What: I have a principle regarding fiction, which grew out of a visceral dislike for abandoned...
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Index
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
What: I have a principle regarding fiction, which grew out of a visceral dislike for abandoned and dead stories. That principle is that I give up trying to finish a story when I die. Rewrites are okay, a white flag to ennui isn't. Naturally, though, this principle doesn't apply if I inform you up front that I'm not committing to complete it, so
Everything in this thread might never be updated again, or satisfactorily finished.
Caveat Lector
Θεομαχία - Theomachia - One Piece Non-SNI SI
I made a post where I invented custom devil fruits. Some goddamn ROB drops me into the world, after granting me one of the non-op ones. As usual in my SI fics, this is not a good thing for anyone involved.
reCurse() - Transistor.
Red offs herself as per canon, but instead of drowning in a torrent of paper boats, she ends up in the past with Royce in the Transistor.
And the Process remembers everything.
Basically, a "What if Supergiant Wrote a Full Scenario for the Recursion Run" fic, except not really, because this fic merges the game-as-published with some deuterocannon from an E3 demo. In that Demo, you got to run around the process's home dimension during a scene near the end.
Infinite Variance - BIoshock
Constants and Variables, Mr. Dewitt? Why not superpositions?
Booker DeWitt is the man who killed the lighthouse keeper. The Coin lands on its edge.
Starbound - Zero no Tsukaima
Louise et Cetera Valliere summons a Celestial God who happens to be a smuggler.
Devil Fruits: A Report - One Piece / SCP Foundation blending.
I say, "blending" because I'm cribbing the basic style from SCP, and nothing else. A series of writeups of Devil Fruits, both real, and fictional. Not even remotely canon-compliant.
Administrating a Vacuum - Worm Altpower
"How many big bang singularities can you fit on the tip of pin?" Asked Taylor.
"Why, I imagine that it's much the same as the number of angels as fit on the head," said Aquinas.
Taylor looked askance at the ghost, as if to ask, "Why the hell is the ghost of Thomas Aquinas messing with me?"
Thomas shrugged, and decayed into a sleet of hadrons.
Shinobi: The Flames of Death - Naruto
Burn the name Otsutsuki from your mind.
"Father?" Hinata tuged on Hiashi's sleeve. "Why are there giants buried beneath the earth?"
Heaven Breaking - Worm/Gurren Lagann
PtV is not the entity-analogue of poison. Abbadon is not the analogue of a predator. Instead, Abbadon is just as weak as it's body indicates, and altogether too stupid to realise it derped into what basically constitutes omniscience.
PtV guides Eden into appearing before an old Simon, and successfully pleading for ownership of the Core Drill. Eden, however, is also unbelievably stupid by human standards, and the path she asked for was "Solving Entropy [as an instrumental strategy for buying time to find the next paradigm for our existence", not "Solving Entropy, and not being Fortuna'd in the Process."
Eden does manage to drop the Core Dril into Earth Bet, and to shove it into a blindspot, but in exachange for that time investment Trigger Events remain outside of them. She also manages to send some shards on a mission to find Scion and empower him.
Not sure if the story will have Taylor or a non-cauldron Alexandria as protag, at the moment.
The Song of Shadows - Fantasy
Explicitly my attempt to cash in on the "Orphaned Boy rises to Overcome Evil" plot presented by Harry Potter and Naruto. Book 1 of the highly hypothetical Veniavam Sequence.
Origin Story - Xianxia-esque
A man without a source gets pissed when an immortal steals the only rabbit he caught, so he hunts him down, and witnesses him die at the hands of a robot, even though the technological base of the world is 17th century at best. Eager for an explanation of the events he just saw, he wanders east into civilised lands, and spends the next two years getting drunk, poaching, and asking random nobodies to explain. Then, he's abducted by the great (lol, sure) Many Worlds Sect. Can Esorem, our protagonist, convince the master of the Many Worlds Sect to stop drinking Pocari Sweat for one damn second and explain what the shite that was all about? Can he even convince him of the relative superiority of milk tea? Find out next time, on what the fuck am I even reading?
You're reading a summary of the first few chapters of Origin Story.
This is not a de-questification of my paused xianxia-esque quest.
One Day Dao - Xianxia
Another story set in Tenosyat. An immortality cultivator picks a cultivation method known as the One Day Dao as their chosen technique. They then begin experiencing a time loop.
df - Modern Fantasy
Kaile Ismeret is a detective. One day, Intrinsic Truth, the private company infamous for opening the locked Gates of Solomon and reintroducing magic to the world once more, hires her to figure out how one of their engineers was kidnapped.
Apparently, all the governments of the world swear she never existed, you see.
The Parables of Lack - Fables
A series of short stories illustrating various principles.
Everything in this thread might never be updated again, or satisfactorily finished.
Caveat Lector
Index of Stuff that Might One Day Be Posted Here
[These will be posted at no particular rate, or order.]
[These will be posted at no particular rate, or order.]
Θεομαχία - Theomachia - One Piece Non-SNI SI
I made a post where I invented custom devil fruits. Some goddamn ROB drops me into the world, after granting me one of the non-op ones. As usual in my SI fics, this is not a good thing for anyone involved.
reCurse() - Transistor.
Red offs herself as per canon, but instead of drowning in a torrent of paper boats, she ends up in the past with Royce in the Transistor.
And the Process remembers everything.
Basically, a "What if Supergiant Wrote a Full Scenario for the Recursion Run" fic, except not really, because this fic merges the game-as-published with some deuterocannon from an E3 demo. In that Demo, you got to run around the process's home dimension during a scene near the end.
Infinite Variance - BIoshock
Constants and Variables, Mr. Dewitt? Why not superpositions?
Booker DeWitt is the man who killed the lighthouse keeper. The Coin lands on its edge.
Starbound - Zero no Tsukaima
Louise et Cetera Valliere summons a Celestial God who happens to be a smuggler.
Devil Fruits: A Report - One Piece / SCP Foundation blending.
I say, "blending" because I'm cribbing the basic style from SCP, and nothing else. A series of writeups of Devil Fruits, both real, and fictional. Not even remotely canon-compliant.
Administrating a Vacuum - Worm Altpower
"How many big bang singularities can you fit on the tip of pin?" Asked Taylor.
"Why, I imagine that it's much the same as the number of angels as fit on the head," said Aquinas.
Taylor looked askance at the ghost, as if to ask, "Why the hell is the ghost of Thomas Aquinas messing with me?"
Thomas shrugged, and decayed into a sleet of hadrons.
Shinobi: The Flames of Death - Naruto
Burn the name Otsutsuki from your mind.
"Father?" Hinata tuged on Hiashi's sleeve. "Why are there giants buried beneath the earth?"
Heaven Breaking - Worm/Gurren Lagann
PtV is not the entity-analogue of poison. Abbadon is not the analogue of a predator. Instead, Abbadon is just as weak as it's body indicates, and altogether too stupid to realise it derped into what basically constitutes omniscience.
PtV guides Eden into appearing before an old Simon, and successfully pleading for ownership of the Core Drill. Eden, however, is also unbelievably stupid by human standards, and the path she asked for was "Solving Entropy [as an instrumental strategy for buying time to find the next paradigm for our existence", not "Solving Entropy, and not being Fortuna'd in the Process."
Eden does manage to drop the Core Dril into Earth Bet, and to shove it into a blindspot, but in exachange for that time investment Trigger Events remain outside of them. She also manages to send some shards on a mission to find Scion and empower him.
Not sure if the story will have Taylor or a non-cauldron Alexandria as protag, at the moment.
Original Works
The Song of Shadows - Fantasy
Explicitly my attempt to cash in on the "Orphaned Boy rises to Overcome Evil" plot presented by Harry Potter and Naruto. Book 1 of the highly hypothetical Veniavam Sequence.
Origin Story - Xianxia-esque
A man without a source gets pissed when an immortal steals the only rabbit he caught, so he hunts him down, and witnesses him die at the hands of a robot, even though the technological base of the world is 17th century at best. Eager for an explanation of the events he just saw, he wanders east into civilised lands, and spends the next two years getting drunk, poaching, and asking random nobodies to explain. Then, he's abducted by the great (lol, sure) Many Worlds Sect. Can Esorem, our protagonist, convince the master of the Many Worlds Sect to stop drinking Pocari Sweat for one damn second and explain what the shite that was all about? Can he even convince him of the relative superiority of milk tea? Find out next time, on what the fuck am I even reading?
You're reading a summary of the first few chapters of Origin Story.
This is not a de-questification of my paused xianxia-esque quest.
One Day Dao - Xianxia
Another story set in Tenosyat. An immortality cultivator picks a cultivation method known as the One Day Dao as their chosen technique. They then begin experiencing a time loop.
df - Modern Fantasy
Kaile Ismeret is a detective. One day, Intrinsic Truth, the private company infamous for opening the locked Gates of Solomon and reintroducing magic to the world once more, hires her to figure out how one of their engineers was kidnapped.
Apparently, all the governments of the world swear she never existed, you see.
The Parables of Lack - Fables
A series of short stories illustrating various principles.
- The Rabbit and the Sage : Trust
- The Boy and the Masks : Identity
- The King and the God : The Fruit of Knowledge
Last edited:
Devil Fruits: A Report - Intro and Format.
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Devil Fruits: A Report
Compiled by Dr. Vegapunk,
using facts and figures from the Mariejois Archives
Compiled by Dr. Vegapunk,
using facts and figures from the Mariejois Archives
IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION, that the current state of information we possess on Devil Fruits is both impressively comprehensive and scattered to the point of complete and utter uselessness. One who dedicates themselves to the systematic study of these enigmatic kudamono finds themselves needlessly hampered, for even the most basic of information is scattered across several thick volumes. Volumes, indeed, that lack any table of contents or index.
IT IS FOR THIS REASON, then, that I have endeavoured to systematically record and store this knowledge in a concise, easy to read, and above all useful manner, that my colleagues and successors need not spend countless hours searching that could otherwise have been spent in productivity. I simply wish I had invented a time machine so I could have sent a copy of this book to the past, obviating the nee- A moment, kind reader!
IT SEEMS I HAVE SUCCEEDED, in building a time machine to send myself a copy of this book- along with the machine's schemata to the present, or the future's past, as the case, undoubtedly, is.
ALL THAT FOLLOWS HENCEFORTH is transcription from that volume
FORMAT
Fruit Name: Obv.
Classification: Logia, Zoan, Paramecia. The first type enables the control of and transformation into a specified material. The second allows the transformation into a form that is reminiscent of various living things, including humans. The third imparts some other ability.
Rarity: F through A, One, Zero. F means that sixty-six are present. Each additional rank is eleven less. One is self explanatory, Zero indicates either a mythical fruit of unconfirmed existence, or a variant confirmed to be permanently eradicated worldwide.
Destabilization Index: The ability of this fruit to cause chaos if a completely average civilian ate it and began attempting to abuse the ability it granted, to the purpose of calamity. Zero equates harmlessness. Ten thousand equates an instantaneous apocalypse. Seven thousand equates the immediate fall of the World Government. This scale has no upper limit.
General Description: The appearance, size, and taste of the fruit; how much must be eaten for the ability to manifest itself.
Ability Description: What the fruit provides the user in exchange for vulnerability to seastone and seawater.
Historical Description: The known users of the fruit, their impact on world history, applicability to FT and VC.
Notes: Concrete details of the fruit and it's mechanism of action; speculations concerning their potentials.
Classification: Logia, Zoan, Paramecia. The first type enables the control of and transformation into a specified material. The second allows the transformation into a form that is reminiscent of various living things, including humans. The third imparts some other ability.
Rarity: F through A, One, Zero. F means that sixty-six are present. Each additional rank is eleven less. One is self explanatory, Zero indicates either a mythical fruit of unconfirmed existence, or a variant confirmed to be permanently eradicated worldwide.
Destabilization Index: The ability of this fruit to cause chaos if a completely average civilian ate it and began attempting to abuse the ability it granted, to the purpose of calamity. Zero equates harmlessness. Ten thousand equates an instantaneous apocalypse. Seven thousand equates the immediate fall of the World Government. This scale has no upper limit.
General Description: The appearance, size, and taste of the fruit; how much must be eaten for the ability to manifest itself.
Ability Description: What the fruit provides the user in exchange for vulnerability to seastone and seawater.
Historical Description: The known users of the fruit, their impact on world history, applicability to FT and VC.
Notes: Concrete details of the fruit and it's mechanism of action; speculations concerning their potentials.
Last edited:
Origin Story - Chapter 2, Part 1
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
[There is no chapter one.]
Chapter 2: Esorem
Year 2771 Jecht Calendar.
Western End.
A man hid in the bushes, watching a trap. He had hid thus for three hours, because that was what he did. This man's name was Esorem. He was hungry.
I am the rabbit that comes to him two hours later.
He was still watching, even then.
After another hour, as the sun set, the man began to cook my body. As I slowly spun on the spit, feeling very stupid, the bushes rustled, and a man in the fantastic and elegant robes of a great sage strode out of the bushes, and into the camp.
Esorem looked at the man, the man looked back.
"...my apologies," the sage spoke, "I was looking for spirit fire. Enjoy your meal."
The sage turned, and it was at the moment that Esorem overcame his (lack of) awe, and spoke.
"Would you like some?"
What a ridiculous question! It was like asking a celestial dragon if it would like to eat mud.
Then, the sage turned back, and offered his response. "That's kind of you. Yes, with thanks."
...over there, I stood staring at the incredible scene unfolding below me. Surely my eyes were lying to me! Surely I was going mad!
"All right," Esorem said, "Then, if you don't mind watching the rabbit, I'm going to go check my other traps."
"Of course," the sage said. Esorem ran off into the woods, and the sage sat down, and immediately began making gestures that could only have been some form of magic.
Moments later, my suspicions were confirmed as I felt a slow, inexorable tug - and with it, not a little bit of fear. This was the Samsara Breaking Method: a Transcendent Art not possible for those below the fifth level of enlightenment.
And so, clearly, the man currently making hand signs at my body was a supreme expert, and not at all a being that I could overcome.
I cursed bitterly in my heart as my body suddenly came back to life with a reflexive scream as it healed and burned and healed and burned, the sage holding it fast to life with the supreme indifference of a god.
Would that I were mortal, I would have gone mad. As it was, I withdrew from the body's sensations and stared out of it's sizzling eyes.
"Demon."
Rabbits can not, of course, speak.
"Serve me, or I will forge you into a treasure."
I nodded, carefully, inasmuch as a neck pierced through with wood could. The expert sneered. "Unveil your true form."
...the one over there? No, he couldn't be aware of that. So -
Expending a little of the power I had managed to embezzle into the world, I made the rabbit grow antlers. Behold, sage, I thought you've caught a Rabbit Demon.
"Insufficient," the sage said, and made a crushing gesture. The rabbit's body imploded, and my subsidiary consciousness lingered there, being eroded by the energy of heaven and earth as it had been before this particular example of powerful asshole showed up to drag it back into the body.
At least the hunter had been clean, damn it!
Without another word, the sage turned, and left - walking, incidentally, like the gobshite that he was. Five minutes later, when I was only a dull spark amidst the storm of all reality, Esorem came back. I quickly moved into his body. I was already far, far too weak to even talk to him, and my chances of influencing anything in this Kalpa were dead and gone, but I still wasn't ready to return to the interminable boredom of my true form.
At least here, I could linger a bit longer.
Turning my attention to the outside, I watched through Esorem's eyes as he cursed, and then...
began...
Oh. Ohohoh. A little bit longer, I had said.
Another fifteen minutes, I should've.
A mortal trying to hunt down and take revenge on a Key Condensation expert. Oh, this can only end well.
Chapter 2: Esorem
"The sun, Lieserl. The sun..."
(Ring, Stephen Baxter)
(Ring, Stephen Baxter)
Year 2771 Jecht Calendar.
Western End.
A man hid in the bushes, watching a trap. He had hid thus for three hours, because that was what he did. This man's name was Esorem. He was hungry.
I am the rabbit that comes to him two hours later.
He was still watching, even then.
After another hour, as the sun set, the man began to cook my body. As I slowly spun on the spit, feeling very stupid, the bushes rustled, and a man in the fantastic and elegant robes of a great sage strode out of the bushes, and into the camp.
Esorem looked at the man, the man looked back.
"...my apologies," the sage spoke, "I was looking for spirit fire. Enjoy your meal."
The sage turned, and it was at the moment that Esorem overcame his (lack of) awe, and spoke.
"Would you like some?"
What a ridiculous question! It was like asking a celestial dragon if it would like to eat mud.
Then, the sage turned back, and offered his response. "That's kind of you. Yes, with thanks."
...over there, I stood staring at the incredible scene unfolding below me. Surely my eyes were lying to me! Surely I was going mad!
"All right," Esorem said, "Then, if you don't mind watching the rabbit, I'm going to go check my other traps."
"Of course," the sage said. Esorem ran off into the woods, and the sage sat down, and immediately began making gestures that could only have been some form of magic.
Moments later, my suspicions were confirmed as I felt a slow, inexorable tug - and with it, not a little bit of fear. This was the Samsara Breaking Method: a Transcendent Art not possible for those below the fifth level of enlightenment.
