashs around as it moves its head left and right a clear show of our desperate situation.
In a last-ditch attempt to free me, still remembering my loss of control against the Elephant lady, I summon the most destructive aspect of my virtuous technique in an explosion of pneuma released by my entire body, empowered by all the vital breaths I had stored.
In the end, we both were pushed from each other in the resulting explosion. I far more violently than it due to the difference in mass, as I bounced and rolled, my armor thoroughly trashed and digging into my skin; I dismissed it as I struggled to stand up and focused on healing myself into fighting shape.
My opponent was no better though, bleeding profusely from its mouth it lost far too much blood. We both were on our last legs but only I had the means to debounce, the beast was intelligent enough to figure it out. It charged.
That is when I activated my trap. The ivy seeds I had my bees spread around have been absorbing my pneuma released in the air since the beginning of the fight and now I direct the totality of my vital breath to power the poison ivy to shoot out like cruel burning whips, tangling, and strangling the beast and shutting its maw when it tried to use the dark smog attack again.
I slowly limped toward it, my Kopis sword in hand and slipped its throat, letting it bleed out.
Then I proceeded to black out.
I am pretty much out of warrior bees, thanks to this demonic Mut, that is why I decided it would serve me in death. With thirty hands of carrion intent, I go back to the basics and exert my habitual occupation, embalming and restoring the body. Sewing it back together and reinforcing its organs with shards of sin and grape seeds throughout its body to fasten it together.
Finally, I insert its devoured Last Breath back into its frame, using it as a spark so it can simulate its past pattern while ensuring its loyalty to me through our bond; an undead familiar. The minions I brought with me are more suited for labor than combat, this one will be far more effective.
"Come, Cerberus." The bitch complains as she is swallowed by my shadow, my rapid climb increasing my available space to the point I can store her like a Pokémon.
Done that I turn to the boss drop I got from this, a sentient bloodthirst blade. I am really lucky my mystery faith peddles with madness because it seems everything in this land wants to push me beyond the brink.
I disassembled it for parts, in the end, it wasn't even because it was evil but because it was unreliable. A cardinal sin for any tool. I had plans for its remain though, and after fiddling with it for a bit as I recovered my strength I was ready to go.
Bunker 4 was much like the rest, I had to climb down the elevator cable to go down as the butterfly dust guided me. I found my third Telelectroscope.
"That better be the last one, I don't have it in me to comb this cursed town in search of a fourth one without any direction. Did you hear me?"
I got no answer.
Eventually, I found another elevator leading further up, hopefully to the surface, even if only Rher is waiting for me. As it turned out it not only led back to the street level but also gave access to the church. The air was filled with the disgusting stench of gore though and there were a lot of blood stains to match.
The Church had a fucking dungeon in its basement, fuck me sideways.
I explored the cells, and soon enough I found the wardens of this place. Mollusk mind flayers with wizard robes. I played enough dark souls to know better than to ask if they were friendly.
I turned any and all monsters I crossed paths with into pincushions even as they attempted to counter with their magic. They were far better than anyone I had faced so far but I had both the experience and equipment to deal with it. Even their mind control could be countered with the sip of madness of the Orphic initiation. It was even worthwhile as they had powerful auras for me to consume and some of them had more of the shinning stones I was using as cultivation pills.
I decided to use the dead bodies to raise myself a small force of meat shields as well. I found a hammerhead juggernaut in chains but decided to move on.
That is when I messed up, stepping into Rher's sigil while the monster tried to pounce at me.
I ended up once again in the Backroom of wood surfaces. I turn a corner and immediately am confronted with a towering figure standing on an altar. What is this, a fucking boss gauntlet?!
Its heart song was twisted enough for me to know not to show empathy, so I unleashed Cerberus to her first test run. The hellhound pulverized the stone columns standing in her way as she charged and I made a point to support with arrows from afar.
Despite its magic and toughness, we made short work of it.
"I am… radiant…"
Indeed, her [Radiant] soul really was born to shine. Shame there is no place for this in this cursed world. In the end, she was just another victim of the Higher Powers of this world.
Said that it is curious. Instead of being thoroughly boarded with wood, this place has been spelunk, revealing the stone and clay below. The sense of suffocation has been violated in some way. Maybe the church experienced with Rher's dimension?
I got my chance to test it out soon after as an old rusted key brimming with magical power resonated with a sigil dedicated to the old gods… should I risk it?
From what I saw I can always run away if things go bad. I am more worried about gaining affinity with Rher by doing this than anything else.