And so, clearly, the man currently making hand signs at my body was a supreme expert, and not at all a being that I could overcome.
I cursed bitterly in my heart as my body suddenly came back to life with a reflexive scream as it healed and burned and healed and burned, the sage holding it fast to life with the supreme indifference of a god.
Would that I were mortal, I would have gone mad. As it was, I withdrew from the body's sensations and stared out of it's sizzling eyes.
"Demon."
Rabbits can not, of course, speak.
"Serve me, or I will forge you into a treasure."
I nodded, carefully, inasmuch as a neck pierced through with wood could. The expert sneered. "Unveil your true form."
...the one over there? No, he couldn't be aware of that. So -
Expending a little of the power I had managed to embezzle into the world, I made the rabbit grow antlers. Behold, sage, I thought you've caught a Rabbit Demon.
"Insufficient," the sage said, and made a crushing gesture. The rabbit's body imploded, and my subsidiary consciousness lingered there, being eroded by the energy of heaven and earth as it had been before this particular example of powerful asshole showed up to drag it back into the body.
At least the hunter had been clean, damn it!
Without another word, the sage turned, and left - walking, incidentally, like the gobshite that he was. Five minutes later, when I was only a dull spark amidst the storm of all reality, Esorem came back. I quickly moved into his body. I was already far, far too weak to even talk to him, and my chances of influencing anything in this Kalpa were dead and gone, but I still wasn't ready to return to the interminable boredom of my true form.
At least here, I could linger a bit longer.
Turning my attention to the outside, I watched through Esorem's eyes as he cursed, and then...
began...
Oh. Ohohoh. A little bit longer, I had said.
Another fifteen minutes, I should've.
A mortal trying to hunt down and take revenge on a Key Condensation expert. Oh, this can only end well.
Last edited:
Origin Story - Chapter 2, Part 2
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
0.02
As it turned out, I might've been giving the man too little credit. Barbarian woodsman he might be, but Esorem was terrifyingly good at it. He stalked through the forest like a predator born to it - in utter silence, with utter precision - every step bringing him a little closer to his goal, and his absolutely inevitable death.
Mastery of the Dao of Hunting means precisely nothing when your prey can wield the force of his very Origin against the laws of reality, you see.
It's pretty pointless. Imagine you are a bacteria metabolizing sugar into lactic acid. It's what you do, bitch! Then one day, a silent green ocean comes forward with inexorable might, and kills you and all your relatives down to the last speck. Unstoppable force, you cannot resist - the idiot whose mouth you were living in just used mouthwash.
Can not oppose.
It's like that.
So, I waited for Esorem to die.
Ten minutes later, when he found the sage, he failed to. Somehow, he managed to remain hidden, even from the transnatural senses of the Transcendent who was now only ten meters away.
Things proceeded like that for awhile, as my incredulity slowly grew, until, finally, the bastard stood in a clearing, as Esorem watched.
Then... things got a bit odd.
For a moment, the night was utterly normal. Then, a point of light appeared about three meters up in the air, and fluidly sliced down, drawing a crack of anbaric Worldlight in the air. Would that I had lungs, I would have drawn in an involuntary breath.
Worldslicer Sword.
I froze, in shock. Surely not - how could one of them be here? Had they come to kill the man who had tried to kill me? Why?
The sword completed its cut, and withdrew. Then, from the crack in the air that it had left behind, a man in shining plate armour that would not have been inappropriate during the Crusades1 stepped through.
"Philosopher," he greeted. Oh, the gobshite didn't come from Alchemy? Since when did Philosophy allow sociopaths to skip learning empathy?
"Sir Knight," the philosopher replied. The philosopher knew what he was!?
I waited watching as they regarded each other, waiting for the killing to start - but it did not.
Instead, the philosopher said, "It's done. I've killed it's incarnate form."
Motherfucker!
"Good. Then, here is the payment we've agreed on."
The Knight took his sword, sheathed it, and presented it to the philsopher, who took it...
...and promptly fell into a seizure.
"By the way," the Knight said, "this particular one is a bit indiscriminate. If you're not careful, it can... well, you weren't anyway, were you?"
The Knight watched with utter dispassion as the sage continued to twitch, until suddenly, without warning, his body began to collapase. I had seen this before but, still, even if he had killed me, it was painful to watch.
The bodies of mortals support a mortals soul. The souls of immortals support their body. The nature of a Transcendent, though, was for both to be [the same thing]. For a Sage's body to die... it could only mean that their soul had been destroyed.
...well, that was the nature of defiance. The greater your immortality, the more vicious the consequences of death.
Still - it was painful to watch.
Eventually, there was nothing left of the cultivator but some black dust and robes. The knight snorted coldly and bent down, retrieving the sword.
Without another word, he turned, and walked back into the crack, his sword cutting it once more to seal it behind him.
Silence reigned for a long moment.
Then, Esorem came out of the thicket he had hidden in, slowly approaching the sage's robes with an overabundance of caution.
"Don't bother," I muttered. "That guy is beyond dead."
Naturally, he couldn't hear me.
After about five minutes of stalking closer, he finally closed the distance. There, he stood, staring down at the clothes, and at last muttered, "What the sundammned mere was that?"
I couldn't help it - I burst out laughing.
Only now?
Only now he was asking this?
As I chuckled, Esorem knelt down, and riffled through the robes, coming up with a small black pouch that looked like the night sky, and a few other trinkets of note. All of it was stuff that was way too profound for him to understand, but naturally, that didn't mean it was too profound for him to loot. No - not at all. Even birds know how to steal shiny things.
Curiously enough, though, he seemed only to take the profound things. The philosopher's clothes, the mundane jewels, the usual wuji talisman that marked one as a disciple of Philosophy - all of those, he left.
Only the things that were treasures to cultivators, he took. From this, I gathered that his spiritual sense must be remarkable.
So I opened myself up to it.
And gods and fire.
How could a mortal understand the world as he did, and remain sane!?
He could sense the currency - the primal substance of the world - in detail that normally only belonged to Totality Grasping experts! What a prodigy!
What a waste.
After he looted the remains, Esorem retreated back to his camp, and without another word, went to sleep.
1: You know. Knights? Holy land? Saladin? Any of this ringing a bell, dear reader?
As it turned out, I might've been giving the man too little credit. Barbarian woodsman he might be, but Esorem was terrifyingly good at it. He stalked through the forest like a predator born to it - in utter silence, with utter precision - every step bringing him a little closer to his goal, and his absolutely inevitable death.
Mastery of the Dao of Hunting means precisely nothing when your prey can wield the force of his very Origin against the laws of reality, you see.
It's pretty pointless. Imagine you are a bacteria metabolizing sugar into lactic acid. It's what you do, bitch! Then one day, a silent green ocean comes forward with inexorable might, and kills you and all your relatives down to the last speck. Unstoppable force, you cannot resist - the idiot whose mouth you were living in just used mouthwash.
Can not oppose.
It's like that.
So, I waited for Esorem to die.
Ten minutes later, when he found the sage, he failed to. Somehow, he managed to remain hidden, even from the transnatural senses of the Transcendent who was now only ten meters away.
Things proceeded like that for awhile, as my incredulity slowly grew, until, finally, the bastard stood in a clearing, as Esorem watched.
Then... things got a bit odd.
For a moment, the night was utterly normal. Then, a point of light appeared about three meters up in the air, and fluidly sliced down, drawing a crack of anbaric Worldlight in the air. Would that I had lungs, I would have drawn in an involuntary breath.
Worldslicer Sword.
I froze, in shock. Surely not - how could one of them be here? Had they come to kill the man who had tried to kill me? Why?
The sword completed its cut, and withdrew. Then, from the crack in the air that it had left behind, a man in shining plate armour that would not have been inappropriate during the Crusades1 stepped through.
"Philosopher," he greeted. Oh, the gobshite didn't come from Alchemy? Since when did Philosophy allow sociopaths to skip learning empathy?
"Sir Knight," the philosopher replied. The philosopher knew what he was!?
I waited watching as they regarded each other, waiting for the killing to start - but it did not.
Instead, the philosopher said, "It's done. I've killed it's incarnate form."
Motherfucker!
"Good. Then, here is the payment we've agreed on."
The Knight took his sword, sheathed it, and presented it to the philsopher, who took it...
...and promptly fell into a seizure.
"By the way," the Knight said, "this particular one is a bit indiscriminate. If you're not careful, it can... well, you weren't anyway, were you?"
The Knight watched with utter dispassion as the sage continued to twitch, until suddenly, without warning, his body began to collapase. I had seen this before but, still, even if he had killed me, it was painful to watch.
The bodies of mortals support a mortals soul. The souls of immortals support their body. The nature of a Transcendent, though, was for both to be [the same thing]. For a Sage's body to die... it could only mean that their soul had been destroyed.
...well, that was the nature of defiance. The greater your immortality, the more vicious the consequences of death.
Still - it was painful to watch.
Eventually, there was nothing left of the cultivator but some black dust and robes. The knight snorted coldly and bent down, retrieving the sword.
Without another word, he turned, and walked back into the crack, his sword cutting it once more to seal it behind him.
Silence reigned for a long moment.
Then, Esorem came out of the thicket he had hidden in, slowly approaching the sage's robes with an overabundance of caution.
"Don't bother," I muttered. "That guy is beyond dead."
Naturally, he couldn't hear me.
After about five minutes of stalking closer, he finally closed the distance. There, he stood, staring down at the clothes, and at last muttered, "What the sundammned mere was that?"
I couldn't help it - I burst out laughing.
Only now?
Only now he was asking this?
As I chuckled, Esorem knelt down, and riffled through the robes, coming up with a small black pouch that looked like the night sky, and a few other trinkets of note. All of it was stuff that was way too profound for him to understand, but naturally, that didn't mean it was too profound for him to loot. No - not at all. Even birds know how to steal shiny things.
Curiously enough, though, he seemed only to take the profound things. The philosopher's clothes, the mundane jewels, the usual wuji talisman that marked one as a disciple of Philosophy - all of those, he left.
Only the things that were treasures to cultivators, he took. From this, I gathered that his spiritual sense must be remarkable.
So I opened myself up to it.
And gods and fire.
How could a mortal understand the world as he did, and remain sane!?
He could sense the currency - the primal substance of the world - in detail that normally only belonged to Totality Grasping experts! What a prodigy!
What a waste.
After he looted the remains, Esorem retreated back to his camp, and without another word, went to sleep.
1: You know. Knights? Holy land? Saladin? Any of this ringing a bell, dear reader?
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Origin Story - Chapter 2, Part 3
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
0.03
Across the space of the night, I tried to understand what I had just seen. Philosophy and the Knights were natural enemies. That the philosopher had died was one of the outcomes I expected. That the Knight killed him with treachery...
That, I admit, confused me.
In the first place, a philosopher shouldn't ever be amicable with a knight. They worked at cross purposes - especially for those philosophers that had transcended the mundane world - and that was merely the third step. The Philosopher I had seen last night had been of the fifth.
Thinking about it longer, though, I realised that I didn't know enough. That the Knights would one day find out that I had learned how to project a self beyond my imprisoned body, that, I knew. That they would be able to cooperate with a philosopher to do it...
Just who had that sage been?
Morning came without answers, and as the subtle enervation of the Sun roused Esorem, making his sleep restless, I felt a small change, and seemed to be... pushed down, deeper into Esorem's soul.
Not good. I could float on the surface indefinitely, but the deeper I fell, the more I'd have to pay to remain intact.
--the sooner my incarnation's death would be.
Esorem stretched, and patted himself down, before cleaning his camp and getting up to go look for food.
The next nine months went more or less the same way. Only, every now and then, he would return to the clearing, walking a slow circle around the spot that the Worldslicer Sword had cut, occasionally probing at it, and once or twice, even muttering magical incantations that - while not especially lucid or coherent - were a step above what most wizards knew of.
They also had pretty much no relation to any of the so called "schools" of mortal magic in existence. He had probably worked them out himself, relying on his cheat-code like spiritual sense to figure out which formulas were more likely to produce results.
Naturally, though, his efforts met with no success. In the first place, how could someone without even an awakened awareness cut through the world and find the path the Knight had traveled?
Eventually, one day, in the midst of winter, he sighed.
"I have to know," he said out loud. It was the first thing he had said since he last spoke, nine months ago.
Those words... They began a long journey.
Across the space of the night, I tried to understand what I had just seen. Philosophy and the Knights were natural enemies. That the philosopher had died was one of the outcomes I expected. That the Knight killed him with treachery...
That, I admit, confused me.
In the first place, a philosopher shouldn't ever be amicable with a knight. They worked at cross purposes - especially for those philosophers that had transcended the mundane world - and that was merely the third step. The Philosopher I had seen last night had been of the fifth.
Thinking about it longer, though, I realised that I didn't know enough. That the Knights would one day find out that I had learned how to project a self beyond my imprisoned body, that, I knew. That they would be able to cooperate with a philosopher to do it...
Just who had that sage been?
Morning came without answers, and as the subtle enervation of the Sun roused Esorem, making his sleep restless, I felt a small change, and seemed to be... pushed down, deeper into Esorem's soul.
Not good. I could float on the surface indefinitely, but the deeper I fell, the more I'd have to pay to remain intact.
--the sooner my incarnation's death would be.
Esorem stretched, and patted himself down, before cleaning his camp and getting up to go look for food.
The next nine months went more or less the same way. Only, every now and then, he would return to the clearing, walking a slow circle around the spot that the Worldslicer Sword had cut, occasionally probing at it, and once or twice, even muttering magical incantations that - while not especially lucid or coherent - were a step above what most wizards knew of.
They also had pretty much no relation to any of the so called "schools" of mortal magic in existence. He had probably worked them out himself, relying on his cheat-code like spiritual sense to figure out which formulas were more likely to produce results.
Naturally, though, his efforts met with no success. In the first place, how could someone without even an awakened awareness cut through the world and find the path the Knight had traveled?
Eventually, one day, in the midst of winter, he sighed.
"I have to know," he said out loud. It was the first thing he had said since he last spoke, nine months ago.
Those words... They began a long journey.
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Origin Story - Chapter 2, Part 4
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
0.04
Where were we? I had no idea. After the previous Kalpa had passed, I had incarnated myself, but one of the flaws of the technique was that I had no choice of where I or who I appeared in. Honestly, a rabbit had been lucky. In the previous Kalpa, I had incarnated as a blade of grass.
As for Esorem, I'm not sure he knew where we were either - oh, he moved with purpose - east, east, and always east - but that purpose was just too simple. Yes, Esorem went east. But no matter how many valleys we crossed, he seemed to only be heading east. It was as if he had decided to travel in one direction until he found a road.
Two months later - with some amazement, I found out that that was exactly what had happened.
The story came out in a tavern, where Esorem had traded some furs for a night's stay, food and ale inclusive. Honestly, I think it was more for the ale than anything else. There was a certain novelty in it for him that I...
...that I hadn't expected.
This is Esorem's story.
Whenever, wherever, a twelve year old nobody decided that farming wasn't too hard, just too boring. So he left his farm, wandering into the mountains. Twenty five years later, a transcendent two steps away from true amortality stole his rabbit, and a robot teleportaled away after killing said sage. Now, this boy was in his late thirties, getting drunk.
I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Over the kalpa of kalpas that I had lived, I had met all sorts of people, but Esorem... Esorem was the only person like Esorem I had ever met.
He cared about almost nothing, but he wasn't depressed, oh no. The world really was just that boring to him. He was either a mortal genius, or the dullest person I had ever crossed paths with - and let's be honest, here: Idiots don't survive a quarter century in the woods without training or support.
The next day, after he asked for some directions, we set off down the road for River Mantis City, a minor outpost of the Green Sun Empire. Said empire, I gathered, was nothing special in the grand scheme of things. Just a typical solar theocracy.
There was one interesting tidbit, though. This World was now made of seven plates and fourteen domains. No longer thirteen and twenty-six.
To wit. Somewhere, out there, a World had been born. I wondered what it was like.
The remaining journey was uneventful. Halfway to River Mantis City, Esorem was robbed, and his furs got stolen. Subsequently, he walked into the forest and procured more with the help of that absurdly powerful spiritual sense of his. Looking back on it, that same sense was probably a third of the reason that he did survive his choice.
Still didn't explain where he learned the rest of his skills.
Anyway, three months later, most of which was spent re-finding the road after Esorem left it to get more furs, we arrived.
The city? Ah. This culture followed patterns of architecture and design suitably close to Denmark's for the purpose of your your imagination. Eighteenth century. One minor deviation - local artistic taste and styles verged Vedic with a hint a Maya. There was a conspicuous lack of abrahamic symbols; which made sense given that we were in the wrong World for it.
Esorem circulated himself through the city in a desultory sort of fashion that led me to conclude that he had no idea what on earth he was doing. Eventually, he proceeded to sell and get ripped off for his furs, got drunk, went out hunting, and continued this cycle while asking people about mechanical men who could cut the air with such regular ineptitude that I concluded that his brilliance in the forest just may have come at the cost of his social intelligence.
The entirety of it.
He was fortunate that this was a society that just didn't care about madmen, as long as they were nonviolent.
Eventually, Esorem gave up, and obtained directions to the capitol. There, finally, things changed.