And how unsurprised I found myself when I discovered even Rher's backroom had been repurposed as a prison cell? A woman's face is all that can be seen from the bundle of chains filled with occult sigils. But even then, I can still feel it, she is infinitely better in power, and worst of all, my heart sense has gone completely mute. She is a dangerous and unpredictable unknown. Worst of all, the woman didn't answer any of my questions, keeping its silence.
What am I to do?
In the end, the answer itself is both complicated and simple. What does it mean to cultivate virtue? It is the sin of hubris. The arrogance to look upon the face of god and decide your features would suit it better. More than determination, if a soul wishes to truly cultivate virtue then he or she needs to brace themselves to ride the turbulent current of fortune to survive the consequences of their hubris.
To cultivate a virtue, to actually cultivate a virtue, is to challenge every man that came before you in its pursuit. Challenge it, or shape yourself to it. The greater the virtue, the longer the shadow it casts. For those that pursue the cardinals, tribulation is more than a grim possibility. It is a certainty. The closer you tie yourself to them, the more this holds true.
There are no detours in the pathway to heaven.
What is the first virtue?
Hope.
A hero is a slayer of monsters and a breaker of chains. This is the Path of the Champion.
This was no choice at all.
As the one that released that creature the responsibility for its future actions partially lies with me. I know what I did was foolish, but this world is already so dreary that I feel compelled to leap at any chance to improve I might run across. I lack any sensible justification for what I did, some truths are self-evident. My virtuous heart demanded that I try to improve things if it was in my power to do so.
I offer the Heart-shaped lock and the irregularities in the ground finally make sense as a pool of blood fills the basing. More fool me then, a cruel angel rises from the pool, she lacks a heart melody because she had no heart. Just another monster.
"Who dares to summon me?" She looks me up and down. "Hah, you actually wish to challenge me? Silly human." She flaps her lips in arrogance even though she was a prisoner not even an hour ago.
"Hey, want to see something cool?" I interrupt her posturing.
"What?!"
"You are the one demanding a duel. At the very least you should give me the chance to fight at my best… unless you are scared, are you?"
She stares at me for a long time, as if assessing me "… you better make this worth my time."
I just smiled in return but it didn't reach my eyes. when a cultivator challenges the Heavens, he must seize the initiative with everything he has under the assumption there will only be one chance to seize victory. Hesitate is death.
I don't feel like losing.
From the deepest and darkest corner of my soul, I draw out a darker-than-black blade slumbering in a sheath made of marble and precious stones. The culmination of my skills as an occultist, spiritualist, blacksmith, and grave keeper.
To a Greek cultivator the brain, heart, and gut are fundamental organs tied to the tripartite soul – logistikon (reason), the thymoeides (spirit, which houses anger, as well as other emotions), and the epithymetikon (appetite or desire, which houses the desire for physical pleasures). As an initiate of the Orphic faith, I temper these three aspects in the abysses and peaks that life offers.
This blade is to be my magnum opus, more than a blade it is an extension of my being. Using my blood as the source of iron and carbon for the steel, I infused it with the distilled essence of one hundred Dark Brains, Hearts, and Guts. Later on, I used the broken and tamed sword I found lodged in Cerberus as a frame to awaken it.
Now everything that remains to be done is to reintegrate this severed piece of my tripartite soul into my being once again.
Easier said than done. This sword serves as an amplifier to my soul refined for a single purpose – destruction. Cultivators refine their bodies together with their souls because to neglect the first is like resting a flame in a pile of straw; the strain and stress of invoking one's cult technique can be lethal for the unprepared… and the reckless.
Well, there is a fine line between recklessness and audacity. Plus, I have some contingencies prepared.
Once more I reach my shadow and pull from it another item, a single Golden Apple. Snake had me explore the dungeon in pursuit and in the end, I learned of its true value, a single lick was enough to bring a surge to my spirit. I still didn't have the callousness to double cross snake but fortune smiled upon me then, for the Witch of the Swamp had come to possess one by means unknown to me and was willing to part with it for an exorbitant. It still felt like a bargain.
I ate the Golden Apple in three big bites and reveled my soul reveled in its divine taste, then proceeded to draw out the blade from its sheath. Its design was inspired by Excalibur Morgan, a stark black sword of promised victory adorned with neon amethyst lines flaring like circuits.
I carelessly discarded the sheath and held the sword with both hands in a reverse gripe then stabbed myself with it.
My legs bucked under my weight as the blade severed my spine, but only for one moment as the divine food instantly converged to it, not only mending but making whole, not content in restoring what it found, it improved upon it. That is why I focused the brunt of its divine essence on my virtuous heart, so it may pump the apple's divine essence faster, hastening the rate of improvement as the blade and I fight for supremacy. One trying desperately to devour the other.