Where were we? I had no idea. After the previous Kalpa had passed, I had incarnated myself, but one of the flaws of the technique was that I had no choice of where I or who I appeared in. Honestly, a rabbit had been lucky. In the previous Kalpa, I had incarnated as a blade of grass.
As for Esorem, I'm not sure he knew where we were either - oh, he moved with purpose - east, east, and always east - but that purpose was just too simple. Yes, Esorem went east. But no matter how many valleys we crossed, he seemed to only be heading east. It was as if he had decided to travel in one direction until he found a road.
Two months later - with some amazement, I found out that that was exactly what had happened.
The story came out in a tavern, where Esorem had traded some furs for a night's stay, food and ale inclusive. Honestly, I think it was more for the ale than anything else. There was a certain novelty in it for him that I...
...that I hadn't expected.
This is Esorem's story.
Whenever, wherever, a twelve year old nobody decided that farming wasn't too hard, just too boring. So he left his farm, wandering into the mountains. Twenty five years later, a transcendent two steps away from true amortality stole his rabbit, and a robot teleportaled away after killing said sage. Now, this boy was in his late thirties, getting drunk.
I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Over the kalpa of kalpas that I had lived, I had met all sorts of people, but Esorem... Esorem was the only person like Esorem I had ever met.
He cared about almost nothing, but he wasn't depressed, oh no. The world really was just that boring to him. He was either a mortal genius, or the dullest person I had ever crossed paths with - and let's be honest, here: Idiots don't survive a quarter century in the woods without training or support.
The next day, after he asked for some directions, we set off down the road for River Mantis City, a minor outpost of the Green Sun Empire. Said empire, I gathered, was nothing special in the grand scheme of things. Just a typical solar theocracy.
There was one interesting tidbit, though. This World was now made of seven plates and fourteen domains. No longer thirteen and twenty-six.
To wit. Somewhere, out there, a World had been born. I wondered what it was like.
The remaining journey was uneventful. Halfway to River Mantis City, Esorem was robbed, and his furs got stolen. Subsequently, he walked into the forest and procured more with the help of that absurdly powerful spiritual sense of his. Looking back on it, that same sense was probably a third of the reason that he did survive his choice.
Still didn't explain where he learned the rest of his skills.
Anyway, three months later, most of which was spent re-finding the road after Esorem left it to get more furs, we arrived.
The city? Ah. This culture followed patterns of architecture and design suitably close to Denmark's for the purpose of your your imagination. Eighteenth century. One minor deviation - local artistic taste and styles verged Vedic with a hint a Maya. There was a conspicuous lack of abrahamic symbols; which made sense given that we were in the wrong World for it.
Esorem circulated himself through the city in a desultory sort of fashion that led me to conclude that he had no idea what on earth he was doing. Eventually, he proceeded to sell and get ripped off for his furs, got drunk, went out hunting, and continued this cycle while asking people about mechanical men who could cut the air with such regular ineptitude that I concluded that his brilliance in the forest just may have come at the cost of his social intelligence.
The entirety of it.
He was fortunate that this was a society that just didn't care about madmen, as long as they were nonviolent.
Eventually, Esorem gave up, and obtained directions to the capitol. There, finally, things changed.
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Origin Story - Chapter 2, Part 5
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
0.05
Destiny is heralded by, like, nothing really. One day, you wake up, and before you know it, you're fighting beings with one foot in the realm of godhead.
And you're one of them!
Likewise, when Esorem found himself in the capital, everything was recapitulated. Esorem's life was more or less the same life he led in River Mantis - sell furs, get drunk, ask about metal men - with the minor exception that it took awhile to get to a place that had enough furs.
This place was the royal family's private hunting grounds.
Poaching? Hahahahahaha! Esorem didn't give two shites. Or one. All of his furs were poached. Miraculously, in three years, this caused trouble only once, and that was settled with a timely bribe executed so clumsily that I'm not even going to describe it. When the affair was over, I almost wanted to hug the guards who accepted the money for being so kind-heartedly corrupt.
The only thing that was odd in all of this is that Esorem never did bed anyone, woman or man. It wasn't that he was ugly - by human standards, he was acceptable. It wasn't for a lack of money - by the third year, Esorem had enough gold coins hidden away to do whatever a man could want to do. (This, mostly due to the fact that he wanted almost nothing.)
It just... wasn't something he did. And honestly, it was odd, in the same way that the spiritual sense was odd.
I was inside Esorem. I was living in his body. I could see the totality of his soul. And it was not cultivated. It was completely mundane, ordinary, unrefined.
Worthless.
And yet he acted like a Heaven Severing ascetic at times.
It made no sense.
When about half of my power was remaining, and on the year Esorem turned forty, a group of philosophers came into the city.
The Many-Worlds Sect.
As Sects went their delegation was... manifestly unimpressive. I sensed perhaps two disciples who had even reached the Great Circle of Awareness - which was at best the first step in Transcendence - if even that.
The rest - all twenty seven of them - were just mortals. Oh, a good few were cultivators, too, but the sort of parochial garbage counted for very, very little. I thought at the time that perhaps they were just a minor detachment, but still... A detachment of dregs?
Still; if there was ever a stimulus tailor-made to elicit a response from Esorem, the Many-Worlds Sect was it.
Allow me to explain.
In this World, three types of Transcendents exist. Alchemists, Rogues, and Philosophers. Alchemists who cultivate transcendence - there are also alchemists who remain mortal - want truth at any cost. Any. Rogues lack a coherent ideology, are almost all insignificant, and constantly suppressed. Philosophers focus on developing knowledge from certain perspectives; holistic truth is generally not wished for except at the very highest level - and even then, they have limits.
To facilitate the condensation of individual perspectives into greater truths, Philosophers who share similar theses form sects. And so in extremely ancient times, you had things like the Formal Realm Sect and True Equanimity Sect develop equivalent concepts of heavenly motion, each from their own perspective - a martial language in the case of Formal Realm, and a (now long dead) system of notation in the case of True Equanimity.
Dry, no?
The point is, each sect has a central concept, and the Many-Worlds Sect had this one: That there were other worlds.
This was actually so unspeakably profound that I wondered which Tenma was currently using us as the punchline in its cosmic joke. Because naturally, there were other Worlds, but that wasn't something a trash sect like Many-Worlds had any business knowing without the Knights annihilating them.
And certainly, one day, they would be annihilated.
Actually, that last bit was the only important one. By joining them, Esorem got to take a suicidal risk.
How could he not?
Destiny is heralded by, like, nothing really. One day, you wake up, and before you know it, you're fighting beings with one foot in the realm of godhead.
And you're one of them!
Likewise, when Esorem found himself in the capital, everything was recapitulated. Esorem's life was more or less the same life he led in River Mantis - sell furs, get drunk, ask about metal men - with the minor exception that it took awhile to get to a place that had enough furs.
This place was the royal family's private hunting grounds.
Poaching? Hahahahahaha! Esorem didn't give two shites. Or one. All of his furs were poached. Miraculously, in three years, this caused trouble only once, and that was settled with a timely bribe executed so clumsily that I'm not even going to describe it. When the affair was over, I almost wanted to hug the guards who accepted the money for being so kind-heartedly corrupt.
The only thing that was odd in all of this is that Esorem never did bed anyone, woman or man. It wasn't that he was ugly - by human standards, he was acceptable. It wasn't for a lack of money - by the third year, Esorem had enough gold coins hidden away to do whatever a man could want to do. (This, mostly due to the fact that he wanted almost nothing.)
It just... wasn't something he did. And honestly, it was odd, in the same way that the spiritual sense was odd.
I was inside Esorem. I was living in his body. I could see the totality of his soul. And it was not cultivated. It was completely mundane, ordinary, unrefined.
Worthless.
And yet he acted like a Heaven Severing ascetic at times.
It made no sense.
When about half of my power was remaining, and on the year Esorem turned forty, a group of philosophers came into the city.
The Many-Worlds Sect.
As Sects went their delegation was... manifestly unimpressive. I sensed perhaps two disciples who had even reached the Great Circle of Awareness - which was at best the first step in Transcendence - if even that.
The rest - all twenty seven of them - were just mortals. Oh, a good few were cultivators, too, but the sort of parochial garbage counted for very, very little. I thought at the time that perhaps they were just a minor detachment, but still... A detachment of dregs?
Still; if there was ever a stimulus tailor-made to elicit a response from Esorem, the Many-Worlds Sect was it.
Allow me to explain.
In this World, three types of Transcendents exist. Alchemists, Rogues, and Philosophers. Alchemists who cultivate transcendence - there are also alchemists who remain mortal - want truth at any cost. Any. Rogues lack a coherent ideology, are almost all insignificant, and constantly suppressed. Philosophers focus on developing knowledge from certain perspectives; holistic truth is generally not wished for except at the very highest level - and even then, they have limits.
To facilitate the condensation of individual perspectives into greater truths, Philosophers who share similar theses form sects. And so in extremely ancient times, you had things like the Formal Realm Sect and True Equanimity Sect develop equivalent concepts of heavenly motion, each from their own perspective - a martial language in the case of Formal Realm, and a (now long dead) system of notation in the case of True Equanimity.
Dry, no?
The point is, each sect has a central concept, and the Many-Worlds Sect had this one: That there were other worlds.
This was actually so unspeakably profound that I wondered which Tenma was currently using us as the punchline in its cosmic joke. Because naturally, there were other Worlds, but that wasn't something a trash sect like Many-Worlds had any business knowing without the Knights annihilating them.
And certainly, one day, they would be annihilated.
Actually, that last bit was the only important one. By joining them, Esorem got to take a suicidal risk.
How could he not?
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Origin Story - Chapter 2, Part 6
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
-/-6
Year 2775 Jecht Calendar, Green Sun City.
As the decidedly yellow sun hovered 2000 kilometers overhead, an unshaven man dressed in furs stumbled down the city streets, muttering to himself about everything and nothing. This man was Esorem, and this behaviour was... utterly typical.
Somehow, despite always looking at his feet, he managed to make his way to wherever it was that he was going, which I knew was nowhere. Ahead, the road ended in a majestic bridge whose walls were engraved with many-armed images of the local gods. This bridge - a steep semicircle - terminated in 77 Sun Forum - one of a hundred such fora in Green Sun City. There, the citizens of the empire could meet, buy, sell, declare, and debate as they pleased.
It was, you understand, a pressure release valve. Grant luminaries and dissidents a stage, and they'll try to convince the world. Give the world bread and circuses, and the voices of those luminaries and dissidents alike will fall on deaf ears - but they won't take any action.
Actually, I doubted that the rulers of Green Sun had any real concept of the purpose of the fora. The city's layout was a direct copy of a common design from Old Ortes, less the more sophisticated elements of that dead civilization. In particular, there were no traces whatever of the formations designed to breed (eventually, literally) compliance in the citizens.
As I thought, Esorem surmounted the bridge, and paused momentarily, staring not just with his eyes, but with his spiritual sense. After hooking my own perceptions to it, I could understand why.
In the centre of the square, there stood a man who glowed like starlight. He wore grey robes, and a belt from which hung the the symbol of Wuji.
This man was not a human, but a Demon. He had no soul.
Hm. Demon, perfect human appearence, badge of a philosopher?
What an obvious Tenma.
"Oesa Tkîos," I muttered, as Esorem stared at him.
Naturally, having noticed someone horribly dangerous, Esorem began walking towards it. Moth; flame.
Before he could reach the Tenma, however, an Awareness Awakening cultivator wearing blue and red robes intervened.
"Brother!" The man said, with somewhat forced cheer. "I see you've come to our Many-Worlds Sect's apprentice recruiting stand!"
"No, I -" Esorem began, and the Cultivator nodded vigourously.
"Excellent, excellent. We're just over this way. Why don't you come and see if you have the potential to cultivate immortality, brother?"
Even within the deepest recesses of Esorem's soul, I was at a loss for words. Who did this cultivator think he was?
The cultivator didn't leave. Instead, he grabbed Esorem's arm and dragged him bodily over to a small congregation of mostly unsmiling men and women.
"Okay! Just... Brother Yu, get that stone out!"
...
After nearly two minutes of shuffling the contents of a large wooden chest around, the man named Yu pulled out a dull grey fragment of rock. I recognised it immediately. Lecitite, possibly the lowest quality I had ever seen.
"Right," the cultivator said, snatching the rock out of Yu's hands and forcing it into Esorem's "Right! Just... do the thing. Haha. Hold it. And if you drop it, you'll have to serve our sect for forty-nine years, so, you know. Don't do that."
Esorem held the stone.
Nothing happened.
Esorem continued to hold the stone.
Nothing continued to happen.
After about two minutes, Esorem sighed, glancing at the Tenma on the far edge of the square, and asked his usual question.
"Have you ever heard of metal men with swords that cut through the world?"
The cultivator blinked.
"Not... no. First time hearing about the metal men. As far as worlds go, though... Why did you ask?"
So, Esorem explained the strange scene he had seen, a decade prior. After he had finished, the cultivator stared at him with something... that actually wasn't disbelief.
"I see. Again, I know nothing about metal men; but, our Many-Worlds Sect studies the existence of alternate worlds. If you joined us, you might be able to learn the truth about what you saw. How about it?"
This bastard was using my favourite phrase! INEXCUSABLE!
Just at that moment, the stone grew warm in Esorem's hand, and the cultivator snatched it away, inspecting it carefully.
"Five Surface Intellect," he muttered. "Hm. Average talent." You liar, it's exceptional. "If you cultivate immortality-" he said, never mentioning that he was actually talking about cultivating Transcendence - "you can probably make it to Heaven Severing." More like Origin Formation. "So?"
Esorem glanced back at where the demon was, and learned that it was actually where the demon had been. While all of this had happened, the figure had left, transforming into a beam of grey light that shot into the sky with horrific speed.
"All right." Esorem said, "I'll join."
"Well then; welcome to our Many-Worlds Sect!"
That was where everything began.
[End of Chapter]
Year 2775 Jecht Calendar, Green Sun City.
As the decidedly yellow sun hovered 2000 kilometers overhead, an unshaven man dressed in furs stumbled down the city streets, muttering to himself about everything and nothing. This man was Esorem, and this behaviour was... utterly typical.
Somehow, despite always looking at his feet, he managed to make his way to wherever it was that he was going, which I knew was nowhere. Ahead, the road ended in a majestic bridge whose walls were engraved with many-armed images of the local gods. This bridge - a steep semicircle - terminated in 77 Sun Forum - one of a hundred such fora in Green Sun City. There, the citizens of the empire could meet, buy, sell, declare, and debate as they pleased.
It was, you understand, a pressure release valve. Grant luminaries and dissidents a stage, and they'll try to convince the world. Give the world bread and circuses, and the voices of those luminaries and dissidents alike will fall on deaf ears - but they won't take any action.
Actually, I doubted that the rulers of Green Sun had any real concept of the purpose of the fora. The city's layout was a direct copy of a common design from Old Ortes, less the more sophisticated elements of that dead civilization. In particular, there were no traces whatever of the formations designed to breed (eventually, literally) compliance in the citizens.
As I thought, Esorem surmounted the bridge, and paused momentarily, staring not just with his eyes, but with his spiritual sense. After hooking my own perceptions to it, I could understand why.
In the centre of the square, there stood a man who glowed like starlight. He wore grey robes, and a belt from which hung the the symbol of Wuji.
This man was not a human, but a Demon. He had no soul.
Hm. Demon, perfect human appearence, badge of a philosopher?
What an obvious Tenma.
"Oesa Tkîos," I muttered, as Esorem stared at him.
Naturally, having noticed someone horribly dangerous, Esorem began walking towards it. Moth; flame.
Before he could reach the Tenma, however, an Awareness Awakening cultivator wearing blue and red robes intervened.
"Brother!" The man said, with somewhat forced cheer. "I see you've come to our Many-Worlds Sect's apprentice recruiting stand!"
"No, I -" Esorem began, and the Cultivator nodded vigourously.
"Excellent, excellent. We're just over this way. Why don't you come and see if you have the potential to cultivate immortality, brother?"
Even within the deepest recesses of Esorem's soul, I was at a loss for words. Who did this cultivator think he was?
The cultivator didn't leave. Instead, he grabbed Esorem's arm and dragged him bodily over to a small congregation of mostly unsmiling men and women.
"Okay! Just... Brother Yu, get that stone out!"
...
After nearly two minutes of shuffling the contents of a large wooden chest around, the man named Yu pulled out a dull grey fragment of rock. I recognised it immediately. Lecitite, possibly the lowest quality I had ever seen.
"Right," the cultivator said, snatching the rock out of Yu's hands and forcing it into Esorem's "Right! Just... do the thing. Haha. Hold it. And if you drop it, you'll have to serve our sect for forty-nine years, so, you know. Don't do that."
Esorem held the stone.
Nothing happened.
Esorem continued to hold the stone.
Nothing continued to happen.
After about two minutes, Esorem sighed, glancing at the Tenma on the far edge of the square, and asked his usual question.
"Have you ever heard of metal men with swords that cut through the world?"
The cultivator blinked.
"Not... no. First time hearing about the metal men. As far as worlds go, though... Why did you ask?"
So, Esorem explained the strange scene he had seen, a decade prior. After he had finished, the cultivator stared at him with something... that actually wasn't disbelief.
"I see. Again, I know nothing about metal men; but, our Many-Worlds Sect studies the existence of alternate worlds. If you joined us, you might be able to learn the truth about what you saw. How about it?"
This bastard was using my favourite phrase! INEXCUSABLE!
Just at that moment, the stone grew warm in Esorem's hand, and the cultivator snatched it away, inspecting it carefully.
"Five Surface Intellect," he muttered. "Hm. Average talent." You liar, it's exceptional. "If you cultivate immortality-" he said, never mentioning that he was actually talking about cultivating Transcendence - "you can probably make it to Heaven Severing." More like Origin Formation. "So?"
Esorem glanced back at where the demon was, and learned that it was actually where the demon had been. While all of this had happened, the figure had left, transforming into a beam of grey light that shot into the sky with horrific speed.
"All right." Esorem said, "I'll join."
"Well then; welcome to our Many-Worlds Sect!"
That was where everything began.
[End of Chapter]
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Devil Fruits: A Report - Bara-Bara no Mi
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Unwanted Author's Note: DF:AP tries to cross elements of the tone of the SCP Foundation with the universe of One Piece. While not altering major events and truly important details, expect me to alter minor ones that don't disturb the narrative sense of canon, and to add new ones. Whenever I do, I'll take some care to make sure that the alterations don't introduce plot holes; but if I fail, I welcome a call-out wholeheartedly.
WE BEGIN WITH A PERSONAL FAVOURITE. Long have I desired the abilities this fruit imparts - combined with a certain serum, it would allow me to control several hundred independent bodies simultaneously, and to at long last saturate my capicty for attention and thought. Alas - before the current owner could be executed, he became a shichibukai, and thus, an important component of the World Government's war powers.
THE BARA-BARA NO MI, colloquially known as the "Chop-Chop" fruit enables one person to be in more places than they would otherwise be able to, an ability which I find myself in need of all too often.
Fruit Name: Bara-Bara no Mi.
Classification: Paramecia.
Rarity: One.
Destabilization Index: 1300.
General Description: The fruit's body is ellipsoid, usually crowned with between seven and thirteen pointed leaves. The exterior body of the fruit is covered in what are apparently hemispherical protrusions, however these shapes are actually highly compact spirals. These protrusions, though initially connected to the body of the fruit, separate from the main portion upon maturity and ripeness. They are attracted to the main body by an unknown force with behavioural parallels to the strong nuclear force - most importantly, it becomes exponentially stronger with distance. With great difficulty, it is possible to separate nodes from contact with the main body of the fruit for a limited period of time, though the attraction is so powerful that the fruit tends to liquefy after approximately two minutes at a distance of 0.03 nanometres. The liquid form remains active.
Unlike most Devil Fruits, which impart their ability with a volume consumed equal to an eighth the size of an average child's mouth, the full power of the Bara-Bara no Mi is only available if it is consumed in its entirety (refer to WQ37150).
Experiments conducted by SR1437, using the aforementioned liquid form, have confirmed that approximately one ninth of the fruit is capable of producing a much milder form of the effect, allowing limbs to be successfully detached and reattached without any ill effect over arbitrary periods of time. This weakened ability does not allow the user to detach body parts at will, nor does it allow the control of limbs that have been detached. It also results in the full and permanent paralysis of the subject until they are given the remaining volume of the liquefied fruit. See Notes for detail on this condition.
Ability Description: The effect of the Bara-Bara no mi on living subjects is the ability to separate their body into multiple segments at will, and the remote control of these segments only within a specified radius. This control is not merely limited to being able to move a detached part, but extends to highly precise control of that part's position in space, with an important caveat: some portion of the body must, in some way, be grounded. If no portion is so grounded, all portions fall until at least one is, though careful testing by SR1437 has verified that the user retains control of the position of disconnected pieces within the falling radius.
Historical Significance: Buggy the Clown, a pirate who served in Gol D. Rogers' fleet is the only known historical user of the fruit who has achieved notoriety, becoming a Shichibukai a subsequent to the Marinford debacle. Some scarce notes indicate that there may have been a D. user during VC.
Notes: Once consumed, the eater of the fruit will, within a period of time not exceeding two days from the fruit's consumption, disintegrate into slices with a diameter not exceeding the width of a human hair. Individuals in this state are completely unresponsive, in a state of near zero metabolic activity. Following this phase the user will be able to, with great initial difficulty, reassemble their body.
After the completion of the initial stage the user will be unable to use the abilities of their fruit for approximately three months, though they will be vulnerable to seawater and Kairōseki. Numerous observations by SR1437 have led to the discovery that during this period of time the internal structure of the user's body undergoes massive reconfiguration. The most notable changes are an extreme increase in anaerobic energy stores in all cells, and the apoptosis of the user's conventional neural tissue, inclusive of the brain. Other changes include the complete elimination of mitochondria, which are replaced with unknown structures; an inconsistent enhancement of the Hausdorff dimension of the lungs; chromosomal alterations; and the elimination of the heart. Regarding the disappearance of the heart, CAT scans of Bara-Bara users conducted by WQ37150 have confirmed that the organ is replaced by many hundreds of smaller, one way pumps which are scattered throughout the body.
After the three-month alteration of the body is complete, the user enters a one-week phase of being able to use the fruit at a reduced level, equivalent to the level obtained by the partial users noted in General Description, but without the paralysis. During this phase, a new type of blood cell with no pigmentation is produced. This cell is not human, and in-vivo DNA analysis of its nucleus by RC1272 has confirmed it to contain 87% of the genome of the Bara-Bara no Mi. The cells avoid an immune response by reproducing the histocompatibility complex variants present in the user's body. Lack of this cell has been noted in all users who have not consumed the entire fruit, and is suspected to result in their paralysis. Per SL2358, these cells will enter apoptosis after being removed from the body of the user. The method by which they detect removal is unknown.
The full abilities of the Bara-Bara no mi manifest themselves when a ratio of 5 cells of this unknown type to 2 white blood cells is attained. The ability does not disappear if the whole-body concentration falls beneath this ratio, though symptoms analogous to fever and anaemia are noted with severity increasing as the square of the inverse ratio.
Addenda: It is likely that this fruit works through range-limited spatial displacement, with the survival of segments outside the range of displacement ensured by the massive biological alterations noted. It is likely that chromosomal alterations include a biochemical method for rapidly sealing segments that are out-of-range. Should the Buggy the Clown ever defect, this hypothesis should be simple to confirm with his body - assuming that spatial displacement is used, cauterising one side of a segment within the range of control should result in an energy transfer on its complementary end.
WE BEGIN WITH A PERSONAL FAVOURITE. Long have I desired the abilities this fruit imparts - combined with a certain serum, it would allow me to control several hundred independent bodies simultaneously, and to at long last saturate my capicty for attention and thought. Alas - before the current owner could be executed, he became a shichibukai, and thus, an important component of the World Government's war powers.
THE BARA-BARA NO MI, colloquially known as the "Chop-Chop" fruit enables one person to be in more places than they would otherwise be able to, an ability which I find myself in need of all too often.
Fruit Name: Bara-Bara no Mi.
Classification: Paramecia.
Rarity: One.
Destabilization Index: 1300.
General Description: The fruit's body is ellipsoid, usually crowned with between seven and thirteen pointed leaves. The exterior body of the fruit is covered in what are apparently hemispherical protrusions, however these shapes are actually highly compact spirals. These protrusions, though initially connected to the body of the fruit, separate from the main portion upon maturity and ripeness. They are attracted to the main body by an unknown force with behavioural parallels to the strong nuclear force - most importantly, it becomes exponentially stronger with distance. With great difficulty, it is possible to separate nodes from contact with the main body of the fruit for a limited period of time, though the attraction is so powerful that the fruit tends to liquefy after approximately two minutes at a distance of 0.03 nanometres. The liquid form remains active.
Unlike most Devil Fruits, which impart their ability with a volume consumed equal to an eighth the size of an average child's mouth, the full power of the Bara-Bara no Mi is only available if it is consumed in its entirety (refer to WQ37150).
Experiments conducted by SR1437, using the aforementioned liquid form, have confirmed that approximately one ninth of the fruit is capable of producing a much milder form of the effect, allowing limbs to be successfully detached and reattached without any ill effect over arbitrary periods of time. This weakened ability does not allow the user to detach body parts at will, nor does it allow the control of limbs that have been detached. It also results in the full and permanent paralysis of the subject until they are given the remaining volume of the liquefied fruit. See Notes for detail on this condition.
Ability Description: The effect of the Bara-Bara no mi on living subjects is the ability to separate their body into multiple segments at will, and the remote control of these segments only within a specified radius. This control is not merely limited to being able to move a detached part, but extends to highly precise control of that part's position in space, with an important caveat: some portion of the body must, in some way, be grounded. If no portion is so grounded, all portions fall until at least one is, though careful testing by SR1437 has verified that the user retains control of the position of disconnected pieces within the falling radius.
Historical Significance: Buggy the Clown, a pirate who served in Gol D. Rogers' fleet is the only known historical user of the fruit who has achieved notoriety, becoming a Shichibukai a subsequent to the Marinford debacle. Some scarce notes indicate that there may have been a D. user during VC.
Notes: Once consumed, the eater of the fruit will, within a period of time not exceeding two days from the fruit's consumption, disintegrate into slices with a diameter not exceeding the width of a human hair. Individuals in this state are completely unresponsive, in a state of near zero metabolic activity. Following this phase the user will be able to, with great initial difficulty, reassemble their body.
After the completion of the initial stage the user will be unable to use the abilities of their fruit for approximately three months, though they will be vulnerable to seawater and Kairōseki. Numerous observations by SR1437 have led to the discovery that during this period of time the internal structure of the user's body undergoes massive reconfiguration. The most notable changes are an extreme increase in anaerobic energy stores in all cells, and the apoptosis of the user's conventional neural tissue, inclusive of the brain. Other changes include the complete elimination of mitochondria, which are replaced with unknown structures; an inconsistent enhancement of the Hausdorff dimension of the lungs; chromosomal alterations; and the elimination of the heart. Regarding the disappearance of the heart, CAT scans of Bara-Bara users conducted by WQ37150 have confirmed that the organ is replaced by many hundreds of smaller, one way pumps which are scattered throughout the body.
After the three-month alteration of the body is complete, the user enters a one-week phase of being able to use the fruit at a reduced level, equivalent to the level obtained by the partial users noted in General Description, but without the paralysis. During this phase, a new type of blood cell with no pigmentation is produced. This cell is not human, and in-vivo DNA analysis of its nucleus by RC1272 has confirmed it to contain 87% of the genome of the Bara-Bara no Mi. The cells avoid an immune response by reproducing the histocompatibility complex variants present in the user's body. Lack of this cell has been noted in all users who have not consumed the entire fruit, and is suspected to result in their paralysis. Per SL2358, these cells will enter apoptosis after being removed from the body of the user. The method by which they detect removal is unknown.
The full abilities of the Bara-Bara no mi manifest themselves when a ratio of 5 cells of this unknown type to 2 white blood cells is attained. The ability does not disappear if the whole-body concentration falls beneath this ratio, though symptoms analogous to fever and anaemia are noted with severity increasing as the square of the inverse ratio.
Addenda: It is likely that this fruit works through range-limited spatial displacement, with the survival of segments outside the range of displacement ensured by the massive biological alterations noted. It is likely that chromosomal alterations include a biochemical method for rapidly sealing segments that are out-of-range. Should the Buggy the Clown ever defect, this hypothesis should be simple to confirm with his body - assuming that spatial displacement is used, cauterising one side of a segment within the range of control should result in an energy transfer on its complementary end.
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will408914
(slouching towards bethlehem)
- Location
- California
Hmm. So this is a repository of whatever ideas strike your fancy? Looks interesting, anyway. I have no idea why anyone else hasn't commented yet.
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Essentially, yes. Some of the things I'll be posting might've last struck my fancy three or four years ago, though. Of course, if I post anything, it will be at least somewhat revised unitil I'm happy with it, so there's no real chance of it deceeding my standard quality, whatever that may be.
will408914
(slouching towards bethlehem)
- Location
- California
Also, the beginning of Origin Story (its origin story, so to speak) is very similar to that story about the sage, the hunter, and the rabbit in SNI. Coincidence? I think not.
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Oh, very much not. I was initially aiming for an exact reconstruction, but considering the setup, and the fact that the rabbit is something ridiculously erudite, it didn't make sense to go all the way.
Parables of Lack: The Rabbit and the Sage
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
UAN: This is what will408914 was talking of, for those who dislike fanfiction.
The Parable of the Rabbit and the Sage
Once, the sage was walking down a path, and he met a hunter. The hunter had caught a rabbit, and was gutting it in preparation for dinner. The hunter saw the sage, and said, 'Ah, teacher! Watch my rabbit for me and I will go check my other traps. We shall have a wonderful dinner.'
The sage nodded, gave his assent, and while the hunter was away, used a secret art to bring the rabbit back to life. 'Flee!' The sage commanded, 'The hunter wants to eat you!' Murmuring its thanks, the rabbit fled, the sage followed, and the hunter returned empty handed, to an empty camp, having found his other traps just as empty.
'Oh, despair,' cried the hunter, 'I will go hungry tonight!'
Meanwhile, the sage continued down his winding path, feeling neither regret nor remorse for what he had done. Tentatively, the rabbit that he had saved stuck its head out of the bushes to give thanks to its saviour, and the sage reached down with one gentle hand, and gently tore out its soul.
'Why!?' cried the soul of the rabbit, 'You saved me!'
The sage shrugged, and sat down to begin cooking his meal.
'I also told you to flee,' The sage said. 'Why did you not listen?'
'I thought you were just,' the rabbit protested as it's body cooked, 'for why else would you have saved me!?'
'I am just,' said the sage, 'for I did save you. But I am also the sage, whose every action is wisdom, and justice, and whose stories shall be told and revered throughout all of time.'
'Then why!?' The soul of the rabbit demanded. 'What is the lesson you seek to teach here? What is the great meaning in this cruelty?'
'That I wasn't hungry when I saved you. That I am hungry now,' the sage said, and banished the soul of the rabbit to Naraku, for it had annoyed him. The sage finished cooking his meal, ate his stew, and sighed.
'Trust is a dead rabbit,' he said.
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Origin Story - Chapter 3, Part 1
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Chapter 3: Many Worlds Sect
Seven paths in fourteen worlds,
the gate and the garden,
the great system unfurled.
Call to the way of heavenless might,
rebuke the sun and rescind the night!A fragment of poetry attributed to Regis Tenosyat, Philosopher King and notorious anglophile.
Year 2775 Jecht Calendar, Green Soul Plains.
The journey to the sect took about three weeks. Aside from Esorem, there were two dozen other recruits. Some were scholars, but most were random people that had been pulled off the street.
Correction: most were people unwanted by society. Elves and suchlike.
I was beginning to feel uneasy about the quality of the sect. Sure, before, I knew it was a trash sect just based on the quality of the recruiters. Now...?
Now, I was wondering if this wasn't some kind of slave-gathering operation. Higher qualities of transcendents wouldn't have been suspect; but anyone and everyone can cultivate Awareness, and as a consequence, that sort of walker1 was possible even in the practical2 world.
I found it somewhat reassuring that there was never any special evidence of my suspicions. As for Esorem, I really couldn't tell if he felt anything at all.
Probably not. That was his way. Even when he got drunk, he spent his inebriation staring silently until someone else set him off.
In the second week of travel we crossed into the Red Ocean Mountains, so named due to a philosopher of the Time's Circle Sect claiming that once, the red stones of the mountains had been the red sands of a long-dried sea. Prior to that, they had simply been called the 27 Song River Mountains. 27 was, incidentally, something like 200 times too small. Later, thanks to a scholar, and certainly not Esorem, I learned that the 27 was in reference to the name of the first ruler of Green Sun Empire, who set eyes on the range 500 years ago.
27 Song River was her name, in case you were wondering.
After crossing to the other side of the range, which was nearly a month of hard travel, we arrived.
Thirteen mountains rising towards the heavens, shrouded in elegant mists! Atop each mountain is a great temple, wherein past masters of the road of Transcendence trained! A great feng shui compass frames the backdrop, glistening like wet gold, and the entire atmosphere is saturated with a sense of unplaceable refinement. A path stretches out, to the mountains, and then, beyond them. Above them! Into the sky, and the Immortal Realms beyond, where the great Gnosis Lords preside, forging Tenebris, and dividing the skies!
Okay, now throw out that image and replace it with three courtyard manors - Chinese style - built side by side. In the middle of the wilderness; a small hill behind them with a building on top of it, and not a goddamn mountain in sight. Wel. Except for the holly normal ones behind us.
Dearest reader, I present: Many-Worlds Sect.
Ta-daaaaah.
From the way Esorem paused, I knew even he was distinctly underwhelmed - and rightfully so.
This was ridiculous. Even the most parochial cultivation clans could be expected to have greater riches.
But behind that ridicule, I felt an unplaceable sense of nervousness.
This wasn't right.
Slowly, we continued forward, and about ten minutes later, we had arrived. The nameless cultivator who had recruited us said, "Wait here," then ran ahead, waving his arms like a madman or a child.