I smiled at the heartless bitch even as I puked blood, "Let me show you why there is no pathway to heaven to the heartless… Human bodies may cast shadows but hearts contain them."
My spirit surged as I climbed another rung in the divine ladder, ascending to the 3rd rung of the Sophic Realm. In the throes of my ascension, the sword's reason, spirit, and hunger are overwhelmed by mine own and made part of me once again. I won!
Honestly, if it hadn't been for the [Hardened Heart], I would be a goner. It gave me the chance to stubbornly climb to life as the blade tried to unmake me.
I stretched my hand and [Zagreus] manifested in my hand, the blade sharing both my name and purpose. I then released my pneuma like an unfurled snake and attacked the beautiful monster in front of me with everything I had.
[The Wheel Turns], I screamed in the voice of my soul as I pushed the fullness of my vital breath plus the reservoir stored in my four pneumatic chambers into my foundational virtuous technique through my blade, releasing a tongue of black flames taller than me that released a trail of purple embers as it cut the air with a torturous scream.
That damage was catastrophic for us both. The heartless bitch unfurled black wings from her back in a desperate attempt to block it, yet it was of no avail as I cut through it and her sword arm and made a ruin of her empty chest. It was a testament to her divine constitution that she remained alive through that.
I wasn't so lucky; it was like I was back at my tortuous first week of this journey. When the starlight bone marrow of my dog was too much for my mortal frame to handle. It burns from the inside out and my vision blackens for a moment as my body reaches the edge of shutting down. Once more my hardened virtuous heart asserts itself over my traitorous flesh as I spin my pneumatic chamber at full tilt trying to mend the damage from delivering an attack beyond my means.
The angel has no interest in giving me this reprisal though. "Let's see how tough you really are!" With her remaining hand, she brings her golden staff to bear, releasing magical ofuda made of light at my person. Instead of dodging I draw from the palm of my hand the protection talisman I purchased not long ago and focus on minimizing the damage by blocking like my life depended on it.
Even then my spilled blood attracts blood-rose vines that attempt to entangle and suck me dry. It doesn't matter, I focus on my breathing, breaking apart the pain, dispersing it throughout my body, and making it mine. I then swing my sword once again even if I have only two pneumatic chambers to fuel it this time; I doubt I have enough time left to live to fill them all again.
Her rose vines are burned to a crisp as I advance, taking away her remaining arm and head, yet she only laughs at me and continues to attack by tacking me… this is getting ridiculous!
I didn't bother filling any pneumatic chamber before attacking for a third and final time. I feel her Last Breath leave her as her form disperses, but even then, faint traces of her presence linger – proof of her divinity, no matter how paltry it might have been.
The raven in my shadow sups from its divinity with relish, even eating the seeping [darkness] she used as clothes… interesting, a [Dominating] soul and she was sort of possessed by its fundamental impulses.
Those are my last thoughts before darkness consumes me.
Yeah, Zagreus got mauled by this boss gauntlet. This serves to show that without miraculous healing items, the game would be truly unbeatable. A single screw-up can lead to a bad ending, the Hardened Heart is the single most important item in Masochist Mode for a reason.
This place might be great for his cultivation but his mental health might disagree. Aqua really did him a solid by landing him in Graveyard Keeper as the tutorial area. There is no way he could have beaten the Heartless one otherwise.
After dispatching them I keep moving out, avoiding the landmines still present around the ruined houses. Nothing worth noticing happened until I got ambushed by a union mob of these bricklayers but I at least found an amulet enhanced with the essence of a [Salmon-snake] Monster, granting its owner a hardened skin like the mythological beast. After the Hardened heart, it seems my soul has some affinity with these types of mysteries, so I ate it.
This proved its worth immediately as I found a beekeeper monster, an inflated human that uses his own body as a hive. I simply closed my eyes and used the Golden Thread to guide myself, he got some good blows in due to the delay but compared to the indignity of having someone else using my specialty against me they were nothing.
Further west the city was even more totaled. Moon-mad soldiers were shooting at anyone who passed. While I still am not faster than a bullet it didn't take me long to adjust my Golden Tread reading to them, predicting where and when they would shoot. I even got to parry some bullets like an anime character.
Further south there is an entrance to the forest. Considering what I found so far, I judged a little detour would be worthwhile as the Alchemillia books I looted from Pocketcat talked about herbs that I have never seen anywhere else, true resident evil kind of leaves set up going on here!
My plan was to track the first ones by their aura and description then use my nose to spot the rest since it has been night for well over eight hours yet the sun never showed up.
Of course, even here I find monsters, deformed dogs, and owl cultists. The bastards had the same color pallet as Per'kele and thought themselves clever by hiding in the foliage. After nailing the first few, I decided to simply see what they could do as I had some choice words for his boss the next time we crossed paths.
That is when the bastard pulled a Stand by playing his flute. The thing was dangerous, for mortals. I could use my vital breath to cut away and sink my teeth in his incorporeal body and reading its movements wasn't difficult.
After killing a marriage of flesh between a horse and a human of all things, I found a military bunker. In spite of my best judgment I snuck in. That is when the apparition of a little girl with red shoes I peeked in the train showed herself together with a blue butterfly.
Crap baskets.
The place was a mess, as expected but the human centipede gave a riveting contrast to its atmosphere. After trading discourse with the author of such a moving art form I eventually found the generator of the elevator. Down there the apparition manifested again when I found a supercomputer…
Is this a trap?
She doesn't feel malicious but you never know. Actually, forget that. There is no way this bunker and computer were built after Termina Festival started.
Any chance for me to fuck with Rher is reason enough to risk getting fucked sideways. After fiddling with it for a bit I manage to restart the thing.
"Logic, hum? If I remember right, the resistance hideout had some bunkers mapped out. A bit of backtracking but maybe it will be worthwhile."
Actually… the Golden Thread is endlessly converging, endlessly predictable. If this is true then the past that is written in stone is far more legible than an uncertain future. It is worth an attempt at the very least.
I close my eyes and in the darkness I picture from memory the path I had crossed so far, creating a mental map of the city with the Golden Treat as pin and navigation. Using this I then take the points marked and chart out a path toward Bunker 7.
And voila! Am I good or am I good? I had to cut through some dense foliage but in the end, I managed to get straight to it without any boring backtracking and pocketing more herbs in the way. Some I intend to preserve in clay pots I stored while others are for experimentation as they possess some magical essence that might explain their miraculous properties.
Down there I ended face to face with an elephant head behemoth. Considering he punched a metal wall to get to me I don't think it is friendly. Despite its size and strength, predicting a single humanoid enemy is relatively easy, only getting grazed by his snout.
Despite that, his body is as hard as iron and my punches capable of impaling a mortal man only force the air out of his lungs. I take distance to draw out a weapon when it trumpets from its snout the loudest sound I had ever heard. I use pneumatic chambers of my Wheel Turning to break the pain apart and make it my own but the intensity is such that I lose control of my pneumatic chamber.
I fall to my knees.
Fuck!
I try desperately to get up but my limbs are spasming erratically due to the backlash of the loss of control of my pneumatic chamber and I can't even take another breath due to a fit of the couch. The creature comes closer.
Back to the basics it is. Time to put ten years of judo and jiujutsu into practice for all they are worth.
I move forward, almost falling over, and only the path laid out by the Golden Tread keeps me from getting pummeled to death. Even then the monster gets a few good leaks before a roll between his- her legs, kicking the back of both knees on my way out. Then I jump on her back, making a garrote with my hands around her neck and holding her for dear life. This is going to suck.
It indeed sucked. My recovering breath was stolen out of my lungs by a reverse wall slam as the Monster tried to beat the crap out of me but its musculature had robbed a good deal of its flexibility. But what it lacked in alacrity was made up with desperate enthusiasm. It was a battle of attrition and I already started in a bad spot.
My armor did little to help this kind of impact and I had little vital breath to spare toward healing myself, the rings had to do. In the end, it was probably the hardened heart and the salmon-snake that pulled through because I felt dead. In the end, I got a [Caressing] Soul for my trouble, kind of miss fitting if you ask me but I guess this was the point.
I drank an entire bottle of Dark Spirit Wine and focused all I had on healing myself by turning the Wheel.
Downstairs the red shoed girl with a pet butterfly showed herself again, so I followed and connected another Telelectroscope.
-//-
Welcome to Blight Town! Population: 1.
Really, I knew these bunkers had to be underground but for them to go to the sewers? What is this, a video game?! At the end of the day I am through with this fucking city and this is a detour. That is why I restocked my arrow stock while I was in the forest and went to town with the monster population. Anyone who so much as looked funny in my direction got turned into a pincushion as I mapped the place. I won't have a repeat of the Elephant Lady incident.
Some areas were obstructed by strong currents but leaping through them and running in walls was well within my capacity, and some rhetoric to walk on water by increasing its tensive resistance allowed me to navigate without any setbacks. That wasn't as good a thing as one might believe.
"C-choke on my baaallsss…"
The scrotum monster followed through with his early treat by spitting a spray of acid piss in my direction, forcing me to run up the wall to avoid it, I jump to the concrete walkway on the other side and use the Golden Thread to aim and nail one arrow in each of its eyes while it watched my trajectory.