"Seccccttttt Leeeaeeader! Weeeee'reeee Baaaaack!"
...
...
...
...did I really just see that?
No respect, no formality, no... Yes, some sects were more informal than others, but there was always an unquestionable hierarchy. That was the point - to create a system in general that echoed the structure of Philosophy as a whole.
The sense of unease grew, as a beautiful, refined, and young-looking man walked out of the nearest manor, meeting up with the cultivator who had brought us here, whose name I really, really wanted to know by this point.
Slowly, the man made his way over, exchanging a few amiable and somewhat overly-familiar words with the cultivator.
(You know what? That's his name from now on. Cultivator. I don't even care what his parents decided to call him.)
That thought took some time to describe, but this is not actually a translation, so I'm not completing this literary form.
That joke took some time to write, but actually, you read it in the blink of an eye.
Back to the present. As the nominal Sect Leader and Cultivator the cultivator made their way over, a muttered conversation broke out amongst the recruits with questions such as, "How could someone so young be the leader?" and answers such as, "Er ist Immortal, du Kartoffelscheiß."
Finally, after entirely too long, the Sect Leader stood before us.
"You, you, and you. He said, pointing to two scholars and a lawyer. Your intellect is insufficient. Go to Manor Three and learn. It's the one in the middle. You seven," he indicated a large group on the left that was mostly composed of elves, "And you," the sole musician, "Your basis is sufficient. Manor Two - the leftmost one - begin cultivating your Awareness at once. You will be fed only if you practice ten hours a day."
"All the rest except for the ranger - Manor One. Cultivator will personally help you get started."
"As for you, ranger -" he pointed at Esorem- "what is your name?"
"Esorem."
"Is that personal, or familial?"
"It's my name."
"Wonderful," the Sect Leader said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Esorem, then, do you have any idea why nigh unto the totality of your soul is missing?"
What. No it wasn't. He had the normal amount.
Esorem blinked like the idiot he wasn't. "What is a soul?"
...Correction! Esorem blinked like the ignoramus he was. The pained wince of the Sect Leader increased. After kneading his brow for a moment, he glanced at Cultivator. "Five Surface Intellect?"
"Yep," Cultivator replied.
The Sect Leader sighed, and withdrew a phial of gleaming blue liquid that I recognised at once. An Animal Vigour. Soul that someone had sold to an alchemist, reified into liquid form.
They were horrendously expensive.
Around the neck of the phial was a small alchemical array that I had seen countless times before. It would transubstantiate the contents into the original form, and give ownership to the drinker.
The Sect Leader tossed the phial to Esorem underhand, and Esorem caught it with his typical, abnormal dexterity.
"Drink it," the Sect Leader said. "It will hurt, but, it should at least get you out of the Ashen Realm."
Oh. How incredibly stupid of me not to have thought of that.
"Ashen Realm?" Esorem asked.
The sect leader nodded, eyes sparking with faint approval. "Even now, you're still somewhat curious... that should be your strongest personality trait, then. Good. It fits a Philosopher."
The Sect Leader paused for a moment, then explained. "Your soul is half of what makes you, you. To truly cultivate transcendence, you need all of it. Not even a little bit can be missing! But someone took yours. They left you with just enough to keep your body moving. There are six soul realms in general - Death Realm, Ashen Realm, Ember Realm, Flame Realm, Blaze Realm, and Sun Realm. Everyone is born with Sun Realm, but like I said - something took most of your soul from you. As you loose soul, you lose yourself. Even in Ashen Realm you're still able to live, but... you should have noticed that you barely feel or care about anything, right?"
Esorem shrugged. "Sure."
"That's it. Ashen Realm makes someone as close to dead as they can be without being dead. I wonder... How long have you been there?"
"Always."
The Sect Leader's eyes widened, and his face became pale.
"Truly?"
Once again, Esorem nodded.
The Sect Leader bit his lip, eyes shifting back and forth for a moment before he laughed bitterly, and withdrew another blue phial from his robes. Just how many of the damn things was he carrying!?
"Well then, I suppose as a special gift... Here." He lobbed the second phial to Esorem. "With that, your soul should recover completely. It will be painful - but then, you will be able to practice cultivation. To have come all this way, I assume that Philosophy must hold something of vast importance to you, so enduring this much should be nothing. Come - I'll take you to your quarters. Cultivator-" Actually he said a name, but in my heart, Cultivator would always be Cultivator "- already left, after all."
That said, the man turned, and began walking... towards the first manor!!!!1!11¡!!one!¡1!!!
How ever could we have seen that coming.
1: Walker, Sage, Transcendent : Awakening, Consonance, Transendence. Title : Circle. Within circles, stages. Within stages, realms. Awareness Awakening is a Stage within the Circle of Awakening.
2: Eg, the everyday world. The world of cultivation has an analogous term: Secular.
[A/N: This is the only snip from C3 that will be posted or the time being, still messing with the rest.]
Seven paths in fourteen worlds,
the gate and the garden,
the great system unfurled.
Call to the way of heavenless might,
rebuke the sun and rescind the night!
Year 2775 Jecht Calendar, Green Soul Plains.
The journey to the sect took about three weeks. Aside from Esorem, there were two dozen other recruits. Some were scholars, but most were random people that had been pulled off the street.
Correction: most were people unwanted by society. Elves and suchlike.
I was beginning to feel uneasy about the quality of the sect. Sure, before, I knew it was a trash sect just based on the quality of the recruiters. Now...?
Now, I was wondering if this wasn't some kind of slave-gathering operation. Higher qualities of transcendents wouldn't have been suspect; but anyone and everyone can cultivate Awareness, and as a consequence, that sort of walker1 was possible even in the practical2 world.
I found it somewhat reassuring that there was never any special evidence of my suspicions. As for Esorem, I really couldn't tell if he felt anything at all.
Probably not. That was his way. Even when he got drunk, he spent his inebriation staring silently until someone else set him off.
In the second week of travel we crossed into the Red Ocean Mountains, so named due to a philosopher of the Time's Circle Sect claiming that once, the red stones of the mountains had been the red sands of a long-dried sea. Prior to that, they had simply been called the 27 Song River Mountains. 27 was, incidentally, something like 200 times too small. Later, thanks to a scholar, and certainly not Esorem, I learned that the 27 was in reference to the name of the first ruler of Green Sun Empire, who set eyes on the range 500 years ago.
27 Song River was her name, in case you were wondering.
After crossing to the other side of the range, which was nearly a month of hard travel, we arrived.
Thirteen mountains rising towards the heavens, shrouded in elegant mists! Atop each mountain is a great temple, wherein past masters of the road of Transcendence trained! A great feng shui compass frames the backdrop, glistening like wet gold, and the entire atmosphere is saturated with a sense of unplaceable refinement. A path stretches out, to the mountains, and then, beyond them. Above them! Into the sky, and the Immortal Realms beyond, where the great Gnosis Lords preside, forging Tenebris, and dividing the skies!
Okay, now throw out that image and replace it with three courtyard manors - Chinese style - built side by side. In the middle of the wilderness; a small hill behind them with a building on top of it, and not a goddamn mountain in sight. Wel. Except for the holly normal ones behind us.
Dearest reader, I present: Many-Worlds Sect.
Ta-daaaaah.
From the way Esorem paused, I knew even he was distinctly underwhelmed - and rightfully so.
This was ridiculous. Even the most parochial cultivation clans could be expected to have greater riches.
But behind that ridicule, I felt an unplaceable sense of nervousness.
This wasn't right.
Slowly, we continued forward, and about ten minutes later, we had arrived. The nameless cultivator who had recruited us said, "Wait here," then ran ahead, waving his arms like a madman or a child.
"Seccccttttt Leeeaeeader! Weeeee'reeee Baaaaack!"
...
...
...
...did I really just see that?
No respect, no formality, no... Yes, some sects were more informal than others, but there was always an unquestionable hierarchy. That was the point - to create a system in general that echoed the structure of Philosophy as a whole.
The sense of unease grew, as a beautiful, refined, and young-looking man walked out of the nearest manor, meeting up with the cultivator who had brought us here, whose name I really, really wanted to know by this point.
Slowly, the man made his way over, exchanging a few amiable and somewhat overly-familiar words with the cultivator.
(You know what? That's his name from now on. Cultivator. I don't even care what his parents decided to call him.)
That thought took some time to describe, but this is not actually a translation, so I'm not completing this literary form.
That joke took some time to write, but actually, you read it in the blink of an eye.
Back to the present. As the nominal Sect Leader and Cultivator the cultivator made their way over, a muttered conversation broke out amongst the recruits with questions such as, "How could someone so young be the leader?" and answers such as, "Er ist Immortal, du Kartoffelscheiß."
Finally, after entirely too long, the Sect Leader stood before us.
"You, you, and you. He said, pointing to two scholars and a lawyer. Your intellect is insufficient. Go to Manor Three and learn. It's the one in the middle. You seven," he indicated a large group on the left that was mostly composed of elves, "And you," the sole musician, "Your basis is sufficient. Manor Two - the leftmost one - begin cultivating your Awareness at once. You will be fed only if you practice ten hours a day."
"All the rest except for the ranger - Manor One. Cultivator will personally help you get started."
"As for you, ranger -" he pointed at Esorem- "what is your name?"
"Esorem."
"Is that personal, or familial?"
"It's my name."
"Wonderful," the Sect Leader said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Esorem, then, do you have any idea why nigh unto the totality of your soul is missing?"
What. No it wasn't. He had the normal amount.
Esorem blinked like the idiot he wasn't. "What is a soul?"
...Correction! Esorem blinked like the ignoramus he was. The pained wince of the Sect Leader increased. After kneading his brow for a moment, he glanced at Cultivator. "Five Surface Intellect?"
"Yep," Cultivator replied.
The Sect Leader sighed, and withdrew a phial of gleaming blue liquid that I recognised at once. An Animal Vigour. Soul that someone had sold to an alchemist, reified into liquid form.
They were horrendously expensive.
Around the neck of the phial was a small alchemical array that I had seen countless times before. It would transubstantiate the contents into the original form, and give ownership to the drinker.
The Sect Leader tossed the phial to Esorem underhand, and Esorem caught it with his typical, abnormal dexterity.
"Drink it," the Sect Leader said. "It will hurt, but, it should at least get you out of the Ashen Realm."
Oh. How incredibly stupid of me not to have thought of that.
"Ashen Realm?" Esorem asked.
The sect leader nodded, eyes sparking with faint approval. "Even now, you're still somewhat curious... that should be your strongest personality trait, then. Good. It fits a Philosopher."
The Sect Leader paused for a moment, then explained. "Your soul is half of what makes you, you. To truly cultivate transcendence, you need all of it. Not even a little bit can be missing! But someone took yours. They left you with just enough to keep your body moving. There are six soul realms in general - Death Realm, Ashen Realm, Ember Realm, Flame Realm, Blaze Realm, and Sun Realm. Everyone is born with Sun Realm, but like I said - something took most of your soul from you. As you loose soul, you lose yourself. Even in Ashen Realm you're still able to live, but... you should have noticed that you barely feel or care about anything, right?"
Esorem shrugged. "Sure."
"That's it. Ashen Realm makes someone as close to dead as they can be without being dead. I wonder... How long have you been there?"
"Always."
The Sect Leader's eyes widened, and his face became pale.
"Truly?"
Once again, Esorem nodded.
The Sect Leader bit his lip, eyes shifting back and forth for a moment before he laughed bitterly, and withdrew another blue phial from his robes. Just how many of the damn things was he carrying!?
"Well then, I suppose as a special gift... Here." He lobbed the second phial to Esorem. "With that, your soul should recover completely. It will be painful - but then, you will be able to practice cultivation. To have come all this way, I assume that Philosophy must hold something of vast importance to you, so enduring this much should be nothing. Come - I'll take you to your quarters. Cultivator-" Actually he said a name, but in my heart, Cultivator would always be Cultivator "- already left, after all."
That said, the man turned, and began walking... towards the first manor!!!!1!11¡!!one!¡1!!!
How ever could we have seen that coming.
1: Walker, Sage, Transcendent : Awakening, Consonance, Transendence. Title : Circle. Within circles, stages. Within stages, realms. Awareness Awakening is a Stage within the Circle of Awakening.
2: Eg, the everyday world. The world of cultivation has an analogous term: Secular.
[A/N: This is the only snip from C3 that will be posted or the time being, still messing with the rest.]
Last edited:
will408914
(slouching towards bethlehem)
- Location
- California
Is the demon a modern netizen?
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Well, it certainly seems to be aware of earth, what with the references to Saladin in earlier chapters. But a modern netizen? I'm not sure the description applies to an entity that neither lives on earth nor has the ability to post, though, no matter how much awareness it has. Can a hermit who gets free newspapers but who never leaves a remote log cabin really be called a participant in society?
Our demon certainly gets at least some of the culture, though.
Origin Story - Chapter 3, Part 2
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
New spoiler policy: Now I'll answer questions on nearly anything, but put new stuff/stuff not in-narrative in spoiler tags. I used to do this, but at some point switched to the needlessly oscurantist practice of answering things as if I were just another reader in terms of knowledge. Dunno why I was doing that but it was dumb, and I'm stopping now, for the most part.
1.02
As Esorem paced forward, I meditated on the paradox that had been revealed to me.
Esorem had an Ashen Realm Soul. To me, it looked like Esorem had just as much a soul as you'd expect a regular human to have. There wasn't necessarily a paradox if he was a cultivator - cultivators could increase the amount of soul they had - but I knew he wasn't. There were traces in the qi and soul of walking the path that never went away.
And they weren't in here.
The only other conclusion that made any kind of sense was that Esorem was some sort of freak who had six times the soul of any normal person.
I knew of only one lineage like that. And frankly, even given that Esorem's soul was missing the signs of cultivation, him being part of that bloodline was even less likely still.
...well, on the balance, then, there were two likely scenarios. First, that Esorem was as strange as he was for no deep reason, and that the Sect Leader was wrong. For someone capable of producing two Animal Vigours to be wrong on matters of the soul was... unlikely. Second, some alchemist or rogue transcendent had manipulated his soul when he was very young. That such manipulation hadn't killed him? His luck would have had to have been nearly divine.
As for the third outcome - that hypothesis about Esorem's lineage? If the first two scenarios had minuscule chances of being correct, then this one... requires a simile.
The likelihood of the third scenario was literally akin to the likelihood of you going to a beach picking up a grain of sand, taking that grain a kilometre out to sea, dropping it in an outgoing current, and then returning to the beach forty years later and picking up a grain at random only to find it was the same one you had dropped in the current all those years ago. On your first attempt. Effectively impossible. The genocide had been very, very thorough.
After entering the manor, the Sect Leader walked to a certain, somewhat nondescript room, and waved his hand. The door opened by a completely trivial use of the Transcendent Arts. Hm. With the ease he had done it, he was at least at Heaven Severing's realm of Soul Severing.
Fitting. Also, the correct answer was scenario two. Not a chance in hell someone at soul severing could get it wrong.
Now just how the hell had the people who manipulated his soul managed to expand his capacity that much without killing him!? And how had he escaped from them!!!?
"This is your room," the Sect Leader said, breaking me out of my spiralling thoughts. "When you feel ready to face the ordeal, drink the elixirs. Once you're done, come find me. You can ask for the Sect Master, but I prefer disciples call me by name. It's Rasmussen Jeketta." He pronounced the J as a Y. "Jeketta's familial. If it takes you more than a day, meals are prepared at sunrise, solar noon, and sunset. Good luck."
That said, he left, and after a moment, Esorem walked into the room, closing the sliding door behind him.
Then, slowly, methodically, without any hint of hurry or consideration - in the same manner as I had seen a thousand times - he took off his sandals, unbound his feet, folded his cloak, and walked into the middle of the room, sitting down.
Only then, did he take notice of what was in his hands.
The two blue phials gleamed, singing with all the potential of reality and change, of evolution, or the chance to grow beyond any and all limits, proof of the illimitable love of the world for her inhabitants.
Oh, except demons. Demons don't have souls, naturally, and neither any way to become something more.
Most of them.
All but two.
He stared down into the sea of cerulean light like that, for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes.
Then, he unstoppered both, and without further ado, drank each. at. the. same -!
Pain. Pain unlike anything. Pain like unto the screaming world. Pain like forgetting the faces of everyone you loved. Pain like sun, and moon, and stars, entangled in empyrean chaos, the mortars of destiny grinding against the base of the sky.
Pain like the without of words, the animal thousand-teeth gnawing, oh why, why, why -
I withdrew.
It was all I could do.
All I could think.
A single dose of Animal Vigour was - to a being with a soul - like engraving their bones with a branding iron. It was not a drink. It was not refreshing. It was food - the rarest, most powerful food a mortal could eat. It wasn't consuming flesh into flesh. It was consuming self into self. And the latent conciousness of the soul that was the Vigour would not go out without a fight.
To consume two?
That was starting a war within one's own flesh.
And yet...
And yet, throughout these moments, Esorem made no sound.
Throughout the entire night Esorem made no sound.
I didn't understand.