"Bastard!"
It tried to vomit piss from its serrated mouth-vulva but my speed and stealth nature made sure he was none the wiser as I closed in by walking in the water and manifested my Carrion intent as a skeleton ribcage and one muscled arm that punched him with such strength he was ejected from the water and nailed to the wall with a thunderous crash that trembled the sewer and released dust shower from its foundations.
While the beast was stunned, I caught it by its countless arms for legs and swung it around, crashing it to the wall once more, breaking and tearing many of its arms and making it scream further. I then finished it by busting his balls literally, seizing it in hand and crushing it until he popped.
The disgusting monster's soprano scream was his final words.
-//-
Even the guy's soul was disgusting. A [Decrepit] soul embodies the darkness of humanity, the kind of damage never to be healed and fundamentally egoistic.
But anyway.
After my little boss encounter, I found the sewer control center, I ignored it in favor of exploring the many doors around the place. Something trivial with my jumping strength. Some led back to the city or were simply storage but one actually led to a natural and ancient cave system. I think I hit the jackpot.
Down there I found plenty of blue herbs, something appreciated as my body still ached from the beating the Elephant lady gave me. Another thing of notice was the natives, honest to got underground ratfolk. I followed the little guy until I got ambushed by a mob of them, they were less than friendly but harmless (to me). Too many for me to read all the Golden Treads they created at once, so I simply brute-forced it with thirty spectral hands of carrion intent.
After backtracking I found some ancient statues, I had a brief flash of the girl's butterfly friend and knew I was going in the right direction. That is when I heard something big approaching.
Everything I could see was three red dots in the darkness. This was more than enough. I tried to nail its eyes but it moved with grace and speed that belies its size. I immediately opened my shadow and summoned a swarm of bees while drawing my Kopis blade.
The hulking beast revealed itself, a monstrous canine with rows of serrated teeth like a shark and a head big enough to swallow an adult man whole, a single eye lost in battle. Two exotic swords were impaled in each shoulder as well, a really Dark Souls boss, but way less pretty than Sif.
With a roar capable of rattling my bones our fight starts. It is fast enough and covers a big enough area that I have to evoke my first principle to keep my distance, rolling under it to cut at its legs while the bees attempt to harass any weak points, getting the god to whimper as its eyes get attacked.
That is when it spit a cloud of dark smog in retaliation, getting most of the bees in the process and failing to bury me on it just because I manifested a spectral ribcage, using this moment to punch it in the head and get it rolling.
The demonic dog falls on its back but immediately rolls over and stands up, shaking its head to power through the torpor of my blow. It charges, mouth wide open and I am forced to shrink the rib cage to manifest a second arm, using the two of them to keep its maw wide open even as it uses me as an improvised bulldozer to carve a dent in the hardy stone floor.
I am eventually pushed against the wall and then lifted from the ground as our contest of strength continues. In desperation, I manifest an ivory bow from my shadow and call forth my foundational technique augmented by rhetoric.
[The Wheel Turns], I say in the voice of my soul as I release the string and piece her gullet. The infernal canine flinches but power through the pain and in my moment of split attention it overpowers me. The first pain came from the phantom pain of having my manifested intent destroyed, as painful as if my own arms and ribs had been bitten. That is a thought that I put to the test as the monster treated me like a dog chew toy with its rows of endless teeth. It violently trashs around as it moves its head left and right a clear show of our desperate situation.
In a last-ditch attempt to free me, still remembering my loss of control against the Elephant lady, I summon the most destructive aspect of my virtuous technique in an explosion of pneuma released by my entire body, empowered by all the vital breaths I had stored.
In the end, we both were pushed from each other in the resulting explosion. I far more violently than it due to the difference in mass, as I bounced and rolled, my armor thoroughly trashed and digging into my skin; I dismissed it as I struggled to stand up and focused on healing myself into fighting shape.
My opponent was no better though, bleeding profusely from its mouth it lost far too much blood. We both were on our last legs but only I had the means to debounce, the beast was intelligent enough to figure it out. It charged.
That is when I activated my trap. The ivy seeds I had my bees spread around have been absorbing my pneuma released in the air since the beginning of the fight and now I direct the totality of my vital breath to power the poison ivy to shoot out like cruel burning whips, tangling, and strangling the beast and shutting its maw when it tried to use the dark smog attack again.
I slowly limped toward it, my Kopis sword in hand and slipped its throat, letting it bleed out.
Then I proceeded to black out.
-//-
After licking my wounds, I repaired my gear ate something, and drank some of my best Dark Spirit Wine. The butterfly trail still guides me further inside, into a bunker carved from the stone cave itself, but I had some unfinished business first.
I am pretty much out of warrior bees, thanks to this demonic Mut, that is why I decided it would serve me in death. With thirty hands of carrion intent, I go back to the basics and exert my habitual occupation, embalming and restoring the body. Sewing it back together and reinforcing its organs with shards of sin and grape seeds throughout its body to fasten it together.
Finally, I insert its devoured Last Breath back into its frame, using it as a spark so it can simulate its past pattern while ensuring its loyalty to me through our bond; an undead familiar. The minions I brought with me are more suited for labor than combat, this one will be far more effective.
"Come, Cerberus." The bitch complains as she is swallowed by my shadow, my rapid climb increasing my available space to the point I can store her like a Pokémon.
Done that I turn to the boss drop I got from this, a sentient bloodthirst blade. I am really lucky my mystery faith peddles with madness because it seems everything in this land wants to push me beyond the brink.
I disassembled it for parts, in the end, it wasn't even because it was evil but because it was unreliable. A cardinal sin for any tool. I had plans for its remain though, and after fiddling with it for a bit as I recovered my strength I was ready to go.
Bunker 4 was much like the rest, I had to climb down the elevator cable to go down as the butterfly dust guided me. I found my third Telelectroscope.
"That better be the last one, I don't have it in me to comb this cursed town in search of a fourth one without any direction. Did you hear me?"
I got no answer.
-//-
Instead of backtracking I opted for exploring where the second elevator might lead back to as I climbed up. As it turned out it led into a crypt full of skulls, this head fetish again…
Eventually, I found another elevator leading further up, hopefully to the surface, even if only Rher is waiting for me. As it turned out it not only led back to the street level but also gave access to the church. The air was filled with the disgusting stench of gore though and there were a lot of blood stains to match.
The Church had a fucking dungeon in its basement, fuck me sideways.
I explored the cells, and soon enough I found the wardens of this place. Mollusk mind flayers with wizard robes. I played enough dark souls to know better than to ask if they were friendly.
I turned any and all monsters I crossed paths with into pincushions even as they attempted to counter with their magic. They were far better than anyone I had faced so far but I had both the experience and equipment to deal with it. Even their mind control could be countered with the sip of madness of the Orphic initiation. It was even worthwhile as they had powerful auras for me to consume and some of them had more of the shinning stones I was using as cultivation pills.
I decided to use the dead bodies to raise myself a small force of meat shields as well. I found a hammerhead juggernaut in chains but decided to move on.
That is when I messed up, stepping into Rher's sigil while the monster tried to pounce at me.
I ended up once again in the Backroom of wood surfaces. I turn a corner and immediately am confronted with a towering figure standing on an altar. What is this, a fucking boss gauntlet?!
Its heart song was twisted enough for me to know not to show empathy, so I unleashed Cerberus to her first test run. The hellhound pulverized the stone columns standing in her way as she charged and I made a point to support with arrows from afar.
Despite its magic and toughness, we made short work of it.
"I am… radiant…"
Indeed, her [Radiant] soul really was born to shine. Shame there is no place for this in this cursed world. In the end, she was just another victim of the Higher Powers of this world.
Said that it is curious. Instead of being thoroughly boarded with wood, this place has been spelunk, revealing the stone and clay below. The sense of suffocation has been violated in some way. Maybe the church experienced with Rher's dimension?
I got my chance to test it out soon after as an old rusted key brimming with magical power resonated with a sigil dedicated to the old gods… should I risk it?
From what I saw I can always run away if things go bad. I am more worried about gaining affinity with Rher by doing this than anything else.
And how unsurprised I found myself when I discovered even Rher's backroom had been repurposed as a prison cell? A woman's face is all that can be seen from the bundle of chains filled with occult sigils. But even then, I can still feel it, she is infinitely better in power, and worst of all, my heart sense has gone completely mute. She is a dangerous and unpredictable unknown. Worst of all, the woman didn't answer any of my questions, keeping its silence.
What am I to do?
In the end, the answer itself is both complicated and simple. What does it mean to cultivate virtue? It is the sin of hubris. The arrogance to look upon the face of god and decide your features would suit it better. More than determination, if a soul wishes to truly cultivate virtue then he or she needs to brace themselves to ride the turbulent current of fortune to survive the consequences of their hubris.
To cultivate a virtue, to actually cultivate a virtue, is to challenge every man that came before you in its pursuit. Challenge it, or shape yourself to it. The greater the virtue, the longer the shadow it casts. For those that pursue the cardinals, tribulation is more than a grim possibility. It is a certainty. The closer you tie yourself to them, the more this holds true.