A man with a soul six times too capacious, who could sense the true world as if he were a Totality Grasping expert, who talked to immortals without flinching, who had lived isolated from all human contact for a quarter of a century without going mad, who could swim in pain like a fish in water, because - oh yes, I could feel it, just there, peripherally, like a soft ache, as all the nerves in Esorem's body and mind screamed - while at the same time, as he held his silence, his heart beat steady, and calm, and cold.
That night was the first time I ever respected the strange, silent man I had hidden myself within.
It was also the last time he was quite so silent, or strange.
1.02
As Esorem paced forward, I meditated on the paradox that had been revealed to me.
Esorem had an Ashen Realm Soul. To me, it looked like Esorem had just as much a soul as you'd expect a regular human to have. There wasn't necessarily a paradox if he was a cultivator - cultivators could increase the amount of soul they had - but I knew he wasn't. There were traces in the qi and soul of walking the path that never went away.
And they weren't in here.
The only other conclusion that made any kind of sense was that Esorem was some sort of freak who had six times the soul of any normal person.
I knew of only one lineage like that. And frankly, even given that Esorem's soul was missing the signs of cultivation, him being part of that bloodline was even less likely still.
...well, on the balance, then, there were two likely scenarios. First, that Esorem was as strange as he was for no deep reason, and that the Sect Leader was wrong. For someone capable of producing two Animal Vigours to be wrong on matters of the soul was... unlikely. Second, some alchemist or rogue transcendent had manipulated his soul when he was very young. That such manipulation hadn't killed him? His luck would have had to have been nearly divine.
As for the third outcome - that hypothesis about Esorem's lineage? If the first two scenarios had minuscule chances of being correct, then this one... requires a simile.
The likelihood of the third scenario was literally akin to the likelihood of you going to a beach picking up a grain of sand, taking that grain a kilometre out to sea, dropping it in an outgoing current, and then returning to the beach forty years later and picking up a grain at random only to find it was the same one you had dropped in the current all those years ago. On your first attempt. Effectively impossible. The genocide had been very, very thorough.
After entering the manor, the Sect Leader walked to a certain, somewhat nondescript room, and waved his hand. The door opened by a completely trivial use of the Transcendent Arts. Hm. With the ease he had done it, he was at least at Heaven Severing's realm of Soul Severing.
Fitting. Also, the correct answer was scenario two. Not a chance in hell someone at soul severing could get it wrong.
Now just how the hell had the people who manipulated his soul managed to expand his capacity that much without killing him!? And how had he escaped from them!!!?
"This is your room," the Sect Leader said, breaking me out of my spiralling thoughts. "When you feel ready to face the ordeal, drink the elixirs. Once you're done, come find me. You can ask for the Sect Master, but I prefer disciples call me by name. It's Rasmussen Jeketta." He pronounced the J as a Y. "Jeketta's familial. If it takes you more than a day, meals are prepared at sunrise, solar noon, and sunset. Good luck."
That said, he left, and after a moment, Esorem walked into the room, closing the sliding door behind him.
Then, slowly, methodically, without any hint of hurry or consideration - in the same manner as I had seen a thousand times - he took off his sandals, unbound his feet, folded his cloak, and walked into the middle of the room, sitting down.
Only then, did he take notice of what was in his hands.
The two blue phials gleamed, singing with all the potential of reality and change, of evolution, or the chance to grow beyond any and all limits, proof of the illimitable love of the world for her inhabitants.
Oh, except demons. Demons don't have souls, naturally, and neither any way to become something more.
Most of them.
All but two.
He stared down into the sea of cerulean light like that, for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes.
Then, he unstoppered both, and without further ado, drank each. at. the. same -!
Pain. Pain unlike anything. Pain like unto the screaming world. Pain like forgetting the faces of everyone you loved. Pain like sun, and moon, and stars, entangled in empyrean chaos, the mortars of destiny grinding against the base of the sky.
Pain like the without of words, the animal thousand-teeth gnawing, oh why, why, why -
I withdrew.
It was all I could do.
All I could think.
A single dose of Animal Vigour was - to a being with a soul - like engraving their bones with a branding iron. It was not a drink. It was not refreshing. It was food - the rarest, most powerful food a mortal could eat. It wasn't consuming flesh into flesh. It was consuming self into self. And the latent conciousness of the soul that was the Vigour would not go out without a fight.
To consume two?
That was starting a war within one's own flesh.
And yet...
And yet, throughout these moments, Esorem made no sound.
Throughout the entire night Esorem made no sound.
I didn't understand.
A man with a soul six times too capacious, who could sense the true world as if he were a Totality Grasping expert, who talked to immortals without flinching, who had lived isolated from all human contact for a quarter of a century without going mad, who could swim in pain like a fish in water, because - oh yes, I could feel it, just there, peripherally, like a soft ache, as all the nerves in Esorem's body and mind screamed - while at the same time, as he held his silence, his heart beat steady, and calm, and cold.
That night was the first time I ever respected the strange, silent man I had hidden myself within.
It was also the last time he was quite so silent, or strange.
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Origin Story - Chapter 3, Part 3
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
1.003
Morning came, and with it, the pain slowly faded. By sunrise, it had ebbed from the burning destruction of all thought to agony; by midmorning, it had faded from agony to a broken finger; and by noon, it was only a little more than minor arthritis.
Esorem finally stood, stretching as if he didn't hurt in the least, which I knew was untrue. He cracked his neck one, then twice, with a sharp jerking motion, then walked about three steps before pausing, looking down at his hands.
"I can feel it," he murmured.
He stared at his hands for another six minutes or so before closing his eyes, lifting his head, and marching out.
As it would happen, Cultivator was sitting in the common area in the middle of Manor One, practising - what else - cultivation. Flickering my perceptions through Esorem's spiritual sense, I noted that there was only faint stirring in the energy of the world.
At higher levels of cultivation, that meant nothing, but for the base of this Sect... the Nine Refinements, perhaps?
If so, he was probably at the end of the beginning. Not quite middle.
Increased vitality or no, Esorem was a man who, by habit, always watched at least one of his traps until sunset. Consequently, instead of disturbing Cultivator, he sat down, and simply watched... and watched...
... and watched ...
... and watched.
Finally, after the sun had sunk to the edge of the horizon, Cultivator opened his eyes, and started slightly at the figure sitting across from him.
"Sect Leader Jeketta said I should find someone to take me to him after I finished with the. Er. Soul Liquor." Esorem said.
Oh right, Jeketta had never told Esorem what they were actually called, had he?
"Ah!" Cultivator exclaimed, in a digustingly energetic manner that was completely typical of him. "Sure, I'll take you to him."
Cultivator got up, made the universal gesture for follow me, and began walking.
"Oh. Also..." Esorem trailed off for a moment, then continued. "A Five Surface intellect isn't common, is it?"
"Ah ahahaha ha ha haaa..." Cultivator scratched the back of his head in embarassment that probably wasn't completely feigned. "No. Not really. You aren't a heaven-destroying talent or anything, but..." A brief lacuna as we entered the premises, walking through a hallway that framed the setting sun beautifully. "... frankly, Brother, if you don't reach my stage in ten years, it could only be because you didn't even try. It took me thirty years to get this far. You're lucky! If it's you, you might even be able to ascend to the Circle of Consonance. I couldn't let someone like you die mortal. Not unless you truly wanted to. It would be a crime."
Cultivator said all of this without any hint of jealousy, or bitterness. He even smiled near the end, without any sign of affectation.
Remarkable, I thought.
Experts at the Circle of Consonance would generally not live for less than three hundred thousand years, so long as they avoided life-threatening situations. Meanwhile, even those who reached the Great Circle of Totality Grasping could only look forward to mortal longevity. Elixir of Life could prolong even a mortal's pathetic existence indefinitely, but after beginning culivation, it would not work unless one forcibly damaged their cultivation base all the way down to the very level Cultivator now lived at - the Great Circle of Awareness Awakening.
...you're probably looking annoyed, or at least confused. Nine Refinements, Awareness Awakening - which is it!?
Sorry. Truly, I'm too used to the cultivation world. Let me explain.
There are two paths of Cultivation within Tenosyat. The Cultivation of Immortality, and the Cultivation of Transcendence. The Dao of Tenosyat, and the Dao-Not. The latter is far more exalted, and far more difficult if talent and resources were held equal. The fourth stage of the latter is equivalent to the final stage of the former, on average. Cultivator was cultivating in both manners - a Nine Refiner (the second stage) along the paradigm of immortality, and perhaps the very beginning of Totality Grasping (also the second stage) in Transcendence. Elixir of Life utterly destroys a person's ability to Cultivate Transcendence, and all but destroys their ability to Cultivate Immortality. If he was taking it, we could expect to spend nearly a Kalpa before achieving Immortal Ascendance, assuming he ever did, and until that apex, he would never, ever, ever exceed Totality Grasping in his Cultivation of Transcendence.
Only by reaching the final end of the Cultivation of Immortality would he gain the Immortal Qi necessary to sever the corrupted Karma that the Elixir would create within him. He obviously hadn't drank any yet, but that didn't change the fact that he would have to confront the question of doing so - at the speed he revealed, death of old age was impossible to escape.
So to see someone with potential like Esorem, and to feel no pain in his heart?
He had tremendous inner strength.
All of this took some time to descr- nope, not using that form.
Thoughts move more quickly than words.
Even so, by the time my distracted attention returned to exigent conditions, we had arrived.
Because.
You know.
The Sect Leader's room had only been only paces distant, all along.
Esorem...
AN: More of Chapter 3 remains; it will be posted a few days from now.
Morning came, and with it, the pain slowly faded. By sunrise, it had ebbed from the burning destruction of all thought to agony; by midmorning, it had faded from agony to a broken finger; and by noon, it was only a little more than minor arthritis.
Esorem finally stood, stretching as if he didn't hurt in the least, which I knew was untrue. He cracked his neck one, then twice, with a sharp jerking motion, then walked about three steps before pausing, looking down at his hands.
"I can feel it," he murmured.
He stared at his hands for another six minutes or so before closing his eyes, lifting his head, and marching out.
As it would happen, Cultivator was sitting in the common area in the middle of Manor One, practising - what else - cultivation. Flickering my perceptions through Esorem's spiritual sense, I noted that there was only faint stirring in the energy of the world.
At higher levels of cultivation, that meant nothing, but for the base of this Sect... the Nine Refinements, perhaps?
If so, he was probably at the end of the beginning. Not quite middle.
Increased vitality or no, Esorem was a man who, by habit, always watched at least one of his traps until sunset. Consequently, instead of disturbing Cultivator, he sat down, and simply watched... and watched...
... and watched ...
... and watched.
Finally, after the sun had sunk to the edge of the horizon, Cultivator opened his eyes, and started slightly at the figure sitting across from him.
"Sect Leader Jeketta said I should find someone to take me to him after I finished with the. Er. Soul Liquor." Esorem said.
Oh right, Jeketta had never told Esorem what they were actually called, had he?
"Ah!" Cultivator exclaimed, in a digustingly energetic manner that was completely typical of him. "Sure, I'll take you to him."
Cultivator got up, made the universal gesture for follow me, and began walking.
"Oh. Also..." Esorem trailed off for a moment, then continued. "A Five Surface intellect isn't common, is it?"
"Ah ahahaha ha ha haaa..." Cultivator scratched the back of his head in embarassment that probably wasn't completely feigned. "No. Not really. You aren't a heaven-destroying talent or anything, but..." A brief lacuna as we entered the premises, walking through a hallway that framed the setting sun beautifully. "... frankly, Brother, if you don't reach my stage in ten years, it could only be because you didn't even try. It took me thirty years to get this far. You're lucky! If it's you, you might even be able to ascend to the Circle of Consonance. I couldn't let someone like you die mortal. Not unless you truly wanted to. It would be a crime."
Cultivator said all of this without any hint of jealousy, or bitterness. He even smiled near the end, without any sign of affectation.
Remarkable, I thought.
Experts at the Circle of Consonance would generally not live for less than three hundred thousand years, so long as they avoided life-threatening situations. Meanwhile, even those who reached the Great Circle of Totality Grasping could only look forward to mortal longevity. Elixir of Life could prolong even a mortal's pathetic existence indefinitely, but after beginning culivation, it would not work unless one forcibly damaged their cultivation base all the way down to the very level Cultivator now lived at - the Great Circle of Awareness Awakening.
...you're probably looking annoyed, or at least confused. Nine Refinements, Awareness Awakening - which is it!?
Sorry. Truly, I'm too used to the cultivation world. Let me explain.
There are two paths of Cultivation within Tenosyat. The Cultivation of Immortality, and the Cultivation of Transcendence. The Dao of Tenosyat, and the Dao-Not. The latter is far more exalted, and far more difficult if talent and resources were held equal. The fourth stage of the latter is equivalent to the final stage of the former, on average. Cultivator was cultivating in both manners - a Nine Refiner (the second stage) along the paradigm of immortality, and perhaps the very beginning of Totality Grasping (also the second stage) in Transcendence. Elixir of Life utterly destroys a person's ability to Cultivate Transcendence, and all but destroys their ability to Cultivate Immortality. If he was taking it, we could expect to spend nearly a Kalpa before achieving Immortal Ascendance, assuming he ever did, and until that apex, he would never, ever, ever exceed Totality Grasping in his Cultivation of Transcendence.
Only by reaching the final end of the Cultivation of Immortality would he gain the Immortal Qi necessary to sever the corrupted Karma that the Elixir would create within him. He obviously hadn't drank any yet, but that didn't change the fact that he would have to confront the question of doing so - at the speed he revealed, death of old age was impossible to escape.
So to see someone with potential like Esorem, and to feel no pain in his heart?
He had tremendous inner strength.
All of this took some time to descr- nope, not using that form.
Thoughts move more quickly than words.
Even so, by the time my distracted attention returned to exigent conditions, we had arrived.
Because.
You know.
The Sect Leader's room had only been only paces distant, all along.
Esorem...
AN: More of Chapter 3 remains; it will be posted a few days from now.
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will408914
(slouching towards bethlehem)
- Location
- California
Hmm. Hmm hmm hmm. I just thought of this, although I should have realized it sooner.
Who is the demon speaking to?
Who is the demon speaking to?
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
A minor error in an earlier chapter has been fixed. Previously, the narrator said the world was now made of "thirteen plates and twenty-six domains instead of twelve and twenty-four". This has been corrected to "seven plates and fourteen domains instead of thirteen and twenty-six". This fix actually reverts to an earlier wording - my past self didn't write down a bit of wanderer's mythos worldbuilding apocrypha a few months ago (the apocrypha: a world is a world regardless of where it is), and when I temporarily forgot it, I ended up changing the numbers. I expect that this information will have little-to-no signifigance to the plot, unless my plans change hard.
To its audience, which is a group that is not necessarily exclusive of us. Things on the demon's level of power and gnosis are weird. Like, "tell someone about a rainstorm that will happen a hundred years from now, and have that telling shift the air such that it is the cause of that rainstorm" weird. For a minimum standard.
To its audience, which is a group that is not necessarily exclusive of us. Things on the demon's level of power and gnosis are weird. Like, "tell someone about a rainstorm that will happen a hundred years from now, and have that telling shift the air such that it is the cause of that rainstorm" weird. For a minimum standard.
Even the demon doesn't know - it's mentioned later in the chapter when the demon calls its audience "whoever you are".
I'm not totally certain, either. There are two broad possibilities, neither of which effects the results much. But both possibilities are things I would very much prefer to reveal in the narrative, in a suitably grandiose manner.
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Origin Story - Chapter 3, Part 4
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
1.004
The doors to Rasmussen Jeketta's chambers formed a large circle of wood so old and dry it looked as if it were made of dust. They were covered in patterns that were reminiscent of the written aesthetic dialect of Enochian, but subtly off, each character deformed just enough to prevent even parts of the whole from meaning anything at all. The whole effect - at least to someone who knew the language - was mildly disorientating. Probably intentionally.
Looking at it without that bias, though, I found another consonance. The patterns looked faintly reminiscent of the Lines of the Jhiani people of Lucaea1 - but I was probably just reading too much into it. It wasn't that the patterns couldn't have made it here - they easily could have. It's just that there are only so many ways that you could conjugate lines and right angles, and bifurcating non-intersection wasn't exactly unique. Cultivator knocked, and after a moment, the doors opened, and admitted us.
It was not what I was expecting. That was beginning to become a pattern with this Sect.
I didn't like it.
Clocks were everywhere. They metastasised over the walls and unused surfaces like an alien fungus. All used pendulums, and not a single one's pendulum moved in synchrony with any of the others, even when they were on the same wall, or table, or chair, or... you get the picture. Something was keeping them from synchrony, but whatever it was, Esorem's spiritual sense couldn't detect it.
By the aegis of a similar something, they were all entirely silent. And I mean silent. The pall hung over their existence, and sound neither left, nor entered them. They were utterly isolated from the vibrations of the world - and the world, likewise, from them.
The only source of illumination was a wan yellow light that coagulated through rice paper screens that had been inexplicably ruined with acid, yellow and on the point of crumbling.
Some distance in, sitting behind a table that was the only surface free of clocks, the Sect Leader meditated, his hands arranged into a seal that I probably didn't recognise.
Oh, I could name a dozen techniques that used it off the top of my head.
It's just that it was incredibly unlikely that any of those techniques were the one he was using. The problem with living as long as I have is that once you've seen ten thousand magical systems all based in different, wholly incompatible and wholly incorrect root theories, they just start to... blend, into this giant universe of truth-not.