There are no detours in the pathway to heaven.
What is the first virtue?
Hope.
A hero is a slayer of monsters and a breaker of chains. This is the Path of the Champion.
This was no choice at all.
-//-
I continued exploring further into the Church catacombs until I reached a room bearing a sigil carved in the ground and felt the Heart-shaped lock resonating with it… troublesome, but also helpful.
As the one that released that creature the responsibility for its future actions partially lies with me. I know what I did was foolish, but this world is already so dreary that I feel compelled to leap at any chance to improve I might run across. I lack any sensible justification for what I did, some truths are self-evident. My virtuous heart demanded that I try to improve things if it was in my power to do so.
I offer the Heart-shaped lock and the irregularities in the ground finally make sense as a pool of blood fills the basing. More fool me then, a cruel angel rises from the pool, she lacks a heart melody because she had no heart. Just another monster.
"Who dares to summon me?" She looks me up and down. "Hah, you actually wish to challenge me? Silly human." She flaps her lips in arrogance even though she was a prisoner not even an hour ago.
"Hey, want to see something cool?" I interrupt her posturing.
"What?!"
"You are the one demanding a duel. At the very least you should give me the chance to fight at my best… unless you are scared, are you?"
She stares at me for a long time, as if assessing me "… you better make this worth my time."
I just smiled in return but it didn't reach my eyes. when a cultivator challenges the Heavens, he must seize the initiative with everything he has under the assumption there will only be one chance to seize victory. Hesitate is death.
I don't feel like losing.
From the deepest and darkest corner of my soul, I draw out a darker-than-black blade slumbering in a sheath made of marble and precious stones. The culmination of my skills as an occultist, spiritualist, blacksmith, and grave keeper.
To a Greek cultivator the brain, heart, and gut are fundamental organs tied to the tripartite soul – logistikon (reason), the thymoeides (spirit, which houses anger, as well as other emotions), and the epithymetikon (appetite or desire, which houses the desire for physical pleasures). As an initiate of the Orphic faith, I temper these three aspects in the abysses and peaks that life offers.
This blade is to be my magnum opus, more than a blade it is an extension of my being. Using my blood as the source of iron and carbon for the steel, I infused it with the distilled essence of one hundred Dark Brains, Hearts, and Guts. Later on, I used the broken and tamed sword I found lodged in Cerberus as a frame to awaken it.
Now everything that remains to be done is to reintegrate this severed piece of my tripartite soul into my being once again.
Easier said than done. This sword serves as an amplifier to my soul refined for a single purpose – destruction. Cultivators refine their bodies together with their souls because to neglect the first is like resting a flame in a pile of straw; the strain and stress of invoking one's cult technique can be lethal for the unprepared… and the reckless.
Well, there is a fine line between recklessness and audacity. Plus, I have some contingencies prepared.
Once more I reach my shadow and pull from it another item, a single Golden Apple. Snake had me explore the dungeon in pursuit and in the end, I learned of its true value, a single lick was enough to bring a surge to my spirit. I still didn't have the callousness to double cross snake but fortune smiled upon me then, for the Witch of the Swamp had come to possess one by means unknown to me and was willing to part with it for an exorbitant. It still felt like a bargain.
I ate the Golden Apple in three big bites and reveled my soul reveled in its divine taste, then proceeded to draw out the blade from its sheath. Its design was inspired by Excalibur Morgan, a stark black sword of promised victory adorned with neon amethyst lines flaring like circuits.
I carelessly discarded the sheath and held the sword with both hands in a reverse gripe then stabbed myself with it.
My legs bucked under my weight as the blade severed my spine, but only for one moment as the divine food instantly converged to it, not only mending but making whole, not content in restoring what it found, it improved upon it. That is why I focused the brunt of its divine essence on my virtuous heart, so it may pump the apple's divine essence faster, hastening the rate of improvement as the blade and I fight for supremacy. One trying desperately to devour the other.
I smiled at the heartless bitch even as I puked blood, "Let me show you why there is no pathway to heaven to the heartless… Human bodies may cast shadows but hearts contain them."
My spirit surged as I climbed another rung in the divine ladder, ascending to the 3rd rung of the Sophic Realm. In the throes of my ascension, the sword's reason, spirit, and hunger are overwhelmed by mine own and made part of me once again. I won!
Honestly, if it hadn't been for the [Hardened Heart], I would be a goner. It gave me the chance to stubbornly climb to life as the blade tried to unmake me.
I stretched my hand and [Zagreus] manifested in my hand, the blade sharing both my name and purpose. I then released my pneuma like an unfurled snake and attacked the beautiful monster in front of me with everything I had.
[The Wheel Turns], I screamed in the voice of my soul as I pushed the fullness of my vital breath plus the reservoir stored in my four pneumatic chambers into my foundational virtuous technique through my blade, releasing a tongue of black flames taller than me that released a trail of purple embers as it cut the air with a torturous scream.
That damage was catastrophic for us both. The heartless bitch unfurled black wings from her back in a desperate attempt to block it, yet it was of no avail as I cut through it and her sword arm and made a ruin of her empty chest. It was a testament to her divine constitution that she remained alive through that.
I wasn't so lucky; it was like I was back at my tortuous first week of this journey. When the starlight bone marrow of my dog was too much for my mortal frame to handle. It burns from the inside out and my vision blackens for a moment as my body reaches the edge of shutting down. Once more my hardened virtuous heart asserts itself over my traitorous flesh as I spin my pneumatic chamber at full tilt trying to mend the damage from delivering an attack beyond my means.
The angel has no interest in giving me this reprisal though. "Let's see how tough you really are!" With her remaining hand, she brings her golden staff to bear, releasing magical ofuda made of light at my person. Instead of dodging I draw from the palm of my hand the protection talisman I purchased not long ago and focus on minimizing the damage by blocking like my life depended on it.
Even then my spilled blood attracts blood-rose vines that attempt to entangle and suck me dry. It doesn't matter, I focus on my breathing, breaking apart the pain, dispersing it throughout my body, and making it mine. I then swing my sword once again even if I have only two pneumatic chambers to fuel it this time; I doubt I have enough time left to live to fill them all again.
Her rose vines are burned to a crisp as I advance, taking away her remaining arm and head, yet she only laughs at me and continues to attack by tacking me… this is getting ridiculous!
I didn't bother filling any pneumatic chamber before attacking for a third and final time. I feel her Last Breath leave her as her form disperses, but even then, faint traces of her presence linger – proof of her divinity, no matter how paltry it might have been.
The raven in my shadow sups from its divinity with relish, even eating the seeping [darkness] she used as clothes… interesting, a [Dominating] soul and she was sort of possessed by its fundamental impulses.
Those are my last thoughts before darkness consumes me.
-//-
[AUTHOR'S ROOM]
Yeah, Zagreus got mauled by this boss gauntlet. This serves to show that without miraculous healing items, the game would be truly unbeatable. A single screw-up can lead to a bad ending, the Hardened Heart is the single most important item in Masochist Mode for a reason.
This place might be great for his cultivation but his mental health might disagree. Aqua really did him a solid by landing him in Graveyard Keeper as the tutorial area. There is no way he could have beaten the Heartless one otherwise.
- Pronouns
- ImBuda
What might the devouring of the Divinity of the heartless one do?? Give him some divine ichor to burn like those of the heroic realm?? Or maybe learn some of the mysteries of the goddess??
Also the boss fights are getting worse, he almost dies in this one. At least he now has a companion to fight with even if It is a giant wolf. He got unconcious after the fight so he might enter the 4th day after falling asleep which might not be good for him even with the raven mantle. How many participants did he kill anyway??
Also the machines god plot enters the scene, even if he cannot get the ending It might evolve into a fortuitous encounter to develop his way.
3rd realm is really fast, of course the combination of devouring the souls shards of his enemies to increase its size, getting constantly into horrific and dangerous situations to develop his soul through the experience, and devouring some special souls in order to understand their view points instinctively and with them refining his philosophy is a really good way to develop, but once he ends this world some slow normal cultivation might be good for his soul.
Also the boss fights are getting worse, he almost dies in this one. At least he now has a companion to fight with even if It is a giant wolf. He got unconcious after the fight so he might enter the 4th day after falling asleep which might not be good for him even with the raven mantle. How many participants did he kill anyway??
Also the machines god plot enters the scene, even if he cannot get the ending It might evolve into a fortuitous encounter to develop his way.
3rd realm is really fast, of course the combination of devouring the souls shards of his enemies to increase its size, getting constantly into horrific and dangerous situations to develop his soul through the experience, and devouring some special souls in order to understand their view points instinctively and with them refining his philosophy is a really good way to develop, but once he ends this world some slow normal cultivation might be good for his soul.
- Location
- Brazil
Zagreus will have to take stock of the situation after he gets out of Termina. For now, he is just powering through this shit show as fast as he can. his sword is kind of a mix between Griffon's King's Curse and Demon Sword Dante. Something he created to lean on when he is out of his deep, but for now he barely understands it or has the stats to use it without risking death. Not all worlds will be as grim as this one.