It was probably a sign I was nearing the beginning of True Realism, the eighth stage of Transcendence; but, I had been nearing it for a vigintillion years, if so. Cultivation inside the prison is agonisingly slow, if it's even possible.
The door shut behind us, as Cultivator apparently had better things to do. At the moment it completely closed, the energy of the world began to ripple oddly. I noticed the intensity peaking whenever a pendulum met the nadir of its trajectory.
Jeketta, didn't move at the noise, just as he hadn't moved at the at the door opening, and after a minute, Esorem decided to look around. Apparently. It wasn't like I could query him, but he had no reason for examining the clocks, otherwise.
I turned my attention to them, as well.
They came in many styles, few of which were common on Earth when it was at Tenosyat's present level of technology. Easily the most intricate was a water-clock of alchemical make. Sealed from the atmosphere through several clever (by mortal standards) alchemical arrays, it used a series of waterwheels to carry droplets of perfectly constant volume through further arrays which subdivided the drops into a further forty nine pieces. These were then compressed, and dropped through tiny tubes within which the force of gravity had been altered such that each drop struck a feather-light water-wheel at the bottom.
These wheels were connected to a series of gears that served to perfectly correct the timing of the pendulum that I has initially assumed was just a particularly mocking kinetic battery on the horologist's part.
How perverse.
Esorem continued looking around for a few more minutes, but the rest of the clocks were of normal, sensible design, not showing even a tenth of the creativity that went into making the water based one and thus boring. To me, not to Esorem.
After he finally satisfied himself, he sat down in front of the Sect Leader, studied his posture intently, and... adopted the same pose.
Yes. Excellent. Good job.
Gods not2, if not for the occaisional glimmer of a keen mind, I'd swear Esorem was an idiot.
It took about seven minutes for Jeketta to finish, whence he nodded to himself once, made a complicated series of mudras - presumably to tie off whatever loose ends there were in his cultivation - and opened his eyes. When he saw Esorem, the corners of his lips twitched, but he managed to control himself, transforming the incipient laugh into a natural smile.
"I'm afraid that particular posture will do you no good, younger brother."
Esorem slowly relaxed. "Is that so?"
The Sect Leader nodded. "It is. Unless your Origin corresponds to Gate, it would only harm your cultivation."
His Origin. Interesting. That he was developing it at all meant that Rasmussen Jeketta was either a walker of the Great Circle of Heaven Severing, or - infinitely worse - and Origin Formation sage.
If that latter condition obtained, it meant that this was a Rogue Sect. That would be catastrophically bad for Esorem's life expectancy - orders of magnitude worse than his stalking that Key Condensation sage all those years ago.
For there is a rule in Philosophy: No sect can host more than three stages of cultivator. This so-called benevolent hierarchy is said to have been imposed so that the enlightenment available to disciples would not exceed their understanding. A supposed side effect of this rule is that it prevented the existence of sects that simultaneously had foundations deep enough and figures powerful enough to challenge the foundations of Philosophy. Invert side effect and purpose, and you have the Philosopher King's design and intent.
Any sect that violated this rule was to be destroyed without exception. This was the fate of any sect that violated the Philosophical Laws, and such sects as did, were known as Rogue Sects.
Alchemy was kinder - likely because Philosophy regarded all Alchemical Sects as Rogue Sects, at least on paper. The rule for Rogue Sects that Alchemy had was to invite them to join, and to slaughter them if they refused. This was under the rationale that their eternal war with Philosophy had little need of a third side, and that, indeed, the maintenance of at least nominal unity on the side of rebellion was the only way those not under Philosophy's thumb could walk fearlessly in daylight.
There was another factor, too. One which both sides of the Schism agreed on: Some knowledge is too dangerous to be utterly free.
Even I could understand them in that.
There weren't enough red flags to assume the worst, just yet. But we were very, very close to 50-50 odds, now.
"Can I ask a question?" Esorem's words cut through my thoughts.
Slowly, Jeketta said, "...you're in a Transcendent Sect, younger brother. You can't cultivate without doing so."
Esorem nodded once, then asked, "Why so many clocks?"
"The clocks?" Jeketta asked. There was a brief pause and he mused for a moment, and then he continued. "...imagine you're in hallway, and there's an enormous closed door in front of you. Is there anything behind it?"
A moment's silence. Esorem responded.
"I don't know."
The Sect Leader smiled thinly, his countenance almost serpentine. "Of course you don't know," he said as he stood, and slowly walked out from behind his desk.
"But that wasn't the question." Step.
"The question." Step.
"Was."
Step.
Rasmussen Jeketta stood right in front of Esorem, his face only inches away, and spoke, his words slow and measured, their enunciation precise. "Is there anything behind it?"
And for the shadow of an instant, the Transcendent Art blocking the sound of the clocks fell, and we were inundated in an ocean of ticking that contains millions of times more sound than the clocks in the room could produce. A stochastic ocean of rhythms and tempos, all at variance with each other, the sound like a million geiger counter forged from time. And, there was....
Something else.
Looming.
Waiting.
It was beneath everything. A silent, terrible construct, implication and invocation all at once, a thing that existed in the negative space where the sound wasn't, and which would come through if the rain of time ever ended. A terrifying immensity, it was immanence and grandeur, an eye that the world passed through, a lens of stor-!
The moment passed, and silence returned. Jeketta was looking at Esorem with a knowing half-smile on his face.
"Understand now?" he asked.
Slowly, Esorem nodded. "A door implies another side."
The Sect Leader shook his head, still smiling, his eyes closed. They opened. "Not always. Only when it opens in."
A pause followed. "Well," Jeketta said at last. "I'm not too interested in the other side. I just want to comprehend the gate."
He walked past Esorem, and back behind his desk, turning, and sitting once more.
He was playing with the Astral Chaos, I realised. He was seeking control of the boundary between Is and Never.
And he was alarmingly close to attaining it.
"So!" The Sect Leader said, clapping his hands together with his fingers splayed, "You've absorbed the Animal Vigour. How is it?"
"The Elixir?" Esorem asked.
"Vigour," the Sect Leader correct automatically. "Elixirs deal with the physical, Vigours with the immaterial, and there's a whole different branch of alchemy regarding Qi. But no." He shook his head once. "Not that."
Jeketta clarified: "How is being above the Ashen Realm?"
"I can... feel the sensations of my body." Jeketta frowned, and perhaps moved by this, Esorem decided to clarify. "Before, it was just awareness. 'Ah, my hand is gripping so hard.' Now, I feel it. It is interesting."
"Is that... all?" Jeketta asked - and naturally he would. Because if it was all -
Esorem nodded.
Jeketta's face remained perfectly controlled, as he closed his eyes, and took a similarly controlled breath, then opened his eyes, staring at Esorem intently.
"Your soul has only advanced to Ember Realm," he noted clinically. "My, my, what an expensive disciple. Not to mention completely impossible."
There was a brief, slightly awkward silence, which the Sect Leader broke.
"Hm. Given that a normal person should have had their entire soul restored, I want you to take this."
Apropos of nothing, a small scroll appeared in Jeketta's hand, which he then passed to Esorem.
"It's the basic cultivation technique for the Awareness Awakening stage. If you don't get anything out of it in a month, you might have to drink more Elixirs." Jeketta laughed bitterly. "Well, you'll have to drink more elixirs at any rate, but I hardly think you want to have to go through eight bottles in short order, right?"
Esorem did not so much as flinch. "It would be efficient," he said.
I was speechless. The Sect Leader gave him a deep look. I'd like to say it was the sort of deep look that you reserve for someone who you've just realised was completely insane.
I'd like to.
But he was impressed.
At length, the Sect Leader nodded. "It would be," he said. "Still, I don't have indefinite resources. For now, go. Attempt to cultivate. If you succeed, it might be that your soul is one of the most extraordinary things I've ever encountered."
That much was right.
Because, if that happened, if that were true, if Jekketa's thoughts were correct...
Remember that third possibility? If Esorem could cultivate with his soul as it was, then it could only be because his was of the bloodline of Ortes that Was, before the Primordial Sunrise.
A bloodline that the most powerful being in this world had long striven to see extinct.
The bloodline of the Sixfold Soul!
And that exclamation mark, dear reader?
Was quite.
fucking.
warranted.
1: The Fourth World, in which the Jhiani live. The Jhiani, for their part, are what happens when a single drop of Seraph's blood is left to rot for a small eternity. Sounds disgusting until you realise that blood is about as biological as the fabric of reality itself. To wit, if you like the way nebulae look, then you won't find a Bhidjian disgusting unless its actively trying to be. A nice people, they tend to be a little naieve, and are always horrifically powerful: their bodies are made of spacetime defects controlled by the Lines mentioned above.
2: A common oath. About as intense as "for god's sake", unless you're yelling it at a priest, in which case it reaches heights of ill-considered vulgarity that would require physical action on Earth. Of course, that can mostly be laid at the Solar Theocracy's feet, because they're the religion that originally got sensitive about it, and they've managed to turn it into a theological pissing contest with nearly all the other religions. It's a good way to get punched in the face, even by the gentlest preacher. In actual theocratic nations, the punishment goes from a few hours jail, to a hand (the removal thereof) depending on various factors.
The doors to Rasmussen Jeketta's chambers formed a large circle of wood so old and dry it looked as if it were made of dust. They were covered in patterns that were reminiscent of the written aesthetic dialect of Enochian, but subtly off, each character deformed just enough to prevent even parts of the whole from meaning anything at all. The whole effect - at least to someone who knew the language - was mildly disorientating. Probably intentionally.
Looking at it without that bias, though, I found another consonance. The patterns looked faintly reminiscent of the Lines of the Jhiani people of Lucaea1 - but I was probably just reading too much into it. It wasn't that the patterns couldn't have made it here - they easily could have. It's just that there are only so many ways that you could conjugate lines and right angles, and bifurcating non-intersection wasn't exactly unique. Cultivator knocked, and after a moment, the doors opened, and admitted us.
It was not what I was expecting. That was beginning to become a pattern with this Sect.
I didn't like it.
Clocks were everywhere. They metastasised over the walls and unused surfaces like an alien fungus. All used pendulums, and not a single one's pendulum moved in synchrony with any of the others, even when they were on the same wall, or table, or chair, or... you get the picture. Something was keeping them from synchrony, but whatever it was, Esorem's spiritual sense couldn't detect it.
By the aegis of a similar something, they were all entirely silent. And I mean silent. The pall hung over their existence, and sound neither left, nor entered them. They were utterly isolated from the vibrations of the world - and the world, likewise, from them.
The only source of illumination was a wan yellow light that coagulated through rice paper screens that had been inexplicably ruined with acid, yellow and on the point of crumbling.
Some distance in, sitting behind a table that was the only surface free of clocks, the Sect Leader meditated, his hands arranged into a seal that I probably didn't recognise.
Oh, I could name a dozen techniques that used it off the top of my head.
It's just that it was incredibly unlikely that any of those techniques were the one he was using. The problem with living as long as I have is that once you've seen ten thousand magical systems all based in different, wholly incompatible and wholly incorrect root theories, they just start to... blend, into this giant universe of truth-not.
It was probably a sign I was nearing the beginning of True Realism, the eighth stage of Transcendence; but, I had been nearing it for a vigintillion years, if so. Cultivation inside the prison is agonisingly slow, if it's even possible.
The door shut behind us, as Cultivator apparently had better things to do. At the moment it completely closed, the energy of the world began to ripple oddly. I noticed the intensity peaking whenever a pendulum met the nadir of its trajectory.
Jeketta, didn't move at the noise, just as he hadn't moved at the at the door opening, and after a minute, Esorem decided to look around. Apparently. It wasn't like I could query him, but he had no reason for examining the clocks, otherwise.
I turned my attention to them, as well.
They came in many styles, few of which were common on Earth when it was at Tenosyat's present level of technology. Easily the most intricate was a water-clock of alchemical make. Sealed from the atmosphere through several clever (by mortal standards) alchemical arrays, it used a series of waterwheels to carry droplets of perfectly constant volume through further arrays which subdivided the drops into a further forty nine pieces. These were then compressed, and dropped through tiny tubes within which the force of gravity had been altered such that each drop struck a feather-light water-wheel at the bottom.
These wheels were connected to a series of gears that served to perfectly correct the timing of the pendulum that I has initially assumed was just a particularly mocking kinetic battery on the horologist's part.
How perverse.
Esorem continued looking around for a few more minutes, but the rest of the clocks were of normal, sensible design, not showing even a tenth of the creativity that went into making the water based one and thus boring. To me, not to Esorem.
After he finally satisfied himself, he sat down in front of the Sect Leader, studied his posture intently, and... adopted the same pose.
Yes. Excellent. Good job.
Gods not2, if not for the occaisional glimmer of a keen mind, I'd swear Esorem was an idiot.
It took about seven minutes for Jeketta to finish, whence he nodded to himself once, made a complicated series of mudras - presumably to tie off whatever loose ends there were in his cultivation - and opened his eyes. When he saw Esorem, the corners of his lips twitched, but he managed to control himself, transforming the incipient laugh into a natural smile.
"I'm afraid that particular posture will do you no good, younger brother."
Esorem slowly relaxed. "Is that so?"
The Sect Leader nodded. "It is. Unless your Origin corresponds to Gate, it would only harm your cultivation."
His Origin. Interesting. That he was developing it at all meant that Rasmussen Jeketta was either a walker of the Great Circle of Heaven Severing, or - infinitely worse - and Origin Formation sage.
If that latter condition obtained, it meant that this was a Rogue Sect. That would be catastrophically bad for Esorem's life expectancy - orders of magnitude worse than his stalking that Key Condensation sage all those years ago.
For there is a rule in Philosophy: No sect can host more than three stages of cultivator. This so-called benevolent hierarchy is said to have been imposed so that the enlightenment available to disciples would not exceed their understanding. A supposed side effect of this rule is that it prevented the existence of sects that simultaneously had foundations deep enough and figures powerful enough to challenge the foundations of Philosophy. Invert side effect and purpose, and you have the Philosopher King's design and intent.
Any sect that violated this rule was to be destroyed without exception. This was the fate of any sect that violated the Philosophical Laws, and such sects as did, were known as Rogue Sects.
Alchemy was kinder - likely because Philosophy regarded all Alchemical Sects as Rogue Sects, at least on paper. The rule for Rogue Sects that Alchemy had was to invite them to join, and to slaughter them if they refused. This was under the rationale that their eternal war with Philosophy had little need of a third side, and that, indeed, the maintenance of at least nominal unity on the side of rebellion was the only way those not under Philosophy's thumb could walk fearlessly in daylight.
There was another factor, too. One which both sides of the Schism agreed on: Some knowledge is too dangerous to be utterly free.
Even I could understand them in that.
There weren't enough red flags to assume the worst, just yet. But we were very, very close to 50-50 odds, now.
"Can I ask a question?" Esorem's words cut through my thoughts.
Slowly, Jeketta said, "...you're in a Transcendent Sect, younger brother. You can't cultivate without doing so."
Esorem nodded once, then asked, "Why so many clocks?"
"The clocks?" Jeketta asked. There was a brief pause and he mused for a moment, and then he continued. "...imagine you're in hallway, and there's an enormous closed door in front of you. Is there anything behind it?"
A moment's silence. Esorem responded.
"I don't know."
The Sect Leader smiled thinly, his countenance almost serpentine. "Of course you don't know," he said as he stood, and slowly walked out from behind his desk.
"But that wasn't the question." Step.
"The question." Step.
"Was."
Step.
Rasmussen Jeketta stood right in front of Esorem, his face only inches away, and spoke, his words slow and measured, their enunciation precise. "Is there anything behind it?"
And for the shadow of an instant, the Transcendent Art blocking the sound of the clocks fell, and we were inundated in an ocean of ticking that contains millions of times more sound than the clocks in the room could produce. A stochastic ocean of rhythms and tempos, all at variance with each other, the sound like a million geiger counter forged from time. And, there was....
Something else.
Looming.
Waiting.
It was beneath everything. A silent, terrible construct, implication and invocation all at once, a thing that existed in the negative space where the sound wasn't, and which would come through if the rain of time ever ended. A terrifying immensity, it was immanence and grandeur, an eye that the world passed through, a lens of stor-!
The moment passed, and silence returned. Jeketta was looking at Esorem with a knowing half-smile on his face.
"Understand now?" he asked.
Slowly, Esorem nodded. "A door implies another side."
The Sect Leader shook his head, still smiling, his eyes closed. They opened. "Not always. Only when it opens in."
A pause followed. "Well," Jeketta said at last. "I'm not too interested in the other side. I just want to comprehend the gate."
He walked past Esorem, and back behind his desk, turning, and sitting once more.
He was playing with the Astral Chaos, I realised. He was seeking control of the boundary between Is and Never.
And he was alarmingly close to attaining it.
"So!" The Sect Leader said, clapping his hands together with his fingers splayed, "You've absorbed the Animal Vigour. How is it?"
"The Elixir?" Esorem asked.
"Vigour," the Sect Leader correct automatically. "Elixirs deal with the physical, Vigours with the immaterial, and there's a whole different branch of alchemy regarding Qi. But no." He shook his head once. "Not that."
Jeketta clarified: "How is being above the Ashen Realm?"
"I can... feel the sensations of my body." Jeketta frowned, and perhaps moved by this, Esorem decided to clarify. "Before, it was just awareness. 'Ah, my hand is gripping so hard.' Now, I feel it. It is interesting."
"Is that... all?" Jeketta asked - and naturally he would. Because if it was all -
Esorem nodded.
Jeketta's face remained perfectly controlled, as he closed his eyes, and took a similarly controlled breath, then opened his eyes, staring at Esorem intently.
"Your soul has only advanced to Ember Realm," he noted clinically. "My, my, what an expensive disciple. Not to mention completely impossible."
There was a brief, slightly awkward silence, which the Sect Leader broke.
"Hm. Given that a normal person should have had their entire soul restored, I want you to take this."
Apropos of nothing, a small scroll appeared in Jeketta's hand, which he then passed to Esorem.
"It's the basic cultivation technique for the Awareness Awakening stage. If you don't get anything out of it in a month, you might have to drink more Elixirs." Jeketta laughed bitterly. "Well, you'll have to drink more elixirs at any rate, but I hardly think you want to have to go through eight bottles in short order, right?"
Esorem did not so much as flinch. "It would be efficient," he said.
I was speechless. The Sect Leader gave him a deep look. I'd like to say it was the sort of deep look that you reserve for someone who you've just realised was completely insane.
I'd like to.
But he was impressed.
At length, the Sect Leader nodded. "It would be," he said. "Still, I don't have indefinite resources. For now, go. Attempt to cultivate. If you succeed, it might be that your soul is one of the most extraordinary things I've ever encountered."
That much was right.
Because, if that happened, if that were true, if Jekketa's thoughts were correct...
Remember that third possibility? If Esorem could cultivate with his soul as it was, then it could only be because his was of the bloodline of Ortes that Was, before the Primordial Sunrise.
A bloodline that the most powerful being in this world had long striven to see extinct.
The bloodline of the Sixfold Soul!
And that exclamation mark, dear reader?
Was quite.
fucking.
warranted.
1: The Fourth World, in which the Jhiani live. The Jhiani, for their part, are what happens when a single drop of Seraph's blood is left to rot for a small eternity. Sounds disgusting until you realise that blood is about as biological as the fabric of reality itself. To wit, if you like the way nebulae look, then you won't find a Bhidjian disgusting unless its actively trying to be. A nice people, they tend to be a little naieve, and are always horrifically powerful: their bodies are made of spacetime defects controlled by the Lines mentioned above.
2: A common oath. About as intense as "for god's sake", unless you're yelling it at a priest, in which case it reaches heights of ill-considered vulgarity that would require physical action on Earth. Of course, that can mostly be laid at the Solar Theocracy's feet, because they're the religion that originally got sensitive about it, and they've managed to turn it into a theological pissing contest with nearly all the other religions. It's a good way to get punched in the face, even by the gentlest preacher. In actual theocratic nations, the punishment goes from a few hours jail, to a hand (the removal thereof) depending on various factors.
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Origin Story - Chapter 3, Part 5
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
1.05
Gods and fire, where to even begin?
With Ortes? Gods not, with the destruction of the place that I once called home? There?
No. Even now, I do not wish to.
Besides which, it's not what you need to know. Not yet.
What you must understand is this: In this world, seven is the greatest number. This has nothing to do with perfection. Seven is, in the end, arbitrary. It was the most common occurrence, and so it became the state that all things drew to: A resonant mode for power, but always, always, always one susceptible to a changing of the harmonics.
In... the time before the Primordial Sunrise, this fact had been generally known. And great efforts were made to engineer the world further and further into that mode. To tune the frequencies, so to speak, that the road to the heavens would be opened, and the gates to utopia - but not eden, never eden - would be unlocked.
One remnant of that world gone by, of that time when the reach of sentience far exceeded it's grasp - was the Sixfold Soul. Of all the relics of that time gone by, it - as you may have guessed from the name - was one of the few incomplete ones.
No matter.
It had been erased with the rest of that world. Or rather, if Esorem truly could cultivate, then it had been erased in every other Kalpa, but somehow not this one. The reason why was simple.
As it stood, the Sixfold Soul was a curio. But if it could be perfected - if it could be refined - if the Sevenfold Soul could be created - then Esorem achieving even my level was not out of the question.
And for the sake of comparison, there have been less than thirty of us, ever. And this world's history is far, far longer than Earth's; and far larger, with far more people.
Gods not, and damn them all.
Suddenly, I could feel it within me again.
Smoldering embers of the desire to live.
Whatever Esorem was, he wasn't really the sort of person who took individual initiative - at least, not on small things. Even on big things, he usually spent as long just considering his next action as a Cycle Segragation expert might. Ashen Realm aside, it had taken him nearly a year just to decide to break his routine and go looking for answers, even though there was literally nothing tying him to it but existential inertia.
That was why I wasn't really surprised that his next action was to take the manual back to his chamber, and begin reading it. Willpower was something that he obviously had, but he hadn't nearly mastered the art of using it to decide what he was going to do, as opposed to making himself do whatever he did end up doing.
The contents of the scroll were... uh.
A person should have something to rely on. If you are a mortal who desires riches and titles, if you are a Cultivator who wants to live a life free from worry, join my Reliance Sect. You can rely on me.
-Patriarch Reliance
What the fu -
Esorem blinked - in astonishment, I think - and when he opened his eyes, the strange text was gone, replaced with another.
Lives run many courses over the sum of ages,
strangely they are bent by the endless forces
of cause, by sages, and the heaven sent.
The system of the sun divides the day from night,
weakness from growth, darkness by sunlight.
Listen to the self, engrave enlightenment upon the soul,
let fall the veil of maya, and know the duality of the world
Reflect the hidden truth, define the self a part,
know the self as selves, the course of the Awakening Arts!
How ineptly poetic! But... it hinted at matters too profound for a mortal to consider considering.
Referencing the sundamned Heavensent? Who the hell wrote this thing?
But more importantly than that, this was no mere parochial method. Such methods wouldn't have ever mentioned the true stages of Transcendence at all. It was all 'Cultivate Principles! Emulate the Dragon and Breathe Fire! Turn your Blood into Jade, and overcome the Feebleness of Humanity!' and other such garbage. Generally, it wasn't until one broke into Heaven Severing or Origin Formation that they would learn that they had cultivated nonsense and permanently crippled themselves because of it. And then, blood would be shed1.
Not here though. What Esorem held in his hands was a true manual of the Awareness Awakening stage, and, stylistics aside, a more valuable treasure than even anything that he had looted from the sage's remains four years ago.
Esorem stared at it for a moment.
"...exactly what am I supposed to do with this?" He asked nobody.
"Just skip the pretentious poetry, finish reading the scroll, sit down, and cultivate according to the meaning of it, you tremendous oaf," I muttered.
He cocked his head to one side, then another, shrugged, and then proceeded to do exactly that. It was almost as if he had heard me, but...
I checked the interface between my remaining essence and his soul.
The latter surrounded me completely, but it was like oil and water, or a seed and dirt - the boundary was distinct, and as yet, inviolate. As it should be.
I sighed, wishing I had a physical body to recline in.
Eventually, Esorem reached the end of the scroll, closed his eyes, and began to meditate.
...
...that was a day ago.
Something about a man who watches a trap for eighteen hours. He knows how to remain still. He knows, no matter how peripherally, how to attain an anatta state.
Basically, the years Esorem had spent drifting in the woods, learning how to survive now served him even as he took the first steps to becoming a true cultivator.
It was rather...
I found my respect for Esorem growing, in proportion to my boredom. Would that I were back in my prison, I could have been watching anyone's life right now, anything in the endless tapestry of karma and release. Instead, I was bound to this perspective, and not even able to change it!
I couldn't cultivate this incarnation! This meditation meant nothing to me!
...it was possible that I was being influenced by my incarnated state's lack of cultivation. I remembered staring at nothing for ten thousand years, once, just because I was trying to understand why people did that.
Staring at nothing, I mean.
The results were inconclusive.
With a sigh, after a day and a half, I began meditating towards an anatta state as well. Might as well check up on my -
Esorem opened his eyes and stood, walking out of his room.
"YOU SUNDAMNED BASTARD!" I snarled.
No response.
The anger fled.
I sighed.
Guess he really couldn't hear me.
1: Probably theirs since nine times out of ten, garbage techniques were spread by Alchemy or Philosophy looking to safely increase the population of experts at a certain level without actually creating figures that could challenge their entrenched power structures. People were assholes like that.
Gods and fire, where to even begin?
With Ortes? Gods not, with the destruction of the place that I once called home? There?
No. Even now, I do not wish to.
Besides which, it's not what you need to know. Not yet.
What you must understand is this: In this world, seven is the greatest number. This has nothing to do with perfection. Seven is, in the end, arbitrary. It was the most common occurrence, and so it became the state that all things drew to: A resonant mode for power, but always, always, always one susceptible to a changing of the harmonics.
In... the time before the Primordial Sunrise, this fact had been generally known. And great efforts were made to engineer the world further and further into that mode. To tune the frequencies, so to speak, that the road to the heavens would be opened, and the gates to utopia - but not eden, never eden - would be unlocked.
One remnant of that world gone by, of that time when the reach of sentience far exceeded it's grasp - was the Sixfold Soul. Of all the relics of that time gone by, it - as you may have guessed from the name - was one of the few incomplete ones.
No matter.
It had been erased with the rest of that world. Or rather, if Esorem truly could cultivate, then it had been erased in every other Kalpa, but somehow not this one. The reason why was simple.
As it stood, the Sixfold Soul was a curio. But if it could be perfected - if it could be refined - if the Sevenfold Soul could be created - then Esorem achieving even my level was not out of the question.
And for the sake of comparison, there have been less than thirty of us, ever. And this world's history is far, far longer than Earth's; and far larger, with far more people.
Gods not, and damn them all.
Suddenly, I could feel it within me again.
Smoldering embers of the desire to live.
---
Whatever Esorem was, he wasn't really the sort of person who took individual initiative - at least, not on small things. Even on big things, he usually spent as long just considering his next action as a Cycle Segragation expert might. Ashen Realm aside, it had taken him nearly a year just to decide to break his routine and go looking for answers, even though there was literally nothing tying him to it but existential inertia.
That was why I wasn't really surprised that his next action was to take the manual back to his chamber, and begin reading it. Willpower was something that he obviously had, but he hadn't nearly mastered the art of using it to decide what he was going to do, as opposed to making himself do whatever he did end up doing.
The contents of the scroll were... uh.
A person should have something to rely on. If you are a mortal who desires riches and titles, if you are a Cultivator who wants to live a life free from worry, join my Reliance Sect. You can rely on me.
-Patriarch Reliance
What the fu -
Esorem blinked - in astonishment, I think - and when he opened his eyes, the strange text was gone, replaced with another.
Lives run many courses over the sum of ages,
strangely they are bent by the endless forces
of cause, by sages, and the heaven sent.
The system of the sun divides the day from night,
weakness from growth, darkness by sunlight.
Listen to the self, engrave enlightenment upon the soul,
let fall the veil of maya, and know the duality of the world
Reflect the hidden truth, define the self a part,
know the self as selves, the course of the Awakening Arts!
How ineptly poetic! But... it hinted at matters too profound for a mortal to consider considering.
Referencing the sundamned Heavensent? Who the hell wrote this thing?
But more importantly than that, this was no mere parochial method. Such methods wouldn't have ever mentioned the true stages of Transcendence at all. It was all 'Cultivate Principles! Emulate the Dragon and Breathe Fire! Turn your Blood into Jade, and overcome the Feebleness of Humanity!' and other such garbage. Generally, it wasn't until one broke into Heaven Severing or Origin Formation that they would learn that they had cultivated nonsense and permanently crippled themselves because of it. And then, blood would be shed1.
Not here though. What Esorem held in his hands was a true manual of the Awareness Awakening stage, and, stylistics aside, a more valuable treasure than even anything that he had looted from the sage's remains four years ago.
Esorem stared at it for a moment.
"...exactly what am I supposed to do with this?" He asked nobody.
"Just skip the pretentious poetry, finish reading the scroll, sit down, and cultivate according to the meaning of it, you tremendous oaf," I muttered.
He cocked his head to one side, then another, shrugged, and then proceeded to do exactly that. It was almost as if he had heard me, but...
I checked the interface between my remaining essence and his soul.
The latter surrounded me completely, but it was like oil and water, or a seed and dirt - the boundary was distinct, and as yet, inviolate. As it should be.
I sighed, wishing I had a physical body to recline in.
Eventually, Esorem reached the end of the scroll, closed his eyes, and began to meditate.
...
...that was a day ago.
Something about a man who watches a trap for eighteen hours. He knows how to remain still. He knows, no matter how peripherally, how to attain an anatta state.
Basically, the years Esorem had spent drifting in the woods, learning how to survive now served him even as he took the first steps to becoming a true cultivator.
It was rather...
I found my respect for Esorem growing, in proportion to my boredom. Would that I were back in my prison, I could have been watching anyone's life right now, anything in the endless tapestry of karma and release. Instead, I was bound to this perspective, and not even able to change it!
I couldn't cultivate this incarnation! This meditation meant nothing to me!
...it was possible that I was being influenced by my incarnated state's lack of cultivation. I remembered staring at nothing for ten thousand years, once, just because I was trying to understand why people did that.
Staring at nothing, I mean.
The results were inconclusive.
With a sigh, after a day and a half, I began meditating towards an anatta state as well. Might as well check up on my -
Esorem opened his eyes and stood, walking out of his room.
"YOU SUNDAMNED BASTARD!" I snarled.
No response.
The anger fled.
I sighed.
Guess he really couldn't hear me.
1: Probably theirs since nine times out of ten, garbage techniques were spread by Alchemy or Philosophy looking to safely increase the population of experts at a certain level without actually creating figures that could challenge their entrenched power structures. People were assholes like that.
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Story Summaries, in case of Unanticipated Author Existence Failure
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Putting these here so I don't bump some threads without a story update. If I die, the keys to decrypt these will be posted by a friend.
The Game of Kings
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-----END PGP MESSAGE-----
Sha Nagba Imuru
-----BEGIN PGP MESSAGE-----
Version: GnuPG v2
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-----END PGP MESSAGE-----
And Silence
(To be written)
Origin Story
-----BEGIN PGP MESSAGE-----
Version: GnuPG v2
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-----END PGP MESSAGE-----
-----BEGIN PGP MESSAGE-----
Version: GnuPG v2
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-----END PGP MESSAGE-----
Sha Nagba Imuru
-----BEGIN PGP MESSAGE-----
Version: GnuPG v2
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-----END PGP MESSAGE-----
And Silence
(To be written)
Origin Story
-----BEGIN PGP MESSAGE-----
Version: GnuPG v2
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-----BEGIN PGP PUBLIC KEY BLOCK-----
Version: GnuPG v2
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Version: GnuPG v2
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-----BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE-----
Hash: SHA256
I have also prepared a postmortem statement. It will be signed with the key below. If it is *not *signed by the key below, then you may assume that whoever conveyed the key elected to suppress my last words, and are putting falsehood in my mouth, or that they decided to simply not convey them, by posting only the keys.
If it's the latter, that's fine. If the former, a "what the hell, hero?" moment strikes me as something nice; though I will not be around to care about it.
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- -----END PGP PUBLIC KEY BLOCK-----
-----BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE-----
Version: GnuPG v2
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I have also prepared a postmortem statement. It will be signed with the key below. If it is *not *signed by the key below, then you may assume that whoever conveyed the key elected to suppress my last words, and are putting falsehood in my mouth, or that they decided to simply not convey them, by posting only the keys.
If it's the latter, that's fine. If the former, a "what the hell, hero?" moment strikes me as something nice; though I will not be around to care about it.
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Alternate Chronology of Legend of Zelda - Presentiment
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
This is a world of gods and ships. A world without land, without shores. A world of men not born, but borne on the waves: fading atwixt the crests without cause; shadows who live to die when their luck runs out. Above them and their meaningless lives, the Gods: the true inheritors of the glory of the world; they who sail upon the heavens, all indifferent to the suffering below them.
This is the story of a man who met a witch and a god, and who found the shores of a dream, and in it, the meaning of life.
This is the story of a woman and a dream, who met a man, and a reason for awakening the world from its sorrows.
The is the story of a slumbering god, who slept indifferently and awoke to the salvation of the world.
This is the tale of Link's Awakening, and the Legend of Zelda that saw his goals fulfilled.
This is how it begins.
I am now cleaning out a backlog of snips. This particular one is the intro to a story that will be posted, at a minimum in summary/mythic form.
This is the story of a man who met a witch and a god, and who found the shores of a dream, and in it, the meaning of life.
This is the story of a woman and a dream, who met a man, and a reason for awakening the world from its sorrows.
The is the story of a slumbering god, who slept indifferently and awoke to the salvation of the world.
This is the tale of Link's Awakening, and the Legend of Zelda that saw his goals fulfilled.
This is how it begins.
I am now cleaning out a backlog of snips. This particular one is the intro to a story that will be posted, at a minimum in summary/mythic form.
Last edited: